Shortcircuit
Yandere! Keiji Akaashi x android! fem reader
My contribution piece for the lovely @iwaasfairy's Cherry Velvet event! Happy belated birthday:)) Please check out the works that other super talented writers are contributing for this event as they go live this weekend! The theme is seedy underbelly, and while I definitely didn't go the traditional route, hopefully this fits the prompt loosely enough! I recently watched Ghost in the Shell for the nth time and was inspired, so here's my attempt at combining that with the collab's theme. Akaashi is probably very ooc but maybe if we all pretend hard enough...
Synopsis: As the android designed to protect the life of the millionaire inventor Kiyoomi Sakusa, your life has purpose and routine. But with the arrival of a new coworker, things begin falling apart.
Tw: implied stalking, implied kidnapping, kind of drugging, non-consensual tampering with body parts, theft of body parts (?), borderline somnophilia, violence, elements of body horror so sorry if you're a little squeamish, murder, misogynistic undertones at times, mentions of sexdolls/using individuals as sex slaves, I'm sorry I made Sakusa an absolute ass in this fic but I promise I don't actually hate him, brief allusions to Keiji jorkin' it clothed what a chump, reader is an android, fem reader, MDNI
WC: 10.6K
The explosion is loud. Burnt air sears against your skin, the heat singing the ends of your hair slightly. You’d closed your eyes too fast to see the brunt of it, but you’d watched in almost slow-motion as the man clutched onto something small and metallic in the front row, something between a grimace and a grin flitting on his face. You’d watched as he mouthed something, your eyes narrowing to read his lips and spelling out f-i-n-a-l-l-y, before sudden realization dawned on you.
All things considered, his aim is terrible. The homemade bomb lands a good twenty meters to the side of you, hitting some poor civilian instead. The rally’s cries grow and crescendo and then shatter just as the deafening sound of detonation fills the plaza area.
Your body reacts just barely in time – jumping forward, chest bared and arms extended, taking the brunt of the heat and flying debris, a few pieces lodging themselves shallowly into your legs, stomach, hip. If you could feel pain, you’re sure it would be exploding through you as you sneak a glance down at the rather graphic image of a walking cane impaled through your calf. There’s no blood, but the skin is curled back in the wrong direction, looking pinched and stretched and all sorts of things that make you quickly avert your gaze.
There’s no time to dwell on it, though, as 04 behind you swiftly grabs your shoulder. Their hand is on you but their eyes aren’t, instead fixed on the stone-faced man behind you. Their voice is steady as they command, “We must go. Head east away from the rubble; 08 is waiting with the car.”
It’s a blur as you follow 04 and Sakusa, keeping yourself like a shadow behind the latter. A bullet lodges its way between your shoulder blade and spine, but it doesn’t slow your running. Keeping your body perfectly aligned with Sakusa’s is all that matters; keeping the attacks away from his weak, flesh-and-bone body is the priority.
The car’s engine is revving as Sakusa slips into it, 04 piling in while you follow. You have to grab the cane and dislodge it to fit, the wet sound as it comes clean not fazing you.
The car speeds off without a moment to spare, blowing past streetlights and rounding corners so quickly that you’re forced to clutch onto the door for dear life. It’s silent, mostly, with only 03 scanning over Sakusa’s body for visible signs of damage.
His eyes are closed and he’s leaned back against the plush, leather seat cushion, but there’s no damage to be seen. 03 relaxes, face returning to stare blankly forward, and your gaze wanders to look outside the window. Crisis averted, it seems, though the sounds of a street riot are still audible if you strain hard enough.
“You’ve seen better days, haven’t you?” Atsumu whistles, blonde hair disheveled as he wipes at the oil staining his hands. You don’t bother telling him that the towel’s covered in oil, too, and that all he’s doing is spreading it around.
“Good thing you’re here to fix me, then.” You know the routine by now – the mechanical wing of the foundation’s estate is vast, but the shop isn’t too hard to find. It’s connected by a series of winding hallways, sure, but even if you didn’t have a photographic memory system you’d just listen for the sound of power drills and stupidity.
Atsumu grins. “Aye, whatever you say your majesty.”
He swats you with the towel before throwing it over his shoulder. Your lips twitch up at the corner, and his grin only widens. “Well look at that – if it isn’t the infamous smiling response programmed into the later models.”
He creeps closer, but your smile doesn’t fade. As irritating as he can be, you can’t help but be entertained.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re awfully sexy for a robot?”
“Miya!” Someone barks, and Atsumu groans. “Back to work, pisshead!”
He sighs, giving you a pleading look and mouthing help me, before vanishing off to the workbench spanning the entire wall of the room. And that’s certainly no easy feat – the workshop is easily the size of a city block, with instrumentation and parts lining the walls. People mill about in every corner and direction, carrying warped metal objects and cans of paint, boxes of fibrous hair and molds of human teeth. There’s chattering and a radio playing in the background; some sort of jangly guitar song from long before you were assembled. Rows upon rows of storage containers sit back against the third wall, large towing vehicles moving and resorting the bulk materials in some sort of organization. It’s a chaotic sort of system, but you can’t help but watch for a few moments, admiring the efficiency of so many moving parts.
You’re sitting on one of the many metal slabs in this corner of the room, the clothing Sakusa had told you to wear this morning still sitting on your frame. Dirt and blood now stain the fabric, and distantly you wonder whose blood it could be.
“Alright,” Atsumu starts, and you turn to look at him. There’s another man with him, one you don’t recognize. Dark, wavy hair settles against his temples and tickles at his neck, equally dark eyes looking right at you with a blank sort of look in them. He’s wearing the same black uniform as Atsumu, with the small KS Corporation logo sitting on the upper left pocket. A small stitched patch reveals the man is K. Akaashi.
“Who’s that?” You ask, almost before you can help it. It’s not often that anyone aside from Atsumu works on you – there’s not many mechanics qualified to tinker with your system, given the recency of your activation. Too many updates had been made – a small emotional cognition center, enhanced durability, increased skin and tactile sensitivity, faster reaction time, even a more realistic female shape, just to name a few. And Atsumu, despite his boyishness and frequent immaturity, was the only one Sakusa felt was qualified enough to keep up with all these changes.
Atsumu throws an arm around the new man’s shoulders, and you watch as the other one’s face sours slightly. “This is Akaashi! He’s been working at the satellite facility in Kyoto for a while, but just recently started here. He’s pretty serious, but he’s a nice guy!”
To that, Akaashi sighs. “It’s nice to meet you.”
You nod, smiling a bit, and Akaashi’s eyes widen ever so slightly. Atsumu barks out a laugh. “She’s an updated one, see? Can smile and all the good stuff.”
