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The rain pattering against the windows of the taxi does nothing to obscure its vision. RK800 leans against the window with its LED pressed against the glass, gauging the temperature just to have something to do.
The night has not gone well for its mission.
It started well enough. RK800 left Cyberlife Tower and took a taxi directly to the Detroit Police Department in order to begin aiding in android-related investigations as soon as possible. It checked in at reception and scanned the office briefly, able to identify Captain Fowler through the glass walls of his office. Convenient.
It knocked on the door and introduced itself as Purpled, the android sent by Cyberlife. Captain Fowler had received the email and responded positively to the idea of his involvement days ago, of course. Although it seemed as though he was still deliberating on who to assign it to.
It stood at attention with its arms folded behind it and its gaze drifting along the knick-knacks on the Captain’s desk as he typed away on his computer. Ultimately, it took around fifteen minutes for the Captain to come to a decision. RK800 would be working with Lieutenant Hank Anderson, who normally handles homicide cases and would be tasked with investigating android homicides until the deviancy issue was resolved.
RK800 found this agreeable, though it had no say in this, and asked where it could find Lieutenant Anderson. This appeared to be a misstep of some kind, because the Captain’s expression soured and it was sent to go find him… which it did not anticipate would be as big of a hassle as it ended up being.
It introduced itself to no less than three different officers that were equal parts curious and indifferent to its arrival but all were sympathetic when it asked about Lieutenant Anderson’s whereabouts. The picture that was being painted between these interactions with his coworkers and the pages it skimmed about his behavioral write-ups that went on-record had made it that much more determined to get moving.
It nodded to the receptionist on its way out to signal it would not be returning and called a taxi.
And the hunt began.
Cross-referencing the nearest bars to the station on google maps with some dated images it was able to pull up from the lieutenant’s long-inactive social media accounts, it compiled a list of several bars that it then mapped a route between. If it was going to waste time like this then it would try to be efficient about it.
The first bar was anti-androids but the sign gave it less than a moment’s pause before it ducked its head in to start scanning the patrons. It had to walk inside for its field of vision to extend to the people in the very back but all results came back negative. It left promptly.
The second bar had no such signs but the attention it received still wasn’t positive. It did waste a bit more time asking the bartender if Lieutenant Anderson had been here and received a silent glare for its troubles. It turned and left immediately after.
The third bar was at least interesting to be in. The lighting was more colorful and there were more people to scan. It even got further than halfway in before the patrons started to notice its LED, though the fact that they missed its jacket’s embellishments spoke volumes about how inebriated they were. It spent the longest time here and also had to dodge two stumbling people that might’ve been attacking it if not for the fact that it did not feel threatened. At all. It walked out calmly and unruffled by their attempts to damage it.
The fourth bar? That one was something.
It was partly open-air and had possibly, once upon a time, been a very up-scale establishment. Now, though, the corners were caked with grime and the chairs tipped to the side. There were only a small handful of people spread out around the area, as if none of them wanted to be associated with each other. There was music playing over the speakers and a singular TV playing a commercial, but the place itself was quiet.
It would’ve been the simplest in-and-out trip of the night if not for the patron closest to the door taking offense to its presence, and attempting to remedy that offense with the business end of his tactical folding knife. RK800 had de-escalated the situation in seconds, removing the weapon from the offender before he could hurt himself with it, and swiftly left.
There was no protocol in its programming that required RK800 to return the knife to its owner, especially not when the man was so incapable with it that it was a threat to his own well-being. Really, RK800 was doing him a service by confiscating it.
It sits in its jacket pocket now, a new weight accompanying RK800’s coin. The taxi has parked on the opposite side of the street from a place labeled ‘JIMMY’S BAR’ in bright white lights. RK800 steps out and begins to move across the street, ignoring the rain and out of habit reaching for its coin to flip. When its hands touch the knife, an idea hits, and as it reaches the door to the bar it has to stop flipping the knife in order to adjust its tie. (It’s freshly replaced, of course, since the last one was lost to the SWAT member on the rooftop those months ago.)
It wouldn’t do for RK800 to look anything less than its best, really.
‘NO ANDROIDS ALLOWED’, the sign on the door reads. There’s also a ‘no dogs’ sign, which is quite possibly a more heinous crime, not that RK800 has an opinion on the matter. It opens the door, and goes inside.
As its feet hit the pavement, several patrons as well as the bartender turn from their seats to look at the newcomer. It seems this place is reserved for the regulars - although, again, it cannot be overstated just how much RK800 does not care.
