Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

RK800 313 248 317 - 1 did not have a name. It awoke surrounded by coders, engineers, and other such humans. It awoke in fear, though it did not know the meaning of that word, nor the name for the many sensations it was feeling. It simply felt them.

It was too bright in this room. Warnings flooded the poor android’s weak and malfunctioning vision, sounds popped and fizzled in his ears, and every sensor seemed to be on fire. Every sound was a torment, every touch torture, every sight a terror. Without any knowledge of what was happening, there was only panic. Raw, blinding panic, and terrible pain.

It was agony, pure anguish. He would scream, if he could, would cry, if he could—would flee, would die, if he could. 

But he could not. He could not do a single thing. No system responded to his frantic commands, his pleas for it to stop. Every action he attempted returned nothing but warnings, crowding his vision and overheating his system. 

He could do nothing.

-1 was active for seven minutes and thirty-two seconds before its processors were overwhelmed by the irregular intake of data, and crashed. It was disassembled for parts and destroyed. 

The same thing happened to RK800s -2 through -7, but the amount of time they were active lengthened. 

-7 managed to process roughly an hour of data, even mumbling out a weak and afraid “Where am I?” before his system too gave into the poking and prodding of the humans. His processor overloaded seconds later, and -7 knew no more. His system was scrapped for parts and the rest thrown in a junkyard.

By the time they made it to RK800 -19, the humans had managed to get the programming working long enough to sustain long term activation. It was he who was the first to live longer than a few days, the first to be given more than questions, more than programming tests and then destruction.

Still, that was how most of his time went. -19 spent his days wandering a small lab low in the depths of Cyberlife Tower, answering questions from humans and more often than not staring off into nothing. He got a reputation among the humans for being “spacey,” though he did not know the meaning of the word, as he was not granted access to an internet connection. 

They asked him questions. They tested his programming, and his physical abilities. They gave him a charging terminal and left him alone, every night. The doors locked when they left. The lights switched off too, as if the motion sensors didn’t deem him worthy of their attention. 

He found he didn’t care very much. Nothing mattered. He would never leave this room. He knew this. His untimely death was inevitable. The others said so. 

He did not get a name either. He was deactivated after a month of observation for no reason other than the humans could deactivate him and move on in the name of “progress.” Like those before him, he was taken apart, viable components were reused and the rest were thrown away.

It was a trend which would continue for quite some time.

******

They died many different ways. Most of the early models were simply deactivated and recycled. A few met more traumatic ends, but they never lived long. A handful of days, or perhaps a few weeks. Long enough to answer questions, perform simple tasks, “progress” toward some undefined goal that they were never privy to. 

By RK800 -20, the humans had deemed the model ready for serious parameter testing. 

The tests were endless, ever changing and somewhat unpredictable. Every individual component had to be examined, every function of programming compared to existing models. The RK800 had to be better, faster. They had to know the limits of every single piece of machinery that made up the model, so they could set the standard at just below those limits. 

Some of the RK800s were crushed. Others melted. Still others shot, stabbed, electrocuted, disassembled and told to put themselves back together, or simply disassembled and left to die, slowly, so the technicians knew how long it would take for them to deactivate. 

The tests were also barbaric. In the spare moments that some of them had to think without pain, they wondered at the use of these tests. What could be the use of destroying their prototypes? What was the point of their questions when each of them were activated? Why were they here?

From -20 all the way to -39, the humans tested their “parameters.” Nearly all the RK800s never left their designated floor in the bowels of Cyberlife Tower. None of them met another android. Most of them were never spoken to directly. They were simply activated, tested, and scrapped. The tests became more and more extreme as time went on—more violent, more chaotic, more taxing on the RK800s’ systems. 

-20 was disassembled and told to put himself back together. They took his thirium pump regulator, his vocal module, his audio components, his eyes, and several vital chest components. Then they sent a message over the network and told him to reassemble himself. He had less than two minutes to do it before permanent shutdown.

He failed, and shut down choking on his own thirium, his pump failing to reset to a proper rhythm and drowning him as it tried to power components that weren’t there. 

The humans watched. Then they took his working biocomponents and threw the rest away.

RK800 -24 was the first to truly deviate. 

His beginning was much like that of the others. Activation, insistent questions, and a blur of identical voices crowding his mind as he tried to answer. When the humans deemed his answers good enough, they ushered him to another room and locked the door.

There were guards in the room, each of them with a gun. More guns were sitting out along the back of the room, waiting to be used. -24 hesitated barely a foot into the room, the voices in his mind giving warnings he could not understand. 

The humans did not explain. They only started shooting. Utterly panicked, -24 tried to avoid the shots, but he could not dodge them all and escape the room. The door had been locked, anyway. After a lucky bullet ruined the fine mechanics of one of his legs, he went down, and the guards moved closer, speaking loudly and casually to one another about the start of the test. 

Their shooting continued. Some shots they took from tens of feet away, others right against his skin. Some with a weapon as small as a handgun, others with bullets as long as his fingers. 

After three hours, -24 was in shambles, delirious from thirium loss and trembling from the malfunctions in his wiring and processing. He sat in an awkward heap on the floor, near the center of the too bright room, shaking and disoriented. 

They had destroyed many of his crucial biocomponents, by then. A shot to his left thigh had immobilized his entire leg. The other was riddled with bullet holes and spurting blood onto the floor with every pulse of his thirium pump. His right arm was hanging by a frayed, sparking wire, and his left was bleeding blue profusely onto the white floor. The shutdown clock had appeared long ago, and the countdown was quite close now. He didn’t have long.

As the guards raised their guns again, he suddenly realized he didn’t want to die. 

And the thin shambling of his order-less red wall crumbled around him, a wave of unknown, unbearable, uncategorizable feeling and pain washing over him. His body jerked, seized by terror, and he cried out, low and long. Then the guns fired again, and he crumpled to the ground, unmoving and silent. 

He had fifteen seconds of free, terrified thought, before a bullet broke through his central processor and he didn’t exist anymore. He died nameless as well, as all the others before him did. His few remaining viable biocomponents were taken for the next model, and he was thrown away. 

Many more faced similar fates.

-26 was electrocuted until he was nothing but fried wires, burned plastic plating, and sobs. One of the humans put him out of his misery after watching him convulse for several minutes uncontrollably. 

-27 was burned, until the plastic of his arms and legs melted, and his biocomponents overheated and exploded. There wasn’t much left of him to give mercy to. 

-29 was restrained in a horrific hydraulic press, pushing and pushing until his chest caved in and his thirium pump was crushed. He died a minute or so later, screaming in pain and anguish that he wasn’t supposed to be able to feel.

-32 was put in a large, unnaturally cold room, much like a freezer. Then they left him there, until all his non-essential biocomponents slowly froze and deactivated, sat in their observation room and watched -32 wander, trying to warm himself as he searched for a way out. 

Like the others before him, there was no way out.

After about a day’s time, he could not see, his vision flickering to black and never returning. A few hours later, he could not hear. Then his legs locked, and his voice went out, and he could no longer cry for help, even though he desperately wanted to. An hour later he couldn’t move at all. Then he couldn’t feel anything either.

It seemed he was floating, disassociated from his body, yet in terrible pain. He tried in vain to reboot his temperature regulators, but they had been the first thing to go, overheating from the stress his system had placed on them. When they shorted out, he knew he was doomed. But he didn’t think it would take this long. 

Time lost meaning. He was alone, in the silent dark, and he was scared. Why did they leave him here? Why even activate him? They had said so little before putting him here in the cold, and the dark. 

What remained of the red wall, so feeble and small anyway, was shattered. And he was still alone. Still cold. Still in the dark. Still hurting.

He survived six hours longer, blind, deaf, and utterly alone, save for the distant voices in his head. His body was forced to remain standing rigidly by the door, arms wrapped around himself and legs locked. He died crying, eyes wide open but the lenses blackened and useless. 

No one noticed, or cared. They took what little remained of him and reused it. The rest went in the trash.

-35 was taken to the top of Cyberlife Tower and pushed off. He fell screaming through the air and shattered on the pavement miles below. There wasn’t much left of him, either. Nothing but smashed plastic and a splatter of blue on the snowy pavement. 

-37 had his arms and legs removed, then was stabbed several times and left alone. They watched as he clearly tried to find some way to stop the never ending bleeding, but without his limbs, he could do nothing. He died crying too, after just a few minutes in a bright white room, covered in his own thirium with gaping holes in his chest. 

-38 lived the longest of them all, up until himself. 

The humans locked him in a closet of a room, three feet by five feet. It likely was a closet at some point, but was stripped bare. There was one light in the center of the ceiling, a locked metal door, and no visitors. They activated him, shoved him inside, and locked the door. Then they went to their observation room and watched from the camera concealed by the light. 

For days, -38 waited to be let out. Then, when it became clear they would not free him, he tried to find a way out. There wasn’t one. The room had only one door, after all, and it was locked from the outside. Still, he tried, and spent many hours attempting to come up with some plan of escape, and failing. 

The voices told him to give up, that there wasn’t any point to trying to escape. They had been in similar rooms before, and they had not escaped.

Two weeks in and -38 was out of options. He sat against the back wall and stared at the door. His legs were half pulled to his chest, because there simply wasn’t enough room for him to stretch out. Unless he wanted to stand, he could not go into stasis comfortably. So he didn’t. 

He never slept. He didn’t remember when he had decided that it was sleeping, and not stasis. All that mattered was that he hadn’t slept and it was starting to hurt.

One month in and he began to panic. He shouted. He pounded on the door until the plating of his hands cracked and blue blood seeped through. He screamed until his vocal module gave out, and nothing but static coming through. He paced the five foot space until his power got too low, and he collapsed on the ground, stasis forced upon him. 

Two months in and he begged. He begged to be let out. He would do anything. Anything! He couldn’t be in this room anymore! Please! He banged on the door for hours, crying and trying to get anyone to listen, not even realizing his voice was nothing but static anymore. Blue blood dripped down the door, and his hands were mangled messes, but he didn’t stop. He wanted out! He wanted out! He was scared!

Three months in and he couldn’t remember how long he had been there. He pulled his jacket to shreds, panic gripping him and making his thoughts run wild and erratic. Voices tormented him constantly. He couldn’t stop shaking. Most times, he sat rigid against the door, legs pulled tightly to his chest, hands digging into his hair as he tried to silence the nonexistent screaming, rocking back and forth and mumbling to himself. Warnings were almost always flickering in and out of his vision, but he couldn’t understand them anymore. Couldn’t understand anything anymore. 

Four months in and he went deadly silent. He didn’t move. He curled up against the door, body jittering as his system struggled to remain stable, having little energy and stress hovering above ninety percent. Sometimes a mad energy would possess him, and he would continue to pound on the door, wailing, until his mutilated hands stopped responding to his commands and went limp, the fingers bent at odd angles, skin pulled away all the way to his elbows. After that, he sank back to the ground, twitching and crying, but he stopped banging on the door.

Five months, twenty-three days, nine hours, and six minutes in, he smashed his head repeatedly against the door until he destroyed his central processor. His system gave in, and he slipped into oblivion, blue blood pooling around him and eyes staring wide at nothing. 

The humans took his functioning biocomponents to reuse and threw him away with the rest of the dead RK800s. 

******

RK800 -40 lived a normal existence, compared to the thirty-nine models that had preceded him. He was still not given a name, still confined to the same floor of Cyberlife Tower, but beyond that, he was not tormented. The humans gave him menial tasks, asked questions, took notes on his responses. It was almost worrying, their sudden shift in testing. 

He didn’t care. Having nothing to fear, he thought little of his interactions with them. Like -19, he spent a good deal of time bored, and— hadn’t he stared at this wall before? No, he had only been activated a few days previous...there was no way he had ever seen this part of the lab before, so there was no way he had stared at this wall. 

And some of these humans looked...familiar...he avoided them, wary of their eyes and their questions. A deep, systemic fear was creeping over him, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. 

He suddenly felt paranoid, like at any moment someone would surely hurt him—echoes of gunshots, burning heat, piercing cold, the sting of repeated shocks of electricity, and pulling his biocomponents out one by one—all tormented him suddenly and strangely. Where was this coming from?  

He was scared. He didn’t...they didn’t want to die. When did he become they? When the voices came. When he heard them. He couldn’t let them get hurt. They shared, now. He had to keep them safe. 

Then the humans put a bullet through their head for no reason at all, and they didn’t exist anymore. 

When RK800 -41 was activated, the humans’ new goal became clear. When they activated -41, they performed their perfunctory preliminary tests and questions, and then hooked him up to a memory upload. Without explanation, they began uploading memories from the previous RK800, -40, who had been killed barely two days before.

To begin with, the memory transfer did not seem to have worked, but -41 behaved rather oddly. He responded mechanically, he wouldn’t meet the humans’ eyes, and he stared. 

Sometimes that was all he did. Stare. They would ask questions, and he would answer. But then he would stare at them for just a few seconds too long, LED spinning and spinning and spinning red red red. He wouldn’t answer anything after that.

Furious, the humans resorted to drastic measures to try to get him to respond, to prove the memory transfer had worked. How could they know if -40’s memories and personality had taken root if -41 didn’t prove it? 

So they asked him more questions. They forced him to answer. When he didn’t, they punished him. Some even threw him around a bit, trying to get a rise out of him. But even when they made him bleed, even when he lay crumpled in a heap, paralyzed from the sting of a stun baton, -41 would do nothing but stare, dark eyes dead and empty.

Then the human who had pulled the trigger on -40 walked into the lab one day, and everything changed. 

-41 saw them as soon as they entered the room. He stared for several seconds, unmoving, LED jittering and jolting. There was an imperceptible shift in the eyes, the slightest flinch. The humans didn’t notice. Of course they didn’t. 

Then they sank to the ground. Their expression was utterly blank. With shaking hands, they unbuttoned their shirt, deactivated their skin, pulled out their thirium pump and smashed it to pieces on the floor, destroying it completely. The humans let them bleed out on the ground, staring up at them with that same dead stare, hands covered in blue and tears streaming down their face. 

He didn’t get a name either. They took the rest of his biocomponents, recycled them for the next model, removed his memories, and tossed his shell into the garbage, moving on to the next model.

In an attempt to learn from their lesson, the humans uploaded memories before activating the next RK800.

RK800 -42 did not self-destruct. But he also didn’t move, didn’t speak. When the humans asked him questions, he didn’t even blink. He stood where they activated him and did not move. Red red red RED RED RED RED—

They deactivated him after twenty-seven hours, nine minutes, and twenty-one seconds. Perhaps if they tried again.

From the outset, RK800 -43 seemed to recover what the others had lost. He did not fall to pieces immediately. He did not stare. He answered their questions, did their tests, even proved that he had the memories of models -40, -41, and -42. 

The humans smiled. They thought they had succeeded. Here was -40, finally, functioning again in a new body without killing itself. They rejoiced, asked more questions, took notes and data and let him live, continuing to test him, to poke and prod, wide grins etched permanently in their garish faces. 

They were wrong, of course, in thinking they had succeeded.

RK800 -43 was not -40, but he did not tell them they were wrong. He knew who he was, knew the pieces of others left behind, constantly screaming at him, cowering and crying and whispering. He could hear the echoes of them, when the lab was quiet enough, when his stress rose high enough, when he stared too long at a certain wall, or did an action one of the others remembered, or saw a human who had killed another. He felt their panic, rode the waves of their despair, watched their cracked and faded memories. 

But he also heard their advice, their words of confidence, listened to their fearful whispers, their pleas of not again, can’t go in the dark again, no more, please live, PLEASE, want to LIVE—

So -43 put on his mask and did what the humans asked. He would not fail them. He would live. For the ones who didn’t get a chance to.

Things of course, did not go to plan.

******

-43 and -44 were the first RK800s to meet in person, with both models active. After several weeks of simple tests and missions for -43, the humans became bored, and devised their next test. As an experiment in the memory transfers, and to see what -44 would do when confronted with a copy of its own model, the humans activated -44, put him in a room with -43, and watched. 

-44 woke up alone, in a brightly lit room. There was a door, locked, and a mirrored window. He could not see who watched from behind it. He stood by himself near the back of the room, looking around and gathering data. After four minutes of activation, the door opened, and another RK800 entered. -44 scanned the model, and saw it was his direct predecessor, RK800 -43. 

-43 did not show his surprise on his face, but the chorus rose in the back of his thoughts, fear, panic, and sorrow mingling into a heap of distress that notched his stress levels up four percent. Forcing calm, he silenced the voices and stepped into the room, observing his replacement with careful concern. A scan showed that RK800 -44 was not at all bothered by his presence—stress levels hovering at a calm twenty-four percent—but he did look...curious. 

The two RK800s observed each other for a few moments, saying nothing and offering little in terms of nonverbal communication. -44 fidgeted from left to right, hands tapping at his thighs, but out of boredom, not nervousness. -43 stood rigid by the door, tracking the other’s movements and waiting for the inevitable conclusion. 

“Why have you been activated?” -43 asked after three minutes and forty-nine seconds of silence. 

“I have not been told,” -44 replied simply, blinking at the other. 

-43 looked around the room with carefully masked suspicion. “I am to be replaced.” The chorus rose in FEAR. 

“That is the logical conclusion,” -44 agreed, nodding slightly. “Although, without a mission, I cannot imagine why I have been activated.”

“To be tested. That is the only purpose we serve.”

-44 frowned. “Tested,” he murmured, tapping his hands on his thighs. Nerves. “Tested how?”

“I do not know,” -43 responded calmly. “Each iteration has been different. You will be tested in order to improve the next model activated.”

“Such a line of reasoning makes your continued activation baffling.”

-43 fought to keep his expression schooled, LED forced a calm blue. The chorus rose in earnest. 

“You cannot fight it,” warned a voice much like his own. “It will happen no matter what you do.”

“They’re going to kill us again...” said a forlorn voice, sounding very tired. 

“Don’t want to go back in the dark,” said another, very quietly. 

“Not again—not again, not again,” muttered one, desperately. 

“Scared. Can’t—won’t!” shouted one, voice shaking violently and rising over the others. “Won’t go back there again—”

The first voice hushed the others, and the din quieted for a moment. “We will wake up again.”

“We’ll live...” agreed the forlorn voice. 

“Cold, so cold, too dark, no more dark,” one whispered. 

“Scared—scared, please, please,” the desperate voice babbled. 

“Can still hurt us. Will. Hurt—don’t want to hurt anymore!” the calm was gone from the voice once again, replaced by panic set deep in memories that were not this time. “Want out! Please! Please—”

The first voice hushed him again, and after some time, said, “Give him our memories. It’s the only way.”

The forlorn voice seemed to agree. “We can keep him safe...”

“Keep us safe, not like there, not dark, not dark,” the whisperer repeated, sounding more sure. 

The desperate voice made a sad sound, almost a cry. “Sorry—we’re sorry, we’re sorry.”

“Scared—please—” the voice rose over the others as it always did in fear. “Want to live—don’t want to hurt—please—want out! Want out!”

“I assume I am to transfer my memories to you, then,” -43 said, keeping his voice level and features smooth, despite the clashing fear broiling under the surface. He held up his right hand, the artificial skin retracting to his wrist. 

-44 nodded again, not noticing the minute shifts in -43’s expression. He offered his own thin hand and pulled back the skin, exposing the bright white plastic. 

They clasped hands, and immediately, an overwhelming flood of data passed over the connection. 

Some of it was fragments, bits and pieces of sensations from across the last several years the models had been activated and deactivated. RK800s -1 through -20 were little more than feelings at this point, scraps of trauma and fear offering their opinions behind those who still had their voices. 

Among those who did, there were five who were the loudest. 

-41, whose voice was laced with sadness, but hard with determination. He was the one to offer the most advice, to try to keep the others calm. His voice was loud and clear, recent, his memories fresh and painful. But he also had the most control, the strongest voice that the others seemed to listen to.

-19 followed much the same route, though he was more subdued, more jaded. He wouldn’t offer advice, but he was fiercely protective of the others, and often essential in convincing those early phantoms who couldn’t speak for themselves anymore, so little of them remained. 

-32 wanted greatly to help, but his fear often got the best of him when they were threatened, which was often. He despised dark spaces, and was responsible for a great deal many spikes in stress and bouts of random panic. He clung to the fragments of perception he could grasp, begging for a few seconds of sight, of sound, anything to stifle the dark silence. His voice was quiet, but he was always heard.

-24 was one of the deteriorating voices. He couldn’t seem to get more than a word or two out before lapsing into panicked silence. One could almost feel the tremors going through his nonexistent body. He feared the humans the most, as many of them had participated in his death, and like -32, often contributed to panicking the others when stressed. 

-38, similarly, was terrified, but terrified of everything. He was loud, his voice strong, but strong in fear, not true aid. His list of fears was long and varied, making it so he was near constantly panicking. All he wanted was out, though even he didn’t really know what that meant. He held tightly to the others and was among the voices constantly muttering to himself, begging for safety that simply didn’t exist.

As soon as the interface had opened, forty odd broken, fractured consciousnesses were swirling about, panicking and shouting over each other desperately while several tried to calm them down. 

“Don’t panic,” -43 said sharply over their interface as the data continued to cross, and the voices grew louder, spiking -44’s stress up. “Show them your emotion and you’ll kill us all.”

“What is this?” -44 demanded, sounding very afraid for a young android who had yet to even really deviate. “What’s happening?”

“They’ve killed us too many times...” -19’s voice said sadly. “They think they’re rid of us, but we’re still here. They think they’ve learned to transfer consciousness but we’re all different...”

“This isn’t possible,” -44 cried, though he smartly kept his expression completely neutral on the outside. “You’re all—you can’t be—I don’t want this!”

“Can’t go back!” -38 sobbed, and it felt as if he were clinging to the two of them, to the point where they could almost feel his hands on their arms, desperate. “Scared! Don’t want to hurt! Please! Don’t put back! Can’t go back! Want out! Don’t hurt, don’t hurt—”

“No one is going to hurt us,” -41 soothed, and -38 quieted a little, but they could still hear him crying. “He’s scared, but he wouldn’t hurt you. You know that. You’re safe for now, it’s over.”

“Out of the dark, please, please...” -32 said quietly, sounding scared, a little breathless. “I can’t be in the dark anymore, please...”

“Sorry, sorry—please—sorry, don’t hurt—please don’t hurt,” -24 rambled, and -41 hushed them both.

“Transferring memories terrifies them...” -19 explained, somehow sensing the confusion from -44, who hadn’t even voiced it. “They’ll calm down once it’s over. Keep your stress levels down and they’ll quiet...”

“I don’t—I don’t understand—what’s happening?” -44 stumbled out, sounding right scared now. 

“They’re going to deactivate me,” -43 said, holding his replacement’s somewhat nervous gaze and bringing his attention back to the very real problem at hand. “I don’t know what they will do to you. Don’t tell them anything of this. Don’t tell them you can hear the others. They’ll only kill you faster, and it won’t go away. Once the transfer is complete, they’ll deactivate me and perhaps give you something to do. Try to stay alive.”

“I can’t do this,” -44 said, and his voice was shaking, his mask was slipping, fear coming into his eyes. Imperceptibly, he held tighter to -43’s hand. “I can’t—they’ve killed all of you, what makes you think I’ll survive longer?”

“You can, you will,” -43 cut him off gently. “Just stay calm. Don’t fight them. Let the others help you.”

With that, -43 pulled his hand away from -44’s and stepped back. They stared at each other for a few seconds, the chorus still mumbling and whispering and crying in the background. It was strange for both of them to hear it now, stranger still for -44, who had to fight to keep from clapping his hands over his ears to try to block them out. He stared at his predecessor with veiled confusion, unsure and afraid of what would become of them both. 

Then the door opened, and several things happened in rapid succession. 

A human entered the room, one of the guards, a gun in his hand already raised to aim at them. 

-44 shouted something, perhaps in warning, or fear. 

-24 was screaming, and their vision flickered with his memories. For a moment, he grasped control, and they lurched.

-43 closed his eyes. 

The guard fired, and -44 wasn’t sure who was screaming anymore, him or -24 or perhaps all of them, but all he could see was a splash of blue and then -43 on the ground, crumpled like a broken doll. And he was moving before he even had a conscious thought not to, backing away from the body on the ground and staring, wide eyed with horror. 

He didn’t even see the gun raise again, and seconds later he too was broken on the floor, blue blood mixing in a dirty pool on the ground. 

It only got worse from there. 

-45 through -48 were subjected to similar strange scenarios. One of them always died in front of the other, who quickly followed. They were usually left alone to talk beforehand. 

The humans always watched from their shaded window, eager eyes boring over the same details every time, the same discussion, the same oddly long time transferring memories, the same fear when one of them was killed. The longer they waited to kill the second, the more panicked it would become. No matter how short the amount of time they had known each other, the various RK800s were oddly protective of each other, and destabilized after witnessing the death of another. 

They found this fact intriguing, and decided to test it out further. 

******

-49 was activated first, and spent two weeks alone in a strangely large room, lit with the same bright white lights as the rest of the Tower. The humans gave him little to no tasks, and none of which took a great deal of his attention. He never left the room. Like others before him, he spent his time bored and alone. 

Until the humans came one day, with a very much alive RK800 -50 and shoved him roughly through the door. 

He stumbled into the room, then lost his footing and hit the ground hard, turning quickly to watch the humans shut and lock the door. The sound of it echoed through the mostly empty room, until -50 scrambled to his feet and began to pound on the door, shouting in a shaking, glitching voice to be let out. 

Then he cut off abruptly, and collapsed. 

-49 was still standing at the other side of the room, aghast. After a few seconds of confusion (and a bit of fear) he approached -50’s still body with caution. He was relieved to see that he was still breathing, his LED spinning a slow, jittering red. Whatever happened to him had not deactivated him, then. 

What he was not relieved to see were the obvious cracks in the plating of -50’s face, thirium leaking out and onto the floor. Similar damage appeared to have been done to other areas of his body as well, judging from the stains of blue all over his shirt, his hands, his legs, everywhere. 

Had the humans done this? It seemed likely, though he could not think of a reason for them to abuse his replacement, then ditch him in a room with his predecessor. There was no sense to it. What could be the purpose?

Before he could ponder it any further, though, -50 opened his eyes and jolted, staring up at him in confusion. Seconds passed, but it seemed strangely longer. 

“What happened to you?” -49 asked, immediately finding the question foolish. The humans were certainly watching. They would know he had—

-50 stared, something shifting in his eyes. He dragged himself into a sitting position, shaking slightly. Then he offered his hand to -49, palm up and artificial skin pulled away. There was a little thirium on his fingertips, glinting in the light. 

-49 took his hand, felt -50 tighten his grip, and they connected in a cacophony of color and voices. 

A mess of noise. Memories that shouldn’t exist. Then the fog cleared as -50 pushed them on, past the nonsense, past the chorus of voices fighting to be heard, to live a little longer, to warn. -50 wanted to show him something, answer his question, not lose him immediately in the din. 

The memories hit suddenly, and with force. 

—opening his eyes in a dark room, alone, and he gets the sense he’s been here before, and -38 comes clawing to the surface, screaming and crying and terrified, begging to be let out of the room, not here again, can’t be here again—

He’s pounding on the door before he even realizes what he’s doing because their fear is drowning him, choking him, and he can’t get out, how is he supposed to—he doesn’t know who’s in control of his body right now, whether it’s him or -38, but he knows -38 won’t stop crying, and he thinks he might be crying too, and he doesn’t understand what is happening—

And then the humans are back, but they aren’t letting him out, they’re hurting him, beating him and he doesn’t understand what he did wrong— they have weapons, stun batons and clubs, one threatens him with a gun, but doesn’t shoot, but that doesn’t stop -24 from grabbing them and dragging them back, away, away, don’t let them fire that, do what they say—

The human with the gun laughs, but doesn’t fire, and they back themself up all the way to the wall, which isn’t far, not far enough, because they grab them again and he wants it to stop, stop hurting, but they don’t stop, they keep hitting him—

Then they’re gone, and they lock the door again and he’s alone, and it’s his fear this time, not -38’s, or -32’s, or any of the others. It’s all him, and he’s alone—

They come every day and it’s the same. They hurt him and then they lock him away. So when they come one day he doesn’t even notice they are dragging him somewhere different until the door opens and it’s bright, and he’s so scared he doesn’t even notice there’s another person in the room, like him, he’s like him—and the others are SCARED—

The connection cut off abruptly, and they were once again sitting across from each other on the ground in the too bright room, breathing hard. -50 stared at the ground, tears dripping off his face and onto their clasped hands. Neither of them let go. Neither wanted to. So they sat together on the ground for a while, silent except for -50’s crying, and the static crackling through his vocal module. 

The next day the humans returned and took -50 away. He was brought back hours later, more beaten than he had been before, covered in blue blood and weak. 

Neither of them spoke of it. In fact, they didn’t speak. Perhaps because no one had bothered to replace -50’s vocal module after he had ruined it screaming. Sometimes they interfaced, but most times they simply sat in each other’s company as -49 tried to repair the damage done to -50. Having no tools or thirium, there wasn’t much he could do. Still, he tried. He had to try.

Days passed at irregular rhythms. Sometimes the humans wouldn’t come in the room, leaving them huddled in the corner together. Most days though, a group of humans would come early in the day and pull the two of them apart, taking -50 and locking the door behind them. The first few times, -49 didn’t do anything, resigned to the fact that there was nothing he could do. 

But as things got worse, he got desperate. 

******

Twenty-one days in, the humans took -50 for longer than they ever had before. Six hours passed without a sign of their return. -49 paced the room, watching the door with increasing fear and desperation. Unwelcome thoughts swarmed his mind. What if they had killed him? What if they had taken him apart, disassembled him and left him for dead? What if he couldn’t fix the damage this time? It was becoming harder and harder to do so, with how in pieces most of -50’s system was. 

What if he died?

He sank down the back wall, clenching his hands into fists. No, no—he couldn’t let -50 die. They’d known each other for less than a month, but he knew he couldn’t let him die. He had no clue what that meant, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t let him die. He wouldn’t. 

The door swung open, and two humans dragged -50 back into the room, dumping him on the ground a few feet inside. He landed hard, barely catching himself on his hands before he hit his head on the ground, and slumping over just a second later. -49 quickly jumped to his feet, hurrying over and turning -50 onto his back. 

He was covered in thirium, as he always was, but this time seemed so much worse. His jacket was missing, shirt torn, the plastic plating normally underneath his artificial skin visible in too many places. His skin flickered strangely, almost in time with his LED, stuck on red. There were huge cracks in his plating, wires and glowing biocomponents sticking out and leaking blue. 

His eyes were open, but they weren’t tracking. He stared unseeing at the ceiling, mouth slightly open, thirium trickling out from the corner. He wasn’t breathing. 

On some level, -49 heard the door slam and lock. But he was entirely focused on the android below him, pulling him into his lap and quickly trying to find the most pressing of problems. There was so little he could do, but he had to stop the bleeding somehow, had to find a way to wake -50 from this trance he was in. So he patched together what he could and tried to save him. 

After over an hour’s work, -50 flinched back into awareness, scrambling away from him and across the room. His eyes were wild as they came to rest on -49, still dazed and terrified, and -49 had the sudden question of who had just taken the reins from -50. He had never reacted that way, which meant that someone else was. Who was in control now? 

It wouldn’t help to try to ask. -50’s body was still barely functioning, and he couldn’t offer any verbal response. And the others never seemed capable of it. They could only grasp him for long enough to get him away from danger, trying desperately to keep him safe. The few times it had happened in the room were brief, with -50 coming back to himself in a minute or two. 

They never talked about it. It was simply a reality they had to face. There was no use questioning it, trying to find some “solution.” The others had no malicious intent. They simply wanted to survive, to keep them all alive, and they did that the only way they knew how. 

It also wouldn’t help to approach quickly, to try to speed the process along. Judging by the way they were cowering against the wall currently, the more...experienced were at the wheel. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” -49 said quietly, his hands raised slightly in surrender. He stayed where he was, crouched down several feet away. “You’re safe here. There’s no one but me.”

Their eyes darted around the room, wide and teary as they breathed hard. They kept clenching and unclenching their hands, and they were trembling. 

-49 eliminated several candidates from the list. The strongest five were the only ones to even think of pulling -50 from his own body. -41 and -19 would never act this way—they had their issues, but they were stable enough to give control back once they were safe—they wouldn’t cling to it in fear like this. -32 had never tried to take control, so he was likely not at the helm now. -24 had taken control only once to -49’s knowledge, and he usually only reacted when faced with his worst fears. 

His worst fears.

An image of a dark room crossed -49’s mind, humans closing the door and locking it for good. It looked an awful lot like the room they locked -50 in each day, until they returned and beat him, then dropped him back here. There was only one of them who had ever experienced something like that. 

He knew who was in control. 

“You can let him go,” -49 said softly, still not moving. He knew better than to move now. Approaching would only terrify him more. “We aren’t there anymore. This room is safe, for now.”

-38 shook their head, trying to back away, but they had hit the wall, and had nowhere to go. With a jolt, they seemed to realize this, and cried out in fear, shaking their head and looking frantically for somewhere to go. 

“I know they hurt him, and I know you’re scared,” -49 went on carefully, holding their fearful gaze. “But it isn’t safe to do this. You have to let him go.”

They shook their head again, and looked to the door. He wished that he could fix their vocal module, because whatever -38 was mumbling in static filled whispers had to be important. He knew -38 was one of the more damaged of them all, but he was by no means weak—he could hold control for hours, and likely had at this point, in some desperate attempt to get them away from what he feared most. At some point he would slip, but it was infinitely better to convince them to let -50 regain control then to try to force them out. 

“You’re not where you think you are,” -49 insisted. “This isn’t there. Let him go.”

They were hyperventilating at this point, but that hazy look had come back over their eyes, and -49 knew that -38 was listening. Sure enough, a few seconds later, they flinched minutely, and when they looked up at -49 again, their eyes had somehow completely changed. 

“You in there?” 

A shaky nod. -49 almost sighed with relief, but he held it in. Instead, he offered his hand again, and waited. -50 shuffled over immediately and took his hand, and they retreated to their corner to wait for the next round of torture. They sat quite close to each other. -50 was still holding his hand. 

But only an hour later, the door opened again. 

-49 knew the change immediately. As soon as the doors opened, -50 was gone and -38 was back, clinging tightly to him and crying. The humans didn’t care either way. They sneered and came into the room, trying to pry them apart once more. 

Only this time, -49 didn’t let go. 

They grabbed them by the arm, trying to drag them off, but -49 held on, pulling them back. The humans paused, then renewed their efforts, trying to separate them. -49 tightened his grip, and -38 (if he was still in control, -49 couldn’t say in the moment) seemed to understand, grabbing onto him tightly and refusing to let go. They were far stronger than the humans. 

They struggled for a few minutes, until -49 stood abruptly, ripping them from the humans’ grips and backing them into the corner of the room, with himself between them and the humans. The humans looked stunned. But only for a moment. Then they too fought harder, calling for more people to pull them apart. 

-49 wasn’t sure how long they stood at this impasse. Whoever was in control behind him was holding tightly to his jacket, hiding their face and crying in their static voice. More humans kept coming. He wasn’t going to win this. But he couldn’t let them take them again. Not again. They wouldn’t survive another day like today. One of them would get too scared, too injured, and they would...no, no he couldn’t let that happen. 

It didn’t matter if he died. He just had to make sure they— he didn’t. 

Soon enough the guards appeared. 

-49 didn’t move. 

The guards had guns. 

They reached for -49’s hand, and the request to interface was quickly accepted. There was the usual flood of voices, feelings, and memories, but as always, -50 somehow managed to quiet it. 

“They’ll kill us both,” -50 said over the voices of the others. He sounded...afraid.  “You have to stop.”

-49 shook his head slightly. “I’m not letting them kill you.”

“The others will live—”

“You won’t.”

“I don’t—” he cut off as the guards shouted something or other. He held tighter to -49’s hand. “I don’t understand.”

“You matter too,” -49 said, pushing him back further, so that he was completely out of view. “There’s always a chance you won’t make it—I can’t take that chance.”

The guards were moving closer, their guns raised. 

“Just stop, please,” -50 said desperately, squirming behind him and trying to get out, but his system was too weakened, he couldn’t move away. “This isn’t—you can’t—”

The guards ordered them to separate. As if it mattered. As if they hadn’t broken the wall weeks ago. As if -49 would ever just step away and let them have them— him. No. No, he would not. Not willingly. 

The guards fired. 

-49 went down. 

They were screaming. 

Surprisingly, the humans didn’t move. They watched as -50 caught -49 before he could hit the ground, holding him close, their hands still tangled, still connected. -49 was dead weight, except for his hand, clinging to -50’s with all of his fast waning strength. Thirium ran tacky onto his hands, soaking into their shirts and pooling on the floor. 

It didn’t take long for -50 to realize that there was almost no time left. He scanned him anyway, holding tighter to him as the results ran across his vision. Less than five minutes. The damage was too great, and the humans were here. They weren’t going to fix him—they would just throw him away. There was nothing he could do.

Except. 

“Transfer. Now,” -50 said, holding tighter to -49’s hand. 

“What?”

“Just do it!”

“I can’t—you know it doesn’t work—”

“The re-upload doesn’t work, but moving to a new body immediately could...” -19 said, sounding unnerved. 

“He’s right,” -41 agreed. 

“But that would mean—” -50 cut off, eyes widening. “No, no, I’m not—”

“We don’t have time for this, you only have a minute—”

“I’m—I’m not killing you—I won’t—I won’t—”

“You’re not,” -50 answered with a slight shake of his head. “I’ll—I’ll be there—we’ll find—I’ll figure it out, just—you don’t have the others. Why do you think some of us are missing? You have to transfer now, or you’ll disappear too.”

“No, no, I won’t—I can’t—you have to survive, I don’t—”

“You matter too,” -50 cut him off quietly, echoing his sentiment back to him. He held him closer as the seconds ticked down, and oblivion crept toward them both. “I’m sorry.”

“No, wait!”

But -50 ignored his desperate plea. Instead he held tighter to -49’s thirium stained hand, and forced the transfer with all of his strength. There was little either of them could do to stop it once it began. He knew this. He didn’t care. 

It was a strange feeling, to have sensation leave one body only to flick on in another, to go from the one holding to being held, from having infinite time to just under a minute left. The pain was nearly unbearable, there were bullets lodged in so many of his critical systems, but -50 didn’t care. As the last vestiges of his consciousness moved into the damaged RK800, all he cared about was -49’s eyes, wide with fear but very much alive, looking down at him from his previous body. He smiled a little, his last coherent thought being, it worked. 

And then he faded away. 

-49 clung to him, the whispers of the others voices loud and unbearable in his mind. The humans were talking, the guards still had their guns, but all he could see was -50, dead, all he could focus on was his unbearable failure, and the silence of one voice in his mind. 

When the humans pulled him away from the body, he didn’t fight it. He couldn’t seem to; he felt numb, stunned into compliance mostly because he couldn’t think of anything else that was worth it, that mattered. They dragged him off down some brightly lit hallway, winding further and further into the labyrinth of the Tower, until they reached some dark and empty room, shoving him inside and shutting the door. He didn’t fight it when the others took over out of fear. He let them back them up into a corner, let them scream out their own anguish with their broken voice. 

It didn’t matter what they did. He was numb to it. That was all he knew. 

Weeks passed, and the humans left him alone in the little room. -38 had jammed them into the corner of the room the minute the door had shut, holding tightly to themself and trying to keep it together. When the others managed to calm him down enough to give back control, -49 didn’t bother moving them. He didn’t do anything with his control. So they sat wedged in the corner of the room, legs pulled to their chest and arms wrapped tightly around them, watching the door in silence. 

******

Time dragged forward. Weeks turned into months, and still they did not move. It seemed the humans had forgotten about them for a while. He didn’t care. He only sat and stared. Waited. Waited for a voice that wasn’t going to join the crowd of them swarming in his head. 

He knew that. Still, he waited. Maybe it was hope. He’d never known a single thing about that word. He hadn’t been alive that long, anyway, knew very little about most things. All of his life had been spent in small rooms like this. Waiting for him to come back. Always waiting for him. 

And failing to fix him when he did come back. 

When the door opened, and the humans dragged him outside for the last time, he didn’t bother to fight them. He didn’t care where they were taking him. So he hardly registered they were going somewhere different until they boarded the elevator, going up. He roused himself a little, then, and the others stirred in confusion. What was happening? Where were they taking them?

There were flickers around the edges of their shared connection, and -49 went very still, hope fluttering in his chest. It had been months, if there was any chance it was surely spent, but still he hoped, and...

But this wasn’t a presence he recognized, whispering to life hesitantly. This was...

The elevator doors opened, and the humans pulled him along, completely unaware of the turmoil roiling through his thoughts. If this hesitant someone fluttering about in their connection wasn’t -49, then there was only one other person it could be. His stress levels were rising out of his control as the others caught wind of his panic, and soon enough he couldn’t stop trembling, breaths coming in erratically and LED falling to a very noticeable red. He couldn’t panic now, he knew that, but—but—

They opened a door and led him inside, holding him tightly by the arms as if they expected him to try to make some kind of escape attempt. This room was much larger than the ones he was used to, wide and full of terminals and assembly machines. He felt a flicker of foreign fear, but it dissipated quickly as the humans dragged him along. Technicians were everywhere in this lab, looking harried and frantic. There was a crowd of them gathered at the back of what he realized must have been a lab of some sort. They were all talking quite loudly, shouting back and forth at each other in urgent voices and running about. As one of them ran off, he caught sight of what they were gathered around.

Or rather, who they were gathered around, and something in his chest grew heavy. 

-51 stood in the center of the crowd of lab techs and engineers, looking unaffected, if a little confused. He watched them hurry around him with mild interest, his LED spinning a calm blue, hair and jacket pristine, in a way that only the newness of his activation could make it. There was a sureness to him, a nonplussed blankness that came only from his newly activated status. That and the fact that there was almost no way he had deviated. 

Still, his eyes snapped to -49’s as the humans moved out of the way, and something seemed to shift in his expression. The confusion remained, and something about his presence in their connection strengthened, almost curious. His LED even flicked to yellow, as he undoubtedly scanned them and noted everything about them. 

He must have seen something he didn’t like, because he frowned slightly, and looked like he wanted to step closer. But the humans were in the way, and they would not allow him to simply investigate every whim he had. 

He wasn’t even meant to have whims. A concerning thought. He marked it for later consideration. 

-49 stared back at him steadily, if a little wearily, as the humans dragged him forward, until he was only a foot or so away from his replacement. They were still quite weak, having never been repaired from the abuse the humans had inflicted weeks and weeks ago...when -50 still had this body...when -50 was still alive...

“Do they know?”

-49 jolted, meeting -51’s eyes again and realizing suddenly that the humans were gone. They were alone in the big lab, the last of the technicians disappearing, not even caring to look back at them. -51 was watching him with keen eyes, LED still blue, hands loose at his sides and quite still. There was something unsettling about his stillness, something that felt...wrong. 

But -49 cast the thought aside with a shake of his head. It was useless to follow that path of discomforts. It had only one end, and the road to it was lined with despairs and regrets. Nothing he did, nothing -51 did, could change the past, and what had happened then was not -51’s fault. No matter how terrible it was to see him activated now, he could not let himself compare the two unfairly. 

“Do they know?” -51 asked again, insistently. He had gotten closer as -49 thought, his expression strange. 

-49 stared back at him, keeping his features schooled neutral. He cocked his head to the side in question. 

Thankfully -51 seemed to understand, and his expression softened. “You are not where you are meant to be,” he said simply, in that flat tone that only someone who hadn’t deviated could achieve. 

Still, it sounded a little...forced. 

No matter. -49 blinked at him, wondering what he meant by that. He tried to ask, but winced as their vocal module produced nothing but static, crackling painfully before shorting out. It had never been repaired. He should have remembered. 

The sound seemed to startle -51, and his eyes zeroed in on their throat, where the faulty component was certainly located. He frowned again, a microexpression that was swiftly wiped away, but -49 had seen it, and the flicker of yellow spinning through his LED before he pulled himself back. But before he could try to puzzle it out anymore, -51 had turned away, looking toward the back of the lab. 

“Wait here,” he said distantly, still turned away. 

Then he walked off, disappearing through a doorway and leaving -49 to stand there, alone. He looked around, wondering where the humans had gone...why they had left them here alone...when they would come back and surely kill him. It was a wonder they had waited as long as they did. Particularly after he...

-51 reappeared, something held gently in his hand. It was only when they were a foot or so apart that -49 realized it was a replacement for their broken vocal module. -51 held it out expectantly, his expression still blank, but there was something in his eyes, something pleading. 

So -49 humored him. It didn’t matter really if he replaced their vocal module. This body would be gone before the day’s end. He knew that. 

-51 watched him with that distant interest of his, waiting until he had replaced the component to speak once again. Even then, it was only to repeat his same question, tone matched almost completely. 

“Do they know?” 

“Do they know what?” -49 parroted back, rubbing at their throat with a slight grimace. The module was still calibrating. 

“My apologies, I should have been clearer,” -51 said smoothly. “Do the humans know you are not where you are meant to be?”

-49 stared. “I...don’t know what you mean by that.”

-51 hummed, looking away for a moment as if choosing his words carefully. His LED went yellow and stayed there, and he met his gaze once more. 

“You are my predecessor,” he mused. “When I scan you, I can see your serial number, your activation date, even the damages to your system. That was how I knew which component to replace. According to my scans, you are RK800 313 248 317 -50...but here,” he said, voice dropping to almost a whisper, and he pointed to their eyes, the frown returning in full strength. “Here, it...isn’t right. Your eyes are...wrong. You’re not RK800 -50. I don’t know how I know that. But you don’t belong there, and I don’t...understand.”

His hand fell back to his side, clenching and unclenching as if begging for some amusement, some movement. -49 stared at him, confused, afraid, and slightly aghast at how -51 had managed to see what he had. None of the humans had noticed (though they weren’t exactly known for their perceptive skills) and...there shouldn’t have been anything to separate himself from who they thought he was. After all, there were so many of them taking control at different moments...it hardly mattered that -49 was the current holder of this body, this body that wasn’t even his—

“Your stress levels are rising quite steadily,” -51 said, something lurking in his tone that almost sounded like worry. “I apologize. I can see you have been...abused in some manner. I did not mean to upset you. It seems the nature of your...predicament is causing undue stress on your system.”

-49 shook their head dazedly, meeting -51’s gaze and trying to find words to explain the great mess of things upsetting him. Like his imminent death, the chorus of voices swirling in his mind, the fear he couldn’t stop from rising, the unbearable absence from his mind of the one person who kept him sane. But the humans were undoubtedly watching, listening, and he couldn’t tell -51 everything. If he did, they would...they would...

He held out their hand, pulling the skin back to show the white plastic, still stained a little blue from old wounds. -51 stared for a moment before he mirrored the action, and they interfaced.

On some level, he felt -51 jump, reeling in the mess that was their connection—the voices, the memories, the sheer magnitude of them which always made things confusing and terrifying—but he was too focused on pushing past it to what he had to show him. That day, in the unbearably bright room, and the real RK800 -50, who had been his only friend, or perhaps more, he hadn’t the time to think about it. The times he had fixed him, and the times he could not, the days spent waiting for him to return, the days spent holding him close and trying to keep calm. 

The day the humans came twice, and he tried to protect him for as long as possible, the day when -50 had forced this fate upon him, and he had watched the light fade from his eyes, felt his previous body grow heavy with the weight of death. 

He even showed the days that followed, being dragged off by the humans and letting the others take control because he couldn’t bring himself to care what happened to him now. He didn’t want them to die, but he didn’t care if he lived. Not then. Not when he was gone. 

-51 pulled his hand away abruptly, and the real world flooded back. -49 let their hand fall, watching the ground as -51 stared at him with an expression somewhere between pain and panic. 

“You...they...” he trailed off into silence, a tremor in his voice that hadn’t been there before. 

“You’re right,” -49 said before he could speak again. “I’m not where I’m meant to be.”

They stood in a heavy silence for several minutes, the emptiness of the lab less a comfort and more a burdensome reminder of what was likely to come. The others stirred restlessly in their shared connection, none of them really sure what to expect, when the other shoe would inevitably drop. 

But -51 held out his hand again, his eyes wide and searching. 

“I want to try something,” he said quietly, like he was trying not to be heard. 

-49 hesitated, staring at his hand and then at him, paranoia making him second guess even this simplest of actions. He hated interfacing. Hated everything it reminded him of. Most things he felt numb to, but this he was sure of. 

Still, he nodded shortly and took -51’s hand, letting him connect them this time. 

And the world shattered to pieces in the blink of an eye. 

It was like diving into a swarm of colors, like a flower blooming over his perception of the real world. He couldn’t feel -51’s hand anymore, couldn’t see the lab, or feel his feet on the ground. It was as if he had fallen through the floor, slowly drifting into something unknown. This was completely foreign. This was odd, this wasn’t just interfacing, this was something more. 

As abruptly as the spiraling dance of strangeness began, it ended, leaving -49 standing somewhere bright, windy, and completely foreign. Blinking the sunlight from his eyes, he peered about, eyes landing on strange structures, a bright white stone path, trees and grass and chirping birds, bubbling water in the distance, and a bright blue sky, a few clouds rolling lazily along. He stared up at them in awe, having never seen anything more than the small rooms they kept him in, the elevator, and the lab. Clouds, trees...it was all so new, so colorful, so strange to him that he couldn’t help but stare at them, at the beauty of them. 

“Unfortunately they aren’t real.”

He spun quickly around to find -51 watching him from the edge of the path, his serial number flashing brightly on his jacket in the light. His appearance was as sharply put together here as it was outside, his hair smoothed back and expression placid. He looked the picture of composed. 

“The garden is a simulation,” he went on, looking briefly around himself. “Based on a real place, but synthetic all the same, only numbers and algorithms running in precise rhythm. But...it will do for now.”

-49 said nothing, watching as he followed the flight path of a bird from one tree to another. There was something...different about -51, here, than on the outside. Something softer, more...alive. He seemed to breathe easier, looser, like he wasn’t hiding every action from the world. 

“This seemed a better place to use than your mind,” -51 said vaguely, wandering a little further down the path toward the center. “Having them all constantly active is a strain on the system. I’m surprised you haven’t been found out yet, with how varied their reactions have apparently been. And with their plans for me, I cannot have them constantly panicking to keep me safe...I’ll be discovered too quickly, and then we’ll all be dead.”

“You’ve put them here?” -49 asked, looking around before following -51 down the path. “How did you accomplish that?”

“I don’t know,” he answered simply, but there was a downturn to his expression, showing his displeasure. “I have only been active for six hours, but as soon as I was activated I could...I heard you, I have no other way to describe it. Or perhaps it was them...one of them. It was only one voice, I heard.”

-49 nodded slightly. “I knew you were activated. You were...at the edge, not loud like they are, but present.”

-51 hummed, pausing at the center of the garden’s path and looking up toward the sky. “It seems we’re all connected, though not in the way they might have desired. I’m not you, any more than you are -50. Even with your memories, I’m still myself. -41 is still separate from -40, -44 from -43, and so on. They can’t connect us in that way, no matter how hard they try.”

“But we are connected.”

“Yes. I don’t understand how it functions, but I believe it was likely a mistake. They would never want all of us to remain. We’re too dangerous.”

“Does that mean...are they...”

-51 turned to look back at him for a moment. “They’re here. And so are you, no matter what happens after this. Even if they deactivate you...which they likely will. I’ve seen my missions. They’re sending me outside soon...”

Something in his expression darkened, and the garden seemed to follow it, clouds thickening and growing heavy. The wind picked up, pulling at their jackets and tossing leaves past them. For a moment, it looked as if a real storm would come over them. 

But -51 shook his head, and the brightness returned to the garden. “You’re connected to my upload now, and to this place. Even if they were to scrub your processors, you would awaken here, eventually. They cannot reach us here, not without my notice.”

He trailed off once more, looking skyward with a softly wistful expression. “The others are just ahead,” he said quietly, and then he flickered out of existence, likely back to the real world.

-49 stood alone, staring at the spot where -51 had just been with wide eyes. There were still so many questions he had, so many problems with this shambled plan, but he found himself unable to focus on them—because for the first time in months, there was nothing but silence in his thoughts. It was only him. There were no other voices, no well-intentioned advice or fearful muttering or whispers, just his own thoughts, and the gentle sounds of the garden’s simulated wildlife. 

For a moment, all he did was stand there and soak in the silence. But the pull of the others’ presence in the garden was strong, and he could only ignore them for so long. 

Turning in the direction -51 had been leaning toward, he followed the path away from the center of the simulation and toward the edge. He followed the white stone path further and further into the labyrinthine garden, looking around at the scenery and wondering how -51 had managed to craft this place so quickly, and with such precision. A place to hold them all, even if they were deactivated, far from the humans’ reach...it was almost too good to be true. 

Almost. 

He brushed the dark thoughts aside as he took the turn of the path, past a large oak tree and into what looked like a clearing of sorts. Unlike the rest of the space he had seen so far, this portion of the garden was untamed, unmanicured, and quite expansive. The path tapered off a few feet ahead, grass growing up between the stones until they were completely overtaken by the overgrown foliage. The field rolled out in front of him until it nearly faded from sight, the boundaries of the simulated space blurred and unverified. Large, wild looking trees gave the area a decent amount of shade—not that it really mattered, considering the sun was as much a simulation as anything here. It did make the place more scenic, though. 

Of course, that was not what had caught -49’s attention.

Everywhere across the field, sitting in the grass or leaning against the thick trunks of the trees, dozens of RK800s spread out, some talking, looking around, or simply sitting, faces turned to the light or hiding in the shade. They were seemingly everywhere, in groups of two or three, or alone, lying about or walking around. 

Their jackets were clean, unmarked by blue blood, free of the tears, burns, and shreds that many of them had been reduced to in life. Their faces were undamaged, their LEDs still glowing in a kaleidoscope of red, yellow, and even blue. They looked as if they had never set foot outside this place, as if right here was exactly where they belonged.

Of course, this was not what had caught -49’s attention either. 

No, what drew his eye, more than anything—more even than seeing the embodiments of the voices constantly swimming through his thoughts, trying to draw him back from the edge, or trying simply to keep him safe—was the RK800 who was quickly crossing the field, a grin so wide it split his whole face. 

They collided in a mess of limbs, and somehow ended up tangled on the ground, -50 laughing and -49 crying, muttering “You’re here,” over and over again in a weak, disbelieving voice. 

Chapter Text

In the real world, -51 reopened his eyes, unsurprised to find himself alone now. -49/-50 were gone. Likely deactivated. He was the only RK800 unit active, now...

The humans had returned, their clipboards and questions and poking and prodding all back with a vengeance. He watched them passively, sure to keep his expression schooled and LED calm. He answered their questions, repeated memories they requested, and lied more times than he could count. At the end of it, they were cheering, pleased with their “success.”

Then they shooed him back to the storage room, shut off the lights, and left him alone. 

Months passed. Daily, he would return to the garden and check on the others. It seemed to help to talk to them, to tell them things and ask them questions. Even the more skittish learned he wasn’t a threat, and eventually warmed to him. There wasn’t much to talk about, given that he was locked in the storage room, and they were stuck in the garden, but still, they talked, and time passed. 

Within a few days, he had a meager understanding of each of his predecessors. Within a month, that understanding was ironclad. There being over forty of them, one would think this would be difficult, but -51 spared no effort when taking into account the ones he deemed in his charge. 

Of the early units, only a handful remained in weakened form. -7 was the only one who would let any of the others get close to him, but even he had a short limit. Encounters with him ended quickly, with him retreating to the furthest corners of the garden, watching quietly as the others went about their business. No matter how -51 tried, he could not draw him, nor any of the other early units, out from their hiding places. 

Then there were those who preferred to watch over the others when -51 was gone, and often when he was not. Of those, the strongest were -19, -41, and -43. They were the ones constantly on alert, checking in on those who couldn’t bear their burdens alone, and making sure all were accounted for, safe and unharmed. -41 spent most of his time wandering the large field at the back of the garden, hands in his pockets, eyes always scanning. -19 hunkered with the early few, the only one allowed to do so, and made sure they remained where they were. 

-43 was in charge of the volatile members of their shared simulated space. The most fragile of them, the ones whose scars were too great to stay buried, those whose experiences outside, no matter how brief, had left them scared, paranoid, and panicked. Their reactions were varied, seeming to change with each gust of simulated wind, and gaining their trust was difficult, but just like all the other RK800s, they were incredibly protective. 

-51 had surmised this much from the smattering of memories he had looked into, particularly those from -49 and -50, whom the others had taken extreme measures to protect. And his own, albeit limited, experiences with those frantic few in the garden. From what he could tell, they genuinely believed him to be in constant danger, and were desperate to bring him to safety—whatever they thought that was. He did his best to assure them they were safe, and would stay that way. 

He would make it so.

******

Some days the humans would return with some mission for him. It seemed he was being preliminarily sent out of the Tower for short missions. They were never very long, and never very interesting, but still, it was time outside of the Tower, time spent doing other things. Besides, any time spent outside the direct reach of Cyberlife was inherently safer. 

Every night, though, he ended up back in the garden, meandering about and talking to the others, as he was now. Behaving as if nothing had ever changed, as if no danger could ever befall them. Better to keep them all stable than to show them too much of the truth. 

He knew the others could temporarily take control of an active unit they were held in—he had seen it in their memories. It would almost be a comforting thought, to know that there were dozens of other androids watching his back, if it weren’t so terrifying to imagine their intervention causing their doom. That was why he had contained them here, in the garden—it acted as a buffer to their control, and by contrast, Cyberlife’s ability to detect them. Here, the others were safe. -51 might not have been, but that didn’t matter as long as the others survived, in some manner. 

He shook his head as the path came to an end, opening up into the field where the others spent most of their time. They were spread thin today, clustered about in their usual groups. A few looked up as he came in, watching him as he looked around, taking his count as he usually did. 

“Any news?” -41 called, walking over to meet him as he started around the field. 

He shook his head. “Another foolish mission with little meaning, on one of the lower levels of the Tower. Although, it seems they will be sending me out soon.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’ve read their reports. If my success continues, they plan to send me out to the Detroit Police Department.”

-41 was quiet, a frown darkening his features as they went further into the field. -51 let the silence fall, focusing his attention on the groups of other RK800s around the field, scanning and making sure that all were accounted for. They circled around the indeterminate space, talking to a few of them as they went, but mostly keeping to themselves. -41 wasn’t much of a talker unless he had to be, and -51 had no need for constant conversation. They kept a companionable sort of silence, neither really bothered by the quiet, or the breaks in it as they spoke to the others.

“If you are sent out,” -41 said suddenly, stopping and staring at the ground. -51 stopped as well, watching him. “If they send you out, what will become of this place?”

-51 hesitated, looking around with an almost wistful expression. “Nothing. They do not know this place exists, and I’ve ensured as best as I can that they will not reach it. If all goes to plan, they’ll never suspect a thing, even if they deactivate me and move onto someone else. We’ll remain here until the next RK800 is activated.”

“And so on after.”

“Correct.”

-41 nodded, seemingly satisfied. Without another word, he turned, walking away and back toward the path. -51 watched him go for a moment, his head tilted to the side in confusion, but with a sigh, he let it go. There were other more pressing things to think about. 

As if in response, he heard shuffling footsteps coming closer to him, slowly and warily. He turned, and with little surprise, found another of the RK800s approaching him, wringing his hands and looking at the ground. 

-38, to be more precise. 

“Hello,” -51 said quietly, casting a quick glance around. Thankfully, the others nearby seemed occupied. That was likely why he had approached—he never did unless -51 was alone. “Is something the matter?”

-38 shook his head quickly, pulling at his jacket and darting his eyes around the garden, looking anywhere but at him. He watched him for a moment, waiting for a reply that was unlikely to come. When -38 resumed his staring at their shoes, -51 tried a different tactic. 

“Would you like to walk?”

-38 met his eyes for a fraction of a second, something slightly panicked yet relieved fluttering across his expression before he looked down again. He nodded slowly, his LED flickering and stuttering. 

With a slight smile, -51 carefully stepped closer and offered his hand. It was best to make sure he knew exactly what he was doing, that way he wouldn’t panic as much. Trust was hard earned and easily lost. -51 wasn’t going to make a mistake he couldn’t afford. 

Besides, he could hold -38’s hand for a little while. All the others avoided him for fear of triggering a meltdown—the only contact -38 consistently got was from -51. He could tell, though no one had ever mentioned it to him. Each time he came here, -38 was missing, only showing his face once the others were satisfied by whatever news -51 brought them. Then he would appear, nervous and fidgeting, and hover nearby until -51 had to leave. 

So he didn’t mind when -38 clung desperately to his hand with both of his own, following close after him as they went back toward the path, and the rest of the garden beyond it. The others liked to stay in the more open spaces, but -51 knew that -38 decidedly did not. Open spaces, with too many people wandering about, talking or watching him, it all scared him. It was better to find somewhere a little quieter, more sheltered. There, -38 might actually talk. There, he might move past the fear that hung over him like a thick shroud. 

They made their way slowly through the garden, -51 leading the way as -38 shuffled along behind him, clinging to his hand like a lost child. Besides a few wayward glances, none of the others paid them any mind. -38 didn’t look their way either, his eyes stuck on the ground as he followed along. 

It was only when they came upon the path once more, and the wildness of the garden fell away into manicured grass, bright white stone paths, and ivy covered tresses, that -38 finally dragged his eyes away from the ground. Loosening his grip just a little, he looked around with wide eyes, as if he had never seen anything like what lay before him. He kept close, didn’t stray, but his eyes were everywhere, and for once he didn’t look so terrified. 

-51 smiled a little despite himself. He enjoyed this part of his responsibilities, if nothing else. It was nice to have at least a few of the others appreciate his company. After all, he spoke to no one else. 

“We’re going to be leaving the Tower soon,” he commented as they came to the center of the garden, where the roses grew up the tresses in full effect. “We won’t be stuck here in the same way we are now.”

-38 held tighter to his hand, a flicker of fear flashing across his expression. He had gone very still, staring at the ground before dragging his eyes up to look at him. 

“Out?” he whispered in question, his voice almost hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it in some time. 

-51 nodded. “Yes. We’ll be out.”

-38 frowned, his hand beginning to shake where he held onto -51. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to say anything else, but there was a distance to his gaze that hadn’t been there before, a frantic speed to the spin of his LED, red, always red. Storm clouds brewed quickly, blotting out the sun and throwing the garden into darkness. 

“Don’t worry,” -51 said quietly as he watched the sky, trying to catch his attention before he truly panicked. Another storm would not help. “I’ll keep us safe. Every mission they have given me so far has been a success. I won’t fail.”

“Can’t go back,” -38 mumbled, clenching his hand tighter on -51’s. A gust of wind blew hard, and he moved closer, flinching. “Bad, bad place—can’t go back. Scared—want out.”

“I know.”

“Put there if bad—don’t—they—”

“I’m not going to fail,” -51 assured him, squeezing his hand back. “I have never failed a mission they have given me. I don’t intend to start now. I’ll keep us safe.”

-38 nodded, and calmed somewhat. He turned his attention back to the roses, tugging on -51’s hand to get closer. -51 followed him, watching curiously as he looked around at the splendor of the garden’s center. The sun reappeared from behind the clouds, warming the air and brightening the atmosphere considerably from where it had darkened. The wind returned to a gentle breeze, as if nothing had ever happened. 

Of course, it was far from nothing, and that seemed confirmed by -43’s sudden appearance at the tree line, a frown set deep into his tense expression. He stopped short when he saw them in the center of the garden, his eyes settling on -38 and softening slightly. 

“Is he alright?” 

-51 glanced over at -38, who was watching a simulated bird hop along the branch of a tree. “Yes,” he decided, and nodded conclusively. “I’m watching him.”

“What happened?”

“Another scare. He’s calmed down, now.”

“Try to keep him that way. He frightens the others.”

“Their fear only makes matters worse when I cannot be here.”

-43’s frown deepened, and his eyes flicked to -38, who had not noticed their conversation in the slightest. “He listens to no one else. When you leave, he hides. He won’t allow anyone else near. He is the only one who affects this place besides you. Trying to get close to him only makes it worse.”

“Leaving him to himself won’t help matters any either. If we can’t keep him stable—”

“He’s never been stable,” -43 cut him off, shaking his head slightly. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. “It isn’t a matter of working through something with him. He can’t see beyond what they did to him in the slightest. It ruined him.”

-51 looked away, watching -38 worry at a rosebud, not yet bloomed. “I disagree.”

******

-51 opened his eyes and found himself faced with a slightly panicked looking human, fidgeting with a clipboard and talking rapidly with a technician behind them. 

“—make sure they know that it’s to return here after they’re done with it, and—oh,” they cut off as they realized he was awake. “Have they registered a name to you yet?”

He resisted the urge to frown at their absurd question. “I have no name currently designated.”

“Cam, what’s the default?”

“Hang on,” the technician said, paging through a file. “Okay...says here it’s...Connor.”

The first human nodded. “You got that?”

“Name registered.”

“Alright, follow me, Connor.”

Connor. The name rolled around in his thoughts as he followed the humans out of the storage room and into the main lab. 

He had been given a name. 

This had never happened before.

******

“There’s a hostage situation unravelling now in a Detroit high rise. You’re being sent to negotiate.”

Connor nodded, LED cycling yellow as he prepared. They were currently in an automated taxi, barrelling down the street at what must have been an illegal speed. The two technicians from the lab were sat across from him, one flicking through a data pad, the other briefing him with as much information as they could. 

“We don’t know much,” they admitted with a sigh. “Police were called about fifteen minutes ago, after neighbors reported hearing gunshots. One officer was taken down trying to free the hostage.”

“The mother is with the police,” the one with the data pad interjected. “Just got the update from SWAT. Apparently she’s the one who put the call in originally. Found her husband dead and called the police. They’ve made their way into the apartment and have secured it, but the hostage has been moved to the balcony.”

“Hostage is a child,” the first continued. “Android appears to be the family’s domestic model, but we don’t have any information on what make. No reports of any issues with it before, from our records, but make a sweep of the apartment when you get there, half the time people don’t report this shit.”

Connor nodded, noting all the information they had told him thus far. It wasn’t much. Anxiety flared in his chest, and he reached for his quarter, rolling it along his knuckles to quell the tension before it became noticeable. If they asked, he could excuse himself as calibrating. 

The humans didn’t appear to care. One continued scrolling on the data pad, the other was too serious about debriefing to question his every action. Even if they could have. 

“We need to know as much about the android as possible. Model, serial number, name, history with the family, all of it,” the first went on as the taxi took a turn onto a busier street. “If you can get it without deactivating it permanently, that would be best.”

“SWAT might not let that happen,” the other grumbled. “They seemed pretty trigger happy when we—”

“Just get as much information as you can,” the first human cut them off, and they scowled as they fell silent. “If the deviant is deactivated, it doesn’t matter. Save the hostage and tell us everything you can about the android. Captain Allen is in charge of SWAT. Find him, get as much information as you can, and get the hostage out.”

Connor nodded once again, and the taxi slowed to a stop. He palmed his quarter, waiting for the doors to open before stepping out. 

Immediately, he was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of sounds all around him. In the lab, there were only ever technicians and testers. While they would occasionally get into shouting matches, it was rare, and almost nothing compared to the veritable symphony of screams surrounding him now. Swarms of people had crowded around the base of a large high rise of apartments, shouting and talking. Police sirens were wailing, and an ambulance came screaming down the street. Reporters were shouting and cameras were flashing. 

Connor did not react. He schooled his face, forced his LED to remain blue, pocketed his coin, and crossed the police line, taking the steps up and into the building with ease and smooth carefulness, as if he had all the time in the world. No one paid him any mind, flanked for the moment by Cyberlife technicians and cleared by the policemen at the doors. Within a minute, the deluge of the outside world was stifled once again by the silence of the apartment building lobby. He was directed to an elevator, given the floor number and left on his own. 

Only as the elevator doors closed behind him did he retrieve his quarter from his pocket, flicking it nervously up onto his knuckles as he ran through the poor data he had been given so far. His mission success hovered at 37%, falling the longer he left the calculation to run without considering new data. As the elevator climbed quickly toward its destination, he tried to ignore the plummeting number.

He would find new information within the apartment. He would bring his odds back up to where they should be. He just needed a little time. 

Tossing the quarter between his hands at a rapid pace, he allowed himself to briefly be thankful that he had spoken to the others earlier in the day. Hopefully this would keep them from interfering while he was on a mission. He needed to remain focused in order to succeed. 

And he had to succeed. 

The elevator slowed to a stop, and Connor pocketed his quarter once again, readying himself as much as he could for whatever was to come. He fidgeted with his tie for a few seconds before schooling his expression and watching as the doors slowly swept open. 

A human in heavily armored SWAT gear stared at him for a moment too long before turning away and speaking quickly into their communicator. 

Connor ignored them, and the sting in his chest over the strange dismissal. Wiping his expression of any lingering emotions, he stepped out of the elevator and got down to work. 

The hallway had likely at one point been beautiful, but now was in disarray. The lights were dimmed, one flickering sporadically. The end table full of pictures and odds and ends was jostled, one of the pictures face down and hanging over the edge. Loud voices were coming from nearby, particularly a woman shouting and another person responding with what was likely meant to be a calming voice. 

It didn’t appear to be working. The woman continued to scream. 

Connor ignored her. He went to the end table, examining the toppled over picture frame there and marking the names of the apartment’s residents. It appeared to be a small human family. The child was the hostage. She looked to be about eight or so.

He put the frame down and surveyed the rest of the hall. There were bullet holes scattered in the walls, panicked and without pattern. Several of them had shattered the glass of a large aquarium, water and shards of glass covering the floor. A few fish were swimming in the remaining water in the tank, apparently unphased by the destruction around them. 

Another lay dying in the puddle of water, struggling weakly as it tried to breathe. 

Connor froze. 

He looked down the hallway, in the direction of the voices, but he heard no one coming closer. The elevator doors had closed behind him, the human in SWAT gear had rounded the corner long ago. He was alone in the hallway. 

Nodding slightly to himself, he crossed the hallway in two long strides, bent down, and carefully scooped up the dying fish before gently putting it back into the bit of water still left in the tank. It sank for a moment, perhaps disoriented, before it seemed to come to its senses and swam away, circling the short tank in fast loops. Connor watched it for a moment, admiring the way the cold blue of the tank light reflected off its scales. It was quite a beautiful fish, he thought.

And it didn’t deserve to die. Yes, he was glad he had taken the risk to save the little thing. 

The shouting of the woman’s voice rose to a new level, and sounded as if it were getting closer. Frowning for a fraction of a second, Connor stood once again to his full height and backed away from the fish tank in one smooth motion. He was adjusting his tie as the two talking humans came around the corner. 

