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English
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Published:
2018-06-27
Updated:
2019-12-10
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11,950
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4/8
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Fixer-Upper

Summary:

Somewhere along the line, the expensive androids had stopped looking like robots and started looking like people—people with stiff, artificial expressions and glassy, dead eyes. This was the most realistic specimen Sasha had ever seen.

“Totally gonna be super normal, cutting you up for scrap,” Sasha announced to the empty room, her hands on her hips. “Not gonna feel like a serial killer at all.”

--

Incomplete; abandoned

Notes:

The first installment of what will be a series of fic by me and art by @corporatestooge! They had the idea, I like androids and Rhys/Sasha, everything kind of spiralled from there. We've both been playing a lot of Detroit: Become Human, what can I say.

Edit December 2021: I want to be upfront that I am unlikely to return to this fic, as after several years and writing a 95k monster of a multichapter for Borderlands, I think it is time for me to move on. But I like what exists of this little story, so I am leaving it up in case anyone else does too and wants to revisit it sometime. Thank you for your support!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”

“A hundred—?! You insult me. This is state-of-the-art. This is Hyperion tech. The retail value—”

“Oh, please.” Fiona scoffed, the puff of breath blowing aside her red-streaked hair. “Don’t talk to me about retail value, that’s a hunk of scrap and you know it.”

The man folded his arms. His big, beefy elbows level were with Fiona’s face as she leaned, disinterested, on the counter. “I’m not taking a penny less than eight hundred.”

“You’re dreaming.” Fiona flicked a piece of dirt from under her nail. “It’s damaged to all hell. It needs at least six hours of work to salvage into parts for resale. You don’t have time for that.” She pushed back the brim of her hat to meet his eyes, frank and unimpressed. “I’ll give you one fifty, and I’ll be doing you favour.”

“Six hundred, or get out of my store.”

“It’s useless,” Fiona continued. “Its charging port’s been ripped out, for Christ’s sake.”

The man glowered at her. “The charging port has not been…” But his voice died as he looked over the counter.

He frowned; Fiona smirked.

“Four fifty,” he said. “Final offer.” He leaned over the counter, one meaty hand extended for hers. “And only because you’re Felix’s girl.”

There it is, she thought. An old tactic, one Fiona knew well. Invoke a familiar name. Get under the skin. Recall affection. Stir grief.

Fiona’s strings were not so easy to tug. She smiled like a shark. “Tell you what: throw in that Atlas rifle scope, and I’ll give you three seventy-five.”


The bell that chimed customer arrival was barely audible over the sound of Sasha’s tools. By the time she set down her blowtorch and called “coming!”, heavy footsteps had already made their way from the shop entrance back to the workshop. Irritated, she pulled off her goggles and rolled out from her workbench.

“This is an employee-only area, which the sign says very clear… oh.” Her anger dulled as she saw who was standing in the door. “Hey, Fi.”

“Hey sis,” said Fiona. “Brought you something.” She slid a bag off her shoulder and onto an already-full desk, then gestured forward the enormous man looming behind her. “Tector, just set it down in the corner over there.”

Fiona’s hired hand was so tall he had to stoop through the doorway. He trudged across the room, garbage bag slung over his back like Santa, then dumped it on the floor with a thud. Sasha raised her eyebrows.

“Thanks, big guy.” Fiona reached up to pat him on the shoulder, handing over a twenty dollar bill as she did. Tector grunted in appreciation as he left.

“What the hell is that?” asked Sasha, staring at the garbage bag Tector left behind.

Fiona shrugged. “Few hundred bucks, hopefully.” She jerked her chin in its direction. “Take a look.”

Like a cat bringing home dead birds, Fiona played cool about finds she was most proud of, revelling in the suspense of it more than the items usually warranted. When they were younger, it was a game, a way of seeking Felix’s approval without ever asking for it or admitting what it meant to her. The two of them would come home from a scavenging trip, Sasha bursting with excitement as she showed off her loot, only to be blown out of the water by some piece Fiona tossed onto the table like she’d found it on the floor. Felix would gush, Fiona would smirk, and Sasha would fume.

Felix was gone now, but Fiona still couldn’t help herself.

Wiping her greasy fingers off on the rag tied around her hip, Sasha knelt by Tector’s bag, curiosity piqued in spite of herself. She wrestled with the drawstrings, peeked inside, and froze.

“Holy shit,” said Sasha.

“Uh-huh,” said Fiona, and Sasha heard the smirk in her sister’s voice.

The android in the bag was eerily lifelike—or at least it might have been, were it not for the huge holes revealing the wiring in its eye socket, its arm socket, the side of its head.

“How much did you pay for this?” asked Sasha, tugging the bag down past its shoulders. Its clothes were both ugly and torn, and the whole thing was caked in mud.

“Just under four,” said Fiona. “Pretty beat up, I know, but there’s gotta be some bits in there worth something, right? Figured you could get eight or nine, easy.”

Sasha shook her head. “I dunno, Fi, this stuff doesn’t go like it used to. That data-slicer’s been sitting on the shelf for six months—”

“Yeah, but this looks like a newer model. Plus, it’s Hyperion.”

