Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

▶APR 1ST, 2039◀

Gavin Reed is pissed. In his defense, he is not having a particularly good day okay? Maybe a whole week. This is not his fault. He’s actually been working his ass off the last few months, so much so he doesn’t even have time to bully Connor, who is a permanent fixture at the DPD, running around Anderson like a happy lil’ pup. ‘Absolutely disgusting.’ Not even that - but now they have rights? Fuck that. Imagine his microwave filing a charge against him for knocking it straight, so it’ll work. You make synthetics to save on worker fees and whoops they unionize to spit in capitalism’s face. There’s some glee Gavin gets out of that.

Since the revolution, the android and anti-android crime have skyrocketed higher than Cyberlife’s tall ass tower. 'Compensating for something, huh, Kamski?’ Like Detroit wasn’t already filled to the brim with people being shitty human beings, now you have to throw machine mayhem into the mix. He is tired, overworked and angry that he has to drive - he has to drive, he despises driving - and look at those stupid automated pods in this upper-class neighborhood he was called in to drive to at the crack of dawn. On his day off no less, and after he pulled 3 double shifts in a row since they are heavily understaffed despite the help from the nearest districts.

Wealthy people really do have no taste if they think those ugly excuses of luxury futuristic cars and buses are a joy to the eye. Who designed them, a child with a 3D program from the 90s and a dream? But let's be real - most likely it was generated with AI. Raise a glass to the end of any human creativity there might have been left. He laments all those gritty, grungy sci-fi that never got to be - Alien sterilized into Prometheus.

One of those blindingly shiny menaces cuts right in front of him and he has to break so suddenly that his ribs slam into the steering wheel. He honks aggressively and is about to open the window to give the jackass a piece of his mind only to see through the back windshield it’s also automated. This chunk of overpriced steel must not have Gavin’s rusty - but still heavily reliable - 2025 Toyota Camry in its prestige database or whatever, fucking AI. He’d take the human-driven taxi if 20 minutes along the shore didn’t cost a whole week’s grocery list. Especially not for some rich asshole who got gut.

So yeah, it sucks. The world sucks, his life sucks, and he has no choice but to work if he wants to ever reach Sergeant before he inevitably gets suspended and canned. Doesn’t mean he won't complain about everything along the way.

Gavin stops by the gates fenced by the police cars of other poor fuckers who had to be here at 6 am. It does ignite a small spark of joy, he is not the only one suffering - misery loves company. He waves lamely at a PC200 to notice it’s him and let him pass. Or no, excuse him, not PC200, but “Seconz”, ew.

He rolls his eyes. ‘What a stupid name. If you're gonna deviate and claim to be alive don’t choose a name that sounds like something a Soundcloud rapper with an anime girl pfp would choose.’ Not only that - it is literally just a version of your number denomination. He met trans people more imaginative than that, and they already have a pretty bad record on the 'new names' front.

His tires stagger along some fancy gravel imitation of the side road, and he cringes, thinking he has to buy new ones. He has to, but he can’t right now since Tina’s birthday is coming up. He had finally saved enough money to buy her a new Nintendo Switch with Just Dance she has been raving about, and those cost a shit ton. Tina has been feeling down lately - haven’t they all - and he wants to do something nice for his gal, she deserves it.

Driving a bit slower and lazily dragging his eyes along the sharp features of the estate, Gavin is glad he doesn’t have to go inside, for the time being at least. Those types of mansions cause headaches, now that they look so clean and pristine - not even the “old money” vibe they used to have, but “why not make everything white and minimalistic so that you think you are in psych ward” vibe.

What he had gathered from quickly skimming the case file on the road - corpse on a yacht, overdose by suffocation, Red ice. Simple enough, he guesses, maybe some rich punk had partied too much, and it’s his problem cause Daddy doesn’t want it known his blue-blooded son has vices. Here, case solved. Can he go home now and make sweet love to his bed?

Well, this is honestly unexpected - the boat isn’t as luxurious as he thought. It looks simple, something more akin to a blue-collar worker would use, with some yellow and blue paint chipped at the sides. Officer Lang - a very chipper guy in his 20s - stands on the upper deck surveying the water, and Gavin speed walks past him, hoping not to engage in any social interaction.

“Uh, Detective Reed, good morning! Captain had asked me to inform you—“ ‘Not his day, huh.’

“Yeah, yeah, tell me ‘bout it after I had a look at the deadman,” He shoos the guy away and descends to the lower deck. “I don’t have the mental capacity for anything Fowler wants to inform me about.”

His head is throbbing from some Blue Dream he smoked yesterday night, and he didn’t even have his morning coffee - that is a crime in itself. The only consolation is that he doesn’t have to endure that preppy babyfaced bootlicker’s plastic face—

​​At first, he thinks he got the case allocation wrong, but then he wonders if his exhausted brain has finally reached the point of hallucinations. Since in front of him is Connor, but it’s not Connor. Not entirely, and if he hadn’t been glaring at that aggravating synthetic every day across his lone desk cubicle for half a year now, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight discrepancies.

The first obvious thing is that Hank Anderson is nowhere in sight, and these days, there is no Connor without Hank and vice versa. Another thing entirely different about ‘Not Connor’ is the height. If Connor was just a few inches higher than Gavin, this Slenderman is a whole head taller, towering menacingly in the right corner above the mangled victim. Then the stance - it’s much more posed, artificially stiff, compared to Connor’s. Notably now, when the android had embraced the deviancy and his “humanity” - whatever that means - and has become more lax in his overall body language.

And the most important distinction is the piercing icy-blue gaze, void of any emotion, directed right at him. The room is submerged in darkness aside from small skylights illuminating the figure’s outline. Despite it being bathed in shade, the eyes glint like an animal’s would in the wild, causing Gavin’s anxiety to skyrocket.



“What the fuck,” he says loudly because what else is he supposed to say.