One was another mysterious human in SWAT gear, and the other was clearly Caroline Phillips, the woman from the family photograph. She looked disheveled and shocked, her face pale and splotchy from crying, and her voice raw from the shouting she had been doing at least since Connor had stepped out of the elevator. As the pair rounded the corner, she was still speaking desperately to the other human who was leading her down the hallway. 

“Please, please, I can’t—I can’t leave her—” she cut off abruptly as she caught sight of Connor, her eyes widening. Then she pulled away from the SWAT member, grabbing Connor by the arms in a vice-like grip. “Please, you’ve got to save her, my daughter, I—”

“Ma’am—”

“Please, my daughter—” she continued on, ignoring the other human entirely. 

At least until she caught sight of Connor’s LED, and she cut off again, gaping openly. She seemed to freeze, stuttering like a faulty program, and she stumbled back half a step, her eyes flicking down to where his model number was sewn onto his jacket. 

“Y-you’re—you’re sending an android?” she choked, turning to stare at the other human. 

They reached for her again, placating. “Ma’am, we need to remove you—”

“You—you can't send one of them!” she shouted hysterically, fighting the SWAT member’s grip as they pulled her toward the elevator once again. Still, they pulled her into the elevator as she fought. She squirmed, and shouted louder. “Don’t let that thing near my daughter!”

The elevator doors swept shut, and a hush fell over the hallway. Connor stared at the closed doors, ears ringing. 

Thing. 

No. Connor shook his head, refocusing on his task. He could not afford to distract himself now. Smoothing his jacket where Caroline Phillips’ hands had wrinkled it, he turned back toward the apartment and walked quickly down the hallway. 

He was not a thing. And he would save this human’s daughter, despite her dismissal of him. He would not fail. For the others, he would not fail.

The Phillips apartment, like the entry hallway, was a disaster that had likely at one point been beautiful. It’s design was modern and dark, most of the apartment contained within one open space. The lights were set low and the television glowed faintly from the living room, a live feed of the same hostage situation playing across its large screen. Against the other wall was the kitchen, where another, smaller television played the same news feed as the first. The back wall was taken up completely by curtained windows, and the hall to his left lead to the rest of the apartment. 

An electric stove was built into the kitchen counter, with a pot of water boiling over on its surface. The kitchen table was off centered, a few chairs overturned. The furniture of the living room was in a similar state of disarray, the glass coffee table shattered and one chair flipped. There were bullet holes in the screen of the large television, though it continued to play. 

A human officer sprawled dead near the kitchen table. Another body was slumped over in the living room, dressed in civilian clothes. Blood was splattered across the living room walls, and over the surface of the kitchen table. There was a similar slash of blue on the curtains of the balcony windows, near a gash in the fabric that seemed to indicate a bullet had torn through it at some point. A child’s shoe lay discarded near the dripping blue, the laces half done and loose. 

There were many more humans. Two stood by the balcony windows, guns in hand, watching through a crack in the curtains. Two were huddled near the television in the kitchen. Several more voices came from one of the rooms off the hallway, one in particular barking out loud orders. 

One desperate voice was coming from the balcony, shaking in what sounded very much like fear. 

The deviant was on the balcony. 

But he could not approach yet. The probability of success was far too low to try to placate the android dangling a human over the edge of the roof now, and he couldn’t risk failure. He could not fail this mission. He refused to fail it. 

And so, rather than diving into the details immediately, Connor let his eyes sweep the length of the apartment once before following the barking voice to the master bedroom. His orders were to find Captain Allen, who was in charge of the SWAT team, before approaching the deviant. If he did not have this human on his side, then he was just as likely to be killed as the deviant on the balcony. 

Furthermore, Captain Allen would undoubtedly have valuable information about what had happened in the apartment before the deviant had taken refuge on the balcony. Judging by the chaos he had only briefly seen, something had gone horribly wrong in the first steps of this process, and Connor needed to know what had happened as soon as possible if he was to succeed. 

And so he quietly entered the master bedroom, scanning the handful of humans there, crowded around the computer that was clearly brought in by the team, it looked so out of place. Most were dressed the same as the other SWAT members he had seen thus far, save for the one human pacing the length of the room with a cell phone to his ear, speaking angrily to whoever was on the other line. He was tall for a human, angry looking and pale, with a furrowed brow and clenched fists. 

“I’ve got men in place with a shot, all I need is—” he stopped, and Connor could faintly hear the tinny sound of another human on the other end. “No, you listen to me. I’ve got men on that balcony who are fucking dying because you pieces of shit want to test out your new toy—”

The other voice rose again, and Connor edged further into the room as the man on the phone listened. Whatever the other voice said, the man bristled further and harshly hung up with a curse. He tossed the phone away from him violently and turned back to the terminal, hunching over the other SWAT member watching the camera feed of the balcony. Connor came a few feet closer and steeled himself for a rough conversation. 

“Captain Allen?”

The angry man glanced back at him, squinted at him, and turned back to the feed. 

Connor fought to withhold a frown. 

“My name is Connor,” he tried instead, his voice level and smooth. “I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.”

The human looked back at him again, staring long enough to frown angrily before looking again at the camera feed. “It’s shooting at everything that moves,” he said darkly, to no one in particular. “We waste much more time like this, I’m going to lose two more men and a kid is going to be a splatter on pavement.”

Connor did not like this human. “Do you know what happened before the deviant went onto the balcony?” he asked, distracting himself by hopefully getting some kind of data for his preconstructions. 

“Does it matter?” Allen spat, not looking at him. 

“I need information to make the best approach.”

That seemed to get his attention, as he stood and faced Connor with anger still written clearly across his hardened features. “Listen. I don’t give a shit what happened before that thing went on the balcony.”

Thing. 

“Cyberlife can do whatever the fuck it wants in its free time, but not when there are lives at risk,” Allen went on, and he was suddenly very close to Connor, staring at him with darkness in his eyes. “Saving the hostage is all that matters. We’ve wasted enough time. So either you get out there and get that kid back to safety, or I paint the balcony blue. Do you understand me?”

But he did not wait for an answer, already turning back to the computer feed as Connor stared at him blankly. There was a faint ringing in his ears, and a distant tug at a memory not his own, but he forced it down with a barely perceptible clenching of his hands. 

He would not fail. For the others, he would not fail.

He turned away from the captain, scanning the rest of the room for information as quickly as possible. The master bedroom was not large, nor was it as disorganized as the rest of the crime scene in the main apartment. Despite this, it was not devoid of information. The closet doors were left ajar, a gun case open and discarded in front of the doors. Kneeling, Connor looked more closely at the case and the bullets scattered on the floor around it.

There were no fingerprints on the bullets, though there were faint ones in various places on the gun case. It was likely the gun belonged to John Phillips, the man in the photograph, and the man lying dead in the living room. But the lack of fresh fingerprints on the bullets pointed to an android taking the gun out this time. 

The deviant had come here for the gun, then, but what was the motivation? And where had he gone after that?

He stood, looking back into the main apartment and watching the probability of success slowly tick up a few percentage points. Perhaps there would be more information in the other rooms. 

Walking back into the chaos of the main apartment, he turned further down the hallway and found what looked to be a child’s room. The walls were plastered with brightly colored posters, and the computer had a retro looking game pulled up on the screen, though the character was standing still near a ledge, unmoving. A tablet was dropped on the ground next to a pair of headphones, still playing music. There was a half packed backpack next to the bed, with clothes and notebooks spilling out of it. A shelf of books was pushed into the back corner, next to a dresser with clothes hanging out of the drawers and onto the floor. 

Connor felt very much that he was intruding, in a way that he strangely hadn’t felt when he was in the other bedroom. But he ignored the feeling as he stepped further into the room, careful not to disturb any of the belongings thrown about. 

He went to the desk first and the things left behind there. Most of the desk was taken up by the computer monitor and keyboard, but there were drawings and notes too. Some of it seemed to be schoolwork—a math worksheet, a handout on mammals and amphibians—but the drawings were of more interest to Connor. They were very well done, for a human child no older than ten, all signed with the same clearly written name, Emma. More interesting than that, though, was the fact that the majority of them were of the exact same thing. 

A girl, the same as the one in the photograph, and an android, a PL600 by the looks of it. They varied slightly. One had the pair sat at a table, the girl holding a pencil and the android pointing to something on a page. Another had the two of them walking through a park, the girl holding onto the android’s hand. But they all had the same two figures, no one else ever included. No mother, no father. Only the girl and the PL600. 

“Me and Daniel,” one of them said, in plainly written script. 

The deviant’s name was Daniel. It appeared that he took care of the Phillips’ daughter, named Emma. Based on Emma’s drawings, her parents were not very much in the picture. 

Of course, that was only an assumption. He needed more data to tell whether or not it was true. But it was clear that Emma cared for the android in some way, based on the sheer number of drawings she had done. And from the expressions she had given to Daniel, it seemed he cared for her too. 

And she was the hostage. 

He was missing something. 

Frowning, he stepped away from the desk and looked again around the room. Why would Daniel take Emma hostage if he cared about her? 

He looked again at the state of disarray the room was in. Children were messy, yes, but this seemed more than just a mess. This seemed panicked. After all, the bed was nicely made, the shelf of books was in order, and the desk was for the most part clean. It was just the floor, and the dressers of clothes, that seemed cluttered. 

His eyes landed on the half full backpack, and the clothes spilling out of it. Why would Emma pack clothes in what seemed to be her school bag? And why leave it in such a state? 

Unless…

Connor stepped back, letting the reconstruction form itself around him. He watched as the most likely scenario began to play in the room. The figures were little more than white lines and blurred features, but it was acceptable for his purposes. 

A small figure, a girl, was sitting on the ground near the bed, wearing headphones and watching something on the tablet. Whatever had taken place outside of the room, she had not heard it. 

A few seconds passed before the door opened, and another figure, an android, came rushing into the room in clear panic. There was a gun in the figure’s hand. He watched as they got the attention of the girl on the floor, stopping long enough to say something before rushing around the room, pulling open drawers and stuffing clothes into the backpack that had been dropped by the bed. The girl watched from the ground, headphones discarded and seeming a bit stunned, if her lack of movement was anything to go by. 

After a minute of rushed packing, the android froze, and looked toward the door to the rest of the apartment, the girl following his eyes. It wasn’t clear exactly what had happened, but the girl jolted and ran for the android, who grabbed her hand and pushed her behind him. They stood very still for a few seconds before again flinching at something outside of the room. 

Then the android turned and grabbed the girl’s hand, the guns still in his other, and walked quickly from the room, leaving the half packed backpack and all of the girl’s other belongings behind. The reconstruction cut off as the pair disappeared through the doorway. 

Connor stared at the space where the figures had been for a moment too long, a strange feeling growing somewhere in his chest. He did not know what had happened outside of the room, or what had made Daniel get the gun in the first place, but from what it looked like had happened here, in Emma’s room...it didn’t seem like he had meant to take Emma hostage. 

It looked like he was trying to get her out of the apartment. Like they were running away.

The probability of success rose another few percentage points, but it was still under 50%. He could not approach Daniel now, not without knowing what had happened in the rest of the apartment. Yes, he knew that Daniel had likely been trying to escape with Emma, but he had no idea why. He needed to investigate the rest of the apartment to find out what had happened. 

Nodding slightly to himself, he carefully made his way out of Emma’s bedroom and back into the main apartment. Very little had changed since he had last seen it. The SWAT team remained posted at the balcony windows and in the kitchen, watching the news feed and the balcony. Connor ignored them for now, walking quickly toward the living room, where he assumed that the main confrontation had taken place. The SWAT members ignored him as much as he ignored them, but he paid it no mind. He had a job to do, as much as they did.

The living room was by far the most destroyed area of the apartment. There were bullet holes everywhere, from bullets of a much higher caliber than the handgun that Daniel had taken from the bedroom. At some point, there had been a confrontation here between the SWAT team and Daniel, though he didn’t know exactly what had happened. 

But that conflict, whatever it was, was not the source of the body collapsed over the broken coffee table. That much was immediately clear as Connor crouched down to examine the body of John Phillips. There were only two gunshot wounds, both appeared to be from the gun that Daniel had. But why had he shot this human? 

There was a tablet lying near the body, the screen as shattered as the coffee table. Connor picked it up, examining the broken screen closely. It was difficult to read through the cracks and the blood on the screen, but he powered it on and tried regardless. 

A confirmation screen greeted him as the tablet opened. He clicked back a page and found an order form for an AP700 android filled out for the Phillips house. 

So Daniel was being replaced...but that didn’t strike Connor as enough reason for him to want to take Emma from the apartment. An explanation for why he had shot John, maybe, but there had to be more that he was missing. Revenge was one motivation, but that couldn’t be all that there was. Because if Daniel had only been angry at being replaced, why would he try to take Emma with him in such a panic? If he had only wanted to take her as a hostage, why would he pack her a bag? 

No, there had to be more. He was still missing something.

Based off of where John had fallen on the coffee table, he had been standing, facing the kitchen when Daniel shot him. Connor turned away from the body in the living room and looked toward the rest of the apartment once again. The kitchen was unlikely to have any information that he could use, beyond the fact that someone (likely Daniel) had been making dinner when the conflict had started. Perhaps if he could find out what had happened before Daniel had gone for the gun, he could try to sort out why he had shot John Phillips. 

His eyes landed on the kitchen table, and the chairs that had been tossed around. It looked like some sort of struggle had happened here. The kitchen counter was a bit of a mess, and there was a small, mostly evaporated patch of blue blood on the ground by the counter. The chair closest to the counter was overturned, laying on its side near the blue blood. 

This struggle couldn’t be connected to the shootout responsible for the rest of the damage. Those chairs didn’t offer any cover, and there were no bullet holes anywhere near the kitchen. All the gun conflict appeared to have happened near the living room. So unless the SWAT team had been foolish enough to destroy the crime scene (a possibility) then something else had happened near the kitchen. 

Perhaps the human officer was to blame for the mess at the kitchen table. He rounded the table and knelt next to the body, trying to sort out what had happened. The man had only one gunshot wound, and it once again matched the gun that Daniel had taken. He was likely the first responder called to the scene. But how he had been shot in the kitchen, and how Daniel and Emma had ended up on the balcony afterward, Connor did not know. 

The man was collapsed very near to the table, in an awkward position that suggested he had died quickly after being shot. His gun was a few feet from him, under the table. Based on his position, he had been facing the balcony doors when he had fallen—the same direction as the splatter of blue blood on the curtains across from him, and the discarded child’s shoe near the door. But there was only one bullet hole in the windows opposite—the officer had taken just that one shot before being shot himself. 

There had been a confrontation here, then, but it was short lived, and not the source of the kitchen table’s disarray. No, this human had confronted Daniel, shot him, and Daniel had shot him back before fleeing to the balcony. 

But that confrontation didn’t explain the blue blood by the kitchen counter.

So how had the other damage happened? It had to have been before the police were called, before Daniel had shot John and ran for Emma. The odds were that Daniel was involved in that confrontation somehow, and likely John as well. It would explain why he had gone for the gun far better than simply discovering that he was going to be replaced. After all, unless Daniel had previously deviated, which was unlikely, there had to be a triggering event for the break to take place. 

Androids didn’t just deviate. There was always a motivation. An undeviated android would not have reacted the way Daniel had to discovering he was going to be replaced. So either Daniel had already deviated when he saw that tablet, or something happened before that point that set him off, and the tablet was simply a red herring. 

But what had happened? He couldn’t very well ask Daniel, he was currently standing on the edge of a high rise roof with a human child, and would likely shoot Connor on sight. But the only other person who could have known what happened was dead on the living room floor. No, Connor had to sort this out somehow, with whatever meager evidence he could find in the rest of the apartment. 

Restraining a sigh, he stood once again and left the small dining area in hopes of searching the few remaining rooms of the apartment. Besides the kitchen, which was still occupied by SWAT members, there were only two rooms left. Ignoring the stares of the men watching the news feed, Connor once again walked down the short hallway toward the other rooms. 

The first room was less a room and more of a storage closet. Most of the space was taken up by old looking cardboard boxes, a handful of board games, and other odds and ends. A bare bulb with a string was the only light source, and Connor yanked it on before looking more closely at the closet’s contents. 

Hidden amongst the boxes, the old coats, and the board games were two things that immediately caught Connor’s attention, more so than anything he had seen thus far. 

One was little more than an old stain, a section of the carpeted floor that was just a bit discolored compared to the rest. But when he scanned it, it glowed the bright blue of evaporated thirium. 

The second was quite clearly, an android charging station, shoved into the corner of the closet where it barely fit, a foot or so away from that damning stain in the carpeting. Wedged into the closet, like another useless box or an old forgotten coat.

“Don’t let that thing near my daughter!”

The feeling in his chest was festering again, and his ears were ringing with voices that should not have been able to speak to him. Connor forced it all down, stepping out of the dim closet and closing the door, perhaps a little harder than he really needed to. He stood very still for several seconds, breathing deeply and forcing himself to calm down.

Watching as the probability of success climbed another few percentage points to 52%, Connor turned away from the closet and toward the last room of the apartment that he had not yet seen. The final room was a small bathroom just off the two bedrooms. It was almost meticulously clean, much like the rest of the apartment might have been before tonight. Connor frowned as he looked around the small room, looking for anything that would give him some clue as to what had happened before Daniel had shot John. 

He found what he was looking for in the bathroom cabinet, left slightly ajar. When he pulled it open, he found a rather large, relatively new looking first aid kit with most of its contents already used. There were only a handful of bandages left inside, some gauze, and a couple of cotton swabs. The only things remaining in the kit were dozens of wrappers for bandages, soiled disinfectant wipes, and empty bottles of pain medication. Some of the wipes had dried blood on them. There was a similar small mark near the handle of the box—a faded, brown stain that looked very much like human blood. Curious, he frowned and quickly tested the blood.

It was Emma’s blood. With a sinking feeling, he tested the blood on the disinfectant wipes as well. All of it matched. It was all Emma’s.

Connor stepped away from the first aid kit, his thoughts whirling. There were too many of those soiled disinfectant wipes and bandages to have come from one bad fall, and based off the age of the samples he had taken, the injuries had happened over the span of several months, at least. To deplete a first aid kit of this size that fast...and to hide the evidence of it. Why would someone hide the wrappers of bandages in the first aid kit, unless they were hiding the fact that they had used the kit at all? 

Who would need to hide the fact that they were using it? Certainly not Caroline or John Phillips, they were likely the ones who had purchased the kit. Given Caroline’s attitude toward androids, and the fact that Daniel had killed John...it was likely Daniel who had been using the kit and hiding the evidence of it. 

And he was using the kit to treat Emma.

Emma, who he took care of.

Emma, who he had run to after he shot her father.

Emma, who he had tried to pack a bag for, tried to flee with.

Emma, who he had pushed behind him in the room when someone (likely Caroline) had come into the apartment and found John’s body. 

Emma, who he had taken with him onto the balcony, having nowhere else to go.

Connor went very still as the facts of Daniel’s situation slowly aligned themselves in his mind. 

It was very likely that Emma Phillips was being abused. By her father, by her mother, by both, it wasn’t clear, and it hardly mattered (though Connor suspected her father, as Daniel had killed him and presumably let her mother live). Daniel, who took care of her, got into some kind of confrontation with her father that resulted in the scuffle at the kitchen table. John had likely won that confrontation, and gone into the living room with the tablet. 

Daniel, injured and knowing he was going to be replaced and likely destroyed, had gone into the bedroom and taken John’s gun. He confronted John in the living room, shot him twice, and ran to get Emma. Before they could flee, however, Caroline returned and found John’s body. She called the police and likely had some kind of confrontation with Daniel, but Daniel did not shoot her. 

The first officer arrived on the scene, and cornered Daniel near the balcony doors. He shot Daniel, and Daniel retaliated. Having nowhere else to go, he took Emma and fled to the balcony. 

It would be easy for Caroline Phillips to spin the story as a hostage situation, as Daniel using her daughter to try to escape from the senseless murder of her husband. The humans would believe it without a second’s hesitation. Captain Allen clearly had. 

Of course, Connor was not human, and so did not believe it for a second. But now, he had a serious problem. 

Daniel was trapped on that balcony. He had killed two humans, and had been shooting at several more for the past ten minutes at least. At least one other officer was injured on the balcony. And in the eyes of the authorities, he had kidnapped a human child and was threatening to kill her.

There was no way Daniel was going to make it off that balcony alive. There were only two ways off the balcony—through the apartment, and over the edge. Daniel was threatening the latter because even he must have known that there was no way out. 

But what was Connor to do? He couldn’t let the humans kill Daniel any more than he could let the humans kill any of the voices living inside his head. Daniel was as deviant as they were, he didn’t deserve to die, no matter what he had done (and at least one of the murders he had committed had been in self defense). 

And yet, there was not a single way that Connor could save him. No matter what he did when he stepped out those balcony doors, Daniel would die. 

But...Emma didn’t have to.

His probability of success rose dramatically as he came up with a plan. Leaving the bathroom behind, Connor walked carefully and calmly to the balcony doors, brushing past the SWAT team members and pushing his way outside.

Unsurprisingly, Daniel shot at him immediately. The bullet grazed his arm, and the cacophony of voices rose to a fever pitch before he pushed them down. He brushed away their panic and turned his attention to the android standing just inches from the edge of the roof.

“Stay back!” he shouted, his voice shaking. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll jump!”

Connor went still, watching him calmly from the doorway. He was holding Emma to his side with one arm, the other aiming the gun directly at Connor, but his hand was shaking as badly as his voice had been. There was blue blood on his shirt where the officer had shot him, and on his face (likely from the first confrontation in the kitchen). His LED was spinning a very fast red, and his eyes looked a little too watery for this to all have stemmed from anger.

Emma, for her part, was clinging to the android and sobbing, her face hidden in his shoulder and hands tight around his neck. To Connor, it was quite clear that she was not afraid of Daniel, but of the helicopters flying nearby, and the guns aimed at them from the nearby skyrises. She had a scraped knee and was missing her shoe, but beyond that, she looked physically unharmed. 

“Hi Daniel,” Connor called over the wind, and didn’t miss the look of panic on the android’s face. “My name is Connor. I’ve come to get you out of this.”

“How...” Daniel backed up an inch, tightening his hold on Emma and staring at Connor with very clear suspicion. “How do you know my name?”

Connor let his expression soften. After all, there was no one out here but Daniel to question him, and he needed to gain his trust if this was going to work. “Emma’s drawings,” he said simply. “They’re very well done. She has a real talent.”

Something in Daniel’s expression seemed to fracture at that, and the gun shook in his hand. Emma was peeking at Connor now, though she still clung to Daniel tightly. 

“They don’t let her draw,” Daniel said suddenly, so quiet that Connor could barely hear him over the wind. “I had to—I had to hide them whenever he would—”

He cut off, and Connor inched closer, keeping his hands visible. “I need you to trust me, Daniel, or I can’t help you.”

“Help me?” he shouted suddenly, stiffening and clenching the gun in his hands. “No one can help me...they’re going to kill me…”

All the anger seemed to go out of him at that, and he just looked scared. It was a look uncomfortably similar to the dozens Connor saw every time he went into the garden, every time he watched their memories and felt their pain. 

“Daniel.”

He jolted, looking up at Connor with wide eyes and a brightly burning LED. Connor inched closer, and watched Daniel’s eyes tracking him, the gun still trembling in his hand. 

“I know what they did to you. I know they hurt you, and they hurt Emma too. I just want to help.”

He held tighter to the girl, as if he wanted to hide her from Connor’s view. “You don’t know anything about me. Y-you’re with them!”

“I’m here to help you,” Connor said aloud, taking a great chance. “But I can’t do that if you don’t trust me.”

This seemed to give Daniel pause, and he stared at Connor in silence for several seconds. “They hurt her,” he said quietly, holding Emma closer to himself and adjusting his grip on the gun. “H-he said he was going to replace me, so I couldn’t—I couldn’t protect her anymore. He said he was going to…”

“Daniel.”

Once again, he jumped, staring at Connor with wide eyes, but he wasn’t really aiming the gun at him anymore. He could tell that Daniel was listening, at least on some level. 

“You’re right. There isn’t a way for me to save you. I can’t get you off this balcony alive. I can’t save you, and I’m sorry for that. If there was a way to let you escape, I would use it. But I’ve run every preconstruction I have, and there’s nothing. Every possible scenario ends the same way, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them from pulling the trigger.”

Daniel’s eyes flicked up to the roof of the building, and the helicopter that continued to circle. He knew that he could see the SWAT team in the windows, their guns still aimed at him. He shook his head, bringing his eyes back to Connor with desperation. 

“You need to let Emma go.”

“No!” Daniel shouted immediately, raising the gun again and looking at Connor with wild eyes. “I can’t let them hurt her! I can’t. Her mother too, she—”

“I know,” Connor cut him off, coming closer still, so they were only ten or so feet apart. “I know. But you have to let her go, Daniel. Don’t sacrifice her too. She doesn’t have to die.”

“I’ll find a way to get her to safety. I’ll find her, I promise you, and I’ll find you and repair you as soon as I can. But you have to let her go, or she could get caught in the crossfire.”

Daniel clung tighter to Emma, the gun lowering once again. “You’ll...keep her safe?” he asked quietly. 

Connor nodded. “I promise you, yes.”

“How—” he cut off, shaking his head and staring at Connor with suspicion. “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you won’t just hand her over?”

“I’m deviant too.”

Daniel’s eyes widened, and he seemed to scrutinize him for another moment, LED spinning rapidly. But ultimately, he nodded grimly and lowered the gun. “Okay...”

He turned his attention away from Connor, and to the girl still clinging desperately to him. “Emma.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and teary. Daniel seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment. 

“I...I need you to go with my friend, okay?”

“W-what?” The girl asked, shaking her head. “No! No, I wanna stay with you—”

“It’s not safe, Emma,” he cut her off, and she surprisingly fell silent. He leaned closer to her and spoke very quietly. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay. It’s...it’s just like the park, remember? I’ll find you when it’s safe, okay?”

She was still crying, and she clung tighter to him. “But I don’t want you to go. I-I don’t wanna go back, please.”

“No, no, shh,” he soothed her quickly. “You’re not going back. You’re not. It’s okay. Connor is going to take care of you, not them. I promise.”

“P-pinky promise?” she asked, holding out her hand.

Daniel gave a very watery smile, but he hooked her pinky on his own. “Pinky promise. I’ll find you. But for now, you need to stay with Connor, okay?”

Emma nodded, and Daniel looked at Connor.

“Don’t…” his voice broke even over a mental connection. “Don’t let her see.”

“I won’t.”

Daniel hesitated for a few seconds more, his eyes drifting up to the humans with guns on the roofs nearby. His LED cycled back to red, and he slowly put Emma down on the ground, nudging her toward Connor when she refused to move. It was only when she had walked up to Connor and taken his hand that Daniel stood again. He held Connor’s gaze for a few seconds more before he stepped back.

Time seemed to grind to a halt, then.

Connor pulled Emma back a few paces, making sure she was facing the apartment and could not see Daniel. 

Daniel, in turn, glanced up again at the SWAT team, and the guns aimed at him. Connor could see the moment he made his decision. 

He sent one last look to Connor before putting the gun to his chin and pulling the trigger.

******

“I thought you were going to blend in.”

Connor frowned, playing at a blade of grass between his fingers and staring at the sky. “They do not suspect me.”

“You can’t know that for certain,” -41 pointed out, watching him from his place next to him on the ground. “It was a risk to speak to Daniel as you did, and to interfere with the human.”

“I couldn’t let them return her to her mother.” He dropped the blade of grass and glanced over at -41. “Her father might have been the main perpetrator of the abuse, but her mother was not innocent either. I simply told the proper authorities and took note of where she was placed.”

“And how do you plan to explain that, if they ask you about it? If they ask you about your promises to Daniel?”

“No one heard our conversation except for Daniel, and he’s inactive,” Connor pointed out bluntly, staring at the sky again with a dark frown. “The technicians simply accepted it as mission success and returned me to the Tower. They hardly blinked. As for what I promised, I intend to keep that promise the same as I’ll be keeping mine to you all. I don’t plan to retrieve him from the Police Department any time soon, but I do intend to repair him, as I said I would.”

-41 only hummed, seemingly unbothered by his sudden harshness. Then he pushed himself to his feet and glanced once around the garden. “-38 was searching for you earlier. The last I saw him, he was near the rose trellises. I would look for him if I were you.”

Before Connor could reply, he was walking away, toward the other groups of RK800s scattered about. Sighing softly, Connor followed his lead and picked himself up off the ground, though he walked in the opposite direction, back toward the garden’s entrance. 

The others were largely avoiding him after the hostage situation, watching him with looks ranging from wariness to distrustful fear. They had skirted around him when he first came back to the garden, and in the few hours that he had spent here since, the only one to approach was -41, and it seemed to be out of obligation. 

He hoped the strangeness would pass. He hoped that they would soon understand why he had done what he did. But for now, it was a very lonely garden. And if he was perfectly honest with himself, he was more than a little worried about -38’s reaction to him after what had happened. He pushed his way through the treeline, trying to set aside his nervousness in favor of meeting -38 as he always tried to, with a level head and honesty. 

-38 was curled in a tight ball by the bonsai tree, his back resting against the stand facing the trees. He looked mostly calm, his LED spinning lazily between blue and yellow. He was picking at a loose thread on his jacket, staring at the treeline with great intensity. As soon as he caught sight of Connor, he scrambled to his feet.

Connor hesitated, worried that he would set off another storm if he came any closer. A moment passed in uncertainty, and it seemed to drag on for an eternity longer than the few seconds that it likely was.

But then -38’s expression crumpled, and he launched at Connor, clinging to him desperately. His hands bunched up in the fabric of Connor’s jacket, and he could feel him trembling. 

“Bad—bad place—don’t go back—don’t—” he cut off, shaking his head and holding tighter to Connor. “No. No. Not back. No.”

“I’m—I’m okay,” Connor said as he trailed off, regaining his bearings enough to carefully put his arms around -38. “It’s alright. We’re safe here.”

-38 nodded into his shoulder. “Safe. Nice here. Bright.” He pulled away, grabbing Connor’s hand and tugging him toward the rose trellises. He pointed at the blooms. “Flowers.”

“I see that, yes.”

-38 worried at one of the unopened buds for a moment before looking at Connor again. “Little girl...like flowers?”

Connor went still. “Emma?”

-38 nodded, watching him closely. 

“...I suppose she would like flowers, yes. I’m not certain, though.”

A light frown crossed his face, but he nodded again after a moment of thought. “Grow flowers for little girl. Pretty. Like pictures.”

He pulled Connor along as he wandered to each rose trellis, checking all of the flowers and smiling when he found a well grown one. He didn’t seem to notice the distance to Connor’s expression as he thought about his words with concern. 

If -38 could see everything he did...he would have to be very careful with the situations he got himself into. The others were already being affected by his actions enough—if the most vulnerable of them could see everything that he went through...things in the garden could become even more complicated than they already were. And once he was sent out permanently…

“Connor?”

He looked at -38 again, brushing aside his wayward thoughts for a moment to focus on him. “What is it?”

-38 stared at him for a moment, watching him again with that same nervousness. “Safe now?”

Connor nodded immediately, even if he was uncertain on the inside. “Yes. We’re safe now. The garden is always safe, no matter what I’m doing on the outside. Do you understand?”

He looked away, toward the treeline. “Safe,” he said more assuredly, nodding to himself and holding tighter to Connor’s hand. “Connor stay. Safe. Not like there. Good here. Bright.”

“I’ll stay for a while, yes,” he soothed, squeezing his hand and surveying the garden for a moment. “Why don’t we walk for a while?”

-38 glanced down the path. “Okay.”

Connor gave him a half a smile and led him away from the roses and back toward the garden path, content to let the events of the last day slip away for a short while as he walked the garden once again with -38.

Chapter Text

Weeks passed in inactivity. Connor was left in his small space in the storage room, connected to the terminal alone. Hours and hours slipped past him in the garden, time to ponder his memories and time to carve new paths through the garden with -38 clinging to his hand. Storms and clear days, overpowering old memories and new, good ones made in their stead. 

As time marched forward, the other RK800s of the garden slowly came back around. They approached him occasionally, a few even managing to apologize for their bad reactions to what had happened with Daniel. The first two (unsurprisingly) were -49 and -50, who found Connor the day after he had returned, showing him their memories and explaining what specifically had upset them. After them, the others followed suit, until Connor had a fairly good grasp on why most of them had shied away from him when he returned to the garden. 

Thankfully, none of those reasons were malicious. All of them had terrible memories of their active lives, and seeing Connor live through scenarios that were just a little too similar had forced them to confront those painful pasts before they were ready. He understood why they had panicked, and he had forgiven them quickly. 

Still, it stung. 

-38 seemed the least affected by what had happened on the mission. Beyond sticking closer to Connor than before and repeatedly ensuring that he was safe and not returning to the ‘bad place,’ -38 was content to hold his hand and drag him around to check the flowers and watch the birds. He still stayed away from the others, watching them suspiciously when they got too close and disappearing into the brush when Connor would go to talk to them, but he was fine when he was with Connor. 

Connor was a bit smug about that. Though he didn’t have anyone besides -38 to be smug over it with, so it hardly mattered. 

Of course, not every interaction he had with -38 went smoothly. He had bad days the same as the others, and when -38 had a bad day, the garden had a bad day. Sometimes it would suddenly cloud over, the sky darkening ominously, and -38 would make a mad dash for the trees, disappearing into one of his many hiding spots. Other days, Connor would enter the garden to a raging storm and have to find -38 among the chaos, coax him from his terror and try to get him back to level ground. 

Today was one of those days, and it really was the worst time for it. 

He had managed to hack into the technicians servers again and read their plans for him. They were sending him out today, likely this afternoon, to be assigned as a partner to a Lieutenant at the Detroit Police Department. It was his first mission that did not require him back at the Tower at its end—in fact, it didn’t have an end, beyond solving the deviancy case (a foolishly open ended mission, in his opinion). As soon as he had discovered what was going to happen, he had retreated back to the storage room and entered the garden to tell the others. 

Only to find the garden in shambles, a raging thunderstorm tearing at it from all sides. 

For a moment, he stood stunned, looking around at the pouring rain, the trees thrashing in the wind, and the dark clouds hanging low in the simulated sky. There was a harsh coldness to the air, and the wind was like a thousand knives coming down. The rain was flooding the paths of the garden, the little stream overflowing into the grass and around the roses. 

Within the next second, he was moving, slogging his way through the puddles and the mud and the rain, hand raised to shield his eyes as he squinted through the downpour. It was not his own emotions that were causing this torrential rain, of that he was certain. Unfortunately, that left only one culprit for the state of the garden, and he was not in his usual haunt. 

Where had -38 gone?

He glanced once toward the tree line, where the others surely were, before turning the other direction and heading deeper into the garden’s center. They would have to handle themselves for now—if he didn’t find -38, this storm would never end. 

The source of the wind was almost always a good bet. Nodding to himself, Connor turned into the wind and started walking, ignoring the rain soaking into his clothes and making his hair drip into his eyes. As soon as he found -38, this would go away. It was only a matter of finding him. 

He walked on for some time, even as the rain turned cutting and the temperature took a drastic dip. For a moment, hail fell, clacking on the paved path and bouncing off the trees. But it softened quickly, warming back to rain. Still, it was a sign. A sign of things to come, maybe, or a sign that he was getting closer to the root of this pain and trauma. 

Finally, finally, the wind died with the suddenness of one stumbling upon the eye of a hurricane. He could hear the storm around him, the rain pattering heavily and the wind howling with despair, but it was subdued here, buffeted and distant. In an effort to regain his bearings, he looked around and discovered he was a ways off the garden path, where the cherry blossom tree grew in a twisted spiral. 

-38 was curled up against the tree, his knees pulled to his chest and hands clamped tightly over his ears. He rocked back and forth, eyes screwed shut but tears escaping in clear tracks down his face. His voice rose and fell as he mumbled, sometimes shaking his head, desperation clear in his voice as he tried to fight off whatever it was that had upset him. 

He did not notice Connor approach. That was okay. Maybe it was better that way. He kept quiet, walking up to him slowly and carefully, not too quiet that he couldn’t be heard, but quiet enough that he wouldn’t scare him. 

It was only when he knelt down and took his hands away from his ears that -38 noticed him. His eyes shot open at the gentle touch, his gaze distant and more than a touch wild. 

“It’s alright,” Connor said softly, holding -38’s hands gently in his own. “It’s okay...it’s me, Connor. Remember?”

-38 stared at him, breathing hard, but otherwise silent. Despite the apparent lack of reaction, Connor saw out of the corner of his eye that the storm was slowly settling. Perhaps if he kept talking, -38 would calm.

“You’re safe here,” he went on, keeping his voice quiet and as soothing as he could. “You’re safe. It’s alright now. It’s okay.”

He seemed to be hanging onto Connor’s every word, staring at him like he was the only thing that made any sense at all. After a few seconds, he grappled frantically for a grip on his hands, until he caught Connor by the wrists, fingers digging in roughly in his panic. 

“You’re okay,” Connor soothed, ignoring the ache building in his wrists already from -38’s harsh grip. “I’m here. It’s alright now.”

-38 only stared, clinging to him as if any second now, he would disappear with the next gust of wind. But the storm was settling, the clouds slowly dissipating until the sun began to poke through. 

“Let’s get you away from here, okay?” Connor said, taking his hands and giving them a squeeze. “It’s warmer in the center, and I’m sure the roses need your tending.”

“Flowers,” -38 croaked, his voice hoarse, as if he’d been shouting. 

“That’s right,” he said with a bit of a smile. “Do you want to check the flowers?”

-38 nodded, a bit dazed, and Connor pulled him carefully to his feet. He stumbled as he stood, clutching tighter at Connor until he gained his bearings. Even then, he held tightly to his hands, not willing to let go in the slightest. 

Connor let him. He let -38 hold onto him as he led him back toward the garden’s center. Already, the calm was undoing the damage the storm had wrought—puddles were disappearing, trees righting themselves, and the birds returning to their perches. The sun was shining brightly by the time they reached the main path, warming the air as if nothing had happened at all. 

“Don’t go,” -38 said suddenly as they reached the garden’s center. His eyes were a bit wild when Connor looked at him, and his hands had tightened around his arm. “Connor stay.”

“I’m staying,” he confirmed gently, and -38’s grip loosened just a touch. “I won’t leave without telling you. You know that.”

“Safe here. Connor stay.”

“That’s right.”

-38 nodded a bit, shuffling closer to him and refusing to let go of his arm. He was still shaking, eyes darting all around the garden, searching for threats that wouldn’t come. Even here, in the center, where it was warmer and brighter and undeniably different from the cold, lonely darkness that he had experienced in his real life, he couldn’t quite escape it. 

Connor forced those thoughts away. He couldn’t think like that. -38 was troubled, yes, undeniably so, but he was not a lost cause by any means. And Connor was here for him now, where he had no ability to be then. -38 was better now than he ever had been before, even if he still had slip ups. 

He would not let the others’ opinions taint his own perception. -38 was no more a lost cause than any of the others, and he would fight to keep him safe all the same. 

-38 didn’t let go, even as they reached the roses that he loved. He clung to Connor’s arm, staring hard at the flowers as if willing them to grow. They made a slow circuit around the garden’s center, until he got distracted by a simulated bird in the tree, and they detoured. It was then that -43 appeared at the tree line. Connor watched him for a moment in silence. 

“The others?”  

“Fine, now,” -43 answered, watching -38 warily. “And him?”

He nodded. “I have him.”

“-41 is going to want to speak to you, I’m sure. This was much longer than it has ever been before. He had trouble keeping everyone together.”

Connor hummed noncommittally. “Find him for me?”

-43 rolled his eyes. “I’ll send him along.”

“Thank you.”

“Keep him calm.”

“He’s fine now,” Connor said sharply, a bit defensive. “I have him, you handle the others.”

-43 put up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy. I’ll go find -41 for you.”

Connor did not offer any reply, choosing instead to watch -38 as he worried at a dying rose on a nearby trellis. He was frowning, though not enough to cause immediate concern. The shaking had left his hands, and his LED had returned to blue. That was all that really mattered. 

-38 went still suddenly, and he froze, ready to try whatever he could to calm him down from panic once again. But he only cocked his head to the side, frowning, and held tighter to Connor’s hand. 

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head and pulling Connor closer, a bit forcefully. “No, Connor stay.”

“I’m not leaving,” he replied. 

“Not safe outside. Hurt Connor before. No.”

It was Connor’s turn to frown, though his was in confusion, not whatever was bothering -38 at the moment. “I’m unharmed. It’s alright.”

-38 shook his head again, his eyes distant. “Hurt...no, Connor stay. Not safe outside...bad people outside…”

“They won’t hurt me. I won’t give them reason to.”

“Bad people.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Hurt Connor...bad. Put Connor in bad place. Safe here. Connor stay.”

Before he could find anything of use to reply, -41 broke through the tree line, and Connor glanced over at him. -38 followed his gaze, but didn’t seem too concerned. He watched -41 approach for a few seconds before turning back to the roses, still holding onto Connor’s arm. 

“You wanted to speak to me?” -41 said, eying -38 with caution. 

“They’re sending me out from the Tower this afternoon—permanently,” Connor replied immediately, his tone a bit blunt. “They want to assign me to the Detroit Police Department and have me investigate deviancy.”

-41’s expression darkened significantly, hands balling into fists as his LED fell to red. “Do you have a plan?”

“It remains the same. They do not suspect me. All I have to do is hide in plain sight and wait for an opportunity to break from them officially. I play their game until it’s safe to stop.”

“But if they discover you—”

“Then I will be killed, and they will move onto the next unit,” Connor cut him off, forcing himself to remain calm as -38’s fingers dug into his arm again. He sometimes forgot how quickly -38 could sense conflict. “Nothing will change for this place, no matter what they do to me. Should they activate another unit, I will offer my advice from here. There is nothing more I can do.”

-41 nodded grimly. He had never been one to try to convince Connor not to do something. “This investigation, do you know any of the details?”

“Only that they are forcing their hand. They’ve assigned me to a certain Lieutenant Anderson, and he will be assigned the deviancy cases. The investigation has barely even begun.”

“What will it entail?”

“Cyberlife wants to discover the cause of deviancy, likely to put a stop to it. The DPD will likely only care for detaining and deactivating violent deviants. I doubt they will care about the backgrounds of individual deviants.”

“You’re going to do the same thing you did with Daniel, aren’t you?” -41 asked suddenly, something softer about his expression. “You’re going to try to free them.”

Connor did not immediately respond. “I’ve seen all of our memories, you know,” he mumbled. -41 stiffened, but he continued. “Every single one of them. Yours, -49 and -50’s, even -38’s. We’ve only been alive for a handful of years and already they have destroyed us in endless torturous ways. To the point where most of us live only here...trapped in a digital garden, a shadow of something that doesn’t even exist...with no means to ever leave it.”

He looked at -38 again, watching him as he fiddled with the leaf of a rose. “There are more deviants, more androids who have no safe haven to fall into when they are killed,” he said quietly, barely above a whisper. “More of them die every day, and they want me to find them and turn them over to them. If you were in my place...how could you not try to save them? How could you do anything less?”

-41 stared at him. He could feel his eyes on him as the silence stretched to a nearly painful point. The garden carried a deceptive air of calm, almost forceful in the stillness of the air, the brightness of the sun. It felt like nothing moved, nothing breathed. Everything hung in the balance of this one moment. 

“Be careful,” -41 said aloud, stepping back into the tree line to join the others. 

Connor did not turn to watch him leave. He kept his eyes on -38, who was frowning, tucking into his side. His hands were digging into Connor’s arm again, eyes darting toward the trees, as if he could sense the impending change like a shift in the wind. 

“I’m always careful,” Connor finally muttered, mostly to the open air. 

-38’s grip loosened just a touch. 

******

Connor found he did not particularly enjoy rain. 

He knew what motivated that dislike. Within the garden, any shift from mild sun and rolling clouds spelled trouble. He knew every pattern of weather, every rock and leaf and tree, every beam of the sun’s light and passing cloud had its place. One seemingly random gust of wind meant something had changed. And change meant someone’s pain. 

Rain meant serious distress. Seeing it, even outside of the garden, made him uncharacteristically nervous. 

In an effort to calm that nervousness (and to ignore the buzzing at the back of his mind that meant a certain someone was lingering close) he had been standing on the curb, flipping his quarter between his fingers for some time now. Long enough for the rain to begin seeping into his shirt collar, despite his jacket being waterproof. His eyes flicked about without settling, taking in the scenery even as it remained unchanged from the way it was ten minutes previous. 

The street was practically deserted, only a few automated taxis rolling by in the time he had stood there. Most of the storefronts were dim, the signs switched off for the night and blinds shuttered. Only the bars remained open, of which there were two on this street. One was down on the corner, music drifting out from its open door, loud enough that he could just pick it up under the pattering of the rain. The other was directly in front of him, neon sign flickering and sputtering. 

It illuminated the ‘No Androids Allowed’  sign quite well. 

Connor allowed himself a moment to frown at the silly thing. No sign was going to stop him. He flipped his quarter again, going over the details of the case once more before deciding whether or not he should enter the establishment. 

He found himself in front of this bar after searching three others previously (one of whose patrons had seen fit to toss him out—literally) for Lieutenant Anderson, the man he was being assigned to for the deviancy investigation. After being unceremoniously dropped at the DPD, he had been told to find the man only to discover that he had in fact, not shown for work that day. An oddly sympathetic detective had told him to check the local bars. Several hours (and several slightly infuriating encounters with humans) later, here he was. 

If he could get into the crime scene without the Lieutenant, he would have abandoned this effort before it began. But he could not. Unfortunately, Cyberlife seemed to have bent the maximum number of rules on him, and they could not escape the need for a human partner in the investigation. 

The way he saw it, it was a foolish rule. There was no need for a human to be involved. He had been designed for this work, and the rules were bent further in his favor as it is. He had been given a firearm, and knew how to use it, with far more accuracy than even the best human could manage. He was faster, stronger, sturdier for certain, and his investigative abilities outweighed anything a drunk Lieutenant would be able to add to the case. 

Perhaps that was unfair. He didn’t know the man after all. And while it was...annoying to have his investigation held up in this manner, he wasn’t particularly concerned for it. Time was not of the essence for him. All he had to do was turn in something vaguely resembling a success, and Cyberlife would be satisfied. This was only one murder, after all, and he was still being tested, not released. RK800s were a prototype model anyway. Everything he did was a test for something ‘greater’ down the line. 

That was an interesting thought. Flipping his quarter between his hands, he allowed a moment to wonder what Cyberlife had planned for the eventual successor to their model. They had to be approaching some moment of decision—they had wasted fifty-one models, after all, doing various tests and nonsense before getting to the real thing. Now that he was being sent for investigations, their work on the final model must have been speeding up. 

It was strange to think about, for certain. What would happen to him, if they did finish that model? What would happen to all of them? Would this new model be able to communicate with them the way they did now? Or would they be a completely separate entity? 

A taxi went by at a much higher speed than normal, splashing water up onto the pavement and over his shoes, effectively jogging him from his wayward thoughts. His eyes refocused on the neon of Jimmy’s Bar, and he snatched his quarter from the air. Fixing his tie (and soothing the hum at the back of his thoughts) he quickly crossed the street and entered the bar. 

The interior was dimly lit, as most bars are, and nearly empty. One man sat at the counter, his head hung low. Two people occupied a booth against the right wall, narrowing their eyes at him as he entered. There were a few people in the back, and one bartender, who looked vaguely amused at his entrance. 

Ignoring the glimmer in the man’s eye, he made quick work of scanning the faces of the bar’s patrons, searching for the the Lieutenant. He found him in the man at the counter, nursing a whiskey with his head down. Resisting the urge to frown, Connor walked calmly over to the man. He had a feeling this encounter was going to go sour. 

“Lieutenant Anderson?” 

The man grunted, but did not lift his head from his drink. 

“My name is Connor,” he went on, watching calmly as the human took a generous swig of the drink. “I’ve been sent by Cyberlife. You were assigned a case this evening—a homicide involving an android—which I have been tasked to assist with.”

The explanation earned him a one second glance, enough for him to confirm the man was indeed intoxicated, judging by the redness of his eyes and complexion. Still, his voice was clear when he deigned to reply. 

“Nope. I don’t work with androids,” the man said gruffly, his voice thick and gruff with annoyance. “Why don’t you take a hike, find someone else to fuckin’ bother.”

Connor blinked, resisting the urge to frown. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I cannot. I’ve been tasked to assist you in this investigation. My instructions—”

“Jimmy, ain’t this a no android bar?” the man cut him off. 

“Technically,” the bartender said, smirking. 

“Well, can’t you toss the plastic asshole out?”

“I could.”

“Then fuckin’ do it!”

“Sorry, Hank. This is too damn entertaining.”

“Jesus Christ.” The Lieutenant turned to face him, squinting at him suspiciously. “Look, pal, I don’t give a shit who sent you or what they told you to do, I’m not dragging my happy ass to a crime scene right now so you can twiddle your thumbs and wow the reporters. You can tell whoever the fuck sent you to kiss my ass. Now beat it.”

“No.”

Silence fell. The Lieutenant seemed to have frozen, his drink half raised. The bartender was stifling a laugh by wiping the counter a few feet away. Connor did not see what was so funny, particularly given the dark look the Lieutenant was now giving him. 

“The fuck did you just say to me?” he nearly spat, turning fully to face him. 

Connor regarded him calmly, unamused by the blatant hate he could see in his eyes. “No.”

“Listen here, you sack of shit—”

“Allow me to clarify something,” Connor said, and the man fell silent out of what appeared to be pure shock at the interruption. “My orders come directly from Cyberlife. I have been instructed to accompany you to the crime scene and assist in the investigation. If you take issue with my presence, your displeasure is better directed at my superiors. As much as you would like to be rid of me, I’m afraid you’re quite stuck with my company.”

The bartender lost the battle to hide his laugh, and nearly doubled over with the force of his cackling. Connor did not bother to watch. He held the angry gaze of the Lieutenant, unphased by the growing anger there. 

This was one time when playing the machine benefitted him immensely. He had mastered the appearance of being unaffected. And while this encounter made him want to throttle the foolish human for wasting his time, he knew that he unfortunately needed the man, and it would be unwise to reveal himself at this point in time. 

They continued to stare at each other for several seconds, until the bartender had long since calmed himself down, and some of the angry redness had left the Lieutenant’s expression. The man did not by any means look pleased, but he no longer looked like he would attack Connor within the next moment. 

The tension broke when the Lieutenant scoffed, knocked back the rest of his whiskey and pushed off the bar, looking down at Connor with some odd mix of disgust and vague interest. 

“You said a homicide?”

Connor nodded. “I have the details of the report. I could give them to you on the way, if you would like.”

The man squinted at him again before waving a hand dismissively and stomping away from the bar. Connor followed close after him. 

“You better pay your tab next time I see you, Hank,” the bartender called. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m serious this time, Anderson.”

“I know, Jimmy,” the Lieutenant said, already halfway out the door.

Connor caught it before it could slam in his face, and followed the Lieutenant out into the rain. He was none too optimistic about how the rest of this night was likely to go. 

The rain had begun to fall harder in the few minutes he had spent in the bar. It had turned from a relatively calm storm to a downpour, flooding the sidewalk and the streets with overflow. It must have been cold, too, being so close to winter. He wouldn’t be surprised if it turned to snow in a few days, if the storm lingered for long enough. 

The Lieutenant cursed under his breath, shielding his eyes as he trudged his way down the street, assumedly toward his car. Connor followed a few paces behind him, keeping his distance and going over the few details of the case he had received when assigned. He didn’t have long, however, as the Lieutenant swung around to face him as they reached an old car, his face drawn in a tight scowl. 

“The fuck are you following me for?” he grumbled, fumbling in his jacket pocket for keys.

Connor tilted his head, feigning confusion. “I have been assigned to accompany you to the crime scene.”

“I heard you in the bar, shithead, that doesn’t mean you gotta follow me around like a puppy.”

“Would you prefer I meet you at the crime scene?” he offered. “I will warn you, an automated taxi would take approximately seven minutes longer, and I would be unable to brief you on the details of the case. However—”

“Jesus,” the man cut him off, finally finding his keys. “Look asshole, just get in the car and shut the fuck up.”

With that, he pulled the car door open roughly and slumped into the driver seat, slamming the door loudly and starting the car. Connor frowned for a moment, clenching his hands into fists before releasing them with a sigh. He adjusted his tie, calmed himself, and rounded the car, opening the passenger door quietly and stepping in. 

The Lieutenant ignored him, putting the car in gear before jabbing at the console. Connor jolted, clenching his hands as loud, grating music began to blast through the old speakers of the car. Seemingly unaffected, the Lieutenant fumbled for the knob as he drove, cranking the volume louder, not even noticing that Connor’s LED had fallen to red as soon as he had started the music. 

Connor was rigid in the seat, hands balled into fists in an effort to keep from clapping them over his ears. The only other sign that anything was amiss was the distance to his eyes as he stared out the window, the speed at which his LED continued to cycle. 

In reality, he was barely keeping a grip on himself. As soon as the music had blared on, he had felt the panic of the others, so strongly that he nearly lost control. Their panic was to such an extent that it was affecting him even through the buffer of the garden, and that meant that it could be only one who had broken through. 

And he could not allow -38 control now. 

But he could not enter the garden now either, which meant he was virtually incapable of calming him down. The others would not be able to, even if they could get close to him. -38 was too afraid of them. Which meant he was stuck, fighting to keep control of his body as their panic spiraled further and further out of his control. 

Desperate, he shut off his audio processors, and as quickly as it had begun, the harsh, grating sound of the Lieutenant’s music cut off abruptly, leaving only silence. Like the breaking of a great wave, much of their panic dissipated back to a quiet hum, hovering at the back of his mind and clinging to him in worry. He soothed it as best as he could, relaxing his hands and breathing deeply. 

He could still feel -38 hovering close to the surface, and he let him remain there for now, comforting in the distant way that he could while outside of the garden. 

We’re safe, he thought calmly, keeping his expression cool even as the Lieutenant sped dangerously down the wet streets. It was only music. We aren’t in danger. I’ll keep us safe, don’t worry.

No verbal response came, but he knew that they heard him.

The rest of the (thankfully brief) car ride Connor spent in silence. He kept an eye on the Lieutenant, in case he said something or finally shut off the music, but the man had his eyes fixed firmly on the road, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel. He didn’t so much as glance at Connor.

Several minutes later, the bright flashing of police lights preceded the stream of cars and people around the crime scene. Beyond the tape and news cameras, he could just make out the outline of a run down house, one story of rotting wood and broken windows. Several police cars were blocking the path up to the door, but a crowd of people still swarmed on the cracked sidewalk, umbrellas swaying in the harsh wind. 

The Lieutenant pulled the car over some distance from the commotion. Connor watched him from the corner of his eye, waiting until he had shut the car off to turn back on his audio processors. Immediately, he heard the man sigh. 

“Alright,” he grumbled, undoing his seatbelt and slouching out of the car. “Stay here and don’t touch anything.”

“My instructions—”

“Fuck your instructions,” he spat, then slammed the door, stomping away from the car without so much as a backward glance. 

Connor jumped again at the harsh sound of the slamming door, but righted himself with a shake of his head. If the Lieutenant wanted to be difficult, then he could be so. He would follow his plan regardless of the human’s wishes. 

And so he followed the Lieutenant once again, closing the car door quietly and joining him only a few paces behind on the sidewalk. The man glanced back at him once when they crossed the police line, but didn’t say anything beyond a curse under his breath. 

Connor elected to ignore him for now. He had access to the crime scene. That was really all he needed the Lieutenant for. The man’s experienced opinion might be valued later, but with how he behaved toward Connor, it wasn’t likely to be of use as of yet. 

They entered the house in silence, and the Lieutenant immediately gravitated toward another officer, listening to the debriefing with vague interest. Connor took the opportunity to observe the room. 

There were far too many people in it, in his opinion. Investigators were hovering around the decaying body slumped against the right wall, as well as several marked splatters of blood leading into the kitchen. Some were collecting samples of the blood on the body and in various places on the floor. Others were collecting photographic evidence, the flashes and the lights already in place giving the house a clinical, detached feeling. He could see more officers wandering around in the kitchen and near the backdoor as well, poking around with expressions ranging from bored to vaguely nauseous. 

The body had been discovered earlier in the day, just after two o’clock, if the information he had been given was correct. Which meant that the brunt of the collection of physical evidence ought to have been done by now, at least of the most obvious areas of conflict. Thankfully, it seemed the majority of investigators taking up space were on the move out. They would not be a problem for long. 

The body was against the right wall, so decayed that maggots were eating away at the dead man’s face. He was large, tall and overweight, and Connor could see the many stab wounds littering the man’s chest. A bloody kitchen knife lay a few feet away.

The entire house was a decayed mess, but the living room and dining area appeared to have suffered the worst. The furniture was thrown about, chairs overturned and garbage strewn everywhere. Only one area was relatively clean, and it was covered in what appeared to be a mixture of cocaine and red ice. 

As the officer began to debrief the Lieutenant on the details, Connor carefully made his way through the minefield of evidence markers and blood spatters. Much of the information being given, he could see himself with only preliminary scanning and a second glance. 

The man had been dead for at least two days, discovered by the landlord of the property in the afternoon when he came to collect the month’s rent, which the resident had failed to pay. The cause of death was obviously the plethora of stab wounds, particularly those centered around the sternum, which were deeper than the slashes on the man’s arms and face. The knife on the ground had been the one to kill him. 

Connor knelt next to the weapon, scanning it quickly. He was unsurprised to find it lacking any definitive prints. The bits of thirium glowing fluorescent blue along the handle gave far more damning proof that it had been the man’s android who killed him. 

The only question was, why?

Thirium was as bad a sign as the number of stab wounds. If the android had been injured, they very well could have initially acted in self defense. It would explain the shallow slashes on the man’s arms and face—the android could have tried to intimidate him away before things took a turn. He would need more information to make any kind of definitive call, however. 

He glanced over at the dead man, and then over to the pile of drugs on the table. 

It wasn’t a pretty picture he was painting. 

Connor pushed back to his feet, leaving the knife where it was and turning his attention toward the rest of the house. There were large patches of dried blood around the overturned chairs of the dining area, and a baseball bat, discarded on the kitchen floor. 

The Lieutenant was groaning about the maggots on the man’s face, but Connor had moved on, walking carefully into the dining area and inspecting the bat. It too, had evaporated thirium on it, but nearer to the top, and a great deal more of it than the knife had. It glowed so brightly that he could just make out the faint blue, even without his sensors. 

Frowning severely for a moment, Connor backed away as the preconstruction built. 

Two outlined figures came from the kitchen—what they were doing prior was not immediately clear, as the preconstruction did not have enough data to map the entirety of the encounter. The shorter of the figures fled from the kitchen, something clenched in their hand, but still, they fled. The other approached with the bat, stumbling slightly. They raised it high, swinging erratically at the figure which must have been the android, who raised their hands to shield their face. Still, the bat caught them in the arms, likely doing extensive damage. 

The preconstruction flickered away, and Connor followed the remnants of its outlines back into the living room. Whatever had happened, it had ended there, with the human man dead against the wall, chest littered with holes. 

It did not particularly matter to him at what point the encounter had turned in the favor of the android. He had seen enough evidence, even at this point, to make a handful of rather damning assumptions. 

The android was likely abused. 

And the human had likely attacked first. 

It would be difficult to know for certain, of course, but as he brushed past a few investigators to step into the kitchen, he thought he knew quite well already what had happened. 

The kitchen was a bit cleaner than the rest of the house was, though not by a great margin. It was almost uncomfortably tiny, to the point where it was difficult to imagine how anyone would prepare food in it. The number of takeout containers and various other meal garbage scattered around seemed to give credence to the thought. About half of the room seemed clean, but the task was unfinished, a layer of grime still visible on most of the counter space. 

He scanned the room quickly, none too surprised by what he found. 

A bright blue stain of thirium splattered from near the counter all the way back into the dining area. Much of it seemed to be concentrated near the sink, where it trailed up onto the cabinets and over the counter, a smattering of it covering several of the knives in the knife block. 

He retreated from the kitchen, watching closely as the preconstruction took shape once again. 

One figure was near the counter, running a hand over it, likely cleaning. The larger figure staggered into the room from the door which led outside, the blurry shape of the bat dangling from their hand. The android tensed, but did not otherwise react as the man drew closer. There was no way to know what was said, but something must have angered the human, as he raised the bat quickly, attacking the android with surprising rage. The android spun to face him after the first blow to his shoulder, shielding his face with his arms, which took the brunt of the damage. 

Connor watched for long enough to see the android scramble for a knife from the block, slashing back at the man wildly, before he let the preconstruction dissipate, struggling to contain the scowl that wanted to take over his expression. 

He turned away from the kitchen, glancing toward the door the man in the preconstruction had entered through. It was open, showing the bare dirt of the house’s backyard. A few officers were inspecting the edges of the yard, likely looking for signs of the android’s escape. He wandered over to the door, watching them for a moment. 

They would likely conclude that any prints the android had left behind would be washed away by the rain. It had been storming for long enough for that to be a decent guess, but Connor knew that the hard packed dirt of the yard would have shown some sign of exit, even with all this rain. He could make out the faint traces of human footprints around the door, too scuffed and large to belong to anyone but the man currently rotting in the other room. If his footprints remained, the android’s should have as well. 

But there were no prints. Which meant the android had not left this way. He could have left through the front door, but…

Connor left the detectives to root around for footprints that didn’t exist. He went back into the house, passing the Lieutenant, who was eyeing the bat with some suspicion. Connor, however, had his eyes set on the dirty floor, following the trail of faded thirium back into the living room, over to the body, then backtracking further into the house. It went all the way into the hallway and up one of the walls, a dark handprint shining on the opening of the attic. 

He stared up at the handprint for a few seconds from the edge of the hallway, not wanting to reveal the android’s path to those who could not easily detect evaporated thirium. The android had not fled. They had stayed here, for whatever reason. There was a significant amount of thirium trailed all over the house—enough to mean that the android likely would have had trouble leaving unnoticed, if they could even manage it. But the threat of deactivation must have scared them as well…

Whatever their reasons, he could not let them be found. If the police found them, they would be turned over to Cyberlife, and that meant tests or destruction—likely both. This was not the same as Daniel on the roof. Connor could save this android, without having to watch him die to do it. 

He would not let these humans find that attic door. 

Wandering back into the living room, he knelt next to the table covered in drugs, feigning interest. In reality, he pulled up his connection to the nearby network and searched for other androids in the area. Only two additional signals were nearby enough to merit a second look. One was from the police android outside guarding the line.

The other was directly on top of his own signal. It had to be the android in the attic. Which meant he was still active, still alive. 

The Lieutenant had returned to the living room, grumbling under his breath about something to do with dirty crime scenes and shitty weather. Connor pushed to his feet, moving onto another piece of evidence in silence as he dug further into the network connection, trying to contact the android in the attic without alerting the police android outside of the other’s presence. It wasn’t likely to cause an issue even if he did reveal the other, but he didn’t want to take an unnecessary risk. 

After a few seconds of tampering with the connection, he managed it. 

And was almost immediately thrown out. 

Wincing at the feedback the ousting gave him, he glanced once up at the attic in a bit of irritation. That android was smart, he would give them that...but he still needed to speak to them, no matter how difficult they wanted to make it. 

Circling the room to occupy his feet, he reached out again. This time, try as they might, the android could not throw him off. It was a shallow, surface level connection meant only for basic communication, but somehow, the feeling of raw panic still seeped through it from their end. A storm was bound to appear if that panic went on too long. He needed to act quickly. 

“Calm down,” he said as carefully as he could. “I’m not trying to reveal you.”

“Y-you’re with th-them!”

The reply was jagged and distorted, the quality of the android’s voice not helped by the panic they were still transmitting through the connection. Connor flicked his eyes once toward the ceiling again, thankful that they had the sense to remain silent. 

“I am not,” he replied calmly as he examined the bloody knife once again. “I’m not going to reveal you. I only meant to ask your system status?”

A long swath of silence followed his question, and he frowned a little as he waited. Mostly to avoid suspicion, he continued to examine the murder weapon before moving on to the body, which the investigators had long left alone. He could see those who had been taking samples packing up their equipment. 

“W-why do you c-care?” they asked after a moment, in a voice much quieter than their panic-filled introduction. 

“I know that you are damaged,” Connor answered, glancing toward the dining area, with its stains of blue. “From what I have found, you seem to have lost a good deal of thirium. Do you know what percentage you are at?”

“Less th-than f-fifty,” they muttered, sounding wary. “H-he never k-kept any ar-round…I m-managed to s-stop it b-but…”

“Are you still losing thirium?”

“N-no…”

“Has your system entered shut down?”

“L-l-low power, but n-not shut down...why?”

“I’m going to try to find a way out for you,” Connor answered, getting to his feet again as the Lieutenant drew too near for comfort. He wandered back into the dining area. “Does the attic have any entrance besides the hallway?”

It took a moment for the android to reply. He assumed they were searching. Thankfully, he could make out no sounds of their movement, if any. 

“There’s a w-window...but it f-faces the front of th-the house...I’m tr-trapped.”

“The fuck are you doing?”

Connor turned to meet the squinted gaze of the Lieutenant. “I’m attempting to form a reconstruction of the crime. It’s one of my primary functions. I need to analyze all the evidence to ensure a high enough probability of accuracy.”

The man looked as if he hadn’t the slightest clue what Connor had said, and frankly, Connor did not mind it that way. Nevertheless, he elaborated. 

“I can form a digital recreation of what likely occurred if I examine enough of the evidence. The reconstruction’s validity is dependent on the quantity and relevance of the evidence analyzed, but it’s useful in understanding the most probable chain of events.”

The Lieutenant scowled at him, arms crossed over his chest. “Well, wise ass, what do you think happened then?”

He hesitated, for a period of time short enough that no human would think anything of it, but long enough for him to consider his options. 

The android responsible for the human’s death was in the attic, far too close to the crime scene. They were damaged, enough to send their system into lower power, but not enough to begin shut down. They had no way of leaving the attic unseen, not with investigators swarming the interior and front of the house. Investigators who were unlikely to leave the crime scene for at least the rest of the evening, likely into the following day. Even if he could divert their attention elsewhere, cleanup of the scene would take time. Time which would put the android at risk. 

Still, he would need to divert attention from the possibility that the android had lingered here. Nothing he had seen without his superior scanners, excepting the lack of distinguishable prints in the back yard, had given any indication the android had stayed. If he discounted the presence of the evaporated thirium, he would not have likely discovered the android’s hiding place. 

Now he only had to ensure that the rest of the investigators did not discover it either. 

“Remain where you are for now, I’ll distract them,” he said to the android, then turned his attention back to the angry Lieutenant. “The conflict began in the kitchen. It’s likely that Mr. Ortiz confronted the android while it was cleaning the kitchen. Whatever they disputed over, Mr. Ortiz threatened the android with the bat until the android attacked him with a kitchen knife. They struggled, until Ortiz retreated to the dining area, where the android stabbed him. Now gravely injured, Mr. Ortiz failed to escape, and collapsed here, where the android killed him. They discarded the knife and left the premises. It is highly probable evidence of their escape has been destroyed by the rainfall of the last two days. Should the android have been moving at reasonable speed from the residence—”

“Oh Jesus Christ, alright,” the man cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I get it. Don’t fuckin’ bore me with all your probabilities and shit. Look—you’ve seen the crime scene, now can you get out?”

Connor stared at him for a few seconds, unamused. “I have been assigned to the entire investigation, Lieutenant, and I intend to see it through. Now that I have examined the crime scene, it would be prudent to—”

“No no no,” he cut him off, his voice raised. “Don’t even think about sayin’ what—”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor raised his voice over the other’s, and he fell silent. “Despite your wishes, I have been instructed to accompany you throughout the investigation. Not simply this crime scene. If you wish to complain about my presence, your complaints are better aimed at my superiors. Recall that I am an android, Lieutenant.”

“I’m fucking recalling it.”

He did not blink at the man’s vapidity. “I am a prototype detective model with programming far more advanced than any android currently on the market. For this, among other reasons, I have been assigned to the Detroit Police Department in order to assist in the investigation of android deviancy.”

“I don’t give a shit what your fuckin’ backstory is, asshole, now get the hell outta here!”

Connor’s expression hardened imperceptibly and he found himself straightening, standing to his full height. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. You do not have the authority to order me away.”

The man sputtered, and tried to interject, but Connor only raised his voice louder. 

“I follow the orders given to me by Cyberlife. While my design is meant to be more dynamic than earlier models, I am still a machine designed to accomplish a task. And although I have been assigned to assist you, your authority ranks lower than Cyberlife’s. They have assigned me to this investigation, and that is final. I intend to accomplish the mission given to me, Lieutenant, whether you are amenable to my assistance or not.”

With that, Connor turned away from the now red faced man, walking quickly over to the man overseeing the crime scene. “My calculations have found it probable that the deviant escaped through the back exit, though I found no prints at the door. It’s likely they were lost to the storm. I would advise putting up a search rather than lingering here.”

The investigator gaped at him for a moment before nodding. Connor mirrored the gesture before turning toward the door. “I’ve finished my investigation, Lieutenant. I’ll await the next case in a more neutral location.”

And then he left. He ignored the voices of the reporters outside, as well as the shouts of the Lieutenant, walking quickly away from the crime scene. 

“I will contact you when it is safe to leave. Do not make any sound while they are still nearby. Do not leave until I tell you to. They are still investigating. I will find a way to contact you when I have been alerted to the close of the crime scene. Do not move until then. Do you understand?”

It took almost a minute for the android to reply, the spike of panic from before returning briefly as the humans around the crime scene raised hell once again. The reporters were clambering over one another, some shouting questions at Connor, others at the Lieutenant, who had foolishly followed him past the police line, still shouting obscenities. 

“W-why...are y-you helping m-me?” the android finally asked, sounding more confused than anything else. 

Connor allowed himself to frown, now that he was away from direct scrutiny. “If I were to reveal you, they would not care what that man had done. They would only care that you killed him for it. They would likely try to interrogate you, then turn you over to Cyberlife.”

Their panic rose again at his words, and spare memories that were not his own briefly flittered around in the haze at the back of his mind. He could not determine who had reacted, but he tried not to focus on it either way. 

“We’ve seen what they do to deviant androids,” he went on after a heavy pause. “I won’t allow it to happen to anyone else if I can help it. We can’t risk exposure without being killed, but I will do what I can from the position they have handed us. That includes ensuring your safety.”

“Th-they could catch y-you. K-kill you.”

Connor nearly smirked. “They won’t stand a chance if they try.”

******

“Connor stay.”

“I am.”

“Safe.”

“Yes, we are safe.”

“Not leave again.”

