Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

July 7th, 2041

Connor flicks his coin between his hands. The cling, cling, cling of the coin rings out in the waiting room of the DPD, almost drowning out the squeaks of Connor's and Hank's shoes across the floor. They wind through the desks, and Connor spies the name cards on them — Det. Millers, Po. Brown, Po. Chen and Det. Reed sticks out against the stark white cards. 

They enter Captain Fowler's office. Fowler sat down in his chair, pressing his hands to his hands to his forehead. Connor scans him, noting the light condensation reflecting on Fowler's forehead from the glowing pad on the desk, Fowler's elevated heart rate, and finally, his stress levels: 72%. Connor looks at the pad, showing an open missing person's case. It was recent, too, and it only opened yesterday. Connor then notices the missing person's name and feels his servos freeze. 

Reed, Gavin

"Lieutenant, Detective. I need you both on a case," Captain Fowler begins. "It's about Detective Reed."

"Did Gavin fuck up?" Hank asks, a light chuckle breaking forth.

"I wish, no. He's the victim," Captain Fowler said, which killed Hank's mood.

"What happened?" Connor asks, pocketing his coin and slipping his hand into his pockets. Your pad says he was reported missing yesterday." Fowler nods, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Officer Chen reported Detective Reed missing yesterday after she visited his apartment and found it more disheveled than usual, and blood on the floor and walls," Fowler stands up, his chair rolling away from the force, "we also found thirium at the scene, which is why we need both of you on this case."

"Well," Hank started, rubbing his eyebrows, "fuck."

Connor privately thought Hank's reaction was accurate. He pulled his coin out again and rolled it over his knuckles.

"Fuck, I hope this isn't what his apartment normally looks like," Hank commented softly as he stepped over an evidence marker. Officers and CSIs are sprinkled around the rooms, categorizing and labeling the evidence. As stated, there were splatters of thirium and blood trailing from the bedroom to the front door. Connor stepped over the evidence and knelt down, dragged his finger through one of the bigger thirium puddles, barely the size of his artificial thumb pad, and licked it. Connor's sensors on his tongue identified the taste of thirium 310 as metallic, bitter, and slightly acidic. Connor would have grimaced if he had a true sense of taste. Data and numbers glittered across his vision. His forensic scans concluded, and he was even more confused — data inconclusive: Unkown Model.

"Hank, I can't identify the model that this blue blood belonged too," Connor said, confusion radiating from his core. Hank looked over his shoulder.

"Kid, is that possible?" Hank asked, turning around and looking over the living room. Connor stood up, following the Lieutenant.

"Theoretically, no," Connor said. He scans the room, task orders arranging themselves before his eyes. First, The oak coffee table — the corner facing the bedroom- was bloodied, and a splatter pattern showing great force was used. The table sat in front of the red loveseat couch. The red almost matches the small dried red blood of the couch arm. Connor followed the blue blood trail to Reed's bedroom. Connor brushed the door frame gently, minding the thirium blood splotch on the wooden — particle wood, his sensors inform him — frame.

Connor finds the bedroom worse than the living room. The thirium trail starts just above and to the left of the double mattress bed. The simple metal bed frame was speckled with thousands of little dots of thirium and blood. The bedding was rumpled and messed up, imprinting a rough humanoid body into the covers. Connor spotted small amounts of blood on the bedding itself — on the left side only. Two pillows remained on the bed, and the final pillow lay on the right side of the bed. Connor detects amounts of human sweat in the indent. He walks over, closer to the thirium stain. Connor notices the faint 16 men's shoe-size footprints below the stain and concludes this is where the unknown android stood. Connor finds this very strange since androids typically don't have shoe sizes bigger than 14.5, a way for humans to stylize their androids more with human clothing. The only androids Connor can think of that have a comparable shoe size are TR models and others built for heavy labor. Calling up the information, Connor learns that the shoe size makes no sense since the TR model has a shoe size of 15.5 at most. Connor walks to the other side — and notices another set of footprints there, too, this time a 9.5 women's shoe size. The pillow laid — was knocked back? — about a foot behind the footprints. Connor sees the pre-construction prompt and accepts it. 

