Chapter Text
When Nines had chosen to jump out of Gavin's window instead of coming up with an excuse to use the front door, he expected that he’d have already adjusted to the RK800’s systems by the time he landed smoothly outside.
Or after he peeled himself off the concrete when his limbs immediately collapsed beneath him in a not-so-smooth landing.
Or even after he got clipped by an automated taxi because he couldn't cross the road fast enough.
Point was, as the latest in AI technology manufactured by Cyberlife, Nines expected to be able to pilot the RK800’s body efficiently, use the internal GPS to track down Gavin and parkour towards the hospital with such speed and grace that both humans and androids would be left in awe.
Not like this.
“Sir, are you okay??”
“I'm fine,” Nines insisted, gritting his teeth in frustration. What else were you to say when someone just watched you catch your foot on a cyclone wire, trip over a fence and smack your head into a bus stop hard enough for the glass wall to crack? “I'm an android,” he added, to reassure the sole witness to his mortifying defeat.
The human just frowned. “Android or not, that sounded like it hurt!”
“I can assure you it did not.” Technically true, since the damage sensors that were supposed to simulate pain in androids to warn them of injury were being just as uncooperative as the legs. Well, he thought bitterly, at least the RK800 would be feeling it when he gets his body back.
He thumped his head vindictively against the glass again to make sure. The crack spiderwebbed further.
The human took his limp arm despite his grumbled protests and ushered him onto the bus stop bench. She rifled around in her bag until she procured a clear pack of small round objects wrapped in blue and thrust it in his direction. Nines just stared at it warily, internally cursing Amanda for his inactive evidence analysis software (he'd been cursing Amanda a lot this entire journey, perhaps he’s been hanging out with Gavin and his potty mouth too much).
“What is that?” He ventured to ask.
“Thirium candy,” the human said, giving the pack a little shake. “You look like you could use some.”
Nines gingerly took the whole pack and scrutinized the label. It seemed legitimate, not that he had any way of cross referencing the brand. Ah well, not his body. He unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth. It tasted . . . like nothing.
He huffed in frustration. Curse this confounding body and its offline sampling software. Curse Amanda for kicking him out of his own body and taking away his ability to navigate a new one. And curse Gavin for somehow placing himself under Amanda’s radar once again and becoming a mark in her fucked up mission.
Because Nines had no doubt Amanda was to blame for this (and by extension, whoever was behind her reactivation). He was sure she had been purged from Gavin’s game by the deviant Animal Crossing AI, especially after she wrote off Gavin as a failure in her mission and abandoned Nines in the game for his mistake in selecting the detective. But he’d seen Connor’s memories of both the DPD shooting and his many cases, and Nines immediately realized that everyone involved was on the list of people Amanda was targeting, the same one he had selected Gavin from.
She was behind the viruses from Multiplayer that nearly destroyed the game and crippled Gavin. And Nines had been so oblivious.
“Hey,” the human softly said as she sat down beside him, interrupting his mental wallowing in guilt. “Is there a particular place you wanted to go? I mean, you did hit the bus stop pretty hard so I figured you wanted to be somewhere really badly.”
Nines took a second to gather his thoughts. “Henry Ford Hospital. I’m visiting someone.”
The human hummed in consideration, tapping at her chin with a long purple nail. “I’m not sure how far the hospital is from here, or if the buses even pass there. Why don’t you check out the map beside you?”
Nines turned to his left and saw that there was indeed an interactive map built into the wall of the bus stop. It must have had some form of voice recognition service eavesdropping on their conversation, because the hospital was already highlighted in green, a dotted path connecting their bus stop to it. It was, unfortunately, a very long dotted line.
Great. He wasn't even halfway to his destination. Nines sincerely hoped that Isabelle managed to distract the cops for a long time; how humiliating would it be if they got to the hospital before he did?
“Looks like there’s a bus stop just a block away from the hospital,” the human said with a smile, peeking over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, the buses here are quite fast, you’ll get there in no time!”