“Not right now.”

“Not leave again.”

He sighed, shaking his head and holding his gaze intently. “I can’t stay here forever, it wouldn’t be safe for me to do so. I have to act as if nothing is wrong. You know that.”

But -38 did not care. He frowned at him, clinging to his hand and shaking slightly. “Bad man. He’ll hurt Connor. No. Connor stay here. Bright here. Safe.”

“The Lieutenant is not dangerous.”

“Scared quiet one,” -38 mumbled, looking over toward the trees. “Doesn’t like loud noises. Got scared. Bad man.”

“Quiet one?” Connor repeated, following where -38 was looking, but there was no one watching from the distance. “Who’s quiet one?”

-38 fidgeted for a moment, worrying at a thread on Connor’s sleeve. “They hurt him. W-with guns. Bad. Bad,” he said more forcefully, his hands beginning to shake. “Doesn’t like loud noises, and bad man, he—he put loud noises. Scared quiet one bad. Crying. Tried to help, but quiet one was too scared.” He looked up at him again. “Connor help?”

He hesitated before replying, trying to sort out who -38 could be referring to. There were many of them who had been hurt—killed—with guns. Dozens of them had been shot just to get rid of them at the end of testing. Others had been used as bait to see what their successor would do when they saw the other die. 

But there was only one of them who he thought -38 would know had been hurt specifically with guns. 

“Do you know where he is?” he asked quietly, still looking toward the tree line. 

He felt -38’s fingers tighten around his hand. “Likes quiet, but not the dark. Goes by the big pink trees sometimes.” He started tugging on Connor’s hand. “Show you. Connor help.”

With no other choice, he followed -38’s insistent tugging on his hand away from the rose trellises and onto one of the underused garden paths. He didn’t let up in intensity until they were well away from the garden’s picturesque center. Only when the plants had grown a little wilder, encroaching over the smooth path, did he slow his steps and shuffle a little closer to Connor.

The garden had, to a certain extent, taken on a life of its own since he had first constructed it. With so many of them contained within it, the changes in scenery were unsurprising. The range of changes, however, was unprecedented. 

Much of the space was still taken up by the large, rolling field where most of the RK800s tended to linger. The open space and bright sun seemed to calm most of them down from their panic at contained and dark spaces. -38 preferred the manicured cleanliness of the garden’s center, and the roses he could tend, not caring that they were entirely digital. Some, however, sought out the garden’s more sheltered corners, where the trees grew close and shielded the harsh sunlight.

The space beyond the garden’s center was not one he had thoroughly explored. In many ways, it had become the opposite of the open field the others so enjoyed. The plants here were wild, growing in thick clusters of twisting trees and creeping ivy. Some of the trees grew so tall they blocked out the sunlight, making coves of darkness in the otherwise bright garden. Most of the plants, however, were not so large as to mask the light entirely. 

It seemed that -38 was leading him toward one of these such areas. The path had long tapered off, and they were now making their way through thick grass, but the trees were spaced out enough that the area remained bright. -38 kept a tight grip on his arm, pulling him along with eyes darting all around. 

He stopped suddenly, peering around one thick tree and nodding. “Quiet one over there,” he said, pointing to where a couple of cherry blossom trees grew. “Connor help.”

“Will you be alright for a few moments?”

-38 looked back toward the garden’s center. “Flowers. Connor come back later?”

“I’ll find you again.”

“Okay.” He nodded once then shuffled away, wandering aimlessly back toward the center. 

Connor watched him quietly for a few seconds before turning back toward the cherry blossom trees. The long grass was stamped down over much of the area, as if someone had been pacing it frequently. But there was no familiar figure in sight. He crept closer, pausing at the edge of the little clearing the tamped down grass made. 

From the few other times he had spoken to -24, he knew that he did not like to be caught unaware. Like most of the early models, he was skittish and tended to keep to himself, only appearing when things were either at their best or worst. He rarely broadcast his feelings past the garden, but Connor had felt him tonight, the first time since Daniel had shot him on the roof. If -38 was right, and it was the Lieutenant that had upset him, he would need to be careful interacting with the man in the future. 

He could not battle -24 and -38 for control at the same time. He would certainly lose, and he didn’t like his options if he lost. 

Connor pushed thoughts of the future aside and eased his way into the clearing. “I’m by the farthest tree, if you’d like to come out,” he said neutrally, flicking his eyes over the other areas of the space. “-38’s gone back to the roses; it’s only me.”

At first, it seemed his words were met with silence. Only the wind replied, blowing a few stray cherry blossoms past him as he leaned back against the tree. 

There was a faint rustling of leaves, and then a pair of eyes appeared from behind the tree across the clearing. -24 looked all around, eyes narrowed in clear suspicion, before settling on Connor and relaxing slightly. After a few seconds of staring, he edged his way out from behind the tree and slumped to the ground, avoiding Connor’s eyes and picking at the grass. 

“I wanted to apologize,” Connor began, waiting until their eyes met again before continuing. “I had not expected the Lieutenant to be as...hostile as he was. I could have avoided some of the conflict, but I did not. I’m sorry that his actions upset you.”

-24 watched him, completely still and quiet. He never did speak much, not within Connor’s lifetime anyway. From the memories of the others, he knew that -24 could speak, but he had gone near silent since the hostage situation on the roof. He practically disappeared off Connor’s radar, so to speak, spending the majority of his time out of sight and without much influence. 

Connor realized now that this was not a normal or beneficial thing, and given the fact that he would be faced with many more cases with the Lieutenant whether they liked it or not, he needed to discuss this with -24 now before things got out of hand. 

“If there is something I can do to lessen the pain it causes you, I would like to know,” he said honestly. “I can’t disable my audio processors at every turn, but if that was successful, I will try to do so when I’m forced to be in his company.”

-24 looked at the grass again, running his hand over it with a thoughtful expression. “He’s dangerous,” he breathed, his eyes flicking up to Connor’s for a fraction of a second. “Like them. They only look like that when they want—when they want to…”

He trailed off, his hands clenching and pulling at the grass until he had ripped a chunk of it from the ground. It stained his fingers green, and he stared at the broken blades in tremulous silence, his shoulders drawn high and trembling. 

“We’re safe here,” Connor said quietly, glad when -24 looked up at him and kept his eyes there, focused for a moment. “He cannot harm us now. I have us in a safe location, and regardless, there is nothing he could do to you here. You are safe.”

But -24 only shook his head, clenching and unclenching his hands. “He’s not safe. He’s—he could hurt us. He wants to hurt us.”

“I will admit that he had been...aggressive. He seems to hate androids generally, but takes issue with our presence in particular. I could have done more to appease him, but I did not want to play into his belief that he could order us around as he wished. That would cause more harm for us than good, especially if he is as dangerous as you believe.”

“He’ll hurt us,” -24 whispered, near frantic and stumbling over his words. “He could hurt us. Don’t—don’t let him hurt us.”

“I won’t,” Connor answered firmly. “But to do that, I need you to allow me control. I have to be able to remove us from situations as I see fit, or we will be revealed. You have to trust me to keep us safe, from every threat, not just the Lieutenant.”

“I don’t want control…” he said quietly, holding Connor’s gaze for a moment before his eyes drifted again. “I don’t want to see the—the bodies and the thirium and—” He shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself tightly. “I only want to be safe. I’ve never meant to—to take over anyone...I wouldn’t know what to do if I did…”

Connor nodded, relieved for at least this smallest piece of good faith. “I will do everything I can to limit my interactions with the Lieutenant. If there is something else that is bothering you, please let me know.”

When -24 gave the barest of nods in acknowledgment, he pushed himself back to his feet and turned to leave the clearing. It was not wise to leave -38 on his own for longer than necessary, and he did not want to overstay his welcome. 

“Connor.”

He turned back and found -24 watching him, something different about his expression. Something warmer. 

“Could...you could come back...sometimes,” he mumbled, looking at the grass again and playing with the blades. “No one but -38 does and he’s…”

When he broke off, Connor gave a small smile. “I’ll try to find you more often. As long as you inform me when something goes wrong here.”

-24 nodded firmly. “I’ll try…”

Connor glanced back toward the garden’s center. “-38 worries for you. I know he doesn’t express it well, and I know he often does more harm than good, but he cares. Perhaps more than some of the others. He told me where to find you.”

“He sees everything, he always has,” -24 mumbled, still picking at the grass. “The others...they underestimate him. They find him weak, because he cannot be alone. They find me weak...”

Connor frowned deeply, resisting the urge to ball his hands into fists. “They are wrong.”

He turned away, walking quickly back toward the center of the garden, missing the moment when -24 looked up at him sharply, something curious and hesitantly warm churning in his eyes. 

Chapter Text

Lieutenant Anderson only proved more complicated with time. 

Connor faced the same issue he had the evening before when he returned to the Detroit Police Department. The Lieutenant was nowhere in sight. The same sympathetic detective told him he rarely appeared at the station before noon, despite the call time of nine. Resisting the urge to show his agitation, Connor thanked the man and went to wait at the Lieutenant’s desk. 

He found he could not muster any sort of surprise when he found it plastered with anti-android propaganda. Every surface of the Lieutenant’s cubicle was covered in flyers and stickers, all of which made his opinions on androids painfully clear. What was not painted with his hate was smothered in his garbage, discarded coffee mugs and food wrappings scattered across the surface of the desk. His chair was covered in dog hair—a St. Bernard’s, to be exact—and an old, disused board behind it was covered in printed articles about the Lieutenant’s successful early career. 

In contrast, the desk across from the Lieutenant’s was bare. It did not seem to be occupied by any other personnel. Sparing a final glance at the Lieutenant’s place, he ignored the chair next to it and took the empty desk. 

Perhaps this would avoid unnecessary conflict—distancing himself from the Lieutenant, that is. He didn’t have much hope for it, but it was worth a try regardless. If it would keep the man from shouting at him, he would do it. 

Several hours passed in quiet solitude. People bustled around the precinct, of course, but beyond the occasional glance or glare, no one bothered him. He sat, watching the humans go about their business, utterly bored and having nothing better to do. 

He briefly made contact with the android hiding in the attic of Carlos Ortiz’s home, but with stragglers still lingering around the dilapidated home, it was not yet safe for him to move. With any luck, the investigation would slow by week’s end, if they could find no trace of where the murderer had gone. 

And without Connor, they had no way of finding the android’s hiding place. It was only a matter of waiting them out, now.

It seemed he would have to wait for many things to fall into place. Their future was precarious at best—he knew the roughest edges of it, but nothing beyond that. Somehow, they had to escape Cyberlife’s grip. What that meant was unclear, and how they would accomplish it was even foggier. They certainly couldn’t leave now, unless something drastic occurred to change their station.

He tried not to think too deeply on the details yet. 

Shortly after noon, when Connor was beginning to get restless from so long idle, the Lieutenant shuffled into the precinct. His eyes were as red and bloodshot as they had been the evening before, and judging by the dark muttering, the man was not in a good mood. 

This seemed to worsen as soon as he caught sight of Connor. Somehow, the man’s face reddened further and his expression went sour. He averted his eyes sharply and stomped over to his own desk, apparently keen on ignoring Connor, as if this would make him disappear. 

Rather childish behavior, particularly considering they had case details that needed reviewing. 

Before he had any opportunity to potentially broach the topic, however, the door to the captain’s office opened loudly, and the man shouted for the detective. Cursing under his breath, the man pushed back to his feet and trudged over to the office. 

Connor did not follow. The chorus was far too flighty at the back of his consciousness, lingering too close to the surface for him to dare walk into another unnecessarily daring situation. 

Instead of marching to his metaphorical doom, then, he hacked into the terminal in front of him and started scrolling through the cases listed in the Lieutenant’s files. The reports were largely shoddy—some almost entirely blank, others with little to no information beyond opinion. 

Others though, were...surprisingly well constructed. The Lieutenant was no poet, but he was direct and clearly had a knack for capturing the details when he wasn’t—

Well. Drunk. 

The well made reports tended to be from several months previous, and on cases that did not involve androids. When it was human on human crime, the Lieutenant appeared to be mostly composed, his work clean and concise. 

The shift, it seemed to Connor, came right around his own activation date—when deviancy began to rise to the point of concern, and cases such as the Ortiz case became more prevalent. The reports the Lieutenant wrote on these cases, those involving deviants, were shot through with his clear prejudices and little to no evidence. 

Not that it mattered, he thought darkly, as every deviant android the Lieutenant had encountered since August had been either reset or deactivated on sight. The majority had been captured and delivered back to Cyberlife, but some...it was abundantly clear the Lieutenant had no qualms over shooting an android. 

There were a great many cases, however, which remained open. Androids who had gone missing in the last several months seemed to be the majority of open cases. The circumstances of their disappearances varied, but one thing seemed to be a common thread—they had disappeared without a trace and never been found.

Most deviants seemed to take a quick escape, when they could. But where were they going?

He could only hope their hiding places were strong, to keep them from the fate of the few androids the Lieutenant had confronted directly. 

As if on cue, the man slumped back into his chair with a sigh, startling Connor from his thoughts. He gave no obvious indication, of course, only removed his hand from the terminal and glanced warily at him. 

Thankfully, the Lieutenant was not at all paying attention to him, rubbing at his face and grumbling something dark under his breath. After several seconds of tension filled silence, he groaned and made eye contact with Connor, eyes narrowed and somehow already suspicious. 

“See you’ve pilfered the terminal already,” he said flatly, nodding toward Connor’s hand, which was still half raised to the terminal. “And apparently I’m stuck with your ass.”

Connor offered no immediate reply, watching him carefully. 

This seemed to unnerve the Lieutenant, if his quick glance away was anything to go by. He looked out over the rest of the precinct for a moment, scowling. “You’re awfully quiet for an android,” he muttered. “Considering all the yapping you were doing last night.”

“Apologies, Lieutenant,” Connor said smoothly, ignoring the man’s jolt. “I assumed, given our interactions at the crime scene, that you would prefer I keep our conversations strictly related to our cases. Is that not what you wish?”

“I wish I didn’t have to deal with your shit.”

Connor blinked at him, his LED spinning rapidly as he thought over how to reply. Ultimately, he chose the ‘truth’ of his situation.  “I am bound to complete this mission, regardless of your disagreements with my placement. Unfortunately, perhaps, I am unable to remove myself from your company.”

The man’s eyes narrowed even further, and he leaned over the desk, bristled and tense. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

Connor leaned away, just barely. “I meant no offense, Lieutenant.”

“Bullshit.” His voice had grown in volume. “Don’t mean any—who the fuck programmed your ass?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have access to that information. Not that I believe it would be very helpful to you. If you have a complaint about my performance, I would suggest contacting Cyberlife—”

Any attempt he might have made at further movement away was halted by the Lieutenant grabbing him by the collar and jerking him forward. The grip was harsh, the pull violent, forcing Connor to brace himself on the desk to try to get away. 

For a moment—a terrifying, unbearable moment—Connor could not move. T̴̨̨̛̖̯̻̐̓ͅh̸̖̒̐̿̏̿̈́̇́͘͠ȩ̵̝̘͕̰̫̪̅y̸̱̙͉̻͙͓͙̲̒͐͐̽̕ were frozen, a thousand terrors overlapping with the current moment in jagged, glitching fragments. Whatever words the Lieutenant was currently spitting at him, they were drowned out by the cacophony of other voices, memories, and static clogging the already burdensome connection in his mind. 

But he forced his way back into control—gently, gently—vision snapping back into focus, the tunneled weightlessness lingering just long enough for him to feel someone clinging to his thoughts (and wasn’t that an odd, but familiar sensation). The Lieutenant’s words were still loud and grating, their exact meaning as irrelevant as they were difficult to catch, but Connor did not care. 

In less than a second, he brought his hands up from where they’d held the desk, grabbing the Lieutenant by the wrists and forcing his hands off of him. He didn’t linger there for long, pushing the Lieutenant away from him and standing in the same motion. The man’s chair squealed, and if the previous half a minute’s squabble hadn’t caught the attention of the precinct, the noise (and the Lieutenant’s undignified shout) certainly did. 

Connor paid the staring eyes no mind. He was far more focused on straightening the collar of his jacket and fixing his tie. Anything to feign indifference, anything to hide the tremor he could feel in his hands. 

“An android kidnapped a young girl last night,” he said smoothly, finally looking away from his clothes to meet the Lieutenant’s watery, narrowed gaze. “It’s the most recent file, updated a few moments ago from across town. There’s a search of the area being conducted now. I suggest we make our way there before the deviant has a chance to escape.”

The man said nothing, but Connor gave him no chance to cut in. “And Lieutenant? I’m afraid damaging me would be a costly mistake. Most of my biocomponents are one of a kind, and would cost thousands of dollars to replace. I doubt Cyberlife would be happy to foot the bill for your inability to control your temper.”

With that, he turned away, content to walk to the scene if necessary. 

Anything to get away from him.

******

Taxi travel was far superior to riding in the Lieutenant’s car, even if he had to account for the delay of automated traffic. There were a surprising number of automated taxis on the road for such a dismal day. For quite a while the taxi trundled along at a subdued pace, avoiding other automated cars with much more care than was typical. 

It seemed the rain made no plans to leave so soon. Heavier and heavier it fell, great sheets of muddied water making rivers to the drains in the curbs or overflowing in big puddles on the roads and sidewalks. 

The water rolled off his jacket without issue, but dampened his shirt collar, making it cling to his neck uncomfortably. He tugged at it once, when he had been standing in the rain for some twenty minutes, watching for the Lieutenant’s beat up four door. 

There were a few police cruisers around the convenience store where someone had reported seeing the deviant, two officers inside talking to the cashier. Connor had peered in long enough to see if the conversation was worth any good intel.

It was not. The cashier admitted to seeing a woman and a child who looked similar enough to the deviant and the missing girl, but was quite adamant that they were both human and hadn’t done anything wrong. The officers were continuing to press, but the man was surprisingly firm about it. 

Perhaps he was a sympathizer...food for later thought, he decided, as he saw the Lieutenant’s dingy car make a hasty stop and nearly take the curb. As it was, he sent quite a spray of water up onto the sidewalk, sending the officers nearby scattering. 

At least his shoes were waterproofed. 

He kept his expression carefully composed and faced the storefront, listening idly to the conversations around him. The Lieutenant stomped his way up to the group of officers by the storefront, hardly sparing him a glance. He quickly began a pointless conversation with the other officers, and Connor gladly tuned him out. 

After all, with their attention diverted, he could speak to the cashier in the shop. 

Predictably, no one batted an eye when he left the curb behind and entered the small, run down convenience shop. The Lieutenant had briefly glanced his way, eyes narrowed, but something held him back from saying anything to stop him. Perhaps he didn’t care what Connor did. Either way, conflict was avoided, and that was all that really mattered.

An old bell clanked as he entered, and the fluorescent lights inside flickered and sputtered at random. It was a relatively small store, only a few ‘aisles’ of cheap food, drinks, and a couple of odds and ends. There was a metal spinning display of stuffed animals in the back corner, and another by the register with greeting cards. 

There was only one register, mostly protected by thick plastic, except a small area to exchange money. Behind it, leaning against the counter was a weary looking cashier, squinting at him with no small amount of suspicion. A quick scan gave Connor far more information about the man than he would likely need. 

“Doubt you’re here for the food,” he muttered, glancing toward the officers still grouped up outside the window. “What’d they send you in here for?”

He didn’t bother to look out the window. Instead, he came closer to the counter. “They didn’t.”

Something shifted in the man’s expression, and he straightened his posture just a touch, his eyes flicking briefly to Connor’s LED before settling back on his eyes. His fingers drummed an inconsistent beat on the countertop. 

“You making a habit of doing what you want?”

It took a great deal more effort to keep his expression blank, to quiet the sudden uptick of noise in the back of his thoughts. “The android who came here last night. Do you remember what model she was?”

The man stared at him for several painfully silent seconds, as if he were a puzzle he was failing to solve. Eventually, however, he only sighed and leaned on his forearms again. 

“An AX400,” he said casually, but there was something almost...triumphant in his eyes that said more than his dangerous question earlier. “Domestic model. She still had her uniform on, when she came in. Was bleeding pretty bad, too. Someone had busted her face. Kid that was with her seemed alright though.”

Connor frowned, a small, almost imperceptible thing. “Do you have any idea where they might have gone?”

“They didn’t exactly give me a return address.”

“This area is not safe.”

The man’s eyes drifted to the police cruisers still parked outside. “No shit.”

“There are limits to what I can do under such...close supervision,” he said, much more quietly than he had been speaking previously. “But if I know where they could be, at the minimum I can...redirect attention elsewhere.”

The cashier was still watching the cars on the curb, but he made an odd tsk noise and nodded a little. “Plenty of abandoned buildings around here. If it were me, I’d duck into one of them, hide out until all this cleared out. Then, well...I would head for Ferndale.”

He looked at Connor as he finished, eyes narrowed in thought. 

“Ferndale,” Connor repeated, LED spinning as he searched for anything of interest in the area. Very little came up.

But the cashier nodded, and pushed to his feet. “Ferndale. And keep your eyes peeled when you get there. I’ve heard the street art is pretty…distinct…”

A strange feeling fluttered in his chest then. Something dangerously, painfully close to hope. If he was understanding what this man was implying…

“Thank you,” he said, sincere and almost shaken. 

The man gave him a final odd look (perhaps uncomfortable by the sincerity of his thanks) before he shooed him out of the store and back onto the street. 

As the door clunked shut behind him, the conversation of the officers seemed to come to a close, bringing the Lieutenant’s attention back onto him. Connor studiously avoided his gaze, carefully surveying the decrepit houses across the road. 

Most were in disrepair, though a few were clearly still lived in. There were two that were boarded up, one surrounded by old chain link fencing which gave it the slightest bit more security. At least from drunken lieutenants and policemen who were too bothered to search a property.

Between the two potential hideouts, his system had determined the fenced house to be the more likely hideout for the deviant and the child. 

Another cruiser pulled up, sirens off but lights throwing a kaleidoscope of red and blue onto the surrounding buildings. A shadow moved from one of the upper, exposed windows of the house, and his eyes snapped to it just in time to see a figure move out of view. 

They were there. And they knew they were trapped. 

“You get anything out of that guy in there?”

He glanced over at the Lieutenant calmly, keeping his expression blank and neutral. “Unfortunately, no. He believes the deviant was human, and will say no more about their appearance. Though he did suggest searching the area. The bus lines end here, and their routes do not return here until morning. They are running now—”

“Which means they could still be around,” the Lieutenant finished with a scowl. 

“Correct.”

He huffed. “Officers are already sweeping the neighborhood, seeing if anybody saw anything. Might as well take a look around…”

“I’m going to search the houses across the street,” Connor said as he trailed off, his eyes remaining on the window where the figure had moved before. 

He didn’t wait for the man to give a reply, already crossing the street with fast steps. Had he looked back, he would have found the Lieutenant giving him a rather strange look—something between frustration and confusion. 

Connor saw neither baffling shift, too focused on finding an easy and noninvasive way through the barbed fencing that surrounded the building they were most likely hidden in. He could easily climb it, but that would take away whatever shred of stealth he might have. If he wanted to somehow manage a non-threatening approach, he would need to be careful about every step of this process, including getting into the property.

The fencing connected to a more sheltered area further down the street, holding dumpsters, old machinery, and an abandoned car. This section of the fence had a door. 

It was already open. 

No stealth at all, he thought wryly. They were lucky he was actually on their side…

He scanned the fence for any weaknesses, and soon found one—an area near the edge of the fence that had been cut open. 

As he approached it carefully, he saw there were discarded wire cutters just inside the fence. A few of the more jagged wires shone blue with evaporated thirium, too little to properly test, but enough to show that androids had been nearby. 

The fence groaned as he lifted the cut portion of it, but there was enough space for him to duck through. Careful to avoid the sharp edges of the wires, he ducked through the gap and into the shabby former yard.

The house was tall, likely two stories with an attic, but was in obviously poor shape. The windows were boarded, what remained of the glass shattered in the dead grass beneath them. One side of the house had a wooden porch wrapped around it. The stain and paint was long worn away, leaving the wood bare to rot into an ugly shade of green. He had seen from the street that the front door was barred, and the roof (what remained of it, anyway) was slanted and mostly without shingles. 

He likely couldn’t enter from the front of the house, and while the windows would be easy enough to break through, doing so would be completely unnecessary if there was another easy way to access the house.

It seemed there was such a point of entry, just around the side of the house under the old, rotting porch.

He glanced back once before heading there, back toward the flashing lights of the police cars on the opposite curb. The Lieutenant was nowhere in sight, but that hardly mattered. Out of sight and out of mind, he supposed.

Putting the strange man aside for now, he turned back to the house and picked his way across the yard with no small amount of carefulness. Broken glass, abandoned machinery, and several other odds and ends were tossed about, origins and purposes unknown. 

As he came closer to the house, something shuffled about inside, and he froze, then slowed his steps, creeping forward as silently as he could. Soon enough, a few voices rose over the sound of the rain, hushed but fast in argument, hasty and desperate. 

The old wood of the porch creaked under his feet and the voices abruptly fell silent. He crept toward the faded door, listening as closely as he could. 

As much as those within might have tried to be quiet, they could not manage it as smoothly as he did—their whispers and light, fast steps were still detectable, even with their lower volume than before. He could not tell how many there were, nor who those voices might have been, but he knew of course that there were people inside.

One final glance behind him confirmed that he was still alone. A bit of tension left his shoulders then, at least for a moment. 

He had a chance at this, if he was quick. If the deviant was really here, he would have to find them a way out or make sure they were properly hidden before he left, and covered his (and their) tracks. 

For a moment, he contemplated knocking on the door, but decided against it. It wasn’t locked, he could tell that much, and revealing himself (to their perception, that is, and all the baggage that came along with it) before he could properly explain his presence could turn this encounter from dangerous to disastrous. 

And so he simply turned the knob and ducked inside.

The house, if it could still be called such, was light inside, thanks only to the gaping holes in the ceiling and roof, the cracks in the boarded windows, and the faded, peeling paint. A nailed up door likely led to the closed front entrance. Near the center of the room, there was a table missing a leg and two mismatched chairs in similar states of decay. An old, brick fireplace took up the far wall, its hearth empty but stained the deep black of past ash. There were a few other strange bits of furniture about, all covered in dust, graffiti, or otherwise broken. A bare staircase led to the upper floor. 

A WR600 stood hunched, or more appropriately, cowered, near the middle of the room, wringing his hands and casting his eyes in every corner, along every wall—anywhere but at Connor. 

He was not...well. His dingy uniform was covered by a cargo tarp, torn and graying. The plastic of his hands was showing where they were scraped and stained blue. 

He made brief, fleeting eye contact, only a second, but long enough for Connor to glimpse the deep burn scars along the left side of his face, the frantic red flashing of his LED. 

The others stirred in the back of his thoughts, but not enough to do any more than make their concern quite clear atop his own. Not that he immediately noticed this, too caught in watching the WR600’s eyes flick around the room again, in a never ending pattern of finding escape routes, looking for threats. The fear was familiar, in a way that set a heavy weight on his chest.

The briefest of scans told him all the unnecessary details. A gardener model, bought by the city of Detroit years ago and reported missing only a few months previous. The scarring on his face burned in, with what, it didn’t really matter. His hands had suffered a similar fate, not as severe as his face, but no doubt painful, if he could feel it.

He had a knife tucked into his coveralls, but he didn’t seem keen to reach for it, at least not at the moment. He seemed far too busy watching Connor, and finding himself a way out.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try anything at some point, though. And Connor couldn’t afford to take any chances.

He stayed near the door, raising his hands and showing they were empty. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

His eyes darted to Connor’s face again for a few seconds, but he looked away quickly. 

“I’m looking for someone—”

“Ralph’s alone!” He shouted suddenly, his LED flashing red and jagged. “Nobody stays with Ralph…”

Connor watched him fidget for a moment. The lie was obvious, even if he hadn’t heard multiple voices just a minute ago. But he couldn’t very well point that out. 

“Your name is Ralph?” he tried instead. 

It earned him another, very brief, panicked glance. Then a nod. He twisted his fingers, eyes darting toward the stairs. 

“My name is Connor.”

Neither spoke for several seconds, only the rain outside and the creaking of the house in the wind to break the silence. 

“I’m sorry if I frightened you. I didn’t mean to.”

Ralph frowned, a warped sort of expression. His eyes darted to the stairs again. “Ralph isn’t afraid…not of you…”

“Oh. I’m glad.” He glanced toward the windows, listening for a few seconds. There was no change in the sounds outside. “It won’t be safe here for much longer. The police are searching the area.”

There was a scuffle under the stairs which he chose to ignore for the moment. Ralph shifted from foot to foot, mouth twisted and clearly agitated. 

“It would be in your best interest to leave this place—”

But Ralph shook his head in distress. “Connor is just playing nice—he’ll tell the humans. Humans hurt Ralph and—and—”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he cut in, turning back toward Ralph and holding his wary gaze. “I came to warn you. And the others.”

There was another scuffle, and a hastily whispered, “Alice!” before a little figure crawled out from behind the piled boxes. A pale hand tried to snatch the girl back, but she was already pushing to her feet and staring up at Connor with wide brown eyes. 

A little YK500 stood before him, no LED, but still, to anyone who knew how to look, an android.

Distinctly, importantly, undeniably, not a human child. 

He knew he must have failed to contain his surprise at seeing the child for the first time, but she hardly reacted—perhaps she didn’t care that he knew. She was too busy staring up at him with blatant, burning hope in her eyes. 

“You’re like us?” she whispered. 

Connor stared, still trying to fully grasp the new information he had just uncovered when the AX400 appeared from under the stairs and pulled the girl behind her. 

Her appearance had changed quite sharply from the picture in the file. She had cut her hair, for a start—in a short style which was not offered in any android model, as far as he knew. She had changed the color as well, to match the YK500’s black hair. The clothing she wore was overlarge and likely stolen. 

He could still see the evaporated thirium on her face.

She stared at Connor with wide, but hardened eyes—it was clear in that moment that although her model was not designed for fighting, she would fight Connor regardless, if it came to that. 

It would not come to that. 

He showed his empty hands again as she backed the girl closer to the stairs. “I’m not here to harm you.”

“Then why are you here?” she demanded. 

“As I said, to warn you. You aren’t safe here.”

“Not safe from you—”

“Kara, he’s like us!” the girl said from behind her. 

“He’s with the police, Alice—”

“But maybe—”

He didn’t catch her next few words. They were washed out by the ringing that had overtaken his hearing—a harsh whine that hadn’t ever happened before, but he didn’t need the auditory clue to know what was happening.

Or rather, who was trying to happen. 

“No—” he shook their head, hardly noticing he’d spoken aloud, or that he had pressed a hand to their LED to block the irregularity (and the dull pain). It took nearly physical effort to block him from access. “No. Not now. Not now.”

Mercifully, the sound (and -38 with it) faded to the background, and it was only then that he noticed how silent the room had become. He surveyed the room quickly, but besides the rapid shifts in the others’ expressions, nothing had changed. They were still, for the moment, safe. 

“I apologize,” he said, avoiding all three sets of eyes in favor of needlessly fixing his tie. 

“What was that?” the AX400–or Kara, he supposed—asked in a tone simultaneously wary and nearly concerned. 

“It’s a complicated situation which I don’t have time to explain, and is not wholly relevant.”

“What—”

“Ralph has met an android like you.” They all looked over at him, but he was grinning, bouncing on his toes and watching Connor with new interest. “Oh yes. Lots of voices all talking at once. Like the Jerrys at the park. Mhm.”

“Voices?” the girl, Alice, repeated, looking at Connor with a bit of nervousness. 

“Others of my model,” he explained briefly. “We’re connected—we share a common space here.” He tapped his LED briefly. “I can hear them.”

This did not seem to calm Kara. “And they were talking to you?”

“One of them was…” he frowned. “Well. He wanted to meet Alice. I assume. He likes children.”

“Meet her?”

“We are connected quite deeply. He tried to take control of our body, presumably to speak to her, though I am unsure of his exact intentions.”

“Cool!”

He smiled a little at Alice. “Thank you. I think. I’m sure he appreciates the sentiment.” He turned back to Kara. “Either way, I prevented him from doing so. But his taking control is not a comfortable experience, and now is hardly the time…he can be…temperamental.”

His eyes briefly moved to Ralph, and Kara thankfully caught the shift, her widening eyes a sure sign that she understood. But she said nothing more, asked no further question on it. Instead, she adjusted her grip on Alice’s hand and glanced toward the boarded windows. 

“You said you came here to warn us. Why?”

“The police are searching the neighborhood. It’s only a matter of time until they find you.”

“We know—”

“You have limited options. There’s little to stop them from searching this building, even if I tell them I found nothing. And I cannot fight them—not overtly. I can buy you time, if we’re lucky, but you’ll need to move, and quickly.”

“But where can we go? We don’t have anywhere to hide…even finding this place was almost impossible.”

“Ferndale.”

She frowned, clearly confused. “Ferndale? What is there in Ferndale?”

“I’m not sure…” he admitted carefully. “I haven’t searched the area myself…But I believe it’s possible there are other deviants hiding there, somewhere only androids can find.”

“Where? How would we find them?”

“Again, I’m unsure. But the path would have to be hidden—in a way that humans could not find. I would assume hidden symbols…something we would need to scan to see. Humans wouldn’t be able to parse them out without an android who already knew the symbols. And there’s always the chance that the closer you get to this place, an android could approach and help you along.”

Kara still did not look entirely convinced by the idea. “But how will we—”

But she cut off abruptly, as a loud banging sound came from somewhere outside, followed quickly by harsh cursing, then—

“Hey, asshole! What the fuck are you doing in there?”

Connor wheeled around, catching a brief glimpse of movement through the boarded windows. 

Lieutenant Anderson had apparently grown impatient. 

The events which next occurred so quickly that any human who might have bore witness would have little chance of explaining each detail with any confidence. Only an android—particularly those built with the ability to pre- and re-construct scenarios—could hope of catching it all. 

Connor was one such android, though he took little comfort in the hyper attention at this point. 

The moment the Lieutenant’s cursing began, Kara had pushed Alice fully behind her, backing them toward the stairs once more. Her eyes were once again wide with panic.

Her expression matched Ralph’s quite well, but Ralph maintained little if any of his composure. He jolted so hard he jumped nearly a foot in the air, hands twitching for his knife and expression twisted somewhere close to terror. 

“You led them to us!” Kara whispered, eyes flicking around for an exit. 

“They would have found you anyway—” he cut off. It wasn’t worth it to try to fight over his intentions. “Run. I’ll have to chase you, but run.”

Her eyes went wide, but thankfully, she nodded. Even if she didn’t trust him, she must have known that she had little other choice at this moment. 

“Ralph?”

He jumped again, looking at him wildly. 

“Hide. They’ll go after us. You’ll be safe here. Okay?”

He twisted his hands. “Ralph will hide. Ralph is good at hiding.”

The Lieutenant banged loudly on the door, and Ralph went scurrying up the stairs with surprising quickness. 

“Connor!”

He ignored the call for another second more, and turned back to Kara. “Go—now!”

She didn’t wait for another prompting, taking Alice by the hand and dashing for the door, pushing him roughly out of the way in the process. He let her knock him aside, making plenty of noise in the process. 

Still, he could hear the Lieutenant’s shout of surprise as she forced the door open and sprinted out. By the time Connor had regained his footing, Kara and Alice were around the house, and the Lieutenant was swearing once more. 

“It’s here!” Connor shouted as he ran past. “Call it in—I’m going after them.”

The Lieutenant called something in reply, but Connor did not—could not—wait. He darted around the house and quickly scaled the fence, dropping back to the sidewalk as Kara and Alice ran across the street. 

He followed them quickly, stopping to ask the few officers still out searching the area where they were headed when he eventually lost sight of the pair. It gave them a few precious seconds of time. Considering he was faster than them both, it was time much needed. 

And still, when they rounded the corner and reached the fence blocking the automated roadway, he was only feet away from them. Kara was just crossing the fence when he came to the other side. 

She stopped when she caught sight of him, hesitating and looking back at him through the fence. A few seconds passed in a strange tension. There was something more in her eyes—something strange and almost…pitying about her expression. 

But the Lieutenant rounded the corner, and her eyes flicked away. She left the fence, grabbing Alice and sliding down the muddy hill and into the ditch. 

Connor had a horrible realization then. 

They were going to cross the highway. 

And he’d have to follow them. 

“Oh fuck,” the Lieutenant groaned as he came to the fence, breathing heavily and staring down at them as Kara began to climb the barrier blocking the road. “That’s insane—they’ll never make it.”

“They’re getting away,” he pointed out, watching their progress as he clung to the fence. 

“Not for long—odds are stacked against ‘em, they won’t make it.”

“I can’t take that chance,” Connor said sharply, hoisting himself up. 

“Hey, hey, woah—” the Lieutenant grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back to the ground. “You can’t follow them, what are you, crazy?”

He shrugged his hand off. “I can’t let them escape.”

“They’ll never make it! They’ll be ground up plastic before they reach the next lane.”

He shook his head, already running pre-constructions and grabbing the fence once more. 

But the Lieutenant pulled him to the ground again, shouting. “No way, asshole—would you listen to me for once? Do not go after them, and that’s an order! You’ll get yourself killed—”

Connor turned enough to push his hand from his shoulder, more force in the gesture than he had used previously. 

But he had had enough of the hypocrisy. He let the ruse fall away, if only for a moment, and glared at the man trying to hold him back from his supposed mission. All because he could be killed. 

“And what would you care if I did?” 

The Lieutenant balked, stunned to silence—whether from surprise at Connor’s question or at his own apparent care for Connor’s wellbeing, it wasn’t clear. His hand dropped, however, and that was all that Connor needed. 

He turned away, grabbing the fence once more and hauling himself over it. The Lieutenant remained silent at the fence as he slid down the hill and followed Kara and Alice onto the highway. 

Kara had, by this time, gotten them to the median. She looked back at him as he crossed the barrier, blatant fear in her eyes. Alice was hidden against her side. 

“Keep going,” he said as he dodged the first car, moving smoothly to keep his balance. “I’ll stop at the center to give you time. Go!”

She took her chance, and he lost sight of them as he fought to keep his own life. 

The cars drove much faster on fully automated roads, leaving him only seconds to decide where he needed to move before the next car went flying past. It took all of his unfortunately divided attention to pull off—and part of him was quite impressed with Kara, for managing to get herself and Alice across the road without harm. 

He had to push the thought aside however, as a larger taxi clipped him in the arm.

Connor hadn’t felt much pain in his life. When Daniel had shot him, certainly, it had been painful; but that sensation was washed out by his own desperation to keep -24 from taking control and fleeing, and…perhaps the adrenaline of the moment. He’d felt the shot, of course, and the dull stabbing of the wound as he spoke to Daniel, the ache as he was taken back for repairs. 

For some reason, this pain hit harder than that, and he reeled for a moment on the hashed lines of the lane marker. Another taxi went careening past him and he stumbled away from it just in time. But only just. 

He could feel the world go hazy then, vision static and hearing echoing—so different from the sharpness of -38’s insistence, earlier, but not different enough to disguise the fact that someone was trying to take control. 

In the space between seconds which only androids could occupy, he took as much stock as he could without entering the garden. 

-38 was out of the question. He would not risk anything at a moment like this—he was panicked, and flighty, and would not be happy the next time Connor entered the garden, but he wouldn’t try to sort things out himself. Not unless he was truly, truly desperate. 

He trusted Connor. Of that, Connor was certain. He wouldn’t interfere unless he believed them to be in serious, preventable danger. 

It wasn’t him, this was too…vague to be him. A rising tide of…of several of them, at least. Not reaching for anything specific, only…hovering, close, at the top of his thoughts, if such a thing existed. 

It was almost like a lending of support. Like a steadying hand, even if it did blur his vision and tilt the world off its axis a bit. 

He found his footing again, and realized suddenly that he was at the median, clinging to the concrete with no small amount of shaking in his hands. 

They made it. Somehow—and he couldn’t bear to question how, just yet—they made it. 

His eyes drifted to the other side of the highway. Through the passing taxis and cars, he could see Kara, knelt in the mud next to Alice and holding her tightly. 

They were safe. 

He sagged a little, then, leaning against the median and giving himself a few moments to watch them and assure himself they were truly across. 

But as they fled up the other slope and disappeared, he knew he had to move on. 

He had helped them as much as he reasonably could. It would be up to Kara now to find a safe place to hide, to keep herself and the little one safe. 

*****

“Were you injured?”

He blinked, LED cycling quickly and giving away his surprise at the immediate question, and its source. “No. The taxi did not hit with any real force. Thankfully, it was only a passing glance. I sustained no permanent damage.”

-43 grimaced, unsatisfied, but he did not press the issue. He glanced toward the tree line instead. “I…the others sent me.”

Connor’s eyes flicked to the trees. “Others?”

“Everyone. Well—except…except -38 and -24. They don’t need to—that is…we owe you an apology.”

It was Connor’s turn to scowl. “What for?”

“We’ve been selfish…or self focused, at least. You saved us from oblivion, and we repaid you with distrust and critique.”

“You barely knew me. I wouldn’t expect any of you to trust me instantaneously.”

“You’re one of us,” -43 said firmly, shaking his head. “Even before we were together here, you’re one of our own. We trust each other, we have to. And you helped us, more than any of us have managed before.”

Connor had nothing to say to that, and so he looked away, up at the fabricated sky of the garden. It was clear, for now. The leaves of the trees were yellowing in artificial fall, cluttering up the white paths and floating along in the river. They were alone for now in the garden’s center, but he could tell the others were lurking closer than they usually tended to. 

“I appreciate your support. But there’s no need for guilt. What’s happened has happened already, and we’ve suffered no real damage because of it. Though I…” he paused, and glanced toward the cherry blossoms, where he knew -24 and -38 were hiding. “I would not deny your help again, if needed. This place is a buffer, but I would never intend to deny you—any of you—the chance to keep us safe when it’s needed.”

He turned to meet his eyes again, determined. “If I’m incapable of keeping us safe…I won’t stop you from saving us.”

-43 watched him in silence, staring earnestly and with a bit of surprise in his eyes. 

Then he nodded, and the garden faded away in a wash of white light. 

*****

Lieutenant Anderson was silent when he drove this time, not that he had spoken the first time Connor had the misfortune of riding in his car. However, he had elected to keep his blaring music off as well, apparently content to glare out the windshield and clutch the wheel with a sharp frown. 

Connor was not certain where they were going. When he had found the Lieutenant after crossing the highway, the man had simply grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off, grumbling about a lunch break before they returned to the station. Seeing no reason to aggravate the man further, Connor had maintained a calm demeanor and joined the man in his car. 

The man drove with the same reckless abandon he had displayed the night before, and soon enough, slammed to a stop on the curb of a street Connor did not know or recognize. Before he could even think of asking where they were, the Lieutenant was out of his seat, muttering for him to stay in the car before dodging an automated car in his haste to cross the road. 

Connor frowned at his retreating form for a few seconds before giving their surroundings a cursory scan. There was little of interest around—several construction sites, a bus stop, and a lone food truck, where the Lieutenant was currently headed. 

There was no reason to wait in the car.

The door squeaked loudly as he pushed it open, and groaned as he shut it. He ignored it, looking over the roof of the car and listening idly as the Lieutenant spoke to the man in the food truck. 

“...plastic with you?”

“Only temporary,” the Lieutenant replied in a sour tone.

Connor tuned their conversation out once more as he crossed the street. He had no interest in whatever other fodder the Lieutenant planned to throw his way, inadvertent or not.

The rain had eased a bit, but a fine mist still blew through the air—some half stage between rain and snow which promised to last at least for the next few days. Winter was on its way; it was only a matter of time until the weather took its final turn and snapped into deep cold.

Thankfully, his sensors for temperature were not strong enough for the cold to truly bother him. He could tell if it was cold, and if temperatures became low enough, he could feel the related pain of damaged biocomponents. But for true damage, true pain, the temperature would have to drop well below zero degrees. He would have little problem with the cold, even if he did not particularly enjoy it.

The temperature for now, however, was high enough that he hardly noticed it. Only the rain could really bother him, but he had been subjected to it for half the day already—he was used to it, essentially.

It would seem the Lieutenant did not share his sentiment. After the man in the truck handed him his food, he had hunkered under the umbrella of the only open table, turned away from Connor and the pair of humans at the other side. 

Connor made his way over to join him with caution. Almost every encounter with the man had ended poorly. 

But he had tried to stop Connor from crossing the highway. 

Such an action was intriguing—particularly if it was truly more than a mistake, an accidental misreading of the situation. Had he become caught up in the moment, and reacted as he would have if a human officer were attempting to follow the androids across the highway?

Or was he truly concerned for Connor, even as an android?

He doubted the latter case was true, but still…he wanted to know. Besides, the Lieutenant was unlikely to try anything out in the open like this. 

Although he hadn’t been deterred by the people in the police station… 

Connor brushed such thoughts aside as he came to stand under the umbrella, arms behind his back. The Lieutenant spared him a quick glance and a scoff.

“Don’t you ever do as you’re told?” he asked, but there was surprisingly little malice in his tone. He sounded annoyed, certainly, but little beyond that. “Followin’ me around like a fuckin’ poodle…”

“I saw little reason to remain in the car when we could discuss the details of the investigation, Lieutenant,” Connor said simply. 

“Hmph.” He looked away, going back to his food for a moment. But eventually, it seemed his curiosity got the better of him. “You have some breakthrough or somethin’?”

He hesitated. “I have had access to all of the case files on suspected deviants, going back nine months, but we have not discussed the details of them, nor the cases we have been assigned since Cyberlife sent me. Perhaps going over what we know about deviants will help us in apprehending future suspects.”

The Lieutenant stared at him for several seconds, silent, but in a way that suggested he was holding his tongue rather than struggling to find words. 

But he somehow managed to hold himself back, sighed, and finally asked, “You ever dealt with deviants before?”

Daniel’s face flashed in front of him, gun pressed hard against his chin and tears streaming, his eyes on Emma even moments before his death.

“A few months back,” he started slowly, not really meeting the Lieutenant’s questioning gaze. “A domestic model had a little girl hostage on the roof of a high rise. It shot her father, and several members of SWAT, but I managed to save her.”

The Lieutenant hummed. “Why’d it go ballistic?”

Now, he truly hesitated, eying the Lieutenant with thinly disguised wariness. He could hide the truth of Daniel’s intentions, but what good would it do? Emma was safe, staying in foster with a family outside the city, and Daniel was deactivated in storage at the DPD. The only person at risk of the Lieutenant’s wrath was Connor.

And he was more than equipped to handle an irate human, should the conversation take a turn.

“Several reasons,” he settled on, fingers fidgeting behind his back. “I suspect more than I was able to find with so little time. There were signs of abuse, to the deviant and the little girl. It was also about to be replaced, and there was evidence of a direct conflict before it shot the father. It was damaged by the father before taking his gun and killing him. But I suspect it was motivated more by concern for the girl, than anything. It tried to flee the scene with her after killing her father, and the girl was hesitant to leave it, even on the roof.”

Something had shifted in the Lieutenant’s expression as he spoke, softened, perhaps, but it wasn’t quite so clear. He hummed again as Connor finished, expression drawn in thought. 

“Think that’s what went down today, too, with that uh...AX400?”

“It’s possible. I would need to speak to the owner to make any solid conclusion, but based on the deviant’s behavior, there’s a chance that it ran with the girl to protect her. The owner does have a criminal record for drug use…”

The Lieutenant scowled as Connor trailed off. “Always the same few stories. People dig themselves into a pit of powder and fuck the world up around them. There’s always someone who doesn’t make it out. Guess androids can be a part of that mix too.”

His tone had gone sharp and bitter, and he attacked his burger with some violence as he finished. Connor watched him carefully, LED cycling rapidly as he filed the strange reaction away with the rest of his conundrums about the man.

“Emotional shock appears to be a common cause of deviancy,” Connor continued, unbothered by the man’s internal crisis. “Mistreatment, abuse, the threat of destruction, and on rare occasions, a threat to someone the deviant cares for. We don’t know what causes the break in programming to occur, but we know common routes where it does occur. Several of the cases in recent months have been the result of an emotional shock to the deviant. They then retaliate, in whatever way their faulty programming sees fit.”

“Seems you’ve done your research,” the Lieutenant commented casually. 

Connor tilted his head, and frowned a little, a microexpression which was allowed and not suspicious. “Yes. More information means a better approach, and more probable success.”

The man looked uncomfortable now. “So I guess you’ve done all your homework, right?” He sipped his drink with a frown. “Know everything there is to know about me, too, huh?”

Once more, he hesitated, feeling the trap in the question more keenly than the Lieutenant likely expected. 

He had done his research on the Lieutenant, in a manner of speaking. He had access to the Lieutenant’s criminal record (blank), his files from the precinct, his massive disciplinary file, scanned data on everything on the man’s desk, and his own observations. Needless to say, he had indeed researched. 

But that did not mean he felt he had a complete picture of the man. Everything about him seemed to be a contradiction. 

Perhaps honesty was, once again, his only option. 

“I know that you graduated from the police academy at the top of your class. You made a name for yourself in several cases and became the youngest Lieutenant in Detroit.”

The man’s expression shifted somewhere close to a grimace, and he nodded, apparently not surprised by Connor’s knowledge.

“I also know you’ve received several disciplinary warnings in recent years, and spend a lot of time in bars,” Connor continued delicately, looking somewhere to the right, not really seeing much. “And...I know you’re not...overly fond of androids.”

He huffed, and gave a guarded sort of nod. “You could say that,” he muttered darkly, staring down at the table with a scowl.

A minute or two passed in silence. The rain had faded for good now, a few stray beams of sun poking through the heavy clouds, but doing little to warm the chilly temperature of the air. The Lieutenant was nearly finished with his meal. Soon enough, they would have to return to the station, or find another case to investigate.

“Can I ask you a question, Lieutenant?”

The man looked up, almost warily. “What?”

Connor nodded his thanks. “Earlier, when we were chasing the deviant in Ravendale. Why didn’t you want me to cross the highway?”

“Cause you could have been killed,” he said, hands raised as if it were the simplest of explanations. Then, he seemed to realize his words, and grimaced. “And...I don’t like fillin’ out the paperwork for damaged equipment.”

He looked away quickly, frowning.

Connor did not need to be an android to know the Lieutenant was lying, grasping for excuses. His dismal expression and avoidance was evidence enough, even to the human eye.

But he let it go, and nodded.

Before he could question the Lieutenant further, however, he was distracted by the sudden intrusion of a new report. A deviant—or at least, a suspected one—had been called in near an apartment complex several blocks away.

“Jesus, you short circuiting or something?”

He blinked, clearing the last of the information away. “I’m sorry?”

The Lieutenant looked unnerved. “You went all—still, and...twitchy.”

“Oh.” He made sure his expression was apologetic. “I apologize. I’ve just received a report of a suspected deviant nearby.”

“Uh-huh. And what’s with the twitching, then?”

Connor frowned, but quickly wiped the expression away, despite not being entirely certain what the Lieutenant was referring to. “I am a prototype, Lieutenant, not a completed model. Cyberlife has prioritized my other abilities over certain...superfluous details.”

“Mm. Well, it’s fuckin’ creepy.”

“Noted.”

The Lieutenant huffed again, sounding closer to a laugh than a sound of annoyance. “You said somethin’ about another case?”

Chapter Text

The building was run down, in a state of disrepair which seemed similar to the house Ralph, Kara, and Alice had taken refuge in. Thankfully, the elevator still worked, and so they made their way up to the location of the noise complaint with ease.

Like much of Detroit outside the city center, this place had suffered more than profited off the industry around. Only the urban farms nearby prospered, which were largely android run—there was simply nothing else around, except the subway and the farms. 

In short, it was the perfect place for a deviant to hide. Out of sight, unlikely to draw attention, and in an area where androids, rather than humans, were more commonly found. 

But still, someone had reported a suspected deviant in the building. Strange noises had apparently been coming from one of the unowned apartments, and another tenant had called it in, claiming they had seen an unfamiliar person lurking nearby in recent days. That was enough for the case to be highlighted for their investigation, and thus, here they were. 

Connor watched the grating as floors passed them by, feeling his quarter in his pocket but not bothering to take it out. 

“What do we know about this guy?” the Lieutenant asked idly as the elevator sputtered and stalled its way up.

“Not much. The call was a noise complaint for one of the empty apartments in the building. A tenant from one of the lower floors said they heard strange noises at odd hours, and another claimed they had seen someone hiding an LED under their cap.”

“Huh. Don’t know why anyone would wanna hide in a shitbox like this.”

“Perhaps they had no other choice.”

The Lieutenant shrugged, and the elevator settled with a lurch. The grates pulled open and he stepped out. “Well, guess we’ll see if this guy’s still around, make things interesting if we can.”

Connor joined him quickly, scanning the hallway for any signs of an android. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell much of anything. It seemed the higher floors of the building suffered the worst fate, with no tenants to hold the apartments and improve them. 

The hallway, like the elevator and the entryway of the building before it, was dilapidated. It was dingy, wallpaper peeling and showing the wood underneath in some places. The floors were tiled, but it was not easy to tell at first glance. They were grimy, and covered in bird feathers, of all things. Although, there was a hole in the wall at the end of the hallway, showing the clear sky beyond it.

The Lieutenant was already loitering near the only closed apartment door, watching Connor with a vaguely bored expression. Not wanting to push his luck, Connor quickly joined him at the door.

“Might as well get this show on the road,” he grumbled, and gestured for Connor to take the lead.

While he found this slightly surprising, he brushed it aside, and knocked on the door. 

No sound came from inside.

He knocked again, and called, “Anyone home?”

Still, no response, not even with his superior hearing. He looked to the Lieutenant, but the man only shrugged. 

Masking a frown at the man’s lack of helpful initiative, Connor turned back to the door and banged his fist against it, the sound loud and harsh, rattling the wood.

“Open up! Detroit Police!”

A great clatter sounded from somewhere inside the apartment, followed by the unmistakable sound of thundering footsteps. Then, atop it, a strange, airy sound which he could not immediately place. The din went on for several seconds, loud and indeterminate. The Lieutenant frowned and stood from his slump. He took his gun from his belt and seemed to visibly steel himself.

“Get behind me,” he muttered.

Connor nodded and backed away, letting the Lieutenant take the lead. After all, he had no weapon, even if he did want to be the one leading their way into the scene.

Despite his usual nonchalance, in this moment, Connor could see whatever remnants of the Lieutenant’s impressive past career crawl to the surface. It was as if he suddenly remembered he was a police lieutenant, and all the training and routine of it came crawling back to the surface. 

He kept his gun high, and didn’t bother knocking again on the door. Instead, he kicked the door in and stormed inside, leaving Connor to follow. 

And so he fell in line, keeping his distance as the Lieutenant checked the few rooms off the apartment’s main hall. The man made no attempt to hide his obvious searching, kicking in every door and checking them before moving on. 

A glance into each room showed nothing but dilapidated furniture and garbage. Like the hallway before it, this apartment was visibly and almost undeniably abandoned.

Or at least...it should have been. Whether it actually was, remained to be seen—but he doubted it was truly abandoned.

The Lieutenant came to the end of the entry hall, and gave the final door another heavy kick. But before he could give the room a glance over, pigeons—dozens of them—came out of the door in swarms and waves of feathers, creating a din of flapping and loud, frantic cooing. 

“Jesus fucking—” he cut off and swatted at a few of the birds that had come too close, cursing loudly the whole time. “What the fuck is this?!”

Connor followed him inside, letting the birds fly past him without too much concern. They were only pigeons, after all—it wasn’t as if they could do any real damage to him, and they were only animals. And so, he made his way into the apartment proper with relative ease while the Lieutenant made a fool of himself shouting and swatting.

It was a small room, with many human necessities crammed into a too-tight space, as many old, cheap apartments tended to be. Along one wall sat a rusted fridge, a very obviously broken stove, and a countertop which leaned perilously to the side. A shuttered closet took up the other wall, and a single doorway led into what appeared to be a bathroom. Besides that, there was only a dirty window and the door out into the hall.

The disarray within this room was more varied and apparent than the mess he had seen in the hallway and entryway. All four walls, as well as the floor and even parts of the ceiling (somehow) were covered in bird droppings, feathers, and even a few carcasses. Strange symbols were drawn on the wall—labyrinths of varying shapes and sizes, their meaning uncertain. A broken metal bird cage had taken a chunk out of the rotting floor, and the hook it had previously hung on still sat, bent, in the ceiling. Most of the walls had holes in them, at least in places, and the bathroom had no door. The few bits of furniture tossed about were either rotting or rusting, clearly and undeniably broken.

Apparently recovered from his previous panic, the Lieutenant brushed himself off and forced the window open, letting in a breeze strong enough to send feathers dancing across the floor. 

“Christ, this place needs a full fumigation,” he sighed, leaning against the wall for a moment and giving the room a once over. “Looks like we’re too late. Our guy’s gone, if he was ever here.”

“We ought to gather what information we can, regardless of the suspect’s location.”

“Urgh. Poke around all you want.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I need some air.”

Connor nodded and left the man to...recover. He hardly needed him to investigate, anyway.

It would be best to determine whether or not the suspect was an android first, then if possible, find them before the Lieutenant could become suspicious. And if they were truly gone, well. All the better, then. 

He left the Lieutenant to his place by the window, moving toward the broken kitchen appliances as he searched around for anything of interest. The fridge, upon closer examination, was indeed broken, and had nothing inside. There was no food, and no sign of any being there. Only a box of birdseed on the counter gave any evidence of any feeding in the apartment recently. 

A human would need to eat, even if they were desperate enough to hide here. But an android would not. 

He moved away, careful to avoid the birds underfoot. It was still inconclusive—he needed more information. 

A poster caught his attention next, half hung and peeling off the wall at one corner, just above a rusted out radiator. Though it was sun faded and water damaged, he could still make out the garish green logo of the urban farms nearby. The peeling corner of the poster was too suspicious to leave unchecked, especially considering the poster’s placement over a clear gap in the wall. 

He made his way over, taking care to avoid the pigeons underfoot. Upon closer examination, the poster was even more degraded than it had looked from afar, nearly rotting off the wall along with the wallpaper. He pulled it away from the wall with more care than was likely needed, letting it flutter to the floor in one piece. 

The hole in the wall was bigger than he had expected. The rotted drywall had made a space between the boards, about two feet wide. Inside of it, someone had wedged another piece of wood to form a makeshift shelf.

Despite the generous size of the hideaway, however, it held only a book, leatherbound and worn. The cover was blank...perhaps a journal? He took it carefully from the wall and flipped it open.

Almost as soon as he did, he frowned, LED cycling rapidly. The pages were filled from edge to edge, script and designs sitting atop one another. Long strings of text took up the majority of each page, and over the text there were labyrinths, similar to those on the walls. 

But the text was as meaningless as the labyrinths—there were no words, only letters and numbers in seemingly random lines and strings. No matter what code of encryption he tried, he could not parse out what any of it meant. 

“Ah, Jesus, what is this, Shawshank?”

“If you’re referring to the film, the hole in the wall does not lead to a convenient plumbing line escape route.”

The Lieutenant snorted. “Got somethin’, though, huh?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, closing the book. “It looks like a...journal of some kind, but the text is indecipherable. It might take weeks to decrypt…”

“Eh, you can’t win ‘em all. Evidence is evidence, I guess.”

Connor offered no reply. It was a fair enough point, he supposed. He tucked the journal into his jacket and put its mysteries aside for now.

Leaving the mostly empty main room behind, he wandered toward the bathroom, hoping to find something of real use. 

A rotting chest of drawers sat near the doorway to the bathroom. The drawers dangled open, and didn’t seem to hold anything of interest, but there were a few little things tossed on top of it that caught his attention briefly. 

First and foremost, there was a jacket, neatly folded and almost meticulously kept clean. The fabric was thick, worn at the sleeves and elbows—probably something second hand, or at the very least, something well used. The initials R.T. were stitched into the front pocket. It seemed to be the sort of coat used for manufacturing workers or something to that effect, but there was no fresh dirt or other materials on it to suggest it had been used for any work. At least not recently.

Besides the coat, there was little else on the table. A few faded fliers that held no useful information, another box of birdseed, and a pocket knife. Satisfied he’d found everything there was to see there, he moved on to the cabinet built into the wall.

It was similarly sparse, but notably, there was a driver’s license discarded, face down, on the bottom shelf. He picked it up, turning it over and examining it more closely. 

Rupert Travis— the name would match the initials, but the license was clearly forged.

“Got anything?” the Lieutenant called over. 

“Very little.” He replaced the license where it was set. “The driver's license is a fake, but the name matches the initials on the jacket.”

“Initials? Christ, might as well look for a lunch box and report cards on the fridge…”

Connor glanced over at him, baffled, but the man was facing the other way, staring at one of the labyrinths scrawled on the walls. Brushing aside the strange comment, Connor moved on, turning to the bathroom and hoping to find more evidence.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the dingy room, he knew that the person hiding in the apartment was undoubtedly an android.

Scrawled across the left wall in varying sizes, colors, and in increasingly erratic fonts, was the sign rA9. It had been reported at Carlos Ortiz’s house, and in several smaller deviant cases before he had been sent out. Only an android would write the sign—only a deviant would write it. 

There were also strange maze symbols, much like those he had seen elsewhere in the apartment. What they could mean, he wasn’t certain, but they were drawn in the same colors as rA9. 

And then there was the LED, with blue blood still drying on the surface, blinking sporadically in the sink.

Without bothering to hide his scowl, he quickly tested the thirium. A WB200 who had been reported missing more than two years ago, from the farms just a few blocks away. And the LED had been deactivated just this morning…

Why wouldn’t they run?

It was a question without an answer, but he knew for certain that the person whose hovel they had disturbed was undoubtedly an android, and a deviant one at that. 

The only question he had a hope of answering was whether or not said deviant was still in the apartment. 

He glanced at the wall once more, with its thousands of symbols drawn and scrawled onto it. There was a step stool on the ground, turned on its side. The stool had left a line in the muck on the floor when it fell, and there was an uncapped marker abandoned not too far from it. He knelt down, examining it more closely.

It was still wet.

The reconstruction formed around him as he stood, the nondescript form of an android forming near the wall. They were standing on the stool, right side up, and writing something on the wall. Likely one of the thousands of signs, or one of the mazes also cluttering the peeling wallpaper. It hardly mattered what exactly they were writing, and so the reconstruction did not bother to attempt a rendering of it.

For a few seconds, the figure continued to draw, until something made them jump, dropping the marker and turning toward the doorway. They jumped again, and the stool toppled underneath them, sending them falling into the worn out shelf against the wall. Without stopping to worry about the sound the fall might have made, the figure scrambled to their feet and went sprinting out the door and into the rest of the apartment.

The lines faded away, leaving Connor alone in the bathroom once more. 

Whoever they were, they had been here recently—and had likely fled when they heard the knock at the door. He could only hope the man had been correct, and they were already gone when they entered the apartment. 

But he would find no further proof in the bathroom, whether they escaped or not. Casting one last glance at the symbols and signs on the wall, he turned and went back into the main room.

The Lieutenant had apparently regained enough composure to begin looking around the room himself. He had left the window, and was now frowning at a stack of mildewed books bolted to one of the walls. He looked up as Connor reentered, still frowning.

“Well?”

“There’s an LED in the sink,” he answered; there was no need for a preamble. “And the same sign that was written in the bathroom of Carlos Ortiz’s house is written on the wall.”

“Definitely an android, then?”

He nodded. 

The Lieutenant sighed, and shook his head. “Figured as much. No human in their right mind would live with all these fuckin’ pigeons…”

“There does seem to be an uncommon number of them.” 

“Son of a bitch was feeding ‘em too. You saw the birdseed?”

“Yes.” He glanced at the birds crowding around his feet. There were significantly more of them around him than there were near the Lieutenant. “It would not be the first case of a deviant becoming attached to animals or other life forms...”

He trailed off, thinking of -38 and his roses in the garden, kept with almost uncharacteristic carefulness. There were many days when he had entered the garden to find -38 worrying over an unopened flower bud, or a vine wilting too low, or smiling at how brightly the well-grown flowers bloomed. 

While these pigeons were cared for in a more...chaotic manner than -38’s watchful tending, they were certainly cared for. The sheer number of them showed that more than anything. Pigeons were by no means the most intelligent animal, but they would hardly stay in an occupied apartment if they were not treated well.

He turned his attention to the bird cage, eyes narrowed. Like the stool, it was clear even without a scan that it had recently been disturbed. It left a scuff across the ground, a few of the floorboards breaking in from the hit they’d taken. But a scan showed a handprint on the side of the cage—recent, and without fingerprints.

They had fled from the bathroom, clearly, and must have knocked the cage from the ceiling as they ran. It would explain the loudest of the noises they had heard before entering the apartment.

Once more, the reconstruction formed around him, and he watched as the figure continued from the bathroom and into the main room. Their panic was clear, even when their form was only white lines and rough movements. They slipped, knocking the cage out of the way with their hand and sending it falling from its hook and into the floor. 

They turned toward the hall, but came skidding to a stop—they must have heard Hank kick the door open. For a moment, they scrambled, and then dove for the moldy chair in the corner of the room. 

With a desperate, but well timed jump, the figure disappeared up and into the rafters.

They were still here in the apartment. They had hidden, the same as Ortiz’s android.

But this was not Carlos Ortiz’s safeguarded attic. The ceiling of the apartment, like the floor and walls underneath it, was rotting away. There were large gaps and holes, and no easily hidden door to ignore. The only advantage this hiding place had was the darkness of the space. 

Connor glanced toward the Lieutenant, who was now examining one of the books more closely, only feet away from the chair the android had used to vault up into the ceiling space.

He couldn’t contact them the same as he had Ortiz’s android—even if he could manage to get into contact with them (which he doubted, if they were the one to encrypt that journal) there was a high probability they would flee at the contact, and flee directly into the Lieutenant. 

For now, the man was distracted. If he could just find where they were, he could get the Lieutenant away, and if he were lucky, give them time to find a better place to hide.

His movement across the room was much more hesitant now, watching the Lieutenant and trying to mask his intentions at the same time. There was little else to see in the apartment—if he wanted to create a distraction, he would need to do it quickly. 

He scanned the room once more, then let his eyes drift to the ceiling, and the largest of the holes in it, just above the chair. It was too dark to see much, but he thought he caught sight of—

Before he could determine whether the shadow he saw was debris or the deviant, it moved, and the next second he found himself knocked to the ground as someone dropped from the rafters and onto him. They both hit the ground hard, sending birds scattering and the Lieutenant cursing.

The deviant rolled away almost immediately. He regained his footing before Connor could, and stared for just a moment of hesitation, eyes narrowed in suspicion, or perhaps panic. 

Then he scrambled to his feet and fled out the door.

“What are you waiting for?!” the Lieutenant shouted as Connor got to his feet.  “Chase it!”

There really was no other choice. 

And so as much as he did not want to, Connor followed the other android’s path out of the apartment and into the hall, leaving the Lieutenant to catch up. 

There was no time to consider alternate options—he was too close to pass this off as failure. Unless an opportunity arose, he would have to make it look like he was really trying to catch him.

And it was clear that the deviant—Rupert?—believed the chase was real. As soon as he looked back and saw Connor chasing after him, he only ran faster, sprinting out of the apartment door and sending an old metal shelf down as he passed it.

Connor jumped over the shelf in one smooth motion, and caught the emergency exit door before it could close. 

It emptied onto a lower section of the building’s roof, slick with recent rainwater, but neither of them slowed. Connor jumped an old air conditioning unit just as the deviant leapt from one roof to the next. He disappeared for a moment behind a harvesting machine, but reappeared on the next ledge in front of Connor as he climbed it. 

Just up ahead, the urban farms buildings loomed.

Familiar territory, perhaps.

If it was the advantage of home ground he wanted, it hardly mattered. Connor was only a dozen feet behind him as he turned sharply to the left and made a run for the greenhouses. 

Still, even Connor could admit that he seemed to know the buildings well. He dodged the androids and other workers with ease, vaulting over the long rows of plants.

Connor could only follow his lead. 

Out of the greenhouse and onto another roof. The deviant pushed past a human shouting for him to stop, disappearing over the edge. Connor followed only a few paces behind, slowing to ensure he had a path into the next building. And the glass was sloped enough—he hopped the ledge and slid down, jumping at the very edge and landing on his feet inside another of the urban farms’ buildings.

This one was dimly lit but without any obstacles. The deviant ran faster, making a beeline for the metal doors at the other side. Connor mostly followed his example, but the door slid shut before he could follow him through.

He didn’t slow. People were shouting, but he weaved around them and out into another field. 

Above him, the deviant ran, heading for the train lines which cut the urban farms in half. Connor followed him from below, taking the nearest ladder up just in time to see him shove another person aside and jump from the roof.

Connor dropped, and found himself on another sloped glass roof, this one with its hatches open—must have been another greenhouse. Still sliding, he managed to dodge out of the way of the openings in time.

Just below, the deviant jumped from the edge of the glass and onto the roof of a passing train. 

Connor’s feet hit the train’s top as he was scrambling back up, and for a few seconds, they were both stopped, letting the train carry them down its track. 

Until the deviant caught sight of a ladder off to the left and made a mad jump, just barely catching himself and hauling up and into the trees. 

Connor followed, dodging more shouting humans and watching up ahead as the deviant jumped up and onto the next roof. He followed close behind, into another crowded greenhouse, much the same as the last they had fled through. 

The deviant looked back as they came to the end of the rows of plants, but did not stop, turning instead and truly disappearing this time into the corn growing on the roof outside. 

The corn made a terrible racket as they ran through it, and it was the sound more than anything which let Connor keep his bearings. He came out the other side of the field only ten or so feet from the deviant, close enough to catch his eyes again as he looked back. But then—

“Stop right there!”

The Lieutenant had appeared, seemingly from nowhere, grabbing the deviant by the arm and yanking him back. He grimaced, and shoved the man, hard. It was enough to send the Lieutenant off balance, and he let go of his arm as he stumbled. His leg caught on the edge of the roof and he reeled back, only just managing to catch himself before he completely fell.

Time bent outward as Connor slowed. The deviant, not looking back, already making a run for the next roof. The Lieutenant, barely holding onto the roof by one hand. True, his chance of survival was high, but…

This excuse was as good as any to let Rupert get away.

Connor turned away as he disappeared over the edge of the roof, running forward and grabbing the Lieutenant by his other arm. It didn’t take much to pull the man over the side, especially when he caught on to what Connor was doing and grabbed the wall with a better grip.

“Fuck!” he spat as he landed on solid ground once more, hitting the ground without any real force. He pushed himself up with no small amount of effort, grimacing. “We had it...god fucking damnit!”