The nondescript humanoid body is laid on the bedding. Does Reed not sleep under his sheets like most humans? It might just be too hot as of late; it is July in Detroit. The possible human loomed on the right, and the android on the left. The human held the pillow and smothered Reed with the pillow. The android, with a syringe, injected Reed with something, a drug, most likely. Connor could not detect any spill or liquid near or contaminating Reed's blood. Reed struggled and fought, managing to throw the pillow off, punch the android, and shove the human off. Reed crawled off the bed and ran to the living room. Connor follows the low-poly facsimile out. The android catches up quickly, slamming Reed's head onto the table. Reed shoved the android off and slid to the nearest arm of the couch. The human caught up, grabbed Reed, and started dragging Reed out towards the front door. Reed seems to have gone limp at this point from blunt damage or the drug. 

"Lieutenant? I think Detective Reed was kidnapped and drugged by the unusual android and human woman," Connor starts, pacing along the bare white wall, "he fought back, and the android slammed him into the table, and the human dragged him down the hall," Connor concluded, turning to Hank. Hank's gaze turns proud, grinning. 

"Kid, you never cease to surprise me," Hank says, shaking his head. Hank's smile drops. "The preliminary forensics point to the human blood as Gavin's, and they also can't get an ID on the thirium. I'll tell the CSIs to swab Gavin's blood to find drugs in it," Hank nods towards the door, "go see what you can find in the hallway, kid." Connor nods, steps over to the marker, and returns to the hallway.

Connor follows the thirium and blood trails down the hall, down the fire escape, and to the exit. Connor finds the trail goes cold at the curb — the blood, both blood types — cease. He's confident that Reed was taken into a car and sped away to a second location. So, three accomplices, at most as many as five or six, depending on how many were in the vehicle. 

Despite his scarce years of life and limited experience, Connor has the strange feeling that something bigger is going on than just a kidnapping. 

Gavin Reed opens his eyes to a cacophonously high ceiling. The edges of his vision he sees mottled white plastic curtains on the edges of his vision, like the curtains he's seen in hospital rooms separating patients. The curtains are stained red-brown, and Gavin doesn't need years of being a police officer to know what aged blood looks like. Gavin twists his head, groaning as his muscles protest the movement, and a headache bubbles in his forehead. Concussion, he concludes. His eyes failed to adjust to the dark room, but he didn't need to see well to see a white android body to his right. It was half torn apart, the face plate was removed, and the arms were split at the bicep and forearm. Its torso was partially disassembled, and its steel spine was clear for all to see.

"Oh! You're awake Detective," a feminine voice called out in surprise to his left. Gavin jerked, ignoring the pain. A dark silhouette moved the curtains out of the way and loomed over him.

"We can't have that yet, no no no, you're new body isn't ready yet," they said, fiddling with an IV bag to his left. Gavin's mind lingered on her final words as he felt unconsciousness take him.

Chapter Text

July 13th, 2041

Connor and Hank pulled the security footage of the night and found the car that Reed had been taken into. Hank identified it as a 1989 Chevrolet Caprice. When Connor looked at him confused, Hank shrugged and said his ex-wife had one before marriage. Despite their best efforts, they couldn't identify the license plate. It was smudged with mud or a similar substance. Since the model was so old, Hank and Connor agreed that only a few automotive shops could service the car. Hank brought up the list of automotive shops that he'd gone to get his car serviced, and off they went. Most of the shops were hostile to androids, so Hank had to go in alone. The final shop they went to was different. 'Viola's Auto Shop' was painted across the top, and just below, stated, 'Androids welcome!'. Connor stepped out of the car and followed Hank into the building. 