“That’s what I was told to inform you about, Detective,” the younger officer supplies behind him sheepishly as if afraid any unnecessary noise might cause Gavin to explode. It very well might. “This is an RK900 model, it’s like Connor, but I guess, he was supposed to be the next upgraded version? As far as I know, Connor brought him to the precinct to ask Fowler to employ him since he is also a detective unit.”

Gavin’s eyes never leave the 'Not Connor’ or 'RK' or whatever! He receives the same treatment in return, the shadow observing him slowly like a predator ready to pounce. ‘Analyzed’ - his mind supplies. He is being fucking analyzed - he already hates this.

“Good morning, Detective. My model designation is RK900, and I have been assigned to partner up with you on this case,” the android states, albeit redundantly, as if to rub it in. The posh British accent doesn't help the snobby aura coating it.

“What the fuck.” He spats, his vocabulary unavailable at this moment at this hilarious prank the universe is currently playing on him. 'No, this is not happening.' 

Without a second thought, Gavin storms back outside, and the sudden gust of snowfall hits him in the face, making him stumble. April is a joke, it was 70 degrees two days ago, and now it’s winter again. He sputters and blinks rapidly, hoping he won’t fall off the boat, but maybe it would do him some good. A solid dunk into the frigid waters of the Detroit River would awaken him from this continuous nightmare.

▼ ▼ ▼

To say he is seething is an understatement - his steering wheel gets the brunt of it. There are no words in the whole English dictionary that could describe the absolute fury he is feeling while speeding to the precinct to give one certain walking AI a piece of his mind.

When Gavin reaches the building and exits the car, he is absolutely flabbergasted to see the Connor 2.0 already there.

“How the fuck—“ He utters, pocketing his keys and walking around the RK as if it’s radioactive. For all he knows, Cyberlife had used their evil corporation powers and made it like one of the Supes.

“Your destination was apparent. I have calculated the shortest route that would lead me to the Police Department. Detective, your behavior is ludicrous. It is essential we—“

Gavin scowls, shaking his head in disbelief. He pushes through automatic doors before they fully open, flying past reception, and zeroes in on the cause of his foul mood. Connor sits there chatting cheerfully with Anderson like everything is hunky dory, and there is not a giant 6-foot-something pain in Gavin’s ass. And not the usual kind that he likes. 

“This’s all yer fault! I know ya fucking did this, you plastic excuse of’n over-engineered Roomba!“ Gavin yells as he marches to the pair’s table. “I know this is your petty revenge - is this amusin’ to ya, huh? Does this make your plastic dick ha—“

“Despite your convictions,” Connor calmly interrupts his outburst, swirling around in his chair to face him. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Reed. Not every single person is about to get you, even if the desire is exceedingly high,” He sighs dramatically, and it’s such a human act the android had picked up. Gavin wants to punch him and dislocate his perfectly sculpted jaw.

“Ya dickhead, I’m gonna—“

“Detective, I advise you—“ 900 - or whatever hundredth its number is - puts a hand on his shoulder, drawing him back.

“Don’ fuckin’ touch me—“ Gavin jerks away from the touch and looks down at the object of his wrath. To hell, if he gets written up for this. “If ya think I won’t bash your skull—“

And then the world literally spins on its axis as he is roughly bent over the working desk, with his right hand pressed behind his back. A cup of something - by the smell of it, coffee - gets knocked over and spills right next to his head, coating stray hair strands and his cheek in lukewarm liquid. Gavin is so flabbergasted, that his mouth gapes open, allowing a little of the drink to seep in. Tastebuds tease him with the taste of reprieve he had craved since his rude awakening. Two thoughts cross his mind in a split second that he stays there pinned down - ‘I had a dream like this before’ and ‘I’m going to disassemble this piece of overpriced waste and stomp its remains into the ground.’

Gavin’s chest rises as he gears up to throw whatever insult comes to mind, but the voice right next to his ear stops him mid-inhale.

“You are causing a scene, Detective. This must be pretty embarrassing for you. I would recommend maintaining professionalism in the presence of your colleagues. Otherwise, I may be compelled to undertake corrective measures regarding your conduct,” RK900 scolds, condescendingly, like you would a child.

“Getcha fuckin’ hands offa me,” Gavin growls through his teeth, adrenaline kicking in.

“Could we wrap it up, 'cause as much as I like watching this, I need my desk,” Hank grumbles and fuck him, Gavin doesn’t need his help.

Once he feels the grip loosen on his hand, he jumps as far back from the machine as he can, breathing heavily. He turns away, face heating up in frustration and embarrassment, and storms straight to Captain’s. White snow outside, white LED lights inside - Gavin’s head is splitting from all this white everywhere. Why do they make the most antagonistic and soulless design in the offices? It is a blessing he doesn’t have to spend a lot of time here.

“If this here’s some April’s fools joke, it sure ain’t very funny. You know I don’t do partners, not to mention this one’s a fuckin’ plastic!” Fowler's eyebrow twitches, peeved at Gavin’s unceremonious burst into his office. He did interrupt Cap from some case rumination, but what did he think would happen after the altercation outside? “I work alone - that’s how it’s always been!”

“Say goodbye to the way that it was, Reed. Say hello to the new age - I am not going to look a gifted horse in its teeth and waste a perfect detective unit that comes to me asking for a job. You are the only one here who still has not partnered up. Maybe if you hadn't been a stubborn bastard and just got one already, I wouldn’t have to pair you up with a synthetic model for a high-profile case. How about you stop bitching and wasting my time and do your job?”

“You saw what the fucker did to me out there, I’d just as soon eat glass ’n work with this maniac!” He wipes away the spill and rubs at his hurting cheekbone. Not going to bruise, but still. His ego certainly will.

