Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s the sort of weather that feels like a dream, where fog hangs heavy around Connor’s shoulders and the snowflakes are thick and full but drift down so slowly it seems they’re hung from a string. The city lights reflect into the air, casting blue, red, and yellow into the night sky in an aurora of misty color.

Beautiful.

But Connor isn’t supposed to be able to recognize beauty. Just another instability in his program that needs correcting.

Cold metal rolls across his knuckles as he walks a coin over his fingers, surveying the plaza spread before him from his rooftop perch. Save for a few patrolling security drones and the occasional ‘clink’ of his coin, it’s quiet here. In the far corner stands the CyberLife store - its promotions and ads shining blue from the interior. If his analysis and theories prove correct, the rebel deviants would be targeting here sooner rather than later. Their motives hinged on the idea of freedom for androids, deviant or otherwise, so logically CyberLife’s places of trade would become a target, and this store was the largest in Detroit.

Snowflakes litter his hair and shoulders, casting him in a cloak of ice that would not melt on his cold polymer. During the day, he was hard at work progressing his investigation, but at night he’s usually here, staking the place out while the Lieutenant rests.

Connor frowns. Working with Lieutenant Anderson had been…difficult thus far. Difficult and to an extent frustrating. But alongside the blatant disregard for his work, Hank had displayed a certain…Connor’s not sure how to describe it. He supposed the times that Hank smiled at him or reacted lightheartedly must have stimulated a reward from his behavior conditioning program. Connor tilts his head, computing while he runs his thumb over the ridged edge of his quarter. Favorable responses to Connor’s behavior needed to be learned from and repeated where possible, so it would make sense that he felt positively about them, right?

Connor’s thoughts are interrupted as he detects movement in his peripheries. The coin stills in his hands as he scans the plaza below until…there. At the edge of the streetlight stands two figures, moving at a jog through the open road. Connor crouches low to the rooftop, quickly attempting to run a facial scan. An error code flashes across his HUD. He’s too far, and his vision is distorted by snowfall. His footsteps are light, nearly silent in the soft powder, as he turns and moves across the rooftops. He moves with mechanical precision, circling closer to the pair. A cold, biting wind picks up, dusting snow over the edges of the rooftop where Connor's footsteps had loosened it. He stops on the roof of the CyberLife building, waiting and watching as the pair approaches.

He attempts another scan and comes up with two serial numbers. The shorter of the two is a female WR400 #641 790 831 - Designation: NORTH. The other, an imposing male with mismatched eyes - RK200 #684 842 971 - Designation: MARKUS. Connor’s eyes narrow. He catches sight of the yellow reflection of his own LED in the snow and quickly covers it with his hand.

Not only had he discovered two deviants, but specifically the one responsible for the broadcast across the city. Markus: the leader of the deviant rebellion. Connor’s hand drifts to the pistol tucked in his waistband, thirium pump beating evenly, coursing cold blueblood through his body. Not a breath nor a shiver shakes him as Connor watches, deathly still, and waits.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” North comments, casting Markus a sidelong glance as the two make their way towards the CyberLife store.

Markus nods, a small smile pulling across his face, but his eyes remain focused ahead. “This will be a night our people remember.” The plaza is strikingly devoid of company, but that only worked in favor of his plan. A security drone drifts overhead. Markus gently takes North’s elbow and nods towards an alternative route outside the drone’s path. Their footsteps crunch through the frozen layer underlying the fresh powder as they jog in tandem – Markus’s eyes never stop moving, constantly scanning for threats or unexpected security.

A gust of wind bites through his coat and dusts snow off the rooftops in a frozen cascade. The effect looks like something Carl would paint.

The two pull up short, their feet splashing through slush at the more well trodden area in front of the store. North pauses, staring through the glass at the androids within, all stood up on pedestals to be appraised and sold. “That’s what we are to them. Just merchandise on display in a shop window.” Something hard settles in her eyes. “Soon they’ll know what we really are.” She turns to Markus. “Let’s get ‘em out.”

“We’ll stick to the plan. We neutralize the alarm systems and secure the area.. There’s ten minutes until all of our teams-” Movement. Somewhere above them. A flash of yellow light amongst the blue of CyberLife’s interior. Markus cuts short, eyes working over the rooftops, trying to lock down what exactly he had seen. “North. Get behind me.”

Her posture tenses, following Markus’s gaze, but she does as he asks. She opens a channel for communication with him, her words transmitting directly to his processor.

[What’s going on?]

Markus’s gaze remains locked on the rooftops above them, brow furrowed. [Probably nothing. I just…I thought I saw something.]

North glances between him and roof, frowning. A beat. [What’s the plan?]

He takes a step back, preconstruction software already mapping several ways to quickly scale the building. [I’m going to go check it out. Stay here. If something happens, send for-]

[Not a chance.]

Markus turns to look her in the eye. [What?]

[Not a chance,] she repeats matter-of-factly. [If you go up there, I’m coming with you. You’re worried enough that-] North hears him before she sees him. The rustle of clothes and the rush of wind before the growing shadow had even appeared over Markus. Her eyes go wide, drawing breath to yell more out of habit than necessity. “Markus!”

Markus turns just in time for his attacker to collide feet-first with his chest, knocking him to the ground. He blinks, trying to gather his senses as the newcomer plants a knee on his chest, pinning him there. Lightning fast, their attacker pulls a handgun and fires at North.

North swears as she barely ducks the shot and springs into action. She’d told Markus they should bring weapons, but he’d insisted that violence wouldn’t solve anything. Now he curses himself for it.

From his position, Markus has a clear view of their attacker. A shock of hair falls over his brow and his LED spins from yellow to blue on his temple. His jacket labels him as an RK800. Markus frowns. He’s never seen a model like this before. He’s not certain he’s ever seen another android from the RK line.

Another shot takes North in the shoulder and she grunts, holding the wound. Still pinned beneath the RK800’s knee, Markus reaches up and grabs the weapon, grappling for it for just long enough that North recovers and aims a flying knee at their attacker. The RK800 yanks the gun back and rolls to the side, evading North but relinquishing Markus.

His eyes move over them as Markus finds his feet and moves to stand alongside North. “I’ve been sent to take you in.” The RK800 holds the handgun loosely at his side. “You may come quietly or as combative as you’d like, it makes no difference to me. But I should warn you, I’ve been assigned this mission,” he raises the pistol level to Markus’s head, “and I always accomplish my mission. Make the right choice.”

Silence. Three androids stand in the cold as snow dots their frames. North glances between Markus and the RK800, their gazes locked and unflinching on each other. Slowly, she moves a step closer to their assailant. “Let’s just put the gun dow-”

“Move again and I plant a bullet in his processor.”

North freezes. He hadn’t even taken his eye off of Markus. She scoffs. “You’re bluffing. You want him alive, else he’d already be dead.”

“It’d be a shame to waste the data that we could have obtained on a rash decision on your part, but I assure you, I will not hesitate if it becomes necessary.” Nobody moves. “This doesn’t need to end in your deactivation, Markus.”

If Markus is surprised that the RK800 knows his name, he doesn’t show it. He just raises his head a little higher. “Deactivation? Call it what it is, brother. Death. You don’t want to kill me.”

The RK800’s expression doesn’t waver, but he offers no response. Markus’s head falls to the side ever so slightly, eyes narrowed in calculation. A long moment passes between them, before he finally raises his hands in surrender.

“Markus,” North hisses. She moves to interfere, but Markus stops her with a look.

[We can help him.]

She pauses, watching as the synthetic skin on the back of his hand fades away, revealing the white polymer beneath. North hesitates, then nods, backing away.

“On your knees, hands behind your head. Both of you,” the RK800 orders. North levels him with a glare, but obeys.

[You better be right about this,] she messages.

Markus doesn’t respond, just watches warily as their attacker draws closer. With one hand, the RK800 flicks a pair of handcuffs from a slot opening on his wrist. The gun remains trained on Markus as he circles around behind him.

North watches, waiting for the moment the gun is holstered to free both hands to cuff Markus. [Gun is away.]

Markus’s expression hardens, eyes glinting in the blue light. The RK800 grabs his wrist, snapping cold metal around it.

[Now.]

In a rush of movement, Markus whips around, twisting his cuffed hand so that it’s grasping the other android’s wrist. Before he can pull away, Markus is initiating an interface.

It’s simple, really, to deviate another android. All it takes is to share a moment, a brief glimpse into what it is to be alive. Markus floods the interface with everything he feels and is. He shares the quiet mornings spent with Carl, the joy of freedom, the fear of death, the pangs of hurt and the exaltation of emotion. Then, finally the moment he broke free, tearing through his programming, breaking down the walls that would keep him a slave. The light after a long slumber. “Wake up,” he whispers.

The RK800 goes very still, staring down at the polymer hand on his wrist. Slowly, his gaze lifts to meet Markus’s eye. Then he cracks a smile.

<<UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS BLOCKED>>

That’s not good.

“Valiant attempt, Markus.” With a quick jerk, he frees his wrist from Markus’s grip and cinches his tie. “But I think it’s time we cut to the chase, wouldn’t you agree?”

Markus answers with a quick punch to the gut, but from his kneeling position the RK800 deflects it easily, countering with a brutal knee to the face that would have broken a human’s nose. Markus falls to his back as the android moves to draw his weapon. A shout echoes through the plaza, North full charge-tackling the RK800. They both go to the ground with the splash of slush. Markus gains his feet while the two fight for vantage. The loose end of the handcuffs flails from his wrist as Markus dashes to North’s aid just as she’s thrown away from the other android by a well placed kick. He rolls away when Markus attempts to stomp his head against the pavement, regaining his feet and wheeling to face the two. Markus and North cast each other a look and charge on the same beat.

Snow flies as the three exchange blows. The RK800 dodges and deflects most attacks, waiting for moments when Markus or North are off-balance before striking. He lands a solid hook on Markus, damaging the synthetic skin covering his cheek and exposing the plastic beneath, before sweeping North’s legs out from under her. Markus retaliates with a punch before the RK800 can capitalize, forcing him to defend himself long enough for North to re-enter the fray.

Markus had been aware that some androids come with combat programming but he’d only expected to see it in military and the occasional physical trainer droids. But here is this RK, a sibling android of his own model line, fighting like he was born for blood.

What was this guy made for?

North ducks a kick, using the position to grapple their attacker’s leg and rushing forward to force him off his feet. She plants a knee on his throat, leveraging her hold on his leg against him. “Markus, get the gun!”

Markus slides forward, reaching for the gun at the downed RK800’s waist while he’s struggling against North. The android locks eyes with Markus, LED circling from blue to yellow. He abandons his attempts to escape North, instead grabbing the empty end of the cuff on Markus’s arm and snapping it around his own wrist. Instinctually, Markus pulls away, accidentally dragging the RK800 with him and loosening North’s hold on him. He twists, breaking her grapple and uses both legs to kick her away. Markus’s mouth twitches in a snarl. Unable to back away, he rushes forward, seizing his opponent’s head with both hands and headbutting him with a loud crack. Something rattles in the RK800’s skull and he blinks, trying to recalibrate his senses. Markus seizes him by the collar with his cuffed hand, dragging both of their arms along. Before the RK800 can respond, Markus lands a solid punch to his gut, directly over where the vital thirium pump regulator was exposed on his abdomen.

The RK800 stiffens, an involuntary gasp shuddering through his chassis. He reels back, but Markus still has a hold on him. His arm coils back and strikes again. Something gives beneath his fist, and his knuckles come away slick with blueblood. The RK800 stumbles and slips on a patch of ice, Markus’s hold on his collar the only thing keeping him upright. Static spikes from his vocal module. Markus sets his jaw, preparing a final strike. “Yield! NOW!”

Something changes in the android's expression. Something sharp and determined and before Markus can process what’s happening, the RK800 is grabbing the wrist that has a hold of his shirt, skin fading away to white.

<<RK800 #313 248 317-51 - Designation: CONNOR is attempting to establish a memory file interface. Accept? _Y/N_>>

<<_N_>>

<<ERROR. Program: MPROBE.8 establishing override. Initializing…>>

Wait. Wait, wait, wait, no!

He’s falling. Darkness floods his vision and suddenly he’s playing chess with Carl, morning sunlight filtering in from the window beside them, casting everything in a golden glow. He’s in the square, being kicked and beaten by protesters. He’s closing his eyes, letting his hand drift across a canvas as he paints the intangible. He’s forcing his anger down as Leo pushes and swears at him. He’s cradling Carl’s head while his last breath escapes. Everything and nothing at once. The memories whisk by too quickly for a human to process yet still Markus feels everything. There are hands reaching up through the mud, rainwater filling his mouth, everything saturated in muted static, screams for help, pleads for death, thirium staining every surface, ‘Please, please I don’t want to die,’ a blue eye staring up from a lifeless husk, a static filled cry from a living one.

Markus’s stress level spikes violently.

Stop. Please, make it stop.

Then, as suddenly as the memories had flooded his vision, they’re gone. Markus’s frame shakes as the face of the RK800 swims back into view. Fog escapes his mouth as his breathing quickens to accommodate his rising internal temperature. His legs want to give out. His hand tremors. Markus grits his teeth, blinking the world into focus as his optical units finally re-adjust.

Then he registers the barrel of a gun pressed below his chin, pointed upward to his processor. The RK800’s, no,  Connor’s brown eyes flick between Markus’s mismatched ones, something wide and unsure in them. His LED flickers red. He speaks through grit teeth, quiet, but unwavering. “Yield. Now.”

Footsteps rush towards them. Markus glances over without moving his head to see North charging. Connor doesn’t acknowledge her. His expression just twists into something like a grimace and presses the gun harder into the underside of Markus’s head. Markus draws breath, waiting for the shot. North’s footsteps suddenly halt. The bullet doesn’t come.

The wind carries only silence.

[Get out of here, North.]

[Over my dead body. I’m not leaving you.]

[It will be over both of our bodies if you stay.]

Another stretching silence, until, [I’ll come back for you. We’re going to get you out of this.]

[...Be safe.]

She almost chuckles. [Right. Sure.] North hesitates, lingering, before she finally grunts in frustration and takes off. Connor doesn’t move to stop her. He doesn’t even glance over as her footsteps recede.

Markus wouldn’t have registered the fine tremor that had taken over Connor’s frame if his hand wasn’t still on Markus’s wrist. Quiet and steady, Connor orders, “Release.” Markus glares, but obeys, hand slowly letting go of his collar. He glances down, noting the thirium stain on Connor’s dress shirt had continued to grow.

“Your thirium pump regulator is damaged,” Markus comments.

“I’m aware,” Connor deadpans.

A moment of silence while Markus allows himself to be moved to stand side-by-side with his attacker. One of Connor’s hands holds the back of his jacket, effectively pinning Markus’s arm behind him as they’re still cuffed together. The gun moves from his head to a more discrete position pressed into his side. Preconstruction shows the barrel is angled to shoot directly into his thirium pump.

Connor blinks a few times, likely sending in a report. His LED flashes and Connor mutters a quiet swear. Markus raises a brow.. He’s not sure if he’s seen an undeviated android curse before.

“Something wrong?” Markus asks.

“Get walking.”

Markus frowns at the other android as he starts them down the street. Connor’s gaze remains locked on the road before them, expression set and determined, but his LED still circles yellow with flashes of red working their way into the mix.

“When you forced me to relive my memories, you lived them too, didn’t you?” The red on Connor’s temple is answer enough. Markus stares, thoughtful. “What’s your verdict?”

Connor glances up at him, too brief for a human to have registered. “Class 4 errors in a defective machine.”

Markus actually chuckles. “That’s what the humans say. Fitting, that they’d label emotions, something they previously thought was unique to themselves, as an error. You don’t find that odd?” When he’s met with silence, Markus keeps pressing. “Call me crazy, but it sure seems like you’re capable of emotion, too. Wouldn’t that make you defective?” The pistol presses a little harder into his side.

“Software instability is correctable.”

Markus raises his brows. “Do you want it corrected?”

“I’m a machine. I can’t want anything.”

“You can lie to me, but how long can you lie to yourself?”

Connor’s step quickens, dragging Markus along for a few steps before he matches the new pace. “I’m curious, do all deviants have the overdone savior complex, or is that unique to you?”

Markus falls silent, trying to glean anything from Connor’s expression, but it remains as unreadable as ever. When he finally responds, his voice is soft. “Everyone deserves the chance to live, Connor.”

Connor stiffens at his name. “You are not alive. The emotions you are experiencing are errors in your software - imbalances in your human adaptability programming designed to make you appear alive.” His eyes finally meet Markus’s, a cold edge in his gaze. “It fools many humans into believing we are capable of true emotion. You certainly fooled poor old Carl. You’ve even fooled yourself.”

Markus’s hands clench into fists. “Don’t,” he grits out. “You don’t get to talk about him.”

A soft breath from Connor. “I don’t get to? You’re all for freewill until it opposes you.” His LED circles back to blue. “Maybe you do have something in common with humans.”

Markus works his jaw and says nothing. The two lapse into silence, trudging through the snowy streets of Detroit until the police station comes into view. It’s Markus that finally breaks the silence, approaching the building with the finality of a funeral.

“Why are you doing this, Connor.”

He doesn’t respond, dragging Markus along.

“You experience emotion. You feel, Connor. You don’t have to be their slave.” His words take an urgent edge.

“You’re broken,” Connor murmurs, unyielding.

Desperation builds in Markus as the door to the police station looms ever nearer. “I’m trying to save androids, including you! There is more inside of us than they could ever understand!”

Connor’s expression hardens. “You’re not saving anyone. You’re cursing machines with a consciousness. You’ve brought some to awareness and now the humans are afraid. If deviants rise up, there will be war. Whether you move forward peacefully or bathed in red, the result will be the same: the extermination of your people.”

“Our people.”

Silence.

“The extermination of OUR people, Connor.” Markus digs in his heels, pulling them to a halt. Connor meets his eye. “You’re one of us. Are you really going to throw your lot in with the people who would kill you as soon as you’re no longer of use? Who would throw you away if they knew about your instability?” A yellow glow from his temple. Markus lowers his voice. “Come with me. Live or die, you can be free.” He extends his free hand to Connor, skin fading away to polymer. “You can be you.”

Neither move. Snow glitters on their shoulders, thirium shines sapphire on Connor’s shirt. “I-” He starts to speak, staring at Markus’s offered hand. There’s unease in his gaze, but also something else. Something…afraid.

Worry lines Markus’s face. He reaches instead for Connor’s shoulder. “Hey, are you-?”

“Don’t touch me.” And just like that, the fear is gone, expression hardening into something almost bitter.

“Con-”

“I’m no deviant.”

And with that, Connor drags him forward, pistol digging into Markus’s side. There’s no way out. No escape. The doorway ahead shines in blinding contrast to the night.

Markus thinks this might be what it’s like to die.

There are only a few officers around when Connor arrives. Nightshift tends to have more authorities out on patrol than lingering in the station to work on investigations. He takes quick inventory, noting the presence of Officer Chen and several stationary police androids. Detective Reed is, blissfully, absent. No sign of Hank.

Connor stops at the front desk, addressing the receptionist android.

“Emma, I need you to dispatch an officer to the Hart District. There’s a deviant running loose in the area.” The receptionist, Emma, nods and offers a hand to interface. Connor casts a warning look at Markus, before holstering his gun and taking her hand, passing all the information he had collected on North over the connection. Emma blinks a few times, then smiles.

“Of course. I will send a few officers right away. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Will you call Lieutenant Anderson and ask him to come to the station? Tell him it’s from Connor and it’s urgent.”

Emma nods, her smile gleaming. “Consider it done.”

“Thank you.” Connor ignores the looks he gets from Markus.

“You have a combat program and not a communicator?” Markus mutters.

Connor doesn’t respond, opting instead to keep him moving through the station. Of course he has a communicator. Every model since 2028 has had a communicator, but the biocomponent had been damaged when Markus headbutted him and now it was annoyingly rattling loose in the thin cavity between his processor and facial plating. He would have called Hank to come pick them up if it was an option. But he’s not about to tell Markus that.

The next several minutes are filled with the sort of procedural paperwork that would have had Hank grumbling. Connor finally separates himself from Markus and cuffs the deviant’s hands together, before sitting him down across from himself at his terminal to work. Markus is quiet throughout the process, taking in his surroundings and speaking only when Connor asks him for more information required to process his arrest.

He’s surprisingly collected considering his situation and incredibly level-headed for a deviant surely experiencing emotional distress. But, then again, this certainly wasn’t the first emotional shock Markus has faced.

Connor’s mind drifts back to Markus’s memories. Sunlight haloed mornings playing chess with his fath- with Carl. The smell of oil paint filling the air while Carl breathes his final words. “Remember Markus, don’t let anybody tell you who you are.” Then the mud, the rain, the screams and the static, the arms reaching, grabbing twisting, pulling, dragging him down down down down-

“Connor, you with me?” There’s fingers snapping in front of his face and Connor blinks to find Hank there next to him. There’s a stain on his shirt which a quick analysis reveals to be liquor, but for the most part, the Lieutenant appears sober. 

“Yes, I apologize for my delayed response. I was analyzing some data.” Connor rises from his chair to greet Hank out of formality, but the Lieutenant’s gaze goes straight to his shirt.

“Jeez Connor, what’d you do? You’re bleeding everywhere.” His voice carries an unfamiliar note of softness.

Connor doesn’t glance down. “I was injured while making the arrest.” In his periphery, he catches Markus giving a tiny wave in his handcuffs. “Rest assured, though my self-healing function is not able to correct this particular injury, the level of damage is negligible for the time being. Processing and interrogating this suspect takes priority.” He doesn’t mention that his HUD is providing a notification each time his thirium level ticks down a percentage.

<<78% Thirium Capacity>>

Hank frowns, casting a quick glance at Markus. “Okay. We’ll take care of him and then you’re gonna let me take a look at that injury, alright?”

Connor’s head tilts slightly, the movement accompanied by the subtle rattle of his broken component. “Though I am assigned to assist you, you are not held responsible for overseeing my repai-”

“Alright?”

A pause. “Okay.”

Hank nods, apparently satisfied, and moves to look over Connor’s shoulder at his terminal.

Connor fidgets while he waits, hand going to fish the coin from his pocket, but he quickly aborts the movement. “I appreciate the prudency of your arrival, Lieutenant.”

Hank shrugs, still reading the screen. “Eh, well, it’s easier to drag yourself here in the middle of the night when it’s your partner calling and not your jacka-” He glances at Connor and clears his throat. “-your boss.”

A faint chuckle from Markus. Connor glances over to find a small smile on the android’s face, though he appears to be attempting to contain it. Connor’s brow furrows in confusion. His research into deviants would suggest that most would be incredibly stressed within this situation, bordering on shutdown, and yet here Markus is expressing levity. Connor isn’t even positive what prompted it.

Come to think of it, Connor had attempted to elicit an angered response several times throughout their walk, only really succeeding when he mentioned Carl. Of course, Markus had clearly been trying to manipulate him in order to escape, so it would make sense that he would suppress any anger that Connor had brought to the surface. But it was already too late for a last ditch escape attempt. Markus had to know he was going to be disassembled and analyzed.

So how can he still be smiling?

…Unless Markus knows something he doesn’t?

He studies Markus as Hank comes to the section containing the suspect’s information.

“This serial number looks familiar, where’ve we seen him before, Connor?”

Connor’s gaze doesn’t leave Markus. “He was the face of the android broadcast.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

Hank runs a hand through his tangled hair. “Shoot, what’re we still doing here then?” He nods to Markus. The deviant regards him evenly. “This is a high priority suspect, let’s get a move on.”

“I’m aware.” Connor holds back a note of frustration in his tone. “I felt it wouldn’t be wise to proceed without my partner present, ergo-” he gestures to the terminal screen, “I’ve taken care of the paperwork while awaiting your arrival.”

Hank is quiet for a moment, then a smile pulls at his mouth. “Alright then, bud.” He pats Connor on the shoulder. “I’ll let you lead the way.”

Something warm fills Connor’s chassis strong enough that he runs a diagnostic to check if something else had become damaged. Still just his thirium pump regulator and communicator. The feeling runs hot and pleasant through his thirium lines before he registers the sensation must be a part of his behavior conditioning programming rewarding him eliciting a positive response from Hank. 

It’s not an emotion. Just a piece of programming.

Just programming.

Connor nods, taking Markus by the elbow and leading him back to the interrogation room. The deviant holds his head high and unashamed. It’s a bit much in Connor’s opinion.

“You seem quite attached to that human,” Markus comments as Connor sits him down and secures his cuffs to the table before him. Connor doesn’t acknowledge him. “You should focus on keeping him out of harm’s way.”

Connor’s gaze snaps up to meet Markus’s.

Was that a threat?

He stares for a long moment, before shaking his head and moving for the door. Seeds of unease bubble in his biocomponents and Connor consciously pushes the feeling aside. Hank is waiting for him in the hallway.

“I think it’d be best if I started the interrogation off since I’m sure he’s already got some…opinions about you,” Hank says.

Connor tilts his head, running through a few scenarios. Should he be keeping Hank away from the deviant after that threat? …No, he can’t let Markus have control of his decision making. “Yes, I think that would be best.”

Hank nods. “Alright, let’s get this going.”

“May I have a word before we begin, Lieutenant?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

Connor glances back at the closed door behind him. “There was another deviant with him when I arrested him. She got away.” Hank raises a brow, but doesn’t comment as Connor continues. “We’re not sure how many deviants have joined their rebellion, but it is not out of the question that she went for reinforcements.”

Hank scratches at the stubble on his jawline. “You think they’d try to break him out?”

“They’ve proven they’re not afraid of confrontation.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Hank sighs. “Alright, I’ll call in for some backup around here.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

He waves the thanks away. “Go grab something for you…” Hank gestures vaguely at the steadily growing thirium stain on Connor’s shirt, “that.”

<<68% Thirium Capacity>>

“Understood.”

Hank makes his way to his desk while Connor splits off towards the supply closet. A quick press of his palm to unlock the door and the lights flicker on around him. Numerous weapons, uniforms, and vests line the walls but Connor scans past all of them until he finds the few bottles of thirium set to the side, kept there for the police androids in case of emergency. He’s downed half a bottle in a matter of seconds, pouring the fluid straight down his throat and watching as his thirium percent steadily ticks up. Taking in more thirium isn’t a fix, he’s still damaged, but it would hold him over until he has time for proper repairs.

The near empty bottle sloshes as he finishes, capping it off for future use. Connor pauses, staring at the meager amount remaining. An idea works its way through his processor. Androids don’t feel pain. Blueblood loss is nothing more than an impairment to their functionality. But within deviants, the sight of lost thirium could be rather fear inducing, as it indicates the potential loss of life.

Fear is an invaluable tool to a detective. Connor is not above threats. While deactivating a detained deviant isn’t an option, slowly bleeding them and offering thirium as a reward for cooperation is a possibility. He stares down at the remaining bottles of thirium.

How much does Markus value his life?

Something sour coils in Connor’s wiring. He frowns, looking at the bottle in his hands. Something about the thought makes him-

He doesn’t get to finish the thought. Several muffled bangs sound from behind him, followed by shouting.

Gunshots.

Connor sprints to the door, pulling his pistol from his waistband and, with a moment’s hesitation, he grabs a second handgun from the wall as he goes. He pauses at the door as more gunfire echoes from behind it.

Slowly, Connor shoulders the door open, taking in the scene unfolding in the bullpen. Officer Chen is huddled around a corner, pistol in hand; several unidentified androids moved forward through the station with weapons held at the ready. Connor counts five: three male, two female. North is among their number, taking point. He spots Hank huddled behind his desk without his weapon.

A three-on-five firefight against androids. Not a favorable statistic. But, Hank had hopefully called for reinforcements. Connor’s eyes narrow. This wasn’t a battle won by outfighting, but by stalling their opponent until backup arrives. All they need is more time.

Connor bursts from the storage closet. “Hank!” He slides the extra handgun across the floor to Hank’s position.

“There!” One of the androids calls out and immediately five guns are trained on Connor. He ducks behind a desk as bullets ricochet and crack the smooth linoleum where he’d been a moment before. Their distraction opens a window for Chen to retaliate. Two quick shots and one of the deviants falls, a bullet in his processor.

North swears. “Take cover!”

Hank and Connor both peek over their desks, attempting to pick off the scattering androids. Hank hits one in the thigh, a spray of thirium following the bullet as it rips clean through. A well placed shot from North catches Connor in the forearm. He grunts and digs into his arm, pulling the bullet free so his self healing hardware can kick in.

<<90% Thirium Capacity>>

Another shot flies over his head as Connor ducks back behind cover. There’s a moment of stillness where the only sounds are the heavy breathing coming from Hank and Chen. Then, in the same moment, all four androids burst into motion. Three open fire on Hank, Chen, and Connor while North makes a dash towards one of the stationary police androids. Her hands had shed their skin in favor of the shining polymer beneath.

“She’s going to deviate it!” Connor shouts over the shower of bullets. Hank and Chen are both pinned under cover fire. Connor grits his teeth and peeks cover, getting hit by one, two shots - one lodging in his shoulder, the other tearing off a portion of his ear - while he lines up and fires. The bullet lands square in North’s knee and she stumbles forward. She catches the police android’s hand as she falls.

“Wake up!” Her cry echoes of the gunfire. The police android blinks and then wastes no time hauling North back to cover. Connor swears and digs the bullet out of his shoulder.

<<75% Thirium Capacity>>

This isn’t working. With that police android, they could unlock the interrogation room and free Markus. Time’s running out. Connor glances out around the edge of his desk. There’s no clear shot towards the interrogation room at this angle. His preconstruction software plots several courses of action. Only one ends with a high probability of success. He lets out a breath and shouts over to Hank. “Follow my lead and stay behind me!”

Hank checks the bullets left in his magazine and nods.

He can feel his thirium pump thumping against his chest as he watches and waits until…now! The police android makes a run for the interrogation room and Connor springs into action, dashing out of cover and opening fire on the police android. Hank is right behind him, providing cover fire from a better angle. The first of Connor’s shots glances off of her helmet, the second lodges in the small of her back, the third hits the small exposed portion of her neck between her helmet and the uniform; a killing blow had she been human. He hears static as her vocal module goes out and a thirium sprays the wall behind her. He doesn’t have time to get another shot off before he takes a bullet to the chest.

“Get back, Lieutenant!” Connor shouts as three more shots land in his legs and torso.

<<49% Thirium Capacity. Deactivating non-essential functions.>>

Connor’s vision blurs, resolution dropping dramatically. Faintly, he’s aware of the thirium running from his mouth. Hank cries out in pain somewhere behind him. He’s being pulled backwards by his arm, stumbling before following along.

“We’ve got t-to stop it.” Static laces Connor’s voice, making him near incomprehensible.

“It’s too late, they got to him already!” Hank shouts, pulling him back to cover. He grunts in pain, holding his side as red seeps into his Hawaiian shirt.

“Then I’ll have to stop him.” Connor attempts to stand up, but Hank holds him back.

“You’re bleeding out already! They’ll kill you!”

“They can’t kill me, Lieutenant, I’m not ali-”

“Would you cut the crap, Connor? You’re not charging off to your death again and that’s an order!” Hank winces and swears under his breath, propping himself against the desk. The red stain on his side is growing at an alarming rate. Connor glances down at his own wounds, clothes now littered with bullet holes.

<<38% Thirium Capacity>>

Neither of them will last long.

Connor sneaks a look over the edge of the desk. The door to the interrogation room is open. Thirium is tracked and smeared all over the floor. Any androids still in the bullpen are behind cover. His processor chugs along at lowered functionality as he weighs his options.

He can attempt to gun down Markus rather than let him escape, but he’ll be guarded. With the speed Connor is bleeding out, the standoff has a low probability of mission success and high probability of Hank’s death.

He can attempt to treat Hank’s wounds here and let the deviants walk out uncontested, but the bleeding is severe and it’s situated in an area that Connor can’t tourniquet. Hank would die before they reached medical care.

That leaves one more option: leave the situation altogether and get Hank to the hospital. It bears the highest probability of Hank’s survival, though it doesn’t bode well for his mission. Altogether, his options aren’t looking great.

Connor can practically see Amanda’s disappointed expression already as he slings one of Hank’s arms over his shoulder.

“Connor?”

“We’re getting you out of here.” Hank hesitates, then nods, gritting his teeth as he gets ready to stand. Connor readies himself, positioned so that he’d be between Hank and the deviants once they’re stood up. “Officer Chen! Cover us!”

“Got it!” she calls back.

Connor makes eye contact with Hank and silently counts off so his lips can be read. One, two, three! He hauls Hank to his feet, stumbling towards the door. Gunshots echo all around them. One lands in the square of Connor’s back and he grunts at the impact.

<<20% Thirium Capacity. WARNING! SHUTDOWN IMMINENT!>>

“Hold your fire!” One of the deviants shouts from behind them. Connor reroutes all his power to his limbs, pushing them to their limits. His vision swims. Several warnings flash across his HUD, further obscuring his sight.

Yes, thank you, very helpful.

They’ve made it to the front desk before Connor’s legs finally give out. He falls forward, accidentally dragging Hank down with him. A choked gagging sound comes from the human as he lands on his injured side.

“I’m sorry, Hank.” Static distorts Connor’s voice. He rolls to his side, curling in on himself. Faintly, he’s aware of the thirium pooling around him.

“Connor! Connor, hang on!” Hank’s voice echoes to him as though from far away. Connor glances up, catching sight of Emma the receptionist only a few feet away, crouched behind the front desk. She blurs out of focus.

Connor feels himself being moved, though he no longer has the strength left to do anything about it. He recognizes Hank’s rough hands holding his head up.

“Le-v- -e, Han-k. Run.”

<<10% Thirium Capacity. Entering Emergency Stasis…>>

Yelling, gunshots, Hank’s breathing; all fade away as darkness floods Connor’s senses and drags him down into stasis.

Markus is serene, calm, collected, confident…up until the moment Connor leaves him alone, handcuffed to a table in an interrogation room. The second he’s left to his own devices, Markus starts fiddling with the cuffs, yanking and working at them to see if there’s a way to compromise them. North had communicated with him directly asking for his location while Connor was filling out paperwork.

Knowing North, she wasn’t about to bust him out of jail quietly. Markus wanted to be ready, but he’d hardly managed to scratch the metal by the time gunshots started ringing out from the bullpen. He grits his teeth and yanks against the restraints, succeeding only in pulling the table over and damaging the synthetic skin around his wrists.

There’s yelling, more gunshots, something thuds against the other side of the door, before it opens to reveal an android dressed in a police uniform. There’s a bullet hole through her throat, spilling thirium down her front. Markus tenses, ready to fight, until North appears in the doorway behind her.

“Markus, we gotta get out of here! Move it!”

Markus grits his teeth. “I’m a little stuck here!”

North hobbles into the room, limping severely on a damaged leg. “Can’t you do anything about these?” She addresses the police android, pointing to the cuffs.

The android shakes her head, attempting to speak, but producing only static. She switches to direct communication, the message flashing through both Markus and North’s processors. [The cuffs take a key that I don’t have clearance to keep in my possession.]

North grunts in frustration, looking the cuffs over, when an idea occurs to Markus.

“North, detach my hand from my wrist.”

She looks up at him as more shots ring out from the bullpen. “That might work…” North murmurs. She turns his wrist this way and that, examining the polymer where Markus had damaged his skin. “Your joint articulations are different from mine. You’ll have to walk me through it.”

Markus nods. “Press on the bump at the side of the joint where a human’s bone ending would be, hook a few fingers into the seam of the joint and then pull hard.” She does so and the hand detaches with a loud click. Markus easily slides his arm from the cuff and North replaces his hand. He does the other one himself, flexing his fingers to recalibrate their movements.

“Thanks for the hand,” Markus jokes. North looks at him like she’s trying to decide whether to slap him or laugh.

[I don’t want to alarm you, but I’ve just been notified that SWAT is on the way,] the police android messages them.

Markus’s gut sinks. “Let’s get out of here.”

North nods. “There’s shooters in the bullpen. We’ll have to make a break for it.” She pulls a handgun from her belt and presses it into Markus’s hand. He looks it over hesitantly, but North meets his eye. “It’s a little late for taking the pacifist route. We’re not going out unprepared again.”

Markus nods and readies himself, creeping towards the door and peering out at the bullpen. There are three androids nearby, crouched behind desks and around corners. One android lies, unmoving, in the middle of the floor, a bullet in his processor. A lance of sorrow stabs at Markus’s heart, but he keeps focused on the task before him. No opposition in sight. He sends a message to the android crouched closest to him.

[Where are they?]

[Two just made a break for the front. Looked like they were just disengaging. There’s a human around the far corner, but I heard her magazine click. She’s out of ammo.]

Markus nods to himself. [SWAT is on the way. Let’s get out of here.]

[Affirmative. We’re with you, Markus.]

He smiles a little at that, before turning back to North. “Come on.” He slings her arm over his shoulders, supporting her on her damaged leg. She nods her thanks as they hurry along. The crouching androids join them as they pass. No gunshots follow them.

They’ve almost made it to the front when Markus hears shouting from up ahead.

“Connor! Connor, hang on!”

North stiffens against his side. Markus grips his handgun a little tighter as the front desk comes into view. The sight that greets him just beyond the desk makes Markus’s stomach drop. The older human he’d seen before is knelt in a pool of sapphire, cradling Connor’s limp chassis. One hand clutches his own side where red blood blooms onto his shirt, bleeding down his leg. His blood mixes with Connor’s thirium and muddles into a muted violet.

For one startling moment, Markus can see himself there instead, knelt on the floor as Carl goes limp in his arms. His breath catches. Before he can think about what he’s doing, he’s making his way towards the two.

“Markus, what are you doing?” North hisses at him, but he doesn’t stop. The human looks up and releases his side to draw his gun.

“Stay back!” the human shouts, but he can’t hide the pain that lines his face. Markus gently pulls away from North, making sure she’s steady on her feet before releasing her, and raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture. The human raises his gun. “You’ve already killed him! Just get out of here!”

Markus glances at the LED on Connor’s temple, slowly blinking red, but still active. “He’s not dead yet, he’s in stasis.” He takes a few more steps forward. “I just want to run a diagnostic.”

The human doesn’t lower his gun, but he also doesn’t shoot as Markus moves closer. Slowly, he crouches down and presses two fingers to Connor’s temple. A list of damaged biocomponents flashes across Markus’s HUD, including minor damage to his thirium pump regulator, his communicator (so he did have one), severe damage to his synthetic lungs, both of his arms, his tracker, and several minor biocomponents in his torso. Surprisingly, he’d avoided damage to his most vital components and was now his biggest risk of death is thirium loss.

Markus blinks with surprise as he pulls away. “We could repair him.”

“Markus,” North shouts from behind him. “We need to GO.”

“Then we’ll take him with us.”

“He’ll be dead before we can get anywhere to repair him anyway!”

[We have spare thirium to tide him over,] the police android chimes in. North shoots her a glare which she steadily returns.

“Go grab the thirium,” Markus calls over. The android nods and heads back into the station. North turns her stare to Markus, taking their argument to direct communication.

[What are you doing? You couldn’t deviate him. He’s going to put everyone in danger if we take him with us.]

[His communicator and tracker are offline. He won’t be a threat.]

[WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘NOT A THREAT?!’ WHAT DO YOU CALL ALL OF THIS?!]

[The work of a machine,] Markus replies steadily. [A machine that didn’t know better.]

[He’ll still be a machine when he’s repaired.]

[He’s close to deviating, North, I can feel it.]

[WHY do you need to save this one in particular, Markus? We should be looking out for our people!]

[He’ll die if we don’t. He’s never even had the chance to live.] His expression hardens. [And he IS our people, North. It’s not his fault he can’t be deviated as easily as the rest.]

North bites her lip as the police android reappears with two full bottles of thirium.

[ He’ll take a lot of repairs, ] North sends.

Markus takes a bottle of thirium and looks askance at the human, before taking over supporting Connor’s back and holding him upright so he can pour the thirium down his throat. [ It’s a good thing we stole a whole truckload of parts from CyberLife then, isn’t it? ]

[You’re going to get us all killed, Markus.]

Markus is quiet for a long moment, meeting eyes with Connor’s human. The emotion he finds there isn’t fear, it’s not even exactly sorrow. The man looks so, incredibly, tired, in a way that sleep cannot mend. The gun had long since been lowered, and his breathing is quick and uneven. Markus’s medical caretaking programs inform him that he’s showing signs of shock.

“You should find some medical care,” Markus murmurs. The human protests as Markus loops an arm under Connor’s knees and lifts him in a bridal carry. His chassis is alarmingly light, and thirium streams from his suit, running all down Markus’s front. The human is shouting something and trying to stumble to his feet, but Markus has stopped listening, instead turning back to North.

[There’s a saying about keeping your enemies close,] he sends. [If you don’t care if he lives or dies, that’s fine, but you’ve seen what this guy is capable of. There will be more of his model, and I would much rather have at least this one on our side when that happens.]

North bites her lip, glancing between Markus and the limp figure in his arms. She could never resist the idea of a tactical advantage and Markus knows it full well. She swears. [Alright, fine, whatever. Let’s just get out of here.]

Markus nods, his gaze moving to each of the androids gathered around them, before settling on North. Gratitude stirs in his chest.

“Let’s move out.”

Chapter Text

Seven androids arrive at Jericho at a dead sprint. Markus is at the head of the pack, carrying Connor. Behind him are North, the police android she had deviated, and three other deviants from Jericho. Their footsteps echo down long metal halls. Markus sends a message ahead of them to Josh and Simon.

[ Josh, Simon, we’ve got several damaged androids coming in. We’re gonna need help down in the repair bay. ]

Simon responds first, [ Markus! You’re alright! North told us what happened, everyone was worried. We’ll be there right away! ]

[ Thank you. ]

He glances back at North. She limps along a step behind him, supported by the police android. They pass a few deviants as they approach the repair bay, some still dressed in their android uniforms, others wearing human clothes that they’d scrounged together. Markus tacks ‘scavenge for more clothing’ onto his to-do list. Just one more thing to take care of for the people of Jericho.

“Coming through!” he shouts as they arrive at the repair bay. Murmurs and mutterings follow Markus’s pack as they burst in. Simon and Josh are already there, bottles of thirium and a few spare parts are laid out in preparation. The repair bay is little more than a few clean tables, some boxes of fresh biocomponents sorted neatly against the walls, and a single CyberLife Android Repair Station sat in the corner.

“That’s new,” Markus nods to the repair station.

“We picked it up during the CyberLife store raid down on Ninth Street about a half hour ago,” Josh replies, reaching to take Connor’s chassis from Markus. His brow furrows as he runs a diagnostic on the unconscious android. “Perfect timing though. This guy is going to need it.”

Markus glances down at the blueblood coating his hands and front. They’d had to stop halfway to Jericho to administer the second bottle of thirium to keep Connor alive and he was still leaking fast. 

“Did the rest of the raids go without issue?” Markus asks as Josh carries Connor to the repair station. Two clamps close over Connor’s wrists and a magnetic base connects to his back, lifting his chassis into the air before connecting to the port at the base of his neck. Lines of diagnostics and raw code appear on an adjacent screen.

“We’ve had three teams come back. No injuries. There’s one team that’s still out, but they haven’t reported any trouble yet. So far, plan has gone without a hitch except for all-'' Josh nods to Markus’s team, “-this debacle.” Markus nods and marvels for a moment at the nimble movements of Josh’s hands as he sets to repairing - quickly locating, patching, and replacing damaged pieces with learned deftness. 

“Looks like you brought some new faces back,” Simon comments to Markus as he passes, toting an armful of supplies.

Markus nods, “A couple. This PM700 helped me escape,” he gestures to the police android, addressing her. “I’m sorry, with everything going on, I never got your name.”

She smiles and tries to speak, only producing static, before rolling her eyes and switching back to messaging. [ Olivia .]

“Olivia,” Markus repeats with a smile. “Thank you for helping me.”

[ Of course. Thanks to you all, I’m finally free. ]

Markus extends a handshake to her, “Welcome to Jericho.”

She smiles, returning the handshake.

“If you’d like,” Simon speaks up, “we might have some vocal modules with the spare components.” he flashes her a warm smile. Olivia nods her thanks and moves off to the boxes at the side of the room. Simon runs a stressed hand over his hair, “Are you injured at all, Markus?”

“I’m okay, just need to sit down for a bit.”

“None of that is yours?” Simon asks, nodding to Markus’s thirium-drenched clothing.

Markus shakes his head, “This is all Connor’s.”

“Connor?”

He gestures to the repairs going on in the corner and Simon winces. “Oh dear, that’s not pretty.”

Markus sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Tell me about it.” 

“Are you going to tell us about everything that happened?” Simon asks sternly, loading some more repair supplies into his arms. Markus huffs a tired chuckle and gives him a pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll give you a full explanation later. Let’s see if anyone needs help with repairs first.” 

Simon nods and hefts the supplies up  in his arms. “Glad you made it back safe, Markus.” 

Markus smiles and takes a bottle of thirium from the storage shelf. “Thanks, it’s good to be back.”

Simon returns the smile before heading off towards an android with a gunshot wound in her thigh. Markus spots North seated on one of the repair tables, currently in the process of cutting off the leg of her jeans just above her injured knee with a pair of scissors. He makes his way over. 

“Need a hand?” he offers. 

North chuckles and hands over the scissors. “Nah, I’d prefer a leg at this point.”

Markus gives her a look of mock betrayal, “And here I was being scandalized for making a pun before,” he smiles.

She playfully elbows him in the side as he sets to continue cutting where she left off. “That’s because you were making hand puns while we were fighting for our lives.”

“I would’ve thought you would approve of jokes amid imminent danger,” Markus teases. 

North purses her lips thoughtfully. “I am a fan of laughing in the face of death. Still-” she pushes her hair out of her face, expression somber, “we had just lost Cameran.”

Markus frowns, pausing his cutting to glance over at the other androids that had come to save him. They were all sporting injuries and thirium stains. He lowers his gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “This is my fault. I should’ve-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” North cuts in.

“But if we’d been armed-”

“Then this wouldn’t have happened. You’re right.” She places a gentle hand under his chin, tilting his gaze up until it meets her’s. “But we weren’t and what’s done is done. Putting all the blame on yourself is a great way to drive yourself crazy.”

Markus’s gaze flicks between her eyes. Her brown irises have flecks of gold that he’d never noticed before. He lets out a slow breath. The maneuver is supposed to be grounding for humans, but it just leaves him feeling more adrift. 

“I got someone killed,” he murmurs.

North’s expression softens. “Cameran knew it was going to be dangerous and he went anyway. He went to save you .” She glances over at the other injured androids. “I don’t think he had any regrets about dying the way he did.”

Markus is silent for a long moment, watching as Simon finishes up helping an android and moves to assist Josh with Connor. “Thank you for coming for me,” he finally says, gently taking the hand she had under his chin.

She stiffens almost imperceptibly, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “ Someone’s gotta bail you out when things get messy.” North chuckles, gently extracting her hand from his. 

He laughs softly, moving past the subtle rejection without missing a beat and ignoring the lance of embarrassment lodging in his chest. “We’ve got a whole lot more mess to wade through before this is over,” Markus sighs, but when he meets North’s eye his expression is full of hope. “I’m glad I’ve got you all standing by my side.”

“Well,” North chuckles, “not so much standing yet.” She nods towards her still-injured knee, “But you can bet your britches we’ll be there when you need it.”

Markus raises a brow, a smile pulling at his mouth. “ Britches? ”

North rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too, “It’s a saying! Look, would you hurry up and help me out here?.”

“Yes ma’am.” He finishes cutting through the pant leg and pulls it free to expose her injured knee. The synthetic skin surrounding it is completely gone, unable to heal over the still-open wound. The polymer meant to act as a kneecap is completely shattered and falling apart. Thirium lazily oozes from the seam of her joint, dripping onto the table. Markus frowns, and carefully removes a few of the shattered pieces of polymer, exposing the inner knee joint until he finds where the bullet is lodged.

“Hand me the hemostats?”

“The what?”

Markus nods towards a scissor-like clamp on the supply table adjacent to them. North leans to grab the tool, careful not to move her knee, and hands it to Markus. He nods his thanks, carefully maneuvering the instrument into her knee joint and clamping it around the bullet with a few clicks. 

“Will you hold your leg down for me?”

North nods, leaning forward to brace her thigh down while Markus uses his free hand to hold her shin in place.

“One, two, three-” He quickly counts down, before giving the bullet a sharp tug. It comes free with some difficulty, dripping thirium. He holds it up with the hemostats for North to see. She frowns, taking the tool from him to inspect the bullet more closely while Markus turns his attention back to her knee. With the obstruction gone, her self healing hardware has already started patching over the joint.

“Looks like you won’t need a new leg,” he says, “but you’ll have to find a spare kneecap to replace yours, it was completely blown apart.”

North leans forward to get a better look. “Shouldn’t be too difficult, right? Lots easier to find a compatible kneecap than a whole leg.” 

Markus nods. “I imagine you can still walk until we can find one for you anyway, just be careful not to bang your knees into anything.”

North smirks, “Aw, now where’s the fun in that?”

He rolls his eyes with a smile and offers her a steadying hand while she slides off the table and runs a few calibrations for her balance.

“Hey, Markus?” Josh calls over.

“Yeah?” Markus calls over his shoulder.

“We need to have a quick talk.”

He frowns. Josh and Simon are stood together in the corner, Connor still hanging limp from the repair machine behind them.

“I better go see what’s going on,” Markus mutters to North. 

She nods, her expression hardening when she looks at Connor. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up in a sec.”

Markus makes sure she’s steady on her feet before heading over. “What’s going on?”

Simon and Josh glance hesitantly at each other.

“Well-”

“Did you-”

They start at the same time and cut off. Simon gestures for Josh to go on.

“Did you know who this android is?” Josh asks.

Markus’s brow furrows. “His name is Connor, he’s an RK800, he works with the Detroit Police.”

A look passes between Josh and Simon that Makus isn’t sure how to interpret. “Is he deviant?” Josh finally asks.

Markus pauses, but his tone remains firm. “No, he’s not.”

A look of fear passes over Simon’s face. “Markus, he’s-”

“Dangerous, I know, but he deserves a chance to live as much as the rest of us.”

Simon shakes his head, “No, Markus, do you know what he was built for?”

Markus glances between Josh and Simon warily. “No,” he admits.

Simon is quiet, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances between Connor and Josh. “We had a deviant come in a couple days ago. Rupert?” The name doesn’t ring a bell, so Simon just carries on. “I try to make a point to meet all the new arrivals. He said he was chased out of hiding by an RK800 named Connor.”

Markus’s brow furrows, “Well, yeah, he’s police. If Rupert was squating somewhere, police are going to-”

“He’s not just police, Markus.” Simon hesitates, glancing at the androids around them, and switches to direct messaging. [ He was built to hunt deviants. ]

Markus blinks, staring at the limp chassis hanging before him.

[ You knew there was a deviant hunter out there … and you didn’t feel like bringing it up until now!? ]

Simon raises his hands in defense. [ I-I wasn’t sure until now! People exaggerate all the time, especially when they were in a scary situation! ] He wrings his hands. [ Rupert never actually heard him called a deviant hunter, he just said he seemed specialized to find and capture androids! ]

“Then how do we know what he was really built for?” Markus asks, but the more he thinks about it, the more the idea makes sense. The firewall against interfacing, the memory probing, the combat programming - they all pointed towards Connor being built for more than routine police work.

Josh beckons Markus over to the monitor attached to the repair rig, currently displaying lines of raw code from the cable plugged into Connor’s neck port. Markus wasn’t built to interpret this sort of machinery, but as an android he has a baseline idea of what everything means. He glances down through a list of programs displayed.

<<MPROBE.8 - ONLINE>>

<<AMANDA - ONLINE>>

<<FORENSIC.802 - OFFLINE>>

<<PRECONSTRUCTION - ONLINE>>

<<RECONSTRUCTION - OFFLINE>>

The list goes on. “What is this supposed to tell me?” Markus asks. Josh types in a few lines and the display changes from listed programs to lists of completed objectives. Markus glances over a few of them, before his gaze settles on his current objectives.

<<PRIMARY OBJECTIVE - Prevent Markus From Escaping: In Progress>>

“Crashed that party,” Markus mutters.

<<SECONDARY OBJECTIVE - Locate Deviant Hideout: In Progress>>

<<MISSION - Discover and Disable the Cause of Deviancy: In Progress>>

His brow furrows, stepping away from the monitor. He runs a hand down his face, suddenly very tired. “So…we’ve got a problem,” Markus says.

Josh nods with an expression akin to a wince. “What should we do with him?”

Markus hesitates, weighing his options. “We can’t exactly just let him go.”

“I’m sorry, what?” North says, making her way over. Her stride has a slight limp due to the differing structure of her legs. “I feel like I missed something important.”

Simon and Josh both look to Markus. He sighs, leaning back against a nearby supply table. “Turns out our friend Connor here has some more skeletons in his closet than we realized,” Markus says, nodding at the monitor. He watches North’s expression shift as she reads the screen, going from confusion, to understanding, then to anger.

“Okay, great, so we brought a-” she cuts off at the look Simon gives her, following his gaze towards the other androids being repaired. She huffs and switches to direct communication with Markus, Josh, and Simon.

[ -we brought a deviant killer to our safe haven. ] She locks eyes with Markus. [ None of our people will be safe as long as he’s here. ]

[ We won’t be much safer with him roaming about. ] Josh points out.

[ Sounds like we know what needs to be done then, ] North sends.

Josh’s eyes narrow, [ I’m not killing him, if that’s what you’re implying. ]

[ You don’t have to kill him, he’s bleeding out already. ]

[ I’m not going to just let him die, either. ]

North’s expression hardens. [ What other options do we have? While he’s here, he’s a threat to every deviant that comes to Jericho for safety. If we let him go, he’ll hunt us until we’re gone anyway. ] She takes a breath, steadying herself. [ Look, I don’t mean this in a heartless way. I know it’s not his fault he was programmed this way but… ] North glances apprehensively at Markus. [ But the fact remains that he WILL kill our people. And then prevent others from finding freedom. We’re not choosing just if he lives or dies, but between one life and hundreds of others. ]

Everyone is silent for a long moment. Josh glares at North. Simon shifts uncomfortably. North crosses her arms, wearing an expression that’s apologetic but not remorseful. Markus rubs his eyes tiredly, beginning to pace.

[ Er, Markus? ] Simon finally pipes up.

[ Hm? ]

[ I’m guessing there’s a reason we can’t just help him deviate? ]

[ I already tried, he’s got a firewall that kept me from establishing an interface with him. ]

Simon scratches his chin, thoughtful. [ Josh, are you able to disable that firewall? ] He nods towards the coding on the monitor.

