Chapter Text
So there I was, locked in a holding cell at whatever precinct it was in Detroit, Michigan in the year 2038. (Is that a good way to start a story? Yes? Maybe? We’ll go with yes. It sounds properly dramatic).
Anyway, so there I was, locked in a holding cell, Detroit Michigan, yada yada yada. You get the point. Really, the whole holding cell thing is a little excessive. I don’t know why they needed to go these lengths. I’m in a tiny body, and unfortunately, YK500 androids aren’t all that strong, or so I’ve learned. Mostly the hard way. Kara is sitting across from me, glaring of course, and it’s honestly understandable. It’s my fault we’re here after all, and I didn’t really turn out to be the child she’d been longing for (mainly because I am in fact not a child) and she’s not happy with the decisions I’ve been making, to say the least. And I recognize that this is not really one of my finer moments, but hey, I’m willing to be the bigger person and admit that I was wrong. At least I have that going for me, right?
But here’s what’s not my fault. It is NOT my fault that this body was not meant to run across a freeway at a pace not friendly to little legs. It is NOT my fault that Kara decided shooting Todd was the best solution. If it were up to me, we would have left much sooner, but getting these androids to deviate is such a pain in the rear. Really now. You’d think it would be easier, right? Well, turns out it’s not.
But I digress. Where was I? Oh right. Things that were NOT my fault. Like Connor (the android sent by Cyberlife). It is NOT my fault that he’s got a distractingly good-looking face, and that staring at that face for an extra moment was preferable to getting tossed across an active highway and probably crushed to death. (Been there, done that, and trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be). Not that this is in any way relevant to how I got locked in this holding cell. Oh no, not relevant at all. (It’s relevant).
But, in my defense, I was never good at QTE’s back when I was alive (this is a lie, I was actually excellent at them). And I’m not too prideful to admit that cars moving at high speeds scare me (this is not a lie, because come on, who wouldn’t be afraid of that, especially given my history with vehicles moving at high speeds)
(Am I an unreliable narrator?)
…
(Nah, of course not.) (Lie.) (Shut up.)
Well, you’re probably wondering how I got here, right? Come on, the curiosity must be killing you! And if it’s not, you’re stuck here anyway, so suck it up, buttercup.
It all started with a truck, as these things tend to. Not a nasty, dirty, wet truck filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy construction truck with whatever construction trucks have. No, this was a propane truck. And well, for me, that meant death.