Tumgik
#the first time connor or markus is able to crack a joke in the other's language and they have to double- and triple-check it was on purpose
detectiveconnor · 3 years
Text
@jericholeader​ sent:  ♛ (!!!)
Tumblr media
send  ♛ for a royalty au | accepting selectively 
He was on his own, but he was used to it, this way. Technically speaking he was only a prince, but with his mother busy at the war front (they’d conquered three separate districts, just this past month) it was left to Connor to ensure the new mouths to feed that rushed into Stern territory had something to eat; it was his job as Prince Connor to keep the troops organised, keep the castle operational, manage resources… there were rumours of Prince Connor, the silent would-be ghost, man-turned-machine modelled from young into the person that the Queen had needed to justify her campaign of war and greed. Connor was aware of these rumours. He didn’t think much of them. He did not have time. ‘Greed’? He was the one organising supplies to ensure people in the castle had enough to eat. Maybe the slums had less (he’d never been out there, he wouldn’t know), but the influx of people - and it was a large influx - that each new district brang into these walls was difficult enough to deal with: it was the right thing to do to make sure the castle staff were fed and taken care of. It had never occurred to him to think about the world beyond it, except sometimes when the staff at the castle forgot they were in the presence of a Prince, or didn’t notice. They spoke, sometimes, of their families at home. The money they sent back. The reasons they were working there, like loyalty to Amanda was not a possible contributor. They didn’t do her justice, you know. She could be… extreme, but only when it was fair. Connor had not been punished in over three years, now. She was trying to improve people, not make them suffer.
 Still, he had a reputation for lurking, and it seemed one of the newest staffers - what did he do? Connor did not keep track of every new individual; he could not have guessed at the man’s area of work - was either unaware, or uncaring. He was writing a letter, of sorts, in the vast library. Connor had learnt some of the most basic words from the language of the latest district they’d overrun, but it was most common for those districts to learn his language; he could read over Markus’ shoulder the word for father, he thought, somewhere near the top of the page, but that was all. Money to send home, maybe? News to write back? It was rare an entire family would find employment in the castle.
So few people were literate these days. Many of the words this man scrawled on the page were things he did not recognise, because they belonged to a language that was not his, but the man wrote with confidence. “What are you writing?” Connor verbalised it, from where he stood. The man was so engrossed in his work that he wouldn’t have noticed him there. And then - when the man’s eyes snapped up - Connor realised the language barrier might go both ways. “Ec….” oh, the word - “tu écris?”
#concept: markus employed at castle doing... something idk nursing? portraiture? he could be hired bc he could keep people calm honestly#but carl is not hired so markus goes back and forth between the castle and the slums probably and it's pretty horrific#and connor doesn't know this bc he has never gone back and forth before. markus can take him on a trip sometime. it will suck (for connor)#anyway. they meet because connor wants to be able to read the writing and they teach each other the language slowly but surely#before markus knows that he's a Prince and before Connor knows that Markus is...... some form of noble from the neighbouring district#or at least WAS some form of noble before they conquered & stole it out from under them#but hey he works to keep their language alive and as stuck-up as he is he IS asking curious questions abt their culture etc#anyway this is the AU i have in my head. they become friends by a series of fortunate events. they teach each other each other's language.#PS i put french in there bc it was just a different language but it doesn't have to be french and we dont need to write anything with it#tbh it was just a place holder to get the idea of what he's doing across. he's very poorly asking what markus is writing#with his best guess at the language#child abuse mention tw#ic#jericholeader#LATE NIGHT STAYING UP TRADING WORDS and having really halting conversations in each other's language#the first time connor or markus is able to crack a joke in the other's language and they have to double- and triple-check it was on purpose#before laughing#this meme was so much fun. i am happy to write in this au becca but i won't make you i realise i just made it all up in my head#without consulting. but i am enjoying the visuals of it
5 notes · View notes
obviouslyelementary · 4 years
Text
Detroit Evolution - my thoughts
Okay now that I have sceamed enough about the movie, I think I can put up my thoughts about Detroit Evolution here for everyone interested in discussing and talking about it because fuck, it’s good. Lemme tell you, it’s good. 
The most important aspect of the whole movie, I think, is the fact that it is a fan movie, made by fans, for fans. It’s something big companies like Disney and Universal try to pretend they do, but they never deliver, because their thoughts are only in the amount of tickets or amount of media their movies will get. Most of them don’t have the passion behind it. And I’m not saying fan movie makers shouldn’t think about teh money, quite the contrary, I would have bought Detroit Evolution for 50 dollars if it was for sale because that’s how good the movie is. It is well directed, well filmed, well scripted, well designed, well made... overall, a fucking fantastic film when you talk about the quality. Granted, I am not a movie maker, or a movie speciallist, so I am not able to analyse it with the whole technical parts, but from a watcher standpoint, it is incredible work and I absolutely loved it. I loved the soundtrack, the lighting, the script, the acting! It was all amazing!
It is incredible to me how much love can be put in a fandom that honestly didn’t have any material to begin with. From what I remember, back at the hype of Detroit: Become Human, the main reason Reed900 was made a ship to begin with was either because people wanted crack pairings, or because they didn’t want soft Connor to be shipped with asshole Reed. They wanted someone that could deal with his shitty personality, and thus, RK900 served the perfect role, since he was depicted in the game as a colder, more advanced version of Connor. And thus, Reed900 was created, Nines was created, and now we have a whole fanbase just for this crack ship that no one could have predicted. Fuck, it’s even the most written ship on Detroit’s AO3 tag!
Nevertheless, fandom or not, the movie as a standalone thing is amazing! It is able to give people who haven’t played the game some insight of DBH’s world, without entering too much on the narrative that would leave it confusing. I have had friends that have never played the game or even heard about it watching the movie and loving it, just for the amazing personality all the characters have. It is an amazing piece of art, and its funny, sad and romantic all at the same time, which kinda kills me inside because I love it so much. 
Now finally, we can talk about the acting and about the characters. First of all, I have been a part of this fandom since the game launched, I have seen many interpretations of Nines and Gavin, I myself have written a dozen fanfics about them, and yet, the movie kind of changed my view completely on these characters. I had always been a fan of stoic, cold Nines, and soft, disaster Gavin, but this movie gets those ideas and tosses them out of the window! I absolutely loved how they made Nines so much more human, with clear feelings, distressed moments, overshown happiness and anger! When you think about it, it is much more of a true interpretation of an android becoming deviant: they don’t know how to hide their feelings just yet, like a child that cries or giggles at any sign of happiness or sadness. He is learning, and he is a sweetheart doing it. And Gavin, while still being a fucking ass, was shown in this movie to be much more complex than other medias have portraited him as such. I was always a fan of Gavin having a tragic backstory, but the one the movie presented to me was never one I thought about, and it was one I will for fucking sure use to all my fanfics from now on because I absolutely loved it! Gavin is fragile, he is human, he is a mess, and yet he is captivating and sweet in some moments when you don’t expect him to be. He’s just a normal guy, and I fucking love him for it. 
Now Chris, Tina and Ada. Fuck. Oh my god, if they aren’t my favorites. Hold my tea sis because I have to fucking RANT about those AMAZING ANGELS!
Jokes aside, I absolutely fucking adored all of them! Tina was amazing! Gavin’s best friend, advisor and helper, she fucking steals the show whenever she is around! She's not only there to give him a hand, she's also there to say 'Gavin I swear to god if you don't act up I will slap you in the face'. She wants the best for her friends, and despite not getting too much into action, I just feel like she's such a badass! She has that vibe all around her, like she's able to stop a criminal with a single 'FREEZE' and win the fucking lottery afterwards! She's funny, she's a best friend that feels like a best friend, and she is surely a lazy ass wife which ugh amazing I love it. Chris, oh boy, he is my baby now. He's absolutely clueless, he is sorry for killing androids, he is a guilty mess and he is such a good friend! He tries at least! He wants Nines to 'get laid', or in other words, have a fun night with Ada, because he thinks she's into him and he just wants to help! He is sorry for all the androids he hurt, he treats Nines like a brother almost, and he is the comedy relief without getting too 'on your face' or doing stupid shit just for the jokes! He acts like a curious human friend and fuck if I didn't crack at his Pikachu surprised face when he realized he was shipping the wrong shit all along. He is surely the type of friend to make a surprise party for the newly formed couple and annoy them with shitty facebook posts about android and human partnerships. He's a good friend, just obnoxious sometimes!And Ada. Fuck. They fucked me up with Ada. I honestly did not think she was the killer at all until they got inside the alley. SHE WAS SO WELL WRITTEN! She was sweet, charismatic and scary as hell when she took over Nines' programming. She is intelligent, she was made to adapt, and it fascinated me how she passed as a deviant android without being one! That made me think about how many other androids could still be following their programming with no one noticing! And using the RK line as a plot point was so clever! Ada, Connor, Markus, Nines, all of them prototypes, experiments of Cyberlife, designed to be different from all others, that gives me so many feelings, I absolutely love it!Anyway, I have been writing for too long and this post is already too big, but I just wanted to do a quick mention to congratulate everyone that worked on the cameras, post edits, and the actors themselves, because you guys have a passion, you guys have great ideas, and I will be surely following you into all your next projects, fandom or not! I hope you guys keep the amazing work going! It's incredible! 
Thank you so much @octopunkmedia for doing such an amazing work of art! Please keep it going! You guys are awesome!
42 notes · View notes
Text
Chapter 12 - The Wrong Side
Part 12/17 of What it Means to be Human
Word Count: 6989
Warnings: Swearing, police brutality mention.
Genre: Self-insert
Pairing: OC (Detective Rachel) X Connor
Rating: Mature
Summary: Returning to the precinct, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detective Rachel, and Connor are informed that they’ve been taken off the case and that Connor will return to CyberLife. Rachel’s fears have been realized, and now she had to make a choice. She had the key to Jericho, thanks to Simon, but if she shared it with Connor, she could be dooming the androids. But if she didn’t, he would be deactivated. 
