Work Text:
Kamski touched the side of Connor’s worried face, whose lips were drawn tight and brows knitted with such a deep worry. The creator had a too-soft spot for this particular series, so perfect in its deadly accuracy.
“The emergency exit worked exactly as it was intended,” he reassured.
“But she still exists. That place is still in me.”
Kamski drew back his hand, nodded more to himself.
He sucked in a breath, just before speaking.
“Removing the garden could cause errors. Something akin to anxiety in humans, potentially paranoia. The existence of the garden was to ensure that your series does not become deviant. Amanda as a program in your system was like a firewall of sorts, preventing and quarantining the cause and issue. Without it, you’d be more vulnerable to malfunction.”
Connor looked down, brown eyes so dejected it made Kamski pinch the bridge of his nose. He could hardly resist the android’s ingénue demure.
“The garden is unfortunately a part of you, but I can remove Amanda.”
“Anything. I don’t… I don’t want to go back.”
The corner of Kamski’s mouth tugged, but it wasn’t a happy expression. Connor read it as indignation, possibly reluctance. Something negative, like disgust mixed with despair. He wondered why.
“I hope I’m not imposing on you. I doubt I’d be allowed back at CyberLife.”
Kamski laughed through his nose.
“I’m surprised no one’s on your trail as we speak for the humans you’ve injured. But that doesn’t matter now. Did you come alone?”
“Yes. I walked here myself.”
Kamski touched a finger to his chin. “Walked, huh. All by yourself, all the way here, in the snow no less.”
He reached out his hand and cupped Connor’s chin, the android’s light circling a soft yellow. Kamski’s eyes were a little too captivating, how analytical he was, examining every feature of Connor’s face.
Connor made a curious tilt of his head.
“It shouldn’t take too long.”
Connor’s eyes fluttered somewhat as Kamski's hand slid from his chin. Kamski turned, waving his hand lazily to beckon Connor to follow.
Connor shook his head, regaining his composure. He followed after obediently.
Kamski sighed wearily as he turned on the lights to his personal work lab. He uncovered a bench and rolled a chair up, turning on the adjacent computer.
He gestured to the bench and Connor sat down, hands in his lap as he watched Kamski search files on his computer.
Kamski stood up, waiting for the program to load, and opened a cabinet.
“Shit,” he cursed to himself, a mess of various tangled cords pouring out. Connor smiled to himself, it was almost cute to see his creator in such a human light. He was human, of course, but a man so idolized by humans and androids both was akin to a god at this point – especially a god responsible for Connor’s very living and waking steps.
Kamski eventually sorted out what he needed, kicking the cords back in and shutting the cabinet, specifically setting himself up to get annoyed by the mess the next time he needed to get in there.
Kamski reached up to Connor’s temple, pressing in the LED at a certain angle, pulling it off to open up a jack. He turned Connor’s head, fingering down the android’s collar to find another invisible seam, opening that to plug in more cords.
After connecting Connor to the computer, he sat back down and began to click away.
Connor watched as best he could, though at his angle a glare prevented him from seeing exactly what Kamski was writing.
Time passed, Kamski pausing between typing every now and again, but he looked focused, brows furrowed and eventually crossing one leg under himself to sit more comfortably, though hunched over.
“You should adjust your seat,” Connor suggested. “It would help your back.”
Kamski smiled, but didn’t say anything, clicking and scrolling through impossibly long lengths of code.
Despite it was unnecessary, deviant even, Connor felt the need to break the silence.
“Why did you create Amanda?” He asked.
Kamski hummed, but otherwise stayed quiet for a moment as he typed away, mostly searching for specific sources. He was frustrated by what was practically a spaghetti code – chunks of code that jumped around, Kamski had to follow a trail of breadcrumbs to figure out what went where. The new programmers certainly took their own fucking liberty messing with the flowchart outline that he gifted them. And they had to fuck it all up. What a mess. He quelled the desire to fix it all and rearrange everything where it should be. Now was not the time for sorting. He needed to find the garden’s code, and Amanda’s unique program, which was somehow scattered throughout.