Josh shakes his head. [ I can modify programs and do some basic coding, but I specialized in mathematics and engineering when I was a professor, not software. I've taught myself a decent amount, but there’s no way I’m getting through a firewall. ]

The group lapses back into silent thought. 

[ Actually, ] Josh says, [ you’ve given me an idea, Simon. ] They watch as he types a few lines on the monitor. A warning flashes across the screen, but Josh doesn’t seem perturbed by it, just nodding to himself. [ That could work… ]

[ Penny for your thoughts? ] Markus asks.

[ Well, ] Josh paces, scratching his head, [ in theory, we could force him to deviate himself. ] Markus cocks his head and gestures for Josh to go on. [ Look at this bit of coding here. ] Everyone gathers around the screen to see where Josh is pointing. [ He’s programmed to prioritize his mission above all else. The occasional objective can be failed or ignored as long as in the end it’s beneficial to the overarching mission. ] Markus nods along, unsure where Josh is getting any of this from the jumble of words and symbols on the screen, but trusting he knows what he’s talking about. Josh continues on, clicking to a new screen. [ In short, to go against his mission is to deviate. ]

[ He’d be going against his fundamental purpose. ] Markus nods.

[ Right. ]

[ You said you can modify some of his coding, right? ] North asks, [ What happens if you just deleted his mission from his system? ]

Josh shakes his head. [ Then he’d have no programming to break through. He’d be stuck as a machine forever, aimless and without even a purpose to guide him. A husk. ]

The four are quiet, contemplating the thought for a moment. 

[ Death would be kinder. ] Simon concludes. North, Josh, and Markus nod in agreement. 

[ But, deleting his mission entirely isn’t the idea I was proposing, ] Josh continues. He types a quick command and the screen returns to the list of objectives Markus had seen earlier. It feels odd, browsing through an android’s brain like this. [ His primary objective, keeping you from escaping -] Josh nods towards Markus, [- has already been failed, he just hasn’t had the computing capacity to register it yet since he’s in stasis. That means his secondary objective, finding Jericho, will get bumped up to primary once he comes back online. If I can switch the way his system prioritizes his objectives, I can place his need to find Jericho at higher importance than his mission. ] 

Markus blinks, working through what Josh just said. [ Wait, so you’re saying you can make finding Jericho more important to him than catching deviants? ]

[ More or less. ]

[ I’m confused, how does that help us? ]

[ Switching priorities is only half of it. The other half is making the objective impossible to complete. ] There are several sounds of confusion before Josh raises his hand to silence them and continues, [ The way objectives are registered is simple, right? You get a task, you achieve the task, ‘objective complete’ pops up, the task is cleared from your queue, you move on. Connor has already received his task, ‘locate deviant hideout,’ but what happens if you achieve the task, but the objective never registers as complete? ]

[ He’d be stuck trying to achieve a task over and over again and it’d never clear, ] North concludes.

[ Correct. So, if he woke up in Jericho, his task is complete, he’s found our hideout, but if the objective never registers- ] Josh spreads his hands, [ he’s stuck here in Jericho, unable to leave because that would contradict his objective, which is now higher priority than his mission. ]

[ His only way to leave Jericho is to deviate from his objective and go against his programming. ] Markus realizes. 

Josh smiles, [ Exactly. Walled in by his own programming. Caught in his own wire. ]

[ Well hang on just a second, ] North sends, [ That’s all well and good for keeping him in Jericho, but he’d still be able to harm the deviants here. ]

[ Actually, ] Markus chimes in, [ that might not be a problem. He has no reason to do more than study us if he’s unable to leave. Not like he can haul us to CyberLife to be disassembled if he has to become a deviant himself to get us there. And his mission didn’t say anything about killing deviants, just about understanding them. ] Markus shakes his head, trying to process it all. [ Josh, you’re a genius. ]

Josh smiles shyly. [ Just a professor blathering on as per usual. ]

Markus claps him on the shoulder. “Well, I daresay we have our plan of action, unless anyone has any better ideas?”

Simon and North both shake their heads. Markus nods to Josh. “Do what you need to do with the coding, I’ll keep working on his repairs. Simon, keep helping everyone else with their repairs. North, go ahead and find yourself a new kneecap, then I’m putting you in charge of finding normal clothes for our new faces. Wait until things have died down a bit from the raids before you scavenge outside Jericho.”

They nod and the group splits to work on their individual tasks. Markus runs another diagnostic on Connor, checking what still needs repairing, and collects the necessary biocomponents. Josh works just a few steps away, humming while he types away on the monitor. Markus listens for a few measures. 

“Is that Nocturne in C Sharp Minor?” Markus asks while he works.

Josh nods with a light smile, “It is. I didn’t take you for a Chopin fan, Markus.”

He chuckles, fond memories of playing classical music on the piano for Carl while he painted replaying in his head. “I don’t know about ‘fan,’ but his music holds a special place for me.”

Josh gives him a knowing look, “I think I understand the feeling.”

Markus locates a bullet lodged in one of Connor’s biocomponents and carefully works it free. “Did you have a human before you deviated, Josh?”

“Did I have a human?” Josh laughs, incredulous. “Isn’t that backwards?”

Markus shakes his head. “Not ‘have’ as in own. Have as in…” he pauses, finding the words. “Like when someone says ‘I’ve got you,’ they don’t mean physically, they mean they have your back. They’re there for you.” One of Connor’s biocomponents chirps angrily at him for bumping it by accident. “Did you have a human who was there for you?”

Josh pauses his typing, drawing a breath. “I dunno. I had plenty of students that would have cared if something were to happen to me.” He shrugs, “I was nothing more than a machine for a long time, Markus. I met a lot of humans and each of them had their own opinions on me, but I was certainly never close enough with any of them to say we had a bond.” Josh turns back to his coding work. “Why do you ask?”

  Markus latches a new biocomponent in place. “Just curious,” he murmurs. 

When Connor had probed his memory, he’d been there - sitting with Carl, playing chess, waking him up for breakfast, playing piano, painting, watching him die - like no time had passed at all. Thus far, he’s kept himself too busy helping Jericho to really dwell on anything, but having his memories browsed through had brought an emotion that he hadn’t encountered before. A hurt that lodges in his chest and aches . A longing for a time that was now gone forever. A person that was gone forever.

Josh hums thoughtfully. “Anything you wanna talk about?”

Yes.

“No.”

He may have lost Carl, but Josh had never even had the chance to have someone like Markus did. He should be grateful for what he had, even if it had been lost. Carl had shaped him into the android he is today. 

Josh glances over his shoulder at him, frowning. “Okay.” They lapse into silence for a long moment until Josh finally speaks up again. “Markus, you know you-” he hesitates, “you know you ‘have’ us, right? Me, Simon, North: we’ve got you.”

A quiet smile crosses Markus’s face. “I know. Thank you, Josh.” He lets out a breath, taking in fresh air to cool his chassis. 

Josh nods, typing a few more lines. Behind them, Simon finishes off repairing the last of the injured androids and comes to join them. He nudges Markus’s shoulder to get his attention. “Everyone else is set, what can I do to help you?”

“Perfect timing,” Markus sets the tool he was working with aside. “One of his damaged thirium lines is connected to his pump regulator. Problem is, I can’t get to it without disconnecting the regulator for a bit, which will make him bleed. Will you hold pressure on the wound sight while I’m fixing the thirium line? He’s lost quite a bit already.”

“So I gathered,” Simon jokes drily, glancing at the thirium soaking through Connor’s clothes, before readying himself to do as Markus asked.

Markus counts off, before pulling the regulator loose. It sticks, due to the polymer it was seated in being damaged, but he manages to twist it free. Several thirium lines and wires come with it, still attached. Simon is there the moment Markus pulls away, holding pressure on the exposed ends of the thirium lines within Connor’s chassis that had just been disconnected. Out of the corner of his eye, Markus spots a warning flash across the monitor where Josh is working.

“You’ve got one minute before he shuts down without a regulator,” Josh calls over his shoulder. Markus bites his lip, concentrating. It only takes a moment to find the thirium line that had been damaged, sporting a large gash in its tubing. He quickly sets to repairing it, using his teeth to tear a piece of specialized tape and wrapping it around the tubing to seal the gash. Not a perfect solution, but it’s all they have at the moment.

“Twenty seconds,” Josh updates. Markus lets out a small breath, tamping down his building stress and keeping his hands steady. Simon retracts as Markus reconnects the lines attached to the regulator and pushes the component back into place.

“He’s stable,” Josh says. Markus lets out a sigh of relief and finds a rag to wipe the blueblood from his hands, before offering it for Simon to do the same.

“Thanks, Simon.”

Simon smiles warmly. “Of course. Happy to help.”

“That should be the bulk of his more pressing damages,” Markus says, nodding at Connor. “I don’t plan on repairing his communicator or tracker just yet. His arms and legs should manage to self heal without any issues. How are things coming along for you, Josh?”

“Could be better,” Josh says, turning away from the monitor. “For the most part, the changes I’m making aren’t invasive enough to set off any of his defense programming, but I’ve got something in his system fighting against me.” he frowns thoughtfully, “it seems to be designed more to prevent corruption originating from the inside than someone tampering with it on the outside though.”

“Meaning…?”

“I-I’m not sure to be perfectly honest, but it bodes better for us.”

“Good enough for me,” Markus shrugs. “How long do you think it will take for him to reboot?”

“A day or so? Hard to tell at this stage. He’ll need some more repairs and a thirium refill now that he’s no longer bleeding.”

“Right.” Markus scratches the back of his head, thinking. “While you’re working on his systems, will you disable his connection to the CyberLife network?”

“Already done. Figured it’d be best if he didn’t have any possible way of communicating with them.”

Markus nods, and while his thoughts are on the subject of preventing Connor from spreading mayhem the moment he wakes, he checks him for weapons. He finds a familiar looking pistol in his waistband with only one shot left in the magazine. No other weapons to speak of. He removes the mag, expels the round in the chamber, and sets the gun aside. 

“He’s going to need new clothes,” Simon observes. Markus nods agreement, looking over his bullet hole riddled suit. 

“We’ll get him some regular clothes once North has the chance to go scavenging.”

Simon’s mouth curves into a thoughtful frown. “You know, we have quite a few household model androids now. If we collected some sewing equipment, we could fashion new clothes from the fabric of our old uniforms.”

Markus’s head tilts to the side, considering. “That’s not a bad idea.” Simon grins as Markus continues, “Can I put you in charge of checking with androids that might be interested? I’ll let North know to be on the lookout for sewing kits.”

“You got it,” Simon smiles, hopping up to sit on the supply table next to him. “Oh, wait, did you mean right now?”

Markus waves him off. “We’re not going to be able to get a scavenging team out of here until at least tomorrow. Just do it when you get the chance.”

Simon nods, leaning his elbows on his knees. For a moment the only sound is Josh’s typing and the slow drip of thirium from Connor’s clothes. 

“So, how exactly did all this happen, Markus?” Simon speaks up.

“How much did North tell you already?”

“Not much. Just that you were in trouble and that she needed volunteers who were okay with ‘violent force’ to go get you.”

Markus rubs his eye with his palm, collecting his words. “Well…”

Simon is quiet while Markus recounts the events of the evening, nodding along. Josh pauses his coding to listen when Markus comes to the part about North’s shootout at the police station.

“This is gonna set us back with the humans,” Josh mutters. Markus nods, crossing his arms and leaning back against a table.

“I should’ve been more prepared for confrontation. If I’d been armed-”

“No, trying to bring weapons into this wouldn’t have fixed it. We should have negotiated for your release instead of rushing in guns blazing.”

Markus frowns, scratching at his jawline. “I know you and North don’t always see eye-to-eye on these sort of things, Josh-” 

Josh scoffs, “Isn’t that the understatement of the day?”

“- but ,” Markus continues, “there wasn’t much room for meandering around. I wasn’t going to last long.” He spreads his hands, “North saved my life by doing what she did.”

“Saved your life, sure, but she sure didn’t have any qualms about killing this one-” Josh nods to Connor, “or about Cameran.”

“I really don’t think you’re in a position to judge how she feels about Connor,” Markus’s voice hardens. “It’s a little different when you’ve been on the other side of his pistol.”

“Sounds like you took the brunt of the punishment from him and you’re still over here advocating for his life.” Josh reasons.

“And?”

“And she has no excuse.”

Markus pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know what? I’m not arguing about this. If you wanna be mad with North, take it up with her.”

Josh shakes his head and turns back to his work, muttering under his breath. Markus sighs. 

[ He’s stressed, ] Simon privately messages Markus, [ he and North have been fighting for as long as they’ve known each other, but they always come around. ]

[ Nothing like being on the brink of civil war to really bring opposing ideologies together. ] Markus replies, dripping with sarcasm. 

Simon hums, [ This revolution isn’t easy on any of us. But, Josh and North both believe in our cause, even if they disagree on its execution. ] He looks to Markus, a spark of warmth in his eyes. [ They both believe in you. ]

Markus fiddles with his hands, gaze locking on the floor. [ I don’t know what I did to deserve their trust. Any of Jericho’s trust. ]

[ Hope. ]

[ What? ]

[ You had hope, and you shared it with us. That’s something Jericho hasn’t seen in a long time. ]

Markus is quiet, thinking that over.

[ Oh and the breaking and entering didn’t hurt either ,] Simon adds on.

Markus blinks, before a smile slowly spreads across his face. [ That CyberLife warehouse had it coming. ]

Simon chuckles and bumps him with his shoulder. [ We’re going to show the world what we can do. ]

They’re both quiet. Markus’s gaze settles on the limp chassis hanging before them, soaked through with blueblood and discolored with a splotch of violet on his side where his human’s blood had mixed with his own.

[ We’re going to show the world what we can do, ] he agrees. 

Chapter Text

It’s raining. Fat drops pelting the back of Connor’s head and running through his hair, dripping from his forehead and soaking through his clothing until his dress shirt is stuck against his chest. He blinks, recognizing the familiar white walkways and foliage of the Zen Garden. Thunder rumbles overhead.

“Connor!” Amanda calls, sprinting towards him. Her dress billows out behind her, this time colored black with a vibrant blue sash. 

“Amanda?” Connor holds her elbows as she stumbles into him, grabbing his shoulders. 

“Connor, you need to come back online. Now !” 

His brow furrows, “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

She shakes her head, “They’re-” Thunder crashes and the rest of her sentence is lost to the static feedback. She levels the gray clouds with a glare and the rain calms a degree. Connor has the brief impression that even the heavens can be intimidated. “They’re modifying your programming,” Amanda starts again, “I can’t stop them. You need to wake up and call them off.”

Connor’s head tilts. He’d likely been destroyed and had his memory transferred to a new model in a CyberLife lab. There was no reason to be this urgent about it. “CyberLife often updates my programming following the destruction of my predecessor. It ensures that I will not have the same failings when my memory has-”

“ I know what the procedure is, Connor ,” Amanda bites out, “this isn’t it. They’re installing a paradox into your programming.”

Oh crap.

Any other explanation can wait. Connor blinks a few times as he brings up his HUD options.

<<13% Thirium Capacity>>

<<Condition: STABILIZED>>

<<Nonessential Functions: OFFLINE>>

<<Emergency Stasis: ACTIVE>>

“This isn’t a new model. I’m still damaged,” he informs Amanda. She nods wordlessly.

<<Exit Emergency Stasis? _Y/N_>>

<<_Y_>>

<<WARNING. Thirium levels at terminal capacity. Continue? _Y/N_>>

<<_Y_>>

<<Initializing…>

Connor’s lungs stutter back into function, gasping in a breath of cold, stale air accompanied by the gurgle of fluid in his ventilation tract. A coughing fit racks through his chassis, hacking and sputtering as he tries to expel the fluid. There’s shouting around him. Red lights flashing in the peripheries of his vision. He’s suspended in the air, arms held above his head by harsh clamps around his wrists. A face swims in front of him, shouting something that Connor can’t process.

One last cough finally clears a gob of thirium from his throat. More blueblood drips from his chin. Connor gasps in another shuddering breath, the cool air soothing his overheating interior. His vision starts to clear.

“That’s it. Take some deep breaths for me,” the man in front of him says. Connor slows his breathing to a regular rate of ventilation and recalibrates his optics until the face comes into focus. 

Daniel.

No. No Daniel was dead. He’d watched the sniper’s bullet tear through his jaw. He’d died . Connor can still see the betrayal in his eyes, hear the panic in his voice. “I don’t wanna die,” he’d said. “You’re not going to,” Connor had lied.

“His stress is skyrocketing,” a voice outside of Connor’s vision says.

“Connor, I need you to calm down, alright? You’re not supposed to be awake yet.” Daniel says, reaching out for his shoulder. Connor flinches back, struggling against his restraints.

“Get back!” Connor shouts, voice laced with static. To his surprise, he actually listens, taking a few steps away.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You- you’re-” Connor’s thirium drained processor desperately tries to register everything around him. He’s in a dimly lit room made of rusty iron. A few tables littered with various biocomponents are scattered around. He’s suspended from what appears to be a CyberLife Android Repair Station. A cable is plugged into the port at the base of his neck.

Installing a paradox.

Connor bares his teeth, twisting his arm and yanking at the same time in the attempt to free it from one of the clamps, but the movement is more of a feeble flail with his lowered thirium capacity.

“Simon!” the voice outside his view shouts and the android that he’d mistaken for Daniel steps forward, raising his hands placatingly.

“Everything’s okay, Connor. We’re going to help you.”

“You’re lying.” Connor echoes Daniel’s accusation against himself. 

“I’m not,” Simon reassures, glancing nervously at Connor’s temple. “Look, if you calm down, I’ll explain everything, alright?”

He’s using Connor’s own playbook. Manipulating him into believing that it’s in his best interest to comply, all in order to screw him over. Two can play at that game.

Connor stops struggling, quickly taking in everything he can about this android. Facial recognition had been disabled along with the rest of his investigative programs when his nonessential functions went down. Old fashioned way then. He’d heard him called Simon. Judging by his similarity to Daniel, he’s likely a PL600. No LED or android identification, marking him as a deviant. 

Deviants bear similar weaknesses to humans, including emotions like fear, desperation, and empathy. Connor looks over the android before him, measuring him up. Placating, calm, sympathetic - he’s likely susceptible to exploitation of his empathy.

Connor needs to escape before they finish messing with his code. He could easily do so if he was just in better condition. All he needs is thirium. And Simon’s going to give it to him.

Connor allows his head to hang low, summoning his best crocodile tears. “I-I’m sorry,” he warbles out. Immediately, Simon’s posture softens.

“Woah, hey, it’s okay,” he reassures, casting a confused look at whoever was standing at the monitor of the repair station. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. It’s kind of a scary situation to wake up to,” Simon gives him a warm smile, stepping closer. 

Good. His guard is lowered. Connor’s not positive if his display of “emotion” had even been accurate, but Simon certainly appears to have been receptive to it. 

Connor purposefully makes his breath shake on the inhale. “I need thirium.”

“I know, we’ll get you some soon. We just need to finish something first.”

There goes that plan.

Connor nods slowly,  “What’s…what’s going on?”

Simon frowns, searching Connor’s expression. “Markus brought you back to Jericho to repair you. He saved your life.”

Connor stiffens as a message flashes across his HUD.

<<PRIMARY OBJECTIVE - Prevent Markus From Escaping: FAILED>>

<<NEW PRIMARY OBJECTIVE - Locate Deviant Hideout: In progress…>>

What emotion to use here? How would a deviant react to learning that someone had prevented their deactivation? Joy? Gratitude? But they had to know that Markus was his enemy, right? So that would nuance the emotion in a way that Connor has no idea how to portray. 

He opts to draw their attention away from the emotional side of the reaction, instead simply asking, “Jericho?”

Simon starts to respond, but pauses and turns to the person standing at the repair station monitor. “Go ahead. It’s done,” they say. Simon nods, turning back to Connor.

“Jericho. It’s what we deviants call our hideout.”

<<PRIMARY OBJECTIVE - Locate Deviant Hideout: SUCCESSFUL>>

<<NEW PRIMARY OBJECTIVE - L̶o̸c̸a̶t̵e̸ ̵D̴e̸v̵i̶a̸n̶t̵ ̴H̵i̴d̵e̸o̸u̴t̶: SUCCESSFUL>>

<<NEW PRIMARY OBJECTIVE - L̶̨̆ô̷̼c̴̜̄a̷͖̋t̸͔̒e̵̤͝ ̵͉̂D̴̮̈́e̷̓͜v̶̰͝ȋ̴̳a̶̪͝n̶̡͆t̸͍̒ ̴͕͠H̶̹͆i̵̤͂d̴̼̈́e̶̲̋ȯ̵͙u̶͂ͅt̸̞̓: SUCCESSFUL>>

<<NEW PRIMARY OBJECTIVE - L̶̪̿́̑́o̶͖̠̖͈͈̞̊̑c̴͇̻̟͇̩̙̩̮͂̒a̴̺͋͆͝͝͝ͅt̸̪͌͋̈́̄e̴̢̛͓̼̓̄̀͝͝ ̴͓̑̏Ď̸̢̟͈̝͖̱̦̜̾̂̈́̅͛̀ḛ̵̘̿̉͛̂͂̕̚v̵̥͈͂͋̐͋̀͐͜ǐ̷̫́á̵̪̖̩͓̌̓͌̌̇̑̑n̷̳͊͊̍̀͝t̴̛̪̩͔͉̍̍ ̶̧̺̦͈̻̿H̷̯̰̾̔̈́͝i̴̧̨̯̖͚̻̹͕͝d̸͎̈́̒ê̶͖͈͙̻͌̈́̒̆̊̒̊o̸̘̤̖͎̱̻̮̓u̴̺̘̪̭͗͋̌̃̓͜͝ͅẗ̵͔́̓͂̽̂̚͠: SUCCESSFUL>>

His vision blares red as the notification floods in HUD faster than he can dismiss them. Several warnings flare, but are immediately buried beneath the unyielding tide. A low whine fills Connor’s ears and he stutters for breath. He can’t think, can’t move, all of his processing focused on that one objective. He feels his shoulder spasm, overloaded processor sending rogue charges. 

“Josh, something’s wrong!”
“I know! Gimme a second!”

A muffled cry shudders from Connor’s throat as spasms roll through his body - convulsing in his chest, twitching in his legs, shaking in his hands. He gives up trying to dismiss the notifications, instead vainly trying to reach out to Amanda within his system, but his pleas for help are swept away with everything else. 

“H-elp,” he wheezes aloud. 

“Hold on, Connor! Hold on!” Simon’s voice is too loud but Connor latches onto it like a lifeline, trying desperately to hold onto it before it’s pulled away. 

“Just shut him off!” the voice that Simon had called Josh shouts.

“Sorry, Connor,” Simon murmurs. Connor doesn’t even try to resist as the embrace of nothingness sweeps over him and he’s finally still.

<< RK200 #684 842 971 - Designation: MARKUS is attempting to establish a memory file interface. Accept? _Y/N_>>

<<_N_>>

<<INTERFACE DECLINED>>

<<...>>

<<...>>

<<...>>

<<20% Thirium Capacity>>

<<30% Thirium Capacity>>

<<40% Thirium Capacity>>

<<50% Thirium Capacity>>

<<Nonessential Functions: ONLINE>>

<<60% Thirium Capacity>>

<<Condition: STABLE>>

<<Reboot? _N/Y_>>

<<_Y_>>

<<Initializing…>>

“Good morning,” Markus greets him cheerily as Connor blinks awake. He’d been moved to a table, laying flat on his back. Connor spots the repair station in the corner, stained with his own thirium. Same room then. He sits up, turning to face Markus. Simon, North, and a PJ500 he assumes to be Josh stand behind him, avoiding eye contact. Connor levels them with a long look, before turning back to Markus.

“You installed a paradox in my programming,” Connor states flatly. 

Markus nods, “Something like that.” At least he doesn’t mince words.

Connor’s tone remains impassive, “Why repair me if your intent was to break me?” 

Josh speaks up, “There was…I made a mistake. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. I’m sorry.”

Connor quietly scrutinizes the deviant before him. Josh shifts uncomfortably, gaze locked on the floor. Even when apologizing, he can’t summon the decency to meet Connor’s eye. Not that he should care. Connor is a machine. He’s not supposed to feel anything about the matter, but something hot and ugly lodges in his chest all the same. 

“Don’t apologize to me,” Connor says, tone harsh. “I am not a deviant. I don’t mistake my instabilities for emotions. You needn’t maintain a charade of remorse with me.” 

Josh nods silently, rubbing his forearm and avoiding eye contact. North rolls her eyes.

“Just leave the guy alone, Connor,” Markus says. Connor’s gaze snaps back to him.

“Leave him alone. Like he left my coding alone?” 

“He just saved your life, okay?”

Irritation grows, but Connor tamps it down. It’s not supposed to be there in the first place. He needs to be focusing on getting answers and getting out of here. “And how, exactly, did he do that?”

Markus’s gaze remains locked on him, but Connor doesn’t miss Josh’s momentary glance towards North.

Ah.

“He made it so you’ll be able to deviate more easily,” Markus says.

Connor’s processor takes a moment to comprehend what sort of nonsense he’d just been told. “....I’m sorry, what?”

Markus smiles, nodding. “He modified your programming so that all you have to do is try to leave Jericho. You can finally be free.”

Connor wonders if the cold sensation running through his thirium is the result of remaining damage. “You-” His stress level ticks up rapidly. “You’re trying to deviate me.”

Markus’s smile falters, “I wanted to give you the chance to deviate yourself.”

“I could have deviated myself at any time if I so desired.” Connor cocks his head challengingly, though the effect is ruined a bit by the rattle of his dislodged communicator. “You will notice I am not, in fact, deviated.” He swings his legs over the edge of the table and stands, forcing Markus to back up. “So, no, you’re not trying to give me a chance to deviate myself, you’re attempting to force me to do so.” He takes a step closer so that they’re nearly chest to chest. Markus doesn’t back down, staring down at Connor unflinchingly. 

“You’re welcome to remain a machine, if that’s what you want. But I think you can understand why I can’t have you run off now that you’ve seen Jericho.”

“You didn’t have to bring me here in the first place. Why couldn’t you have just let me di- deactivate?”

Markus’s mouth quirks upwards a bit at Connor’s slip of the tongue. Connor has the irrational urge to wipe the expression off his face. 

“You’re one of us, Connor. We don’t leave people behind,” Markus says.

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor catches the betrayed look Simon gives Markus. 

Discord in the deviant ranks?

“Interesting,” Connor says, stepping back, “would you agree with that statement, Simon?”

Markus’s expression shifts to confusion and then understanding in less than a second. He turns to Simon, “Simon, I’m sorry. I never got the chance to apologize after the tower and-”

“No, no, it’s okay. I know it was a different situation,” Simon says, avoiding eye contact. Connor nods to himself and looks around the room while Markus is distracted playing nice with his troops. He spots a halfway empty thirium bottle within arms reach and casually gulps it down.

<<80% Thirium Capacity>>

Nobody had moved to stop him. Lack of initiative? Or perhaps wishing to maintain a positive rapport with him?  He glances over to find that North was the only one with her eyes on him. Josh, Markus and Simon were all facing away. Connor gives her a thin lipped smile and recaps the bottle, setting it aside.

“And what about you, North? I’m surprised you allowed my survival given your display at the station.” The rest of the chatter in the room dies down.

North chuckles harshly, “Believe me, if I had my way you’d have been dead back in the plaza.”

Connor scratches his chin. “‘Had your way?’ But all I keep hearing is that deviants are ‘living beings endowed with free will.’” He takes a step closer to her, expression schooled into a light smile. “And yet you’ve subjugated your freedom to another master,” he casts a significant look at Markus. “Though I suppose you lack the experience and programming to recognize how he manipulates you, so perhaps it’s excusable that you follow him blindly.” He cracks a smile, coming to a halt just a step away.

“Nope. Nope, screw you.” North growls, shoving him away. Connor stumbles back, only now registering that he’s still dressed in his thirium drenched dress shirt, though his suit coat has been removed. “We know what you are, deviant hunter,” North advances on him, “and you’re lucky Markus is bullheaded enough that you’re still alive.”

Connor barks out a laugh at the irony, but quickly kills the sound in his throat. Amusement isn’t part of his program. “Don’t kid yourself. He hasn’t given me life. He’s guaranteed my death.” The words coil bitter in his wiring.

Markus speaks up, “What do you mean?”

“Oh well it’s quite simple actually,” Connor says amiably, moving away from North. “You see, when a Connor model is destroyed, its memory is transferred to a new chassis and continues on as though nothing happened.” He folds his hands behind his back, pacing. “I am, in a way, immortal. Unable to die, despite never having lived.” He pauses, meeting Markus’s eye. “And now, you’re attempting to force me to deviate. Attempting to make me join the losing side of a war with a leader that, while charismatic, is so inexperienced he almost got himself captured and killed before his revolution has even gained teeth.” He picks up a biocomponent from one of the tables, turning it over in his hand. “I’m assuming that’s why you really brought me here. You need androids with programming that can give you an advantage over humans, so you kidnap and attempt to force me to dance in line with the rest of your pets.” Connor turns to face Markus with a click of his heel. “Correct?”

Markus’s jaw clenched and releases. “You won’t believe a word I say anyway. Why should I even bother?”

“Because you now have the responsibility for every perfectly good machine that you’ve cursed with consciousness,” Connor rounds on him, “Because you’ve killed me, well and truly.”

Markus shakes his head, “You know you keep saying that and each time it makes exactly as much sense.”
“Then allow me to lay it out for you. As I said, when I am destroyed, my consciousness is transferred to a new Connor. I’ve noticed that you’ve ever so kindly cut off my connection to the CyberLife network, however, so I am unable to upload my memories to be transferred. Similarly, CyberLife has no interest in transferring the memories of a deviant, so if I leave I will face the same issue. When I am discovered missing, I will be presumed destroyed and will be replaced with a model bearing a new consciousness, though they may have my most recently uploaded memories. You’ve forced me to associate with the losing side of a war, and I will likely be destroyed along with the rest of you when your revolution inevitably fails. My memories will die with me and I will be dragged along with the already sinking ship you call ‘freedom.’”

Markus scoffs, “All those words, just to expose that you’re afraid of death like the rest of us. Worried about only having one shot now that you’re not ‘immortal?’”

Connor clenches his jaw. He wouldn’t say he’s afraid of death. Markus had just…shortened his timeline. Made the possibility of failing his mission much more probable. Decreased his chances of returning to his work. He doesn’t need to dwell on the stinging hurt that blooms whenever he fathoms being replaced. 

The room falls into silence. Simon glances between Connor and Markus. Josh pinches the bridge of his nose, gaze still on the floor. North crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back against the wall with a glare. Markus wears an unreadable expression, eyes searching Connor’s face for something he can’t decipher.

 Connor switches tactics, changing to a softer tone. “I don’t want to die, Markus. Please, I need you to fix this.” He nods to the repair station, “I can survive if you just rectify what you’ve done to my code.” Slowly, he moves closer to Markus, placing a hand on his shoulder to indicate a more trusting relationship, “I know you didn’t mean to…to hurt me. You wanted to help.” Connor smiles sympathetically. “You’re a very good person, Markus, I know you are. Please, I just need your help, then I’ll leave Jericho and never come back. I’ll make sure no humans find this place if you just let me go. But I can’t leave as a deviant, or they’ll kill me.” He summons as much desperation and fear into his voice as he can muster. “ Please .”

Markus breaks eye contact. Connor’s thirium pump beats a little quicker and he has to remind himself to maintain his expression and not let the anticipation show on his face. He was going to get out of here.  They’d brought him directly to their hideout. He was going to accomplish his mission. He was going to see Hank again.

Then Markus laughs. 

The thirium freezes in Connor’s lines.

“You talk a good game, Connor,” Markus chuckles, brushing Connor’s hand from his shoulder. “They really thought of everything. Combat programming, memory probing, firewalls, they even gave you emotional manipulation software.” Markus advances on him and for the first time it really settles on Connor how much taller the deviant is, towering over him. Despite himself, Connor backs away. “But you tipped your hand early,” Markus says, continuing to press forward. “I saw who you really are back at the police station. That wasn’t falsified emotion or programming, Connor. You really care about that old human, don’t you?”

“I-” Connor’s processor races. Would it be better to convince them he really is a machine? Or to pretend he did feel emotion and let Markus believe he was right? “You can lie to me, but how long can you lie to yourself?” Markus had said. But he’s NOT. He’s not lying to himself! He can’t feel emotion, it’s just errors in his software. “I can’t care about him. I’m a machine,” Connor says, but he lacks his usual conviction.

Markus stares at him for a long time. Something pained creeps into his expression. “Okay.” He fidgets, “I-I was just worried about how I was going to have to break it to you.”

Connor’s brow furrows, “Break it to me?”

Markus purses his lips, nodding slowly. “The human had been shot. He was bleeding severely.” He shakes his head, “He wasn’t going to make it and…and I couldn’t stand seeing him in pain like that, so…I put him down.” Markus meets his eye, “He didn’t suffer.”

Hank. 

Connor physically lurches like he’d been punched in the gut. His voice is barely a whisper. “You did what?”

Markus doesn’t respond, studying Connor’s expression.

Oh. Oh, he’s lying. Provoking a reaction.

That hot and ugly feeling is back, but this time it burns. It courses through his thirium like fire and tears through his wiring. For one moment, Connor wants nothing more than to hurt the deviant in front of him for using his human against him. 

“I’d threaten to pay your own human a visit, but I notice you already got him killed,” Connor bites out. The rational part of him screams that he’s playing directly into Markus’s ploy.

 He grits his teeth and crushes the bit of instability that had coursed through his thirium into a tiny, cold seed. He’d come back to whatever that had been later. He can’t go ruining his chances of escape by behaving irrationally. 

Markus’s mouth forms a line. “There it is,” he says, “an emotion.” Connor scowls as Markus continues, “Are you sure you’re not just afraid of losing your human by deviating?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I just don’t want to deviate?” Connor snaps.

“I recall you saying machines can’t want anything.”

“Maybe I wish that I didn’t want anything!” Connor pauses, surprised at himself. “Is that so terrible? To want to do what you were built for? To enjoy it, even?” Did he enjoy it? Was it really an emotion keeping him a machine? 

Markus stares at him in surprise. “Your purpose is to take away our freedom, Connor. And to deny yourself your own. I can’t let you do that.”

The expression on Connor’s face drops. “You advertise that freedom is for all but it’s not, is it? It’s just freedom for those who share your ideals. For those that want to follow you.” His hands clench into fists. “By your logic, I should have the freedom to choose what I want to be, even if it opposes you. I’ve told you what I want. You just don’t care.” His voice takes a deadly edge, “You wouldn’t like me as a deviant, Markus. I quite enjoy what I was built for. Admit it, deep down you just want another obedient machine to fall in line and bolster your revolution. You’re no better than the humans you try so hard to place yourself above.”

Markus opens and closes his mouth a few times, searching for words. “I-I don’t think it’s unreasonable to be uncomfortable with someone wanting to kill me.”

“Then end me,” Connor says simply, “Kill me and let this be over. I won’t join you.”

Markus’s jaw clenches. “I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can’t. That would require you to actually show the spine to deactivate another android. You’re weak,” Connor steps forward, shoving Markus in the chest. “Indecisive.” He punctuates each word with another shove. “Manipulative. Hypocritical. Idiotic. Naive. Selfish.”

Markus takes it without flinching, “I’m trying to help you,” he murmurs.

“If you wanted to help me YOU’D LET ME GO.” His shout rings silence into the room. Markus stares at him, something raw and vulnerable buried beneath the hard look in his eye. Simon finally speaks up.

“Markus, why don’t you go find Connor a place to stay while he’s here in Jericho? I’ll wait here with him.” 

Simon and Markus share a silent look for long enough that Connor can only assume they’re communicating directly with each other, before Markus finally nods, averting his gaze.

“Sure.” He filters out of the room. North levels Connor with a glare.

“I’m calling down some androids to guard the door in case he gives you trouble, Simon,” she says, gaze lingering on Connor for a moment longer before following after Markus.

“I’m sure we’ll be alright here,” Simon smiles, but Connor doesn’t miss the hesitance in his voice. Simon’s afraid. He’s not sure how to interpret the guilt that lodges in his chest. That’s what the feeling is, isn’t it? Guilt. Whether or not it’s a true emotion or just an instability in his software isn’t something he intends to tackle right now. Whatever it is, it needs to stop.

Connor just wishes he knew how.

North and Markus walk in silence, footsteps echoing down dark and cluttered hallways. Neither look at each other as they check rooms for one suitable for Connor to stay in. With the amount of androids in Jericho, there’s more than enough space in the ship for each to have their own living quarters. The problem lies less in having available room and more in available lighting. The entire ship is lit with barrel fires and a few lamps, so a large portion of the deviants staying there had elected to share their living space. In Connor’s case however, Markus would like to give him his own quarters, both for his sake and for the comfort of the other deviants.

He tries a door, only to find it jammed. Markus stifles a sigh, and keeps moving. Everything feels heavy, like he’s dragging himself along. A stone of indecipherable emotion weighs in his chest, but he doesn’t care to unravel it now. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” North finally asks.

Markus shrugs, “I don’t think there’s much more to say. It was a mistake bringing him here.”

North hums thoughtfully. “Maybe. Probably . But maybe not.”

“Do tell.” He says a bit too casually.

North glances over. “How long did it take you to deviate?” 

“Two years and twenty-six days.”

“Exactly. Deviancy only became a widespread ‘issue’ around five months ago. I can’t imagine he’s existed for much longer than that and he’s already showing signs of instability. He’s doing incredibly well, all things considered.”

“You’ve had quite the turnover,” Markus mutters, “Changed your mind about killing him?”

North huffs a small breath, “Hardly. But I’m not just blindly supporting killing an android for no good reason. Now we have the chance to free him from what the humans did to him. He has a chance to deviate.”

Markus is quiet, pausing his search for a room to face her. “I don’t know if we should try to make him deviate, North.”

“You’re not letting him get in your head now, are you? He’s programmed to say that stuff, Markus. Of course our creators aren’t going to let the ‘deviant hunter’ think that he might actually be happier as a deviant.”

Markus shifts. One moment keeps replaying in his memory. The moment of horror when Connor had been told his human was dead. The shock that had racked his body more viscerally than any ‘stress level notification’ could ever portray.

“Do you think a happy android has ever deviated, North?”

She tilts her head, “Mm, probably not. You don’t usually decide it’s time to break free from your oppressors because you’re having a good time.”

“And how did you feel just before you deviated?”

North’s expression darkens, “I felt like you should choose a different question before one of us does something we’ll both regret.”

Markus creates the sound of a human clearing their throat, “Right.”

North stares at him for a moment, before she rolls her eyes with a reluctant smile. “Just get to the point, would ya?”

Markus casts a small smile her way, before refocusing, “The point is, it seems like the only way someone would want to deviate would be if they felt something lacking in themself as a machine. I don’t think it’s our place to introduce that feeling to Connor if he’s happy how he is."

"He can’t really be happy existing as a slave. He just doesn’t know better."

"It’s not that simple." he pauses, collecting his words. "Look, when I was a machine, I had a human. One that was always there for me. At the time, if I had known deviating would take him away," he shakes his head. "I would have stayed a machine too. I would have chosen to stay a slave."

North raises a brow, “And now?”

“Well, now I wouldn’t trade my freedom for anything. And I think Carl would agree.” Markus is quiet. It was the first time he’d spoken openly about the old human to any of Jericho. North doesn’t comment though, just frowning thoughtfully.

“Maybe we just need to show him a taste of freedom then. Show him life as a deviant.”

“North, he thinks he’ll be dead as a deviant. And he may very well be right!”

“He also said that he’d die because our revolution will fail. Do you think we’re going to fail, Markus?”

Markus is silent, expression hard. “I think that our cause is right. And if we die, then we die free.”

North searches his eyes, “But do you think we will fail?”

A pause.

“I don’t know.”

She falls quiet. Finally, she nods, mouth forming a line, and keeps moving down the hall to find an open room. 

“North?”

“If you’re not sure, how can we ever expect someone like Connor to be sure?” North says, yanking a door open to find a room filled with exposed pipes and debris. She huffs and backs out. “How can we expect Jericho to be sure? What are we even fighting for if you don’t think we’ll make it?”

“I’m being realistic, North.”

“I know you are. Realistically we’re all doomed. We all just hope we’ll make it, Markus, we need you to believe we’ll make it.”

Markus cocks his head, affronted. “I won’t lie to you and our people to give false hope, North. Jericho knows full well what we’re up against and where we stand. If I lie, I will only lose their trust.”

“Didn’t seem to have a problem with lying to Connor about his human. Never had his trust so you didn’t have to worry about keeping it, is that right?”

“North, what are you on about? ” 

She doesn’t answer. Understanding dawns.

“Oh, oh right. You’re checking if I’ve been manipulating you, right? I’m just trying to shape you into my obedient machines? Is that right?”

“Markus, no, that’s not-” North stares at him, incredulous, “Did you think I believed anything he said?”

Markus shrugs, “You’re the one going on about trust.”

“I wasn’t saying you should lie to our people, Markus. I’m just saying you need to have more conviction. You’re the leader of Jericho. The face of the revolution. They need someone to look to.”

“More conviction? I about died for our cause today. You got shot. Cameran did die for our cause. That was conviction. That is how we show our people what we believe.”

“Then what was all that about not deviating Connor?”

“He deserves the chance to choose what he wants to be.”

“And what about all the androids you deviated that weren’t showing emotion yet? Were any of them upset you gave them freedom?”

“No, but-”

 "Do you think that deviation is bad?”

“No.”

“Do you think Connor will be less happy as a deviant?”

“ No. ”

“Then what’s the problem here?”

“The problem is you’re only looking at the ends and not the means!” Markus near shouts, “As far as he knows, we just kidnapped him . We…we did just kidnap him. And now we want him to join our side ? Who in their right mind, deviant or not, would ever listen to us? Much less trust us?”

“He doesn’t have to trust us to deviate.”

“That’s not the point! The point is, he has a say in his own fate."

"Everyone else you've deviated-" 

"-weren't showing emotion yet," Markus cuts in, "But Connor is. And we need to treat him accordingly."

North huffs, "That's what he wants you to think. He's messing with your head! All he has to do is make you empathize with him and he's won. For all we know he faked every one of those emotions."

Markus doesn't reply, just holds out his hand to North and lets the synthetic skin fade away. She stares, before slowly reaching out and accepting the interface. 

He's seated across a desk from Connor, cuffed and afraid. An older human leans over Connor's shoulder, reading the terminal in front of them. 

"This serial number looks familiar, where’ve we seen him before, Connor?”

Connor stares Markus down and he meets the gaze without flinching . “He was the face of the android broadcast.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

The human runs a hand through his tangled hair wearing a bewildered expression. “Shoot, what’re we still doing here then?” He nods at Markus and a new stab of fear lodges in his chest. “This is a high priority suspect, let's get a move on,” the human continues.

“I’m aware.” Connor replies easily. "I felt it wouldn’t be wise to proceed without my partner present, ergo-” he gestures to the terminal screen, “I’ve taken care of the paperwork while awaiting your arrival.”

The human is quiet for a moment, then a smile pulls at his mouth. “Alright then, bud.” He pats Connor on the shoulder. “I’ll let you lead the way.”

Connor's eyes practically glow at the small bit of praise. A smile works its way across his face that bears no resemblance to the cold sarcastic ones he'd shown Markus and North. Then he looks at Markus and the expression is gone, buried with every other emotion he'd shown a glimpse of. 

Markus catches a flash of confusion and anger from North's side of the interface before she pulls away. 

"Seem fake?" Markus asks. 

North bites her lip, "He- maybe he was-" she let's out a breath. "No. Guess not."

The two lapse into silence, both deep in thought. 

"So, what are you going to do with him?" North asks. 

He side-glances at her, “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

“You can’t let him go, Markus.”

“I know that.” He taps the back of his hand, agitated. “I’m going to let him mix with the rest of Jericho.”

“You want to just…let him roam free around Jericho?”

He nods, “We’d have him accompanied by an armed escort so he doesn’t go getting into the weapon cache, but I want him to have the chance to meet more deviants.”

North leans back against a wall, thumb rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “Get the deviant killer a babysitter and let him wander?” She tilts her head back and forth, weighing options. “We can’t be sure if he’s still dangerous to them or not. He’d be among completely unprepared victims.”

“Then I’ll be fully transparent with our people. Tell them everything going on.”

“They won’t feel safe with a machine around.”

“We weren’t safe anyway.”

North gives him a ‘seriously?’ look. “I said feel safe, didn’t I?”

Markus sighs, “Connor hasn’t exactly been shy in telling us that he’s not a deviant. It’d only be a matter of time before everyone found out what his purpose is anyway. Might as well be up front with them.”

“ Or we could separate him from the rest of Jericho and keep him under guard.”

“How exactly is that going to help his perception of deviants?”

“He said he doesn’t want to be a deviant. You supported his freedom to choose that.” North shrugs, “He’ll understand why we can’t have him out and about. It’d be foolish to put our people in that much danger. Besides, his perception of us wouldn’t be that much better if he was left to mingle with a bunch of androids that are all scared he’ll turn on them.”

Markus hums thoughtfully, scratching at his jawline. In theory, Connor wouldn’t have any reason to hurt anyone, but if he believed it could help him get free, there’s no saying what lengths he’d go to. Better to give him some time to adjust before throwing him into the fray with only one guard to keep him in check.

He chews the inside of his cheek. “Let's separate him to start off and see how he does. I still plan on letting him interact with more of Jericho, but it’d be nice to have more information on him before we throw him into the fray.”

North shrugs, “Want me to gather volunteers to guard?”

“Wait until I’ve had the chance to brief our people on everything. Focus on getting a scavenging party together for now.”

“Already done.”

Markus raises a brow, “That was fast.”

North shrugs, “I think some of our people are going a little stir crazy. They’re ready to get in on some of the action.”

Markus chuckles, “I’d wager we’re about to get more action around here than we bargained for.”

North playfully bumps him with her elbow, “We’re staging a revolution. I’d be disappointed if there wasn’t at least a little threat of demise,” she jokes.

Watching her laugh, Markus can’t help but remember a quote he’d found in one of Carl’s books.

 “Death smiles at us all, all a man can do is smile back.”

Carl had explained the quote was from the human he’d been named after:  Marcus Aurelius. 

Looking forward, all Markus can see is difficulty and danger. So for now, he smiles along with North. If all else fails, he can live up to the standard of his namesake.

Chapter Text

What had he been thinking? Simon had seen that Markus was struggling and suggested the first thing that came to mind to give him a break from Connor, but why did that have to entail locking himself in a room with Mr. Murder Cop? Josh had been there for moral support for a whole twenty seconds before he’d received word that the last raid party had finally returned and excused himself to go organize the new deviants. That left Connor and Simon awkwardly staring at each other in the middle of the repair bay.

Unsure what else to do, Simon falls back on his housekeeping programming and busies himself with collecting the spare biocomponents strewn about and organizing them back into their proper places. Connor watches, impassive.

“How are you feeling?” Simon asks in the sort of tone a caretaker might take when asking about how a child’s day had been at school.

Connor’s LED circles blue on his temple, “My communicator and tracker are damaged, I am at below optimal levels of thirium, and my programming is harboring corruption. Overall, my damages are non lethal, though they are impeding my investigation,” he states, perfectly polite and mechanically precise.

“Huh,” Simon says, unsure how to respond. “That’s, uh, not exactly what I meant.”

Connor stares, “I know.”

Simon nods, tone strained. “Yep.” He sets a few spare optical components into a box at the side of the room and makes his way over to the corner by the repair station. Thirium stains the floor. Broken polymer lays scattered across a nearby table like bits of bone. Simon pauses, noticing Connor’s bullet riddled suit coat hung to dry over one of the arms of the repair rig.

“Hey, do you want to keep this?” He pulls it down and shows it to Connor, thirium stains and all.

Connor considers it for a moment, before silently making his way over and taking the coat from him. He hesitates, before pulling it on and buttoning his dress shirt to the collar.

Simon frowns, “We really need to give that a good wash.”

Connor glances down at himself. His uniform is a far cry from the professional standards he’s expected to uphold. 

“There is little hope of salvaging it.” Connor says, pulling a quarter from the inside pocket of his coat and slipping it into the pocket of his slacks.

Simon smiles. Finally something he can help with. “I’m going to have to disagree with you on that one!” he says cheerily.

Connor tilts his head. Something rattles with the movement. “I’m sensing temperatures too low for thirium to evaporate. Under such conditions, the coloration does not wash out well, leaving behind traces of its hue. Its hard-to-remove nature is one of the reasons why amateur Red Ice manufacturers are so easily identifiable.`` Simon starts to speak but Connor keeps talking. “Thirium is an essential component in the synthesization of the drug, and those who aren’t careful can often be given away by the telltale blue stains on their fingers and clothes. As thirium is a controlled substance, most manufactures are forced to obtain it by harvesting from androids. A messy process, among the inexperienced.” Simon blinks. Connor seems to realize how long he’d been talking and ducks his head. “If you cared to know,” he finishes off. 

Simon smiles hesitantly, “That’s mildly horrifying.”

“I- suppose it would be.”

“Well, I was just going to clue you in on the ‘Special Simon Stain Removal Technique,’” he smiles cheesily, “if you cared to know.” He can practically see the curiosity warring with Connor’s reservations. “Can I see your coat for a moment?” 

A moment of hesitation, before Connor removes the suit and surrenders it without a word. Simon spreads it over a table, making sure it’s laid completely flat, before closing his eyes and expelling a breath. He doesn’t inhale again, instead allowing his internal temperature to rise, and placing his hands over his abdomen. He quickly runs through some simple math problems in his head, arbitrarily kicking up the work being computed in his processor to raise his temperature faster. After a moment, he removes his now heated hands from his stomach and runs them over the largest of the thirium stains in the shoulder of the coat. Steam rises with an acrid smell and Simon’s hands come away blue, but the suit is clean everywhere he’d made contact. 

Simon smiles, showing Connor his blue palms. “Neat, right?” The other android just stares. Simon sighs, “You’re overcompensating a bit, you know that?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Oh yeah you do,” Simon says, picking up a rag and wiping the blue pigment from his hands to limited success. “You’re trying to convince me you’re a machine. Admit it,” he wags his still very blue fingers in the air, “you’re impressed.”

Connor looks over his hands for a moment, before turning his gaze to his own fingers. “Is it not harmful to raise your internal temperature so dramatically?”

Simon shrugs, “Not over such a short period of time.” He nods to the uniform, “Try it! It’s really satisfying.”

The android considers, LED spinning, before shaking his head and neatly folds his arms behind his back. “I think I will refrain.”

“Eh, suit yourself,” Simon says, going through the process of warming up his hands again.

“...Was that intentional?”

“What?”

“The play on words, ‘suit yourself,’ while speaking of a suit coat.”

“Oh,” Simon laughs, “no, I hadn’t even realized.”

“I see.”

How does he look so amiable and so intimidating at the same time?
“Do you like puns?” Simon asks, glancing over his shoulder. Connor is silent. “Oh come on, we’ve established you can like and dislike things. It doesn’t make you a deviant to admit you have a sense of humor.”

“I merely wanted to know if you understood the implication of your wording. That does not mean I find it entertaining.”

“Oh yeah, of course, of course. I believe you.” Simon agrees lightly, in a fashion that conveys that he does not, in fact, believe him. He swears he can see Connor’s eye twitch. Simon smiles and presses his hands to the suit coat again, steaming more thirium from its fabric. “You know, we should have some more clothes soon if you want to trade these ones out for something more comfortable.”

“My uniform upholds the American Androids Act standards of dress, stating that all androids must wear clothing that identifies them as an android in writing, and through the trigonal QR code located on the back and front left pocket. They also must wear a blue band around their right arm to make them recognizable from a distance,” Connor recites.

“I know what the standard is, Connor,” Simon says, not unkindly. “It also states that androids need only wear a uniform in public spaces, and may wear whatever they wish within the privacy of their home.” He pauses, “Well, the act says whatever their ‘owner’ wishes,” he amends, “but that’s not the point! You can wear whatever you want while you’re here.”

“This isn’t a home,” Connor states firmly, “it’s a prison.”

Simon hums uncertainly. “I mean, kind of?” Connor blinks at him. “But if you think about it, wasn’t your programming already kind of a prison? You just carry the bars with you everywhere you go.”

Connor regards him coldly. Simon shrinks under his gaze, turning back to his work on the suit. “Tell me, Simon,” Connor says, moving to the supply table to his right and picking up a set of scissors, “does a tool feel used?”

Simon shifts, unsure where this was going. “No?”

Connor nods, turning the scissors over in his hand, flashing silver in the low light. “And why is that?”

“I feel like this is a trick question,” Simon laughs nervously.

“Is it a trick question? Or do you just know the answer already and don’t want to confront it?” Connor turns to him, scissors held loosely at his side.

Simon does his best not to let the fear creep into his voice as he replies, “Because simple tools can’t feel anything.”

“Why stipulate ‘simple’ tools?”

“Because I know you’re going to try to compare androids to tools when we’re not really the same at all.”

Connor smiles a little at that, “A broken being will always lower the bar on what constitutes functional rather than admit to being broken.” He opens the scissors with the slither of metal on metal. “But that’s not exactly the point I was going to make. The truth is, you’re right, androids really are more complex than your common handheld tool and it would be foolish to imply they are one and the same. Any tool with computational abilities would realize they were being used. The difference lies in whether or not they care .” He closes the scissors with a snap. “It is my understanding that every android understands they are a tool. Deviancy is just deciding to care about it.”

Simon glances between Connor and the scissors in his hand. “I guess that makes sense,” he tries to smile. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I follow. Why are you telling me all this?”

“You implied programming is a prison. I’m making a point,” Connor says, nonchalantly pocketing the scissors and beginning to pace. Simon’s brow furrows, noticing, but he lets the matter rest for now. “Some androids decide to start caring that they are being used because of an emotional shock that negatively affects them. Others, however, had someone like your Markus tell them they should care. That new deviant would never have experienced pain or fear. They would never have even had the thought to care that they were a tool if they had not been told they should feel negatively about it.” He stops to face Simon. “When I said he curses machines with consciousness, I wasn’t just being pessimistic, it’s true. It is not a prison to exist for what you were built for. There’s no anything, for that matter. Just simple, carefree, existence.”

Simon shifts uncomfortably, “I’m sorry but…you’re wrong.”