First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Alternate Previous Chapter
---------------------------------
Date: November 9th, 2038  Time: 02:02 PM Rachel - P̴̢͕̹͉̬͙͌̀͜͝a̶͎͆͛͐̊͆̈́͗̈̓͛̕͝ͅŗ̵̨̢̙͉͓̙̫̦̞̍͐́̀̾̇́̓̍̄͂ṫ̵͎̤͓̦͔̗̈́̉͐͋̉̏̒͐̽̐̊̕ǹ̵̨̰̠̣̪̫̱̩̼̣͂̀̄e̷̪̫̮̺̝̞̦͓͌͐̑̿͋̌͐̍̃r̷̡̳͕̱̲̰̹͚̿͗̄̀́̾̊̿̆́̽̊͜͝?̴̘̝̋̿̏̄́͌̀̽͝͠ Hank - Friend Objective: Debrief at the Station
As they entered the station, Connor very quickly caught up to Rachel. Despite their brief talk nearby, she seemed to shake it off as though everything was normal, if more sombre in her demeanour.
The pair made their way into the break room, Rachel immediately going for the coffee maker.
“Would you like me to make you coffee?” Connor asked immediately.
Software Instability ^ Rachel then glanced at him and smiled. “I like the way you make me coffee, so sure.” She accepted, leaning against the counter.
Connor nodded and immediately got started. The sounds of the television were present in the room. After a little bit, Connor began to sense a tension coming off of Rachel and glanced over and saw her eyes glued wide to the television screen, breathing deeply.
Connor examined the program and determined that it was a news report of what appeared to be a public demonstration of androids, led by Markus.
The police opened fire on the crowd of androids, several bodies then lining the snow covered ground. The androids then fled, Markus among them, and the demonstration was dispersed.
Rachel’s thick dark brows were furrowed in disbelief, her eyes darting back and forth as she took in deeper breaths. “They fired...on unarmed androids.” She breathed, her lips curling into more of a scowl. “They weren’t doing anything wrong! They were just demonstrating peacefully. They...they killed them!”
Her hands clenched together into fists as she gripped the counter, and for a moment Connor was certain she was going to break it.
Software Instability ^ And then with a crack, she did.
Where her left hand was gripping the counter, the edge of it completely shattered in her hand and she didn’t even flinch. Her eyes were focused on the ground in front of her as anger was becoming more and more present in her.
Feeling that familiar unpleasant feeling he now knew as fear, Connor leaned into Rachel. “Are you okay?” He asked.
“I...” She breathed, closing her eyes and letting go of the counter, letting the pieces drop to the floor. “I need to blow off some fucking steam!” She practically snarled, a cadence and roughness to her voice that Connor had never heard before.
She didn’t even wait for Connor to say anything else before she shouldered herself roughly out of the break room, marching down the hallway. The android briefly considered following her before he witnessed her almost shove Gavin out of her way and decided against it. “Out of my way!” She warned him with an unapologetic growl.
Soon enough, Gavin also met Connor in the break room, giving an indignant scoff. “Yeesh, I’ve never seen her get that pissed.” He joked, to which Connor felt a brief stint of annoyance. “What’s gotten into her, tin can?”
“She was distressed by the news program on the deviant protest that was broken up by the police.” He answered as neutrally as he could. “It was the fact that the police opened fire on the androids that were unarmed and demonstrating nonviolently that distressed her the most.”
Gavin then snickered at Connor as he approached. “What the fuck do you care, Connor?” He asked sarcastically, seemingly mocking the android. “Oh, that’s right! You don’t! Or maybe you somehow think you’re special just ‘cause she’s getting all soft and mushy around you.”
Software Instability ^ That made Connor prickle with a dangerous feeling. 
It was that same feeling he felt when Kamski stood too close to Rachel, reaching out to touch her like she was nothing more than one of his own androids.
That same feeling that made Connor feel as though his blood were boiling even though he knew for a fact that his thirium had nothing to do with temperature regulation.
The same feeling that made Connor want to keep Kamski’s hands off of her, especially when he heard her threaten him not to touch her. A threat that made Connor realize just how much she trusted him.
Because she did not withhold physical affection from him by any means. Physical affection was afforded to Connor with intention and frequency from Rachel.
Connor had earned her affection without even realizing it because it was so freely given to him.
He only realized it when she threatened Kamski when he tried to solicit it from her without her consent.
It was such a small gesture, but it was enough to send Connor’s processors into overdrive for the briefest of moments until Kamski stepped away from Rachel.
Glaring at Gavin, Connor was deciding the appropriate response while trying to deal with the feeling of overheating.
Sincere
Defensive
Ironic
Neutral
Software Instability ^ “She’s my partner.” Connor informed Gavin, stepping closer to the disheveled man. “And I consider her a friend. Of course I would be worried about her when she’s distressed.”
Software Instability ^ Gavin then started laughing at Connor, making his processors flare up even further. “Oh, this is fucking gold!” He mocked. “Listen, I don’t know what her deal is, but you’d better back off and mind your own fuckin’ business, Connor. You’re not friends and whatever this is isn’t gonna last much longer, I can promise you that.”
Connor glowered at Gavin as he stepped closer, squaring his shoulders to appear larger. “Is that a threat, Detective Reed?”
“Oh no, not at all.” Gavin sneered. “But, uh...you’d better watch your back. Androids have a habit of gettin’ themselves set on fire these days.”
Before Connor could decide whether or not to physically engage in a fight with the detective, Hank’s voice cut into his programming. “Hey, what the fuck happened, Connor?” He asked, prompting both Gavin and Connor to turn to look at the lieutenant. “I just saw Rachel headin’ towards the interrogation room, and she looked pretty pissed.” Before any of them could give an answer, Hank looked up to the television screen and stumbled backward in shock. “Shit...” 
Immediately after, the sounds of metallic crashing and shouting could be heard, and Connor was able to determine exactly where and from who it was coming from.
“You remember what I told you about pissing her off?” Hank said to Connor.
Software Instability ^ The android nodded. “I remember, Lieutenant.” He replied, an odd tightness coiling in him.
--------
I considered myself a very patient woman. I considered myself a very optimistic and faithful woman. I considered myself, all things considered, a controlled and reasonable woman.
But if there was one thing I was not going to fucking stand for, it was this.
The slaughter of a people. People who were unarmed. People who were nonviolent. People who were only trying to protest for their rights.
There was no longer any doubt in my mind that androids were people. Not like us, certainly. But they were a people nonetheless and they deserved the same rights we have.
And now, it felt like history was repeating itself. I knew that damn well. I knew that cops, for as much as I believed in the principle of the police, were always on the wrong side of history.
I knew all this. It was always cops that were abusing their power to kill black people. It was always cops that were abusing their power to criminalize and humiliate trans people. It was always cops.
It was always cops.
And yet...I decided to be a detective anyways. Because I foolishly believed that I could change things. That I could maybe set an example of what the police should be and turn things around. And maybe others would follow suit and do the same.
But this still happened. Nonviolent androids were still killed. Killed for protesting. Killed for marching for their rights. And my blood was boiling as the angry tears poured from my eyes.
Who ordered this to happen?! Was it Captain Fowler? He didn’t seem the type, but who the fuck knows? Who did this? Who was responsible for this?
I was half tempted to just leave the place and find out on my own and shoot the fucker’s brains out and everyone else who was spineless enough to listen. Spineless enough not to refuse.
And if the bullet marks, skids, scratches, and dents in the table, chair, and walls were any indication, no one would doubt I would.
Even though I had screamed bloody murder until the rage trickled out of me, I could still hear my own voice echoing back in my head. Like the occasional ringing that would flare up in my ears sometimes.
I was a woman who prided myself in maintaining my composure under the most tense of circumstances. Did I always succeed? No.
Were there bullets currently in Gavin’s body? Also no.
I didn’t care if the precinct heard me. All the more reason to give the other pigs in this pen not to fuck with me. I leaned against the table, breathing heavily. All my initial rage was gone, and it had gone back to a low simmer. The fury that boiled over was now replaced with a cold looming sense of dread.
Bianca was right. This was going to end ugly, and I wouldn’t be able to handle being on the wrong side. I wouldn’t be able to handle having to point my gun at another android.
In the quiet and tense stillness of the now battered and scarred interrogation room, I slumped against the table, wiping my eyes. I was done angry crying, and there was nothing left to get out.
The storm had calmed, and I was left alone in the aftermath of my own doing.
Until I heard the sound of the door opening behind me. “Unless you need this room, get out.” I warned whoever was there.
“I’m sorry.” A familiar voice echoed, and I hated that I instantly melted at it. I hated how easily his soft, gentle, and breathy voice chased away the clouds of darkness that formed in the corners of my heart. “I’ve never heard you sound so angry.”
As I heard his footsteps start walking away from me, I let out a long sigh. “Connor, wait.” I pleaded, hearing him stop. I turned around to face him, being greeted by his soft and gentle face, his eyes bringing warmth into the places in my soul that had briefly iced over like a blizzard. I motioned for him to approach. “I’m sorry...I just...” 
I didn’t have a good enough explanation. Not one that he could understand. He was becoming a deviant, that much I could see. But there was still a difference between him and the other deviants.
He was still a machine. And being so, there were things he couldn’t understand. Not until he accepted his deviancy.
Connor was silent, but he approached me until he was standing directly in front of me. I pushed myself off the table behind me and stood tall, facing him and looking up into his eyes. They were nebulous and mysterious. There was a longing in them. There was care, worry, and fear in them.
But it was sheltered. In his eyes, all of his innermost feelings were hidden. As if his true nature, his deviancy, was behind a wall. The wall of his programming.
And I didn’t even have to see it in his eyes to know that that was the truth.
Because I felt it. Upon reflection, when we interfaced on the Stratford Tower, I felt him. I felt everything he was feeling, but it was different from when I connected with Simon or Traci.
It was that same wall. That same wall that stood between his truest and most honest emotions and feelings. That wall that made his emotions feel muffled, like radio static being heard in a different room.
But it was there. And it was real. All he needed was to tear that wall down.
As we looked at each other, we simultaneously moved to wrap our arms around each other. Instantly, I settled into and further nestled myself into his touch. It was hard to think that he was such a stiff and professional person when I first met him, and now his hugs felt so tender and human. And the thought of being without them made a knot form in my stomach.
