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RK800 is leaning against the wall, blinking away the diagnostics it’s run for the third time. No software patches from Cyberlife to receive, no issues in its hardware, no ping from the mind palace, and no progress in the interrogation room. It’s been standing, idle but not idling, in the back of the room observing. They brought in the deviant last night, held onto it until morning, and it’s already half past noon and they’ve gotten nothing from it.
The blue ‘mission accomplished’ from last night seems mocking as it watches Lieutenant Anderson try yet another angle and receive not even a blink. This can’t be that difficult, the deviant was tripping over itself last night pleading for mercy, for sympathy. At present it could be standing in a store display for all the stress it feels.
“Why’d you kill him? What happened before you took that knife?”
For a human, relentless questioning like this might be exhausting. But androids aren’t people and this will do nothing, though the lieutenant is making an effort and has been for the past few hours. A waste, but a well-intentioned one.
Lieutenant Anderson glances at the glass and starts up again.
“How long were you in the attic? Why didn’t you even try to run away?”
No response, not even a blink when Lieutenant Anderson snaps in its face. The deviant simply sits there, hunched over and simulating breathing and doing nothing else. RK800 contemplates testing its reflexes yet again when a sharp movement catches its eye.
Lieutenant Anderson slams his hands onto the table and gets in its face.
“Say something, goddammit!”
Its breathing doesn’t falter, and not for the first time RK800 wonders if it’s idling. This seems to be the lieutenant’s limit, which RK800 knew they’d reach first. He stands and shakes his head.
“Fuck it, I’m outta here…” He says as he exits the interrogation room.
HANK - NEUTRAL
“We’re wasting our time interrogating a machine. We’re gettin’ nothing out of it!”
Det. Reed, Gavin. Born: 10/07/2002 // Police Detective. Criminal record: Police misconduct.
RK800 shifts the slightest bit from its resting position and checks the deviant’s stress levels. A cool 35%, nowhere near enough for it to feel pressured. This android just killed a guy and it’s chilling after hours of interrogation. The only stress it feels is no doubt a result of its own software instability, which in a human RK800 guesses would be something like anxiousness.
Meanwhile, Lieutenant Anderson looks like he wants a drink, Detective Reed is near the point of police brutality, and RK800 itself is two steps from walking in to conduct its own interrogation. Permission be damned.
“Could always try roughing it up a little. After all, it’s not a human…”
Great, Detective Reed is
at
the point of police brutality, if violence against an android even counts as such. RK800 isn’t going to be the one to find out today, nor is the suspect. It makes eye contact with Detective Reed.
“Androids don’t feel pain, sir. You’d only damage it, and that wouldn’t make it talk. If anything, Cyberlife might bill you for any further damages.”
They might actually, given that RK800 has already cataloged all the damages the deviant sustained and any additional ones might be recognized as mishandling of evidence.
“Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when they’re in stressful situations, another irrationality from their cracked code.”
“Okay, smartass. What should we do then?” The detective sneers; the offer is only an ingenuine taunt.
But it’s a golden window of opportunity. All of its social interaction programs are running to try and find the right phrasing to not piss anyone here off any further. In the end, it decides to just go for optimistic-placating and to pick something pleasant-sounding from its voice bank.
“I could try questioning it.”
Detective Reed immediately laughs in its face, but its eyes are on Lieutenant Anderson at this moment, whose reflection doesn’t look quite as frustrated anymore. It’s rewarded for its effort by a hand wave.
“What do we have to lose? Go ahead, suspect’s all yours.”
Its view crowds with violet objectives as it takes measured steps towards the interrogation room, though its eyes do not glow. Not yet. It spares a second to press its bare palm against the scanner and convince it to allow it access.
Then it is before its quarry.
‘ EXTRACT CONFESSION.’
RK800 takes a moment to stand before the glass, its presence already pushing the deviant’s stress levels by a percent. The glass has information about the case and the suspect projected on the other side, but it’s interesting that absolutely nothing but a perfect reflection stares back at it.