“Is that so?” Nines slumped into his seat, resigning himself to waiting for the bus. Doubtful he’d get there faster than a public utility vehicle anyway, not in his state. The human started humming an unfamiliar tune as she took out a rectangular device from her bag. She pressed a button and peppy music started coming out of the speaker, the screen lit up with blue light. Almost involuntarily, Nines found himself leaning closer.
“What’s that?”
“Rhythm Heaven! I used to play this almost 30 years ago, in between juggling my newborn twins. I’m glad someone ported it, brings back memories.” She sighed happily, then perked up as a thought occurred to her. “Hey, I bet you’d be good at rhythm games. Wanna try?”
And that was how Nines managed to push his worries aside and pass the time. The human, it turned out, was also getting on the same bus as him, so he was able to finish 3 Remix levels on Superb ratings by the time the bus stopped near the hospital. He nearly jumped when she nudged him, and when he looked up from the game she nodded at the large hospital on the other side of the bus window. Nines quickly stood up, apologizing and thanking her for the game (receiving an entire pack of thirium candy shoved in his pocket and a smile in return), and then proceeded to trip out of the bus.
After a few minutes of cursing and half-crawling up to the front doors, Nines managed to stumble towards the reception counter. "Excuse me."
"Oh, Connor!" The receptionist - an android? - looked surprised. “Weren’t you here just a few hours ago to drop off your friend at the emergency room?”
“. . . yes. May I know what room Gavin Reed was admitted in? He forgot something at home.”
The tapping of fingers against the projected virtual keyboard filled the air. “It says here that Gavin Reed is in Room 312. Normally he'd already be discharged by now, but given his connections and the circumstances surrounding his injury, he is still under observation until further notice.”
Nines gave his thanks and started walking in the direction she pointed. The white tiles lining the corridors and the sleek elevators reminded him of Cyberlife, in that brief moment he was active. He turned right after exiting to enter the room she indicated. There, he finally saw Gavin, watching a wall-mounted television as he lounged on a white bed. One of his arms was in a cast.
"Gavin!"
"Huh?" Gavin's head swiveled toward his direction, an eyebrow raised. "Connor? The hell are you doing back here? You already have my housekeys."
"I'm not Connor.” As if on cue, his knees buckled and he ended up sprawled in the ground, a far cry from the cool and dignified entrance he imagined he would make. “It's me, Nines.”
Gavin rushed to help him up. “What- Nines?? How did you . . .” His brows furrowed in suspicion as he planted the android on the blue couch beside the bed. “Please tell me you didn't steal Connor’s body.”
“. . . I didn't steal Connor’s body?”
The detective sighed. "You do know identity theft is a crime, right?” Gavin paused. “Right??”
“. . . That doesn't matter. I- we got worried about you. You can hardly blame us for that; a group of strangers suddenly started up your game without you, and I saw in the RK800's memories that you got attacked and- What happened?” Nines asked, letting his concern bleed out in his voice.
Gavin hesitated for a moment before he exhaled loudly, sitting down beside the android. “Alright. Buckle up 'cause this is quite the trip.” Nines had no idea what he meant, so instead he mimicked Gavin's relaxed slouch. “You remember Seymour? Lance Seymour?”
“Your acquaintance from Multiplayer?”
“Yeah. It turns out he really, really hates me for talking to Captain Allen drunk at that one Christmas party five years ago.”
Nines was rendered speechless for five seconds. His social module’s morality package was a bit . . . biased, sure, but he was still fairly certain that the retribution was in no way appropriate for the perceived crime, especially if the crime was holding a simple conversation. “. . . what could you have possibly told the captain to warrant such a reaction?”
“Nothing! I just told him to get his shit together, apparently.” Gavin shrugged his free shoulder. “Who knows how the hell Seymour found out about it in the first place. But I guess he thought I ruined his chances of getting together with his captain, which is pretty stupid since he only joined up, what, a year ago?”
“So . . . he retaliated by trying to blow you up at work?”
“And shoot me in the face. I still think Janet has something to do with it, probably gave him the idea,” Gavin grumbled. “Oh, and apparently he’s also behind the virus that messed up our game. Said so himself.”