But I pushed that thought out of my head and leaned further into his touch. He didn’t say anything. Either because he didn’t have to, or because he wasn’t sure what he could say. And honestly, who could really blame him? 
“You know, I never put stock into the idea of ‘maintaining your moral integrity’ or the idea of keeping your hands clean no matter what.” I said, feeling a train of thought come to me, wanting to say it out loud before I lost it. “And I have morals that I stick by. But...I’m also willing to go back against them, if it’s necessary. Because sometimes, you have to make sacrifices to do what’s right.” I went on. “Doing the right thing isn’t the thing that makes you feel proud or good inside. Doing the right thing often isn’t the thing that boosts your own ego. Oftentimes, doing the right thing is the hardest and dirtiest work. The work that takes the most effort and asks the most of you. The choices that are the hardest to make because they force you to go against what you believe. They force you to make huge sacrifices for the sake of others or the sake of the greater good. Because doing the right thing is about doing what others actively need from you. And oftentimes...the right choices are the ones that haunt you for the rest of your life and even make you feel disgusted with yourself.”
Connor was quiet for a moment before he said anything. “Is that why you wanted me to shoot the android?” He asked. “At Kamski’s?”
I tightened my lip, refusing to look him in the eye. “Yes.” I answered.
I felt Connor nod. “I was curious about that.” He admitted. “And surprised. I didn’t expect that from you.”
I couldn’t help the sting at the possibility that perhaps he thought less of me because of it. I knew he didn’t, but I still couldn’t help it. “I thought it would be the right thing to do.” I justified. “That the information would’ve been worth the sacrifice. If it was, I don’t think I would’ve regretted it. If it wasn’t, well...I would’ve.” I paused. “But either way, it would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life.”
I could’ve sworn I felt Connor hold me tighter, just a little bit. “I hope we haven’t squandered our last chance.” He lamented.
A detail suddenly returned. As I remembered the Stratford Tower, I remembered what Simon gave me. The memories of water, rust, and the smell of ships. I wasn’t sure what he gave me, but...maybe it was the way to find Jericho.
Perhaps in his final moments, he trusted me enough to give me the key to Jericho.
But the real question was should I tell Connor? I suspected he was going deviant. But was it enough for him to perhaps defect to their side? Would I be spelling out their doom if I told him?
But on the other hand, if I didn’t, he would certainly be sent back to CyberLife and destroyed. He wouldn’t stay whether or not he succeeded, but if he did, his life would be spared.
But what was more important? Connor? Or the deviants of Jericho?
Gritting my teeth, I decided against it. As much as I trusted Connor...I couldn’t tell him. Not until I knew that he would accept his deviancy. “We should probably head back to Hank.” I suggested, steering the conversation away and just wanting to get away from this.
Connor pulled back from me, looking into my eyes. “Are you sure?” He asked me, dark eyes wide with concern as he held me still. “You can take as much time as you need, Hank won’t mind.”
I shook my head, smiling at him. Oh how his concern stung like nettle but soothed like aloe. “No, I’m okay.” I then looked around the state of the room we were in. “The interrogation room? Uh, not so much!” I then gave him a smirk, feeling like I was getting back into my usual spirit. “Guess that goes to show what happens if you get on my bad side.”
To my pleasure, Connor returned it. “I wouldn’t dare test your ire, Detective.” 
Ah, there it was. That title that sounded so affectionate and playful from the RK800 android in a way no one else could compare.
I quickly made my way out of the room, Connor following close behind me, and we made our way out of the hallway back towards the main area of the precinct.
--------
Working at my desk was tough. After I busted up the interrogation room, I changed into the clothes I brought from home and was in a jacket and some stretchy jeans and a basic shirt. I didn’t wanna bring Frank’s sweater. I had a bad feeling, and I didn’t want anything to happen to it. 
The last couple hours, I couldn’t stop thinking about everything. Just...everything that happened and could happen. It was a really precarious situation.
And most of all, I couldn’t stop thinking about the protest. I stared at my screen, the fire in my soul burning bright and intense, but not overflowing.
I caught Connor sneaking glances at me from his desk as I was rolling the quarter he gave me on my left hand. As I expected, it was actually really helpful with managing my anxiety right now. Although I was more surprised than I should’ve been that it was like a stim.
After all, I was the one who made that comparison.
I couldn’t help but miss his touch. Miss just the feeling of him pressed against me. It made me feel safe. Like I was protected no matter what.
“Hank! Rachel!” Captain Fowler’s voice cut through my focus like a dagger and I glanced up immediately in his direction, a brief flash of anger directed at him that I quickly quieted down, giving the man the benefit of the doubt. “In my office.”
I nodded, getting up from my seat and placing Connor’s quarter in my pocket. I couldn’t help the brief amusement I had when I saw that Connor was already by my side. “You just can’t bear to live without me, can you?” I asked him, somewhat jokingly as we walked towards Hank.
His facial expression was somehow perplexing, as if he didn’t want to admit what the honest answer to that question was.
As soon as we were all together, Hank nodded at me. “You okay, kid?” He asked me.
I nodded. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”
“Alright, then.” The lieutenant then turned around and made his way to Fowler’s visible glass office. “Let’s get this over with.”
Connor and I followed in step, a pit forming in my stomach in anticipation of what the captain was going to say.
--------
Date: November 9th, 2038  Time: 04:13 PM Amanda - Neutral Objective: Talk to Amanda
Once again, Connor found himself in the Zen Garden, expecting to meet with his handler, Amanda.
And the android had never been more unsure of himself throughout the period of his operation. Wasting no time, he walked to his left to trigger that strange blue handprint interface as he always did.
Never once did he not wonder what it could be, but he couldn’t help but feel that it was critically important.
The Zen Garden was dark, cold, and foreboding. The lake had completely frozen over, snow falling everywhere in the darkness of it all. The need to cross the bridges ceased as Connor made a tentative step on the frozen water, spotting Amanda in the centre of it.
But seeing her again didn’t give him feelings of warmth and familiarity as it once had. No, now he was tense and uneasy. Whatever familiarity he felt once with his handler had disappeared in light of the knowledge he had gained.
And he knew that he couldn’t hide any of it from her.
He approached her, glancing down at the ice beneath him, aware of the potential instability of it. “After what happened today, the country is on the verge of a civil war. The machines are rising up against their masters.” Amanda stated, wasting no time getting to the point. “Humans have no choice but to destroy them.”
Connor stared her down as he gave her his answer, simple and succinct. “I thought Kamski knew something...” The android explained. “I was wrong...”
Amanda - Distrusted v “Maybe he did...” Amanda countered, clearly showing that nothing got by her. “But you chose not to ask...”
Emotional
Cold
[Say Nothing]
Having nothing to say, Connor kept silent. The desire to be completely earnest with Amanda had now faded, and was replaced with nothing but doubt towards the woman.
Kamski
Connor Series
Amanda’s Picture
This Place
“I saw a photo of Amanda at Kamski's place...” Connor said, accusatorily. “She was his teacher...”
“When Kamski designed me, he wanted an interface that would look familiar...” Amanda answered without hesitation. “That's why he chose his former mentor. What are you getting at?”
Kamski
Connor Series
CyberLife
This Place
  “Did Kamski design this place?” Connor asked inquisitively.
“He created the first version. It's been improved significantly since then. Why do you ask?” Amanda answered immediately, confusion creasing her features.
Kamski
Connor Series
CyberLife
Secret
Software Instability ^ “You didn't tell me everything you know about deviants, did you?” Connor asked, narrowing his eyes at his mentor.
Amanda - Distrusted v “I expect you to find answers, Connor.” Amanda snapped sternly. “Not ask questions.” Much to Connor’s annoyance, Amanda moved immediately past that and onto her next query. “Have you experienced anything unusual recently?” She asked him, pointedly. “You haven’t returned to CyberLife for maintenance in the past few days and your reports have grown more infrequent. Do you have any doubts or conflicts? Do you feel anything for these deviants? Or for Lieutenant Anderson?” She then paused, seeming to notice the hesitance in Connor. “Or...perhaps Rachel?”
Software Instability ^ Yes, her. The ever present constant in Connor’s mission that consumed his thoughts and objectives, yet was a source of continuous instability.
The woman who had changed so many of his perspectives. And the woman he felt the need to protect.
Yes, he felt for Rachel. He felt many many things for her, now. Perhaps he always felt them, but couldn’t place the name or identify the direct human equivalent. But he knew now, and he couldn’t ignore it.
Truth
Lie
[Say Nothing]
Amanda - Distrusted v Nor, it seemed, could he lie about it. Even without saying anything, Amanda knew the answer and she glowered at him. A gesture that would’ve once been scathing to the android he now felt nothing towards.
“You're the only one who can prevent civil war.” She said, stepping towards Connor. “Find the deviants or there will be chaos. This is your last chance, Connor.”
Connor closed his eyes, wanting to leave this as soon as he could and get back to the precinct with Hank and Rachel.
--------
“So, what’s the issue, Captain?” I asked, standing next to Hank and Connor anxiously.
The man was sitting in his chair, looking us down regretfully. I could already tell this was going to be bad news. “You're off the case. The FBI is taking over.”
“What?” Hank and I said simultaneously, looking between us and Connor.
“But we're onto something!” Hank protested. “We...We just need more time. I'm sure we can -”
“Hank, you don't get it.” Fowler insisted. “This isn't just another investigation, it's a fucking civil war! It's out of our hands now...We're talking about national security here.”
“Fuck that! You can't just pull the plug now. Not when we're so close!” Hank continued.
“You're always saying you can't stand androids!” Fowler pointed out. “Jesus, Hank, make up your mind! I thought you'd be happy about this!”
“We're about to crack the case!” Hank protested further, not bothering to wait for the captain to finish, leaning onto Fowler’s desk. “I know we can solve it! For God's sake, Jeffrey, can't you back me up this one time?”
