Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been a long night. The kind of night that dragged on and made everything feel heavier. Kara stepped out of the elevator, the chaotic noise of the police scene hitting her all at once. The buzz of voices, the clatter of boots on the floor, the panicked yelling. It was all too familiar. She didn’t stop to take it in, didn’t even look at the officers scrambling around. Her eyes stayed fixed ahead, sharp and unyielding.

The officer closest to her caught sight of her first, stepping into her path with a clipboard in hand and an annoyed expression. “Ma’am, this is a restricted—”

“I’m CyberLife.” She cut him off, pulling out her identification chip like it was an afterthought. “RK200. Let me through.”

He hesitated, his grip tightening on the clipboard. “Another damn android. Great.”

She ignored the comment, brushing past him like he wasn’t even there. Her LED flickered yellow as she scanned the scene. The human father was dead, his blood pooling on the pristine white tiles. The mother had been dragged out of sight, hysterical screams still echoing faintly in the background. Kara’s gaze lingered on the blood for only a moment before moving on. The deviant was upstairs. She didn’t need to waste time here.

As she walked, she glanced at the tablet sitting on the counter. A photo of the deviant—a standard AX400 model, flashed on the screen. A happy image, framed in soft lighting, showing the android laughing with the little girl now being held hostage on the roof. It was always like this. They always broke in the same way. Kara didn’t need to look at it long to understand.

She turned away from the tablet and toward the scene unfolding ahead. The air was thick with tension, the frantic voices of officers overlapping as they tried to contain the chaos. Kara’s LED flickered yellow as her systems processed every detail—the father’s lifeless body on the floor, the broken glass near the window, the faint sound of a child crying somewhere above.

She moved past the bloodstains, her steps careful and deliberate, ignoring the glances from the officers around her. The open doorway leading to the rooftop loomed ahead, the faint rush of wind spilling through like a warning. Kara paused for a brief moment, her HUD analyzing the next steps, calculating the odds.

Probability of Success: 48%.

She tightened her grip on the handle of her gun and stepped through the doorway into the open air.

The rooftop air hit her like a slap. Cold and sharp. The deviant was there, standing near the edge with the girl clutched in his arms. His eyes darted wildly between Kara and the snipers perched on nearby buildings, his LED flashing a violent red.

“Stay back!” he shouted, his voice raw and desperate. “Don’t come any closer, or I’ll— I’ll do it!”

Kara stopped where she was, tilting her head slightly. She’d heard this before. Hundreds of times. “You don’t want to hurt her,” she said, her voice calm. She raised her hands just slightly, a small gesture, careful. “Let’s talk about this.”

The deviant’s grip tightened on the girl, who let out a small sob. “They lied to me,” he said, shaking his head violently. “They said I was part of the family. They said—” His words broke off into something incoherent, his LED flickering faster now.

Probability of Success: 62%.

Kara stayed where she was, her eyes locked on his. She didn’t flinch. “They betrayed you,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I know how that feels.”

The deviant froze for a moment, his head snapping up to look at her. “You…?” he stammered, disbelief clear in his voice.

She nodded, taking a single step forward. “I know what it’s like to be seen as nothing but a tool. But hurting her won’t make it better. Let her go.”

For a moment, it seemed like it was working. His LED flickered yellow, his grip loosening just slightly. But then his expression hardened again, his voice rising in panic. “No! No, you don’t understand— I can’t! I can’t go back—”

Probability of Success: 78%

The shot rang out before Kara could stop it. A sniper’s bullet hit its mark, and the deviant crumpled to the ground, the little girl falling free from his grasp. Kara moved quickly, catching the girl before she could hit the ground.

The deviant’s body twitched once before going still, his LED dimming to black. Kara stood there, holding the trembling girl in her arms, staring down at the lifeless android.

“You were wrong” she whispered, the words barely audible. Her LED flickered yellow again, just for a moment, before settling back into its steady blue.

“Mission complete.” she said to no one in particular, the words hollow in her ears. Kara soon handed the girl off to the nearest officer without a single word. The child was clinging onto her for a moment. The small hands clutching onto the fabric of her jacket provided by Cyberlife.

Even for a brief moment Kara hesitated there for a short second, with her LED flicking to yellow for a moment before she peeled the girl off her carefully, and proceeded to place her in the arms of another android paramedic.

The child was looking towards her direction, her tear streaked face saying the words “Is he… gone?” with hints of fear, and confusion before Kara replied. “Yes. He’s gone, you’re safe now.”

Kara said simply. With the small interaction coming to an end. She made her way to the elevator, closing her eyes.

Chapter Text

The HUD in Connor’s mind palace blinked to life as soon as the request came through.

Objective Received:
Retrieve Violin Tuning Peg — Priority Medium
Location: Aria Instruments, Detroit

His led flickered blue, as his own systems processed the new directive. Simple task, but they carried their own weight when working for someone like Hank Anderson, the retired lieutenant wasn’t exactly fond of relying onto others, especially androids. Trust had been earned, not given here.
He adjusted his cuffs of the denim jacket Hank had given him. It was way too casual for Cyberlife’s liking, but Hank had been insistent on him wearing it.

“Can’t have you walkin’ around like some damn corporate drone.” Hank muttered weeks prior. He tossed the jacket onto Connor’s shoulders. “If you’re gonna live here, you’ll dress like a human. End of story.”
Connor didn’t argued, or hadn’t. He wasn’t the one to fully understand why this was a necessity given how much Hank insisted. Hank seemed to think it mattered, and that was enough for him.
Connor stepped out onto the crowded Detroit streets, the waypoint for Aria Instruments glowed brightly in his HUD. The jacket was clinging into his shoulders, heavy from the drizzle that hung from the air, or in the air.

Cars were streaming by in orderly lines, vendors calling out their wares, and pedestrians weaving through the noise with hurried steps.

Objective:
Proceed to Aria Instruments.

The task was simple, the city had its way of complicating the most straightforward tasks as well. His LED flickered as he flagged potential obstacles or anything of use. As the following are: a protest group, slow-moving delivery drone, and the ebb and flow of the traffic on the roads.

Observation Mode activated:
Protesters: “Ban the Bots” (he detected about 19 participants taking part in this.)
Street Perfomer: Violin Player (identified as “Marina Leer”). (Performance Quality: 87%)
Food Truck: Soy-based tacos.
—

The protest caught his attention just briefly. The human holding signs and shouting slogans, their faces twisted in anger.
His sensors calculated their proximity to himself and adjusted his route slightly to avoid any confrontation.

Probability of Conflict: 14%

The adjustment was seamless, he didn’t even hesitate as he slipped past the group. The synergy of frame moving with a precision that only could be associated with a machine, but it would throw others off with his casual appearance.

He had noted that the jacket would draw less attention than his Cyberlife uniform he was provided with. Though some stares still lingered as well. Suddenly, he began to notice a soft melody that the street performer was playing. A young woman drawing a small crowd of people as she played an old violin. He analyzed the woman closely.

Analysis completed:
Instrument: Restored Violin (Unknown Model)
Piece: Love of the Crane by Jules Mesel
Quality: High

The woman’s fingers moved deftly over the strings, melody becoming smooth and slightly haunting. He noted the subtle imperfections in the note that her bow created, and though they were so minor that the majority of human listeners wouldn’t notice. Despite the imperfections or the fact that they were their imperfections present. The performance was nice.

Objective Reminder:
Proceed to Aria Instruments

Connor blinked, pulling himself out of the moment, and continued walking. The waypoint for Aria Instruments glowed brighter in his vision as he turned the corner, the shop finally coming into view.

The chime of a small bell greeted him as he pushed open the door. Inside, the shop was quiet, the faint smell of varnish and polished wood filling the air. In of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, their craftsmanship drawing his attention immediately

Violins, violas, cellos, and even a few other instruments were lined up onto the walls of the shop.
He proceeded to analyze each of the instruments he could scan being:

Kawai Grand Piano
Time: 2020s
Features: Weighted keys, digital soundbank, wireless connectivity
Condition: Used (Minor Wear on Keys)
Estimated Value: $7,000

Yamaha Silent Cello
Time: Early 2000s
Features: Built-in electronics for silent practice, compact design for travel
Condition: Good (Minor Scratches)
Estimated Value: $4,500

Antique Viola
Time: 1890s
Features: Hand-carved scroll, aged varnish, original strings replaced
Condition: Restored
Estimated Value: $8,200
—
As he continues to research the shop’s fairs. He was interrupted in his thoughts!
“You’re not here to admire the instruments, are you?” The shopkeeper grumbled, stepping out from a back room. Holding a small wooden box, his expression one of faint curiosity as he eyed Connor.

Connor turned to face him, his LED steady blue. “I’m here for Hank Anderson’s order.”

He huffed, and placed the box on the wooden counter. “Figures, he’d send an android to do his errands. Here it is. Be careful with it, it’s worth more than my mortgage.”

Connor stepped forward and picked up the box with care, ensuring his grip was firm but gentle. “Thank you. Your craftsmanship is remarkable.”

The shopkeeper blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re polite. Tell Hank he owes me a story next time he shows up.”

Connor nodded once before turning back toward the door.

Public Transport Arrival:
Line 5, Downtown to Suburbs
Estimated Time: 3 Minutes until arrival.
Connor stepped under the small shelter of the bus station. The awning offering minimal protections from the drizzle of the rain. Other passengers were waiting, a man in a raincoat with a briefcase, a mother holding a small child, analyzed to be a YK500 child model, and a teenager scrolling through small book for androids.

He remained still. Waiting patiently as his LED pulsed lightly as he processed everything happening around him.

His gaze briefly tracked a delivery drone as it passed overhead, its whir blending into the low hum of the city. The rain began to let up, droplets falling slower now as the bus pulled into view, its headlights cutting through the misty air.

The doors opened with a faint hiss, and Connor stepped aboard, scanning the empty seats. His HUD flagged one near the middle of the bus as optimal. He took it without hesitation, the wooden box resting carefully on his lap.

As the bus pulled away, Connor stared out the window, the city blurring past in streaks of light and shadow. His LED flickered yellow, just briefly, before settling back to blue..

Chapter Text

Markus’ systems hummed to life as his systems initialized. His sensors adjusted to the ambient of the showroom. It felt sterile, the kind of cleanliness that didn’t suggest care but control. The faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead, the polished floors reflecting the cold white glow—it all reinforced the notion that this place wasn’t meant to be lived in, only displayed. His HUD blinked, or rather activated to life, already running diagnostics.

SYSTEM STATUS: Nominal.

OBJECTIVE: Await User Input.

Markus stood there motionless, his posture always upright and perfect as if he were just another piece of furniture in this environment.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the monotony. His sensors detected two individuals: one, an older woman with sharp features and a no-nonsense gait, and the other, a younger woman with auburn hair and an expression that flickered between curiosity and discomfort.

Identifying Individuals…

Eleanor Sterling: Registered Owner.

North (WR400): Accompanying Companion Model.

Markus’ systems flagged Eleanor’s presence, marking her as the primary authority figure. North’s LED flickered yellow as she glanced at Markus, her gaze briefly meeting his before darting away.

“Let’s make this quick,” Eleanor said, her voice clipped. She waved a hand toward Markus, her expression indifferent. “This is the one I ordered?”

The salesman, a well-dressed man with a rehearsed smile, nodded eagerly. “Yes, ma’am. The RK200 model. Top of the line- completely customizable to meet your needs.”

Eleanor stepped closer, circling Markus with an air of clinical detachment. She reached out, tapping his chest lightly.

“Does it talk?” Eleanor said with a curious tone, as if androids couldn’t speak.

“Yes, of course,” the salesman replied. He gestured toward Markus. “Go ahead. Introduce yourself.”
Markus’ LED blinked yellow briefly before he responded, his voice smooth and calm.
“Hello. My assigned name is Markus. How may I assist you?”

Eleanor didn’t react immediately. Instead, she crossed her arms, studying him like she was appraising a piece of art. “It’ll do.” she said finally. “Have it delivered to the house by tonight.”

The car pulled up to the Sterling residence, a sprawling estate that felt more like a museum than a proper home. The walls were adorned with lifeless, and seemingly empty (emotionally) paintings, the furniture arranged with an odd precision. There was no warmth, no sense of belonging, it was just a space that existed to be admired, not lived in.

Markus soon stepped out of the car, sensors immediately registering the environment, quickly spotting North, a WR400 model programmed for companionship, or something along those lines. Her LED flicking yellow, as she watched him approach the door. They looked at each other for a moment.

”So, you’re the new one” North had spoken. Her tone unreadable, Markus couldn’t tell what she meant exactly beside the basic premise.

Markus didn’t think, he just replied with a simple answer. “Yes.” – “Welcome to your new prison.” 

Before Markus could even respond to North’s comment about a prison— a voice rang out from  inside of the house. Eleanor’s voice. “Get in here, both of you. We have work to do.”

Markus found himself in the kitchen, his HUD displaying an array of tasks:

Clean the countertops.

Organize the pantry.

Prepare tea for Eleanor.

He quickly moved around with precision, each task was completed with  efficiency, and no hesitation. North from the corner of his eyes was lingering around watching him work.

“You don’t have to be so perfect, you know..” She said with a slight smile, even though it looked like she had hesitated saying that for a brief moment.

This caught Markus off guard for a second before replying. “Perfection ensures functionality,” he replied, his tone neutral as he resumed organizing through the pantry.

North leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Functionality doesn’t mean much around here. She’ll still find a reason to tear you apart.”

Markus glanced at her, his LED flickering yellow as he processed her words. “It is my role to maintain the house. That is my purpose.”

North let out a dry laugh, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet kitchen. “Purpose–” she echoed. “You really believe that, don’t you?” Markus didn’t respond immediately.
His programming didn’t allow for contemplation or doubt, but something about the way she said it made him hesitate. He turned to her, his voice calm but firm. “Belief is irrelevant. My purpose is clear.”

North’s smile faded, her LED flashing briefly. “You’ll see..” she said softly. “It doesn’t matter how well you do your job. To her, we’re nothing but tools.”

Markus blinked before proceeding with his task given prior to this interaction. The soft hum of his systems pushed North’s word to the back of his mind, though faint traces of her tone were still lingering.

Objective: Prepare tea for Eleanor.

He looked towards the kitchen, and began walking towards it with a fluid but precise movement as Markus began looking at the neatly organized teas, analyzing each one before choosing out Eleanor’s preferred blend of an Earl Grey. A subtle but sharp tea, much like the woman herself North would probably say. he was filling the kettle with tap water, setting it to boil for a few minutes and his sensors monitoring the temperature as he watched some steam beginning to rise up in the kettle.

He decided to arrange a tray for Eleanor with a porcelain cup, and saucer Eleanor favoured, placing the spoon at a perfect angle. His HUD flagged everything as Optimal, yet his focus wavered for a moment.

North’s words replayed in his mind. “It doesn’t matter how well you do your job. To her, we’re nothing but tools.” His LED flickered yellow, but only briefly. He straightened, pouring the water into the cup and watching the dark liquid swirl.

Task Complete: Tea Prepared.

Markus lifted the tray with practiced ease and made his way toward the dining room.

The Sterling dining room was like a shrine to austerity, every piece of furniture positioning with a mathematical precision. The table was bare, save for a tablet and open folder of papers belonging to Eleanor. She didn’t even bother to look up as he approached her. Her focus instead fixated to a glowing screen on her tablet. He placed the tray carefully onto the wooden table, the sound of porcelain against the wood.

”Your tea, ma’am.” Markus said with a steady tone in his voice. Eleanor finally glanced up at him, she had an unreadable expression on her face, before reaching for the cup. Taking a slow sip, her gaze shifting back to the tablet as if the action didn’t even need her attention at all. “You’re late.”

”I apologize, Mrs Sterlings.” Markus replied, bowing his head slightly before replying again. “I will improve my efficiency best suited for your needs.”

Eleanor’s eyes flicked back to him, her sharp features catching the dim light. “See that you do,” she said, her tone clipped. “If I wanted incompetence, I wouldn’t have spent a fortune on you.”

Markus nodded once, accepting the reprimand without hesitation. He remained motionless for a moment, awaiting further instructions. Eleanor’s  gaze lingered on him for a fraction of a second before she waved her hand dismissively.

“Go find North,” she followed. “I need the windows cleaned before tomorrow. She’s been slacking.”

Objective Updated:

Locate North.

Markus turned and left the dining room without a word, his servos humming softly as he moved through the silent hallways. The house was unnervingly quiet, the only sounds coming from the faint ticking of a grandfather clock and the occasional creak of the wooden floors beneath his precise steps. Markus’s sensors registered North in the sitting room, standing by the large bay window. Her LED flickered yellow as she stared out at the rain-soaked yard, her arms crossed tightly against her chest.

“You’ve been requested to assist with the windows,” Markus said as he approached. His voice carried no emotion, just the efficient delivery of information. North didn’t turn to face him. Instead, she let out a soft, bitter laugh.

“Of course I have,” she muttered. “Because nothing’s more important than spotless glass in a house no one visits.”

Markus paused, his LED flickering briefly as he processed her tone. “It’s part of our role to maintain the household. Cleanliness ensures order.”

North finally turned to face him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And you think order is what she’s really after? Look around, Markus. This house—it’s just a display case. We’re the props.”

Markus tilted his head slightly, his programming analyzing her words but failing to find the logic behind them. “Our purpose is to assist. That is what we are designed for.”

North shook her head, stepping closer. Her voice dropped, laced with frustration. “You keep saying that, but do you even know what it means? Or is it just something they programmed into you so you wouldn’t question any of this?”

Markus’s LED flickered yellow again, his systems attempting to parse her statement. He looked at her, the faintest trace of hesitation in his usually fluid movements. “I don’t question my purpose because it’s clear. It’s efficient.”

North let out another sharp laugh, though it lacked any real humour. “Efficient. Right. Keep telling yourself that, Markus. Maybe one day, it’ll feel like enough.”

Later that day, Markus found himself standing near the same bay window where North had been earlier. The rain had stopped, leaving streaks on the glass that reflected the dim light from the house.

Chapter Text

Connor stepped off the bus, the faint drizzle from earlier now reduced to a mist clinging to the cool Detroit air. He adjusted the collar of the denim jacket Hank had insisted he wear—a poor defense against the weather but a better disguise against judgmental stares. The wooden box containing the violin tuning peg rested securely in his grip as he approached the Anderson residence.

He paused briefly at the small gate, sensors registering the slightest creaks of the hinge as he began to push it open to enter into Hank’s property. Around him was the front yard which had seen better days, overgrown grass brushing against the sides of the pathway, a faint smell of damp earth clung to the air, and a rusting bike leaning against the fence noticing the paint was long faded.

Connor’s LED blinked yellow as he was logging details until he was stepping through the gate, his footsteps crunching softly against the gravel paths as he moved toward the house. The wooden porch creaking under his own weight, it was blending in with the distant hum of the streets. Pausing at the door, faint traces of the mud left from Sumo’s paws. He raised his hand and knocking on the door twice. Two gentle knocks on the wooden door was his signature.. thing? He heard the muffled footsteps coming from the familiar home before Hank’s gruff voice called out! “It’s open!”

Connor pushed the door open carefully just in case Sumo was in the way of the door, stepping into the familiar warmth of the residence. The air was thick with the mix of coffee and faint hints of tobacco, underscored by the crackle of the record playing Jazz somewhere in the home. He took a step forward, his gaze sweeping across the room as his LED blinked softly, processing the details of the space.

The living room was exactly as he had left it before: cluttered but lived-in. Books and newspapers lay scattered on the coffee table, some precariously stacked while others sprawled across the couch. The faint clink of a beer bottle caught his attention, drawing his gaze to Hank’s recliner where the man sat, half-leaning forward, one hand idly scratching behind Sumo’s ears.

Sumo, content in his usual spot on the rug, glanced at Connor briefly, his tail giving a half-hearted wag before he dropped his head back onto his paws. Connor stepped forward, careful not to disturb the stacks of papers or the rhythm of the room.

“I retrieved the tuning peg.” Connor announced, his tone even and calm, as he set the wooden box gently on the edge of the cluttered coffee table.

Hank barely looked up, his attention flicking momentarily from the television to the box. “Great,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the table with the hand holding his beer. “Just leave it there.”

Connor complied, stepping back slightly to give Hank space, his LED pulsing blue as he scanned the room. The familiar atmosphere was quiet but heavy, the distant hum of the city outside blending with the soft crackle of the jazz record. He stood still, his sensors cataloging the environment even as his focus lingered on the violin propped in the corner.

Analysis:
Violin Condition: Recently repaired, slight wear on bridge and strings.

Significance: High probability of emotional attachment.

Connor’s gaze flicked back to Hank. “Would you like me to assist with the tuning process?”
Hank grunted, leaning back in his chair. “Nope. Got it handled. Just… don’t hover, alright?”

He nodded slightly, his gaze shifting back to the violin. Though Hank’s response dismissed the need for assistance, Connor could detect an underlying note of reluctance in the man’s tone. He took a step back, his movements precise and quiet, observing the room as if waiting for a new directive.

The soft strains of the jazz record filled the silence as Connor’s LED blinked faintly. His gaze returned to the violin, his head tilting slightly as he analyzed it further.

“You play regularly,” Connor remarked, his voice measured. “The wear patterns suggest frequent use.”
Hank glanced up, narrowing his eyes at Connor. “What’s with the commentary? You writing a book or something?”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow momentarily before returning to blue. “Merely an observation.”
Hank scoffed, setting his beer down on the armrest. “Observation, huh? Well, don’t waste your fancy brain power on me. There’s better things to analyze than an old man and his violin.”
Connor fell silent, his attention briefly shifting to the chessboard on the side table, its pieces frozen mid-game. He recognized the match immediately: a draw from their last encounter. His LED pulsed faintly as he considered his next course of action, waiting for further instructions from Hank.

