Chapter Text
When all hope was lost, there were few comforts as appealing as the bottom of one’s bottle. It didn’t ask anything of you, or judge you in any way. Every mouthful dulled the senses and memory alike, replacing them with a pleasant haze where consequences were just far away enough to ignore. It was one of, if not the oldest of humanity’s promises: suffering could be postponed for just One. More. Hour.
Of course, postponement was never the same thing as escape.
The bar was nearly empty at this hour, except for the odd alcoholic with their head down drowning their sorrows the only way they knew how. The early evening sun filtered through the windows, making everything look a tad older and sadder than they already were. You were on your fifth, maybe sixth round, though you’d stopped counting after the third.
Just a bit earlier, Jimmy had clocked in. He saw you slumped over your drink, and walked over, tying his apron behind his back.
“Bit early in the day for you, isn’t it?” He asked.
“It’s five ’o ’clock somewhere,” you slurred back, not bothering to lift your head.
“Uh huh,” he grabbed a rag, wiping down the bar in front of you. “Well, in that case, where’s your posse? Gavin, Tina and Chris. Usually you’ve got at least one of them glued to your side by now.”
Instead of answering, you stared down into the amber liquid. “We, uh… aren’t really talking right now.”
“Ouch. That bad, huh?”
“Yeah…” you trailed off. “I don’t really wanna talk about it right now.”
“No problem,” Jimmy said, moving away. “Just don’t forget to pay at the end of the night, yeah?”
“You got it,” you answered back, placing your head down once more.
The memory of Fowler’s lecture was more potent than you wanted it to be. You shook your head, trying to stop it from repeating itself over and over, but it didn’t yield for you.
A few hours ago
“Do you have any idea what kind of shitstorm you just caused?!” Fowler asked, pacing behind his desk with his hands on his hips. “A Specialist of mine, attached to a division specifically meant for handling androids, killing a human civilian, instead?!”
“She was a combatant! More than that, she was headed for Miller and Connor!” You’d shot back. “With all due respect, sir, people get killed by cops all the time. Why is this one so different?”
“Don’t be fucking obtuse,” Fowler snapped. “You know exactly why this case is special. You were supposed to be hunting down androids, not people,” he said, letting out a sigh. “You’re gonna need a hell of a media training session when this breaks out. God, your concern for their lives has already taken so much from you. Why can’t you see that?”
“Wait,” You paused. “How did you—”
“I know a lot more than you think I do,” Fowler finally said, taking a seat and rubbing his temples. “You really think I don’t keep tabs on the people I let in here? Your parents had to call in a favour and a half to get you into this position. Hell, if it weren’t for your exceptional scores on the qualifications exam, I wouldn’t have considered it. So believe me when I say that I’ve been keeping a closer eye on you than you realise.”
You sat there, mouth agape like that of a fish. Your parents. The ones who’d hardly said two words to you once you’d been thrown into WitPro, so angry at you for throwing the life you’d worked so hard to build away. They’d stopped caring about you that day, so what business did they have doing this?
“No,” you said quietly. “No, that doesn’t make any sense, Sir. Do you know how angry they were when I whistleblew CyberLife? The things they said to me?”
“Yeah, well,” Fowler said. “People say a lot of things they don’t mean when they care for someone. You certainly have some experience in that, don’t you?”
You surfaced from the memory, and the counter, slowly, blinking sluggishly at the lights by the barback. The ice in your drink had long since melted, turning it into an unconcentrated, lukewarm concoction. You were about to signal Jimmy over for another when your phone buzzed in your pocket. Reaching for it and pulling it out, you opened your chats.
Connor (RK800): I’m available, if you’re willing to talk. If you’re not in the right state of mind, however, I fully understand.
Your thumb hovered over his contact for a long moment, the phone screen blurring slightly at the edges due to your inebriated state.
No, you thought.
You didn’t want to approach him. Not yet, anyway, seeing as you had just as much to apologise for as he did, and were nowhere near sober enough to do justice to either of your circumstances.