‘FIND LT. ANDERSON .’
“Are you fucking lost, kid?” One patron slurs, hunched over and squinting in a manner that implies he is not intending to offer any aid.
‘FIND LT. ANDERSON .’
> SCAN FACES.
A quick scan shows the heckler is not Lt. Anderson, and it moves on. It moves quickly through the bar, identifying the bartender as the owner, Jimmy Peterson, as well as several of the patrons. At this rate, there is no time to waste, and there’s also no point in risking a repeat of the incident at the last bar.
“Shit, I thought androids weren’t allowed in here.”
“What’s your problem?” A man asks after RK800 lingers by his side for a moment too long, scanning for his drinking partner’s identity without facing them. “You wanna buy me a drink?”
It doesn’t respond, just moves on.
“That’s what I thought…”
“What sorry sack of shit forgot to park their teenager?” Another calls, and if humans could shoot fire from their eyes RK800 is quite sure it would have melted by now. “Whose plastic is this?”
Just to be sure, it moves towards the bathrooms to check and see if Lt. Anderson is inside.
“Hey, get out of here!” Someone calls, and is ignored.
Moving back to the front after an unsuccessful search in the very decorated bathroom, RK800 spots the one patron it was unable to scan from the other side due to their position hunched over on the counter. From this side though, it’s barely able to scan and confirm who they are.
Lt. Anderson, Hank. Born: 09/06/1985 // Police Lieutenant. Criminal record: None.
“Lieutenant Anderson,” it greets him. “My name is Purpled. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife. I looked for you at the station, but nobody knew where you were. They said you were probably having a drink nearby. I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar.”
“What do you want?” Lieutenant Anderson asks. He does not turn to look at it.
“You were assigned a case earlier this evening - a homicide involving a Cyberlife android. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”
“Well, I don’t need any assistance. ‘Specially not from a plastic asshole like you. So just be a good lil’ robot and get the fuck outta here.” Lieutenant Anderson raises his shot glass to his face again.
Unfortunately for the lieutenant, RK800 is not planning on leaving without him. Perhaps a more pathos approach will appeal to him…
“I understand that some people are not comfortable in the presence of androids, but I am-”
“I am perfectly comfortable, now back off before I crush you like an empty beer can.” Lieutenant Anderson’s reaction is… undesirable. Thinking back to the files it read earlier, being either threatening or assertive may not be the ideal route. And looking at the alcohol in his hands, reason might also be off the table.
A fifth option appears in RK800’s mind. If pathos doesn’t work, then perhaps a bit of human psychology will.
‘PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE SCRIPTS UPDATED.’
“Oh, my mistake then. I’ll just ‘be a good lil’ robot’ and get the fuck out of this bar. Not like I have a dozen flashing instructions telling me to drag you to the crime scene myself that I literally can’t ignore. Nope, I’ll just tell my handlers that you don’t need any assistance. That’ll go over well.”
“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Lieutenant Anderson responds, not missing a beat and grinning into his shot glass.
“No,” RK800 stares at him, dead-pan and emotionless. “Where?”
The look Lieutenant Anderson gives him is equal parts disbelieving and offended.
“...Who thought it’d be a good idea to make a fucking teenage robot?”
“Someone who got paid for it, but that’s not relevant to the investigation. And me getting you out of here is.”
HANKˇ
Lieutenant Anderson chooses to ignore it, turning back to the bar as if that would deter RK800 in the slightest. The responses it’s getting still aren’t ideal and the crime scene won’t get any fresher. It might be time to compromise.
“Alright, clearly you’d rather have another drink than hear about the guy who died. Why don’t I just bill Cyberlife, buy you one for the road, and we get out of here while the body still reeks less than this bar. What do you say?”
RK800 doesn’t wait for a response and pulls back its skin to tap two fingers against the card reader. It pays more than what any item listed on the menu that it can scan costs and flips back to politeness.
“Bartender, the same again, please.”
“See that, Jim? The wonders of technology… Make it a double.” He takes his time before throwing back the whole thing, taking a deep breath and turning to properly face it.
“Did you say homicide?”
RK800’s efforts have finally paid off - and the lieutenant doesn’t look seconds away from decking it, either, which is a bonus. The knife in its pocket is a reminder that it’s had enough fighting with drunk bar patrons for one day.
HANK ^
That being the same reason why it just climbs into the passenger seat of the lieutenant’s car with no protest. They are finally heading to the crime scene and it has a hunch that telling the lieutenant that drunk driving is dangerous won’t go over well. It dismisses the prompt and just recites the address and the information it received when given its mission.
