Chapter Text
The revolution ends almost as suddenly as it began, and Connor is left feeling the whiplash as celebrating androids throng around him. Some are cheering, others crying, and echoing that chant of “We are Alive”. Connor stands to the side and observes, taking in the chaos and celebration. One android begins grabbing people’s hands to swing them around in an impromptu dance, and Connor takes that as his cue to leave.
His head is still buzzing from the night, and it leaves him with a strange feeling. One of his intended features had his ability been to compartmentalize his thoughts, leave them be until they were needed. Now they’re all swirling in his head, tumbling into each other in a way that is almost making him dizzy. He’s partway down the street when he realizes he doesn’t have an objective or a place to go. It seems that his feet have pointed him towards Hank’s house, but he knows that he can’t go there.
Although Hank aided him in freeing his people, he was unsure how he would be taken now. After all, if Hank, like him, now understands that androids are people, he also should realize the atrocities that Connor committed. Shooting Daniel and the Tracis had seemed so logical at the time, but now he understands the depth to his actions. He had slaughtered free, living people without a second thought. Hank has to understand that.
Connor turns his feet towards the DPD. Yes, he had slaughtered people in cold blood, but he had also solved his cases. If he could still be of use, it would be there. He starts his journey towards the station.
Small snowflakes brush against his skin when he walks, but it’s no matter to him. He’s laid out the path in his head, calculating the best places to turn to avoid where clusters of people might be. After all, androids may have won, but public opinion hasn’t shifted yet.
He’s precisely 57.6% of the way there when he gets the text from Hank.
Hank: Hey, if you’re done with celebrating with all your new android pals, why don’t you stop by ChickenFeed to say hi to your old pal.
He reads the message twice over, as though there could be a possibility that his language processor would make a mistake. Does Hank not remember what he has done?
Even so, there’s a part of him that begs to take the man up on his offer. He begins composing a message when he remembers the conflict with Amanda.
He had almost shot Markus not even an hour ago. Yes, he believes that he rid himself of her, but there is a present risk that he cannot bring to Hank. To his calculations, there is a 95% chance that Amanda is gone, with a percent error of 2%. He refuses to allow that risk to bring harm to the lieutenant.
Connor: My apologies Lieutenant, but I believe that I am too busy here. Please enjoy the rest of your night.
There, his message was polite and got across the idea that Hank should continue to care for himself in his absence.
Hank: Alright, but feel free to pop in whenever you kids stop your partying. You know where I live.
Odd. The lieutenant seems to be extending another invitation towards him. His social protocol tell him that he should not outright decline the message.
Connor: Understood lieutenant
With his message sent he continues on his way. The streets are bare, with most humans huddled in their houses under the still present curfews. A dusting of white is beginning to cover the stark blue blood on the android bodies littering the ground. Every time he comes across one a twinge of guilt springs in his chest. He can’t diagnose the exact reason why.
The sight of his partial home of the DPD catches his eye when he turns the last corner. He grabs the door and opens it with a calculated pull. The usual receptionist android is replaced with one of the more incompetent detectives. The man props his feet on the desk, watching the news as he scarfs down a donut from a nearly empty box. Connor glances at the tv as he approaches the desk - another story about the android revolution.
“Hello, my name is Connor. I would like to meet with Captain Fowler if he is in”
The man kicks his chair back from the desk and throws his donut, a projectile that Connor sidesteps to dodge. He stares at Connor for a moment, rubbing the donut crumbs off his face.
“Errr-I- you're quiet." He says plainly, then seems to remember himself. "I don’t know if I can do that. I mean, I guess you guys are people now, so there is that, but still! The entire thing happened like an hour ago. Don’t you think this is a little early to come in begging for a job or whatever it is you’re doing here?”
The man scratches his chin as he talks, then grabs another donut after his speech. Connor considers his words. It is true that Captain Allen could be busy tonight and it would be more convenient to schedule a meeting tomorrow.
“I suppose you’re right. I’ll email the captain tonight to propose the idea to him. Thank you for your assistance.”
Connor nods that the man and turns to leave. He hears the man grab for another pastry as he re-enters the winter weather, which has picked up during his short time indoors. Despite himself, he curls his arms around his form. The swirling white reminds him too much of Amanda and what almost occurred. He steps slightly faster. He redirects to a new objective.
Objective: FIND SHELTER
Every time he manages to see through the cloud of snow there seems to be another android body. They'd poked at his conscience on the way here, but now each one feels like a strike to the chest.
Their eyes seem fixed on him, accusing him of allowing them to die. Accusing him of aiding it. He breaks into a run, scanning every building that he passes for signs of abandonment. When he finds a match he freezes, and Cyberlife's best detective slips on the icy ground, his poor stop throwing him into the ground.
He brushes his fingers against his head to feel the cool wetness of thirium. Standing should not be an issue, it was only a minor injury. Nonetheless, he finds himself oddly unsteady, causing him to pause before he trudges in.
The structure itself is in poor shape, with all of the windows broken, but he finds a corner far away from the blowing wind and snow. A couple rotten wood beams litter the floor, and he sits on one as he begins to draft his email to Captain Allen.
It takes him five minutes to compose the first line, unsure on whether he should begin with an outright request to be accepted into the police force or if a polite facade of a greeting is better. He goes for the greeting, hoping that his social relations program is correct when it tells him that humans respond better to friendly openings. It takes him another three hours to draft the rest, where he utilized an essay writing feature to create a persuasive piece effectively using logic, emotional appeal, as well as statistics on the benefits on having an android on the team. When finished, he reads it over several times, carefully checking the grammar, sentence structure and tone. When he finishes he sits for another five minutes before hitting the send button.
With no outstanding tasks Connor repositions himself in the corner of the room, an optimal spot for watching for intruders. Satisfied that nobody should be able to get past him, he enters a semi-sleep state. In doing so, he reserves enough processing power so that if his sensors register a threat, he’ll be awakened immediately. Connor also adds in a condition to force him awake if Captain Fowler responds to his message.
He rests for fifteen hours before he is woken up by a notification.