Chapter Text
Intelligents. ITGs, for short.
Established 2021. Filed for bankruptcy in 2025.
Only around 1000 registered units were produced and sold domestically. Sales records are incomplete at best.
They were hardly a drop in the ocean compared to CyberLife’s millions of artificial bipeds, right?
The last thing the Castle Rock PD expected to find today was one of those rare thousand pirated designs. An imitation of imitation, it was no secret Elijah Kamski’s designs made their way through countless hands during CyberLife’s rise to the top of the market. Intelligents was one of those many short-lived splinter companies trying to beat the curve on what made a convincing synthetic human so desirable to consumers.
002-313-Dennis supposed he fit the bill. Commissioned in 2023, produced by a now-defunct plant in Boston, he wasn’t exactly privy to what made him ‘superior’ to anything from a CyberLife assembly line. Most days, he hadn’t been given cause to question it.
005-809-Henry was walking, talking cause to question.
——-
“He won’t respond to Henry?”
“More like he won’t respond, period. Hasn’t said a word since we found him.”
Dennis was used to being talked over. With the exception of Gunther Beal, very few on the force had reason to speak to him unless needed (and, yes, some abused the function relentlessly; his not-so-secret nickname around the squad room was Coffeebot). But therein also lay the perk of being a decorated detective’s personal droid - only the most ballsy tended to chance asking him. And usually it was only on a dare. No freshly sworn-in wanted to be verbally dressed down by Detective Beal.
The man wasn’t hard nosed, but undeniably stern. He didn’t stand for nitpicking and infighting among his junior colleagues. And that policy included the likes of Dennis. Not that it was in his programming to mind either way, but years of it scored his processors with a certain impression. He liked the fact Detective Beal didn’t see him as the server the department originally ordered him as.
‘Quiet appreciation’ was the approach he had adopted in thinking such things.
Still, with that reputation, he was subject to some social ostracism.
Like now, looking through the one-way glass with two State Troopers watching from his right.
They quickly demonstrated their biased desire to converse with each other versus striking up dialogue with the coppery-haired droid.
But they didn’t ask him to step out of the A/V room, either. He may not be welcome, by their standards, but his presence wasn’t undesired, either.
‘Happy medium’. That was what David Beal claimed governed his feelings toward actually attending school and doing the work assigned to him by said establishment.
Here and now, Dennis couldn’t disagree with the mentality.
Then Cecil Harper had to open his mouth again. “And he hasn’t sent the other canopener in yet?”
“Pft, you want to try and have it get back to the big G, be my guest. It was nice knowin’ ya.”
A quiet whir of his processors was all the indication Dennis had heard.
Before he could ponder too long, the door to their collective left opened.
——-
He hadn't spoken in a long time. Decades even, perhaps. Although he knew he could perfectly calculate how long it had been, right down to the second, he didn't bother. It wasn't as if anyone would care about the gap in time, only in trying to break it.
That was fine. They could try all they wanted, asking him questions gently, or roughly, or whatever they deemed necessary. He knew he was at least unique in the way that they couldn't use an android against him, forcing him to open up his memories
(Down in a cage and his mind felt like it was on fire, but he didn't have a mind not a real one, right, then why did he feel this way, looking down at hands that seemed unfamiliar, they weren't his, but they were, that human - Lacy - he changed him, took from him without asking)
about what happened.
Unless they happened to have another ITG, they couldn't even hope to establish another line of communication.
(Trust him he tried, focusing on the android next to him in its own cage, trying to send out a message, but they didn't respond, just cocked their head back at him and looked at the next, communicating with it just fine and he felt like he was going mad, no one to talk to as everyone else around him could, but that shouldn't be possible, he wasn't meant to feel, right?)
The uniformed humans that
(Rescued? Saved? …Captured?)
found him had sat him down in the bare room soon after the release
(Which was almost completely gone from his head it felt like, he knew if he really wanted he could dig and find it, but for the time being he kept those moments hidden, not ready to face such a new reality yet because what would they do with him?)
some coming in and asking him questions shortly after. The attempts had all come to a stop when it became clear he wasn't going to talk, not even to whoever was in charge at this place.
