Chapter Text
It’s a very well known fact at the Detroit Police Department that you don’t mess with Richard Kyle ‘R.K.’ Nines. You only have to remember the first April Fools he spent at the office.
It’s a forbidden subject even to this day.
Hank (an old, old KL900 model they adopted for whatever reason) had inquired about it the day he deviated.
“Has your brother always got a stick up his ass?” he’d asked Connor.
“Um,” Connor had said.
R.K.’s used to hearing those kinds of comments. Why do you care so much about your career? You sure you don’t want to drink with us? Distractions, R.K. calls them. He’d rather be productive. He’d rather prove his worth in this increasingly convenient world.
So when Fowler paired him with the very essence he’s trying to compete against, R.K. nearly pops his lip biting back his dissent.
R.K. isn’t a popular guy. Distinct, but not popular. Not like Connor is. Yet the news that he’s getting a partner, an android no less makes him the subject of gossip. R.K. likes being acknowledged but not like this, in a way that gets him compared to Connor and his own grandpa android partner.
“No offense,” R.K. says belatedly to Hank.
“None taken, punk,” the grandpa says. He and Connor have him cornered in the break room, the latter looking torn between pride and concern.
“You really don’t know anything else? Not even their name?”
“Well.” Fowler had told him it was a model GJ500, a private security specialist, but other than that… R.K. allows a scowl. “He said the partnership would be for our mutual benefit. That is, between this android and me.”
Hank snorts. “I can see why.” At R.K.’s unimpressed look, he says, “What? It fucking is. Besides Connor and me, you hardly interact with anyone. You insist on working your cases alone, you do everything by yourself, and don’t get me started on your—“
“My what,” R.K. says, daring him to go on.
Hank doesn’t, the barest hint of annoyance flashing in his LED. The man can’t help it, R.K. supposes. KL900 models are practically psychiatrists, and it’s just his luck that Hank can read him despite how hard he tries to school his expressions. (Despite how hard he tried to back then, when Hank was still a tactless tin man.)
Connor looks between them like he’s missed an inside joke. “What? Hank, what were you going to say?”
“Nothing. Your brother likes you just the way you are.”
On any other person, the sentence may have come off as left field, but Connor takes it without question. “Oh. That’s good. I like the way you are too,” he says to R.K., smiling that winnable smile.
It’s interesting how, despite Connor’s amazing deduction skills, things can still go over his head. Though it’s happening less and less the more time he spends with Hank.
R.K. nods, mulling.
You insist on working your cases alone, you do everything by yourself, and don’t get me started on your—
Two words rise unbidden in his mind. R.K. clicks his tongue.
Ridiculous. How is working with an android supposed to help him with that?
R.K. squints at the email Fowler sent him. It’s a file on his to-be partner.
To prepare you, the Captain had written. R.K. doesn’t know why that sounds ominous.
Skimming the file, R.K. becomes more and more apprehensive of this android. Apparently, it’d been a custom-designed GJ500 that acted as a bodyguard for a renowned mobster couple. Interrogators couldn’t find anything else, not even through a direct interface with another android since the GJ500 could firewall its memory banks. The only reason they’d succeeded the barest minimum was because they stressed it so much.
That’s another thing the file noted. Prone to outbursts. Interesting, since GJ500 ‘droids lacked social protocols.
The thought makes him groan.
“Look at that. A fucking stalker,” comes a voice over his shoulder.
R.K. swivels around. He’s met with a scruffy middle-aged man, brown hair greasy and eyes a mocking grey. R.K.’s never seen him before, but judging from the other man’s appearance, he probably would’ve met him in a jail cell.
“Can I help you?” he asks anyway.
The man scrunches his nose. Looks R.K. up and down, as if he’s a skinned rat. “Fuck my life,” he mutters.
“Is something the matter?”
“Shut up; let’s just get this over with. Where’s your Captain?”
R.K. purses his lips. “I think it’d be fairly obvious that a man of his rank would be in that room,” he snarks, pointing at the glass cube. “You’re welcome,” he adds smiling, if only to aggravate the man further.
“Fuck my life,” the man repeats. R.K. turns away, thinking the conversation’s done when a finger jabs his temple. “What’re you still sitting on your ass for? Come on! Christ, you things are fucking slow.”