“That’s even worse!” groaned Sasha. “Hyperion tech is obsolete the day it’s sold, that’s the entire stupid racket, their stuff is designed to—”

“Okay, okay, I get it! Sheesh.” Fiona sniffed. “You don’t appreciate anything I do for you.”

Sasha ignored her, inspecting the side of the android’s head with a frown. “Charging port’s missing. If I can’t power it up and see what still runs—”

“Oh, yeah. About that.” Fiona dug into her jacket pocket, then tossed her sister a small metal cylinder, smirking. “It, uh. May have fallen out at the store.”

Sasha clucked her tongue. “You’re gonna get in trouble.”

“Can’t get in trouble if I don’t get caught.”

Sasha narrowed her eyes. “I’m serious. We don’t need more trouble.”

“I’m fine. Stop worrying.”

The edge in Fiona’s voice was a warning. For once, Sasha decided to heed it, and bit her tongue as she tucked the port into her pocket. Fiona crouched down beside her sister and leaned in to inspect the android, nose wrinkled.

“God, these things get creepier every year,” said Fiona. She poked its remaining eye.

Sasha slapped her hand away. “No bothering the merchandise.” She scanned the crowded workshop, nibbling her lip in concentration. “I don’t have time to work on this right now, I’ve got stuff to finish. Help me get it over to that table.”


Fiona was gone the next day, as she usually was, off making deals and scouting for scraps. Left to run the shop by herself, Sasha’s days filled up quickly. There was always something: nosy customers who asked questions and bought nothing, petty theft, the endless stream of minor repair jobs that took more effort than they were worth.

The android sat untouched for the next week before Sasha found time to deal with it. The shop was closed, but her list of tasks was no shorter than when she’d opened that morning. Armed with a strong black coffee, a bowl of corn chips and a blasting radio, Sasha got to work.

“Creepy” was an unforgiving word, but as Sasha studied the android sitting lifelessly on her work table, it was hard to disagree. Somewhere along the line, the expensive androids had stopped looking like robots and started looking like people—people with stiff, artificial expressions and glassy, dead eyes.

The trend had waned. People preferred robots that looked like robots.

This was the most realistic specimen Sasha had ever seen. Tiny imperfections dotted its artificial pores. Its hair and skin felt real to the touch. The effect made the bits of wire and circuitry poking out of its wounds more unnerving.

“Totally gonna be super normal, cutting you up for scrap,” Sasha announced to the empty room, her hands on her hips. “Not gonna feel like a serial killer at all.”

She made it as far as wiping off its face with a soapy cloth before self-consciousness about giving a robot a sponge bath won out and she tossed that idea aside. She pulled the charging port out of her box of odd ends, blew off the dust and slid it back into the empty slot on the android’s neck.

“Well, let’s see what you can do with a bit of juice,” she said. She connected the charging port to a power source and went back to her other work.


Sasha was two coffees deep and thirty minutes into fixing the scope on an old Atlas sniper rifle when her concentration was broken by a man’s voice saying, “Hello?”

Heart in her throat and reacting on instinct, Sasha whipped around, rifle held aloft.

Sitting up on her worktable, long legs dangling over the edge, was the android.

“Holy shit.” Sasha exhaled slowly, adrenaline dissipating. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” It smiled awkwardly, hand raised in surrender, or maybe in greeting. Its lone brown eye was trained on the muzzle of her gun. “Are you going to shoot me?”

Even the voice was realistic, fluent and smooth without the robotic lilt Sasha had grown accustomed to from service droids. That was… weird. That was definitely a little weird.

The android made a noise that could only be construed as clearing its throat and pointed at her gun with one finger.

“Huh? Oh, no, this doesn’t even work.” Sasha set the rifle down behind her without looking and fumbled blindly for the radio volume, eyes transfixed by the android across the room. “Unlike you, apparently.”

“Apparently.” It looked around the room and then down at itself, taking it all in. “Can I ask you some questions? Like... who are you, and where am I?”

“Right!” She jumped to her feet, years of experience as a hostess warring with the uncharted territory she found herself in now. “My name’s Sasha—”

“Hi, Sasha.”

“...Hi,” she said uncertainly. “Um, anyway, this is my shop. You’re in my shop.” She waved one hand broadly. “Scrap, repair, salvage, that sort of thing.”

She wiggled her fingers, an unenthusiastic display of jazz hands. The store was a burden more often than a point of pride. It certainly wasn’t much to look at in the dead of night, with her tools strewn everywhere, the floor unswept, greasy rags and half-finished projects on every shelf.

The android smiled at her anyway. “Nice to meet you, Sasha.” Its legs swung back and forth as they dangled over the table. “So... which is it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Scrap or repair. You said you do both.” The android gestured to the frayed wires sticking out of its right shoulder. “I’m guessing I’m here for one of the two.”

“Oh!” Sasha’s eyes widened and she shoved her hands in her pockets to stop from fidgeting. “Um, I. Uh.”

The android watched her expectantly, pleasant smile still in place.

