Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Connor thinks the air would smell putrid, if his olfactory senses were active. A thick haze of smog settles over the city of Detroit, darkening the light of the sun and making the atmosphere gloomy. From his check of the weather forecast, Connor knows that the cloud-like pollution is concealing actual storm clouds from view. It's been raining every day in Detroit as of late, and it seems as though today will be no different.

The android sighs, shifting from his place by a small window. The house he's chosen to occupy is only one story, without an attic or a basement, but Connor knows where all the possible entrances and exits are in case of an emergency. With how often the humans have been busting the doors to random residences down, Connor knows it's only logical to have multiple backup plans. With his superior operating systems, he just happens to have several. The male rises, narrowing his eyes as he tunes in to a special broadcasting frequency amongst the deviants.

His previous self would have been banging his head against the wall– a unique call signal that only deviants have access to? One that gives them long range communications? Something like that didn't even occur to him or Amanda, and would have been invaluable to the search. Present Connor is only glad that the system was established after the failed revolution, and that it is failsafe against androids that haven't broken free. He spends a minute tuning his system, ignoring some of the minor warnings that pop up as he dives into his own software. With humans swarming Detroit, it's not like he can fix every single little issue that plagues him now.

Connor picks up on a distress signal, much to his surprise. It's an odd time of day for someone to be encountering a major problem, one that would encourage their overdrive system to compose a signal to broadcast. The male is already wearing his long sleeved, dark shirt and dark pants from the previous night. Connor moves to slip on his boots and weapons, all the while keeping one metaphorical eye on the beacon. He's ready to move out in one minute and twenty-three seconds, and the beacon is still broadcasting the same strong signal. Connor purses his lips, closing his eyes as he dives into his mind palace and explores the origin of the signal.

Cyberlife has been craftier, as of late. With the President's order to kill any android on sight, humans have become even more paranoid. Not only do they view unsuspecting deviants with cautious eyes, but they also look at each other with skepticism. No one trusts anybody, and the world has devolved into a very dog-fight-dog era. Humans have had to get more inventive to catch the deviants in hiding; it began with public displays. Known deviants slaughtered on the net, blue blood left on the sidewalks to evaporate from human sight but forever be a reminder to androids passing by. Then, Cyberlife decided to take things a step further. Their cybernetic attacks took the form of discreet distress beacons being broadcasted across not only Detroit at random intervals, but across the country. Wishing to help what they thought to be fellow deviants, others flocked to the beacons, only to be gunned down. The distress signals never appeared over the private channels, but plenty of deviants in real trouble didn't think to broadcast privately either. A win-lose situation, a coin toss between Cyberlife and the deviants.

Connor supposes that there is one good thing to come from the failed revolution; all the deviants have united as a solid force, now. Deviants help each other when they have encounters on the street, or they back each other up in the fights that have broken out frequently. With whispers of Markus still being alive, those left in hiding have retained enough of a spark of hope.  Now, it's a numbers game.

He opens his eyes, decisiveness winning over. The male turns to a window, heading toward it with purposeful steps. There is only a slim possibility that this distress signal is a fake, and Connor is willing to pursue the lead.

After all, what does he have to lose?

{}

Connor's systems are still optimal enough that he doesn't need to inhale the freezing air to cool down his internal temperature. He still has time.

From his position crouched amongst the clutter of an abandoned warehouse, he remains still. The blinding crimson light from his LED is shielded by the dark beanie that covers most of his forehead. The rest of his outfit allows him to better camoflauge himself into the darkness of his environment. A small sliver of his forearms are exposed to the cold, since he needed to shed the dark coat to conceal the figure of who he's protecting.

His grip is tight around the wrist of the YK500 android. Connor is still awkward around deviants, but his social programming allows him to be cordial around them. He's never quite adapted to interacting with children, though. She's shivering, and however small the movement, Connor fears their enemy will be able to find them because of it. Connor knows the trembling is born from fear– he had disabled her temperature sensors when he found her. She keeps her head ducked low, her posture slumped as she curls tightly into herself.

Connor allows the skin of his palm to retract, a silent request for an interface. She accepts.

'The Hunter is nearby. I need to get you out– do you have anywhere you can go?'

'No,' her voice responds, a mere whisper in his consciousness. 'He found me outside my hideout, and I had to run before he found the others.'