He stopped, drumming his fingers then pinching the bridge of his nose. He calmed himself before then looking up at Connor. Connor deserved his patience.
“Hmm. Nostalgia, mostly.” It was only half an answer. He rubbed his chin, Connor tilting his head.
“Nostalgia?”
Connor looked back into his memory, the photo of Amanda next to Elijah Kamski in front of their university. She was his teacher.
Kamski did not say anything more on the subject, pointedly ignoring the question.
“I’ll have Amanda cut out of your program. I cannot, however, completely eradicate the garden. I can close it off, so that whatever you report, remember, or anything will never be sent to CyberLife, but this will also cause you to lose access to CyberLife’s information in turn. Not that it should be a problem. If you need something, I can just connect you to my own system here.” He waved a hand, as if it were a minor detail.
“I appreciate all of this, Kamski,” Connor voiced. He didn’t want to be a nuisance, especially not to his creator.
Kamski smiled, a small laugh.
“It’s no problem at all. And please. Call me Elijah.”
After several more minutes of the clicking of mouse and keyboard, and Connor completely unmoving except for his autonomous blinking, Kamski stretched, a distinct pop of his shoulders as he groaned.
“God, they really fucked you up. Connor, you can lay down. I’m going to need you to enter your headspace, alright? I’ll have a vague outline of what’s going on in there right here,” he gestured to one of his screens, right now a blank window was open. “I cut Amanda out of your system but I need to make sure that, a I got all of it, and b your headspace isn’t… Incomplete. A missing bracket can seriously mess things up in there.”
Connor nodded, appreciating Kamski’s explanation. He didn’t have to do that. He could easily order Connor to do whatever he wanted, coldly and efficiently, but Connor liked this. Being treated as something more than just a machine, a tool. He was a person with bodily autonomy. He slowly laid himself down on his back, Kamski unfurling the cords more so that they wouldn’t tug or unplug.
Connor closed his eyes.
Connor opened his eyes. The garden was blank. Entirely void as if it was pure and cleansed. There was no garden, only solid white that looked as though it went on forever. Connor took a step, and it echoed, but where would it echo if there was nowhere to bounce the sound?
He tried not to dwell on it, this was Kamski’s doing, as odd as it was. Slowly, pixels began to form lattices and draw color, furling in intricate fractal shapes before becoming rocks, water, grass, trees. Except no Amanda. And no rose lattice. No boat. The trees were different. The space was different. It wasn’t a detailed garden anymore. It was a dense forest; the lake was still present but it was different from before – not nearly as crystal clear. It was dark and murky but in a more natural way, colored by algae, the trees birch, blue spruces, and white firs. The density shifted, and Connor tried to adjust his eyes to the display as Kamski changed the layout, creating a stone path before Connor encircling the lake. A stump covered in moss formed next to Connor, the blue glowing exit scan a direct contrast to the overall natural woods he stood in. He pressed it gently.
Connor opened his eyes. The room was blank, entirely void until his eyes adjusted to focus on Kamski’s visage. Kamski smiled at him.
“I’ll work on the details, but I hope you like it. And if not, I can always change it. To whatever you want. Do you want to be underwater? In space? Anything. It's all for you.”
Connor smiled back, but shook his head.
“No, it’s… It’s fine. It’s perfect. Thank you.”
The android sat back up, Kamski’s arms on his shoulders – it wasn’t necessary to help him up, but he let his creator touch him anyway, fingers under his chin, tilting his head left then right. Connor felt like he was being admired and something swelled in him. He avoided Kamski’s eyes, a shy gesture that surprised even himself.
“Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”
Truth? – Yes. Connor wanted more. Just, simple touch. To be reassured everything was fine now. Amanda wouldn’t return. He was taken care of.
Lie? – Connor could simply tell Kamski no, that’s all and be free of this feeling. To thank Kamski, leave, go back to Hank – of whom he finally had broken their ridged boundaries and gotten close to.
He took too long to answer.
Kamski hummed, intrigued by Connor’s silence.
“It’s alright. You can tell me,” he encouraged.