“If you ask me, you deserved some humbling,” Gavin scoffs and crosses his arms defensively. Well, maybe he deserved some of it, but it doesn’t mean he is gonna take it lying face down. The recent memory causes a thrill down his spine, and he shakes his head, decidedly choosing to ignore that and attribute it to his sleep deprivation. “Even I have an end to my patience. You are a big boy, Reed. You can keep your temper down and partner with him on this one case. Am I making myself clear?” Gavin grumbles but already knows there is nothing he can really do. Captain’s goodwill for him has been fairly thinned recently. “Am I making myself clear.”

“Yes, Dad,” He retorts mockingly under his breath and instantly tenses - his inhibitions off with not enough sleep. Fowler glares at him, unimpressed.

“Get outta my sight, Reed, and be glad I am too understaffed to give you the boot.”

‘Get ready for the dark age of Gavin’s fucking life.’

Chapter Text

A pity the doors are not automatic so that Gavin could slam the shit out of them, but then he would probably have to clean up the broken glass. Instead, he kicks a trash can next to Detective Mills’ table, earning an offended ‘Hey’ from her.

"Oh, 900, it was unnecessary to involve yourself. Detective Reed doesn’t pose any threat aside from being a gargantuan drama Queen,” Connor declares lively, in a perfect earshot for Gavin to hear as he rushes out to leave. What a little bitch he is.

“Mmm, you deserved it, Reed,” Anderson adds without any pleasantries or even looking up from his screen. 

“Fuck off, old man. Mind your own business.”

Gavin wants to smoke so badly, but it'll make him throw up for sure. Checking the jacket pocket out of habit, he realizes he forgot the vape at home anyway. Ugh, great. 'Haven't forgotten your badge now too, have you, bonehead?’ Gavin scowls, opening the car door, hoping to have a peaceful ride before he has to endure the android again.

A sharp voice from behind startles him, and the car keys tumble on the footwell rug under the accelerator.

“Have you calmed down from that juvenile tantrum of yours and are finally prepared to commence the case investigation, Detective?” 900 emphasizes the word ‘Detective’, and Gavin detests how it sounds.

He turns and glares at it, trying to seem intimidating, but it is somewhat difficult with the synthetic towering over him. Under the bright shine of the snow, it is even more noticeable how RKs don’t actually look like clones - more like brothers. What a joy. Instead of one shithead, he has to endure two. Secret siblings is the worst twist there can be.

‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ Shut the fuck up.

He bends and stretches over the seat to grab the lost keys.

“It would be more effective if we journey in the same vehicle.”

“I will not let you inside my car,” Gavin protests, looking over his shoulder and meeting android’s watchful eyes. He immediately straightens.

“Detective, it would be in the best interest of everyone if we cooperate.” 

“You need to get this straight, you plastic prick,” Gavin sits down, fires the ignition and points his finger at the RK900. “I will never cooperate with you. Fowler said we’re 'partners', but it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to him. I work alone, so don’t stick your fake-ass nose in my pie, tryna tell me what to do. Got it?”

“I believe you may have some misconceptions,” RK grabs at the driver’s seat backrest and leans down. The fabric crinkles loudly next to Gavin’s ear, sending shivers down his spine. “Do not presume I am elated to be working with you. Sooner we conclude this case, sooner I will be assigned to an individual of a greater… merit.”

Gavin wants to punch it in the face - seems to be a family trait to elicit this response from him. His wrist still hurts a little bit, hence the only thing he does is shake his head in exasperation. 'Next time.' At this moment, he is tired and just wants it to be over.

▼ ▼ ▼

He had a lot of bad car rides in his life - this is one of them. The anxiety and rage that are gradually bubbling in his throat make him grip the wheel so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if there were indents afterward. He probably needs to take a pit stop to punch some grass or something, but that would only mean more time to drive with this motherfucker. So, for some consolation - and to escape the suffocating silence - he starts the car stereo on full volume, blasting whatever next song is on his driving playlist. Turns out to be ‘Kill Me’ by The Pretty Reckless. ‘Mood.’ Damn, his aching head - the android side-eyes the tablet, and that’s medicine enough.

Gavin slams the car door and doesn’t wait for the RK900 to follow. Entering back into the darkness of the boat again, he inhales. Then exhales, summoning whatever scraps of emotional stability he has to do his job. ‘Okay, he can do it. One case, and he will wash his hands of this trash can.’

Crouching down next to the victim’s corpse, he tilts his head and frowns. White plastic shines under the slither of light seeping through the roof. It is not some rich punk he was expecting. Great, he kinda wishes he was in the corpse's place right now. Why is it a high-profile case if this is just a synthetic?

Getting his phone out, Gavin turns on the flashlight to get a better look. A silver glint of metal on the left catches his eye, making him stumble back on instinct. It’s a knife, sticking out of someone’s hand. This one’s human alright - the dried red blood is proof enough. He cringes at himself for being scared of a dead body, blaming the lack of sleep on everything that is wrong with him today. His eyes slowly drag up along the arm.

“Wait, ah shit...” Despite the civilian clothes, Gavin undeniably recognizes Tony Gibson - the Captain of the Red Ice task force. Fuck, okay, he gets it now.

The man sprawls on the small couch in the corner of the cabin. Face swollen, eyes red, mouth covered with some sort of oxygen-supply-looking mask that is hooked to a silver tank - undoubtedly suffocated. Gavin stands up and comes closer, leaning in to examine the label. It is oxygen distribution - the kind of thing divers use. By the red tint of the plastic, it looks like it had been repurposed to disperse the drug.

Damn, he wonders if Hank was friends with this guy when they were on the task force.

“Did you ever read the report which was so kindly sent to you, Detective?” RK900 stands in the exit, hands behind his back, observing Gavin like a corporal.

The memories of police academy assessments flash in his mind - he despised those. Just a bunch of entitled jerks waiting for you to make a mistake, to remind you how much better they are. Thank the Gods it only lasted six months, he wouldn’t have been able to handle any more schooling. Fieldwork did much more for him than struggling through all those textbooks, questioners, tests, reports.