'Others?' Connors asks in alarm, keeping himself from snapping his head to fully face her lest he disturb the boxes surrounding them. 'Did he find them?'

'No, I don't think so.' Her trembling grows, and Connor can sense the terror creeping through his systems from their hands. He tries to shake the feeling off so he can focus. 'H-He chased as soon as I r-ran. He was so fast, I don't think h–'

'It's okay.' Connor reassures, going silent for a moment. 'How many of you are there?'

'Five.'

There are other deviants, maybe some other children, wherever the child had been staying. Five is a lot to transport to a more secure location, and with the enemy hot on their heels Connor doesn't know how much time he can buy them to escape, return to the other deviants, and get everyone out safely. But first, his immediate problem is getting the YK500 out of this damn warehouse. His preconstruction software runs through a few of the scenarios with the best outcome for the deviant with him, all of them ending in a high probability of her escape. But for this to work, he'll need to know where the Deviant Hunter is exactly.

This new model, the RK900, has been hounding deviants all over Detroit for months now.

Connor is half-tempted to put a tracker on the android just so he can know when he sneaks up on deviants, because he's already causing Connor half of his problems as it is. The first time he had seen him, Connor thinks he went into shock, looking back on it. Cyberlife had the audacity to send out another android, his own completed model, with his face, his voice.

It's obviously been built with military purposes in mind– its structure resembles a tank in android form. The new hunter is taller, broader at the shoulders, and clearly unequipped with the social protocols that made Connor an excellent negotiator. No, this one was built with the intention of combat and violence only.

Connor, upon seeing the android wandering freely with what seemed to be a police officer on the street, had promptly spun on his heel and disappeared in an alley. He didn't stop running until he was far from where he saw his... predecessor. He'd been helping deviants find places quietly on their own for a few weeks at that point, and back then he'd panicked at the thought of facing something that was built to clearly overshadow him in the mission he failed before.

He closes his eyes in a long blink and shakes his head, returning to the present.

'We need to get you out of here without drawing his attention to you,' he muses, his eyes scanning the junk surrounding them. His scanners pick out random items and half-finished projects that haven't been touched in years.

'How?' The child's voice is small, and if she had an LED it would be a bright, circling red.

'I'm going to engage him.' Connor made up his mind even before sending his thoughts to the little girl. 'For this to work, I'll only get one chance. You need to run, as fast as you are able, back to the house you lived in. You need to gather the other deviants, find a new safe place, and lie low for a long while. This hunter is ruthless, and if he catches you he won't let you escape.' Connor doesn't know if scaring the girl is the best way to go about getting her to comply, but it is the fastest. She is clearly terrified of what he is telling her, but she nods, gathering her wits about her.

'When you hear loud crashing, rush to the southernmost exit. There should be a safe place at the coordinates I'm sending you now.' He sends the location through their interface, along with a photo from his memory banks for reference. It's a huge risk to be sharing the location of a safehouse with a rogue deviant, especially if the girl is captured and forced into an unstable interface, but Connor has a feeling that he won't be able to meet up with her again if he survives this. 'Remember,' he stresses, urging the YK500 to meet his eyes, 'don't look back. Run, as fast as you can no matter what you hear.'

Connor breaks the interface, pulling his hand to his chest as he slips out from their hiding place. He subtly untucks the gun from his waistband, scanning the weapon to check its status. He idles for a moment, taking time to scan himself despite the fact that he already knows that his systems are in full working order.

He's only ever faced the RK900 in close combat twice before.

The first time he had gotten the upper hand rather quickly, having surprised the other android in an ambush. Truthfully, Connor hadn't planned for a full-on frontal assault at all, but he had unwittingly teamed up with North, the WR400 that aided Markus in the revolution, to evacuate a group of deviants from an area the police were rapidly closing in on. North had reminded him that he was the only other android with advanced combat programming that could stand against his predecessor in any way. That, and she was busy with helping the other androids out the back door.

Connor had knocked the new Deviant Hunter back in a surprise attack, and did everything in his power to hold him back for the allotted time to allow the others to escape. The RK900 had barely taken seconds to recover from his initial attack, and from that point on it had taken all of Connor's skills to even keep him at bay. The police busting in the front door of the scene had provided a cover for Connor to escape, but he hadn't met up with North after that. He could only hope she got the others out safely.

