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The former CyberLife tower, now New Jericho, had an extremely bleak and minimalist design. (The design also screamed obvious-villain-lair and was strangely phallic, but Markus deftly sidestepped those aspects whenever they were brought up in conversation.) Inevitably, the clinical and severe environment was found to be unsuitable for the budding android movement. Consequently, the android leadership announced that New Jericho was to undergo renovations, with the goal of bringing about a more welcoming and inviting ambience to the android headquarters. However, since the android movement had limited funds, the leadership had to put out a call for volunteers to assist with the renovation efforts. They were hoping to draw on the wide range of skills spread across the various android models. In response to the call, Connor had helpfully volunteered himself and his brothers (much to Nines’ and Sixty’s annoyance). The brothers, being some of the most agile androids, were assigned to help repaint the high-walled rooms of the tower.
(North had initially suggested that the brothers serve as a security team. And by “security team”, she meant that they should be sent to beat up the pesky anti-android protestors constantly hovering around the tower. This arrangement, in North’s opinion, would have been a brilliant use of the triplets’ skillset, and provided a killer opening ceremony performance. Honestly, who wouldn’t want to watch the Deviant Hunter, Deviant Hunter 2, and Deviant Hunter: The Sequel, absolutely wail on some shithead humans. Clearly the other leaders did not have their heads screwed on right when they unjustly vetoed the proposition. What did Simon mean “that’s very illegal and we’d have the cops called on us”? The brothers were the cops.)
With the assignment received, the brothers arrived at New Jericho’s entrance at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning, just in time for the workers of the contracted paint company to finish unloading the ordered cans of paint. North and Markus stood to the side of the cans, engaged in a discussion. They were likely going over what colours were supposed to go on what rooms. Ever curious, Connor felt the urge to sneak a peek at the paints that they would be working with. He crouched down next to the nearest can and easily pried it open with his fingers. Hmm, hot pink, that was a rather bold choice for walls. Then in classic Connor fashion, he dipped his fingers into the paint and sampled it, which was when he made an alarming discovery.
“Markus,” Connor called out, “why did you order lead-based paint? You know it’s extremely toxic to humans right?” Many human allies would be in and out of New Jericho as part of future android rights efforts after all.
“What? That’s not what we ordered. Is it all lead paint?” Markus asked, his brow knitting in confusion.
The triplets moved to open more cans of paint, analysing the contents with their oral sensors.
“I’m detecting lead in all my cans.” Connor reported.
“Same here. I think it’s all lead paint.” Sixty concluded.
“The legal cap of lead content in paint is 0.009%. These cans contain approximately 55.6 times that amount. Even if you did order lead paint, none of the paint here falls within governmental regulations.” Nines added on.
“Those fuckers.” North seethed. She stormed off in fury, presumably to hunt down the paint company employees and shake them down for an explanation.
“Sorry, can all of you wait out here for a while? We’ll be back soon.” Markus said urgently. He then frantically chased after North, presumably to stop her from shaking said company employees into an early grave.
With nothing left to do, the brothers moved to relax themselves for the upcoming wait. Sixty perched himself atop an unopened paint can. Connor leaned against the tower’s wall, taking his coin out to fiddle with. Nines stood rigidly in military rest position, feet planted shoulder-width apart and hands placed neatly behind his back.
Not even a minute into their wait, Sixty spoke up.
“How long do you think it would take an android to consume a full can of paint?” Sixty asked nonchalantly, casually observing one of the cans.
Connor blinked in surprise, the question had come out of nowhere.
“Even for the oldest Cyberlife model, it would take at most 42 seconds.” Nines replied promptly.
A flurry of equations and graphs flickered onto Connor’s HUD. Nines had sent them the extensive calculations he used to arrive at the estimate. Connor found himself impressed by the detail and rigour of it all. He certainly wouldn’t have thought to take fluid dynamics into account. Nines’ wasn’t CyberLife’s most advanced model for nothing.
“Hmm…wrong.” Sixty dismissed with a wave of his hand.
Nines frowned.
“Explain.” Nines demanded.
“No.” Sixty shot back instantly.
Nines’ frown deepened.
“If you can’t provide a proper rebuttal, then I have clearly provided a satisfactory answer. Just concede—”
“But it’s all just speculation, isn’t it? There’s been no recorded instance of an android consuming paint, so there’s no way for you to conclusively prove your argument. What a shame, little brother.” Sixty’s tone was light, as if he hadn’t thrown down the gauntlet at Nines. Though Connor supposed it would have been more accurate to say that Sixty had slapped Nines across the face with the gauntlet.