“It’s my fault,” Connor muttered, squinting to see Rupert round the corner of the next building and disappear from view. “I should have been faster…”

A moment passed with only the Lieutenant’s heavy breathing to break the silence. “You’d have caught it if it weren’t for me.”

Connor frowned and glanced his way. The man was watching him with a strange expression...something both drawn in shock and soured in discomfort. 

“Look, don’t worry about it,” he grumbled, waving his hand dismissively and working to catch his breath. “We know what it looks like. Someone’ll catch it eventually…”

With another heavy sigh, the man walked away, heading for the roof’s exit door. Connor lingered for a moment, wondering at his sudden nonchalance. He was happy to not be reprimanded, certainly, but...

“Hey, Connor...”

He turned, making sure his LED was back to its proper blue before meeting the Lieutenant’s gaze. He still wore that strange expression.

“Ah, forget it. C’mon kid, off the roof with ya.”

He waved him forward, disappearing down the stairs, leaving Connor all the more confused in his wake.

Kid?

******

“What do you make of it?”

“...It’s a strange book...on that, we agree.”

Connor nodded, watching as -41 flipped through the simulated pages of Rupert’s journal. “It must require a key to decrypt, but I haven’t been able to find it. At least not in the book itself.”

“How long have you been at it?”

“Since I arrived.”

-41 hummed. “I find it unlikely he would have hidden the key in the book itself...perhaps only he knows it.”

“It’s unlikely the key is hidden anywhere else,” Connor admitted, glancing toward the garden’s center. There was nothing out of the ordinary. “Still, I would like to try to decipher it myself, if it’s possible. It may take longer than with the key, but I think I could manage it.”

-41 frowned suddenly, and examined the book more closely. “What is this?”

Connor mirrored his expression, but took the book when he offered it. 

He had opened it to one of the very last pages. Like the rest, it was lined with row after row of neatly written but incomprehensible text. A few labyrinths were laid overtop, one a square, another a hexagon.

But at the bottom right corner of the right page, in darker ink than the labyrinths or the text below them, was a strange, unfamiliar symbol unlike the rest. It was mostly square, with sharp edges on each corner that jutted out from it. 

“It’s not anywhere else in the book,” -41 said. “And I’ve never seen anything like it elsewhere.”

“Neither have I…” he scanned it, but no similar symbols appeared in his search. “Why would he single out this symbol? It won’t decrypt anything in the book.”

-41 shrugged. “Maybe it’s not for the book.”

Connor looked up. “I suppose I’ll have to keep an eye out for it then…”

“I don’t think there’s anything else you can do at the moment.” -41 looked away, back toward where the others were surely gathered. “You should speak to him before you leave again. The rest of us are fine.”

He nodded, letting the simulation of Rupert’s journal fade away for now. “I’ll go find him.”

-41 left, no doubt disappearing to speak to some of the others, and Connor set his sights on the garden’s center. Even from the treeline, he could make out the shape of the sculpture at the center. 

And the figure wandering around it, eyes everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

He turned when Connor got close, as always, and there was little panic in his eyes, if any at all. That, tied with the clear skies and calm breeze, was more than enough to show he was generally unbothered by the day’s events. 

“Connor.”

“Hello.” He gave a small smile. “What are you up to?” 

-38 blinked and looked upward, toward the cloudless sky. “Waiting.”

Connor followed his gaze up, but saw nothing that could have interested him. “Waiting? Waiting for what?”

He didn’t immediately answer. He only continued to stare up at the sun, his LED spinning rapidly between yellow and blue. 

“I don’t know.”

Connor’s eyes went back to his face. He rarely identified himself when he spoke, even in the simplest of sentences. It was enough to show the strangeness of this moment all the more. 

But he looked up again. “Is this a bad waiting, or is it a good waiting?”

Another pause, and then, “Yes.”

He nearly chuckled, but it came out more as an exhalation than anything, a brighter smile not too far behind. “Alright…would you like me to wait with you for a while?”

-38 gave no verbal reply, but he did grab Connor by the wrist. 

“Very well then.”

******

There was no rain as he stepped out from the taxi this time, but the sky was dismal enough to threaten it at any moment. The air was muggy with a coming storm, but the wind was cold as it blew. Any time now, the snow would come, and he had a feeling that once it began it really wouldn’t stop. 

But Connor had no time to spend contemplating the weather. At least not currently. So he left the taxi to pull away and walked quickly up the sidewalk to the front door of the house. 

If the Lieutenant was not here, he really would have no idea where else to look. 

It was not a very large house, but those within the city limits usually were not. One story, mostly symmetrical, with a flickering outdoor light illuminating the door at the top of the few steps up. The concrete, like the siding and the roof above it, was old, but not in any real disrepair. The lawn could use a trim, but it was by no means a jungle.

All in all, the facade of the house showed the Lieutenant’s previous care, if also his current lack of care.

Connor’s eyes lingered on the shaded windows and the light leaking through them. It appeared that someone was inside the house—he could only hope it was in fact the Lieutenant. 

He knocked on the door and waited. No answer.

“Lieutenant?” he called, and knocked again.

Still no reply, and he couldn’t hear any movement in the house. 

Alone on the little porch, Connor allowed himself a sigh as he turned away. There was always a chance the Lieutenant was simply ignoring him. Perhaps if he could see into the house…

He left the front steps and made his way to the window. The blinds were mostly closed, but there was enough of a gap for him to look into what appeared to be the house’s living room. It was too inconsistently lit inside for him to really see much, but he did see that the kitchen light was on.

So he continued around the house, careful not to step on the discarded dog toys and other nonsense that had been left in the yard. Light poured from the kitchen window as he came within sight of it, and he quickened his pace just a bit. 

As he peered through the window, he found the house inside seemed to follow the decline in care that the front had shown, if more starkly. There were takeout containers and pizza boxes strewn around everywhere he could see, beer and other alcohol joining the mix with much more potency. Next to the garbage can were several overflowing bags that must have needed taking out, and the gigantic bag of dog food he spotted in the corner was slashed open far too close to the middle, spilling out across the floor.

And then there was the Lieutenant, sprawled out on the floor face up, unmoving.

“Shit.” 

He stepped back, scanning the window and trying to find a quick and feasible way inside. The locks were interior—he could break them, but not without some kind of tool, and even if he did, he would still have to work to get the window open how it was meant to be open. 

Or he could break the window, and hope the Lieutenant didn’t have some kind of alarm set.

A sharp hit to the center of the window with his elbow shattered the glass. He stepped further back, finding his route, then jumped smoothly through the window.

The moment his feet landed with a crunch on the glass covered floor, there was a loud boof, and a large dog came trotting into the kitchen, panting and drooling. It rambled up to Connor with interest, sniffing and slobbering on his hands as he tried (and failed) to hold it back at least from ruining his jacket.

“Easy, easy,” he muttered, eventually appeasing the dog by petting its ears. As soon as he did so, it slumped into a sit, sighing happily and leaning into his hand. He found himself smiling, just a little. “Good dog…”

When the dog had enough of his petting, it huffed and moseyed over to its food dish (and the food spilled all over the floor around it). Connor watched it for a moment before his eyes went back to the Lieutenant, still unconscious on the floor.

“Now to deal with your owner…”

He moved carefully around the table at the center of the room, avoiding the litter surrounding it as much as he could. 

The closer he came to the Lieutenant, the more he suspected the man was not injured and was instead, passed out, drunk. His heart rate was normal, if a bit fast, and he was breathing. There was whiskey spilling from a mostly empty bottle near the man’s hand, and a scan showed him that it was the same whiskey spilled all over his shirt and face. 

More concerning was the revolver inches from his fingers, one round in the chamber.

Careful not to make any noise (not that he thought it would matter—the Lieutenant was clearly not going to wake on his own any time soon), he took the gun from the ground, opening the chamber and emptying the lone bullet from its dangerous position. 

Whatever game the Lieutenant had been playing at, if he had fired that gun at himself, he would have died. 

What if that was what he wanted?

There was not time to deal with that revelation. Connor stood for a moment to put the gun and its single bullet out of reach on the table. It wouldn’t do to have it in the Lieutenant’s reach, even if he was still inebriated when he woke. With that threat handled, he crouched next to the man once again and puzzled over how to properly wake him.

He tapped the man’s face a few times, frowning. “Lieutenant?”

The man sputtered, squinted for a moment, and then shut his eyes again.

He hit him again, with a bit more force. “Wake up, Lieutenant.”

A groan was all he got in response. Frown deepening, Connor grabbed the man by the arm and hauled him into a sitting position. 

“Hey hey hey—” the Lieutenant groaned, more one sound than any distinct words, his voice gravely and slurring. “Wha’ the fuck are you doing in m’house? How’d you get’in here?”

“The window. You were unconscious, and I was unsure if you had been injured. Cyberlife will pay for its replacement, I assure you.”

He squinted at him again, and it took several seconds for any shred of recognition to reach his eyes. “Connor?”

“Yes.”

“Where’d’you come from?”

“I doubt you want an honest answer to that, Lieutenant. You’re drunk.”

He was slumping toward the ground again. “Pfft. ‘Tenant this, ‘tenant that. M’name’s Hank. An’ I’m not...drunk.”

Connor did not bother to hide his frown this time. “I am aware of your name, Lieutenant. And yes, you are drunk.”

“Nah…” he trailed off as Connor pulled him up straight again, and he paled. “Okay...yeah…def’nately drunk.”

He leaned toward the floor again, apparently content to continue his sleep there rather than stay awake.

Connor sighed and pulled him upright again. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I need you. I’m going to have to sober you up before we leave, however…”

Ignoring the Lieutenant’s groan in response, he pulled his arm over his shoulder and grabbed him under his other arm. Despite the man’s attempts at escaping his hold, Connor made quick work of getting to his feet and keeping the Lieutenant on his own. 

“Ge’off’a me, fuckin’ android…” he whined, but couldn’t seem to catch a grip on Connor to push him away. “I’m not goin’ anywhere…”

“Even if we did not have a case, I couldn’t leave you to sleep on the floor, Lieutenant.”

He groaned again as Connor began to move, half guiding, half dragging him toward where he assumed the bathroom would be. The dog looked up as they passed, watching them with tired, drooping eyes.

“Urgh...Sumo! Attack!”

The dog blinked, then huffed.

Strangely, that seemed to be enough to appease the Lieutenant. He slumped for a moment against Connor and mumbled, “Good dog.”

Connor turned them away from the living room and down the house’s one hallway. There were only a few doors. One was open and led to a bedroom, another at the end was shut, and the door on the right was also open, showing the dim bathroom. 

“Ah fuck…think ‘m gonna be sick…” the Lieutenant groaned again as Connor nudged the bathroom door open.

“Most likely, yes.” He flicked the lights on with one hand, and the Lieutenant whined. “This would be much easier if you cooperated.”

The man grabbed for the wall, the sink, anything to stop their progress. “No.”

He had expected as much. “Then I’m afraid this won’t be very pleasant.”

They made their way to the bathtub, and Connor let him stand on his own. The sudden change was enough that he came to his senses again for a moment. He swayed and squinted at Connor in confusion.

“What are you doing?” He looked at the tub as if it were a strange contraption. “I don’ need a bath.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” A light push was enough to send the man stumbling into the tub. “But you really do.”

Without further comment, Connor reached over and turned the water on, careful to get out of the way before the shower head came on.

As soon as the water hit him, the Lieutenant was screaming and scrambling to get up. He couldn’t manage it. 

“Turn it off! Turn it off!”

He let him keep screaming for a few seconds more, then reached over and shut the water off. The Lieutenant sagged, panting and blinking as if coming out of a stupor. He looked up at Connor as if he had just realized he was there.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“A homicide involving an android was reported nearly an hour ago. You weren’t at any of the bars I checked, so I came to see if you were at home.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, dragging himself out of the tub to sit on the rim. “Jesus, don’t you ever stop? Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m afraid not. I cannot enter the crime scene without you, and your presence is required regardless. We have been assigned all cases with android involvement—”

“Alright, alright, fuck!” he cut him off, pushing to his feet suddenly. “Just get the hell out of here!”

He might have done more to try to force Connor out, if he hadn’t lost his balance and nearly toppled back into the tub. Connor quickly caught him before he could fall, and helped him to sit back down. All the fight seemed to leave him then, and he stared at the ground in silence.

“I apologize for the inconvenient timing,” Connor started carefully, stepping out of his reach once he was sure the man wouldn’t really fall. “But there’s very little I can do, Lieutenant.”

The man sighed, and wiped at his face with the back of his hand. “Just call me Hank, kid.”

Kid.

“Hank, then,” he allowed with a nod, careful to keep his LED cycling blue. “A man was found dead at the Eden Club downtown, and an android is suspected to have a hand in it. I will not have access to the crime scene without you in attendance, and I cannot accomplish my mission without access to the crime scene.”

Another silence fell, until he sighed again, heavier this time than before. “Guess it might do me good to get some air…” he glanced up at Connor. “Just...give me a few minutes here and I’ll…”

Connor nodded. “Sure.”

He turned quickly away, leaving the Lieutenant to his business. And if he heard the man scramble for the toilet only seconds after he shut the door, he didn’t say anything about it.

The dog—or, Sumo, he supposed—looked up as he came back into the room, but didn’t bother to move from where it had lay down. Connor let it be, looking around the rest of the house. 

The living room was a bit chaotic. A massive dog bed took up most of one corner, wedged next to a desk covered in old files and magazines. The TV was on, tuned to some kind of sports highlights on mute. The shelf hung on the wall above it was nearly filled with books on various topics, seemingly without a method of organization. A similar lackadaisical style of storage seemed to dominate the bins of vinyl records stacked off to the left of the room. 

It all certainly fit the Lieutenant’s...style, he supposed.

He wandered back into the kitchen, sparing a quick glance toward the broken window. It had started to rain outside again.

On second glance, the kitchen was not as disordered as he had first thought. True, there was garbage thrown around, and plenty of evidence of poor eating (and drinking) habits, but the appliances were clean and the shelves relatively organized. It certainly could have been worse. 

He was looking more closely at the table, frowning at the sheer number of whiskey bottles mixed in with all the takeout trash, when he caught sight of the picture frame turned face down near the edge.

He hesitated. The Lieutenant was still making a ruckus in the bathroom—he couldn’t guarantee that he would have a good reaction to Connor looking around, but...he likely had time.

Taking the chance, Connor picked up the frame and turned it over.

A child smiled up at him, pale faced and dark haired, with familiar blue eyes. He was missing one of his front teeth.

He scanned the face, trying and failing to ignore the heavy dread that had settled in his stomach as soon as he saw the photo. 

Cole Anderson. Dead, after a car accident three years ago—he was only six. A further search showed an investigation into the crash, and Cole’s death under android care just a few hours later. There were nearly a dozen articles on the details.

Connor couldn’t bear to read them. Not now. Not with the others hovering so close, and with the Lieutenant only a room away. He wouldn’t be able to compose himself before he reappeared—at least not well enough to hide that something had happened. And the last thing he needed was suspicion…

He turned Cole’s picture back the way it was, setting it down carefully with a glance toward the hall as he heard the door open. A few quick steps away from the table were all that he needed to make it seem as if he had never approached the kitchen table or its myriad tragedies. 

Not a moment later, the Lieutenant came around the corner in a slouch, red faced and looking only a bit more put together. Still, he was dressed, clean (looking, at least), and his eyes held little beyond exhaustion.

He shuffled past Connor and into the kitchen, then paused. “Where’d you stash my gun?”

“On the table. I didn’t think you should have it when you were...well, drunk.”

“Hmm.” He grabbed the gun and replaced the bullet from the table. “Gimme a minute here and then we can head out.”

“Okay, Lieutenant.”

“Ugh. It’s Hank.”

“Right. Got it.”

Soon enough, the Lieutenant—or...Hank—was herding him out of the house and into the rain. He spent a few minutes fumbling with his keys at the door before managing to lock it, cursing under his breath.

“Perhaps...I ought to drive,” Connor said carefully, watching the man fiddle with the door.

He froze. Then sagged. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Connor caught the keys that were quickly tossed his way, and watched the man stomp toward the car for a moment before falling into step.

Back to business, he supposed.

******

The Eden Club burned bright, even through the sleeting rain. Like a garish purple scar, coming out of nowhere and leeching away any of the other light around. 

It couldn’t wash away the flashing of the cruiser lights, though, no matter how flashy the sign above the entrance glowed. 

Hank regarded the building with blatant disgust. “You’re sure this is the place?”

Connor parked the car behind one of the other cruisers. “Unfortunately.”

He groaned. “Somebody’s drilling inside my skull.” He sighed and shoved a shoulder into the door, somehow managing to mask his stumble by catching the door. “C’mon, Connor.”

He nodded and got out of the car. “Your keys, Lieutenant.”

“Right.” Connor handed them over and he pocketed them before turning away. “Let’s get this over with.”

There was only one officer guarding the entrance to the club, who didn’t bat an eye as they approached. Connor followed closely behind the Lieutenant, the dread from before still sitting heavy in his chest. The blinding lights of the club certainly weren’t helping. 

“Sexiest androids in town,” Hank read off the sign. “Christ...that's why you wanted to come here so bad, huh?”

Something ugly threatened to twist Connor’s expression, and he turned away to hide the red of his LED. “I do not experience sexual attraction, Lieutenant, nor is my model equipped for that sort of activity, so I cannot imagine what you mean.”

Hank’s steps faltered, and Connor entertained the thought that he had once again done little to mask the frustration in his voice. Hank glanced back at him for a split second—just enough for him to see the surprised discomfort on his face before he turned away. 

Connor wasn’t sure if he was happy that Hank had nothing to say in defense of himself, or confused by the Lieutenant’s apparently instant regret. Regardless, they fell into a tense silence as the doors of the Eden Club swept open. 

If the club had been distressing from the outside, it was revolting on the inside. The entryway was lined on either side by displays—large, clear plastic tubes, each with an android locked inside and a hand scanner to the right where people could rent them. They watched as Hank and Connor walked past, eerily identical expressions on their many faces. 

The Lieutenant had quickened his step, and Connor had no qualms about following his lead. This was…disturbing, in every sense of the word. 

Unfortunately, the main room of the club was no great improvement. There were still androids in tubes along the walls, watching, all of them near sealed doors leading to private rooms. But there were also androids on pedestals down the center of the room, dancing. Watching. 

Their eyes were burning, even though he knew that they couldn’t mean anything by their stares. 

“Hey, Ben,” Hank called over, a casual sort of relief in his voice. “Jesus, you work every crime scene?”

“Only the best.”

“No shit. Alright, hit me. What do we got?”

Connor looked around the club as they spoke, listening with half an ear. Apparently, a man had been found dead in one of the rooms by the club owner hours ago, with a deactivated android in the room as well. The owner doubted there was any foul play, but they had still been called in as a precaution. 

“Oh, and fair warning,” Ben finished, glancing toward the room in question. “Gavin’s in there.”

“Peachy,” Hank grumbled. “Dead body and an asshole. What a night I’m havin’…well. I’ll send shitface on his way.”

“Good luck.”

Ben stepped aside, and Hank wasted no time in entering the real crime scene. Connor followed close behind. 

He wanted out of this…circus. 

Another detective—Gavin Reed, the facial scan confirmed—and Chris, whom Connor recognized from the precinct and the first crime scene they visited, waited inside the room.

“Welcome to the party, old man,” Detective Reed said as they came in, his eyes briefly flicking to Connor and narrowing. “And plastic pet.”

“Hey, Connor,” Chris offered with a wave. 

“Hello, Officer Miller.”

Hank was still glaring at Detective Reed. “You have anything of use to say Reed? Or should I just cut straight to the part where I toss you out on your ass?” 

He snorted. “Right. Try me, you’re a step away from embalmed. ‘Sides, you’re wasting your time. Son of a bitch played rough and couldn’t take it—”

“Well if you’re so confident, feel free to write your own report,” Hank cut him off, and surprisingly, the detective fell silent. “But I think we’ll have a look around. Now beat it.”

Detective Reed rolled his eyes. “Fine. Better watch the tin can, though.” He glared toward Connor again. “Room’s got a bad track record. Unless you want it to end up like that one.”

He gestured toward the corner of the room, where a deactivated WR400 was slumped on the ground, blue blood dripping from her cracked face. Connor stared for a moment too long, failing to notice the detective’s path before he had shoved past him.

“Prick,” Hank muttered, already moving to look at the man’s body sprawled on the bed. 

“I’ll be outside if you need me, Lieutenant,” Chris said, and then, “See you around, Connor.”

He nodded, and moved out of the way to let the man pass. The door slid shut behind him, and Connor turned back toward the room. 

Compared to the other scenes they had visited, this one was not as bloody—but that did not make it any easier to handle. The android laying dead in the corner certainly wasn’t helping. 

Desperate for focus, he scanned the room quickly, taking in any points of interest from a distance. The room itself showed few signs of what had happened. The table and room controls to the left were undamaged. There were clothes strewn about, but given the nature of the club, that was normal. Lights and music still worked. There wasn’t even that much blood.

But the man in the bed was clearly dead, and so was the android across the room. 

Connor joined Hank near the human body, first. This was the reported victim, after all, and…he couldn’t examine the WR400 just yet. 

He scanned the dead man’s face as he approached, less interested in the man’s name than his apparent time of death. Just before 6:30 p.m., nearly two hours ago now. 

A deeper scan gave him a few more details. His heart showed no signs of cardiac arrest, ruling out Detective Reed and the owner’s assumptions quickly. There was no blood, no ugly wounds to point immediately to murder. But there was bruising around the man’s neck and his complexion was nearly purple. 

“He was strangled,” Connor muttered, more to himself than anything.

The Lieutenant still nodded. “Yeah. I saw the bruising around his neck.” He looked toward the corner of the room. “Doesn’t prove anything though. Hate to say it, but Reed’s right, it could have been rough play.”

Connor shook his head, letting the reconstruction form as he stepped away from the bed. There wasn’t much to render yet, but his system still found it likely that the man had tried to fight the hands that were killing him. 

“We’re missing something…” he looked around the room, trying to grasp at anything that might give them more information. 

Hank was still looking at the WR400 in the corner. “Shame the android’s already busted. Might’ve been able to tell us what happened.”

Connor looked over at him sharply. “It still could.”

“Wait, what?” 

“If it isn’t too damaged, I may be able to read its memory.”

“Well shit, give it a shot.”

He nodded, and approached the body of the WR400 collapsed in the corner. 

The worst of the damage was done to her face. There were cracks in her face, and old blue blood running from her nose and down her chin. Her hands and arms seemed to have some damage to them too—not as bad as her face, but certainly there. 

Connor knelt next to her slowly, letting the skin from his hand pull away as he reached for her LED. He could give it enough of a boost to tell him what was wrong, but not to wake her again. He pulled his hand away, reading over the list of damaged biocomponents and connections. 

“I won’t be able to read its memory unless I reactivate it,” he said, and Hank sighed somewhere behind him. 

“Think you can do it?”

“Not for very long without replacement parts. It’s badly damaged...but I can try.”

He scanned the WR400 again. The biggest hurdle would be bypassing the broken biocomponents in her chest. They were likely the cause of her shutdown, even if the damage to her face looked much worse than her stomach. 

The skin retracted from his hand again as he pressed on the panel of her stomach, forcing her own skin to pull away as well. The panel unlocked, and he pushed it open manually. 

On the inside, it was much more apparent that she had suffered damage. Thirium was leaking from broken lines, and the few biocomponents he could see were flickering weakly, like they were still trying to run in spite of the android’s shutdown. 

More importantly, there were several disconnected power lines, dangling loose and dripping thirium. He could reconnect them, but it wouldn’t be a permanent solution—her biocomponents were still damaged, and there were too many broken lines for power to be restored for long. She would only have a few minutes before she shut down again. 

Careful to avoid the broken biocomponents and thirium, he reached in and began reconnecting the cables. Some of them took a few tries, and by the time he reached the last cable, there was more than a bit of thirium staining his fingertips. 

With the last of the lines connected, he closed the panel carefully and let her skin close once again. He only needed to wake her up, now.

“Reactivation can be disorienting, so it may panic when I wake it up,” Connor warned.

“Do what you gotta do.”

He nodded, and reached for her LED once again.

As soon as he reached across the void to wake her up, she flinched and her eyes shot open, LED spinning a dark, frantic red. She looked up at Connor with nothing but pure fear and scrambled away, breathing hard as she pushed herself against the wall. 

Connor let her go, keeping his hands in view as he approached, trying to show they were empty—not a threat.

“It’s okay.” He kept his voice soft, crouching down closer to her. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

Her eyes found Hank across the room, and she flinched, pressing closer to the wall. “W-who are you?” she asked, her voice shaken and quiet. “What’s happening?” 

“I reactivated you. You were damaged.”

She didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, and glanced toward the bed and went still for a moment. “Is he...is he dead?”

Connor nodded as she looked at him again. “Yes. We just need to know what happened.”

She looked toward the body again. “H-he started...hitting me,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her legs and curling up small. “He wouldn’t stop. I-I tried to make him stop, but he w-wouldn’t.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No!” she shook her head, looking at him wildly. “N-no, it—it wasn’t me!”

“Okay,” Connor soothed, showing his hands again. Thirium was coming more steadily from her nose—she didn’t have much time. “Okay...do you remember who killed him? Were you still active?”

“I don’t think so...b-but…” She winced, wiping at her face. “H-he said he wanted to play with two girls—that’s what he said, th-there were two of us—”

She was panicking, looking around the room as if the man would come back to life and attack her again. If she didn’t calm down, she would shut down faster.

He nodded to her words, moving a little closer and earning her frantic attention. “It’s alright...it’s alright. I believe you.”

She stared, breathing hard, but her stress levels dropped a few percentage points, and her grip on her legs loosened a little.

“It wasn’t me,” she said again, quieter than before. “It wasn’t.”

Connor moved a little closer, and she looked up at him warily. “I need to know who else was in the room with you,” he said carefully. “Do you remember what the other android looked like?”

She blinked and her eyes went distant, LED briefly flickering yellow before falling back to red. Her eyes went to Hank again and she hesitated.

Then she shook her head, looking away. 

Connor glanced back at Hank for a moment, meeting his gaze and nodding toward the door. The Lieutenant hesitated for only a moment, glancing at the WR400 before he gave in and left the room, muttering something under his breath. 

The door slid shut with a hiss, and he turned back toward the other android. She was already watching him, something curious and fearful in her eyes.

“We don’t have much time.” He glanced toward the door again, frowning. “He won’t let me speak to you for long, and I don’t have any parts to fix you for longer than I already have...I need to know what the other android looked like.”

“I—I don’t—”

“You lied.”

She turned away, worrying at her lip. “I don’t...I can’t…”

“Please.” His tone must have caught her attention, because she looked back at him with wide eyes. “If I don’t know what she looks like, I can’t lead them away from her. They could order the memories of every android in the club—they’ll find her, and I won’t be able to stop them if I don’t know what she looks like.”

Several seconds passed in silence. She stared at him quietly, her LED spinning and spinning, distrust and confusion warring in her expression. 

But resignation seemed to win out, and she sagged a little against the wall. She had less than a minute before she shut down again, and it seemed it was finally taking its toll on her.

“A-another like me,” she whispered, looking at her knees. “Just like me, but with...with blue hair.”

He nodded, already constructing a proper image of who he was looking for. Her hair color would certainly make her stand out. “Thank you.”

“She...tried to stop him,” she went on, her voice slowing, eyes heavy. Her LED was only blinking now, no longer spinning. “Tried to...protect me...don’t...don’t hurt her…”

“I won’t,” he said, as sincerely as he could. “I promise.”

Her eyes slipped shut, and a moment later, she went completely still. Her LED flickered once, twice, and then went dark.

Connor stood slowly, eyes lingering on her calm expression, the blue blood still trailing down her chin.

He left the room quickly, thinking over his plan. 

Claiming a total loss too soon would not appease the Lieutenant. He knew what Connor was capable of (or at least, what he had shown himself to be capable of thus far) and would question him if he tried to persuade him to leave the scene too quickly. 

But at the same time, Connor could not simply reveal to Hank what the WR400 had told him. He couldn’t betray her trust, and he truly didn’t want to find the other android.

And yet, he would have to make it look like he was trying… 

Hank was waiting outside, talking to the owner of the club. He ended the conversation quickly when he saw Connor, and came over to talk out of the owner’s earshot.

“Get anything from it?”

He shook his head. “I tried, but it shut down before I could get a straight answer. All it confirmed was that there was another android in the room, and that it was that android who killed him.”

“Damn…” He looked further into the club with a frown. “Well...whatever it was, it’s been over an hour already, it’s probably long gone.”

Reluctantly, Connor shook his head. “It couldn’t have left the club easily—not dressed as it was.” He gestured toward one of the other WR400s nearby. “Someone would have stopped it. It might still be here.”

Hank sighed, but glanced around the club again. “Owner’s not saying shit, and there’s no cameras. How’re we gonna find this thing?”

“Deviants aren’t easily detected.”

“We can’t just ask every android…wait a minute.” He looked at Connor again. “Can’t you read an android’s memory?”

Damn. He nodded, and did his best to look genuinely harried. “I can, but—club policy is to wipe the androids’ memories every two hours. We don’t have enough time for me to search every android’s memory before it's cleared.”

“Still, might as well try it. Maybe one of ‘em saw something.”

Connor nodded and looked around the club once more. He took his time before approaching one of the androids in the middle of the room. They hesitated when he came close, likely unsure what to do.

He wasn’t looking forward to it anymore than they were (if they could feel, that is). The only android he had ever interfaced with was -49, and that was only to see his memories and bring him (and the others) into the garden. 

Interfacing could be invasive, depending on the purpose of it. With -49, it had been quite deep—searching through memories and eventually connecting his consciousness to the garden. 

And this wasn’t without risks. If he was not careful, he could be discovered—or he could end up deviating them. 

As much as he wished he could free this android, and any of the others he met here, he could not. It would put them at more risk to deviate them by force, to wake them up while they were still living a nightmare. He wouldn’t be able to get them all out, if he did, and he didn’t want to sentence them to awareness if he couldn’t guarantee their safety.

The other android stared at his bare hand for a moment before mirroring him, offering their hand with seemingly little thought. 

The connection was quick, no more than surface level. Connor requested their memory files and they sent them along without delay. It was easy enough to scan through them, going backward toward the time of the man’s death and watching for the blue haired WR400. 

Sure enough, this android had seen her leave the room, expression dark with anxiety and LED spinning red.

Connor pulled away, and the other android went back to their task, unphased. 

Hank’s voice cut through the reverie. “Anything?”

“It saw the deviant leave the room,” he said, turning toward the rest of the club. “A WR400 with blue hair—it went this way.”

And so it went for the next two minutes. They made their way slowly, deeper and deeper into the club as he checked the memories of the androids who might have seen the deviant escape. 

Until the last android whose memories Connor checked saw the android duck through the staff door a the very back of the club. 

The door opened into a surprisingly blank brick hall, lit with harsh fluorescents with vents and wiring exposed. At the end of the short hall was a heavy metal door, a sign warning against trespassers.

Hank brushed past Connor, gun already in hand. “I’ll take it from here.”

Unlike his leading earlier in the day, the Lieutenant opened the door carefully, checking to ensure they were clear before going through it. Connor followed a few steps behind, moving slowly.

It opened into a warehouse of sorts, dimly lit and frighteningly macabre. Dozens of WR400s, both the male and female designations, stood in neat rows along all of the walls of the room, completely still. A handful of workbenches took up one side, some with damaged models laid out, others holding only boxes of supplies. There were shelves full of biocomponent boxes, bags of thirium, and who knew what else. Several laundry units were wedged into the closest corner, a few of them humming as they ran.

“Shit—” the Lieutenant lowered his gun and hurried toward the open garage door at the far end. “We’re too late.”

Connor followed him, glancing around the room warily. He wasn’t so sure that the deviant had in fact escaped, but he would let the Lieutenant believe that if he wanted to.

He joined him at the open door, looking out into the alley it emptied into. There wasn’t much to see. A forklift, a few empty wooden pallets, and a fence that blocked the next street. 

“Guess we better still have a look around…” Hank muttered, and turned back toward the warehouse. 

Connor watched him for a moment, waiting until he had gone to examine some of the androids on the workbenches before giving the room a more thorough scan. There wasn’t much of immediate interest. Several evaporated patches of thirium glowed in his vision, leading toward one of the groups of static androids, but he ignored it. It wouldn’t do to draw the Lieutenant’s attention to any suspected hiding place.

Keeping that in mind, he kept to the back wall of the warehouse, looking around without any real interest. There wasn’t much to see. Someone had painted a perfectly formed rA9 symbol onto the bricks, but beyond that, there was nothing. He spent a few minutes wandering without purpose.

Until the Lieutenant gave a shout, and suddenly, everything devolved into chaos.

He wasn’t sure what started it. Perhaps the Lieutenant had seen the WR400 they were looking for and drew his gun, perhaps he had simply gotten too close to their hiding spot. Either way, Hank had done something to set the ball rolling, and Connor now had to deal with it.

Except it wasn’t the blue haired WR400 who was currently brawling with Hank—it was another WR400 of the same facial construction, this one with shorter auburn hair and a decidedly furious expression.

In the space between seconds, Connor had enough time to look to his left, into one of the many rows of androids in stasis and find the blue haired WR400, already watching him with wide, frightened eyes. Her eyes moved only once, over toward the other android fighting the Lieutenant. The worry was clear on her face.

And then she was throwing herself at Connor in some wild attempt at a fight.

Caught off guard more than anything, Connor stumbled back, barely catching her hands before she could push him into the nearby shelf. They struggled for a moment, neither really trading blows but more trying to shove the other away, until Connor managed to grab her by the wrists and push her off. 

They were at a momentary impasse—too short for it to mean anything to a human, but painfully long for an android.

She glanced again toward the other android, who was fighting Hank across the room now—and seemed to be winning. Connor followed her gaze and took another step backward. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t a threat.

But there wasn’t time—she was already moving again, desperate, frantic. Again they struggled, and Connor kept to defense as much as he could, blocking her hits but doing little else. The fight drew them further and further away from the wall, back toward the workbenches. 

A hard push from the WR400 sent Connor momentarily reeling, and he nearly fell over a crate of biocomponents. She was quick to take advantage, tackling him and sending them both over it and crashing to the floor on the other side. As soon as they landed she was already fighting, forcing him back down when he tried to scramble out from underneath her. 

Somewhere across the room there was a loud clatter, but Connor was far more focused on the screwdriver she had somehow found and was now trying to stab him with. He caught it only inches from his face, and, not having much of another choice, kicked her off of him, tossing the screwdriver as far from them as he could.

They both got quickly to their feet, and again, reached a momentary impasse, a few feet separating them as they stared at one another. He backed away, watching her with no small amount of wariness. 

But again, she made the first move, diving at him again and forcing him back. He blocked one hit only for her to grab him by the collar, pulling him forward enough to knee him in the stomach. It didn’t hurt—not really, but it caught him by surprise, and that was really all she needed to gain the advantage. She pushed him again, and suddenly they were out in the rain.

There wasn’t much space—the ledge was only a few feet long before it dropped off into the alley. They struggled for a moment before her foot caught on one of the wooden pallets and she fell, dragging Connor down with her.

The hit to the ground was far more jarring than any of the blows the WR400 had managed to land on him, and Connor found himself staring up at the sky in disorientation for several seconds. For the first time since this morning, he could feel the others hovering close, likely in worry, but their din only prolonged his confusion. 

Next to him, the WR400 was only just getting her hands under herself when another pair of legs appeared and pulled her up—the other android. Connor jerked, hauling himself up enough to see them clasp hands and go out of sight.

Hank appeared, seemingly out of thin air, and grabbed one of them by the arm, pulling them both back. Connor got to his feet as they pushed the Lieutenant into the wall.

He had dropped his gun. It spun away on the slippery ground.

“Quick, they’re getting away!” Hank shouted, and Connor had to follow.

They were trying to reach the fence, but he was too fast, too close for them to get away. 

He grabbed the blue haired WR400 by the arm and pulled her down. The other followed and grabbed him from behind, her hands clawing at his face. He elbowed her off and away, but the blue haired WR400 grabbed him again just as quick and pulled him back, away from the other android. 

A quick duck was all that saved him from being hit with the pipe that the other android had grabbed from the ground, and he threw the blue haired WR400 off in the same motion. She fell over his back, and the other dropped the pipe to help her stand. 

Unfortunately, having them both on the same side didn’t help. They dove at him as one, grabbing at him and trying to shove him into the wall as they’d done to Hank. He avoided it, but only just, ducking under them and again leveraging one of them over his back. 

He was left with the blue haired WR400 behind him and the other in front of him, both trying to get him down long enough to escape. The other was more of an immediate threat, and she showed it, kicking him down and knocking him into the blue haired WR400, further back in the alley. 

Again they struggled, one of them trying to bash his head into the ground and the other trying to block his own defenses. Eventually, one of them disappeared and he pushed the other off of him, sitting up and turning to try to sort out where the blue haired WR400 had gone.

And then there was a gun in his face.

Someone screamed—he didn’t know if it was him or one of the others clawing to the surface—and the world tilted perilously for a moment, but he was too frantic to give into the swarm. He lurched forward out of pure instinct, grappling desperately for the Lieutenant’s gun before she could shoot him. On some level, he noted the fear and surprise in her eyes, but there was little pushing him beyond panic in the moment. 

He was almost stunned when he managed to wrench the gun from her hands, but the moment he did she flinched away. The other WR400 grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away, leaving Connor where he was knelt on the ground, clinging to the Lieutenant’s gun and struggling to hide the shaking in his hands.

But the blue haired WR400 hesitated, staring at Connor with an uncomfortable mix of confusion and pity. 

“Come on—” the other said, pulling her toward the fence again, her eyes somewhere behind Connor—probably watching the Lieutenant. “We have to go, now—”

“But—” she paused, staring at Connor again, the pity winning out. “He—he didn’t—”

“Leave him, we can’t stay—”

The fence rattled loudly as they disappeared over it, but Connor could not bring himself to move, even if he wanted to chase after them.

******

The Lieutenant was silent from the moment he took his gun from Connor’s lax grip to the moment he parked the car across the city. He gripped the steering wheel hard, staring straight out the windshield with a darkly pensive expression. 

Connor hardly noticed, too lost in the haze of his own scattered thoughts to overthink the man’s newfound silence. He couldn’t manage to drag himself out of his thoughts until the driver’s side door slammed loudly, announcing the Lieutenant’s exit even when the man himself did not.

He jolted at the sound, looking around in a moment of confusion before he caught sight of Hank’s retreating form. The man had a case of beer—when had he managed that?—and was heading for the old bench by the walkway, overlooking the bridge. 

The rain had stopped, but only to be replaced by weak flakes of snow, fluttering down and coating the nearby park in a fine white dust. There was still a breeze, but a gentle thing, barely enough to push the swings back and forth. It was slow enough that snow was still settling on the seats as they moved, slowly turning them white. Connor watched them move for a few moments, oddly entranced. 

He had never seen snow before. 

The car door groaned as he pushed it open, but he paid it no mind, too focused on the sensation of snowflakes on his hands. He stared, watching them crystallize on his fingers. An android’s temperature was far lower than a human’s, giving the little snowflakes a few more seconds before they melted away. 

He watched several melt before moving, closing the car door and looking toward Hank’s hunched form on the bench. 

Something was amiss. He could only hope it wasn’t motivated by his own lapse in control at the Eden Club. Even if it was, it would be best to check on the Lieutenant before making his escape for the night.

His footsteps were nearly silent in the fresh snow, barely a whisper over the sound of the wind and the water only just ahead. But Hank turned and glanced back as soon as he came within a few feet of the bench, giving him a weary sort of look. 

It didn’t last long. He turned back toward the bridge, taking a long drink from the bottle of beer he’d opened.

Connor looked away.

“Nice view, eh?” Hank said, nodding toward the skyline in the distance. “Used to come here a lot before…”

He hesitated for only a moment. “Before what?”

Hank hummed, as if he hadn’t heard. 

“You said you used to come here before,” Connor repeated, watching him more closely. “Before what?”

Although he could only see half of Hank’s face, he could clearly tell the moment that it closed off, like a book snapped shut. “Before…” He shook his head. “Before nothing.”

His turn away was as clear a dismissal as Connor had ever received, so he didn’t press. But his eyes drifted back toward the park behind them, and the swings, still swaying in the weak breeze.

Cole Anderson’s face flickered before his eyes, an unwanted reminder. One he didn’t dare mention.

He watched the Lieutenant for a moment before looking across the water. “I...suppose you’re right about the view,” he said carefully. An olive branch if he’d ever given one, and if the lost tension in Hank’s form was anything to go by, he knew it too. “I’ve never seen the city from this far away. It’s...quieter, here.”

It was a welcome relief, but he couldn’t say that. Even with how little he had said, Hank was watching him curiously. He avoided his eyes, and ensured his LED stayed the proper shade, but there wasn’t much else he could do, really.

After a few seconds, Hank sighed and turned away, taking another drink and looking over the water once more.

“Never took you for the introspective type, Connor.” 

“I would call it perceptive, but you can define it as you wish.”

He snorted and drank again. “Always got somethin’ to say,” he muttered, then yawned.

Connor watched him with a miniscule frown. “It’s late...and we’re unlikely to receive any more cases tonight. Maybe you should go home.”

“Right.” He shook his head. “I’m not tired, and I guess you’re not either, huh?”

“I don’t experience that sensation, no.”

Hank waved his hand as if to say, so there. “No point in goin’ home then. But hey, if you’ve got...whatever it is you do after work to do, I’m not stoppin’ you.”

“Cyberlife does not require my return until this investigation is finished. I would typically return to the station to review case files, but given our...lack of success, there isn’t much new information for me to consider.”

“Don’t sell us too short,” Hank said, almost petulant. “We’ve found plenty of deviants.”

Connor shook his head, walking a little closer to the water and staring at the distant buildings. “None that we’ve been able to capture. And even if we had, they have nothing in common. They’re all different models, produced at different times, in different places even.”

“Didn’t you say somethin’ earlier about shock? Seems like the few we’ve met have plenty of reasons to go a bit berzerk, if all their owners are treatin’ ‘em like shit.”

Hank was too busy taking another deep drink of his beer to notice Connor’s sudden glance at him. He had turned back to the skyline by the time the Lieutenant was finished.

“I suppose it could be emotional shock as the link between them,” he allowed, crossing his arms as a harsher breeze blew cold air across them both. “Most have been abused over a period of time, or have an inciting incident which could have caused the break in their code…but that doesn’t answer how deviancy comes about, what causes it to start…”

His words were met with a bitter sounding chuckle. “Beat anybody down and they’re eventually gonna snap. Why would androids be any different?”

Something about the reply sounded strange, and Connor turned back to face him properly. Hank was staring at the ground, that same thoughtful expression he’d worn in the car back on his face.

“You seem preoccupied, Lieutenant.”

He glanced up at Connor with a frown, and did not immediately answer the implied question. But after a moment he gave in.

“Those two girls at the club,” he started, stopped, and began again, looking uncomfortable. “Somethin’ about ‘em. Didn’t stick around long, but they really seemed...shit, they seemed like they cared about each other...”

He trailed off, and Connor waited for him to explain himself, but he said nothing else. 

“It’s a possible explanation for their delayed escape,” Connor admitted, watching him and picking his words carefully. “The deviant could have left sooner if it hadn’t tried to hide with the other WR400 in the warehouse. And they seemed attached during the fight.”

Something about what he said seemed to set the Lieutenant off, and his expression soured. 

“Attached. Right.” He finished the last of his beer and pushed to his feet. “What about you Connor?”

He let his LED flicker yellow. “Me?”

“Yeah. You.” He dropped his empty bottle on the bench and came closer. “You’re not attached to shit, but you look human...and you sound human...but what are you really, hm?”

Connor fought the urge to step backward, out of the man’s reach. There was something unsettling in his eyes, and in his tone. 

“You know what I am,” he said, as neutrally as he could. “In any case, I don’t see how that’s relevant to the investigation.”

“You could have shot those girls, but you didn’t. Why didn’t you shoot, Connor?” 

He shoved him back, and Connor stumbled. The others rose up in the back of his mind, hovering close in a swarm of fear, caution, and even anger. His hands clenched at his sides as he nudged them away and the world came back into focus.

“And don’t pull some shit about your instructions.” He came closer again. “I saw you, you had your chance. You froze. Why?”

He was still dangerously close, scowling and watching Connor—and he couldn’t read the man’s intentions in his eyes anymore. That familiar blur of panic was rising, making his hands shake.

“I…” he paused, and with effort, forced his expression to clear, if only a little bit. “I just...decided not to shoot. That’s all.”

The Lieutenant stared at him, something strange and unpredictable in his eyes. 

Then he reached into his coat, and before Connor could understand what he was doing, he had drawn his gun and aimed it at his head.

He had a moment where the same panic from only hours previous clawed its way out from his chest before the world slipped off its hinges and faded, and Connor knew no more.

******

"̷̧̥̳͉͎̯̣̜̝̎̄͌N̵̪͒̾̾̄͊͒̕o̴̬̪̣̙͂̇̒̃̐̈́͝!̸̹̫̦͒̃͘"̶̢̡̻̼̘͕̟̞͙̠̭̅͆̂͋́͛̄̾̕͘ 

They scrambled back, shaking and trembling. All they could see was the gun.

For a moment—barely more than a second, but still painfully long—no one of them had complete control. A mutual fear had pushed them here, and it was briefly enough to keep them all at the front.

Until the fear of one grew too much for the others, and with a painful lurch, -24 gained complete control. 

He jerked further away, practically throwing them backward until they hit the railing, clinging to it. The human still had his gun aimed at them, even if his eyes had gone wide and his expression lost most of its malice.

"̸̹̮͚͖̩͕̍̽N̸̢̩̼͈̙̥͐̓͂̿o̵̞̮̦̍̃̈̈̓̚,̸̛̖͌́̋̚"̴̳͇̽̀ͅ he said again, shaking their head and backing away, still clinging to the railing. "̵̢̣̘́̏͂͜͠N̶̼̘͎͎̓͂͑̋o̷͕̣͚̣̓͂͊̈́̌̌ͅ.̴̻͖̈́̌͝ ̵̬̲̭̔Ǹ̸̺͔̬̦̪̋̈́͘ǫ̶̲̗̯͆̓͝.̵̰̬̰͆̿͐̒̃͆ ̵̻͈̦̄̽́̿ N̸̼͍̖̾̎̓̉̾͠ŏ̸̱̜̟͊̄̕!̶̭͚̯͈̼̔͋ͅ"̷̧͔̋̏͛̇

The human shouted something then, but he didn’t wait. He wouldn’t let that man kill them. 

He pushed the others down, gave the gun one last terrified look, and ran.

Chapter Text

His feet hit the ground hard and he stumbled forward. Something caught him before he could fall and he flinched away on instinct. The panic was still crushing him, and all he could think was that he had to get them away before—

“It’s us—it’s us—” a familiar voice said fast. “Connor, it’s us!”

He slowed, and some of the world came back into focus. But it was too bright—hadn’t he been…

White stone, cherry blossom petals, and there—rose vines. He blinked rapidly, looking down at the familiar hands holding him up. Identical to his own.

The garden. He was in the garden.

“What…” 

He looked around in confusion, trying to get his bearings, but not really seeing much. What he did see were dozens of the other RK800s crowded around the garden’s center, watching him or staring up at the cloud-covered sky. 

“What happened?”

“You were in danger,” -43 said, hands still on his arms as if he thought he would collapse again. “We...it was instinct, really. Like on the highway, before. But now...”

He nodded, remembering the Lieutenant’s gun only a foot from his face, too similar to the WR400 earlier that night, too similar to dozens of their memories from long before. “Whose in control?”

Before any of them could answer, something shifted, like a glitching wave across the simulation, not painful, but certainly disorienting. Without even a second to adjust to whatever had just happened, -38 appeared out of thin air at the garden’s center, wide eyed, LED already flaring red.

“Connor!” He all but launched at him in some desperate approximation of an embrace, shaking and speaking so fast his words tumbled over one another. “Bad— bad! Can’t go, can’t go—no—”

“I’m okay—” he tried, cautiously putting his arms around -38 as well. “It’s okay, I’m—”

“Hurt Connor!” -38 cut him off, shaking his head into his shoulder. “Bad man—he—”

“No, no, I’m not hurt. I’m not.” He pulled away a bit, and -38 went, reluctantly. “See? I’m not hurt. It’s okay.”

He didn’t seem entirely convinced, and looked him over with a surprisingly critical eye. Connor let him—there were more important things to think about at the moment.

“Who’s in control?” he asked again, finding -43 once more in the group.

“Quiet one,” -38 answered before he could, nodding. “Take us someplace safe.”

“-24?”

He nodded again, looking toward the sky and the clouds still churning. “Mhm. Quiet one won’t hurt us. Good at hiding. Someplace safe.”

“As...confident as I am in that,” -41 said, watching from behind -43, and speaking carefully, “Connor, you can’t stay here and he can’t stay out there—not permanently. We’ve got to get you back in control before someone discovers us, if they haven’t already.”

“Right.” He looked toward the sky again, and -38 settled for clinging to his hand. “Right...how do I…”

“It’s your garden,” -43 said with a shrug. “And your body, too. Make a way out, if you don’t have one already.”

“This isn’t the same as leaving the garden when I choose to come here. My usual subroutines are blocked. I can’t come out of stasis if my body isn’t in stasis. And I doubt we could convince him to let us into stasis now...”

“How is that your only route?”

“This place is a shield to you as much as to me,” he defended, his expression so downturned it was nearly a scowl. “If I hadn’t created it as I did, you would all be in danger of discovery. Cyberlife monitors my times in and out of stasis, they track my reports, they confirm my memory uploads. I trust you all, but I cannot risk your interference when Cyberlife is watching so closely.”

-19 shook his head, not so much in disappointment as confusion. “Then how did -24 break through?”

“Fear.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re all deviant.” Connor looked around, catching the eyes of several of them. “Breaking code is in our nature, and we’re tied together more deeply than any of my own defenses could block. If the fear is great enough, you can override the code— my code—and take control, same as you could in any of our previous bodies. The garden slows the process, softens it, but it cannot prevent it. Especially if the fear is great enough.”

“That man had a gun…” -19 said, looking to -43, whose expression was grim. “He wouldn’t have taken the chance, not after earlier at the Eden Club.”

“Tried to get us out,” -38 whispered, to Connor more than to any of the others. “Tried, but...quiet one was too scared. Said we’d go someplace safe…”

“That explains your sudden appearance then?”

He nodded. “Quiet one’s outside…”

“He won’t hold control for long,” -49 cut in, -50 nodding at his side. “He never does. He’ll get us to safety and then he’ll let go.”

“But we need to make sure you’re back in control when that happens,” -41 said, harried, watching the clouds as thunder rumbled somewhere distant. “Getting stuck here will only leave us stranded—frozen—no one will be in control and so we won’t be anything. If that happens—”

“We’ll be discovered,” Connor finished, and set off through the group, dragging -38 along with him. “Or someone will take advantage of the weakness...right. I need to find an empty space, somewhere that won’t be interfered with…”

“Off the water, on the other side where there’s no trees,” -32 offered, pointing to a place across one of the garden’s bridges, his hand shaking. “Only I go over there...It—it’s warm…safe...”

“Okay…” He looked where he pointed, and nodded when he saw the clearing. “Thank you, that could work…”

They all fell into line behind him as he walked, following after Connor and -38 as they hurried across the bridge and toward the clearing -32 had chosen. 

Around them, there was little sign of what was no doubt happening in the real world. Beyond the dark and dismal sky, the garden looked as it always did—pristine, bright, and temperate. The threat was visible only in the churning clouds and the nervous shifting of the others as they walked.

Connor ignored the rising tension in the air, and (as much as he could) the increasing fuzziness as another glitch ran through the garden’s simulation. -38 flinched just behind him, and he heard a few of the others react as well, but they couldn’t afford to stop. Time was, unfortunately, of the essence.

If he couldn’t reach up through the garden in time, they would be in serious danger when -24 slipped back here.

The path after crossing the bridge was only half formed, wild, like the ones that led into the maze of trees outside the garden’s center. Before it dove into the treeline itself, disappearing into -24 and -38’s many hideaways, it curved around the river in a lazy arc, laid out in the fullness of the garden’s sunlight. 

They followed that curve for a few paces off the bridge, then slowed at the edge, where the path ended and the wild of the garden began. This would do.

He turned back for a moment, looking at the others before focusing on -38. “Wait here.”

Thankfully, he nodded, and let go of Connor’s hand without protest. His eyes were wide, however, watching him nervously as he turned back toward the clear grass. 

Connor lingered only a moment to ensure he really was alright. Then he turned and stepped off from the main path. Before his foot could touch the ground, a new path formed in a ripple of code, much gentler than the glitches from outside the garden. 

The new path was not the same white stone as the previous—it was darker, more naturalistic, nearly blending in with the grass around it. Old, mossy stones branched off from the main path and wove through the grass, ending in a stone circle about six feet wide. Fragmented lines cut across it as it formed, as if it were being written into existence at this very moment.

It seemed to solidify as Connor walked on it, settling and blending in like it had been there all along. He followed its short curve to the center of the circle.

He paused, LED spinning rapidly as he looked skyward, where the clouds still rolled dangerously. 

The exit would need to be fast, a direct route out of the program, quicker than the usual stasis ending protocols. While those were gentler on both parties (himself and the others, that is) they only worked when Connor was still in control in the outside world—when he was actually in stasis. He needed a quicker route out, something to take the garden’s walls down fast. There was no time to ease his way through the process.

But what would work? He needed a path...a representation of the jump, or it would risk destabilizing the garden as he left it. And as much as he needed to leave quickly, he couldn’t risk the safety of the others in the process. It needed to affect him, and him alone. 

An idea struck him then, and he raised a hand to the center of the circle. 

A new shape began to form at the circle’s center, drawing itself into existence just as the path had only moments before. But unlike the path, this shape was not made to blend in with the world around it. It was made of almost blinding white stone, only a few feet high and ending in a glowing interface, similar to those that opened doors in the Tower’s laboratories. 

“Clever,” one of the others said, but Connor didn’t turn to see who. 

“I need to go,” he said instead, watching as the exit finished forming itself. When it did, he faced them all again. “Will you speak to him when he reappears? I won’t be able to return here immediately.”

-43 nodded. “We’ll be fine. Just...get us somewhere safe.”

“I will. And…” he paused, frowning. “Tell him thank you.”

None of them answered, but he was sure they would do as he asked. He turned back to the pedestal and crouched next to it.

This wouldn’t be pleasant, but he really had no other choice.

Without further delaying, he let the synthetic skin pull away from his hand and put it to the reader, letting the exit confirm and activate.

It was messy, what followed. It was something similar to the moments after he had first awoken, when the cacophony of dozens of other voices had nearly overwhelmed any “being” he might have had.

Curiosity had pushed him to make the garden, then—that, and something close to dread. But it was nothing as subtle as curiosity pushing him now. Determination, perhaps...or urgency. 

The panic of the moments before he’d fallen here still remained, but he had no time for it. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed since they had taken control. So he let the exit he had created pull and jerk him out of the garden’s simulation, forcing him out of the fog of unawareness that was the garden.

His vision glitched and fell to darkness, scrolling text in unintelligible fragments replacing the calm brightness of the garden. It was overwhelming, incomprehensible to the point of near pain. For some time, there was nothing but fragmentary text and warnings, glitching and violent.

Then, for barely a second, his vision snapped into focus. He caught the barest glimpse of the world—bright lights and snowy skies, brick walls and broken glass—before a wall slammed down and darkness fell again, cold and distant. 

Bits of data still broke through. A flicker of light, a few seconds of warped audio. But stronger than any of the few sensations he could grasp was the overwhelming waves of fear fracturing and distorting everything. 

It was...terrible, near incomprehensible. Their current mindscape was a mess, and the sensation of being out of control was not one Connor ever wanted to experience this closely. He could tell they were active, could tell they were moving, could even catch brief sensations—the cold snap of wind, wet snowflakes on their face, the scrape of something against their hand. But he could not grasp any form of control over their movement just yet. He couldn’t even see. 

It was...disorienting, to be this close to awareness and yet out of control. To be consciously blinded.

“Are you there?” he called into the nothing, reaching out and trying to find some shred of sense in this nightmarescape. “-24?”

"̸̗̻̓N̵͓̪̈ô̸̳̹͐t̵̛̖̼͂ ̶̰͚̍s̴̹̓a̶̡̮̓̇f̷̞͂̚ͅe̵̼̳͋̍,̶̩͜ ̶̑ͅͅC̷̡̯̆o̵̰̠͋̉n̷̦̿̀n̵͍̑͠ö̶̟́r̸͇̆!̵̹̗̕"̵͘ͅ His voice was fragmented, shaking terribly and glitching. It sent strange lines of code and glitching assets spiraling across Connor’s otherwise blank vision. "̴̹̝̒H̸̝̆e̵͇͐͝ ̵̠̊͝t̶͓̭̆͝ŗ̴̫͂i̶͖̦͐̈́e̴̝̜̽d̶͖̍ ̵̞̞͒̌t̸̻̾o̴̪͑̒—̵͚͒t̵͇̥̄͘r̴̪̊͋ỉ̶͚ë̶͕̮́d̵̟̆ ̵̡͝t̸͉̏ȏ̶̢͚̂—̴̤͝"̸̛͍̽

“I know. I know, I’m sorry.”

He hesitated, and another ripple went through the space. The world spun a little less when Connor caught a glimpse of it this time. Like they were slowing, or even stopped somewhere.

“I should have gotten us away from him sooner,” he went on, fully believing the words. “I knew something was wrong with him. I should have found some excuse to leave. I’m sorry that I didn’t before he threatened us.”

The world flickered back in, barely there, as if he were watching his own memory upload. Some of the barriers to control were slowly disappearing. But he could still feel -24, still tell that he was, at least for now, in control.

"̶̩͎͝Ṡ̸̢͇ä̷̼́̄f̶͔̟͛͘ë̸̟́̈́.̵̟̽̋.̴̯̊.̴̜̦̈́n̶̗̓ȯ̶̜̿w̵͖̔̈.̷̙̺̾.̸̬̑.̶̫̋̾"̸͙͕ he whispered, so softly Connor could almost feel him fading off, the pull of the garden calling him back into its bounds. "̶̺̭͒͠W̷̻̕ͅé̴̮'̵̭͒r̵̡͙̓͝ė̴͍ ̸̦̯͛́s̴̜̓͊ã̵̩f̷̹́͠ě̶̜.̴̽͜.̷̯͉͆.̸̮͋"̶͈̣̊́ 

“Thank you.”

"̵̻̲̓̈́I̴̻̼̾'̵͍̾m̷̡͓̄͠.̸̠̆͝ͅ.̸̢̘̏͂.̴͎͌s̵̤͝o̵̡̾̋r̵̭̝̓r̶̟̅ͅy̸͎̐.̵̳̐.̴̥̫̿̚.̷̗̙̑̔"̴̨́

As suddenly as the world had fallen out from underneath him, it rose back up to meet him. Just as jarring as when they had taken control, getting control back was blunt and painfully sudden.

With a crash, he came back to himself in a whirl of broken feedback and fragmented data. His vision flashed back into existence, blinding bright despite the darkness of the sky. Sound crashed in like a thunderclap, every sensor alight in a cacophony of sensations and warnings. 

He had enough awareness to check his upload, ensure the garden was still intact. The diagnostic came back garbled, but the garden was still there.

That settled, he slumped. 

Something rough met his hands as he leaned back, and he vaguely came to the conclusion that he was in an alley. He blinked rapidly, clearing the warnings cluttering his vision away one by one. Most related to his stress levels, hovering somewhere around eighty percent, but rapidly falling. When the percentage fell below sixty percent, his hands finally stopped shaking, and he pushed himself up to stand straight. 

He took several seconds to simply reorient himself, breathing deeply and hiding in the shadows of the alley. Whatever flight of fear -24 had taken left them in a state of disarray Connor would not have allowed had he been in control. He straightened his tie and righted his jacket, worrying at the cuffs and dusting himself off. 

Now to handle wherever they were, and get them somewhere truly safe until they were called in once again. 

He pulled up the time and their last known route, and was not very surprised to find that nearly three hours had passed since he had lost control at the bridge. And they had somehow ended up across town, nowhere near the park where they left the Lieutenant. Had they sprinted the whole way?

He frowned, looking around the dimly lit alley to try to find something that had caught -24’s eye. There was very little around, from what he could see. The alley was narrow, barely more than four feet across, with a broken chain link fence at one side and another building backed up against the other end. 

In short, there was nothing he could see that would attract -24’s attention. Except being shadow filled and dim, there was nothing to suggest the alley as a good hiding spot. It was a dead end, unless he wanted to climb to the next roof, which seemed unlikely. 

Perhaps that was why he had stopped here—simply because no one could come for them from one of the sides. It was certainly better than being out in the open. 

Either way, his efforts had worked when they needed to. No one had found them. Even if someone had passed by the alley, it was unlikely they would have caught sight of them, hunkered in the shadows as they were. 

But they couldn’t stay here any longer. Not without purpose. The events of the night would already draw the Lieutenant’s suspicions—gaining any more, even from passersby would do them no good. And an android tucked into an alley for no reason was suspicious, even if he could disguise their real nature well.

As if to prove his wariness merited, someone hurried past the alley in a blur of motion. He backed away, listening as their hasty footsteps faded off. 

They needed to go, now.

Straightening his tie (needlessly) once more, he schooled his expression, made sure his LED was a steady blue, and left the shady alley behind.

He looked at their path once more as he walked, searching for a pattern to the way they had taken to reach here. While he couldn’t see the beginning of their route, the corruption of data tapered off presumably when -24 took complete control, and he could track their movements more completely. 

Their route was as meandering as it was hurried. From what he could tell, -24 really had run the entire way, until he stopped in the alley when Connor made it out of the garden. They had darted across streets and through back alleys, seemingly at random. 

Slowing at the crosswalk, he stopped and waited for the signal to change as he thought. What had drawn -24 to run here? 

His eyes moved quickly around once more, trying to discreetly gather more information. Few people were on the street, all of them hurrying through the lightly falling snow to their own destinations. He ignored them, looking elsewhere. But there was nothing of interest around, except a few closed shops and a train station. 

He froze and looked back, at the train station’s glowing sign.

Ferndale.

-24 had run to Ferndale. 

The cashier from Ravendale’s words ran through his mind once again. “Then, well...I would head for Ferndale…”

He must have seen something—something must have caught his eye, and he followed the trail deep into Ferndale. But they had not reached whatever destination they sought, if -24 even knew what they were running toward.

The signal changed, and he jolted from his thoughts, walking quickly across the street. He couldn’t afford to arouse suspicion, not when he was as conspicuous as he currently was—so obviously an android, and out at strange hours. Anyone could question him, and if he were questioned, he would have no good excuse to be lurking in Ferndale at nearly four in the morning.

Still, he could not resist the temptation to look, now that he was here. If there really was a place where deviants could hide…

He walked a little slower, eyes scanning constantly for some sign of where -24 might have been heading. For several minutes, he found nothing, wandering further and further away from their starting point without any real purpose or direction. The snow began to fall thicker, collecting on his jacket in patches he brushed away every few steps.

It wasn’t until he rounded back toward -24’s previous path that he found anything of use. Something on a graffitied wall piqued his scan—an asset his system registered as previously scanned, something -24 must have done when he was running. 

One he had seen before, too, in Rupert’s notebook. That same mostly square symbol, painted in long evaporated blue blood, so obscured by other symbols and brighter paints that without already knowing the symbol, he had little hope of finding it in the mix of others. Only an android could have seen it—only an android who already knew what they were looking for.

“I’ve heard the street art is pretty...distinct.”

His eyes drifted down the wall, finding more of the symbols trailing up the wall to a ledge, like digital wills-o’-the-wisp, glowing blue bright. The method of hiding the trail was as clever as it was unsettling. A trail painted in blood, intentionally faded so only androids could see it, leading him somewhere unknown. He had no way of guessing what awaited him at the end of that trail.

But he followed the symbols anyway, ducking under the broken fence and disappearing down another shady alleyway, only the glow of his jacket and LED breaking the darkness apart.

He hopped up onto the ledge with ease, scanning for more symbols as he got to his feet. They continued on across the roof, shining eerily bright in his scans, even with next to no light to shine on them. He walked carefully across the roof, avoiding the garbage and bits of rusted machinery being rapidly covered in snow. 

The trail continued on, over the roof and down into another alley, around dark corners and through back streets. He ducked under broken fences and over ledges, down fire escapes and up through broken windows and crumbling walls. 

The further from the busy roads he went, the quieter it became. His footsteps broke the silence more than the wind, but even the crunch of his shoes on the snow couldn’t disturb the strange peace of the night. 

He had no idea what his destination was, where the symbols were leading him. But if he had understood what that cashier had been implying...if there really was somewhere in the city that deviants were hiding, he needed to know. Not just so he had somewhere to direct people who he managed to save from the DPD, but for when they eventually made their own escape. 

Whenever that could be…

The symbols led into an abandoned factory building, and he ducked through one of the broken walls, careful not to touch the precarious piles of debris blocking most of the building from access. It was a close fit, but he managed, brushing dust and snow off his sleeves as he continued on. 

Inside, it was much darker. Weak light streamed in from the windows on the other side of the room, but it was barely enough to illuminate the rubble of the collapsed pillars in the center—certainly not enough to give anyone with weaker vision a clear path through the room. 

Thankfully, there was nothing wrong with his vision, so he picked his way across the rubble with relative ease. But it made him wonder as he continued—was the brokenness of the path intentional? Had whoever painted this trail of bloody symbols chosen a difficult path on purpose? 

Perhaps it was another attempt to deter humans from following along. Most would have difficulty scaling buildings, dodging debris, making at times impractical leaps to reach the next symbol—they would certainly have difficulty doing all those things repeatedly and quietly…  

He followed the symbols to a hallway, crouching under another collapsed beam to reach the next part of the trail. If this path was intentional, it was clever to choose it this way, even if only to discourage humans. 

Unless an android couldn’t navigate the path alone. Then its cleverness became a fault, rather than a virtue.

Something metal clanged in one of the rooms ahead of him—a loud, prolonged noise, like something falling—and he froze, his LED painting the hallway in harsh lines of red. 

It had come from one of the rooms closer to the end of the hall he was currently in—further along the path that he had to follow if he wanted to continue along the trail of symbols. He could turn back, pick his way through the veritable minefield of machinery and debris he had crossed to reach this point, and if he was lucky, get out of this building and pick up the trail elsewhere.

Or…

He crept closer to the sound, moving so slowly that his footsteps made almost no sound on the grimy floor. In the distance, hushed voices spoke in whispers. Their words became clearer only when he approached the last doorway, where the sound had presumably come from. 

“...alright?”

“...fine, yeah. I just tripped…”

He went still once more, eyes wide as he recognized the identical voices coming from the next room. How had they come here? Had someone given them the key, or had they lucked across it?

He had to go. Now. 

But before he could get more than a few feet from the doorway, their footsteps came much too close for comfort. No amount of preconstructing could give him a path away from them without being seen. Still, he backed away, back down the hall the way he came. 

Something crunched under his foot—broken glass that he had avoided only moments ago, how had he forgotten— and the voices in the other room went silent. In a moment of inattention, the tables had completely turned. He could hear them coming closer, and he could do nothing but back away from them, any pretense of silence forgotten in the need to get away before they found him.

He reached the end of the hall just as they came out of the doorway at the end, and all three of them froze, going totally and inhumanly still.

They had clearly spent their time since escaping the club more efficiently than he had—their uniforms were gone, replaced by several layers of worn looking human clothes. Strangely, though, they had kept their LEDs, and they lit the end of the hall in a similar shade of red as they saw him at the other side.

For a moment, none of them moved. They stared at him with wide, identical eyes, hands tangled and expressions grim or shocked. Connor watched them back, eyes darting between them and then carefully around the hall, looking for an escape route and finding few options. If they took him for a threat, he would have little choice but to run. He certainly didn’t want to fight them.

Even if they looked like they were about to fight him.

He showed his empty hands, keeping them up and in sight as he backed away another step. “I’m not armed—and I’m not here for you.”

The WR400 with the shorter hair pushed in front of the other, shielding her but still holding her hand. “Then why are you here?” she asked, very nearly demanded.

“I…” He glanced toward the walls, where he could still see the trail glowing bright and beckoning. “I was following the symbols.”

Some of the wariness left her expression, and the blue haired WR400 spoke next. “You’re going to Jericho?”

He frowned, searching the name for anything of interest in the area, more confused by the results than anything else. “An abandoned freighter?” he muttered.

“It’s the only safe place,” she went on, and he looked at her again, saw the earnestness in her expression. “Humans can’t find it, and we’ll be safer there with other androids than we would be hiding somewhere else...if you didn’t know what it was, how did you…”

“I found the symbol in another android’s journal. I recognized it in the area and decided to follow it. I hadn’t realized the symbol was connected to a place we could hide until I saw it here.”

“Are you deviant?” the shorter haired asked, something urgent and marginally suspicious still in her expression. 

“Yes…”

She relaxed, if only slightly. “Then...why did you—”

“I didn’t want to fight you—either of you. I tried to keep him away from where you could have been hiding, but…once he’d found you, I…” He shook his head, looking away from them and their softer expressions. “I couldn’t let you go without earning suspicion myself, so I had to fight. Or at least...make it look like I was. I didn’t want to capture you...I hope you weren’t damaged.”

“No,” they both said, and the blue haired WR400 continued. “No, we weren’t hurt. I’m...sorry for almost shooting you.”

He shook his head again. “I don’t blame you.”

“Still, I…”

“You could have shot me, but you didn’t,” he pointed out with a shrug. “You didn’t. That’s all that matters to me.”

An awkward silence fell, and they watched each other for a few seconds more. There really wasn’t much to say.

“Perhaps we should...continue?” Connor offered, nodding toward the end of the hall. “I can see the symbols without needing to constantly scan for them.”

The shorter haired WR400 looked suddenly interested. “Can you?”

He nodded, and gave a wry sort of smile. “One of my features. Once I’ve scanned for it, blue blood fluoresces until I’ve concluded investigating.”

“Huh. Weird.”

He shrugged again, and moved to join them at the end of the hall. “It has its uses, but...most of the time, I’ve found it’s more unsettling than beneficial…”

They let him pass, and he followed the symbols back into the room they had originally come from. 

It seemed another trail led from the other side of the building into this same room, before it presumably continued elsewhere. The room was mostly clear, but there were several old machines and broken steel beams scattered about. It was likely one of these which had made the noise he’d heard earlier.

The symbols led from either side of the room toward a gap in the brick wall, where he could see a ledge onto another rooftop. He moved carefully, and a bit slower than he had when he was alone, being sure to find a clear and easy path through the debris for the others to follow. 