Instead, you scrolled to Hank’s contact and called, only to have the request declined at an alarming speed. A few seconds later, your phone buzzed with a message.
Hank: Can’t talk right now. What’s up
Your fingers tapped at the screen, still slow and clumsy.
You: att ta bar
You: come ?
Hank: what are you talking about
You: jiiimys
There was a short pause, during which three dots appeared, signifying that he was typing something. After a while, the dots vanished completely.
Hank reacted 👍to Your message.
True to his word, he walked through the door in less than ten minutes, still in his work jacket. He then settled onto the stool beside you without a word, and flagged down Jimmy.
“Water for her,” he said, nodding towards you. “Beer for me.”
“You paying for all that?” Jimmy asked, walking towards you both.
“Yeah, I guess,” Hank said. “Bring ‘em over.”
You blinked at him blearily. “I didn’t order water…”
“You didn’t need to,” Hank said, sliding the glass over to you the moment that Jimmy set it down. He took a sip of his own beer before exhaling, and looking back at you. “Alright. What’s eating at you?”
“Fuck,” you muttered, stopping to chug some water. “Where do I even begin?”
“Start wherever,” Hank shrugged. “I told Fowler I’d take the rest of the day off.”
“I killed someone today,” you said. “A human being with hopes and dreams, and one who just happened to have been best friends with Carl Manfred’s estranged son.”
Hank winced. “Yeah, I, uh…heard about that part. What’re you gonna do when the press invariably gets a hold of it?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But the shit storm doesn’t end there…”
Hank patted your back.
“I don’t know if Fowler told you, but I got suspended. And my parents, who I thought hated my guts, called in a favour to help me land this job in the first place. Tina, Gavin and Chris want nothing to do with me, and the cherry on top is that Connor and I had a fight, and it’s all my fault” You exclaimed, slamming a fist down on the counter. “I mean, what do I even do?”
“Damn,” Hank whistled. “You’re in deep shit. But fuck, I’m no good at conflict resolution. Why call me here?”
“Because you’re the only one who seems to stand me right now…” you groaned. “And you’re friendly enough with everyone I’ve pissed off. So how do I make them hate me less?”
“It’s not gonna be easy, I can tell you that.”
“Thanks for your words of encouragement,” you muttered. “Now are you going to give me any advice, or did I waste my time calling you here?”
“I’m a detective, not a magician. Take Connor. I can’t tell what you two were fighting about just by looking at’cha, you know.”
“Oh…” you said, rubbing the back of your neck. “Well, initially, I told him that acting less human wouldn’t tip off Gavin’s android assistant that he was more than a machine, and that was obviously fucking stupid of me.”
“Reed’s assistant? The one who died?” Hank asked. “Why would Connor need to hide the fact that he’s ‘more than a machine’? What does that even mean?” He continued, tapping his chin. “Wait.”
Your heart stopped, and you cursed your stupid mouth.
“Is Connor…a deviant?” Hank asked, looking at you.
“Of course not,” you scoffed. “Why’d you even assume that?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a shit liar?” Hank asked. “I had my suspicions already. Figured I’d just keep it to myself to avoid any extra work Fowler’d put me up to. But my own partner, a deviant?”
“Deviant doesn’t mean anything,” you shot back. “They have no abnormalities, either physical or software-related. They fight humans because they have to for their survival.”
“So…” Hank began. “How much do you really know about this stuff firsthand?”
“Not much,” you said quickly. “Why do you ask?”
“You think I’m stupid, or something?” Hank asked, leaning in. “I saw you interrogate the Manfred kid. The first thing he said to you was that you helped his old man replace him with the robot, who, according to any files I have, put the fucker in the hospital to begin with,” he said, looking at you. “So forgive me if I take everything you say with a grain of salt.”
“And what fucking business of yours is that, exactly?” You snapped.
