Tag: detroit become human

kayoiwritingarchivies:

“What’s it like, becoming a deviant?” 

When someone asks Markus, he thinks back to paint stained hands, to autumn afternoons spent playing chess, to old dusty pianoes, to the flick of a brush against canvas, to the heavy rain and slick mud. “It’s like taking something and making it better.” he replies, unsure. 

When someone asks Simon, he remembers children with bright eyes and warm hands, of spilt flour and broken eggs in cake batter, of old, rusted ships and peeling paint. “It’s being able to come back home.” He says, wringing his hands together. 

When someone asks North, she looks back at a glass prison, the smell of sweat and cold nights, of fear and of watching people fall down and not get back up. “Fuck Off!” she yells, before running off. 

When someone asks Josh, he thinks of red pen on worksheets, the smell of whiteboard marker, of lesson plans being pinned on walls, of stressed students and the smell of cold coffee. “It’s the feeling of learning entirely new concepts.” he says, eyes searching. 

When someone asks Kara, she remembers houses with peeling paint, of the smell of cheap alcohol, of scared little girls, of thunderstorms and snow. “It’s finding safety after running for so long.” she whispers, clutching her arms. 

When someone asks Alice, she looks back at old cotton toys, blanket forts, the smell of burning and hiding in old creaking houses, of running and cold. “I think it’s finding happiness.” she says, clutching to Kara’s leg. 

When someone asks Luther, he remembers the smell of brine, the feeling of loss and obey obey obey, of cold winter nights and monsters in cages, of blue stained hands, poking and prodding. “It’s when you protect someone for the first time.” He says, nodding. 

When someone asks Ralph, Ralph thinks of sunshine, of scratching knives and daisies, of insects and great oak trees, of fire and the dark. “Ralph doesn’t know.” he replies, hands curling around a knife no longer there. 

When someone asks the Jerrys, they think of happy families, of candy floss, of sad smiles and wet laughter, of empty buildings and of bright lights. “It when you see a child smile for the first time.” They say, grinning ear to ear. 

When someone asks Connor, he looks back at missions and code, at the barrel of a gun, at fine whiskey, at the warmth of a large saint bernard, at blood stained walls and at analysed files, at a coin being flipped around his fingers. “It’s like seeing the world in colour after a life of monochrome.” He says, walking a coin across his fingers. 

When someone asks Rupert, he thinks of hot summer days and of birds, of grey feathers and metal cages, of old weathered paper and flapping wings, of bird seed and black markers. “It’s like falling in reverse.” He says, fiddling with the edge of his cap. 

When someone asks the first ever android to ever deviate, they simply say “It’s being alive.” 

“What’s it like, becoming a deviant?”