Chapter Text
The dead man’s eyes were the color of rotted fish, and his smell was even worse.
Gavin held one hand over his nose and mouth, standing as far as possible away from the decomposing corpse, trying not to vomit. He could feel an uncomfortable sheen of sweat beginning to develop under his jacket as he battled back nausea, the taste of bile heavy in the back of his throat.
“Are you doing all right, Detective?” RK900 asked, voice deadpan. He was crouched over the dead man and had been in the process of examining him until Gavin’s disgusted noises pulled his focus away from the corpse. As usual, he wasn’t disturbed by the gruesome scene or by-- well, practically anything, really. Even for an android, Nines was tough.
“Fuckin’ fantastic,” Gavin choked out. He pulled the collar of his shirt up over his mouth and nose with one hand. There was fresh air just a few feet away, out the apartment door, but Gavin was (and had always been) a stubborn bastard, and there was no way in hell he would surrender the opportunity to examine the scene and give Nines yet another clear advantage.
Course, Nines was always better, whether Gavin conceded defeat or not. Faster, stronger, tougher, smarter-- humans didn’t stand a chance. Gavin was already obsolete. Give it another decade and the entire police department would be RK units, and he would be back to sleeping under bridges and begging for spare change, like he had when he was a ragged homeless teen fresh off a Greyhound bus, scrounging around the streets of Detroit.
Nines looked at him with a vague air of concern, which was about as much emotion as the android ever expressed. It would be endearing, if his entire existence didn’t jeopardize the pathetic excuse of a life Gavin had managed to build in the past few years.
“You can step outside, Dete-”
“No,” Gavin hissed, half in disgust at the smell and half in irritation. “Just-- just tell me what you got, okay?”
Nines infinitesimally raised an eyebrow.
“Well,” he said-- with a vague approximation of a sigh that Gavin was certain he was only mimicking for dramatic effect, considering he didn’t need to breathe-- “I’m not entirely sure.”
Gavin froze in disbelief, staring at him in astonishment. He had never seen Nines express even the slightest hesitation when it came to reconstructing a crime scene. “ What?”
Nines walked over to join him by the entryway. “There are clear ligature marks on the wrists and ankles, and stab wounds in each of the armpits--”
“The armpits?” Gavin asked.
“Yes, to hit the brachial artery. Although not well-known to the public, it’s a common move among professional killers-”
“So we’re looking for some kinda hitman?” Gavin muttered, forgetting the smell for a moment. Unless they were stupid, experienced killers were nearly impossible to track down.