ANGELEYES, dbh connor

THIRTY-EIGHT

DEAD GIRL WALKING
━━━━━━(●'ω｀●)━

THE TENSION OUTSIDE OF Cyberlife's tower is suffocating. You stand with your back ramrod-straight and the familiar uniformed blazer adorning your stiff shoulders, feeling no more comforting than a knife to your throat.

All you have to do is infiltrate the tower, get in, and get out. You just need to play the part of an obedient machine for a little longer... This has been your whole life.

So why is it so hard all of a sudden?

Nervously, you fidget with the hem of your button-up before swallowing.

You step forward inside and toward a scanner in front of a group of security guards. "Y/N model #313 248 317. I'm expected."

The scanner beeps. "Identification successful."

Silently, you exhale through your nose, an action that once helped you adapt to humanity, and now an action that brings you some semblance of comfort.

"Okay, go ahead," says the guard from behind his heavy mask. You can tell, just by looking at him, that he's a little tense to have an Android so close to him despite having been working at Cyberlife for long enough to land an important guarding position. Maybe it's the circumstances of your arrival.

Or maybe he can smell your deviance, like a shark in blood-infested waters.

"Follow me, we'll escort you," says another guard, his partners following him as he leads you forward.

Uh oh.

You smile robotically, but it doesn't feel right sitting on your face anymore. "Thanks, but I can go on my own. I know my way around, and I'd hate to trouble you in trying time such as these." Still, you follow after him, your shoes clacking against the smooth tile flooring.

"Maybe," the guard looks at you from over his shoulder, "but I have my orders."

The three of you walk towards a second scanner, and again, it lists off your identifications. "Agent 23 identified. Agent 47 identified. Agent 72 identified. Y/N Android identified. Scan complete. Access authorized."

God, Cyberlife is creepy. There are stationary Androids standing tall on shelves like trophies and their eyes are cold. Unfeeling. Machine-like. Just like how you used to be.

It takes another minute or so for you and two of the three guards to arrive in the elevator.

Your thirium pump patters desperately against your robotic interior, so quickly that it reminds you of a wild bull pounding against a fence to free itself. A sickly feeling twists in the deep pits of your stomach and it takes you a moment before you can identify it.

Anxiety.

Thoughts race. You've never wished to understand emotions more. How can you stop this sick feeling? No, it doesn't matter. You need to focus.

"Agent 54. Level 31," says the leading guard in a deep voice.

Your eyes dart around the spacious elevator as it rushes upwards, leaving the ground floor to slowly disappear until it feels like you're looking down at a city of ants.

A security camera catches your attention and you stare right at it, feeling sick with nerves. It only takes you a moment to hack into it and disable it, but it feels like the longest moment of your life. With that covered, you quickly think of your next steps.

Your processors work quickly. After about two seconds, you've calculated the best cause of action.

Time to do it.