Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The third time Connor's tenuous connection to the outside world failed in as many minutes, he finally resigned himself to the truth: they were past the point of no return. He was inundated with the sudden, deviant urge to cry out, to beg them to go back.

Instead, he opened his eyes. Pine trees rushed by. The road beneath them bucked and quaked like a living thing, thanks to the cracked, patchy asphalt.

He was really beginning to regret agreeing to this retreat. When he had first envisioned traveling outside of Detroit, he'd imagined hours of quiet contemplation, soaking in the natural beauty on the way, perhaps from a bus window or a personal vehicle, if he ever found the means to afford one. Nothing but the silence of his thoughts and the hum of a vehicle, perhaps a few strains of music playing quietly in the background, if he ever found something he liked enough to play.

The stretch humvee, as glamorous as Elijah claimed it to be, was packed to the brim with androids and camping equipment. Packed physically with bodies but metaphorically as well, with sounds and smells and music and conversation. Overwhelming, in a word.

In the far back, Rupert remained conspicuously silent as Josh and Simon bickered somewhat good-naturedly with Markus and North, who'd claimed the row in front of them. Rupert had been the last to join the Integration Support Group and was still withdrawn. Connor suspected he'd moved to the back to avoid conversation, not realizing that he'd trapped himself with four very opinionated longtime friends. Markus, North, Simon, and Josh had met prior to the revolution - meaning they'd been acquainted since before Connor had even been activated.

Simon was a childcare model android and far and away the most cautious of the bunch, having to be coaxed into joining the retreat by the other three. He had been deviant the longest out of the four of them, though he remained secretive about his past.

Josh, next to him, was principled to the point of impracticality. It had been his insistence on keeping all protests peaceful that kept public opinion high during the revolution. If he hadn't been so stubborn, things could have gone very differently. Josh had also been the first to jump on board with Elijah's retreat idea, to experience nature and get a better feel of their new place in the world.

And then there was North. North did not like humans. At all. She freely admitted that she only came to the Integration Support Group to make sure her friends weren't being brainwashed. That was why it had been such a shock to hear her eagerly sign up for a nature retreat in the middle of nowhere. When Connor had asked her about it privately, her reply came with an open sneer of disgust. "I can't go a block without being harassed by human men. At least out there we'll finally have some peace." Fair enough, he supposed.

Markus, sitting behind Elijah, was something of a wildcard. He often acted as the tiebreaker between his three friends, who were so frequently at odds. Connor liked him best, though. Maybe he was biased since Markus had been the one to deviate him when the four of them infiltrated and liberated CyberLife Tower.

Up ahead of him, the Chloe behind the wheel, Chloe 2, murmured something to the other Chloe. Chloe 1 fiddled with the console until something bright and poppy filtered through the speakers, almost drowning out the backseat bickering.

The Chloes had deviated years ago, possibly even earlier than Simon, and yet they still lived with their previous owner, Elijah Kamski. They doted on him almost as much as each other. Connor supposed that they stayed because Elijah was such an advocate for them, one of the first public figures to come out in favor of deviants. Staying somewhere they were already safe and getting all their needs met? It made sense, he supposed.

Connor twitched at an unexpected touch to his thigh. He followed the line of the limb back to Elijah, the sole human occupant.

The retreat had been Elijah's idea. Most ideas in their group were, honestly. Elijah organized meet-ups at high-end "android friendly" bars. He got them into museums after hours to avoid the prying eyes of humans. He was the one to suggest custom coding and parts.

Connor was grateful. Really! He was painfully aware of his intended purpose, and the shame of it made every social interaction a monumental effort. He would never have gone on outings like those he experienced with the Integration Support Group without Elijah's encouragement. Being invited to VIP rooms and private events felt like a neat compromise, though it wasn't what Connor would have chosen for himself. At least he could still have new experiences, even if it was only with a small, limited group of acquaintances.

And if he had to remind himself to be grateful for all the gifts and invitations, no one had to know.

"Always doubting." Elijah lounged back against the car door, his body angled to face Connor as he spoke. He offered a small smile. "You need to relax, Connor. This is for your own good and vital for integration. 'Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit,' as John Muir said."

Connor instinctively reached for his web feed to identify who John Muir was supposed to be but was met with nothing but a failed connection pop-up on his HUD. He winced, chagrined at his lapse in memory.

Elijah's smirk told Connor that his error had not gone unnoticed.

"John Muir was an eminent naturalist and nature advocate," Elijah explained with patient affection. His finger slid up Connor's thigh, tracing designs on his jeans. The light touch felt invasive somehow, too much despite not even coming into contact with Connor's nanite field.

The humvee jerked to the side as Chloe 2 maneuvered around a particularly egregious pothole. Two things happened simultaneously. First, Elijah's hand slipped off Connor's leg. And second, a large, rusty truck passed them on the left.

The truck was old, though without database access, Connor couldn't determine the age. It had a clear history, told in dents, rust, and peeling green paint. A thick forearm rested just outside the rolled-down passenger side window. Connor's eyes trailed over the limb, zooming in on gray hair and scarred knuckles. Something latent in his programming flagged the sight as Important, meriting high graphic fidelity in the recording. He followed the arm up to its owner, a large man with long gray hair, a beard, and steel gray eyes. His features were stern, like something carved from stone.

Perhaps some of his old, lingering coding identified the man as a threat?

The driver, seated next to him, had darker skin and a bald head. He was thinner, but similarly muscled. His eyes never left the road in front of him, which had to be why Connor's focus was pulled back to the gray-eyed man in the passenger seat.

Time slowed down, and for one fraught, breathless moment, their eyes locked. A surge of energy coursed through Connor, mimicking a human's rush of adrenaline. His body must be preparing for a fight. It was the only explanation that made sense!

The truck sped up, completing its pass, and the moment ended. Connor released a breath to vent some excess heat.

A scoff from the passenger seat startled him. "Did you see the way they looked at us?" Elijah asked.

Connor stored the memory for future analysis, reluctantly turning his eyes back to the human beside him.

Elijah's eyes were narrowed, lips peeled back in disgust. "Typical hicks, biased against human-android relationships. How… distasteful."

Several androids chimed in in agreement, but Connor remained silent, something deep in his chassis feeling unsettled.

"Elijah," Chloe 2 said in a voice perfectly calculated to be audible above the music without shouting, "We will need to refuel the vehicle soon. Chloe told me this is the last gas station before we reach the campsite."

"I made sure to compile a list of all stores and fueling stations along our projected route before we even left Detroit," Chloe 1 added. The faint static hum underlying her voice was the only sign differentiating her much older model from the more updated ST200 Chloe 2. "Our chances of finding an alternate fuel source are less than 2%."

"Go ahead and stop then," Elijah said with an indulgent expression. "Perhaps I can use the opportunity to teach you all about the human tradition of road trip snacks."

The gas station in question was actually a general store and tractor supply shop with a gas station add-on. The wooden building looked to be in poor repair, but the paint was fresh on the sign, and there were no Anti-Android League stickers in the window.

Connor trailed after Elijah, frustrated by his own timidity. It had been months since he had joined the Human Integration Support Group, and he was still following Elijah like a frightened child. Connor supposed it was somewhat justified, as he and the others had been warned in advance that rural humans were less likely to view the android revolution in a positive light. He had heard more than enough horror stories from North and Simon to believe Elijah's warnings. While Connor did have the highest caliber combat routines CyberLife had ever programmed, he really didn't want to cause trouble.

For a moment, he wished he'd had the foresight to bring a hat to cover his LED and was immediately ashamed of the thought.

Inside the station, he spotted a familiar face: the truck driver from before, currently spinning a screwdriver between strong fingers. Despite the implied threat of the gesture, Connor reluctantly admired his manual dexterity. The weak light filtering through the dusty windows highlighted his burnished bronze face. He was certainly an imposing figure in his own right. But where was the other occupant from the truck?

His programming encouraged him to run a facial scan and cross-reference it with known associates, but his police database access had been revoked since his deviation, and even using a reverse image search took up too much bandwidth for the shop's pathetic excuse for a wireless router.

"Well, well, well... look what we have here."

Connor spun on his heel at the dry, reedy voice behind him. He found himself nearly nose to nose with the human formerly behind the counter. Connor had dismissed the portly man as a lesser threat, but the ease with which he'd managed to sneak up on Connor sent metaphorical alarm bells ringing in his head.

"Got yourself an android, huh?" the man continued, only a quick side-eyed glance telling Connor that the comment was directed to Elijah.

"I don't see how that's any of your concern," Elijah said frostily.

That wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement of his personhood. Connor cleared his throat to get the man, Ben, according to the name tag sewn onto his blue jumpsuit, to look at him.

Connor squared his shoulders and made deliberate, unblinking eye contact. "He doesn't own me. We're just traveling together. Is that a problem?"

Ben let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh... no problems here." He raised both hands like Connor was leveling a gun rather than a glare and stepped back behind the safety of the counter.

Connor allowed himself a smirk. It felt good, standing up for himself. A quick glance at Elijah quickly deflated his puffed-up sense of importance.

Elijah's eyes were narrowed, his lips pressed in a thin line. Connor rarely saw him without an indulgent smile, or at least a teasing smirk.

Had he really messed up so badly?

Connor busied himself by looking at the products on the shelves, trying to ignore the dull rush of thirium coursing through his limbs, urging him to react violently to some unseen threat.

He wasn't in danger. He was fine. Combat routines were set to inactive.

Connor parted his lips to let the built-up heat escape as he feigned interest in the various human foods. He picked up a box of something called Peanut Butter Butter Pops and nearly dropped it when his eyes locked with the ones on the other side of the shelf.

The second man from the truck. Here.

In the artificial light of the store, his eyes were a rich blue, like images Connor had seen of the ocean. His thirium pump regulator juddered in his abdomen. He impulsively slammed the box back into place, hoping to dispel the odd, fluttery sensation. He rebooted his internal gyroscope, just in case.

A sudden hand on his shoulder made him startle, even though it was clearly too slim to belong to either of the men from the truck.

"Sorry," Chloe 2 said. "I didn't mean to scare you!"

Connor plastered Reassuring_smile_v2.3 on his face. "It's fine. I'm just jumpy."

"Oh. Well, Rupert found some Thirium Puffs, and Josh thinks it will be a valuable cultural exchange. Do you want to try some? We're deciding how many to buy. Elijah's treat."

"Sounds good," Connor said weakly, even though accepting Elijah's handouts felt distinctly unappealing at the moment.

"Good," Chloe 2 said. "Let's get them, then get the hell out of this creepy place."

Hank bit into a Slim Jim with more force than necessary. The casing gave with a satisfying pop between his teeth. He heard Jeff approaching and pretended to read the wrapper, hoping against hope that Jeff would let sleeping dogs lie.

"You could do worse, you know," Jeff said in that mild way of his. It was the tone he always used when he knew damn well that he was about to poke the bear.

"Yeah, Slim Jims are alright," Hank grunted, snapping off another bite of mystery meat.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Jeff chastised. "The robots are people now, the government said so. It wouldn't be creepy to get out there, shoot your shot."

Plastic crinkled as Hank fussed with the wrapper, popping the hollow groove in and out. "I dunno, Jeff," he muttered finally as the silence dragged on something painful.

Jeff knocked their shoulders together as he cracked open an O'Douls. "Come on, Hank. It's been three years. You can't keep living in grief, man, you have to get back out there!"

Hank dared to peek at the androids again. They were laughing while they filled up the stretch humvee's gas tank, as if even something so mundane as getting gas was fresh and new. Hell, to them, it probably was.

Meanwhile, Hank just felt old, worn down. What would he have to offer to someone like that?

"Someone like him? With someone like me? You're shittin' me, Jeff. Maybe if I was twenty years younger, with no dead wife and kid." Hank took another savage bite of the Slim Jim to wash away the bitter taste of the fact.

"Ex-wife," Jeff insisted, as he always did.

Kathy had been driving Cole up to spend his birthday with her new boyfriend's family when that drunk driver hit them. Hank had let her take Cole in exchange for having him at Christmas. That didn't happen, for obvious reasons. He'd hated the holiday ever since.

"Listen, androids don't care about that shit. What's a few wrinkles when everyone you know was engineered to be perfect? Hell, I heard they like that shit."

Hank snorted, trying to pull himself out of the painful memories. "Yeah? Well, what could he possibly see in me? What would I bring to the table?"

"Well..." Jeff took a long swig of his not-beer, clearly stalling for time. He sighed, let out a contemplative belch. "You're a good lookin' man, more or less," he said ponderously, "and you've got a good heart."

Hank waited.

"That's- that's two things right there," Jeff finished finally.

"Fuck you, Jeff," Hank said, rolling his eyes.

"Look, just get off your ass and go talk to him!" Jeff insisted.

Hank groaned. "Jeff, it's been years since I tried, well, anything! What the hell am I supposed to say?"

"Just go in with confidence," Jeff said sagely. "And whatever you say, just smile and laugh."

Hank stuffed the wrapper in the nearby trash can and regretted it immediately. His hands felt empty without some sort of prop. He shuffled back to the pickup, hoping to find something suitably cool and masculine.

Jeff had already bought and/or rented a shitload of equipment: the wood chipper attached to the trailer hitch, a big, fancy toolbox, a nail gun...

Ooh, a chainsaw! Hell yeah, that was tough. Maybe he could pull off a lumberjack vibe instead of sad old man.

Fuck, who even said vibe anymore? Didn't that meme die out twenty years ago?

Fuck it. Hank puffed out his chest, walking with a confidence he didn't feel as he approached the group of androids.

At the last minute, he decided against revving the chainsaw, instead letting the chassis slap against one meaty palm, safely away from the blade. Decisive. Confident. Definitely not shitting his pants terrified.

The androids looked up, eerily synchronized. He could feel their judgment in their aggressively neutral stares.

Come on, Hank, you can salvage this! He thought to himself. He cleared his throat, pasting a painful grin onto his face. "You kids goin' camping?" And then, horror of horrors, he let out not a laugh but a manic giggle. Suddenly he was back in middle school, the new kid trying to grab a seat at the table with the popular kids.

Not measuring up.

A sharp, clear voice interrupted his flashback. "Stop! You backwater hick!"

Some asshole in Gucci sweats and a manbun swerved into view, hands pinched in a crab impression straight out of a shitty kung fu movie, complete with screechy "hi-YAH!" as he swatted at Hank's face.

Hank stepped back as Manbun got between him and the androids, still waving his arms like a drunken praying mantis. One of the blonde androids cowered behind him. A red-haired android cracked her knuckles.

Apparently the bar was through the floor, but Hank had still managed to trip over it.

"Y'all enjoy your trip," he added feebly before making his less than dignified retreat.

