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This wasn’t the plan. It goes against all of Connor’s prime directives, and not to mention it puts Hank in the line of danger. He needed to accomplish his mission // protect Hank // at all costs, but Hank’s not making anything easier for the both of them. The gruff Lieutenant stands there resolute, // ocean-blue // eyes burning with determination. // Connor has to admit, he admired the old cop’s sheer resolve with his decision. // But he is in no way going to let that in the way of following his orders // making sure Hank goes unharmed // .
“Lieutenant - It wouldn’t be wise to throw yourself in the line of fire-- It’s not worth it.” His grip is steel on Hank’s wrist, holding him in place from achieving Connor’s goal // getting himself killed//. There was a 36% chance of the Lieutenant surviving, and he was not about to risk a considerably valuable asset // Hank’s life // over something as stupid as this.
“ You don’t fucking understand, do you? You never did- It’s not about me anymore, Connor. It’s about an entire race of living beings!” Connor could clearly sense the anger that’s only beginning to erupt, and it irritates // pains // him to see Hank like this. The sound of bullets whizzing past and distant screaming is reaching a crescendo, and Connor had to act now . There was no time to reason with Hank -- it was obvious from the day they first met that he wouldn’t-- but it was without a shred of doubt that deviants were dangerous, and the situation they were currently in should be proof enough. Deviancy is a virus, a disease that needed to be eradicated to ensure the survival of humanity // safety of Hank //.
// Yet, for some reason, he still continues to attempt dissuading Hank from sprinting into the midst of crossfire. //
“Please, it’s far too risky. You’ll- “ Something stops him from saying the words that follow, even if he’s trying so hard to voice them out. He doesn’t want Hank to jeopardize his mission // doesn’t want Hank to die // . The hold on Hank’s hand tightens, out of options to prevent Hank from doing anything brash // worry for his well being //.
“I’ll fucking what- huh Connor? I’m pretty damn sure you don’t fucking care, unless it’s your mission. So- Let. Go.” His iron grip relents for a second, and that’s enough to give the Lieutenant a chance to pull free of his hold. Hank glares at Connor, almost razor sharp and he swears he can feel it cut into his skin. He wants to say it- say that Hank’s going to ruin everything // that he cares so much it’s painful // but nothing comes out when he opens his mouth to speak.
“ This time, don’t you even think of fucking following me.” And with that, Hank dashes into the front lines without any hesitation. Again, his processors runs the statistics of him making it out alive, and his best course of action, and Connor grimaces at both results.
<< HANK SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 24% >>
<< STAY BEHIND COVER UNTIL CEASE FIRE >>
Something that feels like a lump forms in his throat and he swallows, breathing turning ragged. // Software Instability ^ // No, no that’s wrong. Androids don’t need to breathe. // That doesn’t change the fact that something is squeezing his chest and making him choke. // Connor feels - // his heart race as he’s frantically trying to find a way to save Hank // - nothing. Machines don’t feel. Machines don’t care about humans, as long as they can complete their mission. That is the purpose they serve, why they were made.
A flash of silver hair catches his attention among the dark hues of the night, and Connor stays put //has the urge to run out of cover and protect Hank//. His feet are rooted in his spot, unyielding no matter how much he wants to //move//.
Move- Move- Connor needs to move now. Needs to save Hank before he gets himself killed. Can’t watch him die like this. Can’t watch him die because he cares. He cares about Hank too much he’s not ready for him to die- Move- Please- He can’t let Hank die.
He’s unsure what, but something in him snaps, unwilling to let his programing dictate how he should feel and act any longer. He isn’t going to let whatever instructions he’s been given to stop him from doing what he feels is right any longer.
Both hands strains to push against the red barrier that stood between him and Hank-- and most importantly, if he lives or dies. // Hank can’t die. // He’s using all his strength he has, and each passing second, he gets closer and closer.
It’s not enough.
But when he hears a prominent gunshot ring through his audio processors, sees red splatter onto the carpet of snow, he breaks the final wall and feels whatever was restraining him evaporate from his shoulders.
For the first time, Connor lets panic show onto his face as he runs. But not because he was instructed to, not because his programing said he has to, but because he wants to . And Connor chooses to run towards Hank- rushing to his side once the walls shatter around him and he’s free.
A hunched form is visible among the chaos of the battle, red painting the snow around Hank. Connor wastes no further time and hastily gets to him, worry and apprehension twisting his usual collected face. When Hank sees him, scrambling to stop the gunshot wound on his leg from bleeding, his expression turns pleasantly surprised and… relieved?
“It’s fine Connor, not gonna die from it. Only caught my leg. Could be fucking worse for sure. I was prepared to die, anyways.” The nonchalant way Hank had put it serves to leave more cuts on already bruised skin. The sudden, jolting revelation of his own autonomy has still yet to settle into him, and to know that the person that helped achieve this -- the sole reason why he’s able to tear off a part of his jacket and temporarily bandage Hank’s wound -- has a death wish makes his blood turn cold.
“ Sorry to say, but I must inform you that I don’t intend on letting that happen.” Connor can hear the Lieutenant scoff, and he can’t help but smile when the other grumbles like a child as he drags him to the nearest cover he can locate. It’s a miracle that they manage to leave the heart of the battle mostly unscathed, with only Hank’s leg wound to attend to.
“ Should’ve left me there, honestly. What happened to ‘ following your directives’ or whatever?”
Connor feels himself relax, simulated breathing now back to being steady. There’s a lot of overwhelming emotions sensations he’s experiencing right now, // relief- gratitude- concern- the texture of Hank’s jeans-the soft edges of Hank’s blue eyes- the biting cold of winter that surrounds them // and Connor relishes in every single one of them.
“ I rewrote them.” Laughter spills out of Hank’s mouth when he says this. He raises an eyebrow at Connor.
“ To what? Getting yourself fucking killed instead? Not very smart for a state of the art android if you’d ask me.” And before Hank can add anything else- Connor responds with a small, gentle smile.
“ No. To protecting you.”
<<PRIME DIRECTIVES OVERWRITTEN. UPDATED TO ‘ PROTECTING LIEUTENANT ANDERSON' >>