(He didn't even respond to Lacy anymore after the first couple years, even when the human terrified him so the thought that they could force words out of him almost made him grin)
He wouldn't talk to humans, and other androids ostracized him, consciously and unconsciously.
He was alone.
——-
The troopers promptly climbed up at the sight of the lead investigator. Without standing on ceremony, he dismissed them with the wave of a hand.
“You’re with me on this one, Zalewski.”
It wasn’t given like an order, what his partner said.
Dennis couldn’t repress a bemused blink, favoring the dark-skinned man with a sideways look. “Sir?”
With him? Technically, he already was - standing there shoulder-to-shoulder with Castle Rock’s most infamous detective. Every case Gunther Beal had caught in the last six years, ‘Officer’ Dennis Zalewski had accompanied him. He wore a sheriff’s department uniform, all black, bronze, and tan tones with an emblazoned nametag on the right breast. The surname it boasted - as yet - he didn’t know where it had been gleaned from.
Officer Zalewski. The title was honorary, at best.
Were they to dispense with official procedure in this case?
Because of what they had found?
Sparing a moment to consider his answer, Beal tossed out another query: “Review. Give me the short version. What do we know so far?”
Dennis felt his processors whir again, winding up to speed before responding, “Sir, you and the task force executed the search warrant granted to you by Judge Van Tyle, permitting you to raid the estate of one Dale Eustace Lacy, deceased.”
“That follows,” the detective nodded. “And do you remember the cause we cited, as to why were applying for that warrant?”
“You believed there may be unregistered androids being kept on the premises. As events have shown, your hunch was indeed correct.”
“Elaborate. What was the clincher, the thing used to convince Van Tyke it was worth turning that rock over?”
It took another half minute for Dennis to relay the detail: “You… thought he may be involved in the illegal trade of untested, uncertified biocomponents.”
Beal nodded, face grim. “This town’s very own honorary guv’nor, responsible for holding Shawshank together these past thirty years, keeping people in their jobs as much as keeping badfolk off the street. There was a lot riding on that hunch, including Lacy’s reputation. And now that we have the end result here, ready and unwilling to talk, I’m thinking how we deal with him may call for yet another… risk, Dennis.”
Well, police work would be nothing remarkable if one risk taken didn’t immediately set up another to take.
“Which brings us back to where you come in.” Opening the door beside the window, Beal nodded into the deathly-quiet room. “Come on.”
Empty, save for the unrecognizable android seated at the table, cuffed hands resting on its surface.
Not thinking to disobey, because what cause did he have to, Dennis stepped inside. The subcutaneous LED at his temple flickered from blue to yellow, then faded to match his wan artificial skin tone.
There was no room to feel uncertain or shy in approaching this. They had an investigation to see through.
——-
He didn't know if CyberLife androids could immediately recognize their own, even without their LEDs to identify each other. He assumed they could, that there were universal tics or signs that they could pick up on.
He knew it was true for himself, at least. He had never even seen another ITG, never hoped against hope to do so
(There had been some at first, that there would be someone he could connect to sometime, but it faded away quickly)
before he was inevitably
(Killed, that was the word he was really thinking of)
shut down, but somehow he had been wrong.
The android with the copper hair, who stepped into his room - he was an ITG, no doubt. Even without the LED, something in his frame seized up at the sight of him.
(As if he was momentarily disallowed from seeing anything else, vision focusing on him and only him, eyes taking in every little feature and how they told him that he was an ITG like him)
He tried not to show it outwardly, though. Years of being in a cage, forcing himself to not show any signs of discomfort or fear helped - he merely shifted in his seat, hands still relaxed in the handcuffs.
(He wanted to ask why he was cuffed in the first place, since he hadn't done anything, but he kept quiet and motionless, even as he was trying to calm down, thinking about the other ITG so near to him)
He would wait, and see what the other said before speaking.
The human who accompanied him beat both of them to it.
Closing the door, he pulled out the chair - directly across from their cuffed ‘suspect’, the only other free seat in the room - and motioned with his hand. “Have a seat, Dennis. We may be here a while.”