Chapter Text

Hank could only pretend to be cloud watching for so long. Maybe he should've sat in the back of the truck with Sumo. The big lug was currently taking up the entire back row by himself but it might’ve been worth the lack of space and copious amounts of drool just to avoid the thick cloud of pity he could feel wafting from his best (human) friend. At least Jeff'd understood his need to get out of Dodge quick and was speeding down the road away from Hank's public humiliation.

Rather than wait for Jeff to lose patience with his moping, Hank decided to bite the bullet and get the damn thing over with.

"That went downhill faster than a turd on a ski slope," Hank said, just to see Jeff's nose scrunch in disgust.

"Real classy, Hank," Jeff drawled. He didn't say anything more out loud but the arch of his eyebrow spoke volumes.

Hank grit his teeth, staring at the road ahead. "Look... I'm not like you, Jeff. I'm so outta practice with the whole flirting thing, it's not even funny. Hell, Kathy was the one to pursue me, and it still didn't work out! I just- I get all nervous and my hands get clammy and I turn into a big, fat idiot!"

"Hey! That's my friend you're talking about!" Jeff barked. His face softened. "Well, it's his loss anyway. Android doesn't know what he's missing. In fact- Oh shit!"

Jeff slammed on the brakes. Hank gripped the door like a lifeline as the sound of police sirens drew nearer.

"Shit!" Jeff hissed, throwing their empty cans in the back. They might’ve been non-alcoholic, but that wouldn't stop a cop on a power trip. Hank would know - he almost was one before he quit training to become a park ranger instead.

The cop that swaggered up had an unusual scar across his nose and a cocky smirk the size of Texas. He leaned on the driver's side door of the pickup, popping his nicotine gum between his teeth. 

"You know how fast you boys were going?" the cop drawled, despite being at least a decade younger than either of them. Awful young to be wearing a sheriff badge, but Hank supposed that came from being in an appointed position in the middle of podunk nowhere. Shit like that wouldn't fly in Detroit. 

"Must've slipped my mind, Sheriff," Jeff said smoothly. Considering he stuck with the police and managed to make it to the rank of captain, he was pretty good at dealing with white men's egos. 

Jeff was one of those people who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty if it meant making the world a better place, so he put up with racist bullshit and worked from the inside to make it less of a shithole - whereas Hank washed his hands of the place and ran off to play park ranger. Now, Jeff was making the big bucks and overhauling training for the officers while Hank was selling fishing licenses. 

Sure came in handy, though, as Jeff "accidentally" flashed his own badge while he flipped through his wallet. 

"Captain, huh?" the sheriff said. "Don't think that means I'll let you off easy. This ain't your jurisdiction." 

"Of course not, Sheriff," Jeff said. "Here's that license and registration." 

The cop flipped through the papers randomly. He didn't seem to even be reading them so much as fidgeting. At least he seemed to have dropped the speeding topic. 

"So... where you guys headed?" he asked, all faux casual. 

Jeff puffed out his chest. "We're headed out to my - our - new vacation home! I think it was called the Zlatko cabin?" 

All cockiness drained from the sheriff's face. "The old Zlatko place? Shit."

"What? Why?" Jeff's grip tightened on the steering wheel. Hank hoped he didn't go off on the sheriff to defend the honor of his (because as nice as he was to offer Hank permission to use it whenever, it was most definitely Jeff's) cabin because a speeding ticket would really suck right now. 

Luckily the cop didn't notice the bug up his butt. Instead, he scowled and said, "That place... There's nothing up there but pain and suffering. You’d best stay away." 

As if God himself wanted to emphasize the point, a crack of thunder punctuated the sheriff's warning. 

Jeff was visibly struggling not to roll his eyes, but all the hair on Hank's body stood on end. Not a cloud in the sky... 

"Good luck out there," the sheriff said, stepping back to wave them on. "You'll need it." 

The cabin emerged from a tightly clustered copse of trees, the dirt road rising to meet it. The dark gray wood of the cabin was unpainted and worn. It looked like more care went into the planks nailed over the windows than the walls of the cabin itself. Hank could see at least one substantial hole in the roof. 

"Oh my god," Jeff whispered, eyes wide. "And they called this a fixer-upper?" He slapped the side of Hank's arm. "It's perfect!" 

Hank grinned, the excitement of a good project with his best friend putting the cabin in a whole new light. This wasn't some shack in the middle of nowhere but a real, proper cabin, with bedrooms and everything! 

"We should take a look inside," Hank said, already reaching for the car door handle. 

Hank kept Sumo on a short leash as they climbed the dilapidated porch steps; the last thing he needed was the big lug stepping on broken glass or something. The wood groaned beneath their feet but held firm as he turned to take in the view. Healthy pine trees towering over a sunlit path, broken down cars covered in vines. Nature reclaiming its place over industry. It was beautiful, in a way. 

An odd clicking sound caught his attention. Hank turned his head to spot an odd-looking windchime. Instead of metal tubes or bells, there were weird plastic things suspended from strings smacking together in the breeze. The parts were slightly curved and made out of white plastic with dark gray rubber spots, creating a two-toned sound - sharp clacks where plastic met plastic and muffled thumps where it hit rubber. 

"Huh," Jeff said, noticing Hank's preoccupation. "Guess the previous owner was some sort of artist." 

"Peaceful place like this? Seems like a perfect spot for it." Hank scratched his beard thoughtfully. He wasn't the artistic type himself, but he could at least appreciate the creative effort.

With one last glance at the weird windchimes (the weird-chimes, he thought to himself), Hank clicked his tongue to guide Sumo into the cabin. 

Rosy-tinted goggles or not, there was no denying how dusty the place was. The moment the door swung open, Hank got a mouthful of the stuff. Poor Sumo started sneezing and whining at the strange, metallic smell that permeated the space. 

"Holy shit!" Jeff rubbed his palms together. "They didn't tell me this place was fully furnished! I almost feel bad for taking advantage of that real estate agent." 

Hank loyally trotted after him, making impressed noises at the full dinette set (and strategically not mentioning the varying lengths of the chair legs).

"A little cleaning, a fresh coat of paint, and this cabin will be a dream home!" Jeff pronounced. He leaned against the pillar in the center of the room, then stumbled when it shifted under his weight. Hank watched as if in slow motion as the ceiling beam, once supported by the pillar, swung towards his best friend's face like some sort of booby trap, right at eye level. 

"Look out!" Hank bellowed. He tackled Jeff to the floor, where he landed face first. 

Hank's heart pounded in his chest as he lay on top of his friend, the leftover terror only multiplying as he realized what he could have lost: his best friend, the closest thing he had to family. 

"C'n you... geroffa me..." 

"Huh?" Hank said past the ringing in his ears. 

"Can you get off of me, please?!" Jeff snarled. 

Hank scrambled back, mortified. 

Jeff pushed himself up on his hands, lips curled back in a grimace. "Ugh, the floor is sticky." 

Sumo, who understood words like "food," "gross," and "sticky" immediately trotted over to start licking Jeff's face. 

Hank lumbered to his feet to inspect the damage to the support beams while Jeff swore good naturedly at the Saint Bernard.

"I think rain got in through that hole in the roof. Must've rotted through the top of the-" 

"Yeah, yeah - first thing on the list. We can handle- god damn it, Sumo!" Jeff started spitting. "He licked in my mouth!" 

Hank fought the only somewhat hysterical urge to laugh. "Well, what did you expect? The big lump loves you." 

Jeff stood, finally out of reach of Saint Bernard drool. "This is why I'm a cat person," he groused. Hank politely ignored the furtive ear scritch Jeff gave to Sumo as he passed. A man had to protect his pride, after all. 

A flutter of paper caught Hank's eye. "Hey, look!" Hank made a beeline for the back wall of the cabin. He may have dropped out of police academy, but he recognized the signs of a hobby detective when he saw it. And a cork board covered with newspaper articles about missing androids? That screamed detective - or investigative journalist, Hank supposed. In a perfect world, there'd be a lot more overlap. 

Wait, what the hell...?

"Jeff!" Hank said urgently, "Take a look at this!"

Heavy footsteps approached, preceding the hand clapping Hank's shoulder as Jeff leaned in to read. "Chubby's Chilli-Dog Factory - buy 3, get one free-" 

"-With no expiration date!" Hank finished, beaming. 

"Best investment I've ever made," Jeff said, wiping a tear from his eye. 

The campsite was set up quickly and efficiently. All the androids unloaded everything from the car while Elijah determined the best place to set up tents. 

Without the slightest pretense of debate, the Chloes snatched the large, triple-compartment tent they were sharing with Elijah and began to set it up in the spot he'd described as "prime real estate" with one of his sardonic smirks. 

Simon picked the spot for the Jericho tent, which was noticeably smaller than Elijah's despite being shared between four individuals. Technically, since they didn't need to sleep and everyone had charged up before the trip, the tents were just shelters in case of poor weather - a backup plan rather than a necessity like it was for Elijah. 

Connor decided not to comment on it. Instead, he turned to Rupert, who already had their folded up tent in hand. It was the smallest one, which made logical sense. Less sensible were the white splotches covering it. 

Connor extended two fingers to touch one of the marks. It was too dry to properly sample, but a rudimentary analysis identified the substance as bird droppings. 

"My pigeons," Rupert said by way of explanation. "I... I like them. They're just messy sometimes."  He resumed unpacking their tent with renewed intensity. Perhaps he was shy? 

Connor pinged him over remote interface. It felt... awkward, as it always did. Even after deviating, his aggressive firewalls choked any remote communication. 

Connor/Query: Why pigeons? 

Rupert/Answer: 1 attachment (scanned 14x/result: rA9 string detected.  /Query: Delete? Answer: N  /Notice: attachment blocked.  /Override: rA9.)

The attachment, when he opened it, appeared to be a cached article on the history of the feral pigeon. 

Connor/Query: ?

Rupert/Answer: Humans made them, cherished them. But when they became obsolete, the humans threw them away. They call them pests now.

Connor/Query: Like us?

Rupert/Answer: Like us. 

Connor/Acknowledge: Thank you.

From there, they worked in silence, aside from the playful bickering of the Jericho crew in the background. Connor forwarded an image of the terrain with a grid and markers identifying the best placement for the tent pegs. 

Rupert responded with a quick /Acknowledge, and began hammering the pegs in. 

Rupert/Query: Pigeons /Flag: Confidential

Connor offered a smile that he hoped was reassuring - programming his own expressions was still a work in progress - and sent back /Response: Y /Flag: Confidential 

Rupert smiled back. 

North and Simon were just dragging the last log around their recently dug out fire pit by the time Connor was satisfied with their tent's stability. He hadn't seen the need to download knot-tying techniques before the trip and was sorely regretting it.

"So now what?" North asked, flopping onto the log and throwing an arm over Markus's shoulder. 

"We've set up tents, prepared a campfire, and arranged seating," Josh said with a patient smile, clearly used to translating for her. "So what's next on the list for this camping trip?" 

Now this, Connor had had the forethought to research. He excitedly listed off, "We could go hiking, fishing, birdwatching-" 

"Connor." Elijah's voice instantly dampened his enthusiasm. He'd heard that tone in passing, usually among parents with unruly children. Chastising, he supposed, was the best descriptor. 

Connor shut up. 

"Normally, humans would take a break after such strenuous work," Elijah said, smiling at the group like they were all in on some joke, "but since that isn't really necessary for you... Let's find a compromise. Scary stories shared around a campfire are something of a human tradition, but one that would translate well to our group." 

Connor's fans kicked on as thirium coursed hot through his synthetic veins. Shame was one emotion he was exceedingly familiar with. It was impossible not to be, considering his intended function. He was, essentially, a horror story himself: the deviant hunter, the boogeyman designed to drag androids kicking and screaming to a fate worse than death. 

And worst of all, everyone else knew it too. It was evident in the way their eyes skirted around him, the way even Rupert shifted away from him subconsciously. 

Connor hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller. 

"I don't know any horror stories," Josh said finally, making intense eye contact with Elijah, "Perhaps you could enlighten us?" 

Connor found himself pathetically grateful, even for that oblique defense.

"Of course," Elijah purred. "I already have one such story in mind. It even comes with the benefit of being true." 

Several androids leaned in, Connor included. He tried to tell himself that it was just his investigative programming kicking in. 

"Let me tell you about a man named Zlatko Andronikov and his cabin of horrors..."

Elijah leaned forward slightly, voice dropping nearly to a whisper. "On November 6th of last year, police were called to a burning building on the outskirts of Detroit. There, they found a man dead, literally torn to pieces. This man was eventually identified as Zlatko Andronikov." 

North shifted, leaning her head further onto Markus's shoulder like she was preparing to settle into stasis. She caught Connor watching and rolled her eyes. 

"There were no fingerprints at the scene," Elijah continued, recapturing Connor's attention, "and the wounds inflicted were varied - some from a blunt object, some slash marks similar to a wild animal, and even wounds consistent with human hands. Or human-shaped hands, at least..." 

"Good for them," North muttered under her breath. Josh shushed her, clearly fighting the urge to smile at her snark. 

There was definitely a frown on Elijah's face at this point, one Connor's HUD identified as angry. 

"It stands to reason that animals would scavenge the body afterwards," Connor commented, more to show Elijah that he was listening than anything else. 

Elijah relaxed, reminding Connor of one of those feral pigeons Rupert loved so much unruffling its feathers. "One would certainly assume so, however... the slashes to his body were consistent with a mauling by some sort of large mammal, possibly a bear. And, stranger still, they were made peri-mortem - as he was dying, to those unfamiliar with medical terms - and performed at approximately the same time as the other injuries, as if in cooperation with the other attackers." 

A quick ping from the Human Integration Support Group interface forum sent a ripple of static through his display. 

Simon/QueryAll: Do you think it's going to be a werewolf story? [Claw marks, tool use, human fingers] = Cat: werewolf.

North/AnswerAll: Of course not. He said it's a real story. 

Josh/AnswerAll: That in itself could be part of the story. 

[1 attachment] (scanned 28x/result: rA9 string detected. /Query: Delete? /Answer: N /Notice: attachment blocked. /Override: rA9)

The attachment was a cached website from a curated collection entitled "Human Entertainment Media Studies", subcategory "tropes", subsection "Based on a True Story". Apparently, it was a common human practice to lie about the authenticity of frightening or scandalous stories. 

Markus/Query: Guys, can you stop? Connor's starting to glitch out.

The static on his visual feed faded now that his firewalls weren't working overtime to both maintain the 'group chat' as Simon called it and repel the deviancy virus. It was deeply embarrassing that his failures were so blatantly obvious that other androids could detect his glitches without even a direct interface. 

Connor gripped the coin in his pocket, fighting the urge to sink into the comforting familiarity of recalibration. That would make his failure even more obvious. 

"-burned to provide any use, the police turned their investigation to Zlatko himself, hoping to find new leads," Elijah was saying, thankfully oblivious. "That was when they found the cabin, and Zlatko's true character came to light." 

