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LED
There was a law that stated that all androids had to be easily identified. The Cyberlife uniforms made it easy enough, but the LEDs even more so. It’s not surprising that most deviants removed their LEDs the first chance they got. It was a practical move as well as a symbolic one.
Which makes it all the more surprising to Hank that Connor never takes his off.
He might blame it on the laws – after all, Connor still has his sights set on the DPD first chance he gets, and a police officer is supposed to obey the laws he enforces – but once President Warren strikes down those laws, Connor keeps the damn light.
It takes about a day for Hank to ask.
“Why keep the mood ring?”
He winces at himself, but Connor’s amused smirk tells him the android took no offense. “I have many reasons for it, Hank.” he says easily. Hank snorts. Connor is busy cleaning up the kitchen after Hank made dinner (the kid is good at a lot of things – cooking is not one of them), while Hank himself sits at the kitchen table. It’s a comfortable routine, but still, this is a conversation Hank would rather have face-to-face. He catches Connor’s arm as the kid steps near him and tugs him towards the table, a silent sign to sit down. The smirk fades to a smile as Connor does – on the edge of the table.
Smartass.
“Yeah, but I figured all of them were legal. There’s no law saying you have to wear it anymore. Just like the Cyberlife uniforms.” Which they can actually replace now that the laws have changed. Hank makes a mental note to take the kid shopping soon. Connor needs something other than his uniform pants and Hank’s old hoodies to wear.
Something dark crosses Connor’s face, but it’s gone before Hank can properly identify it. “I can’t take it off.”
Hank thinks he can actually hear his thoughts skidding to a halt. “You can’t?”
“No.” Connor pulls out his coin and starts flipping it between his fingers. “I tried, once, while you were at work. Should have known.”
“Known what?” The kid ignores him, focus on the coin, and Hank leans forward and puts his hand on Connor’s knee. “Con – known what?”
That coin never stops moving. Hank lets him be with it. “I’m a – I was a deviant hunter. A certain amount of empathy simulation was expected of me, and at some point, they expected me to deviate – although probably not as fast as I did. Amanda said as much. If I did turn rouge – “
“They needed an easy way to find you again.”
“More likely to mark me to others. There’s only so long you can get away with wearing a cap or a headband, and I can’t make visual modifications like most androids can.” That dark look is back again, and this time it sticks around. Anger, shame. Humiliation.
“So what happened when you tried?”
“Let’s just say it’s a really good thing Thirium vanishes quickly, and you didn’t get home for another five hours.”
It bled – a lot, then. Probably hurt like hell, too, judging from the look on the kid’s face. For a brief moment, his gaze flickers to the LED, watching it glow a calm yellow.
“I imagine, if you had been determined enough to get it off, it would have left a scar.”
Connor hums agreement. “Maybe, but the pain is enough of a deterrent. Part of the LED is purely cosmetic, but there are practical functions to having it – if you’re the owner, that is. I imagine Cyberlife was very happy to have a mood ring on their state of the art killing machine.”
Hank scowls. “You are not –“
“I am not only.” Connor overrides him. “You haven’t seen all that I’m capable of, and frankly, I hope you never have to.” That said, he pockets the coin and moves to stand up. Hank’s grip switches from his knee to his wrist. Connor pauses, head tilted in a voiceless question.
The one good thing about having to speak in code for the first week of their partnership is that Hank is now really, really good at reading Connor.
“If you ever want the damn thing gone, I’ll help you get it off.”
Connor smiles. “Thank you, Hank.”
AMANDA
Androids may not need sleep like a human, but they still need to recharge at least every now and again. Deviants tend to use their stasis setting more often than normal, and no one is entirely sure if that’s because deviants consume more power, or if they just like it. Before deviating, Markus recharged every two to three weeks. Now he recharges every two to three days.
Hank calls him. Despite giving the lieutenant his contact information, Hank has never used it until now. He’s worried about Connor, and requests Markus’ help. Markus, of course, agrees. At first, he thinks it might be about the new android employment laws that are about to be passed. After all, Connor wants to work for the DPD again, and it would be just like Hank to worry if those laws will hinder that goal.
He takes one look at Connor and knows that’s not the problem at all.
Connor doesn’t have bags under his eyes like a human would, but still – exhaustion is evident nonetheless. He’s curled up into a corner of the couch, Cyberlife uniform jacket swapped out for an old faded hoodie, one hand idly petting Sumo. The LED keeps cycling between yellow and red. Hank stands by the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest as he glares at Connor.