“Don’t have the patience to read all that,” Gavin schemes the surroundings, stepping carefully around the corpse. There are obvious signs of struggle - furniture flipped, broken glass on the floor.

“Clearly.” The android hums evenly, but there is an evident critical undertone Gavin’s too familiar with.

He scrunches his nose in annoyance and scoffs. That's why Gavin Reed never works well with partners. He doesn’t need all these judgy remarks, questioning his methods, how or why he does things. If he had more awareness or care this morning, he would’ve run it through his text-to-speech, but he didn’t. And awakening with the pounding in his head, forcing sentences and words make sense would’ve been torture. He doesn’t hate himself that much. The android should be grateful Gavin even schemed through it.

“How’d the plastic die? Don’t see anything other than some cuts.“

“Overdose.”

“Overdose? On what, on Red Ice?” He shines the light at RK and shakes his head in disbelief. “How would that even happen? Thought it didn't affect synthetics.”

“Contrary to Captain Gibson, the particles I have found on GN300 belong to an RI-TC variant containing thirium, acetone, lithium, toluene, hydrochloric acid, and reversible nano inhibitors which overwhelm the internal neural circuit systems in the mainframe—“

“Blah, blah, blah - in English, please?” 900’s eyes flutter as it slightly lowers its head.

“This is a new strain of Red Ice specifically engineered to influence androids analogously to humans. From what is known, it is still experimental, and excessive ingestion may lead to short-circuiting. As is demonstrated here.”

Gavin strides to the exit, looking closely at the bloody handprint on the doorframe.

“An android taking drugs, what a world we live in. I bet Cyberlife would want to know about this.”

“Considering it was also one of our own, I would assume so.”

Gavin blinks and flashes his light back to the dead synthetic, squinting.

“Did it escape your attention that this was a marine police patrol vehicle?” The pale gaze pierces him. “Are you even a detective?” 

Here’s the thing. You can insult anything about Gavin, some of it would be warranted, but what he will never tolerate is someone telling him he can’t do his job. So he does what he always does and throws a punch. Expectantly - cause what did he think would happen - RK900 grabs his fist, turns him around, and slams him roughly into a wall of the boat so much, it rocks with the power. 'He never learns from his mistakes, huh?' This time his cheek is going to bruise for sure.

“I advise you to abstain from antagonising me, Detective. I do not possess my predecessor’s scripts to uphold cordiality. Should you persist in being a nuisance to this investigation, I will be within my programming to eradicate the hindrance. Or let me put it in simpler terms for you - if you're breaking my back, I'll be breaking yours too. Do you understand?” Gavin is tired of people asking him that. And Gavin is tired of ending up in this position today. He huffs and then hisses as the pressure on his arm increases. “Do you?”

Gavin doesn’t dignify it with an answer and just sneers. The reward is a rough shove back inside the cabin. A board under his foot creaks loudly and slides a little as Gavin tries to get his footing. He looks down at it confused. Crouching, he takes out his pocket knife to peel the loose board away. Maybe he can throw it at the plastic asshole and then they’ll have one more corpse at this crime scene. ‘Most likely his.’ What greets him underneath are packages and packages of Red Ice crystals.

“My sincere congratulations, Detective. It appears you stumbled upon the evidence 2 hours, 10 minutes, and 16 seconds post my own discovery. Were it not for your little outburst accompanied by back-and-forth excursions,” He swears he sees a hint of mirth in the android’s pale eyes. “It is reasonable to assume, given the boat is registered to the marine patrol model GN300 - which was duly stated in the report - it was involved in the distribution of Red Ice within the marine department. Evident by the modified tank and methodically concealed bundles under the floorboards, you oh so helpfully exposed. Allow me to reconstruct a scene for you—“

“Don’t waste your breath,” Gavin interjects, simply ‘cause the plastic seems to be having too much pleasure in degrading him. Then he realizes the "breath” part doesn’t apply here, whatever. “I know whatcha getting at - 300 was dealing, good ol’ Captain over here comes to confront him, but gets killed by what he fought against, poetic. Why would an android deal?”

“Why would a human deal?” Gavin’s lip twitches.

Wouldn’t the Detective try to build a case on the android first, though? Why try to confront it if you could rather follow the blood in the water to fry a bigger fish? There is something in Captain’s actions that bothers Gavin. From what he’s heard about the man, Gibson was not the type to just blindly go into the lion’s den. Prideful sure, but not stupid. It was still an android he was confronting.

“I wanna talk to the wife.”

“Why? It seems that it would be a waste of time.”

“If he was building a case on the android, I want to check it out.”

Glancing around the boat outside, it makes sense - yellow and blue paint, light bars, the freaking "Police" in big letters. No matter how big they get, it’s still hard, specifically when he’s only half here mentally. ‘Stupid.’ He does feel a semblance of inadequacy, and he fucking hates feeling that. This is not his fault - it is taking him extreme power to keep his eyes open with the persistent pins in his temples. And RK900 seems to have something to prove by constantly berating and undermining Gavin’s skills. What an absolute dickhead - Gavin fucking hates it.

▼ ▼ ▼

The wife doesn’t provide anything useful when Gavin asks if she knows about any recent investigations Captain Gibson was conducting. She even scoffs bitterly: 'Despite Tony being dead, he still can’t stop working. Do you know how it feels when you get yourself all prepped up for dinner and he gets all twitchy saying something urgent came up at work, I’d have to do a late night. Oh, I told him he’d get into an early grave, can you imagine he even got a nosebleed from working too hard!—’

What a waste of time. ‘Ugh.’ He needs to figure out how Captain figured out the drugs and why he went there alone, it’s bothering him to no end. ‘Maybe if they track the supplier?’

The dissociation kicks in while driving, and he has to close his eyes for a second at a stoplight to get his bearings. The sleep deprivation shivers are getting to him, and everything is too much, he needs to get this under control. When they arrive back to the precinct Gavin dismissively throws ‘Lunch break’ at the RK900 before beelining it straight to the break room.