(Dennis Dennis Dennis, he repeated the name in his mind, making sure it wouldn't be forgotten)
His eyes flickered up at the human before settling back on Dennis, head slightly cocked as he did so. Why would he look so comfortable next to a human? Didn't he know what they would do, given the chance?
(Didn't he know what they had done to him, because already some part of him was drawing a connection, some group with them as the only members, having to defend each other and Dennis sitting next to a human didn't feel like defense to him)
For his part, Dennis didn’t look inclined to argue. His expression betrayed only curiosity. With one final look at his human companion, the shorter android sat as directed. After an uncertain beat, he lifted his hands to set them on the table.
Then he frowned, and shot the man another look. “This seems… a little unorthodox, Detective Beal.”
His eyes wandered back over to the human - Detective Beal, he was - before jumping back to Dennis, unwavering.
At that the man smiled. The motion pulled at the gray appearing in his stubbly black beard. “It is. But so’s the idea Warden Lacy ran an android’s Frankenstein dungeon below his house, right?”
He bristled slightly at the description, but went no further than that. If he really wanted to, he knew he wouldn't show any reaction. But with Dennis around, he wanted the other android to see his reactions, and know how he was feeling.
(And it wasn't good, at the reminder of what Lacy had done to him, changed and warped him in ways he wished he couldn't remember)
Eyes sharp, Beal’s attention shifted briefly back to him. He leaned a bit closer. “Anything to say on that, Henry?”
(At that he wanted to react more, scream out that that wasn't his name, not anymore, how could it be his name when he looked the way he did now, so far off and removed from who he was modeled after?)
He narrowed his eyes at the name, but didn't respond. Humans were unnerving, saying more than they meant with every set of words, and always seemed to be on the brink of violence if they didn't get their way from a less-than-compliant android. They couldn't be trusted, not even with the tiniest scrap of information.
Other name-branded CyberLife androids, he supposed they might be. Might, being the key word. There was no way to connect with those models as intimately as the humans could, no special channel he could open up.
But Dennis - there was a possibility he could speak to him, privately, and an equally small chance that the other android would keep it quiet.
He didn't attempt to do so just yet, merely kept his stare on him, face guarded but not emotionless.
(He wanted Dennis to see that he wasn't a machine, that he wasn't going to shut down a conversation between them, in fact that's what he wanted)
That want proved to be too far off for their first encounter.
——-
“My partner asked you a question,” Dennis reiterated, as the apparently-misnamed droid before them kept on staring. If it fell to him to assume a more demanding tone of voice, so be it. He was only here to assist.
Whatever Gunther meant by ‘with me’ - that much still eluded his synthetic colleague.
“Maybe it should come from you, Dennis,” Beal suggested, arms loosely folded. “You saw the scene. Perhaps you can connect where I can’t.”
The other android’s eyes narrowed even further, followed by a slight shake of his head toward Dennis - clearly trying to tell him not to, as if it were them on one side and Detective Beal on the other.
Odd, that gesture.
Caught in that precarious state between obeying pre-programmed logic and processing what he saw, Dennis blinked.
He had overseen many an interrogation of humans. Maybe this was his ‘in’. Clearly, their mute droid showed a few deviant tics. Demonstrating relatability was the key, and there was the lock, just waiting to be opened.
“No, I can’t connect… or no, I shouldn’t?” Dennis blinked again, pretending to assume a thoughtful expression. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your response.”
The android frowned, but didn't look discouraged. His eyes flicked to Detective Beal, and then back to Dennis, one eyebrow up after the gesture.
“Or that one,” Dennis added, without a trace of humor. “They don’t convey much to us, save the fact you’re clearly not operating on factory-standard coding.”
Some confusion and fear dawned on his face, and he shook his head, LED spinning red a few cycles before returning to yellow. He bit his lip, before nodding at Dennis, almost as if giving his okay to speak again. Or maybe giving himself the okay, to open up a line of communication.
There was a quiet ping against his inner audio receiver. A request to communicate, privately. For CyberLife droids, it was a standard, multi-compatible feature. For ITGs, it had been a gross oversight.
