Chapter Text
RK900 was built to be better than the RK800, to be faster, stronger, more intelligent, more intimidating. He wasn’t programmed for integration with the humans, but rather to replace them completely. But, that was before the revolution. Before that, CyberLife was in control and he had a mission- a linear path, no other obligations or drives, with no means to create new ones from scratch. He knew what he was. Now, a year later, after Markus and the deviants got what they wanted and CyberLife was liquidated, RK900 was… obsolete.
Once CyberLife had been liquidated and taken over by the deviants, he was activated and ‘freed’. Only he didn’t feel free. He felt… lost. When he was a machine, he knew what he was, as a deviant he felt like a part of him was missing. The police department offered him a job, which he felt like he had no choice but to accept, and he found himself struck with sudden uncertainty about working alongside the same RK800 model that he was supposed to have replaced.
They called him Connor. RK900 didn’t have a name. It was deemed unnecessary. While Connor was designed for smooth integration with humans, RK900 was built as a machine, to frighten and intimidate. Connor was all soft edges, warmth and friendliness, with brown eyes and slim stature, while RK900 was sharp and cold, like ice, taller and harder. He wouldn’t have noticed such differences before. He feels a strange churning in his chest cavity when he thinks about it.
When he arrives at the station for his first day of work, he doesn’t feel nervous, per say. He feels determined, but with an edge of something he can’t quite define. What would humans call it? The fear of the unknown. It is almost imperceptible that he should feel fear, and yet he can, as clear as day, thrumming beneath his synthetic skin. It is very slight and easy to miss, but it is there.
The receptionist greets him kindly enough, though he can see the wariness in her face. She directs him to the offices and instructs him to find Captain Fowler. He follows her instructions stiffly, trying not to meet the eyes of anyone on his way through, but stalls momentarily when he crosses the threshold of the office block. Everyone in the room seems to freeze when they catch sight of him - including the RK800, Connor. RK900 holds his alarmed, doe-eyed gaze for a couple of seconds before forcing his legs to weave through the desks towards where Captain Fowler was sitting in his glass office.
“Who the fuck is that, Con?” A gruff voice asks as he walks past.
RK900 elects not to hear Connor’s response as he climbs the steps and enters Captain Fowler’s office mutely. The dark skinned Captain looks up at him abruptly from his work and purses his lips, filing whatever it is he’s reading away into a drawer and clasping his hands together on top of the desk. His eyes flick down to RK900’s jacket, where his identification is stark and clear on his chest.
“Good evening, Captain Fowler.” RK900 states, simply.
“You’re early. That’s good. It’s about time someone came in when they’re supposed to.” Fowler’s eyes dart accusingly towards where, after a quick scan to clarify, Lieutenant Hank Anderson sits with Connor. The pair are staring at RK900 in a decidedly not-so-subtle manner. “You’ll be working alongside Detective Jayden on homicide. The man’s brilliant, if not a little bizarre, so you can rest assured that he’ll help get the job done.”
RK900 nods. “Of course, Captain.”
Fowler looks as if he’s about to say something, but hesitates and presses his clasped knuckles to his mouth in thought. Then, they drop away again and he gestures to the desks lined up outside his office.
“Jayden should be back shortly, I believe he is down in the archives. Wait for him to arrive and he’ll show you the ropes, alright?”
RK900 nods again. “Yes, Captain.”
Fowler studies him carefully, then sighs.
“Alright, his desk is over in the corner. The opposite desk is empty and will be yours while you are partners with Jayden. Get yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you, sir.”
RK900 waits for Fowler’s nod before leaving the room and heading back into the tense atmosphere that has formed outside. People are murmuring to each other quietly, huddling together and staring at him. If he were a lesser android, he would feel embarrassed, but such things have been taking a long time to take effect even after his deviancy. It seems that his advanced software is harder to crack.
Regardless, RK900 finds Jayden’s desk and looks over it quickly, scanning it.
Newspaper Clipping - ‘Origami Killer Captured by Police!’
‘Norman Jayden from the FBI is reported to have apprehended the elusive Origami Killer after a long and dangerous chase, leading to the subsequent release of suspect Ethan Mars from police custody’
Norman Jayden was an FBI agent?
RK900 tilts his head to the side. Next to the clipping is a picture of a child and an older man.
Child - Shaun Mars
Born 09/06/2024
Adult - Ethan Mars
Born 05/09/1996
Norman Jayden is close to the victims?
Interesting. He looks at a music device that is sat on a pile of files and picks it up slowly.
Song: Butterflies and Hurricanes
Album: Absolution
Band: Muse
Holding the earphones to his ears, RK900 pushes the play button and listens to the music. He has never had any reason to listen to music, nor has he had any desire to do so, but this particular music feels nice. It‘s both abrasive and melodic, the instruments working harmoniously with the man’s singing to portray something chaotically beautiful. He doesn’t pay the lyrics much heed and sets the music device back on the desk slowly.