Lifted cars hung over android and human auto repair workers. Connor flicked his coin up and down and up again. The cling, cling, clings are drowned out by the sounds of the shop. Regardless, he found the repetitive task soothing. Hank called it stimming once Connor explained the comforting nature of it. Hank walked up to the manager's office and knocked hard. After a second of ambient loudness, an older woman opened the door. Her long black locs were speckled with aged silver, and her ebony skin was speckled with sparse freckles. The titular Viola studied Hank like she was inspecting the worth of a metal scrap. Connor stepped closer to Hank's side, allowing the woman to see Connor's face and LED. She seems to relax minutely and allows them into her office. Connor files this as curious and follows Hank in.

"Hello, Ms. Davidson, I'm Lieutenant Anderson, and this is Detective Anderson. We'd like to ask you about a car that may have been serviced here in the past few months," Hank says, his voice moderate and professional. While it has been a fight to get Hank to stop drinking so much, they've managed to curb some of it. Viola hums and gestures to the chairs, "Sit down then, and I'll see how I can help you." Hank nodded and sat, as did Connor.

"A week ago, Detective Gavin Reed, a detective and co-worker, was kidnapped. Through security footage recovered afterward, we learned the car he was taken in was a 1989 Chevrolet Caprice. To your knowledge, has your shop serviced a car model like that?" Connor asked, studying Viola's body language and stress levels. Her eyebrows furrowed but didn't spike—she didn't know about this beforehand. She looked away and up, humming.

"I think a car like that was in just a few days ago; Andy worked on it. I'll bring you to him," she said, standing up and exiting the office. Connor stood up, and Hank got up to follow, but she halted him. "He isn't fond of humans; he barely likes me and his human co-workers as it is," Viola cautioned. Hank looked to Connor, a question in his eyes.

Connor nods, "I can question him, Lieutenant," Hank nods and exits the office but doesn't follow them. 

"Your partner took that better than I expected him to. Most humans don't like being told Androids find them discomforting," Viola comments, her voice wry. 

"Lieutenant Anderson understands," Connor said simply. Viola looked back at him, studying him.

"You're the person who liberated all those androids from Cyberlife, aren't you?" She asked. Connor's avoidance of her eyes and stuttered step was seemingly enough of an answer for her. "Andy admires you a lot, you and the other Jericho leaders, he'll probably be happy to tell you anything you need to know," she said as they reached their destination. The android's back was to them, but Connor could tell instantly that he was significantly damaged. Andy's undermost layers of silicone muscle and plastisteel structures were visible above his workmen's jumpsuit. Connor opened up his analysis programs and scanned him – an AX500 model variant. Connor noted at least 407 unauthorized alterations and modifications to the AX500's body, the most pressing being a lack of lower jaw facial component. As Andy turned around at Viola's call, Connor stepped out of his analysis.

"Andy, this is Detective Connor Anderson, he has some questions about that beater you serviced a couple days ago," Viola said, moving as if she was going to clap his shoulder but managed to stop herself at the last second. Andy's face was as he expected, considering his scans. His lower jaw was missing the protective gray skin coating, leaving his inner functions visible. His eyes were completely black, with orange irises indicating that he still had eyes. The android's jaw dropped, and he smiled. A small chuckle echoed from his scratchy voice box.

"Wow, hello. It's an honor, Detective. How can I help you?" Andy asked, clearly stunned, his voice waving in pitch. 

"Could you tell me who owned the car and what they looked like? They may have been involved with a kidnapping last week," Connor asked, keeping his voice steady and open. His social integration programs turn on automatically, carefully analyzing and adjusting Connor's posture and body language to elicit the desired response.  

"The car driver was an android, a GB200 named Anastasia Gears, but she was alone. She said her boyfriend owned the car and that she was dropping it off on his behalf. I called the number she gave. The other guy confirmed the story, so I did the work," Andy said apologetically. The boyfriend's name was Gabriel Owen. I've got his phone number if you want it." 

With that spark of good news, Connor smiled in what Hank called his 'goofy puppy grin' and said, "Yes, I need that phone number." Andy scribbled out the phone number on his notepad, ripped it out, and handed it to Connor. Connor asked a few more questions – was there blood in the vehicle? Dents or scratching on the seats or interior doors? Andy could only say that the car seemed to have been recently cleaned. He'd noticed traces of bleach inside the car and didn't see any dents or scratches.

