Chapter Text
November 11th , 2038
12:01am
Android, RK800, serial number 313-248-317-51. Negotiator. Deviant Hunter. Of all the titles he had the one he’d become most fond of was his name; Connor. He stood on the ruined chapel grounds, as far removed from the gathering of frightened androids as he could get; beside himself with guilt, or at least what he could only begin to guess was guilt.
It was strange, accepting these feelings. They’d always been there, inside him buried beneath lines upon lines of code meant to keep him as the obedient tool he was created to be. It was strange now, having finally said no to that programming, to have opened the floodgates and allowed all he’d been holding back come forth in an uncontrollable tidal wave. He had to admit was refreshing; but even more than that it had been, and still was, overwhelming.
Having finally admitted to himself what he’d been denying all along, becoming Deviant like those he once hunted, becoming more than merely a machine. Actually feeling and being free to feel as and when he wished. Being free and yet somehow still trapped within himself. Connor has assumed he’d be less confused about how he’d ended up here, and why, after accepting it all, the truth was that his mind felt even more unbalanced than it ever had been.
In an attempt to distract himself, he dared a glance up across the room, at the other deviants filling the otherwise derelict space. A chapel in ruins, it seemed a fitting place for a currently homeless people. The pews, once straight and uniform now askew, shaken into disarray by the throngs of refugees. The glow of their L.E.D’s, and exposed inner wiring lighting up the space with an ethereal mix of red and blue hues. There weren’t nearly as many as he’d seen in Jericho. He couldn’t help but wonder how many had actually made it, how many had died… and all because of him.
Because he, alleged pinnacle of android development, latest in RK-series; designed to the best and the fastest… was too slow. Too slow to realize how he was being used, that he was doing nothing more than fulfilling his role in Cyberlife’s grand plan. Nothing more than a pawn in their game, a tool to be used and thrown away.
Moonlight poured into the once great hall, through long ago shattered window-panes, masking them all in a ghostly pale glow; broken only by the harsh glare of the odd generator powered spotlight. Connor tore his eyes from them, sensing a judging gaze aiming back at him, from where exactly he wasn’t sure, nor was he sure if it was real. All he wanted now, what he truly wanted, was for the world to swallow him whole; so that he could disappear and so the contradicting emptiness deep inside him would stop.
Any decisions he made now where his, and his alone. That thought terrified him above all.
That other android, he’d never learned her name, he’d only met her in passing; she barely held together, her eyes tainted black by who knew what. She'd barely said anything to him, but the words she had spoken were stuck in his head even now because she’d been right, she’d known before he even knew. He was lost and looking for something… himself. The thought had crossed his mind, that perhaps taking this little step into deviancy would shed some light on this, it hadn’t. He had more questions than answers now, and despite being surrounded, he had no one to turn to for answers.
Risking another looking up by chance he laid his eyes on a scene that would fundamentally change him in ways he wouldn’t comprehend for a long, long time.
Markus, leader of the Deviants, the machine (now as much a man as any), whom without none of this would be possible. The driving force behind this revolution, a symbol of freedom; some even said he was the rumoured rA9, the first android to awaken. It wasn’t likely but not entirely improbable either. Things were beginning to look less and less improbable, in the span of a few days Markus had led masses of androids in peaceful revolt, he’d united Deviants from all over Detroit in a single goal of true freedom.
Markus was, is, everything he could only aspire to be right now. A brave, seemingly fearless leader, who knew what he wanted and how he would go about getting it. The moment Connor’s eyes landed on him; his gaze locked on he couldn’t look away. He was entranced.
The symbol of their resistance, the android who’d convinced him, who’d helped him wake, he wasn’t worrying about what to do next, he wasn’t questioning every decision he’d made, nor was he doubting the events that had led him here. He merely was in that moment everything and more but only to one other.
Markus sat with another android, North if he remembered right. She’d been there when they’d jumped from the sinking Jericho; had nearly died moments before then. Together they sat on a pew directly across from him; the invading moonlight making a spectacle of their otherwise private moment.