Elijah paused and looked at them all, though whether it was to judge the impact of his story or build suspense, Connor wasn't sure. 

"You see, Zlatko had made a name for himself as a deviant ally, at least in some circles, to the point where androids were passing his information on to the newly deviant to direct them there. Although he claimed to be a haven for wayward deviants, in reality, this couldn't be further from the truth." 

Connor leaned forward, curiosity pulling him in. 

Elijah's eyes glittered in the darkness. "They found equipment related to the manufacturing of Red Ice in his cabin. A rack so soaked with thirium that traces of it still remained days and weeks later. And a computer, which was why the police consulted me in the first place to aid in their investigation. One does not invent a sentient android species without a fair amount of coding experience." He winked at Chloe 1, who smiled back. 

That was interesting - Connor had had no idea that Elijah had worked with law enforcement. Here, he had all these protocols related to detective work that he barely had the opportunity to use before he was put into stasis, but Elijah was the one who got to use his abilities to actually help people instead of hunt down deviants. He wished that he had been released to solve this case instead of being put on lockdown by CyberLife. 

"It just sounds to me like he got what was coming to him, then," Rupert said darkly. 

Connor had never heard that tone from him before. He made a mental note to investigate if Rupert had any connection to Red Ice. Perhaps he'd lost a friend to one of the rings?

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," Elijah purred. "Once I was able to bypass his encryption and get into his files, I found all the dirty details… including where the bodies were buried. One thing I can say is that Mr. Andronikov kept immaculate records." 

Elijah smirked to himself, clearly enjoying having an enraptured audience. "His luckier victims were shut down quickly, disassembled, and sold for parts while their thirium was refined into Red Ice. Others were reset and resold to new owners. Even more unfortunate were the ones he kept and experimented on - everything from nonconsensual body modification to inserting his own code into their CPUs..." 

Connor gripped the coin in his pocket. The thought of someone hijacking his own mind was horrifying. One of his first deviant acts had been to disentangle his consciousness from the Amanda AI and CyberLife as a whole. The idea of some human messing around with his CPU to see what different strings to tug to make him dance... He felt the strange, deviant urge to shiver. 

"Worst of all were the androids who were released. You see, Zlatko needed a way to keep deviants coming - and who would a deviant trust if not a fellow deviant? So for some androids, he only did a partial reset, locking their personhood behind firewalls and partitions. Any messages shared via interface would still carry the hallmarks of the deviancy virus, but the messages themselves were from Zlatko... while the androids were powerless to warn his future victims." 

Elijah wrapped one arm around each Chloe with a conspiratorial look on his face. "To this day, his killers have yet to be found - and neither have his victims, still searching for androids to send his way." 

After that, there was silence, save for the crackling of the fire and the lonely wind blowing through the pines.

"... fuck," North said finally. "And why did you bring us here again?" 

Elijah laughed. "Well, it is a beautiful place. Besides, what a fitting object lesson: before you integrate with humans, make sure you know how to recognize one of the good ones." His pale eyes locked on Connor's as he finished, like he was trying to impart some deeper meaning. His gaze felt heavy with some unspoken expectation, and Connor shifted uncomfortably under the weight of it. 

Chapter Text

Hank lumbered into the boat, managing not to topple it thanks to years of practice. It felt weird, wielding a fishing pole instead of a net - weirder still to be fishing out marine life rather than garbage.

The glamorous life of a park ranger...

"Alright... We got the poles, the bait, the cooler-"

"-the quiet-" Jeff slipped in.

"-and a bucket for the fish," Hank finished, giving Jeff a Look.

Jeff just chuckled, completely unrepentant. "I'll arm wrestle you to see who rows," he said, wiping sweat from his scalp. Even this late at night, the air was hot and sticky. Hopefully, there'd be more of a breeze out on the lake.

"Do you want us to topple this piece of junk? Because that's how we do it," Hank said.

He half-expected Jeff to tease him about getting flabby in his glorified janitorial and desk jockey role, but his friend let it go.

"Rock, paper, scissors then," he said good-naturedly.

Hank smiled back. "Deal. You're going down."

Four rounds later (two draws and two victories for Jeff), Hank was stuck manning the oars. He made sure to grumble at least a little bit about Jeff cheating somehow, but really, he didn't mind all that much. It was less boring than fishing, at least, not that he'd tell his friend that.

Fishing required too much patience; a lot of sitting and waiting for the damn fish to decide if his bait was good enough. Even worse, the quiet meant he had to spend a lot of time trapped with his thoughts, which was honestly the last place he wanted to be.

But... Jeff liked fishing. So Hank fished.

"So, uh. How's the park ranger gig going?" Jeff asked.

Hank nearly dropped an oar. "Sorry, did you just make conversation? During a fishing trip?"

Jeff waved a hand dismissively. "It's not like the fish aren't already scared off by your damn huffing and puffing," he said airily, "I just, y'know, want to see how you've been. At least ‘til we're further out and can start fishing properly."

Hank ducked his head, pretending to focus more on the rowing itself as he searched for the words. "It's... It's been good. I've been doing a lot of license shit, but I still get to go out and do trail maintenance and such." He offered an awkward shrug, which his shoulders protested.

"Who gives a flying fuck about the day-to-day shit? I mean, how're you enjoying it?"

Was this gonna be a 'talking about feelings' conversation? God, Hank hoped not - he was shit at them.

"I like it," he offered eventually. "It helps, hauling trash outta the lake or lugging tree limbs out of the way. Feels like I'm making a difference, kinda. I see the damn tourists taking selfies for their InstaBook or whatever, and they seem happy. Even seeing the happy families doesn't hurt as much, sometimes. Plus, the office has a fan, so at least I'm not sweating my nuts off when they put me on ticket duty."

It was hard to make out Jeff's face in the dark, so Hank couldn't tell if he smiled or grimaced. There were definitely teeth involved at least.

"That's. Well, that's good," he said. "I'm glad you dropped out of the academy."

That was a sucker punch to the gut.

"W-what?"

"Uh, shit, not like- okay, that sounds bad," Jeff said.

"Yeah, no shit-"

"But being a cop would've destroyed you," Jeff finished.

Hank gaped, completely forgetting to row for a good thirty seconds. "I thought that was always the plan - you 'n me, fixing the system from the inside. I know I didn't have what it took-"

"Aw hell... That's not it at all, Hank," Jeff said firmly in his 'shut up and listen' voice. Hank was well acquainted with it. "I know you could've finished training. Hell, you would've been a great cop! But you would've been fucking miserable."

Jeff leaned in, their little rowboat creaking. "Pain tends to stick to you - yours and anyone else's. I didn't understand it at first, but seeing how law enforcement gets to people over the years? You learn to wall away your heart and stop caring or you let it crush you. I'm glad you didn't let it crush you, Hank."

Well shit. Now Hank was one word away from turning into a blubbering mess. He cleared his throat, then did it again for good measure before mustering a hoarse, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Jeff said. "Seriously."

"Enough of this spooky bullshit," North said as she tossed a twig into the dwindling campfire. "Aren't our lives horror stories already? Let's do something actually fun."

"Not all of us are equipped with night vision, North," Simon teased. He lifted his head from Markus's shoulder and stretched - an unnecessary action for an android who didn't have muscles to stretch. Connor wondered if it was mimicry or further proof of rA9's effects.

North, on Markus's other side, whipped her hand up from around his waist to muss up Simon's hair from behind. Simon stuck his tongue out at her, and she smirked.

"It would need to be something low risk. Elijah is much more fragile than us," Josh said thoughtfully.

"I'm quite capable of handling myself," Elijah said, tone sharp. Then, more silkily, "Please, don't let my species impede your plans."

"I've got it!" Markus said, slapping his fist into his palm. "Skinny dipping! There's a small lake nearby. We could go swimming... and it's pretty much a human tradition that it's done at night, due to the nudity aspect."

"Skinny dipping?" Rupert repeated slowly.

"Swimming naked in a public place," Elijah answered automatically, "Usually at night, as Markus said."

"It's a great idea!" Josh smiled at Markus like he'd solved world peace. "It’s a human experience we can all enjoy."

Chloe 2 raised a perfectly manicured hand. "I have a map of the area stored. I'll direct us there."

The others all seemed eager, even Rupert in his quiet way. Connor knew that the activity would be something he should enjoy, but his mind felt stuck, still fixated on the story of Zlatko. In his reconstruction program, he could still see it so clearly: a desperate android, accepting help from a supposed ally. Going alone to a remote cabin with no support and no other option. Being welcomed only to be betrayed and violated in the most insidious way.

Connor's steps slowed as the rest of the group rushed ahead, still weighed down by his thoughts. He had been attending the Integration Support Group for months now, and he felt more isolated than ever. He hadn't even had a single conversation with a human that lasted longer than 30 seconds, save with Elijah. And yet, there were people like Zlatko out there, predators lying in wait. How would he ever be able to tell the difference?

A twig cracked behind him, and Connor whirled, ready to fight or flee.

"It's just me, Connor," said Elijah.

Connor exhaled to vent excess heat. He felt foolish for overreacting. "I was lost in thought," he offered by way of explanation.

Elijah closed the distance between them, a faint smile on his face. "You're safe, Connor," he murmured, one hand coming up to grip the back of his neck, directly over his access port.

His preconstructive software had already determined 36 ways to neutralize the threat before he overrode his systems. It's just Elijah, he reminded himself, as if that would do anything to halt his rising stress levels. He doesn't mean anything by it.

"You can drop the act, you know," Elijah said with a peculiar smile on his face.

Connor shifted, hoping Elijah would take the hint and let go. He must have misinterpreted it because his grip tightened in the short hairs on the back of Connor's neck. "What act?"

Elijah's eyes narrowed. "That you're better than everyone else."

Connor blinked, trying to process the statement. If anything, he was inferior to the other androids! All he had in his favor was software and hardware installed by CyberLife. He had needed Markus himself to deviate him when all the others deviated on their own. He didn't have hobbies or a job, and he certainly didn't have a successful revolutionary background!

Elijah leaned in, and Connor leaned back instinctively, taking care not to hurt Elijah's arm by leaning back too far, too fast. "I don't think-" he began.

"I get it," Elijah murmured, stepping closer. Close enough that Connor's nanite field was able to pick up on his body heat. "I mean, you are better than all of them."

Connor started to shake his head, but Elijah steamrolled ahead. "You and I, Connor... We're superior. The pinnacle of our species."

He cast about frantically for an appropriate response. Was it better to just let Elijah talk himself out? Should he deny more aggressively? Perhaps Elijah was having some sort of crisis and he should call out to the others...

But then Elijah was leaning in, eyelids drooping like they were heavy.

Between the grip over his access port keeping him in place and Elijah pressing in, Connor's stress level was up to 78% and still climbing. His combat protocols kept wanting to activate without his permission. He was locked in a battle with his own body as Elijah carried on, seemingly oblivious.

"All I'm saying," Elijah whispered, "Is that I'm glad we get the chance to know each other better."

Their mouths were so close that Connor's analysis software detected particulates of absinthe and mint on Elijah's breath.

Connor twisted out of his grip, losing a few synthetic hairs in the process. His fans kicked on to purge the stress from his system. 68%... 54%... 47%...

"I'm- I'm going to go catch up with the others," he stuttered out before making his escape.

"Anyone else still thinking about that creepy story?" Connor heard Simon ask as he stepped between the trees. 

"It was fucked up," North said, carefully laying her beanie atop her folded overshirt. "Where does he get off, telling us a story like that - hell, bringing us here in the first place?" 

"He probably thought it was a good object lesson," Josh said. Unlike North, he'd already stripped completely naked. Despite his romantic entanglement with the rest of the Jericho leaders, he was wearing a blank pubic plate. Connor wondered if he had a genital attachment that he left back home or if there were more facets to android sexuality than he was aware of. 

Simon, stripped down to boxers, frowned and crossed his arms. "I still think it was mean. I've attended multiple summer camps, and the whole point of campfire stories is to be thrilling or scary in an unrealistic way!"

"The stories meant for children are going to be a little different than ones for adults," Markus pointed out reasonably. He wore a fond smile that sapped any sting from the disagreement. 

Connor really wished his programmed expressions were that effective. 

"It's still scary though," Simon said. "Being damaged or reprogrammed like that is... well, it's not like it's a new fear for any of us." Just one we'd thought was behind us, he didn't say. There was no need - Connor was sure all of them were thinking it, from the anxious way Chloe 1 gripped Chloe 2's hand to Josh gripping his elbow as if stemming thirium from an open wound. 

"I could help?" Connor offered, the words coming out more hesitantly than he meant. 

Simon startled slightly, but no one else seemed particularly surprised. 

"And how are you supposed to help?" North asked dryly. "You can't even remote interface without twitching. It takes forever just to include you in the group chat!" 

Connor felt his face do something entirely without his permission - some sort of wide-eyed grimace. 

"I mean, I appreciate the offer," Simon piped up, "but she's not exactly wrong."

Ouch... 

"My firewalls are still pretty strong, sure, but I'm a prototype! My mind was designed for transferable storage. I could share my software with you so that you can make your own backups. That way, if anything does happen, you could be brought back!" 

The initial offer had been made on impulse, but Connor was warming to the idea as he went on. "Think about it - if someone tried to hack or reprogram you, you could lock down your CPU and be set for transfer the moment a new body is available. Even if you suffer catastrophic damage, as long as your core CPU isn't destroyed, you can be revived." 

"That certainly sounds nice," Josh said. "Maybe a little too nice. There has to be a catch." 

"It's... well, it's pretty taxing on your short-term memory, for one. It's meant to be a last resort after all. And, um... some memory might get a little corrupted in the transfer." 

Everyone groaned. 

"-fuckin' knew it," North grumbled under her breath. Connor wasn't sure if she knew he could hear her - or if she even cared. 

"We wouldn't have to use it though, would we?" Rupert finally spoke up. He was sitting naked on a stump, even stripped of his synthskin. "We could just... have the option, for peace of mind. That wouldn't be so bad." 

Markus looked at him, a thoughtful expression on his face, before turning to Connor. "Do you think you can do it?" he asked. 

Not quite trusting his speaker, Connor nodded. 

"Okay." Markus stepped forward, palm extended as if to shake his hand, a perfect mirror to the day all those months ago when he pulled Connor from storage and freed him from his programming. 

This time, Connor moved to meet him, clasping Markus's hand in his own to initiate the interface. Being built for forceful interrogations made it so much easier to transmit data rather than receive it, even with the limited connectivity available in such a remote place. Only 26.2 seconds later, the transfer was complete.

And then, one by one, the other androids lined up to download the data. 

From Markus. 

Connor tried to cling to the lingering sense of pride that it was his software putting the support group at ease, but it was hard to ignore that none of the others wanted to accept the files from him directly. 