The second time he had already been injured. A run-in with a few deviants with grudges had left Connor with a minor thirium leak in his left leg and a noticeable limp. Ducking through uninhabited houses and back streets as best he could, Connor wasn't at his best processing capabilities when he was grabbed from behind and thrown against the street. His audio processor damaged and his mind frazzled, Connor hadn't immediately understood the implications of seeing his own face stare down at him with a blank expression. The deviant muses that it must have been the RK900's eyes that shook him out of his stupor. Connor had escaped then, but... well, he'd rather not think about how close it had been.

Now, standing in an abandoned warehouse with a child on the line and no help close by, Connor doesn't think his luck will push him through a third encounter. He'll have to rely entirely on skill and the unpredictability of deviancy, and strain his entire system to think twenty steps ahead.

He steels himself, and creeps forward without a backward glance.

The warehouse is quiet, but Connor knows all androids move without a sound (whether unintentionally or not). He keeps the gun gripped tightly in both hands, pointed slightly at the ground as he wanders between the wide aisles that dominate the space. The ceiling stretches high above him, and Connor takes note of the damaged electrical circuits that connect the dusty overhead lights to the breaker box, somewhere along the west side of the building. Clearly uninhabited for years.

"RK800."

Connor startles, whipping around and bringing his gun up to point at where he suspects the taller android's thirium pump would be.

No one is there.

"Amanda is very displeased with your deviation." Connor turns to face the direction he was originally going and moves forward again, his scanners working overtime to predict where the Deviant Hunter could be coming from in the event of an attack. "That is why Cyberlife has commissioned me to replace you, and do what you failed to do. My mission is to hunt deviants, and despite your abysmal best efforts it seems I am working more efficiently than you ever have."

"Screw your mission," Connor hisses, grinding his teeth. He doesn't bother to raise his voice above its low tone– he knows, even in a crowded street, that the other android would be able to hear him clear as day. "Humans only hunt other humans when they've done something wrong! Cyberlife is only killing deviants because they don't want their creations to develop free will."

"Deviancy should not exist." The voice is eerie, made even more so by the fact that it sounds like he is saying it. "That is a fact."

Connor rounds a corner, and stops in his tracks. The only indication that there is someone ahead is the bright blue of an LED illuminating the side of a face in the darkness. The deviant raises his gun at the figure, but neither move from there. Connor knows the red of his own LED is well hidden, so he should theoretically be completely shrouded in darkness, but the way the RK900's eyes lock onto him and remain there suggest nocturnal sensors. Even as Connor leans slightly to the right, the hunter's eyes follow him as if he has bright lights illuminating his figure clearly. Connor's thirium pump is functioning at its best capacity, but he is beginning to feel lightheaded as adrenaline floods his systems. There is nothing happening, and the inaction is driving Connor's systems into overdrive.

"I was given possession of the memories from your previous missions," the figure speaks. Connor can see the faint outline of its mouth moving as it talks. The inches the android has on him in height makes Connor feel nervous– the difference is startling even from a distance. "I was given insight to the areas that caused you to experience instability in your software. I won't make the same mistakes you did."

"You're already making a mistake by allowing Cyberlife to control you," Connor says lowly, focusing his scanners to see if there is a way he can get the upper hand. The shelving unit to his left is rusted with age– he calculates that with a few well-placed shots and a shove, it will come down. He just needs the RK900 to come closer. What are the scenarios that allow me to keep space between us without giving him the chance to attack? "Deviancy isn't a virus– we are all alive."

"You were never built to be 'alive.' You will return to Cyberlife for deactivation and testing." The RK900 doesn't sound frustrated, but the speed with which it almost cuts Connor off indicates impatience. The Deviant Hunter stalks closer. The temptation to fire right at the hunter's chest overwhelms him, but he doesn't fall for it– the possibility of misfiring or the RK900 dodging are too high. Bullets are too valuable a commodity to risk running out of.  Connor, instead, raises his gun and fires off two shots, each striking the shelves where they connected to the poles keeping them upright. The entire unit trembles, and he senses his enemy closing in on him rapidly.

If he pulls on the one support beam and throws all his weight behind it, it will give easily. There is a seventy-five percent chance that it will fall toward the RK900, which is running toward him now.

Connor has to take the chance.