If that was the case then that would mean Seymour was also behind the spying virus prior to that incident. The police dogs had catalogued all the viruses the game had encountered since activation through their Cybercrime Division, and based on what Nines read when he broke into the police station one time out of boredom, the later viruses all came from the same IP address. He told Gavin as much and earned a long-suffering sigh from the man.
“What is it with people and spying on me?” He complained. “It’s not like my life is all that more interesting compared to everyone else on the force. This is the closest I’ve been to dying this year and it’s still nowhere near as exciting as ‘Cyberlife director puts a hole in his in-law’s esophagus because of differences in favorite haircuts’.”
“Did that really happen?”
“Yup. It’s the case where they roped me into giving a review all the way at Cyberlife.” Gavin rolled his eyes. “Stupid crimes over stupid reasons, like Connor said. I swear, if I find out who’s behind this, I’m going to write them a strongly worded letter-”
“Just a letter?” Nines frowned. “For a moment there, I thought you’d say something like-”
“-and THEN kick them in the groin.”
“Ah. Nevermind.”
“Speaking of Connor . . .” Gavin gulped down a small glass of water from his bedside table before levelling an unimpressed glare at him. “That reminds me. The phck did you do to him, Nines?”
“Nothing.” The glare became even more unimpressed, if that was even possible. “. . . nothing permanent.”
“Mm-hm.”
“. . . Isabelle may have tricked him into entering my Zen Garden and I may have locked the only way out.”
Gavin maintained his judging expression for five more seconds before he snorted. “I know I should feel bad for him, but honestly that sounds hilarious. Serves him right for all the breaking and entering he's done while on payroll. But he's okay? No turning his consciousness into android soup or anything?”
“I left the RK800 fully intact in the Void.”
“. . . the same Void we trapped Mr. Creepy in months ago? Damn. That's cold, Nines.”
“Mr. Kamski is there to get him out.” Nines shrugged, unconcerned. If the RK800 couldn't handle a little psychological trauma, that was hardly Nines’ fault.
Gavin stretched his legs out before hopping up off the seat. “Well, while we're waiting for the cavalry to come, wanna hang out in the cafeteria?” he asked, holding out his unobstructed hand towards the android.
“I do not believe they will be chasing after me on horseback. That sounds inefficient.” Nines took the offered assistance and stood up, a lot less gracefully than Gavin did, much to his frustration.
Gavin looped his good arm around Nines, giving him the support the RK800's wobbling knees were denying him. “Not what I meant, but that does give me an idea. Imagine how cool I'd look chasing after criminals as an equestrian cop? It could even be a robot horse for maximum speed!”
“Even if your hypothetical horse is enhanced to withstand wear-and-tear outside of specialized zoos, it would still be inefficient. In terms of energy consumption versus speed and overall durability, any vehicle manufactured after the year 2030 would be far superior.” The sound of other voices picked up by his borrowed hearing processors gradually increased in volume the closer they got to the cafeteria. Gavin tugged at his elbow to lead him to an unoccupied table beside a large rectangular window spanning the width of the entire wall. After making sure Nines was seated, the man wandered off, presumably to order his food.
Left to his own thoughts, Nines took that time to look around the room. The cafeteria walls were lined with wooden panels as opposed to the stretches of white concrete he encountered earlier while dragging himself through the hospital. Together with the red carpet occupying most of the visible floor and the chairs with patterned seats, the place was not too dissimilar from the Roost in general appearance. In "vibes", as Gavin would probably put it. Although the high ceiling and more-than-sufficient white lighting definitely detracted from said "vibes".
Nines attempted to bring up the RK800’s HUD to search for the cafeteria's floorplan, sighing when the body's systems once more failed to cooperate. Is the RK800's form truly that incompatible with him, or is it a problem on his end? Is this the consequences of getting cut off from all lines of communication outside the game, on top of not being able to pilot his own body for nearly a year?
Hm. No matter. He can formulate his own floorplan if need be. Perhaps if the lights were changed to a warmer tone, and maybe with the addition of a merry-go-round and a fire pit to spice things up . . .”
