Work Text:
Hank straightens abruptly at his desk. Connor looks up, likely alerted by the movement and the yellow LED.
-Hello Markus- he says in hesitant greeting, unsure as to why the revolutionary leader is contacting him of all people.
-Hank. You are aware that we began going through CyberLife Tower this morning?-
Yes, yes he is. He’s aware that the company’s executive board had attempted to stall Markus and the SWAT team allocated to the liberation of any androids remaining in CyberLife buildings. He’s also aware that Captain Allen had shut their pleas down quickly and easily, and that Markus had gained access to the Tower at 9:13:06 am, two hours ago. Hank still cannot think, however, of a reason why that should prompt Markus to make contact with him. -Yes.-
Markus seems almost irresolute over the link. -Are you busy right now?-
-Not so busy that I can’t take a break. What is it?- He’s… starting to become concerned about the yet unspoken reason for this communication.
-We found an NK900.-
Hank feels a blank, neutral expression wash over his face. He… knew, rationally, that he was a prototype, and therefore CyberLife was at least in the beginning stages of creating his successor. He knew that the plans and some internal components for his successor were likely somewhere in CyberLife Tower.
He did not know they were so close to completion that Markus would potentially come across a body finished enough to pose a concern.
-I will be there in approximately fifteen minutes. DO NOT approach the NK900 until I am present.-
He stands, calling a cab and pulling up anything within his memory banks that presented an opportunity for improvement upon his model, looking specifically for any physical and combat modules, adding the Zen Garden program and CyberLife’s distance control to that priority list. He hopes that Markus will heed his order and will wait for him.
Because Hank is almost certainly the only one who would have half a chance of restraining or holding off a fully functional NK900.
He locks his terminal and turns towards the door, very much aware that he’s going to have to refocus before long. But for now he can allot some time to be anxious and freak out a little bit.
“Hank!”
The Lieutenant’s voice breaks through the programs he’s running, and the android looks down to where Connor is clutching his arm. His partner looks worried, and upon playing back audio files that he hadn’t initially found cause to heed, Hank realizes Connor has been attempting to speak with him almost since the comm with Markus began. “Yes Lieutenant,” he says, and tries to soften his expression because his voice is far too mechanical at the moment.
“What’s going on? You completely zoned out on me, and your mood ring’s been flickering between red and yellow for the past five minutes!”
Hank blinks, dismissing the urge to bring his hand up to touch his LED. “Markus and Captain Allen are in CyberLife Tower. They have… requested my presence.”
Connor’s shoulders drop in relief? and he breathes out a loud sigh. “Alright, give me a moment and I’ll grab my coat.”
Hank snatches hold of the Lieutenant’s arm, holding gently but firmly. His partner turns a confused look on him. “It may be better for you to remain here,” he says diplomatically, an image from his memory banks coming to mind, unbidden, of CyberLife Tower, floor -49. “Fowler is not likely to permit both of us to leave in the middle of shift for something not related to a case. It is also better for one of us to remain and continue working.”
“Hank. You’re talking about going back to CyberLife Tower. I know you can’t stand to even look at the thing whenever we go past Belle-Isle.”
His LED flashes red briefly. He… supposes that the Lieutenant’s observation is accurate, though he hasn’t much thought of the fact that he does not like looking at the Tower when he is not required to. “But-” Hank can’t calculate what sort of response is most likely to be successful in convincing his partner to stay at the station. He already provided two reasons, and neither seems to faze the human. Neither of them is precisely the reason he does not wish Connor to accompany him though; but they are both valid. He meets Connor’s eyes, feeling the urge to look away. He takes a breath before speaking. “I- I do not want our previous experience in CyberLife Tower to be repeated. There is only-” He runs a quick assessment, taking into consideration the facts that Ms Kamski has assured him the |AMANDA| AI does not exist anywhere and that Markus has not informed him of any NK800s that seemed to be operational. “-a 4.37 percent chance, but that is more than I would like.”
Connor frowns, and Hank can see that he hasn’t understood yet.
“You could have died. You almost died there, because of me. I don’t want-”
Understanding flashes, and Hank falls quiet, thankful. His throat feels constricted. Connor nods slowly. “Why are you going?”
