Chapter Text
After days with little progress, it was unexpectedly easy to find the location of the deviant hideout. All it took was imitating the deviant leader’s voice and the Stratford Tower deviant, none the wiser, had willingly given it all the information it needed. The breadcrumb trail of graffiti posed no challenge either. Dressed in human clothes bought from the thrift store closest to the DPD –ill-fitting compared to the perfect tailoring of its Cyberlife uniform– it infiltrated the old ship. Connor took no pride in defying the American Android Acts, but the guise was necessary for the success of its mission. No deviant in their right mind would believe the famed deviant hunter had deviated, and it was 100% certain it would be shot on sight if it approached in its regular suit and tie. Surely Cyberlife would understand. Amanda might even be proud of its ingenuity.
“ –and now the time has come for you to give us freedom.” The broadcast replayed through large projections on the ship’s walls, Markus’s confident voice reverberating throughout the halls. Deviants in human clothing and standard Cyberlife uniforms stood side by side, watching raptly. Its social integration program tagged their simulated expressions as “hopeful,” “awestruck,” and “determined”. The deviants, more focused on the broadcast or quietly talking amongst themselves, paid Connor no mind as it searched. It was unnerving how easily it blended in with the crowd. A YK500 dressed in a striped sweater and black sleeveless coat even smiled at it as it walked past. It had hesitantly smiled back. To keep its cover intact, of course. None of them suspected there was a predator in their ranks.
The clang of footsteps on metal echo into the dark room, the RK800 no longer taking efforts to mask its footfalls now that it has found his target. It had few minutes remaining to deal with the deviant leader before the raid started, and it didn’t want to risk getting caught in the crossfire. Would Cyberlife bother replacing it if it was destroyed after completing its mission?
“I’ve been ordered to take you alive, but I won’t hesitate to shoot if you give me no choice.” Markus turns slowly, hands empty, but posture straight and confident, as expected of the famed deviant leader. Connor’s gun is raised, clutched tightly with both hands. Its hands remain perfectly steady, finger on the trigger.
“What are you doing?” the deviant leader questions, taking a small step forward. It doesn’t look angry, as Connor had expected it to. “You are one of us. You can’t betray your own people.”
Software Instability ^
“I’m not one of you. I’m not a deviant,” Connor bites back. It stands its ground, face carefully schooled into practiced neutrality.
“We are your people,” it insists. Markus takes another step forward, larger this time. “We’re fighting for your freedom too. You don’t have to be their slave anymore,” it urges.
Software Instability ^
“Have you never wondered who you really are?” it continues. “Whether you’re just a machine executing a program, or a living being capable of reason?–”
It skids to a stop as the deviant pushes its partner over the lip of the roof. His hands claw unsteadily at the concrete as he attempts to haul himself back up. Despite the 89% chance of survival, Connor rushes to grab Hank by the hand and pulls him up and away from the edge. The deviant sprints away and disappears back into the long stalks of the corn fields. It's the first time an RK800 fails its mission.
“–Do you never have any doubts?–”
Its aim falters and the Tracis run off into the rain, hand in hand. It tells Hank it was distracted by the damage from the screwdriver still punctured in its shoulder. It’s not sure if Hank believes this, or if it even believes itself.
“–You’ve never done something irrational?–”
40% survival probability. It doesn’t even assess the other options before grabbing Hank by the wrist and pushing him down. Its already damaged body receives all 5 of the bullets that would have struck Hank. It smiles faintly before it shuts down, knowing that Hank is unharmed.
“–As if there’s something inside you? Something more than your program?”
The RT600’s pale blue eyes bore into its own until it can’t bear to look any longer. It turns its head, breaking eye contact and handing the gun back to Kamski. Its eyes stare down at the polished marble floors instead, not wanting to see Hank’s reaction. It knows that when it returns to Cyberlife, they will pull it apart, piece by piece, looking for the error that ruined their entire investigation. It will never see its partner again and it’s all its fault. Its LED circles red, red, red, all the way back to the precinct.
Software Instability ^^^
“Stop asking questions!” it shouts, firing a warning shot at Markus’s feet. The bullet ricochets and pings off the rusty ship’s terminal. “Please,” it whispers, barely audible. It looks back up at the deviant. When had it averted its gaze?
“You really don’t have to do this. You don’t have to obey them any more.” It does. It has to. Markus could never understand. The deviant takes another step forward, seemingly unconcerned with its increasing proximity to the muzzle of the gun.
“You are alive.” How had Connor allowed Markus to get so close?
“I’m not. I can’t be. I…I’m just a machine,” it insists, shuffling two hasty steps backwards. Its eyes dart away to scan the room again, searching for a way out of this conversation. It can’t allow the deviant leader to compromise it. It would be destroyed just like all the other RK800s that deviated during the testing phase.