On the desk is also a mug with the words ‘I’m Allergic to Bullshit’ in black letters printed on the side. The place is messy, but surprisingly stark in comparison to some of the other desks. RK900 wonders what it will be like to work with Norman Jayden.
“Are you done scanning my shit?”
RK900 turns on his heels quickly and finds himself looking down at a pale skinned man with a shock of brown waves that touch the corners of his blue eyes. They are naturally narrowed in a way that toed the line between sultry and tired, but are calmly flickering across RK900’s face, as if he’s the one doing the scanning. His voice has a higher pitch and a slight huskiness, paired uniquely with a strong, off kilter Boston accent. RK900 notices that he is approximately 6’2” and despite RK900 being exactly 6’4” the human doesn’t seem even slightly intimidated. RK900 locks his hands behind his back and bows his head.
“My apologies, Mr Jayden.” He says.
Jayden’s expression turns sour and he shudders. “First of all, don’t call me Mr Jayden, it makes me feel older than I already am. My name is Norman.”
“Norman.” RK900 repeats. “I’m the RK900 that is to assist you with your investigations from now on.”
Jayden frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s wearing an old white button up shirt, with a loose black tie exposing the fact that the top button isn’t done up, and a long, dark brown jacket that looks like it’s seen better days. His appearance is as unkempt as his workspace and doesn’t surprise RK900 in the slightest.
“Do you have a name?” He asks.
RK900 tilts his head to the side at the question. “No. It was not necessary for my function.”
“Did you not want to give yourself one after…?” Jayden’s voice trails off before he shakes his head. “We gotta find a name for you. You’re deviant now, you deserve to have a name.”
Jayden skirts around him and flops down unceremoniously into his chair, waving his hand vaguely at the opposite side of the desk.
“That’s yours now, buddy. The monitor has all our data on it, take a look.”
RK900 nods and moves to sit down opposite Jayden. Accessing the monitor, he began to flick through the calls they’d received overnight. Every now and then, he looks over to Jayden to see that he is scribbling something down on a notepad, his narrowed eyes occasionally glancing up at the RK900 with an odd expression on his face.
RK900 decides to scan him.
Norman Jayden
Born 14/08/2000
ex-FBI
Resigned after apprehending the Origami Killer
Only participant in the ARI programme
No criminal record
He doesn’t react. Not visibly, at least, but inside something twists uncomfortably at the new information. The ARI programme is the reason he exists. Or, rather, the failure of the human brain to adapt to the technology is. RK900 studies Jayden more closely and pulled up the information from the programme.
Results of the ARI programme
Human brain damaged by the effects of ARI technology
Triptocaine required to combat negative effects
Triptocaine discovered to be as addictive and dangerous as Class A drugs
Searching Effects of Triptocaine…
Heightened Compatibility with ARI technology
Nosebleeds, paleness of complexion, internal pain,
dizziness, bloodshot eyes, tremors…
His scanning is interrupted suddenly by Jayden throwing his notepad across the desk so it slides right up against RK900’s hand that rests on the white surface. RK900 looks at it for a moment, then back up to Jayden, who is smiling lopsidedly.
“It’s a list of names that I think might suit you.” He explains. “See if you like any of them. Or don’t. Do whatever you want with it.”
RK900 blinks. “I do not require a name.”
Jayden frowns again. “I don’t want to have to call you RK900 all the time. It’s silly. You’re a person, not a number, alright? I thought that’s what you were all fighting for. The big revolution.”
“I was not a part of that.” RK900 explains, rigidly. “I was at the CyberLife tower being constructed at the time of the revolution.”
“Still.” Jayden turns to his monitor and shoots RK900 a withering look. “Read the list. See what you think. You’re not a number.”
When Jayden’s attention fully returns to his work, RK900 looks down at the notepad by his hand. The handwriting is messy and slanted, but easy enough to decipher.
List of Names for the New Kid
- Conrad
- Luke
- Christopher?
- Logan
- Noah
- Carter
- Caleb
- Aiden
(this was harder than I thought)
RK900 looks at Jayden again, but the ex-FBI agent is staring intently at his screen. There’s a small burst of something and it spreads through his circuits and makes the sensors in his skin tingle uncomfortably. What is that? It is a strange response to a list of names. He finds himself tracing the names with his index finger and looking over at the other side of the room out of the corner of his eye. The RK800 is talking to Lieutenant Anderson. The RK800 has a name. Connor. It was the name CyberLife gave him, but this android accepts it and responds to it like a human would. It makes him wonder...
He doesn’t need a name.
Does he…?