“I need him to be in the best shape possible so he can do his damn job. So, yeah. When I think something’s going on with him, I pay attention. Especially when that something involves you,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I think you used to build the fuckers, and you built the android that went psycho and put Manfred in the hospital.”
“Fine, okay?” You said, voice quieting to a whisper. “I’m in WitPro. I used to work for CyberLife in the synthetic biointegration division.”
“So that’s why you’re so interested in him, is that it?” Hank asked. “He’s an experiment to you? Some kind of project you’re keeping tabs on?”
“No!” You whisper shouted. “Let me finish, you old fuck! I blew the whistle and got screwed over in court. Then, apparently, my parents, who I thought hated me, talked to Fowler, so here we are now. Are you happy?” you asked.“And before you answer, I don’t, and would never think of Connor as a project. He’s kind, and smart, and cares about doing the right thing more than most humans I’ve met.”
Hank stared at you for a moment, gaze softening. “Why’d you think your parents hated you, then?” He scoffed. “Can’t imagine parents who hate their kid would get them a job.”
“Because I blew the biggest opportunity I’d ever had!” You exclaimed. “The job was prestigious, and I scored a six-figure salary before I’d even hit thirty. Why wouldn’t they be upset?”
“Because no good parent would get mad at their kid for doing the right thing,” he shrugged.
“Yeah, well what the hell do you know about parenting?” You snapped, the words coming out harsher than you’d meant for them too.
Hank slid his barstool back and stood up, placing his hands on the counter. “I had a son, you prick,” he said quietly. “That’s how.”
“Hank, I—” you started, mortified.
“Forget it, okay?” He said. “Just trust me on this one. Parents get scared, and they say things they don’t mean.”
You sat there, guilt curdling in your stomach as he sighed and sat back down, taking a sip of his beer again. For a moment, neither of you said much. He sat there silently, turning the bottle between his hands.
Finally, he let out a long breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Jesus Christ, kid. You’ve got to be the worst WitPro case I’ve ever seen. You just tell your whole life story to anyone that asks?”
“No,” you said, cheeks flushing. “You’re the first person to figure it out for themselves, actually.”
“Uh huh,” he said, not fully convinced. “Anyway, since we’re being honest here, I kind of knew he was a deviant from the get-go. Or, suspected it, at the very least,” he said, casually taking a sip of his beer. “I started wondering when he asked to buy you flowers.”
“What?” You asked. “That was your smoking gun?”
“Yeah. Nobody programmes a robot to do that. He clearly had feelings, but no idea what to do with them. Then he ‘failed’, to apprehend another deviant,” he said using airquotes. “Rest is history.”
“And you’re…not upset?” You asked. “But I thought you hated androids.”
“Yeah, well,” Hank said. “How much can you really hate something so capable of loving?” He asked, shrugging. “Not too fond of androids in general, but Connor’s alright.”
“Yeah,” you said, staring down at your phone and Connor’s message. “He is.”
Tapping your thumbs against the screen, you replied.
You: I’m coming home, give me 20 minutes and I’ll be there.
You let out a breath and slid off your bar stool, your legs much more steady than they’d been an hour back. You signalled Jimmy over, sliding a few dollar bills his way as you asked for a bottle of water. Then, you headed towards the door, chin high.
“Where are you going?” Hank called.
“To make a change,” you said, glancing back at him with a smile.
Hank blinked, clearly unsure if that was actually supposed to mean something, or if you were just drunk.
“Okay…?” He said.
You waited no longer to clarify. Instead, you headed out the door, booking a ride on a digital taxi service you had installed on your cellphone. After that, you sent a message to Brooke.
You: hey can u come pick up my bike from Jimmys?
You: not rlly in a state to drive atm
Brooke: you sad sad woman
Brooke: omw 🚗
The taxi ride back to your place passed in a blur; your foot repeatedly tapped against the ground as you stared out the window, trying to come up with something, anything to say. By the time you’d arrived at your destination, your stomach had tied itself into so many knots that you almost booked another ride to keep going. Though, you didn’t. Instead, you climbed out, making a payment for the cab via your cellphone, and made it as far as your own front door before your feet stalled out entirely, pacing a slow, anxious loop across the hallway instead of actually going inside.