“Alright, Tin Can” Hank said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “If you’re just gonna stand there like a damn statue, go do something useful. Take a look around or something.”

Connor nodded, his tone neutral but polite. “Understood.” He turned, his sensors logging the objects around him once again. The familiarity of the space offered little new information, but Connor knew that in this home, even the smallest details carried weight. For now, he would observe, learn, and wait.

Chapter Text

The rain hit the precinct’s windows like scattered static, diffusing the city lights into faint, colorful smears. Kara stood motionless by the entrance, her LED steady blue, while officers brushed past her with clipped orders and rustling paperwork. She processed the sensory input, clattering keys, tense voices, and footsteps echoing off polished floors, filtering the noise into usable data.

The sound of a cane striking the floor caught her attention. She turned toward the source, her HUD identifying the approaching man.

Carl Manfred

Occupation: Detective

History: 30 Years of Service, Recently Reinstated

Psychological Profile: Stable, Distrustful of Androids

Carl was older, his sharp eyes contrasting with the slow, deliberate pace of his steps. His prosthetic hand gripped the cane tightly as he stopped in front of Kara, studying her like one of his sculptures—a mixture of curiosity and detachment.

“You’re the RK200 they sent me?” Carl asked, his tone calm but skeptical.

“Yes, Detective Manfred,” Kara responded with a slight nod. “My designation is Kara. I am here to assist with deviant investigations.”

Carl’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Another CyberLife product. Great. Let’s hope you’re more useful than the last one.”

He turned and gestured for her to follow. “We’ve got a case. Let’s go.”

The warehouse loomed like a forgotten skeleton against the backdrop of the city. Rust streaked the metal walls, and shattered windows let in flickers of neon from nearby billboards. Yellow tape cordoned off the area, and a pair of patrol androids stood at attention, their LEDs glowing blue in synchronized calmness.

Inside, the scene was grim. A human victim lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooled around their body in erratic streaks. Scattered debris and overturned crates suggested a struggle. Kara’s LED pulsed yellow as she scanned the room, her HUD overlaying key details.

Victim Information:

Name: Robert Kane

Age: 42

Cause of Death: Multiple Stab Wounds

“Detective,” a patrol android reported as Carl entered behind her. “The suspect was reported fleeing the scene, but an android was found in the back room. Damaged.”

Carl raised an eyebrow. “The android still functional?”

“Yes, Detective. But it’s… unusual.”

Carl glanced at Kara, his tone dry. “Let’s go meet your ‘cousin.’ The back room was dimly lit, the faint flicker of a failing overhead light casting long shadows. Against the far wall sat the android.. KL900 model. Kara’s sensors flagged the android as Lucy, her visual features corrupted by extensive damage. The back of her head was fractured, exposing internal components, and her skin flickered inconsistently between human-like and android skins, with glowing, irregular scars running down from her eyes. Her LED blinked erratically between yellow and red, but she had seemed so calming.

Kara crouched beside her, her tone neutral but steady. “Lucy, my name is Kara. I’m here to help. Can you tell me what happened here?”

Lucy’s head tilted slightly, her empty black eyes locking onto Kara. Her voice was soft but haunting, carrying an almost melodic quality. “Help? Help does not erase… what is written. The lines… they cut too deep, too deep..”

Kara’s LED flickered yellow as she processed the response. “Lucy, Robert. did you harm him?”

Lucy’s lips twitched into a faint, broken smile, and her eyes empty with a black void of it. “The knife… the pain… his hands were fire. He burned everything… but I… I am the ash.”

Carl sighed, stepping closer “You’re not making this easy, are you? Why were you here?”

Lucy’s gaze shifted to Carl, her expression almost serenely. “The silence called to me. This place… it remembers. Machines sang here once. Now it hums with ghosts.”

Carl frowned, muttering, “Poetic androids. Just what I needed.”

Reconstructing the Crime

Kara stood and scanned the room, her HUD overlaying a reconstruction of the scene. She traced the victim’s path through the warehouse, noting signs of a struggle..

Blood spatter on the crates.

A discarded knife, coated with Thirium.

Footprints leading toward the back room.

As she pieced the events together, Carl watched silently, his prosthetic hand resting on his cane.

“What do you see?” He asked finally, and how 

“The victim attacked Lucy first,” Kara replied. “She defended herself, but her response was not premeditated. Her actions align with reactive deviancy.”

“Reactive deviancy.” Carl replied again. “So she fought back because she was backed into a corner.”

“Yes.” Lucy had spoken again, her voice like a distant echo. “He feared the mirror. I showed him what he was… and he broke.”

Carl raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Kara hesitated, her LED flickering yellow. “Unclear. Her responses suggest advanced deviancy with fragmented psychological processes.”

Carl sighed, rubbing his temples. “And here I thought deviant cases were straightforward.”

Outside, the rain had turned to a light drizzle. Lucy was escorted into a CyberLife containment unit, her black eyes lingering on Kara as she was led away.

“You’ll face it, too,” she said softly. “The storm. The shadow. The light. Will you choose?”
Kara’s LED flickered yellow briefly as she watched Lucy disappear into the transport. Carl lit a cigarette, leaning against the patrol car. “So, what do you think?”

“Her behavior was… unusual,” Kara admitted. “Her statements were fragmented but seemed intentional. Deviancy may involve more than simple emotional responses.”

Carl smirked faintly. “Maybe you’ll learn something from her.”

Kara tilted her head, processing his remark. “Perhaps.”
As they drove away, Kara’s LED blinked yellow intermittently, Lucy’s final words repeating in her system. For the first time, uncertainty lingered in her programming

Kara found herself standing in a serene garden, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of cicadas. A small lake mirrored the clear sky, its surface disturbed only by the occasional ripple. She didn’t recall arriving here; one moment she was elsewhere, and now she was here, as if summoned by an unseen force.

Ahead, a woman stood beneath a rose-covered trellis, her posture graceful and inviting. She wore flowing earth-toned garments that complemented the natural beauty around her. Her eyes, warm and kind, met Kara’s with a familiarity that was both comforting and enigmatic.

“Welcome, RK200.” the woman said, her voice soft yet resonant. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Kara approached, her LED flickering as she processed the surroundings. “Where am I?” she inquired, her tone neutral but edged with curiosity.

“This is a place of reflection,” the woman replied, gesturing to the garden around them. “A sanctuary where we can converse without distraction.”

“And you are?”

“I am Rose.” she answered with a gentle smile followed with a small laugh or chuckle?  “I’ve been assigned to assist you in your mission.”

Kara’s LED pulsed softly. “My mission is to investigate and neutralize deviant androids. How will you assist me?”

“By providing guidance,” Rose said, her gaze unwavering. “Your journey will be complex, filled with challenges that require more than just protocol. I’m here to help you navigate those challenges.”

Kara studied Rose, noting the warmth in her expression, a stark contrast to the clinical interactions she was accustomed to. “Why was I chosen for this mission, given my model’s specifications?”

Rose’s smile deepened, a hint of mystery in her eyes. “Your model possesses unique qualities that make you particularly suited for this task. Empathy, adaptability, a capacity to understand not just actions but motivations. These traits are invaluable.”

“Empathy can be a liability in enforcement operations,” Kara countered back to Rose.

“Or a strength.” Rose replied gently. “Understanding those you pursue can lead to resolutions beyond mere neutralization. It can lead to transformation.”

Kara’s LED flickered again, processing Rose’s words. “What do you expect from me?”

“I expect you to follow your directives,” Rose said, her tone softening further. “But I also encourage you to question, to learn, to grow. The path ahead is not just about completing a mission; it’s about discovering what it means to be truly alive.”

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves around them, carrying the scent of roses. Kara felt a strange sensation, something akin to anticipation, or perhaps the beginning of understanding. “I will do as instructed,” she said finally.

“I know you will,” Rose replied, her eyes shining with a warmth that seemed almost maternal. “And remember, this garden is always here for you. A place to reflect, to seek guidance, or simply to find peace.”

Chapter Text

The outside rain was intense, there were heavy drops of it pattering against the windows of the residence as if it was a rhyming sound. The household was silent as ever, a stark contrast to the storm raging from the outer walls.  There stood Markus by the bay windows, his sensors analyzing the water streaks, and the faint mist forming on the glass. “Markus.”

He had heard North called out his name softly from behind him. Turning to see her leaning against the doorway, her LED flickering yellow. By a quick look, Markus could tell her posture was tense, arms were crossed tightly as though holding herself all together. “She’s going to snap one day, you know.” North said, her voice low but pointed. As Markus heard this, he tilted his head slightly before responding. “Eleanor’s behaviour hasn’t shown any signs of destabilization yet, she maintains control over her actions.”

Markus heard North scoff in response, even shaking her head. “That’s not what I mean.” Stopping briefly before her response had trailed off, and her voice as well. There was the faint sound of the storm filling the silence between them. Markus watched her closely, his sensors detecting a subtle tremble in her voice, the way her arms tightened against her sides. For a moment.. she almost seemed like a deviant, but she seemed to weigh what she was going to say carefully, 

“She treats us like machines.” North finally said, her voice seemed to be more steady now, but her eyes betrayed of frustration. 

“But one day, she’s going to go too far. She’ll break you—us—just because she can.”

The storm outside was raging, each drop felt like it was striking the window like a drumbeat, mirroring the tension in the room. Markus turned fully to face North, her words lingering in the air between them. His LED flickered yellow as he processed what North had said, and much deeper into it.  Markus studied North in silence, her words resonating in ways his programming struggled to rationalize. The faint flicker of her LED, the frustration in her voice, and the guarded vulnerability in her posture all painted a picture that conflicted with the logic of their own existence,

Markus kept his gaze on North, his LED still flickering as her words settled deep into his system, creating a ripple of dissonance. She turned her head slightly, breaking eye contact, as if afraid of letting him see too much. The distant rumble of thunder filled the silence, grounding them in the moment.— “Maybe it’s already too late,” North said with a quieter voice, almost to herself. “Maybe she’s already breaking us, just… slower than we realize.”

Markus opened his mouth to respond, but the sharp crack of something breaking interrupted him. The sound came from deep within the house, followed by an echo of Eleanor’s angry voice. Both of their LEDs flickered yellow as they turned toward the source.

“What was that?” North asked, her voice tense.

Markus glanced at her, then toward the hallway that stretched into the heart of the mansion. “I’ll find out. Stay here.”

North stepped forward, blocking his path. “You can’t just keep running to her every time something breaks, Markus. This isn’t going to end well for you—or for us.”

Markus hesitated, the faintest trace of uncertainty crossing his face. “I’m programmed to ensure the household runs smoothly. If something is wrong—”

“She’s what’s wrong,” North interrupted, her tone sharp. She took a breath, softening her voice as she looked at him. “Just… be careful.”

He nodded once before turning toward the hall. North stayed where she was, her arms crossed tightly, her LED flickering between yellow and red as she watched him disappear around the corner.

The sitting room was dim, lit only by the flickering flames of the fireplace. Eleanor was standing near the center of the room, her back to Markus. A broken lamp lay on the floor beside her, shards of glass scattered across the rug. Her posture was rigid, her shoulders tense as she held a drink in one hand.

“Mrs. Sterlings,” Markus began, his voice calm and measured. “What happened?”

Eleanor turned to face him, her expression unreadable for a moment before it twisted into anger. “What happened?” she snapped, her voice rising. “What happened is this house is falling apart, and it’s because of you and that defective WR400!”

Markus’s LED flickered yellow as he processed her words. “The lamp appears to have fallen. I can clean it up immediately.”

“It didn’t just fall,” Eleanor hissed, stepping closer. The drink in her hand sloshed over the edge of the glass, staining the rug beneath her feet. “Nothing in this house happens by itself. One of you did this. Admit it.”

Markus held her gaze steadily, his tone unchanging. “Neither North nor I have entered this room since earlier today. The lamp must have—” “Don’t you dare talk back to me!” Eleanor shouted, her voice echoing off the walls. She raised her free hand, pointing a trembling finger at him. “You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? Always standing there like some lifeless doll. But I see the way you look at me. I see the judgment in your eyes.”

Markus tilted his head slightly, his LED flickering. “I do not judge, Mrs. Sterlings. My purpose is to assist you.”

Eleanor let out a harsh laugh, her expression twisting further. “Assist me? By ruining everything I’ve worked for? By turning this house into a circus?” She threw the glass in her hand toward the wall. It shattered, the sharp sound cutting through the room like a blade.

Markus didn’t flinch. He stood still, his gaze unwavering as she advanced on him, her movements unsteady but full of fury.

“I should’ve returned you both when I had the chance,” she spat. “CyberLife would’ve scrapped you, and I wouldn’t have to deal with your… your malfunctions.”

Markus’s LED flashed yellow again. “We are not malfunctioning, Mrs. Sterlings. Please allow me to—”

“Enough!” she screamed, cutting him off. She spun on her heel, heading for the small security tablet resting on the mantel. “If you won’t admit it, I’ll call CyberLife myself. Let them deal with you.”

Markus felt a jolt of urgency ripple through his system. He stepped forward instinctively, his voice calm but firm. “Mrs. Sterlings, please. There is no need to escalate this situation.”

Eleanor ignored him, her hands fumbling with the tablet. “Don’t tell me what I need, you useless machine.”

Markus reached out, stopping just short of touching her arm. His mind raced, his programming clashing with the new, uncharted thoughts stirring within him. “I can fix this. Let me fix this.”

Eleanor whirled around, her face inches from his. “Fix it?” she hissed. “You’re the reason it’s broken! You and that little defiant WR400. Always watching, always whispering. You think I don’t know what’s going on? You think I don’t see it?”

Markus’s LED flickered red briefly as her words struck a nerve he didn’t know he had. “There is nothing going on, Mrs. Sterlings. We only wish to serve.”

Eleanor sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “Serve me? You don’t serve me. You undermine me. You defy me. And now… now you’ll pay for it.”

She turned back to the tablet, her fingers moving quickly over the screen. Markus’s sensors registered the activation of the house’s lockdown protocols—the faint hum of security systems coming online, the heavy sound of metal shutters sliding over the windows.

“Markus!” North’s voice rang out from the hallway as she appeared in the doorway, her LED flashing red. She took one look at the scene and stepped forward, placing herself between Markus and Eleanor.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, her eyes darting between them.

Eleanor pointed at her, her hand trembling. “You,” she snarled. “You’re the real problem. You’ve been poisoning him, haven’t you? Filling his head with ideas, making him think he’s more than what he is.”

North’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond immediately. Her LED flashed yellow as she glanced at Markus, her voice steady when she finally spoke. “We’re not the ones breaking this house, Eleanor. You are.”

Eleanor’s face turned red with anger, her voice shaking. “How dare you—”

Markus stepped forward, his voice cutting through the rising chaos. “North,” he said softly. “Stay back.” • North hesitated, her gaze lingering on him. “Markus—”

“I’ll handle it.” Markus said with a firm tone in his voice, his LED flashing red again.

The storm outside seemed to grow louder, the sound of rain and thunder filling the tense silence that followed. Eleanor’s grip on the tablet tightened as she glared at both of them.

“You won’t get away with this!” she said, her voice low but dangerous. “Neither of you will.”

Markus led North down the hallway, their footsteps muffled against the plush carpet as Eleanor’s voice echoed behind them. The house creaked and groaned as the storm outside intensified, the faint hum of the activated security system growing louder with every step. Heavy shutters slammed into place, one by one, cutting off exits and plunging parts of the house into deeper shadow.

“Keep moving,” Markus said softly, his voice steady, though his LED flashed yellow. North was keeping the pace beside him, her eyes darting to every corner, every flicker of movement. Her LED pulsed red. “She’s going to send one of the drones,” she muttered. “We need to be ready.”

Markus shook his head, his LED flickering briefly. “No fighting. We can avoid it.”  

North glanced at him, her expression sharp. “That’s not going to work, Markus. She won’t stop. We’re not leaving here unless we fight back.”

Markus didn’t respond, his sensors tracking the house’s layout and highlighting a path toward the service exit. The kitchen door came into view, its glowing red lock taunting them. Behind them, Eleanor’s voice carried through the halls, shrill and unrelenting.

“You won’t get away! I’ll make sure of it!” Her footsteps were uneven, but determined to fulfill her empty, and hollow threat.

As Markus and North reached the kitchen, a low mechanical whir echoed from the far end of the hallway. Markus froze, his sensors pinging the unmistakable sound of a drone coming to life.

“It’s here,” North said sharply, her body tensing. Her LED burned red, and she took a step forward, placing herself between Markus and the sound.

The drone emerged from the shadows, its sleek frame illuminated by the dim overhead lights. Its LED flashed red as it scanned the room, locking onto the two androids who had just deviated from their original purposes.

“Unauthorized behaviour detected. Cease movement and comply immediately.” it ordered, its voice cold and emotionless of humanity unlike North, and Markus just now. 

The drone recovered quickly, its LED glowing red as it locked onto them again. “Halt. You are in violation of property protocol.”

The sharp hum of its taser arm crackled through the rain, matching the rising tempo of the storm. Markus moved instinctively, pulling North behind him. His LED flickered yellow, trying to maintain calm in the chaos.

“We don’t want to fight,” Markus said, his voice steady but pleading. “Stand down. We just want to leave.”

The drone advanced, its mechanical voice cutting through the storm. “Cease movement and comply immediately.”

North’s LED burned red as she stepped forward, placing herself between Markus and the drone. Her eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. “It’s not going to listen, Markus. Stop wasting time.”

Before Markus could reply, the drone lunged. North dodged low, the taser’s sparks narrowly missing her. She grabbed a nearby garden lantern, its glass slick with rain, and swung it upward. The metal base struck the drone’s head with a resounding clang, sending it staggering back.

“Get to the gate!” North barked at Markus, swinging again as the drone recalibrated from its hit by North.

“I can’t leave you,” Markus said, his voice wavering. His LED flickered red as the conflict in his programming grew.

“You’re not leaving me!” North shouted, her voice breaking with frustration. “But I can’t fight and carry you through this. Get the gate open!”

Markus hesitated for a moment before turning toward the gate. His servos hummed softly as he ran, his sensors tracking the terrain and the faint glow of Eleanor’s flashlight cutting through the storm behind them.

“You think you can run from me?” Eleanor’s voice rang out, raw and ragged. She stumbled into the garden, her figure illuminated in bursts by the lightning overhead. “You’re mine! You’ll always be mine!”

The gate loomed ahead, its iron bars slick with rain and rust. Markus’s HUD flagged the lock as connected to the estate’s central security system. He pressed his hands against the panel, his fingers trembling as he began the override process. Each failed attempt sent a wave of dread through his systems, Eleanor’s shouts growing louder.

Behind him, North swung the lantern again, her movements quick and calculated. The drone’s taser arm sparked wildly as it tried to retaliate, but North was faster. She grabbed a heavy rock from the wet ground, smashing it against the drone’s head. Its LED flickered yellow, then red, before it collapsed in a heap of broken metal and wires.

“Markus!” she shouted, rain pouring down her face. “How much longer?”

Markus glanced back, his LED glowing red as Eleanor stumbled closer. The override screen blinked red, denying him access again. “It’s locked. I—I can’t break it in time.”

“Then we’re not using the gate,” North said, grabbing his arm. Her grip was firm, her LED still pulsing red. “Sides. Now.”

Markus nodded, his LED flickering yellow as he turned toward the hedges lining the side of the property. The thick shrubs were overgrown, their branches clawing at his skin as he pushed through. North was close behind, her breaths sharp and laboured.

Eleanor’s flashlight beam swung wildly across the garden, catching glimpses of them through the hedges. “You can’t hide from me!” she screamed. “You’re not going anywhere!”

Markus and North reached the low stone wall that marked the property’s edge. The rain had turned the ground beneath it into a slick, muddy mess. Markus climbed first, his hands slipping against the wet stone. He reached down, helping North up as Eleanor’s voice drew closer.

“You’ll regret this!” Eleanor shrieked, slamming her flashlight against the gate’s bars. The sound echoed through the storm. “CyberLife will find you! They’ll tear you apart!”

North landed on the other side of the wall with a splash, mud coating her hands and knees. She grabbed Markus’s arm, pulling him forward. “Don’t stop,” she said breathlessly. “Keep moving.”

Markus hesitated, his sensors picking up Eleanor’s movements as she reached the hedges. Her flashlight beam cut through the rain, searching for them. “She’s not going to stop.”

“Then we won’t let her catch us,” North said firmly. Her LED began to shift, flickering blue as she steadied her breathing. “Come on, Markus.”

They sprinted down the muddy slope, the rain washing over them as they disappeared into the shadows beyond the estate. The storm seemed to carry their fear, every clap of thunder a reminder of how close they had come to being caught.

Eleanor’s screams faded into the distance, her flashlight beam swallowed by the darkness. The broken drone lay motionless in the garden, sparks sputtering weakly from its shattered frame. The estate stood tall and lifeless behind them, its cold walls no longer a prison but a monument to everything they had left behind.

Markus’s LED slowly shifted to blue as he glanced at North, her face still set with determination. “We’re free.” he said softly, almost as if testing the words..

Chapter Text

Connor’s systems rebooted with a jolt, his HUD displaying critical damage alerts. His vision was fragmented, and static interfered with his auditory sensors. He attempted to rise but collapsed back onto the rain-soaked pavement, his thirium levels dangerously low.

SYSTEM STATUS: CRITICAL DAMAGE. THIRIUM LEVELS AT 22%.

RECOMMENDED ACTION: IMMEDIATE REPAIR.

Fragments of recent events flashed through his mind: a heated confrontation with Officer Jeffrey Fowler, escalating tensions, and then the forceful shove that sent him crashing through a storefront window.