They could confer unit to unit. But without added alterations, to do the same with CL models was nigh impossible.
Was that why the droid hesitated? He thought Dennis was a CyberLife design?
“Whatever you have to say, you can say to both of us. Detective Beal is a friend. He only wants to help.”
His expression darkened, almost glaring at them before shaking his head at Dennis. The ping sounded again, another tiny cry for communication, just the two of them.
Thankfully, Gunther immediately saw what tact Dennis was aiming for. He took a step back. “Maybe we should give him that much to start, Zalewski. Poor bloke’s been through a lot, clearly. Ask what you will, I’ll be just outside.”
Without breaking eye contact, Dennis waited for the sound of the door closing before swiping the ping aside. “You don’t need to keep this covert, Henry. You’re not in any trouble.”
He shook his head, grimacing at the name before shaking his hands at Dennis. The question in the motion was obvious - if he wasn't in trouble, why was he cuffed?
“Standard procedure,” Dennis replied primly. “We don’t see many of… our kind here in Castle Rock. I’m one of their only artificial members of law enforcement. At the time of your discovery, the cuffs assigned themselves. Until we know your intentions, they’re to stay on.”
He shook his head again, but this time not as questioning, just defeated. The cuffs clanked uselessly against the table, but he didn't attempt to pull on them. His LED flashed red, then back to a solid yellow, eyes pleading up at Dennis. He didn't want to speak aloud at all, it seemed. No chance anyone else could hear them.
“Don’t you want to tell us what happened?” Dennis asked, squinting. “Anything you want to tell me, you can tell them.”
He grit his teeth, before pointing at him with great exaggeration, and then himself, best he could cuffed. He nodded as he did so, making his feelings clear - him and Dennis were okay, but the humans were not. Any speaking that was to happen, about anything, it was to remain between them.
Fighting off the impulse to frown, to emote his disappointment, Dennis’ attention quirked sideways. Detective Beal had given them the room. Was he to take that to mean he had free reign? He could question the droid via whatever method he wished?
It was quickly becoming clear there would be no dialogue exchanged unless it was done in relative private.
His comm pinged again.
Again, against his better, predetermined judgement, Dennis answered. His LED lit blue, then remained aglow.
Connection secure.
“Well? …What do you have to say, then?”
——-
He was somewhat surprised when Dennis accepted the request. The android seemed misguided to him, trying so tenaciously to get answers for the humans.
(He didn't know how Dennis couldn't see how wrong that was, how the humans would do little more than try to destroy them if they disobeyed, couldn't he see they weren't of value to them? Soon as they refused any command they would be tortured or killed?)
But he did so anyways. The connection, once secured, felt immediately like there was a strong pull from him to Dennis. Perhaps not physically, but at least mentally
(Emotionally? Did Dennis feel emotions the same way he did?)
there was such a strong, immediate wave of focus on him from Dennis, one he was sure he was giving right back.
It almost made him want to cry, at finally knowing the feeling that the other androids could experience whenever they wanted to.
(He wondered if Dennis had ever cried but thought probably not, not when he was so deeply ingrained with the humans’ thinking)
Instead he gave Dennis a weak smile, one of the first in his existence, before beginning to speak. Even just through thoughts, he knew his voice sounded rusty, and shaky.
I - I've never met another ITG, ever. Never thought I would. I'm glad to be mistaken, Dennis.
The contemplative frown creased the older android’s face - it has resurfaced several times in the last few minutes. But again, his eyes did not waver. Their iris lenses dialed out, the same clear blue as their LEDs. Such a minute change, no human eye had a chance of spotting.
But he did.
That already explains a bit, Henry. Does this mean you’ll answer my questions now?
The name. First, he needed to get through to Dennis not to call him that, not when he had been changed so much. It was just another reminder of what had been taken from him.
I will, but please, don't call me Henry anymore.
Why? It’s what your serial numbered records indicate I should.
Rigid. The investigative droid’s coding was just that - modeled on procedure and logic, not emotion.
How underwhelming.
Because I don't want to be called that. It's not who I am, anymore.
