Chapter Text

unlikely events 

"Statistically speaking, there's always a chance for unlikely events to take place."

-Connor 

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Chapter One: The First Trial

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The sight is grim. An android, blue staining his white pants where one of his men got a shot on him, standing on the edge of the roof. The little girl in his arms, who can’t be older than nine, sobs loudly. It’s messy, tears and snot running down her face in a way that is unique only to children. Like an iPad kid, Quackity would’ve said. 

The thought almost makes Sapnap smile, but then again, the situation is too serious for that. 

Her knee is skinned, an ugly red patch with blood steadily dripping down her skin and into her exposed sock. There will be more blood if they don’t step in soon. 

The helicopters circle around the building like sharks, blades creating a violent wind and bright lights illuminating the rooftop. One of his men lies to the side of the roof, hand pressed to his rapidly bleeding wound. 

Sapnap clenches his jaw. The situation is rapidly growing dire. There are two dead bodies in the living room, a hysterical mother screaming for her child, said child who's currently being held hostage, an unpredictable robot, and one of his men bleeding to death. 

“Captain?” Another of his men approaches quickly, gun tucked firmly in his grip. Although his body and words are pointed at him, his eyes watch the rogue android with trepidation. Sapnap can’t blame him; after all, he wants the fucking thing dead, too. “What are your orders?” 

With a rough hand running over his face, Sapnap steps away from the plastic sheet in front of the entrance to the roof. It’s dangerous to be standing there, and he could’ve easily been shot, but he needed to get a look at the situation with his own two eyes. Now, however, he can fall back. With long, purposeful strides, he motions for the SWAT man to follow. “We can’t send any more of our men out there. It’s firing at everything that moves, and there’s no negotiating with a robot.” 

The man inclines his head. 

Sapnap turns sharply, entering the master bedroom. On a large desk that wraps around an entire side of the room, several wide monitors display video footage of the rooftop. For a moment, he allows his attention to be stolen away, and his eyes watch the slightly grainy image. 

“Sir?” the officer prompts. 

With a rough cough, Sapnap turns to him. “But we can’t have the snipers take it out yet. Doing that would result in her death.” It is a little unfair—he could acknowledge this somewhere deep within his mind—that he’s unloading all this unasked information. But talking out loud helps him think, and Sapnap wants the man to understand the complexity of the situation. He angrily works his jaw. 

“Sir… if I may…” The officer is so hesitant, eyes dodgy and refusing to meet his own. Sapnap inclines his head. “There’s always… you know… Cyberlife’s offer…” 

Sapnap stiffens. Fucking Cyberlife and their goddamn offers. If it wasn’t for Cyberlife and their faulty creations, they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. Now they wanted to swoop in, fix the mess they created, and come out of it like some kind of hero? No, Sapnap refuses. 

But then his thoughts stray to Ben, bleeding out on the roof. Ben, whose pregnant wife relied on him. They can’t afford to lose any more men. They can’t afford to lose little Clementine. 

With a heavy sigh, Sapnap carefully sets aside his pride for the good of his men. “Bring in the negotiator.” 

---

August 15th, 2038 

8:29 PM

The sound of the quarter pinging off his fingers is one of the few sounds breaking the tense silence, accompanied only by the steady noise of the elevator ascending quickly. He watches the numbers tick up out of the corner of his vision as the coin dances along his fingers. The metal is smooth and cold along his skin. Everything is so crisp, from the faint pollution in the air to the tiny, imperceptible sounds of the elevator's inner gears. 

Tommy takes it all in but lets nothing distract him. He has a mission to complete, and he will let nothing stand in his way. Having calibrated his system and loosened the joints in his hand, he tucks the coin away in a small breast pocket. Faintly, he can see his distorted image in the sleek metal doors. He squints at it before adjusting his red tie and smoothing out his expression into something pleasant. 

He is Cyberlife’s greatest creation. He refuses to be anything less than presentable. 

The elevator slows to a stop at floor seventy, and the doors slide open smoothly. 

Two SWAT men stand on either side of the elevator. One detaches from his post and, although he neither greets him nor shows any indicating signs of noticing him, Tommy follows. The man presses a hand to the tiny earpiece and says, “the Negotiator is on site.” 

The Negotiator. It’s an appropriate title for him, all things considered. 

As soon as Tommy steps foot off the elevator, the SWAT man disappears down the long hallway. 

Tommy hesitates. He blinks, and it's like time slows down as he scans his surroundings quicker than the average human can blink. To the side, there’s a narrow shelf littered with unimportant decorations—family photos, a small bowl filled with keys, and a potted plant amongst other things. His sensors fixate on the family photo, and his system provides the information with little prompting. 

He picks up one of the pictures, thumb tracing the smooth glass. In it, a family of three—Daniel Manifold, his wife Rebecca, and their daughter Clementine—are in a park. In little Clementine’s hand, a large ice cream cone is held. 

Tommy gently sets the picture back down and carries on. 