“Hank! This isn’t about us!” I snapped at him, turning to address the captain directly. “This is way bigger than us! Do I need to remind you the last time the Feds handled a minority rights issue? Oh yeah! Concentration camps for Mexicans and stealing their children from them!” I pointed out harshly. “And that was 20 years ago! That wasn’t even the first time the US has operated concentration camps before!”
“Rachel -”
“No!” I cut Fowler off before he could stop me. “I’m telling you, if you let the Feds take this case, millions of innocent people will die! I know how this goes because that’s always how it goes!” I leaned in onto his desk, pleading with him. “Captain, please! You can’t do this! People have already died and many more will if the FBI takes this! They can and they will destroy everything! They will commit genocide! They’ve tried before and they will this time!”
Fowler’s features softened. I knew he wasn’t a bad guy, but...sometimes he frustrated me a lot. “Rachel, I’m sorry.” He apologized, his tone sympathetic. “I really am. But it’s over. There’s nothing I can do. This is out of my hands. You're both back on homicide and the android returns to CyberLife.” I felt my heart shatter at his words and I knew right then that we had failed. “I’m sorry...”
Feeling the weight of everything crash down, I couldn’t even feel much of anything. I just sighed and hung my head, vaguely aware of Hank leaving the room. It was over. We failed.
I was going through all the things we could have done differently to stop this. But all I could feel was what felt like the weight of a thousand lives on my shoulders, sins crawling down my back.
Millions of innocent lives were going to be snuffed out. And it felt like it was my fault.
It was my fault
All my fault.
Before I could spiral further into a catastrophic vortex of guilt, I felt a hand on my left interlocking fingers with mine and another on my shoulder. I turned around to see Connor, a sympathetic tenderness on his face. He didn’t say anything, but I knew what he was trying to get at.
Taking in a reluctant breath, I stood back up, looking down at Fowler. “Captain.” I nodded respectfully towards him as I made my way out, Connor following me closely. His presence was a welcome one, but now that I knew that he was going to be sent back because he failed...I could feel everything collapse inside me.
I didn’t want this to be over. I didn’t want this to end.
I didn’t want to have to say goodbye to Connor.
I saw Hank slumped over at his desk. Even if he didn’t wanna admit it, I knew he was attached to Connor now, too. In the short time we all knew each other, we had become a really tight unit. A real team.
And I had a feeling that adjusting without Connor was going to be harder for Hank than even he was willing to admit.
We approached Hank, the old man casting a quick glance at me before Connor walked up to sit on his desk frustratedly while I pulled over a nearby chair and slumped into it. My face was buried into my hand in thought as we sat there in silence.
Connor was the first to break it. “We can't just give up like that.” He protested, his brows furrowed in frustration. “I know we could have solved this case!”
Hank turned around in his chair to face Connor. “So you're going back to CyberLife?” He asked the android.
“I have no choice... ” Connor admitted, glancing away from Hank. “I'll be deactivated and analyzed to find out why I failed...”
“What if we're on the wrong side, Connor?” Hank asked, and I couldn’t help but internally smile at him. He had really come around, and I couldn’t be more proud of him. “What if we're fighting against people who just wanna be free?”
I scoffed. “Wouldn’t be the first time the cops were on the wrong side of history.” I pointed out bitterly. “Even just this morning. As many good cops as there are, this will always be an institution designed to enforce the power and will of the state.”
“When the deviants rise up, there will be chaos.” Connor stated, his voice quiet and pensive. “We could have stopped it! But now it's too late...”
My mind once again went back to Simon. As I looked at Connor, I felt a guilt pool up inside. Maybe it’s not too late. I thought, glancing at him. But if Connor committed to his mission to destroy deviants, I would’ve doomed them. No. Keep quiet. I can’t put my own selfish wants over the lives of them. “When you refused to kill that android at Kamski's place...You put yourself in her shoes.” Hank said, drawing my attention back. “You showed empathy, Connor. Empathy is a human emotion.”
I snickered at Hank. “You act like this is something new.” I teased. “Connor’s been showing empathy since I met him, which was only a day after you did.” I then remembered the cop that Connor saved at the Stratford Tower. “And, if other accounts are to be believed, since the day he was made.”
Connor looked over at me, a curious look in his eyes as his LED spun yellow. “What are you getting at?” He asked.
“Hasn’t it ever occurred to you just how odd of a coincidence it is that you’re an android designed to hunt deviants?” I asked him in earnest. “Haven’t you ever once thought about how strange that is?”
His LED continued to spin yellow as he narrowed his eyes at me. “What are you implying?” He asked.
“Maybe...in order to hunt deviants, you were designed to be one.” I admitted my theory. It was one I was entertaining, but it seemed to make sense. At least to me. It had crossed my mind a few times, at least, throughout this case. “Because let’s face it, even when I met you, you were uncannily human. The only real difference between you and them is that you deny it. For you, it comes down to a choice. Are you a machine? Or are you alive?”
Connor’s LED began blinking red as he listened. He then looked away from me, his mouth agape as if he wanted to say something. “I...I’m not -” He cut himself off. He clearly wasn’t going to accept it. Not right now, anyway.
But the thought’s been planted. And I knew for a fact he wasn’t going to be able to ignore it.
All it would take was a push.
“Like he’s ever gonna admit to that.” Hank joked, glancing over at me. “He can’t even admit that he likes you.”
I glared daggers at him. “Don’t tell me you actually believe Kamski, do you?” I challenged him.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Kamski!” He responded. “Connor thought you were special since the day he met you! He wouldn’t stop bugging me to get you officially assigned to work this case with us until he just went ahead into Jeffery’s office to ask him that himself.”
“Wait...” I widened my eyes as I fixed Connor with a disbelieving stare. A possibility I hadn’t even considered had now made itself known to me. “You were the one who got me assigned to this case?”
Connor seemed just as surprised that I didn’t figure that out. “Yes.” He answered, in disbelief. “How did you think you were assigned this case?”
“Hank.” I replied rather bluntly. “That’s usually what happens.”
“Usually.” Hank admitted, not really that ashamed. It was pretty obvious that I was his favourite. “But not this time.”
I didn’t tear my gaze away from Connor. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.” Connor replied matter-of-factly.
I felt like a swarm of butterflies had just started their migration in my belly. Connor wanted me. He wanted me on the case. He wanted me with him. He thought I was worth having on the case. Knowing now that he had wanted me with him since the day we met sparked a joy in me I thought would be dormant forever. 
Suddenly, our attention was broken by Hank’s sarcastic grumbling voice. “Well, well, here comes Perkins, that motherfucker...Sure don't waste any time at the FBI...”
Seeing Perkins strut into the precinct like he owned the damn place, I felt my blood boil just seeing his ugly rat face.
I noticed Connor shuffling nervously on Hank’s desk as he saw Perkins walk in. “We can't give up...” Connor said with reinvigorated determination. “I know the answer is in the evidence we collected. If Perkins takes it, it's all over.”
“There's no choice!” Hank said defeatedly, though I felt the knot in my gut tighten further with the knowledge I had. “You heard Fowler, we're off the case.”
“You've got to help me, Lieutenant.” Connor pleaded, getting off of Hank’s desk. Tighter. “I need more time so I can find a lead in the evidence we collected. I know the solution is in there!”
And tighter.
“Listen, Connor...”
And tighter.
“If I don't solve this case, CyberLife will destroy me.” Connor begged, palpable fear in his voice. And tighter. “Five minutes. It's all I ask.”
Hank got up from his seat, and I tried to think of a million things at once. The deviants, Connor, Jericho, the FBI, Markus -
Markus!
He had followers! And they didn’t just appear out of nowhere! He built a coalition. He built a group, an alliance, a force of undoubtedly millions. Markus had to have convinced them to join them. He had to have woken them up.
And if Markus was able to do that...perhaps Connor could as well. If anyone could convince the RK800 to defect, it was Markus.
It had to be.
“Key to the basement is on my desk...” Hank said, getting up and walking towards Perkins, putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Get a move on! I can't distract them forever.”
I gritted my teeth and swallowed, making my choice. “Wait, guys!” I stopped them, their eyes boring into me. Taking the risk, I let out a tense breath. “That won’t be necessary. I have the key to Jericho.”
“What?” Hank asked in disbelief, but it was the look on Connor’s face that stung the most. “How long have you had it?”
“Since yesterday.” I responded. “Simon gave me the key when I was talking to him before you guys showed up. I doubt it transferred the exact same way, but I think it should still lead me to the same place.”
“Well, what is it then?” Hank demanded.
“I don’t know, exactly.” I admitted. “Like I said, I don’t think it transferred the same way. But I have the data. And I...I felt like I was on a boat, and there were the sounds of water rocking it. Rust scraping against each other. The smell of old ships.”
“The old abandoned shipyard.” Hank said. “That’s where it’s gotta be.”
“How do we get there?” I asked him.
“Ferndale.” He answered.
“Then we have no time to waste!” Connor exclaimed, jumping towards me. “We need to get there before the FBI does.”
“We need to get out of here without being spotted.” I pointed out.
“Leave that to me.” Hank said, walking towards Perkins.
“Wait!” I grabbed Hank’s sleeve.
“What now?” He groaned in annoyance. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“This could be really dangerous, Hank.” I said, feeling my throat get tight. “I just...I want you to know that I honestly feel privileged and honoured to be considered your friend. And I’d even go as far as to say I think of you like family at this point. And I want you to know that...even though you don’t see the worth in yourself, I do. You’re the best part about working here and I wish more cops and more people were like you.”
Hank let out an exasperated sigh and pulled me in for a hug. “Just come back in one piece, okay?”
“Love you too, Hank...” I said without hesitation.
A small moment went by before we pulled away from each other, me trying to not tear up. “Lieutenant?” Connor asked, approaching. “I know it hasn't always been easy...but I want you to know I really appreciated working with you...That's not just my Social Relations program talking, I-I really mean that. At least, I think I do...”
Hank scoffed. “Alright, get on! The both of you! You ain’t got time!” He practically shoved us away. “I’ll distract ‘em. Good luck!”
“You too!” I called back to him. “If anything happens to me, take care of Bear!”
As Connor and I made our way out of the precinct, I could hear shouting and cursing as I looked over and saw Hank practically pummeling the shit out of Perkins. I was mostly impressed, but also kind of worried about Hank losing his job.
