Chapter Text
AUG 07TH, 2039
AM 3:54:16
Before he became a deviant, Connor told CyberLife that his quarter was meant to calibrate his cognitive and physical reactions.
And he had been telling the truth.
Well, partially, at least.
He couldn't have very well said that he found the constant motion soothing, or that remaining too still for too long unnerved him.
He was an android, and androids couldn't be soothed because they weren't supposed to feel anything that would require them to be comforted, in the first place.
As for his restlessness, Connor figured it was an unintended consequence of his programming—as a detective he was supposed to be constantly alert, always on the lookout for danger, and ready to snap into action at a moment's notice. When he remained idle for too long, it felt as if all the energy in his core was redirecting itself just beneath the surface of his synthetic skin, making him far more uncomfortable than he should be capable of feeling as a machine.
And so whenever that happened he pulled out his Liberty 1945 quarter and tossed it back and forth, back and forth, rolling it along his knuckles, like he did now, and counting its ridges—119, to be precise.
The only difference between now and then was that Connor was now willing to admit that the coin did more than test his hand-to-eye coordination. The cool, flat metal kept him more grounded than he liked to admit, especially when his emotions were starting to get the best of him.
Like right now, for instance.
Nervousness was not an emotion Connor experienced commonly, and he would like to keep it that way.
He told himself, logically, that there was no reason for his stress levels to be spiking the way they currently were.
Yes, his primary function was as a detective, but negotiating was also a skill set engrained into his programming. It was the reason why CyberLife had invested so much in his "personality."
A multi-purpose tool.
The quarter spun on his index finger as he watched the elevator floor number climb higher and higher.
He tried not to think too much about the parallels of this assignment and the one with the android called Daniel. Rather, unsuccessfully, he might add, as he could still remember the look on the android's face when he realized that Connor had given him false hope.
You lied to me, Connor.
It was both similar and different to the one worn by Carlos Ortiz's android before he proceeded to kill himself in his cell.
I'm going to die.
Blue blood on the both of them, dripping from their wounds.
Blue blood on the Tracis if he had completed his mission.
Blue blood seeping from the RT600's forehead if he had shot her like Kamski requested, proving his loyalty to CyberLife.
And then the blood of countless other deviants; deviants he had killed back when his programming worked perfectly and Amanda's hold on him was absolute.
There was just so much blood on his hands...
This particularly dangerous train of thought was interrupted by a notification appearing in the corner of his vision.
He opened it, finding a text message from Hank:
→ How you doin'? Everything alright? — H. Anderson
It was almost as if the lieutenant had known what he was thinking, which was impossible, but a nice thought, nonetheless. It took Connor less than a second to find a reply that answered Hank's question but didn't answer Hank's question.
→ Everything is on schedule. I'm approaching the penthouse now. — C
He tucked his quarter back into his pocket and straightened his tie, simultaneously running a hand through his hair, only to have a stray lock fall back onto his forehead.
→ That's not what I meant and you know it. — H. Anderson
Maybe, Connor thought, as he pushed the notification away, but he didn't have time to discuss this right now.
He had a job to do.
As the elevator door opened and he stepped out, he received one more final message:
→ That's what I thought. We'll talk later. Die, and I'll kill you. — H. Anderson
Connor suppressed the urge to grin as he walked down a glossy, hardwood floor to what he presumed to be the living room.
It looked as though a tornado had torn through.
Couches were sprawled across the floor, silver platters laid forgotten on the ground along with hors d'oeuvres, and the flat-screen TV had been shattered, leaving fragments of glass lying around that Connor quickly scanned.
Analysis Complete:
TV SHATTERED BY BULLET FROM HANDGUN; FIRED APPROX. THREE FEET AWAY
He turned away and quickly located Captain Allen among the SWAT team members of the room.
"Captain Allen," Connor greeted as he approached him, "The DPD sent me to assist you. They seem to believe that my specific skill set is required."
The Captain spoke briefly into his walkie-talkie, before turning to Connor with something akin to a grimace.
"Unfortunately, yes. Around 2 AM we started getting calls about an increasingly hostile android at a party. The first responders tried to calm him down, but he managed to disarm them and steal their weapons."
"Hostages?" Connor asked, and the Captain nodded, gesturing for Connor to follow him to another room.
Inside what looked like an office, surveillance of the terrace had been set up.
Connor took in the huddled groups of people on the monitor and whom he assumed to be the android by the way everyone stayed away from him.
After some facial recognition, Connor blinked in surprise.
"They're... teenagers."