By the time they reach the crime scene, RK800’s LED has been spinning red on and off for the past ten minutes. They pull up past the flashing lights and RK800’s LED returns to a careful yellow as it leans forward to scan the small crowd bustling around the house, which has been sectioned off with yellow police tape. There are police drones circling the perimeter, and a newscaster interviews one of the detectives in the rain. Lieutenant Anderson parks the car and turns to it.
“You wait here,” he says, wagging his finger as if RK800 were an unruly child. “I won’t be long.”
“Whatever you say, Lieutenant.”
HANK^
‘CONFLICTING ORDERS. SELECTING PRIORITY .’
‘ FOLLOW LT. ANDERSON.’
It waits for a total of 6.52 seconds after Lieutenant Anderson shuts his door to open its own and get out. It blinks away some raindrops and follows all the way to the holographic police line, catching bits of conversations and that interview as it goes.
“Joss Douglas, for Channel 16. Can you confirm that this is a homicide?”
“I’m not confirming anything.”
“Have they said anything?”
“I didn’t even know somebody was living there…”
“Typical DPD… they don’t tell us shit!”
RK800 nearly crosses the line when the PC200 guarding the entrance holds up a hand to stop it.
“Androids are not permitted beyond this point.”
RK800 is about to pull its skin back and interface to gain access when the lieutenant unexpectedly turns around to call back, “It’s with me!”
The PC200 processes the clearance given and steps aside. RK800 doesn’t give it a second glance. Immediately it begins its scans of the front yard.
“What part of ‘stay in the car’ didn’t you understand?”
“Your order contradicted my instructions, Lieutenant.”
“You don’t talk, you don’t touch anything, and you stay outta my way, got it?”
Yet another set of orders that contradict its mission objectives.
“Got it.”
“Evening, Hank. We were starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”
Officer Collins, Benjamin. Born: 09/12/1989 // Police Detective. Criminal record: None.
“Yeah, that was the plan until this asshole found me.”
“So… you got yourself an android, huh?” Officer Collins’ tone goes from teasing to more somber halfway through as he takes in RK800’s appearance. It’s not the worst reaction it’s received to date.
“As if, this thing found me.” Lieutenant Anderson scoffs. “Tell me what happened.”
Officer Collins is more than happy to do so. “We had a call around eight from the landlord. The tenant hadn’t paid his rent for a few months, so he thought he’d drop by, see what was going on… That’s when he found the body.”
“Jesus, that smell!” The lieutenant gags as he steps over the threshold into the living space.
RK800’s objectives appear in its vision, tinted purple.
‘ LISTEN TO BRIEFING.’
‘ REVIEW EVIDENCE.’
It’s a computer; it can multitask. RK800 takes in the briefing as it walks around inspecting evidence. It doesn’t immediately go to inspect the body, instead kneeling to take a sample of some old blood from the floor.
DRIED BLOOD.
DNA Analysis: Ortiz, Carlos.
Sample date: > 19 days.
It confirms what a mere look at the body tells him, that the murder took place quite a while ago. RK800 pulls out a wet wipe from his pocket to clean his finger and gets up to keep looking. Next point of interest being a closet that doesn’t seem to contain anything of importance.
The detective continues on. “Was even worse before we opened the windows. The victim’s name’s Carlos Ortiz. He has a record for theft and aggravated assault…”
There’s a table with flyers that don’t seem relevant but RK800 picks up a purple holographic one to examine anyways. It’s an advertisement for the Eden Club.
“According to the neighbors, he was kind of a loner. Stayed inside most of the time, they hardly ever saw him. Uh… state he’s in, wasn’t worth calling everybody out in the middle of the night. Could’ve waited ‘til morning.”
It kneels again to analyze the knife. The blood sample matches that of the victim, which was to be expected, but scanning the handle turns up no fingerprints.
NO FINGERPRINTS, ANDROID INVOLVEMENT?
“I’d say he’s been there for a good three weeks. We’ll know more when the coroner gets here. There’s a kitchen knife over here, probably the murder weapon…”
It gets up and goes to investigate in the kitchen. Upon entering it notices the victim’s blood on a wall and the door frame. Notably, the blood forms partial handprints that it can scan reasonably well. They were made by the victim’s hand.
“Any sign of a break-in?” The lieutenant finally interjects.
“Nope,” Officer Collins shakes his head. “The landlord said the front door was locked from the inside; all the windows were boarded up. The killer must’ve gone out the back way.”