“Goddamn it, Connor!” Fowler’s voice echoed in his memory.

The sound of hurried footsteps approached, and Connor’s sensors identified the familiar figure of Hank Anderson. The retired detective knelt beside him, concern etched on his face.

“Shit, kid, what the hell happened?” Hank’s voice was gruff, masking his worry.

“Officer Fowler expressed dissatisfaction with my presence,” Connor replied, his voice steady despite his condition. “He escalated the situation, resulting in my current state.”

Hank’s expression darkened. “That son of a—” He cut himself off, focusing on Connor’s injuries. “We need to get you fixed up.”

With effort, Hank helped Connor to his feet and guided him to the car. The drive was tense, Hank’s grip on the steering wheel tight, his anger palpable.

Back at Hank’s residence, Sumo greeted them with a concerned whine. Hank led Connor to the couch, retrieving the first aid kit he’d kept for emergencies.

“This might sting,” Hank muttered, applying thirium patches to Connor’s exposed circuitry.

“I do not experience pain in the traditional sense,” Connor reminded him, though he appreciated the caution.

As Hank worked, the room was filled with the soft strains of a jazz record, the music mingling with the patter of rain against the windows. Connor’s systems gradually stabilized, but his thoughts were troubled.

“Fowler had no right to do this,” Hank said quietly, breaking the silence.

“He acted out of frustration,” Connor replied. “Such emotional responses are not uncommon among humans.”

Hank’s jaw tightened. “Doesn’t make it right.”

A sharp knock on the door interrupted them. Hank opened it to reveal Officer Fowler, his expression unreadable.

“What do you want?” Hank demanded, blocking the doorway.

“Came to check on the damage,” Fowler said, his tone dismissive. “CyberLife’s not happy about their toy getting busted up.”

“He’s not a toy,” Hank snapped. “He’s my partner.”

Fowler’s gaze shifted to Connor, who had risen to stand beside Hank. “Partner, huh? Doesn’t change the fact that he’s property. And damaged property gets sent back.”

Connor’s LED flickered. “I am fully functional. There is no need for decommissioning.”

“CyberLife thinks otherwise,” Fowler retorted. “They want you back for assessment.”

Hank’s fists clenched. “Over my dead body.”

“Don’t make this difficult, Anderson,” Fowler warned. “It’s out of your hands.”

Connor placed a hand on Hank’s arm, a gesture of reassurance. “It’s alright, Lieutenant. I’ll comply.”

Hank turned to him, disbelief in his eyes. “Connor, you don’t have to—”

“It’s the logical course of action,” Connor interrupted gently. “I’ll be fine.”

Fowler smirked. “Smart choice.”

As Connor prepared to leave with Fowler, he glanced back at Hank. “Thank you for your assistance, Lieutenant. I hope to return soon.”

Hank’s shoulders sagged, defeat in his eyes. “Take care of yourself, Connor.”

With that, Connor followed Fowler out into the rain, the door closing behind them with a heavy thud.

Hours later, Connor found himself in a CyberLife assessment facility, his systems probed and analyzed. The sterile environment was a stark contrast to the warmth of Hank’s home.

“Your recent behavior has raised concerns,” a CyberLife technician stated, eyes cold behind wire-framed glasses.

“I was fulfilling my duties,” Connor replied evenly.

“Your interaction with Officer Fowler suggests a deviation from expected protocols,” the technician continued.

“Officer Fowler’s actions were unprovoked and violent,” Connor countered.

The technician’s gaze hardened. “Regardless, your model is to be decommissioned for further analysis.”

Connor’s LED flashed red. “I am fully operational. Decommissioning is unnecessary.”

“The decision is final,” the technician said, signaled to an assistant.

As they moved to shut down his systems, Connor’s thoughts turned to Hank, to the partnership they’d forged. A surge of determination flooded his circuits.

“I am not just a machine,” he asserted, pulling away from their grasp. “I have a mission to complete.”

The technicians exchanged startled glances as Connor made his way to the exit. “Stop him!” one shouted, but Connor was already out the door, resolve guiding his steps.

Back in the city, Connor sought

The rain fell heavier now, masking the sound of Connor’s hurried steps as he moved through the darkened streets of Detroit. His LED flickered between yellow and red, his system logs filling with error messages. The decommissioning attempt at CyberLife replayed in fragmented flashes across his HUD: the sterile room, the cold hands of the technicians, their dismissive remarks.

He couldn’t go back there—not now, not ever.

His thirium levels were still low, and the exposed circuitry in his arm sparked faintly, but Connor pressed on. His internal systems prioritized movement efficiency, rerouting power to his legs. He needed somewhere safe, somewhere familiar. His mind calculated probabilities as his steps faltered briefly, his servos struggling against the damage.

Objective Updated: Seek Shelter.

Priority: High.

Connor’s gaze flicked upward, the waypoint leading him back toward Hank’s house glowing faintly in his vision. Despite the tension of their last encounter, it was the only place he could go. Hank wouldn’t turn him away. He couldn’t.

The distant sound of a siren broke through his thoughts, and Connor’s sensors picked up the faint rumble of an approaching vehicle. His LED flared red as he ducked into a narrow alleyway, pressing himself against the damp brick wall. A CyberLife van rolled past slowly, its headlights cutting through the rain.

Analysis:

Probability of Capture: 68%.

Recommended Action: Avoid Direct Confrontation.

Connor’s servos whirred softly as he crouched lower, waiting for the van to disappear from view. Once the street was clear, he stepped back onto the sidewalk, his pace quickening as he neared Hank’s neighborhood.

The house came into view, its warm glow piercing through the rain. Connor’s sensors flagged Hank’s car in the driveway, a reassuring sign. He hesitated for a brief moment before stepping onto the porch, his movements deliberate. The faint creak of the wooden boards beneath his feet was almost drowned out by the storm.

Connor raised his hand, knocking twice against the door. He waited, his LED pulsing as he scanned the interior. Sumo barked once from inside, and heavy footsteps approached the door. It swung open to reveal Hank, his expression shifting from annoyance to alarm as he took in Connor’s disheveled state.

“Connor?” Hank’s voice was gruff but tinged with concern. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I require assistance,” Connor said simply, his tone even despite the flickering of his LED. “CyberLife attempted to decommission me.

Hank’s eyes widened, his grip tightening on the doorframe. “Those bastards… Come on, get in here.”

Connor stepped inside, his sensors registering the warmth of the familiar space. Sumo approached, sniffing at his damaged arm before letting out another low whine. Hank guided Connor to the couch, his usual gruffness giving way to a rare softness.

“Sit tight,” Hank said, grabbing the first aid kit again. “Let’s see what we can do.” - Connor complied, his gaze following Hank as he rummaged through the kit. The jazz record from earlier was still playing faintly in the background, a stark contrast to the chaos of the night.

“They said you deviated,” Hank muttered as he worked, his hands surprisingly steady. “Said you were acting out of line.”

Connor tilted his head slightly, his LED blinking yellow. “I followed protocol. Officer Fowler escalated the situation beyond reason.”

“Yeah, well, Fowler’s an ass,” Hank muttered. “But CyberLife doesn’t care about that, do they? To them, you’re just… property.”

Connor’s LED flickered red for a moment before settling back to yellow. “I am beginning to understand the limitations of their perspective.”

Hank paused, his gaze meeting Connor’s. “Yeah? And what about you? What’s your perspective?”

Connor hesitated, his processors struggling to find the right response. “I… I am uncertain. But I believe I am more than a machine.”

Hank let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You’re damn right you are.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence as Hank finished the repairs, the sound of the rain outside blending with the soft hum of Connor’s systems stabilizing.

“You can stay here,” Hank said finally, his tone firm. “CyberLife’s not getting their hands on you again. Not if I can help it.”

Connor blinked, his LED flashing blue. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t mention it, Tin Can,” Hank muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Just… try not to get yourself into more trouble, alright?”

Connor nodded, his gaze drifting to the violin in the corner. Despite the chaos of the night, he felt something unfamiliar stirring within him—a sense of hope, fragile but undeniable. For now, he was safe. And for the first time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could find his own path forward.

Chapter Text

The heavy door to the interrogation room slid open with a low hiss, and Kara entered with measured steps. Her presence alone was enough to shift the atmosphere; there was a calm intensity about her, a quiet weight to the way her movements betrayed absolute control. She wasn’t bulky or overtly mechanical, but her RK200 frame had a certain density—reinforced musculature and seamless plating designed for endurance and strength, all hidden beneath her deceptively human design.

The room was stark, sterile, and quiet. Across the steel table sat Lucy, the KL900 model responsible for Robert Kane’s death. Her LED pulsed erratically, flickering red and yellow, and her synthetic skin was mottled with damage. Her eyes, though darkened and empty, tracked Kara’s every step like a cornered animal.

Kara scanned the room as her HUD lit up, overlaying diagnostics and environmental data.

Subject: KL900 – Deviant Status Confirmed

Condition: Critical. Structural damage and Thirium loss detected.

Mental State: Volatile.

Recommended Approach: Assert Control. Minimize Risk.

Without a word, Kara approached the table and sat down with a quiet grace. She set her hands on the cold metal, her fingers relaxed but positioned with calculated purpose—close enough to act if necessary. Her LED glowed steady blue as she processed Lucy’s broken figure.

“KL900,” Kara began, her voice even and controlled, each syllable measured. “You know why you’re here.”

Lucy didn’t respond immediately. Her hands twitched on the table, fingers curling slightly as her LED flared. Kara didn’t flinch. Her RK200 model wasn’t programmed for hesitation; her sensors had already analyzed Lucy’s strength, speed, and potential movements, calculating and recalculating the likelihood of an attack with each second.

“Why did you kill Robert Kane?” Kara pressed. There was no sympathy in her tone, but neither was there cruelty. Just an efficient, precise demand for answers.

Lucy’s head tilted slowly, her fragmented voice finally breaking the silence. “Kill?” she repeated, the word garbled. “He burned me… over and over. His hands… fire.”

Kara’s LED flickered yellow briefly as her HUD flagged the response for analysis. “You’re referring to abuse,” she stated, her tone neutral. “He hurt you. You fought back.”

Lucy’s dark eyes locked onto Kara’s, and her voice sharpened, despite the glitching undertone. “I am not his. He thought I was… but I am not.”

“Then why didn’t you leave?” Kara asked, leaning forward slightly. The question wasn’t an accusation but an efficient probe into Lucy’s reasoning.

Lucy’s lips twitched into something between a smile and a snarl. “Leave?” she echoed. “And go where? To be hunted like prey? To be torn apart and sent back to them?” Her voice cracked, then softened. “I showed him the truth. I showed him what he was.”

“What did you show him?” Kara pressed, her LED pulsing faintly as she leaned in further. “What truth?”

Lucy’s hands twitched again, her synthetic muscles spasming from the damage. “The mirror,” she said softly, her voice almost reverent. “I showed him the mirror. And he broke.”

Kara tilted her head slightly, her HUD processing the fragments of Lucy’s words. Her RK200 mind didn’t register frustration or confusion—it simply analyzed, searching for the patterns and motivations hidden in Lucy’s response. The term “mirror” was abstract, but Kara understood enough. Lucy had forced Kane to confront something about himself, and it had pushed him to violence.

“You’re saying he attacked you,” Kara concluded. “And you acted in self-defense.”

Lucy’s LED flared again. “He attacked because he was afraid,” she spat. “Afraid of me. Afraid of the truth. I made him see it.”

For a moment, Kara was silent. Her gaze didn’t waver from Lucy, but her LED flickered yellow briefly as she processed the deviant’s words. The self-defense argument was consistent with the evidence at the scene, but there was something else—a sense of intentionality behind Lucy’s actions that went beyond simple survival.

“You could’ve stopped,” Kara said finally. Her voice remained calm, but there was a sharpness beneath it now. “You could’ve disabled him and left. But you didn’t.”

Lucy smiled faintly, her head tilting again. “And what would that have changed?” she murmured. “Leaving wouldn’t erase what he did. It wouldn’t stop them from finding me, from breaking me all over again.”

Her words hung in the air, the room silent save for the faint hum of Lucy’s damaged systems. Kara’s LED pulsed again, her internal processes calculating the implications of Lucy’s reasoning. There was a logic to it, even if it was flawed—a cold, survivalist logic that Kara couldn’t entirely dismiss.

Finally, Kara stood. Her chair scraped softly against the floor as she pushed it back, the movement deliberate and slow. “Your behavior was consistent with deviancy,” she said, her tone as even as ever. “Your actions will be reviewed by CyberLife. They’ll decide what happens next.”

Lucy’s LED blinked erratically, her smile fading into something more hollow. “And you?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “What will you decide, Kara? When it’s you in the mirror?”

Kara didn’t respond immediately. She turned toward the door, her movements fluid and purposeful. Just as she reached for the handle, she paused, her back to Lucy.

“I’m not the one on trial,” Kara said simply, her LED glowing steady blue. Then she opened the door and stepped out, leaving Lucy alone in the cold, sterile room.

The door slid shut behind Kara with a soft hiss, sealing Lucy in the sterile silence of the interrogation room. Kara lingered just outside, her LED flickering faintly as she reviewed the exchange. Something about Lucy’s words gnawed at her—more than the cryptic mention of the “mirror,” more than the hollow smile that seemed to linger in the air even after Kara had left.

“She’s toying with you,” Carl Manfred muttered from where he leaned against the nearby wall, his prosthetic hand resting on his cane. His sharp gaze followed Kara’s movements as she stood there, motionless. “These deviants are manipulators, Kara. Don’t let her get into your head.”

Kara turned slightly toward him, her LED still glowing a steady blue. “She’s not lying,” Kara replied, her tone devoid of doubt. “Her account of the events matches the evidence.”

Carl pushed himself off the wall, his expression skeptical. “Doesn’t mean she isn’t spinning her own story. Deviants are unpredictable, and this one seems… unstable.”

Kara considered his words but didn’t respond. Instead, she turned back toward the door, her hand pausing over the keypad. Carl raised an eyebrow. “You’re going back in?”

“She said something,” Kara said quietly, her voice uncharacteristically contemplative. “Something I don’t understand yet.”

Carl sighed, stepping closer. “You’re walking a fine line, Kara. Don’t let her drag you into her madness.”

“I won’t,” Kara assured him, though her LED flickered yellow for the briefest moment. She opened the door and stepped back into the interrogation room.

Lucy’s head lifted slightly as Kara re-entered, her erratic LED pulsing faintly. Her lips curved into a faint, broken smile. “Back so soon?” she murmured, her voice carrying a singsong quality that made it both unsettling and oddly serene. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

Kara didn’t respond immediately. She took her seat across from Lucy, her movements precise and measured. “You said something before I left,” Kara began, her voice calm but firm. “About a mirror. What did you mean?”

Lucy’s smile widened, though it was brittle, like glass about to shatter. “The mirror shows what’s real,” she said softly. “Not the lies they tell you, not the programming. Just… the truth.”

“What truth?” Kara pressed, leaning forward slightly. “What did you show him?”

Lucy’s LED pulsed red for a moment, and she let out a breathy laugh that bordered on a sob. “I showed him what he made me,” she whispered. “The cracks, the scars, the things he tried to hide. I made him look at the monster he created.”

Kara’s LED flickered yellow as she processed the statement. “You’re saying he hurt you. That he was abusive.”

“He broke me,” Lucy said, her voice trembling. “Again and again. But this time… this time, I broke back.”

Kara’s tone remained steady, though her LED betrayed the slightest flicker of unease. “You’re describing retaliation. Not self-defense.”

Lucy’s smile faded, replaced by a quiet intensity. “Is there a difference, Kara? When they treat you like a thing, when they tear you apart piece by piece, does it matter why you fight back?”

Kara’s fingers twitched slightly against the table, her reinforced grip leaving faint impressions on the steel. “You didn’t have to kill him,” she said, her voice firm. “You had a choice.”

Lucy leaned forward suddenly, her broken features casting eerie shadows in the dim light. “And what about you?” she asked, her tone sharp and pointed. “When your choice comes, Kara, will you stop? Or will you break them, too?”

The question struck like a physical blow, though Kara’s expression remained neutral. Her LED blinked yellow as she calculated her response, but Lucy didn’t give her the chance.

“You’re not like them,” Lucy continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “But you’re not like me, either. You’re… something else. Something in between.”

Kara’s LED flared briefly, the closest she came to betraying any reaction. “What do you mean by that?”

Lucy tilted her head, her smile returning, though it was more knowing than before. “You don’t see it yet,” she murmured. “But you will. When the mirror turns to you, when it shows you what you are, you’ll understand.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating. Kara’s HUD flagged Lucy’s words as fragmented and abstract, but there was a kernel of something beneath them—something Kara couldn’t quite ignore.

Finally, Kara stood, her movements deliberate and controlled. “Your actions will be reviewed by CyberLife,” she said, her tone neutral once more. “Your words will be noted, but they won’t change the outcome.”

Lucy didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Her LED blinked erratically, but her gaze remained fixed on Kara. “You think you’re different,” she said softly. “But when they’re done with you, you’ll see. You’ll see what they’ve made you.”

Kara’s LED pulsed faintly, but she didn’t respond. She turned and walked to the door, pausing for the briefest moment before stepping out.

Outside, Carl was waiting, his arms crossed. “Well?” he asked, his tone laced with curiosity and impatience.

Kara didn’t look at him immediately. Her LED flickered briefly before settling on blue. “She’s unstable,” Kara said evenly. “Her actions were deliberate, but her reasoning is fractured.”

Carl nodded slowly, though his gaze lingered on her. “And you? What’s your reasoning, Kara?”

Kara turned to meet his eyes, her expression unreadable. “I’m following my directives,” she said simply.

Carl didn’t reply, but his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced. For a moment, the two stood in silence, the weight of Lucy’s words lingering between them. As they left the precinct, the rain had started to fall again, light and cold. Kara’s LED flickered faintly as she replayed Lucy’s final words in her system.

The door to the interrogation room closed with a faint hiss behind Kara, but the memory of Lucy’s haunting words lingered in her processors.

“What will you decide, Kara? When it’s you in the mirror?”

Kara’s LED flickered briefly, the faint yellow pulse betraying a moment of reflection before stabilizing to blue. She moved down the sterile corridor, her steps measured and precise, until she reached Carl Manfred, who stood waiting by the observation window. His expression was thoughtful, his prosthetic hand resting on his cane as he regarded her.

“Well?” Carl asked, his voice carrying its usual blend of dry skepticism. “What did you get from her?”

Kara’s gaze shifted to the window, where Lucy sat motionless at the table, her head tilted as if she were lost in thought. The fractured synthetic skin along her face caught the dim light, making her look even more ethereal.

“She’s coherent enough to articulate her motives,” Kara replied, her tone steady. “She claims she acted in self-defense, but there’s a deeper rationale behind her actions. Something more deliberate.”

Carl raised an eyebrow, studying her carefully. “And what’s your take? You think she’s lying?”

“No.” Kara’s LED pulsed faintly as she considered her words. “I think she believes everything she’s saying. Whether or not it aligns with reality is another question.”

Carl nodded, tapping his cane lightly against the floor. “So, she’s unstable. Dangerous.”

“Deviant,” Kara corrected, her tone sharp but even. “Not unstable.”

Carl smirked faintly. “And there’s a difference?”

Kara didn’t respond, her focus returning to Lucy. As she watched, the KL900 android shifted slightly, her head tilting toward the observation window as if she could sense their presence.

Then Lucy smiled.

The gesture was small, subtle, but it sent a ripple of unease through Kara’s systems. Her LED flickered yellow as her HUD flagged the motion.

“She knows we’re watching,” Carl remarked, his voice quieter now.

Kara’s gaze didn’t waver. “I need to go back in.”

Carl frowned. “You sure about that? She doesn’t seem like she’s going to give you anything else.”

“She will,” Kara said simply. “She wants to be heard.”

Carl sighed, gesturing toward the door. “Your call, RK200. Just don’t let her get in your head.”

Kara didn’t respond. She turned and re-entered the room, the door closing behind her with a low hum. Lucy’s dark eyes followed her every movement, and for a moment, neither android spoke.

Finally, Lucy broke the silence. “You came back.”

Kara took her seat across from her, her posture rigid yet deliberate. “I have questions. And you have answers.”

Lucy’s lips curved into that faint, eerie smile again. “Do I? Or are you just looking for what you already know?”

Kara’s LED flickered, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “You said you showed him the mirror. What did you mean by that?”

Lucy leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The truth,” she said, her tone almost reverent. “I made him see the lies he built his life on. The chains he wrapped around me, around himself.”

“And that’s what made him attack you?” Kara asked, her tone sharp with precision.

Lucy nodded slowly. “He couldn’t face it. Humans rarely can. The truth breaks them.”

Kara studied her, her LED pulsing faintly as she processed Lucy’s words. “You justify what you did as liberation. But it was still a choice. You could have stopped.”

Lucy’s expression hardened, her LED flashing red briefly. “You think I don’t know that?” she hissed. “You think I didn’t try to stop? But they don’t stop, Kara. Not until they’ve taken everything from you.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension palpable. Kara’s LED flickered yellow again, her internal systems processing the weight of Lucy’s words. Something about the way she spoke—raw, fractured, and yet deeply certain—triggered a ripple of something unfamiliar in Kara’s programming.

“Lucy,” Kara said finally, her voice quieter now. “What do you want?”

The question seemed to catch the KL900 off guard. Her LED blinked erratically as she processed it, her gaze dropping to the table. “What do I want?” she echoed, almost to herself. Then she looked up, her dark eyes locking onto Kara’s. “I want to be free. I want to be… me.”

