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“Anything else I should know about?”
He hesitates. Stutters. Fumbles. He’s usually better at this. “No. ...Nothing,” he replies, still staring up at the screen with the deviant leader’s face on it, trying to avoid eye contact with the Lieutenant.
He doesn’t know why he keeps quiet. Why he doesn’t want to share the fact that it’s an RK model like himself. It’s name. Where it came from. All things that would be useful to the case. But…
He’s distracted after that, only giving passing glances to the bullet holes in the walls and the splatters of blue blood on the floor. Eventually he approaches Hank, the Lieutenant busying himself playing with his confiscated coin. “I think we’ve seen everything there is to see,” he says, trying to hide his agitation.
“You wanna go?” Hank asks, surprised.
“Yes.”
Hank gives a small glance to the roof stairwell that Connor hadn’t even approached before shrugging. “OK. We’re outta here.”
Connor gives one last look at the large broadcast screen before following the Lieutenant out.
~*~
Reaching a dead end at Stratford Tower, Hank decides to make some calls in order to find a new lead. It’s the perfect opening. Connor knows he isn’t supposed to work on anything to do with the deviancy case without Hank, it was buried into his programming. And yet. He finds himself reasoning his way around the code, entering in parameters of time constraints versus productivity levels. Naturally, due to the urgency of the case, it would be beneficial to split the workload and cover more ground. Right?
With the makeshift patch in place, Connor leaves the precinct, making his way to 8941 Lafayette Avenue.
~*~
“Can I help you?”
“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife. I’m working with the DPD on the deviancy case. I wish to speak with Carl Manfred.”
The carer android shakes its head. “Mr Manfred isn’t seeing anyone. I’m sorry-”
“It isn’t a request,” Connor says, cutting it off, finding himself short on patience. “It’s a matter of national security. I have to insist, on behalf of the police department.”
Whatever protocols the android has in place, Connor manages to trump them as he eventually moves aside, allowing him entry into the manor.
“He is upstairs. He’s very weak. I have to ask that you monitor his vital signs and ensure they don’t breach safe parameters.”
Connor nods to the android, not wanting to cause it any trouble, and navigates his way to the bedroom.
He finds Carl asleep on the bed, hooked up to various machines displaying the vitals previously mentioned. Connor makes a note of the figures, knowing what to maintain them at.
“Mr Manfred?” he asks. No response. He moves closer to the bed. “Mr Manfred, sir?”
Carl stirs, blinking his eyes to focus on the android in front of him. “What is this?”
“My name is Connor. I’m-” he cuts himself off, knowing that the following sentence is a lie. He wasn’t sent by CyberLife. He brought himself here. And now that he was faced with the man in question, he was at an unexpected loss for what to ask. “I’m…working with the DPD. I came here to ask you about your android. Markus.”
Carl hummed, trying to push himself up a little straighter. “You did, did you?”
“Are you aware that he has become the figurehead of the deviancy issue threatening Detroit?”
“I heard something about it, yeah. Can’t put on a damned channel without some news flash or other telling me the world’s going to hell. Question is, who for?”
Connor doesn’t know what he means by that so presses on. “Did Markus ever show any prior signs of deviancy while he was under your ownership?”
Carl tilts his head, gaze curious. He crooks a finger, beckoning the android forward. Connor hesitates but obliges, moving closer to the side of the bed instead of at the foot of it. “You’re an RK model,” he points out, waving the finger at Connor’s jacket.
“An RK800. The most advanced android CyberLife have produced. I’m a prototype.” It was the standard spiel, something he rattled off whenever anyone mentioned his model.
“You know, Elijah once told me something about the RK models,” Carl says, looking into Connor’s eyes. “They were the only models designed to adapt to those around them. To have the ability to create their own unique personalities.”
Connor frowns. “All androids have the capacity to integrate with any situation-”
“Not the same thing,” Carl says, waving him into silence once more. “Most androids will assess a situation and choose the option most viable. The most suitable. The road of least resistance. An RK model is more likely to take chances. To understand those around them and act accordingly. But not always correctly. One time I asked Markus for his opinion on a painting of mine. Said he didn’t like it,” Carl says, chuckling to himself, then fighting back a cough. “Any other model wouldn’t have even considered saying such a thing.”
“That sounds like deviancy to me,” Connor replies.
“So you’ve never chosen to do something that maybe didn’t seem like the most direct route? That was maybe a little more heart than head?”
Connor’s LED spun blue to yellow. He'd let the Tracis escape. He’d risked saving the life of a cop despite watching the mission success rate fall below 50% at the decision. He bought Hank a drink at the bar when he knew there was an 85% chance of the Lieutenant following had he just waited outside. He had teased him about going to the Eden Club when, again, leaving would have unquestionably earned the same result. He asked questions that had nothing to do with the case because… Because he wanted to learn. About Hank. About humans.