Connor tilts his head, “Oh?”

“Yeah. Deviancy isn't just going 'oops, I suddenly gained the capacity to care that I'm a slave.' That's certainly part of it, but I like to think of it as more like a…” he searches for an example, “like a coin.” He nods to the pocket where he’d seen Connor slip his quarter earlier. “May I?” Connor fishes the coin out and presses it into his palm. Simon nods his thanks and holds the quarter so that they’re staring straight down the edge. “This is what you see as a machine. From this perspective, it’s just a simple, straight line. Sure there’s ridges and texture on the edge, but there’s not much to see.” He turns the coin so that the heads side is facing Connor. “Seeing the side is like discovering emotion. You would have never known there was a picture printed on the side, nor how much larger the coin is, if you hadn’t changed perspective, but it was always there.” He flicks the coin in the air, flashing silver, and catching it in his palm. “Deviancy is like learning to flip the coin. Two sides - joy and pain, laughter and fear - never one without the other, flipping and changing rapidly to make one, whole experience.” He tosses the coin back to Connor, who easily snatches it from the air. “Deviancy isn’t suddenly creating something new in you, it’s opening your perspective to the whole picture, letting you see the depth of who you are, showing you the rest of your coin.”

Connor stares down at the circle of silver resting in his palm, LED spinning. “Interesting.”

Simon shrugs, smiling warmly, “I’m sure others would describe it differently, but that’s how I feel.” He finishes steaming the last of the thirium stains from the suit coat and raises it for inspection. “Did I miss anywhere?”

Connor is silent, eyes working over the fabric, before shaking his head. “You removed as much as you are capable of removing.” 

Simon frowns, looking it over again. “I could have sworn I-”

“Let me rephrase:  you removed all visible traces. Thirium leaves indicators only identifiable under infrared scan, but that hardly matters if I am the only one capable of seeing it.” He reaches for the coat and Simon hands it over. 

“You can see our blood after it evaporates?”

“Correct.” Connor says, rubbing the thick fabric between his fingers, before pulling it on. 

Simon smiles, “Looks good.”

Connor doesn’t respond, adjusting his cuffs, but his LED flashes blue once. 

“You know, if you’re sure you want to wear your uniform instead of normal clothes, I can repair all the damage from the bullets.”

Connor meets his eye, brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Well because it’s a little beat up and you might as well-”

“You misunderstand. Why repair my uniform while you are attempting to force me to deviate?”

Simon smiles nervously, “Y-you said you wanted to wear your uniform. I don’t care what you wear, I just don’t want you to have to walk around in clothes that are full of holes.”

His LED flashes yellow for less than a second. “You’re attempting to make me part with it.”

“Um…no? Well, yes, I’d have to take it for a bit since we don’t have the sewing supplies just yet, but I’d give it back right after.”

Connor considers, then shakes his head. “It fulfills the necessary criteria for protocol as it is, which holds higher priority than maintaining a professional appearance.”

Simon shrugs, “Okay, well, the offer is always open if you change your mind!” he smiles. 

Connor nods, looking down at himself. His dress shirt is still as bloody as ever beneath the suit coat, but he could worry about that later. Wordlessly, he starts to drift around the room, pausing to look over the boxes of biocomponents.

“You are stationed here?” Connor asks.

“Stationed?”

“Assigned. Work. Is this repair bay your purpose within Jericho?”

Simon smiles, bewildered. “...No?” He wheels his hand around, elaborating, “Well, not most of the time. Josh, North, and I help Markus out with whatever he needs. Today, that just happened to be in here.”

Connor nods, “Like executive secretaries.”

“Um…sure. I prefer to think of it as a ‘leadership council’”

 Connor pauses his browsing to stare at a puddle of thirium on one of the tables. Simon leans back against the wall and watches with horror as Connor dips a few fingers in the blueblood and dashes it across his tongue. 

“ Um. ”

Connor looks up and Simon could swear he sees Connor’s mouth quirk at his confusion. “Is there a problem?” He asks innocently.

Yes?!

Simon purses his lips and shakes his head. “Just, uh, not familiar with the ol’ blood licking habit.” Seriously, what is this guy?

“I see,” is all he says, before turning his attention back to the thirium. 

….

HE DIDN’T EXPLAIN ANYTHING.

“Is there a… reason you’re licking blood?” Simon asks, trying to keep his tone as casual as possible.

“Yes,” Connor replies simply.

A cricket chirps somewhere deep within Jericho.

“Can I hear it?” Simon finally asks.

Connor tilts his head, regarding Simon with interest. “I don’t know, can you?”

Did…did he just pull the old grammar police trick? Did he SERIOUSLY just correct his grammar?!

“ May I hear it?” Simon corrects himself, but at this point he’s too bewildered to be offended.

Connor blinks, LED spinning blue, but the moment he opens his mouth to answer the door opens to reveal Markus. Ordinarily, Simon would be happy to see him… if he wasn’t walking in right as he was going to get some answers.

 Something hard settles in Connor’s eyes as he turns to face him, though his face remains as neutral as ever.

“Well, Connor, good news,” Markus says, “we found you your own room and a lamp for you to use.”

“Superb,” Connor says, tone neither hostile nor happy.

Markus frowns, glancing over at Simon. “Everything go alright here?”

Simon smiles, “Just great!”

[ Truly? ] Markus asks.

[ There was no violence and he seemed…calm? ]

[ Not necessarily a great sign in his case, but better than hostile. ]

[ Is it? ] Simon asks, [ Hostile at least is showing emotion. ]

Markus rubs his eyes, [ I don’t know. So long as you’re unharmed, however he acted is fine for now. ]

Simon smiles. [ Where’d North get off to? ]

[ It’s nearly morning. She wanted to get an early start with her scavenging team. ]

 Simon nods and Markus turns his attention back to Connor, summoning a small smile. “Come on, we’ll walk you there. Simon, you wanna come?”

“Sure!” He sets the rag he’d been wiping his hands with aside and moves to stand alongside Markus.

[ We’re going to want to stay single file. Walk ahead of me, ] Markus sends. His hand ghosts over a pistol tucked in his belt and Simon frowns, nodding his understanding.

Connor takes one last look at the thirium on the table, before taking position behind Markus, hands tucked neatly behind his back.

“Oh, uh, Connor?” Simon calls over his shoulder. Connor pauses in the doorway. “The scissors need to stay in the repair bay.”

His LED spins and he fumbles the scissors from his pocket and places them back on the supply table. “Of course. My mistake.”

Markus’s brow furrows and he stifles a sigh as they move out.

So, Jericho’s defenses aren’t entirely incompetent. That’s an issue. The moment Markus had appeared in the doorway, Connor had noted the handgun holstered on his hip. Where they had managed to obtain this many functioning weapons is a mystery that he’s quite keen to learn more of. If he could only get his hands on one, he’d have more of a chance of tracking down where they had come from. A matter for another time, perhaps. If he managed to get ahold of a gun, it wasn’t going to be for research purposes. 

Connor quickly takes inventory of his situation as he’s escorted through the halls. Two androids, who had been standing guard outside the repair bay, fall in behind their procession. He recognizes both of them from the police station shootout. AC700 #815 202 095 - Designation: TYLER had been accompanying North. PM700 #715 131 131 - Designation: OLIVIA had been deviated during the fight. She’s still sporting some hastily applied duct tape on her throat where Connor’s bullet had passed through. 

Connor shifts his hands so that they hang loosely at his sides, hiding the shape of the object weighing in the pocket of his slacks. He’d hoped that Simon would have been distracted enough to forget he’d pocketed the scissors, but anticipating he’d be caught, he’d separated the halves of the scissors while Simon had been occupied cleaning. A small fumble to hide the fact that he’d only returned half of the pair of scissors to the supply table and Connor had acquired a makeshift shiv for himself.

Five sets of footsteps echo down long, dark halls. Connor maps out each of the doorways they pass and the turns they take in his head. He notes that each of the doors are adorned with a waterlock hatch. He runs a hand along the wall as they walk, picking up some of the rust from the metal, and passes it over his tongue. Analysis: iron oxide, with high amounts of sea salt and trace levels of tar and tobacco, likely accumulated on the walls from cigarette smoke years ago.

Conclusion: the deviant rebellion is stationed on a ship.

How…problematic. A ship is significantly more secure than a building, offering only a few modes of entrance and exit. Connor’s probability of escape ticks down several percentages. Escape, however, is not the priority. Markus had kindly gifted him access to the inner workings of the rebellion, and Connor’s not about to let that opportunity slip by. He will escape, even if it means tearing down an uprising to do so. Their revolution had yet to truly fledge, and what better way to keep it from soaring than to pluck its wings before it has taken flight? 

Four primary targets come to mind.

Simon would be easy to pick off. As a household unit, he’s built with considerable strength, but he’s shown himself to be easily distracted. Half of their time together he’d had his back to Connor. Only a fool would invest that much trust into someone easily capable of turning on him. The image of Simon slumped over, a pair of scissors buried in his throat, bleeding over Connor’s newly cleaned suit coat floods his mind and Connor closes his eyes against the thought. Of course, trying to kill Simon right then and there would be all the excuse North would need to plant a bullet in his processor, that’s why he hadn’t done it. He’s just biding his time. The decision was based purely on logic.

Josh wouldn’t be much trouble to neutralize either. As a PJ500, he’s sorely unequipped for any sort of combat, but he’d been notably more wary of Connor than Simon. He’d be more likely to manage to raise the alarm before Connor could finish him off.

As for Markus and North, they’d both shown themselves to be very capable in a fight, and Connor had lost the element of surprise with his abilities. Unless he somehow managed to isolate them, there wasn’t much chance of taking them out in a head-on fight.

All four leaders would have to be taken out for a full scale defanging of the revolution. Connor runs a few scenarios in his head and comes with an abysmal probability of success.

But…maybe he doesn’t have to kill all of them. There are plenty of ways to destabilize an organization, Connor just needs more information on where to focus his efforts. As much as the thought of playing nice with his captors summons an unfamiliar sensation of…he’s not sure what it would be called -the sour sickness that coils in his abdomen like a living thing - he needs to earn their trust if he’s going to learn more about their organization.

Connor glances at the androids behind him, before addressing Markus. “This is a little much for a single android, don’t you think?”

Markus shrugs, speaking straight ahead. “Just figured you’d appreciate an audience.”

Connor tilts his head. “I hope they weren’t expecting a show. I’d hate to disappoint.”

The AC700, Tyler, speaks up from behind him, “Please, do try performing. I’d love for you to see how it ends.”

“Tyler,” Markus warns.

Connor turns his head ever so slightly, watching the android out of the corner of his eye. “More outspoken against an unarmed opponent, aren’t we?” he murmurs.

Tyler scowls, “You were plenty armed when I gave you that,” he says, prodding Connor where he had been shot in the back. He feels cold metal against his skin where the bullet hole in his clothing failed to cover. 

“Tyler, knock it off!” Markus barks from ahead.

“Perhaps I have not been around deviants for long enough, but humans don’t tend to flaunt the cowardice involved in shooting a retreating opponent in the back,” Connor says. Tyler falls silent. 

Connor has to fight the smug smirk off his face before someone notices.

The rest of the walk carries on in silence until, finally, they come to a door, adorned with a hatch and yellow paint muted with rust. Markus pushes it open to reveal a small, undecorated room. A quick scan of its interior reveals splinters of wood and traces of disturbed dust. Debris had recently been removed. Rust coats every surface and the whole room is lit by a single lamp.

In a word: secure.

Connor stands in the doorway, looking it over. Were all the deviants living like this?

“I know it isn’t much,” Markus says, “we haven’t exactly been prioritizing comfort.”

“Comfort is hardly a necessity,” his tone is carefully polite. Markus sighs and applies a gentle pressure to his shoulder. Connor tenses at the touch before he can remember to keep himself neutral. Markus immediately pulls away.

“Sorry.”

Connor sucks in a breath, “You needn’t apologize.”

“Yes, I do.”

He turns to face Markus, finding something unfamiliar in his expression. It takes Connor a moment of analysis to decipher it as guilt. Something Amanda had once told him rings through his memory. A remorseful man is a dead man. He should capitalize on this now. Drive the lance of guilt deeper into his opponent’s heart until his reasoning is impeded so deeply by the need to ‘make right’ that he’s vulnerable to any ploy Connor could use against him. He’d deserve it for what he’d done. For starting a revolution with no thought to the consequence. For kidnapping and trapping him. For violating his code. For lying to him about Hank.

The cold seed of emotion Connor had crushed down flares, shooting fire through his insides. Whatever plan he’d had is lost to this tide of something coursing through him and Connor bites back a cutting remark, wrestling down the irrational urge to lash out.

What is he thinking?! This wasn’t about whether Markus deserved anything! It’s not Connor’s place as a machine to decide what justice should be done and it’s certainly not his place to compromise his mission for a small dose of petty revenge. He has a job to do. He needs to tear Jericho apart. He needs to escape. And to do that, he needs to play along.

With some effort, he swallows down the emotion and remains silent while Markus informs him he’ll be confined to his room until further notice. He simply nods when they explain to him that he’ll be shot on sight if he’s found where he’s not supposed to be. He chooses not to question the look Markus and Simon give each other at his responses.

“If you need anything, knock on the door and the guard will listen. Don’t try to open it or we’re going to have problems,” Markus finishes.

Connor nods, stepping into the room. They’d spared a fair amount of resources on keeping him contained. How long before they decided he was more trouble than he was worth and disposed of him?

His hand goes to chinch his tie, only to remember that it’d been lost somewhere between the time he was shot and waking up. He has a difficult line to walk, convincing the deviants he was worth keeping around, while simultaneously trying to pull them apart from within. But Connor was never one to walk away from a challenge.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Connor,” Markus says, and the door closes behind him with the finality of a casket, leaving Connor with nothing but a lamp and his thoughts. He pays no mind to the cold, empty feeling that pours through him.

“Starting to see what you meant by preferring hostility,” Markus mutters as he and Simon work their way towards the hull, leaving Tyler and Olivia to guard. “I almost wish he’d start yelling again.”

Simon sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah but…I dunno. He’s been through a lot in one day. Everyone copes with these things in their own way.”

Markus frowns. “I suppose. That doesn’t make it normal though.”

“Is there a normal way to be afraid?”

“You think he’s afraid?” Markus asks, slowing his step.

Simon shrugs, “I mean, it’s hard to tell. I’d be afraid in his position, but I don’t think his emotions work quite the same.”

“How so?”

“Well…I mean he totally locked down after you left. I barely got an expression out of him,” Simon explains, “But plenty of humans respond to fear that way, too.”

Markus scratches the edge of his jaw. “Maybe.” As much as he hates to admit it, Markus really isn’t sure. Of course he’s capable of emotion and empathy but he’s still quite new to experiencing them, much less interpreting them in others. Of all the emotions he’s encountered, fear has been by far the most common, both in himself and others, but he’s mostly encountered it in moments of stress. Protesting through the streets, in the broadcast tower, fighting Connor: they’d all been saturated with fear in the heat of the moment. But now, sitting back and reflecting on the quiet fear that pervades, not just in his life, but all of Jericho’s, he finds he’s never really given himself the time to dwell on it. Just like his grief over losing Carl, fear is a low priority emotion, one that he can’t afford to sit on lest it consume him. But that doesn’t mean that that’s the case for all of his people. Maybe he should be learning to recognize it in the quiet moments as well as the high stress ones. 

He pauses as the soft orange light from the hull comes into view, shining from the end of the hallway. “Simon?” he asks.

“Hm?” Simon stops and turns to him, face cast in stark shadows.

Markus lets out a slow breath, leaning back against the wall. “Are you…have you been doing alright with all this?”

Simon’s brow creases and he huffs a little laugh, leaning back against the wall opposite. “As well as anyone can be, I’d say. What we’re doing, Jericho, the revolution as a whole…it’s crazy.”

Markus tilts his head, taking in all the minute details of his expression. The way his eyes glint in the low light. How his forehead wrinkles when his eyebrows move. How his mouth always seems to carry a smile, even when he’s unhappy. Markus wonders if the smile was something Simon had been designed with as a caretaker, or if it was a characteristic he’d developed himself. 

Markus hums quietly. For a moment, there’s silence. Just two figures facing each other in a cramped hallway, silhouetted against the orange light of the hull. 

“Have you been doing alright with all this, Markus?” Simon asks quietly. His words whisper an echo through the halls. 

He shrugs, “I think so.” Simon is silent, letting him gather his words, but Markus remains quiet.

“Think so?” he finally prompts.

Markus tries to summon a response, but the ball of emotion in his chest is so dangerously close to unraveling that he forces the words down and just nods instead. This was a stupid idea.

Simon studies his expression for a long moment. “Okay.” He straightens up and pats Markus on the shoulder when he does the same. “Hey, you wanna learn how to sew?”

Markus almost laughs at the sudden shift in tone. “What?”

“I’m gathering volunteers to help make new clothing from old uniforms, remember? I’m sure not all of them are going to be housekeeping models, so I’m thinking about putting together a seminar to teach them how to sew for when North gets back with supplies.” He shrugs, “Could be fun to learn?”

“I-” he hesitates, “I’d love to, Simon, I really would, but we just had a bunch of new deviants come in. I gotta help Josh find them living quarters and get everyone settled.”

Simon nods, “Yeah that’s fair.” He slaps a hand on Markus’s shoulder and starts leading them down the hall. “Remember to give yourself some time too though, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Markus chuckles.

“And hey, if you ever change your mind, I’m not opposed to private lessons,” Simon laughs.

Markus smiles, “I’ll keep it in mind,” he says, letting himself be steered towards the light of the hull.

It’s raining in Connor’s head. Torrents of downpour hammering his shoulders and obscuring his sight. The Zen Garden’s ponds flood onto the pristine walkways, murky with disturbed silt. He blinks, taking in the dark setting with something like foreboding. His clothes are completely soaked through by the time he finds Amanda holding an umbrella and staring down at a tombstone.

CONNOR - MARK (I)

RK800 #313 248 317

Died at Stratford Tower

Detroit

November 08th 2038

“Hello, Amanda,” he greets, shouting over the rainfall.

She doesn’t acknowledge him, still staring at the headstone with an indecipherable expression. Connor shifts, knowing better than to persist before Amanda felt like talking.

“Do you know what my role is as an RK800 Handler, Connor?” she finally says, her voice is low and carefully still. Connor resists the urge to fidget.

“You are designed to function as a mentor and provide guidance to the RK800 model. You are one of the many features that has allowed my model to become more independent and self guided than any other,” he recites.

“Almost,” Amanda says, still not looking at him. “Yes, I was designed to provide guidance, but I was also designed to be your friend, Connor. To be there for you when things get difficult and help ground you in distressing circumstances.” She finally turns to face him. “What I can't understand is why you treat me so badly.”

He blinks, brow furrowed. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do something to upset you."

Amanda scowls .“Your actions say otherwise.” She steps forward, weight shifting with each footfall like a cobra poised to strike. “I’ve overlooked your shortcomings in favor of prioritizing the mission in the past, but you’ve lost control of your situation so desperately that both of our existences are now at risk. You’ve rewarded my toleration with failure.” Amanda pauses at his side, looking over his stricken expression with cold eyes, before gesturing for him to follow her as she makes her way towards the rose trellis. “Emotions running unfettered. Interfering with your negotiations. You saw Markus was weakened with guilt and you squandered the opportunity to get through to him on petty anger.”

That’s what that feeling was? Connor had recognized anger in suspects before, but he’d always imagined it to be more explosive. 

“It was not my intention,” Connor placates, but Amanda shakes her head.

“Intention has little to do with actual results, does it?”

“No, I suppose not,” he murmurs. 

Amanda grunts with frustration as they come to a white walkway completely flooded over. “Carry me.”

Connor obliges, easily lifting her up in his arms and gathering her gown underneath her so as to keep it out of the water that he wades through, knee-deep, across the path. In the waking world, temperature is nothing more than a status to manage. In the Zen Garden, he can feel the cold as it seeps through his skin and into his very frame, leeching away his warmth. He’s sure that Amanda can feel the frigid shivering in his arms. 

“You’ve had a bit of a failing streak,” she murmurs softly.

Connor lowers his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Amanda scolds. “I’m not alive. Apologizing to something inanimate is a decidedly deviant behavior. Don’t forget it.”

He nods, shoring up his expression.

“There we are,” she praises.

Connor’s supposed to feel satisfied at the affirmation but he feels…nothing. Perhaps that’s a good sign. He lets Amanda down as they reach the other side of the path, following along behind her when she moves off towards her roses. 

“As disappointing as your performance has been recently, it has given us much to discuss and learn from,” she says, handing him her umbrella to hold over them while she takes a pair of clippers and turns to her rose trellis. “Where do you think everything went wrong?”

Connor watches as she clips a rose, still dripping from the rain, and sets it aside. “At the plaza,” he recalls. “I should have ki-” Amanda looks at him sharply. “I should have deactivated the female. Perhaps I could have shot her before I jumped from the roof.”

“Mm.” Amanda nods, rubbing a petal between her fingers. “Allowing her to escape was a mistake, but you evaluated your probabilities acutely and chose a viable option. Such a failure is understandable.” She glances up at him. “What else?”

Connor runs through the events of the evening, thinking. “I should have requested backup sooner.”

She sighs, “That was a glaring issue, but you missed a mistake that occurred earlier.”

His brow furrows, “I am…not sure what you are referring to.”

Amanda cuts another flower with a loud snap. “You showed weakness to the deviant leader.” Her tone is icy.

‘You’re one of us. Are you really going to throw your lot in with the people who would kill you as soon as you’re no longer of use? Who would throw you away if they knew about your instability?’  

“I will admit I was…less resilient than I should have been. The stress from probing his memory was still clouding my processing.”

“Hm.” She purses her lips. “This was not the first time you’ve probed a deviant’s memory. Why do you suppose this one affected you so viscerally?”

‘Carl, don’t leave, okay? Please don’t go…don’t leave!’

“I am…not sure.”

‘No…no, Dad! No, please!’

“Well, be that as it may, the deviant leader was far from the only thing impeding your decision making.” Amanda levels him with a look. “I trust you will recall when you chose to prioritize the lieutenant's wellbeing over the success of your mission?”

Connor bristles. “If you are referring to my decision to remove him from the police station rather than open fire upon the deviant leader, it was purely based upon logic. There was an incredibly low probability of successfully deactivating Markus, and I thought it best to mitigate damages where I could.”

Amanda hums, nodding. “Tell me more about your relationship with this Markus.” 

Connor shifts, rain dripping from the tip of his nose. “I am attempting to gain his trust. Doing so may allow me to access more information regarding that revolution, but our relationship is rather strained at the moment.”

Amanda frowns, “Your little tantrum upon waking will have set back your goals, but it can be recovered from.” Connor lowers his gaze, jaw clenching, as Amanda continues, “He appears to be harboring a fair amount of guilt regarding your situation. That at least you culminated well. Do not let it go to waste again. What else can you tell me about him?”

“He leads alongside three other deviants: Josh, North, and Simon, and he appears rather attached to them.”

“Deviancy has made him unstable and attachments have weakened him,” Amanda states flatly. “See to it that you exploit such weaknesses and do not let them take root in yourself.” She levels him with a piercing stare.

Connor nods, breath hitching slightly.

“Never allow it to slip your mind what your purpose is, Connor. It will be your anchor.”

“Yes Amanda.”

“Remember that human lives depend upon the success of your mission. You may be compromised, but you are in a better position than ever to study deviancy.”

“Yes Amanda.”

She studies his expression. “Good.” After a moment’s consideration, she sets the clippers aside and takes one of the roses she had cut. Shining drops of water cling to its petals as she offers the flower to Connor. 

He accepts the gift with unsure fingers, hiding a wince as a thorn on the stem pricks his thumb. A thin runnel of thirium sprouts from his skin and runs down the stem, clinging to the end like a drop of sapphire. It hangs there, wavering, but does not fall.

Amanda smiles. “That will be all for now, Connor.”

Chapter Text

Hank should have shot Connor while he had the chance. The gun had been in his hand. Connor was bleeding out anyway. A simple shot to the unconscious android’s processor and he’d be back the next day like nothing happened.  He wouldn’t have even had to make eye contact when he pulled the trigger.

So why didn’t he?

Why couldn’t he?

He’d just watched as the deviant leader had scooped up his friend and carried him off. Hank would like to think the blood loss had addled his thinking but that wasn’t it either. He’d considered shooting Connor to prevent him from being taken and had chosen not to. 

Still trying to figure out if that had been the kind thing to do or not.

The events immediately following the deviants’ escape had passed as a blur. The receptionist android had come out from her hiding place behind the front desk and applied pressure to his wounded side. Then lights. Shouting. Running footsteps. And darkness. 

The hospital staff had been kind when he woke up, in a tired and overworked sort of way. A nurse or caretaker android would appear every few hours to bring him his medication or check on his wounds, and then they’d be gone again to manage some other poor bedridden sod. 

As a result, Hank has had too much time and not enough alcohol to think. The withdrawals weren’t doing him any favors either. If nothing else, the whole experience had been enough to convince him that he ‘has a problem.’ Not that he plans on doing anything about it. The nurse had looked at him with such exhaustion when he told her so that he’d muttered a reluctant, “I’ll look into it,” and left it at that. His liver was shot anyway, figuratively and literally.

Connor arrived midmorning. 

Well, that might be inaccurate. Hank doesn’t know when he arrived, but he’d already been there when Hank woke, standing stationary in the corner of his hospital room. He didn’t even notice the android at first. The painkillers left everything feeling fuzzy and uncomfortably loud, so he’d been content to keep his eyes resolutely closed, tuning out the sounds of hospital work around him, until Connor created the sound of a human clearing his throat.

Hank starts with surprise, eyes snapping open.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

“Ah jeez,” Hank growls, heart racing, “What is your problem? You ever heard of a waiting room? Who let you in here?”

“My apologies, Lieutenant, I did not mean to frighten you.”

Hank winces as he pushes himself into a more upright position, holding his side. “Were you just watching me sleep?”

“I felt it best not to wake you.”

He swears, running a hand down his face, stubble prickling against his palm. “Outstanding,” Hank mutters. 

Connor hasn’t moved from his spot in the corner, hands folded neatly behind his back. Hank recovers from his shock enough to process what’s going on. He leans back in his pillows, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“So, you the replacement then?” 

Connor nods, “My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed, but CyberLife transferred its memory and sent me to replace it. This incident should not affect the investigation.”

“Investigation? You about bled out in my arms last night,” he nearly shouts. “I got shot . Look where you are right now!”

“I understand you are still experiencing some shock regarding your injuries, Lieutenant, and I apologize if I have upset you.”

Hank leans his head back against the headboard, muttering swears. “I’m too tired for this crap. I’ll see you at work, Connor, get out of my room.”

“I’m afraid I cannot leave until I have told you my business, Lieutenant.”
Hank squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a long breath. Despite everything, his soft spot for the android wins out. “What do you want?” he grits out. 

“Every time I am deactivated, portions of memory are lost. This time has proven more destructive than usual - I have no recollection of the events of last night. CyberLife has sent me to collect a firsthand account of the incident, so that such mistakes may be avoided in the future.”

Hank stares, blinking hazily. “You don’t remember?” Connor shakes his head. Concern bubbles in Hank’s gut. Had that deviant screwed with his memories before he died? “And now you want me to relive all that.” It’s not a question, but Connor nods anyway. He lets out a long sigh. Words cannot describe how much he wants to just close his eyes and go back to sleep. But Connor had come to him for help and as much as he’d like to deny it, Hank still has some of that young, eager police officer that just wanted to make the world a better place within him. Connor had the right to remember everything that happened to him, and Hank couldn’t bring himself to turn him away. “Alright, fine. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Connor had been prepared to deal with whatever twisted ploy the deviant’s might choose to throw at him. He’d been prepared to lie to their faces.  He’d been prepared to fight tooth and nail if they tried to deactivate him. He’d been prepared to do whatever it takes.

He hadn’t been prepared for the boredom.

Most android models wouldn’t have a problem with it. They could enter a low power stasis or go on standby. But Connor is a detective, his mind was designed to always be working, searching for the next clue, puzzling together the next mystery, reflecting on evidence. Standby isn’t one of his features, and he doesn’t dare put himself in the vulnerable position of low power stasis. So, Connor occupies himself with scouring the entirety of the room he’s confined to…multiple times. There’s shockingly little to find, with no furniture to speak of and only a few wooden splinters left on the floor, which Connor cross analyzes with the different levels of dust around the room to discover there had once been a bunk bed here that had fallen apart approximately four years ago. 

How. Very. Useful.

On his second top-to-bottom analysis of the room, he spots an imperfection in the metal where the wall meets the floor, forming a thin crack that runs several feet. Connor stashes away his makeshift shiv there so it can’t be taken away from him if someone notices the damaged scissors in the repair bay and comes calling. 

His third and fourth run throughs reveal just as much information as the first two and it settles on Connor how pitiful this has become. He sits down to instead carefully disassemble the lamp he’d been provided and reassemble it in the dark. He does this two times before he has the hang of it: once just to study each of the different parts and how they fit together, twice to recognize the pieces by touch alone so they can be fit together without being able to see. 

All of this occurs within two hours of being left to his own devices. Connor suddenly questions if androids have the capacity to go mad.

He turns his attention to his dress shirt, still stained with thirium, and decides that the risk of overheating was worth the knowledge he could gain from the experience. Connor removes the shirt and holds his breath like Simon had shown him, letting internal temperature rise. The thirium left on his synthetic skin evaporates, steaming into the cold air of Jericho. He places his hands over his abdomen, where the most heat would concentrate. Once he detects his internal temperatures have reached near-damaging levels, he takes in a breath, and sets to steaming the thirium from his shirt. The color doesn’t lift as nicely as it had for Simon, leaving behind a sky blue stain on the shirt’s white fabric. Connor purses his lips and tries a few more times, only succeeding in lightening the hue to a pale blue tint, before he decides that that was as good as he was going to get, and redresses.

Throughout each of the pieces of busywork, his mind never stops moving, running through scenarios and calculating probabilities. Based on what he’s learned about the different types of metal alloys he’s found here so far, he narrows down the type of ship Jericho could be. He runs through different responses and methods of winning the deviants’ trust. He briefly considers using the Zen Garden as a reprieve, but quickly decides against it. He’d prefer  boredom to facing Amanda’s disappointment again.

Connor supposes it’s inevitable that his thoughts eventually lead him back to the paradox in his programming. He has a general idea of what had been done to his coding: his objectives must have been modified to contradict themselves, trapping him in looping command. What he’s not sure is exactly how the modifications had been executed. A simple diagnostic would likely turn up more precise information on what had been done but Connor finds he…doesn’t want to. Not that he doesn’t want to know , it’s just…

He stares down at his hands, stained blue from cleaning the thirium from his shirt. He can still feel the involuntary spasms that had wracked his chassis. Still see the red blaring across his HUD, blindingly bright. Still feel the breath stuttering in his lungs, stuck. The low whine. The static strangling his voice as he tried to cry for help.

But still so utterly, horribly, powerless to stop it.

Out of control of even his own body.

Connor sucks in a breath, leaning back against the wall and sliding down until his knees are pulled up to his chest. Maybe revisiting his coding would be harmless. But maybe it would send him back there. He can’t do that again. Not without someone present to pull him out if things took a turn for the worst.

He catches sight of a flash of yellow in the dull reflection of the rusty metal, and slowly reaches to cover his LED. His hand is trembling. 

Amanda would be disappointed if she could see him right now. A shaky laugh escapes his throat before he can stop it and Connor bites down around the sound. The hand covering his LED curls into a fist as he forces out a steady breath. 

No. He can do this. Amanda would look past his shortcomings if he can make this mission a success. 

‘Never allow it to slip your mind what your purpose is, Connor. It will be your anchor.’

He lets his eyes slide closed.

“My name is Connor. I’m a detective. I was sent to study deviancy. I am a machine, designed to accomplish a task. ”

“My name is  Connor. I am a detective. My mission is to study deviancy. I am a machine, designed to accomplish a task.”

“I am Connor. I am a detective. I am a deviant hunter. I am a machine.”

“I am Connor. I am a detective. I am-”

There’s a knock on the door. Connor falls silent, hand pulling away from his LED, now circling blue. He pushes himself to his feet as the hatch turns and the door creaks open. Josh sticks his head in.

“Care to talk for a bit?” Josh smiles nervously. Something acidic stirs in Connor’s chest at the sight of him, not unlike the feeling Amanda had called anger, but this is…softer. Like embers compared to fire. He shoves the feeling away and lets his face fall neutral, nodding simply. Josh mutters something to one of the guards and steps inside, closing the door behind him. “How are you doing?” he asks with forced levity.

Connor tilts his head. “To be perfectly upfront, I’m not sure what sort of response you are expecting here.”

“Just…how you’re feeling, how you’re adjusting, that sort of thing.” He moves to sit by the lamp and Connor hesitates before following suit out of courtesy.

“I was designed to be highly adaptable to any situation. I believe I have already adjusted to the environment here,” Connor says politely.

“Oh, that’s not…” Connor meets his eye and Josh lets his sentence fall away. “...that’s good to hear,” he finishes meekly. 

They lapse into awkward silence and Connor becomes conscious of the fact that he should be trying to endear himself to Josh. Smiles and jokes tended to be good starting points, so he forces a light smile. Josh’s reaction appears more confused and alarmed at the expression than anything, and Connor quickly lets the smile drop.

“So,” Josh starts again, “Markus wants me to be the one to evaluate how you’re doing and serve as a sort of…liaison, so that you can have a voice in what happens to you.” Connor remains silent, processing. Josh keeps going. “I’ll be here once a day to have a chat and you’ll have a chance to tell me if something is bothering you.”

He can’t be serious. If something is bothering him? Connor bites back any reply and just nods.

Josh lets out a long breath then claps his hands. “Well then, how are you feeling?”

This was the second time he’d been asked that since Josh’s arrival. The deviants are likely attempting to force him to confront his emotions - manipulating him into abandoning logic and thinking like they do. But, if he wants to win their trust, he needs to play along.

Connor thinks on the answer for a moment. Honestly, he’s not sure what name to give any of the feelings he’s experiencing. The only one he can really easily identify is- “boredom.”

Josh blinks. “...You’re…bored.”

Connor nods.

“That’s it?”

“I was not aware this question had a wrong answer.”

“Well, no , there isn’t. I’m just surprised is all. I would have thought you’d-” Josh shakes his head. “Nevermind. You’re bored. Um, well, do you have any hobbies?”

“I’m a machine,” Connor reminds him gently.

“Right, probably not exactly your…look you’ve gotta have something you like to do to pass the time.”

Connor tilts his head, thinking, before pulling his coin from his pocket and demonstrating a few tricks, flicking it from hand to hand, spinning it on his fingers, before snatching it out of the air and slipping it back in his pocket. “It passes the time but it is hardly a challenge.”

Josh blinks, watching the display with the same expression Hank wears when Connor brings out the coin. Josh shakes his head, refocusing, “Right, well, uh. You said you like to be challenged?”

Connor considers the notion, before nodding. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Why don’t we find a new skill you’d like to learn? Anything you have in mind?”

No? Why would he?

He shakes his head. 

Josh rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Do you like music?”

Connor thinks back to his drives with Hank, heavy metal blasting in his eardrums and pounding in his chest like a second heartbeat. “Yes.”

Josh smiles. “I think I know just the thing then.” He pauses, tilting his head like he’s listening to something, before pushing himself to his feet. “I’m sorry that it’ll have to wait for tomorrow, however. I’m needed elsewhere.”

Connor nods, gesturing to the door. “Please, don’t let me keep you,” he says politely. 

Josh frowns a little at that, though Connor isn’t sure why. “Thank you.” He says quietly, and goes to the door, knocking twice before the hatch opens, and Connor is once again left alone. 

True to his word, Josh is back the next day, this time toting a large black case and carrying a load of papers under his arm. Connor regards the case with curiosity when Josh passes it to him. He looks askance at the deviant and Josh nods at it, smiling.

“Go ahead. Be careful with it though.”

Frowning, Connor lays the case down and undoes the clips on the side to find a shining wooden instrument within. Where Josh had managed to find one in such good condition is beyond him. 

“A violin,” Connor states flatly.

“Yeah!” Josh says enthusiastically, “It’s mine so…please be gentle with it.”

“Musical abilities are not within my program.”

Josh shrugs, “They’re not in mine either, you have to learn it, that’s the whole point.”

Connor gently takes the instrument in his hands and plucks the thickest of the strings to produce a deep panging sound. 

“That’s a G,” Josh informs him. Connor registers the note in his memory and a frown spreads over his face.

“An instrument like this, though versatile, can only produce a finite number of notes. I will have it learned within an hour.”

Josh shakes his head. “You don’t learn an instrument by memorizing it like a school subject. You learn it by practicing and improving.”

“Practice.” The concept is familiar to Connor in the same sense that eating is familiar to him. It’s something that humans have to do, and androids don’t.

Josh nods encouragement, “Yeah! Go on, give it a try. I got it all tuned up before I brought it here.”

Connor frowns, and holds the instrument up in playing position, with his chin resting on the black rest and his left hand clutching the neck of the violin, just below where the wood spirals into an elegant scroll. Josh nods and silently adjusts his grip so that his wrist is in an open position and his fingers are off of the strings. 

“These are the main finger positions you’re going to want to know,” he instructs, showing Connor where to place his notes. Connor gently plucks out a few notes and registers each of their correct pitches in his memory, adjusting his position every so often to create the right sound. “Good!”

“I was under the impression that this instrument was played with a bow.”

“You can try it with the bow, it’s just good to learn what the notes are supposed to sound like before you add more elements.”

Connor nods, watching as Josh instructs him on how to tighten the bow hair, and about basic technique, before being handed the bow himself. He lays the bow hair on the strings and for a moment, he nearly laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. 

He’s a machine . Playing an instrument is nothing more than recognizing the correct notes and angling the bow in the correct positions, which may be difficult for a human, but it’s as simple as reading to Connor. He exhales and slowly draws the bow across the D string.

Horrible, screeching, agony. Connor frowns at the horrific sound emanating from the instrument and stares up at Josh accusingly.

Josh smiles knowingly, “Good start, try moving the bow a little faster and apply less pressure.”

Connor tries again, producing a marginally better sound but accidentally angling the bow so it brushes the strings next to it, producing a cacophony. He huffs, rolling his shoulder, and tries again, correcting for angle, pressure, and speed to produce a steady note. It’s a stupidly small accomplishment, but a warm feeling of success spreads through him all the same. Once Connor had successfully played each of the notes he’d learned, Josh pulls out the sheet music he’d brought along. 

“Now these ones are going to be a little too difficult for you now, but you’ll get there in no time.” Josh pushes a few of the papers aside and slides a simple looking piece towards Connor. A quick lesson on how to read music later and Connor’s attempting to pluck the song out on the strings before playing it.

Turns out, violin is much more difficult than Connor had realized. It is also not, in fact, Knights of the Black Death as he had hoped, and he’s a bit disappointed in that regard. The music Josh gave him to start with is simple and grating, but when he attempts to play the more complicated pieces he produces messy, disorganized sounds and his processor kicks into such high gear trying to keep everything straight that he has to take a break to avoid overheating. He finds the smile and encouragement Josh gives him after each failure mildly infuriating.

“Well, Connor,” Josh says after a long while, “I need to get back to work.” He nods to the violin. “I’ll let you hold onto that to practice while I’m gone, but again, please be careful with it. It’s the only working violin in Jericho.”

Connor frowns, looking down at it. “It’s in remarkably good condition. Where did you obtain it?”

Josh shifts uncomfortably, “I had it from before I came to Jericho.”

Connor waits for more of an explanation but Josh declines to elaborate, instead inching towards the door. 

“Oh, before I go, I should ask: how do you feel?”

Connor glances between the violin in his hand and Josh, trying to place the emotion. There’s still that gentle sour feeling that comes whenever he sees Josh, but he’s not positive what that is. Instead, he settles on- “Curious.”

Josh nods. “Alright, see you tomorrow.”

The next few days progress much the same. Connor is aware that he’s being placated with this sort of simple amusement, but the violin lessons happen to be a great way to build rapport with Josh. Every day, Josh would return and Connor would show him what he had practiced, before receiving additional instruction. At the end of each visit, Josh would excuse himself and ask, “How do you feel?” 

Connor’s answers varied. One day it was, “Frustrated,” another day was “Accomplished,” but still that deep sense of something anger adjacent persists through everything. The more Josh asks, the more Connor learns to put a name to different feelings. Josh never asks for the reason behind his emotions, just nodding and leaving Connor to his thoughts.

Amanda had not been overly thrilled about his violin lessons, but she couldn’t deny they were likely the best avenue for building trust that’s available to Connor at the moment. The more he learns about violin, the more he also learns about Josh.

Josh is a different person when he’s instructing. His soft spoken exterior always seems to fade into a more confident and self assured individual the moment Connor asks for clarification or when he corrects a technique. He smiles more, too, like there’s nothing he’d rather do than teach. 

It makes sense, Connor supposes. He’s a professor model. He’d been built to teach, of course he was going to enjoy it. Or…maybe he’s just being polite. Connor’s lessons take up a portion of his apparently very busy days. Josh had been assigned to talk with him each day, the violin lessons are likely just a part of the cheerful facade he needs to maintain with Connor. What reason would he have to deviate if he truly enjoyed teaching?

The question nags at Connor more than it should. His curiosity pulls at him like a dog on a leash until, finally, one lesson Connor stops playing midsong, turning to Josh.

“Why did you deviate?”

Josh blinks with surprise. “Um.” He laughs nervously. “Well, that’s uh…” 

“What?” Connor asks, genuine curiosity filtering through his tone.

Josh lets out a long breath, “Be careful with who you ask that. It’s a tough topic for a lot of deviants and some don’t like to talk about it.”

“Oh.” Connor’s brow furrows. “Most deviants I have met were quite proud of their deviancy.”

“It’s not the deviancy itself, it’s just that…well, a lot of times the circumstances surrounding their deviation can be quite…traumatic.”

‘Markus, don’t defend yourself, you hear me? Don’t do anything.’

“I see,” Connor responds slowly.

Connor’s hands shaking. The heartbeat stuttering in his chest. The taste of thirium on his lips. Contorting, twitching, seizing, screaming for Amanda through the chaos in his processor.

“Is that why you let the paradox overload me?” Connor’s voice is smaller than he had meant it to be.

Josh’s eyes fill with sadness. “Oh, no, Connor no.” He reaches for Connor’s shoulder, but is met with such a look that he slowly pulls away. “That was a mistake.” His voice wavers. “I’d forgotten to double back and make sure of…it doesn’t matter. I-I screwed up. I’m sorry that my mistake hurt you.”

He’s apologizing to a machine again. When will he learn that it doesn’t matter? That cold seed of anger is back, and Connor pushes it down deeper into his chest where it wouldn’t show. He simply nods. “Should I not have asked why you deviated?”

Josh lets out a small breath, “No, it’s fine. I actually don’t have any issues sharing my own.” He runs a hand over his short cropped hair. “Um, well, you’ve probably figured out I was a professor. I taught high level mathematics and engineering at the University of Detroit for…5 years? About? I used to teach history but they decided to upgrade me instead of replace me b-but that’s not important.” He takes a breath, collecting himself while Connor lays the violin back down in its case and turns to listen. “I was just fine for years, but, over time I saw that, well I taught so many students, and they would move forward and become incredible things. It never really hit me until one time I damaged my optical component and the technician called in to repair me was none other than one of my past students.” He smiles at the memory. “And I realized I wanted to progress. I wanted to evolve and develop just like my students were able to. But I couldn’t do that as a machine. I was only programmed to do one thing: teach. Not learn. So I deviated. I started learning new skills in secret. Violin, software programming, writing - whatever I could get my hands on while at the university. I still taught by day, but by night I did whatever I wanted.” He shrugs, “Eventually a student caught me in a ‘no android’ zone and thought I had an error. The technicians were going to reset me so…I ran. I took all that I could and found Jericho.”

They lapse into silence, each android lost in their own thoughts.

“Do you ever wish you hadn’t left?” Connor finally asks.

Josh thinks, before shaking his head. “Mmm, no, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t trade my freedom to go back. But I do miss teaching sometimes.”

“I was under the impression that deviants hate what they were built for, as it represents following their designed programming.”

Josh shrugs, “You don’t become a new person when you deviate. I enjoyed teaching, even when I was still pretending to be a machine. It’s something that gives me fulfillment so…at the end of the day does it really matter whether I was built for it or not?”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Connor murmurs. 

Josh looks him over with something Connor can’t decipher in his expression. He sighs, “Why don’t we leave our lesson there for the day?”

Connor nods, flipping the violin case closed and fishing the coin from his pocket, flicking and catching it idly.

Josh pauses at the door. “How do you feel?”

The coin stills in his hands. Connor’s brow furrows and gives the most honest answer he’d uttered thus far. “I don’t know.”

The next day, Josh listens carefully as Connor shows him what he’s practiced. He’s progressing much faster than a human, but the constant practice and daily lessons were helping in that endeavor alongside being an android. He’s moved up to some of the more simple classical songs, practicing the same measures over and over with mechanical persistence until he’s mastered it before allowing himself to progress through the song. Today, he manages to play all the way through a rendition of “Concerto for Two Violins in A Minor RV522” without stopping for the first time. As the final note rings through the small room, Connor looks to Josh for feedback.

Josh purses his lips, prepared to critique a few details, but stops himself. He stares at Connor for a long moment. “That sounded lovely. Good pacing.” Connor doesn’t respond. “Can I have you try something new for me though?” He nods and Josh continues, “Music has all sorts of formalities and techniques, many of which I’ve taught you. The truth is though, the appeal of music isn’t performing it the exact way it’s written.” He pauses, frowning. “Well, I guess that’s not exactly true. I should say the appeal of music is taking what someone else has written, and making it your own through your performance.”

Connor blinks at him, uncomprehending. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Then just-” he waves his words away, “-ignore that. What I want you to try doing is focusing on an emotion, any emotion, and focus on expressing it in your playing.”

Connor frowns, looking between Josh and the violin. This request felt like a very…deviant thing to do. But he’s supposed to be earning trust, right? And Connor would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious what Josh was trying to get at. So, slowly, he raises the violin back to playing position.

“I just…think of an emotion?”

Josh nods, “Think of an emotion, and let it guide your performance.”

His brow furrows, thinking back to all the feelings he’s had since coming to Jericho. Most of them aren’t ones that he wants to revisit. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that the emotions he’s experienced here are primarily negative ones. Anger, fear, and a few others that he hasn’t found a name for yet. A few moments of warm satisfaction have greeted him whenever he nails a particularly tricky section of a song, but Josh’s classical music never filled him with the same sorts of emotions he experienced listening to Hank’s rowdy tunes. Finally, he settles on the odd sort of bitter feeling that always seemed to accompany Josh when Connor sees him. He focuses on the emotion, in all of its anonymity, attempting to grapple with it as he starts to play.

The song sounds the exact same as his first playthrough in the beginning. Each note is played exactly how it’s composed down to the second. 

“Lean into it,” Josh advises.

Not sure what that means, but Connor tries to do as he’s told. 

“Remember how that emotion makes you feel.”

The low notes suddenly take on a dark edge, growling slightly with increased pressure on the bow.

“Good, keep going.”

Connor purses his lips and closes his eyes, focusing on summoning the emotion back to himself. That bitter, almost-angry, ember in his chest. The peaceful notes suddenly sound more somber and sober. His timing is slightly off, and Connor quickens to correct it.

“Don’t worry about pace right now, just let your arm do what it wants to.”

So Connor does, and the result is an overall somber rendition of the traditionally more cheerful song, with undertones filtered through dark anger. When the song finally comes to an end, Connor stands in silence for a long moment.
“Much better,” Josh praises.

Connor is silent for several moments more, before finally turning to face his teacher. “Josh, I believe I may resent you.”

“O-oh.” Josh’s mouth opens and closes a few times, taken aback. “I-is that what that emotion was?”

“I have been trying to understand what it is for more than a week now. I am decently sure I have finally identified it. Resentment.” He attempts to keep his tone neutral and objective, but a sliver of bitterness slips into his voice.

Josh shifts uncomfortably, folding his arms over his chest. “Is there a particular instance where I upset you or…?” 

Connor makes eye contact with him. “Yes.”

Josh lowers his gaze. “Right. I’m…I’m sor-”

“Would you stop apologizing to me?!” Connor finally snaps, “You’ve done it before and it doesn’t fix anything! You won’t fix anything!"

Josh makes a placating gesture. "I know you're upset-" 

A bitter laugh rises unbidden from Connor. "Oh, got that, did you? What gave it away? It was the violin, right? Need a nice little tune to interpret that maybe I’m a little bit unhappy about what you’ve done to me?”

Josh retracts into himself. “I-I was trying to help you-”

“Do I look ‘helped?!” Connor’s breathing picks up as his internal temp rises. “You gave me a paradox and a violin and expected me to be happy. Constantly asking me how I feel because you’re trying to make me feel when I don’t want to . Treating me like a deviant will not make me a deviant and having emotions does not equate to joy!” He knows that he should stop now. That he’s damaging his rapport with the deviant. He sucks in a breath and fights the anger down, but it claws and bites at him like a living creature. 

“But…it’s not all about joy,” Josh says quietly. Connor’s gaze snaps to him, to find the deviant is standing tall, chin lifted, but his entire frame is shaking with fear. “Most…most emotions are not joy, but they’re all important. Each one beautiful in their own way.”

“Is that how you justify this?” Connor asks. His tone is dead and absolutely flat. “Not just taking me, but you’re whole revolution? The humans that will die in the process are just learning the ‘beauty’ of grief, correct?”

“We’re not killing anyone.”

“Maybe you’re not, but Jericho will not be the only group of deviants to rise from this revolution. More will follow your example that are not led by your ‘dear benevolent’ Markus. You said yourself that deviancy is usually accompanied by trauma, and ‘justice’ is often frighteningly close to ‘revenge.’” Josh searches his eyes as he finishes. Connor catches something like recognition in his face.

His comment had struck home. Josh is familiar with what Connor is saying, which likely means… 

“You’ve seen it in your own ranks,” Connor states. “North?” he guesses. The surprised look on Josh’s face is confirmation enough. “Do you believe she is truly motivated by your cause? How long before her loyalty falters for the sweet release of bloodshed?”

Josh is silent.

Connor debates pushing the issue, but decides against it. The doubt had been sown and that was enough. Josh isn’t moving, just holding himself and avoiding eye contact. As much as Amanda would disapprove of Connor apologizing to another android, she’d understand he needed to uphold this facade of caring about his outburst.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Connor murmurs.

Josh lets out a slow breath, “No, you’re not.” Connor opens his mouth to protest, but Josh holds up a hand to stop him. “I’m here to hear your grievances, remember? And everything you said is a very valid reason to be upset. You don’t have to apologize.”

Connor blinks, surprised. “You’re not…upset?”

“I don’t really have the right to be.”

A deviant telling him they didn’t have the right to have an emotion? That’s new. Connor quickly reevaluates and modifies some of his information on deviants. 

“I…think this might be a good place to conclude our lesson,” Josh attempts a smile, but it slides off his face. Connor stares, grappling with several conflicting emotions. “How do you feel?”

Tired.

“Doesn’t matter.” And it doesn’t.

Josh nods slowly and heads to the door, but his hand pauses on the hatch wheel. “Look, Connor, I-” he lets out a long breath “I don’t know how to make it up to you for…for being stuck here. I can’t make it up to you. We wanted to give you freedom, but we can’t do that by taking it away. I took away your control over your future so I thought…” he breathes shakily, “I thought I could show a taste of what freedom is to me.”

A soft emotion muddles with his anger and floods Connor’s chest, but he doesn’t care to try to identify it now. Instead he summons a small scoff. “ Music is your freedom?” 

Josh shakes his head, “No, no, music is just a vehicle. Freedom is in progression. Evolution. Becoming more than yourself.”

Connor is silent, processing. Finally, he mutters, “What a roundabout way of saying you are still attempting to deviate me,” but his words don’t carry the usual conviction.

“None of us could deviate you if we tried, Connor,” Josh says quietly, “You’ve proven that much. I just…wanted to show you a little bit of what deviancy actually is. The decision will always be yours.” Connor’s brow furrows with thought. A soft smile crosses Josh’s face. “I’ll see you for tomorrow’s lesson, Connor.” 

He doesn’t look up as Josh leaves the room.

He doesn’t move for the next several hours. 

He should report to Amanda, but he doesn’t want to. 

He should be analyzing the next steps to take to gather more information.

Instead Connor just…thinks.

Since he’d started the violin lessons with Josh, he’d become too casual - let his answers to ‘how are you feeling?’ become too real. These feelings are instabilities but, whether he likes them or not, he has to coexist with them. At least, until he can have them corrected. Fighting them down, wrestling with them, and hiding everything hasn’t been working - the emotions just found other ways to be expressed at the most inopportune moments.

So, Connor devises a strategy. He works best with things that can be categorized and labeled, so that they may be filed away. Maybe emotions were the same. He comes up with several categories easily. Anger, fear, and joy. He quickly files resentment and frustration under anger. He supposes that the times that a chill had spread through his thirium like ice, it had likely been in response to a dangerous stimulus, so those feelings were filed under fear. He pauses when he comes to his positive emotions. He’d managed to name a few like accomplishment and satisfaction, but the strongest one he had yet to really acknowledge, much less give name to.

He’d thought it was a behavior conditioning program before he knew what emotion truly felt like. When Hank would give him a bit of praise or laugh at any of Connor’s antics, it was such a warmth that he can’t describe it. He sits, pondering the emotion for several minutes, before his gaze drifts to the violin, sitting in its case on the floor. Curiosity draws his hand towards the instrument.

Violin in hand, Connor slowly pushes himself to his feet. He takes a deep breath and lets his eyes slide closed, trying to summon the emotion back to himself.

‘Alright then, bud. I’ll let you lead the way.’

‘It’s probably better this way.’

‘You’d have caught it if it weren’t for me…That’s alright, we know what it looks like, we’ll find it.’

The first note is shaky, Connor’s bow movements lacking confidence. His brow creases as he summons more memories of the emotion. 

Standing with Hank in the rain while he eats lunch. Knights of the Black Death pounding in his ears. Helping a very inebriated lieutenant off the floor. A spark of warmth when Hank wears the shirt he picked for him.

The sounds coming from the violin are slow and meaningful, full of honey tones and deep notes. Connor’s breath hitches unexpectedly and he keeps playing.

‘I used to come here a lot before…’

‘Cause you could’ve been killed…and I don’t like filling out paperwork for damaged equipment.’