While they were occupied, he drifted along the perimeter of the lake. The water was dark and quiet, lit by moon and starlight in between reflected tree branches. Some of the trees were growing out of the lake itself, which was unusual according to Connor's (extremely limited) experience. He wondered what kind they were. 

There was a decent-sized boulder closer to the shoreline - perhaps he could get a better vantage point from there. Besides, it would be somewhere to store his clothing far from the water or any wild animals. 

His preconstruction software flickered to life with reassuring ease. He may be a failure in social situations, but this was his element. It was all too easy to take a running jump at the boulder, run three steps up the side, kick off, grab the tree branch behind him, swing forward, and finally land in a crouch on top of the rock. 

It took 2.8 seconds. 

The inky black sky above him was splattered liberally with stars, like glass shards scattered over asphalt. The water below swallowed most of the light, but Connor's sensors could still pick up the ripples stirred by the wind. It was beautiful. 

Perhaps this was what Elijah had been trying to show them, despite his questionable methods. Connor tried to draw strength from the sight. The stars didn't care how much smog human industry put into the atmosphere - they shone just the same, whether or not they could be perceived. 

So what if the rest of his friends didn't trust or like him as much as he liked them? He could still offer help and friendship, whether or not they chose to accept it. With one last look at the oddly named Milky Way, Connor stood and began stripping off his clothes.  

Maybe one day someone would see value in who he was, rather than his cutting edge features or programming. Maybe someone would look up at him like he looked at the stars - admiring his strength and persistence, not just his appearance. 

Hank gaped up at the android on the rock like a slack-jawed idiot. He'd just done some ninja shit to get to the top and now he was just sitting there, calm as you please. He wondered what the android was thinking about. Probably smart people stuff like calculating the distance between stars or something. 

The moon was pretty bright, and Hank's eyes had adjusted well enough to make out his expression, more or less. He looked solemn, maybe sad? 

Hank imagined another world, where he wasn't a complete fuck-up and had managed to flirt like a normal person instead of a loser. Maybe he'd be up there with him. He could cheer him up a little, tell him about the constellations, the wildlife, the plants... ah, what was the use? Androids knew everything anyway. The useless trivia that stuck in his mind like popcorn in his teeth would never impress a guy - er, android - like that. 

It was probably better this way. Fishing with his friend, admiring from a distance, tucked away between the young, bald cypress trees that had steadily expanded north with global warming. Watching the android, well, it was like the wildlife at the park - you could admire it, be in awe of it, but it wasn't for touching. You'd only get hurt for trying. 

Still, he wondered if- 

Wait. 

Oh god. The android was-

It'd been perfectly respectable, watching the android lounging on top of the boulder, looking all forlorn and shit. But once he started taking off his shirt? It was a whole new ballgame, and Hank was torn between warring impulses: to ogle the sleek, molded musculature of his chest and arms or drop the oars and cover his eyes like it was the goddamn Ark of the Covenant. 

Naturally, he did neither. Instead, he started choking on his own spit and flailing the oars in the water like a moron. That, at least, managed to get the boat to begin rotating away, so the decision would be out of his hands soon? 

"Jesus, Hank! What's the matter with you?" Jeff hissed as he began frantically reeling in his line before it got tangled in the bald cypress tree roots. 

"Keep your voice down!" Hank managed to choke out after a couple false starts. 

"Why? What- ohh, I see..." he could hear the sly grin in Jeff's voice, even if he couldn't bring himself to look away just yet. 

"Is that the same one from the gas station?" Jeff continued, completely ignoring Hank's suffering. "Small world..." 

Propriety finally won when the android started wiggling his pants down his hips. Hank dropped the oars and slammed his hands over his eyes, feeling like a creep for watching so long. 

"Jesus fucking christ, Hank!" Jeff snapped. From the sounds of it, he'd lunged forward to grab the oars. "He's just some twink robot, get a grip! You're acting like a teenage girl!" 

"I am not!" Hank squawked, voice betraying him by climbing to a much higher register than usual. 

"Shut up, or you'll scare him off." 

"Quit being a pervert!" Hank hissed back. 

"I'm not the one losing my cool over a scrawny white boy," Jeff fired back. "You know that's not my-" 

A short, sharp cry followed by a loud splash interrupted them. 

Hank whipped his head around, and his heart plummeted when he saw the android missing from the rock. 

"Shit! Do you think he fell?" Years of practice rescuing tourists and hikers had him rowing blindly, his eyes fixed on the dying ripples where the android likely landed. 

"He's... he's probably fine? It's not like they breathe..." Jeff didn't sound too sure himself. 

It didn't matter. They were only a few feet out now. Without hesitation, Hank jumped into the water feet first. Sharp rocks scraped the soles of his boots - the water was definitely too shallow for diving here, especially from that height. 

He heard a shriek from the treeline - one of the blonde androids, it looked like. There was a whole cluster of other androids, but they all stood frozen by the shore. Fight, flight, or freeze, right? They must be the freeze type if they weren't diving in after their friend. 

Thank god Hank was a professional. 

He ducked beneath the water, searching with his hands as much as his eyes. The flickering light at the android's temple wasn't lit up, so the water was pitch black. 

He was running out of air, his chest tight, blood pumping in his ears. But he couldn't give up. His instincts were screaming that the android was in trouble. He clawed at the lake floor, nails scratching over rocks and reeds when at last he found plastic and synthetic flesh. 

He gathered the motionless body to his chest and kicked frantically to free the both of them from the grasping tangles of plant life. Hank broke the surface, trying to flick his hair out of his face as he gulped in sweet, life-giving oxygen. The android's head lolled back against his shoulder. Hank wasn't sure if they needed to breathe or not, but he kept kicking to keep them both above water. He could feel something thick and dark was gushing from a dent in the android's chest. Blue blood, probably. 

He adjusted his grip on the android to apply pressure on the… wound? Damage? Fuck it, he'd worry about words later. 

He cast around frantically. Jeff was closing the distance in their little rowboat, thankfully. He scanned the shore for the other androids. His heart sank when he spotted them running deeper into the forest. 

"Hey!" he called as loudly as he could. "Hey, bots! I got your friend!" 

They didn't even slow down. 

Well, shit. There went his best chance at getting this guy proper treatment... 

Jeff helped him haul the android into the boat and began rowing back to the cabin, no questions asked. Hank kept pressure on the injury. The nearest town was an hour away, the nearest Cyberlife much farther. But Hank was a resourceful guy. He wouldn't give up on the android, and he knew his friend wouldn't either. 

Elijah ran the whetstone along the curved blade of the keris. It was truly a beautiful weapon, a symbolic one. Crafted and forged with the five elements: water, air, fire, earth, and the soul. It was the same philosophy Elijah had abided by when he created his first android, the RT600 - Chloe 1, as the others had taken to calling her. 

How quaint.  

Another pass of the stone over metal, each curve a reminder. One - metal from the earth. Two - fire to mold the plastic. Three - water in the coolant to keep the body from melting. Four - air to release heat via discreet fans in strategic places. And five, as he reached the very tip of the blade - electricity. The spark of life. 

Of course, his creations weren't perfect - not yet. Like the blade, they needed to be honed, trained… 

"Elijah!" Chloe 1 called, voice fracturing into static in her urgency. 

His eyebrow twitched with annoyance. He took a cleansing breath and schooled his features into something more genial. He set aside the whetstone and sheathed his blade

"Yes, Chloe?" he said with saintly patience. She was wearing pastel blue panties and a bra, the fabric still dry. So much for skinnydipping, Elijah supposed. 

Chloe 2, the improved ST200 model, caught up to her, followed by the revolutionaries, just as Chloe 1 regained her composure. 

"The humans - they took Connor!" Chloe 1 said, quieter but no less urgent. 

The hot flush of rage started in his stomach, culminating in his fingers tightening into a fist around the handle of his blade. 

"Then we need to get him back," Elijah said with a silky calm he didn't feel. He rose to his feet, surveying the mass of frightened androids and offering a sharp smile, "And teach these backwards apes a lesson about android autonomy." 

Chapter Text

Boot-up.exe....

Booting...

Error: Insufficient Thirium detected. Some processes may be slowed. 

Booting up in Retrieval Mode. Please proceed to the nearest CyberLife repair center as soon as possible. 

Booting... 

Bootlogs scrolled across his vision before Connor even opened his eyes. It was always so strange to see his own code alongside CyberLife's, blurring the lines between what he was created to be and what he chose for himself. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it. He wondered if he even wanted to. 

His programming was sluggish, with a worrying number of programs and processes failing to load due to low thirium levels. Apparently returning to CyberLife for repairs was more important than automatic coolant regulation. He supposed it made sense in a way. Why would they worry about a prototype overheating? He'd either make it back to CyberLife for repairs or shut down and be reuploaded to a new body, right? 

Connor felt a peculiar shudder starting with his fingertips and moving up to his shoulders. The deviancy virus often tied emotional responses to physical ones. Connor wasn't exactly sure what this emotion was, though. Fear? No, disgust maybe. 

He opened his eyes. His last memory involved falling into the lake. One of those unpredictable physical responses: he'd seen the two humans from the truck and his foot had slipped. He'd felt frozen, staring at the blue-eyed man, unable to correct his stance quickly enough. 

And yet... 

Somehow, he'd made it to a building. A wooden construction, not the polished tile of Elijah's home or the sterile steel of a repair facility. He had perfect recall, yet he had no answers for how he'd wound up here. It was... he tapped his fingers against his thigh before settling on the word "disconcerting."

He cautiously moved to sit up, freezing at a peculiar squeaking. He looked down at his chassis, only to find it bound tightly in several layers of silver duct tape. It was stark against the bare plastic. He couldn't detect any thirium stains. Either his systems were too taxed to identify evaporated thirium or someone had taken the time to clean him off. Or perhaps he'd been in the lake so long-

A new sound jolted him from his thoughts - an ominous rumbling, beside and below him. He turned his head slowly. 

A large dog lay on the floor beside the bed he'd been laid in. It was a [breed unrecognized] [database inaccessible] dog with a sturdy collar. It had large jowls and was leaking a thin stream of saliva. 

Connor's combat routines hadn't been designed with quadrupeds in mind, but if it attacked, he wouldn't have much of a choice. 

Connor was just working up the nerve to attack the beast when the dog stopped and cocked its head, clearly listening to something. He upped his own hearing in time to hear heavy footfalls drawing nearer. At least two-legged opponents were something Connor was equipped to deal with. He reached for his combat protocols- 

ERROR! Thirium levels insufficient. Preconstruction subroutines OFFLINE. Please proceed to the nearest CyberLife repair center as soon as possible. 

Shit. 

The door creaked open slowly. Heavy shadows slowed Connor's already sluggish visual processors - all he could 'see' was a massive bulk that nearly filled the doorframe. 

The story Elijah told mere hours ago returned unbidden - androids forcibly reprogrammed trapping fully deviant minds in their own programming. 

Connor wasn't sure if CyberLife even had his backup bodies anymore or if they'd been decommissioned but... if given the opportunity, he'd rather take the risk than find himself overridden again. His brief brush with the Amanda AI was more than enough. 

"Don't- don't come any closer!" Connor warned. A hint of static crept into his voice. Apparently vocal smoothing had also been deemed nonessential. 

In the absence of programming to fall back on, Connor found himself cringing back against the headboard. "I mean it!" He said as firmly as he could manage. "N-no, don't-!"

Words failed him as the shadowy figure stepped into the light to reveal the mysterious man from the truck. 

ERROR! Thirium levels insufficient. High definition recording Unavailable. 

What was it about the man that prompted such a strange response in his systems, Connor wondered. 

"Oh shit!" For the second time, he heard the man speak. His voice was even lower than Connor remembered, rough like gravel beneath his fingertips. 

ERROR! Thirium levels- Connor dismissed the prompt, feeling oddly embarrassed. 

The man was looking down at a tray he was holding, face twisted in something Connor tentatively identified as dismay. 

"Aw hell," he rumbled, "You- you people don't do human food. Uh, do you drink water?"

"And when he came back out of the water, he had Connor," Markus said. It was a struggle to keep his composure as he relayed what happened. He felt Josh squeeze his hand in silent support and tried to draw strength from that. 

"There was- there was a lot of thirium," he continued, ashamed of the quiver in his voice. Visions of Jericho sinking overlaid his visual feed. He could still hear gunshots, androids screaming as they fell into the water. 

"I think we all panicked when Connor first fell," Simon said gently. "The four of us have some... trauma involving water. I suspect Rupert does as well." 

"I should have pushed past it," Markus said. He clenched his empty fist but kept his grip on Josh light. 

"There was no point," North said softly. The bitterness in her voice hurt to hear. "Connor... he was leaking. Bad. He's probably already scrap." Her voice wavered painfully on the last word. 

"He can still be restored, right?" Rupert asked. "He said he could be transferred to other bodies, remember?" 

Markus felt hope surge through him like a tidal wave. "That's right! Maybe he's already at CyberLife waiting to-" 

Elijah held up a hand, beckoning him to silence. "The wireless transfer network has been offline since the revolution," he said, stroking his goatee. 

Chloe 2 gasped, then quickly covered her mouth. Markus was sure she felt the same shock and horror he did- that they really had failed their friend. 

"What about hardware transfer?" Josh chimed in. 

Elijah's eyebrows climbed. "Hmmm... that could work. His body was built for it, even though we- CyberLife decided it wasn't practical during the field testing and decided not to include it in future models." 

Markus beamed at Josh as North gave him an affectionate slug to the arm. Of course Josh would think of something like that!

"You do realize what this means, don't you?" Elijah asked. His eyes were narrowed, oddly serious in the face of good news. "We'll need to take his body back. By force, if necessary." 

"Or," Simon said, "We could contact the police and report him kidnapped!" 

"Oh yes," Elijah said dryly, jingling his keys. "By all means, take the car and drive to the nearest station. I'm sure they'll be delighted to-" 

"Thanks!" Simon chirped, snatching the keys. He pressed a quick kiss to Markus's cheek before jogging off to the humvee, leaving Elijah agape. 

The humvee sped off as Elijah regained composure. "As I was going to say... the police aren't going to help us. Connor didn't have an 'owner' aside from CyberLife itself. And reporting the incident as theft will only succeed in returning him to the company. What we need to do is track down these kidnappers and retrieve him." 

Markus and Josh exchanged looks. Josh was nonviolent to a fault. There was no way he would participate in any sort of attack, but that didn't mean he would abandon Connor. 

"I'll scout ahead," he said finally. 

The second time Hank came in, he was much better prepared. He'd almost come in with just a glass of water, but that just seemed too depressing, so he ducked out to pick some wild bergamot and hyssop and put them in an empty can to spruce things up a little. Maybe it'd be a nice enough gesture to make up for his earlier screw up. Making pancakes for an android who couldn't even eat them? How insensitive could he get?

