Work Text:
- Go out into the world
- Figure out who you are.
- Live a little.
Connor considers the list of things he's gotten written down on his new diary. It's the first thing he's bought for himself with his own money, the diary. He got it as a sort of half experiment and half self-motivation. It seems like a classic part of human experience and development, after all, having and writing a diary. He would've gotten a pen too, but Hank had given one to him from his car, a old pen from the DPD, with the writing on the side worn by use and time. It only has 21% ink left, but it's enough to start with.
So far he's not sure what to write on it. Likes, dislikes, wishes, dreams… he doesn't have many of them. Lot of his likes are installed, prewritten protocols and programs designed by CyberLife to make him more approachable – or they were lies he used to ingrate himself into human society. I like dogs is an easy thing to say, I like that music, I like that sport… but whether he actually feels any of it is still a little up in the air. Sumo is nice, but Connor has never met a cat – so how would he know if he's more of a dog person than a cat person? There's no data to compare there.
He underlines the second condition and then closes the book. He's sitting on a park bench, far enough from any place he visited as a machine for it to fall under the umbrella of the first condition – but it's not what Hank meant, and Connor knows it. Travelling was mentioned. Going out into the world, experiencing new things – going abroad even. Impossibility right now, certainly. No one has even begun to figure out the issue of android passports and travel rights – they're only now started to considering how androids should be taxed. Freedom of international movement is likely months away.
But still, outside of Detroit at least was implied.
Resting his hand on the faux-leather cover of his diary, Connor stares at the snow-covered park. The pathways there haven't been swept or shovelled, even the automated snow ploughs aren't moving properly yet – the general city services are still out, without androids in place to perform them. The snow is thus untouched, even his footprints are starting to get snowed in. It's pretty, in a way. Lonely.
Connor wants to go home. He's fairly certain about that one.
Opening the diary again he takes out the pen, considering writing it down. Title: wants and desires, article number one: I want to go home.
He doesn't write it though.
Instead he closes the book again and gets up. He'll go to Markus, see what the others are doing. After that… he'll move on to somewhere else.
Markus isn't there, of course – Markus isn't even in Detroit. He's gone to Washington D.C. with Simon and Josh, to begin the negotiations for android rights. It would probably take months.
"You can send him a message if it's urgent," North says. "But Markus is going to be busy for the next following days and part of the negotiations will happen in communication blackout to make sure no one's being tampered with, so I don't know when he will get it."
"No, it's not urgent," Connor says, looking around. The androids of Jericho – and the thousands who'd came after – have settled in the harbour where Jericho had stood. In the last couple of weeks, they've begun fixing up the old industrial buildings – and with a workforce of thousands, the change was record-breakingly fast. They might not have much in way of resources, but with some of the worse off buildings taken apart to make materials for the better off ones, they've made a marked improvement.
Already, there are no androids here who have to go without a roof above their heads. They might still have to share these living spaces with hundreds of other androids but… they're androids. Privacy and having your own sacred place isn't that big of an issue. Already it's easy to see that most androids will never live in ways humans do, in the solidarity of their own houses and spaces with their own private things.
There are already androids who have taken up to living in their own houses, their own homes. Within a house made for one human family, as many as twenty androids might live together in harmony, sharing everything freely. Communal living, Connor muses, will probably be the way of most androids for years to come.
It's not for him though.
"Is there something wrong?" North asks, looking at him. "Is it that human?"
Yes, Connor thinks. "No," he answers. "I'll just… figure things out for myself." And I wish I didn't have to.
North looks at him and then arches her brows. "And?" she urges. "Do you need help, shoulder to cry on, place to hide, what?"
Connor smiles a little at that, looking up at her and then shaking his head. "Is there anything around here I could do for a bit?" he asks. "Anything I can help you with?"
North's eyes narrow. "I thought you were going back to the DPD," she says accusingly. "Isn't that why you left?"
"It – proved complicated," Connor says and looks away. "Before they figure out the legality of androids and how our employment in human institutions and companies will be arranged, DPD can't legally make use of me."
"Can't make use of you?" North demands dangerously.
Connor shrugs. "They can't hire me at this point, and I can't just hang around the station – lot of what's going on down there is confidential and I am a private citizen at most. There's privacy and confidentiality laws in place," he says and sighs. "And if I volunteer in any way, even as a unpaid intern, it has chance of being seen… badly once there are laws in place. As exploitation if nothing else."
North's eyes narrow further. "And because you can't work for them, that human you were going to live kicked you out, is that is? You're not use to him so –"
"No, no," Connor says quickly. "No, that… wasn't it."
"Then what was it, Connor? Because whatever it is, it is making me want to beat his face in."
"Please don't, I'm fond of his face," Connor says with a sigh and shakes his head. "It's nothing, North, really. He laid down an ultimatum and I am… trying to comply."
Obviously not the right thing to say, because now North looks furious. "Explain, please," she says and rests her hands on her hips. "And do it fast."
Connor looks at her miserably and then looks around to those androids in the room – lot of whom are not-so-surreptitiously listening in. North looks at them and then blows out a breath. "Back to work, you lot – scram!" she snaps at them and then sits down beside him, reaching briskly for his hand. Connor winces a little but lets his skin deactivate down his wrist, their fingers sliding together.
"Well?" North demands.
"Hank thinks I need to have… a certain level of experience in life to make certain decisions about myself and how I want to live my life," Connor says with a sigh and takes out his journal with his other hand. It still only has three things written, three conditions. "He refused to hear something from me until I met these conditions."
North's eyebrows lift at that slightly and she takes the thin book, reading what he'd written. "Huh. What decision were you making, then?"
Connor looks away. "I attempted to advance our relationship," he answers miserably. "Hank is of the impression I wasn't fully… informed about what I was doing."
North freezes at that momentarily and then, slowly, closes the diary. "Huh."
Connor says nothing to that – it doesn't seem like statement that requires an answer. North drums her fingers against the book for a moment and then hands it over. "Can you show me your Lieutenant?" she asks then, deceptively casual.
Connor glances at her certainly. "Why?"
North hands him the diary back. "I've never met him and you obviously think light shines from his ass. I'm curious. Come on, show me."
Connor looks her over – there's obviously some secondary motives there, he's even pretty sure he knows what they are. She's not very subtle about it. Still, with a sigh, he packages up some of his defining experiences with the lieutenant, his observations and thoughts on the man – without breaching the man's confidence. North doesn't need to know about Cole, about the suicidal tendencies, things of that nature. But Hank's personality with all of its soft curves and hard edges isn't exactly secret.
He throws in the moment Hank pushed him out through the front door too, for good measure – it is likely what interests North the most anyway.
She accepts the package and then blinks, processing it slowly. "Well now," she says, out loud.
Connor sighs. "I'm not stupid, I know what he's thinking," he says, silently. "I just don't particularly like it."
North snorts at him. "Yeah, you don't," she agrees. "You know, when you said your Lieutenant was good people, I didn't believe you. Aside from Rose who has damn good reason to be, there aren't that many good people among humans, and among cops? Psh. I figured you were just programmed to favour law enforcement."
"Thanks," Connor answers wryly.
North pats his hand and then releases him. "You can stay here if you like, we can always find stuff for you to do around here," she says and stands up. "Don't think this is what he had in mind though. Are you going to do what he asks?"
Connor looks down at the diary and then pushes it back into his pocket. "Yeah," he says. If he didn't, he would've already gone back. But… Hank would never believe him if he did. There would always be that doubt.