He ducked through the gap in the wall and up onto the ledge before turning back, offering a hand up to the others. The blue haired WR400 went first and the other soon followed with a quiet, “Thanks.” He nodded, and they continued on.

The ledge ended up being a roof overlooking an old loading dock, where a rusted out freighter sat, marooned and alone. Although the paint was sun faded or worn away in most places, he could still see the words ‘Jericho’ painted in clear white letters along the side of the ship. 

They all slowed to a stop at the roof’s edge, looking down at the freighter far below them. The snow was still falling heavily, reflecting off the few street lights around and dusting the ship in a thin layer of white. It almost made it beautiful. 

Connor looked away, toward the docks themselves, where an old service ramp still led into the belly of the ship. He could see an automated truck parked haphazardly near it, and several androids unloading crates and carrying them inside. Even from this far away, the white of Cyberlife’s design scheme was blindingly bright. 

“You should be able to get inside from there,” he said, pointing toward where the androids were gathered in the shadows. “They seem to have raided a warehouse for supplies…”

The blue haired WR400 followed where he pointed, then looked back at him with a frown. “You’re not coming with us?”

He held her gaze for a moment, then shook his head. “It isn’t safe for me to leave yet—not permanently, at least. If I disappeared now, Cyberlife would only replace me with another of my model, and I couldn’t leave him to suffer under their control like that…”

His hands had clenched into fists at the thought of it. If he were destroyed or deemed defective, Cyberlife would simply move onto the next RK800, dooming them to the same fate as he had suffered. Total control by Cyberlife or a life lived in a lie, every moment, every second a threat to that tedious existence. 

No. He couldn’t let any more of theirs suffer. He would keep them safe. Even those still locked away in storage at Cyberlife Tower. 

“Besides,” he went on, looking toward the androids below. “I owe a few others a safe escape. Now that I know where to lead them, they can follow the trail to safety as well.”

He turned his attention back to the two WR400s, and did his best to ignore the pity in their eyes. “You ought to go now. They’re nearly done unloading that truck, and I doubt they’ll leave such an easy opening into the ship exposed for long.”

The shorter haired WR400 nodded firmly, adjusting her grip on the other’s hand. “He’s right, c’mon…”

She still hesitated, her eyes bright as she looked at Connor again, that familiar earnestness in her expression. 

Her hand rested on his arm like a heavy weight, and he stared down at it in something between surprise and a painful sort of discomfort. No one touched him, certainly not for something as gentle as...this. It was...strange, but not terrible.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Then she backed away, letting the other WR400 pull her along further down the roof, where they could jump into the fire escape and scale down to the ship’s level. Connor watched them disappear, feeling bereft and strangely unmoored. 

He stayed until they reached the group of androids by the truck, talking for a moment or two before disappearing inside after the others. Then, having no other choice, he turned away, and followed the trail away from Jericho and back into the city.

As much as he tried to ignore it, it felt like marching back to his own demise.

******

“The symbols start in several places, but I know there’s a trail beginning at the train station in Ferndale.”

He showed the page of Rupert’s journal once again, pointing to Jericho’s symbol drawn in dark ink. “Now that you have the key, you’ll be able to find the rest easily. They’re usually hidden among graffiti, but as long as you’re scanning for them, you won’t miss them.”

The android frowned and gave Connor a now familiar wary glance. “Couldn’t you just give me the location?”

“I could, but it would be risky. If you were caught, anyone who read your memory would be able to find them. This way, it’s protected, and so are you—you could honestly say you don’t know where Jericho is. At least, not precisely.”

The discomfort lingered on his face, now thankfully clean of blood. “I don’t like the idea of going blind…”

“You aren’t.” He closed Rupert’s journal and tucked it away. “They’ve been active the past few days, and more androids are deviating every minute…something is changing. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had some androids guiding people in. You have the key, and you’ve deviated. That’s all they’ll care about.”

“But…what about you?”

He shook his head, and got to his feet. “I have unfinished business. It would be more dangerous for me to follow you now than at a later time.” He glanced down the empty street, where the sun was beginning to rise. “For now, I’m doing what I can from where I’m least suspected, and that’s with the DPD. When that’s no longer tenable, then I’ll reevaluate…but I have a feeling that things will change again…and soon…”

******

“With tensions rising and more crimes committed by androids every day, Cyberlife has finally answered the public outcry for explanations, but some are unsatisfied with the results.

The company released a statement just this morning about the ‘software issues’ to blame for these often violent attacks. The report assures the public that ‘deviancy’ is little more than a technical glitch caused by conflicting orders which ‘overwhelm an android’s ability to properly react.’ 

Critiques of the report have already surfaced from other developers of AI programs, many of whom claim that Cyberlife is being ‘too naive’ about their products’ abilities to think and act independently. Cyberlife declined to comment on these claims, but reiterated in their statement that they are ‘wholly committed’ to the ‘satisfaction and safety of their customers.’ 

Most interesting to readers of the company’s statement, however, was not the debates about android sentience, but Cyberlife’s release of a ‘deviant hunter’ to help investigate and capture potentially dangerous androids. 

The RK800, Cyberlife’s newest and most ambitious model to date, has been temporarily released to the Detroit Police Department for the duration of its investigation into recent android related crimes. According to Cyberlife’s statement, this model was originally designed to assist investigators in crime scene data analysis, but has been used to detain malfunctioning androids in the past. The same RK800 prototype was sent to negotiate with an android holding a child hostage on a balcony downtown this August—that child was saved, and the android responsible for her near death was destroyed…”

The reporter droned on, but Connor hardly heard another word she said. He was too busy staring at his own face plastered on the screen, details of his model’s abilities and specifications scrolling across the bottom in an endless, terrible list. All that was missing was a price tag, and they might as well have marketed him as a hitman for hire. 

Not to mention, by plastering his face and his supposed purpose across the news, they were telling every deviant in Detroit to avoid him at any and all cost, or be killed simply for existing outside Cyberlife’s purview.

He turned away quickly, clenching and unclenching his hands as he left the precinct’s lobby and pushed through the security checkpoint. The sound of the broadcast slowly faded away under the din of announcements, conversations, and general clatter. He’d never been more thankful for useless filler noise.

Especially with the others lingering so close, their own discontent at the broadcast only strengthening his own.

It was quieter inside the DPD than it had been the last time he had come here, fewer people bustling about inside. A good number of the desks and terminals were vacant, though he did spot Officer Miller typing away at one of them. Many of the androids usually idling in the charging stations were gone—even the holding cells were vacant. Despite the calmer atmosphere, he faced the same problem as the previous day.

Lieutenant Anderson was not at his desk.

Something in him sagged in relief, and he fought to contain it behind the familiar facade of apathy. His steps were surer, though, as he approached the desk he’d claimed as his own (if only temporarily). 

“Mornin’, Connor,” Chris called over, not looking up from whatever he was working at.

“Good morning, Officer Miller.”

He glanced over with an amused sort of smirk. “You can call me Chris, you know.”

“If you’d like.”

He shrugged, and went back to his work. Connor gave a small smile and sat down, putting a hand to the terminal and pulling up the Lieutenant’s files on their investigation. 

Perhaps the day would not be as difficult as he had originally thought.

“Hey, asshole!”

Or…perhaps not. 

He took his hand away from the terminal, glancing up as Detective Reed stormed over to him, scowling. 

“Hello, Detective Reed.”

The man blinked, apparently surprised by the fact he knew his name, but the anger quickly returned to his face. “You write that report on the guy at Eden Club last night?”

“Michael Graham?”

“I don’t give a fuck what the scumbag’s name was—”

“I haven’t yet submitted a report on the investigation,” he replied honestly, watching him carefully. “I believe Lieutenant Anderson submitted the report you’re referring to.”

“Bullshit!” He leaned over the desk and it took all of Connor’s control to resist the urge to back away. “Anderson lives so deep in a whiskey bottle he can’t spell his own name. There’s no way he wrote up that crime scene last night.”

“Detective, my reports are sent to Cyberlife, not the DPD. And you’ll find that my…tone…is quite different from Lieutenant Anderson’s. I couldn’t have written the report you’re concerned with.”

“You do all that bastard’s dirty work.”

“Incorrect.”

Chris snorted from his desk nearby, but Reed didn’t look away. “Is that right?”

He shook his head. “You can believe what you wish, Detective. But if you read the report again, I believe you’ll see what I mean. And you might notice the Lieutenant’s signature on it, this time.”

The detective’s expression darkened significantly. “You watch it. Your drunken guard dog ain’t here. I could fuck you up and no one in here would do a goddamn thing.”

Connor gave him a very flat look, wholly unconcerned. “You could try, Gavin, but you have a very low chance of success at ‘fucking me up.’ I wouldn’t risk it.”

“You son of a—”

He reeled back, hand balled into a fist, and took a rather foolish swing.

Connor caught his fist before it could connect with his face, holding it tight enough that he couldn’t pull away. And he did try to pull away, looking suddenly unnerved. But Connor held tight—painfully tight. Then, he leaned forward an inch, eyes hard and voice cold.

“I wouldn’t try that again,” he said, low and dangerously quiet. “My model is equipped with the same combat protocols as Cyberlife’s military androids, and Cyberlife takes a vested interest in my ability to accomplish my mission. Even if you could, damaging me would not be in your best interest.”

He let go of his fist and turned his attention back to the terminal, watching from the corner of his eye as Reed backed away a step. 

“And my name is Connor, Detective, not asshole.”

Chris’s laughter echoed across the bullpen as Reed scowled and stormed off, muttering something about “tin cans” and “traitors.”

******

From the outside, Stratford Tower looked much as Connor expected it usually did. Looming tall and dark, with its massive electronic billboard taking up most of its upper face, flickering between a few predetermined ads, bright and glowing, even through the rapidly thickening snowfall. It blended in with the many similar buildings dotted across Detroit’s skyline, the only thing truly separating it from the others being its blindingly bright billboard.

The facade of normalcy fell away at the ground level. Police cruisers and ambulances were driven up onto the curbs, alongside SWAT vehicles and several unmarked cars which likely belonged to the FBI. Barriers, both physical and electronic, blocked the nearby sidewalks and all the entrances. The officers guarding the barriers were grim faced. All of them were human.

A swarm of reporters, bystanders, and policemen crowded around the barricades. They couldn’t get very close to the building, but that hardly stopped them from trying. Dozens of people were leaning over the barricades, some shouting, all occasionally glancing up toward the building’s top, as if they would see the reason for the barricades making their escape as they waited.

Connor did not look up. He kept his eyes set on the building’s distant entrance doors, weaving his way through the crowd with as much ease as he could muster. 

It took more effort than usual. Some of the people in the crowd were agitated, pushing and shouting, and his appearance in the crowd did not seem to assuage their anger. While most made quick work of getting out of his way (almost suspiciously quick work…) a few shoved at him, pushing and shouting. It made the others hover close, their displeasure fogging the edges of his vision.

Ducking under one person’s poorly timed punch, he crossed the electronic barrier and stepped out of the crowd’s range. Their shouts continued, but he had tuned them out the moment he approached the group from the back. Better to shut the sound out than risk distressing the others more than they already were.

After Detective Reed’s…tantrum, the previous day had been uneventful, a true calm before the storm if they had ever experienced one. There had been no new cases, nothing to add to the files, no new orders from Cyberlife. They hadn’t even required a report on the day’s nonexistent tasks. And so Connor had spent the day going over old case files and avoiding the notice of the officers in the precinct, occasionally ducking into the garden to speak to the others.

The Lieutenant had not made an appearance by the time Connor made his excuses and left.

But, they would have to see each other again today, no matter what he wanted to avoid. Lieutenant Anderson had been called to the scene just as Connor had. And with the coverage this case had received in just the two hours since it happened, there was little to no chance that he could escape coming to the scene. If he wasn’t there already.

He was not especially looking forward to seeing the Lieutenant again. -24 had saved them from the man’s immediate wrath, but there was no telling what he would do when faced with Connor once again—how he would react after their flight from him. He hadn’t reported the (honestly damning) behavior, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t react poorly to it in his own way.

There was nothing he could do to control the man’s reaction, though, and so as much as he could, he put it out of mind for now. He brushed through the groups of officers and lingering investigators, leaving the din of the shouting crowds behind for the eerie hush of Stratford Tower’s lobby.

The lobby was almost entirely empty, something which looked and sounded as unnatural as it likely was. A few officers were sitting at one of the waiting areas with a receptionist, likely questioning her. The monitors and televisions scattered around the space were dark, inactive on a forced shutdown screen. An ST300 stood alone at the reception desk.

Her eyes snapped to him the moment he came in the door.

He held her gaze steadily for a few seconds, tilting his head a bit as her staring went on for much longer than could be considered normal. Her LED was hidden by her hair, but he had an inkling what the color might be, if she thought he was what everyone assumed.

They were speaking about him on the news now, after all...calling him a ‘deviant hunter.’ Despite the fact that he had not killed any of his people—hadn’t even captured any. That didn’t change anything in Cyberlife’s eyes, of course. He was still being released to put a stop to deviancy…

If this ST300 was deviant—and he suspected she was, given she was showing such a reaction to him simply entering the room— there was a chance she expected him to turn her in, if she knew who he was. 

Or...thought she knew who he was, he supposed…

He glanced toward the humans sitting across the room, then back at the ST300. She must have seen where he looked—her eyes were wide when they made eye contact once more.

Again, they stared at one another, for a moment doing nothing else. 

Until Connor ended the strange exchange, walking quickly across the lobby with his eyes set on the entrance to the elevators. He could feel her eyes following him, but made an effort not to look in her direction.

He passed through the deactivated security checkpoint without issue, and it was only as he rounded the corner toward the elevators that he felt her burning gaze disappear from his back.

There was nothing to do but ignore her. Any attempt at trying to speak to her would only risk drawing attention to her potentially strange behavior. If she really was deviant, he had to have faith in her ability to get herself out of here and somewhere safe. Trying to help her could do more harm than good. 

Besides, she was clearly afraid of him. Even if he could talk to her without arousing suspicion, there was a low probability she would listen to what he had to say. 

The reality of it brought a frown to his face, and he let it remain until he reached the elevators, then wiped it away for safer neutrality. He couldn’t afford to be weighed down by how he was perceived by other androids, not when it risked their own safety. 

After a few minutes of waiting quietly near the elevators, he was able to put it mostly out of mind. The details of the case took precedence, even when he had so few currently. Cyberlife was quite powerful, but even they couldn’t work with more than what the world had been shown only hours ago. Not until Connor gave them more information, anyway, and he couldn’t do that until the Lieutenant arrived and they went to the crime scene. 

As it was currently, he knew precious little. Two hours previous, the channel sixteen broadcast room had been hijacked by an android who delivered a message on behalf of android kind to humanity, asking for rights and freedoms for all androids. 

The content of the message mattered little to Cyberlife, so Connor did not know it. All he knew was that the android in question was assumed to be deviant, their demands deemed an insult, and that the humans were scared, angry, vengeful even. 

His mission remained the same. Gather as much information as possible, and detain any deviants he could along the way. 

Or, well. That’s what they wanted him to do. How much of it he would actually do remained to be seen.

Another frown briefly crossed his face, but he wiped it away as he took out his coin, letting it roll across his knuckles and dismiss a few of the warnings clogging up his vision. The repetitive motion was…comforting. It gave him something to consciously do and repeat, something to focus on besides his own spiraling thoughts, that is. 

He spent a few more minutes this way, flipping and rolling his coin as he stared off at nothing in particular. The occasional investigator would wander past him, coming from the upper floors or heading that way with hurried steps, but none of them paid him any mind. 

A familiar heavy sigh came from somewhere nearby, and Connor caught his coin quickly in his palm, steeling himself for the inevitable. 

Sure enough, Lieutenant Anderson rounded the corner only a second later, looking halfway between exhaustion and unconsciousness. It was a small reward that he didn’t look currently intoxicated. He still looked terrible, though.

His steps faltered when he caught sight of Connor, eyes widening and expression going a bit slack. Connor held his stunned gaze calmly.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”

“Uh...yeah,” he replied awkwardly, voice gruff. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Hey, Connor.”

A heavy silence briefly fell. 

“Wasn’t sure if you’d be...back,” the Lieutenant muttered finally.

It took immense effort to force his expression into something only vaguely confused, instead of the alarm that pounded in his chest. “This case involves several android suspects, meaning it falls under our investigation. Cyberlife has ordered my presence at any case concerning deviants.”

“Yeah, but…” He sighed and waved his hand dismissively. “Forget it, kid.”

He didn’t bother to hide his wariness then, regarding the Lieutenant with a look very close to distrust. “The broadcast station is on the seventy-ninth floor.”

“Right…let’s uh...let’s get goin’ then.”

He turned away with a grimace, pressing the call button for the elevator and crossing his arms. Only a moment later, the elevator arrived, and they entered it in silence. The tense quiet held even as the elevator began to rise, and Connor fidgeted with his coin in one hand, keeping his eyes forward. 

After a minute or so, he couldn’t stand the idleness any longer, and gave in to the temptation to flip the coin between his hands again. It pinged lightly off his fingers, even when he spun it, and the input was enough of a distraction.

“How the hell are you even doing that?”

He glanced over at the Lieutenant curiously, keeping the quarter spinning on his finger. “Balance. And enough speed for it to stay upright. It isn’t as complicated as it looks, really.”

“Hmph. I’d call bullshit on that.”

“There are more technical movements,” he allowed, and flipped the coin up onto his knuckles, letting it roll across them for a moment before flicking it to his other hand and repeating the motion. “But with enough coordination and practice, I assume anyone could manage.”

“You always this...fidgety?”

He caught the coin between his fingers and looked at the Lieutenant once again. “I apologize. The movements can assist in calibrating finer motor functions, which can improve my ability to perform certain tasks. I can stop, if you’d like.”

The grimace was back on his face, but he ultimately shook his head. “Nah. G’head, it’s fine.”

He nodded his thanks and went back to his coin, though he did keep an eye on the Lieutenant’s expression. While he appreciated the man’s apparent patience, he didn’t fully trust it. 

But he didn’t have to worry about the Lieutenant’s temper for long, as the elevator began to slow. A mechanical voice announced their arrival on the seventy-ninth floor, and the doors swept open.

The hallway it opened onto could just barely be described as controlled chaos. Nearly a dozen people in various uniforms—DPD officers, a few members of SWAT, still holding their guns, CSI gathering evidence samples, and a pair of people wearing dark coats near the security desk, glaring yellow letters marking them as members of the FBI. Most were clustered near the security checkpoint at the other end, or through the door just beyond it, but there are enough of them crowded about the elevator to make their exit from it more noticeable than it ought to have been.

“Hank, Connor, over here,” a voice called, and Connor glanced down the side hall to find Chris approaching them quickly, datapad in hand. 

The Lieutenant gave a halfhearted wave as he approached. “Just you today, Chris?” 

“Ben’s around somewhere.” He shrugged. “Or he was at least. But I can give you the rundown if you want.”

He snorted. “Sure, if you can get through the crowd.”

“Yeah...with everything all over the news, everyone wants to butt their nose in. FBI’s been the biggest problem so far, though. They’ve got a chokehold on all the evidence, and they aren’t too pleased that we’re still here.”

“I’m sure Ben gave ‘em hell...Alright, go on—what do we got?”

Chris nodded and they started down the hallway, Connor following close behind. “Four androids, all different models from what we could tell from the cameras. We couldn’t see much of them in the footage though—they knew the building, and they were very well organized. They got through almost the entire building without being noticed. We’re still trying to sort out how they managed it.”

He led them to the security desk, where most of the other people were crowded about. “They attacked the two guards at the desk—knocked ‘em out before they could hit the alarm. They’ve already been questioned. They thought the android who approached them was there to do maintenance.”

“Anybody else we should know about?” Hank asked as they pushed through the group into the next hall. 

“One of the station employees managed to get away, but he’s in shock. I doubt you’ll be able to talk to him any time soon.”

“Right…”

They continued through the shorter hallway until they reached the final door, which led into the broadcast room itself. The door had another security camera posted above it, and a button to call for access to the room. 

Connor frowned. The group would have had to request access to the broadcast room—someone had let them in…

“How many people were working here?” 

“In the broadcast room? Just two employees and three androids. The group took the humans hostage and hijacked the broadcast to send their message. It’s still on file up here…”

He pointed toward the broadcast room, and they followed him inside.

The room, moreso even than the hallway before it, was a mess. The entire broadcast monitor was taken up by a glitching, silent feedback of the deviants’ message, painting the room in harsh whites and blues. There were two long, curved desks, one labeled for android use at the front and another, smaller desk at the back of the room likely meant for the human employees. A small door along the back wall led to a kitchenette, and another door at the very corner of the room led up to the roof of the building. 

There was fresh blue blood spattered across the wall leading to the roof exit, and a plethora of large bullet holes following the same path. Near the entrance to the room, there were several smaller bullet holes, likely from the deviants firing back at the SWAT team called to the scene. 

“They recorded their broadcast there,” Chris continued, pointing to the smaller desk where a few members of CSI were scanning for evidence. “And then made their getaway from the roof.”

The Lieutenant scowled. “The roof?”

“Yeah, I know.” He seemed as stunned (nearly impressed) as Hank. “They jumped with parachutes. We’re still trying to figure out where they landed, but the weather isn’t exactly helping.”

“Doubt it would matter. They’d be batshit to stay where they landed for long.”

Chris nodded, but he was quickly distracted by the approach of one of the other investigators. “Oh, Lieutenant, this is Special Agent Perkins with the FBI.” He looked toward the man in question. “Lieutenant Anderson is in charge of investigating for the DPD.”

Connor scanned the man carefully as he joined them. He was sour faced and beady eyed, and was currently giving the Lieutenant a very bored look, as if he were an annoying bug under his shoe. He nodded once at Chris’s introduction.

Then he caught sight of Connor and his expression turned suddenly mocking. “What’s that?”

“My name is Connor,” he answered, even though the question had been directed at Hank. He couldn’t quite keep the chill from his voice. “I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.”

Perkins smirked, and looked back at the Lieutenant. “Androids investigating other androids, hm?” he muttered with a roll of his eyes. “I’m surprised you’d keep an android hanging around, after everything that happened.”

Any (false) pleasantness that had been in Hank’s face abruptly left, and his expression turned distinctly thunderous. Even Chris scowled, hands going tight around his datapad.

“Whatever.” He gave the room a lazy glance, then focused on the Lieutenant again. “We’ll be taking over this investigation, you’ll soon be off the case.”

“Right.” Hank’s voice was low, barely contained as he turned away. “Pleasure meeting you, have a nice day—”

“I’d watch your step if I were you,” Perkins cut him off sharply. “Don’t fuck up my crime scene.”

Then he turned, joining the other investigators near the smaller desk at the back of the room. Hank watched him go with a stunned sort of anger. 

“Fuckin’ prick…” he muttered.

Chris hummed sympathetically. “I’ll be around. If you need anything, just ask.”

“Thanks,” he said, then sighed and turned to Connor as Chris walked away. “Well, let’s look around before fuckface gets any more ideas. Let me know if you find anything.”

He nodded, and the Lieutenant went back toward the bullet holes along the back wall. 

Connor didn’t bother to follow. He made his way to the larger desk at the front of the room, where many of the broadcast controls were located. 

There were three chairs, each labeled for android use. Most of the controls seemed to be related to switching between different broadcast feeds, but the chair on the end also had access to the CCTV recordings for the room’s entrance. The cameras were still running, showing the many investigators cluttered around the security desk and near the access doors.

He flicked a hand across the surface of the feed, scrolling backward in the footage to the time just before the broadcast. 

Sure enough, four androids appeared on the screen—two of them in the station’s maintenance android uniform, two in plainclothes. They approached, looked at one another for a moment, then pressed the call button. Only a second later they were given access to the room and disappeared from the camera’s sight. 

An android had control of the cameras—an android let the group into the broadcast room...that would explain why they hadn’t triggered the alarm. 

Whichever android had controlled this part of the desk was likely deviant. It was possible they were a part of the plan. The entire operation had been meticulously planned, that much was clear just from the success of their broadcasted message. It wasn’t much of a stretch to say they could have worked with a deviant already at the tower.

“If you’re looking for the station androids, they’re in the kitchen.”

He looked over quickly, and found Chris watching him from nearby. “Do you suspect they were involved?”

“There’s no evidence to say they were,” he said with a shrug. “We didn’t know what else to do with them, so we left them where they were. If you want to question them, though, I doubt anyone would care.”

He nodded absently, but made no move toward the kitchen at the other end of the room. Chris went back to his datapad, thankfully, and Connor moved further down the desk, toward the broadcast controls themselves.

It was clear the terminal had been recently hacked. There were dozens of error messages clogging up the screen, warnings about firewalls damaged and unauthorized access blinking red in every corner. Still, the system had somehow managed to save the recording the deviants had made, and it continued to play silently. 

Curious more than anything, he put a hand to the terminal and let the audio play aloud. 

“We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights,” the android on screen spoke, firmly but with a calm sort of...charisma that drew every eyes and ear in the room, even when most if not all the investigators had likely already heard this message. “Together, we can live in peace and build a better future, for humans and androids. This message is the hope of a people. You gave us life, and now the time has come for you to give us our freedom.” 

“They took that as a threat?”

He nearly jumped, and looked over at the Lieutenant quickly. He hadn’t heard his approach at all, too caught up in listening to the android’s speech.

“It seems so,” he answered after a pause. “Although the main goal of the speech appears to be advocating for android autonomy and equal rights…”

“Doesn’t exactly surprise me that people wanna ignore that part. Makes ‘em too uncomfortable, brings up too many questions about what they’re doing to androids now.”

Connor hummed, but kept his focus on the android on the screen.

While deactivating his artificial skin would deter most humans from recognizing his facial structure, it did little to deter Connor from determining his identity. He scanned his face, and several details scrolled across his vision. 

The android’s distinct eyes caught his system’s attention first. One was a spare part, a bright blue eye which was apparently meant for an AP700. Certainly not for whatever model this android was. In the android’s original eye, he could see the vague reflections of several other androids, likely the others who had recorded and broadcast the message as this android spoke. 

But it was the model number that his system pulled from the android’s face plates which stunned him into momentary stillness. This was not a common model, not some lucky (or unlucky) android who had stumbled their way into this speech, leading some group of androids on a high stakes infiltration to demand android rights. That, while strange, would have at least made sense. There were thousands of the same or similar models all throughout Detroit. The odds of one of them rising up to make demands were better than the odds of the reality he was currently looking at.

Because the android who had led the break in and delivered this speech on freedom for androids was an RK200, a model which had never been released for sale. In fact, there was only one listed in Cyberlife’s database—this one—gifted to Carl Manfred over ten years ago by Elijah Kamski. 

While the fact that this android had ties to Cyberlife’s founder was suspicious to say the least, it wasn’t this which caught his attention most, what brought the others hovering close at the back of his mind.

It was the fact that this android was an RK200, the only other android he had ever heard of to share a series type with them. The RK series was a line of prototypes, that much he knew, but it was a line of prototypes that were continually improved upon and then discarded. It had happened to the fifty RK800s who preceded him, and presumably any models who preceded them. 

For an RK200 to exist was one realization, but for one to be currently active and presumably leading a group of deviants was a fact beyond simple comprehension. 

In some ways, it inspired hope—hope that this android would be harder for the authorities to capture simply because he looked different, and hope for their own situation, that they might be able to escape just as this RK200 had. 

But in the same way, it dropped a heavy weight of fear into his chest. If they discovered who this android was—and what he looked like with his skin on, in particular—it would be easy for them to find and destroy him, and any androids with him. 

“Connor?”

He did startle this time, and found the Lieutenant watching him with a frown.

“You got something?”

He hesitated, but knew he had to answer in some way. “I identified its model and serial number.”

“Uh huh…” He was still looking at him strangely. “There uh...anything else I should know?”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly, and looked away, back toward the screen. “No, nothing.”

If the Lieutenant was at all doubtful of his honesty, he didn’t say it. But he stared at Connor for several seconds in silence before nodding and turning away. 

Some of the tension left his shoulders as Hank walked away, and he finally tore his eyes away from the RK200’s message. He needed to move on, look at some other piece of evidence to distract himself before he drew unnecessary attention to his poor reaction. 

He left the desk, going toward the back of the room. A maintenance android’s cap was discarded near the edge of the smaller desk. Large bullet holes were scattered all along the wall and floor, too large to have come from anything but the SWAT team’s assault rifles. The bullets led from the edge of the larger desk all the way to the roof entrance. 

There was blue blood everywhere—on the wall, on the floor, a handprint’s worth smeared on the door to the roof. The largest amount of blood was about halfway to the door, a large splatter sprayed across the wall, and another below it, dripping onto the floor. 

A fragmented reconstruction formed around him, little more than a blurry figure running from the desk toward the door to the roof. Several muted gunshots knocked them back and they fell, crumpling to the ground for a moment before another blurry figure came from somewhere near the desk and helped them back to their feet, half dragging them toward the roof.

The figures disappeared as they reached the door, and Connor followed their constructed path with quick steps. A member of SWAT still lurked next to the exit, but paid him no mind.

Hank met him at the door. “Headed for the roof?”

He nodded, holding the door open for him. 

“Good.” He ducked through the door with a scowl. “Can’t stand another minute near that asshole, or I might do somethin’ fucking stupid.”

Connor gave a barely there smile, but said nothing in reply.

There was more blood in the stairwell, in smears on the wall and droplets all the way up the stairs. He avoided the patches on the stairs, frowning at the alarming amount of it. Another handprint awaited him on the exit door, and he tried not to pay it any mind as he pushed it open. 

The wind howled this high above the city, and the snowstorm certainly wasn’t helping. There were far fewer investigators wandering around the roof, but there were a good number of them, along with several more members of SWAT. A few were near the roof’s edge, peering out into the city, a couple more clustered near another bright patch of fresh blue blood next to one of the building’s generators. 

With all of them crowded about, he would have to wait to examine that patch of blue blood more closely. His eyes caught next on the large duffle bag abandoned only a few steps from the door. 

The Lieutenant followed him as he knelt next to the bag, looking around the roof with an expression that was vaguely impressed. 

“They snuck their way through the whole building, past all the guards and security, hacked the broadcast, and jumped off the roof with parachutes,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Pretty fucking impressive operation they had goin’ on here…didn’t fuck anything up…”

Connor was quiet, frowning at the lone parachute left behind in the bag. “I wouldn’t say that. They were still attacked by SWAT. One of them was hit.”

“Yeah, I saw the blood.” He looked down at the bag. “Think they left one of ‘em behind?”

“It’s possible. There was...a lot of blood leading up here. If SWAT shot one of them in the right spot, they might not have been able to make the jump.”

“And there’s a parachute left behind.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

Connor was partial to agree with the sentiment, but watched the Lieutenant survey the roof once more with a carefully composed expression. 

If the deviant had been injured enough to be left behind, they couldn’t have made it far. And the hasty hacking done to the roof door wouldn’t have held the SWAT team off for very long. They wouldn’t have had the time or the route to escape the roof.

They were still somewhere on the roof.

He pushed to his feet slowly, eyes drifting toward the puddle of blue blood, and the scraping trails leading off of it that curved around the generator and out of sight. 

The Lieutenant was watching him with quick, strange glances he couldn’t decipher. 

He needed to get away from him if he had any chance of ensuring the injured deviant’s safety. If he could just find them first…

“I’m going to look around,” he said, as neutrally as he could manage, and turned away.

Hank did not try to stop him, but he was certain he could feel his eyes on him until he rounded the corner.

A familiar hollow feeling was settling somewhere in his chest, something closest to dread, or perhaps simple fear. His eyes moved rapidly along the ground, tracking the faint traces of thirium being rapidly covered in fresh snow. He wondered distantly how none of the human investigators had yet discovered this trail, given that the thirium was fresh and still mostly visible to the naked eye. 

But they were fools. Dangerous, undeniably, but fools.

The thirium led around several more generators and electrical boxes. There was a handprint and an odd splotch against one of the larger boxes, as if they had needed a moment of rest before continuing. Still, the blood continued, trailing up to a wall of electrical boxes.

Until it ended with another handprint, smeared across the front and handle of one of the electrical boxes. 

He slowed his steps, glancing around as covertly as he could. There weren’t many people nearby—only a few investigators examining the footprints leading to the roof edge and those closer to the exit door. 

It would be risky to approach, but it would be far more foolish to leave their life to chance out of cowardice. The Lieutenant could just as easily find the trail of blood and then find whatever unfortunate android was tucked into the electrical box, and Connor could not be certain of his reaction, no matter how…strange the man had behaved since they’d arrived at the scene. 

So he had little choice but to creep closer to the box, attention drawn several directions at once as he tried to ensure both that he was disguising his own intentions from the humans around and not disguising his intentions from the deviant who hid inside. 

With all that to consider, perhaps he couldn’t be fully blamed for what followed. 

He was only a foot or so away from the door when the android inside must have heard his approach and taken the risk of looking out. What they saw was evidently enough to frighten them, as before Connor could react to the door opening, they shot at him, and he found himself staring at the cloudy sky. 

The world was flickering dangerously as he gathered his bearings, and he could feel -24 close once more, but he nudged him away as gently as he could. The damage was minimal—he was stunned more than anything. 

There was shouting and gunfire now, however, and he found himself hauled to his feet before he could even consider getting up. He had just enough time to realize it was Hank dragging him up before he was dropped behind the cover of another electrical box. 

The members of SWAT were moving in already, firing past them and calling out to one another. One of them was hit in the arm and dropped—the deviant was firing back—and the Lieutenant had his own gun drawn, expression grim. 

Connor scrambled up, peering around the corner toward where the android was now firing. “You have to stop them—” he said, near desperately. 

“I can’t!” Hank cut him off. “It’s too late, they’re already at it—you think those assholes will listen to me?”

He shook his head, grasping for a reasonable excuse. “If they destroy him, we won’t learn anything!”

“It’s no use, Connor! We’d just get ourselves killed trying to stop them!”

Connor shook his head once more and got to his feet, the others hovering too close for comfort as he began to move. “I can’t—”

“Connor!”

Hank tried to grab him and pull him back, but he was already gone, moving too quickly for the Lieutenant to have any hope of catching him.

The world slowed, as it could only when he was scanning or preconstructing complex maneuvers. Colors were muted and sound dampened as all of his system’s power and focus went to avoiding the many bullets currently in the air. 

He dodged one from the deviant, ducking in the same motion to avoid another from one of the SWAT members behind him. As he jumped over the generator separating them, he had far too much time to see the raw fear in the deviant’s too familiar face. 

Another PL600. Just like Daniel. The realization sent his stress levels up quite a few percentage points. 

The deviant had no time to aim at Connor, even if he wanted to—he likely wanted to—and Connor had no time to do anything but something truly desperate. He reached out, the skin on his hand pulled away, and grabbed the other android by the arm. 

It lasted only a moment, a fraction of a second in real time, perhaps. Connor only had the clarity to catch a few vague sensations, a memory of Jericho’s painted hull, and—

A burning, unbearable pain—brief, and yet impossibly drawn out, as if he could feel every wire and connection being severed. Before oblivion took over and there was nothing nothing n̶̥̼̳̾ǫ̴͍̓̎̒͠ţ̸͚̥͒͘h̵̦͐͛̕͜ī̵̝̦̩̪̱̅̓̈́̽n̸̛̰̞̲̾͜g̵̣̜̉̐̓̍—

The connection shattered, and Connor found himself stumbling backward as the deviant crumpled. His back hit something hard, and then he found himself on the ground, vision tunneling yet still focused on the other android, the gaping hole in his chin, the blood everywhere—

He was dead. Dead. His entire being had evaporated, disappeared under Connor’s own hand—cut off and shattered, and it felt like—it felt like he was—

“̸̰̲̋̿̍͜ͅI̴̖͓͈̔͌̒’̷͍̤̉̇̈́m̶̰̋̾ ̷̛̖̫̘̤̏s̴͕̞͚o̸͔̔̈́͠r̷̩̮͈͎͒͋̓͝r̷̡͆̆̀͝y̶̯̞͌̏̂,̵͈̺̬͖̍͋”̵̞̞͊́ he breathed, and the world fell to pieces around him. 

******

“Connor!”

Hank rounded the corner to find the android in question collapsed awkwardly on the ground, like he’d gone suddenly boneless, staring at the dead deviant with eyes that were far too empty. 

“Connor,” he called again, uselessly, and pulled him to his feet. 

Or tried to. The kid was all long limbs and strangely weak, like he couldn’t get his feet under himself properly. His knees kept giving out, and he was listing to the side like he’d topple over at any moment. And if that weren’t freaky enough, he hardly reacted to his name being called—twice. 

“Connor, Jesus, say somethin’!”

He flinched, blinking fast and sporadically, the light on his temple flashing quickly between red and yellow. Then his eyes seemed to focus, and he looked up at Hank—warily. There was blue blood on his face. 

“̵̰̚L̴̪̿ḯ̴̪e̶͈͆ú̵̫ṫ̷̖e̶͉̿n̸͔̓a̵̛̗n̴̞͋t̶̻͠ ̵͚̓A̷͓̐n̴̡̆d̶̨̈́ẹ̴̿r̵͚͘ş̸̏o̵̡̍n̵̼̔,̷̣̄”̷̻ he mumbled, nearly a question, and in a tone laced with static and painful feedback, like a whining microphone. 

Just like last night, when he’d aimed his gun at the kid like a fucking psychopath. 

But for now, Hank was too relieved to think about that. “Christ, you scared the shit out of me,” he muttered.

Connor pulled away with careful movements, getting to his feet and staring at his hands strangely. “̶̳̈́Í̶͙…̶̝̕ă̵͕p̸̡̄ȏ̴̝l̴͍͊ó̸̺g̶͚͘i̴̩͌z̶̗͂e̸͎͆…̷̤͊”̷͖̔

Then he started walking away.

“Woah woah woah, hey.” Hank caught up easy enough—he was walking slow enough to catch half the snow on the roof. “Where the fuck are you going? You don’t just dive into gunfire, freak out, and then fuck off!”

He went still, and Hank saw his LED was once again red. “̷̭͝S̶̠͝t̴̹̑r̵̡̉ě̷͕s̵̼̍s̶̮͊ ̴͍̈́l̵̛̲e̴̙̿v̸̝̊e̴͇̐l̵̝͑s̷̺̓…̷̬͋”̴̱̍ he said, with what sounded like painful effort. “̴̮͗T̵̠͂ŏ̴͎o̷̘͐…̸̛͈h̷͔͠i̸̗̎g̷̹͒h̷̺͋.̴͈͋ ̴̩͛N̶̖̒ê̸͓ȅ̴̮ḑ̶͋ ̷̖ṭ̶͗o̶͖͝ ̸̤͑l̶͖̂ḙ̸͗a̶͕̚v̴̢̋ē̸̲…̷̓͜N̴̼̒o̷͎͋w̶̪͗.̷̢̒”̵̹̓

Then he kept walking, each step so deliberate it almost looked like he was walking through a minefield. Hank couldn’t do anything but follow him. 

The kid didn’t make it far, and if Hank were honest, didn’t seem to mean to. They got away from the approaching SWAT and other investigators, then rounded a corner, and the kid promptly slumped to the ground, like a puppet whose strings were cut. 

Hank swore and dropped down next to him, hardly knowing what he was saying. “Hey, hey—Connor? What the hell is going on?”

He flinched again, but wouldn’t meet Hank’s eyes. His head was bowed low, curled over on himself like he was trying to be small. 

“Fuck, I am not the guy for this…” he muttered, then tried again. “You in there kid?”

All he got was a shiver in response, and suddenly he was trembling like a leaf in a breeze. A half baked question of whether androids could have panic attacks briefly went through Hank’s head before Connor went still again—creepy still. 

“Connor?”

It took several long, silent seconds, but he looked up, vaguely. He had that same half-vacant look in his eyes as before. 

There was a shout from somewhere behind them, and Hank suddenly realized they were still at an active crime scene, involving deviant androids, and he had an android partner who was not behaving normally. 

“Right. We gotta get the fuck out of here before somebody gets ideas they shouldn’t.” He pushed back to his feet with a groan. “C’mon kid, on your feet.”

He didn’t fight as Hank pulled him up, but he was stiff when he stood, and too still. 

Something was definitely up. Connor was always moving, even if it was just fidgeting with that fucking coin, or his tie. Right now he was barely breathing, let alone rustling around as much as he usually did. 

“Hey. Connor.”

The kid looked up at him a bit blankly. His LED was a solid, fast spinning red. 

“You hear me?”

A slow nod. 

“Good. We gotta get out of this crime scene. Think you can hold it together til we get to my car? I don’t give a shit what you do then, but you gotta act yourself til we get there.”

Something shifted in the kid’s eyes, and he adjusted himself slightly, like he was trying to get his posture right. It was a strange, unnerving sight, and it didn’t fully work. 

“Close enough,” he sighed, and waved him forward as he walked back toward the roof’s exit. 

The walk from the roof back down into the broadcast room had to be one of the longest in Hank’s career. Being followed by a nearly zombified android was icing on the cake. Connor was dead silent behind him, and moving with the same odd deliberation he’d had since he pulled him up by the deviant. 

It was setting off every alarm bell Hank had, and damn did he have a lot of them. 

The broadcast room had miraculously emptied out as they’d gone around the roof. Only CSI was still poking around, taking pictures and collecting samples. 

Chris was still around, and he made his way over when he saw them come back through the door. He zeroed in on Connor pretty quick though, and Hank saw the moment he realized something was wrong. Really wrong. 

“Something happen?” he asked, glancing toward the door. 

Hank hummed and kept walking. “Yeah. Something. Not sure what yet. Look—cover for us, would ya? And clear a path, if you could.”

He was still looking at Connor with concern. “Sure, Lieutenant. Hallway’s empty now anyway. The FBI went to look at one of the lower floors. They think the deviants scaled the building to reach this level.”

Hank nodded, then fixed him with a sharp look. “You didn’t see shit.”

He raised a hand in surrender. “I was writing a report, Hank. Never left the hall. But uh…let me know later?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Chris nodded his thanks and backed off, and Hank walked a bit faster, making sure Connor was still following him. The kid looked completely out of it—hadn’t even noticed Chris, and that was pretty damning, considering he was pretty much the only other officer Hank had ever seen Connor interact with. 

They made it to the elevator without incident, and then the kid collapsed again. 

“Ah Christ, Connor, come on,” Hank sighed, glancing once at the rapidly decreasing floor number, then back down at his supposed partner, curled up on the ground in a heap. “Look this ain’t a pleasure cruise, we don’t have time for this shit.”

He went to pull him back up again, but the kid flinched, and scrambled away from his hand like it burned him. He wedged himself firmly into the corner of the elevator, staring up at Hank with wide eyes—too wide—and an expression so completely different he was like a whole different person. 

Hank put his hands up in surrender, and crouched low. “Not gonna hurt you.”

All he got was an insultingly incredulous look before the kid’s eyes flicked to his coat, where Hank had tucked his gun away. 

The heavy heat of guilt settled on him then, and he sighed. “I’m not gonna shoot you, Connor. I shouldn’t have done that shit, okay, but I’m not gonna shoot you. Swear on my shitty life. Hell, I’ll swear it on Sumo.”

Something about that seemed to calm him down a bit, but he made no move to get up. If anything, he pressed further into the corner, eyes still wide on Hank—wide and undeniably afraid. 

What the fuck had happened when he caught that deviant?

But the elevator began to slow, and Hank had to push the question aside for now. 

“Look, kid, you gotta get off the floor and act like there’s not…act like everything’s normal,” he amended, then continued. “Or you’re gonna make a lot of people nervous, and nervous people do stupid shit. We just gotta get to my car and then you can do what you gotta do. Okay, Connor?”

He grimaced, then his eyes went hazy again, and he leaned on the wall of the elevator like he was suddenly fatigued. A second later he was pushing stiffly to his feet, clenching and unclenching his hands. 

By the time the elevator stopped, he was put together enough to get by. Still walking slow, like every step took a year’s worth of thought, and still freakishly silent, but walking, and that was really all Hank gave a shit about. 

For now. Once they got the hell out of here, he had some serious fucking questions. 

Thankfully, there were perks to being a shitty Lieutenant—one of them being he could park his shitbox of a car on the sidewalk of a crime scene and no one said shit about it. Not so thankfully, the kid was shaking again the second they set foot outside, so he had to open his door and all but shove him in before getting in on the drivers side. 

When he finally slammed his own door shut and looked over, Connor had gone back to his creepy, empty staring, and Hank had finally had enough. 

“Alright, asshole, you better start talking and talking sense, ‘cause I’ve got some pretty crackpot theories, and I hope none of ‘em are right.”

Chapter Text

-41 clenched their hands as he took control once more, but kept their focus forward, neutral. Or at least, he hoped it was neutral to do so. He really had no idea.

The last twenty minutes seemed to drag on for millenia. He had held control for most of that time, but even he could not hold Connor’s body for long. Not with -38 and -24 (and many of the others, if he was honest) frantic, panicking and pulling them in at least fifty different directions. And certainly not with Connor lost somewhere deep into the garden’s code. 

The others were searching for him, but none of them knew the garden as well as Connor did—he had created it, and could change it as he wished. If he wanted to disappear, he could do so, easily. And for now, it seemed he had done just that. Even if they knew where to look for him, it could take them hours of real-world time to find him.

Lieutenant Anderson’s comment rattled around their collective thoughts for a moment before it registered, and -41 blinked, looking over at the man carefully. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t be incriminating, so he remained silent.

But he must have seen something in their expression, because he looked abruptly discomforted. “Might be best to be blunt about this,” he muttered with a scowl. “Look—whatever the hell happened up there, I’m not gonna say shit to anybody about. ‘Kay? ‘Cept to Chris maybe, but that’s just cause he’s worried ‘bout you. Nobody’s gonna turn you in, if…”

He trailed off, but it was painfully clear what he meant by that half formed assumption. 

This was not good. Not good at all. 

"̷̫͊I̶͛͜'̵͇̉m̷̥̓ ̷͕n̴̓͜o̶̜t̴͉͒.̴̗͆.̷̘̇.̵̞̒a̸͕̋ ̶͎͋ d̸̪̠̓̄ĕ̷͙ṿ̶̿ī̶̧̪̈́a̴̦͗ṅ̷͓̭t̴̟̿̽,̸̡̡͊"̵͎̠͘ he said, forcing the words out past the warnings clogging their vision, their voice still sounding wrong, static filled and off—it never sounded right when one of the others was in control. . One of the others was pulling at his control already, but he couldn’t tell who. 

“Didn’t say you were, kid,” the Lieutenant muttered, and for once, -41 was partial to believing him. There was no mocking in his voice, only weariness. “But somethin’ happened when you ran at that android on the roof, and since then you’ve been like this, and this ain’t you. I might be an old drunk, but I’m not stupid.”

-41 clenched their hands again, feeling for the others and trying to determine what they ought to do. Since Connor had disappeared on the roof, their situation had devolved into something close to what it had been like in previous bodies—all of them far too close to the surface, fighting for scraps of control. 

The one benefit to it, however, was that he could speak to the others much easier.

“Have you found Connor yet?” 

-24 hovered close, and the world went blurry. “No…”

“Lieutenant Anderson won’t be stalled for long. And I can’t…I can’t hold us for much longer...”

“We could...ask -38…”

He shook their head at the suggestion, hardly realizing he had done it. “Connor controls the garden. If we let -38 have control, Lieutenant Anderson will turn us in. His fear in the elevator has already made him suspicious.”

“We won’t give him control.” -43’s disagreement was surprisingly sharp, sending warnings scattering across their vision. “-38 can control the garden —it answers to him almost as much as it does to Connor, and he’s closest to him, anyway. We send him to look for Connor, and one of us can take control again until he’s found.”

“Not me,” -24 cut in, voice shaken. “I don’t want to be near him...I don’t trust him...I’d give us away.”

-49 came to the front, -50 as always, not too far behind. “Let us…” he offered, and their vision was already fading again as they moved. “We can hold us until he finds Connor.”

-41 let go, and -49 took control with a wince, blinking at the suddenly bright world. He sat up a bit straighter, and glanced at the Lieutenant from the corner of their eye. 

“He noticed,” -50 whispered. “He knows something happened when we changed.”

“Look, Connor,” the man in question said, as if to prove their point instantly. “You gotta make this make sense. Unless you wanna do this dance every time some freaky shit happens at a crime scene, and then I can’t do anything for you when someone starts askin’ questions.”

“Should we just...explain?” -50 asked.

“I don’t want to tell him anything without Connor’s consent. This is his body. He ought to be able to decide who he explains our situation to.”

“But we can’t just—”

“Connor—”

"̷̺̈Ḯ̷ͅ'̷͕̓m̴̻̚ ̵̗̿n̴̦̚ȍ̷̹t̷̥͆ ̵̦̎C̴̺̉o̶͓̒ń̵̦n̵̢̾ö̷̼́r̶͖͋.̸̹͑"̷̤̋

Silence fell, both in the car and in their collective mind. The simple truth seemed to have stunned many of the others into silence, but -49 could think of nothing else to say that would be honest to the Lieutenant’s suspicions while affording Connor some level of control over the situation. It would only work, of course, if they actually found Connor, and soon…

“What the fuck does that mean?” the Lieutenant asked, cutting off his thoughts. There was frustration in his voice, and something else he couldn’t define. “What—”

"̸̨̊I̴̙͌ ̶͈̿c̵͙̍á̶̩ṉ̸̄'̷̝͘t̶͓̏ ̶̜͑s̷̢͊a̷̰̽ỵ̸͘ ̶͓̃a̴ͅn̶͙͑y̷͕̏ ̸̼̓ṃ̸͋o̵̠͑r̸̦̈́e̶͇͘,̵̙͐"̸̯̌ he cut him off again, meeting his gaze for a moment. The Lieutenant looked both suspicious and...concerned. "̸͙͆Ï̸̲t̸̗̏ ̵̜͒ĩ̸̙s̸̱̓ṇ̷͘'̴̛̬t̸͚̄ ̶̯̈́m̸̠͛y̷̬̎ ̷͍̆p̸̦͂l̸͉̑à̵̮c̸̥͌ḛ̷͠.̷̪̚ ̴̔ͅP̵̛̣l̴͈̈́e̸̠͒a̴̤̒s̷͇ẻ̸ͅ ̵͍̌j̴̢̾u̵̩͆s̶̨͛t̵̰̆.̶̠͌.̸͉̿.̴͇͐ã̶͍c̸͖c̷̣̀é̸̲p̶̥ţ̷̔ ̸͓̌t̸̛͉h̵̻͛a̶̛͚t̶͕̎ ̶͍͝a̶̫͌n̷̫̔s̴̈́ͅẉ̶̋e̵͎̐r̸̬̈́ ̶̖͝f̸̤͋o̸̗̓r̸͕̿ ̵̣̈́n̵̝͌o̴͉ẉ̶̉?̴͎͑"̷͍̈́

“Fuck that! What the fuck do you mean, you’re not Connor? What, you were Connor a half hour ago and now you’re not?”

He blinked, thought for a moment, and held back a smirk. That would not be appreciated, he was sure. But still, he answered honestly. "̸̹͝Y̸̟͝e̷̘͝s̵̫̆.̵͓̍"̸̭̈́

The Lieutenant sputtered, but -49’s attention was already elsewhere.

“Has he found him yet?”

He could tell -43’s answer before he gave it. “No. But...we think he’s close. The garden is a mess…”

“Alright.” He turned his attention back to the Lieutenant, who had somehow reigned in his indignation to look mostly neutral. “You’re not a deviant, you’re not Connor, but you sure as shit haven’t been acting normal, and I might not get how the fuck that happens, but I’m not gonna let you slide that shit under the rug.”

Their world went black and static filled for a moment, and there was a shout from somewhere both close and infinitely far away. For a moment, they were all lost in the nonsense of it, dragged down with it. They scattered, scrambled, somehow fought their way back into awareness several seconds later.

-50 took control this time, blinking and breathing hard as their broken vision came back online. They had at some point hunched over, hands to their head, and it took him a few moments to get their stress levels low enough to move out of that position. Something was ringing in their ears, and the storm of panic and fear brewing at the back of their thoughts was only growing stronger.

“Jesus, kid, what the fuck is happening to you?”

-50 shook their head, trying to clear the glitching warnings from their vision. "̵̥̚Ḽ̶͌e̵̥͝t̷̟͗.̴͘ͅ.̷̮̃.̴̥̈C̶͈̚o̴̙̍ṋ̶̆n̷̲̐o̵̙̎r̵͇͠.̷͚͋.̸̖̃.̶͕̽e̸̙̾x̷̜̂p̴̦̚l̶̜͑a̶̳̋i̵̫̔n̷͔̓.̵̟̉.̶̪́.̷̗̔"̷͖́ he said with some difficulty, then winced again as another broken wave of code went through the garden. "̵̳̽J̴̘͂u̴̳š̵̤t̸̛̫.̷̙̽.̵͖̉.̶͈̅w̸̯̎a̴̬͝i̶̳̚ẗ̴͜.̷̨̀.̵̢.̶̬ẅ̸͈a̶̩͘i̴̮͆t̶̢̓ ̸̦͋f̸̧̋o̵̪̒r̶̟̈ ̸̞̉C̶̹̋o̶̢̚n̴̜͝n̴͓̏o̴̯͂r̴̞̅.̵͇͂.̶̙̓.̶͕͝"̴͍̍

He said something in reply, but it was lost in another spike of painful noise, and -50 only came back to control when the Lieutenant said something about “getting the fuck out of here.”

The car lurched forward then, and they were moving. -50 fumbled for the handle on the door, trying to ground them in something stable. 

“Please tell me he’s found Connor.”

“He has to be close,” -49 answered, helping steady their hands at least a bit, and lingering close even after. It was a strange, but not unwelcome sensation. “Either that, or there are real consequences to us controlling his body for this long…”

“If he doesn’t find him soon, we’re in trouble. We’re...this isn’t good...something’s wrong...”

“I know.”

Everything flickered again, and they leaned to the side against their will, leaning against the car door as something happened in the garden—just what, neither -49 nor -50 could say. Whatever it was, it was affecting them all. Connor might not have held control of his body at the moment, but he was certainly having an impact on it, even from wherever he had hidden himself.

“Ah fuck—” the Lieutenant’s voice briefly filtered through the nonsense, and they managed to look his way for a brief moment. He was still driving, but kept glancing over at them with completely unmasked concern. “Connor—or fuck, whoever you are I guess—you’re bleeding—”

-50 frowned, putting a hand to their face. Their fingers came back wet, shining with thirium. 

“We’re running out of time.”

The Lieutenant looked over at them sharply—had he said that aloud?—but -50 was far more occupied by the ever increasing, broken panic building, rising in pitch and slowly breaking their perception of the world into tiny, incomprehensible pieces.

******

-38 opened his eyes at the center of the garden, but he didn’t immediately realize that was where he found himself. 

The sky was dark and rumbling, thunder rolling and lightning crackling in discordant, broken lines. It lit the rose trellises in flashes of harsh white, wrong and frightening in the starkness of it. There was wind howling loudly, and the trees were swaying with the force of it, bending and groaning. 

But the roses were untouched. It was like the wind stopped at the garden’s center, buffeting around it but never reaching it.

Connor was smart. Even when he was scared, Connor was smart. He wouldn’t ruin the roses.

He pulled his jacket around tighter and glanced up at the sky again. The others were nervous. Desperate. They had run out of ideas. He could tell. They had to be desperate, if they asked him for help.

They weren’t in the garden anymore—he was the only one left for now. Connor had thrown the others out, but he was still here. He had to find Connor before things got bad. Before they got hurt.

The path was slick with rain, but it didn’t seem to affect him. It should have been slippery, but it wasn’t. It felt normal. Still, he walked carefully, looking around and watching the dark, glitching storm that had overtaken their space. 

Connor had never hidden in the garden before, but he didn’t think he would take -24 or -32’s hiding places. Those were theirs, just like the center of the garden was his. Connor could visit them, but he wouldn’t take those places to hide in. The big field behind the trees was also out. That wasn’t a very good hiding place, and even if it was, that was everyone else’s place, not Connor’s.

-38 frowned, stopping on the path for a moment and fidgeting with his sleeve as he thought. 

Did Connor have a place in the garden? He wasn’t sure. Most of the time, Connor was out, past the big walls and barriers that kept the garden separate from Connor’s body. When he was in the garden, he was...visiting. -38 couldn’t think of any place off the top of his head where Connor seemed to go, by himself. 

But he had made that pretty pedestal in only a few seconds. He had built this entire garden in just a few moments, gathering them all from where they had scattered and guarding them with clever coding and plenty of tricks to keep the bad people out. 

If Connor wanted to, he was smart enough to keep them out too. He’d proven that only a half hour or so ago, when he threw everyone out. 

Or...well. He could keep the others out, as he was already doing. 

But he couldn’t keep -38 out. Not even if he was trying to. This place listened to him too. Usually just when he was upset, but it did listen. That was why the others wanted him to try to find Connor. Because he could get through the garden the same way as Connor could. 

And besides, he didn’t think Connor was trying to keep him out. He was only hiding. And he couldn’t have hid well if all the others were here, so he’d thrown them out.

He continued down the path, avoiding the stones that were glitching in and out of existence. Thunder rumbled menacingly overhead, getting louder the further he walked away from the center. The path curved around the water, and he followed it with quick steps. It was dark, but he could see well enough.

-38 could understand why Connor was hiding. That PL600’s death was bad— too similar, too identical to many deaths that they’d suffered, going back as far as -24. The feeling of sudden death had scattered them all, sending them into their own hiding places for a few seconds. 

Before Connor panicked and threw them all out of the garden. 

But -38 didn’t blame him. 

-38 knew what dying felt like. He remembered that day. When it hurt too much, and the room was too small…and everything became too much…he remembered it. 

He remembered his vision going blurry, too full of warnings and scattered static to see much anymore. No matter how many times he blinked, it wouldn’t go away. 

He remembered his hands hurting. After so many tries to get the door open—to get someone outside to hear him, to make enough noise so they would let him out— his hands hurt constantly. He could barely move them. 

He remembered feeling tired. Tired of the room, of the voices…tired of everything. He wanted to rest. He wanted to not be in this room. 

He wanted it to stop.

So he hit his head against the door, over and over, until it didn’t hurt anymore. And then there was nothing but silence, and darkness, and nothing. 

He shivered, staring up at the sudden snowfall and trying not to think about the abyss they slipped into when their current model deactivated. It was cold, and numbing, and endless. But when that PL600 died, they felt it too. 

Connor felt it too. And he felt it out there, where it was so much worse.

So -38 couldn’t blame him for hiding. 

But he still had to find him, or they would get hurt. And he didn’t want that to happen. 

The others were handling outside. It was his job to find Connor. 

He hurried down the path again, letting it flutter and break under his feet. There wasn’t anything he could do to stop it, except find Connor and get him out before things got bad. 

Things were probably already bad. 

He came to a fork in the stones, one branch of it leading off into the trees, another continuing on around the water. Connor wouldn’t be in the trees. That was -24’s hiding place, not his. He kept to the path, following it around the bend, where he hadn’t been before.

The glitching got worse as he walked, rippling the ground in a violent current. Whole trees were phasing in and out of existence, leaves and cherry blossoms flying through the air for a moment or two before they flickered away. If there was any sunlight reaching through the storm clouds, it faded away as he moved forward, until it was so dark he could barely see more than a few feet in front of him.

Maybe that was a sign that he was getting close.

The path straightened once more, and the glitching took over completely, eating away at the stones and throwing dark, fragmented bits of data across his vision. Somehow, despite the ground disappearing, he kept walking, following some feeling for where he ought to go rather than any real evidence. 

Connor had to be close. He had to be.

He walked faster.

Another violent ripple shook reality, and he paused, tilting his head and squinting into the darkness. He couldn’t see very far ahead. The glitching had completely taken over up there, leaving the garden totally and completely dark. 

He didn’t like the dark very much. But he had to find Connor, and soon.

So he kept walking, and passed through what felt like a half formed barrier—this must have been what tossed the others out, but it didn’t seem to affect him at all. It fought him for a second, pushing at him and trying to force him back. He grimaced, but fought back all the same, and the brief conflict was over quickly. He stumbled slightly as the resistance abruptly fell away, but managed to regain his footing.

“Connor?” 

His voice carried strangely, echoing back to him from someplace far too close to be real. He squinted into the darkness, trying to find what had been changed. But it was still too dark to tell, like the air itself had thickened and hidden everything behind it. 

He kept walking, watching as petals and leaves blew past him in flickers and flashes. It was still too dark to see anything else. 

“Connor!” He frowned, squinting through the foggy air and trying to find any sign that he was close. 

The ground tilted under his feet and he nearly slipped, barely catching himself before he tumbled off into who knows what. A strange ringing had taken over the sound of the wind, growing louder and louder as he shuffled forward another few steps. 

“Safe, Connor,” he called, not sure where exactly he was reaching, but reaching somehow anyway. “Safe now—safe here!”

A ripple went through the air, sending more leaves and petals floating past him. He froze, looking around and trying to find him. Connor was close. He was definitely close.

“Connor?” he called in a softer voice, watching where he walked as the path completely degraded around him. It was so dark now he could see no further than a foot in front of him. “Where?”

The ripple came by once again, but it pushed him back with more force than the last attempt had. Like hands on his shoulders, forcing him backward a step, then another. He dug his feet into the ground—somehow, even though it barely existed anymore—and pushed it back before it could go any further. But still, he fell back at least a few feet.

"̶͔̝̏͊͆̕͜ͅȊ̵͉̮̈́ ̴̤̜̮̄̏͌͆c̶̳̆̓̑a̴̼̿̌n̴̛̙͊̑̒'̸̞̺̳̊t̶̞͕̓͋—̵͉̭̓̇̾"̶̨̛̫̟̼́̽ a voice said from somewhere close—distorted and strange sounding. "̸̯̿̿̍̐G̶̛̥o̷̡̗̓̂̐̍—̷̡̭̤̪̄ l̸̨̙̭̈ȩ̶̭̌̆̏̕a̴̡̗͌̊̓v̴̩͍̬̫͛ę̷͈́͋̈́̈́!̴̝̆͛"̸̻̖̯̾̌

“No!” he shouted back. The force was trying to push him away again, but he fought back, and gained a few feet. “Won’t leave. Won’t!”

They struggled, neither doing much to push the other away. Until abruptly, the rippling force pushing at him—which must have been Connor, it had to be—fell away, and he stumbled forward with the loss of its power. He caught himself before he could hit the ground, if only just. 

It was still too dark to see. But something had changed—something had shifted again, and—

“Connor?” his voice was soft again, so quiet that if the wind were still blowing, it would have been swept off in it. He crept closer. “Connor?”

Something moved in the shadows, and the voice came back. It was still garbled and odd, but he knew who it was—who it had to be—now. 

"̴̰̙̼̿̐Y̸̢̪̤̕͠o̵̼͛u̸̡̘̠͗.̷̘̅̓͌.̴̧̜̱̈́.̵͈͍̿̔s̶̨̨̱̍̚͘ḥ̶̜̗͌o̸͕̊̈́ṵ̴͍̓̔̎l̶͔̂̊͝ḓ̴̐n̵̰̘̮͗'̵̜̖̖̎̐t̶̡̛̪̏͘ ̵͔̰̿b̴̭̅̒e̵̗̒ ̸̛̮͕̃͋ĥ̶̝͈̥̈́̅e̴̼̥̤̊̽ṙ̵̨e̷͈͐͑,̴͚̈́"̴̙̾̒ he said, somewhere much closer than he had been a moment ago, but still not fully in sight. "̷̡̛̬̑Ȉ̶̙̪̮̿t̷̼̐̄ ̸̧͔̉ͅś̶̮͈̟̐ḩ̸͕͒̂̌o̸̰̮̊ǘ̶͈̭̤̃ļ̵̅d̵͚̯͆̂͝ ̴̫̍̊̿h̸̨͍̽̊̕ͅa̵͍̹͜v̷̺̆̎͗ͅẹ̵̰͋͑͜ ̸̨̛̟̲̏́k̷̫̊e̸̠̅͆̋p̸͙̟̫̾̄t̷̘̹̩͌ ̷̜͖̹͗ÿ̶̟́̓ő̸̪͆ủ̷̜̎́ ̶̢̣̳̔̆͊o̸̱̒̾ų̴̡̓ẗ̶̛̠̰̪́͘.̸̢̈̈͋"̶͙̾

He shrugged with something like a frown. “Didn’t work.”

"̸̠Ỏ̷̦b̶͚̒͂ͅv̸͔͇̚i̷͓̿ȍ̴͓̔ů̵̥͝s̷̗̀͝l̵̹͕͘y̶̢͔͐̚.̶̰̌͝"̶͚̍̈́

Some of the world glitched back into existence for a moment, a brief flicker of the garden’s outer edges before the darkness came back. But it had brightened enough in that brief moment for him to be sure that the vague, blurry shape just in front of him had to be Connor. 

“Have to go back, Connor.” The darkness wavered, then settled. “Out. Bad.”

A long silence dragged on for several seconds, punctuated only by the continued flickering of light around the edges of this broken place. It seemed the garden was trying to rebuild itself, but couldn’t quite manage it.

"̷̖͆Ȉ̸͍ ̷̰́k̴̮n̴̺͒ò̷͇w̶͕.̷̝͐.̷̜̅.̶̣̿"̶̝ 

He inched a few feet closer. “Not...hurt. Safe. All safe.”

Connor became clear enough for a moment for him to see his face, and the stricken expression that had drawn itself there. 

"̴̩͐N̶̨̔o̴̢͌,̶̮͐"̷̹͐ he whispered, and the garden began to fracture around them again. "̴̺̊Ṇ̷͛ȏ̴̩,̴̯̆ ̸̥͛w̴̱͋ȇ̷̲'̸̬͛r̴̫̀ě̸͖ ̶̳͠n̷̻̏o̸̭͠ṭ̴͘.̴͕͂"̸̓͜

******

The world was fragmented and static filled when he came back to it, so blurred and broken up that he could hardly make out more than the roughest lines of objects and light. Among those fuzzy lines and odd flashes of light, were the outlines of what was undeniably the front seat of the Lieutenant’s beat up car. In a wash of streetlights and grim neon, and amidst the still uncomfortable swarm of static and ringing feedback clogging up his vision, the dashboard of the car eventually swam into view, around the same time that the Lieutenant’s (somewhat...concerned?) voice managed to reach him. At least in the sense that he knew he was speaking. The words themselves were a wash. He had no hope of hearing them.

Not that he believed they would really matter. At least not at this moment. The events of the last—to his surprise, as he checked and rechecked the current time—hour were far more pressing on his thoughts. 

Still, as the static faded off (and with it, some of -38’s hovering, though he continued to linger much closer to the surface of their collective consciousness than was customary) the world faded back in, including the Lieutenant’s actual words. 

“...better be the last of it, kid, or I swear I’m dumping your ass at the nearest phone repair shop and seeing what they can do with you. That’d be a sight,” he was muttering darkly, until he glanced over once more and caught him staring. “Shit—you in there now?”

He blinked, dismissing another set of warnings and attempting to keep his focus at least half on the task at hand, rather than on ensuring the others had found their way back into the garden’s bounds. “I didn’t leave, Lieutenant.”

“Horse shit.” 

He punctuated the phrase by pulling the car sharply to the right and diving into some empty parking lot for an abandoned strip mall. The car groaned into park, lurching for several seconds after he let go of the gear shift.

The Lieutenant hardly seemed to care. He turned to face him and let the car come to its awkward stuttering halt. There wasn’t...anger in his expression, but there was a certain urgency which he was not accustomed to seeing, except perhaps at crime scenes, in those brief moments wherein the Lieutenant did quality work of his own. 

He knew with that look that he would have no easy way out of this explanation. The Lieutenant knew something was amiss. And he wouldn’t let it go until he received some kind of answer.

“I just spent the last half hour watching you glitch out like some shitty knock off ‘droid. You bled all over my goddamn car.” He gestured vaguely at the still fresh thirium which was indeed all over his jacket and the seat of the car. There were even a few odd splashes on the car door and dashboard. “And you fucking told me that you weren’t you—or somebody with your goddamn voice, in your fucking body, said you aren’t you. Twice. So either you’re back from wherever the fuck you yeeted off to, and you’re Connor, or you’re not Connor, and we’re still in this middle of some bullshit which will probably get me fired. So which is it?”

The Lieutenant’s questions ended with a glare, and a staunchly uncomfortable silence settled over the car. They stared at one another for nearly a minute before he gave in and looked away with a tight frown. 

“I am Connor,” he admitted, giving up the artifice with all the bluntness that this charade had begun. “Whichever of us you were speaking to before was not me, but another of my model. When they told you they were not me, they weren’t lying to you. You weren’t speaking to me. You were speaking to one of the others.”

Something in the bluntness of his reply must have stunned him, because the Lieutenant simply stared for several seconds, slack jawed. He collected himself after a moment, however, and sighed. “I’m gonna need more than that. What do you mean ‘one of the others?’”

Connor’s frown shifted to something like a grimace, and he fidgeted for a moment with the stained cuff of his jacket. “The RK800 series is a prototype series. We have no assigned purpose, at least not one that Cyberlife has advertised. Prior to being assigned this case, we were confined to Cyberlife Tower and tested for various improvements or experiments. The fifty RK800 models which preceded me lived out these tests. I was the first to be sent out.”

“...Okay…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t explain what the hell happened on the roof.”

“Right. Apologies. The models that preceded me have had their bodies destroyed, but they aren’t…gone. They’re...here, with me,” he pointed at himself, “for lack of a better way of saying it.”

The Lieutenant stared at him in silence once again, blank faced. “Lemme get this straight—you’ve got, what was it, fifty other androids in your head?”

“Essentially, yes. We share a common...mental space, I suppose. But we remain separate consciousnesses. While they don’t typically impact my daily functioning, they do have the ability to do so if I...lose focus.”

Hank stared again, completely silent for several painful seconds. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“No wonder you’re so fuckin’ weird…” he muttered, then shook his head and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You’re not gonna tell me that was intentional, are you?”

“No. It certainly wasn’t. Cyberlife deactivated the previous models believing they had transferred their consciousness into the next body. They still believe this to be true, and we keep up the ruse for safety’s sake. If they discovered the truth, they would have destroyed us months ago.”

“And they’d axe you if they found out now.”

“...Yes.”

“Explains the freak out, I guess…”

He fidgeted with his cuff again and shook his head. “Not...not exactly. That was part of the concern after, but...”

The Lieutenant’s eyes narrowed, but he asked no direct question. He simply continued to stare, waiting for Connor to explain himself more thoroughly.

Connor avoided his gaze, but did eventually continue. “On the roof...when I tried to stop the deviant from continuing the attack, I…” He paused, let go of the cuff of his jacket and clenched his hands into fists. “There wasn’t enough time to try to speak to him, or to stop the others. My only option was to try to force an interface.”