"And, I just want to say before you go, thank you," Andy said before walking away to direct a driver into the shop. Connor felt a blue blush crawl onto his face before he deactivated it. Androids were designed to be human facsimiles, programmed with the illusion of red blushing. However, a couple of Androids have circulated a mod that changed the blush from human red to the more android-appropriate blue since the revolution. Connor was one of the last androids to adopt the modification as far as he knew. He'd never been interested in changing his appearance, finding no need or desire to until recently. 

Connor picked up Hank and drove back to the police station, quickly calling the number provided. Hank led the questions this time, with Connor listening over his shoulder. His answers surprised them.

"Yeah, Ana's been doing some driving freelance work for this research group or something. I don't know what they do or what she does; I just know that they needed my car one night, and they paid to have it cleaned and serviced if I did," the older man said, his gravelly voice betraying a years-old smoking habit. “Did Ana do something illegal with my car?"

"That's what we're trying to find out Mr. Owens. Is Ana at home with you?" Hank asked.

"No, she's at work," Mr. Owens answered.

"Could you give us the address? We'd like to question her about what happened," Hank asked, handing a notepad and pen to Connor. Owens rumbled out the address—a place Connor noted as a warehousing district address. Connor wrote it down quickly. Hank thanked the man, and they left for Hank's car immediately.

Gavin awoke to a sharp pain emanating from his neck. He yelped, his arms jerking away, but was staggered by machine arms holding him aloft by his wrists. Gavin heaves and cries out in pain as the thing inserting itself into his neck burrows deeper. He breathes erratically, sucking in air. He looks around, finding two rolling stretchers and people before him. A woman snaps her fingers, grabbing his attention.

"Detective Reed? Can you hear me?" She asks.

"Fuck. You." He grits out, the pain zinging down his nerves.

"That's as good an answer as I'll get," she grumbles. She asks her colleague, "Is the Neural Relocator ready to go?"

"Neural Relocator?" Gavin asks, gritting his teeth. He wishes the pain would recede so he could focus on the scientists' explanation, "what are you doing to me?"

They both ignore him. The android assistant – their blue blush and yellow LED denoted them as such – turns to the woman and says, "ready to go, Dr. Michael "

"Good, begin the copying process on my mark," Dr. Michael says.

"What are you going to do to me?" Gavin repeats, a taint of fear escaping into his tone.

"3," The Doctor ignores him.

"Stop, what are you going to do?" Gavin begs, looking around for a way out of the contraption. Why does it look like an Android assembly rig?

"2," she continued – why were they ignoring him?

"Please," he begs, attempting to rip his arms out of the claws.

"1,"

Gavin's world goes white. Something – someone? – rummages through his mind, pulling, tugging, grasping, taking.

Screams echo through the cavernous building – as his consciousness fades, he realizes that it was his screams.

Chapter Text

July 14th, 2041

Connor's AI, hacking, and processing capabilities are far beyond what most androids could do. That makes slipping into the warehouse's security cameras child's play for him. Observing only a few guards on the outside – primarily human – he switched to the interior cameras. He's annoyed to note that large curtains obscure most of the image. This warehouse's operators arranged the curtains to create rectangular 'rooms.' Getting the warrant to search the sea-side property was easy, but staking out the guard rotations and behaviors was proving much more difficult. What he found most difficult was avoiding the androids inside the building's attention. Interfacing amongst androids became a common way of sharing thoughts, experiences, and information, leading to androids recognizing an android's presence, even if they weren't consciously looking for or interfacing with it. After all, AI, in its infancy, was first trained to recognize and recreate patterns. 

