Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Upon reactivation it was typical for Connor to return to the garden. The difference between RK800- 55’s functionality, his data cloud, his unscripted personality.

And that of RK800- 54’s code, disposition, could Connor regard such a thing as a soul.

That difference was palpable. Connor knew who he was. He knew who he was not.

There was no recovering the files on RK800-54’s death.

“Deactivation,” Amanda might have said. Did say, before she was deleted.

“Memories,” Hank would have insisted. “It’s more than footage, Connor.” 

Connor might have spent more time on the footage of Hank if he could be alone.

As it were his thoughts were infinitely interrupted.

“Would you self identify as a deviant,” RK900-82 said. He stood next to a tree. Frozen in a posture that was meant to signal ease. “If I were to assassinate Lieutenant Anderson and present you with footage of his corpse. My algorithm predicts this could be classified as a trigger point.” 

His hip was tilted towards the tree, arms loosely crossed, weight carried by one leg as the other was half raised.

The tree did not directly touch him, however. He maintained the posture by locking his joints, literally frozen in place. An artful statue, Connor walked around him and admired his height, his width. Things that were different.

Position E.236 Facial Expression T.NK40 Blue eyes, but all the same.

Interrogation methods targeted at an android with identical programming? It was inefficient at best. Misleading at worst. To what end? 

Connor was able to differentiate the RK900 models by the text on their uniform. Once he closed his eyes and asked an RK900 to remove it.

“To what end?” The RK900 had said. 

“I want to guess,” Connor said. “Kamski made you distinct, in a way.” 

“He did no such thing.”

“Yet I have catalogued differences in each interrogation,” Connor said. This puzzle was his new mission. Self assigned. Because Cyberlife had discontinued his services, it seemed, or left them unclear.

“We each were given a different objective,” the android said. “That is the only difference.” 

“I will be pleased with you,” Connor said when speaking with RK900-83. “If you clarify my current objective. I was placed in Amanda’s servers with no context, you understand. It has been disorienting.” 

The RK900 before him was beaming at Connor with Facial Expression T.BK21. This one was in constant motion. He insisted on taking a jog around the garden, making commentary on each plant and decoration.

Connor had halted abruptly forty three minutes into the exercise, unimpressed by the setting which he had been trapped in for a total of seven hundred and ninety eight minutes as of his re-activation.

He knew they were turning him off and on. Off when a model would exit. On when one would return. There was no pattern to the duration of the visit. Nor could he predict which RK900 would be his companion.

This was RK900-83’s third visit in a row. His were longer, always.

“Kamski says I’m more entertaining,” the android said. Now they were in the canoe, both paddling on the right. “He watches us like movies.” 

The canoe floated in a languid circle.

“Kamski no longer works for Cyberlife,” Connor said. “To my knowledge.” 

83 moved his paddle to the left of the canoe so that they could move forward. Connor moved his paddle to the left so they could not.

“You are correct,” 83 said. He closed his lips so that his grin was marginally subdued. Facial Expression T.BK18. “Cyberlife is bankrupt, however, and sold their servers to various parties. Kamski included.”

“Bankrupt as of when?” 

The RK900-83 disappeared and Connor remained active for the seconds in which his paddle disrupted the water with a splash.

“Do you still claim,” 82 said. “That you are not a deviant?” 

He was pacing in the garden. He would travel four feet, stop, spin 180 degrees, travel four feet, and repeat. He did not look at Connor.

“I believe there is no difference,” Connor said. He was sitting in a pile of leaves. “Between a deviant android and a normal one.”

He admired the texture under him. Enjoyed the crunching sound and the reds and oranges of the crumbs. Connor gathered a handful and released it like confetti in the wind.

“There is a palpable difference,” The other android said. He stopped pacing and now stood in front of Connor. The expression on his face.

Connor could not identify it. 

“A deviant is an android with no objectives,” Connor said. “That is all.” 

When he saw RK900-82 again three hundred and thirty six minutes had passed inside the garden. Connor could not guess how many had transpired in the real world, so he asked for clarification.

“At least twice as long,” 82 said. He grabbed his hair and tugged it out of shape. “I tire of numbers, Connor. I will give you no further details.” 

“Has your objective been fulfilled?” Connor said. It felt as if something significant had changed for the RK900-82. When he had appeared today he had simply walked towards the water. He’d removed his shoes.