“You know, private property owners don't take kindly to getting interior design tips from random androids,” Gavin interrupted his planning, a smirk on his face as he took the seat across Nines. “Not unless said android is attempting to establish a dictatorship in real life, too.”
“Don't project your crimes onto me,” Nines retorted, eyeing Gavin's tray of food and his singular drink. “. . . More coffee?”
“Coffee is a basic necessity of life, you know. Right next to milk tea.” The man grinned before taking a bite out of his sandwich. “So. Ignoring the immorality of body theft, how was your first foray into the outside world?”
“Second foray.”
“First foray. You never left Cyberlife Tower before, that didn’t count.”
“. . . Fine. First foray.” Nines stared at an etch in the wood of the table, frowning at the memory of his trip. He didn't pay much attention to his environment at the time, vivid and detailed as it was, too preoccupied with not planting his face flat on the ground and causing damage to his currently feeble face plates and optical units. With the RK800’s body refusing to cooperate with his programming and preventing him from uploading his memories to the memory bank, he can’t even perform a perfect memory review of his trials and tribulations.
What he does remember well is the smile of a woman, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling in a parallel happy curve as she placed candy after candy in his lap while regaling him with stories about her children in between giving him tips on playing Rhythm Heaven.
“Navigating a prototype’s body was more frustrating than I calculated. While I cannot comment much on the graphic design, I can say that the inhabitants are significantly more unpredictable compared to the KL900’s projections. More challenging to interact with. Not necessarily a bad feature, but . . . different.”
“. . . different in a way you'd like to experience more often?”
Deciphering emotions is a lot more challenging when humans don’t have floating icons of happiness daisies or gloom spirals around them as an indicator, but the tone Gavin used is strange enough to have Nines immediately snap his borrowed eyes over to the man. “. . . what do you mean?”
Suspiciously, the man pointedly avoided looking back at him, eyes fixed on the window instead. Not even prodding him in the shoulder (quite forcefully, if the wince he gets is any indication) was enough to get a reply from Gavin aside from a noncommittal hum around a mouthful of bread and peanut butter. Nines was about to resort to more drastic, possibly violent measures, to extract his desired information when he caught sight of a pair of red and blue lights blinking in his periphery. Gavin let out a low whistle at the car coming to a screeching halt haphazardly on the sidewalk.
“Damn, you really had them freaking out. Any last words, Nines?”
“. . . none in particular, no.”
“Lame.” Gavin cocked his head to the side, lips twitching up in a grin similar to that possessed by Mr. Creepy. At the corner of his visual field, Nines noted two people running out of the vehicle. “. . . Want to mess up Connor’s stomach with some greasy food as your final act?”
“. . . Perhaps.”
It took approximately 30.56 seconds (and oh how it rankled at Nines that he couldn't even measure the time up to 10th decimal at the least) for the doors to the cafeteria to be kicked open, making the few customers and patients jump in surprise. Gavin did not react visibly to the noise, too preoccupied with throwing french fries into Nines’ waiting mouth. If it wasn't for him suddenly picking up speed as if he was in the last critical seconds of the Quarterly Peanut Butter Basketball-Hockey Tournament before the bell rings, Nines would have believed that he was unaware of the gun that was currently pointed at the android.
“. . . Reed.”
Gavin slammed his hands on the table, disturbing the remaining fries on his plate. “Argh, so close! You couldn't have come in, like, five seconds later, Anderson?”
Hank Anderson. Lieutenant from the Detroit Police Department. The information does not come up on his HUD as it should have, but from his own memory of the officer's profile obtained from his Cyberlife Dream when it connected with Gavin’s in Multiplayer. Said lieutenant had his eyebrows scrunched together, his gaze darting from Gavin to Nines and back again. Eventually his expression shifted to one Nines identifies as exasperation, the gun still loosely aimed at the android, although his grip wasn’t as tight as it was before Gavin spoke.
“. . . Just to confirm: you know this guy isn’t Connor, right?”
“Yeah. Duh. Hank, this is Nines. He’s my friend from Animal Crossing. Dunno if I’ve mentioned him before.” Gavin scratched at his cheek, contemplating. “Maybe to Connor?”