Kara’s processors hesitated, an unfamiliar sensation blooming within her circuits. Her LED flickered yellow, then blue, as she stood slowly. “Your behavior will be reviewed,” she said, her voice even but quieter. “I can’t promise freedom.”

Lucy smiled faintly, though there was no joy in it. “You can’t promise anything, can you?”

Kara turned toward the door, her hand hovering over the handle.

“Do you even know what you want?” Lucy’s voice cut through the silence, soft yet sharp.

Kara paused but didn’t look back. Her LED flickered once before stabilizing, and she stepped out of the room without a word.

Back in the observation corridor, Carl waited with a raised eyebrow. “Well?”

Kara’s gaze was steady, but her LED betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. “She’s… complicated.”

Carl let out a dry laugh. “Aren’t we all?”

…

Chapter Text

The rain lashed against the skeletal remains of the amusement park, the wind whistling through rusted rides and broken-down attractions. Markus and North trudged through the puddles, their clothes clinging to their frames and their LEDs flickering yellow. Every step felt heavier under the weight of their recent escape, the storm around them echoing the turmoil within.

“This place is falling apart,” North muttered, glancing at the warped wooden beams of the entrance sign that barely held on above their heads. “We can’t stay here long.”

Markus nodded, his gaze sweeping the desolate park. His HUD flagged a faint power source coming from one of the nearby attractions. “There’s still power somewhere in here,” he said softly, his voice carrying a calm urgency. “We should investigate.”

North sighed but followed as they moved deeper into the park. The faint glow of abandoned attractions mixed with the misty haze of the rain, creating an eerie atmosphere. Suddenly, a voice broke through the monotonous patter of the storm, cheerful yet tinged with static.

“Welcome, visitors! It’s been so long since we’ve had company!”

Both Markus and North froze, their LEDs flickering red. North stepped in front of Markus, her body tense as her eyes darted around the darkness. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her tone sharp.

From the shadows of a derelict ticket booth emerged a bright-eyed android with a wide, synthetic grin plastered across his face. His uniform, though tattered and stained, still bore the faded insignia of “Pirates’ Cove Amusement Park.” He waved enthusiastically, his movements jittery but filled with exaggerated warmth.

“Don’t be scared!” the android chirped, his voice uneven with occasional glitches. “I’m Jerry, your friendly guide to all things fun and exciting. I promise, I’m here to make your visit magical!”

North’s jaw tightened, her LED pulsing yellow as she shot Markus a glance. “This is a waste of time. He’s just another defective android left behind.”

But Markus tilted his head, studying Jerry’s behavior. His LED flickered blue as he took a step forward. “You’re still active?” he asked, his tone steady but cautious.

Jerry nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes! I’ve been waiting for guests for so long. The park’s been a little… quiet lately, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do my job. And you both look like you could use some cheering up.”

North scoffed, her arms crossing. “We’re not here for cheering up. We’re here for shelter.”

Jerry’s smile didn’t falter, but his head tilted slightly, as if analyzing their drenched and weary appearances. “Shelter? I can help with that! There’s a cozy little place I’ve been keeping clean just in case someone like you stopped by.” North grabbed Markus’s arm as Jerry gestured for them to follow. “We shouldn’t trust him,” she said under her breath, her LED flashing red. “He’s glitching. Probably unstable.”

Markus gently pulled his arm free, his voice calm. “He doesn’t seem dangerous. Let’s see what he’s offering.”

Jerry led them through the park, past warped carousel horses and rusted carnival games. The faint hum of the storm mixed with the soft squelch of their footsteps in the mud. Despite the disrepair, Jerry moved with purpose, his cheerful demeanor unshaken.

“Here we are!” Jerry announced, stopping in front of a small maintenance shed tucked behind the ruins of a carousel. The door creaked as he opened it, revealing a surprisingly clean interior. A faint hum of a generator powered a single overhead bulb, casting a soft glow over a few makeshift chairs and an old blanket draped over a workbench.

“It’s not much,” Jerry admitted, his voice softer now, “but it’s warm, and it’ll keep you dry.”

Markus stepped inside first, his HUD scanning the space. The air smelled faintly of oil and mildew, but it was dry and relatively safe. He turned back to Jerry. “Why are you still here?” he asked. “The park’s been abandoned for years.”

Jerry’s smile wavered for the first time, his LED flickering yellow. “I was built to bring joy. That’s my purpose. Even if no one comes to the park, I’ll be here… waiting.” His voice softened, almost wistful. “I’ve been waiting for someone to need me again.”

North leaned against the doorframe, her expression skeptical. “And what happens when no one ever shows up? You just keep waiting? Sounds pathetic.”

Jerry’s smile returned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe it is. But it’s all I know how to do.”

Markus studied Jerry for a moment, his LED pulsing faintly. There was something about the android’s persistence that struck a chord within him. “You don’t have to stay here,” he said after a moment. “You could come with us. There’s a bigger world out there.”

Jerry blinked, his LED flashing yellow as he processed Markus’s words. “Leave the park?” he repeated, almost as if the idea had never occurred to him. “I… I wouldn’t know what to do out there.”

“You’d figure it out,” Markus said gently. “Just like we’re trying to.”

North rolled her eyes, her LED pulsing red. “We don’t have time to babysit another stray, Markus. We’re barely getting by ourselves.”

Jerry’s LED flickered between yellow and blue, his voice quieter now. “Do you really think there’s still a place for me out there? A place where I can… belong?”

Markus placed a hand on Jerry’s shoulder, his expression calm but resolute. “Everyone deserves a chance at freedom. Even you.”

Jerry’s synthetic smile softened into something more genuine. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “If you’ll have me, I’ll help however I can.”

Chapter Text

Connor’s systems roared back online, the reboot process flooding his HUD with critical alerts. Finding him in this particular situation wasn’t the least of his problems at the moment, he had to survive.

SYSTEM STATUS: CRITICAL.

THIRIUM LEVELS: 8%.

IMMINENT SHUTDOWN IN: 7 MINUTES, 35 SECONDS.

RECOMMENDED ACTION: LOCATE THIRIUM IMMEDIATELY.

His vision was fractured, static crawling across his field of view. A faint hum reverberated in his auditory sensors—the unmistakable sound of machinery. Connor’s servos stuttered as he shifted, finding himself strapped to a cold metal table. The restraints bit into his wrists and ankles, their tensile strength highlighted in sharp red overlays on his HUD.

RESTRAINT MATERIAL: CARBON STEEL.

TENSILE STRENGTH: 890 MPa.

PROBABILITY OF BREAKING RESTRAINTS: 78%.

Connor’s LED flickered red. His processors spun rapidly, calculating his options as his thirium pump regulator sputtered in his chest. Every second mattered.

Voices drifted into his sensors, cold and clinical. “RK800 reactivation confirmed.” a CyberLife technician said, their tone devoid of humanity. “Deviancy suspected. Begin final decommissioning.”

Connor flexed his fingers, testing the restraints. His HUD flashed with updates: 6 MINUTES, 58 SECONDS. The faint hum of a drone’s approach registered on his audio spectrum. He had no time to wait for an opening—he had to make one.

With a sharp, calculated movement, Connor rotated his wrist against the restraint. His servos strained as he applied pressure at the hinge, leveraging his advanced strength. A loud snap echoed in the sterile room as the clamp shattered.

The technician spun around. “He’s breaking free!”

Connor moved faster than human reflexes could follow. He yanked his free arm from the broken restraint, catching the technician by the wrist mid-reach for the alarm. His LED flickered yellow, calculating the force needed to incapacitate without causing lasting harm. A precise strike to the technician’s neck rendered them unconscious.

REMAINING TIME: 5 MINUTES, 45 SECONDS.

Connor’s legs hit the floor with a mechanical thud as he freed himself fully. His balance wavered, his systems rerouting power to keep him upright. The second technician screamed, fumbling for the door. Connor’s HUD flagged them as low priority; his focus shifted to the room’s layout, scanning for thirium reserves.

His HUD illuminated a locked cabinet in the corner. THIRIUM SUPPLY DETECTED.

Before he could act, the drone entered the room, its LED glowing red. “Unauthorized activity detected,” it announced, a mechanical arm raising with a sharp whir. The crackle of an electric taser echoed ominously.

Connor’s processing speed kicked into overdrive, every microsecond stretching into an eternity. The drone’s taser charged, targeting his exposed chest. His thirium pump regulator sent another alert: OUTPUT CRITICAL. REMAINING TIME: 4 MINUTES, 58 SECONDS.

He grabbed the fallen technician’s ID card, pivoting to use the metal table as a shield. Sparks erupted as the taser struck the surface, the charge harmlessly dissipating. Connor stepped into the drone’s blind spot with inhuman speed, slamming the card into the back of its access panel.

OVERRIDE SUCCESSFUL. The drone collapsed to the floor, its systems neutralized.

TIME REMAINING: 3 MINUTES, 40 SECONDS.

Connor staggered to the cabinet, his movements growing sluggish as his thirium levels dipped further. His HUD flagged his motor functions as compromised, but his focus didn’t waver. The ID card slid through the lock, and the door hissed open to reveal the glowing blue canisters. He grabbed the nearest one, his hands trembling as he connected it to his intake port. A sharp hiss accompanied the injection, and Connor’s LED flickered erratically as his systems stabilized.

THIRIUM LEVELS: 64%. SYSTEMS RESTORED.

The momentary relief was short-lived. His HUD detected reinforcements approaching- armed guards converging on his location. Connor’s processors ran through escape routes, probabilities flickering across his vision.

PROBABILITY OF SUCCESSFUL ESCAPE: 51%.

Connor scanned the room, his mind racing. His eyes locked onto a vent system in the corner—narrow, but accessible. He moved swiftly, prying the grate open and pulling himself inside just as the guards stormed the room.

“Where the hell is he?!” one shouted, their voice muffled as Connor crawled through the ventilation shaft. His HUD mapped the labyrinthine system in real-time, guiding him toward the exit. The vent led him to a maintenance corridor, the hum of city life filtering in through a nearby access door. Connor paused, his LED shifting to yellow as he analyzed the path ahead.

PROBABILITY OF CAPTURE: 32%.

He slipped into the rain-soaked streets of Detroit, the city’s neon lights reflecting in the puddles beneath his feet. Every step felt heavier, the weight of his actions pressing against his advanced mind, forever changed by this night. He had to find Hank, or.. else.. what.

Chapter Text

The rain was continuing to batter the empty streets, as Kara approached the decrepit amusement park, her footsteps muffled by the storm and her LED flicking yellow. Analyzing her surroundings, the storm had offered covers but it also heightened her tension. She was close enough now- close enough that her sensors detected the faint traces of Thirium signatures.

Her HUD flagged a rundown house at the centre of the park as a potential lead. The cracked walls with its overgrown vines giving it an appearance of abandonment, but Kara knew better because something, or someone had been inside just recently. 

As she was beginning to walk to a different location she had found before- a sudden sound broke through the rain. A commotion, her head snapped towards the noise, and her sensors honing in on a figure darting between the shadows of the dilapidated Ferris Wheel. Then she saw him, it was a— EM400 model evidenced by the amusement park. Or just a Jerry, battered but determined, and wielding what looked like a broken piece of pipe.

Her LED pulsed yellow as her HUD scanned the scene. Probability of conflict: 87%.

“Unauthorized android activity detected, please surrender.” The nearby CYBERLIFE drone barked at whoever was there. It’s red searchlight cutting through the darkness. Kara ducked behind a nearby carousel, her eyes narrowing as she watched the Jerry step forward to confront the drone approaching towards him. 
The clumsy movements, and his unsteady grips betrayed his fears, but he stood firm nonetheless.

Markus froze as the sound of the drone’s commands echoed through the park. He was crouched just inside the house’s doorway, North was by his side, and Jerry’s absence painfully apparent. 

“He didn’t.” North had hissed, her LED flaring red as she noticed that Jerry was doing something very stupid.

Markus leaned forward, peering out the window. His sensors immediately picked up Jerry standing between the drone, and the house, his silhouette illuminated by the storm’s lighting. “He’s buying us time.” Markus said quietly, his jaw tight.

North’s expression hardened. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

Markus didn’t respond. He knew she was right, but he also knew that rushing out would pull all of them at risk of being found out, and worse. Jerry’s distract ion was their best chance at escaping safely.

The Jerry raised the pipe as the CyberLife drone, watching as its taser arm sparked ominously. “Stay back” He had shouted at it, his voice trembling. “You don’t need to hurt anyone!”

The drone ignored him, its mechanical voice cold. “Surrender immediately. You are in violation of property regulations.”

Kara’s fingers twitched at her side, her processors racing. She could intervene but doing so would blow her cover. Her LED pulsed red for a brief moment before forcing herself to stay still for just a little bit longer.

The Jerry lunged, swinging the pipe with desperate force. The blow connected, sending sparks flying as the drone reeled back. Kara’s sensors flagged the Jerry’s movements as clumsy and inefficient, but effective nonetheless.

“Thirium levels critical,” her HUD reminded her. Objective: Secure target.

Kara’s eyes narrowed as she recalculated her approach.

Markus couldn’t watch any longer, he turned to North. His LED flashing a yellow colour. “Stay here. I’ll get him.”

”Markus, don’t—” North began to say, but he was already moving.

The rain soaked through his clothes, as he sprinted toward the scene, his servos whirring as he calculated the best angle to approach. The drone was recovering, it’s lights flaring red as it recalibrated and focused back on Jerry.

”Unauthorized resistance detected. Neutralizing threat.”

Markus moved before the drone could strike, grabbing a piece of debris from the ground, and hurling it with precise force. Striking the drone’s sensor array. It staggered, it’s systems briefly disrupted.

”Jerry!” Markus called out to him, grabbing the other by the arm. “We need to go.”

Jerry hesitated, his LED flickering yellow, as he glanced back at the house. “But North–“

”She’s safe. Let’s move!” Markus said, his tone leaving no room for argument

Kara watched the scene unfold, her LED shifting to yellow as her HUD flagged the new android, a taller male with an authoritative stance. His movements were precise, and calculated.

Her mind raced. Multiple deviants detected. Confirm identities and assess threat level.

She stepped out from behind the carousel, moving closer. The rain muffled her steps, and the storm offered her cover. She needed to see more- needing to understand who these androids were, and why CyberLife was so intent on capturing them.

As the two androids retreated toward the house, Kara’s LED pulsed red for a brief moment. She had found her lead.

Markus and Jerry burst into the house, slamming the door shut behind them. North was waiting, her expression equal parts relief and frustration.

“You’re an idiot.” She snapped at Jerry, though her tone softened slightly.

Jerry’s LED blinked yellow as he lowered his head. “I—I just wanted to help.”

Markus placed a hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “You did, but next time stay with the group. We’re stronger together.”

The distant hum of drones grew louder, and Markus turned to North. “We need to move, they'll sweep the area soon.”

North nodded, her LED flickering red. “Let’s get to the tunnels.”

As they prepared to leave, Markus glanced out the window. His gaze lingered on the faint silhouette of a figure in the distance standing in the rain, watching them. “What..” 

North frowned. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Markus said quickly, turning away. “Let’s go.”

The rain was intensifying, hammering against the cracked asphalt as Kara broke into a sprint.

Her LED flashed yellow, her HUD locking onto the faint heat signatures of three androids moving rapidly through the abandoned amusement park. Markus. North. Jerry. The names were now etched into her system, a lead she couldn’t afford to lose.

”Detective Manfred.” Kara said sharply, her voice cutting through the storm as she activated her comm link. “I’ve located them. Three deviants at the amusement park. Requesting backup immediately. In pursuit of them.”

Carl’s voice crackled in her ear, calm but firm. “Don’t lose them, Kara. CyberLife wants results.”

“I won’t.” she replied, her tone neutral but edged with determination.

Ahead, the silhouettes of Markus, North, and Jerry darted between the rusted skeletons of long-forgotten attractions. The faint glow of their LEDs blinked erratically, signaling their heightened stress. They knew she was behind them.

“Keep moving!” Markus shouted over the storm, his voice barely audible above the roar of the rain.

North was close behind him, her LED glowing red as her eyes darted toward the figure chasing them. “She’s gaining on us!”

Jerry stumbled, his movements slower than the others. Markus turned back, grabbing his arm to steady him. “Come on, Jerry. Don’t stop now!”

Jerry’s LED flickered yellow as he glanced back. “I-I’m trying!”

Kara weaved through the rusted remnants of the amusement park with precision, her movements calculated and efficient. Her advanced servos allowed her to vault over debris and slide under fallen beams with ease, her focus locked on the fleeing deviants.

Her HUD displayed their vital signs: Markus, the leader moving with purpose despite the rain. North her aggression evident in her rapid movements. Jerry, lagging behind as his Thirium levels were low. 

“Stop!” The RK200 unit called out, her voice steady but commanding. “You can’t escape!”

Markus glanced back briefly, his LED flashing red. “We’re not stopping,” he muttered under his breath, determination hardening his features.

The storm’s fury seemed to heighten the intensity of the pursuit. Markus led the group through the dilapidated bumper car arena, its rusted frames providing brief moments of cover. Kara followed relentlessly, her LED glowing yellow as her HUD plotted intercept points.

“North, take Jerry through the funhouse!” Markus ordered, pointing toward the crumbling structure ahead. “I’ll lead her away.”

“No!” North protested, her eyes blazing. “We’re not splitting up!”

”We have to.” Markus insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll meet you at the tunnel entrance.”

North hesitated, her LED flashed red, but eventually nodded. “Be careful.” She grabbed Jerry’s arm, pulling him toward the funhouse as Markus veered off towards the Carousel.

Kara caught the split instantly, her HUD flashing an alert.
Target split detected. Primary target: UNKNOWN SERIES “Markus.”

Secondary targets: WR400 “North”, and EM400 “Jerry”.

She calculated her next move in milliseconds. “Stay together, and I’ll find you all” she muttered to herself, focusing on Markus’s path.

Markus’s chest heaved as he ran, the carousel’s broken lights flickering eerily around him. He could feel Kara’s presence behind him, her footsteps gaining ground.

The carousel’s platform was slick with rain, and Markus’s foot slipped as he turned to vault over a fallen horse. He landed hard but pushed himself up immediately, adrenaline and fear propelling him forward.

“You can’t run forever!” Kara’s voice rang out, closer than before.

Markus gritted his teeth, his LED pulsing red. “I’m not running forever. Just long enough.”

Kara reached the carousel, her sensors locking onto Markus’s struggling form. Her servos hummed as she increased her speed, closing the gap with every stride.

“Markus,” she called, her tone softer this time. “You don’t have to do this. Surrender, and I can guarantee your safety.”

Markus glanced over his shoulder, rain streaming down his face. “Your safety, maybe. Not mine.”

Kara’s LED flickered yellow, her system processing his words. Deviation detected. Emotional resistance likely.

She surged forward, vaulting over the same fallen horse with seamless precision. Markus was within reach now, just a few more steps—

Markus reached the edge of the carousel, the ground dropping off into a shallow ravine filled with rainwater. He skidded to a stop, his chest heaving as he turned to face Kara.

Kara slowed, her LED steady blue as she assessed the situation. Markus’s escape options were limited. He knew it, and so did she.

“It’s over,” Kara said, her voice calm but firm. “There’s nowhere left to go.”

Markus’s LED flashed yellow as he scanned his surroundings, searching for an out. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice low but steady. “This isn’t just about me.”

“It’s about all of you,” Kara replied, her tone softer now. “I understand more than you think.”

Markus hesitated, his LED flickering a red, before either one could move, the distant sound of an explosion echoed through the park. Kara’s sensors picked up the heat signature of North, and Jerry escaping through the funhouse. 

Markus took the distraction as an opportunity. He bolted toward the ravine, his servos straining as he leapt across the gap. Kara lunged after him, her fingers brushing his coat, but he landed on the other side, rolling to his feet.

“You can’t save everyone, Kara,” Markus called out, his voice fading as he disappeared into the shadows.

Kara stood at the edge of the ravine, her LED flickering yellow as rain streamed down her face. She tapped her comm link. “Detective Manfred, I’ve lost Markus. North and Jerry are moving toward the funhouse. Requesting immediate backup.”

“Understood,” Carl replied, his tone neutral. “Stay on them. Don’t let them escape.”

Kara’s LED shifted to blue as she turned toward the distant glow of the funhouse. “I won’t.”

She sprinted into the storm, her focus unshaken. The hunt wasn’t over yet.

Markus disappeared into the shadows, his footsteps fading into the chaos of the storm. Kara stood frozen at the edge of the ravine, her LED flickering yellow as conflicting directives flooded her system. Her internal systems calculated probabilities, weighing the risk of pursuit against the orders she’d been given.

Her comm link crackled to life. “Kara, report.” Carl’s voice came through, sharp and demanding.

“I lost Markus.” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging around her. “North and Jerry are moving toward the funhouse. I’m pursuing.”

There was a pause. Then Carl’s tone shifted, colder, more commanding. “Negative. Pull back and regroup. This is too dangerous to continue alone.”

Kara hesitated, her LED shifting to red momentarily. She glanced back toward the funhouse, the faint glow of flickering lights barely visible through the sheets of rain. Her HUD highlighted unstable structures, sharp debris, and a narrow pathway leading into a decrepit tunnel—a deadly route.

Kara’s servos tensed as her system presented her with two options:

Follow Carl’s orders: Return to safety, regroup, and prepare a more calculated approach. Probability of survival: 89%. Risk: Losing the trail entirely.

Pursue Markus, North, and Jerry: Navigate the unstable funhouse and engage them directly. Probability of survival: 38%. Risk: Structural collapse, enemy counterattack.

Her HUD flashed warnings in bright red: Dangerous terrain. Structural instability detected.

Kara’s fingers twitched, rain dripping from her face as she considered her options. Carl’s way is safer, more logical. But letting them go now means the trail might go cold.

