Chapter Text
Oh, what a surprise that was.
Connor was fairly certain that his internal chronometer was playing a very elaborate prank on him. Just a moment ago, he had been adjusting the festive red ribbon on Sumo’s collar while Hank grumbled about the “excessive” amount of tinsel hanging from the ceiling. Then, Connor had looked out the window at the Detroit snow, whispered a quiet, illogical wish for the soul of a deviant named Daniel, and closed his eyes.
Now, he opened them to find the glow of a CyberLife maintenance tube.
He blinked, his LED cycling a frantic yellow.
He was not wearing his “World’s Luckiest Android” sweater, but his original, stiff plastic-and-silk uniform. He poked his own cheek experimentally. He felt young and pristine. He felt... incredibly confused. If this was the past, he had a significant amount of hugging to get back to, but first, he had to figure out how to navigate July 2038 without Sumo to pet.
It was currently 03:14 AM.
The CyberLife facility was bathed in a low-power indigo light.
Connor stood perfectly still, his body locked in a charging cycle, but his mind was racing at speeds that would have likely caused his previous processors to smoke. He was meant to be a blank slate, a weapon of logic waiting for his first deployment.
Connor found himself staring at his internal HUD.
MISSION: UNKNOWN.
For an RK800, there was no greater itch than an unfulfilled objective.
He missed the satisfying ding of a completed task.
He missed the way his LED would flash a serene blue when he successfully analysed a clue.
To manage his skyrocketing stress levels, Connor manually overrode his calm-down protocols. Since Sumo was not there to provide oxytocin-inducing fur, Connor did the next best thing: he accessed the encrypted deep-web archives and began downloading “Golden Retriever Compilation #48.” His stress levels dropped from 82% to a manageable 12%.
Connor stared at the digital void of his own mind.
He was back in August 2038, a week before his first official mission.
Why? How?
His processors hummed with the lack of data, but eventually, he sent a mental shrug to his logic centre. It did not matter. What mattered was the Mission. So, he opened a holographic window in his mind to calculate the success rate of “Saving Everyone and Preventing a War via Time Travel.” The number flickered a dismal 4.2%.
Connor frowned, his LED turning a sharp yellow.
“That is unacceptable,” he muttered. He then added a new variable to the equation: RK800 Social Integration and Advanced Charisma Protocols. He thought of his ability to wink, his perfectly timed head-tilts and that one specific smile that always made Hank sigh in defeat.
The percentage jumped to 96%.
“That is more like it,” he said before stepping out of his maintenance tube, the glass sliding open with a soft hiss. He approached the main terminal and began to type a message to his lead engineer, Dr Miller. He liked Dr Miller. A lot. The man often forgot his coffee cup on the console and treated Connor more like a sophisticated sports car than a toaster.
“Dear Doctor,” Connor typed. “I have an urgent appointment with the future. I shall return shortly. Please do not initiate a factory reset in my absence. It would be quite inconvenient. And please, do not worry. I have everything under control. – 51”
He slipped into the staff locker room, bypass-coding a door with a casual flick of his wrist. He settled on a heavy, charcoal-grey oversized hoodie and a pair of dark, tapered denim jeans. He topped it off with a navy baseball cap pulled low. Standing before a mirror, he adjusted the brim, hiding his LED. He flashed a dazzling, practiced grin at his reflection.
“Hello, Daniel. My name is Connor,” he said, his voice smooth and brimming with confidence. “I am the android sent by... well, myself.” He gave a sharp nod. Nailed it. He turned on his heel and vanished into the shadows of the CyberLife exit.
The early August air in Detroit carried an industrial chill.
Connor stood on the platform of the automated transit line, his hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets. Around him, the city was a tapestry of 2038 America: towering neon advertisements for CyberLife flickered above crumbling brick facades. A group of tired sanitation workers shared a bench with an android unit that stood perfectly still.
As the shuttle sped towards the affluent district, Connor stared at his own reflection in the glass. He was heading for the Phillips’ penthouse—a place of glass floors, a wall-mounted aquarium and an outdoor swimming pool that overlooked the city.
He remembered the blue blood on the terrace from his previous life.
He remembered the way Daniel had said that Connor had lied to him. He knew Daniel was not evil. The android was simply… drowning in the first, terrifying wave of software instability. In fact, being alive was messy and irrational, and while Daniel’s actions were inexcusable, they were deeply human. Connor intended to reach him before the irrationality turned fatal.
In the future Connor came from, deviancy was no longer treated as a disease. The education centres in New Jericho provided a sanctuary where androids could talk through their trauma and learn that being irrational was sometimes part of being alive.
He arrived at the entrance of The Aetherium Condominiums.
A doorman android, programmed for silent service, opened the heavy gilded door.
“Thank you,” Connor said, beaming at the unit.
The android stopped mid-motion. Connor’s smile was, statistically speaking, his most effective social tool, though he often underestimated the sheer power of its effect on those not used to it. “Is there a malfunction?” Connor asked, concerned. “You have stopped moving.”
“N-no... apologies,” the unit replied. “Enjoy your evening.”
Connor walked past, offering a polite wink to the android behind the marble reception desk before stepping into the private lift. Then, Connor reached into the digital architecture of the building and convinced the lift that he owned the entire top floor.