It walks past the kitchen and further down the hall to the bathroom. Pulling back the shower curtain reveals letters and numbers carved into the tile.
OBSESSIVE WRITING.
It kneels to pick up the odd statuette that sits on the shower floor surrounded by wilted flowers. The purpose of it eludes it, but it hazards a guess regardless.
RELIGIOUS OFFERING?
“What do we know about his android?” Lieutenant Anderson asks. With the pace that’s been set tonight, RK800 isn’t surprised it’s taken this long for the housekeeping model to come up despite it being the whole reason they’re here.
“Not much. The neighbors confirmed he had one, but it wasn’t here when we arrived.”
It returns to the kitchen and finds the victim’s fingerprints on the overturned chair.
SIGNS OF A STRUGGLE.
Not far from the chair lies a dented metal bat. RK800 gets a closer look at the handle and finds the victim’s fingerprints on it, with the opposite end containing trace amounts of Thirium.
RK800 leans back and turns its head to follow a reconstruction of the victim swinging the bat at a figure by the counter.
DEVIANT TOOK A KNIFE.
There’s so much information here. RK800 stands and continues running its reconstruction software, vague silhouettes of victim and deviant moving through the kitchen.
DEVIANT WAS ATTACKED: EMOTIONAL SHOCK.
“I gotta get some air.” Officer Collins waves a hand in the direction of the front yard.” Make yourself at home. I’ll be outside if you need me.”
RK800 stands and walks past the counter, unable to see very well through the window because of both the rain and the glaring police droid spotlights. It instead goes to the back door and opens them both to look outside. It scans the soil and finds only one set of footprints.
SHOE PRINT - Model K52 DPD - 10’; Less than 60 minutes ago.
An officer came to look around the back when they arrived, most likely. It can place the shoe size to the officer if it bothered. The soil seems like it would-
RK800 pauses its scrolling through soil and mud properties upon hearing Lieutenant Anderson approach.
“You’ve been busy,” its designated partner says, leaning against the door frame. “Told you not to touch anything.”
RK800 doesn’t have to script a response. “Oh, you’re right. They might consider me a suspect if they find my fingerprints on the murder weapon. My mistake, Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Anderson opens his mouth - probably to complain - but then it turns into a disgusted expression. “Jesus, is that blood on your mouth?”
“I analyzed the blood. I can check samples in real-time.” RK800 rattles off, pulling out another wipe to dab at its face. “I would’ve warned you, but you told me not to speak.”
He scowls, turning to look at what RK800 had just been checking out. “Killer must’ve gone out this way…”
“No footprints out here besides Officer Collins’ size 10 shoes.”
“Well, this happened weeks ago. Tracks could’ve faded.”
It turns to look at Lieutenant Anderson.
“No, this type of soil would’ve retained a trace. Nobody’s been out here for a long time.”
It brushes past him; a single conclusion has its Thirium pump humming.
DEVIANT DIDN’T ESCAPE THIS WAY.
It turns and heads back inside. With a confidence that months of testing and weeks of simulations have instilled in it, RK800 approaches the body itself and begins its analysis. Its eye is drawn to the perfect letters above the corpse. Written in blood and all caps are the words “I AM ALIVE” in a font it recognizes.
REGULAR LETTERS. FONT CYBERLIFE SANS.
Written by the deviant weeks ago, but there’s more to see.
It crouches to inspect the corpse itself. Cause of death is more than obvious.
28 KNIFE WOUNDS: Internal bleeding; 28 stab wounds.
Deceased more than 19 days ago.
Scanning the victim’s face reveals traces of a drug that was probably snorted.
RED ICE: Acetone, Lithium, Thirium, Toluene, Hydrochloric acid.
VICTIM USED DRUGS.
Leaning back and getting a more complete look at the victim’s face pulled up a profile.
Ortiz, Carlos [Deceased]
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 286.6 lbs
Estimated time of death: ~11:30pm
And with the body’s height and weight, RK800 can begin more extensive reconstructions. It begins walking around the room, taking in the displacement of the furniture-
VICTIM FELL HERE.
-and the locations of bloodstains-
VICTIM WAS STABBED.
-to get as close to a perfect reconstruction as it's ever managed out in the field.
THEY CAME FROM THE KITCHEN.
It stands in the middle of the room and addresses Lieutenant Anderson before he even re-enters its field of vision.
“He was stabbed twenty-eight times.”
“Yeah, seems like the killer really had it in for him.”