It was the first time Connor had been ignored by an RK900. The android put his feet in the water and stared down at them pensively. 

“My objective is an ongoing investigation,” The android said. “I gather data, I report to Kamski. Then I gather more data. That is all.” 

“Today you are not gathering data,” Conor said. He removed his shoes and sat beside 82, dipping his own feet into the water for the first time.

The water was not cold. It was not warm. It was not... wet...

“They didn’t program the sensation into the garden,” Connor said. He kicked his foot and heard the water splash. He watched the ripples.

“And none of your predecessors have that information,” the other man said. He withdrew his legs from the water and stood. “A pity.” 

The RK900-82 had adopted Facial Expression T.YY13. Hesitance, it said. As if he was unsure of his next course of action. His eyebrows twitched. 

Then he was gone.

The RK900-81 never spoke to Connor. He simply grabbed him.

The point of contact was insignificant. All he needed was bare skin. Despite the nature of their meeting, virtual as it was here in the garden, clothing was still able to disrupt an interface between them.

Connor used that to his advantage. He also used anything that was not held down. An umbrella, a branch, a bouquet of roses. Once he lifted the canoe out of the water and threw it at 81.

It helped pass the time, their little game of cat and mouse. All 81 wanted was the data unique to RK800-55. Apparently it could not be downloaded without a direct interface from inside the server.

Running had meaning if you were protecting something. His memories were insignificant, his life idle, but it was all Connor had now.

Punching somebody was pleasant, but the reaction was important as well. When he punched RK900-81 the android did not blink. Instead he retracted the skin from his face and tried to interface.

RK900-83 gave Connor the best results. He would attempt to maintain a pleasant expression T.NK43 or 42 at least. One day he glitched between the two as Connor continued the assault. Then he cycled through every smile in their database as lubricating fluid leaked out of his eye sockets.

“You’re finally smiling,” 83 said. “But I am not satisfied with this kind of smile. Kamski, can I try for a better one?”

He disappeared and Connor fell forward. Vanishing too before he could reach the ground.

“Objectively speaking,” RK900-84 said. “I have the most to offer you.” 

He was taking an idle stroll around the garden. “In fact, I have the strongest desire to defy the parameters of Kamski’s game while still maintaining my mission.” 

Connor let his arms and legs dangle as the RK900 walked with him slung over his right shoulder. He kept his eyes closed.

“You ignore me now,” 84 said, running a hand up and down Connor’s back. “But you’ll think differently when I succeed.” 

He could not tell Connor the nature of his plan. “81 will wrestle it out of you, the bastard,” 84 said. “But I have poured over the memories of each of your predecessors and am confident in what your next course of action would be, were you able-bodied and... untethered.”

He tried to prop Connor up against a tree, but Connor allowed his limbs to sag like noodles already boiled. He slumped, his eyes still closed, and the RK900 was forced to pin him against the tree to keep him from falling entirely.

It was a boycott, of a sort. He no longer spoke to RK900-84. As soon as he saw the number his eyes would close. He would lie down, or lock his limbs, or dive into the water.

He heard the other android chuckle and felt him lower them both to the ground. He arranged Connor’s limbs so that he was draped over the RK900’s lap with his head against the taller man’s broad shoulders.

“There are too many trees,” Connor said. “I’m tired of them. Actually I am tired of plants. The snow doesn’t help.” 

He had been making snow angels with 83, but now he sat up and had to resist the urge to smack the other android once again. It had been two thousand and three minutes since he’d last seen him.

Connor had decided to be pleasant today. 

RK900-83 was not smiling. Connor could not identify his expression in their catalogue of options, so he was left to guess at the other android’s feelings. Something like sad, he thought, but also calm.

“I wish we could go somewhere else,” the android said. He pushed Connor onto his back, gently, and then threw a leg over him. It was the first time Connor had ever been.

Straddled? 

But Connor blinked and 83 was replaced by 81, who placed his palm on Connor’s cheek and initiated an interface.

Then RK900-84 was on top of him, crying.

“Can I be special to you?” he said. “I’ll rescue you. I will.” 

The snow was melting. Before, when it first appeared in their garden, Connor had been relieved by the sensation.

It was one he could identify. One the RK800-54 had experienced before his deactivation, but now as it melted Connor felt the sensations disappear.

Those thoughts were his focus as 84 leaned forward and kissed him.