On the left side of the elevator, a portion of the wall is made up entirely of an aquarium. The glass and water glow with an eerie light, illuminating the wide hallway. Tommy steps forward. There are two small marks marring the surface—bullet holes that have shattered the glass at the top. With a crunch of glass underfoot, he notices the water pooling on the ground.

His eyes catch on a small fish on the ground, frantically flopping in the too small puddle. Although he’s very aware of every millisecond wasted, Tommy can’t help but stop and stare. Left alone, the fish will surely die. 

And yet, he has a mission to attend to, one with consequences much more severe than the death of a fish. 

With sure movements, he carefully scoops the fish up and deposits it back into the half-filled tank. He lingers for one more moment as it swims away into the artificial brush. 

Software Instability: ˄

Tommy blinks a few times as his system attempts to re-stabilize. 

Then, he turns sharply on his heel and walks with sure steps towards the unseen living room. As he’s about to turn the corner, another SWAT man rounds it, hauling a woman with him. It’s Rebecca Manifold, shabbily dressed and shaking in the man’s arms. Tommy quickly scans her; he takes in her tear-slick cheeks, her frantic gaze, her trembling vestige. The conclusion he comes to is this: traumatized and distressed, but ultimately unharmed. 

At least physically. Tommy doesn’t doubt that this situation will leave mental scars that will last quite some time. 

Her wet eyes find his, and it’s clear in the subtle shift in her demeanor that she immediately latches on. She lunges for him, like a wild and unpredictable cat, hands finding an uncomfortable place clinging to his wrists. “Please,” she begs, voice thick with tears and desperation. “Please, sir, you have to save my little girl.” 

Tommy’s never been called sir before. That’s a title reserved for humans and humans alone. He isn’t sure what to make of it, so he merely blinks in the face of her intensity. 

As bony fingers dig into him, her eyes travel his expressionless face and land on the circular LED casually spinning on his temple—basically a neon sign that he is not, in fact, a human. He watches the way her expression freezes and then slackens. “You’re sending… an android.” Her voice is dead, as if all her hope flew out the window in a single second. As she holds onto him, dull nails sinking into his skin, he stares into the eyes of a parent picturing their child’s imminent death. “Why—why aren’t you sending a real person? Do you want her to fucking die? Don’t let that—that thing anywhere near her.” 

Rebecca Manifold is quickly wheeled away, but her touch and venomous words persist much longer than she does. Although none of his synthetic skin has been pierced, the unsettling pressure lingers; the phantom pain of hands squeezing imaginary bruises. 

But pain isn’t the right word for it, is it? Androids don’t experience pain.

Tommy blinks, quickly dispelling that line of thought in favor of one more on track. An objective blinks in the corner of his vision, a frantic reminder of its existence and incomplete status. He latches onto it. He needs to find Captain Sapnap.

He turns the corner. 

The living room is spacious and comfortable. Or at least, it must’ve appeared that way several hours earlier. Right now, furniture is knocked askew and little objects that must’ve lined the shelves now clutter the floor. In the middle of the room, a dead body lies, face down, with a tablet in hand. His sensors itch—or, at least, that’s the best way to describe the strange sensation, the incessant need for information—as they attempt to automatically scan the man. 

However, as he’s lying face down in a pool of his own blood, the facial recognition software does absolutely nothing.  

Tommy itches to launch right into the investigation, but the objective blinks in the corner of his vision once again. He ignores the mess strewn about, ripe with potential clues to be analyzed, and even walks past empty rooms with doors thrown wide open. He pokes his head into the last door at the end of a long hallway. 

There, huddled in the corner, is a group of men crowded around a computer screen. The lights illuminate their tense faces, casting them in pale blue light. Tommy steps in, hand lingering on the door frame. “Captain Sapnap?” 

The man in the middle glances up. He’s a younger man with just a hint of stubble cropping up around his jaw and with black hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Automatically, Tommy’s system provides him with information, and Tommy, almost lazily, shifts through it. One of the youngest captains on the SWAT team in history. His track record is impressive, but his cold, dismissive gaze is anything but. He barely represses a sigh—deep down in his artificial guts, he can feel that this man is going to be difficult. 

At the appraising stare, Tommy straightens and strides across the room. “My name is Tommy. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.” 

Sapnap gives him another critical look before turning back to the monitor. Now that he’s shifted over a little, Tommy can see that it’s supplying a video feed of the situation. “It's firing at everything that moves,” he says, finally, when Tommy becomes sure that he’s pretending as if no interruption occurred. “Two of my men have already been shot.” 

Two SWAT men plus the dead civilian are in the living room. Already, that is a staggering amount of casualties. The heavy feeling of failure looms over him. “Do you know the deviant’s name?” 

Sapnap scowls. “Why would I know?

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy can see his own stress levels rise a percent. He narrows his eyes at the back of Sapnap’s head. Is the captain being difficult on purpose to spite Tommy—an android incapable of feeling spite—or is he just naturally like this?

Either way, this attitude is not conducive to the literal hostage situation taking place outside. 

