— the only things I can say are the most biting words I know.
RK900 × Reader.
word count: 1712.
warnings: slight personal sense of hate towards religion??
about the cats&dogs AU
if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re not egocentric – like him – now your head would start to produce some fucked up conspiracy theory about how CyberLife created him to make you go insane.
because, honestly, everything regarding him makes you crazy. his spiky tail, his dark ears, his bitchy LED, his broad figure, his stupid hair, his feral eyes, his sharp fangs– ahhhh! enough thinking about him! you have to think about the case now! focus! you have to be calm, to elaborate a strategy to beat him in this, you have to. you huff in annoyance, your tail slightly moving in a nervous manner while ‘my favorite things’ plays in the background of your car ride. fuck.
you exit the automobile. a loud noise follows and you lock it. there is it, the shelter. ‘Oasis’. a tall building made of discoloured bricks, dyed with a charcoal gray, the passage of dust and smog. ironic how it reminded you of that dumb wolf.
the bustle makes you sick. at the front desk there’s a woman. one would expect an android, but not here, not where heaps and tons of people amass themselves every day. in need of a place to do Red Ice or to seriously get their life back together doesn’t matter. but then again, maybe, one wouldn’t expect a person either, since the majority of them fled after the revolution. just some remained, just some were slowly starting to return. an oxymoron, in a sense, that Detroit began to resemble an idyllic human city only when there were fewer in it.
you showed your badge and received an annoying look, something about ‘can’t they at least show up in pairs? jeez’ got under your cap. fuck. he was already there. you really need to thank Gavin later, you think, as you get into the one main big room. yellow acid walls. scraped. so badly that you could see parts where the paint came off and left the visibly grey plaster exposed. of course, even in this mess, there was no way you couldn’t spot that fucking tall android of your partner “You’re late, detective.” his arms are crossed. you lean onto the surface that his back is not touching. is he afraid of getting dirty? “Or you’ve been here longer and I didn’t realize. If that’s the case I apologise, humans in need all appear so similar.” oh come on, this trite shit again? you’re too angry with him to start an argument about his blatant superiority complex “I didn’t think you were one to play rough.” you cross your arms too, upset “I did not such thing.” neither of you is looking at the other, instead both watching ahead “Liar.” a light shift of his weight, his posture doesn’t change but he’s now directing his glare at you, unfeeling “I don’t lie.” you doubt that “I might have purposely kept some pieces of information for myself but you should have done your individual research too, detective.” did he think he was intimidating? eh, you’re not scared of him anymore. yes he may have caught you by surprise the first time and the second time, but there’s not gonna be a third, of this you’re sure “Yeah, I’m sorry I actually trusted you. Don’t worry, it won’t happen in the future.” you grit through your teeth. he raises a brown, his LED yellow, is he registering something? is he scanning you? your lips curl and you break eye contact with him, facing forwards. god how much you wanted to put your hands around his neck and strangle him “So? It’s your win?” a moment of silence between you two “…. Not yet. But I can wait.” true, a pack of wolves can trail a prey for days before making a move. but you nonetheless smirk endlessly at his admitted ‘defeat’. so it’s an impasse, mh? you figured. it was pretty much obvious with all the disgusted stares the homeless were giving him. they won’t talk. it’s this your chance to win? “You’re stuck, ah?” he doesn’t reply. you take that as a ‘yes’ and start moving across the beds, leaving him behind. but every time you show your tablet with a photo of the victim they shy away. they hate the police. you sigh, ugh, maybe this is going to be a lot harder than you’d expected, even without your bad wolf at your heels “You’re stuck?” his voice mocks you, his head lowered to your cheek level, a whisper. you weren’t aware that he moved “You’re scaring my witnesses, you creep.” a low chuckle that you never heard before. or perhaps it was a weird growl? “I don’t see any, detective.” ‘then you’re blind’ that’s what you were about to retort before hearing a heinous chime. your ears wiggle in protest while the room starts to grow empty “What the fuck.” you muttered to yourself, people forming a stream in the same direction under your surprised face “This is a religious shelter.” oh, fucking perfect. you give the fakest smile ever, turning your head to his, 3 inches away “And this is my personal space.” he goes back to his usual stance without a word. there’s no harm in following, then.
