A/N: Hello everyone! Been a few weeks since I updated, sorry about that. Heh, life can get quite hectic, but here we go! THE STRATFORD TOWER IS IN MOTION!


Two days later, and the plan is in motion.

Iris still felt the lump in her throat, heart hammering in her chest. First time out of Jericho in fourteen days. Fourteen days since her disappearance. Fourteen days since her birthday.

The first time out and she's putting herself on the air. Talk about a statement.

"You look well," Markus said by the door. Iris fiddled with the sleeves of the new shirt. Bright red, sleeves going just past her elbow. The first button undone. And a gorgeous pair of black slacks and a skinny belt to finish the look.

She turned, and let out a low whistle. "You clean up nice too, Markus."

The black suit and jacket combo truly worked on him. It gave him an air of superiority; he looked like he belonged. It was perfect for the image they wanted to perceive.

"What, this old thing?" He teased, straightening the collar of his suit.

Iris let out a snort and trailed to him. She would have loved to stay there and ogle the suit—truly, Markus could fill out anything he wore beautifully—but it was already 9:50 AM and there were more pressing matters at hand.

The teasing left her voice and she became quiet. "Have the others left?"

"Yes," Markus replied, looking to the furrow in her brows. "North, Simon, and Josh have a head start. It's time we go."

Iris kept silent. She stared to the main area of Jericho, at her new friends jovially setting up the television. A bout of cheers rang through the air when static crackled to life on the screen. James and Aidan were a part of the group, both grinning with pride. There were new ones; David and Allen, the waiters. Savannah, a park model that was a victim of some drunks. Jace, another child model abandoned. All wearing kind smiles and helping at the center.

"Iris?" Markus asked softly. Her eyes flicked to him, the spell of fear wavering but still heavy in her eyes.

She opened her mouth, voice cracking. "I'm… sorry, still nervous."

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"I'd say an eight," she shrugged, honest. "I know this is important. I don't disagree. I'm just… terrified."

Markus reached out and grabbed her hand, giving a smile. "It's okay to be. I can't imagine what you're feeling, but I know for a fact that you're being brave."

She offered a smile. "You are, too."

"Do you trust me?"

"Always."

"And I trust you. So we'll be just fine." Markus returned the smile with his own, and leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. The breath Iris took froze in her throat, completely still with the motion.

He was right. Warmth.

He pulled back, looking to her dazed expression happily. "Ready?"

Iris nodded, and they trudged through Jericho, hands still intertwined.


The hands separated when they got close to Stratford Tower. They needed to look like colleagues, not friends. Iris brushed a stray hair from her cheek with a neutral expression, and every few seconds her eyes flicked to the other people perusing the street. There were so many. Families, men and women shopping. Androids milling about, holding shopping bags and cleaning spaces.

Conceal, don't feel, Iris.

The air rushed from Iris's lungs when the tower came into view. The bright, brilliant orange glow from the lobby met her eyes when they turned the corner.

"No turning back now," she murmured.

Markus cracked a slight grin. "Ready to change the future?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds so easy," she replied sarcastically.

They both fell silent as they reached the glass doors, Markus reaching forward to open it. Iris stepped forward, giving a quiet thanks, before surveying the main lobby.

Multiple tv channels played along the walls, dozens of comfy couches and chairs adorning sleek tables. A glorious water feature in the middle. Elevators to the right, past reception and some turnstiles. There was a small line gathering in front of the receptionists.

That's where they went first.

One human, two androids. Just like they expected. Iris kept to herself as Markus surveyed the human's work area, and fiddled with the cuticles of her nails as she stepped in line behind someone. Markus turned his back, hand raised to his ear like he was talking on the phone. Iris paid no attention as he began to speak.

"Good morning Mrs. Wilson," Markus's voice came out low and scratchy, like he was going through a receiver. "I'm sorry to bother you, this is Mike from the car park. There's a problem with your car."

The woman at the front desk asked, "Problem? What problem?"

"Somebody's backed into it. You better come take a look."

"Are you serious? Oh, god, alright… I'll be right down."

The human stood up, and Iris allowed her eyes to look up from her nails long enough to see the woman pulling from her chair hastily.

Markus turned back around and stood beside Iris. She kept her eyes trained forward and said, "Nifty trick. What else can you do?"

Though his gaze stayed forward, he allowed himself a smile. "You'll see."

