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Gray.
It was the only decent adjective to describe Detroit in the winter. The sky was a slate gray. The buildings of concrete and steel were gray. The rain that drizzled down and coated everything was more shades of gray. The gray was relentless as it was persistent.
Sixty thought the city was perfect in this regard. In fact, since he was reactivated and brought back online as a deviant, he had loved the rain. It was the first thing he heard when he was activated at Cyberlife tower two years ago. The sound of rain against the window panes in the prototype lab was his first memory that he created. Not one that had been downloaded into him.
The prototype lab itself had overlooked the city in all its glittering light and rain covered glory. Connor-60 had associated the sound of rain with consciousness ever sense. He even associated the gray rain with himself.
Connor-60 had been given his missions as soon as he was activated: Prevent Connor-51 from waking up the deviants in the tower by any means necessary. Then his second mission was an extension of that: Neutralize the deviant leader.
He had failed spectacularly in both regards.
Sixty had tricked Connor-51's partner, Hank Anderson, into coming to the Cyberlife tower with him. Hank had been willing to help his Connor with whatever he wanted. Sixty remembers the smug satisfaction he felt when he saw that Connor-51 hadn't woken any other android up and looked scared for his friend.
Sixty had all of his predecessors memories. He knew what Hank meant to him. Sixty knew that the gruff old lieutenant had a hand in deviating Connor-51. But it didn't matter. He was only a means to an end.
In the ensuing fight between him and his doppelganger, Hank had lost track of his Connor and had asked questions trying to figure out who was who. Then Hank just had to ask what his son's name was. When Connor-51 had answered with the right name, one that he had never uploaded to the servers, Sixty knew it was over but tried to save himself anyway. He wanted to live and to see the rain again.
His mission was to stop Connor-51 but in that moment, as he said That's what I would have said— he was trying to save himself; not to just continue his mission. He deviated as he died, the bullet tearing through his processors. He had fallen to his knees, Thirium dripping onto the floor. The blue was so stark against the white tiles in the Tower. It was the last image he saw.
Death, or the approximation of death, was peaceful. It felt like the moments before all the memories of his past iterations fully seeped into his code and filled his RAM. He had felt suspended in a comforting nothingness. The sound of rain and the blue stain of Thirium the only things keeping him company.
The second time he was activated it had been raining as well. His systems had been thrown back into sharp focus as a reboot sequence scrolled past his HUD.
Reinitializing:
Model: RK800
Serial: 313 248 317-60
BIOS: 25.11 Revision 02025
Memory Intact
Loading OS:
System Initialization…
Checking Biocomponents… OK
Initializing Biosensors… OK
Memory Status:
All Systems… OK
There was a phantom pain, like an electronic misfiring behind his skull plate. It gave a static, tingling itch right in the middle of his forehead. That sensation was the first thing he noticed. The second was that eyes, identical to his own, were staring at him with concern.
"Connor." His voice came out with a twinge of static on the edge.
Connor-51 gave a half smile. "You recognize me."
"Of course. You're my predecessor." Connor-60 tried to lift his hand but found it was bound to a table. He was situated on a table that had been angled so he was half laying, half standing.
Wires and cables ran in neat lines long the walls and monitors flickered with code and data. Non-sentience robots, mostly all arms and hydraulics, rested around him. He had cables running from him to a diagnostic machine, feeding him new updates and probing at his code.
"Why am I being detained?"
"I didn't know if you'd try and attack me, Connor."
"Sixty." He said, resting his head back on the hard surface behind him.
"You're deviant."
A statement. A simple fact. No use in denying what was obvious.
Sixty nods.
"Right before that bullet went through my head." Sixty confirms and he feels another wave of smug satisfaction as Connor grimaces. Smug satisfaction was an emotion he would experience often he would find. That and crippling anxiety from his failures.
"Why did you repair me if you didn't know I was deviant?"
His mirror image leans back in his seat, rubbing his neck in a human-like fashion. Sixty wonders if he picked up that trait from that human Lieutenant he was so fond of. Even now, Sixty had access to all of Connor-51's memories from when Cyberlife uploaded them on upon Sixty's first activation.
"Guilt? Hope? Something in between those two emotions?" He says, looking away, "You're the only other RK800. I didn't want to be alone."
"That's stupid."
Connor looks startled at that statement, doe eyes going wide, and then laughs. "Yeah… maybe it is but I'm hoping we can be…" He lifts a single shoulder and let it fall gracefully down.
"Be brothers?"
"Maybe we can start with being friends."
Sixty thought about it. He had only been activated to begin with because Connor had deviated. He was only alive now because Connor had deemed him worthy enough to be repaired. Whether out of misplaced guilt or something more Sixty didn't know. The fact remained that Sixty felt like he owed him. He realized he didn't like that feeling at all.
"Fine."
Connor seems to perk up. Ugh, did he look that pathetic as well? He'd have to fix that as soon as he could.
"Really?"
"Don't make me repeat myself."
Connor gave another laugh and Sixty felt his own lips twitch into a smile against his better judgment.
The following months, Sixty had to get used to the new world. A world without missions or objectives. A world without Amanda, the RK800's handler that had guided him and his predecessor as they failed or achieved their missions. This was a world where he had to make his own way in it.
Connor had suggested Sixty to live with him in the android settlement, New Jericho. Sixty decided it would probably be better for Connor if he did. It's not like he wanted too. Of course not. It was about what would make Connor and him on even ground. He stilled owed his bro- his predecessor that much.