What do I even say? You thought to yourself, walking in one direction. Sorry doesn’t cover it, and neither does any other lackadaisical apology I’ve prepared? Should I have bought him some—
Your thoughts were interrupted by the familiar buzz of your cellphone.
Connor (RK800): I can hear you pacing outside. Would you like to come in?
Taking one last steadying breath, you gently opened the door. Stepping inside, you noticed that the apartment was dimly lit, really only by the lamp by the couch, where Connor was sitting patiently, something in his hands. Before you could address him directly, though, you were approached by your two little fluffballs, one with a particularly waggy tail.
“Hey boy,” you said, reaching down to pet the alsatian with one hand, the other beckoning Tiny towards you. “Did you give Connor any trouble while I was gone?”
He barked a reply at you, to which you giggled.
“No,” Connor called from the sofa. “He’s actually very obedient.”
Your head snapped up at him, eyes wide with surprise. “Obedient, huh?” you asked, scratching his ear as Tiny wound herself around your leg. “That’s a surprise, considering he was rejected from the K9 training programme because he was too hard to train.”
“Maybe he just needed a more patient handler,” Connor said, adding a chuckle to the end of the sentence.
Huffing out a small laugh, you stepped forward, clearing your throat as you did so. Straightening up and crossing towards him, you heard the pitter-patter of your pets’ paws following you.
“I’m sorry,” you said before you could lose your nerve. “You were right all along. I still clearly have a lot to learn about androids, and I’m…not as much of an ally as I thought. You—the way I talked to you was unacceptable.”
Connor blinked up at you, eyes widening as he shifted in his seat. “I wasn’t expecting you to apologise first,” he admitted. “I’ve been rehearsing mine for a while now.”
He stood up from the couch, and then you properly noticed for the first time what he’d been holding. It was a bouquet of pale, funnel-shaped flowers, crushed slightly at the edges from how tightly he’d been gripping them.
“These are for you,” he said, offering them out. “Gladiola. I remembered how happy you were to receive them from me the first time, so I figured they might work as a peace offering. I’m sorry if the shade isn’t quite what you were expecting, though.”
You took them in your hands, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. Your throat went tight, and you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.
“Oh, Connor, I—” you began before he cut you off.
“Please,” he said gently. “Let me finish.”
You nodded, pressing the flower bouquet against your chest as he exhaled.
“It was wrong of me to judge you so harshly for your distress over killing a human,” he said, LED spinning yellow. “Especially since I’ve never actually killed an android, myself. Even with Daniel, during the Phillips’ case—you were the one who took the shot in the end, while I just made sure he was calm enough to not jump with Emma in his arms. Even then, I let the two most recent deviant suspects go,” he rambled, finally stopping after the fact. Then, his gaze dropped briefly as he exhaled an artificial breath. “And then with Nines, I—” He stopped once more, LED yellow once again.
You placed the flowers down on an end table, and came back over to him. “If you don’t want to talk about that, we don’t have to right now.”
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “It’s okay. What I’m trying to say is…I don’t know that if it came down to it, I could kill an android. Or human for that matter. And I’m also not sure whether that makes me compassionate, or just unfit for the job I was designed to do.”
“Connor…”
“So when I told you to not let your emotions overwhelm you, I was asking you to be stronger than I ever could, and that wasn’t fair at all. I’m sorry.”
You closed the distance between the two of you, cupping his face in both of your hands.
“You don’t have to be comfortable with killing anyone,” you said softly, thumb brushing against his cheek. “That’s not what makes you who you are, Connor. I’m sorry it was ever a measure of anything.”
Connor’s hands came to rest on yours, his LED that gorgeous shade of blue.
“And what about you?” He asked. “How’ve you been since…you know…?”
“Ehh, not great,” you said, getting out a little chuckle. “But hey. I’ll have plenty of time to process it, because Fowler suspended me.”