Akaashi stares at you for a few more moments, dark gaze unreadable, before visibly swallowing. “I’ve only heard of the newer models; it’s amazing to see one in person.”
You shy away slightly under his gaze, unsure of how to respond to that.
“Anyways, she’s got a whole hell of a lot of damage, so we’ve got our work cut out for us! Looks like a bullet wound, full puncture through the calf, major scratch along the forearm…” Atsumu trails off, and it’s only as he’s prattling on about your injuries that you notice half of them.
It’s not long before they’re both diligently working away, screwdrivers and neural cables plugged into the back of your neck as they replace and unscrew the damaged parts. It’s always strange to watch; you’re craning into whatever position they tell you to, completely awake and aware and watching as they tear off sheets of skin, remove your entire leg below the knee, pull off your scalp to make a few quick adjustments to your synapses. Being cognizant isn’t the strange part, you suppose, if only because you don’t know any better, but something about it feels strangely intimate.
It’s not your body, really, considering that you’re a hand-designed model by Kiyoomi Sakusa himself, but still. These are your cable openings, your hands they’re unscrewing, the ones they replace them with feeling foreign even though they’re perfectly under your control.
Some thirty minutes later you’re fit as a fiddle, each joint and limb working just as designed. Atsumu’s demanding as he walks you through the exercises to ensure correct connectivity, but after the final flexibility movement, he claps you on the back.
“Well done, now don’t come back for a while okay? You’re great company and all, but I go through half my shipments on your replacements alone!”
You shrug. “I’m model 09, the artificial shield, in case you forgot.”
Atsumu’s smile falters a bit, and you see Akaashi stiffen slightly by his side.
“Yeah, sure.” Atsumu pauses awkwardly, and clears his throat. “Anyways, off with you!”
“It was nice to meet you.” Akaashi starts, bowing. “Please take care.”
The walk from the workshop to your charging quarters feels long as you wander back, the hallways seeming smaller than normal.
The KS Corporation is certainly not the only android company operating, but with such high name recognition comes significant risks. Threats and attempts on Sakusa’s life aren’t uncommon, and even as you settle down and lay in the white, oblong charger port with your model number stamped against the exterior, you can’t find it in yourself to be shocked at the day’s events. There’d never been any sort of mystery when it came to your purpose, your reason for creation – all of Sakusa’s designs had some specialty or another, some more obvious than others. 02, for example, has the highest computing capacity of all his models – the fastest on his feet, you like to think, capable of putting your thinking power to shame for how speedy and complete his programming is. 05 was designed to explore decision-making capacity in artificial brains, their impulsiveness almost jarring with how unlike your own it is. Most of the purposes are, of course, acceptable – nothing too extreme.
But the latest models – you, and model 10 – are really the cause of the recent public outcry. There’d been hostility about the development of androids since the beginning, of course, but your purposes had been the final straw. You, serving as a bodyguard and a shield to protect Sakusa from any wayward harm, and of course model 10. The recent updates did include a remarkably more feminine form, something that 10 was even more enhanced in.
Her charging quarters weren’t even in this wing of the corporation headquarters – she was on the north side, her room noticeably closer to Sakusa’s.
With a sigh, you blindly reach up to grasp onto the thick, gray sleeping charge cord. Seven sharp, thin prongs extend from the cord’s end, and you’re quick to flip the port flap on the back of your neck up. Plugging it in is seamless as always, precision and muscle memory taking over as you lay back down, your systems shutting down one by one. It’s a strange sensation, and one you liken very much to how humans describe falling asleep.
You wake up slowly, each system whirring to life and leaving your ears ringing. Air blows through your nostrils and past your lips without your control, the cooling system throughout your body automatically activating as your systems overheat in the attempt to start. It’s routine – you’ll be fine in exactly 26 seconds.
The room is stark white and extremely small. ‘Your’ room, as Sakusa likes to say. There’s a chest of drawers shoved into a corner with some ten pairs of identical white dress shirts and black slacks sitting inside.
It’s only when you clasp the last button on the shirt that you notice the missing panel on the underside of your forearm. It’s small – barely a centimeter wide and long, housing the import cord for enhancement injections in that arm. A port you haven’t really needed to use yet, if only because of the enhanced durability programmed into your body.
After a moment of staring, you smooth out the fold lines on the shirt, slipping on a pair of the nondescript, black loafers Sakusa insists on you wearing. Atsumu probably forget a replacement – not a big deal. Considering how damaged you’d been when you showed up yesterday, it’s a miracle he hadn’t forgot to replace anything else. You’re out the door a moment later, the resounding click of the automatic door shutting behind you barely even registering.
“Again? Jesus, you’re going to wear yourself out if you keep this up.” Atsumu scolds, something like worry edging into his voice despite the teasing.
You’re on the metal slab again, Atsumu’s hands surveying for damage. Kuroo had been lucky today that you were with him – a random assassination attempt in broad daylight, with the culprit rushing up with some sort of knife. It had been long, reaching nearly through your torso, and you’d barely been able to block the blow. A mere moment later would’ve been too late.
“Damn prick, making something just to abuse it.” Atsumu’s muttering under his breath, honey eyes dark and hard as he solders two wires back together on your left ribcage.
That’s a dangerous thing to say, really, considering Sakusa’s paranoia surrounding worker retaliation. Fame has made him far too jaded, or so you keep hearing from all the protestors of the company. Protestors of your existence.
“Akaashi! Grab me a wrench.” Atsumu yells over his shoulder, and a rustle from behind an adjacent door tells you his coworker is searching.
“How long will it take?” You ask, watching with a neutral expression as Atsumu curses and tries to maneuver the wires again.
“Til that jackass finally kicks the bucket? Not long enough.”
Sucking in your teeth, you repeat your question. “I meant the repairs.”
He sighs, leaning back and grabbing the wrench as Akaashi suddenly appears. “Probably two or three hours. Your whole lower response system is fried – the hole managed to go right through your central mainframe. It’s repairable, but we’ll need to shut you down and probably have you spend the night just to make sure there aren’t any sparks or fires.”
You nod, only to get a small comment from Akaashi, who’d helped Atsumu maneuver you onto your side for a better angle. “Please don’t move.”
You don’t respond, something akin to embarrassment creeping up your spine.
Instead, you shift your gaze to the bed beside you. 02 is in – not for any damages, but just a routine checkup. He’s sitting completely ramrod straight, hands folded in his lap, eyes trained straight ahead. 02’s scalp covers are pulled back, exposing the mound of wiring and chips shoved into his artificial skull. Another worker stands behind him, a metal tool in his hand that you don’t recognize. There’s a pointed piece at the end of the tool, alongside what looks to be a clamp.