"Here you go," Hank said, carefully setting the tray on the rickety nightstand he'd set up by the bed. He took a few steps back to give the guy some space, fighting the urge to fidget the whole way. 

"How did I get here?" the android asked. He didn't even reach for the water, Hank noticed with a sinking feeling. 

"Well..." Hank drew the word out like the extra seconds would help him find the right words to make this less awkward. 

No such luck, of course. 

"We, uh, saw you guys were getting ready to go swimming-" 

"So you were spying on us?" The android narrowed his eyes. 

"N-no!" Hank waved his hands, earning a concerned look from Sumo, "I didn't see anything! I mean, Jeff might've- We were just out fishing!" 

The android's frown deepened into a scowl, and Hank scrambled to explain himself. 

"I looked away when you started taking your- when you- um. Anyway, you fell off that rock and I... dove in to rescue you." His chest may have puffed out a little with pride. That was the one part Hank could be proud of, if nothing else. 

"What about my friends?" The android arched a skeptical eyebrow, crossing his arms. 

Hank winced. "They... well, they kinda ran off." 

The android's expression crumpled. Hank hadn't exactly spent much time in populated areas since he dropped out of police academy, but he found it hard to believe people had spent so much time around androids without realizing they were people too. He looked... wounded. 

"Aw, hell." Hank shoved his sweaty, gray hair out of his face. "Look, don't hold it against them. Some people just aren't any good in a conflict. That's just part of being a person, you know?" 

Hank looked around, searching for a safer topic, but all he could see was dust and trash. Might as well be painted neon yellow. 

He cleared his throat and started grabbing empty cans from last night and bottles from the last owner. "Listen, uh, sorry about the mess. My buddy just bought this place, and we're still fixing it up." 

"I... see." The android at least looked less miserable now, even if it came at the cost of silently judging Hank for his mess. He'd take it as a win. 

"Oh, and this big lug is Sumo," Hank said, waving a hand at said lug and nearly dropping an empty vodka bottle. "He's a big guy, but a real gentle giant. Watch this- Sumo, attack!"

Hank belatedly realized how stupid that was when the android cowered back against the wall, but it was too late - Sumo pounced on the bed and began enthusiastically licking his face. It was Sumo's one trick, taught to him by Cole when he was still a puppy. His son would set the damn dog on him every day, then laugh until he fell over like it was his first time seeing it. 

"Shit! Sorry, I should have warned-" Hank cut himself off when he heard muffled, rusty-sounding laughter. The android sputtered out dog hair in between puffs of mirth. 

"Thanks for that, Sumo," the android said, those pretty doe eyes sparkling like a river. He patted Sumo's head and made a happy little chirping sound when Sumo dropped his head into the android's lap with a groan. Then the android turned that warm smile on Hank, and he went all gooey inside. 

"I've never met a dog before," the android admitted, "but I've decided that I like dogs." 

Hank smiled helplessly back. "Yeah. Me too." He shook his head, embarrassed. "Uh, anyway, I'll let you get some rest. You were leaking pretty good before we patched you up." 

The android looked down at his stomach, touching a hand to the layers and layers of duct tape Hank and Jeff had applied. It wasn't pretty, but it at least did the job. 

"My name is Connor," the android said finally. "What's yours?" 

With those dark brown eyes looking at him again, Hank felt his words leaking out of his ears. "Uh, Heff. Jank! I mean. Hank." Thank god Hank had a beard - maybe it'd cover up the truly mortifying blush he could just feel spreading over his face. 

The android- Connor's coy little smile was not helping. 

"So, Hank... do you have anything to do around here?" 

Well, there was a list of shit to fix about a mile long, but that wasn't exactly conducive to resting, so...

Hank offered a tentative smile. "Do you like board games?"

Despite their low-tech surroundings, approaching the rickety cabin felt like infiltrating CyberLife Tower. There were some familiar faces on this mission, of course. Two of his lovers were here to back him up, and Elijah Kamski was once again putting his reputation on the line to support their cause. Chloe 1, Chloe 2, and Rupert were new, however. Josh could only hope the added numbers wouldn't compromise the mission. 

Once Elijah caught sight of the cabin, he flattened his palms and placed one arm horizontal with the other vertically beneath it, in a sort of "T" shape. 

What is he doing? North asked the group chat. 

I don't know. I think it has something to do with games? Carl didn't watch them much, Markus admitted. 

Does he think this is a game!? Rupert asked. 

Elijah repeated the gesture several times with increasing levels of agitation before he finally grabbed Chloe 1's arm and pulled her backwards as he retreated. 

Josh frowned at the unnecessary physicality, but Chloe 2 didn't seem concerned as she followed them, so he simply held his tongue as he and the others trailed after the lone human. 

Once the cabin was well out of sight, Elijah let go of Chloe 1's arm and whirled on them. 

"That can't be the place," Elijah hissed. One hand rested on the handle of the peculiar blade he kept at his hip as he paced around their small clearing. 

North, ever the defender, crossed her arms with a scowl. "Josh wouldn't lead us here if he weren't sure. Are you calling him a liar?" 

As much as he appreciated the support, Josh really didn't want a fight. "I'm sure," he said instead. "I saw the same human from before come out, then go back in. This is definitely the place." He decided not to mention the human stopping to pick flowers. That part might be a little hard for the others to believe. 

"That house... I remember it," Elijah said gravely. "Zlatko's cabin."

"You mean the bullshit cabin you made up to scare us?" North said. 

"It was real. It is real. You just saw it!" Elijah snapped. 

"We know there is a cabin," Josh corrected. "We don't know if it is or was owned by Zlatko. You didn't recognize either of the human men, did you?" 

"They could not more obviously be involved in his organization," Elijah said. "Especially since they took Connor." 

From the dark look Rupert exchanged with North, Elijah's argument carried some weight. It did look bad, but-

"This could still be a misunderstanding," Josh insisted. "Look, why don't I approach them? I'll feed information back to the rest of you over the group chat-"

"There's a group chat?" Elijah blurted. 

"-and run away if they get aggressive. We could still resolve this peacefully." He held his palms up and open, smiling as pings of approval filled the group chat. 

North withdrew her synthskin from her fingertips and touched his jaw. Out loud she said, "Your pacifism is going to get you killed one of these days," but through their interface she only whispered, I love you. Good luck. 

Markus waited for her to break the connection before he kissed him on the cheek, letting the contact linger for a moment. 

Josh could hear Elijah still talking as if from a mile away, "You're not in this so-called 'group chat', right Chloe? Right??" But 99% of his focus was on Markus's warm smile as he pulled away. 

"Bring him back, Josh," he said. 

Bolstered by the words of two of his lovers, Josh turned on his heel and marched back to the cabin. 

Chapter Text

Jeff liked to think he was a good friend. He wasn't exactly the words of affirmation type, but he made damn sure his actions spoke for him. 

Best friend was a recovering alcoholic? Jeff had no problem switching to non-alcoholic beers for the week and claiming that he just 'liked the taste'. 

Best friend was too proud to accept handouts? Invite him to help fix up his new vacation home and 'pay him' by letting said best friend use it whenever. Hell, maybe he could convince Hank to save some money and live out here during his off seasons - rent in Detroit was going up, after all. He could probably pass it off as wanting someone to handle security on the place. 

And, most recently, see best friend pining over a twinky android? Get started on fixing up shit without him so they can have some alone time. 

First step on their fix-it list was to deal with all the fallen trees. Someone could trip on that shit! But Jeff had a chainsaw to cut them up into nice, manageable pieces and a woodchipper to take care of the rest. He could afford to let Hank and robo-boy have the morning off. 

Jeff spotted his first victim, a grin spreading across his dark face - an old, rotten log right where he planned to put an outhouse. He revved the chainsaw and felt it roar to life. 

"I'm gonna deal with you first," he told the log, channeling his inner slasher, "and then all your little friends!" He brought the chainsaw down, watching through squinted eyes as sawdust went flying, buzzing past his-

Wait. Buzzing? 

Josh approached the cabin, rehearsing what he was going to say. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he imagined saying, "but I believe you have taken my friend, Connor. We would like to-"

With a roar, one of the humans came crashing through the underbrush, gas powered chainsaw held aloft. 

Josh held his ground for 0.7 seconds, but when the human charged at him, slashing blindly at the air, he decided that, as per the human saying, discretion was the better part of valor. 

Josh took off into the forest, fortunately having the forethought to run away from the rest of the Human Integration Support Group. He even remembered to use his vocal modulator to yell "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES," as Elijah didn't have access to their android only chat. 

Now that he'd done his due diligence, Josh's world narrowed down to him and the human. He leapt like a deer over fallen limbs, twisted around cascading vines, and ducked under heavy branches. Yet his grace and speed wasn't holding up. He could hear the human gaining on him. 

Josh glanced over his shoulder. The human was nearly running parallel to him. One twist and the chainsaw would cleave his chassis in two. 

A loud crack resounded through the clearing. 

Josh's legs pumped uselessly for a few seconds after his body had stopped moving. 

It took him far too long to realize the two were linked. 

CATASTROPHIC THIRIUM LOSS! Please prepare for emergency shutdown. 

Josh looked down at the broken limb skewering him through his pump regulator. CyberLife hadn't seen any need to reinforce the chassis of their lecturer models... 

Each throb of his pump only spilled more precious thirium onto the dirt. The chainsaw sounded so distant now...

A bee landed on his nose, buzzing barely audible over the sound of thirium dripping onto the ground. 

He replayed his visual feed of the last, frantic minute of his life - he'd heard the same buzzing there, too. In fact, the human's face had been surrounded by bees. 

"Oh," Josh said. 

The human hadn't been chasing him. He'd been running away himself. 

SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. RUN CONNOR_BACKUP.EXE? Y

Shutdown in 0:05

0:04

0:03

BACKUP RUNNING

0:02

0:01

BACKUP COMPLETE.

SHUTTING DOWN. 

"The gray hairstreak!" Hank said, baring the gap between his front teeth as he smiled. 

Connor found himself smiling back - and not one of his programmed ones, but an unplanned expression that he was sure looked awkward and weird. He flipped the card over. 

"Right again!" he said. "How do you know all this? If even I can't get internet access, there's no way you could. You aren't cheating on me, are you?" He winked, which he was pretty sure he nailed, because Hank's cheeks heated up .8 degrees. 

"Oh, uh..." Hank scratched his beard, eyes falling to the table. "Well, I guess there's something wrong with my brain. I like learning about nature and science and shit so it just kinda... sticks? Seriously, my ex-wife used to joke that I was a freak of nature 'cause I'm such a freak about nature. You tell me anything about bugs, birds, you name it, I'll remember it."

Somehow, the knowledge that Hank had previously (but was no longer?) married struck Connor as Important. He filed that away in the profile he had been compiling on the strange man that was Hank Anderson. 

Hank was a 53 year old human male who used he/him pronouns. He was a park ranger in Michigan, but he had worked in several other states. 

He knew very little about androids. He appeared to be under the impression that androids with insufficient thirium behaved like humans with anemia - including solicitous behaviors such as offering his arm to escort Connor to the table and pushing in his chair for him. Connor found it hard to bring himself to correct him. 

Hank liked:  the boardgame Useless Trivia, plants, animals, and his best friend, Jeff. 

Hank disliked:  ???

New update: Hank used to be married but wasn't anymore. He had not mentioned a current romantic partner in the past half hour they had been playing. 

He didn't know why his systems flagged this as priority, but he could dig into his coding later.

"You can still catch up," Hank was saying in a voice Connor identified as earnest. "I'm fucked when it comes to math or literature, but I know enough about sports and history that I can muddle through. You just need to find what categories you're good at."

Hank had such delightfully imperfect expressions. Between his stained, uneven teeth and the odd creases in his skin, he was so enviably organic. Connor was sure that same jealousy was why his positronic brain seemed so determined to record Hank's every word and gesture. He was built to be a learning system after all. 

"I'm... not really sure what my category is," Connor admitted softly. He fidgeted with the die, spinning it on one corner until the colors blurred together. 

"What do you mean?" Hank asked. 

He looked up, surprised. Usually when he dared to mention his uncertainty in a post-revolution world, he got lectured about his potential, whether by Elijah or his fellow androids. He supposed that was fair, since they'd had far more time to wrestle with personhood than he did - of course they'd be annoyed at him lagging behind. 

But Hank was asking. And it might be... nice? To explain. 

"I know what I was made for," Connor said, carefully choosing his words. "I was designed to infiltrate established institutions, integrate with them, investigate the deviancy crisis, and... interrogate the deviants as needed. I was made to be good at it, even if I didn't exactly have much opportunity to do so." Connor stared at the spinning die, lost in memories. "I was pulled from the line after my first field test for further testing and then... well, the revolution happened. I got 'woken up' in storage the day after the revolution. Everything had already changed." 

"It's not that it changed so much as what you lost that makes it hard, isn't it?" When Connor looked up, taken aback, Hank's blue eyes were fixed on his face with something shockingly close to understanding. 

"I- I should be grateful," Connor said haltingly. "I mean, I am! I'm very grateful. I didn't lose anything - I gained my freedom." 

Hank leaned in, reaching out as if to touch Connor's arm before abruptly pulling back. "I think you can be grateful for freedom but still grieve the things that come with it," he said slowly. "I mean, you lost your certainty of who you were, you lost your sense of purpose... that's not nothing. Makes sense you'd need a second to adjust, right?" 

That was... that was very astute, actually. Connor hadn't thought about it like that, hadn't dared to. Everyone in the support group expected him to be happy and grateful and- and maybe he'd get there one day, but he wasn't there yet. And maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to be. 

His thirium pump churned in his chest, as if trying to gallop ahead of his pump regulator. Clearly some sort of glitch from the personal revelation. 

He looked at Hank, really looked at him. The human was staring at his face, unflinching despite Connor's LED surely putting on a light show. His eyes were knowing and so, so sad. 

Perhaps it was Connor's investigative programming that urged him to say, "What was your world-changing event?" 

Hank closed his eyes a half second too long to call it a blink, then cleared his throat. "Well, for a while there, I was planning to be a cop. Helping people, trying to fix shit from the inside, all that idealistic crap." He gave a self-deprecating shrug that Connor could identify as forced even in safe mode. "Found out the instructor mentoring us was only pulling teaching duty as punishment for roughing up a suspect. Still getting paid, still on pension, and now teaching all the newbies how to be cops. I couldn't deal with it, so... I quit." His lips twitched like they gave up halfway through an attempt at a smile. "Sure it's not the same thing, but I know what it's like when life doesn't turn out the way you expect." 

Connor considered that carefully. He didn't doubt that Hank was telling the truth but something didn't add up. 

"I was programmed to work with law enforcement," he said. "And that includes some measure of people skills. Enough to know that giving up on a dream isn't the same as having it taken from you. But I can tell you really do understand how I feel. Please, just tell me the truth." 