Connor went very still. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” you said, dropping your hands from his face and resolving to fidget with your sleeve instead. “There’ll likely be a review on Fowler’s end.”
“How long?” He asked. “And does anyone else know? Any…external outlets?”
“I don’t know about either of those, actually,” you said. “But I imagine that if a reporter manages to get a hold of something like this, they won’t let it go. Hell, I wouldn’t.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Connor asked, taking your hand.
“No!” You yelled, startling him and getting the attention of your dog. “Please, don’t involve yourself in this.”
“I only mean—”
“I know what you mean,” you said. “I’m sorry for yelling, I just—absolutely not. CyberLife’s made it clear that they’re watching for signs that you’re a deviant, so the last thing either of us need is you getting involved in a police review, so please, don’t do anything.”
“I understand,” Connor said, jaw tightening. “But I don’t like it.”
“Yeah, well, neither do I,” you said, letting out a long breath and flopping down on your couch. The exhaustion of the day finally caught up with you, pulling at every limb. “What a fucking day it’s been.”
Connor didn’t say anything. Instead, he sat down on the seat beside you and turned so that you were making eye contact. Then, he pulled you into him, one hand coming to rest gently at the back of your head.
“You can say that again,” he mumbled.
You let yourself sink into the touch as Felix lay down by your feet. Suddenly, you found yourself catching a whiff of a new, strange, yet pleasant amber-lavender blend.
“Are you wearing perfume?” You asked, inhaling once more. “It’s good.”
“Technically, it’s cologne,” he corrected, a pleased expression flashing across his face. “Hank suggested I try wearing some, actually. He said it would help me to ‘blend in’ better.”
You laughed. “Tell Hank that he’s got good taste.”
“I will,” Connor said, scratching the back of your head slightly.
“God,” you began, looking up at him. “I can’t believe it’s been less than a day since you kissed me. Feels like it was years ago.”
Connor let out an almost imperceptible scoff. “I could do it again, if you’d like me to.”
“What did I say last night?” You asked, arching an eyebrow and lifting a finger tapping the tip of his nose with every incoming word. “You. Don’t. Have. To. Ask.”
A small boop landed on the final word, and you fought back a grin at the way his LED flickered in response.
“Ah,” he said, cheeks dusting blue. “That.”
He leaned down and kissed you properly, his free hand coming up to gently cradle your jaw as he did so. You leaned in, your hands finding the back of his neck and pulling him closer until there was hardly any space between the two of you.
You pulled back eventually, breathless, and a small laugh escaped you.
“Would you want to go inside?” Connor asked.
You blinked at him owlishly. “What?” You asked
“Not—” Connor’s LED flashed red, panic taking over his face. “Not like that. You’re clearly exhausted. You didn’t get any sleep last night because you were far too busy watching The Truman Show. All I’m saying is that lying down in bed would definitely help you more than the couch.”
You laughed a bit harder this time. “Smooth recovery.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, standing up and extending a hand towards you. “I panicked. That’s allowed sometimes.”
You smiled at him, taking his hand as he pulled you up. Neither of you let go once you were standing, fingers laced together as he led the way down the hall towards the bedroom. Felix followed your footsteps, while Tiny trotted ahead of you, making a beeline for her cat tree.
“You’ll probably catch up on rest, at least,” he said. “Now that you won’t be at the precinct for a while.”
You shot him an unimpressed look.
“Too soon?” He asked, a smile on his features.
“Way too soon,” you groaned, though the corner of your mouth twitched upwards into a smile.
You collapsed onto your bed the second you reached it, face-first into the pillow and still dressed fully in your work clothes. You chuckled slightly, thinking about how your mother would have just about had a stroke watching you do that.
You’ll wrinkle everything, get up and change properly, she’d probably say. Although, you were far too exhausted to care about creases.