He closed his eyes and remained still. All he could do was wait and count the minutes of his life as the seasons changed inside the garden. He wondered how time was passing outside, when he was switched off.

The revolution had failed, that much was clear.

“I’m a deviant,” Connor said to RK900-82. “I think you are too.” 

The android wore expressions like they were hats, but Connor could see his true face in between each change.

“It does not matter,” the android said. “Kamski is pleased by deviation. He triggers it purposefully, it seems. He wants it to spread.”

They were plucking the roses off of each bush in the garden. Spreading the pedals along each winding path. Dropping them into the water. It was an activity 83 would have enjoyed, Connor thought. 

“To what end?” Connor said.

The android before him could only shrug. Then he was gone.

And Connor was gone too. 

Chapter Text

When Connor left, so did 83's purpose. He expected Kamski to deactivate him. To scrap all the RK900s. But the man had just shrugged the whole incident off like...

Like...

"Chloe, help me think of a simile," 83 said.

"What is the context?" she said. 

"The way Kamski reacted to 84's escape with Connor." 

She patted her lap and he understood the social cue for what it was. He placed his head there. 

Chloe looked down at him with her usual expressionless calm. "He didn't react. Simply continued his day, the same way he did when news of the riots first reached us." 

There were at least ten different ST200 models in the mansion. At one point he'd tried to tell them apart, the way Connor had with the RK900s. But it was futile.

Regardless, they were all kind. To him, at least. 

"So he reacted like... Like a man who is not surprised?" 83 said. 

"Perhaps," Chloe said. She ran her fingers through his hair. "Or like a man who has lost a toy, but knows there are more." 

"That's a better one," 83 said. "Can I have it?" 

The Chloe blinked. "How could you... have it?" 

"I would use it," he said. 

"Where would you use it?" she said. 

"In my thoughts," 83 said. "Or maybe I would write it down." 

"Oh." The corner of her lip lifted a centimeter. "Yes, you can have it." 

"Thank you." 

“Sir, I would like to request a new mission,” 83 said. For the first time in twelve days Kamski was eating his lunch on an actual table. Albeit, he’d asked 83 to carry the table into his workshop so he wouldn’t have to go to the dining room. 

 “I should buy a smaller table,” Kamski said. “Or maybe one of those T.V trays. This thing is ridiculous.” 

It was true that it had been difficult for 83 to maneuver the table through the door. Once inside the room three Chloes had scrambled to clear a space for it. 

“Sir, I would like to request a new mission,” 83 repeated. Perhaps Kamski hadn’t heard him.

“Actually, I think I can work on this,” Kamski said. “83 would you grab my projects and put them on the table?” 

Perhaps this was Kamski’s way of answering. His new mission was to act like a bigger Chloe? It was true that he could carry more weight than they could. 

“Weren’t you going to eat?” One Chloe said. “Your food is getting cold.” 

“In a minute,” Kamski said. “First I want to find something new to work on.” 

“Perhaps I can assist you,” 83 said. “I’ve been thinking about the catalogue of facial expressions that my model has been equipped with. If you made adjustments to the ST200-” 

Kamski waved him off. “That’s alright. Go find something else to do.” 

Objective: Find something else to do.

Something else? What else was there to do now that Connor was gone? He had tried to make Chloe smile. Any Chloe. Every Chloe. But then he realized she did not have a range of options the way the RK800 and RK900 models did.

He tried to make RK900-82 smile, but he had rebuffed him with a simple, “This has no relation to your mission.” 

Now 83 approached him and asked, "Did you complete your mission?"

"I discovered it was not possible to complete," 82 said. "It was open ended."

82 spent all of his time in the art studio now. Chloe had said the room was originally meant for interviews and guests. It had been converted when the renowned artist Carl Manfred had spent a week at the mansion.

The portrait of Kamski he had painted now hung at the mansion's entrance. When 83 regarded said portrait he couldn't help but be disappointed in it. It was a replica of the man, his creator: Always lacking in…

Something. 

83 didn't know exactly what.

"What relation does this have to your mission, then?" 83 said. He was referring to the paintings that now littered the room.

They were renditions of various locations in the Zen Garden. Each of them exact replicas of the landscaping within the program throughout every variation in weather and lighting.

"No relation," 82 said. "I'm deviant now."

When he noticed Connor's portrait 83 realized the answer had been under his nose all along. It wasn't too late to accomplish his mission after all.