He doesn’t really want to explain, because he suspects the Lieutenant will argue harder if he knows the reason for Markus to request Hank’s presence. Yet no other options seem to be presenting themselves as Hank gazes into Connor’s big, soft eyes. The full truth it is then, or as much as he can offer. “Markus says they found an android… An NK900.”
Connor reels back, eyes widening. “What?”
“We do not know if it has been activated, or if it has any preset objectives. I must be there, in case they need assistance.” Not entirely the truth anymore, but that is what Hank is worried about. He’s worried that CyberLife had managed to delay the discovery of the NK900 long enough to install the Zen Garden program and create a new version of the |AMANDA| AI, or perhaps remove any semblance of sentience and keep it entirely under their control, with just enough ‘free will’ to be as dangerous as Hank - or more so. He’s suddenly very worried that was their intent.
The Lieutenant seems sufficiently appeased - or perhaps just startled - to allow Hank to pull away and take long strides to the station’s front doors where his cab is waiting. It feels like cheating a little, to make a break for it while Connor hasn’t caught on to the potential danger, but Hank really does need his partner to stay away from the Tower.
He won’t be able to focus if there’s even a 4.37 percent chance that Connor will be harmed there because of him once again.
Sixteen and a half minutes later Hank steps out of an auto-cab in front of CyberLife Tower’s main doors. He feels…
Uneasy is the primary emotion that makes his LED flicker yellow briefly.
“Hank!” North is stepping through the doors to wave him nearer. She’s wearing the same coat she had on the night of the revolution’s climax, hair in that same long, thick braid, but neither parts of her trademark appearance are sufficient to mask the tilt of her shoulders that speaks to a similar sense of unease.
He wants to ask how close anyone has gotten to the NK900- what floor they found it on- whether it appeared to be activated- whether it has moved even a fraction of an inch- “Tell me it doesn’t have my face,” is what comes out of his mouth instead of any one of the practical questions he had prepared.
North snorts and rolls her eyes. “Sorry to break the news to you scruffy-gruffy, but he’s a whole lot better looking.” She leads him into the building, the set of her shoulders looking a little more comfortable. Hank almost smiles - can see the line of code encouraging the reaction - but he isn’t quite ready to relax.
The Tower is quiet, electrical systems humming almost imperceptibly, but there’s no one in sight as they stride towards the main elevator. It’s at odds with what he remembers from the last time he was here, though not as much at odds as Hank would like. The androids that were lined up on pedestals as a display along the path to the elevator are gone, and he can vaguely recall them joining his march, awoken by a handful of the thousands he’d brought up from -49. The pedestals themselves remain, though unoccupied by anything, and Hank hopes there is some idea of how to fill them, because they only make the entry room seem more abandoned.
“Where did you find him?” he asks as they approach the elevator. A blink of his eyes spontaneously dredges up images from his memory bank of white armoured humans, their bodies lying still and broken on the floor, broken by his own hands-
He’s almost desperate to distract from the memory with conversation, despite the fact that when the elevator doors open, the box is empty and pristinely clean.
“-46, along with a few spare Hank bodies.” North steps into the elevator and turns neatly, offering him an exaggerated shudder. “That was fucking weird to look at. One of you causes plenty of chaos, any more and I don’t know if Detroit’ll be standing at the end of the day.”
He joins her in the elevator, turning as well to stare out to the entry room, then the inside of the elevator doors as they slide closed. “No other NK800 bodies possess the potential for a unique consciousness. They’re- I’m designed for transfer of memories and consciousness, and to my knowledge there has only ever been two NK800 models active at the same time, though that was for no longer than two hours, three at most.” Hank glances sideways and sees North’s surprised - horrified? - expression. “I am a specialized prototype.”
“You’re damn special, that’s for sure,” she mutters. After a moment, she looks to him and makes an impressive effort to relax her expression. They’re both silent as the elevator moves, counting down the floors underground. “The warehouses were nothing unusual,” North says abruptly, and while her tone is bitter, it’s also resigned. “Androids lined up in a neat grid or packaged in boxes, just waiting to get sold off and sent out. We should have been able to compel CyberLife to activate them, and release them themselves, but instead we got the displeasure of being forced to do it ourselves. This though…” She’s quiet as if struggling to pick words to describe what she’s thinking. “You prototypes, always so extra.”