His gaze meets yours without warning and you quickly look away.
“Miya! Get over here, there’s a problem with the main valve.” A voice calls, and you feel as Atsumu practically wilts over your body.
“Goddamit,” he mutters, gingerly pulling back from the exposed wiring of your torso. He wipes his hands off on his shop apron, licking his lips and giving you a glance. “Sorry sweet thing, but duty calls. Akaashi’ll take care of the rest. He knows how to set up the system shut-down, so don’t worry.”
Akaashi nods in response, still tightening a screw on your back as his coworker speaks.
And with that, Atsumu is gone, his stomps loud and clear as he works his way to the other side of the workshop.
It’s quiet for a long while, only the sound of metal clanking and mechanical whirring filling the space between you two as Akaashi continues working. For a moment you wonder whether he’s working on the emotional center programmed into you, because the discomfort of the silence is starting to make you fidgety.
“So Akaashi, how long have you been working for the company?” You ask, looking at him out of the corner of your eye.
He doesn’t respond right away, instead staying focused on the screwdriver in his hand. You almost consider asking the question again, but he abruptly stops, wiping at his forehead with the back of his palm.
“Eight years.” His voice is calm as always, and you hum in response.
“What did you do before that?”
Akaashi pauses for a moment, glancing at you. “I didn’t realize the newer models were programmed for small-talk, too.”
That same feeling of embarrassment descends on you, and you quickly look away. “I’m just used to it, Atsumu’s rather talkative if you didn’t notice.”
At that, Akaashi cracks a smile. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”
The silence feels warmer after that – not necessarily comfortable, but enough to keep you from trying again.
“I was an editor. Before I worked here.”
You blink. “Oh. Why did you switch?”
He’s quiet again for a moment. “Morals. I want to see the development of androids up-close, I suppose.”
You don’t respond to that. Instead, you count the bands of the workshop’s lights reflecting against the metal slab you’re laying on.
“Okay, I’m ready to take you to the shut-down room. Are you ready?” He asks, and you slowly stand up. There’s no pain to register, of course, but each of your limbs responds slower than normal as you begin to walk, your balance noticeably off.
Akaashi’s arm reaches out to help steady you, cold fingers pressed against the interior of your arm and elbow. “This way.”
The shut-down room is off to the side of the workshop space, nondescript aside from the numerous warnings on the outside of the door reading heavy electrical input and warning: door slams open unexpectedly. It’s entirely metal, the stainless steel walls and ceiling letting in no outside light. As you step through the threshold heavy, nearly-blinding white spotlights light you up, tracking along with your steps as Akaashi guides you towards the familiar white oval pod.
It follows radiation signals, Atsumu had told you the first time when he noticed your discomfort. The lights followed you as you moved, but not him as he grabbed supplies and tools off the shelves lining the room. Specifically follows the radiation frequency the models give off, just to keep things easier for us mechanics.
He’d thrown a joke in there somehow, too, but the tone feels much more serious as Akaashi guides you to lay down.
“You’ve done this before, right?” He asks, not looking over his shoulder as he grabs a series of long syringes and a pair of safety glasses.
“A few times.” You answer, letting your gaze wander back up to the ceiling. It’s nearly impossible to not squint but you try not to, especially as Akaashi turns back around.
“Close your eyes,” he instructs, and you immediately obey. Something plastic and hard brushes against your temples as you do, pushing back and moving slightly down to align with your ears. Something equally hard sits on the bridge of your nose. “Okay, open again.”
The light’s not so bright with the sunglasses on, and without thinking your lips are parting, eyes fully opening underneath the tinted material.
Akaashi’s smiling when you finally look over at him, his lips softly curved and a dimple sitting in the divot of his right cheek. “You’re already in bad shape, I wouldn’t want your vision to need repairs, too.”
You return the smile. “I didn’t even know we had sunglasses in this room.”
He clears his throat, slipping the latex gloves on. “We don’t.”
The gloves feel cold as he lays one down onto your shoulder, the other grabbing at the thick, gray cord dangling near your head. “While you’re asleep I’ll be operating.”
You nod, your eyebrows drawing in slightly. This was standard procedure, no need to explain anything to you.
“I’ll be rerouting your energy systems to the backup reservoirs first, then fixing the mainframe circuits. After that, I’ll fix the cabling connecting through your torso, and then the damages to your back and hip. I’ll finish up with skin regrafts, and then I’ll program the shut-down cycle to last until the workshop reopens for normal hours tomorrow morning. All the operations should go smoothly and without complications, but just for your knowledge.” His voice is monotone as he tells you all this, fingers already typing codes and commands into the monitor at your bedside.
“Sure,” you agree, turning your head when you see him approaching with the port cable. His hand is clutching onto the port while the other types a few more rapid commands on the computer.
He pauses as he approaches your neck, and bites his lip. “Could you please move your hair a bit? I can’t see the panel.”
You blink, but quickly gather the hair up into a fist, angling your head even more and opening the panel for him. He gives you a quick thanks, and gently lines up the prongs. It’s smooth as he pushes it in, his actions almost hesitant, until he hears the tell-tale click. Typing one more command, Akaashi turns to you.
“Sleep well,” he wishes, a hand coming up to pat you on your shoulder.
Darkness takes over soon after, your vision and motor functions dormant as you slip into something resembling unconsciousness.
It’s Atsumu who eventually wakes you up, that familiar grin the first thing you see as your systems come back on-line one by one. He’s standing at the foot of the pod, weight leaned on one leg and arms smugly crossed.
Once he sees your eyes focus onto him, he whistles. “Lookin’ good as ever, Robogirl. I wouldn’t have even guessed you were barely in one piece yesterday.”
His comment makes you smile a bit, your facial control slowly coming back to you.
He pushes off the edge of the pod and settles into the chair at the bedside. “Akaashi did a good job, no hiccups. You look fit as a fiddle.”
Letting the air finish blowing through your nose and lips, you shift. “Yeah, maybe you should be worried for your job. He might overshadow you, you know.”
He mocks offense, a hand coming up to cover his heart. “You wound me – for an android that heart of yours really is cold.”
“Lucky it’s not beating then, aren’t we?” The voice is cold, and immediately Atsumu stiffens. You’re tense, too, but you notice out of the corner of your eye the way Atsumu’s fist clenches against his thigh. “All looks clear, yes?”
Atsumu swallows, then stands up and faces the newcomer. “Of course, sir, Model 09 is cleared for return to duty.”