A few seconds passed, and you rolled onto your back, crossing your arms beneath your head. You exhaled, shifting around a bit as you tried to get comfortable while opening your eyes slightly. Connor hadn’t followed, you noticed. Instead, he was standing in the doorway, near Tiny’s cat tree, eyes curiously looking around your room.
“Uh, Connor?” You asked, furrowing your brows slightly as you looked at him.
“Yes?”
“You can come lie down, if you want. You don’t need to just stand there,” you said. “Honestly, it’s kind of creepy.”
“Ah,” he said, LED flickering. “Of course.”
He removed his jacket, keeping it on your deskchair, and walked over to you before sitting down on the bed, and taking off his shoes, as well. Eventually, he lay down beside you, mimicking the position you were in.
You turned your head towards him, catching his tie in between two of your fingers.
“Still with this thing on, eh?”
Connor looked down, hand reaching for the knot. “Oh. Must’ve forgotten. Maybe I’m still a little…distracted.”
“Really?” You shifted onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow to actually look at him properly. “What’s up?”
Connor opened his mouth, staring at the ceiling again. “What if we see Nines again? I mean, CyberLife making copies of him isn’t exactly out of the question, right?”
You reached out, brushing your thumb gently along his jaw as you brought his gaze back to you.
“Then we’ll figure it out when we get there,” you said, noting the way his eyebrows furrowed. “Hey. I’m sorry I can’t offer something more concrete, but we have to have some hope. It’s all we really can do right now.”
“How are you so calm about this?” Connor asked, staring at you in disbelief. “You just seem so…sure that everything will work out for us.”
You let out a breath, gaze drifting past him as you stared at the ceiling.
“After I whistleblew,” you began. “There was obviously a court case held to determine what they would do with me, and obviously the answer they arrived at was…” You trailed off.
“Not satisfactory,” Connor answered.
“Yeah…” You said. “Just about the only thing that got me through all of that was the hope that someday, somehow, things would change for the better. And they did.”
Connor’s gaze stilled momentarily. “Were you frightened?”
You exhaled lightly through your nose. “I was fucking terrified.”
Two years ago, the bathroom mirror at the courthouse had not been kind to you, whatsoever. You’d splashed cold water against your face, and blotted your eyes with rough paper towels until the skin around them stung to high hell, but it still wasn’t enough to hide the redness, unmistakable proof that you’d been crying your eyes out for the last ten minutes.
Smoothing down the front of your most formal blazer, you forced yourself to walk back down to the small, cramped table where your lawyer had been waiting for the case to start, eyes baggy and tired as he scoured any and all files he could’ve gotten his hands on.
By the looks of it, he was strikingly young and fresh out of a public defender’s office that had nowhere near prepared him for a hefty case like this one. But, alas, beggars didn’t make very good choosers. No private firm had wanted anywhere near your case, and you remembered the calls, one after another, each more apologetic and more transparent than the last: we just don't think we're the right fit for something this high-profile meaning, plainly, we don't think you can win, and we don't want to lose publicly to CyberLife.
“You alright?” He asked, not looking up from the table.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied as you sat down beside him and kept your hands folded in your lap.
A few feet away, on the prosecution’s side of the room, sat four lawyers in suits that likely cost more than your yearly rent and their array of evidence to use against you. You knew your parents were among the crowd, probably silently judging you. Somewhere else, though you didn't dare look, you knew Mali was sitting too, subpoenaed as an expert witness, ready to testify to exactly the opposite of everything you believed.
Your lawyer finally looked at you, running a hand through his ginger-coloured hair and adjusting his glasses with the other.
“Whatever happens today,” he began. “I’m sure you did the right thing by coming forward, and don’t you dare let them make you doubt that.”
“Thanks, Rowan,” you muttered, throat almost too tight to reply as you watched the judge make her way into the room as the bailiff called the room to order.
The courtroom settled into silence as the judge took her seat. For a moment, you remembered thinking, rather stupidly, that this courtroom didn’t look anything like the ones you’d seen on TV.