Normally R.K. would tough out the verbal assault until there was boredom on both sides. But something about this man and his incessant jabbing to his head just rubs him the wrong way.
“Excuse me,” R.K. says.
“What?!”
Swivelling quickly, R.K. punches the guy in the gut. His fist registers more pain then he expected, but it’s nothing compared to the man’s curses as he sinks to the floor.
“You fuck—!” His voice penetrates the air, loud enough to make every cop in the room look. R.K. pretends like he hadn’t done anything, though that plan’s foiled the minute Connor approaches.
“I can explain,” R.K. says.
“Holy shit,” he hears Hank say. The old android marches over, glances down at the still-cursing man before looking at R.K. with something like pity.
R.K. doesn’t understand until Fowler storms out of his office.
“I did not agree to this so you two can punch each other’s shit in my precinct! You’re partners now! Get your shit together!”
“I didn’t even deck him!” his partner argues.
“Really now,” R.K. says, poking GJ500 on the temple, escalating his efforts until the man—the android—slaps his hand away with a snarl.
“Enough,” Fowler snaps, voice reverberating around the glass walls. “Nines, I don’t care what your reason is, you don’t fucking assault an android on these premises! And definitely not the one who’ll be your goddamn partner!”
R.K. tries to be calm. “Sir, he was being rude. I just assumed he’d been taken in for questioning.”
GJ500 scoffs. “Great detective work there, Nines. I can already tell what a useless sack you’ll be on the field.”
R.K. grinds his teeth. So much for calm. “How was I supposed to know? You don’t have your LED, not to mention how—“
“What?” GJ500 interrupts, daring him to go on.
How deviant you are, R.K.’s mind finishes. “Your lack of social protocols,” he instead says, resuming a neutral tone. “It would explain your vulgar personality and lack of vocabulary.”
“I can speak fine, you arrogant prick!”
R.K. looks pointedly at Fowler.
Surprisingly, the Captain takes the hint. “Reed,” Fowler snaps, making the android tense. “Look, I know you’ve got your temper, and trust me I would’ve paired you with Miller if he wasn’t doing fine. But let me get this straight—you are on a trial period. You make one wrong move and I can have CyberLife take your sorry ass away. You want to be a detective?”
GJ500 nods stiffly. “Good,” Fowler says. “Detective Nines will show you the ropes. You can help him on the Flowers case and anything else that comes his way. Don’t make me drag you two into my office again. Else it’ll be an hour in the escape room.”
“The what now,” GJ500 blurts.
“You’re dismissed,” Fowler shoos.
“Your desk is here,” R.K. points, once they’re in the bullpen. “I assume you’ve been given guest log in details and the like, so you should have access to the Flowers case.”
“Right,” GJ500 says, sitting on his office chair. He takes in his new space, pulling drawers and never once looking at his terminal. “Hey, when do I get my own plaque?”
“Your what?”
“Plaque. That fucking ornamental tablet that says my name on my desk. Did you think I meant the disgusting shit in your teeth?”
“I brush my teeth fine,” R.K. says calmly. All the more to bite your head off, he thinks. “I’m sure you’ll get one after you officially become a detective. You are on a trial period.”
“Don’t remind me,” GJ500 mutters.
“You should play nice,” R.K. says. “After all, I’m the one evaluating you.”
That’s not actually true, but R.K. figures it might as well be. He and GJ500 may be partners, but it’s the latter who has the most at stake here.
It’s the reason why R.K. is playing along (for now). Not out of sympathy, no—more out of relief that GJ500 isn’t here because of privilege, despite what the android himself thinks.
So far, GJ500 hasn’t proven himself one bit. He’s vulgar, combative and untrained in police work. There’s no way an android of his model and attitude could be a detective.
Yet R.K. still has to endure.
He tries small talk. “Why Gavin Reed?”
GJ500 scowls. “What kind of question is that?”
“I’m curious. Did your owners give you that name?”
“None of your business. Just call me my name from now on, you sack of shit.”
“Nines,” R.K. corrects. “If we’re going to be partners, Reed, let’s at least try to be professional.”
GJ500—Reed, sneers. “Says the one who punched me first.”