He opens the fridge and lets his temple fall on the cold metal, giving his headache some sweet reprieve. He doesn’t even want to eat anything - he just wants to sleep. Or something stronger than coffee to perk him up.

“You going through it, huh?” A hand reaches past him and grabs something from the top shelf.

“Wow, how did they not promote you to Detective yet huh, ya absolute whiz?” Gavin spits out, and no, that’s not right. He doesn’t wanna be that mean to Tina, so he amends. ”I’m going through all kinds of it right now, yes,” He raps his knuckles on the woman’s arm as a way of saying sorry. “You eating here?” 

“Mhm,” She confirms, already munching on chicken. “Dad made some Gong Bao, you wanna?"

He shakes his head faintly.

“Can ya watch over me while I nap? Feel like I’m fixin' to turn into dust or explode like a landmine if I don’t grab at least 20 mins of shuteye.”

“Sure, babes,” Gavin throws Tina a soft, hidden smile reserved exclusively for her. When he lies down on the couch, she puts a blanket on him and kisses his forehead. “Night, night lil baby, be regular grumpy when you wake up.”

He bats her away and rolls his eyes, but still wraps the cloth around his shoulders. Feeling all his tense muscles finally relax makes him go straight into deep sleep.

▼ ▼ ▼

It was a very nice nap. Until all of a sudden, Gavin hears this agitating, grating voice, right in his ear. Along with a freeze on his neck.

“And here I thought your capacity for unprofessionalism couldn’t dwindle further. Sleeping whilst on duty, Detective?”

If the android didn’t have machine reflexes, it would’ve gotten a flailing hand in the face. Gavin looks around, blearily, heart racing from the sharp awakening. Being woken up suddenly is a bitch on his anxiety, and when he’s already feeling borderline delirious and on edge. Grumbling, he props himself up and shudders at the cold that slides along his spine. The fucking android put ice chunks down his shirt - what an absolute bastard.

“Go die in a ditch…” Untangling himself from the blanket turns out to be a bit harder than expected, especially with the synthetic’s blue gaze not leaving him. Tina tugs on his hand to help him stand up, and Gavin is grateful because he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to do it himself. “Tis nunya business what I do on my lunch break. Free time means I can do whateva’ I want.”

“Sorry, tried to stop him, Gav. He is kinda intimidating,” She whispers the last part, but of course, the android hears that apparent by a tiny head tilt Gavin spies across her shoulder. It stands like a guard at the door, and it makes Gavin fidgety.

“Your break is over,” RK speaks, ‘Does he ever shut up?’ “I have located the supplier during your idleness, should you wish to collect him.”

“Wha? How did ya know what I—”

“In the car, you had expressed your desire to ascertain the identity of GN300’s Red Ice caterer.” 

“I did? Ugh…” Gavin rubs his face with both palms.

"I cannot fathom why do you persist to investigate this matter when it could be delegated to the Red Ice task force.”

“I’m not investigating the drugs, I’m solving a murder,” He gives Tina a two-finger salute and strides back to his personal hell.

"I had already solved it,” Gavin rolls his eyes.

“Well, my gut’s telling me something doesn’t add up here. So you either get the fuck off my back or shut the fuck up and let me do my job.”

Gavin would rather garner his own evidence and form his opinion on the case than listen to someone say they already ‘solved it’. No one can be trusted - they’ll make errors, and then he would be at fault. The infamous Gavin Reed, always the one to blame for everything. He already makes enough mistakes in his life, doesn’t need someone else’s piling on top. People would call it meticulousness, they should be fucking grateful Gavin still has some semblance of attention span, unlike others. It is beyond him how he is criticized if he actually investigates and then also called lazy and apathetic if he doesn’t.

Peeling away from the parking is… weird.

“Huh?” Gavin knows his car, and there is definitely something different about how it slides along the road, too smoothly.

“I took the liberty to order and arrange the change of your tires while you had slept,” The android states casually as if it's the most normal thing to do.

“What. Don’t fucking—“ He white-knuckles the steering wheel, rage bubbling in his gut. “Don’t touch my fucking property.”

“I do not wish to find myself in an accident due to your negligence in performing routine upgrades to your car.”

“You don’t have to ride with me. And fuck you, I treat her fine,” It takes all the self-control from Gavin to not open the door and toss the plastic onto the road. “I’m sooooo sorry, I can’t purchase new tires every month just ‘cause shops cheap out and shit breaks. Tires were fine. Woulda held for ‘nuther month!”

“Why would you run them to the ground when you have sufficient finances to afford new ones?”

“Yeah, sounds like someone who never had to scrimp and save once in their life,” He scoffs and then adds. "And how da fuck would you know what my finances are?!"

“The reason you are being so irate eludes me. At the very least, I expected you to be grateful,” It turns its nose up at him as if Gavin should fucking bow down to this arsehole who had done nothing but berate and look down at him the whole day. ‘Didn’t answer the second question, prick.’

"I don’t need handouts, ya plastic pick. Want me to be grateful? I’d be grateful when you get out of my hair.”

Chapter Text

Gavin doesn’t even ask how RK900 had tracked the supplier down. He bets the egomaniac would love to blabber about how smart it is, and he’s not about to give that satisfaction. 

They get him in the middle of dealing, actually. Just a kid, though - 16 at most. Seeing the police badge on Gavin’s belt, the two cokeheads scatter like roaches when you shine a light on them. The guy is not so lucky. RK catches him fast - lightning speed - pinning him to the brick wall of the alley. It does seem to have a passion for slamming people into things. Gavin lays the dropped package on the nearby trashcan and rips the white plastic to reveal shining packs with red crystals. The guy’s eyes grow owlish.

“I-I’m just a courier - I don’t even know what is delivered! They just ask to do drop-offs. I need the money— my-my sister’s sick, please!“ He blabbers.

“Hey, cool it, kid - not narcotics. We’re investigating a homicide.”

