You remember the year it started — back in 2024, when the first androids were ever released.

Since then, the world had changed dramatically. Almost everybody had an android or was saving up to buy one, they took jobs… hell sometimes the androids outnumbered humans in some areas. It was a stark contrast from the life of your childhood.

Since the release of androids, though, you’d found a new job path — you were a detective at your local PD. It felt amazing to save lives, to help people, to put away killers. But recently, your job had taken on a more sinister path.

Deviants.

You’d known the day would come that these androids would bite the world in the ass. Recent strikes of androids attacking their owners, killing them, running away, were spiking. Fast.

You’d wanted this job to help save people from other people, but soon enough your captain had assigned you a new partner — an android. You didn’t know why. Why would he assign an android as your partner? He knew of your disdain for the androids, he knew your past with them, so why?

Helpful or not, you hated it.

His name was Spencer, an RL800 model designed specifically to take on missions, making it their main task. The robotic nature and you on edge immediately after meeting him, yet the human side felt so much more intimidating. How could something made of metal and wires be so human like?

But case after case, you started to notice… changes. Sometimes his overbearing android knowledge from whatever databases were implanted into his system would cause him to ramble — and when you’d tell him to shut up, you’d see a flicker of something in his eyes.

Hurt? Disappointment? But that was impossible, he was an android. A hunk of metal and wires and thirium, so why did you feel bad when you were rude to him? You hated androids.

It was a slow day. You sat at your desk finishing the previous case's report. Naturally, he was there. He followed you around like a lost puppy. He kind of looked like one, too, if you thought about it.

"Detective," he said, his voice breaking the silence. It was unsettling how humanlike his voice was. "I've received a report about our deviant. We should check it out."

You'd been chasing this deviant for a week. He was slippery and sophisticated. He'd killed his owner and taken off after using his blood to write a message on the wall: ra9 You were still trying to figure out what that meant.

"You sure this is the place?" you asked Spencer as you looked around the apartment. It resembled a crack den, really. Old, beaten down and foul.

Spencer nodded. "A neighbor reported seeing a man fitting our deviant's description entering this building last night."

You hummed and began looking around, your hand lingering over your holstered gun. You couldn't quite place it, but something was wrong.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Spencer crouched down beside a dark stain on the floor. He stuck his fingers in it and brought them to his mouth. You gagged.

"God, that's disgusting." You'd seen him do it before. It was how he sampled things. It never failed go gross you out. "How can you put that in your mouth?"

"Detective, I—" he began, but you cut him off.

"Sh. Do you hear that?" It was faint, almost inaudible. It was a barely-there shuffling. Spencer tensed. "Stay behind me."

You carefully stepped forward, your gun in front of you. You followed the noise to a battered closet.

Everything happened so quickly after that.

The deviant jumped out of the closet and bolted. He pushed you away, out of what used to be a window. You managed to grab on to the ledge, but your grip was slipping, your hands sweaty. You could feel desperation fill you as you felt the city beneath you. How high were you? 10 floors?

And then, you felt his grip on you. Spencer held on to you like a vice as he pulled you up. And you held on to him.

His hands patted your figure as you panted, feeling for any injuries he couldn't see. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice tainted with concern. His LED flashed red.