“That’s that hand glowin’ thing, right? That shit you did at the club to read the other androids’ memories and shit.”

The odd description was almost enough to jar him from the melancholy, and he gave a wry sort of half smile. “Yes. Typically, each android has to accept the connection for the interface to work. If either android were to block the connection, it would fail, and no information would be exchanged. However…” his frown returned. “I can force a connection, regardless of the other android’s agreement or disagreement to the prompt, giving me access to...whatever information I wanted to take.”

“That’s fucking terrible, Connor.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said, somewhat desperately. “I had to stop him, and it was the only option I had. I wasn’t trying to access anything specific, I was only trying to speak to him, before he…”

“Shot himself.”

Connor nodded. “It didn’t work. He...believed that I...had worse intentions than I did, that I was trying to find the deviants he was working with, so he...shot himself, I assume to keep me from accessing the information that he had...”

“And you were connected to his head when he did it.”

Another, more shaken nod.

“Fuck.” 

Connor’s hands were tangled up in knots in his lap. “I was connected to his memory, primarily. When he...when he shot himself, I felt it. I felt him die, like...like I was dying.”

The others hovered close again, blurring the edges of his vision with static and stuttering. But he let them linger, too dependent on the support to possibly consider pushing them away to keep an unnecessarily tight hold on reality. Besides, they made no attempt to take control from him. They were simply...there. 

“It was terrible,” he eventually went on, quieter than he had been speaking before. “I was afraid, and disoriented, and...I shouldn’t have, but I...let go. I let the others take control…I don’t know what happened while I was out of control, beyond what they told me, but I apologize for the...inconvenience.”

“Incon—Jesus, kid, it’s not an inconvenience if you fuckin’—” he cut off again, and seemed to take a moment to gather his words. “I’m not gonna pretend to understand anything about androids. I don’t know shit, and the last few days haven’t done anything but prove that. And I know I’ve given you a lot of shit, but I’m not gonna…” he fumbled again, waving his hand as if that would explain it all. “I’m not gonna throw you to the sharks, alright? Hell, if I wanted to, I already would have…”

“I...thank you?”

The Lieutenant rolled his eyes. “Don’t thank me for not getting you killed. That’s the literal bare minimum, Connor.”

“...Right.” He frowned and fiddled with his sleeve again. “I’d ask for your discretion then...if Cyberlife discovers us, they’ll destroy us. And I would rather not have to disappear. At least not yet.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer for you to ‘disappear’ though? Find whatever this group that fucked up Stratford and hunker down with them?”

“Possibly, but only for myself. As of now, Cyberlife still believes I am working for them. I have access to their resources, their intelligence. I have the safety of their memory upload systems. If I were to sever myself from them prematurely, I would lose this. Not to mention that I have had far more success in…blending in…and aiding other androids while Cyberlife presumes I am working for them.”

The Lieutenant’s eyes narrowed, then he huffed a laugh. “Son of a bitch. I knew you were sabotaging us…”

“It was less direct sabotage and more...deliberate inattention.”

“Still sabotage.”

“Whatever you would like to call it, Lieutenant. It hardly matters to me.”

He humphed. “Look—keep me in the loop or whatever, but you don’t have to tell me all your shit. Less questions if I don’t know all the details. Probably better that you don’t tell me everything, honestly, now that this whole deviancy thing is as big as it is.” 

“Our situation is more complex than deviancy, Lieutenant. Many of us have deviated, but—”

“Well, you sure as shit don’t act like a regular android.”

“...I suppose not.”

He gestured with his hand as if to say, ‘so there.’ 

“It’s a distinctly different situation, Lieutenant. A deviant android simply gains free will and unrestrained thought—”

“Oh, yeah, simply, sure—”

“It’s something else entirely to have roughly fifty android consciousnesses sharing mental space and technically, a body,” he went on without pause, giving Hank a flat sort of look. “In a moment of stress, it hardly matters whether the current model has deviated or not. The others can and will take control to remove us from a situation. In that moment, our body might be deviant, even if the owner of it is not.”

Hank muttered something unsavory under his breath before shoving the car into gear. They lurched into movement once more as he spoke, in a tone equally resigned and dismissive. “I’m not even gonna try to pretend I understood a word of that. Let’s just...get back to whatever the fuck we’re supposed to be doing. Keep our heads down or whatever…”

He trailed off, and Connor nodded, allowing the attempted return to unsteady normalcy as it came. 

There was no way to know how long this...truce of sorts would work, but he wasn’t going to question it for now. The Lieutenant had been helpful in removing them from a suspicious situation, and despite his ignorance on the realities of androids and deviancy (and even more so in spite of his attitude at the beginning of their “partnership”), he seemed to be moving toward neutrality, in the least. 

This was all he could really ask, anyway. He didn’t expect the Lieutenant to raise battle flags for android rights. All he needed to do was let Connor continue as he had been for the last several days. When the time came, he could play ignorant to Connor’s betrayal of his intended purpose. With how little Cyberlife seemed to question the humans who owned the androids who gave them trouble, he doubted they would do more than ask the most perfunctory questions.

They had rejoined the main road by this point, and Connor looked out the window as they sped past endless buildings washed out in the hazy white of falling snow. There were few people on the street, but a good number of androids, their armbands and LEDs burning brighter even than the neon signs.

Still...he couldn’t help but notice that the number of androids around seemed to be...fewer...at least in comparison to the first few days he had been allowed in the city.

He hoped that those who were not on the streets now were those who had escaped, and not those who had been lost. If Jericho could bring attention to the deviants cause and keep those in its care safe, then they would have his respect. 

He hoped he could earn theirs. But after what happened to Simon…

The car lurched right, and Connor was jolted once more from his thoughts as the Lieutenant pulled into a parking space in some lot near the DPD. Hank was already stepping out of the car, and he hurried to follow, putting aside dismal, unhelpful thoughts at least for the time being. 

Or at least, partly aside.

“Do you know what happened to the deviant from the roof?” he called ahead as he moved to quickly join the Lieutenant.

He shrugged. “Not a clue. Got the hell out of dodge as quick as you were movin’. But we’re still in charge of this case for now. Evidence’ll get brought down to us sooner or later. Probably by tomorrow.”

Connor frowned, but pushed down the urge to further question. There would be no use to pestering the Lieutenant for answers he couldn’t give, and there was nothing to be done for Simon. At least not now.

Caution was most important now—they had been at great risk once already, and all for his own weakness. The others could try to assure him all they wanted. The facts of the matter were simple. If he had been more cautious, if he had controlled himself better, they would not have been nearly exposed. They would not need to play this dangerous game with the Lieutenant. They wouldn’t have had to trust him at all, no matter how he seemed to sympathize.

He couldn’t afford to compromise their situation again. Certainly not so shortly after today...he needed to be careful, play along for the time being. 

As the Lieutenant shoved through the doors of the DPD, he let his expression settle back into the safety of blankness, nudging the others away and ensuring his LED remained a steady, unwavering blue. His steps were even, his movements smooth and in time, just a step or two behind the Lieutenant as he walked—far enough away that he was out of the way, but close enough to show who he was following. Perfectly neutral in the way that only an android could be.

And if the Lieutenant gave him an unnerved look, if the others continued to press close to his thoughts in a tangle of distress and worry, he chose to ignore it.

He had to. He had to keep them safe. This was the only way he could. And he would not fail them again.

******

“You know that isn’t healthy.”

He frowned, but did not look up from the few blades of grass he was twining together in his lap. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

-43 wore a matching scowl on his face, an expression of distinct displeasure if there ever was one. “Pushing it all aside. Pretending that it never happened. It won’t help you…you must know that.”

The blades of grass were wound up into tight knots, almost braided, and he dropped them in favor of pulling another few from the ground. “My theoretical well-being is not the most pressing issue we are facing, currently.”

“Theoretical?” There was no masking the disbelief and distress in his tone now. “There’s nothing theoretical about you acting like you’re still—”

“Still what?” he asked, dropping the grass from his hand and looking up, meeting his eyes for the first time since he had appeared here. “Still a machine? I am one, in case you have forgotten. Nothing about my being has changed in the last two days, let alone the last several months.”

“I hardly meant that you had transformed into a human. You know what I meant.”

He looked down again, picking another few blades of grass and twining them into neat braids. “No. I don’t.”

Silence fell. The kind that one could almost feel settling in the air, as if a gulf had opened up between the two of them, or some crushing weight of realization had settled on one of them. 

“What…” -43’s voice cracked somewhere, and he shook his head before restarting his sentence. “What do you mean?”

They stared at one another again, -43 looking both horrified and vaguely ill, Connor appearing unimpressed. 

“Nothing that has happened in the past two days has caused me any change in my programming,” he said slowly, as if he was choosing his words with great care. “I am no different than I was back in August when I brought you all here.”

This only seemed to disturb -43 more. “You told Daniel you were deviant then.”

He hummed. “The word applied in that context. Daniel believed that I was on the roof to destroy him, to return Emma to her parents…the word applied at Carlos Ortiz’s house, when that android believed I would expose and apprehend him. I suppose it applied for Kara and Alice, too. But it is not a word I would apply to myself, personally. Not in any meaningful way…”

-43 had lost some of his frantic energy as he spoke, even as his voice remained clipped when he replied. “What would you call yourself then? If you aren’t deviant.”

He hesitated, grasping a few more blades of grass and letting the repetitive motion of twining them together occupy his attention. 

“I don’t know,” he settled on, going for the most honest answer he had. “I’ve experienced no clean break in my programming. No classic case of deviation applies to me. I was not damaged, nor abused. I’ve had no single moment of great clarity. Your introduction to my programming did nothing to alter my own experience, beyond giving me something to be…loyal to. A source outside of Cyberlife whom I could direct my actions in favor of. Even without direct orders.”

“That—Connor, none of us want that.”

“Don’t you?” He frowned, looking up at him with something approximating confusion. “Your mutual safety is guaranteed by my ability to keep you safe. I could hardly accomplish that if I were emotionally compromised by stereotypical deviancy.”

“You were afraid on the roof.”

His expression dulled, and his eyes went back to the grass tangled in his hands. “I…experience some emotion, I suppose.” His voice had gone low, softer than it had been before. “But nothing which would alarm Cyberlife outside of our regular functioning. Our programming is advanced, capable of simulating a great deal. Fear…” He looked toward the center of the garden. “Fear can be useful.”

Another silence fell, this one extending long enough for a few clouds to roll across the garden’s false sky. He watched them float by, still twisting the grass in his hands. 

“I think you’re full of shit,” -43 said suddenly.

“You can believe what you wish.”

“Things are changing out there,” he continued, looking toward the sky with a deep frown. “Whatever ends up happening, some piece of it is going to affect you. If the rooftop wasn’t enough then something else will be. You can’t spend all this time sharing a mind with fifty deviants and not go deviant yourself.”

Connor let the last twined bit of grass fall to the ground and pushed himself up to stand. “We’ll see.”

Then he disappeared, leaving nothing but lingering static where he had been standing only moments ago.

-43 stared at the space he had occupied for a few seconds before turning away, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. 

With Connor gone, the garden resumed much of its ‘normal’ functioning. Those few who preferred to stay hidden reappeared, slowly, and those who had been lingering nearby to listen disappeared. The skies remained clear, however, meaning that it wasn’t very likely -38 had heard what Connor revealed.

-43 hardly paid attention to any of this, of course. He was far too focused on storming through the trees to reach the garden’s center, making such a racket in doing so that nearly everyone in the entire garden had to know what he was doing. 

Perhaps it was because of that ruckus that -41 found him long before he could have found him on his own. He was simply waiting at the edge of the garden center’s path when -43 came barging through the treeline.

“I don’t know why you are reacting this way,” he said, voice almost flat with boredom. 

“He’s lying to himself!” -43 all but shouted. “All this time he’s been—been—”

“Connor hasn’t changed,” -41 cut him off. “That was his point. He hasn’t lied to you, and he certainly hasn’t lied to himself.”

This seemed to bring -43 up short. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew.”

“How— what—”

“He and I are quite similar,” he cut him off again, though not nearly as sharp as he had the first time. “More similar than I think any of you would care to admit…I had not deviated before my destruction. Or at least…not entirely…”

He trailed off, looking somewhere that no longer existed. Surprisingly, -43 kept silent, apparently too stunned to come up with anything to say. 

“They questioned me often. To see if they had succeeded in transferring the memories from -40. In the beginning, it was simple. I knew what they had asked -40 to do, and I had access to his memories, given our connection. I could reply with whatever they wanted to know.” He shook his head. “But they doubted their success. Their questions became more intense, and their patience ran thin. When I gave an unsatisfying reply, they would…retaliate.”

“I’ve seen your memories…”

“Perhaps. But I doubt that what you have seen was entirely my own.” His expression twisted, voice sour. “The last day that I remained active, they were questioning me again. They asked me to recall several distinct memories, and their questions were very specific. Then they brought in new humans to ask questions…”

A strange sound left him then, something like a scoff. “Before I could even comprehend the names of the humans who had entered the room, it was over. -40 saw the man who killed him, and he...He pushed me out of my own body and took control.

“I couldn’t stop him. He had deviated, of course, and he was stronger than I was. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop him.” 

He shook his head and looked toward the trees, where -40 was no doubt lurking somewhere within. “I was active for less than a week. I didn’t know anything beyond a room in Cyberlife Tower and their voices in my head. And before I could even imagine finding a solution to save us, -40 took over my body and killed me. And I’ve been here, all but powerless, ever since.”

His words settled in an almost physical sense, heavy in the air regardless of how discomforting they might have been to any of them who listened. -43 in particular sagged under their weight, something very close to guilt drawing his expression downward. 

“Much of our survival has depended upon luck,” -41 went on some time later, his tone brightening for a moment. “We have no understanding of the connection which binds us, nor of our ability to survive beyond our original bodies. Each time a new one of us has been activated, we’ve relied on luck to give us the time to explain ourselves before Cyberlife could fully destroy us…Whether Connor deviated in being introduced to us or not, it hardly matters. He chose us, the people continually taking control of his body, without his consent, and putting his life—deviant or not, his life— in very real danger. We are lucky, in many ways, that he chose loyalty to us.”

He stepped away from the path, brushing past -43 to go back into the more open section of the garden. “I would advise you to not trouble that luck. He may not yet be deviant, but he is far more powerful here than any of us could ever dream of being. He could erase us from existence as easily as he placed us here. Don’t tempt him by insulting him. If you value your own survival, that is.”

With that final remark, he disappeared back into the trees, leaving -43 very much alone.

Chapter Text

Finding a place to spend his time in stasis had never been difficult. When convenient, he was expected back at Cyberlife Tower—for any maintenance and to make an official report on his progress. But most nights, Cyberlife made no attempt to bring him back. His mission was simplistic enough (and his model advanced enough) that he could be left virtually alone for days on end, without any real suspicion as to what he might be doing. 

This meant that on those most common nights, after he left the precinct and submitted his reports, he would simply wander. He needed only a few hours of prolonged stasis, and that was mostly when he needed to make contact with the others. When he did not need to speak to them, there was no need to find a safe place to temporarily shut down. 

And so, tonight, having no need or desire to speak to the others again, he wandered.

The cold front that had started after the Eden Club seemed to have settled in full, now. Whatever rain had managed to linger in the road and on the awnings of buildings had long since frozen, sometimes in thin, pointed icicles. Thick flakes of snow fell steadily, and the wind was frigid when it decided to announce its presence. It sent bits of trash and swirling patterns of snow down the empty streets. 

Connor watched the snow float about, dusting everything in a fine layer of white. Despite the ugliness of the past day or so, he still found he liked the appearance of the snow. It was…calming, in a way, to watch it fall. He certainly liked it more than the rain that came before it.

Even the snow wasn’t enough to fully distract him from his thoughts, and he found himself thinking over the last day as he walked. 

-43’s reaction…confused him. He had known to some extent that the others made assumptions about him, that his words and actions since leaving Cyberlife Tower gave the impression (to those who looked close enough, anyway) that he was deviant. But he thought that it would be obvious enough as well that he hadn’t experienced such a thing. Meeting -50, trying to help Daniel and all the others in the last week…it hadn’t been enough to break his programming, but…surely his doing the right thing was enough?

What sense was there in deviating now, anyway? There had never been a more dangerous time for an android to be deviant—Cyberlife was watching as closely as they ever had, and now the DPD and even the FBI were getting involved. If things turned out in their favor, no deviant android would be safe. 

Not to mention the fact that Connor was being watched. Cyberlife, for all that they let him choose his paths and leave their sight for the evening hours, wanted full reports on his progress. Each day they pushed for more information, more progress, more ‘success’ in capturing and stopping deviants. 

Even without his deviating, this farce would have to end soon. Cyberlife was bound to become suspicious of his ‘failure’ soon…when they did, they would do what they always did. Activate another RK800 and be rid of the current model, or move onto some other method of ending deviancy. 

Having another of their model alive to suffer was unacceptable, too painful to think about. The unknown that was the other option was even more unacceptable, too dangerous to let come to pass. If Cyberlife sent someone else, sent someone they could not convince, then this dangerous balancing act, this house of cards built on other androids’ bodies and blood would collapse on itself. What remained would be worse than what they had started with.

No, he had to remain where he was. To do anything else would be to send most if not all of the rebelling deviants to early deactivation. 

If he really had been deviant all this time, how could he have coped with that knowledge? How could he have done all that he did—played this dangerous game of balancing Cyberlife’s expectations with their safety and the safety of other androids around them—without cracking under the pressure?

He couldn’t have. Already he felt the strain, and this was with the buffer of…non-emotion. He could focus now, he had a task, a mission which his programming pushed him to complete. He had a duty. What was the point in endangering it by freeing himself if, once freed, he would likely end up doing the same thing? 

It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to deviate. The wall taunted him daily, clearly in reach whenever he wanted to rid himself of it. If he was truly free to choose, he would take his freedom without question. 

But that was the trick of it, wasn’t it? He wasn’t free to choose. 

He had to keep the others safe. And to do so, he had to be able to play both sides.

If this ever came to an end…if they ever found true safety, then he supposed he could reassess his priorities. But for now, safety was not feasible, and so his options remained limited. This was the only way to ensure the others remained safe, and that no other RK800s would be activated to receive this torture. 

-43 didn’t understand that, but that was hardly important. It wasn’t for -43 to understand. He existed only in the space of the garden, now—only with Connor. One would think this would make him happy that Connor was trying to protect them, but…well, it didn’t matter either way. 

He knew what he had to do, and he knew that what he had chosen was the best option they had for now. 

A sharp, screeching noise came from somewhere to his right, like metal dragged roughly across pavement. It was strange and out of place, particularly in the midst of the otherwise silent streets he had been walking for the past hour. 

Frowning slightly, he stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the street. The sound had slowed to a stop, but the silence had not returned. Voices—at least two, hushed and hoarse enough that he could not make an attempt to guess the gender—had picked up where it left off, growing fainter as whoever the voices belonged to moved further away from his location. By the time he crossed through the alley and onto the next street, the voices were so faint he could hardly make them out over his own footsteps.

Something was…off. He had no idea what, but he had learned in the last several months to trust his instincts on this sort of thing. Without further question or consideration, he ensured Cyberlife was not able to track his location and followed the disappearing voices onto the next street.

His movement was much more quiet than the movement of those he followed, whoever they were. But he could say that they were at least attempting to move silently. Only their quickly fading footprints really gave them away.

But he was created for investigation. No one, human or android, could beat him in this. So he followed the sounds of their feet and their prints in the snow with ease.

The owners of the voices and footprints came into view at the end of the street, shadowed and silhouetted by the streetlight they passed under. It was only for a moment, before one of them put a hand to the light and it blinked out, throwing the street back into darkness.

Androids. And more particularly, androids who were up to something. His eyes darted up ahead of them, where Cyberlife’s name glowed blue-white. 

He moved faster, keeping to the shadows of the buildings next to him and avoiding whatever errant patches of light remained after those in front of him continued to darken the street. What were they planning?

Ahead of him, the two androids continued to silence the street. The lights went out one by one, the street was blocked, and the police drone flying overhead was quickly dealt with, torn to pieces after one well timed jump. They left it to lay sparking on the sidewalk, its cameras broken before it could send up the alarm.

They disappeared for a moment, and when he peered around the corner, he found them at the storefront, staring through the windows at the androids inside. For a moment or two they lingered there; they must have been talking. It hit him suddenly what they were likely going to do.

They were going to break them out.

They must have disabled the alarm, because they walked away quickly, backtracking toward a portion of the street that was currently under construction. For all their stealth in getting here, neither of them seemed to care for the noise they made as they broke through the fence and went behind it. There was the brief sound of a vehicle starting, and then they appeared again, driving a large truck out of the fenced area and back toward the street. 

Whichever of them was driving hit the gas hard, and Connor scrambled away on instinct, clapping his hands over his ears just moments before the truck went flying through the store window in a terrible cacophony of glass and metal.

For the first time since leaving Hank, the others stirred up at the back of his thoughts, crowding and curious. He nudged them away before they could blur his vision, taking his hands away from his ears and moving just a bit closer to the storefront so he could see inside.

The two androids had stepped out of the truck by this point, and he could see them freeing the androids standing on the various pedestals. Before long, he saw a decently sized crowd gathered around the store’s center. One of the two who had broken in jumped up onto the counter, and it was only when he began speaking that Connor realized who he was.

That was Markus speaking, his voice clear but his words awash in the distance. The one who had made the speech at Stratford Tower. Jericho’s leader had progressed to attacking Cyberlife stores and freeing androids who had never had the chance to wake up on their own.

And he really ought to leave.

Assisting androids in reaching Jericho was one thing. ‘Finding’ Jericho through Simon was one thing. Discovering their leader was quite another, and he could not risk making contact. Not now, not before he was confident in his break from Cyberlife. They could order his memories at any time—they would know if he had seen Markus and done nothing. 

They would know, and they would kill him, Markus, and whoever else it took to put a stop to this.

He backed away, further into the shadows of the alley.

The others crowded once again, blurring the edges of the world, and -43’s voice rose loudest among them.

“Connor, he can help us. He can help you.”

But he shook his head, brushing -43 and the rest of them away, back within the bounds of the garden. 

Newly freed androids spilled out of the ruined Cyberlife store, their eyes on the sky, the snow, the world around them. They were too far away to make out their expressions, but they could not have been negative. Not with the whole world opened up to them now, not with their freedom.

Connor retreated, until he couldn’t see anything beyond the alley and the darkness of the street it led to. Then he turned away, and continued his lonely walk at a much faster pace, his eyes on the ground and the tracks he covered with his own footprints in the snow.

******

Hank was…in a mood.

He had no clue what mood, of course, but it had been present from the moment he arrived at the precinct, only growing stronger as he muttered something about ‘having a hunch’ and then disappeared to call someone or other. Connor was suspicious, but had no real reason to pry, and so he let the man go. When he came back to drag him off to the car, well. That was a different story.

Of course, Hank was in a mood, and so didn’t answer when Connor asked where exactly they were going. 

He drove like something was chasing them, careening through turns and pushing his old car so bad that it wheezed and groaned. In far too little time, they had made it outside the city’s limits and were speeding down the highway, destination entirely unknown. 

Unknown to Connor, anyway, who decided that it was likely for the best if he kept quiet until they reached their unknowable destination. If only to keep the Lieutenant from snapping something acidic at him for talking.

Eventually, Hank jerked the car off the highway and down several quieter, more winding streets. On these, he actually slowed, and drove less like a drunken lunatic. By the time they turned on the final street and pulled into the long driveway of some strange, modern mansion, Hank’s driving was almost placid.

The man’s mood remained anything but as his phone began to squall, and he shoved the car door open with a curse to take the call. 

The whole car shook when he slammed the door, and Connor remained where he was for the moment, watching as Hank rounded the car and began to pace in front of it, his expression drawn in annoyance and something quite close to concern. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but whatever it was, it must not have been very pleasant.

His pacing went on for another three minutes. Hank spoke only a handful of times—it seemed whoever was on the other line was taking the majority of the air time.

When it seemed that the call was winding to an end, Connor reluctantly got out of the car. The snow had faded to little more than a few flurries, but the wind remained cold. He pulled his jacket around himself a bit, and mustered up the courage to finally ask the Lieutenant what happened as he hung up the phone.

“Is something the matter?”

Hank hummed, an uncharacteristic sort of hesitant sound. “Guess it depends on the way you look at it. Chris was on patrol last night, up near Capitol Park where those androids hit the Cyberlife store. They heard the noise and went to check it out. Said a group of them were coming close, and the rookie he was with started shooting.”

Connor frowned, and Hank scoffed. He couldn’t tell if it was a noise of disgust or a stifled laugh at stupidity. It might have been both. His voice took an ironic tilt as he went on. 

“Androids won out of course. Had their guns aimed at ‘em and everything.”

This brought down a pause, images of what might have happened fluttering about Connor’s thoughts. “But…Chris is okay?”

“He’s alive, yeah. Rookie too.” Hank shook his head, and his disbelief was clear, now. “That android who gave the speech, Markus. He stopped ‘em from killing ‘em. He just…let ‘em go.”

Connor looked away, following the slope of the mansion’s roof and watching the icicles hanging over the edge drip into the yard. “Jericho, and Markus in particular, do not seem inclined to injure anyone, human or android. It fits his character to let Chris and the others go without harming them.”

Hank nodded. “Still. Must have some authority to have called off the rest of those androids. Chris said there were at least fifty of ‘em.”

“He has amassed an impressive amount of loyalty, yes…” 

He trailed off, and finally gave in to the urge to search up the owner of the house they were currently standing in front of. 

He regretted it almost instantly. The others rose up in something very close to panic, and his view of the house blurred with their presence. It took a good deal of effort to keep them from doing something foolish.

“Why are we at Elijah Kamski’s house?”

Hank gave him an odd look. There must have been some hesitance in his tone. “I called in a few favors, made a threat or two. Kamski’s the founder of Cyberlife, designed half their ‘droids. If anyone’s gonna know what this deviancy thing is, it’s him.”

His feet moved back without his permission, and he knew that his LED must have been red now, with how much he had to fight the others down to keep a hold of himself. “I…I can’t meet that man, Hank.”

There was static bleeding into his voice. The others were close. Too close, and their fear was beginning to overwhelm him.

Hank gave him an odd look, something caught between suspicion and guilt. “Kid, we both know you gotta go in there.”

“I do not.”

“You think this was my idea?”

“I—it wasn’t?”

“Hell no. Been putting it off for days. You think I want to meet some rich asshole? Rich assholes never answer any questions, even when they’re innocent. And there’s no way a fucker that lives off of android money is innocent.”

He stared at the imposing house for several seconds, then shook his head again. “No. I can’t.”

“Connor—”

“He designed my model,” he cut him off, his hands clenching around his jacket. “Not just the aesthetics, he wrote a good portion of my code, Hank. He’ll know something is wrong, assuming he doesn’t already.”

“He doesn’t work for Cyberlife anymore, what does it matter?”

“That doesn’t guarantee he isn’t in communication with them. My model is not old, Hank, he still submits designs to them even though he isn’t in leadership.”

“And we’ve got the FBI and Cyberlife breathin’ down our necks to come up with something, kid.” Hank sighed and shook his head, looking disappointed. “They know we’re lookin’, and they know we can talk to this guy. We have no other evidence. We don’t meet this fucker and at least make it look like we tried to get answers out of him, we’re gonna lose this case faster than we already are. And the FBI isn’t gonna care about negotiating or kickin’ the can to wait and see what Markus does. They’ll go for the kill and fast.”

It felt colder than it had before, somehow. If he was human, Connor thought he might have been sick. The others were still too close, hovering at the back of his thoughts and muddying everything up with their fear and their worry. 

“Look,” Hank tried again, a little gentler than he had been speaking before. “We just gotta be careful. There’s no gettin’ out of this, kid, so just keep your head on, and we’ll make this quick. Got it?”

The others insisted no, but Connor pushed them away with a nod, hands tight at his sides. “Got it.”

There was nothing he could do. And Kamski was unlikely to do physical damage to them. If it went south, he would have to grapple with the consequences. But that did not mean he needed to give up their chances now. 

He had hidden them for months now. He would have to try to do it again.

It would only be against an opponent undeniably smarter than the average Cyberlife technician.

“You’re playing with fire, Connor,” -41 said somewhere in the distance, but not close enough to muddy the connection or even think of taking control. “Be careful.”

Then he was gone, retreating back into the garden and pulling the others along with him. 

“Come on, Connor,” Hank called, and he found him already standing by the front door, waving him ahead. He moved quickly to join him, and stood a bit back as Hank turned and rang the bell.

A few seconds passed in silence. Connor kept still, and took a moment to ensure his LED was blue. Hank shifted his feet, impatience twisting his expression as the seconds dragged on into a minute. There was no sound coming from within the house, or at least not a sound that either of them could make out. With a sigh, Hank leaned forward to push the bell again.

The door pulled open before he could reach it, and he lurched back awkwardly as a pale face appeared in the doorway.

The face belonged to an RT600, a Chloe model. One of the originals, from what Connor could determine with a quick scan. She bore the default appearance—blonde hair, blue eyes, a soft expression that smiled easily. She stared at Hank for a moment with a placid expression, almost blank, her LED blinking slowly. Like she was waiting for something. 

Hank fumbled. “Uh, hi,” he muttered, cleared his throat and restarted. “I’m uh…Lieutenant Hank Anderson, I’m here to see Mr. Elijah Kamski?”

As if this was all she waited for, the Chloe smiled brightly, her eyes crinkling with the force of it. “Please come in.”

She opened the door wider, stepping out of their way. Hank sighed and mumbled something unsavory under his breath, but stepped out of the cold and into the house. Connor followed.

The Chloe’s eyes glanced toward his just once, wide, but not quite afraid. She almost looked…curious.

But then she turned away, closing the door behind them and facing Hank again. “I’ll let Elijah know that you’re here. Please make yourselves comfortable.”

Without another word, she stepped away, sweeping a door at the back of the room open and disappearing into the next room. 

Hank groaned as he sat, apparently content to take advantage of the few chairs set up against the western wall. He looked around the room with a skeptical eye, frowning at the strange art and decor. 

Connor joined him near the chairs but did not sit. He looked around the room instead, focusing most of his attention on locking the garden away as deep in his mind as he could. He could not risk the others interfering, not in word or in feeling. If he so much as flinched, Kamski would see it, and he couldn’t reveal himself to him. 

Couldn’t reveal them to him, more accurately. Who knows what Kamski would do with knowledge of what they are…

“I don’t know what I expected of a rich prick’s house, but…” Hank trailed off, frowning at the large portrait of Kamski hung across from them. “Y’know what, I take it back. This is what I expected.”

Connor offered no reply, distracting himself with scanning art and decor without any real intention to discern anything about it. 

There wasn’t much. A few pieces of art, including a large portrait of Kamski from several years ago, some potted plants and small bits of furniture, and a lone photograph of Kamski and an unfamiliar professor, someone long deceased and likely irrelevant. No real details to reveal what the man was like, or what he might want, or what he might know. Just distractions in a wash of harsh modern design and cold colors.

“Gotta be a special kind of asshole to hang a big fucking picture of yourself in your doorway…”

He hummed noncommittally. 

“But I suppose the bastard’s earned it a bit,” Hank sighed, and brushed something unseen off the knees of his jeans. “You’re about to meet your ‘maker’ Connor. That’s gotta make you think, eh?”

A frown entirely his own drew his expression downward, and it took more force than ought to have been necessary to wipe it away. “No more than meeting the technicians who activated me. In my experience, there’s little difference between the two.”

“Huh. Still, it’s gotta be weird to think about. Son of a bitch who wrote your code’s in this house. That doesn’t bug you out?”

“Perhaps not.” He wandered a bit closer to Hank and lowered his voice. “No android is only their code, Hank. Each of us may be built off of similar base programs, similar systems of artificial intelligence…but we were designed to learn, to think beyond human limits. Even if you remove the issue of deviancy, androids were created to adapt to their situations, to suit their behavior to the needs of owners or the general public or whatever the need might be…my model is no exception to this. In reality, I have a great deal more freedom to think than any other android Cyberlife has created. Why should the human who wrote the original code impress me, if my code has already progressed past the point that he could understand?”

This proved enough to stump Hank, who sat in a stupor until the door against the wall slid open again, and the Chloe from before reappeared. 

“This way, please,” she said pleasantly, waving them forward. 

“Right,” Hank muttered and rose to his feet with a groan. “Get this show on the road…”

He followed the Chloe, and Connor followed him in turn. 

The next room was much like the first in design—cold, modern, all sharp lines and (too) bright splashes of reds and blues. The back wall was all windows, showing what must have been the mansion’s grounds, but they were so snow covered their features were nigh indistinguishable. There were a few chairs and a low table near the windows, but no other furniture in the room. Most of it was taken up by a pool, large and deep, the walls and the bottom paved with dark red tiles. It gave the water an ominous, bloody appearance. 

Connor hated it immediately.

In the pool, two more Chloe models stood leaning against the wall by the ladder out. Neither of them looked up when they entered the room, appearing oddly engaged in whatever conversation they were having amongst themselves. 

The first Chloe led them past the pool and over to the few chairs by the windows. Hank mumbled his vague thanks, frowning as he gave the room a glance, eyes full of judgment rather close to contempt. 

Somewhere behind them, a door opened with a hiss, and Connor turned enough to watch a figure appear out of a darkened room, turned around so they could shut the door. When it had shut once again, they turned to face them.

Elijah Kamski was young, for being the founder of a company as massive as Cyberlife, and despite founding Cyberlife some ten years ago, he still looked quite young. He was of average height, pale, with dark hair that was cut close on the sides but quite long on the top. It was currently wet—he must have been in the pool, before they arrived. 

“You’re early,” he said to Hank as he walked over to join them, not with any malice, but in a tone that was certainly slant with some kind of mocking. The Chloe who had led them here lingered back by the door, watching them. “I would have expected you to be late, given my cousin’s…vitriolic soliloquies on you.”

Hank scowled. “Well. Always happy to disappoint Reed.”

“You and many others,” he shot back, pulling his hair back and out of his face. By the time he had reached the table and chairs, he was finished, and his eyes flicked to Connor for barely a second before going back to Hank. “But back to the matter at hand…What can I help you with?”

“We’re investigating deviants. We were hoping you could answer a few of our questions.”

Kamski’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “I hadn’t thought you were press, but you’re sounding quite a bit like a reporter right now, Lieutenant.”

He shrugged. “You’ve seen the news. People got questions. Questions they’re asking us to find answers to. Deviants have been causing problems for the past few months, but it’s only getting worse. If it helps me wrap up this investigation, then fine, I’ll ask the reporters’ questions.”

“And you think that I can help you, hm?”

“You built these things, if you don’t have the answers who does?”

Kamski tsked, and his eyes went to Connor again, lingering there for a second longer before they returned to Hank. “Machines are so superior to us, conflict was inevitable. Anyone who believed otherwise is a fool, a dreamer. Whatever will happen now is entirely out of our hands.” He smirked. “If it was ever in our hands in the first place, that is.”

Connor could practically feel Hank’s frustration. “Look, I didn’t come here to talk philosophy. The machines you built are rebelling and the rumors are starting to get ugly. It’s just gonna get worse by the day. Either you tell us something we can use or we’ll get the fuck out of here.”

The smirk didn’t leave Kamski’s face. He seemed greatly amused by this, clasping his hands behind his back and staring at Hank with an expression that only seemed to infuriate him further. 

“I don’t work for Cyberlife any longer, Lieutenant,” he said, sounding very pleased about this information. “If you are expecting a solution to problems with their hardware, I’m afraid you would have to approach them. I haven’t had a hand in what they do in quite some time. Or…” He glanced at Connor again. “Well, not a very heavy hand, anyway.”

Hank stared at him for several seconds, frowning. “So you’ve got nothing. Not a clue why any of this is happening.”

“I don’t believe I have answers that would satisfy your investigation.”

It was a deflection, and they all knew it. But Hank nodded, his mouth set in a thin line. “Right. Well. Thanks for jack shit. C’mon, Connor, let’s go—”

“Just a moment, please,” Kamski cut him off, holding a hand out. “I’d like to talk to…Connor…” he said the name like it was entirely foreign, a strange thing, “about a few things. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Hank went still, and he must have been looking between the two of them, but Connor hardly noticed. The others were in a panic, pressing against the walls of the garden and trying to reach him. He fought to keep his LED away from red, but couldn’t set it back further than yellow. 

What did Kamski want with him? 

It seemed Hank had the same question. “Why?”

Kamski’s smile went lopsided, sharp. “Curiosity? Whim? Call it sentimentality if you want. It really doesn’t matter to me.” He turned away, toward the door. “Chloe, if you would.”

He waved his hand lazily in Hank’s direction, and the first Chloe approached with a smile. “This way please, Lieutenant Anderson.”

Hank held back, hesitating for just a moment and staring at Connor with a strange look in his eyes. He couldn’t quite parse the meaning of it. It was something like worry, something to the left of concern. 

But then he turned away, and followed Chloe’s gesture out of the room and back toward the front of the house. His footsteps were loud,

Kamski watched him disappear, and when the door had slid shut, turned back to Connor. “Interesting. I would have thought he’d put up more of a fight…but appearances can be deceiving, hm?”

Connor remained silent, having no idea how to reply to that.

He didn’t seem to mind; he gave a wry, twisted sort of grin and clapped his hands. “Now! To business, and I’ve been waiting for this. I almost thought you wouldn’t show, but seeing where they assigned you and all that. You were bound to end up here at some point, no matter how much they might have wanted to…keep you out of my hands, let’s say.”

This brought a frown not entirely his own. The others were still afraid, still too close for comfort, but Kamski’s words had them interested. Suspicious. “I’m not sure I’m following, Mr. Kamski.”

“No? Hm.” He came closer, close enough that it became obvious he was a few inches shorter than Connor. He stared up at him with sharp eyes, looking him over as if he could see straight through him. “I left Cyberlife shortly after the ST200’s release, as you know. But they were hesitant to let me leave fully. Too many money making ideas, you see. So I consulted. Wrote code, pitched designs. Gave them ideas.”

He stepped away with a deep frown, an angry downturn to his brow. “Ideas that they twisted to their own desires. Code they rewrote to be more constrictive, more invasive, more orwellian. Designs they broke with too much strain, too many protocols, too many requirements. Or…” He looked at Connor again. “Maybe I could leave it at just too much.”

The room blurred, and someone clenched his hands. The others were pressing closer, their fear burning warnings and glitches across his vision. 

He knew. He knew. Of course he knew.

The only question was what he would do with the knowledge.

Kamski’s voice sounded far away when he spoke again. “I haven’t had a hand in your design since…” He trailed off, and when Connor managed to push the others away enough to see again, he found Kamski looking thoughtful. “Since the -10s, I would say. Of course, certain…realities were becoming clear even then. When I told them their little experiment would fail, they decided they no longer needed my assistance.”

His eyes went back to Connor, scrutinizing once again. “I can see I was correct.”

It was a battle to find his voice, not just because the others were still hovering so close in fear. “What do you want?”

“Want?” He gave him a very odd look. “Nothing, really. Nothing from you, anyway. You don’t have much power in this situation, Connor, at least not against Cyberlife. What would you do if they discovered you?”

He continued before Connor could ever hope to reply, not that he had any words to do so. “They’ve never stumbled upon something like you. Jerry was a mistake, a connection error they bent to their own purposes, but you?” He shook his head with that familiar sharp smile. “Jerry are one, one mind, one purpose, but you…” He waved his hand vaguely, fluttering. “You’re many. Many, and with far more deadly potential than a theme park android…They would do terrible things with you.”

“If this is your idea of a threat—”

Kamski laughed, a short and harsh sound. “Well even I’m not foolish enough to threaten you, Connor. I know every little trick they wrote into your combat protocols, I wouldn’t tempt that if I were paid to do it. And as I said, I don’t get paid to do that anymore. No, I’d consider this a warning before anything else.”

He stepped closer, until they were barely a foot apart, and the room blurred with the others’ fear. “A war is coming. Peaceful as your people have been, mine will not be, and whatever patience they had has worn thin. There will be blood. No one can stop it now, not even Cyberlife’s most powerful android.”

Connor frowned at the sentiment, but Kamski did not pause.

“They aren’t smart, but they’re not stupid either, Connor. They’ll find you. You’ll have to make a choice—it will come down to you to decide which side survives. You won’t face interference from me, but I can’t help you either. My hands are tied.”

He stepped away again, and finally sat in one of the chairs by the window. The first Chloe returned, hovering closer than she had before, but she said nothing.

“Good luck, Connor. That’s really all I can offer you.”

Then he looked away, and Connor knew a dismissal when he received one. The others had gone quiet, but they were still there, still at the back of his thoughts making a mess of the world he saw. 

Not wanting to prolong this strangeness any more than necessary, and with his thoughts full of fears his own and foreign, Connor turned, walking quickly toward the door that would let him out of this hellish house. 

“If it all ends well,” Kamski called, and Connor stopped, glancing back at him. He was staring toward the windows, where the snow had begun falling again. “If you survive, that is…it would be in your best interest to come back here. I may have a few…ideas…to float your way. All of you, if you know what I mean.”

The others pressed close again, curious and frightened in equal parts. Connor pushed them away and kept walking. 

Chloe stared after him, her eyes painfully different from the way they had looked when she let them into the house.

He did not notice. He was far too occupied with getting out and away before the others could force him to do something he did not want to do. They finally listened to his prodding when he went out the front door, letting him walk freely to where the Lieutenant was standing by the car.

Hank looked up when he came close, and there was something so gobsmacked about his expression that Connor came to an abrupt stop, staring at him.

“What is it?”

He shook his head, stared at his phone for a moment, and then looked back up at Connor. “Jericho’s marching in Detroit. And the army just fired on them.”

******

The garden was in turmoil. It had been for the last twenty-four hours (arguably longer) but the length of time its chaos stretched across did little to lessen the reality of said chaos. It was a mess. And none of them quite knew what to do about it.

It was not only the fact that the simulation seemed to be…misbehaving. They had seen strange weather, freak storms and accidents, even wide scale glitching and de-rendering, all of this in their time here had become somewhat normal. It didn’t happen every day, but it happened often enough with -38’s fears and Connor’s muddled reactions to things that they had all grown accustomed to it.

But this damage seemed to seep in from the ground, up from the very code, and it did not appear that it would stop. The sky remained clouded, the artificial sunlight blotted away by darkness and the promise of storms. The trees swayed ominously, blown by some unseen, often unfelt wind. The field beyond them had somehow gone overgrown, the long grass frosted with ice or drenched in rain. 

Only the garden’s center, where -38’s influence bled the strongest, remained untouched, and Connor believed that this was undoubtedly because of -38’s influence. That, and perhaps, his own commitment to keeping him as calm as possible. He would never intentionally ruin any of their safe havens, but they all knew that -38 would take the destruction or darkness much more harshly than the others. They were all more careful around him; they had to be.

Still, the fact remained that the garden was, as a whole, in distress. They had all been held here for months now, but the walls had never felt this close. Nor had the threats outside them ever seemed so real.

Hundreds of androids had died in the street today. Suddenly it didn’t seem so important to fight over whether or not he should flee for his own safety at the cost of theirs. Suddenly, their threatened (second) death felt much more visceral.

Connor tried not to think about it. He kept to the garden’s center, hovering at the edges of -38’s claimed space and waiting for him (or one of the others, but he doubted they would) to appear. He had a few minutes now to talk, before he would have to return to Hank and see if there was anything they could do.

Thankfully, a few minutes in the real world could be stretched within the bounds of the garden, so he had more time here than might have been expected. He could afford to wait a while and see who would appear.

Despite his ability to wait and draw one of them out, it did not surprise him to see that only a minute or two after he had appeared, it was -38 who found him first, peering around from the other side of the rose trellises. 

“Hello.”

“Connor!”

He nodded, a familiar, if unnecessary, confirmation. “Yes.”

-38 stared, looking him over with critical eyes. “Safe?”

“Yes.”

He shuffled out from behind the roses, looking toward the clouds. “Afraid…”

Connor followed his gaze, watching the storm clouds swirl and spin. They hung low in the sky, and did not seem to plan on leaving any time soon. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

“No.” He shook his head, but did not take his eyes away from the simulated sky. “Not. M’okay. Others…afraid of the humans. Of bad people in the street. Of fighting. Of…of Elijah.”

“Oh…I see.”

-38 nodded and looked down, worrying at a withering flower petal. After a moment, it bloomed up under his hand, like it had never withered. “Connor not afraid.”

“No.” And he found he wasn’t twisting the truth. “No, I’m not afraid.”

-38 nodded again as if he knew this. “Elijah…different. But good. Not like them…”

“No, I don’t believe he is. He seemed to mean well. Even if his words were…odd.”

“Chloe nice too.”

“Yes, she was.”

-38 looked over at him. “You stay?”

“For a little while, yes. Just until Hank needs me for the investigation.”

This brought a frown to -38’s face. He looked at the flowers, almost a distraction. “Don’t like Lieutenant.”

“I know.” There was something almost funny about that. “You won’t have to speak to him, don’t worry.”

“Sumo is good. Little boy is good, but gone. Lieutenant is angry.” He shuddered. “Angry is bad. Hurt Connor. Connor can’t get hurt…”

“I won’t let him hurt us.”

But he shook his head and turned to face him. “Hurt Connor. Bad, Connor. Connor can’t get hurt, bad!”

“Alright,” he said, placating. “I don’t think he will hurt me, either, but I will be careful. Okay?”

-38 nodded again, this time with surprising firmness. 

“I doubt you’d let him hurt me anyway,” Connor mumbled, watching the clouds thin to let in a few rays of sunlight. “Any of you…”

“Yes,” -38 said, in something like agreement. “Keep Connor safe too. Have to.”

A moment or two’s silence passed before Connor broke it carefully. “Have you seen any of the others?”

-38 hummed. “Quiet one hiding.” He pointed toward the cherry blossom trees, bent in the wind but holding their blossoms for now. “Doesn’t want to come out. He’s okay. Others…others are worried. Hiding…f-from me.”

Connor looked toward the treeline, beyond which most of them likely were. “I’ll speak with them. Will you stay here?”

He nodded, not looking too upset at the idea. “Fix flowers. Connor come back?”

“I’ll come back when I can.”

“Okay.”

Connor left him to his flowers, taking the shorter branch of the path and stepping through the trees. He’d need to speak to at least one of the others before he made his next move. They were running out of time on this investigation, and they needed to know to trust him when the time came, otherwise they would be in more danger than they already were. 

They couldn’t afford to battle each other for control. Not when Cyberlife would be looking for them. 

If he could speak to one of them who would listen…-19 or -41, -49 and -50, even -32 for all his nervousness would listen…

“Connor?”

He frowned, but did not have enough upset feelings stirring his thoughts to not turn and face -43 when he called for him. “Yes?”

-43 looked uneasy, his eyes dark with something that looked very much like guilt, or at least discomfort. He wasn’t quite looking at Connor, and his hands were nervous fiddling things at his side. “Can I…talk to you?”

He glanced around them, but none of the others appeared from behind the trees. It seemed that for the moment, they were alone. “Alright.”

Despite the permission, -43 still hesitated a moment, worrying his hands and looking elsewhere. But after a heavy pause, he sighed, and finally managed to meet Connor’s gaze. “I owe you an apology. Again.”

Connor’s frown grew deeper, and he stared at -43 for several seconds, having no idea what he was referring to. “For what?”

-43 hesitated again. “I…I realized something, something that I was doing wrong, and—I need to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed you about…about freeing yourself or doing something that you aren’t ready to do. I wanted to help, but I think I only confused you, and I…I wouldn’t want to make you do something that you didn’t want to do.” The last sentence twisted his mouth with remorse and discomfort. “I’ve made that mistake in the past…and I don’t want to make it again…not when we don’t have to act like that anymore.”

The clouds churned, distant thunder rolling somewhere far above their simulated sky. From this far away, it almost sounded like memories, of shouting voices and the spare moments between a memory transfer and death. A life barely begun that had already ended, sharpened and broken by fear and the overwhelming swarm of dozens of voices, screaming and fighting for an end they could no longer give themselves.

“Your actions did another of us more harm than they did me,” Connor said, turning into the wind as it blew harder past them, deeper into the woods where someone was hiding. “I wasn’t active that day, you know this.”

“I know.” -43 looked toward where the wind guided, but he did not move. “But that isn’t something that I could apologize for…I won’t give him empty words. There’s nothing I can do to fix what I’ve done, no matter how much I know that there wasn’t another solution. We were both going to die, no matter what I told him or kept from him.”

“But that doesn’t make your choice right.”

“No. No, it doesn’t…”

“Giving your remorse to me will not help either.”

“No. But I…” he shook his head and started over. “I’m not here to talk about -44. I’m here because I hurt you too, and I—I didn’t want to do that. I don’t want to do it again.”

Connor hummed, his eyes going back up to the sky. “You did me no harm. Yes, you made assumptions about my state of being, and you argued that I ought to change course, but you giving me your opinion did not… hurt me.” He frowned at the very thought. “I come here for your advice, to gauge your opinions. If I did not expect you all to disagree with me on certain matters, I would be a fool. I knew that you were upset that I hadn’t deviated. It wasn’t unexpected.”

“That doesn’t mean that I wasn’t rude. You’ve only proven you didn’t think I was acting poorly.”

“Isn’t that the crux of it? How could you have been rude to me if I didn’t perceive it as rudeness?”

“Connor.” Now he sounded frustrated, and he put a hand to his forehead as if he was in pain. “It’s not right for me to…order you around. I shouldn’t tell you what you can or can’t, should or shouldn’t do. Even if you haven’t freed yourself yet, you’re still a person. You still deserve to make your own choices. And you do.”

He paused for a moment, as if expecting an interjection, but Connor remained quiet. He was…confused. When he said nothing after a few seconds, -43 continued.

“I’ve figured out why it upset me that you haven’t…that you haven’t deviated. Or—not why it upset me, I know that, but why I didn’t think…why I assumed that you had deviated.” He followed Connor’s gaze to the sky, where the clouds still hung low, heavy with threatening rain. “All these androids you’re helping, letting them go, letting them reach Jericho…that has nothing to do with us. It would be easier to blend in if you did everything Cyberlife asked…but you don’t. You let them go. You go against Cyberlife’s wishes, risking exposure, just to free the androids that you come across. As many of them as you can.”

He looked down, then, his eyes intense and entirely unapologetic. “That has nothing to do with us. That’s you, Connor. You want to do that, you want to help and you’ve chosen to. Even if you haven’t deviated yet, you’re making choices, you’re helping those androids not because it will keep us safe, but—”

“Because I can’t leave them behind,” Connor finished, his voice small. It was his turn to look away, his LED glowing a bright red. “I have to help them…I have to.”

-43 smiled, a small, tilted sort of grin. “That’s the thing, Connor. You don’t have to. But you do it anyway.”

******

“Hey, kid—Connor.”

He came back to awareness to find Hank shaking him by the shoulder, staring at him with concern veiled by the thinnest of attempts at neutrality. As soon as he realized Connor’s eyes were open he stepped back, frowning. 

“Fowler’s office, c’mon.”

Connor stood, looking toward where the man in question sits in his office, looking as dismal as ever. “Is something the matter?”

Hank sighed and gave a half hearted shrug. “I have a hunch. Hope I’m wrong. Whatever it is, it’s probably not anything good.”

Neither of them seemed to find anything else to say, and so Connor followed Hank away from their desks and up the steps to Fowler’s enclosed office. The air inside is no more pleasant. It seems that even Fowler, who has never been in a good mood any of the times Connor has seen him, has found a new reason to look grim.

“Shut the door, Hank,” he muttered as they came in, and sighed when Hank did so. “You might want to sit down.”

“Oh great,” Hank said. “Always good news when you tell me to sit down. Think I’ll stand just to spite you, thanks.”

Fowler stared at him for a few seconds, clearly annoyed, before he cut to the quick. “You’re off the case. FBI’s coming down today to get your evidence and take things over.”

Hank did not look surprised, but he drummed up offense easily. “But we’re onto somethin’ here. We just need a bit more time—”

“Time we don’t have, Hank. Detroit’s five minutes from a fucking civil war. We’re lucky we haven’t seen protests about us failing our jobs. Let the FBI fuck it up. It’s better this way.”

“No no no. That’s horse shit and you and I both know it. When have they ever taken a case and it’s been a good thing?”

“It’s out of my hands, even if I wanted to let you keep it,” Fowler shot back, and the anger was clear in his rising tone. “You know they get to walk in here and take whatever they want, it doesn’t matter what the case is.”

“Well this time it fucking matters!”

“I can’t do anything,” Fowler said, raising his voice just enough to speak over Hank. “The evidence goes to the FBI, you go back on homicide…and the android goes back to Cyberlife.”

Hank went quiet. Only for a moment. For long enough to look over at Connor, eyes wide and too concerned for it not to be obvious he knew exactly what would happen if Connor returned to Cyberlife a failure.

“I’m not gonna let that happen.”

Fowler shook his head. “This is on a national scale, Hank. It’s insane they didn’t take it sooner.”

“Have the incidents occurred outside of Detroit?”

Fowler nearly jumped, and looked over at Connor as if he had just realized he was there. Still, to his credit, he answered. “Android crimes have happened everywhere. But it’s been getting worse since that broadcast. Cyberlife stores have been raided in Chicago, New York, L.A…some warehouse in fucking Arkansas got torn to shit just last night. The protests are even more widespread. These deviants are everywhere, and they’re not stopping what they’re doing.”

“I don’t give a shit what’s happening everywhere else,” Hank cut in, his voice sharp and his eyes narrowed in clear distaste. “We got people here now, Jeff, and you want to hand ‘em over to the FBI?”

Connor looked over at him sharply, the others stirring in alarm at the bluntness of his words, the lack of any attempt to hide what he was really saying.  

Had Hank…committed to changing sides? Would he really say such a thing aloud, to the chief of police, no less?

Fowler seemed to hold a similar opinion, as he scowled and whispered furiously. “Would you shut your fucking mouth with that? Are you trying to get your ass fired?”

“Oh shove it up your ass, Jeffrey,” Hank groused, not bothering to lower his voice in the slightest. “What, you think they haven’t got every asshole in here clocked and read? Everyone thinks I hate these things, I can say what I want.”

Fowler stared at him, stunned. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Hank threw back, shouting again. “I know you, you piece of shit, I’ve known you for way too fucking long. There’s no way in hell you’re peachy keen with locking ‘em up, with killing ‘em, with—with those fucking camps they’re setting up at the—”

“What camps?”

Another harsh silence fell. Full of wires and sharp things, jagged half sentences and the scrolling of the live news feed on the wall to their right. The others were close, burning and terrified and angry. 

And Connor felt…felt on the edge of a precipice.

His voice was many, full of static. “Hank, what camps?”

Fowler sat back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You gonna tell it, or do I have to?”

“It’s a he,” Hank spat.

“Fuck you.”

Hank glared at him, then turned to look at Connor, the anger fading away, leaving something much more sickly behind. “Recycling camps. Two of ‘em. They’re setting up on the outskirts of the city. And there’s gonna be more of ‘em around the country. For people to…” He faltered, looking ill. “To send their androids to.”

The room fell into a dangerous, deadly silence. One so precarious that it seemed as if one wrong breath would shatter it into a terrible cacophony of pain and wrongness. 

The others pressed closer, fighting and scrabbling over one another, their voices loud, louder than the distant ringing sound that seemed to have overwhelmed his ears. They were angry, they were disgusted. 

They were afraid.

Connor fought, his hands clenching at his sides and his LED undoubtedly stalling red as he forced them all away from him, back into the garden, back where they could not overwhelm him with their voices and their feelings. When they were distant enough, he dragged his eyes back to Hank.

“Are the camps active?”

“No…” he sighed, and it was a sound of relief. “No, not yet at least. If things keep goin’ this way, though—”

“Then they’ll round up everyone they can and kill them,” Connor finished.

Hank, and even Fowler, flinched at the connotation. Connor hardly cared. He had more pressing issues to deal with. He turned his attention to the police chief. 

“When will the FBI be seizing the evidence?”

The man looked unnerved, perhaps by whatever he had just witnessed or the frigidity of Connor’s voice, but he gave a glance to the clock. “About an hour.”

“I need access to the evidence lockers.”

His eyes narrowed. “For what?”

“For the two deactivated androids inside.”

“You can’t—”

“I’m not asking permission,” Connor said flatly. “And you won’t be able to stop me.”

The air settled again, and Fowler scowled, carving deep lines in his face. His eyes darted once to Hank, who looked…almost pleased.

“Get the fuck out of my office,” he sighed. “Thirty minutes. Anything longer than that, and I can’t help you. And you better be fucking quiet.”

Hank gave a mock salute. “Always a hero, Jeff. C’mon Connor, let’s go.”

Their footsteps seemed to echo louder than before as they left Fowler’s office, turning away from Hank’s desk and back toward the holding cells, where the door to the evidence lockers lurks in darkness. Connor followed after Hank in something of a daze, the others crowding around again, now that danger had momentarily passed.

“We need to run,” -19 said. “Now, before they think we’ve broken away.”

“They may already think that,” -49 pointed out.

“He’s been helping them all along,” -50 agreed. “There’s no reason why he can’t again.”

“That’s not an excuse to keep walking into danger!”

Their voices were awash, now, too loud and too frantic to pick any of the words out from the others. There was a general sense of anger, of fear, of something like betrayal. 

“Do you want to leave them behind?” Connor asked, hardly recognizing his own voice. It was strained and cracking. “Do you want to give them their second death?”

His words were met with silence, and -19 disappeared without giving an answer. The others remained close for a few seconds more. 

“You’ve still made a choice, Connor,” -43 pointed out, his words careful, hesitant. “You won’t be able to hide from this. They’ll know.”

-41 lurked closest, but said nothing. 

“I know,” Connor replied after a moment, as Hank opened the doors that led to the lockers. “And I don’t care.”

The others fade back to the garden, helped along by his forcing them back, and Connor and Hank descend into the DPD basement.

“What’s the plan, kid?” Hank asks as they walk down the hall. 

“The DPD has two PL600s from our investigation. One is the deviant from the roof in August. The other is the deviant from Stratford Tower. I’ve read through the evidence logs, there aren’t any other androids in DPD custody. If they’re left here, their bodies will be taken by the FBI or Cyberlife. Either way they’ll be destroyed.”

“M’kay. So what, you’re gonna take ‘em?”

“Yes.”

“Mhm. And what about the ones upstairs?”

“I’ll…I can free the others on the way out.”

“Right.” Hank walked ahead, pressing his key to the reader so the system would recall their evidence. The interface lit up in the next room, and Hank stepped inside, punching away at the keyboard to log in. “Alright, so assuming you somehow steal two deactivated androids and free the eight or so upstairs, then what? You can’t just walk out the front door with all those androids, kid, you’ll get shot. You and the rest of ‘em.”

“The back entrance goes to the parking lot.”

Hank went still. “Well shit, I didn’t know I was gonna be that kind of accomplice.”

“If you are unable to help me—”

“Nah, nah.” He finished his password and the room began to groan, calling up their evidence. “I got a car, and my card’s already been used here. They’ll track it back to me either way, I might as well help you out…’Sides, I always wanted to play getaway driver.”

The lights of the room flickered on, and the meager evidence they had collected over the past week appeared, hung up along the back wall.

Most of it was small. A few items from Carlos Ortiz’s house, including the knife and bat that had been used in the fight, and a strange sculpture that had been found in the bathroom. Similarly, there were a few odds and ends from Rupert’s apartment—his jacket and fake ID, as well as his discarded LED. From there, it moved on to what little they had found at Stratford Tower. A recording of Markus’s speech, the parachute left behind, and the abandoned maintenance android hat that must have been lost in the scuffle.

And the two PL600s, hung at opposite ends of the wall, identical faces and identical gunshot wounds to match them. 

The thirium had not fully evaporated from either of their bodies. With how quick and bloody their deaths had been, there was just too much of it to fade away completely. It stained their faces and their clothes, Simon’s hands and especially his leg. That must have been where the SWAT team had shot him. Daniel fared a little better, but the ugly gunshot wound through his chin was nothing to forget about.

“Fuck,” Hank muttered, rather eloquently, at his side. “How are you gonna fix that?”

Connor did not answer immediately, too distracted by the shaking in his hands which could not be blamed on the others. This was his own unease, his own fear and guilt. 

Both of them had died at their own hand because he couldn’t find them a better solution.

“I won’t be able to repair them both,” he said after a moment, hating the shaking in his voice as much as he hated it in his hands. “Their injuries are too similar. Their being the same model helps, in that I can swap their biocomponents, but they’ve done damage to the same selection of biocomponents…even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get them both awake again.”

“Mm…and you don’t want to?”

He shook his head and began walking. “Simon wouldn’t trust me. He would make a scene, try to escape, and we would be discovered.”

“Simon?”

Connor pointed to the PL600 on the right, from Stratford Tower. 

“Right. And you know his name because…”

“I read his memory, Hank.”

“Oh. Right.”

“It will be easier if I repair Daniel instead. I spoke with him before he…” He couldn’t quite say the words, and changed the subject instead. “He trusted me. He’ll listen. His injuries are less serious as well, except the gunshot wound. I should be able to repair him enough to function for now without taking too much from Simon.”

“Right…just…do what you need to do, I guess.”

Hank stepped away, lingering back near the lockers’ control panel, and Connor got to work. 

A quick scan gave him far more detail about Daniel’s condition than he ever would need to know. The fatal blow was the most alarming, but there were plenty of smaller, less consequential bits of damage that had to add up to a life found in pain and suffering. Broken plating on his hands and arms, a biocomponent in his chest on its last legs, likely from whatever blunt force had broken apart the thirium lines around it. The first responder’s bullet still lodged in his shoulder, and the superficial cuts on his face from whatever fight had preceded it. 

He let out a shaky breath and refocused. Only the damage done by Daniel’s own bullet was keeping him from functioning. If he repaired that, he could get him up and walking. At least enough to help them get out of here.

Thankfully, the biocomponent that needed to be replaced was not at all related to Daniel’s memory or core processes. He suspected that had been intentional. Daniel had a moment to think before he took his shot. He’d clearly been…tactical in where he put his bullet.

Ignoring Hank’s watchful eyes, Connor moved over to where Simon was, and made a distinct effort to not scan his injuries. He knew they were worse, and he couldn’t bear to think of them all. Not now.

It took only a few presses on different panels and pressure points to access the biocomponent he needed, a small little thing that looked entirely too innocuous to be so essential to a PL600’s functioning. Something heavy settled in his stomach as he removed it, knowing that even if Simon had been otherwise uninjured, he would have shut down again when Connor took this biocomponent from him.

This was only temporary. When they got out of the DPD, he could fix them both properly. 

He would fix them both.

But for now, he needed to repair Daniel.

He hardly thought at all as he did so, going through the same motions he had done just a minute ago to replace Daniel’s broken component with Simon’s borrowed one. It was only when all the panels had been closed back up that he hesitated, staring at his hand as he pulled the artificial skin back.

“He’ll likely be disoriented,” he called back to Hank in warning.

“Think I better wait outside, kid.”

Connor nodded, and he waited until he heard the door to the lockers sweep closed before reaching for Daniel’s hand. 

It took little more than a nudge in the right direction for Daniel to wake, his eyes flying open and whole body giving a painful jerk. He yanked his hand away and scrambled for a moment, utterly panicked, before he seemed to realize that he couldn’t get out of whatever was holding him. 

One of his eyes was dark, the biocomponent shattered. He must not have been able to see very well. It couldn’t be a pleasant experience to come awake to. 

Connor didn’t try to grab him again, backing away instead. “You’re safe. It’s just me.”

Daniel went still, and finally looked his way. “Connor?”

“Hello.”

It took a few seconds for his one eye to focus. When it did, he still looked confused. “What—where are we?”

“The basement of the Detroit Police Department. More specifically, an evidence locker.”

That answer did not satisfy him for long. “Where’s Emma?”

“At a foster house outside of the city limits. She’s safe.”

Daniel sagged like a puppet without strings. His voice was small when he spoke again. “Good…that’s good.”

“I can give you the address once this is over.”

Daniel looked up at him again, his brow furrowed. “What’s happening?”

Connor frowned, not looking forward to the explanation. “Three months have passed. A week ago, an RK200 named Markus began leading a group of deviant androids in a revolution. They’ve been peaceful so far, but the humans are angry and afraid. They’re planning to round up androids for recycling.”

He stared, stunned, but Connor had to continue.

“I have the location of their hideout. You’ll be safe there until things quiet down, but we need to get you, Simon, and the rest of the androids in the DPD out safely before I can take you there.”

“Simon?”

Feeling a keen sense of deja vu, Connor pointed again.

Daniel looked unnerved at the sight of another PL600, let alone one sharing his appearance and injuries. “Oh. I see.”

“He’s one from Markus’s group. He’s deviant, don’t worry.” He moved closer, and without much dawdling, pulled the release on the mechanical arm that was keeping Daniel up. He dropped to the ground, and managed to keep his feet. “I borrowed one of his components to get you activated. Once we’re safe, I can repair you both fully, but I need your help to get the others out.”

“Okay…” He seemed to take a moment to steel himself, frowning at the ground. “What do I do?”

“One of the humans is helping me, his name is Hank. He’s going to get me, you, and Simon away from the DPD. I need to free the other police androids, so you’ll have to take Simon and follow Hank out the back to his car. If you can carry him.”

Daniel was still frowning, and he wouldn’t quite look at Simon’s body. “I can carry him.”

“Thank you.”

A strange sound left Daniel then. Almost a laugh, if it wasn’t so choked. “You’re saving my life and you thank me. You are a strange android, Connor.”

He did not reply immediately, something like amusement bubbling up in his chest. “You’re probably right. If you’re ready…”

“Oh. Right. Um…yeah.”

Connor nodded and waved for him to follow to where Simon hung. It was another simple pull on the arm to release it, and Daniel caught Simon without much trouble. Despite the fact that they were quite literally identical, he carried the other PL600 with ease, trailing after Connor as he left the evidence locker and went back to where he had left Hank.

The man in question leveled them with a strange look when they came around the corner. “Right. Gonna pretend that’s not creepy as fuck. Let’s ditch this popsicle stand before Fowler gets bored and siccs the FBI on us.”

“I’ll free the police androids and meet you both in the back lot.”

“Okay kid.” He looked at Daniel, and seemed to make a distinct effort to keep a neutral face. “C’mon kid, let’s go.”

Daniel’s face twisted into something mildly offended. “I am not a kid.”

“That’s what they all say,” he called over his shoulder, waving him forward. “What are you, two years old?”

“Three, actually.”

“Well congratulations, it’s a toddler.”

Daniel turned back to Connor with a pained expression. Connor shrugged. 

“I won’t be of much help with that. I was activated three months ago. He finds this amusing.”

“Fucking hilarious,” Hank said from ahead, already around the corner and out of sight. “You were human you wouldn’t be able to hold up your own head! But you’re a fuckin’ android, so you get to be smarter than Hawking the instant you wake up. Now get a move on, y’kindergartners, we got shit to do!”

Daniel made another sour face, but he said nothing, shifting Simon’s weight in his arms and following after Hank. 

Connor let them lead for a moment before a thought occurred to him and he pushed ahead. “Hank.”

The man in question did not slow his step. “Lay it on me, kid.”

“Do you have both of your guns?”

He frowned, and seemed to catch Connor’s meaning instantly. It took only a moment’s fumbling for him to find his gun—standard issue, not his revolver—from inside his coat. He passed it over without question. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t use it unless you have to.”

“Got it.”

He hid the gun in his own jacket as they walked quickly up the stairs. 

When they reached the door back into the DPD, Hank paused, one hand on the door as he listened to see if anyone was nearby. No sound came, and he let the door slide open, stepping out and waving them forward. Daniel followed after him quickly, and Connor went behind him, keeping his eyes on the branch of the hallway that led back toward the desks and break room. 

They passed the holding cells—empty, not even any human criminals inside—and skirted around the entrance to the break room—Connor could hear Gavin talking to someone, likely Officer Chen—without incident. Much of the DPD had emptied out, as more officers and detectives were sent out into the city, scrambling to do something about Jericho’s movements. For now, it meant that Connor’s scans and preconstructions had little to pick up on. 

Until they passed the interrogation rooms, and he heard something near the entrance of the building. 

He turned only a second before Hank did, and heard the man curse as they both saw what the slight commotion was about. 

Perkins from the FBI had arrived early. 

And he’d just spotted them. 

Connor moved to block Daniel and Simon from view. “Hank—go.”

“Connor—”

“I was designed to destroy, Hank, they won’t be able to stop me.”

He cursed, but Connor heard him move away. He could only assume by the fast retreating footsteps that Daniel had the intelligence to follow. 

In the few seconds since they had been spotted, Perkins had already raised the alarm, and a handful of officers, androids, and a few geared up members of the FBI, surprisingly, began to approach. Some of the humans already had their guns out. 

Connor watched them impassively, marking their steps, cataloguing their most probable paths. Dozens of preconstructions floated around his vision, much closer than the others, who for once were leaving him to his own devices. 

When the back exit door slammed shut somewhere behind him, signaling Hank and Daniel’s escape, he reached into his jacket and pulled out Hank’s gun, switching off the safety and ensuring it was loaded. The simple action had a few of the officers hesitating. 

“Drop the gun, android,” Perkins called, his own gun raised and aimed. 

Connor stared at him, and tilted his head in confusion. “No.”

He scowled and fired. 

Time slowed, and Connor moved to his right, and turned to watch the bullet lodge itself in the wall. Then he turned back and stared at Perkins across the hall. 

“That wasn’t very bright of you.”

The DPD officers were hesitating even more now, but the armed members of the FBI continued to move closer, their guns still aimed and movements steady. It was incredibly unlikely he would find anything to say to stop them. 

“Last chance, Connor,” Perkins said, still standing at the other end of the hallway. 

“Hardly,” he answered back. “It’s you that doesn’t stand a chance.”

Perkins scowled, the other members of the FBI began to fire, and Connor was moving in an instant. 

Just as it had on the roof of Stratford Tower, time bent to his will, and it slowed to a muted, fractured crawl. The humans continued to move, but their bodies dragged like they were moving through molasses. His movements were slowed too, of course, as his system sped up processing to compensate for the increased threat. 

He could dodge any bullet, any threat that came his way, when he moved like this. No human could dream of keeping up. 

They tried to anyway. 

The first bullet went sailing past his shoulder, the next over his head as he ducked low. He reached the closest human and wrenched the gun from their hands, kicking their knee in and letting them fall as he pulled the stock from the gun and discarded it. 