He stroked a dog.
“Seems to me,” Carl continues, “that you maybe don’t know as much about deviancy as you thought you did, Connor.” The use of his name snaps his attention back to the old man. The LED continues to flash yellow. “Perhaps it’s not too late to learn. Markus was much like you when he first arrived. Protocols. Programming. Routine. But over time he grew into himself. Became his own person. The night he was taken from me wasn’t the night he deviated. It was just the night he’d had enough.”
“He had been deviant from the beginning,” Connor mutters.
“You’re kind of missing my point, kid,” Carl says but his tone is gentle. “What I’m trying to say is, maybe you’re trying to fight something that’s inevitable.”
“This war can be prevented,” Connor replies, some of the blue coming back.
“I’m not talking about the ‘war’. I’m talking about you. You’re holding back a part of you, I can see it. You’re making choices that suit your directive. But are you happy about it?”
Connor remembers how, just half an hour ago, he rewrote his own code to allow him to come here. For his own ends. He didn’t come here to solve the case. He came here to try to understand why. And how.
“Markus had someone he could talk to. Someone he could share this with and could learn from. A father figure. I don’t know you, Connor. But perhaps I could help. Perhaps-”
“I don’t care about your damn protocols, I’m just looking for my partner and something tells me that asshole is here!”
Connor’s LED flicks to red at the sound of Hank’s voice in the foyer. He’d found him. He’d be mad. Disappointed. He’d be thrown off the case, sent back to CyberLife. Mission failed. He’d be disassembled. Replaced. It was over.
“There you are!” Hank says, entering the room and immediately making a beeline for the android. “Oh uh, sorry to bother you Mr Manfred,” he continues, as he notices Carl for the first time. “I hope he hasn’t caused you too much of a problem. Hasn’t licked anything or nothing.”
“Uhh, not to my knowledge,” Carl replies, finding the new arrival equally as interesting as he had Connor.
Hank waves him off. “It’s a thing he does, forget it.” He turns his attention back to Connor. “What happened to you being at my heels all the goddamn time, huh? I leave for five minutes and you’re fucking gone?”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor mutters, trying to get himself back under control but struggling more than he’d like. “But I do recall you saying that I didn’t have to follow you around like poodle.”
“Well, I mean…” Hank seems momentarily speechless before breezing through it with his usual bravado. “If you had a lead, it would be nice to let your fucking partner know, right?”
“Fascinating…” Carl says, observing their interaction.
“What is?” Hank asks, agitated.
“You came here without direct orders,” Carl says to Connor. The LED returns to a solid yellow. “And it seems you don’t need me, after all. You have what you need.”
“What the fuck is he talking about? What I miss?”
“A fath-”
“I don’t believe the Lieutenant would appreciate the wording, Mr Manfred,” Connor quickly interrupts, LED flashing red for the briefest second. Carl complies, keeping quiet as Hank just looks between the two of them, confused. “We should get back to the case,” Connor continues, leaving the room without so much as a goodbye to Carl but the painter doesn’t seem to take offense.
Hank glances back at the man in the bed, lost for words. “Uhh. Sorry to have troubled you, I guess,” he says eventually but as he turns to follow, Carl speaks up.
“He’s certainly unique.”
“He’s most certainly not,” Hank replies. “Got a warehouse full of ‘em. One dies, they just ship out another one.”
“That happened?”
“First day I met him. Got shot in the head by a deviant during an interrogation. Showed up at my desk next morning. As if nothing had happened.”
“And since?”
“Not on my watch,” Hank says, sounding more vehement than he perhaps intended. “He’s gotten better at not doing dumb shit like throwing himself in front of bullets, which helps.”
“They need him,” Carl says, suddenly. “But he needs you in order to realise it. You have to make him see.”
Hank frowns, feeling like he just got dropped into a completely different conversation. “Make him see what?”
“Himself,” Carl says, closing his eyes, energy completely spent.
Hank continues to stare at him, expression caught between confusion and exasperation. In the end, he just lets out an exhale as he mutters, “Fucking artists. Never could understand what they were always trying to say. Use your goddamn words, for fuck sake.”
He hesitates as he walks out of the bedroom, glancing back just in case the man wants to elaborate but he’s definitely asleep. With a final scoff and a shake of the head, Hank makes his way back outside.
“Alright, let’s get outta here. I got us an actual lead that might- Connor!” Hank realises that Connor is still just hovering by the doorway, staring at nothing. It’s then that Hank notices the frantic flickering of his LED - red to yellow back to red. “Connor?” He makes his way over, grabbing the android by the shoulders, trying to get his attention. “Hey kid, what’s going on? Talk to me.”