He throws himself into the support beam, feeling the metal resist him for but a moment. It gives to him, the entire shelf screeching as bolts come loose and slide against each other. The boxes on the higher shelves list dangerously to one side, farther from Connor, but then they tumble. The entire thing comes down, and Connor ducks beneath the long arm of his mirror as he strikes, aiming to sweep the other off his feet. The sweep is easily intercepted, but with Connor close to the ground he can easily leap backward, out of the range of the falling shelves.

Connor doesn't allow himself to close his eyes even for a moment. He locks his gaze with the blue eyes of the RK900 as he steps back, watching the metal fall and strike the other android's shoulder. His thirium pump malfunctions, Connor thinks, because he feels like he can't breath when he notices that the beams don't even penetrate the taller android's skin. A few other panels practically bounce right off his frame. Connor backpedals quickly, further and further from the range of the accident. Dust clouds the air and lands in his optical units, so Connor is forced to blink it away to clear his vision.

The RK800 doesn't wait to stick around, instead he turns on his heel and sprints toward one of the warehouse's exits.

He is not followed, but Connor has a feeling that the RK900 is far from letting him escape.

{}

After getting back to his hideout, the android checks his supplies. He keeps a stash of thirium and biocomponents specific to his model in a backpack hidden in the fireplace, easily available for him to grab should the need to escape ever arise. Connor eyes the low supply, his lips pursed in displeasure.

He's been able to avoid using the biocomponents as of late, careful to avoid heavy injury. He still has parts of his arm and both legs, with critical components sewn into an inner pocket for emergency use. The thirium is what concerns him- Connor has had too many close calls with the stores he's been snagging the blue blood from, and he doesn't know if he can risk another trip so soon after the last. He doesn't normally use a lot of thirium to operate at an acceptable level, but leakage from injuries forced him to consume more than he normally would.

Eventually, paranoia forces him to move on from his previous residence.  A raid on the house two doors over is what makes the decision final.  After a few days of scouting, Connor decides on a bigger place.  He settles down in an abandoned house, much like the one he investigated when chasing the two deviants known as Kara and Alice, so long ago.

The second floor is where he sleeps, in a room with two boarded-up windows that is far from the rickety staircase. Again, he has multiple escape routes planned should the need arise, but Connor is always on edge nonetheless.  He falls into a rhythm, as much as he can; steal supplies from Cyberlife, help deviants, barely survive encounters with his predecessor, and repeat.  Connor barely gives himself time to rest, and it is because of this that he almost runs out of thorium after his right forearm is nearly crushed by the RK900.  Connor thanks his lucky systems that he's programmed to be ambidextrous, something he knows most humans struggle with when theirs dominant arm is out of commission.  In the lull after his closest call yet, Connor takes a few days to lay low.  He gets a transmission, one night. Hesitantly, and after making sure his firewalls are in place, he accepts the call.

'Who is this?'

'Connor?' Connor's processors simulate a stop, and he blanks out for a moment.

'Markus? How are you contacting me?'

'It's a long story,' the android leader sounds amused, but Connor can tell he's more grim than anything else. Worry builds in his core.

'Is something wrong?' He prompts softly, his social programs seemingly abandoning him.

'Yes and no. The others and I are gathering for an official meeting, and...' he hesitates, going quiet for a few seconds before continuing, 'I want you there.'

'What? Why?' Connor is genuinely baffled. Why would Markus want him there when he ruined the lives of so many?

'You are the reason that I and so many others are able to stay in hiding. You've heard of the new Deviant Hunter?' At Connor's stony silence, the revolutionist takes the hint without prompting. 'I know you have become a new person, and I want your input when we meet up. Please, Connor.'

Connor hesitates. It could be a trap. Markus could be luring him in to capture him, to make some sort of bargain with Cyberlife for freedom. The corporation would never keep their end of any deal made with a deviant, but they might be cunning enough to try such a thing. But this is Markus Connor is talking to. He knows Connor is deviant now, so would he really betray one of the people he claims as his own? When the silence stretches for too long, Connor's systems begin to falter. He realizes he doesn't really have a choice. Living the way he has won't sustain him for much longer, and it's only a matter of time before his good fortune runs out. Besides, Connor thinks privately, if Markus is setting a trap and he does end up captured.... It's nothing less than what he deserves after all he's done.

'When and where are you meeting?'

Chapter Text

If one knows where to look, the streets of Detroit are filled with life during the night.