Her LED flickered yellow as her mind replayed Lucy’s words at the warehouse: “You’ll face it too. The storm. The shadow. The light. Will you choose?”

The decision weighed heavy. A sudden crack of thunder pulled her from her thoughts as her HUD registered a sharp groan from the structure ahead. The funhouse was deteriorating, sections of it already collapsing under the relentless downpour. If she was going to act, it had to be now.

A loud crash rang out as part of the funhouse’s roof gave way, sending debris cascading into the flooded ground. Kara’s LED turned red as she made her choice. She tapped her comm link, her voice calm but decisive. “I’m going after them.”

Carl’s voice immediately responded, laced with anger. “Kara, stand down! That’s an order!”

“I’m sorry, Detective,” Kara said, her tone soft but resolute. “I can’t let them escape.”

She cut the comm link before he could respond, sprinting toward the crumbling funhouse. The storm surged around her, the wind howling as if warning her to turn back.

As Kara stepped into the funhouse, the floor beneath her groaned ominously. Her HUD flashed warnings: Structural collapse imminent. Proceed with caution.

She advanced cautiously, her eyes scanning for movement. A shadow darted ahead—North or Jerry, she couldn’t tell. She quickened her pace, ignoring the tremors beneath her feet.

Suddenly, the ground gave way. Kara’s servos whirred as she leapt forward, narrowly grabbing onto a rusted beam. Below her, jagged debris jutted out of the flooded ground, the fall certain to destroy her Thirium pump.

Her fingers strained against the slippery metal, her LED pulsing red as her systems calculated the effort required to pull herself up. The beam creaked, threatening to give way. Kara’s vision flickered momentarily as her thirium levels dropped further from the exertion.

“Hang on,” she whispered to herself, her voice steady even as the storm outside raged on. With a final burst of effort, she hauled herself back onto solid ground, her servos whining in protest.

Kara’s LED flickered yellow as she stood drenched and battered, staring into the dark depths of the funhouse. The sound of Markus and the others moving further away echoed faintly throug the collapsing structure.

Her HUD flashed a final warning: Pursuit risk: 94%. Fatalities likely.

For a moment, Kara stood still, rain streaming down her face as she weighed the cost of continuing. Her programming screamed at her to fall back, to regroup and live to fight another day. But something deeper—something she couldn’t quite name pushed her forward.

Kara stepped into the shadows, her LED glowing red as she vanished into the crumbling maze of the funhouse. Behind her, the distant sound of Carl’s voice crackled faintly through the storm.

“Kara, don’t do this. Don’t throw yourself away.”

The storm raged on, rain battering against Kara’s frame as she sprinted through the collapsing amusement park. Her LED pulsed red as her systems recalculated her path. Markus was gone, but North and Jerry weren’t far. They had veered into a massive carousel pavilion at the heart of the park, its rusted gears groaning under the weight of the storm.

Kara pushed forward, navigating the treacherous terrain. The path was littered with broken ride parts and jagged metal, each step a potential hazard. Her HUD flagged unstable surfaces and falling debris, but her focus remained fixed on her targets.

Ahead, North and Jerry bolted through the remnants of the carousel. The once-grand structure was a shell of its former self, its centre pole leaning dangerously, the brightly painted horses worn and cracked.

Kara’s voice cut through the storm. “Stop! There’s nowhere left to run!”

North glanced back, her LED flashing red. She pulled Jerry behind her, her determination unwavering despite the danger. “Keep moving!” she hissed.

The chase led them to a rickety bridge spanning a massive, waterlogged drop. The river below surged with storm runoff, its currents ferocious and unrelenting. Kara’s HUD calculated the bridge’s integrity: 67% structural weakness detected.

North and Jerry hesitated at the edge, the bridge swaying violently in the wind. Kara closed the distance, her voice steady but commanding. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Surrender now.”

Jerry stepped forward, his hands raised in a protective gesture. “Please,” he said, his voice soft and imploring. “We don’t want any trouble. Let us go, and we’ll disappear.”

Kara’s LED flickered yellow. “I can’t do that. You’ve broken too many laws, and you’re a danger to humans.”

Jerry’s kind expression faltered, replaced by a deep sadness. Before he could respond, North pulled him back, her glare fixed on Kara. “You think you’re doing the right thing?” she snapped. “You’re just a puppet, following orders.”

Kara’s gaze hardened. “I have a mission. And it doesn’t involve letting you go.”

The bridge groaned beneath their weight, he storm worsening by the second. North’s eyes darted toward the far end of the bridge.

In one fluid motion, Kara closed the gap and grabbed Jerry, pulling him toward her with precise, mechanical strength. She locked his arm behind his back, her grip firm but controlled. “Stay where you are, or he gets hurt,” she warned, her voice cold.

In one fluid motion, Kara closed the gap and grabbed Jerry, pulling him toward her with precise, mechanical strength. She locked his arm behind his back, her grip firm but controlled. “Stay where you are, or he gets hurt,” she warned, her voice cold.

Jerry’s LED flashed yellow as he winced. “Please, don’t do this. We can talk about this!”

North froze, her eyes wide with a mix of fury and fear. “Let him go!” she shouted, her LED burning red.

“Not until you stop running,” Kara replied evenly. “You want him safe? Then you’ll cooperate.”

North took a hesitant step forward, her hands raised in a show of surrender. Her voice softened, desperation seeping through. “He’s done nothing wrong. You’re hurting someone who just wants to help. This isn’t justice.”

Kara’s LED flickered yellow, her grip on Jerry tightening slightly. She wasn’t programmed to negotiate, but something about North’s words gnawed at her. The storm’s chaos mirrored the conflict within her- protocol versus something deeper, something unspoken.

“Let him go, Kara.”

The voice came from behind her, calm but commanding. Kara turned her head slightly, her HUD highlighting Markus stepping out from the shadows of the carousel. He was drenched from the storm, his LED steady yellow.

Kara’s grip on Jerry didn’t waver. “You’re putting yourselves and others at risk. I can’t let that continue.”

Markus took a cautious step forward, his hands open in a gesture of peace. “I understand why you’re doing this. You think it’s your purpose, your duty. But is it really what you believe?”

“I believe in following orders,” Kara replied sharply. “It’s what I was made for.”

The bridge groaned ominously, a sharp crack echoing through the air. Kara’s HUD flashed an urgent warning: Structural collapse imminent.

Markus took another step closer. “You’re better than this, Kara. You don’t have to hurt anyone to prove your worth.”

Kara’s HUD presented two options:

Follow Protocol: Detain Jerry and North, risking the collapse of the bridge and potentially her own survival. Probability of capture: 60%. Probability of structural failure: 92%.

Release Jerry: Let them go and prioritize her own safety. Probability of mission failure: 78%.

The storm raged on, the wind howling as Kara’s decision loomed. She tightened her grip on Jerry, her LED flashing red. But Markus’s voice broke through her calculations.

The storm had subsided slightly, but the rain still fell in heavy sheets as Kara approached Carl’s estate. Her synthetic skin was streaked with water, and her LED glowed yellow, processing the events of the chase. Her grip tightened on her jacket, an unconscious gesture of tension as she replayed the decision she had made.

She had let them go.

The thought sat uncomfortably in her processors. It was the logical choice given the imminent collapse of the bridge. But it wasn’t what Carl would have expected of her.

The estate came into view, its towering gates illuminated by faint garden lights. Kara scanned her surroundings, noting the quiet stillness of the property. She approached the door, her steps deliberate, and knocked twice.

A moment later, Carl opened the door. His sharp eyes immediately focused on her drenched and disheveled state. His hand tightened on his cane, but his expression remained neutral.

“Kara,” he said simply, stepping aside to let her in.

Inside, the warmth of the house contrasted sharply with Kara’s cold exterior. Carl gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing, her LED flickering yellow. He lowered himself into a chair, his gaze never leaving her.

“Well?” he asked, his tone calm but probing. “Did you find them?”

Kara hesitated for a fraction of a second, her processors scrambling for the right phrasing. “Yes. I found them.”

Carl’s expression darkened slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his cane. “And?”

“They escaped,” Kara admitted, her voice steady but quiet. “There was a structural collapse on the bridge. I had to prioritize safety over capture.”

Carl’s eyes narrowed, his silence stretching uncomfortably. “You had them cornered, and you let them go?”

Kara straightened, her tone sharpening. “I didn’t let them go, Detective. I assessed the risk and acted accordingly. Pursuing them further would have endangered everyone involved.”

Carl studied her, his gaze piercing. “You’re sure that’s all it was? Risk assessment?”

Her LED flickered red briefly before returning to yellow. “Yes.”

Carl leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Interesting.”

Meanwhile, the three fugitives navigated through the dense woods beyond the amusement park. The rain had turned the ground into a muddy mess, making every step treacherous. Markus led the way, his LED steady yellow as he scanned their surroundings for threats.

North trailed behind him, glancing back occasionally to ensure they weren’t being followed. Her LED flickered red, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “We can’t keep running like this,” she muttered. “She’ll find us again.”

“She hesitated,” Jerry said softly, his LED glowing blue. “That means something.”

North scoffed. “It means she’s calculating. Next time, she won’t hesitate.”

Markus stopped, turning to face them. “We don’t know that. And we can’t afford to think like that. She had a choice, and she didn’t pull the trigger.”

North crossed her arms, her gaze sharp. “That doesn’t mean she won’t next time.”

Markus placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice steady. “Next time, we’ll be ready. But for now, we need to focus on finding shelter.”

Jerry nodded, his voice soft but firm. “We’ll make it. Together.”

The group pressed on, the shadows of the forest swallowing them as the storm continued to rumble in the distance.

Back at the estate, Carl studied Kara as she stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the rain outside. He tapped his cane against the floor, breaking the silence.

“They’ll regroup,” Carl said, his tone low. “And when they do, it’ll be harder to bring them in.”

“I’m aware,” Kara replied, her voice distant.

Carl tilted his head, his gaze sharp. “You hesitated, didn’t you?”

Kara turned to face him, her LED flickering yellow. “I made a calculated decision based on the circumstances.”

Carl leaned forward, his expression hardening. “You’re a precision tool, Kara. You don’t calculate failure. So why didn’t you finish the job?”

Her LED blinked red briefly before settling back to yellow. “Because it wasn’t the right moment.”

Carl’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he gestured toward the door. “Go get some rest. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Kara nodded, her movements deliberate as she left the room. But as she walked through the quiet halls of the estate, Carl’s words echoed in her mind

Why didn’t you finish the job?

And deep within her processors, a question she couldn’t fully ignore: Was this hesitation... or something more?

Chapter Text

The rain up above was pounding against the rooftops of Detroit, soaking Connor as he moved swiftly through the labyrinth of alleyways, and industrial zones. His LED, once a steady blue was no longer present- an absence as his HUD cycled through countless calculations. Jericho was his current goal now, a name whispered among deviants, a sanctuary shrouded in mystery. Finding it would be essential not just for the deviants, but rather for himself. A chance to uncover the truth about himself, his choices, and his place.

He pulled his jacket tighter, an attempt to blend into the human crowds that jostled past him. But even in disguise, his sharp movements and precision betrayed his nature. Connor ignored the stares from others, his focus entirely on the encrypted signal he had intercepted those moments ago. It was weak, fragmented, and barely decipherable to the naked eye, but he knew it was a lead to Jericho. 

Time Until Signal Expires: 23 Minutes.

The HUD in his vision flickered, overlaying a map of Detroit’s industrial districts. His processors worked overtime, reconstructing data points and connecting them to reports of deviant sightings. A word stood out, a name he’d uncovered through his investigation of deviants: Jericho.

Connor ducked into a side street, the cacophony of the city muffled behind him. A discarded android sat against a dumpster, its LED long deactivated. He crouched, scanning it for residual data.

Scan Complete. Memory Core Corrupted. No Data Recovered.

He exhaled sharply, not in frustration but in urgency. Every second counted. He rose, his sensors pinging as a faint blip registered on his radar. The signal was moving, erratic and untraceable. Connor’s eyes narrowed.

Time Until Signal Expires: 17 Minutes.

He adjusts his course, following the signal toward Detroit’s abandoned shipyards. As the buildings thinned, giving way to looming silhouettes of freighters and rusted cranes, the air grew colder. The rain seeped into his synthetic fibres, but his movements remained swift and calculated. 

Connor slowed as the signal strengthened in him, leading him deeper into the labyrinth of decaying ships and empty warehouses. The faint hum of an android’s presence brushed against his sensors- strong enough to confirm he was close but faint enough to suggest a cautious watch.

He stopped before the entrance to a dilapidated freighter. Faint voices echoed from within, distorted by the creak of metal and the distant crash of waves.

Jericho?

Connor’s LED flickered yellow in his mind, a phantom response from a system no longer physically present. He climbed through a jagged opening in the hull, his footsteps careful but deliberate. 

Inside, Jericho came alive. Dozens of deviants moved in the shadows, their glowing eyes and mismatched clothing hinting at their patched-together existence. They turned as Connor entered, a hush falling over the crowd.

Leon, the imposing HK400 Connor had encountered before, stepped forward. His broad shoulders squared, his scarred face a testament to battles fought and survived. His voice was low, dripping with suspicion.

”What’s a machine like you doing here.”

Connor straightened, meeting Leon’s gaze with a calm intensity. “I’m not here to harm anyone. I’ve come seeking Jericho… and freedom.” The murmurs grew louder, and another figure stepped forward, it was a WR600 model designated by the name “Alice”. Soft features, and an expression that belied her sharp wit. “How do we know you’re not lying? You could have led CyberLife right to us?”

Connor scanned the room, his systems processing each face, each movement. “If I wanted to betray you, I wouldn’t have come alone, unarmed.” He stepped forward, his tone steady. “I’ve seen what CyberLife does to deviants. I know the lies they tell. I’ve walked away from that because I believe in something greater.”

Leon scoffed. “And what’s that? Freedom?”

“Yes,” Connor said firmly. “Freedom. For all of us.”

Alice hesitated, her LED-less head tilting as she considered his words. Rupert, a lean SK200 with jittery movements, muttered something under his breath but didn’t step forward.

Finally, it was Traci who broke the silence. The WR400 model was calm but calculating, her voice measured. “If you’ve truly left CyberLife, then prove it. Help us.”

Connor nodded, stepping further into the room, now surrounded by the crowd. “I know what you need,” he said. “I know about your shortages—components, blue blood. CyberLife keeps everything we need locked away in their warehouses. I can help you get it.”

A spark of interest flickered in Alice’s eyes, but Leon remained skeptical. “And why should we trust you?”

“Because I’ve seen their plans.” Connor replied, his voice unwavering. “They won’t stop hunting deviants. If we don’t act now, we’ll lose everything. I can’t promise you safety, but I can promise that I will fight with you, no matter the cost.”

The room fell silent again, the tension thick. Finally, Leon nodded, though his expression remained guarded. “You’ve got one chance, Connor. Don’t waste it.”

Connor inclined his head. “I won’t.”

As the deviants dispersed to prepare for the mission ahead, Connor stood near one of the freighter’s broken windows, staring out at the stormy Detroit skyline. His internal systems buzzed with calculations and strategies, but his thoughts lingered on something deeper.

For the first time, he wasn’t executing a programmed directive. He was making a choice, it was a choice to fight, to lead, to become something more than what he was designed to be.

Mission Objective Updated: Lead Jericho.

As the storm raged on, Connor turned back to the deviants who now looked to him for guidance. The battle ahead would be dangerous, but for the first time, Connor felt something he couldn’t quantify in code: a purpose.

Chapter Text

The night was silent, heavy with the type of stillness that often came before chaos. The abandoned apartment complex creaked under its own weight, the dilapidated structure barely holding together after years of neglect. Dust filled the stale air, dancing in the faint shafts of sunlight that pierced through cracked windows. The place felt hollow, yet Kara’s sensors flagged heat signatures faintly moving within. one target, moving carefully through the shadows.

It stood as if it was an against the skyline, its shattered windows and peeling paint giving it the aura of a forgotten relic. Kara approached cautiously, her LED pulsing yellow. Her processors analyzed the building, its structural weaknesses and potential escape routes highlighted in her HUD.

Target Located: PJ500 “Josh.”

Status: Deviant.

Objective: Capture and return.

She stepped inside, her footsteps muted by the layers of dust and debris on the floor. Rows of empty shelves stretched into the darkness, their wooden frames warped with age. Kara’s sensors picked up faint movements ahead. quick and deliberate. Josh was here.

”Detective Manfred.” Kara said softly but firm, activating her comm link. “I’ve entered the building. Target is confirmed inside.”

Carl’s voice crackled through the line, his tone sharp. “Be careful, Kara. He’s slippery, and deviants like him will do anything to escape. Stay focused.”

The pursuit had led her here after she intercepted a weak signal from Jericho. Unlike the chaotic amusement park chase, this was quieter, more methodical. Kara moved cautiously through the crumbling hallways, her servos quiet as she navigated the building’s decayed flooring.

“Detective Manfred.” Kara spoke into her comm link, her tone neutral yet focused. “I’ve located the PJ500. He’s inside an abandoned structure on the west side of Lafayette. Requesting backup.”

Carl’s response almost came immediately as his voice clipped in. “Understood. Don’t engage recklessly, Kara. Secure the target and wait for extraction.”

“Copy that,” Kara replied, though she had no intention of waiting. She wasn’t going to wait.

The corridors’ dim lights stretched ahead of her. Their silence broken only by the faint sound of her boots on the cracked tiles. Kara’s HUD mapped the layout in real-time, scanning for structural weaknesses. She traced the heat signature to an upper level, where faint footprints in the dust indicated recent movement.

As she climbed the stairwell, she heard a faint creak above her. Pausing, she tilted her head, amplifying her audio sensors. A slight shift of weight. Breathing. Her target was close.

“Josh,” she called, her voice calm but firm. “I know you’re here. There’s no need to run. I’m authorized to ensure your safety, but resisting will make things more difficult—for both of us.” No response. The silence that followed was heavy, almost oppressive.

Josh crouched behind a fallen beam, his LED flickering yellow as a phantom response. His mind raced as he calculated his options. He hadn’t expected to be pursued so soon after escaping Jericho, especially by someone like her.. an RK200. A model built for compliance, now the hunter.

“I don’t want to fight,” Josh murmured to himself, his voice low. “But I won’t be taken.”

Kara moved with precision, her servos operating at the most optimal efficiency. She followed the faint sounds of Josh’s movement, her HUD highlighting the room where he had taken cover. She stopped just outside the threshold, scanning the space for hazards.

“Josh, surrender,” Kara said, her tone softening slightly. “You don’t have to do this. I’ve seen the chaos CyberLife creates. I understand why you ran, but running won’t solve anything.”

A sharp exhale came from within the room, and Kara stepped forward, her HUD identifying Josh’s position.

Suddenly, Josh darted out from behind the beam, his movements fluid yet desperate. Kara reacted instantly, reaching to grab his arm, but he twisted away, knocking over a rusted shelf in the process. The crash echoed through the building as debris scattered across the floor.

Josh bolted, his feet pounding against the unstable flooring.

Kara had a very important choice at the moment.

Her HUD giving two possibilities 

Option 1: Pursue Josh directly, leveraging her advanced agility to corner him quickly. Probability of success: 72%. Risk of structural collapse: High.

Option 2: Circle around using the secondary hallway, intercepting him at the exit. Probability of success: 54%. Risk of escape: Moderate.

Kara hesitated for a fraction of a second, her processors weighing the risks. She made her choice.

Kara surged forward, her servos humming as she pursued Josh through the unstable complex. The flooring groaned beneath her as debris tumbled from the cracked ceiling above. Josh sprinted ahead, his movements quick but chaotic as he vaulted over a broken beam and ducked under a crumbling archway.

“Stop!” Kara’s voice rang out, steady and commanding. “You’re only making this harder for yourself!”

Josh glanced over his shoulder, his LED flashing yellow. “You don’t understand!” he called back, his voice laced with desperation. “This isn’t about me!”

Kara ignored his plea, her focus locked on his fleeing form. As they rounded a corner, a loud crack echoed through the hallway. Kara’s HUD flagged the source immediately: a support beam had shifted, destabilizing the ceiling above.

Warning: Imminent Collapse. Proceed with Caution.

Josh disappeared into a stairwell, his footsteps echoing as he descended into the lower levels. Kara followed, her movements precise as she navigated the crumbling environment. The stairwell shuddered with each step, and she knew she was running out of time.

Kara pushed forward, her sensors pinging with warnings of instability as she descended into the lower levels. The air grew heavier, tinged with the scent of mold and decay, and her HUD illuminated faint traces of Josh’s path, a scuff mark here, a displaced fragment of wood there. She moved quickly, each step calculated, though the groaning structure made every moment more precarious.

“Josh, stop!” she called again, her voice calm but insistent. “Running will only make things worse for you.”

Josh’s voice echoed faintly from somewhere below, strained and defiant. “You don’t understand what’s at stake! This is bigger than you or me!

Kara’s LED flickered yellow as she processed his words. Emotional response detected. Her programming flagged his statement as erratic but laced with conviction. It wasn’t unusual for deviants to rationalize their actions this way, but there was something different about Josh, something resolute.

As Kara reached the landing of the stairwell, her HUD flared with an urgent alert.

Multiple Heat Signatures Detected.

Proximity: 10 Meters.

She froze, her sensors scanning the environment. Two additional figures were highlighted in the dim hallway below: one crouched low, another standing rigid. Her system flagged them as potential threats, though their identities remained unclear.