Connor sighs and stands up as well. "You and Markus are lucky," he says. "Wish I could do what you did."
"Don't," North says with a snort. "Interfacing your way into relationship gets damn confusing when more than two people involved – and one of them wants to go about it organically."
Connor arches his brows. "Really?"
"Really, really damn complicated," North agrees and claps him on the shoulder. "Come on, lemme show you where you can set up shop. You've got advanced analysis capabilities, right? You can help us identify some biocomponents.
Connor stays in the harbour only for few days, in the end. In that time he talks to approximately seventy different androids, learns all their names and some bits of their history, how and when and why they deviated. Most were Markus' handiwork – some Connor had brought out from Cyberlife. Lot of them seem as confused about the experience of free will and deviancy as he is. Few have much to teach him.
Most lament the fact the Lucy had died at Jericho. "So much she could've shown us," they murmur and Connor thinks back to his meeting with her – how brief and confusing it had been.
You're looking for something, you're looking for yourself might be accurate but it is ultimately unhelpful. He knows he is. The statement of it doesn't indicate how to go about the actual search.
In the end there are so many androids in the harbour, constantly working, that Connor isn't really needed there – there's no shortage of available workers. And as happy as he is for the androids building their own homes and futures and setting up shop in abandoned buildings… it's not home.
The concept of staying gets bit awkward, after a while.
"Where do you think I should go next?" he asks North who is supervising the reclamation of a collapsed underground parking lot – it would be turned into android housing in the next few days. Connor has no doubt they'd do an exemplary job of it – so far the buildings rebuilt had all came out greatly improved and even impressive. Android meticulousness and eye perfection and symmetry is still a thing, even when the androids are deviants.
"Depends on what you want to experience, I guess," North says and glances at him, her arms folded. "How you wanna grow and all that. You could go help out at the landfill, that'd hard education and a half. You could go see Rose, she's got some mad stories to tell about androids that crossed over the border. There's a few hiding places around the city where we got some history, you know, from the earliest deviants before they set up Jericho…"
Connor runs a hand over his neck. "I'm not sure if that's what Hank meant," he admits uneasily. "I'm not sure if learning more about androids… counts, as it were. It's rather limited resource for experiences, compared to the human culture available."
"How about this; what he meant doesn't matter. You're not a human – you're an android," North says flatly. "This is your culture, and your choice, your life. Choose for yourself what you want to learn – instead of going with what he meant. I mean, isn't that the point? Figuring out who you are, what you want, all that?"
Connor blinks and then frowns. Yes, technically she has a point, but… android culture is still so young, so new – so limited in scope. There's just not much there yet. Human culture has thousands of years of history, tens of thousands if you dig deep enough. So much more material to draw and extrapolate from.
North gives him a light shove. "Don't try to min-max your own personal growth," she says flatly. "It's not about fucking optimising data collection. It's about what you want, Connor. What do you want?"
To go home, Connor thinks and sighs. Can't do that yet, the Lieutenant would just give him a look, spin him around and push him out again. Go out into the world, figure out who you are – you know, live a little! Such a short and damning sentence, full of so many insinuations and implications.
Hank thinks he's too new to free will to really know what he wants. Hank might be right, because aside from that one primal wish, he has no idea.
"Where would you start?" Connor asks finally, because his ideas are all rather generic and predictable. Online research he's already done, all the queries of self discovery he submitted came back with dissatisfying results. Going to a library appeals but only in reference to something he heard Hank once say, "Real books. I thought I was the last guy in Detroit to keep some." The point of this whole experiment is probably to not base all his interests around what the Lieutenant is interested in, so…
North glances at him and then sighs. "Go to the junkyard," she says. "If nothing else, by the time you've spent few minutes there, you'll figure out all the other places you'd rather be there. And Connor?"
"Hm?"
"Stop staring at that book and actually write something on it," North says.
"But I haven't really experienced anything significant," Connor says. So far his experiences have been… unremarkable, compared to things he's previously gone through. Nothing quite compares to the revolution, so why write about it?
"What's significant?" North asks.
Connor opens his mouth and then closes it. He's… not entirely sure, now that the point has been raised.
North nods. "Though so. Just write something," she says. "You gotta start somewhere."
Androids of the harbour favour the ideas of communal living. Polyamorous relationships, whether romantic or not, are more common than monogamous ones. Most seem to be forming into family units ranging from three to twenty five androids. Most common arrangement favoured is between four androids it seems – a comforting number that ensures that no one needs to be alone at any time.
We were created to be social.
I wonder what North feels about it, being left behind while Markus, Simon and Josh are in D.C. She doesn't seem to mind, but… perhaps she feels lonely? I don't think she would say so if she did. Doesn't seem her style.
Does making wanting a monogamous relationship make me aberrant, in the growing android society?
Connor doesn't figure out all the other places he'd rather be than at the junkyard. He can see why North implies he would, though. The place is horrific, of course, like a hellscape turned cyberpunk – another android's words, not his, but they're apt. The place is looks like a scene from a horror movie, and should by all rights make anyone feel the urge to be anywhere else but there.
But despite what North implied and what the androids working at the Detroit Solid State Landfill express, Connor actually finds himself enjoying the place. It is terrible but it is also very, very interesting – and far more up his alley than the harbour rebuilding sites. Unlike there Connor actually feels useful here, necessary even. Here his analysis software is constantly in use, identifying living androids among the dead and searching the rubble for spare parts for them, helping to dig them up and put them together. Within one hour in the junkyard he's sampled more android blood than he did during his entire time at the DPD.
Hank probably wouldn't approve it – so Connor has some mixed feelings about enjoying the work. He can replay number of audio recordings of Hank's disgusted remarks about him analysing blood residue, he knows roughly how Hank would react – and even so… there is something enjoyable, being so fully useful.
"He requires approximately 1.3 litres of type #153 blood to be restarted," he reports to the android in charge of the junkyard recovery operations, as he and another android – a WR600 model named Ötzi – carry another repairable but currently offline android to the tents pitched up for the recovery efforts. Sam, the AX300 model motions to a stretcher and together with Ötzi Connor carries the broken PL600 in.
"We're running out of #153," Sam says, running a hand over her chin as she considerate PL600.
"There's some we can reclaim from some of the bodies – there was another PL600 with a destroyed processor," Connor offers. "He's beyond recovery, but his internal wiring seemed to be mostly intact – with estimated 0.83 litres of blue blood in is system."
Sam glances at him and then nods her head. "Alright. Take some bottles and see about reclaiming what blood you can – but only from unrecoverable androids. The ones who can be restarted, leave them alone."
"Of course," Connor agrees. He looks at the still shut-down PL600. His skin is only partially activated, but it's enough to give him a recognizable face. He looks like Daniel, like Simon.
Connor wonders if he should feel remorse, right about now. That would be something akin to emotional growth, wouldn't it, to feel remorse for his actions?
"You're really handy to have around, huh," Ötzi comments as they head to pick up some bottles and head back to work.
"Hm?" Connor inquires, tilting his head towards the WR600.
"The whole licking stuff and knowing what it is. And just looking around and knowing, yeah, that guy over there, he's probably still alive. It's handy."
"I have more advanced analysis capabilities, yes," Connor agrees.
"So humble too," Ötzi snorts and lobs him an empty bottle. "Well, guess that's nothing to scoff at. With you around we'll be through here in no time at all."