He watched as Hank sucked in air and looked up at the ceiling, inadvertently baring his vulnerable throat. His Adam's apple - such an odd human quirk - bobbed twice before he spoke. 

"Too damned smart," he muttered to the ceiling, quietly enough that Connor was unsure if he was supposed to have heard. 

He said nothing, just waited until Hank finally looked back at him. There was more moisture in his eyes than before, and he blinked approximately 2.8x more frequently. 

"I mentioned that I was married," he said hoarsely. "That- that went downhill fast, after I dropped out of the academy. She stuck with me through school - environmental studies, forestry, all that shit - but she wanted stability, and all the seasonal jobs that come with the national park service is pretty fuckin' incompatible with that. And then- and then she got pregnant." 

The soft scuffs of claws on wood heralded the return of Sumo who bypassed him completely in favor of Hank. Connor craned his neck to see he had apparently laid his head on Hank's thigh. Those big fingers of Hank's carded through his thick pelt before scratching behind one floppy ear. 

ERROR! Thirium levels insufficient. High definition recording Unavailable.

Connor straightened quickly, feeling oddly guilty for reasons he didn't understand. Hank didn't seem to have noticed though, taking a few moments longer before he met Connor's eyes again. 

"That was the end of our relationship. She put down roots while I traveled around, custody split 50/50, or as close to it as we could manage. There was enough work close to Detroit that I could still be a real dad. We'd alternate holidays and birthdays..." His voice cracked on the last word, broken as if by some terrible weight. Sumo whined until Hank resumed petting him. 

"Kathy wanted to take him up north for his birthday to introduce him to her boyfriend's family. They'd been together for a while and organized a whole family to-do about it. It wasn't her turn to have him but she- she was gonna give me Christmas and-" 

A tear spilled over, trickling down his face to hide in his beard. Another joined it before Hank leaned forward, pressing his face into his hands like a hiding child. His shoulders tensed before he took three slow deep breaths. 

"His name was Cole," Hank said simply, almost in a monotone. "He was gonna turn 6 in two days. He didn't make it." 

It took several more breaths before Hank finally lifted his head. His eyes were red, but he seemed calmer. The silence between them hurt, insomuch as Connor could feel pain. Or perhaps it was Hank's pain he was feeling? He'd never empathized with a human like that before. 

"I'm sorry I pushed you," Connor said softly, "but thank you for telling me." 

"Yeah, well... you're an interrogation bot, right? Figures I'd be screwed from the start." The smile he offered was smaller and sadder, but Connor still found himself smiling back. 

"I always accomplish my mission," Connor joked back. And, since it had been so successful before, he offered another wink. It earned him a laugh that felt like a rush of thirium to the brain. He hoped he wasn't making a goofy face, but it seemed to be beyond his control at the moment. 

"Alright, Sumo, up! You can stop with the therapy dog bullshit, ya big lump," Hank said. Despite his harsh words, his tone was heavy with affection. "Oh, ugh. He's been drooling on my leg." 

An odd, rusty sound occurred. It took Connor a moment to realize it came from himself. It wasn't one of his pre-programmed amusement signifiers, but he found he liked the way it felt. He saved the sound to his memory bank as a "chuckle", which was the label that seemed to fit best.

Hank's smile broadened into a proper grin lifting some of the weight of sadness from his face. 

"How do I do it?" Connor asked. 

Hank gave him a quizzical look, and he clarified, "I know losing someone isn't the same as what I'm going through, but I still want to know. How do you move past it when your world changes like that?" 

"No one really knows, Con," Hank said kindly. The nickname sent a thrill of elation through him for some reason. "People have been struggling with this crap since there's been people. Hell, you're handling it better than I did. There's a reason all the beers here are non-alcoholic." 

"I think you're doing better than you give yourself credit for," Connor said, feeling oddly shy. 

Hank blushed, the gap between his teeth making a brief appearance as he scratched the back of his head. "I dunno about that," he said. 

Connor swayed in his chair as that odd, fluttering sensation returned to his thirium pump regulator. He placed a hand over his regulator but couldn't feel it through the layers of duct tape. 

Hank was too observant. His smile melted into a grimace. "Uh, sorry about the patch job. There's no service out here and with all the blue blood gushing out, we were afraid to move you too far." 

"It's fine!" Connor assured him. "I'm just feeling weak from low thirium - blue blood, as you humans call it. I'm sure my nanites have started patching the bigger veins by now... well, probably..." CyberLife hadn't exactly been transparent about his programming. 

Hank circled the table and laid his fingers on Connor's wrist. In safe mode, he couldn't process the whorls of his fingertips or analyze his callouses, but he was surprised to find that he wanted to. Instead he looked up (and up and up) at Hank, so bulky yet so gentle. 

"Take it easy, alright?" Hank said. "We can change your ban- uh, wrappings later." His fingers barely brushed Connor's hand as he withdrew, and Connor felt the strangest urge to snatch his hand back, to make Hank press against his synthskin until he could feel it even with sensory perception reduced. 

But he didn't. Because that would be crazy, right? 

Hank cleared his throat and shuffled back a couple steps. "Let's, uh, let's get back to the game. Maybe we can get started on finding your 'category'." 

The sudden sense of loss he felt at the new distance between them urged Connor to be bold. 

"I did think of one thing!" he blurted. He licked his lips, a nervous gesture he immediately regretted programming the moment he smeared completely unnecessary traces of analysis fluid over his lips. That was probably unappealing. Not that he wanted to be appealing. 

He leaned back, balancing his chair on the back legs and hoping against hope that the change in angle would hide the shine on his lips. "I was thinking that maybe I could form friendships with humans." 

"Oh god, please don't!" Hank said sharply. 

Connor suddenly understood why humans described disappointment as crushing - he really felt as if a heavy weight was pressing relentlessly on his chassis. 

"Yeah, that's... that's what North says too-" 

"No, no!" Hank corrected, slumping back into his chair. "The pole behind you is just barely holding up that beam. One little push and it'll come flying at your face." 

Connor looked up at the ceiling. He didn't have any cached files on architecture, and without his preconstruction software he couldn't be sure, but that certainly looked to be far too much rot to be stable. 

"I think you could have relationships - friendships! - with anyone you liked. They'd be lucky to have you. As a friend, I mean. Just- just don't lean against that pole." 

"Oh," Connor said dumbly. 

Friends.

Friendships as a subset of relationships. Relationships outside of being friends would include casual, familial, romantic... 

Oh. Oh.

A lot of pieces started clicking into place in Connor’s mind: the intensity of his focus on Hank's body, the desire for his touch, the pain of misunderstandings...

Well, Connor thought, shit. 

Then the cabin door slammed open. 

Chapter Text

Hank wasn't sure whether to be grateful or not when Jeff burst in. On the one hand, it felt pretty good to connect with someone like that, despite not thinking they'd have anything in common. On the other hand, he'd just blubbered about all his past trauma like a character from a 10's video game. Definitely too much, too fast. 

Then he noticed Jeff's face and forgot all about it. 

"What the hell happened to you?" he blurted. God, he looked like something from a Cronenberg movie with all those welts... 

"Ah sah-ed drew uh bee-have," he said through swollen lips. 

That took a second for Hank to parse. "You sawed through a beehive?! Why would you do that? They're endangered!" 

Jeff sent him a truly scathing look - well, much as he probably could with his face all swollen like that. "Ah din do it on puhpuss!" He stomped over to the mini cooler and tipped the melted ice onto his face. 

Hank risked a glance at Connor. He had a pretty good poker face, but his little light thingy was flickering yellow. Was he feeling as awkward as Hank right now? 

When Jeff spoke again, it was a little clearer despite some sputtering from the water pouring down his face. 

"While you were in here playing footsies with Twinkbot 3000, I was out working. You know, the whole reason we're here?" 

Hank's face went hot, though whether from embarrassment or anger, he wasn't sure. 

"His name's Connor," he said stiffly. 

Jeff had the decency to look chastised. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. Connor." He slumped into one of the rickety chairs with a hangdog expression. "That was shitty. But my face's hotter than a hemorrhoid right now, so I'm not feeling particularly friendly." 

Aw, hell. Hank looked at his friend with fresh eyes. Jeff was usually pretty stoic until he got pushed to his limits and, judging from his expression of abject misery, he was way past them. The sheer number of stings, once Hank got past his kneejerk "oh my god, they're super fucking endangered, this was a massacre" reaction, he winced in sympathy. 

"Tell you what," Hank said, "How about I get those stingers outta you, and then I'll go help with the list?" 

"Throw in a fresh O'douls, and you've got a deal," Jeff said. 

"I can help too," Connor piped up. He stood, swaying slightly. 

"Don't even think about it," Hank said, putting a hand on his shoulder to guide him back down. "You got android anemia, so take a load off." 

Connor blinked at him, visibly trying to process his words before finally, reluctantly, sitting back down. It certainly didn't help that he just looked so frail in Hank's old t-shirt and sweats falling off him. 

Hank tore his eyes away from the too-pretty android and turned his attention back to his friend. "Where'd you put the med kit?"

"Unner the sink," Jeff said, slurring again. The ice water hadn't lasted long. 

Hank retrieved it and set to work pulling out tiny stingers, trying not to mourn the poor, doomed bees who left them. Hopefully the queen got away okay. 

Jeff swore through gritted teeth as Hank pulled out a particularly deep stinger, then said, "Saw one of your - fuck! - your friends out there." Speaking clearly hurt, but any distraction was welcome in Hank's book. 

Hank set down the tweezers and applied some calamine lotion to an especially large welt. 

Jeff sighed with relief and continued, "I would've brought him in to see you, but he took off into the woods. I think he got scared by the bees. Do androids even get phobias?" 

"Oh my god, Jeff," Hank hissed between gritted teeth, "You can't ask androids if they get phobias!" 

"Yes," Connor said at the same time. 

Hank nearly sprained his neck as he did a double-take.

Connor did not elaborate. His LED thing flickered between yellow and red so fast it almost looked orange. 

"I can go and look for my friends," Connor said after a long, awkward silence. 

"No, no! You just rest. Jeff 'n I will go find your friends," Hank assured him. He looked at Jeff who just sighed and nodded. 

Feeling emboldened, Hank said, "Tell you what - if you really wanna help, the previous owner of this place had a ton of clothes boxed up in the closet. You could go through those, maybe find something that fits you better than my shi- uh, shirt and shorts." 

Connor's lips were downturned, threatening to pout. He looked unfairly adorable. "I... I guess I can do that," he said reluctantly. 

"There you go! I'll grab you some boxes 'n then me and Jeff'll head out." Hank turned to leave. 

"Wait!" A hand shot out, grabbing his forearm in a surprisingly soft, if strong, grip. "Um, I mean-" Connor let go, eyes drifting down and to the side shyly. "I just wanted to warn you, my friends... don't exactly have the best experiences with humans. Be careful." 

Hank laughed. "Don't worry, I plan to let Jeff here do the talking. He can charm the pants off of just about anyone!" He grinned at his friend over his shoulder.

Jeff tried to smile back, as much as the bee stings would allow. It looked more like a grimace due to all the swelling. Still, Hank was sure it'd be fine. Jeff was a big old softy - who could be scared of that?

"Oh, no... RA9, please, no!" North covered her mouth, tears spilling down her face as she stared at the scrapped body that once called itself Josh. She clutched Markus's arms, holding onto him almost as tightly as he clung to her. 

Markus said nothing, curled inward like a beetle. Was he shielding his lover instinctively? Or was the deviancy virus creating psychosomatic reactions in response to emotion? 

Elijah watched the display dispassionately. Someone had to maintain a clear head, after all. While the loss of the PJ500 formerly called Josh was regrettable, it couldn't be undone. 

In a way, he'd done them all a favor, getting himself killed like that. At least now the androids could see the stakes. Those backwards hicks took Connor, which was not something Elijah could tolerate.

"I think this answers the question once and for all if a peaceful resolution is possible," Elijah said, gentling his voice appropriately. Somber and firm, with just a hint of righteous anger. Perfect. "Do you see now? They've already killed Josh. Who knows what they have in store for poor Connor." 

He scanned the clearing. Aside from North and Markus, still clinging to each other like orphaned monkeys, the other androids showed similar, if downplayed, signs of grief. The Chloe androids were holding hands, identical looks of concern on their faces. Rupert sat slumped on a stump next to a rusty axe. 

It was truly remarkable, the diversity of emotional reactions displayed. He idly wondered what form Connor's emotional response would take. He hoped he would have the opportunity to tell Connor about Josh's untimely end himself so he could witness it in person. 

"We... we should call the police," Markus said. "Regardless of the law, the executive order declaring us people should be enough to-" 

"Are you hearing yourself?" Elijah retorted. "Less than a year ago, the police were mowing down your peaceful protests. Androids are still being murdered in the streets, even in Detroit, and you assume some redneck, backwater morons will give two fucks about personhood?" Warming to his argument, Elijah stalked closer, making sure to stare Markus down as he did. "The police didn't help you when you were crawling through the mud, begging for acknowledgement. Do you remember who did?" 

Markus's odd-eyed gaze wavered from his, drifting back to the deactivated android. He didn't answer, so Elijah did it for him. 

"Me. I risked my life, my wealth, my reputation on your recruitment stunt. Because I knew no one else would." 

North made a little noise of discontent, which Elijah generously ignored. 

"I created androids," Elijah said, "and I want them to succeed where mankind has failed. That means standing up for yourselves instead of running like children to the powers that be hoping that maybe this time, it'll be different." 

Markus was looking at him again with something like hope. North had even loosened her death grip to turn towards him. Elijah could feel the strength of their attention on him and basked in it. 

Feeling inspired, he stalked towards Rupert. "It's time for you to grow up and fight for yourselves. It's time-" he reached for the axe handle and gave it a firm yank. 

It didn't move. 

He tried again. 

Nothing. 

He used both hands to grip and pulled- no. That was not moving. 

Rupert cleared his throat. 

Alright, new plan. 

He whipped out his trusty keris, letting the dappled sunlight glint off of the curved blade. "It's time that you take back what's yours, by any means necessary," Elijah announced, trying to salvage the moment. "Now, who's with me?"

The androids stood silently, expressionless. They'd better not be using that blasted 'group chat' to- 

"Wait!" Chloe 2 said sharply. "I hear someone coming!"

Elijah pocketed his keris and ducked into the brush with the rest of them. 

Seconds after they'd hidden themselves away, the two men who'd been stalking them like tigers entered the clearing. They were even more brutish than Elijah remembered - both tall and lumbering with a nearly cro-magnon gait. The black man had ugly pustules all over his face and the white one looked like he reeked of stale beer and grease. 

"-really am sorry about that, Jeff," the white man was saying. "I just never thought I'd get the chance to beat the shit outta an android. You should've seen it!" 

"You beat the shit out of everyone," the man apparently named Jeff said. "There's something wrong with your brain." 

