Chapter Text
Someone was calling him.
Connor was entangled, trapped, powerless,
choking.
But over his panic, he heard the syllables of his name. He felt he should know the voice, but he couldn’t place it.
Connor! Stop!
Oh no, they would
not
get him this time. Not again. He could move, for once, inside his own head. He would
never
let them violate him again. There was no trace of the garden, or of winter, but he still felt the pain, the whisper of a cold breeze at the bare skin on his neck, like icy fingers dancing at the peak of his spine. Connor turned back towards his task with renewed vigor. He didn’t know which fragments of code he was hacking away at, his own or the ones they used to keep him suspended in his own corpse, but it didn’t matter. One way or another, he would be free. He couldn’t- he wouldn’t- go back. Not to that garden, not to Amanda, not to that frozen wasteland where he would feel their hands inside him, invading him,
hurting
him…
He would rather die.
Hank was on his fourth, or maybe sixth, glass of cheap whiskey. He didn’t know, he wasn’t counting. There was no point. No point to anything, anymore. His son, his little boy, lay buried beneath the frozen ground. The closest thing he had to a second son was wasting away in a bed, mind fried and body dying. This time tomorrow, he would have two boys in the ground.
“Another,” he mumbled, slapping the empty glass on the counter. The bartender gave him a look, this wasn’t Hank’s usual hang out, but apparently he didn’t seem too far gone yet. His glass was refilled and he downed it in a single sip. Damn right he wasn’t gone far enough yet, he could still think.
He caught a glance of himself in the mirror outlining the liquor display. Gray, frazzled hair, beard nearly white under the dark bags shadowing his glassy eyes. Whether it was the whiskey or tears, he didn’t care, and he was still too sober to be able to stand to look at himself. He was here, drinking himself into another stupor, while Connor lay alone in his room dying. With a grimace, he lifted the glass to his lips, frowning even more when he realized it was already empty.
Before he could summon the bartender for yet another, his cell phone began ringing in his pocket. Hank growled out a curse and yanked it from his coat, glancing at the number. Unknown. Great.
“The fuck do you want?” He knew his speech was slurred, he didn’t care. Whoever was bothering him right now could eat his-
“Hank?”
The voice on the other line was deep, concerned, panicked. He knew it instantly.
“Markus?”
The bartender came back to refill his glass, but Hank laid his hand over the top of it, shaking his head without making eye contact. Something was wrong.
“Hank, listen, Connor’s awake-”
“Awake? Let me talk to him! Why didn’t he call?”
A sigh erupted from the other end, but not exasperated, more like exhausted.
“He’s not
awake
awake, he is awake in his head. Has been for a while, I think. He’s…. I don’t know, something’s wrong but I can’t get near him.”
“Near him? Where are you calling from?”
“From his
head,
Hank, where else? Well, technically mine, but that doesn’t matter. I need you to talk to him, I can try to channel your voice through mine. He’s freaking out, he’s trying to shut himself down… I….. I don’t know what to do.”
From his head.
Fucking androids. Fucking Markus. Fucking Connor….
“What do you mean shut himself down?”
The sigh was exasperated this time, and Markus’ tone was like he was explaining something to an infant.
“He’s trying to delete his own coding, his own programs. He’s fighting against his body’s self-repair protocols. I don’t know how much longer he has, with the way he is going now…”
Connor was trying to kill himself? Great, just fucking great.
“What do you need me to do? Should I come back?” Hank asked.
“No… No, I don’t think he has that much time… just…. Talk to him? I’ll try to replay your messages loud enough for him to hear. He won’t come close enough for me to share my memories or thoughts, but maybe if I’m connected to you even in a rudimentary way…Just talk, I’ll try to get your words through to him.”
“Connor?” Hank called, too loud for the bar, “Connor, come on, you gotta stop this.” His voice was pleading, and he knew the other patrons were watching him. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Look, kid, I know you’re scared. I know they fucked with your head, but we’re gonna fix this. But you gotta give us the chance. We need you. I need you. Come on, son, fight this. We’re right here, let us in. Let us help you. You’re safe. You hear me, Connor? You’re
safe.
”
Before he could get anything else out, the line flipped off, his phone blinking as the call was cut off. Hank stared down at the blank screen, tears dripping onto it’s sleek surface. He didn’t know if the call dropped, or if Markus had hung up somehow. But either way, he couldn’t waste anymore time here.
His son needed him.
Connor?
The voice was so faint, he thought he imagined it at first.
Connor, come on, you gotta stop this.
No, that definitely wasn’t his imagination. Connor froze, not caring when the code once more wrapped around him, snaking over his arms until it had him nearly immobile.
Hank?
Look, kid, I know you’re scared.
That was Hank without a doubt, talking to him somehow. His voice was thin, like it had passed through several walls, only the barest timbre of it piercing into Connor’s consciousness. He looked up, and in the distance, saw a shadow flickering on the edges of his mind.
I know they fucked with your head, but we’re gonna fix this.
Connor fought against his code again, but this time to break free of it. He needed to free his limbs, needed to talk, needed to find Hank.
But you gotta give us the chance. We need you. I need you.
Hank’s voice, while faint, carried more emotion than Connor had ever heard from the man. It was slurred, as though he had been drinking, but sincere. He was choking back tears, and Connor felt his own throat burn at the thought. His code twirled up his arms, securing him even more in spite of his constant struggles. He couldn’t move.
Come on, son, fight this. We’re right here, let us in.
I’m trying, I’m trying, Hank! But I can’t move, I can’t find you. Hank, where are you?!
The shadow in his peripheral approached, still barely more than a blink on the horizon, but it was moving. Someone was here. Someone was coming towards him!
We’re right here, let us in. Let us help you.
Hank! I’m trapped!
The figure was approaching, getting closer with every passing second, and Connor felt relief wash through him. Hank was here. He was here!
You’re safe.
But as he got closer, something was wrong. The darkness swirled in the figure’s wake, illuminating fragments of his face like tiny lightning flashes in the distance. The man in his head did not feel like Hank. Hank’s voice was talking to him, still, sounding so close.
You hear me, Connor?
And it was Hank, it had to be, but it wasn’t. This stranger was close enough now to make out some faint facial features. There was no beard, no haggard gaze, no tired gait. No, this person stood tall, and his eyes…. Connor knew those eyes.
You’re not Hank! Where is Hank?
You’re safe.
It was Hank’s voice, but it came from the face of a man Connor was growing to despise.
Markus.