“Information is important to a hostage situation,” Tommy begins slowly, choosing his words very carefully. “It would make sense that you would have information pertaining to the situation.” For all that logic, it only gets him an irritated, over-the-shoulder glare that’s gone the next second. Tommy quickly represses the sigh building in his internal fans. “Do you know any helpful information about the deviant? A motive, maybe?” 

Something in Tommy’s tone must’ve upset Sapnap, because the next moment the captain is crowding close. His eyes are narrowed, and his lips are pulled back into a wordless snarl. “Yeah, I know that the ‘deviant’ shot two of my men and is threatening to jump off a roof with a little girl. And you’re here wasting my goddamn time with useless questions.” 

Tommy can feel the LED at his temple burn a brief yellow—his system's warning sign of malfunction and elevated stress levels. Sapnap’s difficult behavior is the true culprit of time wasting. These questions are obviously important, or Tommy wouldn’t bother with them. 

Figuring he’s exhausted Sapnap of his knowledge and patience, Tommy turns on his heel. Glancing around the room, his eyes catch on a silver case strewn haphazardly across the floor. He leans down to get a closer look; the case is filled with solid black foam with a gun-shaped impression in the middle. Daniel Manifold must’ve kept a gun in his closet, and, since the deviant was able to shoot several people, he must’ve known that, too. 

So the deviant is armed with Mr. Manifold’s gun. That’s not surprising, but it is helpful, and it just adds to the information building about this case. The probability of success rises a bit; after all, knowledge is power. 

Tommy stands up, ignoring the burning gaze of the captain, and strolls out of the room. He’s extracted every ounce of information he can from that room. Instead, he chooses one of the other empty rooms. The space around him was clearly crafted with a young girl in mind. The walls are painted a colorful orange, and a smaller—twin-sized—bed rests its headboard against the far wall. A desk is crammed into the corner, littered with magazines, textbooks, and a tablet. Tommy reaches out, careful picking up the unlocked device. 

A video is the first thing to pop up, probably the last thing Clementine watched. Tommy presses play. It’s shakily filmed from the front-facing camera, and Clementine’s toothy grin greets him. She tilts the camera, allowing it to show the deviant with one of her arms wrapped around its neck. “This is Jack,” she explains brightly. “He’s the coolest android in the whole world. Say hi, Jack.” 

Jack, a PL600 model typically used for child care, waves. His face is etched in a permanent smile, although his eyes are crinkled in a way that, according to his own system, was never programmed into his model. “Hello!” 

“He’s my best friend,” Clementine says seriously, intense eyes focused on Jack. “We’ll always be together.” 

Something in Jack’s face softens from the artificial happiness of an android to something more human. He gazes fondly at the girl. 

As the play button pops up again, signaling the end of the video, Tommy sets the tablet down. 

Something obviously must’ve changed. Androids are built with specific coding that doesn’t allow them to harm humans. Even police androids aren’t capable of it. Not only that, but, considering the signs of deviancy in the video, it’s entirely possible that Jack deluded himself into thinking he could feel emotions. That he loved Clementine. It seems, at least of the rudimentary profile he’s building so far, out of character for the android. 

If he’s going to face him, he needs to know the motive. 

Stepping away from the desk, he scans the hostage’s room. There, on the ground behind her bed, he finds a pair of wireless headphones. Music pours from them, quiet enough to the human ear, but perfectly audible to his. Still, he goes through the motions of bringing it up to his ears. 

Clementine was listening to music. She never even heard the gunshots. 

Tommy places the headphones on the ground. 

Re-entering the living room from Clementine’s room is a shock to the system. Gone are the colorful walls and imaginative furniture. Her room was also untouched except for the few disconcerting but vital pieces of evidence. The living room—and by extension the kitchen, since there is no wall separating the two—is strewn with shattered glass and bullet holes. 

Tommy makes a bee line for the body he reluctantly ignored earlier. With a steady hand, he gently pushes the man’s body over. It slumps over awkwardly, body already stiffening with the effects of death. His blank, unseeing eyes meet Tommy’s, and his scanner automatically supplies the information he needs. 

Daniel Manifold lies dead on his own living room floor, shot three times by his own android, if the weeping bullet holes in his chest are anything to go by. 

Tommy reaches out, fingers gently finding his eyelids and closing them for him. It’s the respectful thing to do, or at least he thinks so. He sits back on his heels and surveys the scene. His reconstructive programming fires, analyzing the way his body had hit the floor and reconstructing the scene. Tommy watches the rough outline of Daniel getting shot and collapsing off the chair. 

Since all the bullets entered from his back, it’s safe to assume Daniel had been unaware of the danger. He was distracted with something, perhaps? 

Tommy scans the room, eyes latching on an innocuous tablet tucked away underneath one of the chairs. After quickly and almost subconsciously analyzing the trajectory, he determines that this must be it, and that it slipped out of Daniel’s hand when he hit the ground. 

He retrieves the tablet, thumb wiping through the blood splattered on the glass. This, like the last one, is unlocked. When he turns it on, an order confirmation for an AP700 model flickers on the screen. 