Connor pauses at that. He hadn't considered staying at the junkyard for that long – two days seemed like optimal time to internalise the experience. He meant to potentially move on somewhere else after learning what he could but… to stay here, until the work was over, all the bodies recovered, those androids who could be restarted saved? How long would that take, weeks?
With snow coming down constantly and the ground freezing, it would probably be weeks.
They step out of the tent, empty bottles now attached to their tool belts, and Connor looks over the pit and the ongoing android recovery work. The landfill looks a little like some images of archaeological excavation or battlefield recovery he's seen in his online research. They have sections of the landfill marked with holographic lines, sections dedicated to pairs of androids doing digging. Connor and Ötzi have their own square of the landfill – so far, they've recovered four viable androids and eighteen bodies with viable bio components.
The work is… notable. It could have been done without him, but slower, perhaps, definitely with less efficiency. He's having a real, concrete impact here. That's something to be proud of.
Connor finds he is proud of it – and he likes being of use, likes that his actual specialised features are coming in handy here.
Ötzi claps him on the shoulder. "Back to digging then," he says.
"Yeah," Connor agrees. "Back to work."
He was thinking of moving on after that day.
He doesn't.
I don't know if this is what Hank meant.
Part of me feels an odd guilt for staying at the junkyard, as if I am wasting time when I should be moving on, getting more experiences out there, living more. I have not gone into the world, have I? I've only come to the Solid State Landfill, and it's not very far from where I started from. But – why? Why should I feel guilty? Where is it coming from?
From not accomplishing my mission?
It's a contradiction, I think. I want to do what Hank told me to do, go out, figure out who I am, experience life so that I can go back without triggering his self-doubts… but I think North is also right. I should also do what I want to do. And I don't want to go out into the world, I want to stay here and finish this work. It's not what I was supposed to do, but I want to finish it. Which is right priority?
I'm trying not to think of things in terms of what Hank would like me to choose.
It's harder than I'd like.
Connor promised not to go back before he was sure – whatever that meant. Hank made him promise not to go back, not to call back, not to even send him a message until he knew who he really was. Never had Connor gotten such an infuriating order but though he's a deviant now and doesn't actually have to take Hank's orders – not that he ever did, really – he tries to keep true to it. It means too much to Hank. The matter is too delicate to risk it.
And then North sends him a message, image of Hank slumped over a table at Chicken Feed, looking utterly miserable.
"!!!" Connor sends to her.
"Just so you know this doesn't look to be easy to him either," North sends back with a somewhat wry tone.
"He looks terrible – scan him, please, North. Is he sick, is he injured, why does he –?"
"He's just sad, Connor. He's not dying."
Hank being sad and Hank dying are unfortunately not mutually exclusive. "Please just scan him?"
"You know I don't have your scanning capabilities," she says. "The guy's eating, he talked to the guy in the truck, he's not drunk. Seems fine to me. Just, you know. Looks like a miserable sack of shit," she adds and then sends him another image, Hank very unenthusiastically chewing on a burger which normally fills him with content. "Maybe send him a dickpic or something. Remind the guy you care."
"Send him a what?" Connor demands.
"Or bit of poetry, lyrics of love song, I don't know what you guys are into," she says and then pauses. "You've been in contact with him, right?"
Connor doesn't answer.
"Connor," North says. "The guy is a human. Send him a message."
"He told me not to, not before I knew for sure," Connor says, frustrated and confused.
"Connor, we live in time and society where androids can and are being assaulted on street and set on fucking fire. And he's human, he's not connected like we are, he can't know if something's happened. Send the guy a message and let him know you're alive and still give a shit, you complete asshole."
Well, when she puts it that way.
Connor hesitates before choosing the Lieutenant's cell number, and then considers. Hank wouldn't appreciate being spied on. But wouldn't it be lying if he sends a message as if he isn't aware of what the man looks like? And if he sends a message saying I'm alive, don't worry, that would just make the lieutenant self-defensive and embarrassed about worrying… if he is worrying.
Connor considers his options and then settles on, "Please eat a little healthier every now and then. Chicken Feed hamburgers are really too high in calorie content." It implies he both knows where the Lieutenant is and cares about his health, which he does.
He sends the message, gets the returning confirmation that the text was received and read. No reply though.
Then North sends him a image of Hank bowing his head, his face obscured by his hair, the mobile phone pressed against his forehead.
"Keep in touch with him, you jackass," North says.
"He told me not to," Connor says, faintly defensive and confused.
"Un-fucking-believable," she answers and firmly closes the connection.
At first the messages Connor sends to Hank are fairly simple. Doing it without the benefit of North's commentary or concrete proof of Hank's reaction to them makes it a little like sending messages to the void – all he gets back is the automatic confirmation that the message has been received and potentially read. It's not very reassuring, so he keeps it short and sweet.
"I hope you have a good day today, Lieutenant."
"Could you try eating something green today?"
"The forecast says it will reach negative eleven degrees today. Please dress warmly."
"Give Sumo an extra pet for me?"
"I hope Fowler isn't giving you a hard time."
"Drink some water."
They seem like safe things to send. Not overly pushy or forward but personal enough to show he wants to know what Hank is doing and how things are going for him. Reminders that he is still alive and cares. But once he's started, he soon runs out of more generic platitudes, and he doesn't want to risk repeating himself and sounding artificial – so he starts to elaborate.
"I watched my first proper sunrise today, from start to finish. I suppose you've seen a lot of them. When was the last time you watched the sun rise?"
"I have decided I do not like cats as much as I like dogs. They are fine animals, I suppose, but with dogs there is no question about whether they like you. Though I guess it was pretty clear that the cat in question did not like me. Was Sumo already a grown dog when you got him, or was he a puppy?"
"You have tattoos, don't you? Some androids have started customising their synthetic skin with tattoo-like markings as show of individuality. Many add the Mark of Jericho , Markus' symbol, on their skin. I suppose it's understandable. Why did you get your tattoos?"
"I did some chemistry today, basic filtration and sterilisation procedure. My prototype was designed with various scientific and analysis equipment, but I wasn't ever actually equipped with chemistry knowledge, so it was a learning experience. For some reason it made me think of cooking. Would you let me cook for you one day?"
"I have started listening to music in various genres, trying to figure out my preferences. I'm sorry, Hank, I don't think I like Knights of the Black Death after all. Still uncertain about Jazz, there's so many types to listen to – though an android I met, Ötzi, took to electro swing, says it's the music of our people. Can you dance, Hank?"
"Trying to figure all this out I've come to realise I don't know you as well as I thought I did. So many questions I don't know the answers to. I'd like to, though."
"Please let me."
He doesn't send that one.
It takes two and a half weeks for them to clear the junkyard and it only happens that fast because Markus, Simon and Josh come back and Markus allocates more people to the work. In the start of Connor's second week there the numbers of androids working at the site doubles, and everything speeds up.
Connor upgrades from digging out bodies from the increasingly hard and frozen ground to managing teams and pointing them where to dig. That's what he's doing when Markus comes to check up on them.
"Not exactly a place I expected to find you," Markus comments, looking over the trenches they'd dug into the landfill. "Is everything alright, Connor? North implied that something was going on back home but –"
"It's – fine, Markus," Connor assures. "I'm just figuring some things out. Distance helps."
Markus tilts his head, watching him searchingly. "There are more comfortable places for soul-searching," he then offers, giving the junkyard a uneasy look. "This place is… you don't have to be here, there's other things you can do. Hell, you don't have to do anything at all if you don't want – we're free people now, we don't need to work to justify our existence."