Sakusa hums, dark eyes fixed on Atsumu. “Any system damage that could slow it down?”
Atsumu’s fist clenches tighter behind his back. “No, all systems appear to be in optimal condition.”
“Good.” Sakusa takes a few steps closer to the pod, and gazes down at you. You return the gaze, unblinking.
“There’s a press conference this afternoon at 3. I expect your presence.” He tells you, dark eyes scanning down your figure and back up.
“Yes, sir.” You respond, keeping your voice flat. He nods, giving you one last look, before turning on his heel and slipping out of the room as quietly as he’d entered.
Once the door clicks back into place, Atsumu’s gritting his teeth. “Fucker, walking in here and calling you an ‘it’. Next time he comes in here I’m grabbing that wrench and shoving it so far up his ass he’s-“
“Atsumu.” You scold, sending him a look. He exhales slowly, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m unplugging you now.” He grabs the cable and pulls it back, the rather graphic schluck noise making him cringe. Rolling out your neck, you thank him.
“What do you say I give you some extra armor so I don’t have to see you later today after that conference? Maybe a shield, or maybe a suit of old-timey chain-male and – wait, stop moving.”
You freeze, glancing over at him in question. He grabs your arm, flipping your hand over and studying your palm. His eyebrows twitch inwards and he bites at his lip, turning your hand over again.
“Hm, that’s strange, I don’t remember seeing any damage to your hand.” He mutters, flipping it once again.
“What do you mean?” You ask, following his gaze.
He hesitates for a moment. “You see this line?” He points to the juncture of your ring finger and palm. The fake, thin skin looks normal to you, and you shake your head.
“There’s small incision lines – do you see that? Like needle marks – well, more like puncture marks.” He points to various spots along the juncture, and you mutter a small oh as you see what he means. They’re small – looking like dots and uniformly placed around the entirely of your finger’s connection to your hand.
“Maybe Akaashi noticed something.” You suggest, watching as he bites his lip again.
He’s quiet for a second, staring harder, before exhaling and releasing your hand. “Yeah, suppose so. There was a lot of damage, it’s easy to miss something like that.”
He claps his hands together, before rubbing them up and down. “Alright, so about that chain-male…”
You smile and he grins again, though it’s not quite as big as before.
“Mr. Sakusa! GRO News here, can you tell us more about your plans for the next model lines?”
”Mr. Sakusa, why is the corporation’s headquarters building closed to the public? Wouldn’t you agree that open transparency with the people would clarify the recent controversy?”
“Mr. Sakusa, do you have any comments about the recent protests in Osaka regarding Models 09 and 10?”
“Mr. Sakusa! Do you have anything to say about the recent uptake in black market android parts selling? What does this mean for the future of the Corporation?”
Sakusa’s face is neutral as he surveys the press audience, flashing cameras and microphones nearly shoved in his face. There’s a protective barrier between himself and the microphones, of course, as he demands, but his finger’s still tapping incessantly against the wooden podium. You watch the rhythm with rapt attention from his side, on edge as to hear what he’ll say.
“I have no comments on the recent events.”
The flashes get brighter, a few reporters scoffing under their breath and a new round of questions ringing through the conference room.
“But what of the dozen people who died during the protests against your work? Is that not innocent blood on your hands?”
"And what of the thousands of dollars spent trading your androids’ parts in the underground?”
”What do you have to say to the manufacturers who are getting death threats in the mail for stocking your creations?”
Sakusa’s eye twitches, and you stiffen up. He’ll be leaving soon, you’re sure of it, and it’s only expected that there will be some sort of need for you during his departure.
“What do I have to say?” He pauses for a moment, his fingers no longer tapping. “If you don’t want an android, you’re stuck in the past. Technological progress doesn’t stop just because it makes you uncomfortable.”
And with that he’s pulling up his mask and turning heel, descending the small set of stairs down the stage. You’re quick to follow, walking between him and the now desperate crowd, hands and microphones jabbing into your side and grabbing at you, frantic for another piece of audio or question answer. Sakusa doesn’t slow down, his gaze staying trained straight ahead as he approaches the black, luxury car waiting for him in the driveway. The reporters follow the group of security out of the building, practically toppling over one another to get close enough to pick up any piece of audio.
It’s pathetic, really, and you stand guard as Sakusa slips into the car, his voice agitated as he barks orders at the driver. Once he’s situated, you turn as well, stepping into the vehicle.
It’s only then that the building’s security team blunders, a man squeezing between two of them to reach forward and swipe his hand, fingers tangling into your hair. He grabs a fistful and pulls, a sickening ripping sound audible to you even over the loud crowd.
You pause, head yanked backwards, grasping onto the car doorframe for balance as the security team finally pulls the man back. There’s screaming and yelling now, the audience fighting amongst themselves as the reporters clamor for coverage of the assault and others berating the man for the unprovoked violence. You fully slip into the car, only sparing a passing glance back as the engine whirs and pushes you forward.
There’s a piece of your scalp on the cement, your hair splayed out and a few stray circuits still stuck to the interior material. No one in the audience touches it.
“Drive faster.” Sakusa orders, the dark sunglasses he’s donned doing little to hide the way he scowls.
“Does it ever hurt?” Akaashi asks quietly as he cuts the new scalp piece into the correct shape.
You’re brought out of your reverie, glancing over at him as deft, graceful fingers bend and twirl the grafted piece through the flashsaw to match the curves of your missing scalp. “What?”
“Do you feel any pain when things like this happen? I know the newer models don’t have any pain receptors, but is there anything phantom?” His voice is still soft as he asks, and you almost don’t hear it over the commotion of the workshop.
You look down at your hands, tracing over the artificial lines in your palms. You’ve often thought about who’s hands yours were patterned after, or if the pattern was real at all. Perhaps it was artificial, too.
“No.” You finally answer, not looking at him even as you see him glance at you out of the corner of your eye. “Never.”
He sighs, returning back to his task. “That’s good, I suppose.”
You nod absentmindedly.
"Do you ever wish you felt the pain?”
He’s not looking at you when you glance up at him, instead turning the scalp piece around in his hands over and over.
“Why would I wish that?”
He shrugs halfheartedly. “Just to experience it. Aren’t you ever curious about what human sensations feel like?”
You don’t respond.
It’s silent between you until he finishes, standing up and approaching you. He pauses momentarily before closing the gap between you, placing the scalp piece against the exposed cranial networks on your head. It’s evidently a good fit, as he reaches for the tool beside him.
“I’ll need to restrand the hairs one by one. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
You smile at that. “Not your fault, don’t apologize.”