you both get to another room, not as ruined as the other, covered in a daunting white. slowly everyone places themselves in a half-circle: in the centre a wooden altar, seeming almost hastily done. you can’t help but do anything and wait. he does the same. in the middle you pinpoint a man, a snake, his light green scales adorning the sides of his long neck until it is met by a purple tunic. they start to chant. shivers run down your spine at that sound. it’s not bad, you don’t hate it, yet your body reacts for you “You’re not going to join them in prayer, detective?” he can probably notice your tail swinging a bit at this point “I have my own personal Jesus.” you click your tongue, yes, you know that if you want a place to sleep you have to put up with pious drills like these, but still “Weird. I thought dogs loved to follow their owners.” fuck with this dog shit, wolf. you bit your lower lip, irritated. cults didn’t do anything to you specifically but when you think about the pain they inflicted on your people, the slaughter lasted millennia, the stigma they put on one colour because of an archenemy they invented themselves, well, when you think about all that you only feel venom towards them “Sheeps do that too. But I don’t have horns.”
when the room goes quiet you two move at the same time and begrudgingly walk in the direction of the priest. you don’t like when you’re so in sync. before approaching him he twists his head, his branched tongue analyzing the air “To what do I owe the pleasure of having two copss in this humble home?” you can’t stand this guy already “Detectives.” you correct him “We’re investigating on someone who used to come here.” he carefully examines the digital photo you hand him “Yess, our good brother Johanness. What did he do?” you’re about to tell him– “Died.” did he just said that. you can’t believe he’s such a bitch “Yes. I regret to inform you that he was killed last night.” you’re quick on remedying his error. the snake, however, is unphased “How…. Unfortunate. I will ssay a prayer for him.” you bet he couldn’t care less “Memo will be very ssad.” who is Memo now? why can’t you have simple cases for once? “Memo?” you tentatively ask “Memo iss – rather wass a good friend of Johanness.” can’t he stop with this tic, it’s unbearable “And where is he now?” you politely prompt “You could find him in the kitchen.”
and he was there. or, at least, that’s what the ‘facial recognition software’ said “Memo?” a crouched guy, in a corner, pairing potatoes. he doesn’t respond. his ears are brown and large; he must be some kind of rodent “Memo?” you try once more but no answer. suddenly you feel a grasp around your forearm. you would very much like to cuss at RK900’s behaviour but you stop when you gaze at the man’s lap. his trousers soiled with blood. gosh nobody was aware of that?
talking about your stupid android’s conduct, he feels the best course of action is to growl. like, really? okay it may not be on purpose this time but. his ineptitude in comprehending social customs baffles you. you don’t growl at someone who’s too scared to react, especially at a mouse, because that– that will make him run away.
“You’re a special kind of stupid, aren’t you?” you snarl while sprinting behind the suspect, wolf stays back, is he lazy or he’s simply letting you work out? it’s an easy catch, as a cat you were born for this and though his initial head start you manage to grab his red hoodie and pull him back to you, successfully neutralizing him by pinning his body on the ground.
despite your protests he was the one to handcuff him. Memo didn’t try to resist. not anymore. by now fully catatonic. he took four potatoes to peel off during the trip to the station. you pitied him. whatever he did, whatever had gone to his head in the heat of the moment – he didn’t seem a bad guy. neither Johannes did “Who won?” you nonchalantly inquire, your eyes glued to the window. he doesn’t speak “I said–” he doesn’t let you finish “I heard.” ah yeah, you forgot how much of a bitch he actually is “Care to add anything?” he hums, low “I was thinking.” oh wow, he was thinking “And?” and that’s it, apparently “Listen, let’s pretend we’re even, okay?” you were going to regret not taking advantage of this “Treat me right and we’ll get along. Or not. We don’t have to do that. But it would be nice.” another silence and you sigh, fuck him “I understand.” you look at him, dumbfounded. no, he doesn’t fucking understand.