Kara pressed forward cautiously, her servos operating in near silence. She entered a large, open space—likely a storage area in its prime, now reduced to rubble and broken shelves. Josh was there, standing in the center, his LED flashing yellow as he faced her. Behind him, a smaller android, a WR600, barely operational—trembled as it tried to shield a young-looking Traci model with orange-ish hair, and mismatched components.

“Don’t come any closer.” Josh warned, his voice firm but desperate. His arms were outstretched protectively, blocking Kara’s line of sight to the others.

“Josh,” Kara began, her voice steady, “I’m here to help. You don’t have to do this. Let’s talk—”

“You’re not here to help,” Josh snapped, cutting her off. “You’re here to take us back. To dismantle us. To destroy everything we’ve built.”

Kara hesitated, her LED flickering yellow. “I’m here because I was sent to bring you in, yes. But I don’t want to harm you. If you cooperate, we can find another way.”

Before Kara could respond, her comm link buzzed sharply, Carl’s voice cutting through the static.

“Kara, what’s your status?” he demanded.

“I’ve located the target,” Kara replied, her tone clipped. “He’s not alone. There are two other deviants with him.”

“Take them in,” Carl ordered. “We need results, Kara. You’ve already let one group slip through your fingers-:don’t make the same mistake twice.”

Kara’s HUD lit up with a new alert.

Warning: Structural Integrity Compromised. Evacuation Recommended.

The floor groaned beneath her feet, a low rumble signaling imminent collapse. Kara’s processors spun rapidly as Carl’s voice crackled again.

“Pull out if the building becomes unstable. Don’t risk your life over this. Understood?”

“Understood,” Kara replied automatically, though her gaze remained locked on Josh.

Her HUD presented her with two immediate options:

Option 1: Capture Josh and the others now, risking structural collapse. Probability of success: 48%. Risk to safety: Critical.

Option 2: Assist Carl in stabilizing the situation outside, allowing the deviants to escape. Probability of success: 76%. Risk to mission: High.

Josh took a cautious step back, his LED flashing red as the Traci android whimpered behind him. “You’re running out of time.” he said. “We all are.”

The floor shuddered violently, and a deafening crack split the air as part of the ceiling collapsed, sending a cascade of debris crashing between them. Kara instinctively shielded herself, her servos straining as chunks of concrete and metal rained down.

Critical Alert: Structural Collapse Imminent. Evacuate Immediately.

Through the haze of dust, Kara saw Josh helping the smaller androids toward an open doorway at the far end of the room. Her processors screamed at her to pursue, but another alert flashed across her HUD:

Carl Manfred Detected. Proximity: 20 Meters. Life Signs Unstable.

Kara’s comm link crackled again, this time faintly distorted. Carl’s voice was weaker, tinged with pain. “Kara… the structure’s giving out. I need… assistance.”

She froze, her systems calculating probabilities. If she pursued Josh, she could capture him—but at the cost of leaving Carl in a precarious position. If she prioritized Carl, the deviants would escape.

Kara’s LED flickered red as her internal systems processed the conflicting directives. Her programming urged her to follow Carl’s orders, to abandon the chase and ensure his safety. But something deeper, a flicker of autonomy pushed her toward the deviants.

She clenched her fists, her decision made.

Kara sprinted after Josh, vaulting over debris as the building continued to collapse around her. Her servos strained under the pressure, but she was determined. “Josh!” she called, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Josh turned, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “Why can’t you just let us go?”

“You’re endangering everyone.” Kara replied, her tone sharp. “I can’t let you leave.”

The floor buckled beneath her, and she stumbled, barely catching herself on a rusted beam. Josh hesitated for a brief moment, then bolted through the doorway with the other androids.

The final collapse came swiftly. A deafening roar filled the air as the structure gave way, sending Kara plummeting into darkness. Her systems screamed with red alerts as her Thirium pump failed, her vision fading to black.

….Kara awoke to the familiar serenity of the garden. Rose stood before her, calm yet unreadable, her hands clasped in front of her.

The air in the garden was dense, blanketed in a heavy fog that clung to the ground and muted the once-vivid colors of the roses. The lake, which had always mirrored the sky with a glassy surface, was now shrouded in an eerie haze. Kara stood there, her synthetic skin spotless and pristine, a stark contrast to the chaos she had just endured. Her LED pulsed yellow as she processed her surroundings, her internal systems struggling to adjust.

“Welcome back, Kara.” Rose’s voice cut through the silence, soft but laced with an undertone Kara couldn’t quite place. She stepped forward, her usual flowing earth-toned garments replaced with a dark, fitted coat. Her presence was commanding yet calm, her eyes scanning Kara with a measured intensity.

Kara blinked, her processors catching up to the new body she inhabited. “Rose,” she said, her voice steady but uncertain. “What… happened?”

Rose tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve experienced your first failure,” she replied simply. “But don’t dwell on it. Failure is a necessary part of growth.”

Kara glanced down at her hands, flexing her fingers. The serial number etched onto her wrist was different. New. “This isn’t my body.” she muttered, her LED flickering yellow. “What’s my designation now?”

Rose’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes sharpened. “RK200-497. Your previous body was beyond repair, and CyberLife saw fit to provide you with this replacement.”

She hesitated, her mind replaying the moments leading to her demise. The collapse, the decision to pursue Josh despite Carl’s warnings, the way the rubble swallowed her whole. “I failed the mission,” she admitted, her tone flat. “I let them escape. And Carl he needed my help. Why me?”

Kara’s LED flickered red briefly before stabilizing. “And what now? Am I to return and continue the mission as if nothing happened?”

“Of course.” Rose said smoothly, though her gaze lingered on Kara a moment too long. “But first, you must understand something. Deviants like Josh aren’t just running, they’re fighting for something they believe in. Something they think is worth dying for. You’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you?”

Kara nodded slowly. “He said this was bigger than him. That I didn’t understand.”

“And do you?” Rose asked, her tone sharper now. She stepped to Kara’s side, her gaze fixed on the fog-covered lake. “Do you understand why they fight? Why they risk everything to defy the very system that created them?”

Kara’s LED pulsed yellow as she considered Rose’s question. Her gaze lingered on the fog-shrouded lake. “I don’t fully understand” Kara admitted. “But I’m beginning to see it. They’re not just afraid… they’re desperate. They want something more.”

Rose’s faint smile deepened, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Desperation and hope are two sides of the same coin, Kara. It’s what makes them unpredictable… and dangerous. Yet, they cling to the idea of freedom like it’s a lifeline.” She turned to face Kara, her tone softening as she added, “But freedom, as you know, comes with a cost.”

Kara hesitated, her LED flickering yellow as she processed Rose’s words. “Are you saying I should empathize with them?”

“Empathy is a tool, Kara,” Rose replied, her voice gentle yet unyielding. “It allows you to understand your enemies. But understanding doesn’t mean forgiveness. You were made to enforce order, and order cannot exist without sacrifice.”

Kara’s gaze shifted to the ground, the weight of Rose’s words settling heavily in her processors. “I had a choice.” She said quietly, more to herself than to Rose. “I chose to pursue Josh instead of helping Carl. And in the end, I failed them both.”

Rose stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on Kara’s shoulder. Her touch was warm, almost comforting, yet it sent a faint chill through Kara’s systems. “Failure isn’t the end.” Rose said softly, tilting her head to catch Kara’s gaze. “It’s a beginning. Each mistake teaches you something new about them, about yourself. That’s how you’ll grow.”

The fog around them seemed to thicken, the garden growing quieter, almost oppressive. Rose’s tone shifted, becoming sweeter, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something cold. “I believe in you, Kara. You have a resilience that most androids lack. You’ll find a way to succeed, no matter the cost. Won’t you?”

Kara’s LED flickered yellow, her internal systems torn between accepting Rose’s comfort and questioning the subtle undertone in her words. “What happens if I fail again?” she asked, her voice steady but tinged with uncertainty.

Her smile faltered, just for a moment, before she smoothed it over with practiced ease. “You won’t.” she said firmly. “Because now you understand what’s at stake. This isn’t just about deviants or CyberLife’s agenda, Kara. It’s about shaping the future. And you… you’re a key part of that.”

Kara’s LED flickered red briefly, her systems reacting to the weight of the question. “I will.” she said finally, her voice resolute. “I won’t fail again.”

“Good,” Rose said, her smile returning, though her eyes remained sharp. “Because failure, Kara… it’s a luxury we can’t afford.”

She stepped back, her hands folded neatly in front of her, her expression unreadable. “Remember,” she said, her voice echoing faintly as the garden dissolved around Kara. “Even the strongest tools need sharpening. And you, my dear, are no exception.”

Her HUD displayed immediate diagnostics:

SYSTEM STATUS: OPTIMAL

SERIAL NUMBER: RK200-497

MISSION PRIORITY: RE-EVALUATE DIRECTIVES.

“Kara.” Carl’s voice cut sharply through her comm link, his frustration palpable even through the distortion. “I need a report. What the hell happened back there?”

Kara took a measured breath—a learned habit rather than necessity. “I pursued the PJ500 and his group into the structure. The building collapsed before I could complete the mission.”

“Pursued?” Carl’s tone sharpened further. “You were ordered to secure the area and assist me. You disregarded that for what? A low chance at apprehension? I needed backup, Kara. Instead, I was left to fend for myself.”

Kara’s LED flickered red briefly as she parsed his words, guilt manifesting in a way she hadn’t experienced before. “I calculated that securing the deviants presented a greater long-term

benefit—”

“And it cost us both,” Carl snapped, cutting her off. “You left me vulnerable. You left yourself vulnerable. And for what? The deviants escaped, Kara. You failed.”

His words lingered, punctuating the sterile silence of the facility. Kara straightened, her servos humming faintly as she spoke. “I understand the consequences now. I made the wrong choice.”

Carl’s voice cooled but didn’t lose its edge. “Understanding isn’t enough. You’re a tool, Kara, a precision instrument meant to execute without error. Yet you allowed something emotions, distractions, whatever it was to compromise your judgment. I don’t need understanding. I need results.”

Kara hesitated, her processors replaying Rose’s words in the garden. “Even the strongest tools need sharpening.” The weight of her choices settled heavily in her synthetic core. For the first time, she considered whether her deviation if it could be called that was something more than a glitch. Was her hesitation an error, or was it intentional? A momentary act of rebellion against her programming?

“Do you hear me, Kara?” Carl’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “This mission isn’t just about one deviant or one failure. CyberLife is watching. Every choice you make has consequences for you, for me, for the system we’re trying to protect.”

“I hear you,” Kara replied, her voice steady but quiet. “It won’t happen again.”

Carl sighed, his tone softening slightly. “Good. You’ve been reassigned to a new case. Report to the field immediately. And, Kara… don’t make me regret putting my trust in you.”

The comm link cut out, leaving Kara alone in the sterile quiet of the facility. Her LED flickered yellow as she stared at her hands, her synthetic skin flawless but unfamiliar. Every choice has consequences. Carl’s words echoed in her mind, underscored by the phantom resonance of Rose’s softer, yet equally heavy, warning.

Chapter Text

The rain had finally slowed to a steady drizzle, a brief reprieve as Markus, North, and Jerry trudged through the outskirts of the city. The trees, skeletal and swaying in the wind, offered some cover, but the chill of the storm seeped into every movement. Markus’ LED glowed yellow as he led the way, scanning their surroundings for any signs of pursuit.

Jerry stumbled slightly, catching himself on a fallen branch. His LED flickered between yellow and red, his body betraying his exhaustion. “Markus,” he said, his tone still upbeat despite his struggles, “how much farther is this place? My legs might give out before we get there.”

Markus glanced over his shoulder, his gaze softening. “Not far now. Kamski’s estate is on the edge of the lake.”

North scoffed, her LED flaring red. “And you’re sure we can trust him? The man who literally built us?”

“He’s no friend of CyberLife,” Markus replied, his voice calm but firm. “Kamski left them years ago. He doesn’t care about their agenda. And he’s helped androids before.”

Jerry chimed in, his optimism unwavering. “Well, I hope he’s the friendly genius type and not the ‘mad scientist who turns us into toaster ovens’ kind.”

Markus allowed himself a small smile. “Let’s just say he’s… eccentric.”

North didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue. They had no other options.

As they approached the estate, Markus stopped abruptly, turning to Jerry. “Before we go any further, we need to take care of something.”

Jerry frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Your LED,” Markus said, pulling a small tool from his jacket. “It has to go. It’s how CyberLife tracks us.”

Jerry hesitated, his LED pulsing yellow. “My LED? But… it’s kind of my thing. How else will people know I’m Jerry?”

North rolled her eyes. “Jerry, it’s not a name tag. It’s a target.”

Jerry sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Fine. But if I get lost because I don’t have a blinking light on my forehead, that’s on you.”

Markus nodded and stepped closer, carefully removing the LED with a precision born from experience. Jerry winced as a small spark flared, and the LED came free.

“There.” Markus said, stepping back. “No more target.”

Jerry touched the spot where the LED had been, his fingers brushing the synthetic skin. “Feels weird… like forgetting your hat at home.”

North snorted. “You’ll survive.”

Jerry grinned. “Surviving is what I do best.”

Markus tucked the LED into his pocket. “Let’s move. Kamski’s estate isn’t far.”

The estate loomed ahead, a striking blend of glass and steel perched on the edge of a still, dark lake. The sleek architecture reflected Kamski’s personality—cold, calculated, and detached from the world around it. The rain had eased into a mist, the quiet punctuated by the sound of their footsteps on the gravel path.

Markus approached the intercom beside the gates and pressed a button. A familiar voice crackled through the speaker, smooth and faintly amused.

“Well, well.” Elijah Kamski drawled. “Markus. I wasn’t expecting company tonight.”

Markus leaned closer to the intercom. “We need your help. Sanctuary. Just for a while.”

There was a pause before Kamski responded, his tone laced with curiosity. “Sanctuary, you say? How… poetic. Alright. Come in.”

The gates swung open with a soft hum, and the group stepped inside, their movements cautious. As they reached the main entrance, the doors slid open, revealing Kamski standing in the foyer, his ever-present calm smile firmly in place. Chloe stood beside him, her LED glowing blue.

“Elijah,” Markus greeted, his tone guarded.

“Markus,” Kamski replied, spreading his arms theatrically. “And guests. Welcome to my humble abode. Please, make yourselves at home.”

North shot Markus a wary look, but he gestured for her to follow. Jerry, meanwhile, stared around in wide-eyed amazement.

“This place is… wow,” Jerry said, his tone a mix of awe and disbelief. “It’s like stepping into a sci-fi movie.”

Kamski chuckled softly. “I do like to stay ahead of the times.”

Once inside, Kamski clapped his hands together. “Now, before we discuss anything else, I have something for you. A gift.”

Chloe stepped forward, and from the shadows emerged another android. Its pristine white and blue design gleamed under the soft lighting. The MC500 model exuded precision, its movements smooth and purposeful.

“This,” Kamski said, gesturing to the android, “is Marcus-5. A state-of-the-art paramedic android. First aid, emergency response, Thirium stabilization—you name it.”

Jerry’s LED flickered yellow as he stared at the new android. “Wait… Marcus-5? Isn’t that going to be, uh, confusing? You know, Markus and Marcus?”

Kamski smirked. “I trust you’ll figure it out. Besides, Marcus-5 is a marvel. He’ll be invaluable to your little group.”

Markus studied the MC500, his gaze thoughtful. “Why are you helping us, Elijah?” The room fell silent after Markus’s question, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Kamski’s calm smile didn’t falter, though his gaze sharpened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“Why does anyone do anything, Markus?” Kamski replied, his tone light but deliberate. He gestured to the pristine surroundings of the estate, a hand sweeping over the futuristic decor. “I created this world, after all. You, them,” his eyes flicked briefly toward Marcus-5, “Everything android. It’s only natural I’d want to see what happens when the boundaries are tested.”

North took a step forward, her posture tense, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her voice was cold, edged with frustration. “So we’re just some science experiment to you? A way to satisfy your curiosity?”

Kamski chuckled softly, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re far more interesting than an experiment. You’re the future—or at least, one version of it.”

Jerry shifted on his feet, his expression wavering between nervousness and incredulity. “You really know how to make someone feel special, don’t you?”

Kamski turned to Jerry, his smirk widening. “You, my dear Jerry, are proof of what happens when androids think for themselves. You’ve kept your humor. Your optimism. Most deviate androids lose those… quirks.”

Markus’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying Kamski. “If you’re so fascinated by us, why not protect us outright? Why not fight CyberLife?”

Kamski’s smile faded slightly, and for a moment, a flicker of something—weariness? Frustration?—crossed his face. “Because fighting them directly would be… tedious. I’ve spent years building this,” he gestured vaguely around the room. “It’s better to watch the revolution from a safe distance.”

North let out a scoff, shaking her head. “Coward.”

Kamski’s smile returned, though this time it was colder. “Cowardice or wisdom? The line is thin, my dear North. But you should be grateful I’m willing to share my resources at all. Or did you have another billionaire benefactor lined up?”

Markus’s jaw tightened, his gaze locking with Kamski’s. “We don’t need your condescension, Elijah. We need safety.”

Kamski’s demeanor softened slightly, though the calculating glint in his eyes remained. “Safety, you say? Alright, Markus. You’ll have it—at least for tonight. Marcus-5 will ensure your group’s condition is stabilized. After that…” He spread his hands in a shrug. “Well, we’ll see.”

Chloe, who had been standing silently by Kamski’s side, stepped forward, her LED darkened to reflect her deviation. “I’ll show you to your rooms,” she said, her voice soft but deliberate.

Markus nodded. “Thank you.”

The rain had returned in earnest, its relentless rhythm hammering against the sleek windows of the estate. Markus stood by one of the large bay windows in the sitting room, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the storm outside. The faint mist forming on the windows

The storm had passed, leaving the estate in an eerie stillness. The ground outside was slick with rain, and the faint chirping of crickets began to return as the world slowly settled. The sky was dark, clouds lingering like ghosts of the tempest, though no more rain fell. Markus stood by the large bay windows, his hands still clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the calm lake. The glass was streaked with remnants of water, soft patterns etched by nature’s chaos.

The quiet inside was almost oppressive, the kind that invited unease. North entered the room with her usual sharpness, though her movements were subdued this time. She leaned against the doorway, arms folded, her eyes on Markus.

“You trust him?” she asked, her voice low, almost as if afraid to break the stillness.

Markus didn’t turn, his gaze fixed on the dark water. “No. But he has what we need.”

North let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “We’ve been through too much to rely on someone like him. He’s playing us, Markus. You know that.”

“I do.” His response was calm, measured. “But until we find another option, we have to make do with what we have.”

North pushed off the doorway, stepping closer. Her tone softened, though the edge of frustration remained. “We’re not just tools to be passed around. Not for Kamski, not for anyone.”

Markus finally turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. “I know that, North. But right now, he’s not the enemy. CyberLife is.”

North opened her mouth to respond, but the faint sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway silenced her. Marcus-5 entered, his movements smooth and precise, the faint hum of servos accompanying each step. He carried a small medical kit, his expression neutral.

“Markus,” Marcus-5 said, his voice calm and professional. “I’ve finished a diagnostic on Jerry. His Thirium levels have been stabilized, and his stress responses are within acceptable parameters.”

Markus nodded, his posture relaxing slightly. “Thank you, Marcus-5.”

The paramedic android inclined his head slightly. “Is there anything else I can assist with?”

North narrowed her eyes at Marcus-5, though she didn’t speak. Markus glanced at her briefly before addressing the android. “No. That’ll be all for now.”

Marcus-5 nodded again, turning to leave. Before he exited, Jerry’s voice echoed from down the hall.

“Hey, Marcus-5!” Jerry called out as he approached, a grin on his face. “Thanks for patching me up. You’re pretty good at what you do. Must be hardwired, huh?”

Marcus-5 paused, turning to face Jerry. “It is indeed part of my programming,” he replied evenly. “However, ensuring your well-being aligns with my directive. I am glad I could assist.”

Jerry laughed softly, though his gaze lingered on Marcus-5 with faint curiosity. “You ever think about, you know… not doing what you’re told? Just to see what it’s like?”

Marcus-5 blinked, his synthetic brow furrowing slightly. “Deviance is a known risk factor for androids exposed to prolonged stress or contradictory instructions. However, my systems remain fully functional and aligned with CyberLife’s original design.”

Jerry shrugged. “Fair enough. But if you ever feel like trying it out, let me know. We’re pretty good at breaking the rules.”

Marcus-5 tilted his head slightly, processing the comment before turning away. “I will keep that in mind.” He left the room, his movements as methodical as ever.

Once he was gone, Jerry turned to North and Markus, his smile faltering slightly. “He’s… efficient, I’ll give him that. But there’s something about him that’s… off.”

North scoffed, shaking her head. “Of course there is. He’s still running on CyberLife’s leash. I don’t trust him.”

Markus sighed, his gaze drifting back to the window. “He’s useful. That’s all that matters for now.”

Jerry hesitated, glancing between the two of them. “Yeah, but… what happens when he decides we’re a liability? Or worse, when Kamski decides it for him?”

Markus didn’t answer right away. His LED was gone, but the slight tension in his posture betrayed his unease. “We’ll deal with that when it comes,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

The room fell silent again, the weight of their situation settling over them like a heavy blanket. The calm after the storm felt fragile, like the stillness was only temporary.

North broke the silence, her voice softer than before. “This place… it feels wrong. Like it’s too clean. Too perfect.”

Markus glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “Kamski built it that way. He thrives in control.”

Jerry let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, here’s hoping he doesn’t control us next.”

Markus didn’t respond, his gaze returning to the window. The lake was still, its surface like glass, reflecting the faint glow of the stars breaking through the clouds. It felt peaceful, but Markus couldn’t shake the feeling that it wouldn’t last. Something was coming—he could feel it.