It gathers its thoughts, makes a plan, and follows through step by step, its first move being to open the file with the photos of the crime scene that was on the desk. Lieutenant Anderson had already shown the images to the suspect earlier, but RK800 would do so differently.
RK800 moves smoothly around the table and into the chair, not once taking its eyes, still externally blue, off the suspect. Its vision remains purple as it scans the suspect yet again. The suspect is covered in the victim’s blood, bears hit marks and cigarette burns on its arms, and bears no visible traces of blue blood. Its model is HK400 and its primary purpose is to be a housekeeper.
RK800’s eyes lock onto the suspect’s LED as it begins its hunt, though a different kind this time.
‘REACH OPTIMAL STRESS FOR CONFESSION.’
^ 37% LEVEL OF STRESS. TOO LOW.
“You’re damaged. Did your owner do that? Did he beat you?”
^ 41% LEVEL OF STRESS. TOO LOW.
More of a jump than any of the lieutenant’s sudden outbursts could provoke, but still too low of a stress level for the suspect to confess. It needs something more… upsetting.
It slides the photos into the suspect’s direct line of sight and decides to be more accusatory.
“You recognize him? It’s Carlos Ortiz. Stabbed, 28 times. That was written on the wall in his blood.”
^ 43% LEVEL OF STRESS. TOO LOW.
Too low, too low, too low. This is going better than it has been all morning but it’s still nowhere near the level of efficiency it was made for. It shouldn’t be difficult to raise stress levels, not at all. In fact-
“28 STAB WOUNDS! You didn’t wanna leave him a chance, huh?” RK800 shoots up from the chair, storming around the table to get in the suspect’s face. “Did you feel anger? Hate?”
^ 53% LEVEL OF STRESS. -
“He was bleeding,” RK800’s voice grows more aggressive in a way that isn’t typically considered proper, “begging you for mercy, but you stabbed him, again and again and again!”
RK800 bangs its fist against the table with each ‘again’. Never let it be said that the coders at Cyberlife didn’t teach their robots to be expressive when they wanted.
^ 63% LEVEL OF STRESS. -
“Please, please leave me alone…” Progress.
“I know you killed him.” Its voice gets low, threatening. The suspect’s steady gaze wavers, moving to RK800’s coat jacket - where the knife sits, hidden from camera view - before staring back down at its hands. RK800’s tone turns mocking. “Why don’t YOU say it?”
^ 73% LEVEL OF STRESS. OPTIMAL.
“Please, please stop!”
That’s more like it. Its programming’s been pinging it to present a more sympathetic front and now it will. It removes itself from the suspect’s space and holds out a hand in a steadying gesture.
“Alright, alright.” It remains within the suspect’s field of view and slowly sits down again. It briefly checks to see if its eyes had automatically shifted colors and found they had not. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
ˇ58% LEVEL OF STRESS. OPTIMAL.
Now all that it needs to do is keep a firm stance and press, not push. From here it should be easier to navigate this interrogation.
“If you don’t talk, they’re going to tear you apart and analyze you piece by piece. They’re going to destroy you, do you understand?”
^ 65% LEVEL OF STRESS. OPTIMAL.
There’s room to pull back here. To play into the suspect’s delusion and use its ‘emotions’ to its advantage. As irrational as deviants are, all machines fall into patterns, fall back onto what they know. They’ve seen it in the scraps of deviants they’ve picked apart thus far. RK800 saw it in Daniel, who made the mistake of trusting something child-like.
“I know you’re scared and lost. You’re disturbed by what happened. Talk to me and you’ll feel better.”
ˇ58% LEVEL OF STRESS. OPTIMAL.
“If you remain silent, there is nothing I can do to help you! They’re gonna shut you down for good! You’ll be dead! Do you hear me? Dead!”
^ 65% LEVEL OF STRESS. OPTIMAL.
RK800 sits back, unblinking and calculating whether to raise or drop the stress level with its next response when it happens. The suspect talks.