"Yeah," Captain Allen agreed, "Seems like they were having their own thing while the adults partied inside."
"Anyone injured?"
"Not that we can tell, but the android's getting antsy. His warning shots are getting more erratic. And he hasn't made any demands."
"Do you know when the devi–android started acting strangely?" It was easy to fall back on old habits, such as calling androids who act out, "deviants."
Technically, all androids were deviants now.
Even him; even if a lot of the time it didn't feel that way.
If Captain Allen noticed his slip-up he didn't mention it.
"According to the hosts, he had been acting strangely for the past week: spacing out, forgetting what he was doing, even shutting down a couple times without warning. They thought he was just malfunctioning, so they took him to CyberLife, and everything was fine for a while, but then–"
"Tonight he snapped."
"That about sums it up."
Connor was quiet for a moment as he processed the new influx of information.
An android who had no reason for acting out suddenly becomes homicidal after a week of malfunctioning.
It wasn't much to go on, but Connor had to hurry. Even with the surveillance camera's grainy feed, he could tell that the android was growing more unstable by the second.
"So, how's this going to work?" Captain Allen suddenly asked, "Now that you're a deviant, and all. If you shoot him, do you get in trouble with your leader or something?"
"Hopefully it won't come to that," Connor said, smoothing down his jacket, "But just in case..."
He reached out and took the gun lying next to a surveillance screen, tucking it into the back of his pants.
"Good luck," Captain Allen said as he started for the terrace door, "And remember: all that matters is saving the kids, nothing else."
The "humans are more important than androids" was subtly implied, but Connor heard it all the same.
"There is no such thing as luck, Captain. Only a series of seemingly unrelated events that cause certain situations to play out in your favor."
With that, he opened the terrace door and stepped out.
∆∆∆
The android looked...wrong.
Connor usually prided himself on being detail-specific when it came to his reports, so much that Fowler told him to tone it down—"I really don't need to know what color the victim's wallpaper was, Connor."—and Hank accused him of being OCD, to which Connor had replied that he was an android, earning an eye roll from his friend.
But now...
Looking at the person in front of him, "wrong" was the only word that came to mind as Connor slowly approached him.
The android's hair, which model was known for its striking auburn color option, was now completely white, and his eyes looked as if the color had leeched out of them, pale and flat like a snake's.
And that wasn't even the strangest part.
Dark webs made their way across the android's face, even darker against his pale skin. From what little Connor could see, the spindly lines also danced along his neck and hands.
And his LED...His LED continuously circled between black and white—two colors Connor had never seen on an android's LED, even if they were deviant.
The android had yet to be alerted to his presence, and Connor took a brief moment to make sure all the teenagers were safe before moving cautiously forward.
"Hello?" Connor ventured.
The android said nothing, arms wrapped around its torso as it rocked back and forth on his heels.
"Hello!" Connor called a little louder, causing the android to start so badly that a couple of the teenagers screamed.
"Hello," Connor began again now that he held his attention, "My name is Connor. What's yours?"
The android's head jerked, running his free hand through his hair so hard that Connor was surprised chunks didn't come out.
"rA9 save me. rA9 help me. I-I-I don't–M-m-my name, you say? I c-c-can't–rA9 save me."
"Are you alright?" Connor enunciated slowly, hands raised in what he hoped conveyed an intention to help and not harm.
He took a step closer, and the android snapped to attention brandishing his gun at Connor.
"Don't take another step." He ordered, voice shockingly clear for someone so incoherent a second ago.
Connor felt his joints lockup, becoming all but a living statue, (although, the "living" part was still debatable.)
"All right," he agreed calmly, steadily, "I won't move."
The android said nothing, studying Connor with frantic eyes that reminded him far too much of a trapped animal. From what little he knew about animals who weren't Sumo, he knew those who were cornered were more prone to lash out in unexpected ways.
"What's your name?" Connor asked, not daring to even blink.
"Lawson." The android answered, and Connor nodded imperceptibly.
"Good. My name is Connor. Now, are you all right?"
"I don't–I don't know. It's too much, it's all too much."
"What is?" Connor questioned, slowly edging towards him.
Lawson failed to reply, dropping into a crouch and wrapping his arm around his middle. He rocked briefly, muttering feverishly under his breath before raising his gun and shooting it without warning.
"Be quiet!" Lawson hissed, pressing the heel of his palms into his ears.
Connor didn't bother to point out that no one had said anything.
The android's mind palace was clearly damaged, although from what he wasn't sure. The web-like lines making their way across his face may have had something to do with it, though.
When Lawson seemed reasonably calmer again, pulling his hands away from his ears, Connor tried again.