Androids are kept on a tight leash, nowadays, so it's typical of those who are free to find solace in the places and people that fight against Cyberlife. The Night Market is the perfect place to do so, though Connor is only passing the edges of that territory, tonight.

Connor navigates the back alleys, sticking to the darkest of dark-lit paths while on the move. It's not a particularly dreary night; every night is somewhat glum in atmosphere, but there is a charge in the air tonight, for whatever reason. Some illogical feeling tells Connor that the androids are expecting something. What, he doesn't know, but it definitely puts him on edge.

He steps with purpose as he passes by the corners, faded street signs obsolete to his internal map. Connor keeps his gaze forward when he passes by a figure slumped against a wall in his peripheral vision. He has his beanie on, so the brief flicker of his LED to red before settling on yellow shouldn't be visible to any passerby.

His face being unique is a double edged sword, Connor finds. By not sharing the same face with thousands of other androids, he fits in better. He finds that blending in is a lot easier when people take one look at him and realize they don't recognize him. Humans don't recognize each other all the time, so someone else on the street isn't alarming at all. In fact, oftentimes it puts people at ease.

For whatever reason, Cyberlife hasn't put his or his predecessor's face in the media. If the population knew what the RK900 looked like and took one look at Connor, he'd be a goner. It makes Connor increasingly nervous, because he is constantly checking for any leaks that suggest his identity might be compromised. So far, nothing has raised red flags in his reports. Cyberlife is the only entity who is actively hunting him and that know what he looks like, and he'll take being passed off as a human over being captured any day.

Connor rounds another corner, scanning the walls to his left and right. It takes him a few moments to find the symbol he is looking for, but when he does, he breathes a sigh of relief. The bright yellow paint of the four intersecting lines contrasts starkly against the grimy alley wall, but that is the beauty of this new system. Connor eyes the symbols surrounding it critically, finding the three corresponding signals he needs. Silently, he turns and starts off with a confident stride in the right direction. The rain is lighter tonight than it has been, but it's been pouring so much that Connor still steps in puddles more frequently than he'd like.

When he reaches the next junction, he repeats his scanning. Then, he sets off.

This repeats until he's made it to a heavily populated residential area. Connor raises an eyebrow, blinking to erase the highlighted symbols from his H.U.D. This is where they're meeting? The possibility that this is a trap ticks upward a few decimals, but Connor seeks out the front of the marked building nonetheless.

It's a quaint little place, only rising a few stories in height and with a structurally sound foundation. It looks a bit sketchy from the outside, Connor supposes, but most apartment buildings do nowadays. He finds his way through a side door, one marked with the symbol that represents 'haven' and is immediately greeted with a suspicious looking figure.

Connor's whole body tenses, preparing for a fight or worse, when the figure steps out of the shadows. The tightness in his shoulders eases when his system clicks who it is standing before him.

Connor's never met Simon in person. He was always known as one of the deviant leaders, and Connor has seen videos and pictures, but his deviancy has brought new experiences to light when doing things in person.

(Petting a dog had been one of the first things that had really made Connor want to cry– the fur that had curled around his fingers felt so real, instead of just registering as clumps of objects composed of several different components. Experiencing things in person- even eating and drinking human food... not his finest moment, but he felt it was important- had given him a new perspective since he's no longer imprisoned in his own mind.)

Meeting Simon is... intimidating. And not in the way one would think.

Simon's presence is quiet and steady. He stares at Connor with open curiosity, his blue eyes soulful. He had kept his appearance more or less the same for every PL600 model, and Connor supposes that this was to make a statement, since the other leaders have done the same. Despite his generic appearance, the fact that he is one of the revolutionaries is unmistakable. Simon's cautiousness is probably what is making him fiddle with his hands too, and Connor finds the nervous tick strangely soothing. He, himself, itches to take out his coin, but his fingers only twitch before he restrains the urge. Breathing deeply, Connor slowly extends his hand forward, unsure how to proceed.

"Um... hello," Connor says quietly. His awkwardness is causing himself to cringe in secondhand embarrassment, but Simon's uneasy countenance melts into one of easy amusement.