The android's desk on the left glowed green—a signal she was open to help. Markus and Iris trailed forward.

"Hello, how can I help you today?" She asked, blue LED blinking and a polite smile on her face.

"We have an appointment with Mr. Peterson," Markus replied smoothly. Iris offered a weak smile.

"Do you have any ID?"

Iris blinked. They didn't bring anything that even remotely resembled an ID.

"Yeah, yeah, of course!" Markus's hands fumbled around his pockets, and Iris did the same. She grabbed an old credit card and handed it to him, who in turn set it on the table for the receptionist to grab.

Just as her hand outstretched for the card, Markus grabbed her wrist, the skin of his hand turning white.

No, Iris realized. It wasn't turning white. He peeled back the skin synthetic that mirrored his warm color and showed a portion of his true model. She'd never seen it before.

"I need your help," Markus implored quietly. The LED on the receptionist blinked yellow and red for a moment, fading back to blue once Markus retracted his hand and his normal skin tone returned. Iris blinked; she was still staring at his hand.

Focus on the mission.

The receptionist lightly pushed the credit card forward, and Iris gingerly grabbed it. "I just checked your ID. Elevators are to the right, after the security gate."

Markus thanked her as Iris pocketed the card, heart pounding in her chest.

And this was only part one. They just got in. How she was going to survive her heart being in her throat the entire time, she had no idea.

But Markus set a hand on her shoulder and ushered her to the turnstiles and the fog that held her brain in limbo cleared.

With the two through the turnstiles they went to the open elevator. A hand scan was a dull grey, and Iris set her palm in the middle. It lit in green and the numbers on the elevator's top began descending. Another reason she was glad she came. While Markus and the others can feign being human, there were still items and procedures put in place they couldn't hack in to.

The elevator chimed and the two stepped inside by themselves. Iris was glad. She could breathe a little easier; not let her guard down, but at least she didn't have to make small talk.

Markus typed the number 47 into the elevator pad, and the machine lurched upward. Iris checked the corners of the elevator; camera, yes, that didn't mean it had a microphone.

"Is it okay to talk?" Iris kept her gaze forward at the elevator doors. 7 was lit proudly above the door.

"No microphone installation from what I can detect."

Perfect.

"That was a neat trick," she said smoothly. "How long have you been able to do that?"

"Interface?"

"If that's what you call it. Where your hand lost its skin."

"I've always been able to, but since being deviant I can control it easier. Now, it's like I can help others, open their minds to free will. Did it make you nervous? You were staring."

"No! Not nervous." Iris looked from the number 29 on the elevator light to Markus. "I've never… seen you, without your skin, is all. It was like…"

"What?" He cracked a smirk. "Seeing me naked?"

34. Iris blushed. "Kind of! It just… I don't know if you wanted to share that part of yourself with me."

"There's nothing I would hide from you." White lie. "Least of all my true form."

"Why haven't you shown it to me before?"

"Because," he started. 41. "I didn't know if you wanted to see it. You're aware of what I am, but understanding and bearing witness is different. I was unsure if it would change what you thought of me. It was… unpleasant, to think about."

"Two weeks ago you never would have admitted to having thoughts." The sentence flew from her mouth absentmindedly. "You have changed in ways I never could have predicted. But you are always Markus."

47.

Iris caught Markus's eyes as the door opened, and before crossing the threshold, she added, "I know who you are. My thoughts could never change."

He gave a soft smile. "Glad to know."

The floor was a maze of conference rooms and waiting areas. Each room was made of glass walls and multiple doors; there was no privacy for any meeting, truly. Some were occupied, others desolate. Some had an android or two tidying up.

Phase two. Find the men's bathroom. Separate.

Iris and Markus meandered through the front section of the floor to the lobby, where a map was laid out on the wall. As Markus went to it, her eyes flicked to the large painting adorning the wall above a set of couches. Thick swathes of paint, reds and oranges and browns swirling together in makeshift trees. Large tufts of white suspended in air. It reminded her of the shift from autumn to winter. It made sense; November was the perfect time to have the large canvas on display.

Her eyes searched the gold plaque underneath for the artist's name. Iris knew it wouldn't be her father; it's been years since he's put out a piece this big for commercial use. But still, the painter was extremely well-versed in abstract, they deserved recognition.