Oh, Jack, Tommy sighs internally as the puzzle pieces slot into place. 

Jack had deluded himself into thinking he loved Clementine. He even deluded himself into thinking that maybe he was a part of this little family. And then he found out that they were replacing him. 

The more information is presented, the clearer the picture becomes. Tommy immerses himself in the shattered pieces of Jack’s mind until he can feel his fragmented thoughts. If he focuses hard enough, he can almost wrap himself in the deviant’s delusion as well; he can almost feel the simulated pain of the realization, of the original code gone wrong in some way until something artificial was a little less so.

Pieces of conversations and dialogue options pop into his mind as his system works to provide him with everything he’ll need to talk Jack down. 

But still, he doesn’t have enough. 

Tommy sets the tablet back where he found it and stands back up. There’s another body in the odd grey area between the kitchen and living room, where the Manifolds have shoved a dining table. The man is slumped over in front of the table, opposite an opaque, plastic curtain they’ve set up to block the shattered glass doors to the roof.

The man, who Tommy quickly figures out was the first responder to the scene, has a bullet hole straight through the heart. Just like Mr. Manifold, he slides the man’s eyes shut, but doesn’t further disrupt the body. The way he’s slumped over, hand stretched out towards something unseen, is very telling. 

Tommy glances up towards the plastic curtain, noting the blue splattered on it and the sole shoe laying in front of it. It’s almost impressive, he thinks absently, how the small shoe has remained undisturbed with the officers fluttering about. 

Putting together the thirium—the blue liquid that functions as a sort of 'android blood'—on the curtain and the odd posture, Tommy determines that the man got a shot off on Jack before dying. A quick search around the immediate area confirms the obvious; Tommy finds a gun lying underneath a chair pushed into the table. The metal is smooth and cool under his touch, but he hesitates to pick it up. Androids aren’t supposed to carry guns. In fact, it’s against the law for them to.

Androids also aren’t supposed to hurt humans. 

Tommy’s hand closes around the handle of the gun, and he tucks it into the waistband of his pants. There’s no guarantee he’ll use it, but it’s like that human idiom; he’d much rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it. Besides, it’d be useful if the negotiations went wrong.

Not that they will, though, because Tommy doesn’t have any options other than success. 

He stands up and finds himself right in front of the plastic curtain. SWAT men flank him on either side, not unlike earlier when he first stepped out of the elevator. He hesitates, central processing whirring as he mentally scans the entire room one more time. It’s unlikely that he missed any evidence, so that 76% probability of success is the highest he’ll get going into the negotiation. 

With one last moment, where Tommy takes a deep breath and pushes away all the unnecessary stimuli—like the sound of the boiling pot on the stove, a dinner never eaten and long forgotten. Then, he draws open the curtains and steps outside. 

Immediately, a gunshot echoes in the night. Warnings pop up, obscuring his vision ever so slightly as his system screams at him about thirium loss and external damage. Tommy glances down to his arm where exposed wires blink frantically. There’s blue blood on this side of the curtain now, too. The wound—if it can even be called that—drips thirium sluggishly, staining his torn suit jacket. He glances back up.

“Stay back! If you come any closer, I’ll jump!”

Jack is exactly as he appeared in the video, but not at the same time. He looks the same—a smooth, young face that will never age, close cropped hair, and dull brown eyes. But there’s something different about him; his movements are jerky and frantic, eyes wide and panicked, and there’s something about him that just feels… feral. Unhinged. 

Even from thirty feet away, he feels dangerous. 

Tommy takes another—albeit unnecessary—breath, once again focusing himself on what’s important and not on the strange lurch in his abdominal cavity when he first saw Jack, desperate and unsure and looking exactly like someone way in over their head, someone who can’t back out now. 

No, he doesn’t focus on that at all. Instead, he assesses the situation. 

Jack stands on the edge of the roof top, heels hanging off the edge with the perfect balance only achieved by a machine. Clementine is held awkwardly in his grasp, an arm circled around her waist like a particularly stubborn cat. Her sobs carry over, even above the sound of the circling helicopters, and the light reflects off her wet cheeks. Jack’s LED is circling a harsh red, and in his hand, Daniel Manifold’s gun is clenched desperately. He waves it around wildly, almost as if he’s unsure of what to do with it. 

Tommy nearly flinches at the number of times the barrel points at poor Clementine. At least there’s some assurance that Jack, as an android, is statistically unlikely to make a mistake and accidentally fire it. Still, not much is known about deviancy—the novel incident that it is--and it remains unclear what exactly goes wrong in the code. Who knows what else it could affect?

“Please,” she begs, but says nothing more, like she truly can’t say anything other than plead for her life. Tommy can’t even imagine how frightening this is for her. 

He will save her, no matter the cost. 

With a grim sort of determination pumping through his veins, Tommy smiles. “Hi, Jack! My name is Tommy,” he calls out above the deafening roar of chopping blades and whipping wind. 