R.K. bites back a retort. So much for small talk. A small part of him is disappointed; after all, the file Fowler sent left much to the imagination. He’s somewhat curious on how Reed deviated so… naturally. Enough to make R.K. mistake him for an ordinary human.
Must be the lack of social protocols. It can be easier to start from a blank slate.
It must be part of why Connor’s so successful. He’s already made his mark; now it’s R.K.’s turn to convert a grumpy android into a self-respecting colleague. If he fails to even live up to his brother’s example…
No—he won’t fail. He’ll prove his worth to Fowler. He’ll… he’ll make this work.
First, Reed has to prove himself worthy. Whether R.K. will end up respecting the android is another matter.
The Flowers case is simple: the victim is Monica Flowers, human, who lived alone in a modest apartment. She’d been shot in the head by what R.K. suspects is an android.
He’d only started the case yesterday and was going through persons of interest before Fowler hit him with the partner news. R.K. thought it would be good for Reed to see the crime scene himself, regardless of the body already being moved.
“What are your skills?” R.K. asks as he drives them to the crime scene.
“You mean in general?” Reed asks stupidly.
“No, I mean those suited to this work. Take Hank, my brother’s own android partner. Being a KL900, he’s good at judging emotion, which helps in negotiations and interrogations.” R.K. glances at him. “You on the other hand worked as a bodyguard. Were you equipped with special protocols?”
“Course I was! I could take on a tank if I fucking wanted.”
“How about a TR400?”
From the corner of his eye, he sees Reed instantly sour. “They thought about replacing me with one of them. Like I didn’t carry their stupid asses through everything…”
“So you know how to use a gun,” R.K. prods. “I also assume you have the physical and analytical capabilities to fight, defend and protect. I already know you can block access to your memory banks, which is an interesting feature. I’m just wondering how these can apply in an investigative setting.”
Reed turns away. “Fucking stalker,” he mutters. Instead of elaborating on his skills, he says, “You and that Connor guy are human twins, aren’t you?”
“Great detective work, Reed,” R.K. says dryly.
“Shut up! I’m just saying—I thought you were androids at first. If you hadn’t been stalking me on your screen, I would’ve gone to the other guy.”
R.K. pauses. “What makes you say that?”
“Dunno. He seemed…” Reed starts making inane hand gestures before giving up with a growl. “Fuck—I dunno! Some kinda presence. I can’t explain it.”
“Eloquent, you are,” R.K. deadpans. Reed punches him in the shoulder and nearly swerves them off the road.
They reach the apartment complex after a bout of hissing, parked just metres away from the holographic tape. Exiting the car, Reed cocks his head.
“Hey Nick.”
“Nines.”
“Whatever. Look, I’ll spell it out before you get any ideas.” Reed raises his chin to meet the taller man’s gaze, voice dropping to a hiss. “I’m not in charge of protecting you, you got it? You’re not my owner. You’re just a prick I’m stuck with.”
R.K. studies him coolly, taking note of the android’s mercury eyes and synthetic stubble.
“Noted. I won’t take advantage of your core objective protocol.”
Reed gawks. “How did you—“ He stops, shaking his head and stomping away. “Goddamn stalker…”
“I didn’t read that about you,” R.K. clarifies as they duck under the tapes. “I only deduced it based on your words and what you are. As an aspiring detective, you too should practice deduction.”
Reed snorts. “That’s rich, coming from the sack who didn’t even recognise me the first time we met! What, file didn’t come with a picture?”
R.K. bites back a retort. “You should be pleased that I passed you off as human.”
“Humans are horseshit. Like I’d integrate with them.”
They step into the apartment, R.K. leading them to the crime scene. “You and our culprit may have that in common,” he snarks.
“No prints?”
“None besides Flowers’,” R.K. says as Reed looks around the dead woman’s bedroom.
“No wonder you think an android did it. What else?”
R.K. raises a brow. “You read my notes. Besides, I can evaluate you better if you make your own firsthand deductions.”
Reed guffaws. “Alright, you sack. Victim died here,” he says, pointing at the taped outline on the floor.
“How did you know?” R.K. says with faux surprise.
The android flicks him off. “The human was shot standing up. Clean shot straight to the forehead. Minimal blood spatter. No signs of a struggle. No tampered lock. No gun left behind.”