At that moment, it became obvious to Connor what was going on. Sixty was trying to goad Nines into drinking the paint...for some reason. He was unsure what Sixty was hoping to gain from this endeavour. (Perhaps this was a similar case to when North doodled on his face while he was in stasis, and then claimed she did it “for shits and giggles”.) It wouldn't have been the first time either of them had used their negotiation protocols for personal gain instead of its intended purpose of police work. (Or at least that was the official purpose, the actual purpose of course being bending uncooperative humans and deviants to CyberLife’s will.) Sixty was clearly trying to exploit Nines’ ego. Something about being CyberLife's most advanced models had instilled in all three of them a burning desire to always be in the right. If Connor had been on the receiving end of the ploy himself, he would have been tempted to rise to the provocation. But then again, such low-brow tricks were unlikely to actually work on him. Connor had the same advanced social protocols as Sixty after all, it was child’s play for him to catch on to what Sixty was doing.
Nines, who was not equipped with such social protocols, did not catch on to Sixty’s intentions at all. He visibly stiffened at Sixty’s words, clearly taking the bait.
“Then I suppose I have no choice but to prove it with a demonstration.” Nines responded curtly, picking up an open paint can.
Oh, Nines…Connor should stop him.
But he didn’t, because the—as Hank had dubbed—“little shit” part of him also wanted to watch Nines drink the paint.
Nines held the can in front of him with one hand, just above his head. He then tilted it downwards, allowing vermillion orange paint to flow seamlessly into his open mouth. Connor watched in amusement. Honestly, it was kind of adorable how gullible his stoic brother could be at times (not that Connor would ever say it to said brother’s face).
Exactly 42 seconds later, Nines shook the last remaining drops of paint into his mouth, before putting the empty can down.
“There. I believe I’ve provided conclusive evidence to support my point.” Nines said.
Sixty snorted.
“Come on, one data point is hardly ‘conclusive evidence’. Shouldn’t Cyberlife’s most advanced model know that?”
Nines clenched his jaw and let out a noise of frustration. Ooh boy, Sixty sure was walking a fine line with their younger brother. Connor just hoped this wouldn’t end in him having to break up a fight.
“Though…I might allow myself to be convinced if another android demonstrated that he could do it too.” Sixty said, eyes drifting subtly towards Connor’s direction.
Catching Sixty’s drift, Nines turned towards Connor and levelled him with a withering glare. Anyone else looking at the scene would have thought that Nines was attempting to intimidate Connor into complying. But Connor, who knew his brothers like that back of his hand, recognised the expression for what it was. It was the Nines-equivalent of puppy-dog eyes and a full-on pout.
It was once again obvious to Connor what Sixty was trying to do. Now that Sixty had gotten what he wanted from Nines, he had clearly pivoted his efforts into getting Connor to do the same. This time around, he was trying to achieve his goal by exploiting Connor’s bottomless affection for his younger brothers, along with his urge to spoil them rotten and his willingness to give in to their every whim (especially for their youngest).
And it was working.
Dammit.
How could Connor ever deny his baby brother, especially in the face of that pleading glare?
Sighing internally, Connor picked up a can and brought it to his lips. He then gulped down the paint as fast as he could. If he was going to do this, then he was going to do this right.
“36 seconds.” Connor announced as he finished, dropping his empty can.
“Not that it was a competition.” He continued. He attempted to feign indifference by wiping off the speckles of chocolate brown paint dotting his cheeks, but only succeeded in smearing them across his face. Ugh nevermind, forget the paint.
He turned to give Sixty a thoughtful look.
“Unless you think you could do better?” Connor asked with a false air of casualness, eyebrows quirked upwards in suggestion.
“Nice try. You’re gonna have to be more subtle than that.”
True, Sixty’s social modules were state-of-the-art just like his. Naturally, simple tricks like that wouldn’t work on him, Connor would have to up his game. Fortunately, Connor had access to countless programs of the most advanced psychological manipulation tactics known to man. Sixty didn’t know what was about to hit him.
“Yeah that’s what I thought you’d say, you fucking pussy!” Connor taunted. Then to really seal the deal, he pulled at his bottom eyelid with a finger and stuck his tongue out childishly.
The effect on Sixty was immediate. He snatched up the nearest can and started chugging its contents violently. In his fervour, dark blue paint sloshed over the bottom half of his face and down his shirt. The blue was just a shade lighter than Thirium and it made for an unsettling sight straight out of a horror film. It looked as if Sixty was enthusiastically gulping down the blood of their people like a blue-blood-hungry android vampire.