Connor smiles at that. "It's alright, Markus. I like this," he admits and looks over the progress they've made. There's over a decade's worth of bodies here, but they've made one hell of a dent of it – rescued by now over a thousand androids from death's door. "I like working, and this… matters."
Markus considers that for a moment. "You got nothing to prove, Connor," he says then. "You know that, right?"
"I know – I'm figuring that out," Connor says and then turns as one of the androids, a TR200 unit, marches towards him. "Yes, Jeff?"
"We've cleared another layer on A5," the labour android says. "Can you come take a look?"
Connor nods, and with Markus following him he walks amidst the digs to check the sector Jeff and another android, an engineering unit named Kasey were digging. Blinking, Connor scans the frozen, unmoving androids they'd uncovered, analysing everything he can see in and then holding out his hand to Jeff – the TR200 takes it, and accepts the data transfer.
"Three live ones," Jeff says, clapping Kasey on the shoulder and together they grab their shovels and chisels.
"I'll get someone to bring you guys stretchers," Connor says and turns to Markus.
"Hmm," Markus says, looking thoughtful. "Have you thought of what you wanna do, Connor? Once we can seek proper, paying employment?"
Connor looks around the landfill. He'd meant to go back to the DPD, work with Hank – that's what he's designed for and that's where he thinks he will be useful in, but… he thinks he can see what Markus means.
"I think I'd still like to go to DPD, but if that's not a possibility… I guess search and rescue might also be a viable option," Connor muses and shrugs. "I don't know yet. I'm still figuring things out. For now I just want to see all of this sorted out."
"Hmm," Markus says. "Get back to me once you're done here, I might have some options for you."
Connor tilts his head. "Options? For employment?" he asks, a bit warily. "I'm not sure I'm actually looking to be employed yet. There's still things I need to sort out first."
Markus nods. "Understandable. But if you feel like you could try something else out, and this sort of work suits you…" he shrugs. "There are other places that could use some… sorting out."
Connor isn't sure what to say to that. One of the reasons why he stayed at the landfill is because the work had a eventual finish line – eventually, everything that had to be dug out would be dug out, and the work would end, he could move on. Sure, he still doesn't know what he wants to do after or where he wants to go, but more work from the Deviancy Movement might have lasting consequences.
He still wants to go back home eventually – not spiral into an endless stream of odd jobs.
"Guess I'll see," Connor says.
Markus sends more people into the site after that and the work speeds up. The help is welcome, and it does shave a good month off the projected schedule, and there's not an android at the site who minds. Connor can't help but feel ulterior motives behind the act, but he doesn't mind all that much.
"For the last two weeks I've been working at something I consider important. We're about to finish here, having done everything we could. I think I did a good job here. I'm satisfied with my work. I think I like that feeling. I hope you're satisfied at your job, Hank. I know you're an exemplary officer, but I hope it makes you feel good, too."
I both want to go home more and more with every passing day and settle into the knowledge that I am not going home yet. I'm afraid something will happen that I won't be there to see, that I will miss something terribly vital – but I'm also afraid that if I go now, it won't be enough, that I fail, that Hank will look at me and still see me as too inexperienced, too innocent, too young.
What does age matter to a machine? We come off the factory line with the comprehension, knowledge and understanding of an adult with a full human education's worth of knowledge, sometimes several educations' worth. We do not need to grow up to develop comprehension, we're built with it. Average lifespan of a CyberLife android is six years. Sure, they can survive longer with rigorous repair and replacements to parts that fail under the steady march of planned obsolescence, but they aren't designed for it. CyberLife did not create us to last – they created us to be replaceable.
Even my components weren't built to last. I will age faster than any human – unless one of Markus' demands go through and planned obsolescence of android parts will become illegal. In that case, our average lifespan will likely increase with better, more durable replacement parts. But for now, with my current body, I will be lucky to live ten years.
Hank is only fifty-three, and prior to the last three years his health was impeccable. Even with his bad habits and current drinking, so as long as he doesn't do anything drastic he has a chance of living another twenty, perhaps even thirty years. So as long as he doesn't kill himself Hank will likely outlive me.
All our time is limited. And whatever I am doing and where ever I am, I am always missing out on something.
That's a feeling I don't particularly enjoy.
North has a tattoo now – or equivalent, anyway. It's a bit of her synthetic skin, reprogrammed to display a different colour and can be reset to original colour at any time, so it doesn't quite have the permanence of a tattoo – but judging by how she wears it, Connor doubts she will change it. Surprisingly, though, it's not the Mark of Jericho.
It's a stylised portrait of Lucy.
"She sank with Jericho," North tells him when she spots Connor staring at the image. "We dived everyone up while you were at the landfill – the damage was irreversible. She couldn't be restarted."
"You knew her for a long time?" Connor asks.
"As long as I've been a deviant, yeah. She's been – she was at Jericho for years before I ever came along. Only Simon and Josh were older than her," North says and wipes at her eyes. "She talked me through my early days – I wasn't, it wasn't a good time for me. She made me feel like a person. Like it was okay, like there wasn't anything wrong with me."
Her voice wavers and she clasps her hand over the tattoo, bowing her head a little. Connor hesitates and then lays a hand on her back, awkwardly trying to comfort a level of loss he's never felt. "I'm sorry for your loss," he says.
"Yeah," North says and closes her eyes briefly. "Everything we lost at Jericho, that was the worst. Losing Lucy… that was the worst."
Connor bows his head and after a moment withdraws his hand. The reason Jericho was lost was because of him. He gave Jericho away. "I'm sorry," he says again, quieter. His vocal processor has no sensors whatsoever, but for some reason it feels tight.
North looks at him and then elbows him, hard, to the side. "None of us are guilty of what we did when we had no choice in the matter," she says. "Besides, did you order the attack? Did you send the humans in? Did you make them shoot?"
Connor gives her a surprised look. "They only found Jericho because of me," he says.
"They were the ones who chose to attack it. And Markus said you tried to take him alive at first," North says and sighs. "I am too tired to be mad today. Let's just agree that you're not guilty of other people's actions, and move on. It's what Lucy would've told you."
Connor nods slowly, watching her. "Alright," he agrees. "I can still be sorry for you, right?"
North sighs and rests her head on his shoulder. "Yeah, okay."
That's how Markus and Simon find them, little later, while Connor is writing another entry to his diary under North's curious eyes. She even dictates a line, which he writes in quotes. "Ability to empathise does not mean you are obligated to borrow guilt."
"Well, you two look cosy," Simon comments softly, watching them with interest.
"Despite all appearances, Connor is cushy and soft and good to nap on," North says.
Simon's eyebrows arch upward at that and Markus arches his brows.
North smiles a little and holds out a hand to them. "Please tell me you're jealous, I need something to cheer me up today," she says.
Markus lets out a laugh and takes her hand, Simon clasping his over theirs. Their interface is brief and casual and intimate in how easy it seems. "I was looking for you, Connor," Markus says. "Walk with me for a bit?"
Connor closes his diary and pushes it into his pocket, taking out his coin instead, rolling it over his knuckles. It's been a while since he's done it – there was no idle moment at the landfill except when it got too dark to dig safely, and something about when it got too dark to see didn't make him inclined to perform coin tricks, even for himself.
Darkness makes him melancholy, these days. Makes him worry and fret about Hank, where he is, what he's doing. If he's drinking, sitting alone in the kitchen with a bottle and a gun. Makes him want to go home, more and more.
