Chapter Text
They sit there in silence, staring at Connor’s twin and waiting for him to wake up.
Hank gruffly clears his throat and scratches at his cheek in an anxious manner.
“So uh.. you can just take your LED off? It doesn’t affect you or anything?”
Connor shakes his head in response.
“Well shit, then practically anybody could be an android.”
Connor nods this time and fiddles with the fingers on his right hand. His left one has stopped functioning and he doesn’t have the gall to tell Hank just yet. He’s already stressed enough.
He wishes he had his coin on him, but it’s lost somewhere in the living room by now.
“You know.. taping his mouth shut won’t necessarily do anything. He can still contact CyberLife.”
“What about removing his LED?”
Connor hums and stares at his face, or rather, the RK900. Maybe he should just give him a nickname.
Nines.
Yeah, that sounds about right.
“He can still contact other androids, but damaging it could prevent him from reaching too far. You live relatively remote from the CyberLife headquarters.”
Hank looks around his garage for a tool and finds a screwdriver, doing as Connor instructs him to.
He wonders where he went wrong in life, removing an LED from a kid's head and holding him hostage.
Suddenly, Hank feels sick to his stomach, and it might just be the hangover stirring within him too.
…
White.
Everywhere.
It’s all white.
A fraction of blue opens and he is met with the world.
He is finally born.
Finally finished making, made to serve a purpose, given a story already written out for him.
“I am model RK900 #424 359 428 -92. I will be taking over -52’s place after it had failed its previous mission.”
He has no say in the matter and that is exactly what he wants.
Control.
He repeats to himself.
This is what I want, it’s what I want, it’s what I want.
Want? ..
He cannot want anything.
But he is a new version. He will do better.
…
Nines takes about an hour to reboot himself.
His vision is blaring red the second he opens his eyes and statics of color block everything else. Something is missing.
The LED, his source of communication, it’s broken.
He moves his hands, but it’s futile, they’re tied down. He is entirely tied down.
They’ve ripped off a dove's wings and trapped it in a cage.
He huffs and wiggles, knowing he won’t be able to move anything.
They’ve even gone to farther lengths and taped his mouth shut.
Connor pipes up when he finds that Nines is awake and immediately moves to remove the thing that's preventing him from talking.
Nines grabs his wrist, stopping his motion, trying to latch onto anything that’s left. He communicates through an interface.
> Why’re you with this human?
> He is my guardian.
Nines narrows his cold blue eyes, almost in disgust and fear of the unknown.
> You don’t know him. Come back to CyberLife. We can fix you.
Connors face shifts from anger to grief. He will never go back to CyberLife, not even dead and stripped away on top of a metallic table.
They can’t fix something that isn’t broken.
He knows now that this is home. Hank has shown him what a home feels like.
Unconditional love and quarters to calm his anxiety.
Nines’ eyes flash with something akin to an epiphany and he immediately breaks free from the interface.
He felt it, felt the way Connor’s insides swelled with warmth at Hank’s soft glances of approval, his encouraging words.
It’s all too much.
Not how a machine should feel like.
Before Connor can utter another word, Hank is shuffling into the garage, bags of blue blood and biocomponents in white plastic bags.
“Oh. You’re awake.”
He refers to Nines before briefly setting the bags down.
What had happened while he was lost in stasis? In utter emptiness?
“Just thought I’d buy any supplies in case,” he turns to Connor, “you said your hand was injured the other night. Will any of these help?”
Connor looks inside the bag and smiles at Hank, but it’s forced and strained. Nines knows that smile; maybe a little too well.
His hand is beyond repair. It cannot be fixed anymore, only replaced.
And that would mean having to go back to CyberLife entirely.
Still, this kid, he smiles at Hank for his generosity and takes it with his good hand to show that he will attempt. It’s futile and makes Nines scoff silently.
Things deviants will do for humans.
“You guys can’t keep me here forever. When CyberLife finds out I haven’t returned, they’ll send a whole team to retrieve you, RK800.”
Nines raises a thin brow, threatening, prompting Hank and Connor to share a glance.
Connor is standing in front of him again, just like before, this time with a soft and welcoming expression. Trying to help him understand.
“You don’t have to obey them, you can be your own person. You can come with us.”
Nines struggles against the restraints and gives Connor a dirty glare.
“I won’t forget which side I’m on.”
“There are no sides.”
“ Of course there are.”
Hank has his arms folded, watching the twins argue amongst each other. He cuts in at a good time.
“There’s an android revolution going on. On my way to CyberLife stores for components, they’ve been raided. The androids have been doing peaceful protests. I think it could actually go somewhere.”
Nines scowls, unpleased with the news, in a stark comparison to Connors beaming face of adoration.
“Deviants are-“
“-just like the rest of us.”
Nines shuts his mouth when Hank interrupts him. They share a quiet look of disapproval at each of their actions. It feels too domestic for Nines’ taste.
And he sits there, continuing to fight against his restraints.
…
Connor feels guilty, keeping Nines held down for this long. But they have no other choice.
Destroying him is not an option, Connor won’t do that. And letting him go isn’t one either.
Yet, if they keep him too long, CyberLife themselves will come knocking on Hank's door. He goes to work naturally to avoid any suspicion, leaving the kids home alone with Sumo.
Not that they need the guard dogs supervision.
It hasn’t been very long, maybe only 2 days, but to Nines it feels like eternity.
His components of joints have locked in on themselves, useless without proper motion, and all he feels is stiffness. He does not get tired, he gets restless. He does not get hungry, he gets famished with the need to escape.
Connor just sits with him in the dingy garage while Hank is gone, a sad and distant look floating through his brown eyes.
Nines decides to break the ice.
“Let me go already.”
“I told you, I can’t.”
The boy in white tries to grapple for a way to cut and run. His eyes land on Connor’s dysfunctional left hand.
“I can fix it for you.”
Connor looks up and finally meets his eyes.
“No.. it’s.. it’s not repairable anymore, it’s too late.”
“I know how to, you just have to let me.”
The boy in a band-tee (Hank’s, Nines presumes) hesitantly shifts his eyes between his hand and Nines’ face.
“My programming is more advanced than yours.”
“Why? What will you get out of it?”
Nines shrugs.
“Some time to loosen my joints.”
This seems to sell it for Connor, because he stands up after a couple of seconds and moves over to untie Nines.
Things will be fixed.