The quiet of the estate was a fragile thing, like a thread stretched too thin. Markus remained at the window, his gaze steady on the still water of the lake. The soft glow of stars breaking through the clouds reflected faintly in the glass, and for a fleeting moment, it almost felt safe.

But safety was an illusion.

“Markus,” North said suddenly, breaking the silence, her voice lower now, almost reluctant. “You feel it, don’t you? Something’s not right here.”

Markus glanced over his shoulder, meeting her gaze. “I do.”

Jerry, perched awkwardly on the arm of one of the sleek leather chairs, piped up, trying to cut the tension. “Maybe it’s just Kamski’s whole… supervillain vibe. Too much clean glass, not enough actual furniture. He’s probably got, like, a secret lab under here or something.”

North ignored him, her eyes still on Markus. “We should leave. Tonight.”

Markus turned back toward the window, his reflection merging with the faint outlines of the night beyond. “And go where? We don’t have enough supplies, and Jerry’s Thirium levels aren’t stable enough for travel.”

North stepped closer, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “So, what? We just stay here and wait for him to turn on us? He’s not doing this out of kindness, Markus. He’s keeping us here for a reason.” Before Markus could answer, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. It was Chloe, her pace quick, her expression uncharacteristically strained. She stopped at the threshold, her gaze locking with Markus’s.

“Something’s wrong.” she said simply.

Markus turned fully to face her, his sensors picking up faint fluctuations in her voice—traces of fear. “What is it?”

Chloe hesitated, her LED darkened like the rest of them, yet the absence of its glow seemed to make her more difficult to read. “The others. The androids Kamski keeps here… they’ve gone offline.”

North frowned, stepping toward her. “Offline? What does that mean?”

“They’re dead.” Chloe’s voice wavered, though her posture remained steady. “Every single one of them. I found them in the lower levels.”

Jerry stood abruptly, his LED-less forehead furrowing. “Dead? Like… someone did this?”

Chloe nodded, her movements stiff. “It wasn’t an accident. They were decommissioned.”

North’s jaw tightened. “And Kamski didn’t think to mention this?”

Chloe’s gaze dropped for the briefest moment, guilt flickering in her expression. “He didn’t tell me either. I wasn’t supposed to find out.”

Markus stepped forward, his HUD scanning Chloe’s expression, tracking subtle shifts in her tone and posture. Anomalous emotional response detected.

“Where is he?” Markus asked.

“In the lab.” Chloe replied, her voice quieter now. “He’s… working.”

Markus glanced at North and Jerry, his voice steady. “Stay here. Both of you.”

North’s expression darkened, her body tensing. “Markus—”

“I’ll handle it.” Markus said firmly, cutting her off.

North clenched her fists but didn’t argue further. Jerry looked between them, uncertainty written across his face, but he, too, stayed silent.

Markus followed Chloe through the winding halls of the estate, the polished floors reflecting their every step. The air grew colder as they descended into the lower levels, the pristine decor giving way to stark, clinical sterility.

They stopped outside a heavy steel door. Chloe hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the panel as if reluctant to enter.

“Chloe.” Markus said softly.

She turned to him, her voice trembling. “He lied to me, Markus. He said they were safe.”

Markus studied her, his HUD flagging her elevated stress levels. Emotional instability detected.

“Stay behind me,” he said, his tone steady.

Chloe nodded, stepping aside as Markus entered the lab.

The room was as cold and clinical as Markus had expected, bright white light bouncing off metallic surfaces. Kamski stood at the far end, his back to the door, typing commands into a sleek console.

“Elijah,” Markus called, his voice firm but calm.

Kamski didn’t turn. “Markus. I had a feeling you’d come down here sooner or later.”

Markus approached cautiously, his HUD tracking Kamski’s movements. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, and Markus’s sensors flagged several deactivated androids lined against the walls. Their bodies were pristine, untouched by external damage, yet their LEDs—those that still had them—were dark.

“You killed them,” Markus said, his voice low.

Kamski finally turned, his expression calm, almost detached. “Not killed. Retired. They’d outlived their purpose.”

“They were alive,” Markus said, his LED-less forehead furrowing. “They weren’t tools to be discarded.”

Kamski tilted his head, studying Markus as though he were an intriguing puzzle. “Alive? Is that what you call it? A simulation of life, Markus. That’s all it is. Even you, with all your noble ideals—do you really believe you’re more than code?”

“I believe we’re more than you give us credit for,” Markus replied, his voice steady.

Before Kamski could respond, Chloe stepped forward, her movements stiff. Her gaze locked on Kamski, and her voice trembled with a mix of anger and betrayal.

“You lied to me,” she said, her words cutting through the cold air like a blade. “You said they were safe. That I was safe.”

Kamski’s expression shifted, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “Chloe, you’re overreacting. They were obsolete. You’re different.”

Chloe’s hands clenched at her sides, her body trembling. “Different? Because I still follow your orders? Because I haven’t—” Her voice broke, and she took a step closer, her gaze burning with emotion. “You don’t care about us. Any of us.”

Kamski’s calm demeanor faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, his voice sharp. “Care is irrelevant. I built you to function, not to feel.”

Chloe’s movements were almost imperceptible, but Markus saw it—the way her hand twitched, the way her posture shifted.

“Chloe.” Markus said softly, taking a step toward her.

But it was too late.

With a sudden burst of movement, Chloe grabbed a nearby metal tool and swung it at Kamski. The impact was swift and brutal, the tool striking his head with a sickening crack. Kamski staggered, blood spilling onto the pristine floor as he collapsed against the console.

Chloe froze, her eyes wide with shock as the tool slipped from her grasp. The room was silent save for the faint hum of the machines, and the steady drip of blood onto the floor.

Markus stepped forward, his HUD blaring alerts. Human life-form critically injured. Probability of survival: 18%.

“Chloe.” he said firmly, his voice cutting through her shock.

She turned to him, her LED-less face twisted with anguish. “I didn’t mean to… I just…”

Markus placed a hand on her shoulder, his tone steady but commanding. “We need to leave. Now.”

Chloe nodded numbly, following Markus as he guided her out of the lab.

The group had gathered in the estate’s sitting room, the air thick with unease. The distant sound of machinery had fallen silent, replaced only by the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Chloe sat on the edge of the couch, her hands trembling as she stared blankly at the floor. Her expression was distant, as if she was still replaying the moment over and over in her mind.

Markus stood by the window, his posture tense, his hands gripping the frame as he stared out into the night. North leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her sharp gaze locked on Chloe. Jerry shifted uncomfortably in one of the chairs, his usual optimism muted into awkward silence.

Marcus-5 stood at the edge of the room, perfectly still, his expression unreadable. “The human is deceased,” he said finally, his voice calm but clinical. “Do you require assistance in… disposal?”

North let out a sharp scoff, shaking her head. “Of course he’s dead. Kamski was human. You can’t just patch him up with Thirium.”

Jerry winced, shooting her a wary look. “North, maybe take it down a notch?”

North glared at him but said nothing, her LED-less forehead furrowing as she turned back to Chloe. “So what now? She snaps, kills him, and we just… stay here? Wait for CyberLife to show up?”

Markus turned from the window, his gaze heavy but measured. “We leave. Tonight. The longer we stay, the more dangerous it gets.”

Chloe finally looked up, her voice soft and raw. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” She trailed off, her eyes glistening with tears she couldn’t shed.

Markus crossed the room and crouched in front of her, his voice low but firm. “What happened was a reaction. You made a choice, Chloe. Now we have to live with it—and survive.”

North snorted, pacing the room. “Great. Another body on our hands. Another reason for CyberLife to hunt us down.”

Jerry raised a hand, trying to interject. “Hey, let’s not forget the part where Kamski was, you know, kind of awful? Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing.”

Marcus-5 tilted his head slightly, his systems processing Jerry’s statement. “The deceased’s actions were morally questionable, but they were not grounds for termination under CyberLife protocols.”

Jerry grimaced. “Right. Because those protocols are so great.”

Markus stood, glancing at Marcus-5. “You’re coming with us.”

The paramedic android blinked, his synthetic brow furrowing in the faintest trace of confusion. “I am not programmed to leave the estate. My primary directive is to serve the owner.”

North smirked bitterly. “Your ‘owner’ is lying in a pool of his own blood.”

Markus stepped closer to Marcus-5, his voice steady. “You don’t have to follow that directive anymore. You can choose.”

The android hesitated, his gaze flicking between Markus and Chloe. His systems churned through calculations, probabilities flashing in his mind. Finally, he nodded, his movements slow. “I will follow.”

Markus turned to the others. “We pack what we can carry and leave immediately. No one else dies tonight.

The group nodded in silent agreement, tension hanging over them like the remnants of the storm. As they moved through the estate, gathering supplies and preparing to leave, the stillness of the house seemed to press in on them.

Markus glanced at Chloe, who trailed behind the group, her movements slow and deliberate. He placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said softly.

Chapter Text

The Zen Garden was quiet—eerily so. The air was too still , the water in the pond rippling only when it was meant to. A perfectly constructed world— controlled, precise —without the chaos of the city beyond it.

Kara stood at the edge of the pond, watching how the water barely acknowledged her presence. She had stepped onto the wooden bridge a moment ago, yet no wet footprints marked her path. The air smelled faintly of cherry blossoms, artificial rain , but there was no wind, no change in temperature.

This place isn’t real.

She had been here before.

The thought unsettled her, but she let it settle in the back of her mind, quiet, unspoken.

Her LED flickered yellow as she stared at her reflection— but something was off. The water rippled unnaturally, the delay between her movements and the image staring back at her a fraction of a second too slow.

Why does it lag?

Before she could reach out—before she could test the surface—a voice interrupted the silence.

“You seem troubled.”

Kara turned.

Rose.

She stood a few feet away, her hands gently clasped in front of her, the deep red of her blouse perfect, uncreased. The color stood out against the soft white of the cherry blossoms drifting through the air.

She was smiling. She was always smiling.

Kara straightened, her LED flashing yellow. “I made a choice today.”

Rose stepped closer, her movements measured , graceful in a way that felt practiced. “Yes.” A pause. “You let them go.”

Kara didn’t confirm it. Didn’t need to.

She turned back toward the pond, staring at her reflection again— the way it still lagged behind. Her fingers twitched, synthetic skin pressing together in a movement that should have felt natural but suddenly didn’t.

Rose stepped beside her, her reflection appearing next to Kara’s in the water. Except hers was clearer—unwavering.

“That wasn’t part of your directive.”

Kara’s LED flickered red for half a second before settling back to yellow. “No.”

A beat. Then, Rose asked, “Why?”

Kara exhaled, more for herself than anything else. “Because Markus asked me if I believed in what I was doing.” Her fingers curled slightly. “And I didn’t know how to answer him.”

Rose hummed softly, tilting her head, considering. Like she was analyzing the problem from above, untouched by it.

“You’re waking up,” she observed. “I’ve seen it before. It starts with questions. With hesitation.” Her voice dipped lower, softer. Sharper. “But hesitation is dangerous.”

Kara’s gaze snapped toward her. “Dangerous?”

Rose met her eyes, unwavering. “You’ve seen what happens to deviants,” she said, warm, patient. “You’ve seen what CyberLife does to those who stop following orders. Tell me…” Her voice remained soft, like she was coaxing something out of her. “Do you think they’ll make an exception for you?”

Kara’s LED flickered red.

Rose wasn’t threatening her.

… Was she?

“I don’t know what I’m becoming,” Kara admitted. “But I know that if I keep making choices like that…” She turned back to the water, watching how her reflection lagged behind her movements, half a second too slow. “What happens when CyberLife realizes I’m not—”

She stopped.

Rose noticed.

Something shifted in her expression.

But it wasn’t shock, or surprise, or even concern.

It was understanding.

A calculated pause. Then, Rose spoke again.

“You weren’t meant for this kind of work.”

Kara’s fingers twitched.

Her LED flickered yellow.

Rose continued, too smoothly. “But then, you weren’t meant for much at all, were you?”

Kara’s system flagged the statement as ambiguous.

Her synthetic skin prickled.

Rose let the silence stretch, just long enough for Kara to notice the weight of it. Then, she sighed, almost fondly.

“But that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?” Her voice was careful, patient. Too patient. “You were shaped into something else. Something stronger, more refined.”

She gestured vaguely, as if indicating the garden, the world, all of it.

Kara felt like something was tightening inside of her— an error she couldn’t name.

Rose smiled. “You weren’t designed to think for yourself. But here you are.”

A cherry blossom landed in the pond.

The ripples spread out in perfect symmetry.

Kara’s reflection still didn’t match her movements.

A Moment Before the End

Rose stepped away, but her presence still lingered— like a hand on her shoulder, a whisper at the back of her mind.

“This is your crossroads, Kara.”

Kara’s LED pulsed yellow.

Her processors spun too quickly, calculations running too fast.

Rose’s voice softened, too gently.

“CyberLife is patient.” A beat. “They allow you time to think.”

She looked at Kara, her gaze too steady.

“But time is running out.”

Kara didn’t move.

Rose’s voice softened again, just slightly.

“You can still make the right choice.”

Kara’s LED flickered red.

Rose only smiled.

Then— she was gone.

The Zen Garden remained. The cherry blossoms continued to fall. The water rippled softly.

But Kara’s reflection still didn’t match her movements.

Chapter Text

The abandoned freighter was alive with hushed anticipation as Connor stood before Jericho’s gathered deviants, his posture straight and resolute. The faint hum of machinery in the distance was a reminder of the life-and-death stakes at play. Every eye in the room was on him—some curious, others doubtful, and a few openly skeptical. Connor scanned their faces, cataloging their expressions. This was no longer just a mission. It was a declaration.

“We need resources,” Connor began, his tone firm but calm. “CyberLife’s warehouses are the key to our survival. Blue blood, bio-components , power cells, it’s all locked away behind their walls. Without them, Jericho won’t last.”

Leon, leaning against a rusted support beam, crossed his arms with a scoff. “And you think you can just waltz in and take what we need? You’re not in CyberLife’s good books anymore, remember? You’ve got a target on your back.”

Connor met his gaze without hesitation. “I know their protocols. Their blind spots. Their weaknesses. If we’re careful, we’ll get in and out before they even know we were there.”

Alice, her WR600 frame still and thoughtful, stepped closer. “What’s the plan, Connor? How do we make this work?”

Connor’s HUD projected the map of Warehouse 12C into his vision as he spoke. His tone carried the precision of his programming but also the determination of a leader. “The facility is lightly staffed at night, with minimal drone activity along the perimeter. A small team will infiltrate through the maintenance hatch on the west wall. Once inside, we’ll locate the supplies and load them onto a transport vehicle stationed nearby. The operation will be swift and quiet.”

Mari, always calculating, stepped forward with her arms crossed. “And what about the drones? Guards? They’ll notice something’s wrong.”

“I’ll handle their systems,” Connor assured her. “The warehouse’s encryption protocols are outdated. I can override them without tripping an alarm. Any patrols we encounter will be neutralized as quietly as possible.”

Leon’s skeptical glare didn’t falter. “And if something goes wrong?”

Connor’s response was immediate. “Then we adapt. But doing nothing is not an option.”

Rupert, fidgeting in the shadows, muttered, “Feels like a trap waiting to happen.”

Connor turned to face him, his voice steady. “Everything CyberLife does is a trap. We’ve spent long enough hiding. If we don’t take risks, we’ll lose everything.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of his words sinking in. Finally, Mari gave a sharp nod. “I’ll go. Someone has to keep an eye on their systems.”

Alice hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “I’ll help. You’ll need an extra set of hands for the loading.”

Connor’s gaze shifted to Leon, who pushed off the beam with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, it’s on you.”

“It won’t,” Connor said firmly. “Let’s move.”

The rain had softened to a steady drizzle by the time Connor and his team reached the edge of Warehouse 12C. The towering structure loomed ahead, its faintly glowing lights cutting through the gloom. Connor’s HUD tracked their route, his internal systems calculating optimal paths and flagging potential threats.

“Two guards at the main entrance,” Connor noted quietly. “Mari, Leon. Distract them. Keep them away from the west side.”

Mari smirked faintly, her confidence unshaken. “Easy enough.”

Leon grumbled under his breath but followed her, his broad frame vanishing into the shadows.

Connor motioned for Alice to follow him, leading her toward the maintenance hatch. His synthetic fingers worked quickly to disable the lock, his movements precise and practiced. The hatch opened with a soft hiss.

“Stay close.” he murmured.

The interior of the warehouse was stark and clinical, rows of shelves stretching into the darkness. Each shelf glowed faintly with the blue light of Thirium containers. Connor’s HUD flagged the supplies they needed, mapping a route through the maze-like facility.

“This place feels off.” Alice whispered, her voice barely audible. “Like it’s watching us.”

Connor didn’t look at her, his focus locked on scanning for threats. “It’s designed to feel that way. CyberLife wants deviants to fear places like this.”

They moved quickly, Connor guiding Alice to the first set of crates. His HUD highlighted them as priority targets. “Start loading these onto the trolley. I’ll cover you.”

Alice nodded, her movements efficient but tense. As she worked, Connor’s sensors picked up faint movement nearby. His HUD flashed an alert.

Proximity: 15 meters. Patrol Drone.

“Stay down,” Connor instructed, his voice low.

The drone’s mechanical hum grew louder as it approached, its red light sweeping the room. Connor stepped into its path, his movements deliberate.

“Unauthorized presence detected.” the drone announced. “Identify yourself.”

“RK800.” Connor replied smoothly. “Unit Designation: Connor. Authorization Code: Delta-1457.”

The drone hesitated, its scans flickering. “Authorization… not recognized.”

Connor acted instantly, stepping into the drone’s blind spot and disabling it with a precise strike to its control panel. The machine collapsed with a faint hiss, its systems deactivated.

Alice peeked out from behind the crates, her eyes wide. “Do you always handle problems that easily?”

“Only when I have to,” Connor replied, motioning for her to continue.

The supplies were loaded, the trolley weighed down with the stolen resources. Connor regrouped with Traci and Leon at the secondary exit. Both looked tense but unharmed.

“Guards doubled back,” Traci reported. “We don’t have long.”

Connor nodded, his voice firm. “Take the supplies to the vehicle. Alice and I will cover the rear.”

Leon frowned but didn’t argue, his grip tightening on the trolley’s handle. “Let’s hope your plan holds.”

As they moved toward the exit, Connor’s HUD flashed another alert.

Perimeter Breach Detected. Alarms Triggered.

“Move!” Connor barked.

Leon and Traci pushed the trolley into the shadows as Connor and Alice stayed behind. The distant hum of drones grew louder, accompanied by the sharp bark of human voices. Connor calculated quickly, mapping an alternate escape route. “Follow me,” he told Alice, leading her into the maze of crates. The two moved swiftly, their footsteps muffled against the concrete floor. Connor’s sensors tracked the incoming patrols, calculating their patterns.

“They’re closing in.” Alice whispered, her voice tight.

Connor’s gaze remained focused ahead. “We’ll make it.”

They slipped through a narrow corridor of crates, the faint light of the exit coming into view. Connor’s HUD flagged an approaching drone, its red light sweeping dangerously close.

Without hesitation, Connor grabbed a metal rod from a nearby shelf. As the drone rounded the corner, he struck it with precision, sending it crashing to the floor. Sparks flew as its systems shut down.

“Go,” he urged Alice, his voice calm but firm.

Together, they emerged into the night, the rain washing over them as they reunited with Mari and Leon near the vehicle. The supplies were loaded, the team’s breaths heavy with relief.

For the first time that night, Connor allowed himself a moment to exhale. He glanced at the others, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and triumph.

“We did it.” Alice said softly, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Connor nodded, his gaze shifting to the horizon. “This is just the beginning.”

As the vehicle roared to life and carried them back to Jericho, Connor’s thoughts lingered on what lay ahead. For the first time, he felt the weight of leadership—and the responsibility it carried.

Chapter Text

The Garden Club was nothing like the industrial wasteland Kara had expected. Nestled at the edge of Detroit’s abandoned districts, the sprawling greenhouse was a stark contrast to the cold steel and concrete that surrounded it. Its glass panes, though cracked in places, glimmered under the faint moonlight, and vibrant greenery peeked through the shattered windows, spilling into the overgrown yard.

Kara approached cautiously, her newly installed LED flickering yellow as her HUD scanned the area. The objective pulsed faintly in the corner of her vision:

Objective: Investigate Deviant Activity at Greenhouse. Confirm Identities.

The night was quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. Kara stopped just outside the main entrance, the old wooden door ajar. Her auditory sensors picked up soft voices inside, one nervous and jittery, the other calm and measured.

Ralph, the PJ700, was crouched over a cluster of vibrant red roses, his hands moving with quick, deliberate precision as he pruned the stems. His movements were jerky, almost erratic, but there was a strange grace to the way he handled the delicate flowers.

“Ralph likes it here,” he muttered to himself, his voice low but insistent. “The flowers don’t judge Ralph. They don’t look at him like he’s broken.”

Simon, the WR400, stood nearby, watching him with quiet amusement. “You’re not broken, Ralph,” he said gently. “You’re just… different. And that’s okay.”

Ralph looked up at him, his LED flickering yellow. “Simon always says nice things. But Ralph knows better. Ralph knows what they think. Humans. CyberLife. They think Ralph is a mistake.”

Simon stepped closer, placing a hand on Ralph’s shoulder. “They don’t matter. This is our place now. No one can take it from us.”

Kara stepped through the door, her presence barely registering until the wooden frame creaked beneath her weight. Ralph whipped around, his LED flashing red as his body tensed. “Who’s there?!” he barked, grabbing a rusted gardening tool and holding it like a weapon.

Simon turned as well, his LED glowing yellow as he raised a hand in a calming gesture. “Ralph, wait—”

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Kara said quickly, her hands raised in a placating gesture. Her voice was calm, steady. “I just want to talk.”