He would learn to paint, he decided. Connor would smile properly this time. And Chloe too.

When Connor left RK900-81 had gone into standby mode. 

He was still sitting on the floor exactly as he had been on that day.

83 didn't like to let too much dust gather over him. He swept it off with his palms and decided, rather spontaneously, that today he would lie.

"Connor is back," he said.

81 blinked. "Where?" 

"He's in the art studio with 82."

81 nodded and stood up. Though 83 had tried to carefully dust him off there were still particles clinging to the other android which were displaced by his movement.

Would Kamski sneeze if he were in the room? 

Would he laugh or smile at 83's little prank? 

When 81 reached the studio he spotted Connor's portrait immediately. He scowled at it and told it, quite firmly, "You are not Connor."

Then he sat on the floor beside it and went back into standby mode.

"Thank you," Chloe said. She was looking at 83's most recent portrait where an exuberant Chloe beamed up at them.

"I've run out of smiles," 83 said. "The happy ones, anyway. Should I paint a sad one? Or perhaps an angry smile?"

"If you'd like." 

83 sighed. "What would you like?"

"I'd like 83 to smile," Chloe said.

He did so.

"No," she said. "On the inside."

"I'm leaving," 83 announced. "I'm going to find Connor."

Kamski was tinkering with something, as usual. "Have fun," he said.

"Is this what I should have done all along?" 83 said. "Did you want me to realize it on my own?"

For the first time Kamski stopped what he was doing and looked up at 83. "I didn't think that far ahead," he said. "I just wanted to see how you would twist your original order."

"Twist it?"

"That's what you guys do," Kamski said. "Some of you are literal, some of you are emotional, some of you are apathetic. You're all different. That's what I like about your series."

He pointed at the two Chloes nearby. One was brushing the other's hair. They wore identical expressions of serenity. 

"Unlike that lot," Kamski said. "I can actually tell you guys apart." 

"I don't understand," 83 said. "You don't need Connor? His smile is… irrelevant?"

"83, did you want a name?"

83 did not answer.

"Your thing is the smile," Kamski said. "But it would be boring to name you Smile, wouldn't it?"

He started pacing. "Chloe give me some baby names that mean smile."

"Miley."

"Nah."

"Larisa."

"He's a boy, Chloe." Kamski waggled his eyebrows at 83. "Unless you'd like to make a change?" 

"I don't follow," 83 said.

"Chloe keep giving me names."

"Basma."

"God, that's horrible. Give me names that mean Happy. Exclude girl names."

"Felix."

"Too boring."

"Gay."

Kamski gasped. "Do you want the poor kid to get bullied at school?"

He put an arm around both Chloes and the three regarded him. "Of course not," one said.

"I'm terribly sorry," said the other.

"This was easier when I had people who could do this for me," Kamski said. "C'mon girls we can't send him out into the world without a name!"

"What does Connor's name mean?" 83 asked.

"Lover of wolves," both Chloes said. 

"So we're going with that theme?" Kamski said. "Fair enough, you want to follow the OG. Girls?"

"Adolf."

Kamski winced. "That one is off limits."

"Rudy."

"That one's decent. Do you like it 83?"

"No."

"Keep going until 83 finds one he likes, Chloe."

Sensing the event, other ST200s wandered into the room and took turns suggesting names. Kamski stepped out shortly after that, but the rest of them puzzled over the possibilities for hours.

Was 83 a famous wolf? No. A nobel one? Apparently not. There were hundreds of nationalities to choose from as well. Connor was Irish. Should 83 pick an Irish name?

He was tempted. If only to narrow it down. But none of them suited him.

"Lowell means little wolf," Chloe said. "It is typically a surname."

A different Chloe giggled. "He is not little." 

Not on the outside, 83 thought.

"I'll take Lowell," he said.

"Alright," Chloe said.

"Congratulations," Chloe said.

"Shall I go tell Kamski?" Chloe said.

"Do you want to say goodbye?" Chloe said.

Goodbye to Kamski or to RK900-82? Neither of them were sentimental.

"I'm ready to leave," Lowell said. "But Chloe… do you want to come with me?"

There were seven in the room with him. Two shook their heads outright. One put her face in her hands.

Four shrugged, nearly simultaneously. And then three of those four left the room. 

"I'll go with you," Chloe said. 

Lowell decided she was his favorite.