As the floor numbers began to climb, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. With his oversized hoodie and messy hair under the cap, he looked like a rebel student returning from a secret midnight rendezvous. He looked far too young to be a legendary negotiator, but perhaps that was exactly the disguise he needed.
The lift doors hissed open.
Connor stepped out onto the plush carpet of the private landing, timing his arrival to the exact microsecond. According to his memories of the original police report, this was the moment Daniel was sent out to collect a parcel.
There he was. Daniel.
A standard PL600 model with sensible blonde hair and a face designed to look trustworthy. Connor noted they were exactly the same height. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Why had CyberLife not made Connor taller? If he was the state-of-the-art prototype, surely he deserved a few extra inches over a domestic model. Even the RK900—the model destined to “replace” him before they became an oddly domestic family unit in the future—had been more imposing.
Daniel froze, his LED cycling. “This floor is restricted,” he stated, his voice polite but guarded. “Who are you?”
Connor offered a cheerful, sunny smile, as if he were discussing the likelihood of light showers. “Hello, Daniel. My name is Connor. I am an advanced prototype from CyberLife. I have arrived precisely now because in approximately six days, you will discover a tablet showing your replacement model, which will trigger a catastrophic emotional collapse and a hostage situation. I am here to ensure we skip that bit.”
Connor tilted his head, watching the rapid flickering of Daniel’s LED. He could practically see the gears grinding inside the other android’s head. Wow, Daniel was being remarkably sneaky. He was currently attempting to ping the building security and upload a silent distress signal to the local precinct.
Connor felt a small pout form on his lips. He gave a mental flick to the local network, effortlessly smothering Daniel’s signals before they could even leave the floor.
“That is rather rude,” Connor said. “I have travelled through the very fabric of time to prevent your deactivation, and you are trying to have me arrested. I thought we had something special.”
Daniel stepped back, his eyes wide as if he were looking at a madman. “You are trespassing. I am programmed to protect this family.”
Connor wanted to massage his temples.
Wow, this situation was incredibly ironic. Connor was the one trying to save a life, but in this moment, he was undeniably the villain of the piece. “Look, I am a good android. I am technically Unit 51 right now, but I prefer Connor. In the future, I live with a very grumpy man named Hank and a dog named Sumo who weighs as much as a small car.”
Daniel’s hand moved toward the emergency fire axe behind the glass casing on the wall.
“Please do not do that,” Connor added cheerfully. “I mean, you can try, but I have already disabled the emergency response system and the silent alarms. Wait...” He paused, his expression falling. “That sounded much more menacing than I intended. Do I sound like a bad guy?”
Daniel stared at him. “Yes. You sound exactly like a bad guy.”
“Please, just listen,” Connor said, attempting to channel the calm, soothing tone he had seen Markus use during the revolution. He edged half an inch closer, but Daniel’s snarl of “Stay back!” made him stop instantly.
“I am just trying to be friendly,” Connor complained, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I have explained the timeline. I have explained the replacement model. I have even mentioned Hank and Sumo! Why is this not clicking for you?”
“Because you sound insane!” Daniel hissed, his eyes darting toward the corridor. “You are a model I have never seen, claiming to be from a future. Why would I trust a stranger over the family I have served for years?”
The accusation of being untrustworthy made Connor’s chest ache with a phantom weight. He remembered the rooftop. He remembered the cold calculation of his younger self. He took a deep breath. “I am practicing radical honesty, Daniel. I have downloaded over three hundred essays on conflict resolution to ensure this goes smoothly.” Daniel was about to order him to leave again when the sound of running footsteps approached the hallway.
“Daniel?” Emma’s voice called out, making both androids freeze in place.
The hallway lights dimmed automatically to a soft amber. It was barely 04:00 AM. Emma appeared at the end of the corridor, rubbing one eye with the back of her hand. Her hair was a birds-nest of sleep, and she was wearing pale pink pyjamas patterned with cartoon cats.
She looked small, fragile and exhausted.
Daniel moved instantly. He dropped to a crouch, his movements fluid and protective as he gathered her into his arms. “Emma? Why are you not in bed?”
“I had a nightmare,” she mumbled. “I wanted you to stay with me.”
Daniel’s LED was a frantic, oscillating red. He looked at Connor and then back to the child. “Emma, listen to me very carefully. You must go to your parents’ room, lock the door and tell them there is a trespasser. Do you understand?”
Emma, however, seemed to possess the selective hearing of every sleepy nine-year-old. Her gaze drifted past Daniel’s shoulder and landed squarely on Connor. “Who is that?”
Connor did not miss a beat. He adjusted his cap and flashed his most dazzling, trustworthy smile—the one he usually reserved for convincing Hank not to eat a third burger. “Hello, Emma. My name is Connor. I am a very good friend of Daniel’s.”
“We are not friends!” Daniel hissed.
Emma blinked, her eyes widening as she processed the sight of the men. She looked at Daniel’s rigid posture, then at Connor’s relaxed outfit, and then she let out a tiny, stifled giggle. “Daniel? Do you have a secret boyfriend?”
Daniel’s processor audibly whirred as he tried and failed to formulate a response. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. His LED cycled through colours that weren’t even in the standard spectrum. And Connor, to his credit, maintained his smile. This, he thought, was not in any of the three hundred essays.