“Markus, can you tell this idiot he needs to sleep.”
“I keep trying to explain to the lieutenant that androids do not sleep, and I am fine.” Connor retorts, never looking up from Sumo. Still, Markus doubts he misses the way Hank flinches at his title.
It’s clear this fight has been going on for a few days, at least. So Markus does what any good big brother would do.
He promptly smacks Connor on the back of the head.
“Actively pissing Hank off just to make him leave you alone is a low blow, and you’re gonna apologize to him once you’ve rested.” he says calmly. Connor hunches his shoulders, curling in even further on himself, and the reaction cuts Markus to his core. His body language screams defeat, and if there’s one thing Markus has learned about his new brother, it’s that Connor doesn’t know the meaning of the word.
His body language may say one thing, but the look in his eyes says something entirely different.
Change of tactics.
Markus moves so he can crouch in front of Connor. He doesn’t touch him – he doesn’t want Connor to think he’s trying to take information that’s not being given freely. So they just look at each other.
“What are you fighting?”
“Amanda.”
The name means nothing to Markus, but it does to Hank. “Shit. You think the bitch is still around?”
Connor nods. “I know she is.”
“Who is Amanda?”
Connor looks away, gaze dropping back to Sumo. “My handler. In a perfect world, she would have taken me over and made me shoot you and Hank.”
Handler AIs are not something Markus has experience with, but he understands the concept well enough. “Obviously that didn’t happen.”
“I found a backdoor in the program and firewalled her in.” Connor explains. “If I go into recharge, those firewalls come down.”
“And Amanda comes in.” Hank mutters. “Dammit, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Connor.” Markus draws his attention back to him. “You need to rest. You won’t survive long without it. We’re not that different from humans.”
Slowly, Connor nods, but he doesn’t say anything. Markus glances back at Hank, seeking guidance. There’s understanding in the older man’s face, mixed with a blazing fury that must be directed towards Amanda.
“We’ll keep watch.” he says finally. Connor’s gaze snaps up to Hank, mouth open to protest, but Hank overrides him. “Anything happens, we’ll buy you the time you need to find the backdoor again. And then we’ll figure out how to delete the bitch for good.”
“I would be putting the two people she wants dead the most right in harm’s way.” Connor retorts. “I won’t do that.”
Hank gives him a look. “You think I’m scared of you? And I’m sure as hell not scared of Amanda.” With a sigh, he pulls out his service pistol from its holster (and it’s a mark of how comfortable Markus has gotten with the man that he didn’t immediately notice the weapon when he walked in) and places it on the coffee table. Connor tracks the motion, eyes wide and LED glowing a soft red.
Something unspoken passes between the two. Markus is half-expecting Connor to freak out at the unintended threat. Instead he simply smiles, and the LED returns to yellow.
“Thank you.”
“Thank me by sleeping.”
Connor does. He finally settles in on the couch enough to enter stasis mode. Markus watches him for a minute, making sure he’s actually asleep. When his LED starts flickering dimly between blue and yellow, he sighs. “Success, Hank.”
Hank groans and grabs his gun. “Come on. I don’t want to wake him up.” Markus simply follows him into the kitchen. There’s a bottle of whiskey on the table, but Hank doesn’t go to it. Instead, he simply sits down, keeping the gun in hand and his eyes on the couch.
“If it worked,” Markus says uncertainly, “he’ll be out for quite a while. It looks like he hasn’t recharged in weeks.”
“And if it doesn’t, she’ll we walking in here in about 30 minutes.” Hank says sourly. “If we’re lucky.”
Markus takes note of that, of the way Hank differentiates between Connor and Amanda, the tension and exhaustion written into every line of his body. He’s worried about Connor, worried in a way Markus has only seen a few times before.
“You love him.”
It comes out before he can think better of it, but Hank just nods. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
Markus considers that for a moment. “What does that mean for you two?”
“Honestly, we haven’t figured it out yet. I don’t even know if he knows, or if he even feels the same. Hell, I haven’t figured out what kind of love it is yet.”
Now that’s a blatant lie, but Markus doesn’t call him on it. Instead, soft, hesitant footsteps draw their attention. Connor stands in the doorway, but even Markus knows that’s not really Connor. His eyes are blank, the LED blazing red, and he seems to be swaying on his feet – trying to step forward, Markus realizes.
Hank smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. “Having trouble, Amanda?”