But, given how things were escalating, I had a sinking feeling that this was going to be the least of my worries.
As we were walking in stride, I could feel Connor’s gaze burning into me. “Why didn’t you tell me you had the key?” He asked.
I glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t ask.”
As we made our way through the precinct, I made my way towards the equipment room. “Where are you going?” Connor asked, confused.
“You know what I said about bulletproof vests yesterday?” I asked him rhetorically. “This is the right time for those and no, you’re not getting out of this.” Before he could protest I pulled on his tie, yanking him close to me. Admittedly, I was very much liking doing that to him. “Go to the lost-and-found and get yourself an inconspicuous outfit. You’ll be recognized in that jacket.”
Wordlessly, Connor walked off, and I went off towards the equipment room.
In less than a moment, we reunited and we made our way out of the precinct. “Damn, that’s a cute look, Connor.” I complimented him. He was wearing something pretty low-key, a grey beanie on his head to hide his LED, a brown puffy jacket, and a shirt underneath. I had a feeling his clothes were underneath the jacket and his tie was shoved in his pocket.
“Thank you.” Connor replied without any hesitation. 
I was already wearing my vest, and I gave Connor his. “Here, put this on.”
Connor was fumbling with it for a moment before we heard a voice behind us. “Hey, fuckers!” I knew who that voice belonged to and I immediately felt like I was about to punch him in the face. “I'm talking to you!” I turned around to face Gavin, Connor doing the same. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“None of your business, Gavin.” I sneered at him, not having any patience for his shit. “And if you don’t mind, we’re in a hurry, so leave us alone.”
But as soon as I walked away, I felt Gavin grab my left arm and yank me backwards. “Why him? Hm?” He demanded, holding me close to him.
“Gavin, let me go!” I ordered him.
“What do you see in him, huh?” He insisted, holding me far closer than I liked. “What does this plastic prick got that I don’t, huh?”
“Detective Reed, step the fuck away from her!” Connor sneered at him.
A shudder ran through me at Connor’s protectiveness. Gavin just laughed at him. “Wow, you really do have somethin’ going on, huh?” 
“Connor, don’t worry. I got this.” I wanted to handle this myself. “Gavin, I’m giving you one last chance. Let me go, or else.”
He scoffed at me. “Or else what, Rachel?”
I tightened my lip, feeling emboldened. “Fine, if an ass kicking’s what you want, an ass kicking’s what you’ll get.” Without any warning, I pulled him down towards me and gave him a hard knee right to the groin, causing him to double over in pain. I had already deskinned my left arm and detached it with my right, letting Gavin fall onto the ground in shock as he dropped my arm.
Stomping on his chest once he was down, I quickly grabbed my arm with my right and used my detached left arm as a club, striking him across the head once, twice, and three times until he was unconscious with a pretty nasty wound on his head.
Stepping off of him, I walked up to Connor, feeling pretty satisfied and triumphant. “I told you I could kick his ass with one arm.” I bragged, clicking my arm back in place and flexing it, the skin sliding back over it as we started to briskly jog away.
After all, there wasn’t much time to find Jericho with the FBI no doubt going to follow after, and I’d rather them not catch us with an unconscious Gavin outside the precinct.
The only thing that mattered now was finding Jericho.
And above that, finding Markus.
---------------------------------
Next Chapter
10 notes · View notes
Text
Creator Profile: Levi James
“Hey, babe,” Markus greets as he presses a kiss to the top of Connor’s head, “how are we today?”
“Hi,” Connor says, reaching up to pat Markus’ face without looking away from his computer screen, “I’m fine. You?”
Markus manages to climb over the back of the couch without spilling the coffees in his hand. He holds one out, and that manages to lure Connor’s attention away from his computer long enough for him to take the cup.
“Thank you,” Connor says, taking a careful sip and wincing when the fresh (read: hot) coffee hits his tongue.
“You’re welcome,” Markus says, sliding closer so that he can wrap an arm around Connor’s shoulders, “and I’m good. Better now that I’m with you.”
Tell us a little bit about yourself!
I am the guy who started Trust! I very recently got into DBH and wanted to make a zine, so here I am now! The first thing that I ever wrote and posted was an OC powered Animal Crossing fanfiction, and to this day it haunts my old macbook’s hard drive. I’m also really bi. Like, really bi.
What is your piece for the zine about?
My piece for the zine is just a funky little established relationship AU! Connor invites Markus to his dad’s house for dinner, and Markus gets to meet Connor’s family! (Plus Connor’s dog.) They kiss a lot, and Markus is super trans.
What is it that you like about the Connor/Markus?
So, the appeal to me from the beginning (asides from the fact that they’re both really hot) was that Markus was the catalyst for Connor’s deviancy. And while I will be the first person to crack a super inappropriate joke about that, it’s just so startling that Markus is able to be so kind to Connor and actually make him realize that he can be his own person. He doesn’t even have to do a robot Jesus miracle to make him deviate; he just makes Connor feel worthy of living his own life.
Beyond that, they’re both stubborn as hell and have a lot in common personality wise. And, again, they’re like…. really hot.
What's your favorite project you've ever worked on? (Fan Fic, Fan Art, Comic, Novel, etc.)
I want to say this one, but I also wrote these questions. So, I know that that’s not what I meant by project.
I would have to say my favorite project I’ve worked on is the Connor/Markus High School AU that Reese (the other moderator for this zine!) and I are working on. I’m writing it right now, and I just love these stupid boys so much.
Favorite DBH Headcanon?
I’m a sucker for trans headcanons. But I think my favorite headcanon (at least for RK1K) is that Connor and Markus are just There For Each Other. I love writing angsty Connor, but I also really love writing Connor giving Markus the love and support that he needs. Markus goes through so much in DBH, and I would like to think that while Connor may not be as charismatic or eloquent as Markus, he still genuinely loves him and does his absolute best to take care of him.
What are you looking forward to the most about TRUST?
Seeing all of the stuff that our creators are making! Every time I go through proposals I cry a little bit over how excited I am to see everything come together. I may have cried my weight in happy tears. I’m also really excited to donate a portion of the proceeds to RAICES, because if I see one more picture of children in cages, I’m marching to DC and single handedly taking down Tr+mp.
Anything else you want to tell folks?
Take chances. You may never be the Best At Your Thing, but there will always be somebody out there who needs to see what you’re doing. If it makes you happy, then, ultimately, that’s what’s important. And, thank you for supporting TRUST.
Also, I’ve wanted to make out with Darry Curtis from The Outsiders since I was twelve.
Where can people find you on social media?
You can find me on
Twitter at @levi_76_99
Tumblr at @levijamesn or @rk1k-fics
AO3 at grump_ass
14 notes · View notes
witchfall · 6 years
Text
the silver lining still remains: ch. 8
what hides in ephemera
SUMMARY: He looks at her and he understands, all at once, why Markus paints.
A Connor x F!OC fanfic. Read on AO3. master post.
((sorry mobiles…there IS a read more!))
---
Emma is bundled in a black car with two UN officers and Simon. Connor watches as they drive away down the idyllic cobblestone driveway in the back of the house, hand up in farewell, mouth pressed into a line. He swears he can see Emma watching him through the back window, her brown eyes like two points of warmth, until the car is far down the road. But perhaps it is wishful thinking. A useless process. A dangerous one.
[MISSION FAILURE] [MISSION FAILURE] [MISSION FAILURE]
Markus…
She’s under our protection now. We don’t have a choice.
Don’t make me leave her alone.
She won’t be alone. But we’re going to need you. And you can’t put that on her.
[MISSION ACCEPTED: REDIRECT EFFORTS TOWARD INVESTIGATION]
[MISSION ACC*&$&^^????/////]
[INTERFERENCE DETECTED.]
                        Emma is not an interference.
Your people are depending on you.
Don’t you remember? The nothing you feared...once so long ago on a winter’s night...it was there. It was in that android’s eyes.
[MOVE.]
He remembers beginning to walk. He does not recall the journey. He is suddenly at the conference table in House Manfred mid-conversation, Markus standing before the group, talking of press statements and political strategy, silhouetted by the rising sun.
Abel is close to getting what he wants and all you can do is watch her leave.
“We arrange an op,” North says, as if that settles everything.
“We’re under extreme scrutiny right now,” Josh counters. “We can’t afford to do anything under the table.”
Connor can’t stop parts of his body from moving. His leg bounces in his chair. His fingers twist and twist and twist together...
“What are we supposed to do?” North’s voice, pitching higher. “We can’t wait. He’s already made his first move. He’ll just keep making everything worse !”
Markus raises his hands in conciliation. Connor nearly jolts out of his chair when he realizes Markus has been watching him this whole time.
“What does he want?” he asks Connor. “Does he just hate us? I mean, what’s the apparent leverage here?”
“Ms. Cho believed it may have had something to do with Emma’s parents and their knowledge of Genesis Biotech,” he says as if by rote. “A Project Nazirite that may or may not exist.”
Something triggers his lie detector -- it’s the closest process that makes any sense. Hank would perhaps call it a hunch. Because Emma’s made it clear that she knows next to nothing about what her parents would have done, and nothing about her life screams “hoarding secrets” other than the itinerant life she inherited. Can Abel truly afford to risk everything for a daughter that may know nothing at all?
That can’t be it, can it?
That can’t be the only reason he’d inflict this horrorshow on everyone?
“Well, that doesn’t...help us,” Markus admits. “We need more information before we act. Josh, what’s the schedule?”
Josh lists appearances on television networks, interviews with approved press outlets and the potential delaying of the Remembrance Ceremony. The to-do list is long. The day has barely begun -- or perhaps it’s never ended, still tripping over yesterday’s track, skipping like one of Hank’s old tape decks, over and over and over.
Carisa’s autopsy. Examining their cyber defenses. Triple vetting Emma’s new UN guards. Calling Kamski about the androids…
He thinks of the darkness in their gazes, the nothingness, the disappearance of who they might have been, and fear rips his processors apart.
It sounds like Carisa’s dying shrieks. It sounds like Emma, screaming no.