Akaashi’s fingers are delicate as they press against your scalp, dragging the tool along the perimeter and sealing it in with a few sparks.
“Do you want the same color and texture that you have now? We have lots of options in the newest shipments if you’d like something new.” He offers, and you close your hands, no longer interested in tracing the lines.
“No, Sakusa would get mad. I’ll stick with what I have.”
Akaashi frowns at that, but mutters a small affirmation.
The process is long, and with each press of the hair injection tool against your head you feel yourself squirming slightly. The noise sounds vaguely like a stapler, and you find yourself tapping your finger in a faster rhythm against your leg to distract you.
You’re only about halfway through the hair injection process when it happens.
You’ve only seen 10 a handful of times – for what was supposed to be your ‘sister’, she was notoriously elusive to find about in the headquarters building. When she sits down onto the metal slab in front of yours, your eyes briefly widen. Akaashi’s must, too, because his hands momentarily freeze.
For human conventions, you know that she’s ethereally beautiful. Unnaturally so, really, though it doesn’t surprise you. High, defined cheekbones sit proudly under a pair of long-lashed, doe-shaped brown eyes, warm and soft and pretty as she flutters and blinks. Ruby red lips perfectly shaped into a bow are nibbled at nervously as she waits, even her teeth stark white and perfectly shaped. Curls of smooth, frizz-free black hair cascade down her shoulders to her lower back, sitting perfectly and looking soft to the touch.
But really, what makes your eyes widen is less her presence and more of her appearance – specifically, her clothing. All the times you’ve seen her she’s been in Sakusa’s company – sitting obediently by his side, letting his arm wrap around her waist, trailing behind him like some lost, stupid puppy. Hell, you’ve even seen her sitting in his lap a few times. And throughout all those encounters, she’s always been dressed in fine silks and draping satins, slits up the leg and revealing necklines showcasing the extremely generous bustline Sakusa had specifically designed for her. She’s always been smooth, perfect skin and exuding sex appeal, but the 10 before you looks nothing like that.
She’s still pretty, of course, but she’s wearing an ill-fitting, plain cotton pullover. It’s thin-looking, ratty really, with the KS logo sitting square on her chest. The sweatpants, too, are made of a similar material, nondescript and black and drowning her figure. Even her feet, which you’ve only ever seen clad in staggeringly high high-heels, are underdressed – in fact, they’re not dressed at all. Only a pair of dingy, pilled gray socks cover her feet.
And now that you’re looking at her, really looking at her, you notice something different about her face, too. Her hair’s less orderly, more frizzy and unkept, and her lips are cracked and dry. Her cheeks look haggard, and her neck looks puffy and sore, purple and red splotches arraying the area.
She looks bad, simply put. Bad in a way that an android shouldn’t look.
She catches your gaze, and for a moment she looks away, playing with her thumbs and seeming to shrink in on herself, before chancing a glance back at you. You’re still looking, and after a moment of eye contact, you find yourself smiling ever so slightly.
She returns the gesture, eventually breaking eye contact out of what you guess is bashfulness, but still sneaking glances at you every once in a while.
It’s not long before Akaashi’s fingers pick up their work again, the tool once again making that terrible noise so close to your ear, but you’re almost thankful for the distraction.
10 looks at you again, and opens her mouth to say something only to be interrupted by Atsumu. He whistles as he approaches, crossing his arms and appraising her. “It’s our lucky day, two high-level models coming into our quaint little workshop at once.”
10’s eyes quickly glance back at you, gauging you for your reaction, and for a moment you’re taken aback that she’s looking to you for guidance.
To Atsumu’s comment you only roll your eyes. “Yeah yeah, stare all you want.”
10 giggles a bit at that, and you find yourself smiling at her again.
Atsumu grins, before turning to 10. “Nice to meet you, I’m Atsumu, one of the head mechanics here. Is everything okay? We weren’t told you’d be arriving today.”
She stiffens up, clearing her throat and reaching into the pocket of her pullover to pull out a folded letter. She hands it to Atsumu, biting her lip and returning back to twiddle her thumbs. “I was told that the letter would be satisfactory explanation, but I’m not allowed to read it so I don’t know exactly why I’m here either.”
Atsumu cocks a brow, opening the letter and beginning to read. It doesn’t take long to see that the letter’s contents are making him angry, his face turning red and his nostrils flaring.
His hand is shaking slightly as he whips the paper down, his other hand coming up to cover his mouth in indignation. He walks away for a moment, evidently trying to keep quiet but still perfectly audible as he growls, “That fucker.”
10 stiffens up again, getting up and off the slab to go towards him, apologies already slipping off her tongue. “I – I-‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! I can tell Kiyoomi that –“
“Kiyoomi?” You mutter, shocked. Sakusa absolutely never permits anyone to address him by his first name, even his own creations.
Akaashi’s stiffened behind you too, but he continues with his injections, his mannerisms feeling a little more forced than before.
Atsumu cuts 10 off with a soft pat on her shoulder, helping guide her back towards the slab. “No, it’s not your fault at all. Don’t worry.”
Once she’s seated, he reads through the letter again quickly, exhaling heavily and throwing the letter away in the nearby trash. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you either, but you’re here for, uh, a ‘medical’ checkup.”
She’s quiet, confusion obviously written across her face. You’re confused too, and wait impatiently for Atsumu to finish his explanation.
He’s visibly uncomfortable as he shifts his weight between his feet, not able to look 10 in the eye. “Apparently Sakusa’s worried you’ve been… overused, so you’re here to make sure all your systems are working and to replace a few parts that he thinks are damaged.”
10 relaxes at that, nodding her head. “I understand. My diagnostics looked normal when I came out of my charging pod this morning, but my durability scores have been low lately so I see why-“
Atsumu clears his throat. “No, I’m supposed to check other systems. Uh, your sexual systems.”
There’s a loud clang behind you that makes all three of you startle, and you whip around to see Akaashi looking pale as a ghost. His hand is frozen above your head in the same position, the tool clattering on the ground directly below him. His gaze whips to you as you turn.
It’s quiet for a moment, before Atsumu lets out an awkward, forced laugh. “Jesus, Akaashi, you scared the shit out of me! Can’t go dropping things like that, you’ll give me a heart attack.”
He claps his coworker on the back, but he’s still staring at you. His eyes are dark, but wider than you’ve ever seen them, an intensity that makes you quickly turn back to 10.
She’s frowning, obviously curling in on herself again as she tries to respond. “Oh, well that makes sense. Usage every night does wear a machine down, after all.”
You wince at the insinuation, and Akaashi’s hand falls to your shoulder, gripping harder enough to be uncomfortable.