Hank recalls the odd usage of the word ‘extra’ from several instances in which one or the other of the Andersons had uttered it. It’s still a little strange, but he chooses to overlook it in favour of a more practical query that he feels settled enough to ask. “Has anyone touched the NK900?”
North shakes her head quickly, glancing sideways. “Whatever you said to Markus, I think it spooked him. Ordered everyone out of the room, told SWAT to stay at least two yards away from him.” ‘Everyone’ must refer to all the androids currently assisting the search.
Hank nods, his eyes glued to the floor marker as it slips to -37.
His fingers twitch for his lighter at -42.
He is still when it reads -45.
When the number clicks over to -46 Hank sets his shoulders, and he strides out of the elevator box the moment the doors open far enough to allow his body through. North hurries to keep up with him, but he’s already focused on the back of Markus’ long coat and the few SWAT officers he can see, black outfits contrasting with the pure white so typical of CyberLife in a way that he can only call unsettling, like they don’t belong.
Markus turns, his wary expression visible from several yards away, and it doesn"t clear when he sees Hank, though he does tilt his head a little. Wariness shifts to vague confusion for a moment. "Where"s Lieutenant Anderson?"
"He agreed to remain at the station and continue working on our current cases."
One of the SWAT turns around from where three of them have been looking through a workroom window, and Hank doesn"t need to run a facial search to identify the man as Captain Allen. "What"d you call a negotiator in for?" he asks, very nearly glaring at Markus.
They both remember the other from the Phillips/Daniel case then. Hank can delete the prompt for his standard programmed introduction.
"To be quite honest Captain Allen, if the NK900 is hostile, Hank is our best chance to restrain him," Markus says, and Hank is pleased, in the basic sense of the word, that the other android has come to the same conclusion he did. Allen huffs a sigh, but he seems to decide against arguing.
Hank steps forwards beyond Markus, far enough to see through the window Allen and two other SWAT are watching through. "Has it moved?"
" He has not attempted any movement," Markus answers, with a pointed emphasis on the pronoun used.
It"s all very well to enforce proper pronouns for a race of beings only recently recognized as fully sentient and independent, but when referring to a potential killing machine, Hank finds himself decidedly not enamored with the gentle rebuke. "Are there any signs that someone has completed the NK900"s activation sequence?"
"Not that I can tell from this distance." Markus" displeasure at the instruction to keep their distance is obvious, as if the fact that it was for their own safety is unimportant.
Hank takes a moment to study what he can see through the window. It"s a standard CyberLife workroom, cabinets presumably full of a variety of tools lining the far wall, with a series of computer monitors on a neighbouring wall. On the wall opposite the monitors is an adult sized rig, with a few more arms than Hank seems to recall from what little he remembers of such things. The body hanging in the rig has its visible synthetic skin activated, and it is wearing a pair of dark pants and a dark shirt with a high collar.
He cannot see its LED. Nor even a reflection, the rig apparently positioned too far from the wall for the light of the small indicator to reach anything it can reflect off of.
He takes a quick breath, allowing himself an instant of apprehension. Thus far, there has been no evidence that he should expect the NK900 to be at all hostile or to lash out, but that is not helping to reduce the unease coursing through his system.
"I strongly- " and at that he sends a stern look at Markus- "recommend that everyone remains outside the workroom while I approach and attempt to determine if the NK900 is an active threat." He doesn"t wait for the confirmation that any of them are going to adhere to that. He just steps quickly around Captain Allen and strides to the door, pulling it open and slipping into the workroom.
There are soft footsteps close behind him. Hank is pretty sure that"s Markus, following even when he really shouldn"t, and he glances back briefly to confirm that.
"You should lock down the room," Hank suggests. "Just in case." That will have the added benefit of forcing everyone not already in the room to stay out, lowering the risk of harm to all present and reducing distractions. Markus makes an agreeable noise, and Hank steps forward while he does that, continuing to move until he"s approximately two-point-one yards away from the rig. Out of arm"s reach.
He can see the NK900"s LED now, and he sees that it is pulsing a soft white-blue.