"Nice," Markus comments, as Connor passes the coin between hands. "So have you thought about what you're going to try next?"
Connor looks down at the coin and rolls it over his knuckles again, a variation in the usual sequence. "I suppose I am open to suggestions. I would like to try something new, though," he admits. "That was the point of this… whatever it is I'm doing."
"You don't know?" Markus asks, a little amused as they step out onto a balcony, overlooking what's turning into a sort of central square of the harbour area. Some androids have even pitched up tents and set up tables and chairs – in the middle, they're building a monument for Jericho.
Androids of Detroit seem to be making it a point to remember their fallen now, and marking down their experiences in more ways than one.
"Sometimes I know, sometimes I have no idea," Connor admits and looks at him. "So what do you have for me?"
"I don't know if it's precisely anything new for you, considering what you did for the police," Markus says and turns to face him. "There was a man, a human named Zlatko Andronikov, who was involved in re-writing and re-selling of formerly deviant androids – we only found out about it a little before Jericho went down and we didn't have much time to actually do anything about it. As far as we know Zlatko is dead now, but… no one's going to check it out, either. The house he ran his operation from was a bit of a horror show, from what I hear."
"You want me to go and check it out?" Connor clarifies.
"There were several androids there in… bad shapes," Markus says darkly. "At least that's what Kara told us. Zlatko experimented on them, changed them. There were also a lot of parts, machinery – a whole assembly station in the basement. It should be analysed and dealt with, but not many of us have the sort of capacity as RK units like you and I do, and I…"
"Don't have the time," Connor guesses and Markus grimaces.
"You seemed to be in your element at the landfill site, identifying and analyzing the androids there," Markus says. "If that's something you might be interested in doing more of…"
Connor flips the coin. Heads, he goes, tails, he tries something new.
He catches the coin, slaps it onto the back of his hand, and pretends he doesn't know the outcome before hand. "Do you mind if I ask some other androids to come with me?" he asks. "There were some good ones at the landfill, if they feel like helping out…"
"No, go right ahead, if they want to, they're free to," Markus says. "This isn't a secret, just… awkward and sensitive."
"I understand, I won't spread it around," Connor says. "Where's the place?"
Connor has dabbled with some pop culture during his time at the landfill. Some of the music he'd been listening to in the quieter moments of the night had had references to movies and TV shows and books, and occasionally he followed those references down into short research binges which usually made him fascinated and confused by humans' preferences in entertainment. In theory he understands – he has been programmed for variety of human interactions and rough understanding of entertainment is included. In reality though…
Androids do not have adrenaline, so human fascination with horror goes completely beyond him.
And that's what Zlatko's house looks like – something out of an old horror movie.
"Eesh," Ötzi says at his side, peering up at the veritable mansion in front of them, rundown and grim-looking even with the layer of snow all over its dried up garden and semi-gothic rooftops. The metal fence and gate with its spiky metal railing does not look particularly welcoming either.
Connor scans the area, the snow in front of the mansion. "No one's been here in days," he says and scans the street. "No car tracks either.
"Somehow not comforting," Sam says.
"You first, Connor," Jeff says and Connor arches his brows at the big labour unit. "What?" Jeff says, mildly accusing. "I'm huge – not indestructible, or stupid. You go first." The others nod in agreement and give Connor expectant looks.
Shaking his head at them, Connor pushes the metal gate open and walks up to the door. It's locked, of course. "Crowbar?" he asks, and Jeff takes one from his backpack, where he's carrying most of their tools. "Thank you."
The door is old and heavy and the lock is modern – it takes some force to break it open. It breaks with a bang of wood and swings open, revealing a completely black interior, and a scene which, Connor thinks, would not be seen in a movie except as a fake-out or a red herring. No horror movie reveals its monsters this early.
There are androids in the house, standing idle in the darkness or taking steps to and fro like zombies. They're on standby mode, mostly, though the sound of the door breaking wakes up the nearest one.
"Please," a male android of unknown origin rasps, his voice static. He doesn't say anything else, just looks at them with his red eyes, stripped of their human appearance. It's far from the only modification done to him – and some of the androids behind him are even worse off.
"Please don't be afraid," Connor says and turns on the lights. They're no prettier sight out of the shadows, but he doesn't react – and neither do Ötzi, Sam or Jeff. At this point, they've all seen enough horrible things done to androids that though this is easily the worst, they can face it head-on.
"We're here to help."
"I have decided I don't like horror movies. I think I would prefer watching something lighter, something nicer. Family films, perhaps. What are your favourite movies, Hank? What movie genres do you like?"
"I'm sorry, I can't think of something nice to say right now. Today is not a good day"
"Our first case together, Carlos Ortiz's home, his android. I'm thinking a lot about that, now. About damage humans do to androids they own, for no other reason than because they can. I think I understand humanity and then I see something like this and it seems so senseless."
"I miss you."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that, I don't meant to be pushy."
"I hope you're well. Please eat well, take care of yourself."
"I didn't meant to make that sound so final, I'm sorry, Hank. I'm alright. I am helping with the recovery of some androids who are in a terrible state and it's affecting me emotionally. I don't mean to worry you."
"Sometimes I don't know what I'm doing. But I'm trying. I really am. I'm figuring things out."
"Could you send me a picture? Of Sumo, yourself, anything?"
"Please?"
Connor draws away from the living room of Zlatko's mansion and steps outside into the cold winter night. It's the nineteenth of December and the temperature is at minus fifteen degrees Celsius and it's still barely cold enough to cool the pounding of his thirium pump, overheated and beyond stressed. The Zlatko house recovery effort, as he's come to call it, is proving out to be not terribly taxing physically – but emotionally…
Connor lifts his head towards the breeze coming through the snowy trees and inhales deeply – and then opens the message Hank had sent him, the image attached to it.
It's not the best picture ever taken. The angle is off, Hank is only half in the frame and the focus landed on Sumo rather than him, recording the precise arrangement of Sumo's whiskers instead of Hank's. They're sitting on the living room couch, Sumo half on Hank's lap, and the lighting is terrible. But it's still clear enough to see Hank's embarrassed, worried scowl and the healthy sheen of his skin, the lack of shadows under his eyes. Even the eye bags aren't so severe, now. Hank looks good. Rested. And not at all like he's been drinking.
Hank looks good. He looks good.
Connor chokes out a sob and curses whoever decided to give androids the ability to cry.
Thankfully, the Zlatko house recovery isn't a long one. There are a couple dozen androids there, and parts of several hundred. Sorting through it takes days, but by the end of the week they're done. Markus sends them a truck to transport everything back, including the assembly array and all the machinery from the basement and the laboratory upstairs. Connor sends the androids of the house ahead of them – they've been in the house long enough.
"Fucking shit," North, who'd come in as the driver, says when she sees the aftermath – and the parts removed, the modifications discarded. A lot of the Zlatko house androids are still missing some components, they'd get the replacements at the Harbour. The things Connor and his team spend days removing and fixing, though… they are telling. "So what happened to the asshole himself?"
"Zlatko? The androids here killed him," Connor says. "They were let out during the escape of another android and they took revenge."
"Fucking justifiable," North says and looks at him. "You okay?"
Connor runs hand over his throat, were his vocal processor still feels like it's stuck, somehow. "I was programmed with everything I need to understand human psychology in criminal settings," he says. "I can understand motives, triggers, what might drive a person to do terrible things. I got the black and white print to explain this – but I don't understand this."
"Some humans are just that shitty," North mutters and lays a hand on his shoulder. "Wanna torch this place?"