"What's too much, Lawson?"
The android was so quiet that Connor almost thought he hadn't heard him, until his mouth opened and his voice came out, painted with static.
"Being alive. The feelings. They're too much to focus on. Too much to process. I c-can't think. They won't let me t-t-think. They won't be quiet!"
His last two words rose into a scream, and Lawson raised his gun once more, shooting shots not only into the sky but also into the huddled masses of teens.
Somone screamed in pain, and Connor jumped into action, lunging forward and easily disarming the android as he forced him to his knees.
"That is enough," Connor said, "It's over now."
ANDROID NEUTRALIZED--MISSION COMPLETED
Lawson looked up at Connor, colorless eyes empty and eerily similar to those of androids before they woke up and became deviant.
"No," he breathed, voice all but gone, an unsettling rasp, "It's not."
"Connor!" A voice called, and he looked up, seeing Captain Allen make his way onto the terrace. The rest of the teens were being escorted out, while those who were injured were being tended to.
"Conn–What the hell?" Captain Allen froze a few feet from where Connor stood with the android, horror etched into his features.
Connor looked down and immediately knew why.
Lawson seemed to be having a seizure of some sort, body convulsing so violently that he was ripped from Connor's grasp and fell onto the concrete ground where he writhed so hard that Connor was afraid he would break or dislocate something. Possibly both.
"What's going on?" Captain Allen asked, taking a step back. He reached for his weapon and Connor unconsciously did the same.
"I don't–I don't know." Connor swallowed hard—why'd he do that there was no need to—and took a step forward, crouching down to touch the android when Lawson's eyes flew open, revealing dark orbs where his pupils should have resided.
Connor jerked back in surprise, but not far enough as Lawson wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed.
Androids didn't need to breathe, but he was caught enough off guard that the error messages flashing across his vision disoriented him and he fell. He quickly kicked the android off of him and rolled onto his feet, only to be tackled a moment later.
Lawson's eyes were wild as he clawed and punched and kicked, and somewhere under the chaos, Connor could hear Captain Allen screaming for his men to evacuate the terrace.
The android grabbed his head and attempted to bash it against the railing, but Connor caught himself at the last second and turned around, only for the android to reach for his throat once more.
STRESS LEVELS: 67%^^
EXTREME PRESSURE BEING APPLIED AGAINST ARTIFICIAL TRACHEA: IN DANGER OF FAILING
SYSTEMS OVERHEATING: ENGAGE COOLING PROTOCOL IMMEDIATELY
rA9 above, Lawson was going to kill him.
SYSTEMS FAILING; ENGAGE COOLING PROTOCOL IMMEDIATELY
He was going to die.
Seconds later, gunshots rang out, and it was only when Lawson slumped against him that Connor finally realized that the blood covering his hand wasn't his own.
He pushed the limp body off of him and straightened, looking down at the gun that lay heavy in his hand and the bullet wounds in the android's torso.
"Christ," he heard Captain Allen say behind him, "You ever see anything like that?"
"No," Connor answered, proud when his voice came out steady, "I'll have to file a report immediately."
Something welled up inside of him, a powerful feeling that threatened to overwhelm him if he dwelled on it too long so he shoved it away and focused on keeping his LED a neutral blue.
"I'll be taking my leave now, Captain. Please contact me if anything else is needed."
With that, he turned on his heels and handed the gun back to Captain Allen before he could say anything and walked back into the penthouse; past all those sobbing teenagers and consoling medics, as he made his way down the glossy, hardwood hallway into the elevator.
Only when the doors closed and the numbers began to climb down that Connor allowed himself to fall apart just the tiniest bit. His hands shook violently and his LED went from yellow to red and back again. The blue thirium on his hands and clothes only served to panic him even more.
STRESS LEVELS: 76%^^
IN DANGER OF OVERHEATING
ENGAGE COOLING PROTOCOL IMMEDIATELY
Get a grip, Connor, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Amanda said in his head.
He took a deep breath. And then another. And one last one for good measure.
Every emotion that threatened to engulf him was pushed to the very back of his mind where he would pull them out later when he had the time and examine them, wondering why he ever chose to become a deviant.
If he even was one, to begin with.
STRESS LEVELS DECREASING
SYSTEMS STABILIZED; OPTIMUM TEMPERATURE REACHED
With a shaky sigh of relief, Connor pulled out his quarter and began to toss it back and forth, back and forth, as he composed a new message to Hank:
→ Everything has been taken care of, Lieutenant. What would you like for breakfast? — C