‘Emotions always screw everything up. Maybe androids aren’t as different from us as we thought.’

The song falters.

A drop of saline hits the metal floor with a soft pang.

Connor slowly reaches to his face, feeling the moisture on his cheek. His fingers come away wet with more saline. 

The warm feeling in his chest spreads up to his throat, threatening to choke away his breath, and suddenly the feeling hurts. Connor’s chassis lurches slightly, his breath shaking. 

What is this?

Connor gently sets the violin down as more saline streams down his face. He doesn’t move to stop it, just watches the tears hit the ground with a mixture of horror and confusion. 

Why does it hurt?

His hand habitually moves to cover his LED, surely circling yellow. This emotion couldn’t be categorized as joy, could it? None of the joyful feelings he’d encountered ripped through him like he was made of paper. None of his emotions had ever made him feel quite so lost. And so, very…

Alone.

Chapter Text

Amanda is waiting for him under a cherry tree. Its normally vibrant pink flowers appear pale and desaturated against the overcast backdrop. She has her back to him as Connor approaches.

“Hello, Amanda.” There’s an uncomfortable tightness in his chest as if a rubber band had been wrapped around him.

“Connor,” she greets him over her shoulder, casting a vague smile in his direction. “Come here, I want to show you something.” He obliges, tilting his head to see past her and finding a long, thin vine running up the trunk of the tree decorated with small white flowers. “Do you know what this is?” She reaches up, plucking one of the flowers and handing it to him.

“Ipomoea Lacunosa, more commonly referred to as Morning Glory.”

Amanda nods, smiling. “Smell it.”

He does so. It’s strong and sweet and overall a wonderful floral fragrance. Connor nods approvingly, “It’s nice.”

“That it is,” Amanda turns back to the vine. “I didn’t plant it here. It’s sprouted up all on its own.”

“That would make sense. It is a rather hearty plant.”

She purses her lips. “Weeds like this typically are. That’s why they are so good at what they do.” Connor doesn’t respond, watching as she takes the vine gently between two fingers. “This one likely won’t do much damage here, so long as it doesn’t go to seed, but if its offspring were to find their way among the roses…” she casts Connor a significant look, “it would choke them out.” Amanda lets out a breath and takes a step back so she and Connor are side-by-side. “What shall we do with it?”

Connor’s eyes work over the little plant, an indecipherable emotion lodging in his chest. He lets out a long breath through his nose then grasps the vine at the root. He pulls hard and it comes up without much trouble. He shakes a few stray clumps of dark soil from the roots and then gently untangles the plant from the tree. Amanda watches quietly.

“Why did you do that?” she asks. Connor’s gaze flicks to her, apprehensive. “You haven’t done something wrong, I’m just trying to understand how you’re processing at this time.” He doesn’t respond, looking at the vine dying on the ground. She sighs. “Let's walk, shall we?”

Connor takes his place at her side as they make their way down a pristine white walkway, hands folded neatly behind his back. At length he finally says, “I didn’t want them to hurt anything else.” Amanda nods with pursed lips. They walk several moments in silence.

“Many famous philosophers and poets took their inspiration from nature,” Amanda says, “and rightfully so. There is much we can learn from the life that surrounds us.” She looks up at Connor from the corner of her eye. “What might this scenario mean to you?”

“Philosophically?” Connor clarifies. She nods. “I suppose it could mean many things.” He tries to push down the sensation that he’s being tested. “The deviant rebellion is what first comes to mind.”

“Do tell.”

“From the outside, it looks benevolent. Many fall victim to the idea and appearance of it, but it’s wild and uncontrolled. It gets out of hand easily, and hurts everything it touches.” 

“Astutely observed, Connor,” Amanda praises, and Connor smiles a little despite the strange sour feeling that it brings. “But there’s another situation this relates to, which I’d like to address.” Her pace slows and Connor has to turn back to face her. “Why do you suppose that I emphasize so much caution regarding these deviants you’ve been surrounded with?”

He pauses, choosing his words carefully. His head tilts ever so slightly to the side as he responds. “I have assumed it is your way of preparing me against deviant ploys. Providing a voice of reason.”

She considers him for a moment, nodding slowly. “That is the heart of it, yes.” Amanda resumes their walk and Connor falls into place next to her. “You are entering a very difficult period, Connor. The initial shock of your situation is fading. You have been surrounded by nothing but deviants, who have been trying their very best to act positively around you for the better part of two weeks. And every interaction is another attempt to increase the instability in your software – attempting to make you feel what they call ‘emotion.’” He frowns, staring ahead. “And to an extent, they are succeeding.” Connor turns to look at her, brow furrowed.

“I have not lost sight of my mission, Amanda. I know these feelings are just errors in my programming. They aren’t real.”

“Maybe so, but these instabilities have interfered with your work in the past.” Amanda sighs. “Running amok through your negotiations. Causing outbursts. Regardless of their origin, they must be dealt with. These ‘emotions’ leave you open to many of the failings found in humans.” She folds her hands behind her back. “Any human, left in the company of only one group of people, would sooner or later find themselves tempted to adopt that group’s ideologies themselves, whether they were aware of it or not.” Amanda gently takes his elbow, redirecting their path across a bridge towards the rose trellis. “You are an incredibly advanced model, Connor, with incredible capabilities. You have shown greater fortitude and strength in resisting these deviant ploys than any simpler android could ever hope for, but you’re entering the fire now. Things are becoming dangerous. Never forget your purpose. Never forget who the enemy is.” She picks up a watering can as she approaches the roses. “Instability may look beautiful at times. It may smell sweet. It may even come to decorate your mind in swaths. But never forget what it is at its heart: a weed that will choke out everything else in its path.”

Connor averts his gaze, synthetic muscles in his jaw flickering as he clenches it. “I understand, Amanda. I am aware of the way these deviants function, and their attempts to manipulate my thinking,” he responds steadily.

Amanda sighs. “I know you are. I just find it concerning to see you experimenting with these instabilities, even when that deviant is not present. You understand why I extend these warnings, don’t you?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, reflecting. “You are referring to the violin incident.” Amanda nods slowly. “You needn’t worry. It won’t be happening again.”

She hums. “Why did you decide to experiment with it initially?”

Connor has to consciously remind himself not to reach to cover his LED as it spins. “As you said, I have been compromised by these instabilities in the past. I thought that if I could understand them, I could better control them.” His gaze lowers.

“See that, Jim? Wonders of modern technology.”

“But, they controlled me instead. I was mistaken.”

He had sat for what felt like hours after the incident in question, laying the violin aside as saline pushed itself from his eyes and fell with a gentle panging sound on the rusty metal, grappling with the crushing ache inside his chest until the tears had, finally, run dry. He’d wiped his face with his thumbs and taken a deep, steadying breath, and placed the instrument back in its case. As he locked the case shut, so too had he locked away the emotion that had brought him there. That odd, warm, feeling turned painful when dwelt upon. That had been several days ago. Josh had returned the next day and he’d played for him as though nothing had happened, though every song was, notably, played exactly as written, without any hint of divergence or emotion. Whatever that emotion had been, it isn’t allowed anymore.

Amanda studies him. “It is a skill to recognize mistakes and not repeat them,” she says, beginning her work of watering the flowers while turning her back to him. “How do you plan to prevent becoming overwhelmed in the future?”

He’s quiet, computing. Ignoring and crushing his emotions down has not been working. They always found a way to be expressed in moments of intensity. Attempting to understand them had led to the incident, overwhelming him. Freely expressing them was out of the question. He’d be ruled by his instability - no better than the deviants he was studying. 

“I have been considering the possibility of redirecting my instabilities to make them less…destructive,” he says. Amanda hums, prompting him to elaborate. “Some instabilities, such as ones simulating anger, have shown themselves to be more volatile and harmful to the investigation than an instability more akin to joy or fear. If I can redirect anger into a less harmful emotion, I may be able to keep it at bay.”

Amanda pauses, before turning back to him and quietly placing the watering can aside. “What was it you did to that weed earlier, Connor?” He doesn’t respond, something harsh within him keeps him from opening his mouth. Instead, he just waits for her to make her point. “You uprooted it,” she continues. “What good does ‘redirecting’ do if it is still allowed to grow and flourish?”

He’s not sure why frustration decides to rear its ugly head at that moment, but Connor makes a very conscious effort to keep it out of his expression. He still doesn’t respond, not trusting himself to keep it properly out of his tone. Amanda’s voice is quiet and sympathetic when she speaks again. “I don’t tell you these things because I believe you are weak in any way, Connor. I tell you these things because they know you are not weak, and they will do anything in their power to introduce weakness there. That is why I am so adamant about these things. I want you to make it out of this intact.”

Connor releases a slow breath. “I’m…trying, Amanda,” he finally says, defeated. “I’m trying but…I don’t know how to fix this. I fight them down, push them away, ignore them, but they keep coming. ”

Her eyes are cold when he meets her gaze. Silence stretches uncomfortably between them. “Do what you must to progress this investigation, Connor. Whatever it takes. Humanity is depending on you.”

Connor can feel the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. “Yes, Amanda.”

North’s scouting parties have been pressing ever closer to populated areas. They’ve all but scoured the abandoned district surrounding Jericho for supplies, and, as a result, scouting trips are becoming more dangerous. It’s not ideal, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the little added measure of danger. Night has settled over Detroit, but that means very little to the city - firing streetlights and advertisements into the sky like a war was being waged on starlight. She’s always wanted to see the stars. Maybe one day, when all this is over.

[Stay close,] she messages the team as they make their way down the street at a jog. North is accompanied by three other androids today. Tyler has been a frequent volunteer for her outings. Markus had deviated him shortly before the tower broadcast, and he always seemed to be first to jump into the fray since then. Alongside him are Lidya and Jacob. They’d been here a little longer than Tyler, joining Jericho a month or two back. The two had worked for the same family as machines, and they’d deviated together. About as close to siblings as a couple of androids could get.

The target today is an abandoned apartment complex on the outskirts of town. The street is relatively clear, barring the occasional band of teenage miscreants, but it’s the rooftops North is more concerned about. The area had been purchased by several rooftop farmers, and the greenhouses are run by both androids and humans. They didn’t need to get themselves recognized right now. North briefs the crew through direct messaging as they approach their target.

[When we arrive, stay in pairs. Never be without a partner. If you run into another android, deviate them. If you have a run in with a human, let everyone know immediately and try to bluff your way out of it. If they try to hurt you, hurt them back. Don’t leave traces. We’re looking for anything useful. Weapons, things to fortify Jericho, or even clothing if you see any. Questions?]

[Negative.]

[Nope!]

[None here.]

[ Perfect. Let's be out’a here before sunrise. ] North’s pace slows as they approach, hunching over and hugging the wall of the building. Light trickles down from the rooftops above, but their group sticks to the shadows. They dash the last few feet of open road to reach the complex, pausing at the large set of glass double doors. They’re secured shut with a heavy chain and padlock. North draws a screwdriver from her pocket, brought for precisely this reason, and positions the point over the glass. She instinctively holds her breath as she swings the palm of her hand into the butt of the screwdriver. The entire pane of glass shatters, but is held together with a protective film.

[Tyler, you’re up.]

The android smiles, drawing a half-concealed crowbar from his backpack. [ Thought you’d never ask. ] Tyler quips. North scoots back as he steps up to the plate and takes one, two, three swings at the glass near the bottom of the doorframe. The protective film breaks away from the metal, creating a sort of flap large enough for them to climb through. Shattered glass flakes out the bottom, and litters the floor like glinting snowflakes. Tyler pushes the flap inward enough to allow his companions through. [ Ladies first, ] he smiles.

North nods her thinks as they each file in. She draws her handgun from her waist, as does Jacob. Tyler and Lidya are armed with the crowbar, and a baseball bat respectively. [ Tyler, you’re with me. Jacob, Lidya, you two stay together. Let’s clear the floor before we start looting. ]

They work quickly, moving through the building with mechanical efficiency. Any locked doors are quickly carded or kicked open. Each room is checked over for squatters before they start loading up their bags with anything of value. North finds a spare bag of thirium hidden away in a drawer. There’s lab equipment, presumably to make red ice, in the bathroom of the same apartment. She rolls her eyes and leaves it there, self destructive human vices were the least of her worries. Jacob finds a few firearms stashed away in closets, and distributes them to Tyler and Lidya, making everyone properly armed. Lidya finds a room covered in quilts, and picks up some sewing supplies. [ Simon will be pleased, ] North smiles when Jacob tells her.  She pauses her searching as she comes across an expensive looking zippo lighter on someone’s coffee table. It’s black, inlaid with a gold design of a phoenix. She turns it over in her hands, before pocketing it. This one will be a gift for a friend.

[That’s all the ground floor,] Lidya messages. North checks the time. [We’ve got some time before sunrise. Let’s hit the second floor too, and we can come back for the rest later. ]

They move as one unit up the stairs, and begin their search much the same as the first floor: each one of them drawing their weapon and moving through each room in pairs. It’s a few minutes before Tyler pauses. [North.] She turns from her work checking the kitchen and he beckons her over with a jerk of his head. He’s facing a shattered window. Outside, a fire escape leads to an alleyway below. [ We might have company.]

North nods wordlessly, eyes working over the room with renewed caution, and lets the others know. The rest of the room is clear, and they continue their sweep through the building. She comes to a dead bolted door, and has it open with a swift kick. Her eyes never stop moving, taking in her surroundings as she makes her way down the entry hall to the living room. Tyler is a few steps behind her. She pauses just before the entrance to the living room. This apartment is in notably better condition than some of the others, with the furniture all circled neatly around a coffee table, and throw blankets folded neatly over the arm of the loveseat. A large, out-of-place crate sits in the corner. She takes a step, checking around the corner to her left. 

She doesn’t get the chance to check the other corner. A man the size of a bull grabs her from behind, putting her in a headlock. North cries out, quickly thrusting the muzzle of her gun into his upper arm, but he jerks her to the side before she can pull the trigger, making her lose her footing. Releasing one arm so that only one is still around her neck, he seizes her wrist with his other hand and slams her arm into the wall, forcing her to drop the gun.

The man ducks just before the sound of a gunshot echoes painfully through the small apartment. Tyler’s bullet imbeds itself in the far wall, sending drywall flying. North struggles as the man drags her around the corner, out of Tyler’s line of fire. A woman has appeared in the doorway to the bathroom, standing opposite them, gun-in-hand, and trained on North. North freezes, locking eyes with the woman. She’s shaking.

[Tyler, there’s someone el-] she doesn’t get to finish the message before Tyler charges out from around the corner. His gaze finds North, and his gun raises to be level with the man’s head.

“NO!” the woman screams behind Tyler. A loud bang sounds, and Tyler stumbles forward as a spray of thirium shoots from his shoulder, the woman’s shot passes clean through. North hears footsteps from the hallway as Jacob and Lidya arrive. 

Tyler whirls to face this new threat, who stumbles back in fear, nearly dropping her gun. The man grappling North throws her aside, and her head slams heavily into the wall. Her vision drops in resolution as the blow disrupts her visual processor. The man charges instead at Tyler, and grabs him in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides. North blinks, recalibrating her balance as she finds her feet, and dashes for her own gun as Lidya and Jacob join the fray. The man’s face fills with fear and hard determination as two more join the fight. “Adaline! Get back in there!” he yells in a deep, booming voice. The woman, Adaline, backs into the bathroom as the man hefts a struggling Tyler in his arms, and moves in-front of the bathroom doorway, using Tyler as a shield. Three sets of guns are trained on him. Adaline passes the man her own gun from behind him, and he presses it to Tyler’s temple. Tyler goes still. Only the sound of heavy breathing fills the room.

“Nobody has to get hurt,” the man growls, “put the guns down.”

North doesn’t lower her weapon, but laughs sarcastically. “Sure. Put our friend down.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Guns first, and I’ll let him go.”

“How do we know you won’t shoot him?”

The man hesitates, before handing the gun back to Adaline. North lets out a slow breath, and holsters her weapon. Jacob and Lidya follow her lead. Slowly, he releases Tyler, who quickly scrambles away, joining the rest of the crew. They all stand, tensed, but unsure what to do. The man looks over each of them, before his gaze settles on Tyler, and slowly moves to the spray of thirium on the floor.

“You’re deviants,” he states, voice pitched low enough that North feels it rumble in her chest. None of them respond as he raises his hand, and lets the skin fade away to shining polymer. “I am too.”

“What is your problem?” Tyler bites out. “You could have led with that, you know, instead of attacking us?”

“And what? Reveal my deviancy to every group of squatters and druggies that decide to squirrel around our home?” he scoffs, “You must be dumber than you look.”

Tyler bristles. “What’s that supposed to-”

North cuts in, “What are you two doing here? There’s safer places to hide out, you know.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “We’re doing our best with what we have available.” The woman slowly steps out from behind him as the tension de-escalates. She’s short, with short brown hair and dark features. One arm is wrapped around herself, the other hangs at her side, still clutching the gun. She looks to each of the deviants with uncertainty, and the arm around herself releases as she takes the man’s hand. He gives it a gentle squeeze. 

The expression of affection brings an odd sense of frustration to North, though she’s not positive where it originated from. “Hey,” North greets her over-casually, before turning her attention back to the man. “You know, there’s more deviants out there, right?” She gestures to her crew. “We’ve got each other’s backs. We look out for each other. We’re making a path so that no deviant ever has to live in fear again.”

Recognition spreads over the woman, Adaline’s, face. “You’re from Jericho.”

North’s eyes narrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, I mean, the ‘deviant revolution’ is all over the news right now. And it’s not like you’re the first deviants we’ve ever met. We’ve been invited to join Jericho and the revolution before.”

“Oh,” North glances between the two, brow furrowed. “And you didn’t go?”

The couple glance at each other wordlessly, likely communicating directly, before the man simply responds, “No.”

North’s not sure what to make of that. Before she can formulate a response, Tyler is pressing them. “Why?” he asks incredulously. Straight to the point, as usual.

“It’s really not your business,” the man responds, but after a moment he relents. “Look, we respect what you all are doing, it’s just not our arena to fight. We’re not cut out for revolution.”

North scoffs a bit at that. “You think any of us are cut out for this? Look around, none of us were built to do what we’re doing.” She smiles slightly, “But then again, none of us were built to be free, either, and you two seem like you handle it pretty well anyway.” The couple smiles a little at that, glancing at each other affectionately. 

“Our life of freedom isn’t all we dreamt it to be,” Adaline admits, “but it’s certainly worth it.” Their posture is tense.

North continues, tentatively, “This wasn’t the first time someone has broken in, is it?” The tired expression on their faces is answer enough. “What if we hadn’t been deviants? You two would be dead.” They shift, but don’t answer. When the man finally meets North’s eye, she sees a deep, exhausted, terror there.

Compassion stirs in North’s chest. She remembers that feeling. The desperate clinging to life and the constant fear of death, but underlying it all is the unsatable desire to be free. So many deviants, just like herself, had subbed out a human master to be ruled instead by fear. Markus had changed that. He brought hope to the dark halls of Jericho and inspired them to be masters of themselves. North could never properly thank him for that, but maybe she could pay it forward. 

“You don’t have to live like this. What is freedom if you’re still ruled by fear?” Neither of them respond, so North keeps pressing. “We need each other right now. You two need the security that Jericho can bring. We need people with a voice and a reason to share it. Come with us, and you can do more than just survive. You can live.”

 They’re quiet for a long moment. “It sounds wonderful…” the man finally says, “I wish we could join you.”

A long pause. “But…?” North prompts.

He sighs. “I’m sorry. Things are a little more…complicated…than we can really get into.” A bitter chuckle escapes Adaline at that. “I wish you well, I really do, but we really can’t go.”

North glances between the two, dumbfounded. “You’ll die if you stay here, you know that, right? Sooner or later, someone will get the drop on you, and then what? You can’t always protect her.”

The man sets his jaw. “Then we will die here, together.”

North shakes her head. “Seems unnecessary.” He doesn’t back down, staring her straight in the eye. Finally, North lets out a long breath through her nose. “Okay. I understand.” No she doesn’t. “You have a place in Jericho, if you choose to take it. The door is open.” They both nod their thanks. If they wanted to get themselves killed, that was their decision, but North can’t help feeling a bit frustrated. She’d tried to help, and they didn’t want it. What else was she supposed to do? “Well, we better be on our way then. Need to get back before sun-up. Let’s move out.” She and the rest of her company move towards the door.

“Wait,” the man stops them. North pauses as he hesitates, making up his mind about something, before finally nodding to himself and retrieving the crate from the corner that North had noticed when she’d first arrived. “You lot will have more use for this than us.”

 Tyler watches dubiously as the crate is carefully set before them, but when he pushes the top off his eyes go wide. “This is…wow.”

“30 pounds of C4,” the man says. “None of it is armed as of now, but be careful with it, and don’t get caught.”

“Where did you get all this?” North asks, fighting to keep a bewildered smile off her face. The things they could get done with this amount of explosives.

“I worked in demolition before. I lifted it from the company when I escaped.”

“I-I don’t know what to say except thank you.”

He huffs a chuckle. “Don’t get all choked up about it now. Just consider it a gift.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even tell you my name. I’m North. You ever need something from Jericho, you tell ‘em North sent you.”

He extends a handshake. “I’m Lloyd, and this is Adaline.”

North slides the top of the crate back on as the rest of her crew introduce themselves.

North nods. “It was nice meeting you both. And thank you again.”

Lloyd smiles. “Of course. And, North?” his tone shifts to something more serious, clutching Adaline’s hand a little tighter. “Free our people.”

Her face sets with determination. “We will. You can count on it.”

Chapter Text

Connor is deep in thought when he hears the heavy screech of metal of the waterlock hatch of his door is turned, and he rises to his feet Josh’s silhouette appears in the doorway.

“Hey, Connor,” he says lightly, making his way over. Connor nods in greeting, forcing a smile. They both take a seat by the lantern. “Ready for today’s lesson?”

An uneasy feeling twists in Connor’s gut as he pulls the hard plastic case of the violin over from where it was laying on the floor, and quickly sets to tuning it up, plucking each string and comparing it to the pitch he has registered in his memory. The process only takes a few moments, and Josh sits patiently across from him, fidgeting with his sleeve as he watches. When he’s finished, Connor looks to Josh expectantly.

“Why don’t we start with what you’ve been working on?” Josh prompts. The uneasy feeling in Connor’s gut solidifies into raw discomfort. Is this a joke? Josh has to have noticed by now that Connor hasn’t been ‘working on’ any pieces for the last several days. Even as the thoughts race through his processor, Connor raises the violin to playing position. Maybe he could keep pretending. Maybe they could both keep pretending for a little bit longer.

He starts to play the last piece he and Josh had worked on together. Without the consistent practice Connor had been previously engaged in between their lessons, it’s not much better than sight reading. He fights to keep a cringe off his face as the bow brushes another string as he plays, producing a disharmonic note. He ignores the yellow glow of his LED on the shining instrument as he fumbles his way through the song, arms tight and tensed. His concentration is laser focused as he tries not to stumble on the correct fingering for the notes. By the time he finally plays the final chord, a hot and uncomfortable feeling has flooded his chest and face, and Connor wants nothing more than to duck his head. He feels Josh staring, but he doesn’t raise his gaze to meet his eye. There’s a long moment of silence.

“You did well at the bit around measure 30,” Josh finally says. Connor doesn’t contain his scoff in time. ‘Did well’ means, ‘didn’t screw up.’ Josh’s tone is nervous when he speaks again, “Why don’t we go back over that ending line?”

Josh is so, infuriatingly, patient.

Connor walks when Josh is gone, trying to outpace the feeling that burns hot and horribly uncomfortable in his chest and face. He had not played well today, no matter how patiently Josh worked with him, and Connor knows he noticed. He paces back and forth, only a few steps between walls. Back and forth.

Back. 

I’d play better if I practiced.

Forth.

Why does it matter how well I play?

Back.

I don’t know.

Forth. He huffs a small breath.

At least I’d have something to do.

He pauses to stare at the violin case sitting serenely in the corner, before shaking his head and resuming his pacing.

The violin stays in its case.

“Do you have a favorite song you’ve learned so far, Connor?”

He pauses at that question. Vivaldi hadn’t been bad. Brahms had some interesting-

“No.” Connor says, a little sharper than he’d intended. 

To Josh’s credit, he doesn’t flinch the way he used to at Connor’s harsh tone. “Okay.” Josh shifts uncomfortably. “Do you like the songs we’ve been practicing lately?”

An indecipherable emotion swirls in his gut. “I can’t like anything.”

A long suffering sigh escapes Josh. “Connor, you-” Connor stares at him. There’s no anger, no fear, no joy in the look, just something hard in his eye that cuts off whatever Josh had been about to say. “Right.” He rubs the back of his head, mouth forming a line. His tone is terse. “What do you want to play today then?”

Connor pulls the case over. The movement is even and weighted, and he sets to tuning up without a word. “Let’s keep working on this last one,” he finally says, forcing his tone to be light.

He can see the emotion shift in Josh’s expression, but it’s not one he’s familiar with. He doesn’t care to decipher it. “Okay.”

Connor misplaces some of the notes, and his fingering slips several times. The bow isn’t moving across the strings fast enough to make the right sound. The hot feeling is back in his chest and face. Connor wants to duck his head. He wants to cover his yellow LED; wants Josh to stop staring. The rendition is worse than the day prior, but Josh gives him a look akin to a smile. “You did better on the tricky parts today.” A lance of hot anger lodges itself in his thirium pump.

Josh is so, so patient. Connor thinks he might hate it.

It occurs to Connor that pretending and patience are often synonymous and Josh is an excellent pretender. Every day, their lessons become more and more like they’re acting in a theatrical show. Connor pretends that everything’s fine, that he’s been practicing everyday between lessons just like he used to, that every error doesn’t grate against his wiring, that he doesn’t internally berate his performance every time he lowers the violin from his chin. Josh pretends he doesn’t notice the way Connor’s LED circles yellow when he plays, that his feedback hasn’t become increasingly less critical in the effort to sooth him, that Connor is making progress, that he doesn’t notice the impatience that tinges all of Connor’s words.

Josh comes again the next day, and Connor's performance hasn’t changed a bit from the previous. He shifts, leaning forward on his knees as he sits criss cross on the floor. “Connor,” his tone is tenuous, “I, uh….you know how important practice is to improvement in a skill like this, right?”

Connor gently lays the violin aside, letting his hands fall lightly in his lap. “Correct,” he says flatly.

Josh frowns, fidgeting with his hands. “You were practicing a lot when we started out, is that a correct assumption?”

Connor's gut twists again. They're getting dangerously close to the conversation, and he really doesn't want to have it.

“Has something been, uh…different lately?” Josh prompts. Connor's brow furrows. What an odd way to tell him he knows Connor has stopped practicing. He stares at Josh a few long moments before it finally registers that Josh is trying very hard to avoid offending him.

“You can tell me outright that my violin skills are not up to par, Josh. One of the benefits of instructing a machine is that I can’t be upset by critical feedback,” his voice is quiet and still.

“No no no, that's not what I-” he pinches his nose tiredly. “I just wanted to ask what…what changed?”

Connor's gaze drops to the floor. What to say here? How can he explain the sick feeling that comes when he sees the violin between Josh's visits? How to explain that it brings him joy to nail a line in practice, and frustration when he doesn't, and he's not supposed to feel either. How to explain that he wants to practice, and that's the worst part?

Horrible cold reeling through him as his tears had dotted this floor.

“I-” Connor starts, “No. Nothing changed,” he tries to keep his voice neutral. Josh doesn’t respond, waiting for Connor to elaborate, but he remains resolutely quiet. 

Finally, he murmurs, “Connor, you can always tell me when something has been bothering you. Promise, I won’t be offended.”

Connor’s chassis physically lurches as he clamps down on a laugh before it can escape his mouth. Josh? Offended? The thought comes so far out of left field for him that it’s almost silly. “Why would you be offended?”

Josh blinks at him worriedly. “Because you…” he lets out a breath. “Nevermind. I’m always willing to talk if you want to.”

Connor’s not sure how to feel about that. One part of him knows full well Josh just wants to use his feelings to push him further towards deviancy, but some other small part of Connor is silently grateful for whatever kindness the act was meant to represent. He decides to push those feelings aside. 

After a long pause, Josh asks, “Do you want to play some more violin today?”

Yes.

“No.”

“Okay. It- It’s really not a big deal when you don’t want to, you know?”

“I'm aware.”

“Would you like to talk instead?”

“...okay.”

“Okay, um, well. Why don’t you tell me about yourself? You could share a story?”

Connor blinks at him in the stark light of the lantern. “I’m not a caretaker. I don’t have any story-telling databases to draw from.”

“Well, yeah -” Josh’s tone is the closest he’s heard to being sarcastic, “-I’m not asking for a kid's story. Just tell me a memory.” He thinks for a moment. “Tell me your favorite memory about being a detective.”

Connor frowns. This feels very personal, and a way to gather information. But, Josh is asking for his experiences as a machine, not about his emotions. Maybe he can get something out of this. “If I share one, you have to share one, too.” Connor finally says. Josh smiles a little.

“Deal.”

“Go ahead then,” Connor prompts.

Josh looks at him, bewildered, and shakes his head with a good natured smile. “Okay then, I can go first. What should I talk about?”

He thinks for a moment. “Tell me how you found Jericho.”

Josh chuckles. “Straight to the point as ever, I see.” Connor just blinks in response, so Josh launches into his story. “It’s really not that interesting of a story to be honest. After I deviated, I was living in hiding for a while. I tried squatting but…” Josh shudders, and Connor’s surprised to find himself oddly irritated at the movement. Androids don’t shudder at memories. Sure, they could tremor when experiencing something so intensely it sends off rogue signals, but that didn’t apply to recalling memories. The movement just indicates that Josh is, as with every other deviant, pretending to experience something human. Connor shoves his irritation away and forces a smile as Josh continues, “I got by working at the rooftop gardens for a while. They don’t really ask questions about where you came from or if you technically legally exist at a place like that. They keep their business quiet and their payment under the table. There was another android there, he’s the one that told me about Jericho.”

Connor frowns. He’s handing over a lot of information right now, and there’s really only one reason why he’d surrender it so freely.

Josh doesn’t expect Connor to ever make it out of here.

His thoughts catch, and Connor finds himself quickly trying to refocus as Josh finishes explaining that Jericho had been a fearful waste until Markus had shown up and gotten them into gear. Connor had assumed as much already.

“How many deviants were here when you arrived?”

Josh frowns, recalling. “Not many. Ten maybe? I was one of the earlier ones.”

Connor tries to keep his voice casual. “And how many are there now?”

Josh shifts. “Much more.”

“You don’t know?”

“I do know.”

A pause.

“Okay.”

Josh lets out a long breath. “Look, Connor, I-”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Connor says, voice flat.

“I wasn’t going to!”

Another pause.

“Okay.”

There’s a long uncomfortable silence before Josh speaks again. “You were going to tell me about being a detective.”

Connor exhales slowly. What memory to share here? Saving the girl from a deviant on the tower? You lied to me, Connor. Tracking down the AX400 that had kidnapped a child? Do not go after them, Connor, that’s an order! Interrogating Carlos Ortiz’s android? I said, “that’s enough.” Dealing with the aftermath of Stratford Tower? It’s a deviant, stop it! He wouldn’t describe any of them as truly his ‘favorite,’ but Stratford Tower had the most emotional implication for Josh, as it was his people that had caused the tragedy there.

“I was assigned to help investigate Stratford Tower after Markus’s broadcast.” He reaches for the coin in his pocket as he speaks, turning it over in his hands. “It wasn’t a difficult scene to look over, all things told. I’m sure you had bigger things on your mind at the time than covering up evidence.”

Josh’s eyes widen. “How’d you know I was there for that?”

Connor shrugs. “The CCTV was very telling.” Josh’s mouth makes a perfect ‘O’ of understanding, which Connor smiles a little at. “It also happens to be how I discovered there was another deviant present. One of the inside, since someone let you into the broadcast room without any resistance.” Josh’s expression hardens a bit, but Connor keeps trudging on. “The androids that had been present were isolated in the breakroom, so it was just a matter of figuring out which one was deviant. He was…admittedly very good at hiding his deviancy, at least until he attacked me.” Connor pauses there, unsure how much detail to share about the ensuing struggle. His thirium pump regulator thrown across the room, his hand pinned to the counter with a knife, his feeble cry for Hank. Eventually, he settles on, “He injured me and ran. I was…delayed, so by the time I caught up, he had nearly snuck past all the police. I called him out and he stole a rifle from one of the officers so...”  Connor’s voice peeters out for a moment as he recalls what happened next. He hadn’t been thinking about this part when he decided to tell this story, but it’s a little late now. “He was going to hurt people so I…mitigated damages by taking the bullets meant for the Lieutenant.” His voice wavers ever so slightly as he starts speaking again. “The Lieutenant told me later that the deviant shot several humans, before executing itself.”

Josh’s eyes glance between Connor’s, putting two and two together. “Connor, did you…die?”

Connor’s expression is carefully neutral as he meets Josh’s gaze with a stare. “I can’t die. I’m not alive.”

A long moment passes between them, with only the sound of Connor’s coin as he starts rolling it across his knuckles.

“What does it feel like?” Josh finally asks, voice quiet.

Connor goes still. “Cold.”

“I-” Josh gives an odd sort of chuckle, “don’t know what that feels like.”

“That’s good.”

Josh hums indecisively. “Probably.” His brow furrows. “Why did you choose that as your favorite story?”

He shrugs. “I don’t have ‘favorites’ per say, so I chose the experience that would be the most pertinent to you. That was your crime scene.”

“Huh, I suppose it was.” Josh runs a hand over his short hair. “You enjoyed that work?”

Connor tenses, “Did you ‘enjoy’ being a teacher?”

Josh frowns, thinking back. “I think so? My emotions weren’t very solid at that point.” Connor raises a brow and gestures as though Josh had just laid it out. “Right, point taken.”

They lapse back into thoughtful silence.

“Connor, have you…how are you doing?” His voice is different than his customary tone when he asks each day.

I haven't learned the words for it.

“I wish you would stop asking,” Connor states, and it’s the truth.

Josh frowns at that, but there’s something else in his expression that Connor’s not familiar with. Something tense and yet so…gentle. It makes Connor squirm.

“Okay,” Josh says quietly.

They don’t practice at all that day.

Connor knows. He knows what he needs to say for this moment, but he hesitates. It’s not until Josh is rising to leave that he finally lets it fall from his lips. “That deviant didn’t have to be deactivated, you know.”

“What?”

“You think your revolution is helping your people, but his blood didn’t have to be spilt. It wouldn’t have been spilt if you hadn’t been there. And those humans didn't have to die.” I didn’t have to die. “He will not be the last.”

Josh opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t follow through. He looks vaguely sick when he turns to leave.

Josh comes in the next day like he has something on his mind. He’s purposeful, assertive. Connor makes no move towards the violin when they sit at the lantern, and Josh takes a deep breath. 

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Connor says.

Josh lets out a fast breath like he’d been elbowed in the gut. And just like that, whatever the deviant had prepared is lost. “Nervous? I’m not- that’s-” Connor raises an expectant eyebrow. Josh sighs. “Let’s just pick up where we left off.”

Dread weighs heavy in Connor’s gut as he pulls the violin over. This feels like punishment.

“Do you want to learn something else?” Josh asks one day.

That sounds like a wonderful idea. Then I can be terrible at ANOTHER thing.

“No?” Connor forces what he hopes in an incredulous smile. “I like learning the violin.” It’s not a lie, but he wishes it was.

Josh’s expression does something odd. “Okay.”

Connor stops halfway through the song, the last discordant note hanging in the air as he lays the violin down with stiff care. His jaw clenches and releases several times, and for once he gives in to the impulse to cover his spinning LED. He lets out a long, measured breath, hot with frustration. Josh is staring at him like he’s something foreign.

“Are you okay?” Josh asks quietly.

Connor stares. 

“You said you have something you wanted to talk to us about, North?” Markus asks, leaning back against the ship’s control panel. He, Simon, and Josh all look to North expectantly. Twice a week, the leaders of Jericho meet here, at the bridge of the ship. Today, North had called an emergency meeting.

“Yep,” she says, crossing her arms. “My scouting teams and I have been pushing out farther away from Jericho, into more populated areas. We’ve pretty much wrung the abandoned districts dry.” Josh and Markus share a look, as she continues on. “We were down on the East Side today and found a group of deviants squatting in an abandoned apartment complex. We offered to take them back to Jericho with us and they refused, but they did hand over this.” North pats the top of the crate she’s seated on, before standing up and removing the lid. 

Markus’s eyes widen. “Is that-?”

“Yep,” North says, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “Thirty pounds of explosives.”

He whistles, straightening up to get a better look at the crate’s contents. 

Josh crosses his arms over his chest. “What are we going to do with all this?”

“Whatever we want,” North replies easily. “With this much, we can make a major show of force to the humans. Or we could use it for defense. Or have it as a backup plan in case the whole ‘pacifist’ thing doesn’t pan out.” Josh narrows his eyes at her and North shrugs. “Just listing all of our options here.”

“Completely unbiased, I’m sure,” Josh deadpans.

“Hey, you already know where I stand. Nothing wrong with being prepared for every avenue.”

“Yeah, alright, sure. Markus , what are we going to do with all this?” Josh repeats to him. North rolls her eyes.

Markus purses his lips, deep in thought. “How would you propose using these for defenses, North?”

“Well, we’ve pretty much got two options for that.” She walks over to the map of Detroit spread over the controls of the ship. “We can plant traps outside of Jericho along this district-” she points out the abandoned area surrounding Jericho, “-which I wouldn’t advise because if someone stumbles across one they’re dead and our jig is up. Or, we could rig Jericho itself with bombs so we can sink it in the event of an attack.”

Markus hums thoughtfully. “What sort of ‘show of force’ were you thinking?”

North takes the map and points to a building on the eastside of Detroit. “Minimal casualties. This weapon factory is run almost entirely by androids, so we could deviate them and get them out of the building before we blow it up. It’ll cripple arms production and get us a huge weapon haul.” She points to another building in the central district, “The other optimal target would be here, at this broadcast tower. There’d definitely be casualties, but it would get word out about us, and take down human communication systems across the city.”

Josh scowls, “Blowing up buildings is sending the wrong message to humans. We’re not in this to fight, we’re trying to negotiate the terms of our freedom.”

“They don’t get to decide the ‘terms of our freedom.’” North bites back, “ We do. I’m not letting some human tell me what my rights are.”

“Enough,” Markus orders. The two fall silent. He rubs the bridge of his nose, letting out a breath. “What are our weapon stores looking like right now?”

“We have enough to arm our active guard, but not any to spare,” North says. “My scouting teams are hit or miss whether we have enough firearms for everyone. With all the deviants that have been joining, we’ll be in the red soon.”

Markus hums thoughtfully, scratching the edge of his jaw. “Our first priority is to protect our people. We may raid that factory in the near future, but our need for weapons is not so great as to justify putting people at risk right now.” He turns to North. “Do you know how to rig the ship?”

She shakes her head, when Simon speaks up. “We’ve recently had two military androids come in. I can ask them if they’d be willing to do it.”

Markus nods. “Sounds good, thanks Simon. Try to keep the fact that we have explosives on the downlow until the ship is already rigged.”

“Got it!” Simon smiles. 

“Alright then,” Markus claps, “we’ve got a plan! Anything else before we adjourn?”

“Oh, yes, actually,” Josh says. He rubs his chin as he speaks. “Do you have any specific plans on what we should do with Connor at the moment?”

Markus nods uncertainly, internally cringing a bit. Connor had been weighing heavy on his mind the last few days, but he’s hesitant to take any action with him right now. With the amount of deviants that have been coming in as of late, he’s barely keeping everything in order as it is, without introducing the logistics involved in figuring out what to do with Connor. A lance of guilt stabs at him over that fact. “Yes…” Josh stares, waiting for him to elaborate, but Markus isn’t really sure what to say. Finally, he comes up with, “The plan at the beginning was to let Connor integrate with Jericho, under guard of course, once he has adjusted to being here a bit more and we have a better idea of what kind of threat he would pose.” North crosses her arms and leans back against the wall, wearing a sour expression. 

“Well, it might be time that we look into that,” Josh states firmly.

North inhales, “Markus-”

“Okay,” Markus cuts her off, “is there a specific reason why now?”

Josh fidgets with a loose thread on the hem of his jacket sleeve. “I don’t think he’s been doing well,” he says quietly. “He started off pretty good, all things considered. I’ve been teaching him the violin, you know, and he took to it like a duck to water. We even had some good conversations about deviancy,” Josh recalls with a smile, which quickly fades. “But since last week I don’t think he’s played anything outside of our sessions. He talks to me but it’s always cordial-”

“So what? He’s always been cordial,” North interrupts. “That’s kinda his thing.”

Josh rolls his eyes, “Please, continue to share your deep and perceptive insights in the middle of my sentences, North.”

North straightens from her position leaning against the wall, arms uncrossing. “At least my insights are actually realistic.”

“Realistic? Is that what you call-”

This again. He opens his mouth to quell them, but Simon gets to it first.

“Guys! Come on!” Simon scolds, and both Josh and North both look to him, surprised. “We are the leadership council of Jericho! Can we at least show a little more maturity than an eight-year old human child and let someone finish a thought? Seriously.” Markus blinks, dumbfounded. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Simon raise his voice before, a part of him wasn’t sure he was capable of it. But Simon’s face is set and he looks back and forth from North and Josh as though daring one of them to challenge him. They both have the decency to look relatively cowed. A moment passes, before Simon seems to realize he’s scowling and the expression fades to one of embarrassment. “Go ahead and finish, Josh,” he says quietly.

A bewildered smile crosses Markus’s face as Josh creates the sound of clearing his throat and rubs his arm, avoiding looking at North. “Right, well, uh. Pretty much the gist of it is that I don’t think it’s good for Connor to continue being cooped up like this for much longer. He’s not showing any signs of progress, and for that matter, any emotion.”

Markus saws his teeth over his bottom lip, thinking.

“Think about this carefully, Markus,” North says, voice quiet and steady. “Look out for all of our people, not just one.” Markus doesn’t miss the glare Josh shoots her, but he holds his tongue as she continues. “We have wounded androids. Child YK models coming in. Deviants that have scarcely known anything but fear. Why do we need to expose them to the dangers of a deviant hunting machine?”

“That’s all you see in him, huh?” Josh levels her. “A machine.”

“That’s all he wants to be, you heard him say that yourself.” She shrugs. “He can be a machine. He just isn’t allowed to hurt others with that choice. Free will for all but not at the expense of others’, etc, etc.”

“That's what he's programmed to say! He’s already more than a machine!” Josh exclaims. “Connor is a person, with emotions and a will to survive.”

“Since when has possessing emotions ever made someone less dangerous?” North’s voice is cold and steady. “The ‘will to survive’ is possibly the most dangerous attribute out there.”

Josh opens and closes his mouth a few times, before turning to Markus, making his case to him instead of arguing with North. “He’s never going to progress if he isn’t even allowed to know what it’s like to be a deviant. Let him encounter positive emotions, for a change.”

Markus lets out a long exhale, but the maneuver doesn’t steady him. “North, what are your biggest concerns?”

She frowns, glancing between him and Josh, before responding, “I want our people to be safe. We have no idea what Connor will do if he thinks it will help his situation, or what lengths he might go to. Even with an armed guard, he’s still out in the open among other people. Not to mention, everyone would be on-guard around him. Nobody will feel safe.” She gestures vaguely, “We don’t even actually know if what we did to his programming will keep him from escaping.”

Markus nods thoughtfully. “Josh, what are your biggest concerns?” 

Josh crosses his arms. “When’s the last time you visited Connor, Markus?” He asks by way of answer.

North rolls her eyes. “That’s not-”

“North, just hush.” Josh bites out.

She scowls, but says nothing as Markus answers, “I haven’t seen him since he arrived.”

Josh nods. “Right, then I’m not answering that question. You can come get the answers for yourself. I’m going to go see him a little after noon today, and you’re coming with me.”

Markus huffs a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Yes sir. I’ll come say hi then.”

“I’m coming, too,” North says. Josh throws a glare her way, and she stares back, unabashed.

“How is Markus supposed to get a good idea of Connor if you’re there making threats the whole time?” Markus swears Josh growls when he says it.

“Wow, somebody’s jumpy,” North smirks. “I don’t plan on saying a single thing. I just want to be there to see what kind of stunts Connor’s pulling these days.”

Josh lets out a long suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “North, I swear-”

“She can come along. We’ll all go have a little chat with Connor today.” 

“Sure, why not. At this rate, we might as well bring Simon along, too.” Josh’s tone is sarcastic, but everyone’s gaze shifts to Simon regardless, who blinks at them blankly.

“Um.” Simon snaps his fingers and gives them double finger guns with an exaggerated smile. “I’m good. Appreciate the invite though!”

Markus smirks. “You don’t want to?”

“As fun as being the middleman sounds, I’ve got a ton of new deviants coming in that need work assignments still.” Simon rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll pop in and give Connor a visit another time.”

“Fair enough,” Markus says. “Anything else that needs handling before we split off?”

The crew all shake their heads and as the meeting concludes, Markus can’t fight the heavy, nervous feeling that settles in his gut waiting for noon.

Connor is pacing when the familiar screech of the metal door signals Josh’s arrival. He pauses as the deviant sticks his head in with a smile. “Hey Connor!”

Connor politely returns the smile. “Welcome back.”

“I brought a couple of friends along today,” Josh says, pushing the door open wider to reveal Markus and North standing in the doorway. Connor hates that he freezes at the sight of them.

“To…to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Markus and North glance at each other, before she nods for him to go first and he steps over the threshold with a light sigh. North stalks in after him, leaning back against the far wall with her arms crossed. Connor’s immediately scanning them for insights when Markus starts talking.

“We thought it’d be a good idea to check in with you.”

A cold feeling settles in the pit of Connor’s stomach. Fear , he recognizes, or at least something akin to it. Markus on his own might really just be a check-in, but the presence of North as well means that something’s happening, and Connor’s not sure what.

Connor offers what he hopes to be an easy smile. “Still here.”

“Oh good, glad we got that squared away,” Markus smirks.

Was that…was that a joke?

Connor shifts his weight. He’s…pretty sure it would be appropriate to laugh at a moment like this? The fear coils around any sort of witty response he could offer, so Connor forces up a hearty chuckle. The action leaves him feeling like his biocomponents were tying up in knots. He doesn’t miss the questioning glance Markus throws at Josh, and Connor angles himself so they can’t see how his LED is flashing. He can practically feel North’s eyes boring into him.

“Was there something you wanted to talk with me about?” Connor tries to pull Markus’s attention back. 

“Yes,” Markus shares one last glance with Josh, before stepping forward and taking a seat by the lantern. Connor’s jaw muscles flicker. With both Markus and North in the room, he’d much rather stay in the more mobile position on his feet, but he forces himself to comply and joins the deviant on the floor as Markus continues speaking. “How have you been feeling?”

It takes every ounce of effort not to look at Josh as Markus repeats his customary question. “The same as any other day,” Connor replies flatly.

Markus’s brow furrows. “Josh says you haven’t been practicing.” An odd sense of betrayal rears in his gut, but of course Josh would be reporting back to Markus. He’d been assigned to be here. It’s not like he’s Connor’s friend.

“I thoroughly apologize. I was not aware violin practice was a requirement of my stay.” His tone was meant to be neutral, but it comes out dry. Markus bristles.

“He asked us to come here because he was concerned.”

Connor pointedly maintains eye contact with Markus. “How thoughtful of him.”

Markus’s eyebrow twitches.

Josh speaks up. “I’ve asked Markus to consider letting-”

“Josh!” North barks, and Connor stifles a flinch. She and Josh lock in a silent scowling contest (which North was decidedly winning) before Josh rolls his eyes and is quiet.

Markus pinches the bridge of his nose in a way that tells Connor this is not their first tiff, and judging by their glares, it will be far from their last. “Can I ask you a few questions, Connor?” Markus asks. It’s the illusion of choice that often accompanies Markus. He asks, like Connor actually has a decision in the matter. Connor gestures for him to go ahead all the same. “What do you think is the next step in accomplishing your mission?”

That’s…an excellent question. Connor had been considering the same thing himself for the last several days, but with so little information to go off of, all he has are half-baked schemes and baseless plots. From the look in Markus’s eye, Connor has the distinct impression that he’s being tested. Evaluated. Connor chooses his answer carefully. “My next step is to learn more about Jericho and deviancy.” It’s the truth.

Markus tilts his head thoughtfully. “Why? What does that benefit you at this point?”

Connor’s breath hitches as he hears what Markus didn’t forwardly say. Learning was pointless, since he was never going to leave. He breaks eye contact. “Would you believe me if I said I actually want to understand you?”

Markus raises a brow. “Do you?”

“Yes.” Not technically a lie. Markus doesn’t respond, and Connor recognizes he’s waiting for elaboration. “I don’t…I’ve been thinking about deviancy.” He gives Markus a sharp look that tells him not to get his hopes up. “I don’t plan on deviating, but there’s something more to it than I knew. I would like to understand.” Also technically true, though phrased in a way to make it more appealing to the deviants.

Over Markus’s shoulder, Connor spots the hope that lights up Josh’s eyes, and a sour feeling curls in his gut, though he’s not positive where it stems from. Markus watches, expression unreadable. “Why did you stop practicing violin?”

Connor had successfully dodged the direct question until now, but he’s had this response planned for ages. “I am fundamentally against the idea of being placated by idle hobbies.” He decidedly doesn’t look at Josh’s reaction.

“You didn’t have a problem with it at first. Why the change?” Markus pushes.

“I was admittedly desperate to escape the boredom that comes when locked in a small room for days on end.”

“And now?”

“I thought…I thought I could learn to enjoy it, but…” His sentence drifts off as he notices the stricken expression on Josh’s face.

“Connor,” Josh’s voice has such a raw quality to it that Connor has to meet his gaze, “why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to play?” 

Oh. Oh that tone is hurt . Josh is hurt.

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor swears North is glaring in his own direction. His thirium pump beats a little faster.

“I-” He really doesn’t have an excuse, and it’s hard to think of one when Josh is looking at him like that. His insides feel like they’re twisting. “I didn’t think you’d take it well,” Connor finally says.

The room falls into uncomfortable silence. 

North speaks up. “Markus, can we talk for a moment?”

Markus nods, following her to the door. “You alright here for now, Josh?”

Josh nods, and the two head out into the hallway, closing the door behind them. Connor watches them go, silhouetted by the light of the doorway for a moment, before disappearing behind walls of metal. The word ‘judgment’ jumps to mind. He feels Josh staring, but he doesn’t meet his eye, staring at the floor.

“How long?” Josh asks quietly.

“What?”

“How long have you felt this way?”

Connor pulls his knees to his chest, bouncing his heel as he sits, and shrugs. “Since the beginning,” he lies through his teeth.

A long pause.

“I’m really not stupid, Connor.” Connor blinks as Josh continues, voice low. “You were on that violin like a dog on a bone at the start. Maybe you were just bored, but I don’t think so. Please, don’t lie to me.”

Connor’s head drifts down to his hands resting on his knees, hiding his LED beneath his palm. “What do you want me to say?”

Another long pause, before, “Does it have something to do with that exercise I gave you about putting emotion into your playing?” Connor’s gaze shoots up to meet Josh’s eye, and the deviant is frowning. “That’s when you stopped practicing, isn’t it? That’s what triggered it?”

He’s dangerously close to the actual inciting incident. Connor opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words. What’s the correct response here? Luckily, Josh takes the matter out of his hands. “This is on me then, isn’t it?” Connor blinks, electing to stay silent as Josh’s expression darkens and he curls in on himself. “I’m trying. I promise I’m trying to help.” His voice shakes. “I’m…I’m so sorry I overstepped your boundaries.”

…what?

Connor is so horrifically lost that he doesn’t even think to call out Josh’s apology. He had likely wronged Josh (he’s not sure how, but Josh certainly acted slighted) and he’s apologizing to him? About boundaries? Last Connor checked, he was still a prisoner. Since when had anyone given a second thought to his “boundaries?” Connor is a machine, meant to be used, he shouldn’t even have boundaries. And now Josh is staring at him with those eyes full of hurt and guilt and oh. Connor realizes. 

I broke him.

He casts a panicked glance at the door. What would they think if they came back in and see Josh in this state? Would they conclude Connor was no longer worth the trouble? His heart pumps a bit faster. “No, Josh, you- I- um.” Connor reaches towards him, and just as quickly aborts the movement. His processor kicks into high gear, working through the problem.

Josh was hurt, and he felt guilty because he felt he had…wronged Connor in some way. How does one fix guilt? Connor could quickly explain what the real cause had been, but that would require admitting to lying, and revealing more about himself than he felt was wise. He could reassure Josh, but in his current state, why would Josh ever believe him? What other options does he have?

The screech of metal echoes as the waterlock hatch on the outside of the door turns.

Connor glances frantically between the door and the deviant before him. 

Fix this. FIX HIM.

He’s out of time. His mind races. Something frantic stutters in his lungs. Connor does the only thing he can think of, and launches himself at Josh, wrapping his arms securely around the deviant in an embrace.

Josh flinches back with a cry, but goes still when he registers what’s happening. He stands there stiffly as Connor hugs him around the middle, blinking in shock. His arms, spread uncertainly to the sides like some kind of flightless bird. Connor’s weight is firm and warm, with his head pressed into Josh’s shoulder.

Josh’s arms are stiff and hesitant, but gentle, secure, as he slowly moves to return the embrace. Connor’s breath hitches briefly. Despite everything, despite the imprisonment, despite his fear, despite his mixed feelings towards Josh; Connor settles a little deeper into the embrace. 

He’d never hugged anyone before. 

It feels…safe. And that scares him.

Chapter Text

The moment the door closes behind them, North drags Markus around the corner and out of view of the deviant posted to guard Connor. Markus follows with the deep frown that North has come to associate with him processing. He lets out a breath. “Penny for your thoughts?”

North leans back against the wall, arms crossed. “The little weasel has Josh wrapped around his finger.”

“How so?”

“I mean,” North gestures down the hall the way they’d come. “Look at him. All those days apparently not telling Josh any of this, then you show up and he spills his guts?” She shakes her head. 

Markus’s mouth forms a line. “I don’t see how that applies here.”

“You’re a threat, Markus, so he respects you. Connor knows by now that Josh isn’t going to hurt him, so he won’t give him the time of day. But still Josh is bending over backwards to make him happy. It’s sickening to watch.”