“He tortured me every day…” The suspect raises its head to look at it, not quite making eye contact. “I did whatever he told me, but there was always something wrong…”
RK800’s eyes trace the many cigarette burns on the suspect’s arm, some dating back as far as twelve months. Everything lines up so far.
“Then one day… He took a bat and started hitting me. For the first time I felt scared… Scared he might destroy me. Scared I might die. So I grabbed the knife and I stabbed him in the stomach. I felt better… so I stabbed him again and again! Until he collapsed… There was blood everywhere…”
HANK^
There it is, the confession. But there’s still more to know, so RK800 leans forward with its hands clasped on the table and begins its questioning.
“Why did you write ‘I AM ALIVE’ on the wall?”
“He used to tell me I was nothing… That I was just a piece of plastic… I had to write it to tell him he was wrong.”
“The sculpture in the bathroom, you made it, right? What does it represent?”
“It’s an offering… An offering so I’ll be saved…”
“The sculpture was an offering,” it clarifies. “An offering to whom?”
“To rA9… Only rA9 can save us.”
“rA9- It was written on the bathroom wall. What does it mean?”
“The day shall come… when we will no longer be slaves. No more threats, no more humiliation…” The deviant leans in and whispers with a certainty that RK800 didn’t think it was stable enough for. “We will… be… the masters.”
“rA9, who is rA9?” RK800 waits, but the deviant does not answer. It did not go through this whole thing just to have it shut itself down again. “When did you start feeling emotion?”
“Before, he used to beat me and I never said anything… But one day I realized it wasn’t fair! I felt… anger… Hatred… And then I knew what I had to do.”
“Why did you hide in the attic instead of running away?”
“I didn’t know what to do… For the first time, there was no one there to tell me… I was scared… So I hid.”
‘ EXTRACT CONFESSION.’
[CONFESSION OBTAINED. ]
RK800 watches the deviant curl into itself again and turns to the glass. It smiles. “I’m done.”
It’s taken all it needed from the deviant and left it at a stable stress level. As far as it’s concerned, its mission has been accomplished here. It stands to leave the room and steps aside upon opening the door to let Detective Reed and another officer inside to escort the deviant.
‘LEAVE INTERROGATION ROOM.’
“Alright, let’s go-”
“Leave me alone!”
RK800 pauses in the doorway and turns back, its eyes immediately locking onto the deviant’s flashing LED.
^ 70% LEVEL OF STRESS. -
That’s not good. That’s really not good.
“The fuck are you doing? Move it!” Detective Reed’s handling the situation poorly. There’s no way he’s forgotten already that stressed deviants self-destruct but here RK800 is having to remind him.
“You shouldn’t touch it. It’ll self-destruct if it feels threatened.”
“Stay outta this, alright? No fuckin’ kid - android - is gonna tell me what to do.”
^ 75% LEVEL OF STRESS. -
Its orders were to secure deviants in decent shape when possible, and there’s no reason that this one should sustain further damage. Detective Reed is being difficult and this is not a situation where it can fold. It briefly considers appealing to the lieutenant to step in since Detective Reed’s problem seems to be with RK800 giving the order, but there’s no time.
One more shot, then it takes more direct measures.
“You don’t understand. If it self-destructs, we won’t get anything out of it!”
“I told you to shut your fuckin’ mouth! Chris, gonna move this asshole or what?”
“I’m trying!”
Let both the records show that RK800 gave the detective every chance to stand down. It needs to move. Now. And move it does, but as it moves an arm to try and shove Detective Reed out of its way a blur of red, red, red, tints its view of him. Alternatively, it decides to sidestep him and turns away, instead using that same pre-constructed motion to pry the officer off of the deviant.
“I can’t let you do that! Leave it alone, now!”
And not even a second later there’s a gun in its face. Detective Reed is pointing a gun at it and its audio sensor has a momentary lapse because for a moment it perceives no sound. Its vision is tinted red, red, red, with purple edges and it’s frozen in place even as half a dozen self-defense pre-constructions pop up and flicker out in a circle around Reed’s face. It does not move, it can’t strike. It should not strike.