Connor was observing a guard change, quickly switching off the camera upon noticing an ST200 Chloe in the change group, when he felt the distant tap of fingers on his physical body. He and Hank came up with a system while Connor was in the security system. His pressure sensors were still active, so it was a simple way to get Connor's attention. Connor receded from the camera system, carefully leaving open the breaches and backdoors he'd made and returned to his body. Connor stretched his fingers, wriggling his motors and aching for his coin. Hank handed him a travel cup of thirium and his coin, and Connor mentally forgave him for disturbing his attention. 

"Alright, kid. What've you found so far?" Hank asked, taking a swig from his coffee cup.

"Not as much as I would like. I would need closer access to the computers on-site to break into their files," Connor answered dejectedly. "They have an even spread of humans and androids within the group. I'm estimating around 30-45 guards and 10-20 leaders, mostly in white lab coats."

"So, not a small operation," Hank commented, looking at the warehouse 90 feet away. 

"Far from it," Connor confirmed, "there are a lot of medical-looking curtains and rooms inside, but the only thing I could think of is bio-component and organ trafficking," Connor shrugged, glaring at the warehouse. Since the Revolution and the Android Rights Act of 2040, Bio-component trafficking has become an ever-increasing issue. Traffickers would single out alone or vulnerable Androids, offer jobs or board, and then take their bio-components to sell or collect— leaving the Android for dead. However, if this were a trafficking operation—organ or bio-component— then they'd need to loop in the FBI's joint bio-component & organ trafficking team. Connor doesn't like that possibility, even though he knows that Echo, one of the Traci models he chases while he was un-deviated, would be assigned to the case. Connor guesses he doesn't want his case taken from him— a humorously jealous impulse.

"Tina's been really torn up about this, you know," Hank says softly, "She was the last person to see him before it. She feels like it's her fault even though she didn't do anything," Hank sighs, starting up the Oldsmobile's engines. Connor rests his chin in his hand, leaning on the car door. 

"We might not find him within quickly enough. With guards, paid drivers, specialists of sorts, we might find his body faster than we'll find him," Connor confesses, drumming his fingers on his jaw. While Reed was never his favorite person within the precinct, and he still had a lot of growth to treat Androids like people, he'd never have wished him to kidnaped, or worse, upon him. 

"Until then," Hank says, a thick pause hangs in the air, "don't mourn him yet."

Connor carefully doesn't make a promise.

Gavin wafts in and out of consciousness. He drifts, slipping into plastic, metal, flesh, and bone. His eyes creak open to errors and start-up sequences and close with muscles and tendons. 

His eyes drift to his left (his eyes drift to his right)

He stares down the strange Android – so alike in appearance they could pass for twins (he stares down his human body – it's staring back at him – how is that possible?)

He breathes in through human lungs – exhaling through cooling and air filtration bio-components.

He falls into unconsciousness – not having the wherewithal even to feel the release of strain on his addled body(s).

Connor kept pace with the SWAT officers before him. He slid behind them as instructed. Hank had wanted to veto Connor as a part of the arresting team, but since this was their case, they had to be at least present when the operation went through. Besides, Reed would probably complain if they weren't there. If he was still alive, that is. Tina also joined the raid, but she provided backup. Being an extra hand to help manage the incoming chaos.

Connor rubbed the bulletproof vest over his chest. He realized he'd never needed to wear one before. He found it a strange feeling but filed it away for later.

"DPD! Open up!" Called out Captain Allen. With a heavy bow of silence, then a mad scramble on the other side, the SWAT officers before him reared up and kicked the warehouse's door open. The officers move in sync, scouting and leaving no curtain un-inspected. Connor follows suit, tuning his programs to their highest sensitivity. He's almost sickened by the amount of blood – both thirium and human blood – coating every single curtain like a child playing with paint and getting it everywhere. Connor shakes that image out of his head. He spots three androids, makes a break for it, and informs the SWAT officers, reminding them to use non-lethal force. Connor runs up along the sides, quickly churning through the curtains – finding worse and worse sights. Dead and decayed bodies lay on surgical beds, all reported missing within the last year, with nearly pristine android bodies right next to them. When Connor analyzed the models, he got the same error message from the Android that helped kidnap Reed. Data inconclusive: Unkown Model. Connor adds to his mental file that this is where the Android came from, but that doesn't explain who the Android was in the first place. Behind some curtains, he finds the dead body, but not the Android. 