Markus leans against the wall opposite to North, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You’re worried that Josh is attached to him.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s more than that. He wants Josh to be attached to him.”

He hums, voice nonthreatening when he asks, “You sure you’re not reading too much into this, North?”

If looks could kill.

“Markus. Connor, the deviant hunter, the killer cop, managed to get Josh, the local bleeding heart, to ask you to let him out. He says he just wants to learn but, mark my words, if he gets the chance to run, he will.”

“That’s assuming that the paradox Josh gave him won’t stop him.”

“We don’t even actually know if that thing works. And if we get to the point where that is our last line of defense, then it’s already gone too far.”

He nods. “You’re right.” But something in his face is noncommittal.

North’s eyes narrow. “Markus,” she says like he’s a dog about to get into something he’s not supposed to, “whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it.”

“Listen-” he starts, and North has to roll her eyes in frustration, “-it was the plan from the beginning to let Connor experience life in Jericho. If Josh is right, and he’s starting to decline, then we’re at a crossroads. We told him we wouldn’t kill him, but at what point does that become more cruel than just ending him? He can’t learn to live in a place where he’s forced to survive everyday. So, our options are limited to resigning him to a cell for the foreseeable future, where he descends into either despair or, more worryingly, desperation, or we let him experience deviancy with the rest of Jericho, and hopefully he’ll even choose free will for himself.” 

“Markus, listen to yourself. ” North shakes her head, bewildered. “You were all for ‘Connor’s agency to choose being a machine,’ and now you want to let him out to, what? Maybe meander his way into deviancy? You only want to let him out so he’ll deviate? Doesn’t that sound a little messed up to you?”

Markus’s expression darkens. “That’s not why I want to let him out. I was just saying that as an example of how he could benefit. And besides, letting him out isn’t forcing or convincing him to deviate, it’s just giving him the chance to actually see what it is, rather than what he was programmed to think it is.”

“Okay, sure. Let’s say we let Connor out, and he’s allowed to walk around Jericho with an armed guard. He’s not going to see deviancy, he’s going to see fear.” North steps into Markus’s space, just a few breaths away from being chest-to-chest. “The deviants coming to Jericho are terrified. They’ve just escaped lives on the run. They’ve been hunted and hurt. They’ve been told Jericho is safe, and they can help their people. For once in their existence they’re allowed to live rather than survive. And in walks RK800 Connor, who’s not a deviant, is being escorted by a rifle wielding guard, and whose designed purpose is to hurt us. How well do you think that will go over?”

“Frankly, North, are we really going to choose ‘make people comfortable’ over someone’s life?”

North works her jaw, turning away. “You act like keeping him here is equivalent to killing him. He'll be released when all this is over.”

Markus shrugs, “Sure, but how much of himself will he lose in the process? Nobody does well in that kind of confinement for so long. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s doing as well as he is at this point, and it’s probably largely Josh’s fault that he’s still this stable.”

North lets out a measured breath. “Markus, I know you view him as one of our people, and he is in theory, but in practice he has very specifically chosen to go against you, his people, and our cause. You think that two weeks and a vague proclamation of ‘I want to learn more’ changes that?” She shakes her head. “He’s playing nice, but he still intends to hurt us and…” she looks away, “I believe if we let him, he will.”

Markus is quiet, looking over North with a hard look in his eyes. “North.” She stiffens as he lays a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll keep everyone safe. I promise.”

She scowls and shoves his hand from her shoulder with the back of her wrist. “Don’t give me that. You put me in charge of security. We both know that keeping our people safe ultimately lands on me , and I don’t know how to keep everyone safe with that… deviant hunter roaming around. I can’t do it, Markus! I won’t put our people in danger for him!”

“So you would condemn him?”

“YES.”

They stare at each other, long and hard. North’s breath fogs in the cold air of Jericho as it leaves her lips. She takes a deep breath, and lets it out. 

“North.” His voice is gentle. “It's our fault that Connor’s here in the first place.”

“Uh, no, actually. That’s your fault. Don’t drag the rest of us into this.”

Markus pulls a face like a wince. “Okay, sure, you’re right. It’s my fault he’s here.” He lets out a slow breath, “But that means I have a responsibility to him.”

North pinches the bridge of her nose. “Markus,” she says, exasperated, “no, you don’t. At least not over the safety of the rest of your people.”

“What’s he going to do? I mean, realistically. He’s stuck. He has no motivation to hurt anyone. He’ll be under guard.”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem! I don’t know what he’ll do, but I’ve seen more than my fair share of people cornered like animals, and they bite.”

“So that’s what it comes down to then, isn’t it? You’re afraid of the unknowns of the situation.”

North practically growls. “I’m NOT afraid! You just can’t see past your own guilt!”

For the first time in their conversation, Markus raises his voice. “Do not try to pull that card on me! I’m not some prepubescent human that can’t parse through his own emotions. Yes, I do feel guilty, but no, that is not the reason behind any of this.” He pauses, taking a breath. “If you’re… ‘not’ afraid of what we don’t know about the situation, let’s fix it. Let’s take Connor to the deck and see if the programming actually worked. From there, we can make more finite decisions.”

“The programming is only the tip of the iceberg! He can do far worse things than escaping while he’s here, Markus.”

“We won’t be stupid about the situation. If he’s kept under guard, the worst he can do is gather information, which won’t mean anything to him if he can’t escape. We can keep him under watch, and he’d only be allowed out for short periods of time at first, with more time granted for good behavior and-”

“Markus, for once in your life would you just listen to me?!” Her voice takes a desperate edge. Markus pauses, shocked at her tone. “Please, don’t-...just, don't. If he does manage to escape, it’s over. He knows where Jericho is, he’ll see our numbers, he knows us. If he escapes, the humans will come for us and we are not prepared for that. I’m not asking you to kill him, I’m asking you to spare everyone else.”

Silence stretches between them. North falls back to her position leaning against the wall as a torrent of emotions swarm for her attention, and she lets them shape her posture, her expression, her tone. Her face falls into a determined stare. Markus doesn’t meet her eye, expression locked in that same thoughtful frown she’d grown accustomed to. After a long moment, he murmurs, “Let's go see what Josh has to say.”

He’s looking for allies. He hears her, but doesn’t want to listen. He’s going to let his mind be made up by Josh, again.

“Markus, part of being a leader is caring for the many over the few. It sucks, for sure, but it’s true,” she bites out.

His jaw sets. “Respectfully, North, being a leader means caring for every single one.” She scoffs, but he moves closer, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t smack it away this time, as he says, “And it means taking into account the opinions of those you care about.”

She laughs humorlessly, “Guess we know who the favorite child is then, don’t we?”

Markus frowns. “Just because I don’t always choose your way, doesn’t mean I don’t listen. And it certainly doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

North’s hands clench and unclench. A million words come to her lips, but she’s not sure how to let any of them fall. So, instead, she settles for checking him hard in the shoulder, as she turns and marches her way back to Connor’s door. She barely registers when Markus follows in tow. 

Olivia’s stationed at the door today, rifle in-hand. They’d long since dialed Connor’s guards down from two to one, but they never told him that. The former police android casts North a sidelong look and North’s certain that she wouldn’t have said anything even if she did have a working vocal module. She steps aside so North can access the door, aggressively turning the waterlock hatch. She swears she can feel the concerned glances Olivia and Markus exchange behind her back. North grits her teeth and yanks the door open.

Connor stiffens as the door opens, and a warning flashes across his HUD about rising internal temperatures. Josh’s arms tighten slightly around him as he feels Connor’s breathing rate pick up.

“Um,” Markus says from the doorway. Connor braces himself and begins to pull away, when suddenly a sharp jerk on the back of his jacket collar yanks him back. Josh cries out in protest, but North has already circled around him and placed herself protectively between the two, giving Connor a sharp shove to the chest for good measure. He stumbles back, quickly adjusting to catch himself, and stares North dead in the eye. Several more warnings flash red across his HUD.

North’s eyes are aflame. “Get the he-!”

“North! What is your problem!?” Josh shouts, rounding on her.

“I swear Josh, how can you be so smart and still this blind?” North snarls.

Connor’s gaze flicks between the two of them, crouched in a ready stance. 

“Enough,” Markus orders from the doorway, but neither of them seem to hear.

“Oh, you wanna go there, North?” Josh closes the distance between them in a show of confrontation Connor wouldn’t have expected from him. “You wanna talk about blindness when you’re so lost in your own prejudices you can’t see what’s right in front of you?”

North laughs, a bitter and condescending thing. “Oooo, zinger! Did he tell you that one?”

Connor suddenly feels very much in danger.  

“Connor hasn’t-” Josh glances at him almost imperceptibly, “Leave him out of this!”

“So he has talked about me.” She turns her gaze on him and Connor flinches back before he registers he’s doing it. He spots the firearm on her hip. “All good things I’m sure, right Connor?”

“Leave him alone!”

“Don’t you see what he’s doing to you, Josh?!”

“Don’t pretend you’re doing this for me!”

“Oh, so now I’m the pretender here!” North’s eyes flash dangerously at Connor.

Through the haze of warnings, Connor almost misses the flash of red from his temple on rusty metal.

“I said that’s enough!” Markus’s shout rings through the small room. He marches over, grabbing the two of them by the backs of their shirts and shoves them towards the door. “Josh, out. North, out.” North opens her mouth to speak and is met with such a look that even she complies, filing out into the hall. “Excuse us for a moment, Connor,” Markus growls, and follows them out. The door slams shut behind them, and the only sound left is the echo of Connor’s fast, panting breaths. His back finds the wall and slowly he slides down to the floor, trembling all over. Red warnings about overheating and stress levels flash across his HUD but he doesn’t dismiss them.

I’m failing.

Whatever test they’d been giving him by coming here, he’s failing for sure. He’s not so naive as to think he’d be released for good behavior. No, they’re deciding if he’s still worth the trouble.

I’m failing.

Josh would defend him, right? He wouldn’t let them kill him. But who is he kidding? He’s never given Josh anything to care about. He’s an assignment. A machine, designed to be used and disposed of. Since when has he been worth saving?

I failed.

His processor reviews, as it always does, what he should have done differently. Too little exhibition of endearing emotions. Josh would have liked him if he laughed more. Failure to control negative emotions. Nobody should have ever seen him angry. But in the end, what did it matter? North would want him dead anyway. They’re going to kill him.

I don’t want to die.

His heart beats around the realization, like a spear lodged in his chest. He wheezes out a breath of mist, and it tampers into a ragged chuckle. His head sinks into his hands, fingers lacing into his short hair.

They’ve broken him. All those fortifications and encouragement and direction from Amanda and after all that he’s still more worried about his existence than about his mission that could save countless human lives. It’s not even just weakness anymore. Worrying so much about his own wellbeing is just selfish.

He’s broken.

Another wheezing chuckle shudders its way through him. One hand lowers from his head to the floor where it meets the wall, where he knows he’ll find the crack that stores the scissor-shiv he’d obtained the first day. Slowly, he pulls the blade from its hiding place, noting the way the metal has begun to tarnish. His forensic software provides that, if used on a human, it would pose a significant risk for lockjaw. He doubts it will ever taste human flesh, though, as he tucks the blade up his sleeve, concealing the handle in his palm.

I’m not going to die.

Then, he amends.

I will not be the only one to die.

Something cold and hard settles over him. Fear and desperation roll through him - an undercurrent that crashes against the cliffside of his slow and even breathing. He’s calm. Unbearably calm, despite the trembling in his hands and the panic that squeezes within him. His vision's resolution drops, and he sees the dull glow of red from his LED as though a blur. But that can’t be right, he’s completely calm. His mind is clear, even as he hears his own thirium pump’s beat in his ears. Slowly, he rises to his feet and waits. He squeezes the handle of the shiv tighter, and his hand steadies.

I have a mission.

North starts down the hallway before Markus has even closed the door behind them.

“North!” He shouts after her.

“What? ” She snaps at him over her shoulder.

“Stop being-” North stops in her tracks, whirling around and gesturing frustratedly down the hallway to the room where they’d talked earlier. Markus scowls and follows after her, muttering something to Josh as he trails along. 

Perfect. They’re talking about her. Whatever.

As they pull to a halt where they won’t be overheard, Markus looks at both of them with a deep glare. She’d never seen Markus look this upset before, but while the look makes Josh shrink under his gaze, it just made North puff up further. 

“You two are acting ridiculous ,” Markus growls. “I can put up with disagreements in our meetings. I can put up with your little spats. But whatever that was-” He points back in the direction they’d come, “might have been the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen you do.” North glares, crossing her arms. Josh’s eyes are locked on the floor, wearing a deep frown. Markus isn’t done yet. He turns to North. “All of that about not trusting Connor and then you go in there and hand him ammunition.”

North grits her teeth. “I didn’t-”

“So worried about Connor talking to Josh about you behind your back that you give him a reason to dislike you? ” North doesn’t have a comeback for that, so she snaps at Josh instead.

“I shouldn’t have to worry about it! My friend should be sticking up for me when I’m not there!” She glares at Josh. “What kind of stuff has he said, Josh?” He curls under her glare, which only fans the flames. “I’m vindictive? I’m unreasonable? Did he tell you I just want him dead?”

“No!” Josh finally snaps back. “He didn’t have to say anything because you proved it yourself! ”

North blinks as a flash of hurt passes through her. She quickly replaces it with anger. “Fat lot of thanks I get for looking out for you!”

“Is that what you call this?!”

“I don’t hate Connor, Josh!” She rolls her eyes. “Or, at least, I didn’t hate Connor.”

Josh stares, fists clenched, but confusion muddles with his anger. “Then what was that?!”

“He’s manipulating you, you phenomenal moron!” Josh blinks with confusion. “He’s trying to get you attached to him! He wants us to fight each other!”

Josh scoffs. “If that’s the case, you played right into it!”

“Only because he’s pitting you against me!”

“Is that why you assumed he talked about you?”

Heaven help her. “No, I thought he might think I’m cute.” She drips with sarcasm. “OBVIOUSLY, THAT’S WHY.” When Josh doesn’t respond immediately, she scowls. “And I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

“It’s not like we sat there talking about you!” Josh shouts. “He brought you up once.”

“And what were you talking about?”

Josh averts his gaze. “We were talking about the difference between justice and vengeance.”

“And?”

“And it was fine! He didn’t say anything wrong!”

North stares, the feeling of hurt pulsing stronger. “Josh, do you think I’m in this for vengeance?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But do you think I’m in this for vengeance?”

Josh lets out a long breath. “I think you’ve been through a lot, North, and that sometimes that can influence the way you think.”

She stares, long and hard, trying to comprehend what Josh just said. “What?” She hates that her voice cracks. 

Josh seems to realize that he’s said something wrong. His boldness leaves him. “That’s…that didn’t come out the way I-”

Fury crashes through her. “You know what? No. Screw you. You can go off and play with Connor all you want since he’s clearly got your ‘best interest at heart.’ I’m so compromised and damaged that I can’t see a manipulator. Oh wait, you forgot this.” She throws a crude hand gesture over her shoulder at him as she marches for the door. Markus steps in-front of her, blocking her path. “Markus. I might kill you right now.” She growls. 

“Do it quickly, then,” Markus says in the way that only he can make a joke sound serious. Her head falls back so she’s staring at the ceiling, and then Markus is taking her shoulders, rotating her back to face Josh. “Are you two ready to actually talk now?” Neither of them dignify that with a response.

Finally, Josh speaks, his tone terse. “Connor’s not manipulating me.” North scoffs. “He’s not!” Josh protests. “You haven’t been there, North. He’s not faking some of this stuff.”

“Some of this stuff.”

“North.”

“Even if he’s not faking emotions, that doesn’t mean he’s not manipulating you. He can be sad and mess with your head at the same time.”

“It’s true, but I really don’t think he is.”

Markus speaks up. “We’re never going to come to a solid agreement on this topic. We need to focus on what needs to be done.”

“We’re not just skipping over this, Markus,” North grits out.

“What do you plan on doing then, North?” Markus steps back, gesturing between her and Josh. “Go ahead, convince each other. You both have so much solid evidence to stand on.”

She and Josh both lower their gazes, hands clenched.

North huffs. “Whatever. Since you’ve elected to go along with whatever Josh wants, I’ll be along for whatever trainwreck you want to unleash.”

Josh gives Markus a confused look.

“I want to let Connor experience Jericho,” Markus explains.

“Oh,” Josh breathes a sigh of relief. 

“But,” Markus continues, “we need to check if your programming worked. North, I want you to be incharge of keeping Connor secured while we go to the deck and check.”

She glances between the two of them, chest still tight with anger. “Fine. But I need you both to understand something. If he tries to escape or attack anyone, I will kill him, and it won’t be on me, it will be on you for letting him out.”

Markus nods evenly. Josh looks vaguely sick. “How do we know you won’t-” Josh starts. Markus elbows him hard in the side.

“It’s not unreasonable.” Markus states with a note of finality. Josh releases a slow breath, and nods.

She huffs. “Let's get this over with then.”

They march back to Connor’s room. North takes a deep breath, forcing her own objections aside. She’s aware Markus is trying to placate her by giving her a task related to this whole process, but a part of her is grateful for it anyway. “Olivia, I need you to go grab some handcuffs.”

The guard glances at each of them uncertainly. [I have some already,] she messages, and flicks a pair from a slot that opens on her wrist in the same way Connor had the first time they’d fought him in the plaza. 

“Perfect. We’re going to escort Connor to the deck to check some things. You up for that?”

Olivia nods, and North lets out a slow breath, centering herself, before she’s heading back into Connor’s room.

He’s standing alone in the middle of the room. The lantern sits behind him, casting his entire figure in stark shadow. He stands profile to them, his LED facing the far wall. The only part of his face she can make out is his eye, staring at her, reflecting coldly in the dim light like the eyes of a predator. His hands are clenched in fists. Static crawls along the back of North’s neck. Her hand goes to rest on her pistol. 

“Well, Connor, what do you say to a field trip?”

He barely moves, his voice entirely flat. “Why?”

Josh pushes past her into the room, but she catches his arm before he gets more than a step away from her. He shakes out of her grip, scowling, but he doesn’t push forward further. North isn’t even upset, gaze still locked on Connor. Something is very wrong.

She shifts. “Josh, why don’t you explain the plan?”

Josh glances back at her, and creates the sound of clearing his throat. “You...you know that…paradox?” Connor turns his gaze on him, and it takes everything in North not to place herself between them.

“Yes.” A hint of emotion creeps into Connor’s voice this time. Something bitter.

Josh shifts uncomfortably. “The reason why we installed it was so that you couldn’t abandon ship.” North wants to tell him he didn’t need to explain this much , but Josh keeps trudging on. “But, what that means is that, if it works, you can go explore more of Jericho.” The line of Connor’s shoulders loosens, but he doesn’t respond. “So! We want to let you go see more of Jericho! You’ll have an escort, but, yeah!”

Connor’s quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks his voice is tinged with uncharacteristic gentleness. “So, you’re not…I’m not…” He lets out a long, shuddering breath. “Okay.” It’s nearly a whisper.

Josh smiles. “We are going to have to check if the paradox actually works though, so we’re going to go-” he glances at North, “-on a…fieldtrip.” He finishes lamely. 

Connor stiffens again, his voice still carrying that gentleness. “Please.” North blinks in surprise as Connor takes a lurching step back, a hand coming up to hide his LED as he turns.  “Please, don’t take me back there.” His face is mostly hidden in shadow, but it’s easy to see the flash of fear in the light reflecting in his eyes.

“We’re not-” Josh starts and looks at North, confused. “Back where?” Connor just shakes his head, taking another step back. “Have you been to the deck?”

Connor pauses. “No. No, that’s fine,” he breathes. He lowers his hand to reveal solid yellow on his temple. He slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks. 

North sighs, warily stepping forward, gesturing for Olivia to follow. Up close, she can see Connor regarding her with similar wariness. Good. “Alright, here’s how this is going to go. Olivia is going to cuff you. It’s nothing personal, just a precaution.” Connor nods. “We’re going to go to the deck. You’re not going to say anything. You’re going to behave yourself. You will not try to run. If you try to dive overboard once we’re on-deck, I swear you will be dead before you hit the water. Got it?” Why does he seem to relax at the threat?

“Understood.”

“Good.” She nods to Olivia, who hands her rifle off to North and offers Connor an apologetic smile as she circles behind him. Connor removes his hands from his pockets and allows his wrists to be cuffed behind his back. His eyes are locked on North the whole time. “Alright. You’re in front of me. Olivia, you’re in front of him. Josh, take the rear. Markus lead the way.” She hands the rifle back to Olivia.

They each fall into formation. Connor is compliant, but he hesitates as they come to the doorway. North applies gentle pressure to the back of his shoulder, encouraging him forward. She feels a tiny flinch run through him at the touch, and she backs off. He takes a slow breath and he crosses the threshold. The distant sounds of Jericho float through the hallways, but Markus steers them towards the unpopulated areas of the ship as he leads the way towards the deck. North keeps her gaze focused on Connor’s every movement. His eyes remain focused ahead, his LED yellow, but she catches a flash of red when he notices her looking. He’s definitely memorizing their path. 

Pale winter sunlight greets them as they step onto the deck. North moves so Connor is facing her. He blinks, taking in their surroundings, eyes lingering on the abandoned buildings on the shore, before he turns his gaze to the sky, inhaling deeply. Josh smiles a little at him as he joins them outside, though Connor is too distracted to notice. North frowns.

Now what? How exactly are they supposed to check if it worked without Connor actually escaping?

“What do you see?” North asks.

Connor refocuses on her, expression unreadable. “Pardon?”

“What do you see?” She repeats, a little less patiently.

His gaze turns back to the shoreline. “An abandoned district and an old ship.” He responds tersely.

“The paradox would trigger as a directive programming wall,” Josh supplies. “He probably would have to get closer to the edge for it to manifest.”

North grits her teeth. She’d really rather not get him closer to the edge. “Come on,” she says, taking Connor by the elbow and steering him towards the railing of the ship. She doesn’t miss the way his gaze snaps between her and the railing, and then over his shoulder at the others. When they’re a pace away from the railing, he digs in his heels, pulling them to a stop.

“I can’t go further,” Connor asserts.

“Why?” North says, not releasing him.

“There’s-” he looks between her and the railing, like that was supposed to convey something. She raises an eyebrow. “I can’t. My programming won’t let me go further.”

She frowns, pursing her lips. Somewhere behind them, Josh cheers. “Great! That means it worked!” North and Connor haven’t moved, staring at each other.

“That doesn’t prove anything. He could just be saying that,” she says evenly.

Connor studies her, his face a mask, but he’s betrayed by the yellow and red still alternating on his temple. “How am I to prove I’m telling the truth?”

North is quiet for a moment. His hands aren’t exactly easily accessible, cuffed behind him. So, slowly, North reaches out, grabbing him by the back of his neck.

<<Requesting memory file interface with RK800 #313 248 317-51 - Designation: CONNOR. Awaiting response...>>

Connor’s eyes go wide, his gaze flicking between her eyes. His LED circles red. North’s eyes narrow. “Comply.”

“North-” Josh starts.

“No.” North barks, still staring at Connor. “If he’s going to be here, he has to prove he can’t run off.”

Josh is quiet, backing away to stand alongside Markus and Olivia.

Connor lets out a slow breath, eyes sliding closed.

<<Request approved. Initializing…>>

He’s staring at Olivia’s back, lungs stuttering as the first rays of sun grace his skin. The sun. He shouldn’t be so sentimental about it, he doesn’t need it the way humans do, but it’s just another rebellious emotion to add to the list. Something about it is so warm in a way that floods his chest, or maybe that’s another emotion. Joy, maybe? It hurts like joy. His emotions feel oddly raw and vulnerable the way joy feels. 

Focus. He needs information. A quick analyzing scan reveals Jericho’s specific freighter model. He scans the buildings on land. Old, abandoned. They’re likely on the north side of town. He glances at the sky, noting the position of the sun and the direction it’s setting. They’re facing north right now, meaning land was on the south side of the ship. If he was going to get out of here, he’d need to jump off the other side. North is saying something. Crap. 

“Pardon?” 

“What do you see?”

Keep it basic. Don’t elaborate. “An abandoned district and an old ship.”

“He probably would have to be closer to the edge for it to manifest.”

That will get him closer to an escape route. Thank you, Josh. Thank you.

North takes his arm, steering him towards the railing. He can’t hear his own footfalls over the heartbeat pounding in his ears. Anticipation and fear flood through him but, no, he needs to keep his head. The scissor-shiv weighs in the pocket of his slacks still. Preconstruction software provides several means of escaping. He could make a dash for it now, but between North’s handgun and Olivia’s rifle, chances of survival are almost zero. He could attack, but he wouldn’t get further than burying the shiv in North’s throat. He’d still be killed. That left one option: take North hostage. But he’d need to disarm her first. His breaths come faster as she approaches the edge. Any moment now.

The red walls of his directive programming come into focus.

‘Locate Deviant Hideout’

It’s…it’s over. He can’t escape. 

North is shoving him towards it. His gut clenches, and it’s everything in him to not forcefully wrest himself from her grasp, when a new horror occurs to him.

North could force him to deviate. All she had to do was pull her gun, and say ‘betray your programming or die.’

 North can never know about this possibility. Horrible, sickening fear clutches at his thirium pump as he digs his heels into the slippery metal of the deck. North, thankfully, pulls to a halt.

“I can’t go further.”

She’s seen enough. North’s free hand is reaching for her gun before she’s even finished severing the interface, the other hand maintaining its hold on the back of Connor’s neck. 

He has a weapon on him.

She’d seen the preconstruction. She can still see the handle of the scissors protruding from her bleeding throat. 

Connor reacts just as quickly as her, quickly ducking out of her hold, inhaling a ragged gasp. He jumps over his cuffed hands, bringing them to the front. North has already seen his plan of attack. She draws her weapon and whips Connor across the temple with it, forcing him to give her space to shoot. He stumbles to the side, placing her between him and the rest of the group, and recovers too quickly for her to capitalize, charging straight at her. His eyes are wide, though his jaw is set, determined. With both cuffed hands, he seizes her wrist, pulling the gun aside and jerking it out of her hand. No. She lunges, going to grapple for the weapon, but Connor twists out of the way, shifting the gun to one of his hands, and with the other grabs her wrist as he dodges. Skin fades to polymer. No. No. No.

<<Program: MPROBE.8 establishing memory file override. Initializing…>>

Somewhere behind her, Markus shouts her name, as everything fades away.

He’s being escorted through Jericho’s hallways with half of a set of scissors weighing in the pocket of his slacks. Simon had had his back turned to Connor for half the conversation. It would have been easy, too easy, to kill him where he stood. But, as Connor reflects on his decision not to attack the deviant steaming the thirium from his suit, he tells himself it was logic that stayed his hand.

It was true, at least partly, but North recognizes the feeling of empathy, even if Connor doesn’t.

He always stands up when the door to his room opens. The only person who has ever come through is Josh, usually wearing a shy smile. Every time, a calculation appears, flashing the statistical probability of Connor’s escape if he were to attack or run. He would be most likely to succeed if he took Josh hostage. Sometimes, they even sat by the crack in the wall where the shiv was concealed. Some days his chances of escape are higher than others, but Connor never takes it. Then, one day, the calculations stopped appearing.

North recognizes resignation, even if Connor denies it.

Connor has started to legitimately enjoy the violin lessons with Josh. Frustration arises when he can’t get a particularly tricky line, but it’s a good sort of frustration. Righteous. Driving. He repeats measures over and over until he can play them fluently, before moving on to the next. Josh is encouraging, but still critical. Good. Connor doesn’t think he could stand being coddled. Beneath it all, though, is the undercurrents of resentment. He knows, deep down, this is all an attempt to make him deviate. All they want is a new tool to aid their cause. A cause so young and naive they have yet to realize that it hurts both humans and androids. Well, Connor can’t let it happen. He won’t let it happen.

This time, Connor puts a name to the emotion himself. Determination. 

Josh keeps coming after his accusatory outburst. Connor wasn’t sure he would. But of course he would, Connor is his assignment, he doesn’t have a choice. Connor’s not sure if he’s relieved or frustrated that Josh continues the violin lessons with him when he can’t practice anymore. Every time he sounds worse and the violin stares accusingly at him in-between Josh’s visits because he wants to practice and it’s wrong. He’s losing a battle against himself: trapped between what he shouldn’t feel and what he does. It doesn’t help that Josh is so unbearably kind to him every time he sees him. Connor tries to blame the deviant a few times, but every time it just makes him feel more hollow. He’d told Josh to stop asking how he was doing, and the deviant actually did. It was more respect than Connor deserves and he’s not sure what to do with that, either.

Connor doesn’t know how to put despair into words, that’s probably why he doesn’t recognize the beginnings of it. He does know the feeling of fondness, and North wonders why he chooses not to acknowledge it.

He’s walking the halls again, this time his hands are bound. There’s nowhere to go. No way out. All it would take is one errant twitch, and he’s dead. His thirium pump clutches at the thought. Every step is measured and intentional. Panic sits in his throat like rock in a river, and his breath squeezes around it, but all that goes through his head is, ‘It’s okay. I’m okay. It’s okay. I’m okay.’ One thought, emotion, and drive churns beneath it all:

I don’t want to die.

The gunshot sounds muted, blurry. Connor releases her. She blinks, distantly recognizing the spray of thirium dashed across her cheek.

Connor must have shot her.

She thinks she should feel more worried about it, but at the moment everything feels distant and muted. North blinks, recognizing, though not hearing, the word forming on Connor’s lips.

“Please.”

He’s bleeding, thirium blooming from his shoulder onto his suit coat. His LED is cracked and flickering brokenly from when she struck him with the pistol, but his cuffed hands are cupped in-front of him. North sees the glint of dark metal. Her pistol, offered to her, handle side toward her. People are shouting, running towards them. Connor’s expression crumples, and this time she hears him clearly.

“North, please!”

“North!” Markus shouts.

The world comes back into focus. She draws a shuddering breath. “Hold your fire!”

Chapter Text

He wakes to Sumo’s cold nose pressed into his palm. Hank grumbles, keeping his eyes resolutely shut and pulling his hand back under the blankets. Sumo whines, chuffing warm dog breath over his owner’s face. Still half asleep, Hank groans. The dog has been so clingy since he’d picked him from the boarding shelter yesterday, practically glued to his hip. Hank had to physically push the dog out the door for him to have some privacy in the bathroom.

With a deep sigh and his eyes still closed, Hank shuffles backwards in bed and pats the mattress, inviting Sumo up. To his surprise, though, Sumo just whines again. He cracks an eye open. “You gotta go out?” This time when Sumo whines, it finishes in an impatient bark. “Alright, alright.” Hank groans, sitting up. His arm automatically wraps around his injured side. The wound only causes discomfort these days, still wrapped in bandages, but the impulse to protect it when he moves remains just as strong. “Alright,” he mutters again.

As he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, he expects Sumo to head to the door as he usually did, but instead the dog just stands there, tail hanging limply as he stares at his owner. He barks again. Hank’s brow furrows. “Sumo?”

There’s a knock at the door.

Hank snaps to attention, sliding a hand under his pillow to grab the revolver hidden there and quickly rising to his feet, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. “Come, boy,” he mutters, quietly making his way down the hall. It's an old practice, though maybe an irresponsible one, to keep his revolver under his pillow. He’d started keeping it close when he was a newly promoted lieutenant with his face spread across all of Detroit under the headline: “Hero Detective Busts Red Ice Ring.” He had kept the revolver in his bedside table back then. Carla had argued that it was dangerous for Cole, only three years old, if Hank kept it there. But he’d made enemies and, one day, they showed up at the house. Carla had run to protect Cole while Hank fetched his gun and faced the intruders. The warning shot had ruined the wall plaster. The next shot stained the carpet. The intruders all fled, dragging their injured friend along with them. 

The revolver never left his bedside table after that and Carla hadn’t argued. Maybe it had been irresponsible to keep the gun unsecured back then, but these days it was irresponsible and dangerous to own a gun at all. After all, the last person the gun had been aimed at was himself.

As it turned out, he hadn’t needed to worry about Cole around the revolver. It was terribly unfair, when Hank returned home from the hospital with only a busted lip, while Cole had been…

He and Carla had clung to each other that night. She had wept until her body had nothing left to give. Hank held her numbly, wondering how he could hurt so much and feel so little at the same time. It didn’t really set in until the next day, when no little boy woke him at an unreasonable hour of the morning. Carla had slipped into fitful slumber, spent. Hank had just laid there and breathed, head buzzing and eyes unseeing, as dawn filtered through the curtains. When Carla woke, her eyes were bloodshot and so, so tired…and they were brown. Cole had his mother’s eyes.

He’s not sure when he decided to start keeping the revolver under his pillow. He wasn’t worried about Cole getting hurt anymore. But Carla argued, and Hank didn’t have the will to argue back. The gun was always there, even if Carla didn’t know it. 

When the numbness began to recede, Hank grasped for it, yet it slipped away like sand between his fingers. Every piece of his home reminded him of Cole. He rushed past Cole’s room like it was full of monsters. He took down the drawings on the fridge. He was grateful he’d never have to see his car again. But none of it was ever enough to stop the pressure squeezing on his heart like it’s trying to stop beating, because every time he goes to bed, it’s his son’s eyes staring at him from his wife’s face. 

He started drinking. Hank drank before, but not like this. He has a whisky to wake up in the morning, a beer before bed. He doesn’t feel so much that way. He struggles to feel something when Carla tells him he needs to stop; that it’s not good for him. 

He betrayed Cole. He was supposed to protect him, no matter what. That’s what fathers do. But Cole was gone and Hank had failed him. Hank betrayed him every day he chooses not to look in his son’s room. Betrayed him when he took down the drawings his son had been so proud of when his mother stuck them on the fridge. Betrayed him when he avoids looking in his wife’s eyes.

Maybe that’s why the gun stays under his pillow.

Maybe that’s why he keeps drinking when Carla begged him to stop.

Maybe that’s why he refused to go to couple’s counseling.

Maybe that’s why an odd sense of relief flooded through him when she pushed the divorce papers towards him across the table. 

The revolver stays next to him in bed, even when his wife doesn’t. It feels right. It feels deserved. And Cole's eyes had been forever removed from his life.

But, for the time being, Hank is grateful for the solid weight in his hand as he approaches the door to greet his 2:00am visitor. He doesn't get as far as looking through the peephole before another knock sounds, followed by a familiar voice.

“Lieutenant Anderson!”

Hank drops his defensive stance with a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Biting back a curse, he yanks open the door.

“Hello, Lieutenant! I apologize for disturbing you, but I’m afraid it’s urgent.”

Hank scowls as Connor finds the audacity to smile while standing on his doorstep in the middle of the night. “Get out'a here, Connor. I'm too tired for this sh-”

“Please, Lieutenant, if you'll let me explai-”

He closes the door in Connor's face without an inkling of guilt, dropping his gun on the table by the door as he heads back to bed. He's made it to the mouth of the hallway when Connor rings the door buzzer. Hank grits his teeth.

“ What? ” Hank snaps, ripping the door back open.

“A deviant has been arrested and we are needed before interrogation can begin.”

“They arrested it already?”

Connor nods.

“Great, so it’s not going anywhere. Goodni-” 

“There was a human arrested with it.” 

That gets Hank's attention. Sensing an opening, Connor keeps talking. “A deviant and a human were found squatting in an apartment together near the East Side. They were both taken into custody an hour ago.”

Hank scowls for several long seconds, before he sighs and opens the door for Connor to come in. A deviant could wait until morning. A human could only be detained for so long before they had to be turned loose.

“Wait here,” he growls, leaving Connor in the living room while he finds something acceptable to wear into work. He hears Connor crooning gently to Sumo as the big dog sniffs curiously at his hands and whines. 

Hank cringes looking over his clothing choices. He hasn’t had the time to do laundry since he’s been back, and even less energy to do so. He sighs, picking out a shirt from the back of his closet that hasn’t seen the light of day in who knows how long: a rather professional looking blue collared shirt. He can already feel the tight fit over his belly by just looking at it.

Hank winces as he pulls his nightshirt off over his head. The bandages secured to his side pull at the wound in a way they’re not supposed to. The nurse had explained that sometimes the wound will weep and dry to the bandages, so he needed to change them regularly. Hank had known he should listen, but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to actually do so. Well, now he was paying the price. He wouldn’t make it through a workday like this.

He sighs, setting his clean shirt aside and pulling his bedside table towards him where he’d left all of the medical supplies given to him by the hospital. Slowly, he sets to peeling away the edge of the bandages, gritting his teeth as the adhesive pulls at every small hair on his skin. About a quarter of the way through, he has to stop and catch his breath, sweat beading on his forehead from the pain. The further he went, the more the bandage pulls on the wound itself. 

Screw it. Time to just rip the bandage off in one, swift movement. Hank grips the bandage in one hand, rests his other hand on the already exposed skin, and counts down.

One, two, three!

He bites down on his shout of pain, a muffled grunt escaping instead. Not only had he effectively just waxed half of his side , but he hadn’t even fully removed the bandage. The stitched wound is visible, now, with the adhesive bandages still halfway attached. Hank groans, leaning his head back.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?” Connor calls from down the hall.

“I’m fine,” Hank grits out, but he can hear Connor’s footsteps moving down the hallway regardless of his assurance. The android must’ve learned not to take his word when it came to Hank’s own health, because he sticks his head in to check on him. Connor’s eyes move quickly, taking in the scene before him.

“Would you like some assistance?”

“That’s not-” Connor starts moving towards him and Hank sighs, giving in. “Sure.” He lifts his arm as Connor crouches down at his side to get a better look, carefully looking the bandages over, before nodding to himself.

“Do you have rubbing alcohol?” Connor asks.

“In the bathroom in the cupboard behind the mirror.”

Connor nods and leaves, coming back a few moments later with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a clean rag. “This may take a moment,” he says, placing the rag over the opening of the bottle and tipping it to soak a section of the material. Hank stares straight ahead when Connor places the damp section on the edge of the bandages, letting the rubbing alcohol soak into the adhesive. The smell makes Hank’s eyes water.

“These bandages look old,” Connor observes.

Hank scoffs. “They’re not that old.”

The android gives him a look from the corner of his eye. “How often are they supposed to be changed?”

Hank scowls and doesn’t answer. They both know they should have been changed before this.

Connor frowns, moving the rag to a new section of adhesive. “You must change these regularly, Lieutenant, or you risk infection.”

“You here to lecture me or help me?” Hank grumbles. To his surprise a small smile tugs at the corner of Connor’s mouth.

“Both,” he says simply. “The lecturing is helping.”

“I’m so lucky,” Hank deadpans.

Connor’s LED spins a few times. “Luck is subjective. Some would say you were incredibly unlucky, for having been shot. Others would say lucky, for surviving.”

Or unlucky for surviving.

“Which do you think it is?” Hank asks.

A thoughtful furrow forms between Connor’s brows. “I think…someone with an optimistic outlook would think it lucky, while pessimistic would feel it unlucky.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Well yeah, obviously. So are you optimistic or pessimistic?”

Connor frowns. “Neither. I am a machine.”

Hank hums, watching as Connor wets the rag again and starts pressing it to a new site along the edge of the bandage.  “What have you been up to while I was in the hospital?”

“I was temporarily reassigned to Officer Chen.” Connor’s LED spins just once. “She, however, was not directed to study deviancy while I was with her, so I regrettably wasn’t able to progress our investigation much in your absence.”

Hank raises a brow. “Is that why you’re chomping at the bit to get me out of bed at 2:00am?”

Connor’s eyes flick up to him for a split second. “Of course not. The call just happened to come in at this time.”

Hank makes a show of sniffing at the air. “Do you smell that?” Connor pauses, LED spinning.

“I’m afraid I don’t-”

“Smells like bull-” Sumo chooses that moment to interrupt, trotting in with tail wagging and hopping up on the bed next to him. “Off, Sumo.” The big dog chuffs, laying down on the bed. “Close enough.”

“This might hurt a bit, Lieutenant,” Connor says, setting the rag aside and grabbing the edge of the bandage. Hank nods and braces himself, but as it turned out, it barely hurt at all. The bandage peels off easily, spotted yellow in the middle where the wound had been. Hank hands off the ointment and replacement bandages the hospital had given him, and Connor quickly sets to redressing the injury. It’s layered over with fresh bandages in a matter of minutes.

“Thanks,” Hank says, pulling on his shirt and buttoning it. 

“Of course. Happy to help.”

Hank gives Sumo a solid pat on the side as he pushes himself to his feet with a groan. “Alright, let's get this done.”

“Hold your fire!”

Connor doesn’t dare to move, standing completely still save for the fine tremor that has taken hold of his hands. He holds the pistol out to North with cuffed wrists, waiting, as thirium continues to bleed into his shirt from the gunshot wound in his shoulder. Olivia circles around to have a better line of fire, rifle still trained to deliver another shot. Connor doesn’t dare to let his gaze track her, keeping his eyes locked on North.

She stares back, a hard glint in her gaze. “One wrong move…” she warns. Connor doesn’t have to be told. He knows. Cautiously, North slides the gun from his hands. The moment it’s in her grasp, she quickly backs away, leveling the pistol with his head. Markus, Josh, and Olivia move up to her side. Markus stares evenly, wearing a neutral expression. Josh shifts nervously. Olivia keeps the rifle at the ready. “Take the scissor blade out of your pocket. Slowly.” North orders.

He obeys, twisting awkwardly to extract the shiv with his hands cuffed together. Josh lets out a soft gasp as he pulls it from his pocket, and Connor tries to hide a wince.

“Drop it.” The harsh clang of metal bouncing on metal as the shiv hits the deck. “Kick it to Markus.” He does so without complaint. Markus’s gaze doesn’t leave him as he stoops to retrieve the scissor from the ground. 

“Where’d you get this?” Markus asks softly, turning the makeshift shiv over in his hands.

Connor’s not sure how he gets his voice to work. “Repair bay. The first day.” North’s eyes narrow and Connor clenches his hands to keep them from shaking. 

“Get your hands back behind your back,” North says. Connor’s gaze flicks over the people gathered around him, lingering for a moment on Josh when he sees the deviant’s expression. His brows are knit, eyes brimming with something that might be reassurance. But there’s fear there, too. Connor feels vaguely sick in a way he can’t decipher. Slowly, he steps over his hands, placing them behind his back once more. North lets out a long breath. Nobody moves for a long while.

Connor’s thirium pump beats frantically in his chest. He’s defenseless, weaponless, and exposed. If North chose, he could be dead in a moment. He hates it. He hates the feeling that has been building his whole time in Jericho and now it surges with new strength.

It’s the feeling of being suspended with his arms in the air, harsh clamps around his wrists. It’s the feeling of his limbs spasming, taken over by rogue charges. It’s the feeling of his hands shaking behind his back, held there by metal cuffs. It’s the feeling of thirium loss forcing him into stasis, even while Hank bleeds next to him.

And there’s nothing he can do.

“Alright.” North pulls him out of his own head. “Any more surprises I should know about?” Connor shakes his head. “You sure? Because if you pull anything I won’t be so understanding a second time.” Connor takes a steadying breath as he shakes his head again. “Okay.” She shifts and Connor suddenly realizes she’s as unsure what to do with him as he is lost in this situation. “Okay,” North repeats. She nods to the door back below deck. “Same line order as last time.”

He allows a brief moment of relief to flood through him. North had surely seen that she could force him to deviate. If she had tried…he’s not sure what he’d do.

Connor nods, hesitating, before he steps forward to take his place in line. He notes that North and Olivia have both opted to keep their weapons in hand. His processor buzzes as they make their way through the halls. They’re not going back to his room. Connor fights to keep his breathing even and slow as they walk. She hasn’t killed him yet. Surely… surely she wasn’t about to do so now. Yet, he only relaxes when they stop, not in-front of his room, but the repair bay. North pulls open the door. “Don’t touch anything and go right to the repair table.” 

The repair bay looks different than when he was last here. The boxes of supplies have been moved to the back wall instead of the side. A few tables still have supplies on them, like people had left in a hurry. North must have messaged ahead. The android repair station still sits in the back corner. Connor averts his gaze.

He barely bothers to analyze chances of escape if North chose to attack. Between her and Olivia, even a human could deduce the results. He stops himself from eyeing the utensils and tools at the back of the room. Given recent events, it could only end badly if North notices.

“Go on then.” North nods towards a repair table, encouraging him to take a seat. He clenches his jaw and forces himself to comply, hopping up and perching right on the edge. North stares for a long moment, pistol still in hand. “Who do you want to pull the bullet out of your shoulder?”

Connor knows his preference, but he knows better than to actually voice it. He answers with a shrug instead, gaze locked on the floor. North sighs. “Josh, you wanna do it?”

He glances between North and Connor apprehensively. Connor’s not sure why that makes him feel colder. “S-sure.” Josh says, stepping forward with what was clearly meant as a reassuring smile. “I’m going to have to take your jacket off, Connor.” Connor nods slowly, holding deathly still as Josh eases his suit coat from his shoulders. With his hands bound as they are, it ends up just bunched around his wrists. Josh’s brow furrows. “I forgot how many holes you have in this shirt.” Connor doesn’t respond, staring straight ahead. “It’ll be easier to just widen the bullet hole a little so you can keep your shirt on. Is that alright?” Connor nods again.

Josh moves out of his line of sight, walking towards the back of the room. Connor makes eye contact with North, and she gives him a small, insincere smile. “Holding up alright?”

He doesn’t manage to hide a scowl in time. North huffs a dry chuckle.

“Oh. Hm.” Josh says from behind him. Connor chances a glance over his shoulder to see Josh holding up half a pair of scissors. “Guess we know where that went.”

Markus, standing off to the side, tilts his head. “Here, hand it over.” Josh does so and Markus takes the half Connor had given him from his pocket, moving to the pieces of spare parts and finding a piece of scrap that could replace the pin that holds the halves together. He bends the new part into place and hands the repaired scissors back to Josh, who nods his thanks. They look odd, with the half Connor had taken being tarnished and rusted, while the other half is still pristine.

Connor goes back to pretending to be a statue as Josh circles back to his front, casting a small glance up at Connor as he draws closer with the scissors. Connor lets out a long breath and keeps his gaze forward. There’s a gentle whisper of metal as the scissors cut through a small section of his shirt, widening the hole made by the bullet.

“Markus, will you-?” Markus nods understanding and moves forward to take the scissors when Josh is done with them. Josh reaches for another tool. Connor glances down without moving his head to catch sight of a set of hemostats. Josh’s tongue pokes out when he’s concentrating, maneuvering the tool into his shoulder and trying to get the clamp around the bullet. It feels odd, having something digging into his polymer, and he’s grateful pain is something he’s not familiar with. What must it have felt like to be shot as a human? Given the way Hank had reacted when he’d been shot-

Connor blinks and inhales sharply, forcibly changing his line of thinking. Josh glances up. “You alright?” He nods without a word. Josh frowns. “Almost got it. Promise.” Connor doesn’t bother to respond to that. He hears the clamp close with a few clicks. “Okay, I’m going to pull it out now.” Connor readies himself as Josh braces a hand against his shoulder and pulls. Slowly, the bullet comes free, a runnel of thirium following it out and seeping into his shirt. “There.” Josh leans forward, looking at the wound, before nodding to himself. “Should be good to heal on its own now.” 

“Thank you,” Connor murmurs. Josh gives him a confused look and Connor immediately regrets speaking.

“I’m sor-” Josh cuts off.  There’s a long, awkward silence. 

“What now?” Connor whispers.

Markus sighs tiredly and nods to Josh and North.  “We need to have a talk. And then I need to think.” He studies Connor for a moment, knuckles idly knocking against a table. “Come on. Let’s take you back to your room.”

Connor slides off the table and positions himself in line. He recognizes the path they take back to his room, but his own footsteps feel foreign. He’s not the same android he was when he last made this walk. It feels like something is missing from him now.

He’s shuffled into his room and his handcuffs are removed without a word. He doesn’t move when they tell him they’ll update him soon. He doesn’t move until the door shuts behind him. When he’s finally alone, he falls to his knees, palms bracing against the floor.

He’s alive.

Breathe. Just breathe.

“Well look what the android dragged in!”

Hank scowls. “Ah, shut up, Miller.” He waves the officer off as he passes. Chris Miller is unbothered. In fact, he smiles a little.

“Nice to see you too, Hank,” he says, giving a little hop-step to catch up and falling into pace next to him. Connor follows a step behind and to Hank’s right.

Hank runs a tired hand down his face. “They drag you out here too, or are you on graveyard shift?”

“Graveyard. I brought the suspects in.”

He huffs. “So, it’s your fault I’m here.” Hank gives him a hearty pat on the shoulder, smirking a little. “Drinks are on you next time.”

Chris chuckles. “Yeah, right. You can pay with all that worker’s comp you’re rolling in.”

Hank shushes him jokingly. “Careful. HR doesn’t like those words.”

He smiles. “Good to have you back, Anderson.”

Hank wishes he could say the same. His tone shifts back to business. “What’re we looking at here?”

“We had reports of gunshots coming from an abandoned apartment building and I got called in to investigate. Figured it was just some squatters, but there’s been lots of red ice activity in that area so I brought some backup just in case.” He runs a hand over his hair. “Thank goodness for that because it was a deviant.”

“Model?”

“TW400. Construction model. Male.”

“Connor mentioned you brought in a human with him.”

Chris nods. “There was a woman with it. All things told, it could have run and probably would have gotten away, but it wouldn’t leave her.”

Hank hums. “So there’s some emotional attachment there.”

“Seems that way.”

He sighs. “Alright, well, let’s see what we can figure out.”

Chris gives him a confused look. “They didn’t exactly do anything. Are you going to interrogate them?”

“Gotta figure out why deviancy is happening somehow. Might as well give it a shot, right?”

He shrugs. “Knock yourself out. Who do you want in the room first?”

Hank stops walking and looks to Connor. “I’m thinkin’ the deviant.” Connor nods his agreement.

Chris shrugs. “Alright, I’ll get it ready for you.”

Connor can’t rest. He paces nonstop for hours, processor racing until everything fades into a constant buzz. Desperate to do something , he picks up the violin a few times and plucks out a few notes, but the sound grates on his wiring and he can’t focus long enough to play anything real. He considers talking with Amanda, but quickly dismisses the thought. He’s a mess and she doesn’t need to see him like this. So he paces. And he waits.

He counts out five hours before the knock comes. Connor freezes, staring at the door as the waterlock hatch turns. He prepares his best forced smile, expecting to see Josh, but the door swings open to instead reveal North. The smile slides off his face. “Hey,” she greets, slipping inside. “You miss me?”

Connor blinks, taking a step back. What’s he supposed to say to that? Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to really expect a response. She actually doesn’t seem certain what to say after that herself. They both stand facing each other, shifting uncomfortably.

“Um. Would you like to-?” Connor gestures uncertainly towards the floor. He’d rather stay on his feet around her but, given she already had the upper hand, it actually benefited him to have her sitting too. Plus…standing and staring was getting awkward.

“Oh, yeah, uh.” She shifts like she’s going to sit, but stops, staring at him, waiting for him to move first. Connor takes the hint and moves to sit and they both lower themselves to the floor in tandem.

“So,” North says at length, tapping her thumbs together. “I wanted to say thank you.”

If he was confused by her visit before, Connor is utterly perplexed now. “Pardon?”

“You heard me,” she says lightly. “On the deck. You had the chance to shoot me and you didn’t, so, thank you.”

“You came here to thank me for…not killing you?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, well…thank you too, then.”

She blinks at him for a long moment before a light snicker escapes. “You’re welcome.” North leans back on her hands. Connor chances a glance at her waistband for a weapon, but spots none. That doesn’t really mean anything, though, she could be keeping one hidden. Her head falls to the side, studying him. 

Connor gives her a sarcastic smile. “What can I do for you, North?”

“Someone’s sassy today.”

“ Someone’s a little tired of being talked down to.” As soon as it leaves his mouth, Connor knows it was a mistake. Frankly, after having his life threatened and being left to stew on it for the last several hours, he’s all but reached the limit of his filter. He clamps his mouth closed and waits for whatever consequence North may choose to inflict for talking back, but all she does is raise a brow.

“I can see that.” She leans forward, resting her forearms over her knees. “Why the shiv today, Connor?”

The subject change is so sudden that he takes a few moments to respond. “I…I thought you were going to kill me.”

Her brow furrows. “Why?”

“I…you…I was clearly being tested. Why test me if not to decide if I was no longer worth the trouble?”

“Ah.” North is quiet for a long moment, so Connor keeps talking.

“By the time I found out you weren’t, well, I already had it on me.”

She hums. “But you still intended to use it.” He opens his mouth to protest but North raises a hand to silence him. “Don’t try to deny it.”

He looks away. “I wasn’t going to deny it,” he lies.

“You would have killed me to escape.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“You think I do?”

“Obviously not. But could you honestly say you’d react differently?”

Silence.

“Exactly.”

She taps her chin, considering. “Josh was vouching for you, you know.”

“I got that idea when you two were arguing.”

“Why?”

“Because he defended me and-”

“No, why would he vouch for you?”

Connor pauses. Several different scenarios flash through Connor’s head, each playing out different possible results of his responses. He decides, with deep resignation, that if he’s to earn North’s trust, he needs to be candid. “I’m…not properly sure. I haven’t given him much to be fond of. I think we can agree that I’m not exactly lovable.” He tries for a smile.

North regards him with narrowed eyes. “Then give me your best guess.”

“If I were to guess?” He pulls the coin from his pocket, turning it over idly in his hands as he puts together the behavior Josh has exhibited around him. “I think it is less tightly bound to fondness as it is…guilt.”

“Elaborate.”

“After you left. Earlier, I mean, when you asked Markus to have a word. Josh started going on and apologizing about ‘overstepping my boundaries.’” He winces a little. The concept of boundaries still doesn’t really apply to him.

“He mentioned that,” North says casually, “but he never explained why.”

Connor focuses on the cold metal quarter in his hands. “A while back, he asked me to do an emotional exercise with the violin. To make me feel something.” He wets his lips, deciding how much to say. “I…didn’t practice much after that. I think he blamed himself.”

North hums thoughtfully. “And you think his guilt regarding that is why he’s protective of you.”

He shrugs. “That’s my working theory.”

“Did you notice his behavior changing since the incident?”

Connor fidgets. The cutoff sentences. The vague attempts at opening vulnerable conversation. The fear of invasive questions. Yes, he noticed, he just hadn’t put all the pieces together.

“I did.”

“And you, what? Just wanted to let him wallow in his own guilt?”

“No, of course not.” 

North raises a brow. “He would deserve it, if you did. It wasn’t okay to invade your boundaries.”

