[What they’ve taken won't go unnoticed. There’s no telling exactly when Cyberlife will run an inventory sweep and catalog down to the decimal what's missing, but inevitably they'll pinpoint where and when their security had failed. Inevitably they'll set their famous deviant hunter to the task. What he doesn’t know is whether or not they'll alert the FBI (no— he corrects, straightening out the lines of his logic— they won’t: Connor had boarded the Jericho before the military's assault, and his orders were to take Markus alive, while radio chatter overheard from army comm units promised they wanted him dead) Somewhere internally, running hot inside his skull, that knowledge is screaming: fix the damage as quickly as possible, salvage what you can from what you discard, ration your thirium supply— run.
Run.
He was never good at it. Not under the desperate shouts Carl had hurled, pitched to the sound of Markus's own pleas to stay. To stay and sacrifice nothing of what he loved, blood mingling with spatters of paint, poisoning his home. Carl had known.
Jericho knew.
It led him here, fixed itself to the grim electronic gore they're both sporting. The exposed cleanliness of Simon’s new leg, so white that even Markus’s plate lines would look dull beside it. Looking at it, thirium container still pressed tightly to his lips, something rough and jagged in the constant hum of his internal processes seems to ease off. He knows it isn’t easy for Simon, but (selfishly) each new component installed is a buffer against degradation and decay. Maybe that was a part of why he’d rushed to fit his own minor biocomponents under the other android’s skin. Why when he felt Simon's system suffer trying to sustain the breadth of his own he—
His jawline twitches. His shoulders flex. Single-minded train of thought stuck in his throat as his eyes bore into the high curve of Simon’s chest beneath torn fabric, lingering on those puncture wounds— until Simon calls to him. A brief burst of electric heat.]
I'm here, Simon.
[And he is. Kneels down just beside him, heavy. Heavy in kindness or in anger or sorrow or want. He carried himself with so much weight that under the brightness of his stare or the sound of his voice or even the press of his hands— steady and sure where they slide in between the slender angles of Simon's own, already moving to pull the soldering tools from his hands without instruction— the world narrowed.
He isn't thinking about the androids they left behind. In a day, that might change but not now. Not right now.]
no subject
Run.
He was never good at it. Not under the desperate shouts Carl had hurled, pitched to the sound of Markus's own pleas to stay. To stay and sacrifice nothing of what he loved, blood mingling with spatters of paint, poisoning his home. Carl had known.
Jericho knew.
It led him here, fixed itself to the grim electronic gore they're both sporting. The exposed cleanliness of Simon’s new leg, so white that even Markus’s plate lines would look dull beside it. Looking at it, thirium container still pressed tightly to his lips, something rough and jagged in the constant hum of his internal processes seems to ease off. He knows it isn’t easy for Simon, but (selfishly) each new component installed is a buffer against degradation and decay. Maybe that was a part of why he’d rushed to fit his own minor biocomponents under the other android’s skin. Why when he felt Simon's system suffer trying to sustain the breadth of his own he—
His jawline twitches. His shoulders flex. Single-minded train of thought stuck in his throat as his eyes bore into the high curve of Simon’s chest beneath torn fabric, lingering on those puncture wounds— until Simon calls to him. A brief burst of electric heat.]
I'm here, Simon.
[And he is. Kneels down just beside him, heavy. Heavy in kindness or in anger or sorrow or want. He carried himself with so much weight that under the brightness of his stare or the sound of his voice or even the press of his hands— steady and sure where they slide in between the slender angles of Simon's own, already moving to pull the soldering tools from his hands without instruction— the world narrowed.
He isn't thinking about the androids they left behind. In a day, that might change but not now. Not right now.]