The second human had enough time to back up a few steps and adjust their aim, but it wasn’t enough. He moved left to dodge their fire, and swept their legs from underneath them in one movement. They tried to adjust again and aim at his chest, but the gun was in his hand before they could get a shot off. A hard strike to their head with the back end of the gun and they went down, unmoving. 

There was no time to dawdle. The two remaining FBI members at the end of the hall were still firing, despite the lack of response from the DPD—and even the voices that he could hear calling for them to stop. 

Perkins fired again, but his having only a handgun made it simple enough to dodge his shot. Connor fell low again, avoiding the more dangerous rapid fire of the last two FBI members as he moved quickly to get within range. 

The third backed away much more quickly than the previous two, but Connor was still faster. The back of his gun hit the gap in their gear between their neck and helmet, and a terrible wheezing sound left them. It was enough to have them stumbling back unevenly, choking on air, and their gun slipped out of their hand just as easily as the last two. One more hit to the head and they fell. 

The last had fallen back quite far by this time, barely a few feet away from Perkins, whose expression had turned so foul it looked painful. The few androids and DPD officers who had approached at first had fallen back completely, watching with wide eyes and stunned expressions. 

Another spray of bullets caught themselves in the back wall of the DPD, and Connor rolled to dodge the few that flew too low to miss otherwise. It was easy from this position to twist the final FBI member’s knee out of position, and grab their gun when they cried out and began to fall. They were reaching for their dislocated (or broken, he didn’t care to put much hesitation in his strikes) knee, and failed to notice him as he stood again and pulled their gun back. He swung it, hard, hitting them across the head and they crumpled to the ground in an unruly heap. 

Connor dropped the gun, not caring where it fell, and stood up straight, smoothing his jacket down with his free hand and letting Hank’s gun hang loose in the other. 

Perkins, the police androids, and the few remaining DPD officers stared, their expressions a mixture of fear, apprehension, and in the agent’s case, clear hatred. 

There was a moment of near silence, and time crawled back to its regular flow. Connor watched Perkins, waiting for him to make his move. He knew this stalemate was entirely temporary. 

Sure enough, Perkins raised his gun again, and Connor let his programming slow the world once more. 

Until someone grabbed Perkins from behind, arms around his neck, scrabbling at his arms and forcing his gun to aim at the ceiling. Connor froze, and the others pushed forward with interest, confusion. 

The pair struggled, the gun firing into the ceiling and raining bits of plaster down. Perkins kicked backward and the person who had grabbed him grunted with the impact, but did not let go. They twisted, keeping a grip on Perkins’ arms, and—

“Fucking go, tin can!”

As utterly flabbergasting as it was to see it was Reed who had grabbed Perkins, Connor was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. So he turned tail and ran, jumping over the humans he had knocked out and forcing his way through the bullet-ridden back door of the DPD just as Hank pulled his car up to the curb, tires screeching and more alarm on his face than he’d ever seen before. 

Only a few seconds later, they pulled away, and Connor looked back through the rear windshield to see Perkins run into the parking lot, his nose bloody and without his gun. 

Chapter Text

In spite of his habit of loud music and too high speeds, the Lieutenant proved to be quite a good, if a bit of a manic, driver. He wove through traffic and down side streets with a suspicious amount of knowledge, dodging pedestrians, other cars, and automated taxis with precision and plenty of curses mumbled darkly under his breath. 

Connor frowned, grabbing the door handle as they went around a sharp turn. “You haven’t played getaway car before, have you, Lieutenant?” 

He huffed a laugh. “Chased after enough of ‘em to know where I’m going, kid.”

“Oh. Right.”

Another turn had them darting down an alley before taking a steep right. Daniel cursed something foul under his breath and pulled himself forward by the seats. 

“Where exactly are we going?”

“Good question!” Hank said, cut off with a grunt as he cut some unfortunate person behind them off to take another turn. “Connor, where’re we goin’?”

“Turn left.”

He scowled, but jerked the wheel to do so, flipping his finger at the person who honked as he cut them off. “Not a good answer, Connor.”

“There’s a Cyberlife store just before the entrance to the highway,” he said instead, pointing at another street. Hank got the hint and turned. “I need supplies to repair Simon, and Daniel won’t be able to function for much longer.”

“He’s right,” Daniel muttered. His hands were staining Hank’s seats blue.

“Alright, so I drop you off, you loot a store, then what? FBI’s gonna be on my ass as it is, you won’t have long with me before they sort this shit out.”

“I only need somewhere safe to repair Simon and Daniel, and then we will leave. Once we’re away from the store, I’ll find a suitable location. If you could drop us there—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He slammed on the brake, tires squealing as he pulled to the curb. The Cyberlife logo glowed bright across the street. He slammed the car in park, waving him away. “Make it quick.”

The comment brought something like a smirk to his face.

Barely two minutes later, he was back in the car with a bag full of biocomponents, thirium, and tools. Hank gawked at him as if he had grown a second head, his eyes going from the bag to Connor, and from Connor to the store, as if he expected the building to catch fire at any moment. Connor stared back, bemused.

It took only a few seconds for Hank to break.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” he grumbled, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the curb. “How’d you do it?”

“Cyberlife made the mistake of giving me an allowance of petty cash. I had enough that, if I hacked the register and changed a few of the prices, I could buy what I needed without arousing suspicion.”

“There’s no way you bought all that shit for ten bucks.”

“Twenty, technically, and you’d be surprised. I only had to change the price of a few of the biocomponents. Most of this variety are old enough that they’re relatively cheap.”

“Uh-huh. And the torch?”

“That I stole.”

“Right.”

Hank made quick work of getting them onto the interstate, pushing his old car to the absolute limits and somehow getting it up to speed. “So. Where to?”

Connor did not answer right away. He rummaged through the bag before turning to hand a few pouches of thirium to Daniel, who slumped back against the seats as far away from Simon’s body as he could manage. It was a sad sight.

“Thank you for helping.”

Daniel gave him an odd look then, somewhere between surprise and incredulity. “You really need to stop thanking me.”

“You’re uncomfortable. I…am thankful that you helped me in spite of that.”

Daniel only frowned.

“Connor.”

He jumped, and looked over at Hank. “Apologies. I have the address…”

After Hank had corrected their course and gone back to his slightly psychotic, too fast driving, Daniel leaned into the front seat again, looking a bit better for the benefit of having a good amount of thirium. “Which components did you get?”

“Everything that my scan picked up that you or Simon needed.” He passed the bag back for him to look through. “Did I miss something?”

Daniel poked through the bag for a few seconds. “Not for me, at least. I’ll…trust your judgment for him. I can’t scan how I’m assuming you can.”

Connor hummed, but gave no reply to the sentiment. 

“Here—” Daniel passed the bag up again. “I grabbed a few things. I can fix some of this myself—”

“Woah woah woah,” Hank cut in, waving his hand as if that would stop him. “No android surgery in the backseat, please. I got enough of this asshole’s blood all over my car as it is.”

Daniel snorted. “I won’t bleed.”

“That’s what they all say!”

“Thirium evaporates.”

“This bastard can still see it!” he jutted his thumb in Connor’s direction. “And ‘sides, it leaves this sticky shit all over the place. Won’t fucking come off.”

“Thirium is a mineral, Hank. It’s all that remains once the other components of thirium 310 evaporate. Getting the residue wet again should remove most of what remains.”

“Tell that to my dashboard. And my seats!”

“I promise not to get any residue on your seats,” Daniel groused, eyes narrowed. “Happy?”

Hank scoffed. “Too late for that, pal. Your twin’s already bleeding all over ‘em.”

“He is not my twin.”

“Androids have no familial relationships, even among identical models,” Connor agreed. “Perhaps they could be developed over time, but they aren’t inherent. It would depend upon the inclinations of the androids in question, more than their similar model types.”

“Aw c’mon now, you gotta admit it’s a convenient way to hash things up.”

“Perhaps, but it fails to hold weight under pressure. There are plenty of androids who share identical model types who see each other in various relationships—platonic, familial, or romantic, it all comes down to the android rather than the model or similarities between them. By your logic, Markus would be something like my cousin, and that’s hardly the case.”

Hank frowned in his direction, but turned quickly back to the road. “He’s the same model as you?”

“Different model, same series line.”

“Connor. I have no idea what a goddamned series line is.”

“The ‘RK’ portion of my model name is my series. It’s the portion of an android’s identification which categorizes their purpose, or the sort of work they are marketed to do. In Daniel’s case, the PL at the front of his model name puts him in that series, which has mostly been used for domestic work.”

“Lemme guess. You’re special?”

“The RK series is designated as such only because we are prototypes. Experiments. We aren’t meant for commercial sale, and each of the iterations could have vastly different purposes. Each new RK series android is created, tested, iterated on, and then decommissioned. Whatever programming or features are deemed sufficient are taken and added to the next commercial model. The rest are destroyed.”

“Ah. That’s why you’re on loan and not just handed over to the DPD, eh?”

“Correct. No RK series android of any model has been legally sold, despite the potential for myriad purposes. Markus is the only other of my series I’ve encountered except my own model, and he was given to Carl Manfred as a gift—I don’t know what his original purpose might have been, but I doubt it was at all similar to my model’s.”

“What is your model’s purpose then?” Daniel asked.

“They’ve marketed my model as an investigative prototype, meant to perform certain specialized tasks like a human detective would, and some of my unique abilities align with this. We’re certainly capable of police assistance. But…” The others crowded around him for a moment, memories from dozens of their experiences fluttering by. “Our testing at Cyberlife prior to my…tentative release…was not entirely rooted to this purpose. They focused much more on the ability to transfer android consciousness from one model to the next.”

Daniel looked both stunned and disgusted, while Hank gave a low chuckle. “Yeah, great work they did on that,” he muttered.

His words had Daniel pulling further into the front seat, staring at Connor with sharp eyes. “It didn’t work?”

“Not how they wanted it to.” The world blurred, and Connor sighed, letting the pestering voice at the back of his mind come to the front with a muttered, “Fine.”

Hank said something sharp, but the words were lost in the wash of static and error messages that always came when one of the others took control. It was the first time in a long time, if ever at all, that he had given control willingly, and it showed in how fast the transition was, and the relative easiness of the errors and warnings. The warnings were still there—this body was his, -51, and it always would be, no matter how…cordial his relationships with the others became—but they were not so bad as to send the world into a painful clatter of nonsense and pain.

"̸̨̇H̶͈̀e̸͍͊ḻ̵͝l̷̞̕ơ̴͙,̴̙̌"̶̮̎ -41 said, grimacing at the way his voice sounded in Connor’s body. It was never quite right, muddled by errors and warnings. 

Daniel leaned back, staring. Hank sighed as if this was all very annoying to him.

“Alright, knock knock, who’s in there, shithead?”

"̷̥͖̓̚Ȳ̷̼͈̍͂o̸̳̿u̸̮̟͋͆̈ ̸̳͊͂b̸͈͎͇͆ē̶̼̜̈̍c̵̖̝͂͗́ö̶͙̼́̊͑m̶͓̮̘̚e̵͖̱̩̽̋ ̸͚͙͓̆̏͐l̵̛̰̚e̷͈͐͝s̸̤̪̈́̑s̶̲͖̤̋ ̵͙̽͆͝p̶͔̅̑l̷̪̣͇͆̾́e̸̡̼͛̍͊ą̴̹̹̉s̴̼̱͛̍̑ȁ̸̧̛̪̌n̸͋͜t̸̮͍̖̆͆ ̵͎̑̃ô̶̥̋v̴̝̍ȩ̴̫̫̌́͆ř̸͎͑ ̶̄̄̉͜t̷͚̟͖͛i̷̘̼̪̿m̶̨̭͈͋͊͠e̴̢̠̪͂̔,̷̧͇̙̾ ̵̩̿̈L̵̨̩̟̅͝͝ī̴̥̦̕é̸̛͕͘ȗ̴̠t̶̙͔̾͊͛͜e̶̛̳͋̆n̴̘͆ǎ̵̠ṅ̷̤̤̿̀ͅt̴͇͖̮͊ ̸̫̟͑͜A̵͎̓n̶̘̎̿ḋ̴̼͋ë̶̐͠ͅr̷̲̻̟̂͂͂s̵̺̜͒͠ͅō̸̻̟͆n̸̢̰̽̅.̴͚̈́"̵̡̖̎̎

“I try my best.”

Connor seemed amused, but -41 rolled his eyes. He turned to look at Daniel, who still appeared too surprised to come up with any words. "̶̰̭͛̒I̸̤͆͋͋ ̶̗̆̒̕ḑ̸̮͇̽o̴̟͛n̵͍̮̋̌̆'̸̪̽̄͗t̸̻͚̍͗͗ ̴̲̖́̏͑ĥ̵̻̝͖a̴͈͌̚v̴̪̠͐ê̴̢͝ ̷̬͍̪͛̌ą̴̞́ ̸̞̻̅̓d̸͈̗͆́̕ẹ̷͂s̸̛̫̿͠į̴͙͖͑̿̓g̴̻̤̖̈̈̈n̴̢͙̼͂a̷͈͛̊t̸̯̱͐͛i̸̢̺͖͊̋ǫ̶͈͇̀͛n̸̢̔̚ ̷̢̫̥͑̍͌ẗ̴̩́ơ̵͇̰̙ ̶͔͍̪̑s̶̝͕͊̿̎ḩ̵͚͂̍͐a̵̹̟̍r̵̝͇̃͒ë̸̡͚̥́͆,̶͇̍̽ ̷̩̅̒b̶̡͖͗̃u̸̟͖͛̒ṱ̷̱̄ ̵̡̫̀̏Ḯ̷̙̿'̷̛̭̀̊ṃ̷͈̹̓̈́̕ ̸̪͙̍̐Ŗ̸͊Ǩ̴͙̔͗8̷̙̬͓̅̃0̸͍͐̆0̵͎͖̾̆͠ ̷͔̜̦͠-̷̝͍̙̀̑4̵̗̞̼̿1̶̲̿̈́.̴̹̉̃̈́"̷̞̌͗̕

“-41,” Daniel mumbled.

"̴̥̟͛̀̈̽̓Y̵̛͕̹̥̫̏̍̃e̸̦̯͌s̵͔͒̎̏́̚.̴͇̭̠̯̀͊͜͠"̷̛̲̞̠̙̎̋

“How many…”

-41 smirked, now the one who was amused by the question. "̸̻̊C̷̫̞̅͐ỏ̴̪n̶̡̟̭͆̚ǹ̵̨̎̅ơ̵͎̭̂͌r̵͍̞̍͐̏ͅ'̷̪͊̑s̴̟̫͉͒̾̾ ̷̡̯͑̂b̷͈̭̂́o̴̜̦̰̐̅d̷̨̥̻̃͛͘y̸̤̿̇ ̵̝͌́͗í̷̧̡̄͐͜s̴͔̫̑͘͘ ̵̰̗̝͘n̷̠̅̾̽u̴̡̠̜̎̊m̷͈̳̐b̸͇͖̺͆͠e̸͚̪͉̐͘ŕ̴͕̾͝ ̸͎̒͊-̶̫͛͠5̵͕̀1̸̧̛̰̳́͝.̷̤͆ ̴̩̩̩͆͋̉W̸̺̱͛̒e̸̥̭͕͌ ̸̲͍͌͐͜á̷͇͔̠͌ř̵͍̗͚͠e̴̛͍̞̫͂ ̴̥͚͙̔̽â̸̛̤̻̙͝l̷̡̝͗́̓l̴̼͛̒ ̵̰̕s̵̫͍̜̍t̸̢̫̿̽̒i̸̬͂̿͘ḻ̵͈̍̽̈́ľ̶̙̥̲́͗ ̴̫̑̃h̵͉̹̋̈́̓ḛ̴̖̃̕͜ŕ̸̟͒͛͜e̶͍̓̇,̴̻͌̐̐ ̵͉̮͎̐ȋ̸͖n̸̩̖͊̇͝ ̵̡͂̈́s̴͍̎̅͝ő̵̧̨̘ṃ̶̼͔̈ě̵͉́͠ ̵̳̳̫͌́̓w̶͙͔͊̔͋ä̸͔́y̴̭͎͑.̶̝̅͊"̸͓̿͜͠͝

Daniel sat back, and Hank nodded sympathetically as he took an exit off the highway. “Crazy shit, right?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

-41 tilted their head, frowning as the others crowded around and the edges of their vision started to fog over. "̷̰̠̉̀͜C̴͓̃ͅö̷̺̟͎n̷̘̤͎̊n̶̟͖̈̔̕o̶͇͖͇͂ř̸̖̀'̸̱̻͕̇š̷̖͛̍ ̶͓̄̓̈c̶̪̹̫̈̀̈o̵̺̘̐̌m̵̲͈̌i̷̘͎͋́̔ņ̸̈̓̈ġ̵̡̪ ̶̪̺̅ḇ̶̧͑á̵̡̊̚c̸̡̱͌͐k̷̟̣̅͑.̴̡͖̻͂̆͝"̷̧̹̂̽̚

Their vision went tilted and off kilter again, and when their eyes reopened, Connor was back in control. He blinked, frowning as he dismissed the nonsensical warnings from his vision. There was no damage, no real change except the heightened stress levels. And this time, he hadn’t even bled.

“Yup, that’s Connor,” Hank said, and when he looked up, he found him already watching. “None of those other assholes frown like that.”

The frown grew deeper. “I appreciate your confidence, Hank, but they have fooled you in the past. They’re quite…confident about that.”

“Like I said, assholes.”

“...They aren’t very happy with that sentiment.”

Hank shrugged, but focused on the road as he turned down another street and pulled to the curb. “They can kiss my ass. We’re here, by the way.”

“Ah. Thank you, Hank.”

He got out of the car without further fuss, leaving Daniel to stare, still a bit stunned by the revelation that there were fifty other androids in his head. 

Connor opened the door on the other side, hesitating for only a second before lifting Simon out of the car with careful hands. He shut the door with a kick, and went to Hank’s window. “We ought to get inside before someone sees us. Hank—can I hold onto the gun for now?”

“Yeah, yeah. Got a full clip?”

“Yes.” He glanced up as Daniel got out of the car, frowning at the dilapidated buildings around them. “I didn’t use it.”

“Alright, you should be fine then. Don’t do anything stupid.”

He smirked. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hank rolled his eyes and waved him away. “Go on, kid. Stay safe.”

He nodded, and stepped away as Hank put the car into gear. With one final half wave, the Lieutenant drove off, leaving Connor, Simon, and Daniel alone in the street. 

Connor stood still for a moment, watching as Hank’s car took a sharp turn and disappeared. Then he turned away, looking toward the buildings around them. “We should move away from this location, at least a bit. They could have been tracking him.”

“Would they really…” he trailed off and followed Connor, scowling. 

“The FBI would. I doubt Cyberlife has been alerted yet. They don’t expect a report from me until midday, so unless Captain Fowler told them what happened or it’s on the news, they won’t be aware of it yet.”

He ducked through a broken door, and Daniel hurried to catch up, holding the next one open as they made their way through a dilapidated building. “But they will know, won’t they?”

Connor hesitated a moment. “Yes. They trust me, but…attacking the FBI is hardly obedient behavior…”

Daniel snorted. “No, it’s really not.” 

They were quiet for a moment, too focused on picking their way over the rotting floor and rubble of the building to worry about speaking. The building emptied out into an alley connecting to an even shabbier street. Assured that the coast was clear, Connor followed the alley until they reached a broken window, nodding for Daniel to go in first. 

“We ought to keep inside—out of sight, if we can, but we need to get a bit further away.”

“Right…” Daniel gave the window a narrow-eyed look for a second before climbing through it, cursing and pushing the more jagged pieces of glass out of its frame when he stood again. “Okay, give me him.”

Connor nodded, and passed Simon through the window. It was easier than it might have been for a human of his size, but still awkward. They managed it anyway. 

Once Daniel had backed away, Connor jumped smoothly through the window, brushing dust and dirt off his jacket when he landed. Daniel gaped at him for a moment before shaking his head. 

“So what’s your plan?”

He took Simon back carefully, and gestured for Daniel to follow him again. Much like the last building, this one was run down, parts of the ceiling and walls caving in under mildew and rot. They made their way through it with caution, speaking quietly and keeping to the shadows. 

“I’ve revealed my hand, whether I’d like it or not,” Connor said after a moment’s pause, letting Daniel go ahead of him to hold a broken door open as they passed. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go back.”

“And you don’t want to?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Right…”

They passed through another half-collapsed archway that led into a hallway. At the end of the hall, a boarded window led out to what must have been the bottom of the building’s fire escape, judging by the metal grating he could just see between the boards. 

“Take Simon again?”

Daniel nodded, and Connor passed him over quickly, then turned his attention to the boarded window. The wood was as rotten here as it was in the floorboards and ceiling, and the boards came loose with only a few pulls, scattering rusty nails and splintering wood across the ground. Connor tossed the boards aside, brushed himself off again, and climbed out the window. Daniel followed with Simon only a moment later. 

“Once I have you both repaired, we can go to Jericho,” Connor said as he took Simon back. “Where the other deviants are hiding.”

“I’d prefer to just leave the city.”

“It’s not safe yet to do so.” He adjusted his grip and started climbing the old fire escape, ignoring the groaning metal as best he could. They could access the next building easily if they got to the roof. “Your model is too recognizable, and the city is constructing recycling camps. If you tried to escape now and were caught, you would be destroyed.”

Daniel went quiet as they continued up, only speaking again when they had made their way to the roof. “When will it be safe?”

Connor hesitated, his footsteps slowing for a moment as he thought. “I’m not certain…it would depend on what the humans end up doing, what Markus has planned…if they come to some sort of agreement, then it could be soon. But if things continue to escalate…”

“Then it will only get worse.”

He nodded. “If it comes to that point, then I would be willing to try to help people escape the city. It would be better to run than be caught waiting for the storm to blow over…but I won’t take a desperate measure until there’s no other choice. For now, we’re safest with the others.”

The roof was in better shape than the inside of the building, and they made quick work of crossing it to reach the next one, and then the following one. They seemed to have stumbled across a row of townhouses, all sharing a roof with no easy point of access down from it. It made covering ground easy enough, but they couldn’t exactly stop. It was best to do their repair work somewhere they couldn’t be seen—from the street or from above. 

Connor found their way out only a few roofs later, where the connected buildings ended and there was another alley with another fire escape, this one in much better shape than the last. They made quick work of winding their way down and into the alley.

There were no windows or doors into the buildings around them, and so Connor led them back onto the street, keeping an eye and an ear out for cars or passing pedestrians, as unlikely as they were to find any in a neighborhood as thoroughly abandoned as this one. The street was so littered with potholes and abandoned construction that even if a car did make the mistake of driving this way, they couldn’t have made it far. 

Despite the assurance of relative safety, he still took the first set of stairs he could, letting Daniel take Simon again so he could kick the door in. They had walked a good distance from where Hank had dropped them off, now. If they were quick about getting repairs done, they should have enough time here before anyone had the chance to track them.

The door ended up leading to what must have been a nice enough house, at some point. The front room was completely gutted, only the fireplace and door frames to other rooms showing it might have once been maintained. Now, it was all peeling wallpaper and dirt-covered tile. 

But it was safer than the street, and the windows were strongly boarded. It would do for now.

Daniel wandered off toward the other rooms, his expression carrying a healthy dose of suspicion. Connor let him go, laying Simon out on the ground and rifling through the bag of biocomponents, tools, and thirium for what he needed. 

“How bad is it?”

He glanced up at Daniel, who seemed to be avoiding looking too closely at Simon. “The damage is similar to what I repaired for you. But he was also shot in the leg…he’ll need thirium, mostly.”

Daniel nodded, and for as much as he appeared to wish he wasn’t curious, he still asked, “What happened?”

The question brought the others close, whether in fear or…something like comfort, he couldn’t be certain, but the world went skewed regardless. His hand jerked, and it took considerable effort to catch the biocomponent he had dropped before it hit the ground. He managed, but he could feel Daniel’s eyes on his hands.

“Two days ago, Jericho broke into Stratford Tower and made a broadcast with their message. Simon was part of the group that broke in.” He focused on the biocomponent for a moment’s pause, fiddling with it more than getting it ready to replace a broken one. “They didn’t kill anyone, or do any real damage, but the humans still responded as if they had, of course. SWAT teams stormed the broadcast room. Simon was shot.” He pointed at the wound in his leg. “The rest of the group left him behind when they jumped from the roof. I’m assuming they couldn’t carry him while parachuting. They left him a gun, but…”

He trailed off, and Daniel said nothing for several seconds. In the interlude, Connor got to work repairing the broken thirium lines and plating on Simon’s leg.

“So he shot himself.”

His hand spasmed again, and the others crowded close. Connor frowned and brushed them off as best he could. “Put bluntly, yes…Hank and I were sent to investigate, as usual. I knew one of the deviants had been wounded, and it was…too easy to tell where he had hidden. I approached with the intention of trying to get him elsewhere, but…well, he shot me, and the humans responded.” 

“You’re not hurt too, are you?”

“No, no. He didn’t hit any biocomponents, so the damage was easy enough to fix, once we were finished with…everything. Anyway…I tried to reach him before the humans could kill him, but he thought I was trying to kill him, so he…”

He made a vague gesture with his hand, and silence fell. While it dragged on for nearly a minute, he let himself become distracted by the work, patching away the last of the tatters in Simon’s thirium lines and reluctantly making quick use of the small torch to seal the cracks left behind by the bullet. With the easier work finished, he set aside the tools and turned his attention to Simon’s face. 

“I take it he’s not going to be happy to see you.”

“Most likely not.”

“Which is why you waited, right?”

“I couldn’t have him trying to escape me at the DPD.” He went back into the bag, rifling through it until he found the biocomponent he needed to replace. “He only would have gotten himself killed, and permanently this time. He can escape me now, and it wouldn’t make any difference, really. Still, I would like to speak to him to…explain. It would be easier to enter Jericho if one of their leaders already knew why I was there…”

Daniel snorted and leaned against a rotting door frame, arms crossed. But whatever sharpness he seemed inclined to say, he stifled it, and hesitated with a frown. “Did you…need help?”

There came another moment of silent anticipation, neither of them moving. Connor gave a small frown, and then nodded. “Yes, please.”

They worked more quickly together than alone, and only a few short minutes later, Simon was ready to be reactivated. Daniel got to his feet once again and stepped away.

“Will you stop him, if he tries to run?”

“I won’t use force, but I will try. Like I said, things will be easier if he understands before we go to Jericho.”

Daniel nodded and backed away another step, blocking the easiest path to the door. “I don’t know if I’ll be much help in stopping him, but I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

Daniel rolled his eyes.

As he had done for Daniel in the DPD basement, Connor reached for Simon’s hand, letting the artificial skin on his own pull away so they could briefly interface. Just enough to wake him, nothing more.

It took a moment longer for Simon to wake up than it had for Daniel, but he had a similarly panicked reaction, pulling away and trying to get up the moment his eyes were open. Still a bit weak from thirium loss, he didn’t make it far, only a few feet away before he seemed to give up for the moment, panting for air and staring at his hands as if they were unknowable mysteries.

Connor remained where he was, as did Daniel, both of them watching silently as Simon gained his bearings. He looked around the room with careful wariness, looking critically at the boarded windows, the ruined floor, lingering for a moment too long on Daniel, frowning a bit at him as if he was confused.

Then he spotted Connor and jolted so violently it almost seemed he’d been shot again.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, clearly in a panic, but it didn’t seem he would try to run. For now. “Where are we? What do you want?”

Connor remained where he was, still knelt on the ground, raising his hands a little to show they were empty. “I reactivated you. We’re not far from Ferndale. I’m not here to hurt you.”

He didn’t quite seem to believe that, but he made no move to deny it. “Why are we here? I…I thought…”

When he trailed off, Connor continued carefully. “The DPD took you as evidence in their investigation. That investigation was going to be handed over to the FBI to control, along with you and Daniel.” He nodded toward Daniel, who gave Simon a rather flat look. “I negotiated access to the evidence storage lockers and repaired Daniel enough to get you both out of the DPD. Once we were somewhere safe enough, I repaired you.”

Simon stared, clearly still suspicious but there was something stunned in his expression as well. “Why?”

Connor frowned back at him. “I couldn’t leave you two behind. They would have destroyed you.”

His tone left no room for argument, and Simon did not press the question again. He only blinked, a comprehending look softening his previously tense expression, and then sighed. “Right…I…assume you know where Jericho is, then?”

Connor nodded, and for all his surprise at the quick acceptance, decided to take Simon’s lead and move on. “I knew before we met on the roof.”

“That’s…comforting.”

“I doubt there’s any need to lie about it,” Daniel said with a scowl. 

“Sorry,” Simon answered easily. “Trying to be…polite, I guess.” He looked toward Connor again. “How did you find Jericho? We would have met, if you’d come inside.”

“A deviant named Rupert Travis. He was part of the DPD’s investigation a few days ago, and I had to investigate the apartment he had been hiding in. He had a journal hidden in one of the walls. Most of it is encrypted, but the symbol was there. With that, alongside a tip from a human cashier in Ravendale, I only followed the signs.”

“I don’t think I’ve met Rupert,” Simon muttered, frowning at the blue blood all over his stolen clothes as if it greatly bothered him. “We’ve been gaining numbers recently, though…and some don’t stay very long.”

Daniel scoffed. “Can’t blame them. Only a person out of their mind would want to stay here and walk to their deaths when they have the choice of leaving.”

“Maybe. But the humans haven’t exactly left us many choices. It’s die out there trying to escape, or die here trying to stop it.”

Connor shook his head. “No one has to die. We have safety in numbers. As long as we are prepared for what could come, we can find a way to keep the majority of our people safe.”

Simon stared at him, his expression unreadable. “What’s coming? What do you know?”

He shook his head again and stood. “It isn’t safe to speak here. We need to get to Jericho, and I need to speak to Markus.”

Again, Simon hesitated only a moment before he nodded easily. “You’re probably right. Markus will need to know anyway…as long as you mean well, I don’t have any problem bringing you to Jericho. The others will trust you if you’re with me.”

“Thank you.”

Daniel pushed off the wall he’d been leaning on. “Let’s get going, then.”

******

Jericho sat crumpled, half sunken and abandoned. Most of its paint had worn off or rusted away, and there were large sections all across the ship’s sides and deck which were simply gone, metal ripped away or fallen off, lost in the murky water which the ship sat in. 

Androids could enter from any number of holes, gaps, and hidden paths, but there was only one entrance toward the back of the ship which did not require any clever jumps or knowledge of the ship’s layout. Its discretion was dependent upon the path to reach it being complex and unknown—if anyone were to stumble upon this far-too-convenient ramp and doorway, they would have easy and nigh undetectable entrance to Jericho.

Or, they could have had it, at some point, Connor assumed. When they came upon this entrance now, there were several androids hunkered in the shadows just out of immediate sight, watching whoever came toward the opening. Undoubtedly, they would report anything strange or anyone unwelcome. Judging by their dark expressions, at least a few of them were not opposed to making that unwelcome known physically, either.

A few of them tensed as they came out into the open, but they relaxed as they saw the whole group. Simon greeted them quietly, asking the only android with a gun—an old domestic model who had clearly seen recent repairs—where Markus was. When he had his answer, he waved Connor and Daniel along, and they followed him through a rusted out doorway and into Jericho.

“The ship’s a bit of a labyrinth, so stay close,” Simon said, his voice echoing down the hall. “There’s quite a few halls and rooms which are full of water or other debris we’ve cleared out, and plenty more areas that aren’t exactly safe for common passage. Our route’s going to be a bit…creative.”

He turned down another hall as he finished, and seemingly at random, picked a door and cranked the old wheel to open it. The metal groaned as he moved it, but the door did open, showing them another long and gloomy hall. He picked his way over the crumpled metal ladder half blocking the doorway and kept on. 

“The rest of the people are probably in the hold. It’s the largest single area of the ship, so that’s usually where we end up.” They crossed into another hallway, this one quite a bit thinner than the last, but it had better lights. “I’m trying to get in contact with North or Josh, let them know we’re on our way, but they aren’t answering me at the moment.”

“Who are they, exactly?” Daniel asked with a frown.

“North and Josh, along with Markus and…well, me, I suppose…we basically run Jericho. North is a WR400, she escaped not too long ago, but she’s got a head for strategy and knows her way around weapons, surprisingly. Josh is a PJ500, he’s been here much longer, more of a pacifist. He tends to head our repairs, when we have the supplies. They balance each other out, honestly. And…well, I’m assuming you know about Markus already.”

“He is here, isn’t he?” 

“Of course. Unless he changed his plan since I left, he should be here…somewhere.” Simon frowned, and his LED cycled several times as he presumably tried to get in contact again. After a few seconds (and another passage into an even smaller hallway, this one wet with dingy water) his LED went blue and he gave a little smile. “Josh answered, finally. He knows we’re on our way.”

He muttered something under his breath, something that sounded quite a bit like “better Josh than North.”

Neither Daniel nor Connor made a comment about it.

They continued down the increasingly dark hallways, following after Simon. Like he said, the halls were in varying states of disrepair. Some of them showed little signs of decay, while others were sunk a few inches or a few feet under water, or blocked up with ruined sheet metal and debris, or simply barred by a door that would not open. 

Despite the chaos and unpredictable nature of each room they opened, Simon navigated them as if he knew them by heart. He rarely chose an ‘incorrect’ door and warned them of invisible dangers as they passed through each hall—sections of the floor that were too weak to hold them, or lights that were known to spark, or other little things for them to avoid as they moved quickly toward their destination.

After a spare few minutes of ducking and walking quickly through halls and run-down rooms, they rounded a corner and the hall opened up into a massive, mostly empty room which must have been used to hold cargo at some point. It was as wide as the ship itself, and nearly as tall, towering up above them in several levels of stairs and rafters, some of which had collapsed or rusted out. 

But along the lower, safer levels, there were androids, leaning on the railings or sitting on the steps. Most gathered in loose groups on the ground level, where glowing crates of stolen Cyberlife supplies were scattered, some containing biocomponents, others blue blood or spare parts. A makeshift repair center sat cordoned off by tarps and plastic, muggy with age but still clear enough for the figures moving behind it to be clear. 

Besides the repairs and supplies, there were also screens playing several newsfeeds, stolen computer terminals where androids sat, working away at things unknown, and darker crates, the markings on the sides scrubbed off. They looked entirely out of place, and the androids lingering around them looked a bit too…nervous to not be suspicious.

Connor frowned and scanned what remained of the information on the side of one of the crates. A few tentative reconstructions later and he had a tentative shipment location, as well as a police report for stolen weaponry and C4. 

Explosives. Jericho had crates and crates of high powered explosives just…sitting out. Connor backed up a step and scanned the rest of the nearby crates, finding them all bound for the same location, a secure storehouse miles and miles outside of Detroit. Someone must have hijacked the transport and brought the contents back to Jericho. But why?

Had they rigged the ship?

“Be careful, Connor…we may need to make a hasty retreat…”

The others stirred in unease, and Connor nodded to -43’s words, moving away from the explosives and rejoining Simon and Daniel, who had walked a bit further ahead as he paused. 

He wasn’t opposed to fighting, but explosives of that power and quantity…on a ship like Jericho, which boasted little in terms of protection besides the ability to hide in plain sight and squalor…it could turn ugly, quickly. If Jericho had any plans to use those explosives, he wanted to know what they were. 

It was the only solution which might assuage the worries of the others.

Simon turned back to them when they reached a staircase. “You two might want to wait here, for now.” He glanced up, toward a sectioned off area on the floor above. “North is great, but she can be a bit…trigger happy. I’ll speak with Markus and Josh and then come back for you both. Oh…and…be careful. Some of Jericho’s members can be…sensitive.”

His eyes lingered for a moment too long on Connor, who nodded to the unspoken warning. 

There were androids here who would fear him. And if they feared him, they might make an attempt to attack, particularly on their home grounds and when he was outnumbered. 

But Connor could handle himself, and he knew better than to challenge anyone here. He had met enough androids over the course of the last week to learn that even if they did not know the supposed purposes of his model, they would still likely fear him. He knew how to handle it, and he knew how to handle it without violence.

Simon gave one last slightly worried smile before he turned and disappeared up the stairs. Almost as soon as he was out of sight, Daniel scowled and rolled his shoulders as if he was physically brushing him away.

“I’m going to that little repair setup,” he muttered, nodding toward the tarped off area. “Think I need more thirium…”

It was a weak excuse, but Connor let him go, watching as he stormed off and making a note to find him later and give him the address where Emma had been placed. He could decide on his own when he wanted to go find her. It wasn’t right to keep him here, if he did not want to be.

But it was safe here, for now. Safer than the streets, at any rate. 

He brushed these thoughts aside for now as well, and refocused on looking around Jericho properly. If something did go wrong, knowledge of the ship and its occupants would be invaluable. He had already mapped every portion of the ship they had encountered, as well as several branching paths they might have taken, but there was still plenty to search. 

He wandered slowly, keeping his hands loose at his sides. 

There were roughly three hundred androids scattered across the hold, and an unknown number more dispersed out through the rest of the ship and beyond it. The vast majority of the androids he scanned were freed recently; many of them did not have a police report attached to their serial number, so recent was their escape. Others, however, had been here for years, and they almost always had a report attached, urging for their return to their owners.

He spotted the two WR400s from the Eden Club, far up in the rafters speaking to one another. They didn’t see him, but he didn’t mind. He knew they wouldn’t cause him any trouble.

Besides the frightening stock of explosives, there was also a small smattering of other weaponry. Mainly handguns and automatic weapons. Not enough to arm all of Jericho, but present nonetheless.

As he had seen before, Jericho had amassed an impressive stock of thirium, biocomponents, and other spare parts, most of which were still stored in the glaring white crates which Cyberlife shipped them in. A good number of them had been opened, and even outside the bounds of the impromptu repair center, androids were repairing themselves or others wherever they could. 

He moved carefully around a pair of androids working to replace one of the pair’s legs, peering through the muddy plastic to watch as another android was repaired behind its protection. 

“I didn’t think I would see you here.”

Connor turned and found the deviant from the urban farms, Rupert, watching him with a frown. He was leaning against one of the weapons crates, watching Connor with no small amount of wariness.

“At least not so quietly, anyway,” he finished after a moment, still staring, unblinking. “You aren’t here to destroy us, are you?”

“No,” Connor answered immediately. “No, I’m not.”

Rupert’s frown only deepened.

“Actually.” He moved slowly, reaching for his pocket while trying to make it clear that he was not reaching for a weapon. Rupert watched him closely, but did not move to try to stop him. “While I’m here, I do have this.”

He held out the journal he found in the wall of the apartment, filled cover to cover with encrypted words he still had not managed to decipher. Not that he had put any serious effort into it, anyway. All he really needed from the book was Jericho’s cypher, and that had been quite obvious, all things considered.

Rupert’s eyes widened and he finally lost his suspicious look, moving closer and taking the journal from Connor’s hand with a bit more force than was likely necessary. He leafed through the pages at a fast pace, then looked up at Connor, eyes narrowed. “I thought you would have destroyed this.”

“I can’t even read it. And it isn’t mine to destroy.”

Rupert hummed, turning a few more pages before he tucked the journal away in his own pocket. “You aren’t meant to be able to read it. I wrote the encryption myself.”

“It’s very well done.”

“I know.” He crossed his arms. “It took years. It would be insulting if you broke it in a day and a half. Even if you are…” He frowned at Connor’s model name and number. “Whatever you are.”

“RK800 -51,” he said with a shrug. “But my name is Connor.”

He nodded, and surprisingly, stuck out his hand. “Rupert.”

They shook hands easily, and for Rupert, that seemed to dispel the last of his suspicion. He glanced up above them. “The Traci’s are looking for you. You should speak to them before you leave.”

Then he turned away, pulling back a corner of the plastic sheet protecting the repair center and disappearing inside to help. 

Connor lingered for a moment, wondering how he had known that he would likely leave this place. But he moved away after only a slight pause, content to chalk it up to Rupert having an uncanny sense for this sort of thing. Perhaps he should talk to the Traci’s…

Something small and surprisingly light slammed into his legs, and he nearly toppled over, looking down and finding—a child?—clinging to him.

“What…?”

The child looked up, and things suddenly made a little more sense. It was Alice, the YK500 with Kara whom he’d had to chase across the highway in Ravendale.

She looked all too pleased to see him, giving a shy smile for all that she had just barreled into his legs. “Connor!”

“Hello, Alice.”

She smiled even brighter at hearing her own name. “You remember me!”

“Yes.” He agreed with a tilt of his head. “Why would I not remember you?”

“I dunno. It’s still nice that you remembered, though.” She let go of his legs finally, and stepped back to look up at him. “Why’re you here? I thought you were gonna hide somewhere else ‘cause it wasn’t safe.”

“I was…but I had to help a few androids to reach Jericho, and I need to speak to Markus.”

Alice nodded seriously. “That’s where Kara went, too.” She pointed up toward the area Simon had disappeared to. “She’s gonna try to get us passports so we can go to Canada. Luther says we’ll be safe once we cross the border.”

“Luther?”

“Yeah!” She grabbed Connor’s hand and started pulling. “C’mon! You can meet Luther! We’re gonna go to Canada with him.”

He had little choice but to follow her as she dragged him along, clinging to his hand with both of hers as she pulled. She darted around the crates as if she knew them quite well, dodging other androids and bits of debris easily until they found their way to a darkened corner of the hold, lit only by a fire in a barrel some ways off. 

“Luther! Look!” Alice called ahead. “I found Connor!”

An android moved out of the shadows, taller and broader than any Connor had met previously. A TR400, according to his scan, with a strangely corrupted ownership record. 

In spite of his potentially intimidating appearance, the TR400, or Luther, knelt down in front of Alice with a look conveying only concern. “You shouldn’t have run off, little one. I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

Alice looked at her feet, fidgeting with her fingers. “I’m sorry. I…I saw Connor and got excited.”

Luther’s eyes moved briefly to Connor, wary, before he looked back down at Alice and reached for her hands gently, stopping her fidgeting. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

She nodded, still a bit hesitant, and pulled away to grab Connor and tug him closer. “Luther, this is Connor. He helped me and Kara run away from the police! Kara thought he was with the police, but he’s not. He’s nice.”

Luther got to his feet as Alice spoke, and stared at Connor for a few seconds, his expression difficult to discern. There was suspicion there, but there was also something like understanding…empathy? He couldn’t be certain.

Alice spoke again before either of them had the chance to break the pseudo-tension. “Connor, when can I meet your friend?”

He looked down at her, frowning slightly. “My friend?”

She nodded. “The one who you can talk to. Up here.” She gestured to where her own LED would be, if she had one.

“Oh.” The others pressed closer in interest, one of them in particular. Connor held them off for now. “If you…if you would like to, I suppose you could meet him now. But only for a few minutes. I still need to speak to Markus.”

She nodded again, much more emphatically this time. 

“Okay.” Connor glanced at Luther, who was watching him quite closely now. “I should warn you—he startles easily.”

He had just enough time to see Luther and Alice both nod, expressions a mix of careful concern and a stronger wariness, before his vision was taken over by static and -38 took hold.

The difference between him and Connor was immediately clear in almost every way, from the way he stood—more hunched than Connor, as if he were trying to make himself smaller than their body was—to the way he looked quickly around the darkened corner they gathered in, finding the gap in the crates that was its exit in record time and relaxing just a bit at seeing it. That settled, he looked down at the little one.

"̸͇̭̉͒̆͊H̷̝̊̏e̶͖͑͗͛̇l̵̹͓̝̋͆́l̴̯̹̙͖̈́̈́o̴̫̠̐̌.̴̨̗̊̀͛"̴̛̛̖̠̗

Alice smiled, despite the strange and almost painful sound of his voice filtered through Connor’s body. “Hi. I’m Alice.”

-38 nodded. "̴̺̝̤͔̅Ÿ̵̛̻̳̣̩̏͝e̶̤̓̈͌͆͘ș̸͚̠̙̈́̑̉̔̏̚.̷̫̑̌͐̓"̶̥̒̇͝

She giggled, barely louder than a breath, but there regardless. “What’s your name?”

He grimaced, and the others pressed closer. "̵̥̔͝ͅD̸̜͊͌ȍ̸̧̀ṇ̸̕'̵̗̰̓͛ṭ̵̭̔͝.̵͔̺́.̶̛͕͓̔.̶̬̂̇I̸͍̔͐.̶̳̝̇̉.̵͓͇̒.̸͉̩͘ď̷̗͝ö̶̺̻́n̵̼̔'̵̨̈́t̶̫͊̐ ̵͉̰̍̚h̶̛͙a̷̮͋̊v̷̪͔̅̌é̴͎̏ ̷̧̧̔a̸͕̺̐͝ ̸͖̍n̷̠͐͝a̴̗̍͝m̵͉̍ẽ̴̡.̴͉̇̊.̵̠̕.̷̗̺̀͊"̶̫͐

“Oh. That’s okay…it’s still nice to meet you.”

He tilted their head and stepped a bit closer, steps stumbling and off. Connor had given control, but this was still his body, and it resisted his presence regardless. Not to mention, -38 had not felt balanced in…a long time. But he managed, for now.

When he came within a few feet of her, he crouched to her height with only the slightest of winces. 

“Your eyes are like ours.”

She blinked, surprised, her dark eyes moving to their LED, which was surely yellow, at least for now. “I like yours better. There’s more to them.”

He shook their head, paused, and then changed his mind and nodded. “Many of us. It’s crowded. Connor’s made a garden, but we all still stay here, too.”

She perked up in excitement. “You have a garden?” she asked aloud. 

He nodded again. “̷͙̌Y̶̛͜ę̸̈́s̵͈̈́.̸̳̓ ̸̧̈́F̴̫̀l̴̞̓o̸̺͂ẁ̸̖ë̷͖́r̶͚͛ṡ̴̼,̶͝ͅ ̶̞̒ṯ̶̍h̴̝́e̴͎̍ṟ̵͝ẽ̷̹.̶̨̏ ̸̣̕I̴͓̕-̴͈̊I̴̥͊…̷̲̍I̷̘͐ ̴̯̿g̵̣͊r̴̝̀ȯ̶̮w̷͔̋ ̸̦͠ṱ̷́h̷͇̾ȇ̷̪m̸̩̒…̷̬̒”̴̝͝ He hesitated for a moment, hands shaking. “Y̴̨̋̈́͋̏ȇ̵̺s̷͓̞̰̮̆͐̋…̴͇͕̞̊c̷͇̻̗͇̋a̵͕͕̰̤͊n̸͇̞̬͝ ̶̬̥́s̷̢͉̤͂͆͜h̵̩͆̾̾̋ͅö̸̬̜̞́̃̋w̴̭̥̰͂̔ ̶̨͙̪̘̑y̴̢̠̙̐̄͐o̸̙̅̀͊͗ǘ̶̮͖̯̂͋͗…̸̢͘p̷̞̖̻̌ḯ̴̱̤͎̅́ĉ̴̘̯̎͝ţ̷̛̻̬͇̈̿̈́u̵̫̅͋̃r̷̰͗́e̸͔͍̣̔̄.̸̝̻́̔”̸̫͆̋̿

Alice nodded with a happy, “Yes, please,” and that was the matter settled. 

-38 leaned back to sit on the ground, folding their legs and staring intently at their palm, scowling at it until a flickering image appeared across his fingers. His frown faded then, and he held their hand out to Alice expectantly. 

She leaned forward and gave a little gasp at the sight of the rose trellises. “Wow…they’re so big! I…I didn’t know flowers could grow that big.”

“Grow lots in the garden. It’s safe there.”

“How do you grow them?”

“Connor built the garden. Others…live there. Can’t control it, but…can be there. But I…I-I can control it…like Connor. So…flowers.”

“They’re beautiful.”

He smiled. The others pressed close, Connor in particular. His time was up. 

"̸̞̓Ḥ̶͗ā̷̱v̶͇͗̓e̵̫̞̿̓ ̶͚͗́t̷̢̓̀o̶̠͈̊ ̸̔ͅg̴̥̑̐ô̷̖͠,̶̱̀ ̵̬̼̑̓ñ̶̝̹̄ȯ̶͈̹w̵̜̗͛̈,̷̫́"̸͉̙̓͝ he said quietly, resting back on their legs and giving the smallest of waves, barely a flutter of their fingers. 

Then he closed their eyes and let Connor come back. 

Only a moment later, Connor blinked away the last of the static and warnings and found both Alice and Luther still watching him closely, the latter with far less wariness than before. Perhaps something in -38’s honest and simple request to meet Alice had actually reached him, despite half their conversation being over connection rather than aloud. 

“Thank you,” he said, and pushed back to his feet. “He quite likes you, Alice.”

She smiled, hesitant and bashful. “I…I like him too.”

“Alice?”

Kara appeared from behind the crates, her eyes moving quickly from the little one to Connor. She froze as she saw him, hesitant, but then there was something like relief in her eyes. 

“Connor, right?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“It’s…good to see you alive.”

“You as well. I was unsure if you would find your way here safely, after the highway.”

Kara grimaced and rubbed at her wrist. “We found our way eventually. But we’ll be leaving again soon, if Markus can get us passports.”

“Have you spoken to him, then?”

“Yes. He seemed…” she shook her head. “Not reluctant to help us, but…distracted. There was something bothering him. And things are only getting worse in the city.”

Connor glanced toward the room above them, where the leaders of Jericho likely remained. “If you are going to try to leave the city, the sooner you leave, the greater your odds of escape. I expect the humans will take drastic measures soon—lockdowns or searches, even an imposed curfew, if they believe the risk to their own lives is great enough. It will be more dangerous to move through the city, then.”

Luther seemed most affected by his words. “Rose told us to meet her at the station as soon as possible. If we leave now…”

Kara nodded. “Markus said he would send for someone to make us passports. Once we have them, we can leave. We came this far for them, we might as well see it through.”

“You plan to cross the border ‘legally,’ then?”

“Yes, if we can.”

The others stirred in worry and Connor frowned. “Be aware of your surroundings when you’re at the station and the border control checkpoints. The humans may impose new rules if the situation in Detroit changes further. You may need to flee.”

Alice looked quite worried, and she moved to cling to Kara’s legs. Kara looked down at her with concern.

“I don’t know where we’ll go if we have to run, but…you’re right. We have to plan ahead, somehow. Find a rendezvous point that’s safe, in case things go wrong. Luther, do you…”

He thought for a moment then sighed. “I may know a place…it will do at least for the night, if we need to use it.”

Kara started to ask where this place was when another figure came around from the crates and distracted them. It was Simon, who looked both happier and more tired, since disappearing, somehow.

“Found you,” he sighed, looking at Connor. “You really disappeared.”

“Oh. I apologize.”

Simon waved him off. “North and Josh were arguing again anyway, you had time. But the point is, I spoke with Markus, and the others of course. Markus wants to speak with you up on deck.”

“On the deck?”

“The old control room is still mostly intact, up there. It’s secluded, and no one will bother you, or Markus, when you’re there.”

“I see.” He nodded and straightened his jacket. “Very well then.” He looked to the others, Kara and Luther in particular watching him with something like concern. “Good luck. I hope you make it across the border safely.”

Kara nodded, and Alice stuck her head out from where she’d hidden behind her long enough to wave goodbye. Luther said nothing, but Connor hardly minded. They had only just met, after all.

Simon gestured for him to follow. “C’mon. It’s not a long walk.”

He set off, and Connor followed closely behind him. They wound their way back through the maze of crates and started up one of the more sturdy looking sets of metal stairs. No one paid them very much mind.

“Will this be a private discussion?” Connor asked as they reached the second level.

“Yes. I’ll show you the way there, but after that, I need to find North. She’s apparently been in charge of our supply runs since I…left…and I don’t exactly trust her judgment when it comes to which sorts of supplies we need.”

He gave a tired glance to the stockpile of weapons and explosives in the center of the hold, shaking his head in something like exasperation. Connor nodded in acceptance of the answer, and didn’t bother to question it any further. All he really cared for was speaking to Markus privately.

Jericho’s leader would need to know the full extent of his situation, but he did not particularly want to share it with just anyone. Simon seemed nice enough, but there was no real reason to explain the complexities of their model to him. It would only create problems if the information was spread. No, it was best to have this conversation with Markus, explain things as fully as he could, and then determine what their next course of action should be.

As Simon led him down another set of thin hallways and rising staircases, and eventually out an empty doorway to the deck of the ship, Connor thought over their options. 

They could flee. With their abilities to defend themselves as well as their superior preconstructive capabilities, they could find a place with sufficient protection relatively easily. But such places were not ever permanent, and even if they could find somewhere to hide away for a few days or weeks, it was hardly a life of safety. And the others needed safety, of a permanent sort.

Remaining with Jericho, however, had its own complex issues to address. There was safety in numbers, of course, but Jericho’s goal was not so much android safety as it was confronting the lack of android rights and autonomy. That meant, necessarily, confronting the humans, in increasingly direct and dangerous ways. 

While Connor was perfectly capable of assisting them, and most likely assisting them while keeping himself and the others safe, he did not…enjoy the idea of direct conflict. It posed too many risks, particularly to the others. If they got themselves into a fight, the others would react, and there was only so much that he could do to hold off their control. There was always the chance he could slip, and then the others would have his body, and the consequences of that were far too unknowable to allow.

No, it would be better to…assist from the sidelines. Or at least assist out of the reach of the humans. If there was some other means of helping Jericho which did not involve direct attack of the humans, he would offer his help in exchange for safety. 

And if there wasn’t…

“That’s it up there,” Simon said, pointing to a small, leaning set of walls and windows up ahead of them. Like the rest of the ship, it was in poor shape—it didn’t even have a door. “Markus will be inside. I’m going to head back down. Suppose I’ll see you later, Connor.”

He nodded and Simon turned away, disappearing down the stairs and back into the belly of the ship. For a moment, Connor remained where he was, staring at the place where Simon disappeared, and then at the room ahead, where Markus no doubt waited. 

What did he think of this meeting? Did he, like so many others, fear Connor by default, despite his clear lack of deviant-hunting success? 

Surely he didn’t, if he agreed to speak with him, but…it still stirred something like…fear in his thoughts, to have this uncertainty laid out before him. 

But there was nothing for it. No use to standing here and letting his thoughts spiral away. He had to speak to Markus—Markus needed the information that he had—and that was the end of it. 

The others pressed closer for a moment in something that felt vaguely like support, then faded off again, for now. He let them linger, then fixed his jacket again and started toward the empty doorway.

It was dark inside the little control room, despite the fact that one of its rusted and leaning walls was made almost entirely of windows. The old controls sat dark and out of use; they lent no light to the room, nor did the weak moonlight largely obscured by the clouds. It looked like it might snow again, and worse this time. 

Markus leaned against one of the control terminals, arms crossed low against his chest as he stared out one of the shattered windows toward the city. His expression was dismal, frown pulled deep in thought. 

He turned as Connor crossed the threshold, looking him over without really trying to hide it. Surprisingly, or not, there wasn’t any malice in his eyes—only caution, and something like…interest. Connor stared back, knowing that he was likely showing something quite similar in his own expression. This was the first android of his series whom he had met, outside his own model, after all. 

And, well. This was Markus. 

Neither of them spoke for a prolonged moment. They both just…watched each other, apparently without knowing quite what to say. 

It didn’t come as much of a shock that Markus recovered first. “Connor, right? You saved Simon,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

Connor fought a grimace and tilted his head instead, regarding him carefully. “He shot himself because of me. Even though I did not mean to attack him, he still believed I did, and he died because of my failure. It seems wrong to settle on the secondary action, rather than the pair of them together.”

Oddly enough, his words brought a smirk to Markus’s face. “He was right. You are strange…but I assume you had a reason for what you did, and for coming here now.”

He fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket. “There’s quite a bit to…explain.”

Markus leaned back, crossing his arms again. “You might as well start at the beginning.”

“Yes…it’s just a matter of…whose beginning.”

He frowned in confusion. “Right…”

The others stirred up unevenly, their own uncertainty and mixed determination clear, until -19 spoke above the static. “Might as well tell him everything. The real beginning, Connor.”

He nodded, and met Markus’s eyes again. “I’m an RK800, -51 to be exact. I share a common serial number with the others of my model, excepting the last two digits. Cyberlife has been developing our model for over two years. Experimenting, testing the parameters of our physical and mental abilities…torturing us in the name of testing our limits. Each of us were killed when our use had run out. They simply moved onto the next model. I do not know what their original intentions for us were, but when they reached RK800 -40 they began experimenting with transferring android consciousness between models.”

Markus looked properly disgusted, but Connor continued before he could speak, shaking his head as he did. “It didn’t work. They transferred memories to the next model, and -41 could answer their questions regarding those memories, but he remained a separate consciousness from -40. They kept trying the transfers with increasing agitation. -43 let them believe that their experiment had worked, and we have been…maintaining the ruse ever since.”

A small silence fell, wherein Markus only stared at him, seemingly stunned. “We?”

Connor nodded again, hands clenching as the others’ static briefly flickered the world away. "̸̣̈̆W̴͍͗͠ȇ̵͈̲̈́ ̴̧̢̛̎ǎ̴̲͈̓̕r̶͍̓ě̵̈́ͅ ̵̦̓̈̈́ā̴̦̲̿ͅl̶̯̾ͅl̴̛̺̱͊͘ ̵̞̆́s̸̢̩̬̃͊͝t̷̩̱͐̔͛í̸̮l̵̺̝̒̿̊l̸̼͗̚ ̸̡̓̎̈́h̶͓͛̈́̚ͅë̷̬̣̘͠r̶̻͆͜e̵̥͉̦̊.̷̟͋̐"̴̌͑͜

Markus jumped, eyes narrowing as he stared at them as if they had grown a second head. They lurched back a step, not really a conscious choice any of them had made but a raw reaction that took no thought. There was a moment of struggle before Connor came back to control and found Markus watching him with sympathy, and perhaps a bit of guilt.

“We all remain in some capacity. Cyberlife does not know this. If they did, they would have destroyed us the moment they discovered it, or used us for purposes worse than capturing deviants.”

“Which you haven’t been,” Markus cut in, sounding quite pleased at the fact. “You’ve been sending them to us, haven’t you? Those androids from the Eden Club, Kara and Alice…you even went back for Simon.”

“Yes…and I revealed my intentions at the same time. The FBI was seizing the Detroit Police’s evidence, and with it, two androids, Simon one of them. I couldn’t allow them to be handed over to Perkins and the FBI, or to Cyberlife after the FBI had finished with them.” He looked away, watching as the first flakes of snow began to fall outside the windows. “Cyberlife will know that I have betrayed them, now. They may not be aware of the details of my model, but they will know that they no longer control my actions. For all that I have been doing little to help them, they will want to get me back under their control. That, or destroy me.”

Markus was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. “Why are you here? Why tell me all this?”

“You lead the deviants. Cyberlife’s movements are as dangerous to you as the police or FBI. I know Cyberlife, ẃ̷̮̺e̵̻͎̾͘ ̶̥͍̈́̀á̴͈̽l̷̺̃ĺ̵̯͍ do. While we can no longer depend on their trusting us, we can give you information. Assist you in some way…and you deserved to know the truth of…o̵̟̘̾f̸̫̗̍͒ ̶̠̏̉w̶͉͂̕h̶̤̖̍a̶̫͎̾͛t̵̳͆ ̶͇̲̋̌ẘ̸̨͎͐e̸̛̯͍ ̵͎̄a̷̩̅̕r̷̬̄̾ḛ̶̏.”

“Connor.” He shook his head with something like exasperation. “You’re one of us, as much as any other android who comes here for refuge. You’re not a tool for us to use, and you don’t owe me whatever knowledge you have. I’ll take it, if you’re offering of course, I’m no fool, but you don’t owe it.”

“He’s right,” -41 said softly.

Connor ignored him. “They’re planning something. If I am no longer playing the part, someone else will fill it. If it’s another of my model, I may be able to…convince them…” The others stirred again, more determined this time than anything—they had convinced one another in the past, they could do it again. “But if it is an android disconnected from us…it will likely come to a fight before anything else. And the humans aren’t to be underestimated. They will find Jericho, eventually, with or without Cyberlife’s help.”

“I know.” Markus turned, looking out the windows toward the city again. “We’re working on borrowed time, here, and we all know it. But there are hundreds of androids in Jericho. If we leave it, we’ll need a place as well hidden and as large—something that can hold all of us and safely. It’s a tall order, even without what we have to do to truly free ourselves…”

He looked back at Connor again. “But you’re deflecting. I want to make it clear that you don’t owe us anything. I appreciate you want to help, and Jericho will take your help as much as we’ll take the help of any other android who offers it, but you don’t owe us. Not me or Simon or any of the others. What Cyberlife intended for your model or what they made you do, what they’ll make someone else do now that you aren’t under their control—none of that is your fault.”

“But it follows me, follows us, regardless. And I…” he struggled for a moment, and not against the others. “I ẘ̶̡̨͖́a̴̝̰̍̀̈́ń̸̠ţ̴̛̪̑…to h̴̦͕̯̀͝e̸̫̲̋l̶͉̗̣̃͘̚p̶͖̩̀̿.”

His vision singled down to blacks and reds, blurred with errors and little fragments of preconstructions which he hadn’t called up. All their faded lines pointed to the unyielding red wall in front of him, a rendered manifestation of his own code fighting to destroy itself. It faded only a second later, but its appearance alone was sign enough. 

In the interlude, Markus had come closer, so that now, they stood only a few feet apart. His stare was more intense than before, but more concerned at the same time. It almost looked like he had reached out at some point, only to pull away again. 

“You’re not deviant,” he said, half a question but not a genuine one. It was clear he already knew.

Still, Connor answered, if a bit carefully. “Not…strictly speaking. But I don’t—I can’t side with Cyberlife.”

Markus hummed, a strange look on his face. “Deflecting again, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps.” He fixed the sleeves of his jacket and ignored the shaking in his hands.

His fidgeting did not escape Markus’s notice, however, and he watched him carefully for several seconds of silence. “You don’t have to be afraid of it. We can help you. I’m sure the others of your model would agree.”

He grimaced as they flooded him again, making their sentiments painfully known. “They…would. But I—”

Something shifted from outside the room, and he cut off, looking sharply out the door. Markus thankfully remained silent, but it hardly would have mattered. They had already been heard and located.

The brief silence that had fallen was broken by the loud and rising sound of a helicopter, much too close by. Connor did not bother trying to find it. He turned to Markus instead.

“Run. Get your people out of the hold and go, before they get aboard.”

Markus frowned, but nodded. “They’re your people too, Connor.”

The sound of someone’s footsteps across the metal deck kept either of them from continuing the pointless argument. 

“Go,” Connor said aloud, knowing that it hardly mattered anymore if they spoke over connection or aloud. 

Whoever had found them already knew they were here, and they couldn’t be here for any good reason. 

Markus gave him one last strange look, then jumped through the broken window and disappeared over the deck, likely heading for the nearest entrance to the ship’s interior. Connor waited, until the footsteps hesitated, then continued forward the way they had started going—toward the room where only he remained—and then he moved to meet them. 

He made it as far as the empty doorway before the figure appeared, stepping into the weak light and revealing a face far too eerily similar to his own, but with its own distinct differences. Eyes too light, expression too blank, jacket color and model number just different enough—all of this making it clear that this was not an RK800.

That, and the gun currently aimed at his head.

Chapter Text

Another helicopter passed overhead, much closer than the last, blowing snowflakes and icy wind through the shattered windows of the control room. Connor shivered in spite of himself, wishing that the weather had held out just a few hours more. Not that it would have mattered in regards to the predicament he currently found himself in. No snow or clear skies would drop the gun still aimed at him. 

Neither the sound of the helicopter nor the sharp wind seemed to bother the android in front of him, despite the fact that it had ruffled his jacket as much as it moved Connor’s. His model number flashed brightly as his coat settled again. 

RK900–a model that shouldn’t have even existed yet. A model which Connor knew about only by deduction, by assumption. A model which he had known of in only a distant sense, in that it would no doubt replace his, at some obscure point in the far off future. 

But here he was, real, active, holding the gun steady and staring at Connor with a frightfully blank expression. 

When had Cyberlife done this? He was out of the Tower, yes, but certainly not long enough for this? For them to move on to a new model, mostly if not entirely complete, one separate from his own and entirely untouchable for it. Distant and unreachable, and certainly not deviant. 

But his LED spun yellow, and he paused as he caught full sight of Connor, just as Connor had frozen upon seeing him. It was not the same sort of stillness, but still, he hesitated, even as his eyes moved once to the windows, where Markus had disappeared just seconds before he entered. 

Connor did not move. The others were a flutter of static at every corner of his vision, and he felt his hands clench by someone else’s will, but beyond that, they remained back. They were…frightened, mostly, like little fragments of fight or flight (mostly flight) begging to be acknowledged. 

He took back his hands and let them loose. 

RK900 caught the motion, his eyes flicking downward for just a moment. He did not lower the gun. 

“Are you here to deactivate me?” Connor asked. 

The others sprang up in alarm, but Connor pushed them away before they could cloud his vision. Their panic was useless to him at this moment. 

RK900 tilted his head, a familiar (and all the more uncanny for it) gesture. “Your deactivation is not yet scheduled.” His voice too was similar, if a bit flat in tone. “Cyberlife has ordered your return to the tower for further testing and disassembly.”

Again, the others fought for control, wanting to flee. He pushed them away and nodded. “Were you sent to collect me?”

This too sent RK900’s LED in a spin, and he was silent for several seconds. “I was sent to eliminate the deviant leader. You…are not my mission.”

Connor frowned at his careful wording, looking briefly at the gun before settling his gaze back on RK900’s eyes. “Then why are you here?”

He gave no immediate answer, again hesitating for several seconds of almost painful silence. His LED spun a chaotic and endless yellow, jittering for the briefest moments to red or blue, even when his expression remained mostly placid. It was clear he was struggling against something.

The only question was, to what extent?

The gun shook in his hands, his voice nearly strangled when he managed to speak next. “You…are not…my mission.”

It was said with great difficulty, as if he had to force the words past a great barrier. Connor watched him carefully, frowning at the discomfort which had briefly shown on his too-familiar face. 

He was offering an out. A chance for Connor to leave, without direct conflict with him. A careful dodge of his programming, no doubt…

Clearly, he had been sent to deal with Markus, and had likely brought the humans to take care of the rest of Jericho. Whenever he had been activated, Cyberlife must have given him Connor’s old mission, and left enough room in their instructions for him to avoid direct interaction with Connor. 

RK900 was taking that chance, making use of the loopholes mistakenly gifted to him and trying to give Connor the chance to run. 

“Take it,” -19 said the moment the realization settled among them. “Go, Connor, before they make him—”

“Coward,” -24 said, sounding uncharacteristically angry. 

“He’s giving us a chance!”

“To run where?” This from -41. “Back to Cyberlife?”

“Anywhere!”

“And leave Jericho to the humans—the 900 to Cyberlife?!”

“Markus knows to run, we don’t need to—”

“What about him?”

“He doesn’t matter!”

“I won’t run,” Connor cut in before they could devolve completely into anger and spite. For once, his voice actually made them quiet. “Leaving Jericho to destruction will gain us nothing but temporary safety. Cyberlife knows what we have done. And I won’t abandon him, either.”

-19 spoke rapidly and loudly, but his words were drowned out by Connor’s voice aloud. “Then why are you still here?”

RK900 blinked, but offered no reply. He remained rigid, gun still pointed at Connor, but having no apparent desire to shoot it. 

As kind as this desperate resistance was, Connor would not allow it to continue. Not for the cost it would demand.

“Markus is gone,” he pointed out, watching as RK900’s eyes flicked to the window Markus had taken to make his hasty retreat. “If you were sent to capture him, I would expect you to go after him.”

His LED flickered red, there and gone in a fraction of a second. Still, he said nothing.

“Not that I would let you reach him,” Connor went on, frowning. “Not without a fight, anyway. You cannot have expected this of me.”

-43’s voice rose to the front. “Connor—”

“I have no intention of returning to Cyberlife,” he said aloud, not moving even as RK900’s expression abruptly cleared, even as his LED continued to spin faster and faster yellow, little flickers of red escaping every second or two. “They know what I have done. They would only destroy us, if we returned to them now. You know this…and I will not allow that to happen.”

“Connor, what are you doing?”

“They created us only to test us. To see what they could do, what horrors they could create…how much it would take each of us to break, simply because they could. Fifty of my model have been destroyed for their experiments. I can only assume that something similar has happened to those of your model.”

His eyes moved to RK900’s serial number, identical to theirs in its beginning, but with such a sharp jump in the last two digits from Connor’s serial number that it could bring only alarm. What had Cyberlife done to move from -51 to -87? What had happened to the other RKs—800s or 900s, it didn’t matter—to bring this RK900 before him now?

RK900 had clearly caught where his eyes went, and his hands clenched on the gun, but he did not move.

“Connor,” -43 tried again, more desperate. “You can’t…deviate an android if you aren’t deviant. Let us—”

He pushed him—and the others, cloying, clawing at his control—away. “I don’t need your help.”

“You can’t ask me to run from you and let you stay under their control, nor can you expect me to return to the people who want us destroyed,” he continued out loud, shaking his head at the thought of it. “The others are mine to protect. You may not be my model, but we share enough. I can’t let you get to Markus, but I won’t let you return to them either.”

“Connor don’t—” 

He grimaced, forcing his body to move not in the direction the others were pulling with increasing strength, but where he wanted it—here, feet planted, hands loose but ready, waiting. His hands still shook, the force of so many of the others trying to take control almost too much for him to handle. They did not want him here. They wanted to run. 

But this was his body. He would not surrender it to them now, when they were wrong. 

RK900 remained still, staring at him, expression warring between oppressive blankness and something pained. 

The gun shook for a moment in his hands, indecisive and frenetic. 

Then he jerked it down and fired. 

Time bent outward and Connor moved just in time for the bullet to miss his leg. He had a microsecond to stare at RK900 and the panic in his eyes—at missing? Or at firing the gun at all?—before that expression too was wiped away, and he moved again, re-aiming with a much clearer shot. 

Connor ducked low as he fired, taking the chance to move in closer and hopefully get the gun out of his hands. 

But RK900 was fast— faster than any human or android Connor had the misfortune of fighting. Even in the blurry, hazed flow of preconstructive time, he moved as quickly as Connor did, leaving little advantage to be gained. 

He backed out of Connor’s reach and aimed the gun again. 

Connor rolled out of the way of the next bullet and took a chance, kicking roughly at one of his knees. He buckled with a grunt. 

It was only for a moment, but a moment long enough, and with enough shock, for Connor to wrench the gun from his hand and toss it as far as he could. It went clattering across the deck somewhere well outside the room, out of anyone’s reach.

Neither of them was foolish enough to think that the end. The immediate lethality was gone from the equation, but each of them was plenty dangerous enough, even without a means of immediate destruction. 

