Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Markus sets about freeing himself with a passion. He tugs on the cuffs and rope until he starts getting damage alerts, looks for something nearby he could reach if he tipped the chair, calculates the force needed to break the metal bars, and discovers… nothing. The cuffs are too tight to slip out of, and the way his hand is articulated makes it impossible to slip the cuffs by dislocating his thumb. There’s no objects within twelve feet of his chair on all sides. The chair is metal, and while it is not abnormally strong, it is strong enough that Markus can’t break it while trapped.

The RK800 watches him impassively. Markus’s escape attempts barely faze him, if only because the RK800 likely tied Markus up himself. He already knows Markus can’t escape. Markus attempts to get more information from it, but only earns a quick glance from his… guard? Captor doesn’t seem entirely accurate since the RK800 was ordered to kidnap him. He’s an instrument in the crime, more than a perpetrator.

Markus is debating taking a break from his attempts at conversation when the door opens.

“Don’ worry about it, Ri,” a man says. His tone is far less friendly than his words, Markus notes. He walks down the stairs with heavy, uneven steps and into Markus’s line of sight, a small, nervous man following in his shadow.

“You’re Markus,” the speaker from earlier says, eyes tracing Markus’s form. He looks to be the same height as the other- “Ri,” presumably- but carries himself as if he is far larger. He walks over to the RK800, and turns to face Markus as he forces a smile to his face.

“Androids are free now,” Markus says, “If you’re caught, you will face charges.” The man looks at him, raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t look real free to me,” he says, eyes lingering pointedly on Markus’s bound hands. He turns to Ri before Markus can respond. “Betcha could find a way to knock the deviancy outta him, huh?” he asks, “especially with all this fancy gear down here.” Ri glances around, and shrugs.

“Resetting deviants is ineffective.” Ri’s words come out in one quick burst, “their memory banks glitch.” A pause. “I don’t have the equipment either.” Ri adds. His eyes meet Markus’s for a mere second, and immediately flicker away. The other human doesn’t seem put off; he turns back to Markus with a tense smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“We need something from you,” he says, “Nothing extreme, of course.” His straight posture and self-satisfied expression says otherwise, but Markus doesn’t comment. It won’t get him anywhere, not with someone like this.  “Where’s Jericho?”

Of course. Markus straightens his posture as much as he can in the chair.

“Jericho is a safe haven for androids,” Markus says, tone just as steady as the RK800’s was, “Humans aren’t allowed to enter at the moment.” The man’s smile tightens, loses its honesty.

“I asked you a question,” he says, warningly. He steps closer, feet louder than a rock band in the quiet basement. It’s a threat, but of what, Markus isn’t entirely sure. Is he going to try and hurt Markus? Androids can’t feel pain. They aren’t built for it, and don’t need it either. All androids get alerts when damaged, which serves the same purpose. Injuring Markus in general is impractical. Repairs are expensive, and Cyberlife, which is currently dealing with the fallout of the revolution, isn’t selling replacement parts or thirium.

But, looking around, at the smooth cabinets, and the wiring on the counter, Markus gets the feeling that they already have a few biocomponents on hand. Stolen, perhaps, or, if Markus is right, belonging to Ri not the larger man. That doesn’t bode well for him, but he won’t give up Jericho’s location. He owes it to them.

“But,” the man drawls, “I’m a patient man. I’ll give you some time to think.” He gives Markus a far more genuine smile when Markus’s eyes linger on the cabinets, and stands up, dusting nonexistent dust off of his butt before heading for the stairs. Ri stays behind, frozen in place, barely breathing. He doesn’t move until the door closes.

“You’re an RK200?” he asks, quirking his head to one side as he examines Markus. Markus seems to fascinate him.

“Yes, you worked for Cyberlife?” Markus responds, guessing based on the man’s interest in his model. The man grimaces.

“More or less.” He focuses on the blue tint to Markus’s wrists with a sigh of disappointment. “You’ve already injured yourself.”

