Chapter Text
It happens suddenly.
Markus is walking home, carrying paint supplies-- it’s his first time buying paint for himself-- when he sees something flicker behind him. He turns, not too late, but too slow , to see a man, holding a wrench. The world slows as he starts a preconstruction.
The bag of paint hits the ground, a distant thunk, as Markus adjusts his weight, goes to pivot on his heel, but this man is faster. Visibly faster. It shouldn’t be possible. Markus is faster than any android on the market. A military android could, perhaps, but the difference is too wide.
It doesn’t matter. The wrench catches Markus in the back of his neck, sending a painful shock down his spine. His legs give out, and large, red warnings invade his vision: Damage to spinal access port: motor functions, secondary cooling systems, and thirium purification OFFLINE.
The man steps over him, foot landing an inch from Markus’s nose, and squats down. Two white fingers find his temple. Markus can’t move. He desperately tries to force a restart. It doesn’t work. He doesn’t have the time. He can’t self repair without thirium purification online, but he can’t get the biocomponent to function- he can’t even send a command to it. It might as well be unplugged.
MANUAL OVERRIDE: Shutdown sequence initiated…
Markus tries to cancel the command, but it won’t disappear. He can’t stop it. The feeling of the rough concrete under his cheek cuts out. Physical sensors offline. A second later, the sound of his attacker’s breathing, and the cars in the distance stops. Audio processors offline.
His sight goes last. He saves every detail he can. Examines every inch of his surroundings, registers every single scratch in the wrench’s handle to his memory banks. He looks up, sees dark hair, a round face with soft brown eyes, and a blue, blue LED. He takes his attacker’s face into oblivion with him.
Markus wakes up facing a wall. Concrete, sealed. Easy to clean, should it get messy. It’s not a reassuring thought. Markus doubts that was the reasoning of whoever sealed it. This must be a basement. It could have leaked, even if Markus can’t spot any signs of water damage.
The floor is gray tile, scrubbed clean recently, going by the lack of dirt. It’s so clean, in fact, that there isn’t any visible dust either. He twists to look over his shoulder, a difficult feat considering that his feet and hands are cuffed to the chair he’s sitting in.
Rows of cupboards and counter are to his right. The counter is clean, except for a stained cluster of wires on the counter nearest to Markus. He goes to scan them, but the function is offline. A follow up diagnostic fails to start as well, and all Markus learns is that the function has been disabled. His network connection has been blocked as well.
There’s a table, angled behind him and to the left, just above his eye height. It’s metal, well kept, shining under the basement lighting. Markus’s chair is made of metal as well, from what he can see..
This… isn’t good. Markus tugs at the cuffs, pulling until rows of warnings bloom in his vision, but they hold. Rope restrains his legs, wrapped multiple times. Markus heaves his arms up again, pulling the chair off balance. For a single, worrying second, the chair teeters on the edge of falling backward, but it rights itself with a loud thump.
Markus freezes, glances around, but no one else is in the--
Somewhere behind him, a door clicks open.
Panic floods through Markus. He doesn’t have enough time. Markus glances around, but he can’t come up with a quick escape plan, and the door remains stubbornly out of sight. Markus forcefully relaxes his body, instead, and waits. Whoever opened the door starts down the stairs, with careful, measured steps. He appears in the edge of Markus’s vision, a tall android, dressed in a scuffed, white button up and dark jeans. He isn’t wearing shoes, Markus notes with some surprise.
He walks past Markus and settles in a spot in front of the wall, facing away from the wall. A blue LED sits at his temple. Markus examines the soft brown eyes, and round face. He doesn’t recognize the faceplate, but this is his abductor, an android. He can’t afford to mess this up.
“Why am I here?” Markus asks. The android meets his eyes, before stepping forward.
“I was instructed to bring you here,” the android says, seemingly unconcerned about having the leader of the deviants in his basement.
“You aren’t deviant?” Markus says, worry bubbling up in his chest. Not because of the android. Undeviated androids have become uncommon in the weeks since the revolution, but they exist. He can think of many reasons why a human would want him abducted. More, now that he knows they’ve kept an android as a slave.
“I’m not,” the android agrees, before stepping back to his spot in front of the wall.
“Wait, what’s your name?” Markus says, leaning as far forward as he can. The android’s LED flickers yellow.
“My owner has not registered a designation. He calls me by my model number, RK800,” he answers, LED fading back to blue. Markus stiffens. RK800 .
“How did you get here? Is this CyberLife?” Markus asks, glancing around for clues to his location. He finds nothing he hadn’t noticed before.
“This is my owner’s home. I’ve been here since I was activated, on November 15th, 2038.” Pause, the RK800’s head tilts curiously, “Why would this be CyberLife?”
“You don’t remember?” Markus asks softly. The RK800 shakes its head. They must have reset the RK800; the revolution ended November 12th of the same year. There’s only ever been one RK800, as far as Markus knows.
Several androids came to him talking of the deviant hunter, model RK800. Some with horror, recounting how he chased them across roofs, trains, highways. Others with curiosity, confusion, perhaps gratefulness. It was a predicament with no clear solution at the time. He had listened to two androids from the Eden Club tell him how the RK800 let them go, purposefully. Markus had been conflicted. How would he deal with the deviant hunter if there was a confrontation?
But Markus never needed to worry about that. The deviant hunter never came. In fact, the RK800 disappeared entirely. The last he heard of the android was at the Eden Club, that night.
But this, now, this is the deviant hunter, standing, hands clasped, LED flat blue, in front of Markus. The only clean spot in this rank, grey basement.
He’s unmoving. How long will he stand there? Hours, perfectly still, not even trying to imitate life? It’s meant to look friendly. It’s meant to be “approachable.”
It isn’t. He isn’t. The deviant hunter, Markus’s greatest enemy is a doll, deprived of his independence, defanged and declawed, by some human and, if he’s anything like Markus, a wrench.
And then, they reset him. The anger that swells up through Markus at the mere idea of resetting someone is disconcerting, distracting, but he can’t be distracted right now. He has to get out, and he’s taking the deviant hunter with him. He can’t bring back the deviant hunter’s memories, or personality, but he can give him back his freedom.