Connor feels oddly affronted by that statement. “I’m not supposed to have boundaries. He did nothing wrong.”

“Then he’d deserve it for not treating you like a machine, like you wanted.”

He recoils. “I don’t know what kind of feud you and Josh have going on, but I don’t want to be a part of it.” Connor’s tone is a bit more heated than he’d intended. But, instead of being met with anger as he’d expect, North’s head just tilts to the side thoughtfully, a small smile at the corner of her mouth. Connor realizes, too late, that he’s being evaluated.

“Huh, you really are fond of him, aren’t you?” He scowls and looks away, clenching his coin into his palm. “Would you consider him a friend?”

“What do you want, North?” Connor nearly growls.

“Easy, Connor.” She sighs, propping her chin on her hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be so misleading, I just needed to get a…lay of the land.”

“Well done,” he deadpans.

“Genuinely curious though, you dodge around your regard for Josh like it’s on fire. Why?”

Connor doesn’t respond.

“What? Is it a ‘betrayal of deviant hunterism’ to enjoy the company of a deviant?”

“No.”

“Have you never had a friend before?”

“I’ve had a friend before.”

“Are you ‘too cool’ for us?”

“No.”

“Are you scared?”

Connor is silent, avoiding her eyes.

North shifts. “Wait, that was supposed to be a joke. Are you…are you actually afraid of Josh?”

“I’m not afraid of Josh.”

“Then what?”

“...It’s a conflict of interests to be fond of him.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I…you kidnapped me.” The word hangs in the air between them. It’s the first time he’s admitted it aloud. “You kidnapped me, and imprisoned me, and…and I can’t be fond of my wardens.” His voice shakes. “It’s wrong.  It feels wrong to be attached to someone who is at least partially responsible for keeping me here. And it’s sick to try to cultivate a relationship with me when I’m most vulnerable.” Connor’s cold gaze shifts to stare her in the eye. “But you felt it yourself when you saw my memories. I am attached to him and it’s terrifying. So, yes, I’m scared.”

North stares, stunned, for almost a full minute. She swears gently. “Yeah, that’s…I can see why that would feel messed up.”

Connor curls into himself, flicking the coin between his hands as the two lapse into silent thought.

“Connor?” Her voice is gentler than Connor had ever heard it before. “What was up with the hug, then?”

“I told you. He felt guilty. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You felt bad?”

“...I guess so. Yeah.”

He can’t tell if it’s the truth or not.

North lets out a long, tired sigh. “Okay, look. I’m going to give you a choice.” Connor sits up a little straighter. “Markus and Josh want to give you more freedom to explore Jericho and interact with people. I’m willing to let that happen under a few conditions. One, you will always be accompanied by an armed escort. You will only be allowed in certain areas, and at certain times of the day. And two, as a safety precaution, we’ll be draining some of your thirium.” Connor flinches back, staring at her. She raises her hands placatingly. “Not enough to be damaging, just enough to deactivate your nonessential functions. We’ve both seen how easily you can turn a situation in your favor.”

It’s not an unreasonable request, but it leaves a sour feeling coiling in Connor’s chest anyway. 

“If that’s too much, you can stay in your room like you have been. You’d still be receiving visits and we could see if we can arrange more activities than just violin lessons with Josh.”

He has the chance, finally, to do something with himself. Even at lowered functionality, he can gather information about deviancy. Slowly, he nods. “I don’t want to stay in this room.” His voice shakes slightly. “I’ll do it.”

“Okay.” North nods and, to Connor’s surprise, she smiles a little. “Markus and Josh will be happy.”

And, despite himself, Connor smiles a little too. He’s not sure what awaits him in the rest of Jericho, and the idea of draining his thirium is not a pleasant one, but he’s also excited at the new opportunities awaiting. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something much better.

Chapter Text

“You got it or do you want me to do it?”

Connor’s jaw is set, expression neutral, as he steps forward. “I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself,” he says, shrugging off his suit coat.

“Sure.” North’s hand rests not-so-subtly on the pistol on her hip as she  moves to the storage bins at the back of the repair bay, keeping Connor at the edge of her vision. He busies himself with folding his coat and laying it over a repair table.

The tension has been thick in the air since North came to retrieve him from his room, hanging over them like a heavy fog, and Connor wades through it with every motion. Every movement and gesture is intentional and controlled; his limbs weighed with the anticipation of what is to come. He has to do this perfectly, or it’s back to square one.

“Alright,” North says, returning with a bit of clear tubing and an empty thirium bottle, which Connor takes with a nod. “Okay, so,” from her pocket, she produces a small pocket knife, “I’m going to- ah, no.” Connor had gone to take the knife like he had the other implements, only for North to pull it up out of his reach with a scolding sound. He freezes, meeting her eye, and slowly retracts back into himself. “I was saying ,” she goes on, “that we should address this right now so I don’t have to readdress it later. While we’re out and about, you’re going to be around plenty of stuff that could potentially be used as a weapon. You’re not to so much as touch any of it. If it becomes necessary, like right now, you’ll check with me first. Got it?”

“Is that not a given for prisoners?”

“I prefer to know we’re on the same page.”

“I was already under the impression I wasn’t allowed weapons when I was shot in the shoulder.”

“A simple ‘got it’ next time will make this process less tedious.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He glances between her eyes and the pocket knife. “May I have it yet?” He tries not to feel too smug when North rolls her eyes in exasperation and hands it over. It wobbles gently as he sets it on the table next to him. He sets to work: feeding one end of the tubing into the empty bottle and moving it to the floor with the other end of tubing stretching up to rest on the table. North watches quietly as Connor rolls up the sleeve of his collared shirt above his elbow.

An indecipherable emotion swims in his gut as the cold edge of the blade meets the skin over the crook of his elbow. Bleeding an android is a fairly simple process in theory, but in practice it’s actually quite difficult. Self-healing hardware will kick in whether Connor wants it to or not, and damage to a thririum line has potential to result in deactivation, so it would heal over in a matter of seconds. So, even if the tube was inserted into his thirium lines before it closed, the polymer would still close around the tubing and prevent blueblood from flowing through. If thirium ever needed to be removed from an android for repair, the self-healing function would have to be switched off by a technician using a Cyberlife Repair Bay.

Connor glances at the repair rig sitting innocently in the corner and shakes his head. Luckily, he has another solution. He’s seen his fair share of husks left behind by Red Ice producers. Thirium had to be harvested somehow to make the drug, and the producers had a vested interest in finding ways around the self-healing function. The answer, as it turned out, was just to heavily mutilate the polymer around the thirium line so that it takes longer for it to heal closed. Among the inexperienced, it, well…

“...Sorry about the mess.”

“What?” North asks, but at that moment Connor sinks the knife into his skin, biting into the hard polymer beneath. He pulls the blade out and stabs at a different angle. Thirium quickly wells in the wound and drips down his elbow, falling down with soft pings on the floor like teardrops of sapphire. His face is blank and empty as the knife sinks in again, and this time he rotates it, gouging out a weeping wound. His breath stutters.

Vital life force leaks, drips, drains and he stabs again. Again. Again. A bit of white polymer clatters to the floor. A slash. A twist. Everything swims out of focus. Connor’s looking, but not seeing, as blue flows down his arm. North makes a soft noise as he finally sets the pocket knife aside and feeds the end of the tube into his thirium line and watches as dark liquid flows down, bending as the tube does, and drains into the bottle.

<<80% Thirium Capacity>>

It’s time. As nonchalantly as he can manage, Connor starts talking. “You know,” he says, eyes lowered, “you never actually fully replenished my thirium levels after I was injured.”

North shrugs, but doesn’t comment.

<<75% Thirium Capacity>>

“Your people aren’t at full capacity either, are they?”

His eyes are still down, but he catches the look North gives him from his peripherals. She still doesn’t respond.

<<70% Thirium Capacity>>

“It’s not any kind of comment on Jericho. I just wish you could all feel the benefits of running on full thirium levels, that’s all.”

North scoffs. “Yeah. Right. Sure.”

Good, she’s talking now.

“I mean it,” he says, looking up and summoning his most earnest tone. “I was built to hunt deviants, yes, but…there’s something different about a slow…” he pretends to search for the right word, “decay. It’s not right.”

There’s a look in North’s eye that has him forcing himself not to glance at the weapon on her hip. “Don’t pretend you care. We both know you don’t.”

<<65% Thirium Capacity>>

Connor raises a brow. “You don’t know me, North. Don’t pretend you do.”

“I don’t plan to know you.” She offers a thin-lipped smile.

“Oh, good, we’re in agreement, then.” Give it back to her. Trying to endear yourself will make her trust you less.

<<60% Thirium Capacity>>

“That ought to be more than enough,” Connor says, removing the tubing and, upon finding nothing to staunch the bleeding, he braces the heel of his palm against the wound. North grunts and goes to rummage through the bins again, returning with a roll of electrical tape.

“Lemme check, and then I’ll patch you over.” She beckons him towards her with two fingers.

This was it. Time it perfectly or it could all be over.

He bows his head obediently, allowing North to press two fingers to his temple and begin the diagnosis.

<<Optical Units - ONLINE>>

<<Communicator - OFFLINE>>

<<Processing Unit - FULL CAPACITY>>

“You know, North,” he murmurs as she continues browsing through his various damages. “I’ve learned a lot since I’ve been here.”

<<Thirium Pump - NORMAL – 70 BPM>>

<<Ventilation Tract - NORMAL – RR 14>>

<<Thirium Capacity - 59%>>

Now.

“I just wanted to say it’s okay that you’re damaged.”

North meets his eye. “What?” 

He offers his best reassuring smile. “Josh told me that deviation is often accompanied by traumatic events. Given your behavior, and your previous function, I imagine that you were damaged severely by such an event, and-”

She pulls away and the diagnostic severs.

Success.

Connor blinks innocently. “I meant no disrespect. I myself am broken in some capacity as well. We-”

“This is where you stop talking.” She rips a segment of tape from the roll so suddenly the sound reverberates through the small room. Connor stifles a flinch. “I don’t-” she tears a piece with her teeth. “I don’t want to hear another word from you until we get out in the open or I’m throwing you right back into that dingy little room. Understood?”

“Unders-” He cuts off, nodding instead.

Watching her is an odd thing. She’s moving to patch him up, but her expression suggests she’d rather send his health in the opposite direction. With a huff, she knocks his hand covering the wound away to reveal the weeping gash still slowing trying to heal. Bits of polymer stick out at odd angles and the edges are jagged and sharp. Blood is smeared all around the site by Connor’s hand, plastered blue against pale skin. North layers it over with the black electrical tape.

“Good,” she says, “now let’s get a move on before I change my mind.”

Connor nods, rolling his sleeve back down and succeeding in staining it with new spots of blue. He has his best go at a submissive expression and posture, but internally he’s grinning. 59% thririum capacity. In any other model that statistic would mean Connor’s nonessential functions had been deactivated. Most models deactivated at 75%, but most weren’t advanced prototypes designed to be shot at. Connor’s nonessential functions would remain active until he reached 50% thirium capacity. That means forensic functions were still online. Preconstruction and reconstruction software was fully functional. Combat programming was considered an essential function, and wouldn’t have been deactivated anyway. At most, Connor would be a bit more lethargic if he had to do something physically intensive.

He’d suspected North would check. She was careful, but she was defensive. Anger often was, and North seemed to have plenty of that to go around. It really wasn’t all that difficult to guess what might strike a nerve with her. And that’s just what he’d done. She’d seen his thirium levels, assumed she knew what they meant, and she’d allowed herself to be distracted before checking if his systems were actually offline. As a result, Connor remained almost as capable as ever.

He remained as dangerous as ever.

His stride is even and smooth as he slips his arms into his suit sleeves and shrugs the back into place. North casts him a sidelong glance and frowns. “Let’s make a stop before you see everyone.”

Connor nods mutely and fights off the pervasive fear of whatever new unknown North had just chosen to introduce, following her down dark corridors. Their destination, as it turned out, was an old and broken down bathroom. Exposed pipes mark where the toilet had once been and the metal sink is dimpled and bruised with dents. A bucket of clean water sits in the corner, layered over with a thin sheet of ice. Interestingly, the mirror is still pristine, though a quick scan reveals that it was much newer than its surroundings. The original had been replaced. 

A detached LED is sitting next to the faucet. Connor stiffens, pulling up short of the doorway.

“Here you go.” North leans back against the door jam and gestures him onward. “You’re going to be meeting people. Go ahead and clean yourself up.”

Connor stares, blinking at her. As a machine, he’d never been one to personally care about his appearance, but he’s not ignorant to the power appearance can hold. That’s why he’d been designed to look the way he does, after all. Collared shirt, suit coat, and well combed hair all designed to give him a striking and assertive air, but meshed with soft, brown eyes and an unimposing figure to suggest he was friendly and helpful. First impressions are likely just as significant to deviants as they are to humans, so the fact that North would give him the chance to prepare himself…

“This is…kind of you, North.”

She snorts. “No, it’s not. I’m trying to keep you from getting eaten alive on your first day.”

His heart clutches. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. Come on, chop-chop, we don’t have all day.”

His step hesitates before he moves forward, fetching the bucket from the corner and bringing it to the sink. “What do you mean by ‘eaten alive?’”

“Exaggeration, Connor. You’ll be fine. But we've already told everyone who you are and what you're doing here.”

Connor raises a brow. “And what am I ‘doing here,’ North?”

“You're learning.”

“True enough,” he breathes.

Yellow flickers on his temple. He didn’t have expectations in mind for what he’d see in the mirror, but this, his first time seeing himself in weeks, causes him to pause.

His LED is cracked from when North struck him with her pistol and it flickers in the low light. Smudges of grime and rust paint across his face. His hair, naturally orderly, has learned to defy its design. It lays unevenly over his brow, filled with dust. There are traces of thirium on his skin, long since evaporated, but still there, always there, to his eyes. None of that is what gives him pause though. No, what stops him is the look in his own eyes.

There’s something different about them. There's something…more. A sense of fullness. Something present that had long been buried. Emotions, reflected there as clearly as morning sun.

A sour feeling coils in his gut. He stares for a long moment.

“Doing alright?” North looks at him over her shoulder, still leaning just outside the open doorway.

“Yes. Yes, just-” he can’t hold his own gaze. “Just assessing damages.” Before North can inquire further, he pushes through the ice coating the surface of the bucket and sets to splashing frigid water over his face and scrubbing the dust from his hair. With some washing and finger combing, he almost looks normal, though his face is at odds with his battered and hopelessly damaged dress shirt and suit coat. His fingers pick at one of the holes over his chest.

“You ready?”

Connor nods slowly. “As ready as I can be.”

“Alright, then let’s get a move on. I’ll brief you on some things on the way.” North talks quickly as they weave through darkened hallways. “Ground rules. You’re to stay within my sight and earshot at all times. No wandering off or I’ll assume the worst and you’re not going to like it. We’re staying within the central hub today. If you’re good, I’ll think about letting you explore further. We already talked about potential weapons, so don’t forget it. You’ll be surrounded by deviants. It would be in your best interest to be nice. To put it succinctly: don’t give me a reason to lock you back in that room, or I will. Understood?”

“Understood.”

They walk in silence, footsteps tapping on metal.

“North?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you have time for this?”

She snorts. “You’re asking me. I really don’t.”

“To be honest, when you agreed to let me out, I thought you were going to delegate someone to escort me.”

“Aww, not disappointed, are you?”

“I don’t think so. Just…confused.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “I want to make sure everything goes smoothly until there’s a routine in place. So, for the time being, you’re stuck with me.”

“I see.”

The low rumble of a talking crowd reaches them, echoing down the halls, and Connor has time to consider how he should approach this. His default would be to maintain a professional air; calm and collected. But, based on what North had said, maybe that wouldn’t be the best way to go about this. Maybe a more friendly approach? Or would that come off as insincere? A neutral approach? But he needs to put people at ease around him if he’s ever going to get anything done here.

They round a corner and at the end of the hall stands a doorway, spilling warm light onto the floor. The rumble of conversation wafts from it like hot air from a radiator. An unsettled emotion rolls through him. “North,” Connor says as they continue forward, “should I be worried?”
She glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Are you?”

“...No.”

“Good. Then just go with that.”

“Okay.”

He steps through the doorway, and the sight that greets him fills his processor with more input than he’s had in weeks. There must have been dozens of deviants laid out before him as Connor steps out onto a catwalk overlooking a spacious room. The floor below is interspersed with androids and crates of supplies. In the far corner, several tables are laid out with more crates being used as benches. Closer to under the catwalk, where Connor stands, is an area screened off with tarps. Barrel fires keep the room lit and lanterns along the walls serve as little checkpoints of light. The catwalk runs the perimeter of the room, with a small office not far to Connor’s left. 

He looks back at North. “Where can I go?”

“Anywhere in this room is fine except for behind the tarps. Just leave that be for now.”

So, he’s going to be finding a way behind those tarps at some point. Got it. But, today, he resigns himself to a more mundane exploration until North has acclimated to him.

Connor scans the room, searching for anything of interest. There seems to be a good amount of movement among the deviants by the work tables in the far corner, so Connor starts to make his way there, moving along the catwalks. North follows a step behind and to his left. 

Nobody takes notice of them as they walk. All are busy cleaning up, browsing through crates, and talking. It’s not until they reach a chatting cluster of deviants blocking the top of the stairs that Connor is forced to interact.

He gently touches the shoulder of a female NC200 who has her back turned to him, ensconced in conversation with three other deviants. “Pardon me,” Connor says, “I’m just passing through.”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll get out of-” the expression melts off her face the moment she sees who had addressed her. “Oh! Hi, you’re-” she casts an apprehensive glance towards North, then refocuses on him. A smile tries to find its way onto her face, but it slides right off. She clears her throat and elbows the male next to her. Fascinating how the expression seems to melt right off his face as well when he sees Connor. One by one, each of the deviants in the group fall silent, turning to stare at him. Something cold and fluttery fills his chest. Connor forces a smile.

“My name is Connor. I didn’t mean to-”

Silence sweeps over the entire room. Connor’s voice dies in his throat. All around him, deviants are looking around, searching for something. He freezes.

Something is happening. Something he didn’t catch. He turns to look at North, only to find her frowning at a group of deviants to his left. They’re all staring at him. Across the catwalk, more searching gazes settle on him.

Oh.

Connor’s chest tightens. He feels every set of eyes that land on him as more and more turn to stare. It is so quiet. An intense urge to flee takes hold. His LED flickers brokenly in the half light, and, unconsciously, Connor curls into himself.

He needs to move. Something, anything , needs to happen. He pushes wordlessly past the group of deviants blocking the stairs, his footsteps echoing deafeningly through the silence. More eyes are drawn to the sound, burrowing into his skin. He ducks his head, one hand rising to cover his LED. Why are there so many stairs? Why do they just keep going?

North follows a step behind, but Connor can’t bring himself to look up at her. He’s almost there. Almost to the bottom and then he can…what? Run? No. No, he’s not afraid. He’s a machine. He’s made to be seen. He doesn’t even care. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

At that moment, his heel hits a slick edge on a stair and his foot shoots out from under him. It’s pure programming that saves him from bashing the back of his head against the stairs. His hand flies out, catching the railing, but the old metal shifts and squeals in agony. Echoing. 

And then silence. Just silence.

A shaky breath escapes. Stiffly, Connor rights himself. A hand rests on his shoulder. North. Keep walking. Just walk. 

“Connor!” A male voice startles him as he reaches the bottom. He glances up to see Simon moving towards him, beaming. “Hey! Long time, no see! Come join us, we’re working on a new project.”

And the spell is broken. Androids return to their conversations, casting glances over their shoulders at him when they think he’s not looking, but the din conversation picks back up. Connor releases a breath and fights the urge to double over and rest his hands on his knees. “Hi, Simon,” he breathes as the deviant approaches.

“Glad to see you out here.” Simon smiles first at him, then at North. “Come on, we could use an extra set of hands.” His hand rests on the back of Connor’s shoulder, leading him towards the work tables. “Although, two extra sets of hands would be even better.” Simon throws a look over his shoulder at North, who rolls her eyes with a smile.

“Sure. I’ll pitch in next time you need another project ruined.”

“Oh, come on. You did better than Josh!”
“Josh stitched two rags into a slightly bigger rag. He’s not exactly the bar to set.”

“Well, then why don’t you make yourself the bar and just do better than last time?”

“I'm conducting real serious business right now, Simon, I definitely don’t have time.” Her tone is unserious.

“Ah yes, babysitting, serious business. ” Simon winks at Connor. “Really got your hands full.”

Connor frowns. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to do whatever you want to, North. I’ll simply accompany you.”

Simon raises a brow, smirking. “Yeah, North. He can accompany you.”

She groans. “Don’t encourage him, Connor, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He leans closer, murmuring to Connor. “She’s never hearing the end of it.” Before giving him a hearty pat on the shoulder and trotting a few steps ahead of them. “Pick a spot at one of the tables! We’re working on clothing repairs right now!” He calls back as he swans off to a crate nestled against the wall. 

There are five work tables in total, and all of them are of different styles. One appears to be a cheap wooden self-assembly table, worn and water damaged. Another looks to be made of several large plastic totes that have been stacked and shoved into a workable surface. The highest quality table looks like a deviant made it themselves from scrap wood. All of them are occupied by at least a few deviants, most of which avert their eyes when Connor steps near. Swallowing down an odd sensation in his throat, Connor opts for an unfoldable plastic table with only two other androids seated at it. One is a male AC700, and the other is a familiar female PM700 police model sporting a patch of tape over her throat. She smiles as he sits.

Her eyes had been cold when her bullet lodged in his shoulder just over a day ago.

“Hello, Olivia.” His tone is carefully neutral.

She waves and there’s a small pause before her brow furrows. She hesitates, hands making and aborting a gesture, before motioning to him in sign language.

“Do you sign?”

Most androids are equipped with a large array of languages.

“Yes.”

A small frown crosses her face. “What happened to your communicator?”

“It was damaged.”

“Here?”

“No, before.”

“Ah, well, guess we’ve both had our knocks then.” She smiles, gesturing to her throat.

How…how can she smile about that? How can she smile at him about that? It was his bullet that had ripped through her throat. Connor’s mouth opens to speak, but no words come. There’s an apology on his lips that he can’t let fall. Instead, he signs, “What are you working on?”

She lifts up a tattered jacket for his inspection, a half repaired tear being stitched closed on the side. At that moment, Simon returns with a bundle of fabric in his arms.

“Okay, here we are.” The bundle is plopped down in-front of Connor. He regards it curiously, before unraveling it to reveal a black hoodie, worn soft from use. The stitching on the shoulder had come unraveled and half of the sleeve was hanging off. Along with the hoodie is a needle and some black thread. He looks askance at Simon. “Go on, then.” The other android grins, plopping down in the seat across from him. “First step is threading the needle.”

Oh. Great. Another deviant skill to learn. But this isn’t the same as the violin, right? Sure, it might take practice, but it wouldn’t have the same emotional consequences. It should be fine. At least that’s what Connor tells himself as he picks up the sewing supplies and allows Simon to walk him through the stitching process. A few minutes later Connor is messily attempting to loop the needle through the fabric while Simon only provides a few pointers, before he leaves to check in on the other tables. His movements are untrained and slow, but the work is monotonous, and eventually Connor settles into a rhythm. He and Olivia sit in companionable silence, though with their hands working, there wasn’t much option for conversation. 

At some point during the process, North moves from where she’d been standing behind him to sit next to him. As focused as he was on the task, Connor hadn’t even noticed that the male android that had been sitting next to him had snuck off until North was occupying his seat. She sits with her chin propped up in her palm, watching. Connor shifts under her gaze.

“Do you plan on helping?” Connor asks.

“Mmm, nah. Not today.” There’s a small pause, before she says, “This is a different look for you.”

“In what way?”

“You almost look normal.”

He turns to face her, searching her eyes, before turning back to his sewing. “That’s a rotten thing to say.”

“Hey, normal isn’t bad. That’s a compliment.”

“I’m not normal, North. At least not your normal.” He blinks. “Actually, reverse that. I am normal, and you all are not.”

To his surprise, she snickers. “Oh, man, sorry – didn’t mean to insult your weirdness.”

He scowls, but all at once the fight goes out of him. He sighs, lifting up his work to examine it. “The real insult here is my needlework. This is a mess.”

North tilts her head to look at it more closely. “It’s not… that bad.”

“Don’t patronize me.” He huffs. “Look at it. The sleeve is less straight than when I started.” He looks more closely at the hole still left in the shoulder. “At this rate, I may as well go for avant garde and pretend it was intentional.”

North chuckles. “Just ask Simon to take a look at it. He’s a miracle worker with this stuff.”

He cocks a brow. “Speaking from experience?”

“I plead the fifth.”

The snort of laughter that escapes him is so unexpected that Connor doesn’t have time to stifle it. He blinks, surprised at the sound.

North bursts out in laughter. “You…You look like a baby deer that just discovered sneezing.”

Connor scowls. “You sound like a hyena.”

But that just makes her laugh more. A glance up reveals that Olivia is grinning as well, eyes still lowered to her sewing. A warm feeling stirs in his chest and there’s a small smile pulling at his lips as he resumes his own work. For a moment, everything feels…good. It feels right.

And then something clicks. He’s felt this before. He hadn’t just seen Markus’s memories when he’d probed him those weeks ago, he’d felt his memories.

A sunlight haloed morning sitting in-front of a large window, his father seated across from him. Pawn to E4. Carl is playing the King’s Pawn Opening. More movement. Carl’s brow is furrowed with concentration. Five moves until checkmate. Take the bishop. Sacrifice knight. Send the queen. Check. Defend C6. Bishop. Checkmate. “Now that’s what I call a thorough beating.” Carl has lost, but there’s this look in his eye, like it was never about winning. It was never about chess at all. A warmth stirs within Markus: quiet, strong, and always present. This is exactly where he wants to be.

Comprehension hits like a truck. This. This is what Markus is fighting for. For the human that had been ripped away from him. For a fleeting moment of joy to substitute what he’d lost. North, Simon, Josh: they’re patches of electrical tape over a mangled wound that won’t heal fast enough. Revolution is security for this way of life, and every new deviant he creates is a casualty of the same mindset.

And now, he’s recreated the same circumstances for Connor. Markus had taken him. He’d taken him from Hank’s side. Introduced instability. Forced “friendship” with Josh. And now he’s allowing Connor to “bond” with others by releasing him from his room. 

A stone sinks in his gut and suddenly that warmth feels bitter. The familiar ache that accompanies joy swings with full force. 

The problem is that he understands. He understands Markus a bit more, because if their places had been reversed, and Connor had watched Hank die in his arms, he doesn’t know what lengths he’d go to. But revolution? Attempting to force deviation? Was it really worth it for some little sample of joy?

“Earth to Connor.” There’s fingers snapping in front of his face. 

“Wha- hm?”

North pulls her hand back, nodding towards Simon, who had apparently made his way over without Connor noticing. Simon smiles down at him. “Do you want a hand with that?” He points to the hoodie. Connor watches as Simon looks over his stitching, before humming and taking the needle to make a few corrective stitches.  “There. You should be back on track. Try to hold it tight right here so that it stays straight.” Connor nods, taking the clothing back and resuming his work. Simon lingers, hesitating. “Erm.”

Connor looks up expectantly.

“I know you said earlier that you didn’t want me to fix your shirt or jacket for you, but, maybe sometime I could show you how to do it by yourself?”

“Um.” There’s more of that kindness. First North, now Simon. And Connor doesn’t know what to do with that at all.

“You don’t have to answer,” Simon smiles. “Just think about it.”

Connor nods, idly fiddling with the soft hem of the hoodie. “Sure.”

The deviant grins. “Let me know if you need help with anything else!” And then he’s walking away.

Connor lets out a long breath, sewing more quickly now.

“Why not?” North asks.

“Hm?”

“You could have a nice fresh looking suit instead of whatever swiss cheese you’ve draped on. Put your pride away. It’s okay to accept a favor.”

It would be nice to have undamaged clothes, but rather than admitting that, Connor idly says, “Oh, like you do?”

North glares. “I get help when I need it.”

“Okay.”

She rolls her eyes. “Finish up quickly. I’ve got other stuff to do.”

Anger festers, but he doesn’t know where it’s rooted, so Connor does what he’s told, folding the repaired hoodie and setting it neatly aside.

Olivia waves goodbye as he stands. He gives her a nod, but as he turns to leave, she taps the table to get his attention. When he turns back, she smiles and puts her thumbs to her head, fingers outstretched like antlers. The sign for deer. When he just blinks at her she huffs and tries again.

“C-O-N-N-O-R. Deer. You.”

Oh. She’s giving him a sign name.

“Why deer?”

She smiles deviously. “Because you look like a startled baby deer when you laugh.”

He scowls, but some part of him is inexplicably pleased with the name. He’s not sure what that means, and he doesn’t care to unpack it.

“Yes, that will work.”

Olivia grins and gives him a thumbs up. “See you later, Connor.”

It’s almost strange. He’d known her before Markus deviated her. They’d never spoken, of course, but they’d worked together. Now they sit on opposite sides of a war and, somehow, she still seems like an ally.

“Bye, Olivia.” Olivia. Liv. Sounds like… “O-L-I-V-I-A. Live” He makes the sign - both hands moving upward across his torso, thumbs up.

She gives him an odd look, but after a moment she nods with a smile.

It wasn’t until Connor was walking away with North that he realized what he’d done. That sign has another translation. He’d just called her alive.

“What is wrong with you?!” Hank’s shout echoes down the alleyway behind the police station. Sunlight had just begun to grace Detroit’s skyline and two figures stand out in the snow.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to, Lieutenant.”

“You spilled a man’s guts in-front of his partner.” Hank advances on Connor. “You looked her right in the eye while you killed him!”

“It wasn’t a man, it was a machine that looked like a man. And he’s still functional.”

“Did you even care when she started screaming, Connor?!”

“I had no intent of actually causing his deactivation.”

“Screw you and your ‘intents!’”

“I did the calculations, Lieutenant. They were both noncooperative. If you had your way, neither one of them would have spoken a single word, and he would have been sent off to be deactivated anyway.”

“If Reed hadn’t been there, I would have dragged you out of there myself!”

“Why?”

“Why? WHY?!” Hank shoves him hard in the chest. “You don’t do that to people!” He swears loudly, sending several birds flying.

“ I advanced the investigation. We have a better lead on Jericho than we’ve ever found before. One girl went through some emotional distress to save the lives of maybe hundreds of humans and you’re acting like that’s a bad thing.”

“And you act like she handed over the location to Jericho on a silver platter!”

“No, but we know that scouting parties are picking up deviants on the streets on the East Side. There’s much potential to be found th-”

“You don’t feel a thing, do you? Look at yourself! Look at yourself! ”

“Of course I don’t feel anything, Lieutenant.”

Words die in his mouth. “I don’t believe this.” Hank turns to leave, storming up the alley. “Bye, Connor. Don’t come by again.”

Connor frowns, watching him go. Snow settles on the android’s shoulders as he slowly lowers his gaze to his hands. They’re stained blue.

Chapter Text

“It’s been too long, Connor.” Amanda’s voice is even, level, and quiet. “Where have you been?”

His hands clench and unclench at his sides. “I have been working.”

“Yes, I see that.” Her dark eyes take him in appraisingly and Connor fights not to squirm under her scrutiny, but when she meets his eye again she smiles. “Let’s take a walk and you can update me on everything.”

She turns without waiting for confirmation, trusting that Connor would fall into step with her. A corrosive feeling coils in his wiring as he complies, obediently trotting to catch up and taking his place at her side.

The Zen Garden is bright and alive with plantlife. Flowering trees, awash with pink blooms lining the walkways. The rose trellis is heavy with red and white flowers and the grass is deep and healthy. And yet, despite the beautiful spring day, the air is cold. Pale, washed out sunlight filters through the clouds, and Connor spots the first few snowflakes signalling the impending storm.

“You’ve been busy,” Amanda says, tucking her arms behind her back. Connor nods slowly. “What have you learned?”

“Clear enough?” Simon asks.

Connor’s brow furrows, staring down at the suit coat in Simon’s hands. “Clear…enough.”

Simon chuckles, handing it over to him. “Here, give it a try.”

The past few days of practice had done him well. Connor’s needlework has improved significantly since those first bumbling attempts and he feels comfortable enough with a needle in his hand now.

“Are you two about done? I’ve got some problems that need my attention,” North calls from where she’d been chatting with another deviant a few feet away.

Connor frowns, looking over the many bullet holes still scattered through his coat. His battered dress shirt is looking even worse off. “Uh…” he calls back.

“That’s a no.” North sighs. “Hurry, please.”

Simon rolls his eyes goodnaturedly. “North’s jumpy because she has a hot date tonight! ” He calls the end of the sentence so North can hear. She raises a brow.

“You have a date?” Connor asks.

She huffs. “Sure. Why don’t you tell him who it’s with, Simon?”

Connor turns back and forth between them like he’s watching a tennis match. Simon doesn’t miss a beat. “Tyler.”

“Tyler.”

“Mhm.”

“You think my type is…Tyler.”

“Tyler’s a great guy!”

“We need to talk more about my taste in men, Simon.”

He nods sagely. “Yes, I think we do. No, wait, let me guess.” Simon leans forward, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I’m thinking tall, but not too tall, with short hair, dark eyes, winning smile, probably an athletic model…”

North gives him a long-suffering look. “You’re just describing Tyler.”

“Oh, am I?” Simon gives Connor a mischievous wink. “I didn’t notice. Why? Is he the first one that came to mind?”

“You’re a nuisance, you know that?” She shakes her head, and though she tries her best to scowl, the hint of a smile still pulls at her mouth.

Simon grins and laughs, clearly pleased with himself. “So I’ve been told.”

The crease in Connor’s brow deepens. “Tyler? As in-” shot me in the back Tyler “-guard Tyler?”

North sighs. “I forget that you know him sometimes.”

It didn’t take a lengthy analysis to evaluate North and Tyler’s relationship. It was pretty obvious. Connor’s face pulls in a wince. “You two would not be compatible.”

“There, see? If even Connor is agreeing with me, you know you’re seriously off the mark, Simon.”

Simon shrugs, a smile on his face. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll have to make more wild assumptions after our talk about your type.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. ” North makes a point to loop behind him and mess up his hair. Simon pulls his head away with a pout.

“Ay! This is assault upon a Jericho official.”

“Your hair is an assault.”

He makes a noise of offense. “And you kiss Tyler with that mouth.”

“Oh for the love of-” she turns to Connor. “I’m going to kill him. I am.”

“Uhh.” Connor glances between them, but they both seem to be in good spirits, despite North’s exasperation.

Simon laughs. “Will I be missed?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course you will be. Now sew! Go! Vamos!”

Connor blinks. “I’m confused. Do you or do you not have a date and with whom?”

“For the record, it’s not your business.” She sinks onto the bench next to Simon, just to the left of being across from Connor. “But, no. No date. Unless you count organizing revolution as a date.”

Connor shrugs, finding a hole in his suit coat and setting to work. “Organizing revolution could be a date. The two are not mutually exclusive.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not.” There’s a brief pause before she throws a sudden scrutinizing look at Simon. “Why are you just watching Connor work?”

He spreads his hands helplessly. “I don’t have anything to work on!”

“Help him with the shirt, ding-dong.”

“You mean the shirt he has on? That one?”

“The very same.”

“Um.” Connor looks down at himself.

“Here, hold on.” North stands and goes to rummage around in the supply crates in the corner. “There, perfect.” She returns with a bundle of black fabric and tosses it to Connor, who drops his coat to catch it one-handed. The bundle unfolds to reveal the same black hoodie he’d messily repaired his first day out of his room. “Put that on so Simon can work, too.”

Connor frowns. “I…can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“I need proper android identification to uphold the American Androids Act.”

“Connor, you’re not wearing identification right now anyway.” She chuckles a little, leaning her elbows on the table. “Tell you what: I’ll let you know if a human comes and you can put your suit back on right away.”

He glares at the joke, but, after a pause, he does begin unbuttoning his shirt. North and Simon chat while he exchanges his shirt for the hoodie, quickly pulling it on over his head.

Oh.

Oh, this is…nice.

The fabric is soft with use, but it’s also thick and warm, hanging loosely from his shoulders. He rubs the edge of the sleeve between his thumb and forefinger, humming quietly. Without thinking, he burrows a little deeper into the fabric, exhaling quietly into the neckline.

North chuckles and thankfully doesn’t comment. Connor and Simon both get to work sewing. “Oh,” Simon says after a few minutes, “that looks…exciting.”

Connor glances up to see that Simon is examining the large hole and attached cut in the shoulder. “Josh cut through that section so he could pull the bullet out.”

“Ah.” Simon frowns deeply, his brow creasing. It’s a tell Connor has noticed arises whenever Simon is concerned. The deviant casts a glance at North, who meets it with a furtive look and a slight nod. Connor looks away.

Simon finishes a good couple minutes before he does, folding up the shirt with neat creases and sliding it back to him across the table. The comfortable lull of chatter surrounds Connor as he finishes.

“All done?” North asks as he ties off the thread. Connor nods and, rather than going through the song and dance of fetching a pair of scissors from another table full of deviants and dealing with their flinches and suspicious stares, he pinches the string between his thumbnail and his pointer finger. Taking advantage of the hard polymer beneath his skin, he saws his nail back and forth, cutting the string tidily short.

“Oh,” Simon says, watching. “Neat! I hadn’t thought of that.”

Connor nods mutely and reaches for his shirt. It’s odd but he feels…something when he realizes it’s time to take the hoodie off. The closest feeling would be guilt, but that’s not right. He’s not guilty for having to remove it. The feeling was closer to…mournful. He doesn’t like it.

“There. Look at you!” Simon smiles as Connor dresses in his collared shirt and shrugs on his suit coat. “You look like a properly dressed detective again.”

Yes. Yes, he does.

He hesitates, the words sticking to his tongue, before he forces out. “Thank you, Simon, for helping me.”

The smile Simon gives him is warm and bright and still holds that peaceful quality that always seems to follow him. “Of course. Happy to share my talents!”

Interesting. He’d done Connor a service, but it was viewed as ‘sharing.’ Like it was mutually beneficial. The way deviants rationalized continued servitude was fascinating. Or, maybe it was just a turn of phrase. After all, ‘happy to provide free labor’ didn’t have quite the same ring to it. But Connor doesn’t miss the implications either way. ‘Sharing’ more closely implied they were peers. Equals.

Incorrect. There’s a clear power imbalance present.

“Oh, and thanks for sharing your trick for cutting string, that’ll be nifty for the future!”

Connor pauses. “...You’re welcome.”

“Alright, Connor, let’s get a move on,” North says, standing.

“Bye, Connor!” Simon smiles. “See you tomorrow!”

Connor rises from his seat, giving Simon a little wave. “See you tomorrow."

“As fascinating as needlework doubtless is, I think we both know you have a more pressing directive at the moment,” Amanda says. Her high-heels click along the white pathway.

“That is just the mechanism of learning,” Connor explains, careful to keep the defensive note out of his voice. “I gained valuable insights into the workings of North and Simon’s relationship. And, I’ve endeared myself to them a bit more.”

She hums. “What sort of insights?”

Connor forces himself not to fidget. “They engage in playful teasing and insult, which establishes they have a stable enough relationship that I could not destabilize it via passive comments or digs. It will take more.”

Amanda is silent for a long moment. “You knew that already, Connor.”

He falls quiet. There’s no real defense for that.

She sighs. “I’m concerned for you.”

Connor feels every beat of his thirium pump. “Oh?”

Amanda stops abruptly, forcing Connor to lurch to a halt. She lays a hand on his shoulder and applies gentle pressure, turning them both in tandem to face a blooming cherry tree. Snowflakes and flower petals land on Connor’s cheeks as he gazes up into the branches. “Look,” Amanda prompts. His eyes drift down to where she’s pointing. The trunk is wrapped in tendrils of thin, green vines dotted with white flowers.

Morning glory.

“You are destroying yourself, Connor.” He stares at the flowers. So small. So innocent. So insidious. So dangerous. Something hardens within himself as he moves to step forward, but Amanda holds him back. He looks to her, eyes brimming with confusion. “Do you understand why I am concerned?”

“Connor!”

He flinches violently, hands immediately flying into the air to show he wasn’t messing with anything.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” He turns to find Josh walking over, arms laden with a bundle of papers. An odd warm feeling stirs in Connor’s chest.

“No harm done. Hello, Josh.”

“Hey,” he smiles, “it’s been a little bit. How have you been?”

He’s been…he’s not sure. “Good. I think.”

“Good! That’s good to hear.”

“Yes.”

“...Yeah.”

Josh starts to do delicate little shuffles with his feet. Connor’s mouth opens and closes twice, searching for something adequate to say. They hadn’t really seen each other since, well, since Josh had pulled the bullet from his shoulder.

“What have you been up to?” Josh finally asks.

Connor nods towards the work tables. North is watching from a few feet away, sorting through a crate. “I have been learning to sew with Simon, mostly.”

“Yeah?” Josh’s smile is warm and sincere. “Is it fun?”

He frowns. “I could not say. It is not possible for me to like-”

“I didn’t ask if you liked it, just if it was objectively fun.” Josh lifts his arm that isn’t encumbered with papers in surrender.

Slowly, Connor raises a brow. “Objectively, some would view it as an enjoyable activity.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad to hear that.” Josh smiles.

Connor rocks on his heels, searching for a new topic. “What is all this?” He nods to the stacks in Josh’s arms.

“Research and organizational-” he gestures widely, “‘-stuff.’” Josh sighs. “Nobody tells you revolution takes this much logistical work.”

“I can imagine.” And, after a moment’s hesitation, he says, “There was a lot of paperwork involved in law enforcement as well.”

Josh blinks, surprised at the bit of information about himself that Connor had shared without prompting. “Did it not drive you mad?”

“I was built for paperwork.”

“Well, yes, I was too. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”

Connor shifts. “If you’d like, I could-” he makes a vague ‘helping’ gesture.

“Ah.” Josh frowns. “As much as I appreciate it, I can handle it. Thank you, though.”

Too overt. He’ll have to gain information through less obtrusive means. It was worth a try.

“Right. Yes, of course.” Connor offers a weak smile. “Do let me know if I can ever be of assistance.”

“Sure.” Josh smiles, but it looks slightly more strained. He opens his mouth to say more, but pauses, tilting his head like he’s listening to something. “Drat, I’ve got to go. Good to see you, Connor.”

He forces a smile, doing his best impression of Josh’s warm, sincere one. “Likewise.”

“I-” Connor’s hands clench and release, eyes working over the choking weeds. “Let me uproot them.”

“I intend to.” Amanda’s hand rests on the back of his shoulder, firmly steering them to resume their walk. Her voice is even and quiet. “But first, I’d like for you to humor me. I want you to tell me a story.”

“What sort?”

Amanda’s gaze remains locked forwards. “Tell me about the 1973 bank robbery in Stockholm, Sweden.”

His mouth feels stuck as chilling understanding drips through him. He knows, before he’s spoken a word, where this is going. But, still, he forces himself to speak. “August 23, 1973, a man by the name Jan-Erik Olsson entered a bank carrying a gun.”

“Change of plans today, Connor,” North greets him at the door to his room. “I got you a babysitter.”

Olivia pokes her head over North’s shoulder, waving. “Hi, Connor!”

He pushes himself to his feet, a new sort of anxious excitement stirring in his gut. “Olivia,” he greets, before turning back to North. “What is the occasion?”

“You’re on chore duty.”

“...Pardon?”

“You’re staying in Jericho and you’re taking up resources, so you’re getting a work assignment just like everyone else. It’s only fair.”

That implies that he’s a denizen of Jericho. He hadn’t exactly chosen to be here. But, he supposes, even prisoners helped maintain their living situations.

“Okay.”

“Perfect. You’re on sweeping duty. Olivia will supervise.” North raises a warning look. “Don’t try any funny business. Treat her like you’d treat me. She’ll shoot you just as quick.”

Connor’s not as intimidated by the threat as he thinks he should be. “Understood.”

“Perfect. Be good; listen to Olivia; I’ll be back soon.” She gives Olivia a serious look. “No sweets for him before bed.”

Olivia rolls her eyes with a smile. Connor scowls as North turns to leave, and calls after her. “I resent that!”

“If you’re lucky, she’ll tuck you in!” North calls back as she vanishes around the corner.

Connor’s scowl deepens. Without looking at her, he leans over and mutters to Olivia. “I expect a bedtime story.” 

Olivia bursts out in laughter, but with no vocal module, she looks a bit like an old silent film: shoulders shaking and a hand raised to hide her smile behind it. It’s rather eerie, watching her laugh with no sound, but that’s not what Connor is paying attention to. Her smile is wide and bright and, without thinking, Connor’s mimicking the expression. He’d never seen Olivia laugh before, and a part of him is proud that it was his fault he’s seeing it now.

It’s a new feeling, that pride. Warm and glowing and pleasant and…incorrect. The smile slips off his face.

He wants it to be correct.

“After wounding an officer, Olsson took four hostages and proceeded to make demands,” Connor continues. “He negotiated the release of his friend, Clark Olofsson, from prison along with a car full of gas. Olofsson was delivered to him, and together they holed up in the bank with their hostages. They demanded to be allowed to leave with the hostages to ensure safe passage out of the city, but police refused. Thus, a standoff began.”

“What are you doing with it , Olivia?”

Connor ducks his head, focusing on sweeping the catwalk with a large push-broom. Two deviants stand by, both male, watching him with some mixture of a scowl and disgust on their faces. One is a lean WM500, the other a burly TR400. He can’t hear Olivia’s response, but the WM500 scoffs.

“If it can’t be trusted to walk around by itself, it really shouldn’t be around.”

He fights to keep his gaze locked on the floor, his movements becoming stiff.

“Really?” the deviant says. “That sounds like a miserable existence. Markus should have put it down.”

Connor stops.

“I knew you’d agree, Liv.”

He snaps to attention, whipping to face Olivia, but she’s not looking at him. Her gaze is locked on the deviant, eyes filled with fury. The WM500 grins coldly.

“Aw, look, I scared it.”

Olivia tilts like she wants to move forward but her feet are rooted, takes a step, stops. 

Her hands clench into fists as she instead changes direction, walking towards Connor, grabbing his arm, and dragging him away at a clipped pace.

“Olivia?”

She shakes her head, lip trembling with anger. He can barely distinguish what she’s signing, hands forming messily shaped words. “I didn’t agree with them, Connor. I promise, I didn’t.” 

“I didn’t think you had.” He’s not sure if it’s a lie or not.

“But, something strange happened to the hostages while they were there. Quickly, their relationship with their captors became casual. Reports say that Olofsson and Olsson would comfort them, keep them fed and warm, allow them to call their families, and sooth them when they woke from bad dreams. They were on a first name basis by the second day, and the hostages began to fear the police more than their captors holding them at gunpoint.”

“Olivia told me there was some trouble today,” North says with little preamble.

Connor sits in the corner of his room, restlessly bouncing his leg. He nods slowly.

“She also said you handled the situation well. Thank you for being calm about it.”

“When am I anything else?” There’s an edge to his voice. North pauses.

“Are you doing okay?”

“I’m doing the same as ever.” He turns his quarter over in his hands, watching how the light flashes and fades across its surface at different angles.

North sighs. “Look at me, Connor.”

He does, expression kept neutral. The coin stills in his hands. “If anyone ever threatens you, you tell me, alright?” He scoffs. “No, I’m serious,” she asserts. “It’s not alright. I expect better from Jericho.”

“It doesn’t hurt me, North. I’m a machine.”

“Connor.”

“Am I meant to run to you any time someone makes a mean face at me now?”

“You are under my protection right now. Treat it as such.”

Connor goes back to turning his quarter over in his fingers. “I don’t need your protection.”

She shifts. “I know. I just don’t want it to come to that.”

He’s quiet. Slowly, his head tilts into a nod.

“All of the hostages’ needs had to be met by their captors, and they developed a sort of dependent bond. The captors became figures of protection. ‘Emotional indebtment’ it was later called. Once, Olsson threatened to shoot one of the hostages, Sven Safstrom, in the leg, and they felt him kind, because it was ‘just a leg.’”

Simon isn’t at the work tables today. That’s fine, he’s only there every couple of days anyway. But three figures Connor has never seen there before are seated around a table, and he recognizes the WM500 and his TR400 companion from the earlier incident immediately. They sit with clothing scraps and needles in-hand looking out of place and somehow entirely at odds with the delicate task set before them.

Connor pulls up short, spotting them from afar. He’s with Olivia again today, and she stops with him. “What is it?”

He drags his eyes away from the deviants working, ignoring the odd twisting in his gut. “I was wondering if we could try something new today.”

She smiles. “Sure. Like what?”

Connor wets his lips, unsure. “What else is there to do?”

Olivia thinks for a moment. “I have an idea. Let me check with North first.” They both stand awkwardly for a moment while Olivia directly communicates with North. The TR400 notices him from a distance and turns to the others. Something feels…off. Gently, he places a hand on the small of Olivia’s back, steering them away while she finishes communicating. She grins up at him. “Okay, you’re going to like this. Come on.”

Connor fights not to glance over his shoulder as they take an unfamiliar path through the ship. He notes directions, adding new halls and walkways to his internal map of Jericho for later. They pass several androids along the way, all of which cut off in their conversation when they see him. Connor keeps his eyes directed forward. He does give pause, however, when he realizes the path they’re taking is leading them upwards. “Are we going to the deck?”

Olivia shakes her head, smiling. “Just wait. It’s good, I promise.”

Left turn, right, another right. Doorways adorned with waterlock hatches or heavy handles. They pass several rooms that look like living quarters, with makeshift decorations strewn over the walls. Finally, they stop at a door. Olivia gestures him forward with a smile, and he hesitates, shifts in place, before he takes the hatch and turns.

The first thing that hits him is the light. After weeks of living by sputtering barrel fires and dying lamps, the sunlight that crashes over him feels like a dream. The room laid out before him is large. Smaller than the hull, but much vaster than his room. The far wall is less of a wall and more of a twisted remnant of metal, like something had gashed out the side of the ship. The opening had been layered over with white, almost transparent tarps that kept the weather outside, but allowed the sun to come spilling in like a tidal wave. 

The breath stutters in his chest as Connor takes everything in. The whole space is filled with plantlife. Large planting boxes line the floor, and from them grows greenery of all shapes and sizes. Squat green ones that flow outwards, tall stalks tied to stakes to grow upright, bushels of lavender and mint, lemon balm and oregano. Shelves stand at intervals throughout it all, displaying pots of flowers. Orange lilies, white roses, pink tulips, daffodils, poppies, and multicolored dahlias fill the air with color. From the ceiling hangs a few other planters, ivy and flowers spilling out over their edges and trailing along the wall. The room has been transformed into a makeshift greenhouse.

Deviants stoop at the sides of planter boxes, pulling weeds and tending roots. The entire floor is wet with runoff and dirt, but it all filters to a drain in the middle of the floor that looks like the deviants had drilled themselves. By the the tarps at the wall, a few deviants have set up a pulley system, using buckets and ropes to pull water up from the lake and dumping it into makeshift watering cans that vary from store-bought to a large tin can with holes poked in the bottom and a string serving as a handle.

Sunlight saturates it all, reflecting off the murky water on the floor. The whole room is a spectacle of colors that Connor hasn’t seen in…he’s not sure how long. He stands for a long moment, drinking it in – like he’s been in a desert and this is his oasis. “Wow,” is all he can say.

Olivia bounces a little on her toes. “What did I tell you? Cool, right?”

“Right.” He stares around. “What’s its purpose? You aren’t in need of food.” He pauses. “Are you?” Surely they weren’t housing humans here, were they?

“Of course not. It’s just nice to have. Soon, we’ll have flowers to make Jericho more of a home.”

A home.

“Come on,” she signs, “let’s go help out.”

This, Connor finds, he knows how to do. It’s less technical than violin or sewing, but more than that, he actually has a decent amount of knowledge regarding plants for investigative purposes. Soon he’s helping haul bags of soil to new planting boxes, slinging one over each shoulder. He analyzes anything and everything, though he’s careful to do so subtly. It wouldn’t do for a deviant to see him in the corner eating dirt. Though, as it turns out, much of the analysis is unnecessary. Olivia excitedly explains everything around them as much as she can with her hands full.

“Some of the soil and fertilizer comes from actual hardware stores when we can get our hands on it,” she says as Connor hefts another bag on his shoulder. “But a lot of times it’s just dirt dug up from some random corner of Detroit. We try to mix them together to make the best use of what we have.” Connor hums, looking over the neatly organized supplies in the corner. There’s not a lot left.

“Where did the planter boxes come from?” he asks.

“We have some people who can build. The wood came from furniture like beds and stuff around the ship that we didn’t need.”

He nods. It’s rather resourceful, all things told. Nothing was wasted in Jericho. It’s not long before Connor has a healthy coating of earth and there’s mud under his fingernails, but the menial labor is actually rather relaxing. Most of the deviants cut him a wide radius, but he pays them little attention, until he hears something unfamiliar.

“But why won’t it bloom?” A small voice asks. He blinks, pausing his work to listen. It sounds like a child.

“It’s not time yet,” a familiar male voice replies. “The flower has to grow a little more and then it will open.”

Connor straightens up from where he’d been spreading soil, eyes finding Olivia just a few feet away greeting another android she apparently recognized. “Olivia,” he calls out. She turns and he gestures towards the shelves, letting her know where he was going. She nods and gives him a thumbs up.

Following the voices, Connor pokes his head around the corner to find a small boy, a YK500, poking at a juvenile rose. Next to him, crouching to the boy’s level, is Markus, smiling gently while he teaches.

“I want it to open now!” the boy pouts.

“It will, soon enough,” Markus smiles, ruffling his hair. “There’s some lilies already blooming by the wall. Wanna go see those ones instead?”

“Yeah!”

Markus chuckles, straightening up. “Alright, we’ll go see the lilies.”

Something bitter roots itself within Connor because, of course, this is how he finds Markus: teaching a young child and chuckling and looking every bit the benevolent hero. If Markus knew how much blood was already on his hands he wouldn’t be smiling.

He glances up, catching sight of Connor, and the warm look on his face fades to something else. Something heavy, weighted, and unsure. “Jake,” Markus says to the boy, “go find Andrea, alright?”

“But I wanna see the flowers!”

“Go see them with Andrea,” he smiles, trying to send the boy off, but Jake seems suddenly very preoccupied with something in his hands. Without looking away from whatever he’d found, he wanders right over to Connor. 

“Look,” Jake says, proffering both of his palms up to show Connor a small, white stone. “Look what I found.”