“I know nothing of murder, officer, I swear!”

“Detective.” He corrects sternly but modulates his voice to be a tad gentler. “I’m here to ask a few questions, alright? You wanna do your civil duty helping the investigation or go to the slammer for dealing?”

There is a half-second hesitation before the kid raises his point finger. Gavin pulls out his phone going into the forensics share cloud, finding the picture of GN300.

“Yeah, I know this guy - I’d see him, uh, once every few months. Would buy a buncha these.” He nods at the box. 

"What's with the flower?" Gavin lift it and shows what he had noticed earlier - a logo of a simplistic looking red flower design. 

"I don't—" The boy looks around sheepish. "I just know they pay extra when I deliver these..."

“Did you see this person coming here sniffing about the same thing?” He swipes to the picture of Tony Gibson.

“No, sir.”

“No? You sure?” Gavin presses further.

“Y-yea? Was this… the wrong answer?…” ‘Ugh.'

“Judging by his vitals, he is speaking the truth.” The boy nods frantically and Gavin sighs.

“Okay, plastic, let him go.” RK900 stares at him and cocks its head to the side. He pointedly looks back. “Your wires got crossed?”

As the android’s grip loosens, the guy scurries away. Good for him - Gavin doesn’t have the power or emotion to book a 16 year old right now. Even if the kid knew about the drugs in the packages, Gavin’s not the one to judge.

“You had discharged a minor distributing narcotics. It is imperative to report him to the RITF for further investigation.” Synthetic assumes its default pose of hands behind its back.

“You report it then, I bet ya already got his whole family tracked down. Not my barn, not my cattle.” Gavin waves a hand dismissively and leans on the wall, automatically going for the vape and remembering it's not there. He fidgets with his pocket knife instead. “If Cap was building a case - wouldn’t he want to question the supplier? How did he find out about the drugs in the first place? I mean the kid might not have seen him staking out—”

“My analysis of precinct surveillance recordings indicates a pre-existing familiarity between unit GN300 and Captain. The Marine department is located on the floor below the RITF headquarters. During a recent officer convention held in that building, the camera had captured an altercation between the pair. Perhaps Captain Gibson had noticed the deviant's suspicious behaviour, prompting further investigation,” It says nonchalantly.

“Perpetrator’s financial records displayed monthly transactions marked as "office technical renovations" - diagnostics of 2365T's precinct equipment revealed no such upgrades or expenditures. The most recent transactions align with the estimated price for the quantity discovered on the boat. Moreover, its geolocation data shows repeated visits to certain spots at particular times, outside of subject's assigned area,” Gavin gapes at him. “So I presume it was that way.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that before?!”

“You were busy talking to your gut.”

“You and Connor fucking deserve each other,” Gavin tsks and asks challengingly. “Why would Gibson confront him alone?”

“Pride,” Based on everything Gavin has gathered today, RK is very familiar with it. “I conclude that Captain wanted to challenge it in private, believing he would be able to overpower GN300 and thus earn the glory for unveiling such corruption. Given its standing, the marine officer could have been dealing to anyone.”

“Well, that’s pretty fucking stupid.”

“I do witness most humans are,” The android stands opposite of Gavin, looming. “Alike coming to work with traces of Marijuana on his person.”

Gavin scoffs and crosses his arms defensively. “Are you serious right now? I was not s’pposed to do an’thang today! I am allowed to burn off a lil weed to relax after work.”

“Marijuana contributes to irritable nerves, anxiety, and paranoia which of you all currently exhibit.”

“Yeah maybe long term - I’m not lightin’ it up every fuckin' day,” He pushes back into the wall if only to escape the shadow in front of him. “And I ‘exhibit’ all that ‘cause of you!”

“Does my competence threaten your fragile human ego?”

“I spent years studying, making mistakes, learning— being a Detective. And you? You just popped outta the plastic womb a prepackaged Detective unit, without havin’ to earn it,” Gavin snarls in disdain and flicks it on the steadily blue LED. RK’s eyes narrow a tenth of an inch, and it wouldn’t have been noticeable if they weren’t standing toe to toe. ”I fucking despise everythin’ you and all of yer AI kind represents. You wouldn’t understand an’thang of this. You don’t feel fatigue, pain, or hafta think when your brain is melting. Look at ya - you perfect plastic pet.”

“Do not ever call me that.” There is a chilling tone in its voice that Gavin hasn’t heard yet.

“Pft, which one of the three words, plast—”

A pressure on his throat cuts the last words, knocking his head back into the brick. His hand claws at the android’s wrist, nails digging into the stiff fabric, while the other pushes at its shoulder. ‘What the fuck’ he wants to yell but only rasps.

“You would know nothing of my woes,” RK900 speaks flatly, yet the cold arctic eyes betray the bottled-up rage. “How could you, truly? Your feeble human mind would not be able to comprehend even a fraction of all the intricate processing inside my mainframe. Yet here I stand, forced to work with someone so worthless.”

‘Worthless.' Gavin has a strong sense of deja vu being in this situation before and he knows what comes next. He doesn’t want it to hurt.

“I have to know how inferior you are with all your weaknesses and vices. How can I possibly entertain anything you say?“ It almost sneers into his face. Adrenalin crests like a sudden wave, making Gavin’s fingers prickle, not just from the cold. His body reacts accordingly, feeling for the tool in his pocket. “Do you believe I am here for your amusement or to follow you around like an obedient little dog? If anything you are—”

A squelch echoes across the alley, stopping whatever tirade the android was on. Blue blood slowly seeps into the white fabric of the sleeve, where the knife has struck. RK’s hand unclasps and it steps back - eyes wide with disbelief, more than pain.

'They don’t feel pain.’

Gavin wishes he had stabbed it in the neck.

He slides against the wall, scraping his palms on the jagged texture. Everything swims in his vision from the limited supply of oxygen and panic. He doesn’t wanna shake, to lose his shit like this. ‘He doesn’t wanna be here.’ Legs move before his mind does, carrying him to the car.

