A/N: I just finished watching a playthrough of Detroit: Become Human and I’m lowkey obsessed, and Markus definitely doesn’t get the love and support he deserves. So here’s me, doing the thing. :B
Once again, a piece that started out as an imagine and then ended up being so much longer.
Fandom: Detroit: Become Human
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Markus looked on with an expression of both wonder and horror at the rows of skinless androids in the abandoned warehouse. Standing next to him, you were restlessly wringing your hands; it was a little difficult to not be nervous standing so close the leader of the android revolution. Until the recent outbreak of deviants and the completely reasonable uprising for androids rights, you had never seen androids showing explicit emotion, so it was still a little jarring to see Markus expressing such strong ones.
“How did you--” Markus wondered aloud, “And on your own? How many are here-- How many camps-- In one night?”
You couldn’t help the small, brief smile that ghosted your lips; it was a truly marvelous thing, seeing these people that were once mindless slaves being anything but said slaves anymore. They were alive and they were fighting.
Markus’s hetero-chromatic eyes shifted and you felt your face heat up as you quickly shifted your gaze to recall the information he was asking for. “Four camps, one night. I probably could have hit more with allies but with everything that was going on, and then people reacting to your march the way they did--media calling you terrorists, the dumb bastards--”
“Humans are scared of change,” Markus intervened; your heart fluttered with disbelief at his gentle tone. “They’re not sure how to react.”
“Well,” you said, meeting his eyes with a scowl, “with our history, we should know by now that genocide isn’t it. So I will not be taking back my dumb bastards comment.”
You were surprised again when Markus’s mismatching eyes sparkled with a brief amusement. “I never said I didn’t disagree with you.”
Pretty eyes, you thought, then scolded yourself for doing so. Not the time. “Anyway, four camps in one night. I couldn’t really talk to any humans because it’s hell trying to figure out which ones actually have a heart, and I wasn’t sure if your people--you and your active group, I mean--would trust me. So I figured, um, hijacking a weapons truck and a soldier’s uniform after I whacked him over the head with a magazine tablet.”
“Also,” you suddenly added, looking Markus in the eye again, “I don’t know if you know this but as you can see, obviously, a lot of these guys aren’t deviant.” You gestured at the abundance of careful rows, much greater in number than the scarcer groups of deviants, huddled haphazardly near the warehouse’s walls with their skins reactivated. “So--and I apologize if this comes off as ignorant--from what I’ve seen the newer... models--again, I apologize if you don’t like that word; just let me know what you’d prefer-- Generations maybe? Sorry. So, it appears that only the newer generations can wake each other up, bring each other to their senses, like you and that detective Connor can. Like the group that Connor led to march. The current generations, aka basically every android up until you, Connor, and the ones straight from the Cyberlife hub, can’t do that. They’re stuck to waking up via their own accord--” You briefly gestured to one of the deviant huddles. “--or by someone like you.” You waved a hand towards the carefully organized rows of still skinless androids, waiting silently on standby for masters’ orders that wouldn’t come. “Unfortunately, most, if not all, of your generation, the one with that capability, are here in Detroit.”
Markus had been listening to you intently, and your heart ached as you watched his expression turn sour, the tired resignation of a soldier who wanted a war’s end that he knew wasn’t coming any time soon. Perhaps against your better judgement, you thought, you placed a steady hand against the man’s arm. His reaction was an appreciative glance rather than that of shaking you off, giving you the assumption that he had been luckier than most androids; he had known a human that was kind.
“Worry about the people around you for now,” you murmured, “Wake the ones here up and show them the good that you’ve done so far. Then, later, when your people are settled and healed, you can make those bigger strides.” You paused, then added with a bit of hesitance edging your voice, “On my routes to camps, I made plans to get to as many camps as I could. I’ve thought up ideas and sketched out maps. I know I’m no incredibly intelligent being or anything but I like to think they’re decently thought out, so if you trust me enough for me to lend you my help--even if you don’t, if you just want the routes and plans for a little extra push, I understand and that’s fine--I just want to do my part on behalf of the less shitty side of my race.”
Markus walked farther into the warehouse without answering, then you watched firsthand as he deactivated the skin of one hand and pressed it to the forearm of an android standing before him. Your eyes widened in wonder as not only the android Markus was holding was awakened, but the other androids around him, the LEDs in their temples flashing red, yellow, and finally landing back on blue; you’d forgotten Markus’s ability to psychically deviate the androids as well, something you’d only seen briefly during a broadcast of one of his marches.
Markus meaningfully looked over his people, and you followed his gaze as the skinless androids, no longer bound by the laws of slaves embedded into their software, reactivated their skins once more. Not only that but there were changes to hair and color, the shuffling out of perfect rows to instead mingle with others and pick out personalized outfits from clothes you’d provided via dumpster diving, donation organizations, and your own clothes that you never wore anymore. Of course, with your last minute mission of liberating camps, one human couldn’t have possibly gathered all the supplies needed to help the masses, but you did what you could. Not to mention, you’d managed to track down and bring them the thing they needed most: Markus.
As if hearing your thoughts, Markus turned away from the full warehouse to look at you instead. He looked at you for a bit, and you couldn’t help feeling like you were being analyzed, and then he spoke again.
“You made an extreme impact on those you’ve saved, [Y/N],” he said, blue and hazel meeting your own [e/c] gaze, “and you’re continuing to offer a great deal of your help to a cause that is not your own. For that, I thank you.”
The nervousness and wonderment of the situation simmered down beneath your skin. The feelings hardened into determination and you felt yourself steady and stand taller. Instead of wide eyes and parted lips, you imagined that you somewhat replicated Markus’s tight jaw and hard gaze.
“Caring for people and helping them,” you replied, “seeing injustices being done to them and doing whatever it takes to help stop it; that’s what it means to be human.”