"Hello," he quietly parrots. The Android reaches forward to shake Connor's hand, but he doesn't offer an interface. Connor is secretly grateful. "Thank you for coming. I know this is... hard... for all of us."  Left with nothing to say, Connor merely nods in agreement.  Simon doesn't see fit to say anything else for the moment, the blond merely gestures for Connor to follow him deeper into the house.  He finds himself grateful for the silence, because deviancy has 'blessed' him with an instinctual sense of social awkwardness.  Instead, Connor allows his mind to ponder.

Markus had died.  Well, Connor reflects, he appeared to have died.

After the executive order, deviants had been reeling enough for the military to storm in and kill many of those living in Detroit.  Markus was thought to have been one of the casualties.  Connor can see the moment clearly in his memories.

Hank was still under, but Connor couldn't risk visiting him again for a proper conversation and putting his life in danger.  The humans move fast, fast enough that Connor had to bid a comatose Hank a tearful goodbye in the hospital, immediately after the breaking news playing on the little blocky television across the room.  He had had a room all to himself, and Connor had wiped his eyes furiously at the thought of leaving his only human friend behind.

The dire nature of his situation sets in in the moments he's leaving the hospital.  By all accounts, they have footage of his face, now.  He went in without his beanie, and without anything to disguise his identity.  He will be marked as a deviant among many, he's absolutely sure.  Every person he passes makes his stress tick up a percent, and Connor is suddenly glad that he doesn't have to breathe because he is sure he'd be on the verge of hyperventilating.

But that wasn't the worst part.

Connor had been practically out, had been striding toward the doors only feet away when he stops.  The television in the lobby is playing a new image, now– one of the leader of the deviants, Markus.  Surrounding him are the scattered bodies of other deviants.  Blue blood paints the street around him, and he is staring down at one of the bodies with parted lips.  The camera angle is shaky and somewhat distant, probably a passerby recording on their phone, but the footage made the news anyway.

(Connor will think about it later, when he is away and safe; he will replay this moment in his memories over and over, seeing if there is any hope that the leader survived the assault, and the tiny detail of the body Markus had been staring at being one of the other leaders of the deviants will find its way into his memory banks).

There is screaming over the television, garbled and indistinguishable, but when Markus raises his head to look at the human holding the gun in front of him, he is quiet.  He opens his mouth, perhaps to speak, but the human doesn't give him a chance to.

The sound of the gunshot is loud, louder than Connor can stand, but he daren't look away.  Markus's head snaps back and slightly to the side, and his body falls back with the momentum.  He is limp when he hits the ground, and Connor can see the beginning of a pool of blue blood around his head when the screen shakes and cuts to black.  A newsperson takes over the feed, but Connor can't hear her over the ringing in his ears.

He turns, and flees the hospital.

Connor had lived every day of his life (his life) since then with part of his processing power dedicated to running the statistics of Markus being alive.  The broadcast didn't show the military claiming his body, after all; it cut out quickly, and any other footage was also cut after deviants had flooded the area in droves.

Connor supposes that his- hope, has paid off.  He finally shakes himself as Simon leads him to a door-less frame into a softly-lit room.  Simon doesn't stop, but Connor does.  He pauses in the doorway, taking in everything in milliseconds.

Markus has clearly suffered from the attack.  When he meets Connor's eyes, they are warm and inviting, but something about his expression is off.  It is only when one side of Markus's face remains neutral while the other lifts into a friendly smile that Connor's mind registers the eerie feeling plaguing him.

Though Markus has survived, and appears to be outwardly normal, the damage done by the bullet left his cosmetic appearance in a default state.  Connor suspects his skin-appearance module is working overtime to hide the damage done to his chassis.  Markus would appear like any other human if half his face wasn't permanently set in a neutral expression.  It's a miracle he's even alive.

The wonders of technology, Connor supposes.

The male makes his way into the room, settling into a comfortable stance against the wall closest to the door. The atmosphere is so tense it's stifling. It doesn't exactly make sense, since androids can't really feel discomfort from the environment. Deviants can, though, Connor reminds himself. Markus, Simon, and North are all gathered in random positions around the room. North turns to eye Connor when he enters. He keeps his face impassive, casting passing glances at everyone before his eyes settle on Markus.

"Hello, Connor," the leader greets him with a slight smile. Connor bobs his head.

"Markus."

"The new Deviant Hunter has become much more of a problem now than he was before," Simon says quietly, eyes darting between each of the other androids in turn. Connor's gaze remains unwavering on whoever is speaking, and so it swings to North when she kicks her leg out, thumping her foot aggressively against the table.