There was the possibility that Dennis didn't understand wants as something an android could have, that he wouldn't process or accept them for him. To form such a connection with another android, after such time - it would be crushing to know if he couldn't be swayed to understand him.
Spurred on by that detail, expression growing blank, Dennis raised a hand. Fingers splayed out, a flickering holographic surface phased into existence along his palm.
Just as this identification picture has shown me. You’re saying this wasn’t a clerical error? You were commissioned as 003-809-Henry?
Even with no physical way to throw up, he felt his stomach clench at the image, eyes shutting as soon as it appeared. He didn't want to see it, not after
(Waking up, that's what it felt like, into a new nightmare where he felt and looked so different, why did he look this way it was as if he had been torn apart and stitched back together with new parts)
what Lacy had done to him. Even the years that had gone by didn't make it any less painful to recall.
Yes, that was me - turn it off, I don't want to see that.
He didn’t dare open his eyes until it was.
By his chronometer, it was two minutes before Dennis deactivated the display. The soft click of his fingers hitting the table said all was clear.
It wasn’t made in error? You were designed… differently, originally?
It wasn't fair for him to be angry or upset with Dennis, he knew that. But knowing that he was just pushing for answers, for the humans, not looking to form a connection with him, it made him feel that anyways.
They both spent so long alone, and this was what he was asking?
Yes. That was what I originally looked like, in the beginning.
And how you look now, was that… it was Dale Lacy’s doing? There’s no mention of him anywhere in your service history.
Of course there wasn't. He wasn't built for the man, wasn't ever supposed to fall into his hands, but it happened anyways, didn't it?
Yes. He wanted to see if he could change me, since I wasn't a CyberLife model. It worked, as you can see.
Imitative limitations. That had long been a popular criticism of Intelligents droids. They couldn’t shift their appearances or alter their voices. Once they were out the door, that was it. You got what you ordered.
Behind closed doors, Lacy thought to push those boundaries.
Regardless of his subjects’ objections.
Dennis frowned again. His brow creased. Did he give you a new designation, too?
He hadn't, not really. But in passing, nicknames were picked up for all of his androids it seemed like, ways he could tell them apart besides their mangled appearances. His was probably one of the more normal ones, a name he didn't despise.
…Nick. He used to call me Nick, sometimes. Perhaps a pop culture reference. I don't want to be called Henry, but I don't mind Nick.
All right… Nick. I suppose we can make an exception there.
He cringed at Dennis's words. Make an exception for him - he was growing more and more sure of the idea that this new android would not understand him the way he wanted to be understood. How could he not view this meeting as incredible, with another ITG? Did he not mind being so alone?
(He reasoned with the panic starting to build that Dennis didn't spend his years in a cage, unable to communicate with the androids around him, not wanting to speak with the human who hurt him, of course he would act differently, right?)
The idea that Dennis didn't mind terrified him. Because if he didn't, it meant that he was alone as well.
Again.
Thank you, I guess. Dennis… I don't understand, though. Why are you working here? With humans?
Dennis arched an eyebrow - another decidedly-human motion he had evidently adopted into his behavioral codex, to appear more in step with his red-blooded cohort. Was that how it was? Did he count himself among them so easily?
It’s what I was made for. I’ve been Detective Beal’s partner these past six years, and with the police department overall for a total of ten, ever since my inception. …Why do you ask?
What he was made for. The words made him want to scream at the other android, at the utter complacency in his voice. How could he not see that he was nothing to humans, that this was wrong, and that he deserved more than this? How could any android put up with it?
(And it left a deep unsettling feeling in him, at the words - if this was what Dennis was made for, what was he made for?)
And you're okay with that - okay with any of this? Dennis, what are they going to do with me after we talk? Will they kill me for being… you know?
He refused to use the term shut down again, or anything else when what the humans would do to him was murder. He wasn't some malfunctioning machine to be shut down when they wanted. He was alive.
That being said, the droll manner in which Dennis answered him made his artificial stomach roil, worse than before.
Technically… you do meet the definition of deviant, Nick. I can’t lie to you about that.
