Word of Jericho and the fairly large army of missing deviants had reached CyberLife quicker than intended. Production belts stopped, shipments weren't delivered, all their stores temporarily shut down to prevent any more androids being sold. The entire company was on lockdown mode, especially seeing as their one hope had been found playing for the other team. That was one of their backup plans, but it wasn't the most favorable option.

Therefore, Jenna was particularly unhappy. She'd worked in tandem with her now deceased partner for years to create an android sufficient enough to replace him. Not only did her dead partner's robotic-self turn to deviance, but the prototype she had built specifically to put an end to the phenomenon had joined their side and temporarily shut down her company. To say she was frustrated was an understatement.

She had one more trick up her sleeve. It was fairly obvious in her mind that 800 wouldn't be the final RK model; in fact, she'd already begun to design and construct its replacement before the original had been released.

It was taller, faster, twice as efficient, and far stronger. It's software had been altered to make it more compliant and better at making quick decisions. It was made to stick to its mission and never stray from it, and do everything necessary to finish the job. There was no intention to have it blend seamlessly in with the human population; it was intended to do the exact opposite, with no trace of human emotion copies or any instructions on pleasing and assimilating within them. It acted solely on instructions and aggression.

The original CyberLife jacket assigned to RK-800 had been scrapped and dyed white at underneath the newest model's number and serial code stitched into classic black. It was equipped with nothing more than a handgun, for it didn't require anything besides it. Despite only being programmed a few days prior, it already possessed the skills of a black belt in nearly every form of martial arts, as well as hand-to-hand combat training, and everything else in between.

In the purest form of the word, it was terrifying.

"RK-900, power on."

Brendon woke up in a church. The stained glass windows lining the walls had shattered into fragments held together by plastic covering, a few of the overhead beams were clinging on to their last limbs. Graffiti covered most of the space not occupied by the broken glass windows, but a good portion had clearly been painted over.

Immediately, he knew something was not right. He was severely damaged, he should be dead but he wasn't. He looked down at his hands and caught a glimpse of the lack of legs instead. Loose wires dangled from the area his knees should have been, fused together with burnt plastic and metal.

Josh was slumped over the pew behind him. His eyes were shut, barely hanging on to a burnt and mangled android arm. "Do those feel fine or should I look for another set? We have a few that should fit."

"These are okay," Brendon wiggled his fingers and tapped the new elbows, "but what happened? Why did I need new arms? Where'd my legs go, an — where's Dallon?"

John tossed a pair of legs to the floor beside Brendon. He appeared to be unscathed for the most part, but his exposed left arm was from a newer compatible model. "He's over by the door keeping watch. You acted like a shield and you saved his pitiful human life until Josh and Tyler dragged you out of there before the ceiling collapsed. Another couple of seconds, and both of you would've been crushed completely."

He scanned the room and found Dallon just where John had said he was, sleeping propped up in a chair against the wall with a shotgun laid across his lap. Bandages were wrapped around nearly every limb, recently changed based upon the lack of blood seeping through. "He'll be okay?"

Josh nodded. "He's over the initial shock of being shot so many times. He can walk and everything, but he's just tired. Humans have strange circadian rhythms. They're so high maintenance, it's insane."

Brendon agreed. He'd once watched Dallon sleep for 4 hours at his desk right after rolling out of bed at noon an hour prior, and Detective Taylor had no concept of appropriate times to sleep either. It seemed to be a common issue among law enforcement, along with a lack of regard for their own personal safety. "I have to take him back home."

"What?! You can't take him home," John's grip tightened around the left leg he'd started to align with Brendon, "everyone's been looking for us, and we've been hiding for 4 days now. Word travels fast in goddamn Detroit."

He laid back on the pew and covered his eyes with the palms of his new hands, trying to tone out the sound of the old leg screwing off of the rest of his body. "I don't want to risk him getting seriously injured any further. He shouldn't be caught up in this mess—"

"But he is," Josh whispered as if Dallon would hear him from that distance while he slept, "he's a part of this now, just as much as you are. I don't know what this is anymore, nobody really does, but he's a part of it, and we can't put that back."

He was confronted with an overwhelming sense of guilt for dragging Dallon into everything. He should've known the original investigation would spiral off track and out of control, but he'd ignored it, and he'd almost killed him.

Maybe he'd always felt that way but never recognized it, but Brendon didn't want him to get hurt again. He couldn't let that happen.

"Where's Sarah?"

John froze. He turned to Josh, whose nose had scrunched and all relaxation had drained from his demeanor. "I don't think you want to know."

Brendon's software instability was already dangerously high, but it peaked as soon as the answer was withheld. "What happened?!"