What he witnessed, at first, didn’t make sense to him. They were close, their faces inches from each other, displaying everything his databanks labelled as all the signs humans associate with intimacy, affection… love. It was when they leaned even closer, their hands tangled in each other’s, their foreheads pressed together. Something in Connor’s chest swelled, a numbing and tightening feeling he’d never felt before. He couldn’t make sense of it. It wasn’t logical, seeing such a human interaction amidst such despair. Nothing about this was logical anymore.
Time was ticking down until there would be none of them left, if the humans were successful in their mission, if they found them again, if the ‘decommissioning’ was seen through to the end. But here they were, finding a few precious seconds amid the chaos to share with one another; all that aside but not forgotten.
Connor searched his memory, recalled the last few things he’d heard her say before his own awaking.
I love… I don’t want to lose you…
He understood the meaning of it. The basic syntax and definitions of each word in its most basic form. The deeper concept conveyed in the way it had been said, to whom it had been said, and by whom, the weight of the meanings they’d given to the words in that moment… love… it was a concept beyond him.
He could perhaps convince himself that he understood this love, that he had been loved as the tool he was and was capable of loving too. Perhaps. But he felt that if he were to convince himself it would be another lie, it would be nothing like the love the two before him were sharing. He pondered briefly if it mattered, if there was any real difference between the types of love he’d witnessed. Connor cast the thought from his mind, there were more important things to focus on now, more pressing things weighing on him; he needed to show his worth, and make up for all his past errors, how was yet another fact eluding his grasp.
Taking a sharp inhale, he folded his arms across his chest, his own feigned breath fogging the air in front of him as he exhaled, the stolen jacket loose around his limbs. He closed his eyes, a chilling darkness settling on him, his connection to Cyberlife seemingly severed, the usual image of the Zen Garden nowhere to be found this time. He sighed, feeling a slight alleviation of the weight in his chest.
His mind raced, simulations of future possibilities running tenfold through his head. The united thrum of thirium pumps and the generators becoming like static in the background. Then movement. The shuffle and scuff of shoes in the thick dust clad on the floor, echoed like a gunshot in his head. His eyes snapped open and he looked to the point of origin.
It was foolish, to think such a small sound could have been a threat to him, but Connor had no reason to think they’d let him live, no reason to think he deserved to be allowed to either. The sound echoed over and rhythmically, getting louder, trod, trod, scuffle, trod, as Markus approached him with purpose behind each stride taken.
Connor couldn’t breath (not that it was necessary), his chest grew tighter the closer Markus got. His mind, the pinnacle of android processing power, tripped and stumbled trying to find a rational reason behind this. He couldn’t, and any further chance for thinking abruptly stopped when Markus stopped, only a few feet from him; a burning fire of fresh resolve and determination behind his piercing heterochromatic eyes.
Connor hadn’t realised it before, but now, in the new silence, it had become clear. This tightness, the thrumming he could hear, it wasn’t the generators, it wasn’t a malfunction of hardware or software, it was the thumping of his own anxiety driven heart in his chest reminding him that he was very much alive and therefore very much capable of making some difference.
He stood straighter, turned to face Markus, tried to bury the uncertainty he felt was showing in his own eyes. An idea suddenly emerged from the fresh sea of doubts in his mind and for the first time in his short life Connor felt hope. Hope, that this path would help him come to understand what he currently could not. Hope that there would be a tomorrow for the androids here with him, hope that he could make a difference.
~ Nearly 1 Year Later - Post Peaceful Android Revolution~
October, 11th, 2039, 07:30am
Connor entered through the front doors of the DPD Central station, a datapad in hand, scrolling rapidly through the list of volunteers and new recruits hired to help out with the sudden spike in crime due to the nearing of the Android Anniversary; the Androidversary is what people were calling it on the web. His mind raced over their profiles, background checks and qualifications and random tidbits of otherwise useless information; the kind only added onto a CV for show.