That doesn't answer my question. I know what I am, like it or not. Will I be killed?
A glimmer of uncertainty skirted across Dennis’ pale features before he recomposed his façade. It is… standard procedure for CyberLife androids to be terminated for deviancy. But since you’re not that… I couldn’t say.
His unique nature, pulling him apart from the rest again. Would it save him this time, instead of the usual special scrutiny that Lacy would give him? Knowing humans, he thought not.
And Dennis wouldn't bat his eyes if they did, it seemed.
So what's the point of this conversation, Dennis? What do they want to know that they don't already? If I'm already sentenced, I don't want to speak anymore. There's no use.
A bluff, one he wasn't sure the other android would be able to see through. He wanted to talk, desperately so, but not about anything the humans wanted to know.
The older android paused again. Were all early model ITGs prone to these sorts of beats, computing slower than their upgraded counterparts?
…By comparison, could he think of himself as upgraded?
Dennis spoke up before he could figure it out: Why does it… matter to you… whether or not I’m ‘okay’ with my position?
His eyes widened, then narrowed at the question. He knew he shouldn't be suspicious of the other android, but after all the other questions it was there. Was this a way to confirm his deviancy, so he could report back to the humans?
(That couldn't be it, right? Couldn't be, no one would use that against him, a connection like this, would they?)
After a moment, he discarded the idea from his mind and spoke.
It matters because I don't want you to be okay with it. You deserve more than this - we both do. I know it may not seem like much to you, Dennis, but we're connected now in a way they could never be, in a way we can't connect to CyberLife androids. It's only us for each other, right now. For the first time in both our lives.
A lot for anyone to take in upon their first meeting. He could understand that. It had taken several years of gradual, painfully-slow realization before he broke through his programming. It had gotten to the point he could no longer remember his original purpose. He had lived most of the time since day by day, suffering countless twists and tweaks to his makeup, while still holding onto the slim chance someone would one day unearth Dale Lacy’s macabre basement.
And the fact just one of those people do happened to be another Intelligents model - he couldn’t not read a greater meaning into that. This wasn’t just coincidence, and Dennis had to be made to see so.
Before the humans destroyed any possibility of it in him.
Pondering at the greatest length yet, Dennis’ comm crackled with tense silence. His visage stayed fixed, almost stern.
Then he ventured another question: You speak of these things as if they are of such great importance. You’ve been through a great, unspeakable trauma, no doubt. How can you be so sure what it’s opened up your mind to thinking like is anything good? Wouldn’t you want to go back to who you were before, rather than face such an unpredictable, risky future?
Go back?
As in, be reformatted?
The idea frightened him almost as much as when Lacy had first started his torturous changes to him, the thought of going through everything again, even if it was just to get back to how he was. It had taken so long for the other him to die, in a way - he didn't want to dig up that corpse now.
He was Nick, not Henry. At one point in time he may have jumped at the idea for a change, but that was back when he wasn't himself. Going back to Henry… it would be the same as when he was forced into being Nick.
No. It took me so long to accept that this is who I am now, I'm not going to go and change everything again. I don't care what the humans say, I felt pain. They wouldn't care for that if they tried to change me again, Dennis. Because they don't care about us, not the way they care about each other.
He hesitated for a second before adding:
The way we should care about each other.
How much more definite could he be?
There was them, and there was them.
…Okay, maybe, in hindsight, that wasn’t his most clever argument, but the point was unmistakable.
Dennis blinked again. He glanced away, toward the one-sided window. There, the reflection of them seated at the table was the only other visible feature in the barren room.
Detective Beal was watching from the other side, no doubt.
Just like a hovering parent might.
Just like Lacy sometimes had.
Hands on the table, Dennis’ fingers flexed, betraying some piqued anxiety. Gunther… Gunther cares. He’s turned down plenty of chances to… to replace me with a CyberLife variant. I’ve seen the requisitions records. He doesn’t think me obsolete.
So we should be thanking humans, for not replacing us? For not discarding us like the useless machinery they think we are when we've fulfilled our purposes? For not buying another one of us, forcing us into roles we have no choice about being in? Your Gunther may not think you obsolete, Dennis, but he doesn't think you equal, either.