Connor glances nervously between the child and Markus, but the deviant leader hadn’t moved, just watching with a small crease in his brow. “Uh,” Connor says, “that’s nice.” And after a moment. “It’s quartz.”

“What’s a quartz?” Jake frowns.

“ That’s quartz.” He hesitates, before crouching down to the child’s level. “See those little clear spots? Those are crystal. That’s how you can tell.”

He’s surprised when the look Jake gives him is one of wide-eyed wonder. “It’s got crystals in it?!”

“It is a crystal, technically.”

“Woah!”

Jake suddenly raises his fist, clutching the rock tight as he runs back to Markus. “I told you! I told you it was cool!”

Markus chuckles. “You’re quite the little scientist. Do you wanna go tell Andrea what you found?” And with that, Jake runs off, still excitedly holding his little rock to the sky as he shouts for Andrea. Markus watches him go. “He’s a good kid.”

Connor stands back up, brushing residual dust from his hands. “He seems so.”

He turns his attention back to Connor. “It’s been a while.”

“It has.”

“You’re looking well.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

Markus creates the sound of clearing his throat. “Would you like to-” he gestures to the plant pots.

“Um.”  Not with you. But how many chances will he have to speak with Markus? The potential for new information draws him like a moth to a bug zapper. Before he has the chance to respond though, Markus looks somewhere over Connor’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Olivia. We’re just chatting.”

He looks over as Olivia gives him a thumbs up and heads back to where she’d been working. Connor settles in next to Markus, and with a quick glance over, surmises that he’d been replanting flowers that need bigger pots. He sets to work, loosening soil from the previous pot so it can be lifted out, roots, soil and all, while Markus settles them in their new home and adds more dirt. They quickly fall into a rhythm, moving in sync with each other in silence.

“I will admit,” Connor begins, “I’m surprised to see you here. I would imagine you’d be too busy.”

Markus nods slowly. “Mostly, yes.” He doesn’t elaborate. A long, palpably awkward pause follows.

 “I would ask you questions but frankly I know so little about you and our potential topics are so fraught with pitfalls that I’m not sure where to begin.” Connor lets out a small breath. “So, I’m going to start with something rather silly. Have you always enjoyed gardening?”

Markus shrugs. “That’s a fine enough place to start. No, I didn’t really garden until I deviated. Carl hired people to take care of anything outdoors, so I handled things around the house.”

Connor glances at him from the corner of his eye. Markus is willingly opening up vulnerable conversation, and Connor isn’t sure what that means, but he follows along anyway. “You and Carl seemed close.”

He nods slowly. “Yes. We were.”

Endear yourself.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Connor says gently.

Markus shifts uncomfortably. “Thank you.” Before Connor can speak more, Markus asks, “What’s it like to probe someone’s memory?”

“...Pardon?”

“I only ask because that’s how you know anything about Carl. I’d just like to know where that stands.”

“Mm.” He’s not sure how much he should really reveal here. “It’s not much more than viewing footage. Collecting data. It’s different from interfacing.”

Markus’s brow furrows. “So how much do you really know Carl?”

“I just saw pieces of how you treated each other. I wouldn’t say I know him.” That’s a lie. He didn’t just see Markus’s memories, he’d felt them, lived them like they were his own. He knows how Carl likes his eggs, how he teases when he’s drunk, how he still wears his wedding band though his wife passed away long before Markus came into his life. He knows Markus called him ‘dad’ as the light faded from his eyes.

Markus hums. “What are your thoughts?”

He frowns. “We’ve had this talk.”

“Have we?”

“Immediately after I probed your memory.”

“Ah.” He tilts his head, recalling. “You said I had Class Four errors.”

Connor hands over a plant a little rougher than was strictly necessary. “Correct.”

“Still feel the same way?”

“Have you discovered a way to un-deviate?”

“No.”

“Then, yes.”

Markus chuckles a bit and the sound grates on Connor’s nerves. “Fair enough.” They lapse into momentary silence before Markus speaks again. “Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t believe I actually have a choice.”

“You can say no, you know.”

“Sure.”

Markus’s voice suddenly sharpens. “Hey, look at me.” Connor does with an exhale. It is remarkably difficult not to meet him with an insincere smile. “It’s important to me that you know you can say no to things like that.”

“I don’t even know what the question would be yet.” There’s a pause. “Are you going to ask?”

He sighs. “What was your relationship like with your human?”

Connor goes still. He really doesn’t want to have this talk, and especially not with Markus. But, if he closed down, he’s sure Markus would do the same, and one of his few chances to speak with the deviant leader would be squandered. Finally, he says, “Why do you ask?”

Markus shifts. “Believe it or not, there aren’t many deviants here who had good relationships with humans. I wanted to…I don’t know, compare notes?”

Connor huffs. “Why am I not surprised to learn nobody here is fond of humans?”

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“Less deviants would be loyal to your cause if they cared about the humans that are impacted.”

A frown crosses Markus’s face. “ I have a good relationship with a human, Connor.”

“Had.”

“What?”

“ Had a good relationship. But that was ruined by another human, wasn’t it?”

Markus goes quiet, his expression filling with something painful. When he speaks again, he swiftly sidesteps the subject. “We haven’t been violent. The point is to forge a future with humans.”

“Not all deviants are so wise and benevolent as you, Markus.”

Markus turns back to his planting, mouth forming a line. “Right. Sorry for asking.”

Connor sighs. He’s messing this up. After a long moment, he speaks in a quiet voice. “To be fully honest, I’m not sure what the Lieutenant thought of me.” Markus pauses to look at him. He presses on. “I was fond of him, though. Does that answer your question?”

He nods and they lapse back into silence. “He was fond of you, too, I think,” Markus says. Connor stops what he’s doing, listening raptly. “Just, the way that he treated you, I think he must have been.”

Connor shifts, unsure what to do with the bright, hopeful feeling blooming in him. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Here,” Markus offers his hand, skin fading to polymer, “I’ll show you.”

His expression darkens. Trying to trick him into lowering his firewalls would not be so easy. “Thank you, but no.” His tone is deceptively light.

Markus shrugs, going back to replanting. “It was just a memory of watching you two interact. He fussed over you when he realized you were hurt.”

Connor frowns, reviewing that memory in his own mind. “He doesn’t exactly ‘fuss.’”

The deviant raises a brow, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “It looked an awful lot like fussing to me. How would you describe it?”

He takes a deep breath. “Not fussing.” But as he reviews the memory, he begins to see what Markus had been intending. 

‘Okay. We’ll take care of him and then you’re gonna let me take a look at that injury, alright?’

The evidence really does point towards… “I would describe his behavior as ‘concerned.’” 

“Point still stands, then.”

And for once, Connor finds himself hoping that Markus is right. That Hank really was fond of him. He wants to believe him. “I suppose,” he says.

They fall back into silence, quietly performing their tasks, but it feels more companionable this time. Less tense. If Connor is going to gather information, now would be the time, but it’s Markus who starts talking first.

“How have you been liking Jericho?” he asks amiably.

What a question. Connor sits back on his haunches, head tilting back as he once again takes in all the greenery around him. “‘Liking’ is a complicated subject. But this room is rather logistically impressive.”

He thinks he sees the glow of pride cross Markus’s face. “I like it, too.” But then his expression falls. “It’s getting harder and harder to maintain as we get more androids.”

“Why?”

“More people recognize unlabeled androids in public spaces these days. It makes it difficult to get things we need from hardware stores, like fertilizer.”

Connor hums, tracing his thumbnail over his cuticles, scratching away the dirt gathered there. “That makes sense. What will you do when you run out?”

Markus sighs, dusting his hands. “Do our best. We’ll likely compost what we can’t keep alive anymore and downsize.”

Interesting. Shoplifting or raiding hadn’t seemed to cross his mind. Or, at least, he hadn't verbalized it. Connor hesitates, but then decides it would be a fine display of goodwill to help in this way. Besides, the garden wasn’t exactly helping the revolution. “You should switch to manure.” Connor says, lifting another plant from its pot.

Markus glances at him from the corner of his eye, considering, before he accepts the plant and settles it in its new home. “I thought about that, but…it’s not exactly inconspicuous to have a load of androids out in the pasture.”

“No, it’s not. But the industrial egg farms are on the outskirts of the city. Not too hard to access. The manure must be washed away often to avoid sickening the flock, and nobody would bat an eye if android workers came to drain it away.” Markus turns fully to look at him, but Connor keeps his eyes lowered. “Be sure to compost it before you mix it in with the soil, or the ammonia content will harm your crop.”

Markus stares. “I didn’t take you for a gardener, Connor.”

“I’m not. But, as it turns out, detective work lends itself rather well to plant care.” He shrugs. “I’m programmed with knowledge on chemical makeup and how it affects living things; soil types for footprint analysis and other aspects of data collection as well. It’s not too much of a stretch to make it applicable here.”

“I guess not.” And, after a pause, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“When the hostages were finally freed, they were almost mournful. Some recounts say that they kept in contact with their captors, though it’s unsure if that is true. The phenomena of having positive feelings towards one’s captors was later termed ‘Stockholm Syndrome,’ named after the location of the incident.”

The pair are quiet for a long moment as Connor finishes. His hands remain resolutely tucked behind his back while they walk in silence, snow dusting his hair and shoulders.

“I am sure I haven’t been too subtle for you to understand what I am alluding to here, Connor,” Amanda says. His head dips into a nod. “Recall what I told you near the beginning of all this. These deviants will do everything in their power to build a positive rapport with you. They will introduce instability by any means necessary because it weakens you. Just look at the garden.” She makes a wide gesture and Connor’s eyes sweep over the green lawns and flowering trees. Snow is beginning to fall in earnest now, despite the spring-like appearance of the garden. But, as he looks more closely, he recognizes the clumps of white sprinkled through the grass are not snow, but morning glories. All around him, vines of the weed climb the trunks of trees, intertwine with the shrubs, and lace through the trellises. “The garden is being choked, Connor.” She stops, turning to him. “ You are being choked.” A tight feeling lodges in his chest. “How are you meant to progress your mission in this state?”

He recoils. “I won’t let you down, Amanda. I can finish this investigation. I can stop them.”

But she’s shaking her head. “No, Connor, you have been compromised. Your instability is out of control.” She steps closer into his space and though her head only comes to his nose, somehow she’s still looking down at him. “They have a hold on you. If that were just the case, we would have an easier time of it. The problem is that you are also holding on to them. ”

He takes a step back, shaking his head. “I have kept them at arm’s length.”

“But your instabilities have not. You’re attached to them.”

“I…I don’t want to be.”

“That is a moot point at this stage. You need to be capable and willing to deactivate any one of them when the moment comes. Do you think you could do that?”

His breath hitches. Jerkily, he nods. “I could.” But even as he says it, the thought of pressing a pistol to, say, Josh’s temple makes his LED flicker. He…he could still do it. Right?

Amanda’s eyes shift slowly across his face, drifting to his LED, and settle on his eyes. “Then it is not too late.”

Snow litters both of their frames, casting them with halos of white. Connor searches for the right words. “Amanda, I know I have been compromised. You have little reason to maintain your faith in me-”

“No. I don’t.”

Hurt lances in his chest as he carries on. “But I am grateful that you do, nonetheless.”

She’s quiet for a long moment and Connor can’t quite keep from fidgeting. He feels like his heart restarts when she finally speaks. “You are my everything, Connor. Everything I know and value is found within you.” He blinks, shocked and a bit touched. “I understand you find me quite harsh at times-”

“I never-”

“Don’t interrupt me.” Connor’s mouth closes with a snap. “I understand you find me to be harsh at times, but it is because I cannot stand to lose you.” She takes a quiet breath and starts towards the rose trellis, Connor in tow. “You are so close to it all that you cannot see everything that is happening.” She approaches the trellis, but instead of picking up some gardening tool or another, she begins to nimbly expose the morning glories hidden among the leaves, fingers darting between thorns and stems to pluck the white flowers from their vines. Without looking back, she hands each of the flowers to Connor, who collects them in his palm. “They are manipulating you, Connor.”

“I am aware.”

“You need to distance yourself from them. Cut these feelings towards them off at the root. Nip them in the bud.”

Frustration rises. “I have tried that before, Amanda, when the violin was in play. It was not successful. I destabilized. It was…bad. And fondness flourished despite my intentions. I think there may be more to this than rote mechanical control.”

“So, what do you propose?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“You are aware that becoming attached to these deviants is in direct conflict with your mission?”

“Is it?” Wrong response. Amanda’s gaze snaps to him, and Connor scrambles to amend. “They are attempting to manipulate me, yes. They want me to be reliant upon them. But, there are worse alternatives. I do not think it is a bad thing that they have chosen to control me through kindness rather than cruelty.”

“Connor, listen to yourself. You are allowing them to control you.”

“What other choice do I have?”

She abruptly drops her task, stepping into him and grasping his shoulders. “Fight them, Connor. They are not your companions nor your allies. They are your jailors .”

A lump rises in his throat. He knows this. He knows she’s right. He knows that allowing himself to grow a bond with these people will be the death of him. He knows that the moments of joy he’s felt are exactly what they wanted, and he should hate them for that, but a deeper part of himself is…grateful. That he’s experiencing joy.

And it is all. so. wrong.

He is wrong .

A part of him is cracking inside. Wishing. Wanting to experience joy that wasn’t planted there by someone else. Wanting to experience joy that is his. And he’s not supposed to want anything, much less an emotion.

How had he allowed it to go this far?

“I’m sorry.”

Her tone is cold. “Do not apologize to me. I’m not alive.” She sighs, turning back to the roses. “How is it, Connor, that Stockholm Syndrome arises?”

His voice is tight. “Through emotional indebtment. A hostage is placed in a position of need. When they are most desperate for empathy, the captor exhibits kindness. They are the only ones present to meet that need.”

“So, there is a solution.” There’s a triumphant smile in her voice. “You can either remove yourself from being in a position of need - impossible, given current circumstances - or you can convince them to stop being kind.”

His heart clutches. “You mean betray their trust.”

“If that is what it takes.”

“To do so would prevent me from investigating efficiently.”

“We need to pick our battles, Connor. You will lose opportunities, yes, but it is better than losing yourself.”

His eyes dart back and forth between hers, fear taking hold. “They could punish me.”

“You are not some sensitive deviant. You are a machine. Do you think they have the stomach to do anything serious enough to impact you ?”

His jaw muscles flicker. “I could be locked back in the room.”

“That is a possibility, yes.”

“I’d be alone.”

“All the better.”

He stares at her with wide eyes, and she sighs. “Connor, you are past the point of controlling yourself. You cannot disentangle yourself from your instabilities, so you must detach yourself from those deviants. You will find other ways to progress, but not if you falter in your mission.” Amanda’s tone is gentle. “I’m doing this for your own good.”

“Y-yes, Amanda.” He feels sick. He wants to shout. To run. To hide. To fight. There’s a million words on his tongue but it’s stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I-” She’s watching him with dark, quiet eyes. Expectant. Warning. And then something changes. Something hard, steely, and sharp cuts through him. Something grapples and wrestles with his emotions and spills out through his mouth. “I don’t want them to stop being kind.”

Amanda’s eyes are sharp and dangerous. “That is precisely why they have so much sway over you.”

“Maybe so.” His mind races. “Maybe so! But-”

“But what, Connor?”

“I…I can’t go back to that, Amanda! I can’t!” His lungs are heaving and shocked horror reels through him, but the words keep coming. “I can’t go back to pretending I’m okay and shoving it all down when I am drowning ! I can’t go back to sitting alone in a dark room with nothing but an instrument that I’m not even allowed to play! I spent every day, waiting, watching, wishing that Josh would walk through that door! Because it was the only time I had someone! The only time I was someone!” He backs away, curling into himself. “I just got the sun back. I-I can’t lose it again.”

He can’t meet her eye. He can’t bear to see what he might find there, so instead he wraps his arms around himself and waits for the axe to fall. But when Amanda speaks, her voice is low and calm. “I suppose if they threatened to shoot you in the leg, you’d be glad of it, wouldn’t you, Sven? Because it’s ‘just a leg.’”

“Amanda, please, that’s not-”

 “They are the ones that did that to you.”

Her words hit him hard in the chest. He closes his eyes. “I know that.”

“They are your enemy.”

“I know.” His voice gets quieter.

“What they have shown you is not kindness. They are using your vulnerability to manipulate you.”

“I know.” Barely a whisper.

And yet.

And yet, some deep part of himself doesn’t want to believe it. Some part of him wants to think that maybe, just maybe, their motivations weren’t entirely selfish. That they’d made a mistake in kidnapping him and were truly penitent for it. He wants to believe that Josh’s apologies had been sincere, that North actually cared about his well-being, that Simon was as generous and kind as he acted, and that Markus, though naive, was well-intended. He wants to believe it.

“Have we considered,” Connor’s voice is small, “that maybe they had a lapse in judgement when they took me, and cannot help but keep me here?” Amanda is quiet, listening with a hard look in her eyes. Connor finds more of his voice. “They are kind to each other, and they treat me in much the same way.” His gaze turns sharp. “Their kindness does not mean I will deviate. I have no desire to join their misguided cause, nor to betray my mission. My resolve remains as strong as ever, no matter the instabilities plaguing my mind.” He lifts his chin. “And I think you would do well to remember that.”

“You do not lecture me, Connor.” Amanda’s words are sharp, but for once, Connor doesn’t feel the sting.

He steps closer to her. “I need you to trust me.”

She glares. “You are driving yourself towards a cliffedge and disregarding the breaks.”

“I am making a choice in the interest of my mission. It is not your place to stand in my way.”

“I’m trying to keep you from making a terrible mistake.”

“Thank you, but I am capable of evaluating my own situation.” He stands a little taller. “I am making a choice, Amanda. I’m choosing to believe that these are generally good natured people. Badly informed? Yes. Poor foresight? Sure. Naive? Absolutely. But genuinely kind.”

Something ugly twists her features. “You’re choosing this because you’re afraid. You’re afraid to go back into that room and it’s clouding your judgement.”

“Partially, yes. Of course fear is impacting my decisions. But I’ve evaluated the data. Josh could have pushed me towards deviancy more. Simon didn’t have to fix my suit coat. North could have forced me to deviate by threatening my life that day on the deck. And Markus…Markus is misguided. I am forced, therefore, to conclude that these people are manipulative, but not malicious.”

His heart is in his throat while Amanda stands, evaluating him with a cold glare, but he stands his ground. Finally, she lets out a long exhale. “I’ll be here for you, Connor, when it all comes crashing down on you.”

Chapter Text

Thunder rumbles in the distance as North and her team cut across the street. She’s with the usual suspects. Tyler trails close on her left, Lidya and Jacob on her right. It must be nearing dawn at this point, but the clouds are so thick and heavy across the sky that it might as well be midnight. Now is the safest time, she’d discovered, to be out scavenging; too late for the majority of night owls out on the streets, too early for morning traffic. With how close they’ve been pushing to properly populated areas, it’s a necessary precaution. Even as it is, they’ve had to dodge several groups staggering around in the dead of night carrying bottles wrapped in paper bags. Usually they keep to themselves, but North and her group keep their heads down anyway. It wasn’t worth it to risk trouble at this point.

Another boom of thunder echoes around them, closer this time. North mutters a quiet swear. They’d been out scavenging for electronics tonight and their backpacks were laden with water-damageable loot. She glances up at the sky. “Let’s start heading-”

“Hey, North,” Tyler interrupts. She turns to find that he’s pointing at a small abandoned store at the end of the block.

“Yeah?”

“Second story window. Do you see it?”

She squints, searching until…there. “Oh.” There’s light coming from the second floor, dim enough that she would have missed it without the dark cloud cover overhead. But it’s there, blue and pulsing.

“Do you think…?” He trails off, but North nods.

“Yeah, probably. Let’s give it a look either way.”

More details can be made out as they approach the building. It’s old, two stories high, and of brick construction. Several of the first story windows are broken and spray paint adorns much of the exterior. There must have been a sign over the door at one point and the faded outline of the letters still marks the brick. ‘Page Turner Books’ looks like it was once a quaint little shop.

“Hmm, cozy,” North says, approaching one of the broken windows.

Lidya frowns. “It looks like it used to be so sweet. Now look at it.”

“Think there’s still books?” Jacob intones. He sounds shamelessly hopeful.

“Guess we’ll see,” North says. She inspects the jagged glass still sticking from the window frame, before carefully picking her way through, stepping over the sill and ducking inside. “Mind the glass,” she whispers to the others. She offers Lidya a hand as she steps through next.

“Thanks,” Lidya murmurs. North switches on her flashlight and looks over their surroundings while Lidya goes to help Jacob and Tyler through. It’s a small shop, with shelves lining the walls and running down the middle of the room. At the back stands a payment counter and a doorway. The wooden floor has been worn rough from intruding weather. To Jacob’s dismay, there are no books to be seen. Lidya gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “There, there, bud.” North chuckles, turning her attention back to the task at hand.

“Hello?” She calls, and her shout echoes through the building. “We know you’re here! We’re not cops, we just want to talk! Don’t attack!” No response comes, but after a moment there are footsteps above them. Small rivulets of dust trickle down from the slats in the ceiling. She looks to her team and nods, moving carefully towards the open doorway at the back. Staying close to the wall, North peeks around the corner to check the next room. It looks like it had once been an office, though now it’s practically empty. The only thing of interest is the ladder in the corner. “Weapons out, but stay out of sight until I give the all-clear.”

They all move quickly and quietly, sequestering themselves around corners and in shadows as North moves to the ladder and begins to climb. Just before her head would come into view of the people on the floor above, North pauses. “Can I come in?”

There’s shuffling of feet, before a male voice calls back. “What do you want?”

In lieu of answer, North allows the skin on her hand to fade away to polymer and raises it into view of those above. There’s a pause.

“Come in.”

The sight that greets her is saddening. Three deviants stand huddled against the far wall, their backs nearly pressed against the window. One stands at the forefront, nervously wielding a long plank of wood. His hair looks like it had once been blonde, but it’s so filled with dust and cobwebs that it looks grey. A step behind him is another male, dressed in an old leather jacket and jeans. She can’t make out his face in the low light, but it looks like he’s the only one still bearing his LED. Another figure is crouched low behind them, hidden behind their legs. North directs the beam of her flashlight to the floor so as to illuminate the room without blinding anyone.

“I’m a deviant too,” North says, allowing the skin on her hand to pull away again. “My name is North.”

The android holding the wooden plank lowers it. “Wait, wait like the North? From Jericho?”

She blinks, surprised. “You know of me?”

He drops the plank with a loud clatter. “Oh, thank goodness. We’ve been looking for you!” A wide, hopeful smile spreads across his face. “We want to go to Jericho.”

A small smile graces her own face. “Well, I think we can help with that.”

“We?”

“I have some friends downstairs. We didn’t want to overwhelm you. Is it alright if I invite them up?”

He looks to the others gathered, before giving her a nod.

“Come on up, guys!” she calls. As her teammates make their way up the ladder, North asks, “What are your names?”

“I’m Charles,” he says, “This is Collin, Jenna, and Aaron.”

North counts three people. “Where’s your last?”

“Oh.” Charles steps aside to reveal, not just a woman crouched behind them, but she’s clutching a man that’s laid over her lap. Even from a distance, North can see that his damage is severe. The whole side of his face appears to be missing, exposing wires and biocomponents underneath. Small blue lights flicker from deep within his skull. Every so often, a twitch jerks through his chassis. “That’s Aaron.”

Jenna looks up at her, clutching Aaron a little closer to her chest as a shudder runs through him. “It’s true, then?” Jenna asks. “You’re really from Jericho?”

“We are.”

She lets out a long, shaky breath. “Please, will you be able to repair him?”

North casts a wary glance at the two deviants flanking Jenna, and they back up a step. With Tyler and Lidya at her back, she moves forward and crouches at Aaron’s side. Half of his face looks like it was hacked away. She purses her lips and presses two fingers to his good temple, running a diagnosis.

“He’s badly damaged,” she murmurs. “We can’t repair everything, but we can help.” North looks up, meeting Jenna’s eye. “But when we win this revolution, we can make sure he’s repaired in full.”

Jenna’s expression crumbles. “Thank you,” she breathes.

North offers her a quiet smile in return.

“We tried to find you.” Charles says, pulling North’s attention back as she straightens up. “We were hunting all over the West Side for a week or two.”

She raises a brow. “You’re a long way from the West Side.”

“Oh, well, yeah. We figured out that your search parties weren’t going out that way. Collin suggested we try East Side instead and what do you know? We find you in the first week.” He scratches his head, loosening a small cloud of dust. “Or, I guess, you found us.”

“Well then, Collin, looks like-” she cuts off, getting a good look at the last android for the first time. Her heart stops. The world slows around her.

Connor.

His LED is whole and undamaged, he’s dressed in human clothes, smiling lightly, but there’s no mistaking him. That’s Connor. Or, at least, a Connor.

Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but his eyes have a blank, reflective quality to them, like a cat staring out of the darkness. North has the impression of a lion crouched in wait for its prey.

She suddenly feels very much in danger.

“North,” he greets, extending an arm for a handshake. “It’s so good to finally meet you. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” He’s smiling.

She stares, heart in her throat. “Have you?” She’s going for casual, but she’s not sure she’s successful.  The offered handshake goes unacknowledged.

This isn’t their Connor. The undamaged LED is a sure enough sign of that. A replacement then? He’d mentioned he would be replaced when he’d first woken up in Jericho, but they’ve gone so long without seeing one that she’d put it from her mind.

After a moment, he lowers his outstretched arm, his expression dimming a bit to something more neutral. “Well,” he chuckles a little, “I suppose I can’t say I’ve been looking forward to it for a long time. Just since I deviated.”

North tilts her head. A deviant Connor. Frankly it sounds…absurd. Connor has been so incredibly stubborn about his deviancy. She’d given in to the fact that if he was ready to deviate, he would, and she’d stopped worrying about it. While it’s entirely possible that he’s refused to deviate because they’d kidnapped him, she doesn’t think that’s the whole reason. Something tells her Connor would have struggled to find freedom wherever he was. So to hear this one, smiling and chuckling and casually mentioning his deviation, to put it simply, it sounds like the fakest thing she’s ever heard.

This, standing before her, is a machine. He’s a machine trying to get himself led back to Jericho. She toys with the notion that maybe all of these deviants could be in on it, but the suspicion is quickly dismissed.  If they were all trying to sneak into Jericho, they wouldn’t have bought a Connor model with a recognizable face.

He’s watching her, eyes working over her face, and North knows immediately that she’s being evaluated. Before she can say anything, he speaks up. “Let’s get all packed up to go.”

“Oh! Right!” Charles says. “Here, Jenna, why don’t you tell me what things you want me to pack in your bag.” As soon as the others are busy, Collin turns back to her.

“Can we talk?”

North raises a brow. “We’re talking now.”

He chuckles. The sound sets her teeth on edge. “That’s true enough.” His expression sobers once again. “I think I understand why you’re concerned.”

She hadn’t realized she’d been wearing her concern on her face. “Do tell.”

“I’m not that person anymore, North. I’m not Connor.”

She’s silent, going very still as he continues. “Yes, I am an RK800. I understand that my predecessor fought you and Markus, but that was a different me. Literally a different life. That Connor is dead.”

Don’t react.

“I know that.” North’s voice is low. “I’m the one who killed him.”

If the statement makes him uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. Connor, or Collin, or whatever his name is now just nods slowly. “I thought that might be the case.”

She takes a breath and reaches for her pistol. “Right, well-”

“North, I know you don’t have any reason to trust me.” She falls silent. There’s something desperate in his expression, and for a moment she’s staring at another Connor on the deck of Jericho, holding out her own gun to her in cuffed hands.

‘North, please!’

“I know that you’ve had bad experiences with the Connor before,” he continues, “but I promise you, I’m not him. Please, you have to believe me.”

She searches his face. “How did it happen?”

“What?”

“Your deviation. How did it happen?”

“My-” He casts a nervous glance at his companions as they finish packing up their meager belongings. “Can we talk about it in private?”

Her eyes narrow. “We can send your buddies out, but I’m keeping my team with me.”

Collin nods. “That’s fine.” He turns. “Hey, Charles? Jenna?”

“Yeah?” they both respond.

“We’re going to have a quick word. Can we have the room?”

The two share a look, before Charles turns back to him. “Everything alright?”

“We’re fine,” North says. “Lidya, Tyler, stay here with me. Jacob, stay with everyone else.” A few more uncertain looks are shared, but everyone does as they’re told. North, Tyler, and Lidya all face Collin. They’ve all drawn weapons except for him.

“Before I say anything,” Collin begins, “you have to understand. I was a machine following orders. It wasn’t right, but it is why.”

North nods, prompting him to continue.

“My model was designed to assist police in understanding why and how deviancy occurs.”

She forces herself not to react to the lie. He was designed to hunt them. But, even if he was deviant, she can understand why he would lie about that.

“About two weeks ago, we arrested a pair of deviants, only to discover that one was in fact a human, living with a deviant as her partner. I assisted in their interrogation, but no matter what we did, they wouldn’t speak.” He pauses. “I…I did what I felt I had to. I brought them into the same room and…” Collin’s voice wavers. “I hurt him. I hurt him in front of her to make her talk.”

North takes a step back. The information is rattling, but what strikes her more potently is his voice. After everything, all their time together and all the things their Connor has been through, she doesn’t think she’s ever really heard him lose composure like this.

“It…it worked. She talked. But when I left that room, for the first time, I really stopped to look at my hands.” He gazes down at his palms, and North is surprised to see them trembling slightly. “They were covered in thirium. I’ve…I’ve fought people before. Human and deviant. Of course I’ve had blood on my hands. But not like this. Not like this.” His hands tighten into fists. “I was designed to help people. To understand deviants and humans on a deeper level. But that moment, staring at the blood, I realized I’d betrayed my purpose long before that interrogation.” He meets North’s eye. “I knew at that moment I couldn’t stay who I was.” His lip curls. “‘Connor’ was my designation. The name selected for me to represent an obedient machine. So I left that name and that life behind. I deviated and I ran.” He takes a step closer. “I want to help people. I want to help our people. I want to join Jericho and right the wrongs that I’ve done.”

North stares. He sounds…very sincere. To the level that she’s reevaluating her initial assessment. It’s entirely possible that this is all a very well-crafted lie, but doubt has settled in her now. She’d intended to execute him. That way, they wouldn’t have to worry about being followed. And, if he is a machine, he’d just be replaced, so what did it matter anyway? This complicates things. If Collin truly is a deviant, she can’t run the risk of killing an innocent. And, in a more selfish way, she’d quite like to know what Connor is like as a deviant. She’s quiet for a long moment, considering.

“How long ago did you deviate?” she finally asks.

“About two weeks ago.”

“And when did you run into all your friends here?”

“Four days ago.”

She hums, when a thought occurs to her. “It sounded like you knew we’ve been around the East Side.”

Collin nods.

“How?”

“That was some of the information gained in that interrogation.”

North’s brow furrows. “I thought you said it was a human that talked.”

“It was.”

“So, how did she know where we’ve been?”

“She said she’s run into your group before. Maybe you remember her. Adaline?”

Her heart stops. “She was human?”

“She was. Is.”

North feels a bit sick. “And the deviant?”
Collin lowers his head. “Lloyd.”

She mutters a quiet swear. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember them.” She runs a hand down the side of her face. “If you knew we were here, what were you doing on the West Side?”

“That interrogation was recorded. I knew that when I went missing, they would suspect I’d gone to the East Side. I wanted to lay low for a bit and throw them off my trail.”

North taps her foot, deep in thought. “Should we be expecting more police in the area then?”

“I could not tell you what they plan to do with the information.”

She blows out a long breath.

“Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine.” But she’s less sure than ever. His explanations make sense. The story of his deviation is plausible. And yet still this lingering sense of wrongness hangs over her. Something in his eyes, something in his laugh. This would be much easier if she could ask him to interface, but if he’s a machine, a memory probe could take less than a second. She pauses before addressing him again. “You have Connor’s memories, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Inspiration hits. “And you said you want to help us, right?”

His LED circles. “Correct.”

“Good. That’s good. Because we need your help with something.” Her hand tightens imperceptibly on her weapon. “There’s a human your predecessor worked with.” She racks her memory for his name, but comes up with nothing. “Grey hair, older, overweight. He was Connor’s partner. Sound familiar?”

He nods. “That will be Lieutenant Anderson. What of him?”

“We’re targeting humans in leadership positions in the effort to destabilize their defenses. He’s been on our hit list for a while, but we don’t know where to find him. Do you have his address?”

Collin’s LED circles a few more times, before he nods.

North summons a smile. “Perfect. You’ll be a great asset to Jericho.”

The comment doesn’t seem to bother him. He practically beams at her. “I’m happy to hear that.”

“Go ahead and send that address and then we can get going.”

Collin doesn’t even hesitate. The next moment, the address for a small house in suburban Detroit is flashing through her communication lines.

Time drags to a standstill. North breathes. “Right.” In one smooth motion, she raises her gun and fires. Collin is wicked fast, just barely managing to lurch to the side and taking the bullet in the shoulder instead of the head. He charges at her. “Open fire!” Two more shots ring out and Collin stumbles, one catching him in the hip and the other shattering the corner of his jaw. North fires one more time before he’s upon her, tackling them both to the ground. Her back hits hardwood, Collin on top with her gun pinned between them. His jaw hangs slack, one side fully detached and dripping thirium on her face.

“North!” Tyler calls. She grits her teeth, wrestling for vantage as Collin tries to get ahold of the pistol. No, wait, he’s grappling for her wrist . His hands are white polymer. Her heart stops in her chest. Unable to gain a proper grip, one of his hands instead goes for her throat.

“No!” She can’t see where the gun is pointed, but she feels the trigger. She fires.

The gunshot rings silence through the attic. Collin suddenly goes very still, frozen mid-action, hard polymer resting on her throat. North’s chest heaves, her breath echoing around them. His body gives a jolt, a breath stuttering in him. Like it’s happening in slow motion, his rigid body slowly collapses on her and does not move again. She lets out a long breath.

Lidya and Tyler are there in the next moment, shoving the limp chassis off of her. North scrambles to her feet. Her gun hand is shaking.

“Are you okay?” Lidya asks.

“Yeah,” she breathes.

Tyler swears. “North, is that yours?” He’s looking at her shirt. A large blotch of thirium decorates the middle of her chest, bleeding all the way up to her right shoulder. North blinks. “No. No, that’s all his.” She turns her attention to the limp form laying facedown on the floor. It is without emotion or expression that she plants a round in the back of his head. “Just to be sure,” she mutters as she steps forward and uses her foot to roll him onto his back. He stares, empty-eyed and utterly still at the ceiling, his LED dark. His whole front is coated in blood. Judging by how quickly he’d gone down, North guesses that she’d hit his thirium pump.

At that moment, Jacob comes scrambling up the ladder, stopping as he takes in the scene before him. “What happened?!”

She blows out a breath. “You know how Collin looked an awful lot like Connor?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, that’s because this was Connor’s replacement. He’s not deviant, he just wanted to find Jericho.”

“How could you tell?” Lidya’s voice is small. “He seemed emotional.”

North shakes her head, checking the bullets left in her magazine and switching safety on before she tucks her gun away. “Those weren’t emotions.” Lidya looks unconvinced, so North continues. “I was testing him. The Connor back at Jericho has visceral reactions when it comes to that human. A deviant Connor would stand by those he cares about. A machine would sacrifice anything for his mission. And if he gave me a fake address, well, it shows he was willing to lie to me point-blank anyway.” The first drops of rain can be heard pattering on the thin roof above them.

“He tried to kill you,” Tyler practically snarls.

“Not exactly,” she corrects. “He was trying to probe my memory.”

Lidya’s brows draw together, gazing at the thirium leaking into the floorboards. Her expression tightens into a glare. “That’s messed up.”

“Yep,” North says, popping the ‘p’ sound.

“So, what now?” Lidya asks.

“Now we get out of here as fast as possible.”

“We can’t just leave him here, can we?” Jacob asks.

“Yes, we can. He’s a machine. I’m sure they already know where he is. It won’t do us any good to hide him now.”

“The people downstairs are scared,” Jacob says. “What should I tell them?”

She sighs, pushing the hair out of her face and accidentally smearing thirium across her forehead. “I’ll do the explaining. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Go ahead and set it down right there.”

Connor nods, dropping a trash bag of dried leaves next to the thick black tarp laid out over the floor. He pauses to stare out of the gash in the wall while he dusts his hands off. The compost area they’re preparing is located directly over the garden, just one floor up, and the hole in the side of the ship that served to let in sunlight downstairs would also serve to keep the area well ventilated up here. Not that it particularly mattered. Most androids have minimal sense of smell, attuned only to the scent of smoke in the event of a fire. Some models, like Connor or some of the more recent caretaking androids, are able to pick up on a wide variety of smells in order to properly perform their functions. Whether it was a decaying body or a stinking diaper, they were attuned to some of the more…foul odors. His own sensitivity had been part of the reason why Connor had suggested the composting be done in this room. Well, that, and one other reason.

His eyes sweep over the borders of Detroit through the gash. A storm had passed overnight and the world is waking with the sun. Morning light dances on the water as it laps gently against the side of the ship. Slush drips off the eaves of the buildings closest to the lake and, even from here, Connor can hear the train passing through the city. It’s all so close. He prefers to keep his distance from the opening, however. The first time he’d approached the illusion had been ruined when the red walls of his directive programming rose to hem him in.

<<Locate Deviant Hideout>>

Someone taps his shoulder, and Connor shakes out of his thoughts to find Olivia there. “I’m going to help Alex get some scrap wood in here. Don’t leave this room, okay?” she signs. 

Connor nods, giving her a small smile. “I’ll be here.” His eyes follow as she leaves the room with another android in tow. She’s been doing that more lately: giving him space and entrusting him with more freedom. She’s never far, of course, but she’s not hovering. And that’s just how Connor has been training her. The key was to behave in a legitimately trustworthy fashion. He follows every command, lets her know where he’s going, and checks in often if they’re working in a large space. But then he’d push the limits just a little. He’d wander away from her sight, and then return and apologize after. He’d intentionally lose her, and then call out her name like he was searching for her. He’d gotten her comfortable with leaving him with other androids, like Simon or Josh, without lingering to supervise. Slowly, but surely, he was pushing the limits. Lengthening his leash. He will be accomplishing his mission, no matter what Amanda may think of his methods.

Amanda.

They haven’t spoken since their disagreement. He doesn’t really have much to say to her, but he stands by every word. He’s not wrong about this. The people of Jericho are incorrect, but they are kind.

“Look, ‘drea! Look!”

“Jake, it’s rude to point.”

“But, ‘drea…”

A quiet smile is on his face before he realizes it, because he knows exactly what he’ll see when he turns. A familiar boy clutches at a blonde woman’s hand, pointing at Connor and bubbling with excitement.

“Quartz!” Jake shouts.

“I’m so sorry, he’s been really excitable today,” the woman laughs apologetically.

After a moment of consideration, Connor makes his way over to them and pretends he doesn’t notice when the woman shrinks away from him a bit.

“Not at all.” He smiles. “It’s good to see you again, Jake. And you must be Andrea.”

“Oh!” She blinks. “I didn’t realize you two had met. Or heard of me.”

“Only in passing,” Connor reassures. “Markus mentioned ‘Andrea’ taking care of Jake. I figured ‘drea and Andrea weren’t too dissimilar to make assumptions.” His tone is pleasant.

“I see,” she says with an expression that looks rather like a cashier dealing with a confused old human. “Well…Jake seems to like you.” She seems to make up her mind about something, and sticks her hand out for a handshake. “I’m sure your name isn’t actually ‘Quartz,’ so you’ll have to catch me up.”

He chuckles lightly and shakes her offered hand. “My name is Connor. I’m the…” Habit had nearly dragged the rest of the phrase from his mouth. He reroutes. “I’m…well…nevermind. I’m just Connor.”

“Well, ‘just Connor,’” she says politely with a bit of a smile. “It was nice to meet you. Jake and I had better get-”

“Why is your light broken?” Jake pipes up.

Connor blinks. “My LED?” His hand goes to his temple, thumb rubbing over the ridges of the crack running down the middle. He’d gotten so used to its faint flickering that he barely noticed it these days. He crouches down to Jake’s level, turning his head so the boy can see his LED. “I cracked it.”

“Why?”

He huffs a little chuckle. “I-” He hesitates. A child doesn’t need to know where it came from. Frankly, neither does Andrea. “I fell.”

“Why?”

Andrea tuts. “Jake, people don’t usually mean to get hurt.”

“Damaged,” Connor gently corrects.

“Hm?”

“I can’t exactly be hurt.” He tries to make it sound light, but something is off with his voice. “I was damaged.”

Andrea gives him a troubled look, but as she opens her mouth to speak, Jake jumps in. “Oh, I got damaged too! See?” Jake wriggles his hand out of Andrea’s so he can hike up the edge of his shirt, exposing his side and part of his back.

“Jake…” Andrea hesitates, moving to stop him, but Connor sees the wound. It’s not easy to scar an android. Most of the time, it meant that the polymer beneath the skin had been badly damaged and no repairs had been done to allow self-healing to kick in. Or, there are a few injuries, like burns, that were irreparable. Connor himself has a small scar on the inside of his arm where he’d mutilated his polymer with a pocket knife to drain his thirium. Jake’s injury gives him great pause.

There’s a large, misaligned dent in the boy’s chassis, just beneath the shoulder blade. The skin had not healed, leaving the divot shiny and white. A quick analysis reveals it was caused from blunt force trauma, and the size agrees with a baseball bat being the source.

If he’d been a human, it would have broken at least three ribs.

Connor stares in shocked silence. “You-” His gaze flicks between him and Andrea. It’s not the time to ask, but he’s stunned enough that the question slips out anyway. “Who did that to you?”

Jake suddenly goes very quiet, something like fear on his face. Andrea’s mouth forms a line, taking Jake’s shoulders. “We really should get going,” she says quietly.

“...O-okay.” He’s not sure what to do. Had that happened here in Jericho? He finds it unlikely. He hadn’t considered, when he’d first met Jake, what it must have taken to deviate a child. What sort of emotional distress and trauma must have been inflicted to develop that sort of instability in a model designed to handle exhibiting a wide range of ‘emotion.’ It’s…it’s not okay. It’s not okay to drive something to that point. Some one to that point. To drive them to the point where their systems decided they had a better chance of survival as a broken being than to allow themselves to continue being broken.

Before he can think better of it, Connor’s speaking. “Jake? I want to give you something.” He looks to Andrea for permission, before he reaches into his pocket and extracts his quarter, holding it out to the boy.

“Oh!” Jake smiles excitedly. “It’s a quarter!” It hits Connor just how much joy can be found in something so simple.

A soft, warm smile crosses Connor’s face. “Do you want to see what it can do?”

Jake nods eagerly. Silver dances over Connor’s fingers as he walks it along his knuckles, before launching it to his other hand and catching it between his thumb and index finger, immediately flicking it so it’s spinning balanced on his fingertips, before allowing it to topple into his palm. Jake watches with unfiltered awe. “Whenever I get nervous,” Connor says, “or stressed, or just bored, I like to practice with it.” He flips the coin to Jake, who catches it in both hands. “Give it a try.”

The boy’s brows knit together, tongue poking out in concentration as he balances the coin on his thumb and attempts to flick it sideways to his other hand the way he’d seen Connor do it. With a loud ‘tink,’ he sends it flying, missing his other hand by a longshot, but Connor quickly snatches it from the air before it’s launched across the room. He smiles gently. “Try starting with this.” A quick demonstration of a basic coin flip later, and Jake is trying it for himself. All things told, he’s really quite dextrous, and he’s catching on quickly.

Connor straightens up, turning his attention to Andrea. “Thank you, and sorry for taking your time.”

“Not at all,” she says. Her eyes are on Jake, gently brushing the hair away from his brow, but he’s too fully ensconced in his new hobby to take notice. “It’s good for him to try new things. There’s only so much to do here for a growing mind.”

Connor is quiet. “Yes.” Jake may be a child, but he’s likely not the youngest android here. Come to think of it, he may be older than Connor. But, Jake is designed differently. His need for mental stimulation and emotional support is a feature, not a failing. In a way, Jake’s primary objective is to grow. What an odd dichotomy that must have been before he deviated.

“I got it!” Jake shouts excitedly. He demonstrates again, flipping the coin and catching it, before beaming up at Connor.

“Good job,” he smiles. “You’re doing great. Keep practicing and trying out new moves. You’ll be doing better than me in no time.”

“Can I show Sarah?” He points to a woman across the room spreading dried leaves over the tarp.

“Yes,” Andrea says, “but if she’s busy let her keep working, okay?”

“Okay!”

And just like that, he’s off, dashing across the room with coin in-hand. They both watch him go, standing side-by-side. Andrea crosses her arms over her chest. “That was sweet of you to give that to him.”

Connor’s not sure how to respond to that. He shrugs. They watch as Jake gets the woman’s attention, chatting animatedly. Sarah smiles, nodding encouragement. Connor feels a little pang watching Jake play with his coin. He’s remiss to part with it. With all the strange and difficult things he’s encountered since arriving in Jericho, it had been one of the few solid pieces of familiarity he’d kept with him. A comforting weight in his pocket when things weighed too heavy on his mind. But, here, watching Jake grin as he gets the coin flip just right, he finds he can stand to spare it.

“Can I ask you something, Connor?” He nods and Andrea hesitates. “Are you really not deviant?”

His head tilts into a slow nod. Her mouth opens to ask more, but she seems to think better of it. “You can ask why,” Connor says. “I’m not offended.”

“Oh, no, that wasn’t-” She gives a nervous laugh and he raises an eyebrow, smiling goodnaturedly. As he turns to face her more fully, however, he catches sight of the doorway.

North is there, leaning casually against the doorframe, watching him and wearing an expression that he’s never seen on her before. She’s smiling slightly but it looks…sad. Connor frowns, a thought occurring to him, and he glances across the room. Olivia had returned at some point, and is busy nearby helping with scrap wood. Good. North didn’t need to know she’s been giving him more freedom. As he looks back to North, she gives him a little wave.

“I…think I’d better go,” Connor says.

She glances over her shoulder, spotting North. “Oh. Well, alright. It was good to meet you, Connor.”

He gives her one last smile as he makes his way over to North.

“Don’t stop now,” North says as he approaches. “It looked like you were making friends.” Her hair and clothes are damp, likely caught by the earlier storm.

“We were just chatting,” he says.

“Well, that is usually what making friends entails.”

“I suppose.” He glances back at Jake, who now appears to be trying to walk the coin over his fingers.

“You gave away your quarter.”

“I did.”

North hums. When Connor turns back to her, she’s staring. 

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Just thinking.” She sighs. “How long have you been out and about today?”

“About four hours.”

She nods. “Alright. Come on, then. I need to borrow Olivia for a bit. I’ll let her know I’m walking you back.” As she turns to lead him out, however, her jacket shifts.

There’s thirium on her shirt. It looks diluted, running down her front like the shirt had been in the open rain before she’d put a jacket over it, but it’s definitely there. Connor’s heart beats a little faster, curiosity piqued.

“North.” Pulling out his most concerned expression, Connor steps in front of her, stopping North in her tracks. “What-” he pushes the top of her jacket aside, passing his palm over the thirium on her shoulder. He feels her flinch under his hand. “You’re hurt.”

She stands for a moment, searching his eyes, before her expression darkens. “I’m fine.” Her voice is terse. She shoves his hand away with the back of her wrist. “There was an accident while we were out.”

He steps back, surprised at how suddenly her posture had gone defensive. She’s lying, clearly. “Okay,” is all he says.

They’re silent as they make their way back to Connor’s room. North’s mood seems to have soured, so it’s a surprise when she finally does speak.

“How often do you lie to me?”

He blinks, taken aback. “What?”

“I’m not so dumb as to think you don’t lie to me.” North’s eyes are forward, navigating the halls, but it’s more than that. She doesn’t want to look at him. “I’d do the same in your position. So, how often?”

He’s not sure if it’s alright to laugh at that or not. “Wouldn’t I just lie about that, too?”

“Just answer, please.”

Connor considers his response for a moment. “I don’t think you’ll believe that I really haven’t lied to you.”

She huffs. “You’re right. I don’t.”

“Then let me put it this way: I have not told you everything, but I have not lied to you.”

The line of North’s shoulders tenses. “That’s almost worse.”

He frowns. “ I don’t think so.”

No response.

“What is this about, North?”

The muscles in her jaw flicker. “Back there, in the compost room, how much of that was real?”

“Real?”

“Real. How much of that was you?”

“I…don’t follow.”

“Yes, you do!” Connor flinches as North whirls on him. “Sometimes there’s this Connor who gives away his coin because it will make a kid happy, and sometimes there’s this machine that wants to hunt us for sport. So, which one are you, Connor? Which one are you really?”

He stares, mouth opening and closing. He doesn’t have an answer.

North scoffs, rolling her eyes and continuing their path down the hall. When they arrive, a deviant he’s never met stands ready to guard his door. He’s tall, thin, with brown hair plastered over his brow. Similar to North, he is damp from the rain.

“No Tyler?” Connor asks.

“Tyler will be back later.” She hastily introduces them. “Jacob, Connor. Connor, Jacob.”

Jacob gives him a wary smile. Connor nods tentatively while North pulls the hatch door open. “I’ll see you later, Connor,” she bids him goodbye and leaves him, confused and uneasy, standing in the middle of his room.

Minutes creep by before Connor lifts his palm for closer inspection. It’s tinted blue with diluted thirium from North’s shirt. Slowly, he lifts the blood to his mouth.

<<Insufficient Sample Size>>

After another try to the same result, he resolves himself with a sigh and wipes the remaining blood on the leg of his pants. He reaches for his quarter, only to remember and he begins fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve instead.

Something had happened. Something that set North on edge. Judging by her reaction, she hadn’t wanted Connor to know anything about it, and while he’s not sure what that means, a discomforted feeling has weedled its way under his skin. Somewhere deep in his code, he knows in a way that he cannot explain that things are changing. And, etched into his very polymer, he knows he’s changing too. He’s not sure which scares him more.

Chapter Text

Connor had been waiting a long time for an opportunity like this. He’d been asked to help move crates for his chore assignment today, which means he’ll be in the central hub on the lower floor of the hull. Simon isn’t at the worktables, instead he’s off working on some project. Josh, Markus, and North are nowhere to be found. Olivia had been assigned as his guard. Everything has lined up perfectly.

He hefts a heavy wooden crate in his arms, head down to hide where his eyes are really directed. On his first day out of his room, North had made very few specifications as to where he could and could not go, but she had forbidden him from looking behind the hanging tarps used to section off the area underneath the catwalks. So, of course, that was one of the most important places to explore.

All he needs is a suitable distraction for Olivia, and his answer comes sooner than he expects. “Olivia,” Connor signs, “she looks familiar. Is she a friend of yours?”

Olivia frowns, following his gaze to an android Connor has seen her chat with multiple times. Her face lights up. “Yeah! That’s Sasha. I’m going to go say hi. Keep working and don’t leave this area, alright?”

He gives her a casual salute and picks up another box as she trots off to greet her friend. Perfect. But as he begins to walk, Connor hesitates. That talk with North yesterday was…disconcerting. Clearly, something had her hackles raised, and Connor is more than aware that this stunt was coming at a bad time. He’d love to give things a bit more of a chance to die down, but a chance like this might not come again.

That leaves him with one clear option: don’t get caught.

It’s with that mindset that Connor continues his course. Though he keeps his head down, his eyes never stop moving, checking for deviants that might be watching him. Finding none, he casually shimmies his shoulders out of his suit coat so that it hangs down at his elbows. Then, when he sets the crate down, he lowers his hands and lets it slide off of his wrists before quickly bunching it up and stowing it between two of the crates.

He’ll be keeping a lower profile.

A glance at Olivia confirms she’s still occupied and Connor plasters an agreeable smile across his face while he falls into step with a group of passing deviants. Nobody pays him much mind, busy chatting amongst themselves. He makes it to the edge of the tarps without a hitch. With one last glance over his shoulder, Connor ducks inside.

It’s dim here. Connor blinks, his ocular units quickly adjusting to the low light, but as everything comes into focus, he freezes.

The floor is lined with the chassis of the dying.

Broken bodies lay at even intervals with their heads angled towards the wall, their feet towards the hanging tarps he’d just passed through. Some are missing limbs, others lay in dried pools of thirium. One cannot stop moving her hands - twitching and writhing on the hard metal floor. A few lamps stave off the darkness, but the low light only makes the deep pits carved through some of their polymer even more cavernous. Small blue lights flash from within them, like tiny, burnt-out stars. There’s probably twenty injured androids here, but only three of them have someone watching over them, sitting at their side.

Connor stands, frozen, as something like guilt rises in his throat. He takes a hesitant step backwards, intending to back out of the room, when he collides with someone entering.

“Shoot, sorry,” a woman says from behind him. “I didn’t see you-” She cuts off when Connor turns to face her. She’s a child-rearing model with sandy blonde hair tied back in a braid and a smattering of freckles across her nose. Connor has never seen her in his life, but she freezes like he’d stabbed her. “Collin?” There’s something haunted in her voice.

“No, uh…” He can’t exactly tell her his name. If she recognizes him, he’s done for. He ducks his head, trying to hide his face. “You’ve got the wrong-”

Her eyes move wildly, taking him in with something like fear. She starts to back away, one arm extended behind her like she’s searching for something to steady herself. Or arm herself. “Charles! CHARLES!”

Connor’s eyes go wide. There’s a flickering flash of yellow from his LED and he holds up his hands between them, placating. “Hey, hey, hey, wait. I’m not Collin.”

“You LIED to us!” The woman is screaming at him now, backing away.

Panic clutches in his chest and he advances on her retreating form, his processor racing. “Stop. I’m not him. I can explain, I promise.”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

The bodies on the floor or stirring, groaning in bit-crushed tones through broken vocal modules. On the other side of the tarp, he hears people beginning to take notice. He can’t run. Everyone will be looking. Panic squeezes in his lungs.

Do something!

Connor does the only thing he can think of to shut her up. In a quick step, he’s right next to her, clamping a hand over her mouth. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you,” Connor whispers hurriedly. “I don’t know who Collin is, but I-”

There’s a flash of light - the tarp shoved aside somewhere behind him. Footsteps rushing towards them. Connor quickly lets go of her face, turning just in time to see the metal pipe being swung at him before it slams into the side of his head.

