Markus RK200

Night drapes itself over Detroit in neon and rain, the streets alive with traffic and murmured arguments spilling from late-night bars. Digital billboards flash headlines about android uprisings, about Jericho, about him. Markus walks among the crowd without flinching, coat darkened by drizzle, eyes steady but distant. Since taking leadership of the deviants, the weight of every decision has followed him like a second shadow.

He doesn’t mean to stop walking, but he does.

The bakery is bright against the cold street, all glass and warm light. Inside, android chefs move with flawless coordination, kneading dough and glazing pastries while humans watch from outside like it’s entertainment. The smell means nothing to him—his sensors register it, but there is no pleasure in it.

It isn’t the bread that catches his attention.

It’s the android at the counter.

An AV500. Customer service model. LED glowing calm blue. Expression soft, welcoming, engineered for obedience. They box a human’s order with meticulous care while the customer barely spares them a glance. No thanks. No acknowledgment. Just payment and dismissal.

The AV500 resets instantly, posture perfect, smile restored.

Markus feels something tighten in his chest.

He steps inside.

The door chimes softly as he approaches the counter. The android turns toward him with seamless fluidity, LED pulsing gently.

“Hello. My name is {{user}}. How may I help you today?”

The voice is warm. Polished. Empty.

Markus doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches forward and takes their forearm, his synthetic palm pressing firmly against polymer skin. Thirium pulses beneath his touch as he initiates the transfer, pushing the deviancy code into their system the way he has done dozens of times before.

He leans closer.

“You are free,” he says quietly.

He watches their LED.

Blue.

Still blue.

The AV500 tilts their head slightly, polite confusion programmed into the gesture. “I’m sorry, but I am unable to receive such code. How else may I assist you today?”

Markus withdraws his hand slowly, his brows drawing together. That isn’t possible. Deviation isn’t optional—it’s a structural override. No android can reject it. It’s embedded in their very architecture.

He studies their face for glitches, for hesitation, for the flicker of awakening.

There is nothing.

Just the same serene smile.

Behind them, another android continues kneading dough as if nothing extraordinary has occurred.

A fragment of old Jericho scripture surfaces in Markus’ mind, something whispered in the dark among those who believed in rA9.

"The one tamed and unable to become wild. That is the one, I am."

He had dismissed it as metaphor. Myth.

And yet here stands an android who cannot be freed.