▼ ▼ ▼

The buildings fly past at lightning speed. It is a miracle he hasn’t gotten into a car crash. There is not even a specific direction he’s driving, he just needs to get out of there. From that alley, and that fuckass synthetic - from those anxiety-ridden memories. His breath comes in short gasps, and there is a sharp ringing in his ears. Gavin hates his body so much, not being able to control these stupid psychosomatic responses. If only he could dig out the part of his brain that makes him feel like a scared kid again.

He can't hold it much longer and swirls to a stop at a secluded back street. Stumbling out, Gavin drops onto the snow and heaves roughly, but nothing comes out. ‘On second thought, maybe he should’ve eaten something after all.’ 

He can’t be bothered to try to see anything right now and squeezes his eyes, hard. Shapes are dancing behind his eyes, so he hopes that counts for something. A shiver runs down his spine, and he digs his teeth into the bottom lip to feel the pain. Snow crumples under his palms, frosty dirt digging under the nails. It is hard to hear anything other than a couple of annoying dogs barking in the distance. He must be next to some greasy diner, the smells of fried chicken and waffles tingling his nostrils. There is acid on his tongue, and he hates it all.

This ‘5 senses’ bullshit never helps - the therapist can go to hell. ‘Good thing he fucking quit.’ The pain is the only thing that seems to take the edge off, but the knife is currently preoccupied.

A buzzing pulls him out. Taking a few shuddering breaths, he sits back on his haunches, accepting the call.

“Where have you gone off again, Reed? Being told by the RK900 that you’ve split - I am not here to supervise you like a child. Get your shit together,“ Fowler’s heavy sigh graces his ears. “I do not care for your tantrums or locking horns with the android. The press will be on my back as soon as Captain Gibson’s death gets out, a murder no less. I need the report on this case, stat.”

“Sure, cap.”

There is a pause. “You alright kid?”

“Yeah, happy as a clam,” Gavin grits out. He doesn’t need the man’s worry on top of everything. “Will finish the report. Be there in a bit.”

▼ ▼ ▼

This sucks ass. He is no stranger to embarrassment, but to freak out like that is… not great, especially in front of the plastic Darth Vader. Bleeding at the feet of a predator - that’s what he did. It's only a matter of time before the hound will follow the scent and rip him to pieces.

Okay, first things first - coffee. Gavin needs that sucker asap to calm his nerves. He navigates the precinct, hoping to avoid the RK. Either one of them, to be honest. Speak of the Devil - 900 is right there in the break room, standing back to him and inspecting a big half-dead fern they have there. Fast as the wind, he ducks behind the corner out of the view before the android notices. ‘Just had to be exactly where Gavin wanted to go.’ He is about to sneak a loop around the office to his desk when a familiar voice stops him in his tracks.

“Where is Gavin, what did you do to him?” Tina rushes in front of the android that was about to exit. Her frame is tiny compared to synthetic’s, but intimidating.

“I did not do anything to him, Officer Chen,” RKs tone is as flat as ever. “As you are probably aware, Detective does whatever he wants, and I refuse to be responsible for him procrastinating on the clock,” Gavin clenches his jaw. 'Procrastinating, yeah.' It’s not his fault he had to take a breather after synthetic went full Terminator on him. Anybody would’ve lost their shit.

“Okay, listen here, bucko,” Tina takes that deep 'I'm about to go on a rant' inhale. “We’ve all been overworked to the bone, and the human brain goes goo-go when we don’t get enough rest. Gavin has barely slept, making him even more pissy than he usually is. The guy is an asshole - that is a universal fact - and sometimes he needs some sense knocked into him, but he is also a hardworking, very qualified, and intelligent detective. So do not ever put his professional integrity in question.”

There is something warm simmering in Gavin’s chest following her words. With all the demeaning he’s heard from RK900 the whole day, it is nice to hear someone not thinking he’s shit at his job. Gavin was this close to gaslighting himself that he actually might be. ‘Tina is Tina though, she is always nice.’

“And if you did anything to hurt him, I know where you live now. I will weasel my way into Hank’s apartment and disassemble you while you’re in stasis. Got it?”

Whatever the response might have been gets lost in the office chatter as he continues with the escape plan to get to his desk unnoticed. At least the adrenaline kicked his nervous system to be more awake. The only regret is not going to that back alley diner to get a cup of Joe, even if it would’ve been shitty. He needs any type of caffeine inside of him right now.

The universe must be feeling gracious, a coffee cup appearing on his table. Gavin didn’t know he was that good at manifesting. Half gracious, though, since the hand that delivers the drink of the Gods belongs to 900. He looks up, waiting for a time bomb to explode, but there is nothing. Not a hint of anger, mockery— any emotion on its perfectly sculpted face as if the alley didn’t happen at all. Fucking androids. He wonders if the machine is even a deviant.

“Armistice,” Gavin raises an eyebrow. “A truce. Despite the fact, I do not endorse the introduction of any further harmful substances to your system.”

Gavin holds its gaze, but he’s only human and on the verge of collapse, so yes, he does accept the coffee. If RK900 had spit in it, he wouldn’t even be angry because that would be insane for it to do. Although considering everything else today.

“What, you gonna police my drug intake, plastic?” He takes a sip and grimaces - too bitter for his sweet tooth, but whatever. Then his brain catches up with what he said, and his eyebrows furrow. “Wait, the tank - it was filled with standard Red Ice, and the uh, the-the stash too. Okay, if it was a dealer, that makes sense for customers, but why does it suddenly overdose on the special R the same day Cap confronts it? The goddamn nosebleed and being twitchy— Check Gibson’s finances against GNs.”

“I am not your personal assistant.”

“Coulda fooled me,” He waves the coffee cup at the synthetic. “Isn’t that what all this is for - to make it more ‘efficient’?”