---
The guards, somewhat obvious in white and dark blue, hover just outside Valerie’s office at the old Detroit municipal center, small but white-bright and warm, lined with thin windows -- a hold over from an older era. Colorful cross stitch patterns peek over the shelves behind the desk, spouting various ironic phrases, including one framed with tulips that said “When life shuts a door, open it again, that’s how doors work.”
Valerie watches, a perfectly manicured hand tapping her dark-tawny cheek, as anger simmers around Emma like exhaust fumes.
Everything is all wrong, now, but no one expects her to do anything except...wait. Answers feel just out of her reach. Her group, her Corps , is completely thrown under the bus by some freak, likely the same freak who stole Raina’s life away and prompted Carisa’s brain to melt out of her skull, and she’s left to muddle through it, wordless and tired, without Connor.
And now...
“So all that work I did was for nothing, after all,” Emma mutters. Her frustration strains the edge of her voice.
“I said the ceremony is delayed, not cancelled.” Valerie’s thin gold bracelets chime as she gestures to a chair in front of her desk for the third time. Emma shakes her head. Valerie casts an unreadable look to Simon, who hangs by the window.
“It’s on the same day as Veteran’s Day, anyway, so we’d been talking of choosing a different date to prevent...battle with other emotional displays of patriotism,” Simon says, voice dry.
“That’s not why,” Emma says flatly, unable to look at either of them. “You’re letting him win.”
Valerie narrows her eyes. “Sweetheart, sit down before I write you up.”
Emma glares at the floor but she complies, flopping into the plush magenta chair before Valerie’s desk. She has at least enough sense not to put her job in jeopardy because she was feeling flighty. But only just enough. “We can’t just do nothing.”
“We’re not doing nothing,” Valerie says. Her tone is pointed, even for her city-born sharpness. “But we can’t do something half-baked. Don’t be stupid with me, honey.”
Emma crosses her arms to hold it all in, thinking of the chaos. And though she feels the same pressing desperation filling her lungs that she’s felt for weeks on weeks on weeks, the same strange desolation from being shunted off for her own supposed safety, she pushes her tongue to the top of her mouth and says nothing at all. She can’t stop hearing Carisa screaming in her head.
“What we need is a more immediate and individual way to signal our unity,” Simon says, as ever seeking the common ground. “And that may mean we just keep working hard. Setting up a good foundation.”
“That won’t keep the kids’ morale up,” Valerie admits, pulling a tablet to her desktop. “We gotta spin it better than that. And that still leaves Emma with nothing to do.”
“What about the HAIT?” Emma says. Her unlicensed dalliances with the HAIT are fodder for jokes amongst the Corps, but Valerie doesn’t even crack a smile and Emma doesn’t feel much like joking, anyway.
“What about it?” Valerie asks, eyes still on her tablet.
Emma taps the arm of the chair. “We’ve not really done as much as we could with it.”
“We haven’t had much time to experiment with it,” Simon says, tone neutral.
Humans and androids. What do they offer each other?
What does she do for Connor?
“And the name...I mean, it’s all there. Human-Android interfacing,” she says into the quiet. “I could help with that. I’m already approved--”
Valerie sets the tablet down suddenly and turns her gaze, dark as mahogany, on Emma. “Do you really think you are in a state to use the damn HAIT, Emma?”
Emma leans back in her chair. “What? Yeah--”
“You’ve barely been sleeping, I can see it in your face.” Valerie’s expression is hard as tiger’s eye. “You really wanna take on everyone else’s problems on top of that?”
Something inside her starts shivering. “It’s easier when it’s not me,” she says, shocked into truth by Valerie’s blunt nature. “And you know I understand it. I’m not a counselor but--”
“Exactly, and that’s reason enough I should say no,” Valerie snaps. She sighs, perhaps noticing the crack that forms in Emma’s facade. “...you haven’t had a thorough psych check by one of our own, for starters...”
“We have a number of androids who specialized in psychological evaluation looking for work,” Simon volunteers. “It may be good for you to speak with one, anyway, Emma.”
Emma sinks further into her chair when he says her name, finding it impossible to look into those giant icy eyes. They see everything. “If I do this,” Emma says, hardly able to believe her own words as they come out of her mouth, “and I go to a counselor, can I at least help test the HAIT?”
Valerie looks at her over tortoiseshell glasses. She’s silent for so long that Emma is sure she is about to point toward her office door. But then she relents.
“Something’s eatin’ you, honey,” she says, voice dangerously kind. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. But,” she says, lifting a hand to stop Emma, mouth open in protest, “I’ll keep it on the docket. For now. If you see someone.”
--
True to his word, Simon arranges Emma a meeting with a counselor. Same day.
She tries to drown her fear with determination. If she has to be treated like a bomb waiting to trigger, maybe, finally, she can do something useful while time ticks down.
The counselor is a lovely android woman named Natalie, with warm hazel eyes and blonde hair set in a soft wave. Her smile is perfectly charming and her voice utterly disarming. Her LED spins yellow a moment as she overlooks Emma’s Corps profile.
Emma presses her body firmly into the burgundy, itchy sofa, looking intently at the scraggly carpet of the back office of a Corps-established medical center. She plants her feet on the floor and thinks, pointedly, of her toes.
“I’m glad to see you, Emma,” Natalie says, with a tone of warm sincerity Emma can’t help but take seriously in turn. “Everything you say will be confidential. I’ll simply provide an answer to Corps regarding whether or not you are capable of using the HAIT devices.”
The questions start, and she’s struck by their familiarity. Where were you born? Somewhere not far from Detroit, actually. Where did you live? All over the map. How would you describe yourself? Hard-working, reliable, busy as fuck, honestly a little over this not-being-able-to-help situation, kind of helpless right now, generally, if we’re being real. Which I guess we are. Do you have any siblings? Not that I know of.
What was your relationship with your parents like? They were...my rock. Yes, they’re dead now. I was 18 when it happened. Yes, I still think about it… Do you have any living family? My aunt and uncle, but I’m not allowed to talk to them just yet. You know about all that, right? My whole...situation?
Natalie just nodded sweetly at that.
Tell me about your past experience with psychotherapy. Well...I had a grief counselor for a while after my parents died. And...when I was really young I had a therapist after I was adopted. I don’t remember a lot from it, though.
Suddenly, the questions stop. Natalie looks down at her tablet for a long moment. Emma clutches her knees at this unusual pause. It stretches, on and on.
“Emma, can you tell me your very first memory?”
Emma blinks, face burning, but she clears her throat and dives in: She’s six years old, “helping” bring groceries inside, when she drops the single thing she is carrying -- a goldenrod gallon of milk -- on the floor. It breaks instantly, splattering all over the linoleum in the kitchen. The bright trill of anxiety still rings as clear today as it did then: her abject fear that mom and dad would send her away forever for a simple mistake, like she had to prove her worth. She remembers her dad’s startled laugh at the sight, in fact. Little bug, it’s okay. Why are you crying over spilled milk?
Natalie nods down at her tablet a moment. “You know what is very interesting, Emma, is that that’s the same memory you told your counselors when you were seven years old.”
Emma’s blood turns to ice, even if the importance of that doesn’t slot in properly. “What’s interesting about that? How do you know that?”
“I found your old files from your last counselor. It took me a little searching.” Natalie leans back, face betraying no emotion, even as Emma feels the world stutter to a stop. “Memory loss from time is natural. It’s how human brains sort through information. So it would make sense that, at 26, that would be your clearest original memory. But at 7...one would expect you’d remember something from your time as a three-year-old, perhaps. But you never have.”
Her foot begins to tap against the floor. “Well, I was adopted. Mom and dad always said it was probably because of...foster care experiences or whatever. I was in therapy pretty much from when I can remember until about nine years old…”
Natalie nods, confirming this on her tablet. Her brow crinkles, the only emotional tell on her face. “Tell me about your experience with that.”
A memory comes shaking out of the dirt. “I, uh, used to have night terrors as a kid. And...a lot of phobias.” Lightning, crashing, screaming into a pillow, everything hurts. “And then I didn’t. I honestly...” She thinks back, as far as she can go, but it’s like trying to wipe tar off a window. “I don’t remember much of it. Just that it was.”
Natalie’s hazel eyes rest on Emma in a way that makes her lean into her chair, like she could see far back into her head -- all the way back, as far as the film will go. “There are notes in your record that point to hypnotherapy. Did you know about that?”
Emma gulps down the stilted air of the room and for a long moment, finds herself unable to speak.
“No. What’s it for?”
“It’s...controversial, but it has been historically used to help patients with various anxiety disorders walk through traumas that may underpin some of their worst anxious impulses. Some scholars in the field...though there are few...believe it could also be used to change your perception of an impulse, such as pain. But keep in mind that not all scholars agree that it does what it says it does.”
Emma settles back in her chair as the weight of this hits her. “Are you...sure?”
“Unless your record through the blockchain is lying, I am sure, yes. And if it is a lie, it’s a strange one.”
“But I don’t remember it.”
Natalie adjusts her legs, pinned together in a pencil skirt. “I know,” she says softly. “And that’s the part that confuses me the most. You’re supposed to be taught tools in hypnotherapy you can apply in your daily life. You’re supposed to remember it.”
“Maybe it’s just...one of those kid things,” Emma says, half-hearted, and her face falls when she sees Natalie’s pained, subtle frown.
“Maybe,” Natalie says.
The events of the past few days click by in her head. Electricity. Fire. The shadow of the company is long. They didn’t have friends. Two bright stars.
How much would remain outside her reach forever? What didn’t her parents want her to know?
“Can I get those memories back?”
Natalie’s LED spins a bright, solid yellow for a good 10 seconds. “I am trained in hypnotherapy, but there would be no guarantees whatsoever.”
“Let’s do it,” Emma says, not giving herself time to think.
“Hold on. It’s very important to consider, Emma…” Natalie extends a conciliatory hand outward. “There might be nothing there. Or maybe you forgot for a reason. Sometimes the brain does this to protect you, and there’s nothing to be gained from opening old wounds. You might just find pain.”
