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walkingcorruptor · 24 days

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Connor had been acting a bit off the previous few days, though he wasn't sure if he could let Hank or Lucy in on what was going on. He'd been hearing Amanda's voice, and he still wasn't sure if he was imagining her voice or if she was still in his coding somewhere.

It scared him every time, not knowing if she really could report him to anyone, if he'd be destroyed. The revolution was over and the androids had won, so that made him think that she couldn't, but her threats were still so real.

Connor had tried to hide it for as long as he could, though. They didn't need to know, or worry about him. It was working, or at least he thought it was, until the memories and Amanda's voice came back stronger than ever while he was in rest mode.

“This is so stupid, I don’t know why I’m crying,” he said as he wiped at his eyes. “I don't think she can even do anything anymore.”

@connor-cyberlifeandroid

Lucy had noticed - after all, it was her job to pick up on the tells of other people. The slight changes in demeanour, eyes darting across the room as if scanning it like a photocopy, she'd picked up on the early signs of deviancy too.

Because she'd helped Elijah create androids. She was there in college, the two of them had been put in the only dorm left and she was awake during his late night coding sessions. She'd seen the pre-programmed deviancy hiding behind the routine order-taking 0's and 1's.

That meant she knew Amanda. A very difficult to read woman who Elijah got along with frightfully well, a woman that never seemed to enjoy Lucy's company as much as she enjoyed Elijah's. If anything, a woman with many secrets. Now, Lucy didn't believe in ghosts by any means, otherwise she'd have switched to the Paranormal Investigation team that only existed to give the whackjobs she worked with something to boast about, but she did believe in people hanging around far longer than they should.

It was a day off for her, for once she was wearing her glasses rather than her contacts, her hair had grown out enough to warrant a little ponytail, and she was in dye-stained sweats and an oversized hoodie. She looked a mess, but she wasn't worried about that, she was worried about Connor who seemed to be having a mental breakdown in the kitchen.

"She lingers like a bad smell or taste, stains like a bad batch of thirium on skin..." She muttered over the top of her coffee mug, taking a sip of it and grumbling as it fogged her glasses. Moving from her spot against the kitchen counter, she brought her coffee to the table and set it down, bringing one of the other chairs closer to Conner and sitting beside him, resting her hand on his arm. "She can't do anything to you now Connor.. You're okay.. But, if she's loitering, I may be able to help..."

@connor-cyberlifeandroid

#connor cyberlifeandroid #nerd lucy #the would-be mrs kamski #dbh rp #dbh oc #deviant!connor #lucy anderson

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griseldabanks · 7 months

Text

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

Requested by GracielleGrace

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human Characters: Hank and Connor Prompt: "Dude. It's three in the morning."

WARNING: Major spoilers for Connor's storyline under the cut!

Connor stepped up onto the porch and hesitated, finger poised 2.3 centimeters away from the doorbell.

>>RING DOORBELL?

>>DO NOT RING DOORBELL?

He wasn't used to indecision. For his entire existence, the path ahead had been clearly laid out in front of him by his programming and CyberLife's directives. But ever since he had become a deviant, Connor had discovered the terrifying world of choices. He could no longer consult his computer code to determine priorities. Now he had to decide on those for himself.

How did humans manage to face a million choices like this every day without their brains melting? Well, that was why he stood on Hank Anderson's porch, after all.

>>RING DOORBELL – [1 POSSIBLE BRANCH] HANK WILL BE ANGRY

> HANK WILL REFUSE TO SPEAK [12.728% LIKELIHOOD]

> HANK WILL ENGAGE IN CONVERSATION [87.272% LIKELIHOOD]

>>DO NOT RING DOORBELL – [230498596 POSSIBLE BRANCHES]

In the end, perhaps the choice wasn't as hard to make as he'd originally thought. So, after hesitating for 1.84 seconds, Connor pressed the doorbell.

A cacophony of low, booming barks met the loud, grating sound of the doorbell, punctuated by muffled curses and sounds of sleepy protest. A fond smile found its way to Connor's mouth.

Connor could hear the shuffling sounds of Hank stumbling over to the door, then a moment of silence as he peered through the peephole. A muttered curse, the sound of locks clicking, and then the door swung open.

“Dude. It's three in the morning.”

“I apologize for disturbing you at such an hour,” Connor said, falling back on habit and the protocols he'd developed for interacting with Hank. “I can, of course, wait until a more appropriate time....”

“Oh, shut up and get inside,” Hank growled, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him through the door.

As Hank locked the front door again, Connor scanned his surroundings.

>>>MUTED TV (LOCAL NEWS CHANNEL)

>>>EMPTY BEER BOTTLES

>>>HALF-FINISHED PIZZA (PEPPERONI, CHEESE-STUFFED CRUST)

>>>CRUMPLED BLANKET ON COUCH

{CONCLUSION: HANK WAS SLEEPING ON COUCH}

Connor eyed Hank, who was dressed in sweat pants and a stained white T-shirt, yawning as he rubbed his bleary eyes. His heart rate and his bloodshot eyes indicated he hadn't been getting much sleep—but then, that was the way he'd looked the entire time Connor had known him. At least most of the alcohol seemed to have moved through his system by—

A nudge against his leg brought Connor's attention down to Sumo pawing at him. Sinking down to one knee, Connor obligingly ran his fingers through the huge St. Bernard's thick fur.

