Chapter Text
The first time that Connor saw Markus, he nearly bit his tongue off from the shock.
What he was shocked about? He couldn't exactly say. All he knew was that, deep down, he had seen that deviant before.
Flashes of various images had passed him by, there and gone within a second. The feeling was disorienting, his senses were overwhelmed, and the room wouldn't stop spinning for anything. As he stared at the screen before him, his vision focused in on the RK200's facial structure, trying to figure out where he knew him from.
Of course that would be the moment that Hank approached him, asking whether he found anything of interest.
Before Connor could even think, the words were already spilling out of his mouth, dismissing Hank's concern.
Apparently, he came across as a bit too defensive because it was nearly impossible to miss the suspicious glance thrown his way.
Connor ignored the churning of his gut, continuing on with their investigation.
Only the flashes didn't stop there.
With each passing day —hell, with each passing hour— more and more of the flashes invaded his mind, the strange images growing impossibly more intense with each encounter. All it took was one thing to trigger them. It could be something as simple as a random coffee shop, or it could be another news coverage on the deviant named Markus.
When he and Hank eventually visited Elijah Kamski himself, the images remained at their clearest throughout Connor's entire stay. He would constantly raise a hand to his throbbing temple, massaging his LED in confusion, but every time he did so, Elijah would merely stare at him in amusement.
After the whole "Kamski Test" ordeal, Hank rushed him out of there as quickly as possible, but the images refused to go away.
From then on, they were a constant nuisance, a stubborn thorn in Connor's side that he would rather ignore.
Following that, he threw himself into his work without abandon, a tactic which eventually paid off. With Hank's help, of course.
Connor didn't know what he expected out of that exchange with Markus, but he definitely didn't expect for all of the images to come crashing down on him at once.
And when he comes to, he definitely doesn't expect to be transported to a different world.
No, not another world, but... a memory?
Your memory, his mind corrects him, but no. That's impossible. He has no recollection of this.
Everything around him is overwhelming. It's like all of his systems are being bombarded at once, overloaded by an endless array of sensory data. The sounds, the smells, the tastes...
Wait, no, androids can't taste.
Wrong. Wrong. This is all wrong.
But Connor can remember it all, as clear as day. The sweet taste of his favorite chocolates on his tongue, the teasing press of another's mouth against his own, a smile forming on the human's lips.
A human that beams back at him with mismatched eyes.
Before Connor can get his bearings, though, he's thrown haphazardly into another vision, launched into a free fall before he crashes through another portion of his programming.
This time, he's in an apartment, yelling through a closed door, his mouth moving without his consent.
"Markus, please," he begs, tears streaming down his cheeks. Desperate and afraid, he clutches tighter at the phone in his hand, a recent email open on display. "This is our last chance. He's offering us a solution."
"Bullshit. He's offering for us to be his guinea pigs," Markus calls out, followed by some strained, gurgling coughs.
Then silence.
Connor feels his heart sink in his chest, and he starts pounding on the door, his nails scratching viciously at the wood.
He doesn't even notice when he starts bleeding.
"Markus?!" he yells.
No answer.
Connor feels his stress levels skyrocket to hazardous levels, his LED turning a deep red.
Followed by an endless display of notifications.
Software Instability ▲
Software Instability ▲
Software Instability ▲
[IN%EGR@%ION C@MPLE#E]
What? What integration?
There's not even a warning before he's thrown back into the fray.
Connor continues to bang on the door, dropping to the floor to peak underneath.
"Come on," he whimpers, swiping furiously at his tears.
It clears his eyes long enough to spot Markus' form, still and lifeless on the floor.
Connor can't breathe.
He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe...
The room goes dark around him, just for him to reappear in yet another memory.
This time, he's in a hospital of some kind, surrounded by sterile white walls on all sides while an incessant beeping drones on in the background.
Connor sits by an occupied bed, his leg bouncing, fingers tented thoughtfully over his mouth.
And Markus lays silently before him, staring resolutely at the ceiling, his breathing shallow, eyes droopy and frame emaciated. At this point, he can barely stay awake, so he nods off on multiple occasions, unable to keep his head upright. Connor uses his sleeve to wipe away the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. Summoning what remains of his strength, Markus reaches up to grasp comfortingly at his hand.
A white gold band shines brightly in the lights.
The door opens, and Connor glances up at their visitor in relief. Markus takes the time to appraise him as well, his lip curling with disdain.
Elijah Kamski stares at them, rewarding them both with an appreciative nod.
"Thank you two for agreeing to participate," he says, calm and collected.
Holding in another cough, Markus glowers, squeezing weakly at his husband's hand. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm only here for him. This never was and never will be about you."
Kamski holds his hands up in surrender, smirking victoriously. "Crystal clear. Although, I have to admit that I was surprised by your sudden willingness to participate."
"Nothing like a good change of heart," Markus deadpans.
Connor takes a deep breath, trying to keep himself from falling apart at the seams.
"You wanted someone with my level of intellect to perform your procedure on," Connor states. "If you want my cooperation, then this is my condition. Save him first, and then you'll get the prototype you always dreamed of."
Kamski considers the offer for a weighted moment, then nods his final consent.
"Well, gentleman," he says, clasping his hands together with glee. "Ready to make history?"
"No."
That one word is enough to snatch Connor immediately back to the present.
Meanwhile, those memories —his memories— continue to sort themselves in the background, but it doesn't end there. It isn't a simple replay of events, but it's a total integration of the experiences. Emotions, thoughts, actions... All of it is transferred over.
All of it is his.
Not only that, but all of the other missing pieces return. Pieces that were supposed to be lost with each new transfer into another "Connor" android. Fifty predecessors, but he's the first to come full circle.
He's the first to fully adopt the original Connor's consciousness.
A human consciousness.
The words pop up unexpectedly.
[I AM DEVIANT.]
Oh no.
He shakily drops his gun, grasping desperately at his skull.
Too fast. This is all happening too fast.
He feels like he's drowning, suffocating. His legs can barely hold him up, and his chest feels as if it is collapsing. He keels over, dry heaving onto the floor.
Pain. This is pain. Why can he perceive pain?!
[STRESS LEVEL: 96%]
A notification pops up, warning him of potential self-destruction.
Coughs wrack his body, and a bitter taste clings to the inside of his mouth.
What has he done?
Hands settle roughly on his shoulders, but Connor can't even find it within himself to look up.
His voice is still the same, calm yet passionate, able to make a person believe anything.
Able to convince an entire people to stand by his side, even in the face of death.
Connor curls in on himself.
Why now? Why did it all have to come back to him now, of all times?
Why couldn't this have happened at Stratford Tower, before the worst of the damage had been done?
"Connor," Markus whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Too bad Connor is going to have to break his heart.
It only takes five words.
"They're going to attack Jericho."