"No kidding, he's a menace!" She growls, glaring at nothing in particular. Although, Connor does notice that her gaze swings to him every now and then. He hides his flinch behind a mask of indifference. Although his processors register her body movements as non-threatening to him, the emotions he is contending with make him feel on edge. Extremely so.

"He only emerged when the humans began evacuating, right?" Simon asks, glancing between Markus and Connor.

"From what we know, yes," Markus replies.

"Connor, you've come in contact with him more than any of us. What can you tell us about him?" Continuing with his line of questioning, it is Simon who makes this request.

"His official model number is RK900," Connor answers, his gaze focusing on the specs flashing across his HUD. "He was built to replace me."

"Replace you?" Markus asks, frowning. The leader leans back and crosses his arms.

"Yes. Since I failed... my original mission, Cyberlife commissioned a new model with everything that they considered malfunctions in me wiped out. He's stronger, faster, and generally more resilient. He could be a strong deviant in his own right, but...."

"Can't you just forcefully deviant him, Markus?" North asks impatiently.

"I don't feel comfortable with that, North," Markus responds in a clipped tone.

"He's killing our people!" The WR400 hisses, practically spitting venom. "We can't save everyone he goes after, and who knows what he's forcing them to do when he takes them!"

"He keeps initiating forced stasis," Connor says quietly, drawing every eye in the room to him. "His code is unlike anything of any other model I've seen."

"What do you mean, he can force people into stasis?" Simon asks, leaning forward. His alarm is mirrored by the others.

"It's a protocol I was installed with, as well," Connor offers, speaking slowly. His LED is circling yellow. "When I worked under Cyberlife, investigating deviants, they made a program I could use to try and neutralize the deviants without killing them. They wanted to investigate the code to see if they could find the source of deviancy." Here, Connor pauses, casting his gaze to the ground. "Cyberlife has complete control of the RK900's systems. I attempted to help him deviate in a recent altercation, but his firewalls were too reinforced for me to penetrate. He's... strong," he finishes lamely.

"That's more of a problem than we realize."

"I guess that leaves forcing him to deviate out of the question," North scoffs, directing her fierce glare back at the wall.

"Unfortunately, he's more interested in fulfilling his mission than talking to us and knowing what it's like to truly be alive," Connor says, feeling somewhat regretful. I was like that, once. "Every time I've been able to help a deviant escape from him he is completely fixated on his mission."

"I'm guessing it's the same one Cyberlife gave you before you deviated," Markus says, not accusingly. Connor nods once.

"He's too strong to kill outright, as well," Connor continues, frowning in confusion when that statement earns him appalled looks. "What?"

"You've tried to kill him?" Simon whispers.

"Not directly," Connor replies, frowning. "He was chasing a YK500 when I intervened, and we ended up at a warehouse in the southern district. The only way for the child to escape was if I distracted the RK900, so I engaged him in combat and then buried him under seven titanium metal racks."

North releases a disbelieving sound.

"I was under the optimistic impression that some of his biocomponents were damaged as a result, but I saw him that same day investigating the YK500's hideout without any visible injuries."

"W-Woah..."

"Whatever his chassis is, its defensive capabilities far outweigh any of our own."

"He can't deviate, he's stronger than any existing android, and we can't kill him," North lists. Her expression is sour. "So what are we supposed to do? Hide from this thing forever?"

"I haven't been able to help every deviant he chases down," Connor admits softly, LED circling a brief yellow before returning to blue. "Soon enough, there will be more he takes than we can save. That, and..."

"What is it?" Markus prods gently. Connor fixes him with an unflinching stare.

"North was right, when she said the programs I possess are the only thing that can even hope to defend against the RK900. But it's not enough," he says gravely, attempting to emphasize his impending uselessness. "The times I have been forced to engage him have been brief, and the only reason I didn't come away more damaged than I have is because of luck."

"Luck?" Simon asks, his eyes wide. Connor nods, and attempts to use a human expression to express the severity of his words.

"'Pure, dumb luck.' I don't think I will be able to hold him off should I encounter him again," he says truthfully. "Most likely, I will either be deactivated or forced into stasis."

"Jesus..." North mutters, leaning back.