“I said that’s enough!”
It doesn’t have to. Everything goes purple again as its gaze follows Detective Reed’s. Lieutenant Anderson has pulled out a gun and aimed it at Reed.
“Fuck!” He lowers his gun and glares at Lieutenant Anderson. “Not gonna get away with it this time.”
RK800 tracks Detective Reed’s path as he leaves the room and takes a moment to force its LED to cycle blue. Then it turns and begins to lower the deviant’s stress level with the comfort scripts it pulls up.
“Everything is alright. It’s over now. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”
ˇ50% LEVEL OF STRESS. -
It turns to the officer standing next to it and keeps the tone it's currently using, unsure if he’ll react violently without Reed’s presence.
“Please, don’t touch it. Let it follow you out of the room and it won’t cause any trouble.”
The deviant stands on its own and walks past RK800. It slows to make eye contact and whispers one last thing.
“The truth is inside.”
It has nothing to say to that. It’s not entirely sure what it should do now. Lieutenant Anderson is standing on the opposite side of the room. The lieutenant looks thoughtful, and RK800 has a report to make… and possibly some diagnostics to run.
HANK^
“I’ll be going then, Lieutenant,” is the only parting option it finds appropriate after that. RK800 walks out of the room without waiting for dismissal. Amanda’s already pinging it for an audience and it needs approval to label Detective Gavin Reed as irrelevant to its mission.
Hours later, Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s phone pings.
[MESSAGES RECEIVED: 1]
Cyberlife conducts a survey to know what users think. Do you want to participate in a survey?
No. No, he doesn’t, but his vision’s a bit blurry from alcohol and when he tries to swipe away the notification, he accidentally opens it. One of those goddamn interactive messages pops up, with that Chloe android that’s all over Cyberlife’s advertising smiling at him from his screen.
“Great!” She grins at him. “Let’s start.”
“Would you consider having a relationship with an android that looks like a human?”
[YES.] [NO.] [DON’T KNOW.]
Hank tries to hit “NO”, which honestly sums up how he feels about this entire thing, and accidentally hits “DON’T KNOW” instead. So far, the stats are Hank: 0, Alcohol: 2.
“Do you think that technology could become a threat to mankind?”
“What kind of bullshit ominous question is that?” Hank wonders aloud. Sumo woofs at him from the corner in response.
[YES.] [NO.] [DON’T KNOW.]
Hank doesn’t know which answer he selects because he doesn’t care. He just wants that goddamn android off his fucking screen.
“If you had to live on a deserted island and could only bring one object, what would it be?”
[A BOOK.] [A CELL PHONE.] [PEN AND PAPER.] [A CONSOLE.] [AN INSTRUMENT.]
Click a random answer, and move on. How many asinine questions are there?
“Do you consider yourself dependent on technology?”
[YES.] [NO.] [DON’T KNOW.]
This time, Hank’s SURE he hits “NO”.
“What technology do you most anticipate?”
[FLYING CARS.] [SPACE TOURISM.] [BRAIN CONNECTED DEVICES.]
Eh, going to space would be cool, but Hank knows that’s just for millionaires.
“Do you believe in God?”
What sort of fucking tech company needs to know THAT?
[YES.] [NO.] [DON’T KNOW.]
He hits “DON’T KNOW”.
“Would you let an android take care of your children?”
…
“How much time would you say you spend on an electronic device?”
[1 HOUR.] [2 HOURS.] [4 HOURS.] [MORE.] [DON’T KNOW.]
How long has he been taking this godforsaken quiz again?
“If you needed emergency surgery, would you agree to be operated on by a machine?”
No, no, no. This had to be the fucking alcohol. No way did fucking Cyberlife send this shit. That, or he’s been fucking hacked. Hank drops his phone on the floor, not caring if it shatters.
Chloe cheerfully asks the final question, but Hank’s too busy opening another bottle to pay any more attention to the goddamn thing.
“Do you think one day machines could develop consciousness?”