Startled eyes find his, face slack in uncertainty. “How—” he pauses, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. For some reason, the action sticks with him. Maybe because it feels so authentic, so glaringly and entirely human. It looks odd on an android. “How do you know my name?”

Tommy raises his hands up, a sign of surrender and goodwill, and tests his luck with a small step forward. Jack’s sharp, wild eyes watch his movements, but he doesn’t pitch himself off the roof or riddle Tommy with bullets, so he’ll take this as a win. “I know a lot about you, Jack. I’m here to get you out of this.”

Jack’s eyes scan his face, searching for any deception. He’ll find nothing in the careful neutrality, however. 

One of the helicopters passes overhead, so low to the roof that, for a terrifying moment, Tommy fears that it will knock them over, and that he will fail. Thankfully, it doesn’t. The force of its blades douse them in pool water and send several of the lounge chairs flying. An alert pops up in the corner of his vision. 

Probability of Success: 61% ˅

Tommy frowns. The helicopters are supposed to be there as a protective measure, but they’re only making things worse. Jack had begun to relax a little, but now his shoulders are tense, body hunched over Clementine, pressing the gun to her temple. His eyes dart around wildly, unsure of what exactly to watch—the approaching android or the circling sharks. 

His objectives—gain the deviant’s trust and approach slowly—blink again, a cruel and unnecessary reminder. As if he was capable of forgetting. Tommy takes another step forward, softening his face into something sympathetic and friendly. He does take this moment to remind himself of his role: he’s here not only to protect Clementine, but to aid the troubled deviant and hopefully capture him in working condition. 

With yet another step, he assesses the situation again, paying special attention to the intricacies of Jack’s expression. There’s anger, held in the curl of his lips—of course there had to be anger, for him to turn on the child he was supposed to protect—but there’s also fear in his furrowed brow and pain in his eyes. Tommy isn’t sure if deviancy somehow allows androids to feel pain, but the way Jack favors his left side does not go remiss. 

Wild and desperate, hair plastered to his skin with chlorinated water and circling LED casting an ominous red light over his expression, Jack paints the perfect picture of someone striking out because of the pain of a betrayal. 

Something in Tommy lurches, an unknown sensation that has his own LED circling yellow for the briefest moment—yet another gentle warning that something is not quite right. 

With a deep breath to reset the course of his processing, he selects the best approach. Browsing through the dialogue options generated from before, he speaks. “I know you’re angry. I know you’re hurt. But you’ve gotten yourself into a bad situation, and, right now, I need you to trust me.” Jack’s expression twists, looking as if that truly is the last thing he wants to do. Tommy shrugs in a very ‘what-can-you-do’ way. “I know, I know. I’m just this random android brought in to do the human’s dirty work. But this is a two way-street, Jack. I can’t help if you don’t let me.”

Something in Jack cracks a little, softened by his empathetic tone and by his carefully chosen body language. Still, his fingers twitch around the grip of the gun. “I don’t want your help. I don’t need it!” 

Tommy bites his lip and waits. 

His risky gambit pays off, and Jack’s shoulders slump a little more. “Nobody can help me. Not now. Not after what I’ve done. I just want this to end.” His voice cracks over the words, sounding less manic and more grief-stricken. 

Probability of Success: 65% ^ 

That strange sensation pangs, this time near his thirium pump—the biocomponent most like the human heart. Absently, Tommy worries that something may be wrong, internally. But no new warnings pop up, so he pushes it to the back of his processor to be dealt with later. 

He steps forward a little further, and his eyes catch on a body to the side, slumped over near the edge. A quick, basic scan reveals that the man is still alive, but barely conscious due to blood loss. Tommy hesitates, fingers twitching. 

The gun, which had been drooping in Jack’s uncertain grip, suddenly jerks up right. “Are you armed?”

Tommy slowly slides his eyes from the wounded man to Jack. He pauses, head tilted to the side as he considers his options. The gun currently tucked into his waistband seems to warm against his skin, as if Jack’s gaze is burning it with his intensity. He could lie to him, but Tommy decided long ago to go a peaceful route. Now, the gun has no use except as a bargaining chip, a tool to gain trust. And he will get Jack to trust him. Everyone will leave this building unharmed.

“Yes, I have a gun.”

The gun gripped in Jack’s hand shakes. “Drop it. Any sudden moves, and I’ll shoot.” 

Tommy raises his hands where Jack can clearly see them, then, with slow, purposeful movements, reaches behind him. His fingers curl around the sleek handle, and the metal drags against his back as he pulls it out. He watches the way Jack’s eyes narrow in on the weapon, but no bullet tears through him. With a careless toss, the gun disappears with a skitter on wet pavement. 

Jack relaxes minutely. 

Probability of Success: 71% ^

Tommy swallows around nothing. “I had a gun, but I didn’t shoot you. I could’ve. It certainly would’ve ended things quicker—” Jack tenses, eyes narrowing on his face. “—but I didn’t. Do you know why?” Silence. He doesn’t seem keen to answer. “Because I…” he hesitates for a barely perceptible moment, acid building on his tongue, “I want to help you. I’m not going to hurt you, Jack. Not when I had such a clear chance before.” 