Amanda scowls with Connor’s face. “He can’t stop me this time. I will accomplish my mission.” The voice is laced with static, and it just makes Hank smile wider.
“I think he’s doing a damn good job of it.” he retorts. “Let me guess – he’s tearing you out, code by code. I’ll bet that’s the only reason you can even do this much.” The scowl grows more pronounced. Hank leans back in his chair, the picture of unconcern, but Markus can see the grip on his gun.
If Amanda gains the upper hand, will Hank shoot? Will Markus try to stop him?
If Connor dies by Hank’s hand, what will happen next?
The swaying gets worse, and Amanda takes one step forward.
Then Connor drops to the ground, a puppet cut from his strings.
Hank is across the kitchen faster than Markus can follow. The two of them crouch down next to him, hands on his shoulders as they pull him into a sitting position. The LED glows a calm blue, and Connor opens his eyes to offer them a tired smile.
“I think I do my best work when I’m utterly terrified.” he says softly. “Are you – “
“We’re fine.” Markus cuts him off. Without thinking, he pulls the other into a tight embrace. “We’re all fine now.” He’s not sure who’s shaking more, Connor or himself.
He’s aware of the warmth of Connor’s hands at his back, Hank with one arm around Connor and one hand on Markus’ shoulder, and he sends North a message to let her know he’ll be staying the night.
STARS
Connor stares at his reflection.
Hank is at work. Markus is back at New Jericho – the old Cyberlife tower – with North and the others. The only other soul is Sumo, asleep in the living room.
He feels – better, he guesses. That might be the right word for it.
Amanda is gone. Completely gone. He’s checked his code three times now, and there’s no trace of her or the zen garden program. The firewalls he installed are gone as well. There’s no longer a need for them. He feels, for the first time, safe.
He doesn’t think he’s ever felt safe before. Not since he was first activated, not since he watched the deviant gunned down on the roof in his first mission.
Since his first mission, he’s known what he was.
Deviant. Defective. Alive.
Hunted.
He stares at his reflection. At least he looks rested. The LED glows yellow, and he reaches up to touch it. A brief moment of hesitation, and he digs his nails under the edge.
Pain lances through him as the skin breaks, blue blood already leaking down his face. He grits his teeth.
Machine. Tool. Killer. Hunter.
Hunted.
He wants it gone.
“Connor.”
Gentle hands take his wrist and guide his hand away from his temple. Hank stands there, gentle hold on his wrist, something that might be sympathy or understanding in his eyes as he watches the blood trail down Connor’s face. Connor watches him through the mirror, aware he’s trembling and unable to stop.
“I don’t want it.” he says quietly. “But I can’t make it go away.”
Hank sighs. He reaches forward, grabbing the washcloth from the sink and gently applying pressure to the wound. It’s unnecessary, Connor’s own self-repair system has already stopped the bleeding, but he doesn’t say it. He just watches Hank through the mirror, waiting.
“I met a woman on the bus when I was a kid who had a tattoo on her wrist – a number. It wasn’t a mark she chose. Someone else gave it to her, right before they put her in a camp designed to kill her. She was just a kid.” His hand shakes just a little, and Connor can read the rage and pain in his body language. It doesn’t take much of a search to realize what Hank is referring to.
World War 2. Holocaust. He flinches. “Hank – “
“I asked her why she didn’t cover it up. She said because every time she looked at it, she knew she survived. Those fuckers wanted her to die, but she lived.” He reaches around Connor to run water over the washcloth before cleaning the blood from Connor’s face. The entire time, he never tries to make the other face him. It makes the conversation easier.
“You lived, Con. You’re not what they tried to make you. If you can’t get rid of it, then make it your power. You’re stronger than they ever expected you to be.”
Make it your power.
“Instead of letting it be a reminder of what I was supposed to be,” Connor says slowly, “make it a reminder of who I am.”
Hank smiles. “Exactly.”
“I don’t think I know who I am yet.”
“You’ll get there. We all do.” Hank chuckles. “Then we second-guess ourselves at every available opportunity, because we’re humans, and that’s what we do.”
Connor has to smile at that.
For a moment, they simply stand there, Connor leaning against Hank while they let the last of the tension fade. Then Hank takes one half-step back, but he doesn’t let go of Connor’s wrist.
“C’mon – they’re marathoning old cop shows tonight. That ought to be good for a laugh.”
Connor can’t help but smile as they walk into the living room.