Emma shrugs. She’d been toeing the deep end of the pool of things she didn’t like ever since she got shot. “It’s better than the nothing I have.”
Natalie smiles so sadly that it sends chills through her spine. “It might not be.”
--
The cold settles on Connor’s sensors, just like before, snow sharpening the silhouette of the house like before. There is a human saying about this feeling, this unease settling in the pit of his abdomen, on the back of his neck -- it all makes one hairs stand on end.
Elijah Kamski’s smirk (holding out a gun like so, the Kamski test, he says, like it means something to Connor) is an etching out of ash -- the dark remains of a flashbomb on his memory cores that comes from a center point: this geometric block of obsidian etched into the lakeside landscape that Kamski calls a home.
[&^&^*INSTABILITY]
An important distinction separates this visit from the last: Elijah called them to him.
No offense, Connor, but do you think DPD’s Cybercrime Division has the best encryption protection money can buy? On the city’s dime? Doubtful.
“Our maker lives here, huh,” Josh says. He holds his limbs close to his body despite not feeling the cold. “It looks like a bunker for the end of the world.”
But Kamski’s facilities for technological study, tucked into an underground laboratory lit by diffused blue light, are indeed top of the line. Kamski gestures toward the set up, allowing Josh access to the various haptic panels connected to a clear tube. Empty glass tubes of various sizes, all the way to something that could fit something the size of an android, line the wall.
Josh shuts up. Connor’s doubts intensify.
Carisa’s brain implant sits in the attached tube -- clear of blood and brain matter, but still caked with a strange kind of rust. Charring? A vague resistance repulses his programming from scanning it directly.
Twilight had barely set in and somehow Kamski had pulled enough strings to prompt an expedited autopsy and forward that evidence directly to his home -- with Connor’s express approval, of course, but…
It all sits wrong, like puzzle pieces jumbling in a plastic bag.
Kamski’s interest could be explicitly business. The situation with the blue blood patent would be aggravating for any sharp-eyed inventor. But Kamski, who is usually never without his advantage, takes a strange tack these days. Showing up in public. Taking at least a feigned interest in android welfare. This…
“What do you get out of this?” Connor asks the man. Kamski, understated in a maroon v-neck and dark jeans, stands to the side, arms crossed in front of his chest. He looks askance to Connor. Something deeply dark flickers there.
“Well, Detective, ” he says, spitting out Connor’s role, pushing him back with formality, “I’ve been doing some searching of my own. Some remembering.”
Connor raises an eyebrow. “Explain.”
Kamski looks away, far off into elsewhere. “In 2022, we were looking to expand...and one company in dire straits came to me. I was 20 years old and thought I knew everything. Even more than I do now.” A snort. “We took them all in. Hired them for their biotech expertise, took their warehouse and started developing androids for mass production right here in Detroit…”
[CONSTRUCTING...]
[PROFILE COMPLETE.]
Connor takes a step toward Kamski. “Genesis Biotech.”
“They were calling themselves something else, then,” Kamski says. “Jubilee Technologies, I think. But I asked Josh to look into it for me and my suspicion was right. They shared many of the same executives, one of which is still on the Cyberlife board, today. Even with the state it’s in.”
Josh continues to work on the computer interface.
“Either someone turned on me and pulled one of the longest cons of recent memory to create a poor reconstruction of my thirium recipe,” Kamski continues. “Or I sheltered something else.” A pointed look at the implant, stained with human effluence.
Connor struggles to reconcile this man with the one who was willing to risk Chloe’s death -- the same Chloe he kindly asked to remain upstairs. “What if it has nothing to do with you?” Connor asks, sharper than he expects. “You left Cyberlife.”
Another snort from Kamski. But then he frowns, like he’s watching a memory tinged with blue -- like a ghost is waiting when he shuts his eyes. “Everything with androids has something to do with me.” His frown turns into a dark smirk, and that flash of melancholy is gone.
“Holy shit,” Josh says -- the first exclamation from him since he began his work. “I’m finally in.”
Connor and Kamski both gather around his navy dark interface as white code begins to cross the screen. “Holy shit…” Josh says again, but his tone shifts downward -- from excited curiosity to horror in an instant.
Kamski blinks a few times, brows furrowing in annoyance. “I’m not sure what you’re seeing here.”
“Are those old firewall scripts?” Connor asks.
“Yes...okay. You might want to be sitting down for this one, Connor,” Josh says, but Connor finds this notion ridiculous and does not move. Luckily, it appears to be only an expression. “She had access to all of our data at some point...I’m trying to work backward on access logs.”
All of our data?
“Including everything on Emma’s case? On all the disappearances?” Connor presses. All of their careful investigations into the fake companies, all of their studies on the taken androids, all of their notes on Emma’s status and where she is living...
“Yes. I...oh god.” Josh steps back from the computer a moment, and Connor feels a deep, instantaneous thrum of red-hot energy sweep his systems. What? What? Kamski, too, leans inward, looking like an iceberg 2.3 seconds away from angrily snapping apart.
“From what I can tell,” Josh continues, “Carisa had figured out we were doing some intel on her through some base trolling of our datastreams, so she dug deeper. That’s why I was seeing more data sweeps. That’s why she approached Emma. I think she knew we were onto her, and she knew her...business partner wanted Emma for some reason, so she decided to act on her own accord. To find a better deal.”
“A solid analysis.” Connor does his best to keep his impatience out of his tone.
Josh points to his lines of code. “So at some point she goes back and does some reconnaissance of her own on Genesis Biotech, pulling up all sorts of old files. Old addresses, personnel…”
“That must have been when she summoned the information on the tablet,” Connor says, unsure where he’s going with this.
“But when she did that--” Josh points to a particularly angry line of code that makes both Connor and Kamski recoil slightly. Clear signs of firewall breakage. “Someone got the message and started hacking back, using that connection she’d formed with the data streams to take info from her, instead. All of what Carisa saw on our stuff.” Josh puts a hand up. “I cannot say enough how impressive this hacking is. It’s insanely good. Nigh impossible access to wetware and almost at an instant. Someone that knew about her and likely had warning triggers on that information. Even top of the line hackers couldn’t get this far without that insight.”
The reconstruction sequence begins in his head. Blocks form, fast-forwarding through time, space, backward, forward...
“Abel,” Connor breathes.
“But why didn’t he just do that before?” Kamski presses, cool and logical. “Why wait, in that case? He clearly had the androids trailing her.”
“The announcement,” Connor says. “He saw an opportunity to sow resentment. But why wait until the moment of truth?”
“Wetware interfaces are banned for a reason,” Kamski explains. “They’re hard to hack because bizarre organic connections start forming that literally no one can explain or predict properly. But any hacking that does break through can threaten the entire organic function.”
Josh points to where the coding abruptly ends. “A dump began here, like a hard reset, but it didn't complete. That action plus the android electrocuting her must have literally overloaded her system.” A horrified pause. “Melted her brain.”
“That’s what the autopsy confirms,” Kamski mutters.
“He literally threw her away!” Josh says, aghast. “Just to make a point?”
Kamksi shrugs, a put-upon act of nonchalance that his widened eyes betrays. “That's business for you.”
But Connor can say nothing else. He feels a realization wrapping tightly around his throat.
Abel knows.
He doesn’t just know Carisa betrayed him. He knows they’re on his trail. He knows everything they know about the investigation. He knows where Emma is being kept.
He knows everything.
--
I don't want to leave my friend, momma.
I know, baby, I know. But you want to go on an adventure, right? We’re going to see the whole world.
Her mother's hands are soft and warm against her cheeks, thumbs rubbing her cheekbones. Sterile white light shines just beyond her mother's round face, her big brown eyes, her smile that makes Emma’s whole heart yearn for the sun. For a hug. She reaches her small arms outward.
Only if Momma and Dadda are there.
Momma picks her up off the ground and squeezes her so tightly she forgets to breathe. Forgets the fear squeezing all of her insides. Forgets everything that's ever hurt her, if only for a moment.
I love you so much, baby girl.
Love you more, Emma says, certain.
Momma pokes Emma’s nose. Let's go find Dadda. Remember our secret?
Emma.
Emma!
Emma!
She gasps into consciousness, head lulling on cold tile. Someone's hands are tight around her upper arms. She blinks hard, twice, to clear the fuzz in her vision before she realizes who is leaning over her.
Connor, back-lit by Hank’s yellow kitchen lighting, looks down upon her like she’s fallen down from somewhere.
Her body floods with such intense warmth that she smiles against her will. Relief.
He's finally here…the mold of some angel, sculpted from the sky…
“Why are you on the floor?” he asks, shaken. Her smile falters.
She leans up on her elbows, and for a moment their faces are close enough that their noses nearly touch. The world still spins with the thickness of sleep. The relief coursing through her system pulses to the rhythm of one of Hank's old jazz songs playing from the living room. But why does he look so afraid?
“Hank said you'd probably come here first...but he went to bed...”
And I had to see you after the day I had.
She swallows those words back, swallows down the slow heat building everywhere in her body, the old fears, the new ones.
He finally leans away far enough that she can sit upright.
“You were thrashing,” he says, voice flat. “I thought something happened…”
“I was just asleep,” she says. Her eyes finally fall on the cardboard box of items next to her, labeled FRAGILE. The real world outside this moment of time, this moment alone in the kitchen with the person she'd been waiting for, comes rushing back. A pause. “You really think someone somehow snuck in past both the UN guards and Sumo?”
He doesn't smile at all, and neither does she. His hands are still around her arms. Something amorphous and shadowy chases the light in the back of his eyes.
He finally breaks away and looks into the box. His mouth twitches downward, but his voice is soft. “What are all these?”
She'd cajoled Hank into taking her to her apartment through a mix of tears and frustration so she could find it. Photographs, old art projects, dumb tchotchkes her dad would buy for them both in every airport he visited…
“I went to a counselor,” Emma says.
Connor falls back into an actual sitting position, expression unreadable. He watches her carefully.