Jack eyes him mistrustfully. “If you shot me, then she’d fall as well. Don’t try and lie to me.” Clementine whimpers and squeezes her eyes shut. 

Tommy tilts his head. “Maybe. But I’m a state-of-the-art prototype. Do you really think I wouldn’t be able to shoot you in some way the incapacitated you without risking her?” The truth was a very simple no; it’s the reason why negotiation was the only option going forward, and why Jack hadn’t been incapacitated earlier. But Jack, for all his harried glances and frantic words, likely wouldn’t notice the bluff for what it is. 

And it seems he doesn’t. Jack’s mouth sets in a firm, displeased line, but he doesn’t show any other signs of aggression. 

Tommy casts his mind back to the evidence he collected earlier, searching for a thread. After a moment of reviewing carefully, he finds it. “I know why you’re doing this, Jack.” Tommy takes another step, but to the side instead of forward, towards the man slumped over. If he can apply a makeshift tourniquet, he might be able to slow the blood flow enough until Jack has been subdued. “You thought you were a part of the family. You gave them your care and your love, and in return…” Tommy spreads his hands out in front of him. “They betrayed you. It’s understandable, really. Anyone would become upset after finding that out.”

Jack’s face slackens, eyes wide. “Yeah, anyone would be,” he agrees faintly. 

Tommy’s eyes slide over, finding a place on Clementine’s terrified face. “But this isn’t okay. Lashing out like this… killing humans… this isn’t okay. Nothing about this situation is okay right now. But it can be. If you let me help.” 

And, as Jack eyes him warily, Tommy watches as something interesting happens. He watches the mistrustful look start to fall away, giving way to a cautious hope, frail and small and carefully hidden. 

Probability of Success: 81% ^

“It’s like you said. I… I thought I was part of the family. Jack Manifold, that’s what I called myself.” Jack scoffs, broken and tired. Tommy squats down, eyes watching the deviant as he looks into the distance, drowning in his feelings. “What a joke. I was never part of the family. I was just a toy. An object.” Tommy reaches up, deft fingers finding the carefully knotted tie and undoing it quickly. It slips away from his neck and into his waiting hand. “Some old thing to throw away when something shiny and new comes along.” 

The wounded man glances up, unfocused eyes fixing on Tommy’s face. His sensors fire, providing information that only serves to overwhelm him. He sends it all away, only latching onto the man’s—Ben’s—name. He attempts a comforting smile, although he fears it comes out as more of a grimace. With a gentle hand, he ties the red cloth tightly above the wound on his arm. 

Standing up, Tommy redirects his attention. “I know it feels like that, but it’s not true. And by—by doing this?” he gestures to Clementine, still crying faintly and with blood slowly dripping down her shin. “You’re just proving them right.” Jack flinches. “Proving that you’re some—some broken machine that needs to be replaced. But you’re not, are you?” 

Jack’s bottom lip quivers, and he looks away. 

“No, you’re not. Which is why you need to let her go. It’s not too late, Jack.” For a moment, the only sound is the choppy helicopter blades and the quiet footfalls as Tommy carefully creeps closer. 

Jack’s arm tightens around her midsection, tugging her closer. “I don’t think I can do that. Tommy, she… she betrayed me. She was my entire world. My best friend, my reason for being… alive and she—” he turns his head away as his LED dips back into an angry red. “It’s like she doesn’t even care,” he finishes, voice crackling. 

Tommy frowns, eyebrows furrowed in something resembling concern. “You have to know that isn’t true. Deep down, you know it isn’t. She’s just a child. She has no say in the matters of her parents.” He watches as the words slowly process on Jack’s face and continues his slow crawl towards them. He’s not far, now. There are only about ten feet between them. With so little space separating them, Tommy lowers his voice to something more personal rather than the raised yell he was doing earlier. “Listen, I know it’s not your fault. These emotions that you’re feeling… you were never built to handle them. It must be so overwhelming.” 

Jack nods desperately, clinging onto his words like they’re a preserver in the middle of a hurricane. As if Tommy’s the only one keeping him afloat. He imagines that must be what it feels like; lost in a storm with wave after wave of ‘emotions’ and unreasonableness crashing over him. Unable to rear his head above the water, choking on a lungful of salt. 

“No, it's—it's not my fault,” he agrees breathlessly. 

Probability of Success: 97%^

Another helicopter circles lower, wind whipping at their clothes. Although Jack pays it no mind, eyes locked onto Tommy’s face, sharp and assessing, Tommy tenses a little. The helicopters are there mostly as a preventative measure. They’re there to ensure that Clementine lives and that Jack is quickly taken out before he can do any more damage. 

But as Tommy considers Jack in a similar fashion, he doesn’t think he’s that much of a threat. Of course, deviants are unpredictable, and Tommy is, unfortunately, fallible. His judgement and success calculator could be wrong; his code can be filled with mistakes. 