Atsumu winces, too, and nods his head. “Yeah. Okay, so, uh, I think the easiest way to do this is maybe in the shut-down chamber? Or would you like to be awake?”
10 blinks, lips parting. She looks shocked, and that only makes Atsumu feel worse. “I get to choose?”
Suddenly the hand at your shoulder is ripped off and Akaashi’s storming out of the workshop, his steps deafening in the now silent space. Every worker has turned to watch the interaction, frozen mid-way through their tasks because of shock, curiosity, a desire to not work for a moment. It only makes it louder when the exit door slams shut behind Akaashi.
The patch of scalp he’d been fixing still isn’t finished but you can’t find it in yourself to care when Atsumu turns back to 10, nodding his head and telling her, “I’d prefer if you were awake. Just… just because.”
He’s leading her back to the shut-down room, but even as they get further away you can hear drifts of his voice. “Don’t worry, I’m not shutting you down. I’m just going to need access to the sexual response receptors and I don’t want you stripping down out here in front of everyone. I think we have some towels in the back that we can use to cover parts I’m not working on…”
You stay sitting there for a few more minutes, watching as the workshop slowly comes back to life, the chatter and radio once again playing as people try to brush off the discomfort of the moment.
You’re angry and you know it, the limited emotional cognition in your programming letting you know that something akin to rage is simmering in you. But the longer you sit there, the more the anger is overcome with something you liken to acceptance, because despite the rawness of 10’s mannerisms and expressions, you’re not exactly surprised. Perhaps that Sakusa would be so overt, sure, but it’s not as if you didn’t know his purpose for 10’s creation.
Eventually, you get to your feet, hands coming up to feel at the small hairless patch left. It’s in the back and not too noticeable. Sakusa hopefully wouldn’t notice it, and so you open the heavy steel door to traverse back to your room.
You decide to shut down early tonight, knowing that Sakusa wouldn’t need protection at this time in the evening and so your duties are absolved for the day. The charging port slips comfortably into its slot at the back of your neck, and your eyes slowly close.
When you wake up, your fingers idly prod at the hairless patch once more, just out curiosity. Not all your systems are back online yet, but as you blindly feel around, it occurs to you that it feels like less hair is there than yesterday evening. Frowning slightly, you pull your hand back, unsure of how that’s possible. Perhaps you just misremembered – faulty wirings aren’t uncommon, after all.
The workshop is busier when you next enter. There’s more chaos, and you almost feel guilty as you settle yourself down onto a metal slab and patiently await a mechanic’s attention. Despite vanity not playing a role in your system, the missing hair was starting to bother you a bit, and you were worried that Akaashi or Atsumu would somehow get in trouble if Sakusa were to notice. He was rather stringent about things like that, after all.
It's not long before you spot a familiar head of blond hair, Atsumu’s arms full with a rather large, heavy-looking box as he struggles to carry it across the workshop floor. Quickly you’re up and helping him, supporting the other side of the box and listening to him loudly yelp at the sudden weight alleviation.
“Good thing you’re here, I’m getting’ too old to do this shit by myself.” Atsumu groans, rubbing at his back once you’re finished.
You smile. “Aren’t you only 25?”
He tsks. “Sure, but you’re immortal, so you wouldn’t understand.”
You swat him lightly on the arm, and he fakes being wounded. “So, what brings you in?”
“I was hoping to find Akaashi, actually. I hate to bother him but I was hoping he’d be able to finish up reattaching my hair.”
Atsumu nods. “Ah, well, if he were here I’m sure he’d be happy to. But as it stands, I haven’t seen him since 10 came in a few days ago.”
“Oh.”
He’s quiet for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah, but I’m sure he’s just moping around in his room. You know we live on-base, too, right?”
You shake your head. “No, I had no idea.”
Atsumu grins. “Well, since the chump’s not showing up to work it seems, I’d be happy to send you to him instead. I’ve got too much stuff to get done today, but I wouldn’t want that pretty head of yours to go untouched. Let me go grab the tools and hair.”
You’re opening your mouth to disagree and tell him that you don’t mind waiting until he’s available, but he’s gone before you can.
And so, as you walk down the rather boring, non-descript hallways of the workers’ residence side of the building, you carefully hold the tub of materials he’d given you.
Room 285, room 285…
It’s not long before you find it, the steel door remarkably nondescript and plain. His neighbors have photos or even stupid cut-outs taped to their doors, but Akaashi’s remains empty. Only a small placard with his name and occupation sit on the metal, and for a moment you wonder whether that’s by his choice or simply because of how long he’s been here. It’s been six months since you’d met him, of course, but perhaps he needed longer than that to get settled in.
You knock three times, calling out rather timidly, “Akaashi? It’s 09, can I talk to you for a second?”
There’s a loud thump audible from behind the door that makes you jump slightly, then silence. You’re about to knock again when the lock clicks out of place, the door sliding open to reveal Akaashi.
Or, well, a version of Akaashi you’ve never seen. To be fair, you only know him in the context of his mechanic job – the bright lighting of the workshop space, blending in with the other workers diligently going about their duties.
But now he’s standing in front of you, sweatpants and a sweatshirt sitting loosely on his frame, hair tousled and eye bags prominent under those dark eyes. He’s staring at you as soon as the door reveals your face, something like shock and something else you can’t quite name apparent in his expression.
“Hi,” you start, the guilt starting to feel heavy. “I’m sorry to bug you, but I was just wondering if you’d be able to finish my hair-“
“Come in.” It’s not a request, and for a moment you hesitate. He steps to the side, though, and gestures into the room, and you follow.
The door closes behind you and you once again turn to face him. “I know you’re probably sick or under the weather since you haven’t been at work, but if it’s not too much trouble I’d really appreciate…“
You trail off as you look at him again, the dim lighting of his quarters making his eye bags seem even more prominent, his skin looking dull. There’s only a single lamp on in the corner, casting shadows across everything. You’re now seeing the state of disarray that is this room, with clothing on the couch and piles of books and magazines scattered all along the living room floor. Distantly, you’re surprised – this is not at all how you’d expected Akaashi’s living space to look. Not that you’d imagined it, really, but still.
It’s obvious now that he’s breathing hard. Hard enough that you can see the rise and fall of his chest even in the poor lighting, the sound of his labored breaths making you take a step closer.
Concern laces your tone as you set down the materials gingerly on the coffee table by your leg, barely finding a corner of empty space big enough. He’s standing a good ten feet away from you, practically glued against the wall as you take another step forward. “Akaashi, are you okay? You don’t look so good-“
“Is he fucking you, too?”
You freeze.