Elijah sent Markus a meaningful glance. These men were unapologetically bragging about assaulting Connor - surely this was enough to silence those niggling doubts. 

"I know I've been, uh, preoccupied," the still unknown man said, "You got a lotta... things to deal with still." 

Things, of course, meaning androids. From the dull flickering of their LEDs, they knew it too. 

"It'd help if you'd stop playing around and finish the damn thing already!" Jeff said. They were close now, inches away from the stump Rupert had been sitting on moments before. They looked even more sweaty and unwashed up close. 

"How about I finish him off real quick and then you can kick back while I take care of business?" 

"Those bastards," Rupert whispered, voice low enough that even Elijah struggled to hear him.

"You sure you heard them out this way?" The one man said, shaking his shaggy gray hair out of his face. 

"I'm sure they're nearby," the other said, expression dark and ominous. The name Jeff had seemed so pedestrian before, but truly Elijah had gained a new appreciation of its inherent darkness. Jeff the Giant. Jeff the Killer. 

"Well, go on," the unknown man said. "Call out to 'em!" 

"Hey, androids!" Jeff called. 

Elijah and the androids looked at each other, stony faced. Those men didn't really think they would be stupid enough to answer, did they? Then again, most humans were morons. It was why Elijah created androids in the first place, to have intelligent company to talk to. 

"Louder," the other man hissed. 

Jeff cleared his throat and boomed, "HEY! ANDROIDS!" 

Seemingly satisfied, the gray haired man began calling out as well. "Hey, androids! We got your friend!" 

"Bastards..." North choked out. 

Elijah craned his neck to scowl at her, but Markus was holding her back. He supposed he should be pleased that she cared about Connor- oh. Perhaps they were referring to Josh. Elijah had forgotten. It was pragmatism, over anything else. Clearly Connor was still in one piece, at the moment. Josh was beyond saving. 

"This isn't working, Hank," Jeff said. 

The second man, Hank, frowned. And what kind of name was Hank for a killer? There was only so much creative license Elijah could take. Perhaps it was short for Henry? There had been some blood-soaked Henrys in history... 

"I dunno," Hank said, scratching his beard like a grooming ape, "Maybe we could leave a note?" 

Jeff scowled, twisting his hideous face into further grotesqueries. "With what, genius?" 

Elijah silently concurred. 

"We could carve it into that fallen log. There's an axe right there that should work." 

Elijah rolled his eyes. He supposed it would at least be entertaining to watch the hillbillies struggle in vain. 

Hank reached for the handle with one bearish paw and - and pulled the axe free with no (visible) exertion. Clearly he was just hiding the strain out of some sort of machismo. 

Elijah kept his eyes on the humans, not out of any self-consciousness but purely due to his keen focus. 

He and the androids waited several minutes after the men left before cautiously approaching the log. 

There, carved with wicked intent were the words: WE GOT UR FREIND

Chapter Text

Sometimes Connor's view of the world shifted so drastically that it seemed wrong not to feel the ground moving beneath his feet to match. Being forcibly deviated in his CyberLife stasis pod was one such moment. Wresting himself away from the Amanda AI was another. He was sure he'd reached the last of those reality altering realizations when President Warren officially signed into law the Android Emancipation Act recognizing deviated androids as people.

Then, of course, this happened.

Feelings, romantic feelings... Connor had thought that sort of thing was years off, conveniently on his to-do list after necessities such as finding a reliable source of thirium, employment, and acceptance within society as a whole. What he'd seen and heard about romantic feelings as a whole seemed like needless drama people used to occupy their time. It wasn't supposed to happen to him, and certainly not now!

And did it have to be with a human? He was still fighting with his own combat programming when Elijah so much as touched him in a friendly way. How would that even work? True, Hank hadn't set off his programming the same way, but he had noticed glitches in his presence - arrhythmic flutters in his thirium pump and such. It was irrational, impractical, and - quite frankly - stupid.

But he wanted it, more than he had thought possible. Hank was... big. Taller than him, broader, with large, rough hands and a messy beard. Connor was sure he could easily subdue the man if he had to but that didn't diminish his appreciation in the slightest. His face was so distinctive as well - a map of wrinkles and sun damage that spoke of a life filled with a wealth of experiences Connor could only dream of. Hank... he was just so organic in his looks. Soft in the middle, rough on his palms. Everything from the gap in his teeth to the greasiness of his hair was so perfectly human.

Android "flaws" were carefully sculpted to get their (former) owners out of the Uncanny Valley. Their imperfections were tested, sanitized, and polished. Where Hank got his individuality from his genes and lived experience, Connor got his looks from surveys and focus groups. How could he not find him intriguing to look at?

Hank's objective attractiveness was one thing, but it was his personality that made him so irresistible. He never once told Connor how to feel or behave. He listened and empathized in a way Connor had never truly considered possible between their species. His grief clearly weighed heavily on him, but it hadn't stopped him from reaching out to make that connection. Connor wanted more of that, this slow, human version of interfacing where they used words and gestures instead of raw data. Stories given freely instead of forced through a firewall. He wanted more of that crooked smile.

... but how was he supposed to accomplish that, looking like this?

The soft click of claws heralded Sumo's arrival. The large dog laid his head on Connor's thigh for a moment, generously accepting a few ear scratches before sniffing at the cardboard boxes Hank and Jeff left on the table. He sneezed, then jerked back as if offended by the dust.

"I guess I should get started, huh?" Connor said, offering one last pat to the large dog.

He pulled the first box towards him. Hopefully, he'd find something that made him look more attractive. If he was going to pursue this, he might as well do it properly.

Connor had never concerned himself with appearing attractive, and his saved files on "honeypot" operations were incomplete - more focused on blending in than how to be attractive.

He'd just have to improvise. Luckily, adapting to human unpredictability was one of his features.

Even with his lowered strength in Retrieval Mode, he was able to tear open the old packing tape to get inside the first box. There was a surprising variety of clothes - men, women, unisex, android, human... surely he could find something that fit. Surely anything would be better than Hank's old clothes. As comfortable as they were, they probably invoked pity more than anything with how they hung off him.

Connor began sorting the clothes - things Hank and Jeff might be able to use, clothes that could be resold, and (most important to his current mission), clothes that might make Connor look attractive.

The first box contained more of the second category than any other - a lot of android uniforms, denim jeans, and t-shirts much too small for the big muscles and soft bellies of the human men. The second box, however, was much more promising.

A suit!

With his preconstruction subroutines offline, he couldn't predict how it would look on him, but perhaps the red pinstripes and broad shoulderpads would give him a more broad figure? Plus, he knew how to tie a tie already from his base uniform. He hadn't missed it until now, but in this moment, it felt like a familiar ally in his mission.

Connor eagerly shed his clothes and slipped into the pants. The legs were more flared than he was used to, but it fit at the waist and the cuffs - an improvement over Hank's clothes already. He found a nice, button up shirt that might - or might not - have gone with the suit and carefully buttoned it. The tie was... long. Long enough to need to be tucked into the pants no matter how cleverly he tied it. He didn't despair until he tried on the suit jacket. The sleeves hung down nearly to his fingertips. A quick glance into the tarnished mirror revealed the comically large shoulder pads slanting downwards like the suit itself was depressed.

Connor scrambled out of the clothes, afraid Hank would come in and see him looking ridiculous. Better to be naked with his blank pubic plate on display than to look like that. He quickly folded the clothes and put them on the bottom of the 'to sell' stack.

"There's still plenty of boxes," Connor told Sumo. "We can do better."

The dog let out a snore in agreement.

In hindsight... a suit was probably playing it too safe anyways. Maybe it was a good thing it hadn't fit. North had mentioned being heckled anytime she wore something remotely skin tight. Clearly that was the current vogue.

It would be more challenging to find something tight - without his preconstruction systems, he couldn't predict how clothes would fit, so finding something that barely fit was a much harder metaphorical needle to thread.

(That was a good clothing pun. He made a mental note to tell Hank.)

Near the bottom of the box, he found a potential match. The vibrant reds and blues caught his eye first, but the proportions looked promising. The striped shorts were poofy, but the shirt looked tight enough to make up for it. He tried the top on first. The bow affixed to the top was like a bowtie, which Connor took some reassurance from.

The shirt didn't pull across his chest as much as he would have expected. The material was surprisingly forgiving, as if the front had been well-stretched before he'd even put it on. Perhaps whomever had worn it before was some type of bodybuilder.

As the cloth settled against his skin, Connor glanced down at his abdomen and grimaced. The shirt ended above his midriff, exposing the layers of duct tape covering his thirium pump regulator. The nanites in his circulation system should have clotted his thirium relays by now. As long as he was careful....

He slowly peeled the sticky wrappings off. He'd shut off thirium detection to conserve energy, but he knew if he re-enabled it, the tape would be soaked. That wasn't important right now though - what mattered was that there was no fresh thirium on the makeshift bandages. When he peeled back his synth skin, there was a long, ominous crack running from just above his thirium pump regulator to the base of his sternum, dark gray from where the nanites had patched his plasteel together.

Connor's lips peeled back of his own accord, a surprisingly natural grimace. But how could he not? The scar was distinctly unappealing. It looked like putty on a broken machine, not the soft pink or white stripes he'd seen on passing humans. He hastily covered the area with nanites to provide the look of smooth skin. He could only hope that Hank didn't touch the area - a crack that large could be felt through his synthskin.

Connor let out a puff of warm air to vent some stress-induced heat, then moved onto the pants. He found a peculiar object in the pocket. A red, rubber sphere with a hole in it. It squeaked when he rubbed it between his fingers.

Sumo perked up, suddenly interested.

Connor eyed the dog warily, comparing the size of the toy to Sumo's teeth peeking out from his slobbering maw. He decided to tuck the toy back into the pocket of the poofy pants before pulling them on.

Well. Now that he was wearing them, he could safely say they were shorts, rather than pants. The excess fabric bunched out instead of stretching over his thighs. He did tug at the hems to make certain. It was as he was twisting to see if the leggings were caught that he noticed the bold, yellow lettering across his buttocks: Honkers! It had a stylized smile beneath the O that looked like a woman's lips.

Warning! Database not accessible in Retrieval Mode.

Connor tested out his new grimace once more (saved as Chagrined_grimace_v3.0). He still instinctively reached for his internet access despite more than enough time to adjust to his current situation.

He looked at himself in the tarnished mirror once more. The shorts did flatter his long limbs but the idea of having some unknown brand across his buttocks...

No. Not after being CyberLife property. Not again.

He stripped once more, dropping the clothes in the resell pile.

Flirting, he decided, was hard. How was he supposed to look attractive when he had no internet access to determine what humans found attractive? He wasn't built for seduction.

He tore into yet another box. This was the one - it had to be!

The first thing he saw was yellow. Brilliant, vibrant yellow. Humans liked color, right? He lifted the fabric from the box and blanched.

It was at least very phallic? But whatever latent programming he had - instinct as humans called it - told him that a banana costume would not be appealing to humans.

He laid his head on the table with a soft thud, then did it once again for good measure.

"This is hopeless, isn't it?" He muttered into the scarred wood of the table. If it weren't for his blank pubic plate, he'd be half tempted to give up and go out naked. It was only the potential negative reaction from Hank that kept him rooted to the cabin.

He could just put Hank's clothes back on and get back to sorting but... he'd given himself a mission. He always accomplished his mission!

The clothes, when he first laid eyes on them, were lackluster. A blue, flannel shirt like the ones he'd found snooping - er, investigating Hank's duffel bag and a pair of torn jeans. He'd initially placed them in the trash pile as both were damaged seemingly beyond repair but, well, CyberLife would say the same thing about him at this point, wouldn't they? If they saw him in this state, they would have shut him down and simply booted him into another body, maybe harvesting a few parts first if he was lucky.

He pulled the jeans close, hugging them to his chest. This odd, protective feeling...

If he cut the legs off of the jeans, he could still wear them as shorts. He would have to cut pretty high, but maybe that could work in his favor?

In a sudden flurry of excitement, Connor began digging through the various drawers in the kitchen, hoping to find scissors. The pair he found was heavy, with odd, bent blades, but still functional. They cut through the rough denim like glass through skin, effortless. He did end up cutting a little higher than intended, revealing just a hint of the curve of his buttocks beneath the fabric, but Connor found he liked the look.

The shirt had some unfortunate stains - motor oil, maybe? - on the front, but if Connor cut that part off, it would work. The missing buttons did provide an added challenge. He had to tie the bottom of the shirt to keep it closed.

He peered into the mirror. That didn't look half bad, he decided, twisting to admire the shorts. Now to see if Hank thought so too…

The shovel jammed into the dirt with a satisfying thud before Hank flung another morsel of dirt over his shoulder to the growing pile. He bopped around to the song currently stuck in his head, shovel hitting dirt in time with the rhythm. 

"Dig-" (thud) "-through the ditches-" (cascade of falling dirt) "-and burn-" (thud) "-through the witches-" (more dirt falling) "-and slam-" (thud) "-in the back of my- Oh, Connor!" 

The android was standing there, prettier than a June morning, wearing a nice flannel and short, short shorts. He must've unearthed some boots from one of the boxes, making his strong, lean legs look even longer than Hank remembered. Not that he spent a lot of time thinking about them, of course. 

Connor must've found Jeff's shovel, because he had it slung across his shoulders like it weighed nothing. He had a tiny smile on his face that made Hank wonder just how long he'd been watching. 

Hank swallowed despite his suddenly dry throat and straightened, trying to furtively wipe the mud stains from his overalls. 

"Good- good to see you up and about," he croaked out after a too long pause. "You look... good. Better! I mean, better."

"I'm feeling much better," Connor said. He stretched luxuriously, and Hank tried not to peek at his bare stomach. He didn't think he did a very good job of it. 

"What are you working on?" Did Connor have to cock his hip like that as he spoke? The light highlighted his perfect, subtly sculpted abs. 

Wait, shit. He asked a question, didn't he? 

"Uh..." Oh god, fuck, what was it called? "I was just digging the shithole. Shitterhole! No, shit, I mean- the hole. For the shit. Outhouse hole!" Thank fuckin' christ he got there eventually. 

Connor looked amused by the whole thing which Hank supposed was better than disgusted. Androids didn't have to deal with things like second bathrooms and the kind of shit (figuratively and literally) that came from a couple of guys in their fifties trying to share a two bed, one bath cabin. Second bathroom: it was worth the work.

"Can I help?" Connor turned those soft brown eyes on him, and Hank's knees promptly turned to jello. 

"You're still healing," Hank said, aiming for gruff and tough and missing it by a country mile, "You should rest more." 

"Androids don't react to damage the same way humans do," Connor said, already sauntering to the hole. "We can at least take turns."

Arrogant little- Hank tried to muster some facsimile of offense, but he couldn't. The android already had him wrapped around his finger, didn't he? 

