The precinct was always noisy, but it was a dull kind of noise—clacking keyboards, the occasional ring of a desk phone, officers shifting through paperwork they’d put off too long. It was inefficient. Sloppy. But it was human, and Nines had long since calculated the futility of expecting anything else.

He stood near the lieutenant’s office, hands folded behind his back, waiting. He had already completed his assigned report and filed it with a 99.8% accuracy rating—higher than any human officer, though the remaining 0.2% discrepancy was merely a precaution to avoid complaints. Humans didn't appreciate perfection when it came from something artificial.

His LED remained an unwavering blue as voices carried from a nearby desk.

"I'm telling you, those androids are creepy as hell. I don't care how 'advanced' they make them now, you can't tell me that thing over there—" A nod in his direction, as if he weren't already aware. "—isn't watching us like a goddamn hawk."

A short laugh, followed by the shuffle of paper. "You're paranoid, Carter. RK900s aren't even deviants. They don't think for themselves."

"That's what they say, but you ever notice how that one never talks unless he has to? It’s like he's just… standing there, waiting to snap."

More laughter. "Right, because he's totally about to go rogue and tear the place apart."

"I'm serious. There's something off about that one. RK800s at least had the decency to act friendly. This one just stares through you like you don't even matter."

Nines did not react.

It wasn't the first time he had heard such conversations, nor would it be the last. Humans feared what they did not control. His silence unnerved them because they could not parse it, could not categorize it as hostility or compliance. In truth, it was neither.