He files that away for later and searches. Body after body, Connor sees the chances of getting Reed back alive lower, point by point. Tina's worried questions about what they're seeing make Connor feel all the more guilty. 

Then, near the end of the building – they find him. Gavin hung limply from his wrist. Strangely, he was in an Android Assembly and Repair rig with only his briefs covering his privates. His wrists are red and raw-- abrasions consistent with human skin rubbing roughly against plastisteel. He fought, or at least struggled against whatever was happening to him. Connor tilts his head, seeing a cable lead out of the detective's head. Connor grimaces but also sighs in relief. He sees a heart monitor connected to Reed, and seeing the low but stable heart rate chirp fills Connor with relief. Connor looks further and sees the android body – an unknown model again. 

"Lieutenant, Detective Reed has been found, requesting a paramedic," Connor reports, inspecting the technology and computer. Strangely, he saw a loading bar that read 99% Relocated in bright Cyberlife sans blue font. Connor inspected the computer further, but it seemed locked to this screen for a reason. 

"Shit, that has to be uncomfortable," Officer Chen winces as she enters the makeshift room. Connor sees the paramedics, Allison and Perez, swiftly move in and inspect the entry wound. Connor walks over to the Android, grazing his hand over their chest's white and grey skin. He felt the gentle electric pulse of the Android's thirium pump – weak but stable. Connor's hands drift to where their LED should be, depressing the skin projection button. The skin and hair rush over the facial plating and skin.

"That has to be a joke," Chen gasps behind him as Detective Reed's face rushes over the Android's structure. Connor could scarcely believe his eyes either, but there was Reed's face, his eyes closed as if he were sleeping. The skin projection must have lost power, failing to reach below the body's neck.

"That would explain the unknown model errors I've been seeing. They are, for all intents and purposes, undocumented prototypes," Connor says as he steps back unsteadily. 

"We have to unplug him from this," Chen says, moving to get a better look at the makeshift port sticking out of Reed's human neck.

"M'am, I wouldn't recommend that," Allison says, still inspecting the port, "I don't think we can dislodge it without killing or permanently paralyzing him." Chen's jaw shifts from side to side, and he glances at the computer – still reading 99%.

"Then we stop the program being run, it's as good of a first step as any," Connor suggests, stepping up to the computer. His artificial skin recedes as he reaches for the terminal.

"Stop!" a feminine voice orders from behind them. Connor sees Chen whip around and point her pistol at the person. Connor carefully turns around and sees a woman, tall for her gender, with blue and red stains coating her fingers, wrapped around the trigger of a pistol. Connor runs a facial recognition scan and finds her—Doctor McKenzie Michael, a former Cyberlife cyberneticist who left the company when Kamski left in 2028. She holds a master's and a doctorate in engineering and cybernetics.

"If you unplug or halt the program, you will kill him," Doctor Michael says haltingly, the gun shaking slightly in her grip. Connor triggers his negotiation program, running hundreds of scenarios in seconds.

"Dr. Michael, why would unplugging or halting the program kill Detective Reed?" Connor asks, raising his hands as if in a show of peace and stepping away from the computer. The woman breathes unevenly, shifting her gaze between the paramedics, Connor, and Chen.

"Cause his mind isn't fully out of that body," the Doctor motions with her gun to the human Reed's body, "if you stop the process before it's complete, his memories, personality, his tastes will cease to exist."

"That's not possible," Chen scoffs.

"We thought it was impossible that sapience and life could arise from artificial origins, but we were proven wrong," Dr. Michael objects. 

"If this is true," Connor interjects, "How can we save Detective Reed, and return him to his original body?"

"There is no way, the process is too far along to reverse," the woman giggles. Connor detects her giggle as 'unhinged' as Hank would say. "Such fragile machines humans are," she sighs wistfully, seemingly quoting someone or something.