“Repair, obviously,” she said, hoping the flush in her cheeks wasn’t as visible as it felt. “I could really use another pair of hands around here.” That last bit, at least, was true, and she leaned into it, lingered on it the way Felix had taught her. “It’s just me, most of the time, and I can’t keep up, so…”

“Oh.” If Sasha hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn it breathed a sigh of relief. “I can do that! I’m pretty good with tech stuff.” It paused and glanced down itself again, surveying the damage. “Normally, that is.”

“Right.” Sasha backed away. “I, uh, just need to grab some parts, I’ll be right back.”

She spun around, wincing once she did so. Halfway through the door—

“Rhys, by the way.”

Sasha paused, hand on the doorframe. “Sorry?”

“My name. It’s Rhys. In case you were wondering.” Rhys’ smile faltered. “Which you might not have been. But—”

“Hi, Rhys.” She smiled over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you, too.”


Sasha spent a good two minutes mentally reprimanding herself as she collected spare parts.

Fiona was going to kill her. What was Sasha going say? Oh, hey, Fi. Turns out that robot’s not as broken as I thought it was, and I can’t hack up something that just introduced itself to me, so I guess we have an employee now. An unpaid one. I guess we have a robot intern.

Yeah. That’d go great. Fiona’d love that.

Still, Sasha reasoned, used android parts were getting harder to sell, and she could use the help around the store. Running things by herself meant never-ending tasks, perpetual exhaustion and a non-existent social life. If anything could alleviate some of that…

Besides, it—he—looked so real. What was she supposed to do? March back in there and ask him to shut off, please, so she could carve him open and remove the working bits?

Sasha grabbed the long-ignored data slicer off the shelf and headed back to the workshop.

By the time she returned, the android (Rhys, she reminded herself) had unplugged himself from the wall and removed his shirt, now curiously inspecting his damaged shoulder. Sasha approached slowly, frowning. With his shirt off, it was easier to see how violently the missing arm had been removed.

“That looks awful,” she said frankly. “Does it hurt?”

Rhys looked at her, lips quirking in amusement.

“Okay, stupid question,” she amended. She rolled to her tiptoes to inspect it, ghosting her finger over the ridge of exposed metal. “Jeeze. What happened, anyway?”

“I…” Rhys paused. “I don’t remember.”

“Not surprising. You’re pretty banged up.” Sasha hummed. “You remember who owned you or anything?”

Rhys gave it some thought before shaking his head.

She shrugged. “Whatever. As long as no rich asshole’s gonna break down my door demanding their robot back.”

“No,” said Rhys quietly, “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“Well, good.” Sasha set the data slicer onto the table next to her toolbox and a spare ECHO eye, then pushed Rhys down onto a stool. Dragging a magnifying light into position, she took a seat beside him. He sat stock-still while she inspected him, though she could see his eye straining to watch her.

It wasn’t the most comfortable way to work.

“Arm socket’s all fucked up,” she said after a moment. “Gonna take me a bit to fix.” She jerked her thumb towards the table. “You can check out your sweet new gear if you like,” she added, hoping he was receptive enough to catch the irony.

To her surprise, Rhys reached for the eye first. “It’s blue.”

“Yep.”

“The other one’s brown,” he said.

“I saw that.”

“I’ll have two different ones.”

Sasha snorted as she pulled on her goggles. How had Fiona found her an android that was vain? “Yeah, sorry dude, limited selection.”

Rhys didn’t react to that. He was quiet another moment, studying the spare part in his hand. “Like Handsome Jack,” he said eventually.

Sasha groaned loudly, and rolled her eyes for good measure. “Oh, gross. You don’t remember getting your eyeball ripped out but you remember Handsome Jack?”

“I’m Hyperion,” he said, as though it were all the explanation needed.

Maybe it was.

Sasha pulled a face. “Hyperion propaganda, hardwired in. Great.” She sent him a pointed look. “Fair warning, you sing any Hyperion radio jingles at me and I’m throwing you in the trash compactor.”

Rhys set the eye back on the table, his movement and expression suddenly stiff. “Understood.”

Sasha sighed. “Hey.” She nudged his foot with her own, then immediately felt weird for having done so. “I’m just kidding.” She paused in consideration. “Well, mostly.”

“Okay,” was all he said. Sasha imagined she saw a flicker of a smile.

Tongue wedged between her teeth in concentration, Sasha focused on trimming some frayed wires, lost in the faraway noise of her long-forgotten radio. She tapped her foot to the beat while she worked, grateful that androids were very good at sitting still.

Rhys didn’t speak again until the clean-up job was nearly done, a startling reminder that he wasn’t as inanimate as the items she was used to working on.

“Thank you, by the way,” he began. “For fixing me.” He smiled down at her; Sasha thought it was a much sweeter smile than any Hyperion machine ought to be capable of. “I appreciate it.”

She ignored the shiver that ricocheted down her spine. It was late, and she was tired. She grinned back.

“Don’t mention it; you don’t know what it’s like to work here.” She set down her tools and extended a hand to shake his. “Welcome to the team, Rhys.”