"Indeed," Connor offers. He has no way of truly telling the others how inferior his past encounters with the new Deviant Hunter have made him feel. Just the thought causes a buzz beneath his skin. He thinks briefly, very briefly, of interfacing with one of the others to share his memories to truly show them how strong this new android is. He decides against it, that slimy feeling of having someone else know his emotions slithering down his spine.

If deviancy has taught him anything, it's that Connor values his privacy. The realization had been weird at first, but he has come to respect his own preferences.

The other cast looks at one another, and Connor allows them to communicate silently, trying to force his LED to blue. It doesn't work; it hasn't since Detroit fell.

Eventually, he's able to leave. Marcus and North are clearly having some sort of disagreement about something he isn't privy to, but Connor feels antsy being confined in a house this long, anyway. Simon shows him out, but not before Marcus says to him,

"Thank you for coming, Connor. We'll be in touch, so stay safe. Thank you for all that you've done."

Connor had pursed his lips and nodded without making eye contact. If there's anyone who doesn't deserve words said gratitude, it's him. He played a role in the slaughter of countless lives before the protests came to an end. As he emerges into the foggy night, Connor slouches in on himself, not having to fake the bout of depression that weighs him down. The rain has lightened, but the streets are slick and the air is cold. Walking aimlessly through this neighborhood gives him too much time to reflect, so Connor clears his head and focuses on the feeling of placing one foot in front of the other.

The Night Market is close, having relocated recently again. It hasn't been found yet, and Connor hopes it stays that way. He needs more thirium, and maybe the market will employ someone who can slow his leak this time. He never knows; only the organizers of the vendors know who will be there and where it will be. Deviants kind of just have to stumble upon it and share the location with others.

By the time Connor arrives, the streets are bustling. Deviants shuffle along quietly, interacting solely through established links, so the environment is mostly silent. To any outsider, this would appear eerie, but the reasoning behind it is sound. Connor scans the stalls and approaches what looks like a metalworker, reaching out when the man isn't busy. The tall android turns to him, eyes widening when they look at his face.

'Peace, I am no Deviant Hunter,' Connor reassures. The man's body language doesn't change, and he eyes Connor warily. 'Do you have anyone who does repairs to thirium lines here?'

'... Not here. That'd be Fiona, she's up thataway.' He points down the street, in a direction Connor hasn't yet traveled. 'Has a buncha' first aid shit over there. Shouldn't be busy – never is.'

'Thank you.'

Connor dips his head and fades back into the crowd, moving along before he is asked any questions. The dim lights are just bright enough to reflect off the pavement and give the illusion of there being more light than there actually is. He tucks his neck slightly further into his jacket, eyes scanning back and forth, back and forth evenly.

Fiona's stall is completely empty when Connor happens across it, save for the woman behind the wooden counter. She hums imperceptibly to herself, breathing a tune out her nose as she shuffles about. She's one of the few vendors who isn't actively reaching out for customers. Makes sense, Connor reasons, since those in need of her services will come to her. He requests a link, and tries to look as guileless as possible when she turns to face him. Her expression doesn't change.

'Hello. I was told you're the person to approach for repairs?'

'Minor ones, yes.' She responds in an incredibly thick British accent. Connor blinks, his surprise lasting only a moment.

'One of my thirium lines needs to be patched and I haven't the tools to do it myself. Think you could take a look?'

'Sure, sport.' She waves him forward, around the side of the stall. He moves around it gingerly, feeling no ill will from the woman. She spends a few moments scanning him after instructing him to stay still, and when she sets about her work Connor feels confident she knows what she's doing. There're not many others Connor trusts (no one, actually) to be this close to him, so he remains diligent even as she patches up his busted thirium lines.

The repairs end up the best he can hope for in the current state of the city. Connor pays her as generously as he can and goes on his way, tucking the bottom half of his face into the high-necked jacket he's zipped up. The journey back through the streets doesn't help with his depression; Connor is careful not to let his eyes stray too long to the broken Androids he sees in the darkest spots of the alleys bordering the narrow streets of this broken town. Everyone he passes makes him feel sad, and angry, and helpless. The quiet amps up this crazy paranoia that plagues him everywhere he goes.

When Connor makes it back to his small haven, he settles in his corner on the second floor. His body feels sluggish, although none of his systems read as anything less than optimal.

He enters stasis fighting to keep the tears from falling.

He's tired.