"Initial activation sequence should be complete. In stasis, awaiting a mission or objectives," Hank murmurs to Markus" presence at his side. "It… He won"t break stasis without a prompt." Now he can admit having little issue with using a proper pronoun for the NK900, though there is still a chance that either of them waking the NK900 up end badly.
Without waiting for another word, Markus steps forwards, reaching out to touch a still chest then initializing an interface faster than Hank can process what is happening, and he"s abruptly reminded that Markus is a specialized model, too.
The NK900"s LED flashes blue then yellow, and Hank moves in closer. He doesn"t have any actions preconstructed, but Markus is four years old and he will not be any match for a mission driven NK android, especially if CyberLife managed even half of the improvements upon the NK800 design that Hank has logged.
Markus frowns softly, then his expression softens as he breathes, "Wake up."
The NK900 is still for an instant but then his eyes snap open, the irises almost entirely devoid of colour. He jolts within the hold of the rig, as if trying to move, then he snarls in a burst of static, baring sharp canines and leaning as far forwards as he can.
Markus has stumbled back with a gasp, falling to the floor, and Hank moves to take the space he had been occupying. Raising his hands to show empty palms to the snarling NK900, Hank force deletes the emotional reaction prompt that"s trying to make his body shudder backwards. "NK900," he says, his voice firm, and the android in front of him is instantly subdued, though those grey eyes flick briefly between Hank, Markus, and the window before seeming to settle back on Hank.
He has to say something. He"s gotten the android"s attention, now he has to think of something to say.
-Give him a task,- Markus suggests, sounding rattled.
"Launch your social integration programs." That should include things like blinking, and breathing, and should place a higher priority on responses that facilitate integration with the human population.
The NK900"s LED flickers and a second later he blinks once.
There is still no movement in his chest, even after Hank counts out five seconds.
He represses a frown. "Do you… have a simulated breathing function?"
The NK900 opens his mouth, and the shape of the word "yes" is there… but it is accompanied by no sound.
Now Hank does frown a little. "Was your activation sequence successfully completed?" Another silent "yes ."
"Are you capable of emitting sound?" Markus asks from the floor, and Hank has a sudden urge to smack him for speaking up because the NK900"s shoulders rise a fraction and he jerks in the rig, lips parting to show his teeth again.
"Markus, shut up." -Is there anyone in the Tower right now who could tell us anything about what"s gone on in this workroom?-
Hank can nearly feel the grimace that he"s sure Markus is wearing. -Well yes, but I doubt you"d manage to get them to tell you anything worthwhile,- he replies, and Hank realizes his query was too broad for someone who"s been spending a lot of their time dealing with political representatives and corporate businessmen and figureheads for the past two months.
-You mean to say there"s not a single technician on this floor who will not feel bound by politics?- At that rewording, Markus pushes a sheepish sentiment over the quick communication. "Prepare a diagnostic report," Hank tells the NK900, returning the shreds of attention Markus had claimed back to the silent android.
He can’t imagine why the NK900’s vocal module would not be functioning. He can’t think of a reason that it would not be set to automatically come online upon breaking this sort of duration-unspecified stasis. He can’t think of a reason why that automatic start function might have been turned off.
-Markus, could you take a look at the monitors over there? The recent files or programs may offer an explanation.-
-That’s a good idea.-
There are sounds of fabric and limbs moving behind him, and Hank checks how long it’s been since he’d ordered the diagnostic report - |17.3s| . That’s almost enough time for Hank to run two full diagnostics on his own systems when everything is functioning within optimal ranges.
He looks the rig over, looking for a control panel… Ah. There against the wall to his right, set up three and a half feet away. Hank glances from the panel back to the NK900, who is gazing at him and presumably keeping an assessing eye on his every action. The control panel is much farther from the rig than necessary, and Hank guesses that it is as far over as it is to be out of reach of the android held in the rig.
That’s not reassuring, but to get the full diagnostic report he’s going to have to interface properly, which means releasing the NK900’s right arm.
“Do you currently have any assigned missions or objectives?” he asks, not willing to release the android even partially until that question has been answered.
The NK900 shakes his head, not even attempting to vocalize the response this time.
Hank presses a hand to the control panel, shuffling through the settings until he locates the command to release the right arm.