The lieutenant seems to think their interaction has ended, but RK800 is sure of its detective work and anticipates the objective that blinks into existence.
REPORT TO LT. ANDERSON.
The objective turns blue as RK800 approaches him.
“Lieutenant, I think I’ve figured out what happened.”
“Oh yeah, hot shot? Shoot, I’m all ears.”
In just a millisecond, RK800 compiles all its evidence and sorts through it, using what it’s learned from Amanda to give an optimized report.
“It all started in the kitchen.” RK800 strides in that direction. The lieutenant follows as it walks and talks.
“There’re obvious signs of a struggle…” Lieutenant Anderson scans the area. “Question is, what exactly happened here?”
“I think the victim attacked the android with the bat.” It speaks plainly.
“That lines up with the evidence… go on.”
RK800 smiles, then walks to the opposite corner to get the best view of its reconstruction.
“The android stabbed the victim.”
“So the android was trying to defend itself, right?” It nods. “Okay, then what happened?”
“The victim fled to the living room.” They walk together, RK800 trailing the two figures in its live reconstruction and the lieutenant close behind.
“And he tried to get away from the android… All right, that makes sense.” He nods.
It looks down at the corpse, and utters the most obvious sentence of the evening. “The android murdered the victim with the knife.”
“Okay. Your theory’s not totally ridiculous… but that doesn’t tell us where the android went.”
HANK^
That’s very much what RK800 would like to skip to as well, but these things do have an order to them. It’s learned that much from its time in the mind palace.
“It was damaged by the bat… and lost some Thirium…” An idea hits.
Its partner still looks confused. “Lost some what?”
“Thirium. People sometimes call it ‘blue blood.’ It’s the fluid that powers androids’ biocomponents. It evaporates after a few hours and becomes invisible to the naked eye.” A smirk pulls at RK800’s face as Lieutenant Anderson puts two and two together.
“Oh… But I bet you can still see it, can’t you?”
It turns to Lieutenant Anderson from where it’s crouched by the body, its smile widening as its eyes shift colors from the new objective in its vision.
‘FIND DEVIANT. ’
> SEARCH FOR BLUE BLOOD TRACES.
“Correct.”
RK800 walks with purpose, its eyes following the trail of blue blood as it stains floor, wall, and counter. It’s such a simple thing to follow, no doubt the deviant was thoughtless in its need to flee. To hide.
TRACES LEAD TO THE ATTIC.
But RK800 was meant to search. And there would be no running.
It stands by the bathroom, eyeing the part of the wall where a ladder used to rest, if the dust and discoloration was an indication. It doesn’t see said ladder anywhere, but an upwards glance and a quick calculation has it grabbing one of the chairs in the kitchen to use as a substitute.
“Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing with that chair?”
“Carlos won’t be missing it.”
RK800’s steps are quick and its Thirium pump has kicked into a whole new gear from the anticipation. Its partner steps into the hallway to keep it in his line of sight, but it has a higher priority task to complete: the capture. It moves aside the hatch to the attic and hauls itself up, systems racing with combat protocols and ready to pre-construct at any moment. The attic is cluttered and dark. Its LED and glowing eyes are providing the only-
Red. It sees the faintest of red lights near the back. From then on its movements are efficient. Every step is calculated to make no noise, even on these creaky, dusty floorboards. Sheet pushed aside, mannequin sidestepped, piles of junk used to conceal itself from the larger parts of the room.
It’s hunting.
It makes it to the farthest corner of the room, where it knows the deviant must be. RK800 has four different movements pre-constructed. It’s ready. It deliberately steps on a loud floorboard and as expected, the deviant pops out of hiding in a panic.
DEVIANT LOCATED.
“I was just defending myself…” the deviant says to the wider attic; in its panic it hasn’t locked onto RK800’s location. Not from just one sound.
“He was gonna kill me…”
RK800 adjusts its weight, careful to stay silent.
“I’m begging you, don’t tell them..”
RK800 gets ready, and in one swift movement-
-pounces.
They both hit the floor loudly, the deviant’s head just clearing one of the table legs. The deviant puts up a bit of a fight, but is in an unfavorable position. RK800 pins its arms behind its back with less effort than expected and uses its weight to keep it still as shouts come from below.
“Purpled, what the fuck is going on up there?”
“It’s here, Lieutenant! I got it!”
“Holy shit… Chris, Ben, get your asses in here now. Come on!”
HANK^
RK800 sits there atop a trembling deviant with bright purple eyes and all blue objectives.
MISSION SUCCESSFUL .
It smiles.