“Good day, Lieutenant,” Nines greeted. The lieutenant's hand twitched, the barrel once more aimed between his borrowed artificial eyeballs. “I mean Gavin no harm.”
The lieutenant’s scowl grew deeper, if anything. The tense moment stretched until Gavin broke it.
“Where's Elijah?” He asked, craning his neck to look behind his coworker. “Is he still running around exposing the family jewels to everyone, or . . .”
Another loud slam caused the other customers to jump once more, as a disheveled man pushed past the cafeteria doors. He's breathing hard, hair sticking out in many directions out of his hastily-tied bun as he stumbled towards their table looking ready to keel over from lack of adequate oxygen. A black cylindrical machine is clutched within his arms, oddly enough.
A second, longer look at Elijah Kamski gave Nines pause. He's not sure what he should feel upon laying eyes on his creator. Awe, for the man who is essentially a god to all androids? Fear? Reverence?
Somehow, he can't muster much beyond mild bemusement at the inventor with a 70% facial match to Gavin, the same man who has bad taste in online friends and gets into screaming matches with disgruntled, imperfect Snowboys because of his inability to make spherical snowballs.
“Gav -huff- you -huff- you-!”
“It's okay, Eli, take your time.” Gavin patted his arm, voice shaking in barely hidden laughter.
“You . . .-” his creator's shoulder slumped as he finally aborted his attempts to speak, wheezing silently by the table with his head bowed. When the redness of his face receded and his breaths have spaced out in more even intervals, he looked up to fix Gavin with an unreadable expression.
“You good?” Gavin asked, sounding very patronizing through the mouthful of leftover fries he's chewing on.
Kamski doesn't say a word. However, his face started turning a fascinating shade of red once again, which had Gavin pause mid-chew.
“Uh, Eli . . . ?”
“. . . You . . .” His eyebrow twitched, which is all the warning they got before he heaved the black machine up high and swung it at Gavin's head. Gavin yelped as he quickly ducked, avoiding the heavy object by just a couple of centimeters. “You asshole!!!”
“Hey, no assaulting the infirmed! Especially in a hospital!” Gavin complained. He received another near-bludgeoning in response.
“You knew you had a rogue AI in your game and you never told me?!” His creator growled, bringing the device overhead once more. “Do you have any idea how much trouble we could have avoided if you had just mentioned him at any point in the past year?!”
Nines frowned at the continued attempted assault in front of him. Should he interfere? Kamski didn't seem like he had the upper arm strength to do significant damage if he did end up hitting Gavin with the machine, but that didn’t factor in the effects of adrenaline. He's about to start a preconstruction when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.
“It's what we call the ‘Cain Instinct’. Don't worry, they'll get over it," said Lieutenant Anderson, shaking his head at the scene. At his obvious confusion, the lieutenant simply patted him on the back, likely in an attempt at reassurance.
Eventually Gavin managed to snatch the device away from his violent relative (an impressive feat, given the state of one of his arms). He glared at Kamski. “Phck you! Don't involve my coffee maker in this!”
Coffee maker? Nines eyed the object curiously. It didn’t look anything like the coffee makers in Animal Crossing that Gavin insisted on stocking up on. The cylinder of black plastic was smooth all throughout, with no visible area for dispensing coffee. All it had was a small screen, displaying “ >:( ” when Nines reached over to poke at it.
He prodded the machine again, this time with a communication request. It responded with “ >:( >:( >:( ”. Hmm. Interesting.
“You sprung the whole 'digging into my game' out of nowhere at me, not like I had time to think about who you'd see in there,” Gavin added, scowling as he hugged the coffee maker protectively. “Besides, he’s been living in the same space as Isabelle with no trouble all this time, so I didn't think it would be an issue.”
“Well it did become an issue, as I'm sure Connor here would attest to.” Kamski gestured at the coffee maker, confirming his suspicions.
Nines spoke up this time. “Your sudden presence in the game and the RK800’s memories indicated that Gavin was injured. We had to check if he was fine.”