A too-cheerful charm rang out – and the long beep of a flatlining heart monitor screamed from behind him. He whips to the computer, feeling his thirium pump skip a beat.

'Neural Relocation completed: Begin Start up Process?'

<Y/N

"Fuck," Connor swears under his breath.

Gavin sees numbers and code float up behind his eyes. Systems diagnostics ( what? ) run and show all clear signs as they run. He tries to open his eyes, his real eyes. Gavin prays that it's just a strange dream.

It's not. The system diagnostics are still there, blocking most of his vision. Gavin sees a warning at the corner of his vision—stress levels increased: 71%. He breathes in but feels no satisfaction from it. Gavin breathes again desperately. No air enters his lungs; barely a slimmer of coolness satiates his need to calm down. 

"Gav?" A voice - Tina's voice, sounds out to his right. He whips his head over, finding horror in her eyes.

Then he processes the body she's standing in front of – his body . 

Oh god, what did they do ?

Chapter Text

July 19th, 2041

Gavin laid across his couch – his new black one. He replaced the old one after he couldn't stand looking at the red bloodstains any longer. Gavin listened absent-mindedly to the vapid TV show. He couldn't remember the show or plot, but it was noise, so it worked until he glanced over and saw fake red blood spill from one of the characters. He flinched – which he learned was similar yet different from flinching in a human body. All the individual wires and mechanisms clench up tight, then release. 

"Change channel," Gavin orders, rubbing his throat. The literal voice box was the least disorienting thing about this body. It was still his voice. He still felt vibrations when he spoke. He could intuitively control it like before. Gavin traced the plastic-silicone muscles in his neck. Gavin's been avoiding touching the back of his neck for the past two weeks since he's been unable to cover up the backport. A hard thing to do since he often rubbed the back of his neck. He soon regrets his order when it changes to Channel 16 with Michael Webb.

"-we still don't know who, how, or what could cause a human's consciousness to be transferred to an android's synthetic brain. Joining us live is Joss Douglas who's still there on site, Joss can you hear us?-"

"TV off," Gavin orders, breathing unsteadily. A light chuckle escapes him. He doesn't need to breathe; he can't even get the satisfaction of breathing deeply, yet he still does it. Some part of his brain that was still incoherently human demanded it. Caught between human and Android – the Gavin from three years ago would have cackled at such a cruel joke. A part of him still wanted to.

A knock sounded from his apartment door. Gavin paused to remember if he'd invited anyone over. When he first came home after The Warehouse Incident, Connor had given him thirium pouches and his phone number should he encounter any issues with his new body. Gavin gripped the hem of his long-sleeved shirt — which he's taken to wearing in favor of the more sensible shorter-sleeved shirts. Every ounce of his body is identical to his human body, but he can tell it's wrong. He never thought he'd miss his crisscrossing slash scars and bullet scars, but he looks so wrong without them. Gavin finds his new body too polished, pristine, and pretty. His facial hair and scars are gone, too. Androids don't have facial hair, so Gavin's not sure why he thought he'd find stubble after the first few days of coming home. That had been an uncomfortable realization that he'd never grow facial hair again. He'll never need to use his razors, shaving cream, or all. Gavin donated all the food and drinks in his fridge and freezer to his neighbors. According to Connor, the thirium pouches don't need to be refrigerated, but Gavin didn't know where else to put them. It's not him anymore; the mental image of himself that he's lived with for the past 15 years was gone and replaced with an overly polished version of his own body. 

Putting aside that problem, Tina has also been over a lot, but a case came up, and she's had to devote all her free time and overtime to that. Tina's been incredibly kind since he came home. She's been over almost every day to check up on him, but he's sensed—and noticed through his new sensor readings— that she's been uncomfortable. Gavin can't figure out if she's uncomfortable with the fact he's no longer human—which he doesn't blame her. He's uncomfortable with it, too. Since Gavin is still officially on sick leave until he gets used to this body, he hasn't been with her at the precinct to chat or help. Gavin cautiously approaches the kitchen, grabs a knife, and returns to the front door. He hides the knife behind his back and opens it with a creak. 