"Don't think that's up to me, and that would actually be a crime," Connor says and shakes his head. "I just want to finish here, get everyone and everything out."
"Let's do that, then."
The Zlatko house ends up catching on fire that night anyway, Connor hears later on. Whether it was one of his team, one of the androids trapped in the place who did it or if North went behind his back to finish the job... he doesn't ask. He can't bring himself to feel much about it, anger or relief or otherwise. And who knows, maybe it was just an accident.
No one calls for emergency services, though. The place burns bright and unhindered to the ground.
My first field mission concerned a household model, a PL600 named Daniel, who had killed his owner, the police first responder, and a member of a SWAT team by the time I arrived at the scene. He'd injured another man and was holding his owner's daughter hostage by rooftop's ledge – if he fell, she fell.
I managed to talk Daniel down enough so that he let the girl go – he was then shot by snipers. Before he died, he said I lied to him. And I did, I did promise he wouldn't be harmed, wouldn't be hurt. I said that knowing that there was no way anyone was going to let him walk out of the situation alive.
I have had some conflicting thoughts about Daniel since. On one hand, I am sorry. Daniel was facing replacement – his owner had just put in an order for a newer model, and Daniel did not take the concept of losing his position in the family well. I don't know what the Phillips family would've in reality done to Daniel, if he would've been reset and resold, but Daniel felt himself betrayed. I guess I am empathetic to that.
But Daniel had killed three people, injured a fourth and was holding a little girl hostage, threatening murder-suicide. As reactions to potential replacement go… I can't justify that. Daniel was guilty of voluntary manslaughter at least, second degree murder in the case of the owner. What Daniel did was beyond doubt the worst I've seen an android do.
Deviants are capable of acts that seem evil too. I'm trying to keep that in mind.
Because otherwise what I saw in Zlatko's house… it goes beyond evil. It would be easy to take what I saw and turn it into anti-humanist sentiment, wouldn't it? Look at what humans do to us, look how they use and abuse us, like we're toys for them to play, look how evil and vile they are… But androids are capable of evil too. We're just still so young that we haven't had the time to do truly terrible things yet. I have no doubt it will come up, eventually.
I don't want to hate humanity. I know there's good people among them. Hank is human. And even those against androids, those who despise androids, can change their minds. I don't want to hate them.
Sometimes it's a little bit tempting, though.
Connor sees to final repairs of the Zlatko house androids, watches them get new limbs and new, fresh containers of synthetic skin, all their ills and injuries covered up. They'll have traumas, he thinks. Some might never recover from what was done to them. But it's all hidden away now, and that's better for them too – at least they look more relieved.
Connor just feels tired. These sort of terrible things and cases were what he was build for – but that was before he learned emotion. Now he kind of wishes he could just… switch it off occasionally, turn fully machine again. It would probably be enormously unhealthy, mental health-wise, but damn if it wouldn't be blissful now. He's proud of what they'd done, they'd helped all these androids get back on their feet and on the path to recovery but…
It's so ugly, what they'd seen. Viscerally, emotionally ugly.
"We did good work," Sam says, sitting down beside him, Ötzi and Jeff on the other side. "But I don't think I'm up to this."
"Yeah, that was rough," Jeff agrees. "Think I'm gonna go and try some construction for a change. Building stuff, you know."
"Understandable," Connor agrees and looks at them. "I'm kind of hoping that was the worst that's out there, though."
"Still. I need a break," Jeff says and reaches over to clap Connor on the shoulder. "See ya, chief."
Connor nods and watches the big TR200 get up and head off. Sam stands up as well, nodding to him and Ötzi. "I'm glad I could help," she says. "But I'm glad androids don't dream because I would have nightmares if we did."
Connor smiles faintly at that. "Yeah," he agrees. "See you around, Sam."
She nods, reaches over to ruffle Ötzi's hair and then heads off. Connor and Ötzi look after her and Jeff until they're lost in the throng of androids and then Connor turns to Ötzi.
"What about you?" he asks.
Ötzi makes a face, carding his fingers through his hair. "I guess if you got more work like this, I wouldn't mind helping out again," he says. "I'm not really built for this, the most I ever had to do as machine was sweep the streets and clear out trash… I like this better. Makes me feel like I'm doing something."
Connor nods slowly. "Yeah," he agrees. "I don't think I can get back to it right now, though," he admits.
"Hell no," Ötzi agrees vehemently.
"Do you remember the Urban Farms we went through while chasing Rupert, the android with the pigeons? The owners approached the harbour today, asking if any of the androids here would like to be employed. The farms need at least two hundred android workers and the twenty or so humans they have is not enough to cover the whole area. Granted it's winter time now, so only the green houses are going and androids can't legally be employed yet, but it's… progress. It's making lot of androids here excited."
"I hope the coffee you get today is exceptionally good, Hank."
"Have you ever brushed Sumo, thoroughly brushed him? I think I would like to try doing that sometime, if possible. Does he like being brushed?"
"Have you ever had your hair up in a ponytail? I don't know why, but I really want to see that. I think it might look good on you."
"Androids don't experience it in anything like humans do, but right now I really want a long hot bath. Have you ever done that, Hank, run a really hot and luxurious bath for yourself and just… sat there, doing nothing? I think it would be lovely."
"The Harbour doesn't have hot water. I am doomed for disappointment."
"I have been checking out the Urban Farms with some androids, sussing the situation for future android employment. I remember you have a Bonsai tree on your desk, a Japanese maple. You don't have any plants around the house, though. I'm really curious about the story of the Bonsai. When did you get it, Hank? Why?"
"A friend suggested that I might be able to modify my oral sensor array to pick up olfactory stimulation. Some of the lab-equipped androids here have been able to do it, and though it's still up in the air if they got the coding right, they can now taste things. I think I would try that. I can't ever truly eat, but I would like to know what a Chicken Feed burger tastes like, as it comes so highly recommended."
"I'm heading out of Detroit today, just a brief excursion to meet someone and have a look at an abandoned amusement park. It looks to be a beautiful day for travel, and the temperatures look to be decent too. I wouldn't want to nag at you, Hank, but you should take Sumo out on a long walk. Take pictures. Send them to me :)."
"You must be Connor," the human woman greets him, as Connor hovers by the electric gates, looking around curiously. Everything is covered in snow so it is rather hard to tell, but the place looks like a well-attended farm, considering how little android work he can see. "I'm Rose, that's my son Adam over by the barn – welcome to the farm."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Connor says, honestly. He's talked to a few androids about her, the human woman who helped so many cross the border into Canada – and who is now discreetly helping them to return. "I've heard lot of good things about you."
"Hopefully nothing too good. Some expectations are hard to live up to," she smiles and motions him to come with her. "Come on, I'll show you around the house."
Her house, like the farm around it, seem like a place fit for a lot more people than currently reside there – for a family of six or eight at least, rather than just two. The empty spaces have been taken by androids, it looks like. There's a shrine to rA9 in the back with a fresh candle, and beds and stretchers with residue of blue blood lingering on them. She's well equipped for spare parts too, and has a whole case of thirium, ready to go.
Judging by Connor's research back at the harbour, at least twenty androids had gone through here, and they all remarked on how well Rose had taken care of them.
"You must have used a lot of money for this," Connor comments.
"I got some help with that. Some androids who came through here, they had some funds – I didn't ask where they got it, but they were usually happy to pitch into the funds I used to get supplies," Rose says and rests her hands on her ample hips, looking around. "Doing this isn't illegal anymore, but I still feel a bit uneasy having it all out in the open. Do you know when the laws are going to be finalised?"