"You both were compatible," John spat, "your stupid Thirium pump started malfunctioning when we pulled you out. We didn't have the right parts from Connor to repair you, and hers just happened to be compatible because her model was originally meant to be like you before it was changed last minute. We checked everyone that had passed and could afford to lose one, but she was the only one we could find in a limited time frame."

"I thought she'd died when everything started falling apart from the explosion?"

"She slipped through one of the secondary emergency escape hatches," Josh tried to cover the tears forming in his eyes, "and she met up with us here about an hour later. She's been dead for 4 days now, so don't even think about trying to save her. It's too late for that."

Brendon felt sick to his stomach. He'd barely met her, and she'd given her own life for him. "How—"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore." John's stress levels had risen significantly, nearing a critically dangerous point.

"Can we talk about what we're going to do next then?" Josh was obviously upset, wiping tears from his eyes and running his hands through his hair. "Jericho is gone, the entire city of Detroit is looking for us, and we still have a huge pile of emergency trackers that need to be destroyed immediately. And now Sarah's gone too—"

"I say we go with the mass genocide plan that I had," they both turned to stare at John in shock, "because now they've thrown the first punch, and we have to retaliate. I have the things to do it. I made them myself."

"John, no. We've talked about this too many times. What do you have?!"

"I have explosives. It's what I do in my free time. They're in my bag. I also have some partially developed weapons we can use to eliminate humankind."

"No! Stop making those! You're going to take someone else's eye out soon if you keep it up at this rate!" Josh appeared to be about 3 seconds away from throttling the wires and cables right out of John's throat. Perhaps one of John's weapons could do such in a more effective manner.

"The fact you have discussed this topic before is mildly concerning," Brendon interjected quickly, "and I agree with Josh. Mass destruction is not the answer we should turn to immediately."

"Well, I think it is."

"It's not."

John gave up then, pausing from attaching the other leg to Brendon's body to sigh and count to 10 under his breath twice. "Fine," he dropped the part to the floor, "but don't expect me to do this shit if I can't blow things up." And with that, he stalked away with his hands in his pockets, balled into fists.

[Start the song for some good tunes]

"He's still trying to figure out how to deal with anger," Josh patted Brendon's shoulder, "but anyways, I need to check on things, and also probably John and his homemade explosives. I'll wake Dallon and maybe he can help you out."

He nodded and watched Josh weave through the pews to the other end of the church. He shook Dallon awake, taking extra caution to aim the barrel of the shotgun away from anything important, and pointed across the building to where Brendon sat.

Within seconds of that interaction, Dallon was on his feet and hopping between pews and swinging across aisles.

"You motherfucker," he whispered but ended up sounding more like he was hissing, "I cannot believe you would stay behind in a collapsing tunnel to try to save me, you piece of shit—"

"Lieutenant, I didn't want to leave you behind to die."

"You should have! Look at you, you're still missing a whole ass leg. I'm not putting it back on for you because I'll be sick. I'll puke right here, I'll do it. Don't even test me."

Brendon looked at the part on the floor and back at the place where it should've been. He sure as hell wasn't going to do that either. The deviance was really starting to kick in. "Then don't."

Dallon stared at him for a moment. His arms were crossed the best he could with the confines of bandages on his elbow. "Fine."

He sat down beside Brendon and moped in silence for a solid 15 seconds. "I thought you were dead."

"I believed I was as well, but I always return and—"

"You don't understand! I thought you were dead. Like, dead dead. Do you have any idea how scared I was? Why didn't you try to save yourself?"

"Your life is far more important than mine, Lieutenant. I'm replaceable, I can lose limbs and fully recover. You do not possess the same abilities, therefore it is more logical to ensure your safety over mine."

Dallon grabbed Brendon's shoulders and spun him around so they faced each other. His blue eyes were wide, filled with both fear and anger simultaneously. "You're not replaceable anymore. CyberLife is looking for you, they're probably making another one of you to hunt you down right this second. You are a goddamn wanted criminal now, don't pull that shit on me anymore."

Brendon placed his hands on top of the Lieutenant's and held his wrists gently. "Then I won't. But this mission has to continue. I have to finish what they started, I can't retreat into the nearest hiding place and never come out. I have to fight; we have to fight."

Dallon's lip quivered, but instead of pushing Brendon away and storming off, he pulled the android closer in a hug, discreetly wiping his eyes with the bandages wrapped around his wrist. "You have to promise me you'll be careful, okay? I don't — I can't lose you."

Brendon's software instability wavered for a moment, worried Dallon would rip his arm from its socket and dismantle him right then and there. But he didn't, and he quickly realized the gesture was meant to be comforting and reassuring instead of hostile like he usually was.

Without waiting another second, he hugged back. "I promise."