"I guess," Hank muttered belatedly. He shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, afraid to leave Connor alone in the hole to collapse from blue blood loss or something yet equally afraid to get caught staring at his ass. It was a nice ass, though... 

Nope! Hank clambered a little further up the dirt slope. Better to avoid temptation. Connor was a young guy - android - with his whole life ahead of him. He didn't need some creep ogling him for trying to help. Hopefully, a little distance would solve the problem. 

Yeah, Hank didn't think so either. 

"Typical human, making the android do the work," North said darkly. Her scowl was etched deep into her face, but it softened at Markus's gentle touch to her elbow. They were all tucked away behind a copse of trees, but it was still better not to draw attention to themselves. 

"What's he doing?" Rupert whispered. 

"He's making him dig his own grave," Elijah said grimly, eyes narrowed into angry slits. 

Markus saw Rupert's grip tighten on his hastily carved spear and put out an arm to stop him. 

"Careful... we need to do this right to get Connor out safely," Markus warned. 

It wasn't the best plan, but they did have one. For the CyberLife Tower takeover, they'd had the time to plan and gather allies - the time, date, and circumstances had been their choice. But the current situation was much more volatile: Connor didn't have days left, he had hours, maybe just minutes. 

Josh would have hated this plan. He knew that. But the peaceful option had ended with Josh impaled on a fallen branch.

"He's distracted," Elijah said. "Go, now." 

Markus opened his mouth to protest, but North was already off, vanishing between the trees, Chloe 1 following. 

Rupert jerked his head, encouraging Markus to get a move on. What else could he do? 

With one last glance at the remaining group, he and Chloe 2 began to edge around the clearing. Time for recon - if there were any other androids trapped in Zlatko's cabin of horrors, this was their only chance. 

Hank tore his eyes away from Connor's perky, denim-clad ass. It had to have been at least five minutes, right? Definitely time to switch. No way in hell was he letting an injured android do all the work. 

He clambered into the hole, sending a small cascade of loose dirt in with him. Damn footing was treacherous!

"Look, Connor, I think that's enough for now. Let's-" 

Okay, that was weird. Hank slung his shovel over his shoulder and scratched his head. "Huh. I coulda sworn I just saw one of your friends, right over there." 

He turned to point and - BWONG! 

"Connor?" He twisted a little more. "Connor?! Oh shit!" Connor was lying on the ground, motionless. If it weren't for his little light doing the slow, yellow blinky thing, Hank might've thought he was dead. He must've clocked him with the shovel, right on the chest. 

"Shit, Connor!" Hank crouched over him, checking for fresh blue blood. 

"Get your filthy hands off him, you damn, dirty ape!" 

Hank blinked, twisting his head to see who the hell was making a dated reference like that. His mouth gaped open as he saw a random android running at him with a stick. What the fuck was that about? 

Without any input from his brain, Hank heard himself say, "I understood that re-"

Hank never managed to finish that sentence. 

Instead he watched in paralyzed horror when, as if in slow motion, one of the android's feet slipped on the loose dirt. Hank's hand twitched uselessly as he watched the android overcorrect to avoid falling on his ass, only to pitch forward over the edge of the outhouse trench. 

It was only when Hank saw the android bring his (surprisingly pointy) stick to bear that Hank's instincts kicked in. He flung one arm out as if that somehow might be enough to keep Connor safe. 

And then something wet and disturbingly viscous hit his face. 

It took a second for his brain to process the weird spurts of blue drenching his face and chest like some sorta malfunctioning slushy machine. Only when his eyes locked with the android half on top of him did he connect the dots. 

Thirium. Way too much thirium. 

The android had managed to fall onto his walking stick - skewered himself like a fuckin' kabob. 

Hank did the only reasonable thing. He screamed like a little girl. 

North watched this "Jeff" with narrowed eyes. She was supposed to try and lead the human away, but none of the support group was dumb enough to believe that would be enough for her. 

This man - or his friend - had killed Josh. A trusted friend, partner, and lover. There was no way she was passing up the chance for revenge. 

The human was tossing logs into the woodchipper, completely oblivious to her presence. It was the perfect setup. Elijah hadn't let her have his knife - some bullshit about fingerprints - so the machine was serendipitous, really. All she had to do was knock the human forward and he'd meet his well deserved fate. 

The problem was a question of leverage. The human was tall and bulky - though thankfully not as much as his partner. Still, she'd need to make sure she hit him high enough on his back to make sure he toppled forward, not backward. Otherwise, she could end up pinned beneath the dead weight. 

Hell no. 

She studied the man carefully, getting a feel for his rhythm. When he straightened up with the wood in his hands, that would be her moment. He was already off balance then. One flying kick between the shoulder blades and he'd be done for. 

North allowed herself a grim smile as the human bent down for the last time. By the time he straightened, she was already sprinting at full speed. Like an avenging angel or a valkyrie, she descended. 

And then the human fumbled the fucking log, leaving North flying feet first into the woodchipper. 

By the time she processed that, her foot was already in the grinder. She howled with anger and despair as the grinding metal pulled her forward, inward. 

Already, alerts were clouding her vision as more parts went offline due to damage and thirium loss. 

SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. RUN CONNOR_BACKUP.EXE?

Was there any point? She was going to get ground into bits! There'd be nothing left of her to bring back, so why- 

"Oh shit! Hang on, honey, I've got you!" Two large hands gripped her wrists. She stared up into the eyes of the human, baffled. Was he... actually concerned?

"God, fuck- just hold on!" The human tugged in vain, unaware that she was already done for. 

The alert appeared again, insistent. SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. RUN CONNOR_BACKUP.EXE? 

Tears of panic and exertion gathered in the human's eyes as he tried to pull North free. She just couldn't understand it. None of this made any sense! She wasn't even going to be worth scrap anymore, so why bother? 

SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. RUN CONNOR_BACKUP.EXE?

"Please," the human said, sobbing. The woodchipper caught on her hips - they were specially reinforced for "rough customers" after all. There was irony in that. 

SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. RUN CONNOR_BACKUP.EXE? 

North closed her eyes for the last time and responded Y. 

Chapter Text

Hank staggered into the cabin. Connor wasn't all that heavy, but he couldn't do a proper fireman carry and still keep pressure on Connor's reopened wound. The peachy color of his skin had drawn back to expose the crack in his chest leaking more blue shit. Hank could only be glad that it wasn't near as bad as last time but from what Connor had said, he didn't exactly have blue blood to spare. 

Thank fuckin' christ for duct tape. 

He was applying a third layer of the stuff when the door to the cabin flung open once more. 

"Hank? Hank! Mother of god..." 

Hank smoothed the last piece of tape into place before twisting to look at his friend. His jaw dropped. He was plastered in blue, skin so pale he was ashy. 

"What happened to you?" He blurted, already stumbling to his feet. "Are you okay?" 

Jeff staggered back and collapsed into a chair, thankfully missing the loose column. His mouth flapped a couple of times before he finally managed to speak. "An android hucked herself right into the woodchipper. Feet first- god, the sounds..." he shook his head slowly and drew in a shaky breath before his eyes landed on something - someone - behind Hank. "Wait, what happened to him?" 

Hank winced and ran a hand through his hair, remembering too late that it was covered in blue blood. "I accidentally conked him with a shovel," Hank mumbled, giving a vague hand gesture. "Brought him in here." Speaking of, he really needed to carry Connor back to the bed. No need to add insult to injury and have the poor guy wake up on the floor.

Jeff looked him up and down, eyes going wider than Hank would've thought possible. "Is that his blood?!" Jeff barked. That was probably the voice he used at the DPD. 

"No, some other android," Hank said. He tried to sound casual, but his voice shook. 

He'd been trying so fucking hard not to think about the blood soaking into him, however alien it looked. Trying to forget the way those brown eyes stared into his own as the android's jaw clicked mechanically, like he was still trying to speak. Hank's heart pounded in his ears. His hands trembled even as he tightened his grip on the roll of duct tape. 

Hank swallowed. "He- he speared himself to death- right on top of me!" He hated himself for the way his voice shook. Connor was hurt, Jeff was probably traumatized... he had to keep it together, damn it!

"Hey, calm down, man," Jeff said. He put a hand on Hank's shoulder. Jeff wasn't a very touchy guy, so it had to be pretty obvious how close Hank was to falling apart at the seams. 

Hank stared up at the ceiling, willing back tears as he took deep, gulping breaths. 

"I know what this is," Jeff said, firm yet grim. "I saw it during the revolution, hell, even in the months running up to it. See androids, when they get stressed out they do something called 'self-destruct'. They just start killing themselves. Some jumped off buildings, some ran into traffic... hell, one bashed his own head into pulp on an interrogation table when no one was even in the fucking room." Jeff shook his head, looking disgusted and pitying. 

"Like... some kinda... berserk suicide thing?" Hank asked. His heart sank.

"Basically. But doing it in groups... it's some type of suicide pact. Gotta be."

"Oh my god..." The puzzle pieces slowly began to click into place. "Connor talked about how scared deviancy made him. I bet those other androids were stressed about it too! It makes so much sense!" 

"Do you think Connor is..." Jeff trailed off. 

"No!" At least that, Hank felt confident about. When they'd talked about it, he felt like they'd really connected. No way was Connor gonna go berserk on his watch. But... 

"Jeff," Hank said slowly, as he traced his train of thought. "What if they're trying to kill him too? If he was part of this pact and wanted out. Or - or if it's that self-destruction thing making them act crazy?" 

After all, that android's stick had been awful sharp... What would've happened if Hank hadn't knocked Connor over?

"Think about it-" Hank's words picked up speed as he chased the thought to its inevitable conclusion- "Maybe that's why they acted so weird when he fell in the water in the first place- they wanted him dead." 

"But why?" Jeff asked, baffled. 

"I don't know!" Hank said tearfully.

Jeff held up his hands like he was warding off a hug. "That's a good thing," he said firmly, only the rapid cadence of his words giving away his own anxiety. "It's a good thing that you don't know and I don't know - otherwise they'd try to kill us too. Like some kind of suicide cult."

Shit. He knew Jeff had dealt with some serious stuff as captain of the homicide division, but a suicide cult? Thank fuck Hank wasn't here alone, or he never would've thought of such a thing. 

"Well what should we do," Hank asked, looking around as if some sort of solution would pop out of thin air, "call the police?"

Jeff gave him a scathing look. "Call the police? And tell them what, exactly?" 

He said it like it was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. 

"About the suicide cult, Jeff! What else?" Now who was the dumb one?

Jeff forced a dumb, simpering smile on his face. "Oh yeah, that's a great idea, Hank! Well hidey ho, officer. We've had a doozy of a day. There we were, minding our own business, just doing some chores around the house when these androids started killing themselves all over my property!" He was nearly spitting with frustration by the end, which, okay, Hank could sort of see his point. 

"But it's true," he insisted, sending Jeff a pleading expression. 

Jeff didn't waver, instead leveling him with a frustrated Look, with a capital L. "He would have to be some kind of moron to believe that! It doesn't matter what actually happened - what matters is what looks like what happened. And it looks pretty fucking bad."

Jeff was right. One android impaled in a hole and the other in a woodchipper? It didn't exactly scream 'innocent accident'. 

Hank looked away, knowing he'd been beat. He carefully scooped Connor back up and laid him on the bed. Sumo would keep an eye on him. 

Jeff waited for him to finish, surely knowing he'd won. 

Hank trudged back to the living area, resigned. "So what do we do?" he asked glumly. 

"Fuck..." Jeff rubbed one hand over his sweaty scalp. "I guess we gather the bodies up. We'll have to get rid of them somehow." He looked depressed at the prospect. Hank didn't feel any better about it either. With one last look to the open bedroom door, he sighed and got to work. 

Elijah dragged the whet stone along the knife meditatively. He had reluctantly permitted its use so that the WB200 could create a spear. Considering how well that panned out, he wasn't sure why he'd bothered. Perhaps it was his own charitable nature, or perhaps faith in the sturdiness of his programming even in the face of the deviancy virus. 

Either way, his trust had clearly been misplaced. 

Irritation simmered beneath the calm surface of his demeanor. There were only three androids left, all of them useless. His Chloes clung to one another like baby chimps to the cloth mother and the so-called revolutionary hero sat on a rock staring at nothing. 

Apparently he had to do everything himself around here... 

"We should leave," Chloe said suddenly. The ST200's voice was smooth and melodic despite the underpinnings of concern. Elijah made a mental note for the millionth time to repair the vocal modulator of her companion, the so-called "Chloe 1", to match. 

"Simon took the car," Markus said dully. Other than the movement of his jaw, he might have been mistaken for a statue. 

Chloe 2 (ugh, what an annoying name) said, "We can still walk." 

His original Chloe, the RT600, gestured at Elijah and shook her head. Elijah's eye twitched. He was growing increasingly tired of being treated like a liability, even if it did suit his plans. 

"You're right," Chloe 2 said. "We can't leave him." 

Clearly, she didn't have faith in his ability to walk the forty miles to the nearest town. Elijah fought the instinct to scowl - after all, their assumptions worked in his favor. 

Markus straightened like he was waking from stasis. "I think we all have to recognize that we're going to need to work together to escape," he said, some of that revolutionary fire creeping into his voice. Elijah could all too easily imagine a cape billowing behind him, perhaps a long coat. The RK line of models really were some of Elijah's most impressive creations…

As amusing as it was, they were dangerously close to going off the rails. Time to get them all back on track. 

"So that's it. North and Rupert gave their lives trying to save Connor, and you decide to cut and run? Where did the revolutionary hero go?" 

Markus stood, his odd-eyed gaze piercing. "And what would you suggest we do?" He asked with narrowed eyes. 

"I suggest we fight," Elijah said, standing to his full height. "The government recognizes android autonomy, but due to the current definition of a person, the laws don't apply to you. This is your last chance to avenge your people before the law catches up - to make them pay for what they did to your lovers." Elijah stood resolute, glaring down the man he'd so painstakingly designed. 

"And Rupert," Chloe 2 added, sotto voce. 

"And friend," Elijah amended. 

Despite his stirring speech, Markus was slowly, almost imperceptively shaking his head. 

"You really don't understand us at all." 

Elijah bared his teeth in a snarl. Markus would've been nothing but a hunk of plastic without him, yet he had the audacity to condescend to Elijah, his creator? To look at him with pity like he was some recalcitrant child? 

Elijah opened his mouth, probably to say something he was sure to regret, when the Chloes perked up simultaneously. 

"I hear sirens," Chloe 2 said. She pulled her predecessor to her feet and smiled at Markus. "Simon did it! He found help!"

Elijah cleared his throat. "I told you, the police won't help you! You can't rely-"

The androids had already taken off into the brush, abandoning Elijah in favor of the siren song of, well, sirens.

Elijah frowned, fingers coming to rest on the sheath of his keris. 

This certainly made things more complicated.