Rk900 One-Shots

horror

She rested her hands on her lap, picking at the skin around her fingernails and at the pads of her fingertips. She wasn't nervous. She was scared. She had no reason to be nervous at all. Every reason to be scared out of her mind. Out of every single person in Detroit, she was the one to know a calculated murderer. Every single time they killed, she could've been next. Every time.

Yet, why did it have to be her?

She had to keep her body busy, otherwise, her mind would start racing and thinking thoughts that could scare her. Even further than she already was. Her leg bounced lowly and rhythmically. A simple rhythm that matched a song she listened to on the car ride to this station. To keep her from spilling any blood —because she saw enough back at her house — she brought one of her hands up to the grey table in front of her and started to drum the raw pads of her fingers.

She had to look, to a certain degree, insane or somewhere close.

Her clothes were ragged and wrinkled, some places had holes and rips from their grabbing. Dried blood covered bandages were covering her forearms and thighs. Some blue blood was starting to fade from her hands and alongside the stains on her thighs. Her hair was in a neat ponytail though, some strands out of the black elastic from when she was pinned.

She heard the door slide open, a flinch radiating through her body and out to the ends of her fingers and toes.

She slowly brought her eyes to look at the person walking into the room. It was a tall man in a fitted black suit. His suit jacket was entirely black, shifting and conturing to his every move. A color matching button-up and tie, the former looking to be tailored to his size. Her eyes flitted to the silver tie clip, contrasting his black attire. His dark chocolatey hair was swept gently to the side, a few strands over his forehead. While he walked to the side of the table to look through the case file, she glanced at his polished black dress shoes. They were large, but did make sense to his other proportions. He was an all around big person. Having to top out at a couple inches over six foot.

Everything about this man screamed authority.

Except for the fact that he wasn't a man. He was an android. Which only made him more intimidating. He knows everything he needs to know to solve this case without any hindrance. He knows every single outcome to every situation.

His LED was the thing that gave it away. She was genuinely surprise there wasn't anything on his suit to signify he was an android. No bright turquoise band around his bicep. No triangle on his breast pocket.

As he stopped, the clicking of his shoes ceased and she was reminded of why she was here.

She sunk in her seat a little further, turning her focus onto her hands. She didn't know why she was the one being interrogated, she wasn't the killer. Did they know she wasn't?

In the corner of her eye, she studied the android.

He closed the file and moved it in front of the chair he was going to be sitting in. Soon enough, he walked over and gracefully lowered himself into the seat. Clearing his throat, he locked eyes on her, "Do you recognize this android?"

He took out a couple photos and turned them around so she could get a better look. They were of Parker, her android. One was a picture of him alone, up against a white background with a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. The other was a picture of him from the perspective of a security camera — by the looks of the quality — in an unknown area.

She nodded her head and brought the first photo closer to her, to get a better look at it. She wanted to remember what he looked like when he didn't seem crazy. "Yeah, that's Parker."