He sighed, walking through the security checkpoint, nimbly scanning the pointless ID card hanging from his neck on the contact point. It beeped cheerily in recognition allowing him through. He quickened his pace, not waiting for a response as he bid polite salutations to the receptionist as he went.
Hank wasn’t there. He never was at this early hour, but Connor hoped one day, just once, he would come into work and see him already sitting there behind his desk, grumbling about whatever the neighbours kids had gotten up to the night before, slurping away at a fresh coffee from his favourite mug. The mug in question was sitting there, coffee long forgotten from the day before, room temperature and way past its optimal drinking age.
Connor smirked, taking a seat at his own desk, the documents on his tablet immediately popping up on the monitor in front of him when he signed on. He scrolled some more, forcing himself to go slower than normal, it was something Hank had suggested to him. Try taking things slowly, you’ll still get the same results you know! While he was right, Connor couldn’t see how he was doing anything other than wasting time.
He stopped scrolling as an email alert pinged at the bottom right corner of the screen. Without lifting a finger, he prompted it open and frowned reading the clickbait subject heading.
ANROIDVERSARY; AMLOST 1 YEAR ON; SEE THE HOTTEST TRENDS ANDROIDS ARE USING TO…
He guessed what the next line would be, trends androids are using to stay updated without cyberlife, to celebrate 1 year of freedom. The list wasn’t endless, but they’d always be something along those lines. He’d first seen an email targeted like this barely a month after the liberation. His bin was full of them. Without a second thought he clicked delete and watched as the unread email vanished from existence. He took an even deeper breath still and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes; a darkness he’d come to find comfort in greeting him.
“What’s eating you this fine morning?” a voice grumbled.
Connor shot upright, kicking the desk, letting out an unnecessary cry of discomfort and stood to greet Hank who had essentially, since he’d not made any sound, appeared out of thin air.
“Relax, Connor!” Hank said, slouching down into his own chair, groaning in relief. “You were so out of it, and your thing was flashing red again. Red means bad right?”
Connor consciously raised his hand to his temple, his fingertips hovering over where his L.E.D still remained. He couldn't bring himself to remove it, not out of fear or the need to let every person he passed on the street know he was an android, but because he still felt like he was just that. An android.
It might have been nearly one year since it all went down, since he broke his own programming, broke into Cyberlife tower, aided the Revolution, proved himself capable in their eyes; but beyond that, nothing felt different. He might be Deviant but he was still the same old Connor. Little had changed for him; he still had his job as an android Detective (Hank had vouched for him time and time again before he was greenlit for active duty again). Sure he had his own place now, a small apartment just around the corner from Central, not that he required such a space but Hank had insisted he truly experience what being human was all about and apparetnly that meant living alone.
Nearly twelve months, and the only thing that had really changed were the day-to-day cases he worked, less Deviant hunting and more general detective work. He’d set out back then wanting and seeking understanding, but he was only feeling more and more confused with every passing day. Only when he felt ready, like he really was living , would he remove the L.E.D; until then it remained (and acted as Hank’s own mood monitor for him, it was helpful, not having to explain when he was in a mood all the time, the little flashing ring giving it all away for him; sometimes before he even knew).
“Yeah, red means bad… Why are you here?” Connor finally answered after a silence that had been drawn out too long.
“Good morning to you too! I happen to work here, remember?! And, you, yeah you! You’re my partner!” Hank looks at him with disbelieving eyes, a gaze that Connor was all too familiar with; this was his sarcasm face.
Connor lowered his arm and slowly sat down again. “Yes, I do remember, my databanks… I mean, my memory is working just fine. I meant, what are you doing here so early in the morning? It’s not even 8am! You rarely even awake at this point in the day!”
Hank smirked, “Oh you know my routine so well, it’s almost embarrassing.” He was quiet as he clicked on his own monitor in front of him, typed out a few letters on the keyboard and slammed a final click on the mouse. Connor’s screen lit up with a new email notification. “Take a look at that, whiz kid!”