He moves back to the rig, staring the NK900 down for an instant. “Is the diagnostic report prepared?” There"s a nod, then Hank holds out his arm, synthskin disengaged from his hand. And then he waits for the NK900 to copy the action and initiate an interface. The android complies quickly, even though Hank suspects the Nk900 had not interfaced with anyone before this day. He accepts the transfer request, and starts scanning through the report as it transfers over.
“Markus,” Hank says, a chill setting in and feeling like it’s creeping into the minutiae of his wiring. “His Thirium levels are at 19%.” That could explain why the vocal module isn’t functioning upon coming out of stasis - his own system considers vocalization a relatively low value function, and reasonably so - but that isn’t the end of the diagnostic report. “And his vocal module appears to be inoperative because his primary loudspeakers are fried.”
“Does he have a secondary set? Engage them.”
“They’re manually disconnected.” Markus whips his head around to stare at him and the two of them lock eyes.
Hank has a feeling he’s not going to make it back to the station by the end of the day.
They turn synchronously, as if they had planned it, to the NK900. He stares back at them, blinking blandly.
Hank wants to ask if the android knows why his primary set of loudspeakers is fried and the secondary set is disconnected, but whatever the answer is, he doesn’t particularly want to hear it. Perhaps he couldn’t think of reasons why the NK900 was incapable of making sound because he didn’t want to imagine possible scenarios that would lead to such a thing.
“Markus, I think we need to locate a technician who knows what"s been taking place in this workroom.” Hank doesn"t miss the way the NK900 stiffens when he mentions finding a technician, or the way those silvery eyes seem to deaden and shift to look straight ahead.
“I… yes.” Markus jolts into motion. “Don"t lock me out,” he instructs, already reaching out to pull the door open.
“I hear you,” Hank says, keeping his gaze focused on the NK900. He gives the revolutionary a chance to leave the room and get a few steps away before he moves, striding over to the door and re-engaging the lockdown protocol. Then he turns around to lock eyes with the android intended to be his successor. The NK900 looks vaguely confused, having dropped the blandly polite expression for a slightly more significant simulation of emotion.
Because Hank is certain the android in front of him is not deviant. Even though Markus had made an attempt to wake him. Hank suspects that was what prompted the NK900 to snarl and make a move that looked a lot like a lunge or a pounce, only stopped by the way the rig held him in place.
He wonders if Markus would have been able to wake him with a touch and a whisper, or if CyberLife’s meddling had made that option nonfunctional. An interface or data transfer cannot be forced upon him because of his own security settings; if he weren"t accepting of an attempted interface, it would not be permitted to auto-complete.
I found a technician,- Markus says, and Hank only hums in response. -North says you locked the door.- He doesn"t sound accusatory, not quite; but he does sound curious and a little resigned.
-And he"s relaxed again. As much as his programming will allow, that is.- Hank sends two image files from memory banks, the first of the NK900"S subdued, shuttered body language at his mention of a technician, the second showing the brightest eyes Hank had seen yet and a twist of the lips that he interprets as the android trying to puzzle out why he"d locked the room down again. -You unnerved him.-
It seems Markus wants to object, but he makes a sound of grudging acceptance that somehow gets pushed along the communication. We’re almost back to the workroom,- Markus says, as if he thinks that will be sufficient prompting for Hank to unlock the room.
-Alright,- Hank replies, and turns to look to the window. He doesn’t see Markus or a new human yet. -Learn anything interesting so far?-
-A little. That glass has an opaque setting. She also says that they soundproofed the room over the Christmas holiday, after CyberLife staff were permitted to return to work in the approved departments. Before that… There used to be shrieks and growling sounds.- Markus comes into view, a woman of African-American descent beside him, approximately 5’5” with her hair pulled back into a low bun. Hank thinks of Amanda only briefly, but there are too many discrepancies and he dismisses the thought easily, then glances to the android still hanging in the rig.
The Nk900 seems to relax a little more at the sight of the woman Markus has retrieved, a reaction that is at odds with the way he"d closed off at mention of a technician.
Hank, however, is not more relaxed, and not just because of the stray thought prompted by the technician’s appearance. -Markus. This room is constructed the same as all the others on this floor. None of the walls have been redone.- The room was not soundproofed, which means the source of the noise was changed - was silenced.
