Chapter Text
Connor fell to the side as Rupert pushed past him, everything a blur. By the time he’d got back to his feet, he could hear the clattering of the WB200 android running down the hallway. He glanced briefly to Hank, assessing his next course of action.
“What are you waiting for? Chase it!” He barked out, and Connor nodded. It was an order, clear and direct.
He took off running after the deviant, vaulting over an obstacle that was pushed in his way. This was his element, his mind working fast, scenarios panning out of ahead of him as he chased the rogue android down. Connor threw open the door, eyes blinking briefly, adjusting to the sunlight, but legs never stopping.
Rupert was getting away, there was no time to lose. He climbed over the rooftop, jumping down into a field of crops. He took the short impact in his stride. There was no time to lose, to stop, to ponder the risks of his journey. The mission was catching the deviant, and he always accomplished his mission.
The only pause he took was within his internal processors, seeing Rupert running towards another building to climb onto. Should he take the slow route, or the faster, but riskier route?
There was no hesitation.
Connor veered to the right, jumping swiftly onto the next platform. A truck was driving straight through, in his way. He could go around it—or he could continue on the fast, albeit more dangerous path that would lead to a higher success rate.
And so the chase went on. He jumped over a truck, onto the roof of the opposite building, pushed through a crowded greenhouse. He was doing well, Rupert was still within his eyesight. But he couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
They were advancing towards another building, this one positioned further away, he noted internally.
“Jesus, look at that thing go!” A worker called out in surprise as Rupert disappeared.
Connor furrowed his brows, continuing to run, until he reached the edge of the building—
And he stopped. Heart thudding in his chest, he watched as Rupert slid down the slanted glass side of the building he was on, before launching himself directly through a convenient hole into the next building. It was… it was incredibly risky. What if he mistimed the jump, miscalculated the force and went too high, smacking into the glass above that wasn’t broken?
Or what if he went too slowly, and slid down, down, down into the swathes of traffic below, body horribly mangled and—
Connor blinked. His LED flashed yellow. What was he doing? The deviant was getting away. A quick scan showing a silhouette of his retreating figure. Snap out of it, Connor, a voice hissed in his ear, sounding a lot like Amanda. You need to accomplish the mission.
He took a teetering step towards the edge. Inhaled a long, deep breath. He could do this. Prepared to launch himself down—
His legs were stuck. As if they’d turned to lead and were being pulled down to the ground by the force of gravity. Or someone, something, was holding him there. His breaths shuddered out. This was illogical. He was a machine. A machine designed to accomplish a mission—
And he always did. His mind flashed back, involuntary images showing in his processors. His first mission. Not long after his activation.
Daniel. The rooftop. Emma. He hadn’t had enough time to collect evidence. He improvised, but he could tell it wasn’t enough. But he managed to run fast enough, fast enough to push Emma away, to safety, and then he was falling, down, down, down—
Mission successful.
He snapped out of his trance. He couldn’t do it. No matter the consequences, no matter the stakes, no matter what he was—he just couldn’t.
“Shit.” He breathed, the curse rolling off his tongue, feeling strange but familiar. The mission was probably over now. But he still needed to do this. If he didn’t…
The deviant is still within reach, if you take the faster route after this, a voice spoke within him, definitely sounding a lot like Amanda this time. You just have to jump. Jump, Connor. That’s an order.
The command flashed up in his vision. Jump. Jump. JUMP. Red, bold letters.
His legs trembled. He didn’t want to die. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t jump, he would die, he knew it would happen, and yes, he knew there would be another model for his memories to be placed into, but he would still remember, he would still experience the falling, body light, the danger below loud and roaring in his ears.
JUMP.
The command flashed again, louder, somehow, and more prompting. He couldn’t see anything but it. The word was repeated over and over again in his vision.
“I can’t.” He choked out, hands curling into fists. “I don’t want to die.”
You’re not alive, Connor.
Red lettering flashed more violently, his LED spinning to match its colours. No, he thought, no, he can’t jump—he’s not going to.
His fists uncurled, and he smashed his hands against the commands blocking up his vision, feeling then a sort of wall in his way, under his hands. He hit it harder, with more force. There was no way he was going to jump headlong into danger, into death, into that small distance that stretched a thousand miles in his mind.
Fear propelled him on (fear?), hitting more wildly, with more vigour. He wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t jump. If he jumped, he’d die. Dying might sour his relationship with Lieutenant Anderson.
Fuck, he was scared to die.
And all at once, the wall came crashing down. It fell in shards, bright, ruby red shards, that lay at his feet, evidence of what he’d done, of how he’d deviated.
The deviant had gotten away. But in that moment, Connor didn’t really care.
“Connor?” A voice called out from behind him. Hank.