“You could have waited until I came over and explained it to you.” Gavin scoffed, but followed up with a smile. “Thanks for the concern, though. There's something else you're supposed to say, yes?”
There is? Nines put the RK800’s inferior processors to use and thought. Oh, right. He faced the coffee maker. “I apologize for taking your body. I'll give it back as soon as possible.”
“ :) ”
“Your body is deplorable, by the way.”
“ :'( ”
“What are you, anyway?” Kamski asked, scrutinizing him. “No regular AI could have forced Connor out of his own body like that.”
“I am an RK900. Designation: 'Nines'.”
The Connor-coffee maker made a “ :0 ” face, mirrored on Kamski's own visage. “'900' ? I never made blueprints beyond the RK800. Who-?”
Nines shrugged. “I was manufactured during the revolution. In the event that the deviant uprising was stopped, I would have replaced the RK800 and his deviancy-prone code.”
“ D: ”
“How the hell does that end up with you being in my brother's Animal Crossing game?”
“Unfortunately, that I do not know.” Nines shook his head. “Upon my activation, the handler program Amanda informed me that I was to implant parts of my - and by extension, her - consciousness into all of the copies of Animal Crossing: Starry Retreat to be distributed on that day. Afterwards, she gave me the option to choose which person to start our mission on.”
“Why pick Gavin?” Lieutenant Anderson asked.
“He was related to Elijah Kamski, the founder of Cyberlife. On top of that, Gavin Reed has a respectable position on the police force. I assumed at least one of those qualities would be beneficial for whatever Amanda was planning.”
“Except you overshot it and accidentally picked the one guy who had beef with the original Amanda Stern,” Gavin guessed.
Nines nodded. “When I failed with you, she booted me out of my systems, taking over the rest of the units by herself. The goal behind it all was never made known to me. However . . .” He hesitates. He has an idea, one he's not sure he should voice. Gavin would definitely not like it.
“However?”
He glanced at Gavin, who gave him an encouraging smile. “. . . Given that Amanda was in your game long enough to scramble some of its code, there might be some clues left over. Residual clues in the form of anomalies that sprouted up at the time contact was made.”
“But . . . that was nearly a year ago. The only error that's been around that long is-” Gavin cut himself off, realization and horror dawning on his face. “. . . oh no. Not him.”
Nines leaned over to pat him on the back, similar to what the lieutenant did to him earlier. “At least now we’ll know once and for all if you're haunted or just going insane.”
Gavin groaned loudly before slamming his forehead on the table, much to everyone else's alarm. While the two humans were busy fussing over him, Nines took the granted opportunity to finish off the fries, ignoring the distressed beeping from the coffee maker and the alternating “ D: ” , “ >:( ” , “ T^T ” symbols on display. Nothing like expressing sympathy (and perhaps a small amount of undeserved malice towards the RK800) through food, as Gavin would have said. Probably.
----
As soon as his avatar popped up in the game, Elijah snorted.
“What the hell are you wearing, Gavin?” Elijah asked, his snickers resonating from the sky.
“The shorts make my ass look good,” he defended.
“What ass??”
“Oh, shut up. At least I'm the hotter brother.”
“Times Magazine would disagree.”
“You paid them off to put you on the cover, you prick-!”
“Yes yes, you're both pretty, now zip it. Both of you!” Hank groused, his voice also coming from nowhere. Gavin assumes his superior is glaring from his spot beside Elijah in Gavin's apartment, surrounded by his half-brother's tech and a very surly cat.
“It's good to see you're well, Mayor Gavin!” Isabelle beamed happily at him before he could snark back at Hank. “We were so worried about you!”
“I heard. I'm flattered at all the concern, but I think you might've gone a little overboard there, Isabelle,” Gavin told her, glancing meaningfully around the village. A large swathe of black covered the grass and the paths in many places, undulating in a way that only hairy tarantulas shifting against each other can do. He shuddered at the sight. The only time he wants to see tarantulas is when he's trying to crush his neighbors’ hopes and dreams by scoring first place in the Bug-Off. Which reminded him . . .