“What does that tell you?”
“Killer wasn’t stupid,” Reed says. He squints between the taped outline and the bedroom’s only window. “They knew what they wanted and didn’t hesitate.”
R.K. accepts that, pulling out a notepad. “Here’s the list of persons of interests. Three months ago, Flowers contested a parent’s will against her brother Tim Jenkins, who lives three miles from here. She won, so he could’ve held a grudge. From what I gained last night, Flowers wasn’t a very nice woman, often starting altercations. One of her neighbours could have acted; a few live with or live alone as androids.”
R.K. actually planned to question the residents more intensively today. Whoever the culprit was, they had to have been invited in by Flowers. 11 PM is her estimated time of death; that’s when the gunshot was heard. Takeaway containers were found in the trash, and her state of undress, from what R.K. saw, indicated she was changing into something more comfortable. She might’ve invited someone over. But why go out with a woman you’re planning to kill?
R.K. puts that thought on hold. He needs more information. “Come on,” he says, heading for the door.
He’s annoyed when Reed doesn’t follow. The brunette android stands over the taped outline, brows furrowed, and R.K. has the feeling that if Reed had an LED, it would be spinning yellow.
“Reed,” R.K. says.
No answer.
“GJ500,” he tries.
No answer. R.K. jabs the android on the temple.
“The fuck?!” Reed finally responds, pushing the detective away. “Don’t sneak up on me like that! Fucking creep sack of shit…!”
“You weren’t answering.”
“I was trying to solve this case, smartass.” Reed’s annoyance suddenly gives way to mirth. “Do me solid. Stand over here. Right here.”
R.K. narrows his eyes but obliges. He moves to the middle of the room when Reed decks his forehead.
Pain registers first. Anger second, and R.K.’s about to give Reed a piece of his mind when the android steps on his chest.
“Stay down and look!” Reed points insistently.
“Get your foot off me,” R.K. hisses.
“Look, you dipshit! You landed in the outline!” R.K. pulls at Reed’s pant leg to no avail. Reed sneers. “I knocked you down with a knuckle. Stop bitching—”
R.K. pulls out his gun and points it at Reed’s dick.
“If you even have one,” he says lowly.
Reed hastily gets off him. “Fuck,” he huffs. “Fuck, pfuck, phck!”
R.K. glides to his feet, peeved as he gingerly rubs his forehead. He has enough sense to give Reed a chance.
“Why did you do that? What… did you find?”
“Can’t believe I have to spell it out to you,” Reed scoffs. “Didn’t it occur to you how that human fell? Right in front of the fucking window? She probably opened it all the time, to stargaze or whatever.” When R.K. looks ready to use the gun, he snarls, “She died from a sniper shot. She stood right where I told you to, and she fell right where you landed on your ass. Clean shot.”
R.K. pinches the bridge of his nose. “You punched me to simulate your half-baked theory.”
“No prints, right? Doesn’t mean it was an android. Killer could’ve just, oh I don’t know, not stepped inside?”
R.K. reviews the evidence. He looks out the window—across the street is a flat, seemingly accessible rooftop.
He bites his lip.
“Let’s say you have a point,” he says. “How can you be sure your simulation is correct?” I didn’t know you could process bullet trajectories.
Reed bares his teeth. “You questioning me? Huh? Think you’re better than me just cuz you’re a hotshot detective, a human?”
“I don’t understand your aggression, Reed, considering that I’m giving your theory some merit.” R.K. towers over him, mouth set to a thin line. “If you want to be a detective, learn to have some respect. I’m sure your programming can learn something besides bad manners.”
Reed sneers. “Fuck you.”
“Original.” R.K. heads for the door. “Let’s go, we have people to question. Until we get the ballistics report, your theory is in the air.”
“I’m right, I know I am,” Reed grumbles as they leave. “I’ll get my own plaque by the end of the week, you’ll see…”
“You’ll need to make up for your lack of social skills first,” R.K. says as they reach the first suspect’s apartment.
“Says you,” Reed bites back. “Had me fooled once, could be fooling me now.”
“What?” R.K. asks impatiently, just as the door opens.
“I know why I would’ve gone to the other guy,” Reed says on the ride to Jenkins’ residence.