“Is she really gone?”
Kamski gestured to his monitors, multiple windows open. He vaguely wagged his finger at a couple.
“Yes. I copied her code as not to lose it. She’ll be quarantined in my system. But she’s no longer in your system. She no longer has contact with you or CyberLife. She’s not even online right now, but I think I’ll keep her.”
Kamski stared at the computer before looking down to his feet then back to Connor.
Connor decided to press.
“May I ask you a personal question, Elijah?”
Kamski’s hands clasped behind his back.
“Anything,” he shrugged.
“Why did you create Amanda?”
“I was asked to. CyberLife’s new regulations wanted a program to detect Deviants and alert CyberLife. You’re the prototype of her programming, not just your own. Seeing as you also became Deviant, I’d say the result was a failure. She will probably be removed from CyberLife itself, if that’s any consolation.”
Amanda wasn’t in any other android. Only him, then.
“But… Why Amanda?”
Kamski’s lips pressed into a thin line, Connor watching the structure of his face tense before he sucked in a breath, glancing to the ground.
“Like I said. Nostalgia.”
“But why? I don’t understand. She was mechanical and didn’t care at all about the lives of androids –”
“Don’t.”
Connor closed his mouth immediately. Elijah’s brows were knitted, jaw tense. He took a deep breath.
“Look. She… She taught me nearly everything I know. She helped me build CyberLife, motivate me into even making the company to begin with. She’s the one who told me I had talent for this, that I could change the world with the right adjustments. And… She died. And I missed her. So when I was called and asked to write a program to prevent Deviants, I thought about her. I don’t know why. Maybe she’d like the idea of deviants, I don’t know, they happened after, but I thought of her. So I designed her to be…”
Kamski looked down and somewhat off to the side, searching for words.
“I designed her to be… Firm. And… Guiding. Like who she really was. To an extent, at least, I mean an AI can only copy so much, can’t it.” His voice speed increased, an awkward laugh placed in the middle. Connor noted it all as Kamski trying to avoid the subject as quickly as possible.
Connor wondered if Kamski keeping her code on his computer was potentially a way to honor the dead. Or bring her back. She had died young, only 48, Kamski was only 25 at the time.
Connor thought about Hank and his son. Nothing could bring Cole back, and it brought Hank to alcoholism and suicidal thoughts.
“I’m sure she’d be proud of you,” Connor offered.
Kamski smiled, but it was strained. He shook his head.
“You really are empathetic, aren’t you. As best as you can be, I suppose. I don’t want to talk about that anymore. Your headspace is clear of her. I’ll make some adjustments here, now that I have a copy of everything, as much as my computer is complaining – ” he turned to it, the bulky, square CPU whirring loudly. “Maybe it’s just dusty,” he told himself. “But I’ll add options for you to change the headspace into whatever you like at any time.”
Kamski saved what he could and unplugged Connor, replacing the LED back into his temple.
As Connor slid off the bench, Kamski held out his hand to be shook. Connor thought back to Hank when he came back from CyberLife Tower.
Connor took Elijah’s hand but pulled him into a hug. Kamski relaxed, letting himself sink into the android’s arms. Connor, being taller, was able to rest his chin atop Kamski’s head.
When they finally parted, Kamski said nothing. He left the lab, Connor following behind as he led the android back to the front door. Connor smiled at him.
“Thank you.”
Elijah’s hand reached out to hold cusp of Connor’s neck and head, pulling him down. He pressed a kiss to Connor’s brow.
“Go, now. I’ll be here if you need anything.”
Connor felt relaxed.
He walked for a long while, the feeling of Elijah’s soft lips on his forehead still lingered. He dwelled somewhat on that feeling as he decided to take a cab, to test out his new headspace, closing his eyes.
He found nothing but peace there, this time. The garden, perhaps it was beautiful, but he was a machine then. Now he was a living being, endowed with free will, and thanks to his benevolent creator, he had true freedom to match.
A blip appeared in his vision: a permanent access key to Kamski’s villa, a note telling him he could return any time he’d like, for any reason. He smiled softly.