“Answer me. Is he fucking you, too? Just like he’s fucking 10?”
Your mouth opens and closes, synapses firing so fast that it’s dizzying as you try to make sense of what he’s saying.
His fists curls by his side, arms visibly flexing from below the rolled up sleeves of his crewneck. “Answer me, goddammit! Is he fucking you? Yes or no?”
“No!” You force out, your voice wavering and sounding unconvincing even to your own ears.
Akaashi’s jaw works as he runs a hand through his hair, the strands staying loosely in place and cluing you in to the fact that he hasn’t showered in a few days. His breathing only seems to get heavier as he starts pacing, small steps as he goes in circles.
He’s muttering something under his breath, and you take a step back, fear flaring up somewhere deep inside your chest.
The muttering gets louder, and soon he’s stopping and facing you, those eyes still impossibly wide as he stares at you. “It’s only a matter of time. You’re not stupid, you know that. I know you do.”
You take another step back, and Akaashi’s nostrils flare at that.
“Akaashi, I think I need to leave and-“
“No!” It’s a yell, and it makes you visibly jump, the fear becoming more potent. You’ve never felt like this before – this level of raw terror, making your body feel heavy and your movements uncoordinated despite your perfect programming.
He takes a deep, shaky breath. “No, don’t leave. No.”
You nod, unsure.
He takes a step towards you. “Has he fucked you yet?”
You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.
He licks his lips. “Good, good. Have you ever thought he might want to?”
And though you have an inkling of how you should answer, his question makes you think. You’ve never really gotten the impression that Sakusa has sexually desired you, but is that really true? He has 10 around, so you’ve always assumed that he really wanted her and you were simply a more technical development where she was for comfort. But if that were the case, why did he go through the trouble of designing your model with breasts? Why give you pubic hair? Why did he take the time to design and create you with a working vulva, a working clitoris, a working vagina?
The silence must be too long for Akaashi, because he’s suddenly laughing, fingers tunneled into his hair and gripping at the roots. “God, for a machine you really should be smarter. Don’t you see it? 10 is his sex doll but so are you.”
You’re still frozen, but Akaashi doesn’t seem to notice.
“He’s a monster. Designing you with human emotion, human intellect, the capacity to be good and kind and funny and loyal and pretty and making you essentially human, but still only treating you as a warm hole to fuck. He’ll use you when 10’s done, washed up. When her body can’t handle any more modifications and repairs. When her pussy gets too loose because silicon doesn’t bounce back like human flesh and god, can’t you see it?”
He's practically ripping his hair out at this point, and you take a few more steps back, the feeling of danger and the oddly demanding sensation that you need to run now washing over you.
“He’s the devil, a madman, a disgusting piece of shit. And he’s been using you in the meantime to protect him from all the people who see him for what he is: a demon! He’s treating your body like a personal shield, like you aren’t living and sentient and not just a moving target to take bullets rightfully meant for him!”
Akaashi’s yelling again, and your back hits the wall. He takes a few more steps forward, that manic look in his eye slowly transforming into something calmer, more steady, and somehow much, much worse.
“But it’s okay. Everything will be okay. I promise, he won’t hurt you.” He keeps closing the distance until you’re only a foot or so away, and he lets out another shaky sigh. His hand is trembling as it comes up and gently clasps a few strands of your hair between his fingers, running his fingertips against the familiar texture. His eyes flutter closed for a moment as he breaths in deeply, holds it, and slowly exhales.
“No one will ever hurt you again.” He promises, and slowly releases your hair to let his hand rest at your waist. He licks his lips again. “I’ll fix your hair. I’m sorry it’s such a mess in here, I’ve just – I haven’t been myself these last few days.”
You don’t know what to say, but Akaashi only lightly chuckles. “I know this is probably overwhelming and I know you’re probably struggling to compute all this, but don’t worry. You don’t ever need to worry about anything again. Now, I’ll make space on the couch and we can fix you up.”
He moves his head slightly, leaning towards you, and you hear him take a deep, deep inhale. He leans back, adjusting the collar of his crewneck, and clears his throat.
“I’m flattered that you came to visit me here. I know the models aren’t supposed to be in the workers’ residential areas, so I appreciate that you saved me the trip.”
His hand moves to pull you by the waist towards the navy blue couch. You’re too stunned and confused to resist, instead letting him drag you and gently, almost reverently, help you to perch on the material. He has to slide away some items to make room for you, and you notice a split second too fast that the gray cloth at the top of the pile is presumably a pair of his boxers, and disgust wells up in you at the sight of something crusted and white in a loosely circular shape at the apex of the crotch.
He gently takes the bucket of material out of your hands, paying special attention to softly brush his fingers with your own. You hear his breath hitch at the contact.
He’s quiet as he slowly begins the hairing process, and for a moment you almost wonder if this is worse. Because this is so like the Akaashi you thought you knew – quiet, polite, hard-working, not this psychotic, rebellious side of him that you’d just been victim to. You’re on edge, every inch of your body overheating and beginning to twitch, desperation to move paralyzed by the emotional cognition center’s signal overproduction. You’ve never felt this frozen before, this helpless, and for the first time you curse Sakusa for implementing the emotional motherboard inside your chest.
Thinking his name, though, makes something else ugly rise up in your throat, Akaashi’s warnings about Sakusa’s true plans for you settling a new kind of fear inside you.
Akaashi finishes after what feels like hours, the fear and panic engulfing you enough that you jump when you feel his hand land on your shoulder and gently squeeze.
“I’m done. But please stay still for a few minutes more.”
You’re terrified, eyes racing in front of you as you listen to his movements behind you, the sound of metal slicing ringing in your ears and oh god is he smelling you again oh no no no –
“Thank you, this should be just enough.” His voice is nearly whispered, and you dare to glace behind you. He’s straddled, something visibly hard pressing against his sweatpants, but you’re more focused on the fistful of hair he has in his hand. Hair that he’s just cut from your head with a pair of scissors. Hair that he stuffs into the pocket of his sweatpants, visibly biting back a moan when he lightly brushes against the bulge.
At your questioning gaze, he only swallows. “Weapons are expensive these days, as I’m sure you know. But android parts only become more and more coveted, especially those from the latest models. There are more buyers than you might expect.”
You’re shaking even harder now, and Akaashi’s face returns back to that neutral expression. “Don’t worry, I’ve never taken anything that isn’t replaceable.”
Something wet slips down your cheek, and distantly you realize that you’re crying. You weren’t even aware you had tear ducts.
His thumb comes up to wipe at the tear, his expression unchanging. “Remember, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
And with that, he’s ushering you up and to the door, licking his lips once last time and telling you in that same monotone voice of his, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your sleep, and please leave your door locked tonight. I know you sometimes forget to.”