"Detective Reed? Can we talk?" Connor's voice sounds out. Gavin groans and opens the door, still hiding the knife behind him as the Android, the other Android? Enters his home.

Connor sees that Reed’s stress levels haven't receded since he awoke five days ago. Connor feels a pang of sympathy hit him. He grabbed more thirium pouches, though he doubted, and could tell now that he’s looking at him, that Reed hadn't been taking care of his new body. He's disheveled, his hair is shuffled and shaken like he’s run his hands through in several times, and lacking adequate thirium levels to be healthy. While Androids aren’t affected as much by the weather, they can still feel the discomfort of a hot day. The grey sweatshirt Reed’s wearing would be appropriate in Fall or Winter, not the height of Summer.

"Detective Reed, have you been taking care of yourself?" Connor asks. Reed scoffs and stays silent, rubbing his shoulders in a self-soothing gesture, a knife held loosely but confidently in his hands. Connor sighs, walking into the kitchen and setting the thirium down. While not to this extent, he's experienced this type of dysphoria before. Cyberlife hadn't managed to destroy all the RK800 models before vacating Detroit, and since none of them could activate without Connor's memory, they've been in reserve in case he needs them. And he has twice so far. Once, when he was shot by an escaping suspect and bled out before technicians could get to him. The second time was when an android was stressing so hard that when Connor tried to help calm them down, they reacted by ripping his thirium pump out, crushing it, and running. Connor shut down before he could get help. He's unfortunately familiar with the strangeness of adjusting to a new body, as a machine, and as a deviant.

"I wish I could say it gets better," Connor starts, putting the thirium away, "but it sucks, and adjusting hurts for a while." Reed's silence lingers awkwardly as Connor restocks Reed's fridge.

"How?" Reed asks, his voice wavering uncertainly.

"I've died before, Detective Reed. I know the transfer from one body to the next intimately. The difference between our transfers is you went from human to Android while I was transferring from one android body to the next," Connor says, keeping his voice steady, standing up and leaning against the fridge. He pulls out his coin, flicking it up and down. "The running theory at Jericho is that Dr. Michael's 'Neural Relocator' project was a precursor to my 'Cloud Jumping' process. The idea began while Dr. Michael was at Cyberlife, and designers took it and ran with it in my creation," Connor continued. He rarely liked discussing his creation and design: far too many blank memories and missing test models for Connor to think about. "We don't have confirmation, but we do know that they were funded by an outside source that had great knowledge of androids and android bodies," he said finally, rolling the coin over his knuckles as he studied the detective's reaction. The man curled into himself, hunched over and leaning against the far wall. Reed shakes his head, running a hand over his face. 

"Did you guys get an ID on the Android that helped?" Gavin asked softly. Connor sighs.

"That would be the complicated bit—the Android was originally human. They did the same process you went through with him first. It's why I couldn't identify them—they don't exist in any Cyberlife databases as Androids," Connor answered apologetically. "The Android that specifically helped to kidnap you was one of Dr. Michael's colleagues at Cyberlife before they left—Doctor Victor Alexander and was arrested," Connor adds. 

"What's the sentencing looking like?" Gavin asks, his tone so monotone that Connor almost didn't register it as a question. 

"Dr. Michael and Dr. Alexander are looking at multiple kidnapping charges and at least four cases of manslaughter. The Attorney General is pushing for life, Detective Reed," Connor said. The stress and tension seem to drop from his shoulders like a weight was lifted. Gavin sighs, then he laughs.

"You're still calling me Reed," Reed chuckles, airily and slightly unhinged; a soft blue flush tickles Gavin's cheeks. "If you're going to be giving me Android 101, then for fucks sake, call me Gavin."

Connor felt stunned for a short moment, but then smiled.

"Okay Gavin."

Chapter Text