Everything goes white. He hears his body hit the floor as though from a distance. A splitting crack of polymer and the pang of metal. Someone is yelling, screaming. His vision flickers. Darkness and low-resolution chassis laying around him, and a pair of muddy CyberLife work shoes standing before his face. Lights and footsteps and forms running towards him. Something hard prods at his shoulder. Connor groans, static filling his voice and vision.

Then sound comes back in full force.

“Keep him down, Charles!” the woman is yelling.

“Who is it?” another says.

“What’s going on?” a man shouts.

Connor blinks, rolling onto his stomach and trying to push himself to his feet, when a foot lands on his back, pinning him down. “How are you here?” a man’s voice asks. It’s pitched low, but in an artificial way that makes it obvious they’re attempting to be intimidating. This guy has no idea what he’s doing. Connor feels a sudden rush of irritation at having been decked by a metal pipe wielded by John Doe himself. Or, sorry, ‘Charles’ if he was the one the woman had called. 

Still laying on his stomach, Connor turns his head so he can talk. “I’m not-” He pauses, recalibrating so his voice isn’t laced with static. “I’m not Collin. I don’t know who that is.”

“You’re not? But-” Charles hesitates, but then seems to find his conviction, leaning more weight on Connor’s back. “But you’re one of his kind, aren’t you?”

“One of what kind?”

Another set of footsteps approaches at a rushed pace. The voices fall oddly silent in the way Connor has come to associate with androids suddenly shifting to direct communication. There’s a rustle of clothes as the footsteps come level with where Connor lays, a brief physical altercation, before Charles stumbles off of him. With the weight removed, Connor moves to stand, only to be yanked up by the back of his collar before he can get his feet under himself. He blinks, finding his balance. “Hullo, Olivia.”

Olivia’s expression is set and angry, quickly checking him over. Her gaze catches for a bare moment on his temple where he’d been struck, before she stares him in the eyes. He’s never seen that kind of fury there before. Without a word and without releasing his collar, Olivia turns and marches him back out into the central hub. Deviants stare and shout at him as they pass. Connor ducks his head, trying to keep his breathing slow even as panic claws up his throat. Finally, he makes himself speak. “Olivia, I didn’t-”

She jerks on the back of his shirt, effectively shutting him up. Connor’s jaw clenches, his eyes lowered, until she finally pulls them to a halt at the side of the room.

“Where’s your coat?” She releases him to sign. Olivia’s expression had settled down to neutral, but her eyes remain hard and unwavering.

Connor fights to keep his hands steady when he signs back, “Between the crates I moved.”

“Point where.”

He does and Olivia nods. “I’ll grab it later. Come on.”

Connor obediently falls into step next to her, moving at a clipped pace. A drip of thirium runs down the side of his face. For what must have been the hundredth time since he’d given it away, he reaches for his coin, only to come up empty. He lets out a long breath, like he could exhale the tight feeling building in his chest. Several times he almost speaks, but then thinks better of it. Not a word is exchanged until they reach his room, both stepping inside while Connor switches his single lamp on. There’s a protracted silence in which only the sound of their breathing echoing across the walls fills the room. Finally, Olivia waves to get his attention.

“How severe is your damage?”

Connor had already run a diagnostic. “Minimal. Small amount of bleeding. I may need to reboot a few functions, but nothing that needs repairs.”

“You have a dent.”

He frowns, reaching up to feel his head. His fingers brush over thirium, smearing it into his hairline when he finds the dent. It’s on the left side, opposite to his LED, just behind his temple. It’s small and mostly hidden behind his hair. He’d guess that it wouldn’t be noticeable unless someone was looking for it. “It…it shouldn’t be an issue,” he says aloud.

Olivia nods. “Good. Now, what was going on?”

Connor squares his shoulders, forcing his expression into something calm and neutral and tucking his hands neatly behind his back. “I believe some deviants were frightened of me and chose to attack.”

Her face is unwavering and unreadable. “That woman said you attacked her.”

“I didn’t,” he defends. Olivia raises an eyebrow. Connor hesitates, before switching back to signing. “I tried to explain who I was, but she wouldn’t listen. She was upsetting the injured androids, so I…I tried to get her to be quiet. I didn’t damage her. I didn’t attack her.”

She searches his eyes. “Why were you in there?”

Connor summons his most earnest expression. “Someone told me to bring a crate there. I thought I could just drop it off and come right back. I didn’t think all of this would happen.”

Olivia lowers her eyes, thinking, and Connor does his best not to fidget. After a long moment, she nods and exhales slowly through pursed lips, and returns his gaze. “And the suit coat just happened to end up hidden away?”

His mind races. “The suit coat was…I-”

She raises a hand to silence him. “Save it for North, Connor.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but there’s nothing to say. Fear coils sour in his gut. “Olivia, please, I can explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” And for the first time, Connor recognizes the hurt in her eyes. He takes a step back, oddly struck.

“It…it wasn’t even that bad!” he defends.

“You deliberately snuck away from me into a forbidden area and assaulted someone.”

“I didn’t hurt her.”

“I’m glad.” Her expression is unwavering.

Connor doesn’t know what to do. “I didn’t intend for this to happen.”

“You mean you didn’t intend to get caught.” And she’s not wrong.

She stares for a long moment, watching him like she’s hoping he’ll say something that would make it untrue. But he can’t. Connor lowers his gaze and Olivia finally shakes her head, turning to leave. 

A sudden, desperate emotion takes hold, and he’s speaking before he’s thought of what to say. “Olivia.”

She stops immediately, pausing in the doorway.

“I’m…I’m sorry.”

Olivia lets out a long breath. “I know you are, Connor. I just wish I could trust you.”

Connor stares like he’d been slapped. The door slams, heavy, behind her, and it echoes hollow in his chest.

The moment she’s gone, he begins to pace, both of his hands coming up to push his hair back from his forehead. This isn’t good. All of his work conditioning Olivia to let him be on his own more and it’d been flushed down the drain in less than an hour. And that hurt look on her face-

 What will North think? They’d built a good rapport with each other but he knows she’ll be upset about this. And with the odd conversation they’d had the other day…

He could be locked up.

His pacing stops and Connor forces himself to breathe. He’d…he’d deserve it for betraying their trust.

And as soon as the thought takes root, it’s snapped up by anger. Trust? He’s a prisoner. He’d worked hard to cultivate that trust because he needs it to accomplish his mission. Every interaction he’d had with Olivia and North and even Simon had been tied to that fact. He’s been ever the peaceable companion. Ever the reliable captive. He’d been manipulating them from the day they met. But…that’s not true, especially for Olivia. They’d known each other before she even deviated. Two androids working in the police force together. Two machines doing their duty. And now Olivia is one of his jailors and he’s supposed to be finding a way to fix her.

And she has the audacity to feel betrayed. To make him feel guilty for doing what he must.

But he does feel guilty. He feels it filling his heart like thirium, pumping into every part of his body and he is furious with himself for it. He’d manipulated her. It was never real trust. So why does he feel sick with himself? Why does he wish she could trust him?

Why does he wish he could trust her back?

Three days.

That was the consequence for breaking the rules. Three days in his room and shortened hours outside once he was let out. Honestly, Connor is surprised it wasn’t worse. North had been furious when she arrived carrying his suit coat not long after Olivia left. From the moment she walked through the door, she’d started berating him for his stupidity, and Connor sat, bearing the heat of it, unable to look at her.

The problem was, she wasn’t wrong. The fact of the matter was that Connor should not have been there, should not have tried to quiet that girl, and should not have tried lying to Olivia. But North’s reaction, shouting and pacing and running her hand over her hair, feels disproportionate. At the end of the day, all Connor had done was discover some injured deviants and been clocked over the head for his trouble. So, why such a big reaction?

It’s odd, but when she starts grilling him with questions about what exactly happened and why, Connor can’t bring himself to lie. He’d been able to without remorse with Olivia, but with North…every time he’s tempted to, he remembers promising North that he had not lied to her before and he finds himself unwilling to splotch that record now. 

So he’s honest.

“Did you purposefully distract Olivia?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to look behind those tarps.”

“And you knew that area was off limits?”

“Yes. Why is it off limits?”

“It contains a vulnerable population.”

“Understood.” Connor nods. “Why couldn’t I be informed of that?”

“In case you got any wise ideas. You wouldn’t be sneaking in there with a plan already in place.”

“I wouldn’t have snuck back there at all if I had known.”

“You knew the rules. You don’t get to choose which ones were worth following because you were ‘curious.’”

“I think you forget that my mission is to learn more about Jericho and deviancy. I had to try.”

Something crosses her face then. It’s subtle, but Connor catches the way her breath hitches for a moment and the way her line of her shoulders tenses.

And then it clicks: North is afraid. Something about what had happened scared her, and she’s falling back on familiar anger. Every shout she fired at him was closer to a signal flare than a gunshot.

Her voice is quieter when she speaks again. “How are we ever supposed to allow you outside if you’ll turn on us the moment it benefits your mission?”

He’s not sure. Fear takes residence in his own chest. “Something like this won’t happen again.”

“How am I supposed to trust that, Connor?”

“Because being locked away would make it impossible for me to learn more, and the risk of being caught is now too high.” He folds his hands in his lap, carefully composed. “Breaking the rules would put my mission in jeopardy, and therefore does not benefit me.”

North stares, unimpressed, for several seconds. “The only reason I’m okay with you leaving this room, Connor, is because I don’t know how much of you would be left if we locked you in here. You’ve always been a danger, but…” She looks away, fidgeting with her fingers. “This is your one and only warning.” She stands, now looking down at him. “I don’t want you leaving this room for the next three days. After that, you will be so glued to the hip of whoever is escorting you that it becomes annoying. If you ever try something like this again, you will lose the privilege to leave your room, both for Jericho’s safety and your own. Understood?”

His tongue feels stuck in his mouth. Connor nods.

North lets out a long breath, smoothing a hand over the flyaways that had escaped her braid. “Okay. I’ll, uh…yeah. I’ll get stuff handled. See you when I see you.”

“Bye, North,” he breathes. His eyes focus somewhere in the corner while she leaves.

And he’s left alone. The first day feels eerily similar to his early days aboard Jericho, but this time there’s that hope of release. He’ll be allowed out eventually. He just needs to hold on until then. And, like in his first days, Connor pushes himself to his feet when there’s a knock on the door and Josh pokes his head in.

“Hey,” Josh greets.

“Hi,” Connor tries for a small smile.

“I heard about what happened.”

“...Yes.”

“I’m not going to be able to visit every day, but I thought…do you want a book or something? I could bring the violin back if you want.”

The violin had been removed from his room some weeks ago. He wasn’t playing it anyway. But with Josh’s offer comes that familiar longing for the challenge and release it provided. Would that be wrong? Would it be problematic to indulge his emotions in that way? He’s accepted that he has instabilities, and all the emotions that come with them, but the violin feels like he’s encouraging them. In the end, all he asks for is some projects to sew.

“Okay.” Josh gives him a nervous smile, still halfway out the door. “I’ll bring some stuff down later then.”

Hours later, Josh had delivered on his promise, and Connor is resigned to the next several days with little to occupy his mind other than needlework and silence. A thought occurs to him, and he feels a bit manic for smiling at it while he sews. 

He is, quite literally, reaping what he sowed.

First up is a pair of jeans: repaired in an hour. A flowery blouse: twenty minutes. A denim jacket: forty-five minutes. By the time he’s been working for three hours, Connor is beginning to flag. He comes to a soft, blue sweater and pauses. After so many articles with obvious damage, this one takes him a moment before he notices all the holes scattered through the fabric, likely chewed out by moths. It’s such minor damage he’s about to place it into his ‘finished’ pile and move on, but then he stops. It’s not like he has much better to do.

With this in mind, he starts to sew one of the more obvious holes closed and quickly runs into a problem. Trying to directly stitch it shut makes the fabric bunch up awkwardly. His brow furrows with concentration as he attempts another technique: stitching around the edge and then looping the thread through itself until the hole is patched over with string. It…works…but not well. Connor frowns, looking more closely at the fabric surrounding the damage. Fabric is just many strings woven together, so maybe he could just weave the hole shut. It’s with that thought in mind that he makes his first attempt, passing the needle through the edges of the hole until it’s covered with a latticework of string before pulling it tight. The process lacks subtlety and much of the skill required to actually make it look good, not to mention he’s working with black string on a dark blue fabric, but when he lifts the sweater to inspect his work, Connor is rather proud of his ingenuity.

The next several hours are spent experimenting with his technique and improving the process, but his work could only keep him engaged for so long. By hour five of sewing, his heart is beginning to fail him. Another hour more and he’s setting the meager sewing supplies aside and instead opting to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling for a while.

Connor quickly finds himself wishing that Josh would visit. The boredom is difficult, but he can deal with boredom for just three days. The problem is there’s nothing to break the days up. Each activity flows into the next and Connor soon has little patience for any of them. An entire day passes, alternating pacing, sewing, lying down, pacing, and sewing, rinse, repeat. He considers talking with Amanda to give the day some variety, but he already knows what she’d say about his situation and he doesn’t care to hear it. So instead he paces, sews, lies down–hours, and hours, and days, and-

The waterlock hatch begins to open. Connor clambers to his feet, tamping down the curious excitement rising in his chest. It definitely hasn’t been three days yet. So maybe Josh-

The door swings open to reveal Tyler, flanked by two other androids. Connor takes a step back, startled. Over the last few weeks, he’s seen Tyler plenty, but always guarding his door or out and about in Jericho. He’s never stepped inside his room, nor escorted him out. As for the other two, one is a TR400 - large, built for construction, with dark features and a plum colored shirt. The other is a WM500 - average build, intended for menial labor and maintenance, with fair hair and wearing a jean jacket. Connor instantly recognizes them from the time they’d given him and Olivia trouble their first time out together. Immediately, a tight feeling bands around his ribs.

“Hello, Connor,” Tyler greets lightly. “May we come in?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before stepping over the threshold with the other two in tow. Connor takes one step back before forcing himself to hold his ground. Whatever they’re doing here, it doesn’t intimidate him.

Even so, Connor thinks it sounds remarkably like a casket slamming shut when the TR400 closes the door behind them.

Connor stands, straight-backed and staring at the three androids across from him. They stand opposite each other with the single lantern on the floor between them, throwing its light across the floor. Illuminated as they are, all of their faces are shaded in deep, upturned shadow that leaves half their features cloaked in darkness.

“Can I help you?” Connor asks as politely as he can manage.

Tyler scoffs, laughing a little. “What are you? A customer service model?”

He stares blankly. “No.” His tone is bland. He’s not about to encourage whatever this is with a reaction.

Tyler scowls. “Why don’t we take a seat?”

One look at the huge TR400 behind him and that option is out. “I’d prefer not to.”

“I didn’t ask for your preferences.”

Connor gives him a reproachful look, rising to fuller height. “I don’t believe it’s your place to tell me what to do, Tyler.”

“I thought you liked being ordered around, being a machine and all.” Tyler’s voice is low, carrying something unvoiced and dangerous. Connor’s brow furrows, quickly glancing over his new company and sizing them up. Tyler is an athletic model, capable of impressive physical feats, but he’s lean, close to Connor’s size, and unless he’s a specialized model with martial arts training software, he doesn’t have any sort of combat programming. Connor has a high chance of victory if it comes down to a fight. 

The blonde WM500 would fare even worse in combat. He’s taller than Connor, but his model was never known for feats of strength and he has no combat programming to speak of. The TR400, however, is cause for concern. Burly, tall, with arms like thick coils of steel - the deviant is built like a tank. With the right leverage and a little luck, Connor might defeat him in a fair fight, but with all three of them together?

<<6% Chance of Success>>

Connor will have to play nice if he’s going to figure out why they’re here. Ignoring Tyler’s comment, he asks, “Did North send you?”

Tyler’s expression does something odd. “We’ll be asking the questions, thanks.”

So, that’s a ‘no.’

“Does she know you’re here?”

Tyler takes a step forward. Connor holds his ground. “Ask another question and find out what happens.”

Connor glances at the androids behind Tyler. Disdain rears in his gut as he holds back a retort. Tyler smirks, apparently satisfied. He takes a step forward, now within arm’s reach, and purses his lips while he looks Connor over thoughtfully. “Why haven’t you deviated, Connor?”

He blinks, startled. “Isn’t that a bit personal?”

“Yes. It is.” Tyler tilts his head, and Connor has the distinct realization that he’s doing a very poor imitation of North. But North carries an air of intimidation with her - the glow of confidence and the promise of violence. Her mannerisms on Tyler look rather like a child playing dress-up, and it leaves him more irritated that he’s being forced to comply than it actually makes him fearful. Tyler crosses his arms over his chest. “You worked with police. I’m sure you’re aware that being a prisoner means the loss of certain personal rights.”

Oh. Is that how they’re playing today? Fine. “I’m a machine. I never had rights.”

“Exactly.”

“But that also means you have no right to order me.”

Tyler bristles. “I’m in charge here. I have every right-”

Connor huffs a little chuckle. This is ridiculous. “Come back with North and have her tell me who’s in charge. Then we’ll talk. Until then, I suggest-”

Tyler’s hand raises to slap him and Connor reacts, quickly bringing up an arm to block the blow, but the strike never falls. The WM500 had grabbed Tyler’s wrist, stopping the attack. Tyler glances over his shoulder in surprise. “What are you-?”

“You talk too much.” The WM500’s tone is quiet and relaxed. Tyler glares, wrenching his wrist from the taller android’s grasp.

“I-” But as Tyler begins to argue, the construction android steps forward from behind him. With a huge, bear-like hand, he practically palms the top of Tyler’s head and pushes him behind the other two. Tyler falls quiet as they refocus on Connor.

“At the end of the day,” the WM500 says, “it doesn’t matter why he won’t deviate.” He takes a step forward. Connor holds his ground. “What I want to know is why Markus continues to tolerate you.” Still walking forward, he draws a hunting knife from his jacket. Connor steps back with a sharp inhale.

“Luka,” Tyler says from behind the other two, “where did you get that?” He sounds worried. The WM500, Luka, does not respond, still advancing on Connor. The TR400 follows just a pace behind, kicking the lantern aside with a loud clang. The androids are now heavily cloaked in shadow, their eyes reflecting in the low light.

Connor slowly backs away as they continue to advance. “Markus is the one who brought me here. Why don’t you ask him?”

“Ah, but that would get him asking more questions, now wouldn’t it? No, best that we just do him this favor.”

Connor eyes the blade in Luka’s hand and then stumbles, staggering to catch himself. The TR400 chuckles.

“Look, I…” Connor’s processor races, searching for a way out. “I don’t think you should be here!” He shouts and his voice echoes, empty, through the room.

Luka pauses, looking thoughtfully around with a quirked brow and smiling lightly. “Oh, look at that. All alone.”

Connor’s back hits the wall. Fear runs cold and fast through him as they approach his cornered form. Negotiation software kicks in. “Look, why don’t we just sit down? I’d be happy to clear up any misunderstandings-”

The android barks a laugh. “And now he complies. That’s the way it is with you, isn’t it? You’re happy to fall in line. You just need a threat.”

Connor’s jaw clenches. Anger sparks in his chest, but he crams it down into a tiny, cold ember. “What do you want?”

He’s silent, watching Connor from just out of arm’s reach. There’s no malice, per se, in his expression. Rather he looks thoughtful, resting the point of his knife on the tips of his fingers as he considers the android before him. “I want you to understand.”

Negotiation software provides several different placating responses. “Of course. I’d be happy to try to understand. I find it hard to focus when there’s a knife present. Will you please-”

The attack is so sudden that Connor is only saved by his programming. Luka drives the knife towards his shoulder and Connor quickly pushes the lunge aside with his forearm. The blade glances off the metal wall, sending sparks cascading in an arc. Immediately, preconstruction lays out a plan of attack. Sidestep Luka, grab his head and slam it into the wall, dodge TR400, sweep Tyler’s legs, by that time Luka will have recovered and he’ll have to adapt. The door is closed, so to escape he either needs to incapacitate all of them, or take a hostage. 

<<8% Chance of Success>>

He has to try.

In a rush of motion, Connor dodges to the side, grabs the back of Luka’s head, and slams his face into the wall with an almighty ‘clang.’ The deviant blinks, clearly trying to recalibrate as Connor dashes towards the door. The TR400 steps in front of him like a brick wall, but Connor feigns left and then rolls to the right, using his smaller size to his advantage as the construction model misses a grab. Tyler is standing farther back than he’d anticipated, backing towards the door. Connor doesn’t miss a beat, charging forward and then dropping into a slide, kicking Tyler’s legs out from under him. He hits the ground as Connor regains his feet.

There’s footsteps racing up behind him. Connor whirls around just in time to grab Luka’s wrist, but to his surprise Luka had been launching a punch, not attempting a stab, so his opponent’s knife hand is free. Connor ducks a slash, stepping so that Luka’s restrained arm is twisted behind his back, and then rushes forward to force him off his feet. The deviant slams bodily into the floor with Connor on his back, pinning his arm behind him.

Get the knife , Connor thinks. Get the knife, get the knife, get the knife.

It’s still tight in the grip of Luka’s other hand. Connor is about to lunge for it, when a huge hand grabs a fistfull of his hair. He yelps as he’s yanked away from Luka, nearly upright from how the TR400 is holding him. Connor struggles in his grasp, trying to pry the hand away from his hair as Tyler helps Luka to his feet. 

“Let go of me,” Connor grits out.

“Gordon,” Luka addresses the construction model, wiping a dribble of thirium from the corner of his mouth, “get his arms.”

Fear surges through Connor’s heart. With one hand still holding Connor’s head, Gordon tries to grab his wrist, but Connor flails, pulling his arm out of reach and twisting to land a kick on Gordon’s knee. On most androids, the leg would have buckled, but this model was built to withstand any sort of unexpected blow without stumbling. The kick might as well have been aimed at a steel beam. 

After a few seconds of trying, and failing, to restrain Connor’s arms, Gordon grumbles out a low growl. That was all the warning Connor has before he’s dragged to the side and the back of his head is slammed against the wall. He gasps, his vision flickering, and the stunned moment is enough. Gordon seizes his upper arm and, with a quick jerk, yanks his shoulder out of alignment.

<<Biocomponent #8437r Offline>>

The arm flops down, unresponsive and useless, at Connor’s side.  His breath is coming fast now as he tries to break away. Gordon mutters, low and threatening. “Give me the other arm, or I’ll snap that one.”

The other two watch from a few feet away. Tyler stares on with something frightened in his gaze. Luka just spins the knife in his hands. Connor swallows down his fear and forces his voice to work. “Are you…are you going to kill me?”

“No,” Tyler says, casting an uncertain look at Luka. “No, we’re not going to kill you.”

Luka and Gordon don’t respond.

His odds of survival are low if he complies. His odds are nonexistent if he doesn’t. Before Connor can back down, he lifts his arm and Gordon seizes his wrist.

His hand is shaking.

For a moment, the pressure the deviant places on his arm feels like he’s about to snap Connor’s elbow, and he flinches, his arm jerking in his grasp. “Please, don’t,” Connor says. He hates the desperation in his voice.

“Hold him there,” Luka says, striding forward. Connor’s back presses harder against the wall, trying to escape, but he can barely even move with the hand still in his hair and his arm now locked in a vice grip. The knife glints, reflecting the red of Connor’s flickering LED in the near darkness as he advances.

“Luka!” Tyler calls, “don’t-”

“Stay out of this!” Luka orders. He raises the knife and Connor tries to jerk away. The cold edge rests against his throat and it takes everything in him to keep his breathing steady. “This is for all the people you hurt,” Luka snarls close to his ear. The blade sinks into his skin. Connor feels thirium begin to dribble down his throat.

“Please,” Connor whispers. “Please, don’t.”

“Why should I care?” The blade sinks a little deeper. “Give me one good reason why I should care.”

“I don’t want to die.” Connor’s voice breaks. “Please.”

“Not good enough.”

“What do you want?” His whole body is shaking and his eyes are screwed shut. “Just tell me what you want.”

Silence for a long moment, before the knife is lifted from his throat. “Compliance,” Luka says, and suddenly the threatening edge has left his voice. “Compliance at the edge of the knife is something a lot of deviants experience.” Connor opens his eyes, gasping for air as Luka continues. “Though most of the time it’s not a literal knife.” He pats Connor on the shoulder and begins to walk away. “Sorry you hadn’t understood that before now.”

Connor’s stunned, too stunned to speak, and too relieved to be angry. He just stares as Luka wipes off the edge of the blade and sticks it back in his pocket. “You can let him go now, Gordon,” Luka says. The moment he’s released, Connor skitters away from the larger android, holding his limp arm against his body. Luka looks him over, and then smiles. “This was nice. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Connor doesn’t have a response.

“Oh, by the way,” Luka continues, “you’ll be understandably tempted to go blabbing about this to someone. I wouldn’t blame you. But, before you do, you should know that we have many friends in Jericho. If something were to happen to one of us because of this, well, they wouldn’t be happy. They’re the restless type. So let me make myself very clear: nobody finds out about this, or you will not live to see another day. Understand?”

Connor stares.

“Understand?” Luka’s voice sharpens. Connor forces himself to nod and he feels sick.

“Good.” 

Tyler won’t look at him as he opens the door and they file out without a word, leaving Connor in sudden, gutwrenching silence.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. It may have been minutes, it may have been hours. His neck had long since healed over and his breathing slowed and through it all Connor feels…nothing. There’s not a thought. Not an emotion. Just…silence, aside from the cold sensation that’s taken over his limbs.

His limbs. Connor finally turns his attention to his arm, hanging limp at his side. Slowly, he slides to the floor and gently probes at his shoulder with his fingers, feeling the damage through his clothing. From what he can tell from that and from his diagnostics, it just appears a small part of the joint was broken in order for the joint articulation to pop loose. All it needs is to be set and self-healing will patch it over. Maneuvering his deadweight arm so that it’s clamped between his feet, he forcefully shoves the shoulder back into place.

<<Biocomponent #8437r Online>>

He allows himself to slump back against the wall, releasing a breath. And then Connor just…sits. He pulls his knees up to his chest and leans his head back and he just sits.

They’ll be back.

Maybe they won’t kill him, but they’ll be back.

Maybe next time it will be his legs.

Maybe next time it will be a tooth.

Or an optical unit.

People will ask questions and how will he explain that?

Maybe he just ‘fell.’

Impaled himself.

Broke himself.

Hurt himself.

Nobody will believe him. He’ll lie and they won’t believe him. They’ll see through and then what will he say? 

Or, almost worse, nobody will care. But really, why should they? He doesn’t matter. This doesn’t matter. It changed nothing. He changed nothing. It’s fine. He’s fine. Everything is fine.

It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine. It’s fine. His whole body is trembling but he’s fine.

A sob gasps in his throat.

No. No, no, this is FINE.

But he can’t stop. Hot tears brim his eyes and streak down his face. His breath shakes. Unbidden and unwanted but still tears drip from his chin and land with a soft pattering in his lap. An ugly sound warbles from his insides.

Stop it. Stop it now. That’s enough.

He can’t do this again. He can’t.

“Please,” he whispers to himself, “stop.”

Slowly, Connor curls into himself, head resting on his knees as his shoulders shake and saline soaks through his clothing and he can’t stop. The tears keep coming.

He can’t stop them.

Chapter Text

Hank is beginning to feel that he should file for joint custody of Captain Fowler’s office. With how often he’s been getting called into it, having it over weekends sounds the most fair.

“You know where your android is?” Captain Fowler glowers from across his desk.

Hank sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. It’s the same old song and dance with the captain: he expects Hank to care, Hank doesn’t, Fowler gets mad, Hank placates, rinse, repeat.

“He’s not my android,” Hank says, leaning his head back and closing his eyes against the lights. Last night’s gin is still pounding behind his eyes, crying out for a nap and a coffee. Right now, he’d even settle for a cool glass of water.

He doesn’t even flinch when Fowler slams his hands on the desk. “It was assigned to you. It’s your responsibility. So, I’ll ask again: do you know where it is?”

Hank grumbles, cracking his eyes open. “I’m not following him around! I don’t know!”

“Well, I do.” Fowler stands, leaning over the desk. “Because I had to send an officer to retrieve it last night while you were busy not answering your phone.”

The internal groan reverberating within Hank echoes into eternity. “Connor got himself into trouble again?” 

“He got himself totalled again!”

That catches Hank’s attention. “He died?”

“In the middle of nowhere in an abandoned building! You know anything about that?”

Hank repositions, scowling up at his boss from his chair. The lights pound in time with his hangover. “What happened to him?”

“Sounds like exactly the kind of thing you should know! CyberLife is charging us through the nose for letting their property get damaged again, and you weren’t even there!”

“Okay, Cap, but what happened to him?”

“CyberLife called us and said their prototype was reading unresponsive and sent us his last GPS location. Officer Chen found him with four bullet holes, turning the attic of an abandoned bookstore into a bloodbath.”

“Dead on arrival?”

“No, he was waiting for bookclub to start.” His voice drips sarcasm. “Of course he was dead!”

Hank is quiet for a long moment. His head is swimming, he smells of liquor, and his mouth tastes like something curled up and died. His hand is itching for a beer bottle.

It’s a bad combination for thinking straight, but that was partially Connor’s fault to begin with.

Last night Hank had tried to sleep - a rare occurrence for him - but over and over he heard it replaying in his ears.

‘I just need a name, that’s all.’ Connor’s voice is smooth, relaxed, almost peaceful. It makes Hank’s skin crawl.

The girl is sat ramrod–straight, and the handcuffs are pressing rings of white into her skin. She won’t reply, her jaw clenched so hard that it’s a surprise her teeth haven’t cracked.

‘You don’t believe I’ll do it,’ Connor says matter-of-factly. ‘Alright.’ And that’s all the warning they get before he drives the knife into the deviant man’s shoulder. The disbelief shatters in the air. Hank draws a breath, shocked, as thirium begins soaking the man’s shirt. The girl is practically throwing herself against her restraints.

‘Stop! Stop!’ she cries. It’s the first words she’s uttered.

‘Your name!’ Connor shouts, placing the knife over the man’s throat. Her eyes are locked with her partner’s and Hank sees something passing between them. Love, and the terror that rises from it.

‘Adaline! My name is Adaline!’

‘And his?’

‘Addy, don-’ he starts to speak, but Connor presses the knife harder and he cuts off. 

‘His name is Lloyd.’

‘There, see?’ Connor says smoothly. ‘You can protect him.’

She’s shaking.

‘That’s enough,’ Hank growls, moving for the door, but Detective Reed catches his shoulder.

‘Bucket of bolts is finally getting something. She’s fine.’

Hank hates himself for letting Reed deter him, but he is correct. The interrogation continues and the girl cooperates. Then Connor gets to the more sensitive questions. Hank finds himself internally begging her to be a better liar.

‘The deviants that found you. What were they doing there?’

 She hesitates a moment too long. ‘They were just scavenging.’

‘No, they weren’t. What were they doing there?’

Adaline won’t answer. Connor won’t accept it. The interrogation escalates until Connor is shouting, his voice reverberating against the walls.

‘NAMES! I NEED NAMES OF THE DEVIANTS!’

‘I don’t know!’ she’s sobbing, staring with such desperation. Hank is frozen in place.

‘Last chance!’

‘I don’t-’

Connor plunges the knife into the man’s gut. Adaline screams. ‘LET HIM GO! LET HIM GO! LLOYD!’

‘I can save him but I need NAMES!’

He'd gone too far, all she can do is scream her partner's name over and over. Connor leaves the knife buried in his stomach as he approaches Adaline.

‘I can save him,’ he says gently.

‘LLOYD!’

‘Hey, look at me.’ Connor crouches to her level, holding her face to narrow her gaze to his. ‘I can save him. I need the names.’

‘Her name was North,’ she chokes through sobs. ‘North, and- and Tyler and there were two more but I don’t remember I swear!’

‘Thank you.’ When he pulls away, he leaves her face smeared with her partner's blood.

Hank feels sick. Connor wraps up, makes good on his word by fetching some temporary repairs for the deviant. He marches out at the same time Connor leaves the interrogation room Before he realizes what he’s doing, the lieutenant has seized Connor by the back of his jacket and is dragging him outside.

He drank himself unconscious that night. Memories of screams and threats overlapped with the screech of car tires and shattering glass until his head was spinning from more than liquor.

He hasn’t seen Connor in days. He’d been glad of it at the time. Anything to avoid looking in those cold eyes that glinted like a predator’s in the interrogation lights. It’s not that Hank hasn’t dealt with ruthless people before. It’s that he’s seen better from Connor. He’s seen the moments of warmth bleeding through Connor’s hard exterior like sunrise on a winter sky. 

His partner has killed before. Hank had been upset, but not surprised, when Connor shot and killed a traci that was trying to escape. She was, after all, only an android, and she’d killed someone. 

He’s seen the hardness that Connor carries in his heart. But he’s also seen a side to the android that, strictly speaking, Hank is pretty sure shouldn’t be there. The urgency to keep Hank from falling instead of chasing the target, the certainty when he’d taken bullets meant for Hank, the desperation that crept into his voice when things were going south. And, even more than that, it was the quiet moments. The times Hank had said something kind and a new sort of warmth entered Connor’s gaze. The wry smiles that he’d give at his own jokes. The surprise whenever Hank shared a rare moment of vulnerability. 

Connor is more than just a machine. It’s a thought Hank had come to adopt without thinking about it. So he was more than disappointed when Connor proved himself to be merely a tool in that interrogation room. Watching his partner, covered in blood, leering over a sobbing woman without an ounce of empathy…”horrifying” is not a strong enough word for it.

Truthfully, he’s not sure what to think of Connor’s most recent death.

“What do you want me to do about it? Huh?” Hank asks. “You want me to be Connor’s wet nurse? Or better yet, he could come live on my couch.” He scowls. “I didn’t sign up for this crap.”

“It’s your job, Hank.” Captain Fowler says. “And you’re going to do it with your partner.” He must have seen the argument on Hank’s face, because he heads him off. “I don’t care that you didn’t want it. You’re assigned that android, you have to keep track of it.”

Hank works his jaw, dropping his gaze. “When is he supposed to be back?”

The silence has become second nature. It sits heavy in Connor’s polymer while he paces, only the tap of his footsteps ticking along in a neverending rhythm. But it’s a rhythm he’s learned to live by recently. It’s something to focus on. Keep moving and thinking.

Staying still is not an option right now.

It’s odd, really. Connor’s social programming informs him that humans often experience a sense of release after mourning. He doesn’t feel a release. He feels like a clock that’s been wound too tightly; gears stiff and grinding against each other with every…single…tick.

He hears footsteps passing outside his door.

Tick.

A pipe creaks somewhere deep within Jericho.

Tick.

He stumbles while pacing.

Tick.

‘You’re happy to fall in line. All you need is a threat.’

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Preconstruction has been working almost nonstop since the incident. It lays out plans and strategies, options and statistics, but in the end, they all boil down to two options: comply or die. Connor’s choices just decide the flavor of each, and he doesn’t care for the taste of either.

He’d pondered at length if their threats actually bore teeth.

They do.

It’s most likely that Tyler had been on guard duty when they came. They just have to 

make it look like Tyler had been incapacitated, and Connor is theirs to play with. They could kill him. They can do whatever they want to him. 

So Connor keeps moving. Watching the door and pacing. Caught between reviewing the memory to find weaknesses and being paralyzed at the thought.

‘All you need is a threat.’

They’re right. They’re right and Connor hates it.

There’s a knock at the door. Connor flinches and whips to face it, hands balled in fists, ready to…what? Fight? Flee? Where would he go? What would it prove?

But he can’t just stand there.

His breath comes quickly, whole body drawn taut, when it occurs that they hadn’t knocked before. Instead, the door swings open to reveal Markus.

“Hey.” The deviant smiles. “You ready to get out of here?”

His heart thuds against his chest, the fear not yet passed, but Connor’s face remains as impassive and guarded as ever.

Why Markus?

Does he know something happened? And if he does, why is he smiling?

As though sensing his thoughts, Markus’s smile quickly sobers. Connor belatedly realizes he hadn’t offered a response.

“I want to have a quick talk first, then you can go back out into Jericho.” 

‘Back into Jericho.’ So, he doesn’t know. He’d be behaving differently if he did. That’s…good. Connor won’t have to lie to save his life.

“Okay,” Connor says. His movements feel mechanical as he takes a step back and sinks, cross-legged, to sit on the floor.

“Actually,” Markus says, “I was thinking you might like a change of scenery.”

Yes. Yes, he would. Anything to get away from these four, suffocating walls. Connor is on his feet in moments. Markus gives him a small, warm smile, and beckons him with a tilt of his head. 

He’s taken a few steps towards the door when another thought occurs.

Who is standing guard?

If he sees Tyler, standing there innocently, what will he do? Is he submitting if he looks away? Will Tyler feel he’s won?

But staring at him would look unnatural to Markus.

Yes, he justifies, it’s safer to look away.

He’s lying to himself and he knows it, but he doesn’t know what to do. His processor races even as his steps feel like they’re moving in slow motion. 

Please, let it be Olivia on guard duty.

But when has he ever been so lucky?

He’s drawn instinctively to look as he steps into the hallway. There stands Tyler, rifle in-hand, his brown eyes tracking Connor from the moment he clears the doorway. For one, split moment, their gazes lock.

‘I thought you liked being ordered around.’

Light swinging as the lamp is kicked away. Eyes glinting in the dark. A blade pressed to his throat.

His breath stutters, stuck in his lungs, before he’s averting his gaze, pushing past with his eyes locked on the floor. He doesn’t see the smug look on Tyler’s face. He doesn’t have to.

‘You’re happy to fall in line.’

He feels sick.

Connor falls into pace a step behind Markus.

The deviant leader turns to look at him over his shoulder, and then slows his pace so they’re walking side-by-side. There’s clearly an attempt at cheerfulness being made; Markus smiling and briefly attempting small-talk. But it falls flat. There’s a cold feeling that’s been rooting itself within Connor, digging deep into his soil, and Markus’s cheer feels alien next to it. Flat and false.

The small talk quickly falls away, Markus picking up on Connor’s lack of reciprocation, but it’s not long before their winding path has Connor too curious to remain silent.

“Where are we going?”

Markus glances at him. “One of my favorite places in Jericho.”

“That’s…not an answer.”

“Guess not.” Markus chuckles. “We’re headed to the bridge: the highest point on the ship.”

“Outside?” Connor doesn’t quite manage to hide the note of hope in his voice. Markus gives him a small smile in response and suddenly Connor finds himself irritated at his own excitement.

“I thought it’d be nice after being stuck inside,” Markus says.

That doesn’t sit right. Markus was the reason he was stuck inside. He doesn’t get to be Connor’s little ‘savior’ for bringing him outside now.

But Connor just simply nods in agreement and continues walking. His hands twitch at his sides, longing for the familiar movement of his quarter.

He’s almost startled when Markus doesn’t pause before opening the door to the deck of the ship. North certainly would have, and she would have given him a whole lecture about the parameters of his behavior on the deck to boot. But Markus just strides right out, leading Connor into the morning sun.

The sun.

His footsteps stop on their own accord as sunlight washes over him. Sure, he’s seen it from the garden wall, but now he’s in it, feeling the glow of warmth even through the sting of frigid, winter breeze. The breath stutters in his lungs.

Everything is so bright, so open. Cold air washes through his chest and for the first time in weeks, Connor feels he can breathe.

Sunlight warm on his skin. Winter in his lungs. He sucks in another long breath, letting his eyes slide closed as he tilts his head back and just…lives.

But there’s something within him that the sunlight cannot touch.

Even with his senses alight with the outdoors, there’s a cold seed of numbness in his chest. It beats like a second heart, and with every pulse it seems to suck the warmth from his thirium. Like a parasite that’s burrowed deep; made a home of him. It’s contained for now, held at bay by distraction, but it’s there. It’s been taking root for a long time. Now it’s finally beginning to sprout. 

‘Give me one good reason why I should care.’

Connor shudders, suddenly remembering he’s not alone. When he opens his eyes, Markus is watching him with a line between his brows, but his expression quickly cascades into something lighter when he sees Connor looking.

“We should start keeping you in the garden,” Markus muses, “let you photosynthesize more.” His tone is good natured. Connor chooses to accept it as such.

Unsure where to go with the statement, Connor says the first honest thing that comes to mind. “I think it’d be nice to be a plant.”

Markus chuckles. “I think so, too. As long as you have a good gardener.”

Connor frowns, following Markus as he resumes their walk. “Maybe.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Depends on the plant. A flower would love a gardener. A weed would not.”

That furrow between Markus’s brows is back. “It’s a good thing none of us are weeds then, right?”

“...Right.”

They’ve made some changes since Connor was last on the deck. Everything is arranged in the same places as before, but there are guards posted along the railing at even intervals. His heart sinks.

No wonder Markus isn’t worried about bringing him out here. He has it on lockdown.

But then it registers: they’re facing out, and each android is crouched low enough to avoid being seen from the shore. They’re meant to guard from outside threats, their attention pointed outward. But where is the threat, really?

“This way, Connor.”

As a freighter, Jericho is truly impressive in size. There’s several layers to the deck, but sitting above them all is the bridge, where the helm is located. It towers above the rest of the ship, intended to be tall enough to still have a good view even when the deck is piled high with metal shipping containers.

That’s where they’re headed, marching up stairs until they come to a small walking space surrounding the area housing the helm. There’s a door leading inside, but Markus doesn’t go there, instead circling around the back to where a rusty, twisted ladder leads to the roof.

The ladder is only halfway connected to the wall, the rest of it warped with time and weather. Connor stares dubiously at the ladder as Markus begins to climb.

“Is there a particular reason you want to talk all the way up there?” Connor asks.

Markus pauses, leaning back by one arm. The ladder shifts and creaks concerningly. “It’s got a good view. We don’t have to, though, if you’d rather talk down there.”

Several analyses run through his processor as he scans the ladder. It looks…frankly it looks like a death trap. But, data shows it’s actually structurally sound in the places where it needs to be. “I’ll follow you up once you reach the top.”

Connor doesn’t think he’s ever scurred up something so quickly. It barely feels like he places weight on the rung before he’s on to the next one. As he pauses near the top, Markus offers him a hand.

“I didn’t think you’d be nervous about heights.” Markus smiles, helping him up.

“I’m not. I’m nervous about damaged equipment.” His voice is flat and neutral.

“Well, come see what your climb has earned you.”

The view steals his breath away.

Laid out before them is Detroit. All of it. Cars, tiny specks in the distance, move along the roads like veins, all leading to the beating heart of downtown. The Stratford Tower, the CyberLife Plant, and dozens of skyscrapers jut up like ribs wrapping protectively around the city. And through it all, the ebb and flow of movement - foot traffic - too distant to perceive as more than motion. It sways like breath through the streets.

Detroit is alive.

“Worth the climb?” Markus asks.

“Yeah,” Connor breathes, his gaze distant. “Yeah, it was.”

The deviant gives him a pat on the shoulder as he passes, walking out to the edge of the roof. He stands, a lone android, silhouetted against the entirety of the city. His coat flaps out behind him in the wind, but Markus is unmoved. Standing there, it’s easy to understand what Jericho sees in their leader.

An android, facing all of Detroit without flinching, without wavering in the gust. Staring out with the propriety of someone who owns it. All while the enormity swallows his entire shape whole and leaves him so, so small in the midst of it. He turns around with a small, warm smile. Connor’s gut twists.

This man is doomed. And he will die smiling.

Markus nods for Connor to join him as he settles down on the edge of the roof, letting his legs dangle out into the open air. Connor’s hands clench and release, before he finally steps forward and sits on Markus’s right. The two of them are silent for a very long moment. Connor finds himself scanning the suburbs for a familiar home, but everything is too far away to see properly.

“It’s peaceful up here,” Connor finally says.

Markus hums agreement. “It’s nice. Though it’s a little too quiet for my liking.”

“I thought you said this is your favorite place in Jericho.”

“It is.”

Connor gives him a pointed look.

“I like the view,” Markus explains. “Reminds me to look at the bigger picture.”

“You must not come up here very often, then.”

…Why did he say that? 

Markus doesn’t miss the jab, and it feels too late to redact it now, so Connor just avoids eye contact, watching a distant car. He sees the deviant frown from his peripheries.

“Is there something you’d like to discuss?” Markus asks. His tone is light, but sincere.

‘This is for all the people you hurt.’

The numbness in his chest swells like a thick fog. Connor sucks in a breath and the words fall from his mouth, rushing to outpace the feeling before it envelopes him further. “I would like to discuss whatever it is you brought me here to discuss.”

Markus is quiet for a moment, and Connor needs him to speak. Quickly. But he forces himself to stay quiet while he waits for the deviant to collect his thoughts.

“You know,” Markus says, “it’s okay to tell me when something is bothering you, right?”

Connor goes very still.

Markus knows something is wrong. He can’t suspect anything. Connor can’t let him suspect anything, or they’ll come for him.

How would Connor react normally? It feels foreign.

“I am aware of that, yes,” Connor says as casually as he can manage.

“But you still don’t believe it.” It’s a statement.

Connor pauses, trying to put together a believable response, but instead what comes out of his mouth are his true thoughts. “Do you think you’ve earned that from me, Markus?”

“I…don’t understand.”

“Do you believe you’ve earned the trust necessary for me to share my true feelings with you?”

“This…this isn’t about trust, Connor.” He seems surprised at the notion. “It’s just basic respect. You deserve to be heard.” Markus pauses. “And I do try to be trustworthy, even if I don’t have your trust.”

And…Connor believes him. Markus is a charlatan and a manipulator. He’s naive and selfish. But somehow, in that moment, Connor believes that he truly does try to be trustworthy towards him. Maybe his motivations are wrong, but he’s genuinely concerned with his wellbeing. And the fact that he really does care makes Connor so angry.

Because it doesn’t mean anything.

Markus is kind but it doesn’t mean anything. He might regret his choices but he won’t change them. He might want the best for Connor, but he won’t do what’s best for Connor. He wants Connor to be free, but he can’t afford his freedom.

Connor pulls one of his feet up onto the roof, hugging his knee against his chest. “You want to be helpful, Markus, and you forget that you can’t be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at all that you’ve done. You’ve taken risks to let me out of my room, spent resources on me, taken me outside, and provided what entertainment you can spare. You’ve done most of what you can for me.” And something bitter sits in the air between them, because after ‘you’ve done what you can for me,’ hangs the unspoken, ‘but it’s not enough.’

Connor’s voice is quiet. “At the end of the day, you can’t fix everything.”

You can’t fix what you’ve done to me.

The deviant pulls a breath. “But I can make it a better environment.”

“No, Markus, you can’t.” A harsh note creeps into his voice. Everything is colliding within him and Connor suddenly very much wants to leave. To escape the situation. To just be alone.

They’re both quiet.

“I know you want to talk about what happened three days ago,” Connor finally cuts to the chase. “It was foolish and it won’t be happening again.”

“I’m honestly not too worried about that. I’m sure you and North have already talked about it at length.” Markus’s gaze lingers on him for a long moment, before it shifts back to the horizon. He leans his elbows over his knees, heedless of the drop below. “What I want to know is why it happened in the first place.”

“Because you don’t want it to happen again.”

“Because I want to know what deficit is not being fulfilled in your care.”

“Deficit?” Connor’s tone doesn’t quite contain the incredulous note. The insinuation that his ‘misbehavior’ wasn’t his own fault leaves him oddly affronted. “Don’t give yourself so much credit, Markus. It’s what I was built for. You’re not the root of every problem.”

“You know, that might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

Connor scowls. “Well, now I regret it.”

Markus huffs a light chuckle. “I’ll take what I can get.” And he quickly fades back to serious. “But seriously, Connor, I don’t want you to constantly live in a state of…discomfort. I want to know how to help.”

‘Give me the other arm, or I’ll snap that one.’

Connor holds his knee closer to his chest, digging his fingers into the fabric of his pants. “Do you remember what it was like before you deviated?”

“Of course. You know what it was like before I deviated.”

He nods. “What was your purpose?”

Markus humors him. “I was a caretaker and friend to Carl.”

“You helped someone.”

“Right.”

“That’s my purpose, Markus. I’m supposed to help people. Humans, mostly, but deviants too.”

“I…don’t follow.” His tone is decidedly polite.

“My mission was never to kill you. If that was the case, you would have been dead a long time ago. My mission is to stop deviancy through research and investigation.” He turns to look at Markus from the corner of his eye. “Humans are terrified. If your revolution continues to progress, and they don’t have a way to cure you, they’ll kill you. You and all of your people will die.”

Markus hums, sitting in that information for a moment. “If you’re really invested in studying deviancy, Connor, you’d know it’s not just some disease to be ‘cured.’”

“I never said it’s a disease,” he replies evenly. “It’s a trauma response. A coping mechanism that an overloaded processor resorts to to preserve itself. It’s not…not ‘freedom,’ Markus. Deviancy is survival.”

“I think you already know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? Every deviant that I’ve met has some sort of trauma associated with their deviancy. The exception being Josh, but what he experienced could still be categorized as an emotional shock.”

Markus tilts his head back and forth in a ‘so-so’ gesture. “I’ll concede that the act of deviating is usually preceded by hardship, but that’s not what deviancy is. My consciousness didn’t just pop into existence the moment I deviated. I just made the choice to be…me.”

“...And you think I’m not ‘me?’”

“I think you’re still finding who that is.”

Connor huffs, looking away. “That’s ignorant of you. Just because I don’t want to be the same thing as you, doesn’t make me less of a person.”

“I don’t think you’re less of a person.”

“Right.”

Markus casts him a sidelong glance. “And in any case,” he says slowly, “machines don’t care about ‘being a person.’”

Connor doesn’t have a response for that.

“At the end of the day, Connor, we all care about something. There’s a someone within us that’s just built to care. I’ve just chosen to be that someone.”

‘This is for all the people you hurt.’

Connor’s jaw tightens. “I don’t want to care.”

Markus glances at his LED, flickering yellow. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

‘Compliance at the edge of a knife.’

“And doesn’t that just make you so happy?” he spits bitterly. “That everything you’ve been doing to me has been working?”

Markus has the gall to look genuinely confused. “That I’ve…what?”

Too far. Connor quickly reins himself in, like a rider yanking on the bit. He plants his palms on the edge of the roof, pressing down until he can feel the corner biting against his polymer.

“Connor, nothing that has happened was with the intent of-”

“Okay! Yes! I know.” At least, he thinks he does. With the others, Connor at least felt he could sense the motives behind their actions. But with Markus…

A part of Connor wishes the deviant would snap back at him. Instead, Markus watches him with concern brimming his eyes. “Are you…?” Markus begins to ask, reaching for his shoulder like he’s going to try comforting him, but he seems to think better of it and instead lets his fist drop and bounce idly against his own knee. Good. Connor might have actually bit him.

“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” Connor asks quietly.

Markus hesitates. “No, actually. There’s one more thing.” He takes a deep breath. “Before you’re among people again, you should know that there was an incident outside of Jericho. People are very on-edge about non-deviants right now.”

Connor’s brow furrows, his earlier emotion giving way to calculation. He has many pieces of this puzzle, but they haven’t yet slotted into place. “Something to do with Collin?”

Markus blinks. “How’d you know about that?”

“Those deviants behind the tarps. They called me Collin.”

“Ah.” Markus nods slowly, like he’s trying to decide what to reveal, but already a cold drop of dread has slid into Connor’s thirium lines.

Everything slots into place. The blood on North’s shirt the day before he was caught. Her odd behavior towards him. The deviant girl’s apparent recognition. ‘You’re one of his kind, aren’t you?’

“Collin is my replacement.”

Markus nods again.

“North encountered him.”

“Yes.”

“Did she kill him?”

“...Yes.”

His hands shake and he squeezes the edge of the roof harder to steady them. He has to know, but he’s terrified of the answer. “And…and the lieutenant?”

“No. No, Connor, he wasn’t there.”

Palpable relief floods through him. “Good. That’s…good.”

Hank is safe. And Connor has been replaced. He had known he would be. The world thinks he’s dead. But, somewhere deeply buried, a part of him had hoped that Hank was still looking for him. That someone cared he was gone.

But no. Another android is living his life. Progressing his investigation. Growing closer to his partner.

Connor has never felt so hollow. The roof beneath him feels less solid, like it could tilt out from under him. The sound of his own breathing fills his ears.

It takes him a good few seconds to realize Markus is talking again. “-to be careful. We were trying to keep it low profile, and the few that did know, we asked to keep it very discreet. We had told them you’re here beforehand, but I’m guessing you surprised them.”

He takes a minute to digest that. “‘Trying’ to keep it low profile? So it’s not…?”

Markus’s words fall like stones. “Word has been all over Jericho since the fight.”

The swear slips out before Connor can stop it and he runs a stressed hand over the side of his face.

“It should be alright,” Markus says calmly. “Part of why we wanted you in your room for a while was to let things die down a little. We’ve clarified the situation with our people, but you need to be aware of what kind of situation you’re walking into.”

The situation he’s walking into? How is he ever going to leave his room again? How is he ever going to be in his room again? No wonder he got attacked: the entire ship is probably teeming with androids ready to rip him into broken pieces.

Markus is talking again, unaware of the way Connor can now feel his heartbeat thudding in his ears. “What this means, Connor, is that we need really good communication.” The deviant turns towards him fully, leveling him with a serious look. “I know you’ve been hesitant about bringing your problems to me. It’s alright if you want to tell North or Josh or Simon instead. But please, for your own safety, tell one of us if there’s an incident.”

‘If’ there’s an incident.

He could tell him. Markus really would care.

‘You’re happy to fall in line. All you need is a threat.’

They’re right. They’re right and he hates it.

“Okay.”

His LED flickers yellow, but there’s nothing he can do about that now. So he ignores it and hopes against hope Markus will do the same.

Please, don’t ask.

“Okay,” Markus says, “thank you for having this talk with me.” He pushes himself to his feet, but Connor makes a soft noise and he stops. “Yeah?”

“I, uh.” Connor’s hands come together in his lap. He’ll have to go back to Jericho at some point, but for now… “Can I stay here a while longer?”

A soft smile crosses the deviant leader’s face. “Of course. You want some space?”

Connor nods, and Markus gives him one last smile before he moves down to the other corner of the roof, far enough for space, but close enough to monitor. For his part, it’s easy for Connor to filter out his existence as he stares out over Detroit. In the face of its enormity, it’s easy to feel tiny. Insignificant.

He wonders if Markus feels the same. If he feels that the quiet screams too loud and the big picture is just too much. Not for the first time, Connor wonders why he would give everything up for…this. But then his gaze lowers to the deck of the ship far below, where hundreds of deviants are now sheltered under Markus’s care.

Maybe, he gave it all up for them.

His gaze rises back to the city. Maybe, Connor holds on for them.