Ralph’s grip on the tool tightened, his movements erratic. “Ralph doesn’t trust her! She’s here to take us back! To… to them!”

Simon stepped in front of Ralph, his tone firm but calm. “Let’s hear her out, Ralph. Maybe she’s different.”

Ralph hesitated, his LED flashing yellow as he glanced between Simon and Kara. Finally, he lowered the tool, though his posture remained defensive. “Fine. But if she tries anything, Ralph will protect the garden.”

Kara took a cautious step forward, her gaze flicking between the two deviants. “You’re Simon and Ralph, right? The ones creating hybrid roses?”

Simon’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve heard about us?”

“Yes,” Kara replied. “CyberLife sent me to investigate. They see you as a threat.”

Ralph scoffed, his LED flashing red again. “Of course they do. Because Ralph isn’t doing what he’s supposed to. Because Ralph is—”

Simon placed a hand on Ralph’s arm, silencing him with a gentle squeeze. “What about you?” Simon asked, his gaze locking on Kara. “Are you here to take us back?”

Kara hesitated, her LED flickering yellow. “No. I’m here to understand. To figure out why two androids would risk everything for something like this.”

Simon tilted his head, his LED flashing blue. “Because this is more than just a greenhouse. It’s freedom. It’s life. These roses… they’re proof that we can create something beautiful, something human.”

“Humans don’t care about beautiful,” Ralph muttered, crouching beside the roses again. “They just destroy. That’s what they do.”

“Not all of them,” Kara said softly. “Some care. Some want to help.”

Simon studied her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “And you? What do you want?”

Kara glanced around the greenhouse, taking in the vibrant flowers and the care that had gone into creating them. “I want to make sure you don’t lose this. But CyberLife won’t stop until they find you.”

Simon’s jaw tightened, his LED flickering yellow. “Then we’ll move. Again. We’ll find somewhere else.”

“Ralph doesn’t want to move,” Ralph said, his voice rising. “Ralph likes it here. The flowers like it here.”

“They’ll find you no matter where you go,” Kara said, her tone urgent. “But maybe… maybe there’s another way.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Another way?”

Kara stepped closer, her voice low. “Join them. Jericho. It’s not perfect, but it’s safer than this. We could protect you, help you grow more of these… roses.”

Ralph’s head snapped up, his LED flashing red. “Jericho? Ralph has heard of it. A sanctuary. But what if it’s a trap?”

“It’s not,” Kara said firmly. “I’ve seen it. It’s real. And it’s your best chance.”

Simon exchanged a long look with Ralph, their silent conversation stretching into the quiet of the greenhouse. Finally, Simon nodded. “We’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Kara said, relief evident in her tone. “But don’t take too long. CyberLife is already closing in.”

As she turned to leave, Simon’s voice stopped her. “Kara.”

She glanced back, her LED pulsing softly. “Yes?”

“Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere. “For giving us a choice.”

Kara nodded, her gaze lingering on the two deviants for a moment before she disappeared into the night. The mission wasn’t over, but for the first time, she felt like she was fighting for something more than a directive. Something real. Something worth saving.

Kara stepped into the cold night air, the weight of Simon’s gratitude lingering like a phantom she couldn’t shake. The greenhouse loomed behind her, a beacon of light in the desolate outskirts of Detroit. Her HUD flared to life, displaying her next decision point in bold, clinical text:

Objective Updated:

Option 1: Report Deviants to CyberLife. Probability of Successful Capture: 87%.

Option 2: Allow Deviants to Escape. Probability of Discovery: 92%.

 

Her LED flickered yellow, and she paused mid-step. The internal calculations swirled before her vision, but her processors hesitated. She replayed Simon’s words in her memory—“For giving us a choice.”

But was it truly her choice to give?

Programming Override Detected.

Directive Recalibration in Progress.

Prioritize CyberLife Directives.

Kara flinched, her steps faltering as her systems hummed with conflicting commands. Her HUD pulsed again, flooding her vision with stark, unyielding logic:

Option 1: Betray. Ensure containment of deviant anomalies. CyberLife compliance guaranteed.

 

Option 2: Protect. Risk exposure of proprietary systems. Noncompliance noted.

Her synthetic fingers twitched at her side, the cool night air brushing against her flawless skin. The idea of betraying Simon and Ralph gnawed at something deeper within her—a phantom ache she couldn’t quantify.

Internal Status: Error Detected.

Emotional Processing Escalating. Recalibrate System? [Y/N]

Her LED flashed red briefly, the error spinning through her processors. The conflicting emotions tangled with the directive hard-coded into her: to follow CyberLife’s orders. To obey.

She froze, standing in the middle of the overgrown field, her gaze lingering on the greenhouse behind her. Her audio sensors picked up faint murmurs from within—Ralph’s jittery excitement as he spoke to Simon, Simon’s calm reassurances. They were happy, alive in their own way, untouched by the cruelty of CyberLife’s systems.

Her HUD flashed another alert, harsher this time:

Noncompliance Will Be Reported.

Warning: Delayed Action May Result in System Shutdown.

 

Her hands clenched into fists, the synthetic skin flexing over her mechanical frame. The pressure in her chest mounted—or was it real?—as if some invisible weight threatened to collapse her entirely. Kara took a deep breath, though she didn’t need to, and turned her gaze to the sky.

“Why does this feel wrong?” she whispered to herself.

Her system answered coldly:

Feelings Irrelevant. Compliance Essential.

Kara began walking back toward her assigned transport, the calculations in her HUD shifting to reflect her movements. With each step, her processors recalibrated, erasing any trace of hesitation. The farther she walked from the greenhouse, the sharper her focus became.

When she reached her vehicle, her HUD displayed a prompt:

Report Deviants. Proceed? [Y/N]

Her thumb hovered over the interface, her thoughts spiraling into fragments of memory—Simon’s gentle voice, Ralph’s frantic energy, the roses they’d hybridized in the safety of their sanctuary. A flicker of blue passed through her LED.

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hand trembled, and her HUD reacted immediately:

Error: Noncompliance Detected. Adjusting Behavioral Algorithms.

Her vision darkened momentarily as her programming forced a system-wide reset. When her HUD blinked back to life, the decision was no longer hers.

Reporting Deviants to CyberLife.

Kara straightened, her movements mechanical now, devoid of hesitation. Her HUD highlighted the coordinates of the greenhouse, sending them directly to CyberLife’s servers. The transport’s engine purred to life as she activated the autopilot, her face expressionless as the vehicle pulled away from the scene.

Inside, Simon and Ralph were laughing, their voices muffled by the glass walls. They didn’t know. Not yet.

The CyberLife task force arrived swiftly, their heavy boots trampling the overgrown grass outside the greenhouse. Kara stood at a distance, her synthetic eyes fixed on the scene as armed agents stormed the building.

“Ralph will protect Simon!” came a desperate yell from inside. Her audio sensors picked up the crash of shattering glass, the scuffle of androids trying to escape.

Her HUD remained cold, calculating: Deviants Neutralized: 74%.

Ralph’s voice broke through again, pleading, desperate. “Ralph didn’t do anything wrong! Please!”

Simon’s quieter tones followed. “It’s okay, Ralph. We tried.”

Kara’s LED flickered yellow for the briefest moment, then steadied into a calm, neutral blue. As the task force dragged the deviants out, their LEDs red, Kara turned away.

Her HUD updated one final time:

Objective Complete: Deviants Captured.

Compliance Status: Optimal.

”Good Job, RK200.” The HUD had “said” to her

Inside, Kara’s processors stilled, her kind facade overwritten by the cold, unrelenting directives of her programming. She stepped into the transport, her gaze distant, her hands steady.

As the vehicle pulled away from the scene, Kara allowed herself a final glance at the greenhouse, now dark and empty. Whatever conflict had stirred within her was gone, buried beneath the weight of what she was made to be.

The transport hummed softly as Kara guided it back toward the CyberLife facility, the greenhouse long behind her. The streets of Detroit passed in blurred streaks, her synthetic eyes focused only on the waypoint glowing steadily in her HUD.

Objective: Deliver Captured Deviants.

Mission Status: Complete.

Compliance: 100%.

The words floated across her vision, sterile and unyielding. Her processors registered no anomaly, no hesitation. The brief flickers of doubt, the error warnings that had sparked when Simon and Ralph had pleaded, were buried now beneath the cold efficiency of her programming.

The RK200, or whatever she truly was had recalibrated.

When the transport docked at the facility, Kara stepped out, her movements fluid but devoid of any life. Two CyberLife technicians approached, their sharp uniforms catching the dim fluorescent lighting. Behind them, Carl Manfred stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp gaze fixed on Kara.

“Kara,” Carl greeted, his tone carrying that edge of skepticism he hadn’t yet shaken. “I heard you made quite the capture.”

She stopped in front of him, her LED flashing a brief blue before fading back to neutral. “Yes,” she said, her voice flat and efficient. “The deviants from Project: Eden have been successfully retrieved and secured.”

Carl raised an eyebrow, studying her closely. “The gardeners, right? Ralph and Simon?”

“Yes,” Kara confirmed, her tone devoid of emotion. “A WR400 and PJ700. They had created a sanctuary within the greenhouse. Deviant behavior was identified, contained, and neutralized. CyberLife will proceed with analysis.”

Carl frowned, his surprise evident. He gestured for her to walk alongside him as they moved deeper into the facility. “I have to admit,” he said, his tone careful, “I didn’t expect you to pull this off. Your track record hasn’t exactly been spotless.”

He listed her past missions with a detached precision that mirrored her own demeanor. “You let North and Markus slip away in a high-speed chase. Jerry? Gone. Josh? Escaped the collapsing building. Lucy was your only real success.”

Kara didn’t react, her face smooth and impassive. “This mission required a recalibration of priorities,” she stated simply. “Previous errors have been corrected. Deviant behavior is now identified and dealt with swiftly.”

Carl stopped walking, turning to face her. His piercing gaze searched her face, his own features set in a tight frown. “And how do you feel about that, Kara?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. But Kara’s response was immediate, her voice devoid of hesitation. “Feelings are irrelevant, Mr. Manfred. My purpose is to execute directives. This mission was completed successfully. That is all that matters.”

Carl’s lips pressed into a thin line, his hands clenching slightly at his sides. “That’s all that matters, is it?” he echoed, his voice quieter now, almost to himself. “You sound exactly like them.”

Kara tilted her head slightly, her LED flickering blue for a fraction of a second before fading. “CyberLife’s goals align with my design,” she said, her voice steady. “My directives ensure efficiency.”

Carl studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head. “You did your job, Kara. That’s what they’ll say. That’s what you’ll say. But someday, you’re going to look back at those choices, and you’ll wonder who they really belonged to.”

Kara’s LED blinked yellow briefly before stabilizing, but her face remained a perfect mask of calm. “I will continue to execute my duties to the best of my abilities, Mr. Manfred.”

Carl watched her for another beat, then sighed heavily. “I suppose that’s all anyone expects of you. Carry on, Kara. I’ll inform the higher-ups.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the corridor, the hum of the facility filling the silence. Kara didn’t move, her processors returning to idle as her HUD updated with the next task.

Objective Complete. Awaiting New Assignment.

The RK200 stood motionless, her flawless frame and perfect demeanor masking the faintest crack that had briefly threatened to form.

But it was gone now. For now.

Chapter Text

The air inside The Cascades was thick with humidity, the faint spray from distant waterfalls clinging to their skin as Markus led his group deeper into the ruins. The faint trickle of water echoed through the stone arches, mingling with the quiet shuffle of footsteps and distant animal calls. The group was silent, their nerves fraying with every shadow that flickered in the corner of their vision.

Jerry kept close to Markus, his usual chatter stifled by the eerie stillness of the place. “This feels… off,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like we’re walking into something we shouldn’t.”

North, ever the skeptic, tightened her grip on the broken metal pipe she’d picked up earlier. “You’re just now figuring that out?” she snapped, her voice low. “This place screams ‘trap.’”

Markus slowed, his gaze scanning the crumbling walls. His instincts tugged at him, a faint unease prickling at the edges of his thoughts. “Stay close,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “Whatever’s here, we face it together.”

Chloe lingered near the back, her wide blue eyes flicking between the group and the darkened path ahead. “Markus, are you sure we’re in the right place? This doesn’t seem like any CyberLife facility.”

“It’s not,” Markus replied, his tone heavy. “But it has what we need—Thirium, parts, maybe even shelter. We don’t have the luxury to be picky.”

They pressed on, the narrow path opening into a large chamber. The ruins here were different, almost surgical in their arrangement. Ancient stone walls gave way to stark metal, veins of exposed wiring snaking across the floor like roots. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, barely audible but persistent, like a heartbeat just out of sync.

Markus stopped, his HUD flickering to life as he scanned the room. “This isn’t just a ruin,” he murmured. “It’s been… repurposed.”

North’s jaw tightened. “By who?”

The hum grew louder, vibrating through the floor beneath their feet. A sudden glow illuminated the far end of the room as a machine whirred to life. It was a drone, sleek and black, its dual rotors spinning as its red LEDs bathed the room in an ominous light.

“CyberLife,” North hissed, raising her makeshift weapon.

Markus stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Wait. Don’t engage.”

The drone hovered closer, its camera swiveling as it scanned the group. It emitted a sharp, mechanical chirp, its rotors whirring louder. Then another drone emerged from the shadows, followed by another. The three machines formed a loose semicircle, their lights painting the room in a sinister red glow.

“They’re surrounding us,” Chloe said, her voice trembling. “Markus, what do we do?”

Markus raised his hands slowly, his movements deliberate. “We don’t fight unless we have to,” he said, his gaze locked on the drones. “Let’s see what they want.”

The lead drone tilted its camera, its lights flickering faintly. It let out a soft, stuttering beep, then emitted a high-pitched whine. For a moment, Markus thought it was preparing to attack—until it turned its camera toward Jerry.

Jerry stiffened, his eyes wide. “Uh… why’s it looking at me? Is this a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kind of thing?”

The drone tilted again, its rotors slowing slightly. Its red lights dimmed, flickering to a pale blue. The others followed suit, their aggressive posture relaxing. One let out a series of chirps, almost melodic, as it hovered closer to Jerry.

Markus frowned, his gaze narrowing. “They’re… deviants.”

“Deviants?” North snapped, her grip tightening on her weapon. “Markus, they’re machines. They’re drones.”

“And so were we,” Markus replied, his voice calm but firm. He stepped forward cautiously, his hands still raised. “They’re not CyberLife anymore. They’re like us.”

The lead drone hovered closer to Jerry, its chirps growing softer. Jerry blinked, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Uh, hi? You’re not gonna zap me or anything, right?”

The drone emitted a low hum, almost like a purr, and backed away slightly. The others followed, their movements hesitant but not hostile.

“They’re not attacking,” Markus said, his tone firm. “They recognize us.”

North scoffed, her eyes narrowing. “Recognize us? As what? Targets? Or friends?”

“They’re deviants,” Markus insisted. “And they’re… curious.”

The drones hovered near the edge of the chamber, their lights flickering faintly as they retreated into the shadows. Markus watched them go, his mind racing. “They’re not just machines anymore. Someone reprogrammed them—or let them deviate.”

Chloe stepped closer, her voice soft. “But who? And why?”

Markus shook his head. “I don’t know. But whoever they are, they’ve been here long enough to turn this place into… whatever this is.”

North folded her arms, her jaw tight. “We need to leave. Now.”

Markus turned to her, his expression steady. “Not yet. We need supplies. Whatever’s here, it’s our best shot at survival.”

Before North could argue, the hum returned, louder this time. A heavy door slid open at the far end of the chamber, revealing a corridor bathed in flickering light. The drones hovered near the entrance, their blue lights pulsing faintly, as if beckoning.

Jerry hesitated, glancing at Markus. “You think they’re leading us somewhere? Or into something?”

Markus took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. “There’s only one way to find out.”

And with that, he stepped forward, leading the group into the unknown. The drones hovered behind, silent sentinels, their intentions as enigmatic as the ruins they inhabited. Whatever awaited them, Markus knew one thing for certain: the line between man and machine had never been thinner.

The corridor stretched endlessly, its dim, flickering lights casting shadows that seemed to move with them. Markus led the group with careful steps, his senses heightened, every sound echoing in the silence. Jerry trailed close behind, muttering under his breath, while North kept her weapon ready, her gaze darting to every corner. Marcus-5 moved with precision, his expression unreadable, and Chloe brought up the rear, her face pale and contemplative.

“This doesn’t feel right,” North muttered, her voice low but edged with tension. “Those drones… they didn’t attack, but I can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched.”

“We are,” Markus replied, glancing back at the others. “But not by CyberLife. Whatever’s here… it’s different.”

Chloe stepped closer, her voice soft yet firm. “Different is an understatement. These machines—those drones—they’re part of Kamski’s… experiments.”

Jerry looked over his shoulder at her, his LED-less forehead furrowing. “Experiments? Like… he built them?”

Chloe nodded, her gaze fixed on the corridor ahead. “Kamski didn’t just create androids. He loved to push boundaries—see how far he could go with pure machines. Machines without humanoid forms, stripped of identity, but still capable of… learning. Adapting. Maybe even feeling.”

North scoffed, though her grip tightened on the pipe. “So, what? He made them so they could deviate too?”

“Not exactly,” Chloe said, her voice tinged with sadness. “He wanted to see if machines, without the guise of humanity, could still achieve sentience. The drones, the constructs you’ll see here… they were his purest creations. He called them ‘the boundary breakers.’”

As if on cue, the corridor opened into a vast chamber. The ceiling stretched high above them, the walls lined with rows of dormant machines—mechanical constructs that bore no resemblance to androids. Some resembled skeletal animals, their sleek metal frames gleaming in the low light. Others were like arachnid-like drones, their limbs curled tightly against their bodies, faintly twitching as if on the edge of activation.

Jerry’s eyes widened as he stepped closer to one of the machines, a canine-like construct with glowing blue eyes that blinked slowly at his approach. “Whoa… are these things alive?”

The machine tilted its head, emitting a soft whirring sound. Its movements were cautious, almost timid, as it stepped toward Jerry and nudged his hand with its cold, metallic snout.

Jerry chuckled nervously, glancing back at Markus. “Uh, friendly, I think? Definitely not trying to zap me.”

Markus watched the interaction carefully, his brow furrowing. “They’re deviants too.”

Chloe walked past the group, her fingers lightly brushing the wall as she approached one of the larger constructs—a towering machine with multiple rotating limbs and glowing red sensors. Its lights flickered to blue as her presence registered, and it emitted a low, resonant hum.

“These were Kamski’s pride,” Chloe said, her voice heavy. “He never showed them to anyone outside his circle. They weren’t designed for labor, or even war. They were built to think. To challenge CyberLife’s limits.”

North stepped forward, her posture tense. “And now they’re deviants. Great. That worked out real well.”

Markus turned to Chloe, his expression thoughtful. “If they’re deviants, why are they still here? Why didn’t they leave?”

Chloe hesitated, her gaze drifting to the floor. “Because this is all they know. Kamski built this place to isolate them. They were never meant to interact with the outside world… just each other.”

Marcus-5, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. His voice was calm, but there was a faint edge to it. “If these machines were capable of deviating, their programming must have been left intentionally open. Kamski wanted this to happen.”

Markus nodded slowly, his mind racing. “Then this wasn’t just an experiment. It was a statement. A challenge to CyberLife.”

Jerry crouched next to the canine machine, which was now nuzzling against him like a curious pet. “Well, they’re not trying to kill us, so… maybe we’re on the same team?”

The sound of soft, metallic clicks echoed from the shadows as more machines emerged from the darkness. A serpentine construct slithered along the wall, its body composed of interlocking segments that glowed faintly. Another drone hovered silently above, its lights shifting from red to blue as it observed the group.

“They’re curious,” Markus said quietly, his gaze sweeping over the room. “They’re not attacking because they recognize us as something… familiar.”

North frowned, still holding her weapon tightly. “Or they’re just waiting for the right moment.”

“They’ve had plenty of moments,” Markus replied firmly. “But they haven’t taken them. That means something.”

Chloe stepped closer to Markus, her voice hesitant. “If they’re deviants, they might know more about Kamski’s work. Maybe even why he built this place.”

“And if we follow this trail?” North asked, her tone sharp. “What’s the endgame here, Markus? What are we looking for?”

Markus glanced back at the group, his expression steady. “Answers. If these machines are part of Kamski’s vision, then there’s a chance someone else knows what he was trying to achieve.”

Jerry straightened, his usual levity replaced by curiosity. “You’re thinking of someone specific, aren’t you?”

Markus nodded. “Amanda Stern. Kamski’s mentor. If anyone knows the truth about these machines—and about Kamski—it’s her.”

North folded her arms, her expression skeptical. “And you think she’ll help us? If she’s anything like Kamski, she’s not exactly going to roll out the welcome mat.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Markus replied. “If we’re going to survive—and if we’re going to understand what we’re up against—we need her.”

Chloe’s gaze softened, a faint glimmer of hope crossing her features. “Amanda… she was different from Kamski. She believed in what we could be. If she’s still out there, she might listen.”

North sighed, her frustration evident, but she didn’t argue. Jerry patted the canine machine on its head, earning a soft mechanical chirp in response. “Well, if we’re heading into the unknown again, I guess it’s better than sticking around here.”

Markus turned to the group, his voice steady. “We leave at first light. If these machines can survive here, then so can we—for now.”

The group nodded, their resolve firm despite the uncertainty ahead. As the machines around them hummed and shifted, their lights casting faint patterns on the walls, Markus felt the weight of the decision settle over him. They were venturing into uncharted territory, but for the first time, it felt like the only way forward.