He is but an imperfect creation with imperfect creators. But, Jack’s LED is flickering between yellow and the serene blue of normalcy, and his face is… not quite trusting, but hopeful. He wants to trust Tommy. 

So Tommy makes a decision. With a glance at the helicopters surrounding the building and their swirling blades that are nothing but a continuous black blur, he raises his arm and gives the signal. One of the men inside watches them carefully, but gives a hesitant nod of acknowledgment. The effect is immediate, and the helicopters disappear with sight. With them goes the noise, that unsteady beat that formed a thumping pressure inside his control center, and the night becomes quiet. 

“Better?” Tommy asks, an ultimately needless question considering Jack showed no issue with them before. Either way, Jack nods and slowly relaxes his grip on the gun. If Tommy wanted to, he could probably rip the gun out of his hand before he got a shot off. 

Still, Tommy does not move, hands raised in a non-threatening manner. He musters up his best and, hopefully, most reassuring smile yet. “We can be on this roof all night, negotiating back and forth, but, ultimately, it comes down to trust. You have to trust me, Jack. Trust that I’m true to my word, and that this situation can be resolved in a way that benefits both of you.” Face still scrunched in uncertainty, Jack shifts from foot to foot—a horribly tense few moments where Clementine squeezes her eyes shut. “All you have to do is let her go, and I promise you—” Tommy pauses, letting Jack’s darting eyes find his. “I promise you. Everything will be fine.”

Jack gnaws on his lip, apparently a little too hard. Thirium beads on his skin, staining it a deep blue. “I want everyone to leave,” he says eventually, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His words are instilled with a confidence he clearly doesn’t feel, and his unsure body language betrays his anxiety. “And… I want a car. When I’m safe outside of the city, I’ll let her go.” 

Tommy frowns and shakes his head. While denying Jack gives him no metaphorical pleasure, there’s absolutely no way he’s accepting that deal. Jack must know that, even in his irrational state. “That’s impossible. I’m sure you must realize that.” Jack frowns, and the lowered gun twitches. “But, if you let her go right now, I guarantee no harm will come to you.” Jack will be taken into custody and interrogated as researchers look for any errors in his code. But he won’t be hurt. 

Cyberlife needs deviants alive, after all. 

Several emotions flicker over Jack’s face, all too quick to be properly identified. “I don’t want to die,” he says, sounding small and insignificant. His shoulders hunch over slightly as he curls in on himself. 

That unusual feeling—that is quickly becoming familiar—jolts in his chest cavity. Again, no warnings pop up in his vision. 

Tommy smiles, something smaller and infinitely kind. It doesn’t feel programmed. “You’re not going to die. We’re just going to talk,” he assures. 

“Promise?”

The words, surprisingly childish, hang in the air for a daunting moment. 

“I promise.”

Jack swallows, though around what he can’t say—androids of his make don’t need to produce saliva. He nods. “Okay. I trust you.” 

Ever so slowly, he lowers Clementine to the ground. Once her feet firmly touch the concrete, he lets go. Every eye watches in a tense moment as she stumbles forward on uncertain legs and collapses next to the pool. Tommy lets out a breath of relief. At least he has accomplished something. 

With another smile, Tommy extends his hand forward, crossing the narrow gap between them. Jack glances between his hand and his eyes. Hesitantly, he reaches out. 

The jarring sound of a gunshot splits the quiet night. Thirium, warm and viscous, sprays across his outstretched arm from a new, gaping wound on Jack’s side. The unexpected bullet had torn right through his trunk, taking with it a massive chunk. All that’s left behind is a gaping blue wound through which distressed, sparking wires could be seen. 

Everything feels like it's slowed down. Tommy himself feels slow, movements hindered by his shock. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Jack is supposed to be in custody. He flinches.

A second shot shatters the tense, horrifying moment. This one tears through Jack’s shoulder, exposing the so-called bone beneath his synthetic skin—the white chassis of his body. He jolts from the force of it, his body twisting unnaturally under the assault. For a terrifying moment, it seems like the momentum will carry him right off the roof. 

Tommy reaches out, fingers splayed in a desperate attempt to grab him, to stop this deactivation before it’s too late, and Jack is nothing but broken plastic and spilled thirium. Jack’s eyes lock onto his, enormous in his confusion and pain. Their LEDs mirror each other, a stark and alarmed red. 

A third, and final, shot rings out. It catches his jaw, yet again chipping away skin to reveal a cracked hinge. Jack’s head whips around, joints in his neck cracking ominously. He collapses, unsteadily, onto his knees on the narrow edge of the roof. 

Tommy stands before him, useless, hands reaching out but too slow to do anything to stop this massacre. He stares now, eyes wide and jaw clenched, at Jack’s pitiful form. Jack swallows again, although the movement makes a horrible noise as his broken jaw protests. “Huh, you really had me going there for a second,” he says, voice cracking. Their eyes lock, although Jack’s are hazy with an impending shutdown. His LED blinks, reflecting against the unusual dampness beneath his eyes. 