The door slides shut before you can even hope to respond.
You don’t plug in your charging cord that night. Instead, you sit with your knees pressed against your chest and your face buried against them in the corner of the pod, air blowing from your nose over and over as your systems overload processing with the new information.
You’d locked the door, of course, though you’re not sure if you did because of Akaashi’s warning or not.
There’s several loud gunshots that eventually bring you out of your stupor. A glance at the clock – the only thing decorating your walls – tells you that it’s roughly four in the morning, and you immediately jerk upright.
There’s footsteps off in the distance outside your door, yelling and what sounds like fighting, but it’s too muffled for you to make out even with your enhanced hearing. You’re on your feet in an instant and immediately opening the door, the sound of gunshots even louder now that the metal isn’t dampening them.
Perhaps it’s your programming compelling you to find Sakusa, but your immediate priority is to assure his security. You briefly pause to consider Akaashi’s earlier words, but the programming outweighs any emotional response and soon your feet are running.
At the apex of the hallway, you’re met with a scene that is entirely unfitting of the ornate, impeccably clean headquarters building. There’s blood pooling against the lush wooden floors, dark red and staining everything in its path. Bodies scatter along the hallway, some you recognize as fellow residents of the building and others you don’t. The pools of blood are thicker around their abdomens, and you try not to think about that too deeply. The fighting seems to have moved even further down the hallway, and quickly you’re moving forward again, uncaring as your feet splash through puddles of blood.
With a small start you realize that the direction of the gun fire is towards Sakusa’s personal residence area, and it only speeds up your pace.
As you round the corner, you momentarily freeze. There’s easily ten people in the small entrance way leading into Sakusa’s personal chambers, with Sakusa himself standing in the back and surrounded by countless androids. You see 02, 03, 04, even 10 all standing around him, obviously trying to keep as tightly huddled as possible to eliminate any possibility of an attack landing on him.
You’re in shock, jaw dropped, and before you can really think about it you’re jumping forward to join the fray, throwing your body in the front to create another layer of protection.
The sound of the gunshot is loud, but you hardly register it as the bullet drives through your chest, your gaze locked on the five people pointing guns at the swarm of androids and their creator. Most of the faces are unfamiliar, but you recognize a few with a small, kindling sense of familiarity – people you’ve seen at numerous rallies, faces whose bullets and acids attacks you’ve taken the brunt of instead of Sakusa. And even people whose faces you recognize from news segments you sometimes eavesdrop on when Sakusa has you stay by his desk. Faces of people who are suspected to be a part of the black market, specializing in the trade of technology – biotechnology, really, with a particular emphasis on android scraps.
You’ve been through gunshots a million times, but even as you force yourself to keep standing, your body begins to stop responding. Your fingers will no longer move, and your knees are growing weak. Your thighs begin to feel weightless, and before long you’re slamming into the ground, body unresponsive and malleable. Darkness clouds the edges of your vision as you feel your systems forcefully shutting off, and it’s only as your eyes begin to close that you see Akaashi, something akin to a gun in his hands and pointing at you. He’s looking at you, of course, but only nods, face set, and marches forward with his gun now pointed at 03 behind you.
The waking up process is unusual. It’s not systematic, as you’re used to – it’s gradual, a sort of awakening that you can only assume is equivalent to what humans refer to as sleep paralysis.
You can’t move your body. That’s the first thing you notice.
Your eyes are open but your fingers won’t move, lips can’t talk, head can’t turn. It’s terrifying, and as you wait for your systems to adjust, the slow realization that they aren’t returning to normal only paralyzes you further.
Attempting to thrash and shake and just move in any possible way, it’s only a few moments later that you become aware of the fact that you’re not alone.
He’s quiet, as always. But what catches your attention isn’t him, but rather the sensation of something pinching at your hip. It’s bizarre – a feeling like peeling, as if you can feel each individual circuit connecting your fake skin to your wiring severing. You can see Akaashi’s face out of the corner of your eye, the familiar dark hair and the slope of his nose reminding you of your last few memories. A gunshot, 03’s face as you collapsed, the sensation of losing connectivity and pseudo-consciousness, the sight of Akaashi moving forward, the likelihood that Sakusa is dead…
“I know you’re awake.” Akaashi’s voice breaks through the silence. “Don’t worry, it’s expected that you can’t move or speak. I apologize, I know it must be scary. But this is my only option. You’ll get your connectivity back soon, I promise”
He’s still tinkering at your hip, and it’s only when he pulls away that you see what he’s done. There’s a large, six inch piece of your skin sitting in his hand, the artificial connective tissue keeping its shape despite the fact that it’s no longer attached to your body. The skin is smooth and supple, and Akaashi briefly stares at it, running his finger over it.
“I apologize, really. I’m sorry that I have to resort to this, but this should be the last time. This should sell for enough money to fund the relocation, and enough to pay back the debts for the parts for the android neutralization gun.”
You watch as he carefully places the hip piece into a sealing plastic bag, closing it and labeling the date with black marker. He gets off his chair, walking over to a shelf on the other side of the room. He places it inside a bin labeled ‘sell’, and you feel your struggling increase as you see three other similar bags in the same bin. The only date you can read from this vantage point is from five months ago.
He returns back to your side with a new, replacement hip part in hand. He’s quick to get to work, applying and sealing the material against your body, but you can’t help your gaze from wandering back to the shelf.
There’s two bins. The one he placed the baggie into, and another smaller one beside it. There’s no dates on the bags in that one, but you feel your stomach sour anyways. The bin is labeled in neat, perfect handwriting that’s so painfully typical of Akaashi ‘personal’, and that familiar wetness is back slipping down your cheeks as you see the contents.
A severed finger. A ring finger, no less. Clumps of hair. A piece of severed scalp. A few teeth. Something that looks suspiciously similar to the panel connecting your vaginal opening.
Akaashi follows your gaze, and he only sighs. “I know it’s probably overwhelming right now, and I understand why you’re scared. I’m sure I must seem like the villain. But you’ll understand soon that I’m setting you free. Sakusa is dead; he can’t enslave you with programming and servitude.”
He stops his work, looking at you earnestly. “You’re allowed to be human now.”
He pauses, biting his lip, and letting his hand wander up the expanse of your leg. Distantly, you note that his bare skin is touching yours – where had your pants gone?
“You’re allowed to be human, with me.”
The hand slides up to your thigh, fingertips digging in just a hair too tight.
He swallows, dark eyes plastered onto you again as he squeezes. “I’ll make you feel human.”