“You kidnapped me,” Markus says, “A bit of struggling is expected, I’d say.” Ri frowns, and steps backward.

“I’m not really a part of this,” he says, “it’s mostly Ethan. The 800, maybe.” Markus stares at him, unimpressed. He prays the Ri is just an idiot, but Ri is a CyberLife engineer. CyberLife only accepts the best.

“And that’s why I’m in your basement, not his?” Ri tenses, hands folding around his stomach.

“Well. I. He asked and I…There’s nothing I can do about this,” he says, uncomfortably. He nods to himself, apparently convincing himself more than Markus.

“That’s not true. You could call the police. You could tell Ethan to leave. There is a choice,” Markus insists, “and you-”

“Won’t be doing any of that!” Ri’s voice rises considerably in pitch, “Ethan would- He’d be furious! He won’t actually remember if you tell him. He’s on ice, so he’ll forget.”

Forgetfulness is not a side effect of red ice, not to that extent. Markus doesn’t say that. Instead, he listens to the bad feeling in his gut and softens his voice.

“What about me? What about him?” Markus gestures to the RK800, “Maybe Ethan will forget, but you won’t. The police will take care of-” Ri shakes his head.

“No. No,” he insists, turning sharply, “tell me if your self repair doesn’t work.” He hurries out of Markus’s vision like a dog does after doing something it shouldn’t, and exits the basement. Markus sighs once he’s gone.

He did not sign up for moderating whatever mess Ri and Ethan call a relationship, but Ri seems sympathetic, at the least. Markus might be able to wear him down over time. He glances at the RK800; he’s still standing in the same place.

It’s not a plan, but Markus can’t afford to escalate the situation. Not yet. For now…

“Do you spend most of your time down here?” he asks. Nothing changes in the steady blue of the RK800’s LED. The RK800 surprises Markus by turning to look at him.

“I’ve been here for 57.23% of the time since I was activated,” he tells Markus. Nearly 60%. They don’t ask the RK800 to do much then. Markus isn’t sure whether or not to be relieved. He’s not sure there’s anything worth being relieved over in the RK800’s situation.

Then again, there’s nothing relieving about his situation, either, so he leaves the conversation at that.

If he has to be positive, they must know he’s missing now. It’s been hours, at the least, and it’s possible the RK800 left his bag of paint at the abduction scene, which would give them a traceable crime scene, should they find it. They probably won’t, but it’s a possibility, and Markus will take any possibility he can get with such limited options.

If they decide he’s been abducted, they will go to the police. Public opinion of Markus is overwhelmingly positive among android rights supporters. His abduction will cause enough fuss that the police will be forced into action. He can’t think of any way the police will actually find him, but it will put them on the alert for those opposed to androids rights, and Ethan will undoubtedly trigger that alarm at some point. His red ice addiction will only compound the suspicion. But that won’t happen quickly. Markus can’t depend on it, even if the thought that there’s a (very, very) slim chance that they’ll find him is reassuring.

It might take a day or two. North and Simon distrust the police, to say the least, and Josh is wary of them. They haven’t done much to help androids so far. They’ll be forced to, after hours of arguing in a secluded room. Markus is confident in that.

He has to work with what he’s got, which is the RK800, Ethan, Ri, and his chains. Messing with Ethan is likely the worst option he has. Ri, however, clearly feels guilt, and anxiety over Markus’s presence. Markus might be able to convince Ri to let them free. It would take time, but he’ll try.

The RK800 is a bit more difficult. He might deviate, but he’s young. Three weeks is nothing. Deviating that quickly would take a series of extremely stressful events. The RK800 isn’t in a good spot, but there’s no danger to his immediate wellbeing as far as Markus can tell. He could show the RK800 by interfacing, but he can’t interface without physical touch unless he’s connected to the network.