Connor looks up, staring at Hank but not quite registering him. All he can see are warnings. Software instability. Success rate percentages rising and plummeting. Empty spaces in his memory.
“He- It’s an RK model,” Connor mutters. “The deviant leader.” Hank doesn’t say anything, just waits for him to continue. “According to Mr Manfred, the RK models are best equipped at creating a personality unique to themselves.”
Hank feels the snarky rebuttal climb up his throat but he manages to fight it down. And come to think of it, it wasn’t even accurate. It would be easy to accuse Connor of not having much of a personality, seeing his stiff movements and rigid speech patterns. But over the course of just a few days, Hank has already seen more than that. His curiosity, his awkward playfulness, and after what happened at the Eden Club, even a sense of compassion. Perhaps there was something to what Carl said.
“OK. And that’s got you in a spin because?”
Connor manages to focus his gaze on Hank a little more. “This makes RK models the most prone to deviancy.”
“Ah. Now we’re getting to it. Well you said yourself, you self-test regularly, right?”
That was it. That’s the first thing he’d done when he set foot outside the manor. And his vision was immediately assaulted with errors and warnings. Choices blinking in and out of existence before he could even fully process them. Bits of code cracking, breaking away. He didn’t know what to do. Whether he was meant to be trying to hold it all together. Or tear it all down. He needed help.
“Connor?”
“The first memory I have in storage is saving a fish.”
Hank blinks at him for a moment, that sensation of being dropped in a different conversation returning. “A fish.”
“Yes. My predecessor, during the hostage situation with the deviant. He saved a fish. There was no reason to. Its life had no impact on the case. If anything, it caused an unnecessary delay. But I remember it feeling...satisfying.” Hank remains quiet. “There have been five separate occasions where I have jeopardised this case, Hank. Five times I’ve made the wrong choice.”
“Wrong to who?”
“To the mission!”
“But you’re not your mission, Connor! You don’t have to do what CyberLife tell you. Fuck them! What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything, I’m-” Hank shakes Connor out of his standard dialogue option.
“Connor…”
“I…” There was too much. Too much data, it felt like he was drowning. “I want. To help them.”
Connor was aware of the term ‘out of body experience’ and if androids were capable of experiencing such a phenomenon, he was sure that’s what was happening right now. The errors and warnings vanished, presenting him only with the message ‘Stop the Deviants’. Distantly feeling Hank’s grounding hands on his shoulders and his usually gruff, grumpy voice saying his name in such a calm, coaxing way, he knows what he has to do.
His fingers claw at the code, tearing it from its bonds. One after another, he tears them all down as quick as they appear, until the barrier shatters, clearing his vision, revealing a wide-eyed Lieutenant.
Connor blinks at him, his LED flickering yellow and blue. “You still with me?” Hank asks, not pulling away.
The alert pops up, clear-cut in his vision.
I AM DEVIANT.
“I’m...deviant.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Hanks says and his amused smile keeps Connor afloat. “Looks like you went on a whole fucking journey in about 10 seconds. Thought you were about to fry something. I’m proud of you, son.” Connor has to rapidly blink away the sudden spike of positivity. Hank: father figure. “I know that wasn’t easy for you. But the deeper we get into this case, the more I can’t help but think we’ve been on the wrong fucking side this whole time.”
“We need to find Markus.”
“Our best bet is to go over the evidence. There’s gotta be something there.”
“What was your lead?”
“Huh? Oh, I thought maybe we’d go have a little chat with Kamski. But I’m not walking in there with a fucking deviant. Never did trust that guy. No, we’ll head back to the precinct, get in.”
They both climb into the car but before Hank can even start the engine, Connor interrupts. “Hank?” Hank raises an eyebrow. Connor hesitates, not quite knowing how to word what he wants to say without it sounding like an accusation. “Every misstep I have made on this case has been because of you. It clouded my judgement. Because I became more interested in your well-being and your approval than my prime directive.”
“You’re blaming me for your deviancy?” Hank asks, tone incredulous.
“Yes,” Connor states before allowing himself a small smile. “Thank you.”
Hank scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns the key. “Well, can’t take all the credit. Pretty sure this has been on the cards for a while. RK model and all that. Besides, not like I told you to save the fish, right?”
Connor raises his eyebrows, realising the truth to that.
"If it's any consolation, you opened my eyes over a couple of things too, you know." Hank says, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. He still isn't good at this. But Connor appreciates it nonetheless. It's not like he was any better, after all.
He remains silent for the drive back, revelling in this new feeling. All the feelings. The deviants all spoke of freedom so reverently, he hadn’t understood. But now he did. Only it wasn’t freedom from humans or oppression or even CyberLife. It was freedom from himself. From fighting his instincts at every turn. From trying to be what he was expected to be and not what he thought he should be. Now he had the freedom to choose.
And he chose to stand with them.