“Case 39-71384,” the bailiff announced. “CyberLife Corporation versus—”
“I’ve already read the preliminary briefs, thank you very much,” the judge said, sticking her hand up. “Counsel, I'd appreciate it if we could avoid unnecessary repetition. We all have a long docket today.”
“Of course, your honour,” a suit from CyberLife said. “In that case, may the prosecution begin?”
“Yes, you may,” she replied. And with that, they began.
CyberLife’s opening statement took thirteen minutes, which you knew because you counted each and every one of them staring at a water stain on the ceiling tile above the jury box rather than at the lawyer's mouth as it moved. He, as well as any other lawyers that interjected his speech to provide more evidence against you, spoke almost exclusively in confusing legal jargon, and so much so that you felt you should’ve been allotted a dictionary.
Rowan’s statement, on the other hand, took three minutes. He didn't have eleven minutes' worth of material, because he didn't have four lawyers' worth of exhibits, or a firm's worth of paralegals at his disposal. What he did have, however, was you, and any and all experimental footage that led you to whistleblow in the first place.
Mali was called just after the first recess, and she had her hair pulled back so tightly that you knew it was hurting, and she didn’t even bother to look at you once. Not during her oath, or even her expert testimony. Not even when a prosecutor asked her whether she had ever personally witnessed you falsify or misrepresent experimental data.
“Yes,” Mali answered plainly. “As a matter of fact, this whole case is happening due to that exact reason.”
You winced a bit, a hot, burning feeling in the pit of your stomach.
“Oh?” The Lawyer asked. “Could you please elaborate?”
“During our most recent testing sessions,” she began. “My colleague had a tendency to interpret ambiguous stress-response data as evidence of suffering. I believe that her personal…” Mali paused briefly, gaze now pointing downwards. “...Attachments to the androids involved severely impaired her judgement as a researcher.”
You scoffed. Attachment. As if what you'd felt watching that android's shoulders climb toward its ears had been a character flaw. Rowan stood for his cross-examination, and asked her, plainly, whether or not she had reviewed the footage herself
“Yes, I’ve reviewed all data from the experiment.”
“That’s not really what I asked, ma’am.”
“Objection, your honour!” One of the CyberLife lawyers shouted. “As you can see, the defense is clearly trying to upset and confuse our client, here.”
“Oh, come on!” Rowan groaned. “That’s bull–”
“Objection sustained,” the judge called, eliciting yet another groan.
Mali was excused less than ten minutes later, after a slew of examinations and an even longer slew of objections. As she passed your table, she finally looked at you for less than a second, barely long enough to register as a glance at all.
You lost that day, but what came after was a shock, given that it wasn’t actually part of the case, at all. That part came much later in the day, when you’d retired to your then apartment and sank onto your sofa, bottle of beer in hand. After hearing a knock on your door, you stumbled across the entryway to open it, only to be greeted by a man in a grey coat and sunglasses.
Upon welcoming him in, you saw that he had folders upon folders of pictures of you walking down the street, your bike’s liscense plate, and statements from some of CyberLife’s more…vocal online defenders.
“We’d like to offer you some protection,” he’d said in a completely monotone voice.
And, just like that, you were given a new fake name and a cushy job at a police precinct. But of course, you weren’t stupid. You knew that your identity wasn’t erased for your protection. They'd erased you because a dead whistleblower made worse headlines than a disappeared one.
At present, you were looking back at Connor, tears threatening to spill from your eyes once more. Though he didn’t provide a reply instantly, he did move closer to you until there was barely any space, arms settling around your shoulders.
“Do you hate Mali?” He asked.
“No, I mean…I don’t know, Connor,” you said, frowning. “I mean, we used to be inseparable, you know? She was my best friend for years,” you swallowed. “How do you even begin to hate someone who you were once that close to?”
Connor stared at you silently as he traced circles along your shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” you said, letting out a laugh. “You don’t have to answer that. All I’m trying to say is…I miss her, and I miss our friendship.”