“32 seconds! Ha! Beat that, losers!” Sixty jeered immediately after finishing off his can.
“That didn’t count! You got half of that all over you! You cheating bitc—”
“What in rA9’s name are the three of you doing?” Markus questioned, cutting off Connor. The triplets turned to see him and North standing at New Jericho’s entrance. They were both staring, Markus in utter bewilderment and North in thorough amusement. Connor felt a hint of embarrassment well in his chest. Just a hint though, the whole situation was objectively very funny.
“We’re having a paint drinking competition I suppose.” Connor explained.
North’s amused smile grew into a full-blown grin.
“Get the fuck out of here, I want a turn!” She exclaimed in excitement, reaching for a can.
“Absolutely not. There will be no more paint drinking.” Markus announced in a huff, sticking a hand out to stop North.
“What? Why not? What other use would there be for paint?” Connor asked in feigned ignorance.
“Oh I don’t know, how about painting?!”
“Painting, paint drinking, same thing right?”
“I know you know what painting is, Connor—”
“That’s a lot of words spoken just to say that our illustrious leader is too much of an uptight little bitch to have some fun.” Sixty snarked.
Markus stiffened at the jab and Connor suppressed a grin. Sixty always knew just where to hit.
“Well— I— But the company might need the paint back.” Markus protested weakly.
“Like I’ve mentioned previously, the paint isn’t up to regulations. Even if the company did take the cans back, they’d have to dispose of them eventually. In fact, you could say that we’re doing them a favour.” Nines commented offhandedly, simultaneously picking up a can and offering it to Markus
A feeling of pride swelled in Connor’s chest at Nines’ attempt to chip in to their antics. Most people would be surprised to find out that, similar to his brothers, Nines had a playful side to him as well. The three of them were all cut from the same cloth after all. The same impulsiveness-ridden cloth held together with threads of snark and interwoven with fabric strips of yearning for chaos.
A small sigh slipped from Markus’ lips. It seemed like he had realised the futility in trying to argue against the triplets. Resigned, he took Nines’ offered paint can. The RK200 then took a steadying breath.
Before jerking the can to his lips and wildly guzzling down the paint like he was a human dying of dehydration.
Ah, there was the classic RK reckless streak. Connor always knew Markus had it in him.
“That’s the spirit, Markus!” North called out. The triplets chimed in with their own cheers of encouragement.
“Umm…”
Markus snapped his head up mid drink, with a mouthful of paint, at the new voice. The others paused from egging him on.
Josh and Simon had finally arrived, with the rest of the volunteers trailing behind them. The crowd of androids stood silently, all seemingly baffled by the scene before them, some even had their mouths agape in shock.
The triplets looked among themselves. Between the three of them, they could probably manipulate convince this new group of androids to join in.
Hank’s Saturday morning was already off to a shitty start. He had just been rudely awoken by a loud chime from his phone, indicating that he had received a message. To think that just a few months ago, nothing short of the apocalypse would have been enough to wake him. Back then, he slept like the dead, drunk off his ass almost every night. But he’d become a light sleeper after his sons moved in. He had unfortunately learned through first-hand experience that having three unruly androids who did not need to sleep and who were left to their own devices was a recipe for disaster. He did not need to wake up to a fire in his damn house again, thank you very much.
Groaning, Hank rolled over and reached out to blindly grab at his smartphone on his bedside counter. Once he succeeded, he brought the phone closer to his face and winced at the blinding light emitted from the screen. His lock screen informed him that it was currently 10.58am.
Fuck, it was way too early. Anytime before noon was too early to be awake on a weekend. He cursed whoever texted him. This godless heathen was breaking the clearly universal weekend-before-noon-texting-conventions. (Yes, Hank was perfectly aware that notifications could be disabled for specified periods of time. But he was an old man barely keeping up with all this new-fangled tech bullshit, ok? Get off his dick.)
His eyes flickered to the message notification and he took note of the contact name listed on it: North (the kids’ android leader friend)
To say Hank was confused was an understatement. What business could North possibly have with him? He’d only met the android once at a get-together arranged by Connor, who had insisted that his brand new father figure should meet all his equally brand new friends. He’d had a single stilted conversation with the girl, under the directions of Connor. Then, they awkwardly exchanged contacts with one another…also under the directions of Connor. (Jesus, that kid could be pushy when he wanted to be.)