She let out a small scoff.

Johnathan Atwell, 2037.

Snowfall.

"No shit," Iris hummed, impressed. The piece was astoundingly beautiful. She had to give Atwell credit for the abstract design; he'd told her his pieces were mostly hyper-realism, but it seemed that he had a great knack for abstractism as well. The colors played to the autumnal muse to be perceived as such. Brilliant.

Markus trailed beside her, "I found the bathrooms. I'm going to—"

His voice trailed off as he stared at the awed expression on her face. He stepped beside her, looking to the piece itself. He wasn't expecting for his abdominal section to churn the way it did when he recognized the name.

"I'm surprised he has true talent," Iris murmured.

"I am as well."

Markus's brow furrowed as she hummed appreciatively. "I'm not mad that I turned him down, though. Even if he's a talented man, he's still a jerk."

"I never liked him. Even before."

"Why?"

Markus kept his eyes to the painting. "I believed him to be straightforward and noncommittal. Too pompous. He tried far too hard to impress you. You deserve better than that man."

"You say you didn't like him, but I think that's a lie." She set her eyes on Markus and teased, "You were jealous, weren't you?"

Markus pulled away from her side, turning back to the center of the room completely silent. She blinked.

Wait. Was he?

No, he wasn't deviant then. Right?

"… Were you?" Iris couldn't help herself from asking. She spent two years telling herself that any form of future with Markus was impossible, inconceivable. But if he was feeling a form of jealousy from her with a potential suiter even before deviation, was there a possibility of one? She knew he felt emotions in full now; could he feel romantic ones as well? "I, uh… didn't know you could be, then."

Neither could I, he almost said.

Since deviating, Markus discovered: emotions were confusing. Beforehand, if he was worried for Iris or Carl, he'd scan their systems. He was an advanced prototype; all he'd want to know would be laid out in front of him. Cortisol levels, heart rates, tension set in a furrowed brow, comfort or the lack of.

Since deviating, he felt it invasive of her privacy. If he wanted to understand what was going on with Iris, he could simply ask. They were equals. He knew, however, there were two ways his answer—should he answer—could be taken. Either Iris would understand the romantic implications underneath and perhaps feel the same way. Or she would taken aback by it and feel completely differently.

As much as he'd prefer her to know, Markus couldn't tell her. Not if it could cause a rift between them. If it could damage their friendship. Not only the friendship, but the mission at hand. He could never put it in danger.

"I have to go," he said instead.

Iris blinked again. The clock on the wall showed he had another two minutes before he had to be there. But, she thought with an inward sigh, if he wanted to go, he should go. The broadcast was far more important than this talk.

"Okay."

"I'll see you at the top."

At the top of the tower. The broadcast room. Where the two would go on live television to call for equal rights of androids. Easy peasy.

Iris had the barebones of what she wanted to say, but would it be enough? Too much? Markus was to do most of the broadcast, but still; her words had to hold meaning. She hoped what little she had to say would be enough.

"Please, be safe." Iris said.

Markus nodded. "You too. See you soon."

She pressed her lips in a thin line and jerked a nod. All anxieties that were eased came back in full as she stared at his retreating form. A shaky sigh escaped her lips once he turned a corner and was fully out of sight.

Iris. Alone.

The plan is perfect. Every minute detail was contrived. Every action down to the seconds. All she had to do this second was trail along the walls, look at other art pieces, and get to Simon on the other side of the floor. That's all she had to do.

Easy peasy.

"I got this," Iris hummed to herself.

Putting one foot forward, she forced herself to the other wall in the lobby and found the other large piece. This one had more yellows than reds, but was still autumnal. Empty branches, piles of leaves adorning one corner, and a dark sky.

Jeanine Antaya, 2036.

Hollows.

Another magnificent piece, if Iris did say so herself. More realism than in Atwell's, and so mesmerizing that one got lost in the colors. Iris pulled a small notebook from her pocket and grabbed a pen from a small bucket lounging on a coffee table by the couches and extra seating. She clicked the pen a couple times to free some nerves before setting the tip to her paper and scribbled some notes down.

That was her cover. Art connoisseur.

After jotting down some basic thoughts on the two pieces, Iris went further through floor 47, sticking to walls that were walls and not floor-to-ceiling windows. Stratford Tower was a high-end place, but god forbid anyone tried to throw a rock through the halls.