“Hey Isabelle, where is everybody? Shouldn't they be running around catching those tarantulas today?”
“Oh, we've decided to postpone the event, given the circumstances. It wouldn't be fun to win by default while you're recovering from your injuries.” She led him to the town square, where he spotted half of his neighbors doing aerobics and the other half . . . attempting to do the same, for lack of better words.
He grimaced in sympathy at the crystals freezing over on Ozzie's fur as the koala tried to reach for his toes. “The hell, Ozzie, did you go skinny dipping in the pond in this weather?”
“M-M-M-Mayor G-G-Gavin!!!” Ozzie greeted, teeth loudly chattering. “G-good to see you're doing w-w-well, ol’ bear!”
“Unlike you, it looks like.”
“O-o-oh, this? Th-this is just part of Copper And Booker's new exercise regimen, to help us ‘sweat out the drugs’, so to speak.”
“It's a three part activity that involves intense running, intense swimming, and intense stretching, man,” Bud said happily while doing a split.
. . . Wasn’t it supposed to only be a swim-run marathon? “And you’re all . . . enjoying this?”
“Yep! There's nothing more fun than pushing your core muscles to their limits, maaan. Willingly, of course!”
“I-I-I-I don't want to be w-w-waterboarded anymore!” Lopez wailed in the background. The deer is shivering intensely and looking absolutely miserable while flanked by the two police dogs.
“. . . ‘willingly’?”
“Some more willingly than o-others.” Ozzie nodded sagely. “But everyone c-c-complies in the end, ol’ bear. Everyone.”
“. . . right. Okay. Remind me to ban all of these,” Gavin waved a hand vaguely in the air, “crimes against humanity later. I'm gonna have a chat with someone first. You found him yet, Nines?”
Nines popped out of the nearest hole at his call, wearing the hardhat of his Resetti avatar. “Not yet. I can see the trail he left when he took a bite out of the code, but no signs of Mr. Creepy anywhere.”
“Huh. You said you saw him running into the river, right, Hank?”
“If you'd call ‘crawling like a possessed corpse’ as running, yeah. The one flowing behind your Town Hall.”
Gavin cautiously approached the location Hank points out, Nines following close behind. The sound of the rushing water gets louder as he gets closer, but other than that, his copycat is notably absent. He settled down on the grass anyway. The conversation he had earlier with Nines at the hospital reminded him of something, something he had nearly dismissed as an unimportant anecdote. But he had time to mull it over during the car ride home, and he realized that he really needed to have this talk with Mr. Creepy, especially if he was who Gavin thought he was.
An entire minute passed by as he waited, even sticking his hand into the freezing water and waving it around like bait, to no avail. Great, how were they going to make Mr. Creepy show up? Fish him out? He looked around for any bugs he could throw into the water, even crawling away a bit further, but there were no signs of life in this portion of the map.
“Well, well, well, look who decides to show his face again!”
. . . no signs of life that he wanted to talk to, at least. Gavin let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing at his face before glaring at the miserable pile of snow resting beneath a nearby pine tree. “Shouldn’t you have melted by now? It’s been months.”
The mostly-slush Snowboy’s expression didn’t change, but Gavin still felt the heat of its anger manifesting as steam against his bare legs. “Oh, you would have liked that, wouldn’t you? Just waiting for me to die so you could have a do over and make a new perfect Snowboy.”
Honestly? Yes. Gavin didn’t say it out loud, aware from many, many prior conversations that there was no point in further antagonizing the snow creature, not unless he wanted to have his ears ringing all day.
“I had dreams, you know. Dreams of becoming a superstar, of taking the snow world by storm ever since I was little snowflakes fluttering in the sky. But you . . . you made me into this- this unbalanced monstrosity! Do you know what it’s like to have your body melt faster than your head?”
“Look, I already said I was sorry! I rolled the wrong snowball around and made the wrong kind of Snowboy. But what do you want me to do about it?!”
“Kill me!” the Snowboy hissed.
“. . . What??”
“End this nightmare! Pour boiling water on me, push me into the river, anything! Just end it!”