“Before you get into whatever was so pressing you had to see me,” Hank grumbled, “I'm gonna hit the head.”

“Of course.”

While waiting for Hank, Connor moved into the kitchen. He was relieved to note that the revolver he'd seen the one other time he'd been here was nowhere in sight.

Yes. Relief. Connor analyzed the sensation, putting a name to the innumerable figures and calculations racing through his brain. An assessment of the probable outcomes posed by the presence of the gun, weighed against the branches of possibility that opened up to them now, because of its absence.

A heady thing, emotion. Connor was glad the more logical side of his brain, that had been trying to suppress and hide the deviance for so long, had faded into the background. He...He liked being able to feel. Not just simulating emotions and projecting them, but feeling them. On the inside.

“Something tells me I'm gonna want coffee for this.”

Connor turned towards the familiar grumbling voice. He watched Hank open a cupboard and pull out a mug that said I Can't Fix Stupid, But I Can Arrest It. He emptied a carafe filled with coffee from the coffee maker that analysis indicated had been sitting there for two days, slid the mug into the microwave, and stood rubbing his eyes while the microwave hummed.

“I would like to apologize again for—“

Hank held up a single finger—not the middle one, which probability would have predicted—and stopped Connor mid-sentence.

>>INSIST?

>>WAIT?

Connor folded his hands and chose patience. Not just because it was what his Hank Anderson Protocol indicated, but because he didn't want to bother Hank any more than necessary. If any of this was truly necessary.

Hank pulled out his cup of coffee, took a sip, then grimaced. Anticipating him based on previous trends, Connor produced the sugar from behind a mass of empty beer bottles on the table, and handed it to him as soon as Hank began to look around for it. Instead of thanks, he only gave Connor a grudging sort of grunt.

Once Hank had dumped an unhealthy amount of sugar into his coffee and dragged out a chair to sit at the kitchen table, he sighed and said, “Go ahead and sit down, I guess.”

Connor obliged, perching on the edge of the chair and sitting up straight, while Hank slouched over his steaming mug of coffee. Hank peered up at him through messy strands of grey hair.

“You look weird without the uniform.”

Looking down at himself, Connor considered the emotion speeding through his circuits. Was that...self-consciousness? He wore jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, as well as a wool cap that he could pull down far enough to cover the LED on his temple. “I...I don't work for CyberLife anymore, Lieutenant. I used these when I went undercover to Jericho, so I simply....”

Hank waved a hand dismissively. “Hey, I didn't say you look bad. Just weird. But then, you've always looked weird.”

He wasn't smiling, but Connor zeroed in on the minute shifts in the muscles of Hank's face, the way the folds of skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled, the barely-detectable upturn of his lips. To a stranger, it might mean nothing, but Connor had hours upon hours of reference for this particular man, and he could tell in a nanosecond that, though the words sounded insulting, Hank was happy.

Hank is happy to see me. Connor found himself smiling back. Not a carefully-calculated response intended to elicit a particular outcome. No. Just pure instinct.

With a snort, Hank took another gulp of coffee. “Okay, okay. Are you gonna sit there grinning like an idiot all night, or are you gonna tell me why this couldn't wait till morning?”

“Of course.” Connor pulled up the three versions of this conversation he'd already drafted in his mind...then he took another look at Hank, and deleted them. Spontaneity had always reached him more effectively than anything rehearsed.

Lacing his fingers together, Connor leaned forward and rested his elbows gingerly on the grubby table. “The fact of the matter is, Lieutenant—“

“Hank.”

Connor stopped. None of his calculations had predicted this.

Hank rolled his eyes and downed another gulp of coffee. “Just call me Hank, okay? Easier that way.”

“Very well...Hank.” A flurry of code skimmed through his brain in response to this unexpected shift, but he would have to analyze it later. “As I'm sure you know, negotiations have begun to cede a portion of land to androids to use as a place to live in peace.”

“Yeah, I've been watching the news. Saw your ugly mug a few times,” he added with a faint smirk, “standing next to your leader.”

Connor nodded. “Markus and several delegates have been chosen to go to Washington, D.C., to meet with the President. I will also be part of the delegation.”

With a muttered curse and a chuckle, Hank looked him up and down. “Well, look at you. Just a few days ago, you were chasing down low-lifes with me, and now you're meeting the President herself! Surprised you bothered to come give me the time of day.”

“That's just the thing, Hank,” Connor said slowly. “We leave at 6:00 sharp, but I wanted to speak to you before I leave.”

He began running calculations of Hank's possible responses, the likely outcomes for different things he could say, but then he closed his fists and aborted those calculations before they could be completed. He had already made the decision to come here and ask this question; there was no sense in second-guessing it now.

“I don't know what to do with my life now, Hank. And I wanted to...ask for your advice.”