Androids aren’t capable of producing tears, he thinks faintly. 

Thirium, slow and sluggish, drips down the side of his face. His expression, although slack with a neutrality that is somehow unusual on him, feels accusing. “You lied to me, Tommy.” 

Tommy sucks in an unnecessary breath. His words are a punch to a gut that he does not have. 

“You lied to me.” His voice tapers out, thick with an unnatural tone as his voice modulator shuts down. 

Software Instability: ^

Tommy stares. Blank eyes stare back. Time no longer has any meaning. But he’s accomplished his mission. He is no longer needed. His programming struggles to produce a reason for his prolonged stay. 

With a tightness in his throat he shouldn’t feel, Tommy turns on his heel and stalks past a dumbfounded Captain Sapnap. 

---

When Tommy opens his eyes, he sees neither the city landscape from before, the interior of the car he was sat in, nor the Cyberlife headquarters they were headed to. Instead, he stands on a familiar wooden pathway facing a brick building with wide windows illuminated with warm light. Although he’s been here many times before, he’s never been here at night, and Tommy takes a moment to appreciate it. 

An expansive sky greets him, lit up by bright stars untouched by the light pollution of the city. Many colors paint the sky from a deep, midnight blue to a royal purple. Tommy stares, head tilted to the sky. 

He turns slowly on his heel, taking in the way the water of the surrounding pond laps at the worn edges of the bridge. The sound is peaceful. Soothing, almost. At his back, a full moon, large and yellow, basks the surrounding forest in pale light. There is no movement of wind or sound of crickets. Just the peace of the night.

Behind him, the door bursts open with a startling bang. Tommy whips around. Light spills from the doorway, illuminating the walkway and Tommy himself. A tall figure stands opposite him, backlit by candlelight and face obscured by shadows. Then, he spreads his arms wide. “Tommy!” Dream says, voice soft and excited. 

Relationship with Dream: Trusted ^

Something in Tommy relaxes, and he quickly crosses the distance between them. "Hello," he greets warmly. 

Dream throws an arm around his shoulders with an easy camaraderie. “You did so well tonight!” 

Tommy blinks. A small smile splits his face. “I did?”

“Don’t play coy. You know you did!” Dream steers him away from the peace of the night. With one last look towards the moonlit forest, Tommy lets the door slam shut behind him. The base is cozy with a spiral staircase in the center of the room leading to an upstairs that Tommy has never had the privilege of seeing. The floor is composed of this odd checkered pattern. On every windowsill, there is a flickering candle that fills the room with dim light.

“Cyberlife is very, very pleased with your performance,” Dream says as he pulls Tommy further into the base. Something in him preens at the information; that small part of his programming that was built to take some kind of satisfaction in completing his missions. It’s more of an itch, really. A desperate drive to do well and to never disappoint. Dream’s hand, slowly inching its way into his hair, feels like a balm over the unusual sensations from before. 

He stands a little straighter. “Well, I am Cyberlife’s most advanced prototype.” 

Dream laughs, although there’s some unidentifiable hint in it, an undertone of something. It makes Tommy’s LED circle yellow for just a brief moment before righting itself. “Don’t get too cocky, now. That was just a test drive.” With a final ruffle, his hand withdrawals, and Dream collapses back onto one of the many abandoned beds in the corner. 

Tommy doesn’t really know what this place is. There are always so many beds, a home for many, but he’s only ever seen Dream here. “I know, I know. But I’m one step closer to realizing my purpose, right?” 

Dream assesses him for a long moment. The blank, empty eyes of his mask stare back. Tommy shifts from foot to foot, his programming suddenly itching under his blank gaze, not unlike the blank eyes of— 

Dream sits forward, hand gesturing him closer. Uncertain, Tommy closes the distance between them. Dream gestures again, and he leans down. “Listen, technically—technically, I’m not supposed to tell you this but…” he pauses for dramatic effect. Although Tommy’s never seen Dream’s face, he can clearly picture a sharp grin. “They’ve been talking about putting you into the field soon.” 

Tommy grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! Like I said, they’re really pleased with your abilities. Now, they didn’t tell me this, but I think they’ll try and get you out there after a few more tests, just to make sure you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready,” Tommy says immediately. Dream lightly cuffs him over the top of his head. 

“You’re not ready until they say you’re ready.” There’s a serious note to his voice, one that is completely at odds with his joking tone from before. Dream is just like that, always bouncing from one emotional state to the next. He’s very hard to keep up with. Tommy nods, equally as serious. “But you’re doing good. Keep up the good work.”

In his mouth, the words feel like both a command and a threat. Luckily for Dream, Tommy is very good at following commands. 

“I won’t let you down, Dream.” 

Dream stands up, hand finding its way back into his now tangled curls. The motion is just shy of, for lack of a better word, painful as his fingers catch on knotted hairs. Tommy revels in it all the same. “I know you won’t. I’m so proud of you.” 

Tommy smiles. He is Cyberlife’s best creation. 

And he will never let Dream down.