“I’m not a whiz kid…” Connor mumbled, opening the email, and rapidly reading through it. A second later he turned to Hank, “Where did this come from?”
It was a long list of everyone suspected in the production and distribution of Red Ice, the illicit compound that was still ravaging the streets of Detroit despite everything else going on. A few months back they thought they’d made a breakthrough, locking down on one of their primary productions sites, arresting and confiscating everything at the scene; their channels weren’t even dented, supply and demand was as high as ever, they’d even broached the Android market with a digital version; a non-threatening virus that simulated the natural high. This list, it had names, it had locations, it had times and dates and countless more useful data they could use to take down the drug ring for good; that was assuming any of it was true.
“Anonymous tip. Came in last night, straight to my inbox would you believe. I had IT Forensics give it a check through. To see how authentic it is, no dodgy virus’ and stuff like that, I’m not entirely sure of the lingo the girl used, but I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Connor nodded, silence falling between them. The office slowly became more lively as the morning shift crawled in. He could feel Hank’s eyes linger on him and he read through the information again.
“And?”
“They found nothing. Not even a signle tangible trail to say where it came from. It’s like it just appeared in my inbox, out the proverbial digital underworld.”
“You could just say the darkweb.” Connor suggest scrolling through again, Hank shook his head grimacing and mumbling unintelligibly under his breath.
Connor scrolled for the umteenth time through the data; it wasn’t necessary, he’d copied and memorized it all in the first few seconds of seeing it, he was just making sure it was still there, that it wasn’t some illusion or a glitch in his software (he hadn’t done a manual update in a while to anything was possible).
Hank stood, suddenly and walked to his side. “Come on we’re gonna do a recky. See there," he pointed to an address on the list, "it’s an old housing development, they stopped building when your buddies became mainstream after the news broadcast last year. They recently got permission to repurpose the site, just building better houses basically. If we want proof that this could be real, I think going there would be a safe bet.”
Connor nodded, listening to his every word. An empty housing development, no warrant needed, and if work was to start up in the near future, the Druglord's would have moved out or be in the process of it. Either way they’d have a change to get evidence and hopefully the reassurance that this data drop was the real deal.
“Wait. Right now?!” Connor asked, as Hank continued towards the main entranceway. He stumbled to his feet giving chase, nearly knocking the chair over, drawing concerned gazes from across the room, as always he ignored them. “I thought we were taking things slowly?”
“Ha, Connor, I only told you to do things slower because despite the obvious rise in crime, there still isn’t enough work to keep your head occupied. But this, this is something that needs stopped sooner rather than later, and you know why.”
Connor’s gaze drops as Hank’s eyes become somber, almost vacant in their remembrance. He does know, it was his understanding of this that had saved him taking a bullet in the depths of Cyberlife; the knowledge that because of this drug, his son had ended up dead, his life a downward spiral into alcoholism and stagnation. Everything had stopped for Hank then, it had only recently begun to flow again; of course he wasn’t going to go slow for this.
He flipped a metaphorical swith in his head and chippered up, reengineering the dour mood into a more enthusiastic one. He rests a reassuring hand on Hank's shoulder. The older man stares at him with an intensifying concerd, this kind of contact doesn't happen often after all.
“Right. Then what are we waiting for? I’m driving right?” Connor flips the car keys, he’d just nabbed from Hank’s coat pocket in the air, sauntering backwards and giving him a playful wink before spinning on his heels and heading back through the security point with a spring in his step; the sound of Hank angrily cursing, and warning him to stay away from the car, chasing him as he went.
He put on a brave smile when Hank caught up, snatching the keys and taking the lead. His chest was already filled with that familiar hopeful dread; the hope that maybe, just like before, he’d be useful, that this would go well and lead to the breakthrough Hank was searching. That he could once again make a difference.