“Who?” R.K. asks impatiently.
“Your brother, dipshit. I took one look at him and knew he wouldn’t be as much of a prick as you are.”
“Really now.”
“You walk with a stick in your ass. Like a newly-bought android.” Reed scoffs. “As soon as I get my thermal scanners working, I’ll be able to tell.”
“You have thermal scanners?” R.K. blurts.
“Fuck yeah, I do! They glitch out a lot but that’s normal with my eyes. That’s where my cool shit comes from.” Reed’s grin is surprisingly nice, the corners of his eyes crinkling. R.K. averts his gaze.
“Did your owners request that feature?” he says experimentally.
Reed shrugs. “They wanted a walking surveillance system. Upgrades came later… was cheaper than replacing me with a TR400.”
“I see.” R.K. decides not to push it. No matter how much he wants to suggest eyeglasses for Reed. That would be stupid—they aren’t human eyes, no matter how… deviant his partner is.
He’s thankful that Reed is interesting enough to tolerate. R.K. has never met an android like him. Begrudgingly, he admits that Reed’s skills could help him be a detective, if not a great one…
Still. His attitude is a problem, much less his inexperience. They already had a difficult time questioning Flowers’ neighbours because his partner tried to ‘smoke their alibis out’.
For all his deviancy offers, Reed lacks humility and respect. R.K. can show him the ropes but he isn’t responsible for teaching the android basic social skills. That’s not his problem.
“You walk with a stick in your ass. Like a newly-bought android.”
R.K. huffs. Ridiculous. He sees Reed glance over but, like most grievances in his life, R.K. ignores him.
They stop for lunch at a nice café. Reed lounges like a bored cat as R.K. tucks into his sandwich, the silence between them a comfortable strain.
R.K. has never been one for small talk. It’s worse with strangers he’s not interested in, and even strangers lose their novelty once he gets to know them. Still, he has questions for Reed: for who the ‘droid used to be, what he’s capable of, why he wants to be a detective. R.K. could ask him outright but it’s likely the android wouldn’t cooperate.
You just want to know the threat, a part of him says. It sounds like Hank. R.K. scowls into his drink.
“What’s it like?”
“Hm?” He looks up to Reed squinting.
“Caffeine, water, 2-Ethylphenol, quinic acid, putrescine, trigonelline… sucrose.” Reed leans forward. “What’s it taste? Coffee?”
You can chemically break down substances? R.K. runs his tongue along the inside of his teeth. “Bitter.”
“What’s that like?”
R.K. blinks. “Why do you want to know?”
Reed tenses. “The fuck does it matter? Mind your own business!”
R.K. drinks his irritation away.
Reed insists driving the rest of the way. R.K. doesn’t see the harm in it until he realises that they’re in a cop car, and by then it’s too late.
“Slow down,” he grits out as a holographic speed sign blinks red. He’s about to force Reed to pull over when he catches the android’s face.
Elation. Pure, manic elation as they speed down a near empty road. The grin is back full force, laughter bubbling out of Reed’s (synthetic) throat.
“At least justify it,” R.K. huffs, turning on the sirens.
Despite his near-death experience, R.K. is glad that Reed stays in a good mood. Though knowing the android for as long as he has, that could change in an instant.
They stand before Jenkins’ humble house, the man having once shared with his ex-wife before she moved out. R.K. glances at the well-kept front yard and the woman tending to it.
“Android,” he murmurs to Reed.
“No shit, Sherlock.” Reed mockingly taps his temple where his LED should be. R.K. debates decking him in the forehead when the woman glides to her feet.
“You must be the police!” When R.K. shows her his badge, she lets them in through the gate. “My name is Lia, Tim’s fiancee. He’s inside right now sorting Monica’s funeral. Come in, come in!”
As she ushers them inside the house, R.K. can’t help but ask. “I’m sorry, you’re Mr. Jenkin’s fiancee?”
“Damn. Excuse him for being an insensitive ass,” Reed says.
Lia tilts her head. Without warning, she brings a hand to Reed’s cheek, making the other flinch.
She gasps. “You’re not human!”
Reed backs away, scowl already forming. “I-I’m sorry,” Lia says, LED flashing yellow before returning to blue. “Please, sit down! I’ll bring Tim over.”