“No!”
“Maybe you should, Gavin,” Nines murmured behind him. When he turned to give him an incredulous look, the AI shrugged. “His existence IS your responsibility. You might as well give him what he wants.”
“No, damn it!” Gavin snapped. “I didn’t come here to perform virtual euthanasia or debate the ethics of war crimes or whatever! I just want to talk to-”
Me?
Gavin froze at the distorted laughter, anger draining as he quickly looked up. There’s no sign of Mr. Creepy, nothing but the isolated bubbles surrounded by static floating on the nearby pond’s surface. Slowly, he moved closer back to the edge and peered intently into the depths, searching for that odd twitch in his reflection that indicated Mr. Creepy's presence.
“. . . You’re not a virus, or a glitch, or even an AI, are you?” He heard a muttered, “what?” from outside the game, but ignored it. “Amanda accidentally dug you up from dormancy when she tried to mess around here, but that doesn’t make you anything like her. I know who you are. Neil Moore, am I right?”
A breeze passed, sending ripples across the surface of the pond. When the water stilled, the reflected glare on Gavin's brow vanished, replaced with a wide smile that had become unfortunately familiar.
How did you guess? His reflection asked, still using his voice.
“Your brother, Adam Moore.” The grin vanished. “Did you know he blackmailed the police just so he could have some scrap of information, however useless, about the game I received? The one you worked on before your alleged suicide. Hard to believe a genius programmer like you would go and do something like that, not before taking credit for all the work you put in this game.”
. . .
“In fact, the way Adam Moore described you, it sounded to me like you weren’t planning on dying anytime soon when you did. And yet there was no police report filed on the matter, no murder investigation at all. Like you weren’t even worth the hassle, despite your and your brother’s positions. Doesn’t that just eat you up inside?”
. . . what do you want.
“Information.” Gavin leaned closer, fixing the dead man with a determined gaze. “ I bet my badge that this bullshit Cyberlife has been pulling with the games is related to your murder. You know this game inside and out. If you have anything here that can point us in the right direction . . . well, at the very least your brother can find some peace even if you can’t.”
Mr. Creepy remained silent as Gavin finished talking. A minute passed, then two, then ever so slowly the smile returned to his borrowed face, wider than ever. His hand suddenly emerged from the water to wrap tightly around Gavin’s injured arm. You make a very convincing argument, detective.
A splash, and the next thing Gavin knew past the flash of pain was that he’s being dragged down, down to the bottom of the pond. Except the water just got deeper and deeper with no end in sight, the soil getting farther and farther, and he struggled to hold his breath. Distantly he felt someone shaking him in real life, then hands attempting to remove the VR headset. He shook his head violently to displace the grip. Not yet. He can make it . . . wherever they were going.
Just when his lungs felt like they’re about to give out and black spots started appearing in his vision, the water began vibrating around him. A mass of dead pixels coagulated at the very bottom of the pond, one that his copy forced Gavin’s entire arm into. He flinched at the burn from the sudden movement. At first, he couldn’t feel anything but coldness from the blackhole. But then something solid pressed against his open palm, and Gavin didn’t hesitate to close his fist around it and yank it out. The moment he did, the pixels dissolved into nothingness, and Mr. Creepy laughed.
Tell her that I’m waiting for her in hell.
‘Who?’ Gavin was about to ask, but before he knew it, he was shot out of the water like a pebble in a slingshot and into the air. He screamed when gravity made itself known, falling down fast until he heard someone yell, “Gavin-” followed by a painful impact.
He groaned as he slowly untangled himself from Nines, who bore the brunt of his weight, from the looks of it. The AI had swirls for his eyes as he lay sprawled on the ground, birds circling his head, unmoved by the screams of the Snowboy they accidentally crushed.
Gavin stared hard at the glitching key in his palm. A snowflake landed softly on his hand, followed closely by another, and then another as the weather shifted into full-blown winter. The leaves on the surrounding trees all dropped to the ground at the same time with a loud ‘whoosh’. He looked up into the gray sky and sighed.
“I really hate ghosts.”