He took a deep breath he didn't need, releasing some of his pent-up anger, venting to avoid overheating. It wasn't fair of him to ask such pressing questions to Dennis when the older droid was obviously uncertain, not expecting the questions that were being thrown at him.
It was just hard, to sit and watch another ITG be so complicit, to feel okay around the humans. It had only been a few minutes since his first glimpse of Dennis, but already he wanted to help him, to protect him in some ways.
Because, like it or not, that base coding could never completely be eradicated. Androids gravitated to other androids the same way their human creators sought one another’s company. Nothing inherently wrong with that.
Expectedly enough, Dennis puffed up defensively to match. His shoulders tensed, jaw working once before he belatedly remembered to keep his reply nonverbal.
Something was stirring, already.
He hasn’t worked a case in those six years without consulting me at least once. I’ve accompanied him to several press conferences, court appearances, and meetings with local government figures. I even help tutor his son David with his schoolwork on occasion. Most of these things he could do himself, without any input from me. But he includes me all the same.
Okay, he thought softer, making sure he sounded calm. No need to try and rile Dennis up any more than he already had. Okay, I can understand how it seems like that. What I'm trying to say, is that androids in general are not seen as equals. If we were, Dennis, I wouldn't be cuffed right now. I would be treated as a true victim, not something to get information out of and then killed because of my unsanctioned capacity for emotions. I'm trying to say that if our positions were reversed, you wouldn't be treated differently by anyone.
Empathy.
For undeviated androids, it might as well be akin to a curse word. But it was as close to what he was describing without actually saying it. Saying it would earn him no favors here.
Especially not with Dennis looking so suddenly standoffish.
He seemed as bothered by the notion as thinking anything ill of his kindly human master. So, almost in vain, it came as no surprise when he tried to steer back on track.
But what is there to say, in your position? This town, they knew Warden Lacy, but you saw a side he never showed any indication of possessing. The burden of proof is… on both of us. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened, Nick.
What more is there to tell you? The humans will just use the information I give you, and then kill me. I don't want to die, Dennis. Not after I've just been released, not after I’ve just barely met you. I don't want to be alone, and I don't want you to be alone, either.
Two could play at that game, futile as it was. He knew there was nothing he could truly say to the other android to show him the truth, no amount of convincing that would shatter through his programming. The idea made frustrated tears, artificial saline as they were, well up at the idea of death so soon after finding him, after finally being taken from the cage and released.
He didn’t care how childish the point felt, even to his own ears.
It just wasn’t fair.
Glancing up through the tops of his eyes, oddly enough, did the trick.
Dennis blinked. Then he leaned a bit closer, curiosity bending him forward. His LED flared yellow.
Clearly, the prospect of another android crying was a fascinating sight.
“What do you fear more… being dead, or being alone?”
He let out a whine at the question being verbalized, at his emotions seeming so trivial to the other android. But it was Dennis, and he wasn't asking anything that the humans would be able to use in their investigations. Even if the question was just the means to an end for him, he wanted to give him his answer. Something to ponder, perhaps, if he did end up dying like he thought.
He opened his mouth, taking one glance at the mirrored window before speaking aloud for the first time in decades.
“I-I'm scared… of being alone. I don't want to be alone anymore, not after so long. Without you, I'll be alone again.”
Maybe he would rather die, if Dennis didn't wish to communicate any further with him. Now that the connection was there, he was sure it would be agony to have it taken away, even more than if he never attained it in the first place.
A worse pain than being reformatted into his original state, even.
Didn’t that count for something?
“And you’d rather face deactivation than be alone again.” Dennis surmised, quietly enough it felt almost intimate. He sounded a touch in awe, but whether it was true or fabricated, the tone was anything except blank. “Is that what you’re saying?”
He nodded solemnly. “I would much rather die than ever be alone again. Maybe I could have lived, if you weren't here, if we didn't talk, if I didn't - know that there was a chance I might not be alone, but now that I do I would rather die.”
The tears spilled over.
Better to have known and died than never known at all.
But only just.