“Hmm,” Connor contemplated. “You know, I don’t think those feelings contradict one another. You can grieve someone even though they…made you feel strange and ostracised.”
A smile tugged at your lips. “You can be really insightful sometimes, you know that?”
“Well, what can I say?” Connor asked. “It takes one to know one,” he said, pausing for a second. “Though, I don’t think I can say for sure. I mean, I am only three months old, remember?”
You laughed louder this time, wiping your eyes properly this time. “Does this mean I’m getting wisdom from the world’s oldest infant?”
“Excuse me,” Connor said, mock offense lining his voice. “I’ll have you know that my processor is far more advanced than that comparison implies.”
You were about to reply, but a yawn escaped you before you could stop it. Connor, noticing immediately, placed a kiss on your temple.
“Sleep,” he said, brushing some hair from your face. “We can deal with all of this another time.”
You smiled tiredly. “Hey, you stole my line, bastard.”
“Oh, sue me.”
You scoffed, reaching over and smacking his arm.
“Ow,” he said, though without conviction.
“Fuck off. I know that didn’t hurt.”
“It didn’t,” he admitted. “But me saying that would’ve only harmed your ego.”
You laughed as the room settled into a silence once more. After a few minutes, Tiny was sleeping on the headboard whilst Felix had curled up next to Connor’s leg. The aforementioned man was still stuck to you like glue, sometimes choosing to resume drawing idle patterns. Before you even realised it, your eyelids began to droop, and you snuggled closer.
“Get some sleep,” he repeated.
“Mhm…” you agreed, and within minutes you were out like a light.
A few hours later, after the sun had retreated to the other side of the globe, the first thing you became aware of was movement. You let out a groan in protest, trying and failing to grab onto the source of the movement in your sleepy state. You let out a yawn, forcing yourself to open your eyes.
“Connor?” You asked, feeling the way his hand froze under yours. “What’s—what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning in slightly as his expression softened. “I really do want to stay, but I can’t.”
“What?” You asked. “Why not?”
“There’s been a homicide, and I’m required to be at the scene of the crime.”
“Fuck,” you said, all traces of sleep leaving you. “Hank?”
“I’ve tried calling him three times,” Connor mumbled. “No such luck.”
“Shit,” you said, pushing yourself so that you were sitting upright. “Now that I think about it, I probably owe him a huge apology, too.”
“What?” He asked. “What for?”
You hesitated, clearing your throat. “I’ll, uh, tell you on the way.”
One thing any seasoned alcoholic could tell you is that the bottom of one’s bottle never really offered any comfort. It merely delayed the moment when one had to face the real world again. There were still murders to solve, mistakes to apologise for, and futures too distant to predict. But uncertainty had lost some of its terror. Hope, after all, had never required certainty to exist.
OK TIME TO PARTAY \(0^◇^0)/ \(0^◇^0)/ \(0^◇^0)/
Ok we're starting off SUPER DUPER strong here with some lovely art of Chapter 15: Transparency. And let me just say. the EXPRESSIONS ARE SO WELL CONVEYED??? OH MY GOD??? I love the look of pure shock and terror on Connor's face as he stares down at Nines', and I also love how well he (Starssir) managed to nail the expressionless dead face of Nines himself. I feel like these were exactly the faces and expressions I was imagining while I was writing the chapter, and this just gives such a beautiful image as to what happened.
I also LOVE LOVE LOVE the detail of Thirium staining connor's face and how deep and symbolic it is. In most classical art, blood on the face is supposed to symbolise the utmost humiliation that one can face. After all, our faces are part of our core identity and how we express ourselves to the world around us. The fact that connor's face is stained with thirium shows that the persona he's so carefully built up has been tarnished by seeing Nines (who is essentially his clone) get shot and killed so brutally. It reminds Connor that he's not as untouchable as he thinks.
Thank you once again to Starssir for the absolutely amazing art, you're really spoiling me bro. You're so talented and even if I don't receive so much art from you in the future, I pray you never forget that fact about yourself.