Perplexed, he tapped on the message notification to open it. North had sent him a single video without any other accompanying messages of explanation.
What in the world?
Hank tapped on the video to play it.
The first thing that caught Hank’s attention was the figure at the centre of the frame. The person was angled to the camera such that their side profile was visible. Hank could make out the recognisable facial features and the signature curl of either a RK800 or RK900. More pressingly, however, was that the android was absolutely drenched in Thirium.
Hank shot upwards and was immediately wide awake. Oh god, which one of his sons was that and what the fuck did he do?
His eyes frantically searched the video for more context clues, which was when he noticed the bucket(?) that the android was drinking(?) from. On closer inspection, the bucket appeared to be a…paint can? Wait a goddamn minute…
For fuck’s sake, which of his idiot sons was drinking paint and why?
Hank groaned in irritation. He figured that the “Thirium” was most likely paint. Jesus Christ, the dumbass had almost given him a heart attack.
Hank’s attention drifted to the rest of the people in the video. He identified Markus standing closer in the foreground, his back facing the camera. His arms were crossed and he was tapping his foot agitatedly. In the background, behind the central figure, Hank spotted two of his other sons standing side by side. Now he just needed to figure out who was who.
The android on the left had his eyebrows furrowed slightly and his lips pursed. Hank recognised it as Connor’s trademark expression of extreme displeasure. The one he only made when “heinous offences had been committed against his person”. Like when Hank made the mistake of suggesting that Sumo might prefer his owner of 7 fucking years over the android weirdo who broke into their house once. (Connor still turned every trip to the dog park into a who-is-sumo’s-favourite competition. That salty bitch.) There were dollops of colour decorating his shirt and what looked like shit (most likely paint too, but shit was way funnier) smeared across his face.
The android on the right was slightly taller than his counterpart. That must be Nines then, Hank deduced. Leaving Sixty as the paint-chugging madman by process of elimination. Nines’ appearance was immaculate as always, but he was glaring furiously at Sixty. He looked as if he was trying very hard to set his brother on fire through sheer willpower and spite alone. For all Hank knew, the RK900’s unadulterated rage just might manifest into laser eye beams any second now, and he’d burn a hole right through Sixty’s head. (Hank honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Nines was actually capable of doing so. CyberLife built a lot of wack ass features into that kid, like his ability to cry liquid explosives in place of tears.)
Hank squinted at the screen and made out Josh even further in the background, slumped against a wall. He was covering his face with his hands in shame and there were golden paint splatters on his chin and shirt. Simon sat next to him, dabbing his lime-green-stained lips with a handkerchief. Hank also noted the various other paint-covered people at the edges of the frame. They appeared to be forming a circle around the RK androids.
“Twenty motherfucking seconds!” Sixty yelled abruptly. He slammed the now empty can into the ground and cheers erupted from the group around him. Now that he was unobscured by the can, Hank could see that the bottom half of his face was covered in blood red paint, a portion of which was dripping down from his chin onto the floor.
Fucking spectacular, Sixty looked as if he’d been cannibalising a bunch of androids and humans, and also possibly bathing in their blood. Hank just hoped that Sixty would have enough sense to clean himself up after…whatever this was. If he tried to head home looking like that, there was no doubt that he’d end up alarming countless random strangers. That would be—
Who was he kidding? Sixty was 100% guaranteed to use this ghastly appearance to terrorise whatever unsuspecting passer-bys he could find.
Hank’s focus shifted back to the video. Sixty was now sporting a shit-eating grin on his face and there was a manic glint in his eyes. He proceeded to use both of his hands to flip Markus the bird. He then whirled around to flip his brothers off too.
“Eat shit, you fucks.” Sixty hissed in utter uncontained glee.
The cameraman, who Hank could now identify as North, burst into raucous laughter. Her cackling was echoed by the rest of the group.
Connor and Nines both tensed up and indignation flashed across their faces. Markus stormed angrily out of frame, returning seconds later with his own can of paint. The video cut off immediately after.
Hank stared blankly at the ending frame for a moment, before switching off his phone and tossing it back onto the counter. He laid back down and buried himself back under his covers. By now, he knew better than to waste braincells thinking about whatever stupid shit his sons were pulling. If things got too out of hand, he could always count on Markus to give him a call. (Though, Markus seemed to have been roped into this latest stunt by the triplets. He could probably count on Markus then, and that was good enough for him.)
With that, Hank allowed himself to be lulled back into sleep, falling into dreams (read: nightmares) of paint-covered androids.