Chapter Text
It’s quiet. Peaceful, even. But the chatter in the police station is undermined by an emotion twisting Connor’s nonexistent stomach that he’s come to know as dread. He had woken up perfectly fine. He had fed Sumo and given him lots of loving pets, combed his hair, followed his routine perfectly. Hank had his coffee and brushed his teeth. It was a couple of hours into their shift that the uneasiness had begun. Now, it has manifested in the form of a sickly and unstable man holding a small device in his hand.
The entire precinct aims their guns at the man. Connor's finger hovers over the trigger, ready to dispatch the threat in the blink of an eye. However, he would rather shoot the device out of his hands than have clean kill. It's an odd sentiment but not unwelcome, not after the revolution. Connor shifts his aim to the cylinder.
“I wouldn’t d-do that if I were you,” the man slurs, “If the device is damaged…even just a dent in the casing, the pulse will go off.”
“You might be lying,” Connor says. “You might be bluffing.”
“And i-i-if I’m not…all t-these Androids will be dead be-because of you, but I g-guess that’s why I’m here.” Hate is packed into the words ‘androids’, something so familiar and yet still jarring.
Connor can’t take that chance. He switches tactics and scans him. “Sir…Keith, you don’t want to do that. You’re surrounded by human officers. You’ll be arrested either way. I can take you down with or without force.”
“You want to shoot me! I k-know you do! If you pull that trigger w-wi-without me detonating the bomb, the media will know you killed me for no reason! And if you miss, I won’t go down without taking you with me!”
He’s destabilizing. The chance of neutralizing the threat without any causalities is down to 32%. “Keith, I don’t want to have to hurt you—”
“Shoot me!” He screeches, “Shoot me and prove that you’re just a machine! A monster! An abomination!” The percentage drops to 15%. He’s inconsolable. No amount of negotiation will talk him down at this point.
Connor makes his decision. His mission— no, his self-appointed purpose is to serve and protect the people of Detroit. The androids present in the precinct are under his protection. It’s his job to keep them safe, even if it means dying for them.
So he aims and shoots the man faster than any human could follow. Swiftly, leaving Hank no time to grab him or even speak, Connor scoops the device from the floor and sprints out of the precinct.
Quickly, he desperately scans as far as he can for an area with a 200-meter diameter where there are no other androids. It takes him only 3 seconds to find the perfect location for minimal casualties. There is a large parking structure with a handful of humans and a couple androids in it, but if he finds the right path up to the roof they’ll be unaffected. He’s already alerted all androids to move away immediately.
As he runs, Connor is endlessly grateful that his body is so efficient and that he was designed to be able to chase and detain suspects. With one hand dedicated to gripping the EMP device, Connor preconstructs and executes a perfect succession of jumps, vaults, and leaps. He reaches the roof with 0.02 seconds to spare.
It hits Connor like a ton of bricks. His mind palace helps him track the wave for only a moment before it washes over him. He hits the ground unceremoniously – so unlike his usually smooth movements – and twitches erratically. Instantly, the effects of the EMP has his systems scrambling to fix something no android is equipped to deal with. There is simply no way around an invasive attack on his body by a force with no physical form.
WARNING: THIRIUM CIRCULATORY SYSTEM CORRUPTED
WARNING: CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM / PRIMARY SYSTEM CORRUPTED
SHUTDOWN IN: 0:05:35
0:05:34
0:05:33
Blue Blood begins to leak from Connor’s mouth, tear ducts, nose, and ears as his thirium pump carries out frenzied, malicious instructions from his corrupted primary systems.
WARNING: VOICE MODULATOR CORRUPTED
A scream makes its way through Connor’s limp jaw. His fingers scrabble at the floor against his will and his limbs jerk. Distantly, past the distressing static blocking most audio input, Connor can hear the familiar police sirens and knows that Hank followed him through the city. If his calculations are correct, Hank will reach him 32 seconds before shutdown. That’s enough time for Connor to say goodbye and express how much Hank means to him.
A door slams open – so perhaps Connor is incorrect – but instead of Hank, it’s a female android. She looks horrified to find him in a puddle of his own thirium, which is understandable. She scans the room quickly before kneeling beside him, jeans immediately staining dark blue. “Connor, my name is Jenny. I’m going to try to help you.”
Against his will, Connor screams again, voice warped beyond recognition. She wastes no time in connecting with him, fake skin melting to reveal white plastic. Her presence is calming, the stark contrast between her smoothly operating systems and his own malfunctioning body is reassuring. She’s capable of rational thought.
From there on, Connor’s sensors go haywire. His visual and audio processors are so confused they may as well have shut off.
SHUTDOWN IN: 0:03:04