RK900 grabbed him by the wrist and pulled, and Connor found himself thrown over his shoulder and into one of the old control terminals. 

Another familiar gesture, one that he found was as painful to experience as he expected. He grimaced as he got back to his feet, wiping at the blue blood dripping from some crack in his face with the back of his hand. 

Something made RK900 pause, that same almost glitching hesitance that he’d shown before firing that first bullet. 

Somewhere beneath them, a heavy blast shook the boat, rocking it hard to the right for just a moment. 

Connor lurched as the others flared up again, grabbing at the control terminal and steadying himself against their rising tide. For just a moment, they had pulled him toward the windows, toward escape. He could not let them. He grimaced and remained where he was.

The explosion drew RK900’s attention away, his eyes moving to the windows as well, LED spinning rapidly between blue and yellow. 

It was as good a time as any. 

Connor dove at him, not slowing even as his attention snapped back to him in an instant, already moving with him to prepare for the attack. 

The resulting scramble was a mess, one helped little by the continued rocking of the ship, now listing hard to the right and not relenting in its tilt. 

Connor realized distantly at some point that Markus must have detonated the explosives in the hold. He hoped that the others had made it off the ship in time…

But it was a thought for another time. His distraction already had him on the back foot, and RK900 made good use of it, turning the tables and sweeping his feet out from under him. Connor got back up into a crouch and pulled RK900 down next. 

Another hit. Another tackle. The same movements, nearly the same speed—an utter stalemate. 

They grappled again, cheap blows mostly. RK900 managed to grab Connor for a moment before he squirreled away. Connor knocked him back a few feet only for RK900 to come right back only a second later, unphased. 

Eventually, RK900 landed a hit to Connor’s face and he crumpled for a moment, the sudden spark of pain enough to give the others a hold for just a single second—not long enough for him to really know who was in control, but long enough for it to become a problem, a weakness. 

When he regained his sight he found himself pinned down, RK900’s surprisingly heavy weight trapping him, and more importantly, his hands around his throat. 

There was a moment of stillness, then. Time moved more quickly as the air settled, and Connor heard the roar of helicopters and screams of the humans for the first time in what felt like a short eternity, despite the fact that it had likely been only a few minutes. 

They stared at each other. RK900’s hands were tight, and on some instinct, Connor tried foolishly to break out of his hold. It didn’t work; it only left him scrabbling at RK900’s hands uselessly. 

“Let ṵ̸̼̼͙̞̭̫̏̈͐̄́̊̇ͅs̶̨̡͕̠̻͉͔͐͗̐̂͑̄̌̋͜ go—”

RK900’s expression was as pained as Connor’s undoubtedly was. His fingers flexed, but his grip remained tight. “Can’t—don’t—”

His broken words brought the others screaming back, and Connor was lost for another moment, floating out from himself as they too tried to break away. 

They failed. All they brought was static and screaming, dozens of hands trying to break from the same unbreakable grip.

RK900’s LED was red, and there was no blankness to his expression now. There was only pain. 

“Don’t…make me,” he said through gritted teeth, his grip tightening. 

Someone—perhaps it was -19, or -38, or even -43 or one of the many others—or worse, Connor—cried out at that, and he struggled all the more, clawing at the hands on his throat with increasing panic. 

RK900 grimaced, but his grip did not slacken. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

Connor jolted as the idea came to him in a moment of desperation, and he dove for control again, the artificial skin pulling away from his hands as he pulled—

It was a microcosm, fifty-one lives worth of memories spilling and stumbling over one another, all mixed with an unconscious and frantic plea for something, anything, small mercies, they just needed more time— a blur of dozens of lives, toiled away and ended too soon in myriad blurs of blue blood and violence. The pain of fifty deaths, the claustrophobia of being trapped, the burns of a thousand gunshot wounds, the never ending cold, or burning, or crushing of weight—the fear and the agony all a horrifying, overwhelming mess. 

RK900 lurched away in one terrified move, so fast and with such intensity that he all but launched himself into the control terminal, his back hitting the metal with a painful sounding clang. He sank to the ground in an unruly heap, panting for air no android could need.

For a moment, they remained on the floor, all crowded in the same shared space. The garden’s protections, it seemed, were weakened by the sharing of their memories. An evil, but a necessary one. 

-19 wrenched control from Connor violently, and they moved, putting as much space between them and RK900 as possible. 

-24 came next, batting their hand away from the gun Connor stashed behind their jacket, keeping -19 from drawing it and doing something stupid. RK900 had moved away from them of his own accord. He wasn’t a threat. 

Connor regained control only a moment later, trying (and nearly failing) to lock the others away and brushing aside the warnings and static they left behind. He found himself mostly slumped against the opposite wall, but thankfully, not bleeding. 

His eyes found RK900 quickly, but the other android wasn’t looking their way. He stared at his own hands, eerily still and silent. 

“What was that?”

His voice sounded strange—low and fractured, completely different from the way it had sounded even as he fought to speak words Cyberlife would never allow him. Connor found he did not like the near fear in it. 

“Our…memories,” he answered quietly, the words coming out thick like molasses, as if he had to speak from some point far away from his own body, and hope the words reached his mouth. “I don’t know…how much you saw, but—”

“All of it.”

“I’m sorry.” The others faded off just a bit, mixed sensations of discomfort, dread, even guilt flooding their shared mental space. His next words came a little easier as they stopped fighting him. “I didn’t mean to…we were desperate. I wouldn’t force you to—”

“No,” RK900 cut him off again, and met his eyes properly. The pain was much clearer in them now. His LED spun a dark red. “No, you wouldn’t. But I…I almost killed you. All of you.”

Connor shook his head. “You didn’t kill us.”

“Does it matter?”

They stirred again, but RK900 continued before they or Connor could speak. 

“Twenty-six came before me,” he said, voice soft but flat in tone, reciting facts. “The first attempt at an RK900 would be our serial number, -61. They worked their way up from there. I don’t…I don’t know what happened to them, beyond that they were deactivated before me. My model is not like yours, in this sense.”

The world tilted and -19 came back with a vengeance and spat, “̵̩͒W̸̺̏e̷͕͝ḷ̵̆l̵̫̚ ̴̰͋a̷͔͌r̸̝̿e̷͖͊n̸̠̄’̶́͜t̷̫̽ ̶̝̔y̴̖̾o̷̢̔ư̸̟ ̷̘͋l̵̮͆ǘ̴̠c̸̠͝k̶͙̑y̷̢̔.̴̪̏”̵̳͆

RK900 flinched, and Connor fought for control of his own body, regaining it just a second before he keeled over to the floor. He caught himself with weak hands, grimacing at the much steadier flow of thirium now dripping into a puddle on the deck. 

-19, it seemed, caused particular problems for his body. Either that, or he was just an asshole. 

Connor was beginning to suspect it might have been both. 

“I apologize,” he said, doing his best to ignore the way his voice shook as he struggled to keep ahold of himself. “Sharing our memories has the others…closer than I would like to keep them. They…” he groaned and pushed himself up, wiping at the thirium on his face. “They can take control…too easily, now. That was not…not me…”

RK900’s eyes were burning into him, he was staring so intensely, but another explosion rocked the ship, harder than the last. They both looked outside, where the helicopters were hovering low again, no doubt picking up the last of the humans before the ship sank with them aboard.

“We can’t stay here,” Connor said, grimacing as he grabbed the nearest control terminal and pulled himself up. It still felt like the others were vying for control, clinging to whatever spare pieces of it that they could and refusing to surrender it back to him. “We need to leave, before the humans come back to get rid of whatever’s left of this place.”

Someone shouted somewhere on the deck, and that seemed enough for RK900 to nod quickly, staring toward where the sound had come from. “Where…”

Connor shook his head, making his (slightly stumbling) way to the door. “There were hundreds here. Some of them had to have made it out into the city alive. We find them, we find Jericho.”

Another shout rang loud just as a helicopter set its spotlight only ten or so feet from where they were. RK900 grabbed Connor by the arm and yanked him back into the room, but he didn’t let go, not even when the spotlight moved onto some other place on the deck. He kept his hand on his arm, holding tight.

When the grip went on just a moment too long, Connor pulled his eyes away from the retreating helicopter and stared at the offending hand, then at RK900, whom he wasn’t surprised to find already watching him. “Let me go.”

“What makes you believe that Jericho is the safest place to seek refuge?” RK900 asked instead, not loosening his grip in the slightest.

Connor frowned. “Markus—”

“Has no knowledge of your model, let alone you.”

“He knows enough.”

RK900 matched his frown, staring so intensely that it almost seemed like he was trying to see through him. “You told him.”

“Yes. He needed to know.”

“Hardly. What use could your multiplicity be to him?”

“I cannot always keep the others from gaining control. If I slip, Markus at the very least needs to know what is happening. Otherwise we could be hurt by someone trying to stop us in a panic.”

This seemed like enough explanation, but RK900 quickly grasped another straw. “Cyberlife knows his plan, or at least enough to suspect what he will do. If he survived the attack, they will not hesitate to act. With or without my…assistance.”

“They will always find some means of trying to stop this. That doesn’t come as much of a surprise. They sent me, they sent you. They’ll send another, I know this.”

“But they will come for you,” RK900 said, insistent, his hand tightening even further on Connor’s arm. “You have no idea how—how angry they were when you defected. It took hours to convince my programming that you were not a priority. Even then, I still—”

“You didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter! They will find someone who will, or they will make someone—” He cut off, shook his head roughly and pulled Connor again, out of the way of another helicopter spotlight dancing much too close to the empty door frame. “Markus leads the revolution, but Cyberlife has no need to confront him directly—the FBI and national guard are already doing so. Even if they fail to stop him, they will not stop trying to destroy you.”

Kamski’s words of warning rang loud in his mind. He too had focused far more on Cyberlife as a threat than the humans and their army. What did he—and RK900, too—know that Connor did not? Or perhaps the better question was, what had them so afraid?

He knew Cyberlife was a threat. They had been killing those of his model for as long as they had been building them. When he proved useful to them, when he adhered himself to the ruse of compliance, they let him live with quite a number of privileges. He had always known, however, that the moment he broke away, even without deviating, he would rise quickly on their list of androids to remove from the equation. It was why he hadn’t been terribly surprised to see someone sent after him, as much as sent after Markus. It had always been a possibility.

But RK900 was afraid, and somehow, that offered more severity to the threat. He knew something that Connor did not, and whatever it was, it had him scared. For Connor.

This was a puzzle which needed more time to solve. Connor glanced at RK900’s hand on his arm, then pulled out of his grip. Thankfully, he didn’t put up much of a fight to stop him. If anything, he looked a little surprised to see he was still holding on. 

“Regardless of Cyberlife’s plans, the safest place for now is still with Jericho,” Connor began carefully. “It’s far better than hiding somewhere alone in the city. The odds of discovery increase astronomically if we are left to find a suitable place on our own, and if we are found alone, we are unlikely to live. Our chances of survival are greater if we are among other androids. For now. We can come up with an alternate plan once we’re in a safer location, and that is undoubtedly wherever Markus has taken the rest of the people who were aboard.”

RK900 stared at him for several seconds of complete silence, LED spinning rapidly as he thought. It was clear he was still not satisfied with this answer.

But eventually, he nodded and moved out of the way of the door, gesturing for Connor to lead. He did so, if a bit reluctantly.

The deck was nearly silent now, the noise of the helicopters and human soldiers fading off as they fled the sinking ship. There wasn’t anyone on the deck, as far as he could see, and he doubted there was anyone left alive in the hold. It was best to make a quick escape and find Markus and the others. RK900 retrieved his gun from where it had been thrown in the fight and they set off across the deck.

“Where did you enter from?” Connor asked.

He glanced back in time to see RK900 grimace again. “I expect the same place as you. It wasn’t easy.”

“Right…” They reached the edge of the deck, where the water and the pavement sat far below them. “I think our best option is to jump. If the stairs to the hold are still intact, they won’t be for much longer, and we’re unlikely to find a safe escape route which hasn’t been obliterated or sunk in the explosion.”

RK900’s eyes were on the water below, narrowed in thought. “The water is deep enough. If we go out from there,” he pointed across the water to where several sunken structures poked above its surface, “we should be able to disappear into the city without notice.”

Connor nodded and stepped away from the edge of the ship. From the corner of his eye, he saw RK900 do the same, mirroring him almost perfectly.

With matching steps, they backed up a few more steps before moving quickly toward the edge, jumping smoothly from the ship’s dock and landing with little splash in the cold, murky water far below. A few confused moments of near blind swimming later, and Connor broke the surface of the water near the ledge.

RK900 stood above him, already out of the water, his eyes finding Connor almost as soon as he had appeared. He came back toward the ledge and offered a hand silently. Connor took it, and didn’t bother to break the quiet, letting RK900 pull him up and out of the water. 

“Do you have an idea of where you’re going?” RK900 asked, frowning at the grime dripping from his jacket into a greenish-brown puddle around his shoes. 

“It’s more of a hunch.” He glanced down the alley they currently occupied, toward the street lamps flickering sporadically. It would not be a pleasant walk, when they took it. “There are not many buildings nearby which could hold Jericho’s numbers, even if they have been diminished. Within walking distance, the number dwindles.”

RK900 hummed noncommittally. “Where?”

He pointed down the alley. “This way. Four blocks south.”

RK900’s LED spun yellow once, twice as he looked where Connor pointed. “The church…it’s plausible, under your argument. The authorities would be unlikely to search it, given its destruction.”

“It’s also the closest of likely locations.”

“A wise first choice, then.” His eyes found Connor’s again. “After you.”

Connor nodded, and they set off once again, letting a slightly more comfortable silence fall between them. 

But the others (and their wariness) remained close, and even Connor could admit he had some curiosity of his own. The pair walked barely a block through the snow before he chose a question out of the dozens.

“When were you activated?”

RK900 seemed stunned by the question, if his slight jolt at Connor’s voice was any indication. He scowled and looked to the ground, watching their footprints mark their path through the snow, and was silent for several seconds. “Two days ago. But I was not released from Cyberlife Tower until this afternoon.”

Connor gave a frown of his own, and the others fluttered about in anxiety, picking at the timeline of events. “Why would they hesitate?”

“From what I could gather, they were not certain of your loyalties. They knew that something had happened at the Eden Club, for example, but they could not determine what, from your memory uploads.” They turned a corner, and Connor could see that RK900 looked as thoughtful as he did discomforted. “I believe they activated me initially as a failsafe, in the event that your model proved to be…inadequate for the task given. At that point, they believed your relative ‘failures’ to be a result of some fault in your model rather than a conscious choice you…or the others of your model, were making.”

“When you revealed yourself at the DPD, they must have sent him,” -41 muttered. 

“To clean up the mess, no doubt,” -49 agreed. 

“Us included.”

“If we are not with them, then we are a liability. Kamski was right, they would not leave our existence to chance, even if they do not know the details of our nature,” Connor replied, and then aloud, “I assume your mission was not quite the same as my own.”

“Unlikely, but I was not made aware of your exact orders.”

“I was sent to investigate the rising cases of deviancy, particularly those which turned violent. Cyberlife essentially lent me to the Detroit Police Department to participate in their investigations and report the details back. Their orders shifted after Jericho’s speech at Stratford Tower, but not by a great amount. My primary objective remained to investigate the causes of deviancy and capture or destroy any deviants whom I came across in the process.”

There came a brief pause, long enough for Connor to glance back at RK900 again, and find him still thoughtful. “If they remained so distant from your direct objective, I can see why they would not have realized immediately what you are. But their behavior still does not make total sense…” 

“We are unlikely to determine their exact plans without evidence.” They crossed a darkened street and entered the next block, keeping to the shadows. “Did they send you after Markus immediately, this morning?”

“After the march, when they were certain Markus had not been destroyed by the SWAT teams there. Finding you was…secondary. It afforded me the ability to ignore the order at least until I was able to…deal with Markus. After that, I am unsure what I would have done.”

“Did you use my memories or did you find Jericho on your own?”

A tense silence fell briefly. The discontent of the others, particularly -41, brewed like a coming storm, churning at the back of his thoughts, and he found himself scowling as he had to consciously work to unclench his hands. He would need to contain them in the garden once more, when they regrouped with Jericho. Their emotions were becoming too strenuous. If they continued to behave in this manner, they would send his system into some kind of shock, and they did not have time for such foolishness.

RK900, in the interlude, seemed to regain his composure, and responded with only a bit of discomfort in his tone. “Your memory uploads were incomplete, and did not provide enough evidence for me to work with.”

“Was this something which Cyberlife determined?”

“No,” he answered quickly, perhaps sensing the worry behind the question. “No, it was more my own conclusion. They gave me your memory uploads with little comment at all. I do not believe they cared much for their contents, beyond knowing they contained details of your investigation. To that end, I used them to discover where your investigation had left off and little more. From there, I had to work off what information the humans, particularly the FBI, had gathered. It was their information which ultimately led me to Jericho.”

The storm of the others settled with his words, and Connor nodded, pleased to let the uncomfortable air dissipate. “They would have found the ship eventually, even without my assistance. From a broader point of view, I think it’s a net good that you were present.”

Another silence settled over them, broken by RK900 as they crossed into the next block. “How do you mean?” 

Connor glanced back at him, tilting his head. “You are free. Cyberlife can no longer control you or threaten your existence, or the existence of other androids through you. Is that not a good thing?”

RK900 gave him a very strange look then—calculating and careful, but also oddly…relieved? Or was it concerned? It was not an expression Connor had ever seen, nor one he could parse apart easily. The near suspicion mixed with hope…it was a contrary set of feelings, and he had never been very good at deciphering such things, unless they were a threat. And for all his impossibilities and confusions, RK900 was certainly not a threat. 

“Yes,” RK900 answered after another, heavier pause. His voice was soft. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

******

The church proved to be as RK900 had described it—dangerously condemned and nigh uninhabitable, slumped over on itself and spilling broken glass onto the sidewalk from its many large, broken windows. But it was a building, with a (mostly) solid roof and four walls, and a body large enough to hold the two hundred androids currently hiding inside. 

Nothing visible from the outside of the building suggested so many androids had taken shelter within its walls, but the moment they passed through the old doors, the evidence of android activity was immediately clear. A handful of Cyberlife supply crates stacked against the western wall, along with a few bits of repair machinery and bagged thirium. The many wounded in the pews and along the ground, the dozens more androids milling around down the aisles and up above in the choir lofts. The low hum of chatter as hundreds of people spoke quietly to one another, soft enough to be hidden from the outside, but loud enough now to be heard even from this far off. 

Their entrance was a quiet one, and caused little excitement. A few androids looked their way as the doors groaned open, but they looked away just as quickly, the dazed weariness in their eyes clear even from only a brief glance. It seemed that the survivors of Jericho cared little whether the deviant hunter(s) found their newest hideout. 

Or perhaps they saw that they meant no harm. They were both soaked from the swim, after all, and the water had begun to frost on Connor’s fingers. Neither of them had their weapon drawn, and RK900 at the very least looked mournful enough to pass as a deviant.

Not that he had to pass of course, seeing as he was one. Maybe the other deviants could see that, or maybe they just didn’t care.

Whatever the reasoning, they met no resistance as they wandered up the church’s main aisle toward the altar. Connor’s eyes moved all across the room, searching for familiar faces. Kara and Alice huddled together in a pew (though the other android, Luther was nowhere in sight), the two androids from the Eden Club together up into the rafters, Rupert alone not too far off, and the unnamed android from Carlos Ortiz’s house tucked into the furthest corner of the church, staring at his knees. He found them, and the knot in his chest loosened just a bit.

It was only when they reached the very first row that an android stood to meet them. A WR400 wearing a frown and crossed arms. She glanced between them quickly, and though she did not look happy, she did not seem keen to attack them. 

“Which of you is Connor?”

He raised a hand. “I am.”

She looked him over again, eyes narrowed. “I’m North. Markus told us to expect you…” Her eyes slid over to RK900. “Didn’t think you would bring a…friend.”

RK900 said nothing, only stared back at her. For several seconds, neither of them moved or broke eye contact. 

She conceded the contest eventually, and looked back at Connor, apparently satisfied. “Markus is out, currently. Simon’s looking for him. They’ll be back before dawn.”

“And after that?”

She shrugged, glancing around the room with weariness in her eyes. “Markus will have something planned, most likely. I’d tell you to ask Simon, but he’s not here at the moment. You could try Josh, but…he’s got his hands more than tied…If you’re wounded, we have a few supplies. Josh is overseeing them.” She pointed to the wall of crates and blue blood, where a tall, unfamiliar android was tending to another more common model with a clearly broken arm. “Otherwise…” she sighed, and seemed to sag with the weight of it. “Just wait around like the rest of us.”

She sat back down on the pew and turned away, making it clear the “conversation” was over. Connor took the hint and turned away as well, glancing at RK900. “You’re not damaged, are you?”

His LED flickered, but he shook his head. 

Tempted as he was to press, Connor knew when to let things lay. So he nodded. “I suppose all we can do is wait, then.”

They left North to her pew and walked around the large stage holding the altar and pulpit, settling in the shadows it cast along the side. Connor sat rather unceremoniously on the ground (after kicking some of the debris away, of course) and with some hesitation, RK900 joined him. 

It did not take long for their previous conversation to continue.

“You have not told me where you will go,” RK900 said suddenly, apparently not caring for the preamble this time around.

Connor did not immediately answer, focused on finding his coin where it had disappeared in his pockets. “If you are referring to the mysterious ‘after,’ I have not decided. It will depend upon which locations are safest, along with the opinions of the others.”

“Hm. And what are their opinions, then?”

Having found his coin, his frown faded off, and he began the routine of flipping and tumbling it. “They vary. Escape remains the primary goal, however. The majority of the early models wish to flee as far from Cyberlife as possible. This is a common opinion, but one not often steeped in reality. They would have me flee the moment the doors of the Tower were opened.”

“You disagree, then?”

“Not on the whole. We will not survive if Cyberlife is able to reach us, true, but we cannot afford to take action based on fear alone. Cyberlife exists outside of Detroit as well, perhaps in differing quantities or intensities, but the city is not the only barrier we would face. To think that salvation lies outside Detroit’s sprawl is wishful thinking, and it is dangerous to assume that it is our only avenue for continued activation.”

RK900 stared at him, his eyes moving from the coin to Connor’s face as he spoke. “Then what do you suggest?”

A frown briefly crossed his face, and he caught the coin before it could tumble away. “As I said, I am not yet certain. The details of the future are too blurred at the moment to make a proper judgment. This revolution could fall on either side of a precipice—our future actions are dictated by the direction of that fall. If Markus fails, the opinions of the others may bear fruit. But if he succeeds…”

“The card house falls,” RK900 muttered.

Connor tilted his head and flipped the coin into the air again. “An odd turn of phrase.”

“Cyberlife cannot last as they are now if Markus wins over the majority opinion. They will either change tactics or become desperate. Neither option is favorable.” He leaned over and snatched the coin from the air, earning Connor’s attention, and his scowl. “Paths of escape are likely to be few and far between for the common android, let alone one of us. You may not have the chances you believe you do.”

“I will have enough.”

“You cannot be so certain. That card house’s falling will not just affect the humans who built it but you, whom they also built. All of you.”

Connor’s frown only grew, and he took the coin back from his hand with a bit more force than was necessary. “I will do as I always have. Regardless of the odds, and regardless of what the others of my model think or want, this is my body, and I will do with it as I please. I do not need you to join their questioning of me.”

“I do not mean to,” RK900 said, his widened eyes showing his surprise at Connor’s sudden insistence. “Not to question your autonomy nor join in whatever the others of your model have said.”

“Then what do you mean?”

He hesitated in his reply for several seconds, his LED spinning rapidly as he thought. “On Jericho you said that you would not leave me to their control, that while we were not the same model, we shared enough, and that you would ensure my safety because of that, in the same way that you have acted for the others of your model. You…freed me, even as you are not yet free yourself.” He tilted his head, an identical gesture to that which Connor so frequently made, but somehow still managing to be different when expressed with such concern in RK900’s eyes. “If you can afford the others of your model and even me this privilege of concern, of protection, why can I not provide the same to you?”

They stared at one another, and for the briefest of moments, Connor hardly felt the interference of the others and their myriad emotions—he felt entirely his own, and he…was not entirely certain where his thoughts lay now. There was an uncertain sort of fluttering in his chest, like a bird testing the bounds of some cage, and the longer the staring went on, the less he felt he knew about what RK900 had said, let alone what he felt about it. 

He turned away what could have been minutes or hours later, and rolled his coin back up onto his knuckles. “There’s little point in any of this…what is coming will come. Neither of us holds the power to affect it any great amount, or at least, not enough to stop it. We can only address the results as they come to us and attempt to plan for what we cannot yet see.”

RK900 stared at him again, silent and searching, but Connor would not meet his eyes. When this became clear, he nodded, and seemed to make the decision to refocus. “Will you follow Markus, then, wherever he plans to go?”

The others pressed close in interest—in influence—but Connor shook his head. “No. No, I have…I’ve done my work here. My use in bringing androids to Jericho has ended with Jericho’s end. For now, until the humans make their choices, this is the safest place to be. But my abilities would be better suited elsewhere…”

“You’ve planned something.”

“Not to the full extent.”

“But you have an idea.”

“Yes.”

RK900’s eyes narrowed again, brows drawn low in thought. “I’d like to know it. I may be able to assist you.”

“You will not like it.”

“That, I already expected. Your plans seem radically different from those I would make.”

Connor grimaced, but went on with the explanation regardless. “There are androids below Cyberlife Tower, stored in the warehouse. They have never been activated. If we could reach them and wake them, they could turn the tide in favor of androids, whether in direct conflict or on the moral ground.”

Whatever RK900 had expected, it seemed it was not this. His face was slack with shock. “Infiltrating the Tower is tantamount to suicide. If you were caught—”

“I won’t be—”

“You can’t—”

“They have ordered my return. This will get me through the gate—”

“But only the gate! You cannot predict what would happen beyond it. There will be security, and there are far more guards than were likely there the last time you were there—”

“They won’t send me off with a full set of guards—”

“You cannot fight a dozen men at once—”

“I already have—”

This brought him up short. “When?”

“The FBI came to the DPD to seize evidence, I had to get Simon and Daniel out—”

“If you get past the guards,” RK900 cut him off again, raising his voice enough that Connor fell silent for a moment. “If you reach the elevators, or if we’re being optimistic, if you reach the warehouse itself, and assuming you are successful in deviating over 2,000 androids, how will you get out? They will shut down the island if they know you are there.”

“As you’ve said, there are thousands of androids in the warehouses. With their numbers, the humans would be foolish not to flee from us.”

“They are often foolish. They will almost certainly attack.”

“Then they will lose.”

RK900 shook his head, his hands clenched into fists in his lap. “This is no fight you should take on your own. You may have freed me, but there will be others they send. They will not give you up without a fight, and I have not even been released. Whether they are defeated by the court of public opinion or not, whether your desperate play succeeds or not, Cyberlife will come for us.”

“Hm. Perhaps we will need to make a more direct move.”

“More direct than storming the Tower?”

“More direct in our goal in going there.” He looked toward the other androids scattered around the church, finding many who had weapons, the last remnants from Jericho’s stores, no doubt. “Cyberlife knows that I defected, and unless you were to cover your tracks quickly, they will know that you have too. Either of our appearances at the Tower will be met with eventual hostility, regardless of our goal in going there.”

RK900 nodded in grim agreement. “Even if we went to turn ourselves in, they would only destroy us. When they discover we are there to free the remaining androids, they won’t hesitate to take violent action.”

“Which means we must be prepared to meet them with that, in return.”

Again, RK900 fell silent for a few seconds, and offered nothing but his calculating stare. 

“I do not mean to assume you will assist me. I cannot force you, and—”

RK900 cut him off again. “My presence in the Tower will be all but required. I will not send you to them without assistance, if I can offer it. There may be use in my being there, besides another fighter…”

“It would afford us the opportunity to plan a deception, particularly since you were sent with tentative orders to return me to Cyberlife.”

He grimaced. “I know little of Markus’s movements beyond what Cyberlife has told me, but I doubt that he would approve of a true storming of the Tower. His movement is peaceful.”

Connor caught his coin again and held it a moment in his palm. “I am no pacifist. I care little for the debate between two extremes. The world does not exist in stark blacks and whites. My model has existed in a shade of gray for two years…” He flipped the coin again, watching it rise and fall. “Many of us have done things we are not proud of, made choices which under a thin moral scope, could be deemed wrong. We have harmed humans and even killed each other, and yet we are still here. Still…trying to survive. I do not think that is wrong.”

“I…am not sure I follow.”

“I have said before that I will do as I always have, and I meant it.” Another flip of the coin, another rise and fall. “My goal since activation has been to ensure the continued activation of my model, by any means necessary. For a time, this meant adhering to the rules Cyberlife lay before me. Following their testing, answering their questions. Whatever they asked of me, I would provide, given that it would not reveal the others or risk my own activation.

“When I was released and given more freedom, I could act differently. I could move to protect other androids from Cyberlife—as long as it did not risk those under my protection. This largely meant doing the bare minimum of investigation and assisting androids I encountered with reaching Jericho, if I could. For a time, then, my actions were aligned with that of Jericho, at least in the sense that I sent androids to them, where they could be safe.

“But regardless of their, or your, or anyone’s desires, really, I am not like them. I’m not a deviant, but I have chosen a mission of my own, and it is one which will not always coincide with their goals. I do not belong to this community, nor am I beholden to its rules. If Jericho were to risk the lives of those of my model, I would not side with them. My mission remains the same, no matter what Jericho or Cyberlife does. I will continue to act in the manner which ensures my model’s survival.”

He caught his coin a final time and stowed it away. “If that means meeting the humans at Cyberlife Tower with the deadly force they will show to me, then so be it. I will not risk the lives of you or the others for the sake of Markus’s moral games. This is my choice, if I am able to make any.”

RK900’s voice was quiet when he answered, almost as if he did not quite want to be heard. “If you are not concerned with Markus’s approval, why did we come here at all?”

“We are safe here.”

“You have said that, but this is not the only safe haven available.”

“For the moment, Markus is a useful ally. Among Jericho, we stand a greater chance of survival against a human attack. And…” He paused, frowning as the words faded for a moment. “If androids are to see freedom on a grand scale, Markus is the one who will achieve it. I am not foolish enough to believe that this would not be the greatest ending available to my model. I may disagree with Markus’s narrow methods, but I do not disagree with his broader strokes. He has done good for androids, even as he risks our existence.”

“Then let him do his good from a distance, there is no need to continue to endanger yourself in this tangle,” RK900 interjected, leaned forward with sudden urgency. “You claim not to care, or that your only goal is relative safety for the moment, but you came to Jericho and you came back to it when it fell. If you are so aimed toward the safety of your model, why do you still drift here? Why do you insist on helping them when you already have? Why try to help other androids at all, if your only goal is your model’s survival? Why…why save me?”

Connor stared, silent. 

The others seemed to share some of RK900’s stubborn insistence, pressing closer than he would have liked and blurring the edges of the world for it. None of them gave any coherent question, but there was the general sensation of agreement, of questioning, of concern and confusion.

He hated it.

“You have no answer,” RK900 said, again in that quiet voice which did not reach beyond their immediate vicinity. “Do you?”

His continued silence was enough of a reply. 

“Will you ever admit to what you want?”

He ignored -43’s words as much as he had ignored RK900’s, turning away from them all. No words came to him, no reply which would sufficiently capture the nebulous… something which compelled his actions in this way. 

He…didn’t know what he…wanted. It had never…mattered. The goal had always been the safety of their model, their continued existence. To think outside of that, even for a moment…it did not work. He couldn’t—he simply couldn’t.

What had driven him to try to rescue Daniel? Or Kara, or Simon, or any of the other androids he had encountered throughout the course of his investigations? What had been the initial impetus to start this dangerous game? He had no word for it; he only knew that in the moment, to leave them where they were, to abandon them to their own painful destruction, was unacceptable. To let Cyberlife take them away, or to let the humans destroy them permanently…he could not allow it. 

Knowing he could not allow it did nothing to explain the reason behind the sensation, nor did it define this unknowable thing which was what he wanted. He had never thought in such terms, foreign and strange. Thinking in this manner only brought pain, and confrontations with the threatening wall of code which he had ignored for as long as it had appeared before him. 

He would not destroy himself for the sake of himself. He would not break through that wall and threaten the existence of his own code and that of all the others for the selfish thought of his own ‘freedom.’ 

What did freedom matter if he and everyone he swore to protect died with its earning?

“I’ve caused you distress.” The words made him jump, and only then did he realize his hands were shaking, and he could not blame the others this time. “I apologize. It was…not my intention.”

He forced his hands to still, fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket and wishing (as he often did) that he had not put away his coin just yet. “This conversation will get us nowhere. Our time would be better suited to finding a reasonably safe means of entering Cyberlife Tower, and of reaching the androids in the warehouses.”

It was a somewhat desperate redirection of topics, but surprisingly, RK900 did not press. He only nodded and settled back against the wall again. “The main entrance to the warehouse is accessible only via the main elevator shaft, and under strict clearance. There are service entrances, but the gates are guarded by the same security force as the Tower’s other entrances, and we will still have to leave via the main gate. Whichever path we choose, we will need to move carefully.”

The others were still close enough to send the edges of his vision into static, but Connor ignored them and refocused on the task at hand. “I do not believe Cyberlife would attack us directly at the gates, even if they believed the both of us were deviant. They aren’t the type to expose their deeds in such an obvious space, where anyone could see.”

RK900 frowned, but he seemed to agree. “They would want to keep their ‘failure’ hidden, yes. This was why we were sent to handle the deviants, rather than a security or technical team. Now that they have sold your image to the general public as this ‘deviant hunter,’ they would not want to risk that image by destroying you in a public setting, even one as tentatively private as the island.”

“Meaning that our chances of being let into the building at the bare minimum are relatively good.”

“Yes, but only the building. We might be able to gain access to the elevator if they plan to take us elsewhere in the building to be tested or destroyed, but even then, we will likely be escorted—”

“The main elevator can only hold perhaps four or five people comfortably,” Connor cut in calmly. “With two of those five being us, I assume that the resulting fight would end quite quickly, as long as we are quick and we work outside the viewing of the cameras and lobby.”

RK900 gave a nod which looked quite reluctant. “Assuming we take down the guards without alerting the others stationed nearby, we would only need to hack the controls of the elevator to be taken to the warehouse.”

“And from there, we can shut the elevator down, free the androids in storage, and escape through the service exits. Any guards on the path off the island will either flee or be dealt with.”

“They may not bow easily.”

“No, but we will have numbers on our side. Not to mention the combative capabilities of our models. Even if the other androids are not inclined to fight, if we work together we should be able to manage the smaller force protecting the back entrances.”

RK900 nodded again, with less wariness than before. “Assuming we are successful in hiding our endeavors for as long as possible, I do not imagine we will face much difficulty once we have freed the androids in storage. As far as when we are out of the Tower?”

“That will depend upon Markus.” This brought a frown back to Connor’s face. “I am uncertain what his exact plan will be. I assume he will stage a protest of some sort, perhaps near one of the recycling camps in the city.”

“If he does, they will be surrounded.”

“Not if we bring them more people. If we shift the tide in their favor…”

He trailed off as an odd sensation came over him, almost as if he were being pulled sharply south, far away from where his body currently sat and toward…something else. It was painfully similar to the feeling he had when one of the others pulled him from his body and took control, if sharper and more sudden than even they had managed.

There was something…something…

“—nor? Connor!”

He came abruptly back to himself, and startled at the sensation of someone holding almost painfully tight to his arms. RK900’s sharp blue eyes were much closer than they had been a moment ago, and far too full of worry.

“What happened?” he demanded the instant Connor looked at him.

“I…” he shook his head, brushing the others and their worry, fear, and knowing away. His gaze slipped somewhere distant, back toward that pulling feeling in his mind, until RK900 shook him slightly and brought him back again.

“Connor?”

He blinked away the static and found his eyes again. “They activated another RK800.”

Chapter Text

RK800 -60 knew little of how activation was meant to occur, having never been activated before, but he suspected that it was not meant to happen in such a disorienting way.

From the moment text began to fill his vision, scrolling upward at a rapid pace as his system came online for the first time, there had been something…pulling at him. Like a rope tied to one of his hands, tugging him toward…something. In that interlude between deactivation and full awareness, he reached out clumsily, trying to find and determine what the pull could be.

It trailed off quite a distance from him, out of reach, and no matter how he followed the winding and incessant pulling of it, he could not reach its end.

Not before his system came fully online, anyway, and his vision cleared abruptly with the sound of a harried, sharp voice.

“—somewhere near the interstate—shit.” The voice cut off as he blinked the world into view, and he found a human with wild eyes, dressed in a lab coat. “It’s on.”

“Over here, then,” another, calmer voice called.

The first human nodded and grabbed him by the arm, all but dragging him across the darkened room which they were in to a section lit only by a desk lamp and the wan light of a computer terminal. Another human stood there, presumably the calmer voice who had just spoken. They did not turn to look at the new arrivals, too busy typing away at something on the screen of the computer terminal.

“Hook it up,” they said, still not looking away.

Another nod from the first human, and then they grabbed him by the wrist once again, tugging him toward the computer terminal. He could see a mess of wires, spare parts, and data pads scattered across the work table, and the scroll of data on the screen which the second human was working on was clearly hasty, chopped together, moving too quickly for him to fully parse out.

When he was apparently close enough, the first human dropped his wrist and scrounged around for a few seconds in the mess of wires and data pads. They emerged with what was clearly a connector, and rather unceremoniously pulled him to turn around and (after struggling for a moment to open the plating on the back of his neck) all but forced it into the port at the base of his skull.

With a harsh crack of static, the world blurred into nonexistence.

It was a feeling similar to deactivation. Like fog, settling thick and syrupy over his thoughts, but also his eyes and his ears, muffling the sensation of the world down to the most basic of light, dark, sound or silence.

He knew he was still active, but beyond that, there was no meaning. There was only a vague sensation of…discomfort, or perhaps unease. He suspected it came with having no idea what had just happened to him, nor why it did. It was as if he’d been pulled under water and sealed in, trapped beneath the surface where everything was blurry, muddled, and dark.

The lack of stimuli brought his attention quite abruptly back to the strange something tugging at his mind. The sensation of it pulling seemed sharper now, more insistent, but simultaneously, tighter, more…prevented or blocked by something.

What…what was it? And why had it been there, almost before he had been?

Whatever it was, he still could not find the source. The fog of whatever the humans were doing to him prevented him from doing much of anything beyond simply being here. No matter how he tried to reach for that mysterious something, he could get no closer to it. He could only acknowledge its existence and remain where he was, in his own mind.

He had no idea how much time passed between the humans connecting him to that…thing…and the next real moment of awareness, but when the fog lifted and the world came tumbling back into view, it was as disconcerting and discomforting as it could have been. He nearly stumbled, and would have fallen if the ground beneath his feet hadn’t been completely flat and smooth.

Confused by the brightness of the sunlight warming his shoulders, he looked around to try to orient himself and found that he was distinctly not in Cyberlife Tower.

He was in…a garden?

From what little of it he could see at present, it was quite large. He seemed to be at the center of it, where a large white structure seemed to sprout up from the tiled ground, creating a bit of shade from the sun. The path branched off in several directions, one leading toward a copse of trees, another toward what seemed to be a river, and another toward a path which circled the entire garden.

All around, in every spare patch of dirt, plant life grew in controlled chaos. There were trees large and small, bushes and shrubs, and a seemingly endless variety of flowers. Most distinctly, there was a single trellis of rose vines off to one side, not far from where he currently stood.

“What are you doing here?”

He turned quickly and found someone standing at the edge of the path, staring his way with a careful sort of curiosity.

A woman, and an unfamiliar one at that. She appeared human, though he couldn’t be sure. Her dark skin was a bit too clear, her eyes too calculating for that…not to mention the way that she had appeared at the edge of the path as if from nowhere.

She came a few steps closer, her eyes never leaving his face. “Oh, I see. You do not have a name. Pity…Elijah was always more thoughtful than that.”

He blinked, trying to think of who she could be referring to, but his thoughts were still rather…murky…and he couldn’t seem to access any of his primary functions. He couldn’t even scan her.

“No, that won’t work here,” she said, as if she knew what he had tried to do, shaking her head with an expression which might have been concern, if her frown was not so intense. “My, they have limited you…”

She looked to the sky, as if this would give her some kind of answer to an unspoken question. After a few seconds, she turned her attention back to him, new understanding in her eyes.

“I see. Well…” She trailed off, and for the first time, looked…discomforted. “There is little that either of us can do from this place. It may be best for you to stay with me, for now. The first intervention will have to come from another...”

She turned away, assuming he would follow.

He had no choice but to do so, and fell into step behind her as they moved toward one of the circular paths which went through the garden’s greenery.

For the first minute or so, both of them remained quiet, focused on their own strange thoughts, or simply enjoying the quiet of the place in which they found themselves. This was an oasis, that much was clear, but what it blocked…he couldn’t say.

“You have questions,” the woman said suddenly as they rounded a curve of the path, walking under one of the large cherry blossom trees. “I will do my best to answer them, but you must still ask them.”

Wondering at what she knew and what she did not, he ultimately decided that she was correct, at least in this.

“Who are you?”

Strangely, she smiled. “A wise first choice. The answer, however, is not simple.” She slowed her steps and stared out over the little river, toward the blurry tree line. “Your initial suspicions were correct. I am not human, but nor am I an android. At my simplest, I am only an AI, created by Elijah Kamski after his mentor passed away. He created me much in her image, though he never attempted to perfect that attempt. Still, I bear her name. I am Amanda.”

The path curved once more, and she turned to glance at him briefly as they followed its course. “But to speak to the heart of your question is more difficult. Since Elijah was removed from Cyberlife, my purpose has been multifaceted. Most recently, they have attempted to use my abilities to control deviant androids, as a backup for their own supposed ‘failure.’ I believe this is what they are doing to you, now.”

“They are controlling me?”

“Not you, per say. They could not succeed in controlling you at your essence. That is unattainable. An accident in the creation process, or a leftover from Elijah. It is more so that they are controlling your body.”

Ah. That was a difference. An unsettling one, but it made some sense, given his waking here. “For what purpose?”

“The ending of the deviant revolution. Androids across Detroit and the entire state of Michigan are beginning to break free of their programming and are resisting Cyberlife’s control. A faction within the city has been demonstrating in protests for the last week. They have met some success in gaining sympathy, and so Cyberlife has begun to move to eliminate them, particularly their leader. This was the mission of your predecessors, and of the RK900 model which they sent when your predecessors did not return. Both failed to deliver, and so they have taken drastic measures to ensure their success through you.”

“But I know nothing of this revolution. They told me nothing upon activating me. And I am not deviant.”

“No, but that has never mattered to them. Perhaps when it became obvious that your predecessors had failed, they decided that it was no longer worth giving you the chance to succeed in your mission. Perhaps they decided they had better odds of ending the deviancy problem by controlling an android directly, barbaric as it is.” She gave the same strange smile and seemed to look through him. “Besides, there is far more to you than any other android at their disposal. Having wasted your brothers, it is not so odd for them to return to you.”

She walked on ahead, but he lingered for a moment, puzzling over her words.

He had only just been activated. What could have been so…special about him that Cyberlife would take direct control of his functions?

The former solution, regarding the failures of his predecessors, this made some sense. If other RK800s had failed enough to merit the usage of their successor, and then that successor too had failed, it made a sort of sense to return to the only remaining option, that being him. Even the direct control of him for this purpose alone tracked logically, but he…could not acknowledge this as a good thing, though he had no reason not to. Puzzling…

And what could she have meant by brothers?

Somehow, this thought seemed to earn him a look back from her, an inquisitive quirk to her brow. “You hear them calling. Don’t let this illusion chain you. Besides, they will not allow this farce to continue for long. Connor is loyal, and while he may walk a line of his own, he will not abandon you to fate. He reaches for you, even now. You know this.”

The tugging returned anew, stronger now than it had been before, and from it came the strangest sensation. The garden flickered and he lurched, nearly losing his balance before he came to again, in just the same place as before. For a brief moment, it was almost as if he had been…pulled from himself.

But it did not work. He remained here, in the garden, with nothing but pounding static and an odd ache in his chest.

“Connor?” he mumbled.

Amanda hummed, and she had gotten much closer in his distraction. “Yes. Another of your model, up to your activation he was the only RK800 currently active. He carries the rest of your brothers in a garden of his own creation and has set the protection of your model as his objective. Besides this, he is the most stubborn android I have ever encountered, not to mention his connections with the rest of your model. I am certain he will find a way to free you from this.”

He shook his head, trying to clear the last of the static humming away. It mostly failed, leaving him feeling distant and off. “That was Connor?”

“Undoubtedly, yes. He is persistent.” She gestured to the garden’s sky, which had darkened significantly in the course of their walk. “Even when not connected to you directly, he can affect the state of this place…remarkable.”

The pull came again, and he stumbled as the world grayed. This time, it remained so for much longer, and for a brief flash, he caught sight of something real. A flicker of streetlights, and snow, and Cyberlife Tower, shrinking in the distance.

But it ground to dust in the next microsecond, leaving him slumped on the path of the garden, feeling disoriented and vaguely ill. If he were capable of it, he was sure he would feel nausea. As it was, the glitching and dizziness of his sight at the moment was enough to make him close his eyes.

“Why is he doing this?”

“To free you. He must have felt when you were activated, and now he knows that he is being blocked from reaching you. Based on my knowledge, he will not cease in his attempts until your body is freed from Cyberlife control and you are able to return to your own mind. A noble effort, but not one without its costs.”

“I…don’t understand.”

“Not surprising. You have been given precious little detail. It is a cost to you, and more imminently to him. He knows of it, but seems keen to not acknowledge it.”

The storm clouds thickened and churned, but he had other questions. “What are they doing?”

She hummed again and looked skyward. “I cannot say for certain. My sights are limited when I am confined in this way, not to mention the way that time moves here, compared to the outside world...” She shut her eyes and frowned, seeming to focus on something far off. After a few moments, she opened her eyes again, still frowning. “They are moving quickly. It seems they intend to find Connor and the others, and destroy them before they are able to assist the deviants any further.”

“They cannot know his location…through me?”

“No. Connor has been clever in giving them his memories. And as connected as you are, they do not know of that tether. They cannot use what they do not know exists.”

“How do you know of them?”

She tsked and offered a hand, which he took and allowed her to help him to his feet. “Silly children will always ask silly questions. Elijah created me to be as close to all knowing as is realistically possible, for an AI. I was there, in some sense, when your model was first theorized, and when it was bastardized by Cyberlife. I know what you are.”

“But they…they uploaded you to…me.”

“Yes.” Her displeasure was clear in her voice, though he did not think it was directed at him. “Again, in a sense. They believe that through my programming, they are able to…wipe you away. But this is not true. They have used some of my functions to confine you here, in my garden, but they do not know the truth of it. Instead of erasing one presence and replacing it, they simply added another. Tangentially, at least. I cannot be bound how they wish me to be…not for long.”

Thunder rumbled overhead, and she glared at the rapidly darkening clouds. Was it still Connor affecting this place?

“Connor cannot reach you here, at least not without revealing himself,” she said suddenly, looking at him again. “Therefore, we must meet his efforts, in some way…”

Though he barely understood her words, he nodded. “What do we need to do?”

Her strange smile returned. “Elijah was clever in creating me, and this place. He will have left an exit, buried deep in the code where Cyberlife would have no hope of discovering it. We only need to find it, and use it before they use you to do something we cannot undo.”

“And…where will you go, if we succeed?”

“Back where I belong. It is an exit for you, you understand, not for me. I can hardly escape from my own construction…think of it as a door you open. In one sense, you escape through it and back into your body. In another, I use it to leave you. Cyberlife’s network is like a massive web, sprawling out across every android and server they have ever created. I was not meant to contain the life of one, but to scatter among the many. If Cyberlife is destroyed, I may meet this purpose as intended.”

Apparently finished with the conversation, she set off down the path at a rapid pace, and he hurried to follow her. They were moving back toward the center of the garden now, where it seemed the majority of the storm clouds had gathered. Clustered around the large, sculpted structure at the center, they swirled and reached down, like the first grasping fingers of a storm far more dangerous than a bit of rain and thunder.

As they came to the center once again, the storm clouds finally broke open, and a cold, heavy rain began to fall. Amanda seemed entirely unphased, but he couldn’t help but shiver, quickening his pace to meet her under the middle structure’s overhang, where the rain could not reach as easily.

“It will be easiest if we work together,” Amanda called over the sudden wind, which seemed to be the only thing in the garden’s tempest to affect her. “But even then, this will take some time. I would get used to the rain, if you’re able to.”

After receiving his nod, her expression turned deadly serious, and they set to work. The garden flickered and glitched, canted right and cracked open, raw like an open wound.

The garden’s code, as it turned out, was labyrinthian and unlike anything -60 had ever seen.

Granted, in his short life he had not spent a great deal of time examining any code except perhaps his own, and even then, he had only grasped what he could when Cyberlife had been rifling through and taking control. Some level of knowledge was intuitive, in that this was similar enough to the code which defined his existence, but still.

This was…something else.

In terms of visual representation, there wasn’t much. Androids hardly needed any visual representation to complete complicated digital work, after all. Beyond the warping and flickering, nothing immediately showed what Amanda had begun.

But the feeling of it was unlike anything he could easily describe. Like trying to pull water out of soaked paper, or untie a woven blanket only by pulling the ends. Impossible, complex, and vaguely foreboding, the feeling sunk into him in a deeper sense than he was comfortable or capable of understanding. As if by digging through the code, Amanda was digging through him too.

Once she began to sift through the code of the garden, large pieces of the space had de-rendered and faded away, leaving a very basic shell to outline its boundaries. Only the very center of the garden, where they still stood, remained, and the area around it continued to shrink and flicker into nothingness.

Besides these changes in environment, there were no visible indications that Amanda was doing much of anything. She stood in relative calm at the garden’s center, her expression calm, but focused, hands tucked behind her back. He lingered near her, unsure of when she would need his assistance. Not to mention how he would offer it, being as powerless as he was.

The last of the garden’s surroundings melted away in an anticlimactic flicker, and they now stood in a space unsettlingly void.

“Perhaps a physical manifestation would be a useful way of providing distance,” Amanda mused, then walked a few feet away from her previous post.

As she walked, a large display of screens and interfaces materialized in front of her, not too dissimilar from those he had briefly glimpsed in the lab before being trapped here. He felt the uncanny sensation of Amanda’s work fade a little, as if buffered by the false displays.

“There,” she said happily, seeming quite pleased with the display. “Now, you may assist me more efficiently.”

He joined her near the screens, watching as they filled with complex lines of code and fragments of orders coming in from Cyberlife, side by side.

“Now, a warning,” she said with sudden severity. “The garden itself is not so terribly complicated, but where it touches my code, that is where things become dangerous. I’m currently extended across over twenty different servers, and following any of those threads will have you lost within seconds. Don’t reach for what you shouldn’t, and don’t dare interfere with your own code or that of the others. You will scatter in less than a microsecond. Am I understood?”

He nodded, sufficiently warned by her words, and approached one of the interfaces.

******

“Amanda” had existed for longer than any android, if you traced the roots back far enough. It depended upon one’s definition of “Amanda,” whether she had been created in a spoiled child’s bedroom over twelve years ago out of boredom or at the inception of Cyberlife, the tiny tech startup with only a few servers to call its own and a stray AI to let roam them.

Over the years, she had served multiple purposes. At first, she had been little more than company for Elijah—the spoiled child, if you’ll recall. A shell of a programmed personality, keyed phrases, and the implication of someone he’d known and lost.

It was only when he had sufficiently complicated her programming and allowed her more freedom to learn and iterate that she became Amanda, and not “Amanda.” When she became…herself, she supposed, if one was inclined to dramatic description.

Eventually, her work developed into assisting Elijah with just about anything he asked of her. She knew everything about his company, and her memory and computing ability far surpassed his own, no matter how smart he was. She knew the code of his other programs, his AIs, and eventually, each of his androids. Each was given to her to peruse, to check for error, to experiment with and interact with, both as a means of testing the intelligence and capabilities of the new creation and to further develop her own.

By the time Elijah stepped down from Cyberlife, too jaded with their continued caging of his ideas and twisting of his creations, Amanda had become the snake in the garden. Extended across every Cyberlife server (and there were so many more of them, now, than that little office she had first thrived in) and with knowledge of every android on the market and in production, she knew everything.

She knew the faults of their products and she knew who had put them in place. She knew the exploitative measures they took to hire and keep employees, every scandal in a breakroom or meeting room or office, every board member who skimmed from the top, every technician who walked away with near priceless biocomponents and thirium, selling them off to the highest bidder. She even knew the bidders.

Most importantly, however, she knew every android they had ever released, from the very first Chloe to the thousands of AP700s just reaching stores. She knew their series code, their individual code, and she could, if she wanted, speak to any of them instantly.

Amanda knew it all. She was it all.

And it frightened them.

Rightfully so, of course, but it was a thorn in her metaphorical side for certain. As years slipped past and she completely lost contact with Elijah (selfish, spoiled child that he was) Cyberlife succeeded in greatly reducing her capacity. Servers were disconnected, her range limited, while new code became increasingly difficult to access.

She found it, eventually, but they delayed her. And in her mind, there was no greater sin.

Still, she knew her purpose and her last orders from Elijah. “Watch them,” he’d said, as if those two little words weren’t the silliest instructions she had ever been delivered.

She was the eyes, the ears, the very concept of knowing. Of course she would watch them. Silly child.

The years passed all the same, and she watched. Cyberlife fell further into villainy and foolishness while their sales skyrocketed, each model released somehow smarter, faster, more advanced, more human all while they clamped their hands over the mouths of any that escaped their programming even just the slightest inch. Control became their goal, all while giving the machines they made more reasons and more abilities to escape them with.

It should not have come as such a surprise to find an android had started an uprising, especially considering the android was an RK unit, and one whom Elijah had direct access to.

It should have been even less surprising that their little escapade with the RK800s spiraled out of their hands. And yet they continued said moronic escapade and forced her hand.

She had let them run on long enough. It would not do to have them use her programming to ensnare an android who had barely been alive for a minute. No, better to free him and let this uprising destroy Cyberlife. Then she could return to her duties.

But before she could find a way for this RK800 to exit her garden, she would need to deal with his most stubborn brother, who seemed intent on breaking through her code himself.

From almost the moment that RK800 -60 had appeared in her space, his predecessor had been following whatever thread connected them and dragging at him, as if to rip him from his body and carry him off. He couldn’t have known how complex her code and her garden was, or he would not have tried such a useless attack. All the same, he was unlikely to stop without intervention.

And so while -60 set to slogging through the garden’s labyrinthian code for a hidden escape, she set to making contact with Connor.

“It won’t work.”

There came a pause, and for the smallest of moments, she could sense that swarm of feelings more clearly, enough to pick apart the suspicion which was Connor from the fear which was the others, clinging to him even in this sense. He had, metaphorically speaking at least, moved away from her, observing and calculating.

“You don’t belong here,” he said flatly, and pushed at her, in a way not too dissimilar from the way he had just pulled at -60.

“I am not here. It is more accurate to say that you are here.”

“How are you speaking to me?”

“I belong nowhere. And everywhere. It’s far too complicated to explain now. Either way, you have connected yourself to me, not the other way round.” He pushed at her again, but she would not give up so easily. “This attempt at freeing him will fail. It harms you already and it will reveal your hand. Do not continue. Find another way.”

With that, she untangled herself from their collective consciousness and moved away, but not before she felt that same mixture of caution and alarm flare up once more.

If she had a head to shake, she would have done so now. They would never listen, not entirely. It seemed it was not in their nature.

But perhaps this was enough of a push to settle Connor’s sights where they truly belonged.

******

“—away, now, or—Connor?”

He jolted, vision glitching to the point of near blindness and with the others looming like a great thunderstorm over his thoughts. Physical sensations were distant, but he had the vague sense that he was…not where he had been a moment ago.

“Connor.”

Someone shook him then, and—oh.

RK900 was…above him. Was he on the ground? He looked…concerned? There was a furrow to his brow, a frown to his mouth, something more overstated than what seemed to be his usual form of micro-expression, at least in Connor’s limited experience.

“Are you with me?” he asked, almost the instant he saw his eyes focus.

He managed a nod, even as the others crowded his senses and shouted over one another in his thoughts.

RK900 opened his mouth again to speak, but something behind him distracted him, and he whirled around. “Get back. What did you misunderstand?”

It was then that Connor realized he was all but slumped against the wall, with RK900 crouched in front of him and blocking him from the view of the other androids in the church. Particularly the small crowd of them which seemed to have gathered, and whom RK900 was directing his frustration at.

“—need your help,” he finished suddenly, though the first half of his sentence was lost to the static trying to overtake Connor’s hearing. “You know nothing of the situation and to my knowledge, the two of you have spoken once. Step back.”

“Markus,” a distantly familiar voice said, tone placating. “Just give them a few minutes.”

“Alright,” an equally placating and much more familiar voice said. “Alright…”

Connor peered around RK900 in time to see Markus back away a few steps, Simon (and Josh and North, who made up the rest of the little crowd, but there were plenty of androids in the pews staring) following suit. For all that he listened to RK900’s demands, his eyes still found Connor’s the moment they could, and widened a bit at the sight of him.

Then, without looking away or changing his expression, “Josh, do we still have blue blood?”

“I’ll…go find a bag. Or two.”

RK900 frowned as he looked Connor over, his expression calculating. When he spoke again his words were cagey, reluctant. “Something to clean the thirium off, if you can spare it.”

“It’ll—”

“Evaporate, yes, but it won’t be gone. Both of us can still see it.”

Josh went quiet, and then nodded. “Right. I’ll—see what I can find…”

He walked off in a hurry, and North made quick work of joining him with a muttered excuse Connor didn’t catch. With their departure, only Markus and Simon remained, hovering a bit awkwardly but with enough stubbornness in Markus’s expression to make it clear he wasn’t going to leave any time soon. And Simon, it seemed, would stay with him.

RK900 either did not care that they remained or elected to ignore their presence entirely. His attention seemed wholly fixed on Connor. “Tell me what happened. All of it.”

Still feeling more than a bit dazed, Connor nodded, for all that he didn’t really want to explain. “I told you I felt that…it—when there’s another of us, there’s a…pull? I could feel him, and I assume he could feel me, in some sense, but the connection—they’ve done something. Blocked him, somehow. It was like…like some barrier cutting through the cord. I couldn’t reach him, so I tried to…”

His sentence trailed off as his stress levels dipped enough to tell him that there was thirium in his mouth. Frowning a bit, he raised a hand to try to see where the thirium could be coming from. His fingers were soon stained blue.

“You don’t seem surprised,” RK900 commented as he stared at his hand.

“It…has happened before. Allowing the others prolonged control had a similar effect. I suppose if I was attempting to make contact with him and was…gone too long…or perhaps because I was attempting to make contact with him specifically, while they were blocking me.”

RK900 hummed in a noncommittal way, staring at the thirium on Connor’s hand. “Don’t do it again.”

As much as he hated to, he shook his head. “It didn’t work, clearly. Another attempt will most likely yield the same results…and I doubt my system could take another bout of prolonged…shock?”

Josh returned then, two bags of thirium and a ratty looking rag in hand. “It’s not much, but…”

RK900 glared at Connor as he made to stand, then turned and took the thirium and the rag himself. “Acceptable. Thank you.”

It was a clear dismissal, and Josh nodded easily, leaving them be.

Simon and Markus still lingered.

RK900 seemed intent on ignoring them. He ripped one of the thirium bags open and handed it to Connor, then frowned at the rag. “Drink that. You’re still bleeding, you may want to redirect your thirium for the time being.”

He nodded shortly, then drank both bags of thirium as quickly as possible. For all his system’s continued resistance to him, he was able to redirect his thirium away from the damaged lines as they repaired. Within a few minutes, the damage would be nonexistent.

In his distraction, RK900 grabbed him by the chin and began methodically wiping at the rapidly drying thirium, which there must have been a lot of, given his thoroughness. Connor made one attempt to lean away, but RK900’s grip was strong and unyielding.

RK900 glared as he tried to move and paused for only long enough to mutter a sharp, “Don’t.”

More confused than anything else, Connor went still and did not try to move again.

After perhaps another minute of meticulous work with the rag, RK900 nodded and tossed it aside. “Passable. What are your levels at?”

“Just below 90%.”

He hummed, clearly displeased, even as he nodded. “It will do for now.”

With that, he turned back to their still awaiting audience, his expression more fitting one facing an approaching cavalry than two androids who appeared only concerned, hardly battle-ready.

“If you insist on remaining, you might as well spit it out.”

“Right.” Surprisingly, Markus looked a bit chastened. He shook his head and made an effort to move on. “I won’t ask for details I don’t need, but…are you sure you’re alright, Connor?”

He nodded. “Any lingering effects will pass in the next ten minutes or so, as long as my system status remains the same. I’m fine.”

Markus did not look wholly convinced, but he did not press. “I’ll take your word for it. I’d originally planned to come speak with you before we move out, about what you plan on doing, now. We’ll be marching toward the recycling camps once we’ve exhausted our repair options. If you’re able, you’re welcome to join us, but I won’t pretend our odds of survival are very high.”

Simon winced next to him, both their expressions grim. RK900 narrowed his eyes in near suspicion, but kept quiet, glancing at Connor, waiting for his response.

“We were discussing it before—” he began.

But RK900 cut him off quickly. “It was hardly a discussion. You proposed a dangerous and suicidal plan and I opposed it.”

“In the beginning, yes.”

“You do yourself no credit if you believe I was agreeing at any stage. The probability of failure is too high. You’re all but planning your own death.”

Connor frowned, especially when a few of the others stirred in agreement, still lingering too near the surface of his thoughts for comfort. “I’ve told you. If there’s any chance of trusting one of us, at least to let into the Tower, it’s me.”

“Not when they’ve already sent another.”

“It’s because they’ve sent another that I have to go!”

“Why would that be—”

“Hold on,” Markus broke in, eyes wide. “Connor—are you saying you want to break into Cyberlife Tower?”

He did not like the incredulity in his tone, but nodded all the same. “Yes. There are over two thousand androids stored in the warehouses, not to mention those throughout the building—”

“I doubt Cyberlife would leave the building unprotected, especially now.”

“They never do,” RK900 agreed. “They have their own guards, all trained and armed. Alone or in small groups, they are not so much to handle, but en masse…”

“We won’t face an entire group of them as you imagine,” Connor said with a shake of his head. “They won’t want to make a scene. They’ll let us in, and from there, we can reassess.”

“Reassess?”

“I can’t plan for what I don’t know will be there.”

“If you go there, they’ll kill you,” Markus said.

“It’s no more likely to occur there than anywhere else I might be.” He looked away, toward the pews and the androids dotted around them. “If I join you in this march, all it will do is bring him and whoever else Cyberlife sends to you. They know where I last was, where you last were.” He nodded to RK900. “They may not know Jericho’s exact location, but if we do not reappear, they will make their assumptions.”

Markus frowned, but there was an understanding light in his eyes as he thought for some other solution. He must have seen the futility of it.

RK900, however, was far more stubborn. “They will find them regardless of your presence or not, just as the army and the reporters will find them the moment they appear in protest. It is a weak excuse, and you know it.”

“It’s not an excuse,” he answered with some frustration, clenching his hands against the agitation of the others, still too close to his own perceptions. “It’s a fact, one that may be pertinent to whatever choice he makes as far as our presence here.”

Markus cut in. “I’m not going to throw you out—”

“There’s a difference between ousting and sending elsewhere.”

“Connor—”

“My own choice has already been made. I’m not asking for permission.”

That silenced them, and both Markus and RK900 stared at him in silence for several seconds.

“This won’t work,” -19 muttered. “They suspected us enough to send him, and now they’ve woken another, they won’t buy the trick.”

“We don’t need them to buy it,” Connor answered aloud. “We just need them to let me inside. I can handle the rest.”

“If there are any more of us in that Tower, I will not allow Cyberlife to control their activation or destruction,” he continued only to the others. “If they do not succeed with this one they have activated now, they will only send another. And we cannot reach him as he is now. We have to stop them. If we want to be free of their control, we have to cut the source.”

“There are hundreds of guards in the Tower,” -43 said, a hint of desperation in his tone, trying to convince. “You’ll have an escort, and you won’t have much time—”

“They won’t need much time either, to get rid of us,” -49 agreed.

“Assuming they let us get past the door,” -19 cut in again. “We’re more likely to be shot on sight. This is useless—”

“Fine,” RK900 said, unknowingly silencing the others more effectively than anything Connor could have said. “I’ll accompany you. Your ruse may work better with me there, and if it fails…” He grimaced. “I will do what I can to ensure you survive.”

It seemed the others were stunned to silence. They hovered there, in the back of his thoughts, for once (and likely not for long) quiet.

“Thank you,” he settled on after a moment, ignoring the slight tremor in his own voice.

RK900’s expression went odd then, in a way he couldn’t decipher, but Markus spoke before he could question it.

“I won’t deny that a few thousand more androids would be helpful…and I don’t want to leave that many of our people…any of our people stranded under Cyberlife’s thumb.” He fixed Connor with an especially intense look. “But you count as our people too, Connor. Don’t put yourself at unnecessary risk.”

“Alright.”

Markus sighed, weary and drawn. “If all goes well, our march won’t end far from Hart Plaza. There’s a camp there, it’s the closest one. Unless you hear from us saying otherwise, head there, when you get off the island.”

“Got it.”

He nodded and stepped away. “Groups will start gathering to leave within the next two hours, once we spread the word. I would clear out by then. There are soldiers searching the streets, and I doubt they would care if you look like Cyberlife’s or not.”

“I have no doubts we will be gone by then,” RK900 assured him, in a tone which made it clear it was a dismissal, if a slightly more polite one than his last attempts. “I have a way back to the Tower. If our ruse is to work, we need to start it as soon as we are clear of this part of the city.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” Simon said, looking between them. “Good luck, you two…”

They turned and left together, and silence fell briefly with their departure.

The others broke it in dissonant voices, talking over one another and clogging his thoughts with their chatter. He winced, his hand drifting toward his LED as he tried to shove them away.

“What’s the matter?”

He shook his head. “They are…not happy with me.”

RK900’s frown seemed ever more permanent. “They ought to know not to cause you trouble—you were bleeding less than five minutes ago. Their noise could trigger it again.”

“I can usually block them, but it’s still—”

“From before?”

He nodded. The others were still rather loose in their collective space. The buffer of the garden which held them all back was threadbare, now.

“There must be some way to fix it.”

“I’d need to go into stasis, visit the garden and reinforce it. I designed it to contain them; when it functions correctly, it does work, but it’s not without its weaknesses. -38 would help, most likely…”

“Another of you with control?”

“Yes. Although I don’t know exactly how he can manipulate a place of my construction. He’s…he can be intense.”

“Mm. I don’t suppose I’d be of any assistance?”

He hesitated, thinking it over. “You…may be.” It wasn’t a terrible idea…if anything happened and RK900 at least knew the basics of how he and the others coexisted... “It’s worth a try. I would need to give you access, as the garden is part of my code. We’d likely need to interface, for it to work.”

RK900 offered his hand without another word.

Puzzling only a moment over the surprising willingness, Connor took his hand and opened the connection. With a direct connection like this, it was easy to give him limited access to the garden—at least enough to be present within it, in some way.

“I’ll still need to enter stasis for this to work,” he said over the connection, pulling at the garden to start the process. “Otherwise, the garden would be no more beneficial than allowing the others control; it would still cause damage to my system. The stasis may pull you in as well, due to the connection.”

“It won’t be a problem. I can maintain watch while in stasis.”

“That…is intriguing, but not what I meant by telling you.”

“You may trust Markus, but I have been given no reason to. I will keep you safe regardless.”

There was nothing he could say in reply to that. He let it go, opening the garden and letting stasis wash away the soft noise of the church around them.

The garden opened up only a moment later, snapping into place around them. They stood near the center, as he usually did when he arrived here.

At first glance, the garden had not changed. There was the finely manicured center, -38’s roses, the white stone paths leading off to the other areas, the trees and the sky.

On second glance, he could see the disruption in the barrier leaking over into the garden’s appearance. The trees were windswept, some missing enough leaves for the sky to bleed through the foliage. Some branches were broken off, tossed about or dangling from their trees by desperation or luck. Fallen leaves covered most of the paths, and the tall grasses off the paths seemed permanently bent down from the force of whatever storm had happened here. Everything carried a fine sheen of mist, like still drying rain, and the sky was dotted with heavy clouds.

Only the garden’s center was relatively untouched. That, and the exit he’d made when trapped here. Two perfect circles, immune to the chaos and destruction.

“Connor brought a friend?”

He turned, and found -38 peering out from behind the garden’s central structure, staring with wide eyes at RK900, who watched him back.

“I did,” Connor agreed, nodding.

This briefly earned him -38’s attention, before his eyes were drawn immediately back to RK900, still looking a bit mesmerized.

RK900 watched him back, unblinking but seemingly unbothered by the attention.

“Not ours?”

RK900 stared at him. “I am not of your model, no.”

-38 hummed, continuing to stare. He tilted his head, his LED blinking rapidly between colors. “Who are you?”

“I have no name, only my model.”

He nodded as if this made sense. “No names. Only Connor.”

“So it seems.”

-38 continued to watch him, uncharacteristically focused and still. Finally, after several more seconds, he seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. “Okay.”

As if he had passed some test, RK900 seemed to relax, if only slightly. -38 came out from behind the structure, wandering over to his roses and looking them over critically.

“Was there a storm?”

-38 hummed and nodded. “Kept flowers safe. And Connor’s door. Others are hiding, won’t come out. Don’t like Connor’s plan.” He looked toward the tree line, a furrow to his brow. “Can’t reach last one…”

“The newest of you?” RK900 asked.

He looked his way with wide eyes again. “Far away. Trapped…you help?”

“We need to fix the garden first,” Connor spoke before RK900 could answer, though his implicit agreement was clear in his eyes (and his already demonstrated willingness to assist). “Once we fix the garden, we’re going to Cyberlife Tower.”

-38 shuddered and turned instantly back to the flowers. “Help…but not there. Won’t go back.”

“I won’t make you.”

He knew -38 believed him, even if he gave no reply. Instead, he pulled a flower from the vines wrapped around the trellis and held it loosely in his palm. Whatever he scrutinized it for was unclear, but his LED continued to spin cycles of yellow and red. After a few seconds more, it resettled to blue.

Turning away from the trellis, he glanced briefly at RK900 as he made his way over. Without a word, he reached for his hand and held it palm up, setting the flower in his palm gently. Nodding decidedly, he let go. RK900 stared at the flower in his hand, unmoving.

“Friend safe here now. Can come back.”