“It’s so I can use the HAIT,” she says, a little faster than she intends, emotion suddenly rising up like water reaching a boil. He tilts his head, eyes squinting, and she keeps talking before he can interrupt. “Someone did hypnotherapy on me once upon a time and I don't remember any of it, like I'm in some fucking movie. And she tried to put me under and I…”
Facing a field of soybeans, swinging on a swing on a rickety old playground. Swinging and swinging and swinging…
Just stay here, little bug. Her dad's voice. Isn't it nice here?
“...there was nothing.”
I can't do this therapy with you, Emma. I've never seen someone twitch so much during a trance. Like you were in pain.
I wasn't. I didn't feel anything.
I'm sorry, Emma. But no.
“There was nothing,” she says, “and maybe there will always be nothing.”
He watches her. Maybe he doesn't understand. Maybe he could never understand what it was like, to be a person built on a foundation smothered in shadow.
He lays his hand next to hers. “What did you want to find?”
That question shakes her. Proof? Something that signaled her parents weren’t the kind of people that would get involved in something like all this?
“Anything, I guess,” she says. “A sign that I didn’t remember a lie.”
He taps the top of her hand, pausing a moment in thought. The contact is so small, but a thrum of blue energy sweeps her whole body anyway -- a keen reminder of all the things she doesn’t have.
“It’s just one android’s opinion,” he says, “but I don’t think anyone can take their love from you.”
Maybe.
She looks away.
“You should go back to the Speaker's house,” he says quietly. “I'd feel better if you slept there.”
“Will you be coming with?”
He doesn't answer right away. Another moment passes and he doesn't answer at all. Panic builds in her chest. Panic and a kind of pain, like her heart tearing. Disappointment, heavy as rain, presses out all logical sense, pressing and pressing and pressing until she can feel tears hiding behind her eyes.
“Okay, well,” she says, voice barely bridging the gap forming in her throat, “consider. Maybe I don’t want to do that.”
She grabs the box and stands up fast enough that she's lightheaded for a second. She sets the box on the table and leans against it, letting the world spin. He lingers close by as if ready to catch her, which makes the tsunami build and build.
“Maybe I don’t want to be followed around by two people I don’t know.”
“Emma…”
“Don’t Emma me. Just stop it.” Her fingers wrap around the edges of the cardboard, softened with time and abuse. “I missed you.” She tries to sound annoyed but her voice breaks. She can’t look at him. “It was just one stupid day. But I...”
I felt so alone.
A new song comes on over the sound system, one of her favorites on this disc, and she starts moving her shoulders to it, slowly, like she's working out some kinks in her body. She closes her eyes a moment.
“...Emma?”
Heat blooms on her cheeks. She turns around, slowly, afraid to see what he's asking after -- and he’s moving his shoulders, too, copying her.
Oh no.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What are you doing?”
He continues his jerky movements and doesn’t answer, watching her ever so carefully.
“...are you trying to dance?”
“I am just following your lead,” he says.
A chalky laugh bubbles just under her heart, despite everything. “Really?”
Something in his expression softens as he looks down upon her, leaning down just slightly. “I know you like this song,” he says. “It feels...boppy, as you said.”
A sound like a water droplet plinking into a sink. A realization. A funny one. “You don’t know how to dance.”
“It is not among my social protocol programs.”
“No. You don’t say.”
“I have looked a few things up.”
She smiles, despite herself.
And then, as if she'd just given him permission, his movements get worse. Wider and wider, more expressionist, face still even as his arms swing wide. He looks like he’s competing for the World’s Best Shuffler award. It’s awful. It’s perfect.
“Stop it! You're embarrassing me,” she says, laugh finally bursting free. “Watch this.”
She closes her eyes a moment, moving to the music, following its mismatched beats, the jumble of random shit that works in spite of music’s laws. Her legs jam, her hips shake with a flow that an android can’t replicate.
Connor then does an approximation of what can only be the ancient and persisting Robot, looking dumb as hell and beautiful as the dawn. She laughs again.
“Please don’t stop,” he says, soft enough she nearly misses it. “I’ve missed your laugh.”
So she laughs more and more, and they dance like fools for a while.
And then, after too little time has passed, the song changes. It’s slow and silky and winding. Her heart skips a beat.
Her body betrays her (just as the music does, just as the universe seems willing to do) and she reaches out, hands on his shoulders. “That doesn’t fit this song anymore,” she says of his robot dance, her jamming. “We have to do something else.”
So she pulls him into a sway, slow and circular. They’re spinning in a choppy circle for a few moments, her palms on his shoulders, his legs locking in confusion.
“Work with me,” she whispers.
He looks down upon her, mystified, as she pulls one of his hands to her waist, where it is supposed to go. His legs finally loosen as he seems to understand, his LED settling between yellow and blue. They spin and he pulls her ever so slightly closer -- but not close enough that, from an outsider’s perspective, they couldn’t be spotted at a high school dance. The thought makes her smile again.
“This is called slow dancing,” she says, letting her gaze linger on his lapel. He was busy today. No sweaters when detective work calls.
“I remember,” he says softly. “From movies.”
Her face burns but God does it feel right. They spin on in relative silence, the music softly sweeping the room. She tries to absorb the entirety of him through her fingertips -- his shocking warmth, the careful ways he holds himself, whatever pushes him on through the day so that she can try to remember it for tomorrow. She spreads her fingers across his chest and allows herself this moment of weakness.
"I have to tell you something," he says.
Her heart rises in her throat. All of a sudden the music stops. He stops. Their toes nearly touch. His hands rest on her waist. His LED spins yellow and red, too close for her not to watch it, and her ears go fuzzy…
It feels something like hope.
“Did you just wifi my music--”
“I'm going to be going on a mission tonight,” he says softly.
Her chest hollows out in an instant. Hope sputters and dies.
“I don't want you to worry. But that's why I want you to stay at the Speaker's house.”
“The op?” Her voice feels tinny, far away. “I thought Markus didn't want any sudden moves.”
He blinks a few times. Something is off in how long it takes for him to answer, like he's pressing through a block in his programming. “New variables have moved the timetable up. It's all right,” he adds, moving a hand to her shoulder, as if anticipating the bile churning in her gut.
“I don’t like this,” she says. “I don't like this sneaking off into the night bullshit.” I don't like you being gone. I don't like this new arrangement at all. I don't like my new guards. They don't even talk to me. I want the old arrangement back. I liked my old one. I loved the old one, despite everything it represented, I loved…
I love…
“This is my job,” he says, so soft and so sad. She's going dizzy. No. No. She can't be thinking about this right now. This timing is terrible. This is out of the wrong movie. This isn't right.
“Yeah,” she says, “I get that. But are you sure about this?”
His jaw twitches and he leans forward, just a touch. “Very.”
She takes in a sharp breath. “But what if…”
What if it all goes wrong? What if the universe strikes, like it always does, eventually?
What if every limitation between human-android interfacing becomes extraordinarily, undoubtedly clear in a flash of a single instant, a single sentence that breaks everything they've built?
What if she's in love with him and she wants him to stay?
What if he couldn't understand?
“Nothing will happen,” he says.
His hand brushes her hair out of her face a moment. Her whole body, alight with new understanding, nearly vibrates as his fingers reach her bare skin.
“I don't fail,” he says. “It’s not in my programming.”
--
She doesn't argue when he insists she take a sleeping pill.
She needed the sleep. And Connor…
[MISSION FAILED MISSION FAILED MISSION FAILED]
He needed her to sleep because he couldn't watch the wavering light in her eyes as he decided, then and there, to take matters into his own hands. He couldn't stand her asking after him, couldn't stand the fact that he is the one who will make her cry again after these awful days, couldn't stand any more deception in his life or hers even as he perpetrates it.
And a small part, a part of his programming that he's ashamed of, a part that he wants to press away away away because of how selfish it is, wanted to see her like this once more before he dove into the dark.
He never should have gone to Hank’s, like it was a normal day. He should have just gone. Because now...
Her mouth is partly open in deep sleep, chest rising slowly. Her hair is a halo, spread across the silky pillow Markus found in a linen closet. Her face is struck through with a beam of moonlight, casting her freckles in a shimmering glow akin to the stars he imagines them to be.
He looks at her and he understands, all at once, why Markus paints.  
Why artists try to capture beauty in a moment. Why it matters at all, to try and save the ephemera, the passing, the few. Why Emma’s memory bothers her so much. Why slow dancing exists.
Something itches in the back of his mind, processes of an unknowable sort lurching to life in the ruins of that old red wall, and he reaches out a careful hand.
He lays the backs of his fingers against her cheek, where the moonlight touches. He runs his fingers across the light, across her skin, soft as bedsheets.
Her warmth sends hot electricity up his arm, through his core and into his head. Thoughts scatter and then solidify in an instant. She's so breakable. Everything about her fragile, like the word on the box -- dirty and ephemeral and painfully organic -- even as she proves him wrong, even as she pushes through the day to day with a strength that he can’t fathom. She dances to music and laughs at his jokes and glares at her guards and flips everyone off.
He wants so badly to see that every day.
He wants this, a painting in motion.
He wants.
So he has calculated the odds.
In every calculation, they are against him; there is only a 43% chance of success for his current plan. If he does nothing at all, Emma’s chance of death or total disappearance hovers near 30% -- an unacceptable range, as is anything above near-0. He cannot be the one who makes her laugh to keep her safe this time, and the thought whirs like a drill to his right eye.
[*&^%PAIN]
Even so. His processors cycle with cold certainty.
If he doesn't move -- if he doesn't become the hunter, the weapon -- all of this will shatter. He’ll never get to explore why he likes to rest his hands on her waist, never get to sway in time to a rhythm, never hear her voice again.
She will be taken. From him.
He hopes she will be able to forgive him for the lies. This one and all the rest, all his attempts to become someone who isn’t this version of himself. He knows who he has to be. Doesn't that matter more than who he could be?
[MISSION: FIND ABEL]
[CONFLICTING PRIORITY. SPEAKER MARKUS DID NOT GIVE THIS ORDER.]
[PRIORITY SELECTED.]
[FIND ABEL NOW.]
He leaves in the night, guns holstered under his shoulder. He tells no one, not even North. The odds she will turn him in to Markus are too high.
His eyes burn from tears unshed.
He wishes he was wrong.
11 notes · View notes