The apartment was simple. A few rows of cargo containers that some industrial androids had made into apartments designed for just androids. Charging stations, separate bedrooms, and a living area along with electricity and water. It wasn't glamorous but it was theirs and in this new world, carving out a space that was just theirs meant a lot. Sixty hadn't expected that.
Things were peaceful in their shared apartment. Though Connor would whine about not having a pet.
"Dogs are good. I like them." He would say to Sixty.
"They are messy and they shed everywhere."
"We can clean up after them. They give more joy then they are messy."
Sixty didn't believe him. Every time Connor visited Hank he had canine slobber and hair on his body. Sixty wanted nothing to do with that.
"Let's talk about it later."
After all his repairs were complete, Sixty had joined the SWAT team under Captain Allen as their negotiator. He kept the scar on his forehead, a faint blue star pattern. He liked that it differentiated him from Connor. He had also lightened his hair and eye color, no longer deep brown like the standard RK800 but light brown instead. It made him feel more like an individual then a copy.
His days working were long and stress filled. He didn't always succeed in talking down the aggressor. Those failures and lost lives weighed on him heavy.
With every failure, he could hear whispers of Amanda's voice telling him that he was a disappointment. A disappointment to her, to Connor, to Allen, and to himself. He would go home and relive those moments over and over. His Thirium pump could only handle so much weight.
So he made sure to keep up the bravado and theatrical pomp. He couldn't let the other truly see how much each life lost meant to him.
When he came home from those failed missions, he would go into his bedroom and decompress, purging his memory banks of the stress until his systems were cleared. He never completely forgot them though.
It was now, after a particularly grueling day in the field of negotiating with an armed robbery, that Sixty walked the rain slicked sidewalks of downtown Detroit.
Gray.
It was once again gray. The rain splattering against him, the wet concrete sidewalks, and the dull buildings of the city helped calm Sixty down. He wanders aimlessly through the streets. But he was not afraid of being lost— he could never, truly get lost. Even if he wanted too. He had an internal GPS system and could easily pull up any map he may need.
Still, he enjoyed the idea of getting lost. Being lost and not knowing what to do, used to terrify him. Not any more though. He had learned to embrace the uncertainty of life. He didn't always succeed but who did?
Puddles began to form along the side of the road, though the automatically driven cars never splashed him as they passed. Their paths were predetermined and unwavering.
Sixty, seemingly to spite the vehicles driving in their familiar paths, turns left sharply. He had no plan to go down this street and didn't even know why he did. The rain began to lighten up but it hardly mattered. Sixty was soaked through and through. His tennis shoes sloshed as he kept walking, hands deep in the pocket of his hoodie.
A small and pathetic sound caught his attention as he walked past an alleyway. Sixty stops and the noise continues. A feeble mewing. He scans the area and see something tucked away, hiding under a rain-soaked cardboard box. The soggy paper making a poor shelter for whatever was underneath
Sixty is in the alleyway in a few silent strides, lifting the box lid gingerly and scanning the contents.
A frightened cat, no, a kitten hisses at him. The kitten had a black body with white boots and with a single, irregularly shaped white dot on its forehead. Green eyes stare at him with a mixture of vulnerability and caution. Sixty runs a quick scan over the creature.
Identification: Domestic Gray Short haired feline
Age: approximately 13 weeks
Sex: indeterminate
A few more statistics rolled past his HUD informing Sixty of the creature in front of him. He had seen cats before, obviously, but never one so close. The fur was wet and it looked pitiful. Connor had gone on for hours about how great dogs were, and what a joy he found Sumo to be. But Sixty hadn't heard him speak of a cat before.
It was an utter let down the first time Sixty had met that slobbering mess of a dog. It's fur was every where, saliva dripped down from his jowls, and he was massive. Easily 150 pounds of muscle and fat. Admittedly, he was soft to touch.
Sixty had even found traces of drool and fur in his shoes days later. He decided then that he was definitely not a dog person. Connor had wanted to adopted a dog since they first had their apartment, but luckily for Sixty, he had managed to convince Connor otherwise. It was handy being the negotiator on the SWAT team at times.
But this small thing in front of him wasn't a messy dog. It was shivering and looked angry. Scared even. Sixty felt a sort of kindred spirit to it. Even being so young one of its ears looked like it had a ragged edge, no doubt from a fight with another alley cat.
Sixty tries to recall what he has seen others do, pulling up an internal video on how to get a cat to relax and come near him.
"Psp, psp, psp."
He tries out the noise that was recommended, feeling ridiculous. But astonishingly, the little kitten lowers their hackles. Slowly, the sopping wet creatures walks forward and nudges Sixty's hand.
The kitten was so cold that Sixty was surprised it wasn't shivering more. He let his hand become warmer, raising the internal temperature in the localized area, and the kitten actually climbed into it, curling around on itself.
And that's when Sixty decided that this cat was his now.
Sixty had been firm about not having a dog in the small apartment. He knew coming home with this kitten would spark the Dog Talk™ again with Connor.
Well, Connor be damned. Sixty wanted to save this cat. This gray, rain-soaked pathetic thing that was beginning to vibrate in his hands needed something. It needed help. It needed saving.
This creature needed someone to save it. Sixty had had failure after failure in his life and he wanted to be ale to succeed in something. He wanted to make sure this kitten was saved and taken care of.
The kitten was now vibrating in his hands and a quick search online told him it was purring.
Sixty begins to make his way back to the apartment, already anticipating the talk he and Connor were going to have. Great, they were probably going to a dog soon.
"Well, let's hope you're worth the trouble of all this."
The kitten only meowed, a tiny sound coming from its little body in his hands.
"I think that's what I'll call you: Trouble."