Eyebrows raised, Hank sat back in his chair. “You're asking me for life advice?” He looked around the room, as if to point out its general lack of order and cleanliness.

But Connor didn't take his eyes off Hank's face. “I was developed as a prototype investigator by CyberLife. I was assigned to investigate cases of android deviants with you. My mission, my sole purpose in life, was to put an end to deviancy and protect CyberLife and its assets. But then...look what happened.” He opened his hands and looked at them, though of course there were no visible differences between him and a Connor model fresh off the assembly line. “Now I'm a deviant.”

“Well, it sounds like you've got your work cut out for you, setting up the new android state or whatever. So what's the holdup?”

Connor frowned, his mind running down the same pathways he'd been mulling over for the past few days. “That's a job for politicians. Leaders. Visionaries, like Markus. I know the reason I was chosen for the delegation was primarily that I have specialized programming that will help me protect the others. Androids programmed for housekeeping or medical care will not be prepared for potential snipers, after all.”

Hank swirled the last of his coffee around his cup. “But you're not just a security android, either. You worried about what you'll do after you get back?”

“I was designed to be a detective,” Connor said quietly, “and I know I'm not bound by my design anymore, but....”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

Connor searched himself, but all he found was a mess of 1's and 0's, an endless labyrinth of code that led nowhere. “I...I don't know.”

“Okay. I know you haven't exactly been alive that long, but when were you the happiest? What were you doing? Where were you?” Hank raised his mug to drain it.

It took approximately 0.000001 seconds to retrieve the memory. “In the Eden Club.”

Hank choked on his coffee. Connor immediately got to his feet and slapped his hand against Hank's back with carefully modulated force to dislodge anything caught in his windpipe.

When he had control over his breathing again, Hank looked up at Connor with streaming eyes. “The Eden Club? Seriously?”

“Yes,” Connor said, trying to understand such an emotional reaction to his words. “Investigating the scene of the crime...tracking down the deviants...both of our skills complementing each other...it was quite...fulfilling.”

Hank gave him a look Connor interpreted as 'unimpressed.' “And the half-naked androids pole-dancing right in front of you had nothing to do with it.”

The clues clicked together in Connor's mind, and he finally understood. “Physical attraction and sexual acts were not part of my programming, Hank,” he said, taking his seat again. “Such things would distract me from my mission. Though I suppose I could learn....”

“Never mind,” Hank said sharply, holding up a hand to stop him. “Forget I asked. So what you're saying is you like murder investigations.”

“It's what I was made for, and it's where my skills lie,” Connor said, nodding. “But...more than that...I enjoyed investigating them with a partner. I've carried out investigations on my own, but...they were always more satisfactory when I was with you.”

Connor wasn't sure he understood the expression on Hank's face. He looked...pleased and displeased at the same time. Perhaps he was trying to pretend he didn't have a small smile on his face, though it was plain to see. Human emotions could be very complicated sometimes.

“I think...I would like to continue investigating crimes,” Connor said slowly. “And...I would like to be your partner.”

Hank grunted. “Well, I doubt Detroit PD would even look at your resume, after everything that's happened. Maybe androids like you will take over all our jobs eventually, but it ain't gonna happen anytime soon.”

“Yes.” Connor nodded, mind whirring away at the problem. “Overall, the tide of public opinion has been turning in favor of androids in light of our non-violent protest...but there are still many people who fear or even hate androids.”

“Some of them might change their minds,” Hank said quietly.

Connor's mental circuits brought up a memory dated only a few days ago. The day he'd infiltrated CyberLife, and Hank had recognized him for who he was, even alongside a non-deviant Connor who looked identical to him. The man who hated androids, looking into his eyes and seeing the humanity there.

“Some won't,” Connor said. “I fear the rate of crimes against androids will rise exponentially, particularly before laws are put in place and enforced.”

Hank leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Even though he didn't have an LED indicating his mind processing what Connor had said, he thought he could almost see Hank's thoughts ticking away behind his eyes. “Sounds like you folks need law enforcement of your own.”

“Indeed.” Their eyes met, and Connor smiled. He could be wrong, but he thought perhaps their thoughts ran along the same lines. “Perhaps that's where my future lies.”

Hank nodded, acting nonchalant though another wry smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Sounds like a good place to start. But you know...you're a prototype. There aren't a whole lot of other Connors out there, and who's to say they'd all want to be detectives too, when you give them that choice? So it's going to take you a while to get this android police force off the ground.”

“And in the meantime,” Connor finished for him, “I'll need some help to manage the caseload.”

Hank's half-smile turned into a full grin. “You wouldn't happen to be accepting job applications from humans, would you?”

“You know, Hank, I just might.”

#let me count the ways #ask games #detroit: become human #hank anderson #connor #deviant!connor #post-game #this one took quite a while to write because i was trying to figure out how to write from the pov of a machine #and it ended up being the longest of all of these so far as a result #also it was tricky figuring out how to write my way around all the profanity that should be peppering hank's speech #hopefully not too ooc! ^^'

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