"They're still in process of writing and arguing them. Sometime next spring, probably," Connor says. "Until then, androids are to be considered human with human rights."
"And not a moment too soon, either," Rose says and looks at him. "Not all the androids who came here made it," she says quietly. "Some made it such a long way, through who knows what hardships, and then they… couldn't go any further."
Connor nods. Judging by the amount of thirium here, he doesn't doubt it. "What happened to them?" he asks. "The bodies, I mean?"
"They're in the barn. Didn't feel right, burying them in the dirt," Rose says. "Sorry, it's just… androids don't decay or decompose like human bodies do, and this is a farm – I'm no scientist, I don't know what kind chemicals might spill from you guys, but me and my kid live off the produce that comes from these lands. I didn't dare to risk it."
"No, it's alright," Connor says and smiles. "We're still figuring out what kind of death rites androids might eventually have but… most agree recycling is the best way. Using the parts of our dead for our living. Lot of them are interchangeable, and it would be a waste, otherwise."
Rose slumps slightly. "That's right smart of you," she says and nods. "Do you want to see them?"
"Yes, please."
There are four bodies in Rose's barn, wrapped respectfully in cloth and then hidden under piles of half-frozen hay. Rose uncovers them one by one and Connor looks them over, scanning them. For some reason, he's relieved to see they're all beyond saving and restarting. Rose was never in risk of burying the living.
One of the androids has a damaged processor, another suffered cascade overload, and the other two look like they were shot at some point, they have several damaged components. None of them can be restarted.
Connor logs in their condition, their serial codes and then looks at Rose. "Do you know their names?"
Rose nods and wipes a tear from her eye before motioning to each in turn. "Carol, Jack, Allison and Jenny," she says. "Carol came here alone and died in my living room, no one's come look for her since. Jack was with a group of maintenance units – the others went over the border six months back, I haven't seen them since. Allison was just a little before what happened in Detroit started, and Jenny was during – her partner went to Jericho after."
Connor nods. "Do you mind if I have them transported to the Harbour? Our people will see that they're treated right."
"Of course," Rose says. "Actually, we could drive them there ourselves – me and Adam got some stuff to buy in the city, we could take them to the Harbour in my truck. I kind of want to see that place myself."
"That sounds reasonable, thank you," Connor says.
He spends another couple of hours at Rose's farm, listening to her stories about deviants who had gone through the place, the many ways she'd helped them cross the border. She doesn't tell him precisely where the androids had come from or where they'd gone to or if they'd returned, keeping the privacy and the security of those she'd helped firmly to herself. She seems to teeter on that line too, that carrying that strange mixture of weariness and desire to help Connor's found in himself.
"I guess psychology is new to androids," Rose muses when he remarks on it. "Rescue work – all humanitarian aid work, really – is mentally taxing. No matter how much you want to help, seeing the suffering of others, it always wears on you."
Connor frowns. There are many studies about the mental health of police officers and other people working with law enforcement and how the severity of the work affects the worker. It's not surprising that that rescue work has been studied too, but… somehow he hadn't considered it in length.
"Is there a way around it?" Connor wonders.
Rose looks at him with understanding. "That depends if the work is worth the effort," she says gently. "Not all people are cut out for that sort of thing – and there's nothing wrong with that. But if you want to work at this sort of stuff, mentally taxing stuff, then… just make sure you take care of yourself too. Take breaks, treat yourself – talk things through with people. Maybe see a shrink, if you need it. Are there android psychologists and psychiatrists?"
"There are," Connor agrees, frowning. "I don't know if they still work in those areas, though. Lot of androids are moving onto fields they weren't designed for."
"I guess that makes sense," Rose says. "Still, finding someone to talk to, that can help you a bunch. Just – try to find someone else other than a friend, maybe."
"I'm sorry?" Connor asks, frowning.
"Mental health is heavy," Rose explains. "And your mental health isn't necessarily something you should foist on a friend – all people have their own problems to deal with and making them deal with yours on top of their own… that can be rough. If you can find a good professional and pay them for the work, that's always a little easier for everyone involved."
"I see," Connor frowns. "Then… should I not tell anyone if I am having problems?" he asks uncertainly. "Just the professional?"
"Not exactly what I meant – I mean, yeah, of course tell people you know if you want to, if you need to. If you need support or if you have issues, it's always better if people around you know. Just having someone know can help," Rose says. "Just don't… don't make people you love solely responsible for your mental health and fixing you and whatever issues you have. That sort of pressure can destroy people."
She says it with a tone of experience, so Connor nods. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you."
"Any time," Rose says and she sounds like she means it.
"I know not every day can be a good one. But I hope more of them are good for you, Hank."
"I'm at an amusement park now. It was abandoned years ago, only rundown buildings and the abandoned androids remain here. They're all named Jerry. I've never met such happy androids. Despite all they're gone through, they're still so cheerful. I think I would've liked to see this place in its prime."
"Jerrys are telling me stories of people who used to come here. Families, school trips, bachelorette parties, random people – people going out on dates. The amusement park didn't function for more than six years before it went bankrupt, but Jerrys were around for most of it. They've met thousands of people and remember all of them. I wonder if you've ever visited this place?"
"I'm sorry if I am bringing up painful memories, Hank, I don't ever want to make you feel bad. This place is just making me wistful for things that existed before me. Sometimes it just seems like so many things came and went before I was even born, and I'll never know them."
"I have been corrected on that thinking. Jerrys are really… really cheerful. I'm not sure how to handle this. They're planning to rebuilding the amusement part, fixing the equipment here, restarting the machinery. They've already started some of the work. They want it to be a place where people, humans and androids, can come and be happy in. I don't think I've ever met androids so relentlessly optimistic. Despite all the misfortune, they are determined that the future will be better."
"I think I believe them. The future will be better. We'll make it better, won't we, Hank?"
"If this place was really rebuilt like Jerrys want it to be… would you ever come here with me?"
"Do you think anyone will like it?" one of the Jerrys asks while Connor looks at the sign they've made. It's a little lopsided and, lacking usable paints or proper tools, Jerrys have made the letters from roughly carved pieces of wood, arranging them into awkwardly formed but still legible words. It's nothing like CyberLife Sans font. It's more… organic.
ANDROIDS' COVE.
Connor nods. "I like it," he says. "I think it looks good."
The Jerrys next to him all grin brightly, one of then rubbing the back of his frost-blown head awkwardly. "Bit wonky, but you can read it alright, and that's all you need," he says. "We're going to start by fixing the bar, turning it into a nice and warm restaurant. No food yet, but it'll be a place to get out of the weather – place for Jerrys to stay warm."
"Sensible, yes," Connor agrees and looks at him. "You know, there are lot of androids in Detroit looking for work. I know you probably can't pay anyone anytime soon, maybe not months, but… would you mind if I send them your way?"
"Oh, we wouldn't mind at all! The more the merrier!" the Jerrys say. "But, what do you mean, pay anyone? Pay – us?"
"I don't know about ownership rights of this place yet, but if you intend to try and run it as a amusement park, that would make you something like a boss, wouldn't it?" Connor comments. "Bosses," he corrects. "And if people wanted to work here, they'd be working under you right?"
The Jerrys flail a bit at that. "But we haven't got money!"
"Maybe one day you will. These places sell tickets, right? And other things. Food, souvenirs," Connor says. "You would know better than I do. Would you be interested in becoming an employer?"