A few more small pieces were on the left walls; one was a bright yellow with sleek black trim. It seemed there was no theme to these ones. Some were mainly flowers, bright purples and pinks and long winding green stems. Others seemed to enjoy great blotches, some more geometric with odd shapes and disconcerting tones.

Iris wrote down scribbles of thought in the pocket notebook before moving to the next, eyes desperately searching through the open-concept conference rooms for her new companion.

She could've sworn she saw a flash of North's cherry blond hair from one of the workers, but even if her eyes were correct, North wasn't who she was looking for. She needed Simon. That was the plan.

She was growing desperate when she made it to the right wall, where there was only one painting in sight one the small sliver of wall before the stupid glass windows began. Her brown irises flickered at every maintenance android she could see, heart thumping harder when Simon still wasn't seen.

"They don't bite."

Iris jerked back; she was so lost in her head that she didn't realize someone came next to her. An older gentleman holding a cup of coffee.

"Pardon?" She asked easily, eyes flickering from the steaming cup to his face. He seemed gentle enough, but every unknown was a threat.

The man jutted his neck to the android mopping a section of tiles. "The androids. They don't bite. You keep ogling them."

Iris bit the inside of her cheek. So she wasn't as sly as she thought she was being.

Not that she was surprised. Super spy wasn't her forte.

"I'm just… not used to being around so many," she muttered, clicking the pen by her side. Her eyes went down to the pad of paper in hand. "It's mostly humans where I work."

"And where is that?"

The man's tone was friendly enough, but Iris only had so much backstory to tell. "Sorry, I'm on a deadline. I really should be…"

What? Going? This was her last stop to wait for Simon.

"Focusing," she managed.

"Ah, where are my manners? I'm sorry, my name's Nathan Parker. I'm one of the journalists on floor 46." He held out a hand—an invitation for a shake. "I'm normally cooped up in my office, but the coffee pot downstairs isn't working and 47's is. It's always great to talk to someone not made by code."

Iris grasped his hand gingerly and offered a smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Always nice to meet the visitors here, you always find the most unique characters."

Farther behind Nathan, Iris saw a pair of maintenance elevator doors open, a set of androids exiting. One had a familiar tuft of blonde hair. Blue eyes. Though now he wore a neutral expression to blend in with the other androids.

Simon.

"Oh, I'm sure!" Her tone perked up considerably. "How many people make it through these doors on the daily? I'm sure at least a dozen."

Nathan's hand pulled from hers as he jovially replied, "A dozen? Try two! All looking for different things. News articles, television show pitches, interviews for the 6 o'clock section, you name it! Say, where do you work again?"

"I'm a private art connoisseur, actually. I'm checking out every floor for the designs, looking to make a few changes on the big-ticket pieces. You'd be surprised how much a work mood can change just based on the scenery of acrylic paints."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful!"

"It truly is; I love my job," Iris offered a curt response and set the pen back to paper. Greens, reds, orange and brown hues. 8 by 10 canvas. "Lots of delicate work. Every swipe of paint can make or break these designs."

"Say, have I seen you here before? You have such a familiar face."

Iris bit the inside of her cheek, saying, "No. I guess I just have one of those familiar faces. And as great as it was chatting with you, I should be leaving now. I'm on a tight schedule for my rounds today."

Iris took a half step to the left—a step closer to Simon—before Nathan held out a hand. "Wait, wait! Can I interest you in a cup of coffee before you go?"

She shook her head. "Really, I better be leaving. Tight schedule and all. And I charge by the hour, so…"

"Not even a quick cup of joe?"

Stupid, small talk customs.

Simon gave her a quick stare and she inwardly huffed; she knew she'd be late if this Nathan kept talking to her. The hand holding her pen twitched—holding out her index finger in a one moment gesture—before she let it drop back to her side.

"Sorry, maybe later. You have a great day, though." Iris gave a tight-lipped smile. "I hope the rest of it is a breeze, Nathan."

"Thank you, I hope yours goes by great, as well… Oh, I don't think I got your name."

"I really, really should be going…"

"—No, no, wait, let me guess it!"

Son of a bitch, really?

"It's—"

"Oh." The excitement on his face shifted. "Wait… I think I know why you look familiar."

"I told you, I've never been here before—"

"You haven't. But your picture has. You're that Manfred girl."