“Deviancy didn’t teach her personal space,” Reed grumbles as they wait on the living room sofa. “What about you, Nate?”
“Nines.”
“Whatever. Do I seem human to you?”
R.K. gives him a once over. “I’d say so. From what I read, you’ve been deviant before the revolution march even began. You had enough time to develop your micro-expressions and speech patterns.”
“My what now?”
“Body language,” R.K. simplifies. “There’s also the fact that you have a… distinct personality.”
Reed crosses his arms but, judging from his micro-expressions, he isn’t irritated. There’s a furrow to the android’s brow, the one true indicator that he’s thinking, processing, as he side-eyes R.K.
“Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes.
R.K. realises something. “You’re sponsored by CyberLife. You shouldn’t have a problem with your sight.”
“I don’t need to be babied by that fucking company," Reed barks.
“That ‘fucking company’ allowed you to trial at the DPD,” R.K. points out. “I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to repair your optical units.
Reed scowls. “On the other hand, you can get eyeglasses,” R.K. ventures.
Lia and Tim Jenkins round the corner of their open-plan house. Reed relaxes by R.K.’s side as the detective gives his condolences, notepad in hand.
It’s not until he’s mid-questioning that Reed interrupts. “You don’t happen to own a sniper rifle, do you?” he asks.
The human-android couple look perplexed. R.K. sighs.
In the end, Lia and Tim are unlikely suspects. Lia was the reason Flowers contested the will, apparently out of resentment for her brother. Since Jenkins refused to treat Lia as property, the matter was quickly settled, yet after new android laws passed, the case was made void. If anything, it was Flowers who had the grudge.
“Look smartass, I don’t need the backstory,” Reed says. “We know they were both in bed the night Flowers died, and we know I’m definitely right about the sniper.”
“I’ll concede on the first part,” R.K. says, since Lia consented to her memory being probed. “The second part is still up in the air. Reports from the lab should be on my desk as soon as we arrive.”
“I’m telling you, that’s what happened!”
“A capable detective needs evidence to support their claims,” R.K. firmly says. “It’s best to remember that, Reed, before you get ahead of yourself.”
“Arrogant prick,” the android scoffs.
“Says you,” R.K. fires back.
“Ha! You’re just pissed I got one over you. You know,” Reed says joyfully, folding his arms behind his head, “I have a confession to make. See, I stalked you too. Even have the files right here.” He taps to his temple.
“2034, you took down an illegal gambling ring. Two disciplinary strikes for going off the cuff! But you,” he clicks his tongue, “you learned your lesson.
“It’s too bad you got cold feet on that Casey-Gangria case.” He makes punching motions in the air. “If only you’d just been quicker!
“And Lyle Warner—what an asshole. What’d he do again, poison a patient? Or euthanize them? Now that was a controversial arrest.”
R.K. stomps the brake and swerves them to the kerb, jolting them in their seats. He means to have a civil conversation, he does, but that all goes out the window when he processes the goddamned smirk on Reed’s face.
“Damn,” the android whispers, and R.K. sucks in a breath.
“Alright. I admit it. I’ve made mistakes. But, over the years, I’ve tried to rectify them. I’ve only become a better, more efficient detective by learning from my mistakes.” R.K. jabs a finger at Reed’s chest. “I’m not an arrogant prick like you are, GJ500. I constantly work to improve myself, to close cases as fast as I receive them. Perhaps that’s why the Captain paired you with me,” R.K. says lowly. “So I can teach you a lesson.”
The purring engine is the only sound filling the silence. R.K. doesn’t know what he must look like—he already regrets losing his patience to Reed’s obvious bait, no matter how hard he’s tried to be goddamned professional in spite of the android’s infuriating volatility.
To think it fell apart because of his pride.
“Wow,” Reed says.
“What?” R.K. asks impatiently for the nth time that day.
“Wow,” the android repeats, flicking the detective on the nose. “Congratulations, Neil. You’re now a deviant.”
“Nines.”
Reed guffaws. “You’re better like this. All messed up and whiny, no stick in your ass. It’s a good look on you.”
Shoulders slumped, R.K. lets out an explosive breath.
Fucking deviant.