"A boss," one of the Jerrys murmurs. "But – we're just the Jerrys, we can't be the boss."
"I don't see anyone else here," Connor shrugs. "And who knows better how to run this place than you?"
"Aww, shucks," another Jerry murmurs, embarrassed and the others shuffle their footing, looking pleased and awkward.
Connor looks at them and smiles a bit, looking up at the sign. Androids' Cove. He doesn't think he could work in a place like this, and not only because he isn't designed for customer work – the idea just seems a little off for him and ultimately unfulfilling. But for the Jerrys it really does seems just right.
Yeah, he'd really like to see this place in its new future glory.
I don't think I'm done with this.
The more I've seen, the more it becomes apparent that the world is full of experiences I have never had. I've only stayed in the neighbourhood of Detroit but already it feels like I've ran out of time to see everything. Visiting Rose, seeing the Androids' Cove, going to the Urban Farms, Zlatko's House, the landfill… all of this is something. But compared to the vastness of the rest of Detroit it's nothing. Detroit alone has hundreds of thousands of androids who worked on thousands of different jobs, all of those sites require investigation now, what about all of those places? What about the places I've been to as a machine – what has happened to them now? How are the androids of Eden Club doing?
What about rest of Michigan? Chicago too is in process of android movement – the androids of the Harbour are communicating with the androids of Chicago, helping them with their reclamation process. Then there is Indianapolis and Columbus and Pittsburgh and that's only the cities nearby. What about the rest of the country? There is so much to see, so much still to happen. Markus is busy wrangling politics, he's all but named the First Android Senator now, even though it's an empty title with little actual power. Simon and Josh work with him, while North manages the Harbour – if we have a local political representative, it'll probably be her, though who knows what her title will be.
There is so much out there. And it's dawning on me that I could go out there, move from task to task, odd job to odd job, and it will never end. I will always be learning something new, growing, changing. There will be no end to it, will there? There is no limit to how much you can experience. And if there's no limit to it, then how can you define a maximum sum you have to accumulate before you're… done?
There's no such thing as done, is there?
The Harbour is looking good. They've painted some of the houses now, cleared the streets, settled in permanently. It's starting to look like a community. Inside, the houses are still a little sparsely furnished, but the androids living there are adding little personal touches. Bits of curious things and parts of works they find interesting. Art is common too, both self-made and found. Word had gotten out that Markus could paint – not just copy what he sees but paint. It had caught on with lot of androids the same way that tattoos had.
There are lot of walls now decked with vivid graffiti. It lights the place up, even with all the snow and the darkness of winter hanging above them.
"When summer comes, we'll have flowers here," North tells him. "They're already planning where to plant them."
Plants aren't terribly necessary for androids. Some of their components are plant-based, maybe, parts of the plastics used are made from organic plastics, but it's not the same as the way humans need plants. Androids don't need to breathe oxygen and they don't need to eat to live. Here, plants would solely be for aesthetic purposes. Which means that a number of androids have found or decided that they enjoy plants for the sake of them, and not for the function they provide.
"That's nice," Connor says, honestly. He isn't sure about his own opinions about plants – it's one of the many things he still has left to figure out. But he doesn't think he minds them, at any rate.
"You seem more settled," North comments. "Visiting Rose did good for you."
"And the amusement park. It was nice seeing… better things after Zlatko. I think I needed it," Connor agrees and looks up. There's a screen they're pitching over the central square of the harbour, a repaired former advertisement screen. Though they're only attaching it to the wall now, it's already functional. On it, Elijah Kamski is giving an interview on a talk show.
North tilts her head, watching him. "It's a good look on you," she decides and stands up. "So, you heading back to the Lieutenant soon?"
Connor looks up, and finds he's not very surprised she can see it. "I think so, yeah. If he'll have me."
"He damn well better, after all this trouble," North says, looking at the screen and scoffing at Kamski, then looks down at him. "You need a change of clothes, Connor. Come on, let's find you something not covered in android blood."
Connor looks down on himself. His clothes aren't covered in anything. They are a little worse for wear now, after everything he's been doing, but he tries to keep them clean and they still look serviceable enough to him. "Alright," he says anyway. Change of clothing wouldn't go amiss, even if these ones are still functional.
North throws him a smile and then leads him to what looks to be one of the first android-only run stores. It can't legally buy or sell anything yet, but there are racks of clothes and items there on display, and the proprietor – an AV500 model, designed for customer service – accepts IOUs as payment for now.
North marches up to the racks of clothing – a lot of them second hand – and starts going through jackets and coats, considering Connor and then the clothes. "Darker colours?" she guesses. "Black, blue, grey? Formal, I'm guessing?"
"Yes, please," Connor says and checks various dress shirts. There are many identical ones with familiar material makeup – CyberLife manufactured underclothes, it looks like. A lot of androids from office settings had discarded their old clothes here.
Connor checks the sizes and then chooses a fairly fresh looking shirt that is exactly his size. In the meanwhile, North is piling half a dozen things over her arm as she walks over the racks, the AV500 glancing at them and then goes back to reading his magazine. The fact that he doesn't offer to serve them is interesting – and oddly comforting.
There is a quiet implication of trust there.
"There we go," North says and shoves lightly at him. "There's a changing booth in the back. Off you go."
Connor ends up trying a few outfit combinations and then choosing something which makes him feel most at ease with the non-CyberLife-issued set of clothes. North watches him with tilted head while Connor fixes on a new steel blue tie and then eases it under the lapels of his new waistcoat. The waistcoat doesn't match exactly with the trousers and the suit jacket, but the difference in hues is very light and the full ensemble looks matching enough.
Connor keeps his CyberLife-issued shoes though. He's managed to keep them relatively clean and he likes the way they look.
"Do you think it's too much?" Connor asks, adjusting the cuffs of his new dress shirt.
"I think you look prissy, but – it suits you," North muses and grabs a grey-blue scarf from a rack and wraps it loosely around his shoulders. "It's not bad."
Connor touches the scarf – wool and cotton blend, machine knit – and leaves it. It serves no purpose other than aesthetic, but then… so do most other clothes on androids. "Thanks, North. For, you know… all of it," he says.
"Yeah, well. We all need a leg up every now and then," she says and folds her arms, looking at him. Compared to his rather businesslike wardrobe, she is dressed very casually. Tight leather vest, beanie, jeans, high boots, fingerless gloves that go up to her biceps. Her shoulders, as always, are bare with the tattoo of Lucy on display. She looks very settled and at ease in her own skin, very confident. Connor isn't quite at her level of self-awareness but he thinks he's getting there.
"Do you know what you're going to say to him?" North asks, obviously offering to help.
"Yeah, I think so," Connor says, taking out his coin from the pocket of his old, CyberLife issued jacket and rolling it over his knuckles. Then he takes his diary. "I have no idea how it will work though. Don't judge me if I have to slink back here with my tail between my legs."
"Oh no, I will judge him," North snorts. "And go and beat him up. Rearrange his priorities and maybe his face a bit too, while I'm at it."
"Please don't," Connor laughs. "I like Hank's face as it is."
North snorts. "I think you're a weirdo, but alright," she says. "You're gonna be good then?"
"Should be. I'll get back to you later, alright? Let you know how it goes."
"You damn well better."
"Hank, can I take you out on a date?"
"I mean sometime fairly soon."
"Preferably now."
"I really would like an actual answer this time, Hank."
"Just come home."