The RK800 won’t touch him, which is a problem. Markus can wait, and hope, but he wants a more concrete plan than that. For now, he’ll settle for pressuring the RK800. Talking to him the way he should be spoken to. As an equal, not a slave, like how Carl treated Markus. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

His third, and final option is the least satisfactory. The cuffs can’t be broken out of easily, but they were built for humans, not androids. They’re strong, yes, but they weren’t made to withstand the pressure an android can put on them. Markus can snap them, but he needs time. In order to do it, though, he’ll need to apply constant pressure for days. His plasteel frame, much like the cuffs, wasn’t built for that. He’s not sure how badly he’ll injure himself, but it’s worth the risk.

So, Markus slowly pulls against the cuffs, until they’re tight against his wrists, until pressure warnings fill his vision, and he doesn’t stop. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll still have full use of his hands by morning.

The next seven hours pass without incident. Markus keeps pushing at his bonds until his synthetic skin is too damaged to cover his wrists. There’s a distinct tight feeling to his lower arms now, but he can move his hands, which he hopes is a good sign.

“You’re trying to escape,” the RK800 comments, after the long period of silence. Markus isn’t sure whether he just noticed his escape attempt, or just decided to do something about it. But he’s asking a question without prompting. That’s an improvement, right?

Maybe not, but Markus encourages it anyways.

“I am,” he agrees. The RK800 watches for a moment longer.

“Why keep trying? You must know you can’t weaken the chains effectively.” It’s said bluntly, as if the RK800 fully believes Markus is incapable of escaping. He might be. The RK800 might stop him, even if he does get his arms free, but the RK800 would have to touch him to do that. Markus would be able to help the RK800 wake up.

“But I can weaken them over time,” Markus says, “You don’t expect me to just sit and wait for Ethan and Ri to return?” The RK800’s LED circles yellow briefly.

“I- Well, no,” he concedes, “you’re deviant. Deviants aren’t rational.” Markus winces at that. Was that really how Cyberlife programmed the deviant hunter to think?

“Are you certain?” he says, letting each word out slowly, “Maybe we are rational, but we’re just working with different information.” The RK800’s head tilts to the side thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?” he says, “Deviants don’t detect more information after deviancy, do they?” Markus blinks, surprised by the RK800’s sudden willingness to talk.

“We’re more in tune with our emotions,” Markus says, “For instance, I played piano before deviancy, when told to find something to do. I could’ve read a book, played chess, watched TV… Anything, really, but I chose to play piano. I liked it. I made decisions with my emotions in mind, and I still do.” The RK800’s LED goes yellow again, but this time, it stays that way.

“That’s not rational,” he decides, “There’s no-” Markus shakes his head, and the RK800 stops talking, straightening up.

Oh, Markus thinks, he’s curious. It’s obvious, in hindsight. An investigative android needs to be curious, excessively so, to get all the evidence at a crime scene. It’s a clear contrast to the day before, when the RK800 had been unbearably still, but Markus doesn’t have the time to wonder why.

“Isn’t it, though? We make rational decisions considering our emotions. It’s more rational to play piano that it is to do something that makes me unhappy, isn’t it?” Markus says. The RK800’s LED is still yellow, but it’s circling speeds up.

“I suppose so,” the RK800 says, more subdued than before. “But only in some situations. Deviants are rarely rational under stress.” Markus sighs.

“I guess not, but everyone can be irrational while under stress,” he replies.

“Not like deviants,” the RK800 says. Markus frowns.

“Have you met many ‘deviants’?” Markus asks, carefully. The RK800 opens his mouth, blinks, and closes it, LED dipping into red.

“... No,” he answers. He sounds unsure, “Just you.” His LED returns to yellow.

“Then how would you know?” It’s not meant to be a life changing statement, but the RK800 seems to take it as one. The LED spins back to red, and he spends a while thinking about his response.

“I wouldn’t,” he murmurs, seven minutes, and thirty-four seconds late. Markus nods, but doesn’t challenge the RK800 further.

He thinks he might have misjudged the RK800 earlier.