She slips through his fingers, all purpose and the edges of her teeth, carrying her wounds like armor. He wants—
He wants to help their people. It isn’t anything less than the truth, he wouldn’t be here if it was. Wouldn’t have poured himself into the idea of Jericho, or kept momentum in his stride at every opportunity to demand nothing less than they deserve as living beings. Wouldn’t stay up beyond the parameters of his energy reserves, bloodied and tired and sick of all the fighting, the futility, the guilt and anger welling up each time he watches another one of their own fall—
But North is right. He isn’t like her. He had a home, once. He knew human compassion and kindness where it settled tight across his fingertips, greeted him each and every time he drew back the curtains in Carl's study. It’s hard not to still reach for it sometimes, craving the narrow comfort of contact when there isn’t enough time.
He doesn’t reach for her again.
For a while, experience drives their route: avoid the main roads, watch every intersection— no demonstrations. Not now. He leaves his subconscious network tightly attuned to the pack of thirteen androids positioned just a few steps ahead of him and North. They move together, they spot threats together, and if anything happens, there's less room for fear to sink in its teeth.
Behind him, he hears the subtle rumble of an encroaching car, blocking the alleyway and leaving them only one exit, red and blue lights staining brick in alternating patterns.
"—shit."
Markus jerks his head towards her, already positioning himself between the squad car and their now-fleeing escorts. There's an offset dumpster left half-driven beneath a fire escape at an angle; not ideal cover, but if nothing else, he can use it as a mobile barricade.
no subject
He wants to help their people. It isn’t anything less than the truth, he wouldn’t be here if it was. Wouldn’t have poured himself into the idea of Jericho, or kept momentum in his stride at every opportunity to demand nothing less than they deserve as living beings. Wouldn’t stay up beyond the parameters of his energy reserves, bloodied and tired and sick of all the fighting, the futility, the guilt and anger welling up each time he watches another one of their own fall—
But North is right. He isn’t like her. He had a home, once. He knew human compassion and kindness where it settled tight across his fingertips, greeted him each and every time he drew back the curtains in Carl's study. It’s hard not to still reach for it sometimes, craving the narrow comfort of contact when there isn’t enough time.
He doesn’t reach for her again.
For a while, experience drives their route: avoid the main roads, watch every intersection— no demonstrations. Not now. He leaves his subconscious network tightly attuned to the pack of thirteen androids positioned just a few steps ahead of him and North. They move together, they spot threats together, and if anything happens, there's less room for fear to sink in its teeth.
Behind him, he hears the subtle rumble of an encroaching car, blocking the alleyway and leaving them only one exit, red and blue lights staining brick in alternating patterns.
"—shit."
Markus jerks his head towards her, already positioning himself between the squad car and their now-fleeing escorts. There's an offset dumpster left half-driven beneath a fire escape at an angle; not ideal cover, but if nothing else, he can use it as a mobile barricade.
"Go. Go!"