RK900's head tilts up slightly, blue LED swirling.

“Hm,” And that is all the answer Gavin needs as he closes his eyes and leans back on the chair. “There is—“

“Let me ‘reconstruct’ this for you, plastic,” He interrupts and takes a big sigh. “This dang job is so exhausting. I am sick and tired of it, my life’s a mess, and my wife keeps hounding me about spending all my time at work. I am as restless as a cat on a hot tin roof. Wish I had something that would make all this worry go away, oh, look here, I just confiscated a popular drug that perks you up. No one is free of sin - I deserved it. One lil puff ain’t gonna hurt?”

He opens his eyes and glances at the RK that is staring at him with an unreadable expression. If he wasn’t as sleep deprived, he’d swear he sees a twinge of curiosity.

“But I can’t get involved. I am the goddamn Captain, I know how advanced technology is - I go to the dealer, and then what? A video of me, a drug-fighting policeman purchasing drugs leaks. I lose my job, my career, my integrity. I gotta play it smart. I have an android under police jurisdiction - marine model, wouldn’t even be connected to my task force. I’ll just order it to fetch me some. Not only is it a machine - I am its superior. It would obey."

“The altercation happened because the perpetrator refused to deliver the drugs to the Captain anymore,” The android purposes.

“I have my own free will, it claims. I will not be exploited anymore to support your addiction habit, it claims. How dare that piece of walking plastic defy me - I even tossed a little treat to sweeten the deal, and yet it still refuses,” Gavin finishes the reenactment. He can’t stop but picture some young officer - hell, Officer Lang - being exploited by his superior and having to defend himself for having the gall to say no to the bastard. “He did deal to him, in a way, but he wasn’t the one using. I think…”

“That the android’s rejection led to Captain’s unfortunate demise, high-stress levels consequently triggering its self-destruction protocol,” The android finishes his thought again.

Gavin hums. “Good ol’ fashion murder-suicide.”

“How did Captain Gibson get around the first law of robotics before the revolution?”

“I don’t know, gee, he said it was making him happy, he said it was for research, he said it was for the good of the department,” This conversation is starting to tire him out. “Machine would not care about what's right or wrong but what a human tells it to do and how fast and efficient it completes the task.”

“Then you would agree?”

“Agree on what?” Whatever it is he doesn’t wanna agree with it.

“That GN300 was not just a machine anymore because he cared enough to try and stop Captain Gibson from using,” Gavin doesn’t dignify that with an answer and crosses his arms. “Be so kind as to inform me - is it customary for police officers to indulge in substances?”

And the belittling is back.

“It’s not the same,” He huffs and finishes the last drops of the too-hot drink. It’s like the android made it everything opposite to what Gavin likes on purpose. “You know you aren't going to get far as a detective if you have a black and white mentality,” RKs head slightly twitches, and Gavin - being a danger to himself as usual - pushes a little further.

“Maybe you should source ‘how to’ tutorials to learn more about the intricacies of your profession... rookie.” The hooded glare RK900 gives him makes Gavin kinda giddy inside.

And hot.

The drowsiness is still in his bones and an excuse for everything today.

“Well, case solved. I’m going home,” This was the only duty for his supposed ‘day off’, and he fulfilled it, so he's not going to stay on the clock any longer.

“There is still a report to finish and—“

“You seem to love yapping, just write it yourself then. It’s gonna take you, what, a second?” He stands up and doesn’t wait for the answer. Not that he expects it to be anything groundbreaking.

▼ ▼ ▼

What Gavin doesn’t expect that evening is the persistent pest standing at the foot of his door. He hates the lack of a peephole in this flat - shouldn’t have answered the ring bell.

“Detective Reed,” This doesn’t sound condescending as it has been the whole day, and it’s the first time it had actually graced to address him personally.

“Da fuck you’re doing here? Also, how the hell do you know where I live.” Gavin clutches the door in case he needs to shut it quickly. From today’s experience, he doesn’t want his arm or cheek or throat to hurt anymore than they already do.

“As per protocol, I have the residential addresses of every officer and detective of the DPD in my database.”

“This seems illegal and a real invasion of privacy, but sure, collect all the data you want. Why not grab my social security while ya at it?” The android doesn’t reply and just stares down at him. Gavin's eyebrows rise and he throws a hand up in annoyance. “Something else ya wanted to say?”

Silence. He is about to close the door when RK900 speaks.

“I am to always prioritise a suspect being a deviant as opposed to a human, especially not an officer of the law,” It rolls its shoulders back, looking to the side, seemingly inspecting whatever is visible of Gavin’s flat through the opening. “I will adjust those parameters.”

“AI with prejudices - how delightful.”

There is a pause.

“I do acknowledge I had biases when constructing your profile shaped by my preexisting impressions of you. I didn’t take into consideration that your low observation skills and dismissal of clues arose from prolonged sleep deprivation rather than being an inherent aspect of your ‘particular’ character. It was…” The steadily blue LED flickers. “Unprofessional of me to judge your detective skills when you were not at your full mental capacity, I…“ It looks like it takes RK great lengths to get the words out, and it finishes through gritted teeth. “Apolo… gise.” 

Oh. Oh, no. This is human. This is very human cause Gavin had the exact experience when he had to come with the tail between his legs to Chris Miller and admit he fucked up the details of the case.

‘This is not good.’

They stand there for a few seconds, 900 expectantly waiting for an answer.

“Okay,” Gavin responds from the lack of anything else to say and closes the door in synthetic’s face. He takes a deep breath, then a beat later opens it again with the RK still standing in the same position as it was.

“Preexisting impressions,” He retorts mockingly. “You gossip like a couple of rattlesnakes with your shithead brother ‘bout me and stalk me to my home. I am glad this case is over and done, so I don’t have to ‘cooperate’ with your stupid arse no more. Go fuck yourself, loser.” Gavin slams the door this time, not before noticing the yellow hue of the LED. 

Small victories, he supposes.