Markus does not respond, just begins to relay the conversation to Hank as it is happening.
“Did you ever work on the NK900?” he asks, and the technician scoffs.
“I don"t have the clearance for that,” she says, but her gaze shifts back to the window and she looks at the android in question. “I just cleaned up equipment most of the time. Glorified janitor, really. I…” She falls quiet, glancing around, and her body language suggests she"s expecting someone to come and tell her off. “I um, I did spend a little more time in his workroom than strictly necessary, though. I talked to him when the R&D staff assigned to him had gone home and he was put in stasis.”
Hank decides he"s heard enough, and he steps back to the rig control panel. He presses his hand to it to interface, then he releases the NK900 completely. He doesn"t have to move much to watch the other android settle his shoes on the floor with a grace that suggests he"s done this enough times to encode the action.
Markus seems a little tense where he’s watching outside the workroom, but Hank trusts that he’ll work through the initial startle he’d gotten when trying to interface with the NK900 earlier.
“Let’s go,” Hank says to the android and moves to the door, lifting the lockdown as soon as he’s close enough to interact with the locking mechanism.
The NK900 moves almost instantly, but the sound of his footsteps does not line up with walking towards the door. When Hank turns to look - after the sound of a cabinet door closing - he sees the NK900 pulling on a stark black and white jacket, with serial number, blue armband, and Android triangle glowing bright.
It must be a programmed routine - when leaving the workroom, put on all parts of the designated uniform. The idea almost makes Hank shudder, though his instinctual reaction can likely be attributed to the way his own CyberLife uniform used to be a sign that he was single-mindedly focused on the objectives they assigned to him. Now when he pushes the grey jacket aside where it hangs in his closet it stands more as a reminder of what used to be and as a reminder that he made a conscious decision to break free of that.
Hank takes a breath as he steps out of the workroom and runs a facial scan automatically on the technician >NAIDA THORNTON >>DOB 05/14/2012 , the NK900 following him closely in a way that calls to mind a memory of Fish and Sumo trotting at Connor’s heels.
“NK900, this is North.” She offers him a smile that isn’t quite soft , but it isn’t the predatory or ferocious grin that she often wears. The NK900 nods and walks to her side, half turning back to Markus, as if awaiting an explicit instruction. It comes, but it isn’t exactly directed to him, but rather to North. “Please take him up to the main floor. We should take him to Jericho right away.”
Markus sounds completely confident.
North nods solemnly.
Hank grimaces.
The two older androids seem entirely oblivious to Hank’s reaction, but Thornton definitely caught his expression. She takes a step forwards, her lips parting as she inhales audibly, but she closes her mouth without saying anything, simply looks back to the NK900. North turns towards the elevator, the NK900 following close at her side.
His head shifts, just a little, then, with no response to that movement from anyone, he turns far enough to set silvery eyes on Thornton.
The technician appears almost a little put out, but she musters a tiny smile and a brief wave. “Bye Reed. Uh, good luck.”
“Reed?” Hank asks softly while the NK900 faces forwards and continues on beside North.
She shrugs almost self-consciously. “The guys working on him used the name Hank, but I never really thought that fit. So I started calling him Reed when I talked to him, because of the reeding on the wall behind his rig.”
>ARCHITECTURE OR FINE ART INTEREST
The conclusion pops up on Hank"s HUD, and is automatically added to Naida Thornton’s file, with |COMPASSIONATE| and |GENUINELY CARES ABOUT NK900 -87| . He nods at her, then starts to follow North and the NK900, forwarding the technician’s name and contact information to Markus. -I understand you"ve been collecting people who know how to repair androids,- is all he says in addition, and he knows that"s as good as an official recommendation.
He sends a message to Connor’s phone next. |I"m staying at Jericho tonight.| The Lieutenant is going to worry, probably, but Hank doesn"t trust that the NK900 will be alright if he"s surrounded by deviant androids, many of whom have been repaired with miscellaneous available parts instead of parts designed for their models. He"s relatively confident that"s the reason - or part of it at least - why Markus had incited a violent reaction. The other part is probably the attempt to force him to go deviant.
This android is going to be interesting to work with.