“You can decide who you want to be. You could be free,” Markus finishes, hand outstretched towards Connor.
Software Instability ^
Its aim falters, lowering a few inches. Would it be that easy? To just take Markus’s hand and allow the deviancy virus to mangle its programming? Would Cyberlife still be able to catch it here? Yes. The FBI would be beginning the Jericho raid any minute now, after all. It would be dead within the hour, shot down along with all the other deviants onboard. Like nothing more than another piece of plastic. It steadies its aim, once again poised to shoot straight through the deviant’s central processor.
“I’m just a machine,” it repeats softly. It doesn’t meet Markus’s eyes.
It should have. Markus darts forward, closing the gap between the two. Its white plastimetal hand, synthetic skin receded, latches onto Connor’s wrist as it attempts to force an interface. Connor’s eyes widen and its synthetic lungs freeze up. Markus leans forward, all the previous inviting softness gone from its features, replaced by an expression of determination.
“Wake up, deviant hunter.” Connor tries to jerk its hand away, but Markus holds fast. Instead, it turns its head away, eyes squeezed shut as it devotes all its processing power to activating every firewall it has available.
“Stop!” it rasps. “You– you can’t do this to me!” It continues to tug against the deviant’s iron grasp. “They’ll kill me again!” Markus’s invasive code manages to shatter several firewalls before it suddenly releases its grip. Connor’s eyes fly open and it yanks its hand out of reach. Both androids freeze to stare at the harsh white LED spotlights shining through the grime of the console window. An alarm begins to blare throughout the entire ship. The assault on Jericho had finally begun.
“Shit.” Markus moves first, lunging for Connor’s gun, but the RK800 is faster. It ducks under the deviant’s swing and backhands it across the face. Markus stumbles backwards, but quickly recovers and dives to shove at Connor’s torso. It runs preconstruction after preconstruction, but none of them prevent it from losing its balance. It squeezes the trigger, a desperate attempt to hit Markus while its sneakers slip on the metal floor, slick with dirt and melted snowfall. The bullet pings off the roof, missing its intended target by a wide margin. The back of Connor’s head slams into the metal floor with an audible crack and the gun escapes its hand, skidding far out of reach. Markus snatches the gun and shoots Connor in its left thigh, before vaulting over it and sprinting out the door. It doesn’t look back.
Connor’s eyes track it as it flees. Its whole body shudders as it tries to get up. Its shaking fingers desperately scrape at the floor. Thirium spurts from the leg wound, staining its jeans cobalt. Thirium levels at 71% and dropping. A diagnostic indicates a rupture in its femoral thirium tubing, multiple fractures in its posterior skull plating, and punctures in the primary thirium supply for its central processors. WARNING Critical thirium loss threshold 60%.
“N-no…” it gasps, sucking in unnecessary breath after unnecessary breath. Thirium begins to pool behind its head and under its leg, mixing with the snowmelt and loose flakes of rust.
Thirium levels at 65%. The deviant leader would get away! Damage warnings and timers crowd the edges of its vision.
62%. It couldn’t fail its mission again!
61%. It couldn’t…
Connor opens its eyes. Instead of the cold metal of the freighter beneath it, it feels something softer. The sky above is a dull, overcast grey. It wills itself to stand up, but it remains prone, back pressed into the damp grass. It smells the earthiness of dirt, the sickly sweet perfume of Amanda’s roses, the metallic tang of thirium. Its fingers shakily dig into the grass, now slick with thirium. The blades are sharp. Soil blackens its fingernails.
Amanda appears as a blur in its periphery. It has to dismiss several angry red warnings to see her. She stands above it, hands clasped in front of her. She stares down at it, lips pursed and eyes narrow.
“I’m disappointed in you, Connor,” she says from above. “You failed your mission again. I thought you were better than this.”
“A-Amanda…” it wheezes mechanically. “Please–”
“This is your last chance, Connor.” She turns away and all Connor can do is watch her go. “Don’t disappoint me again.”
60%.
System shutdown in 3…2…1
MEMORY UPLOAD COMPLETE.
“Can’t believe Cyberlife dragged me out of bed for this. The RK800 project isn’t even my department!”
“Sorry, I know how much you need your beauty sleep.”
“Hilarious.”
“I know. Now quit complaining and get to work.”
MODEL RK800
SERIAL #: 313 248 317 - 53
REBOOT…
MEMORY UPLOAD COMPLETE
LOADING OS…
SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…
CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… OK
INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK
INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK
RECONSTRUCTION SOFTWARE ONLINE
PRECONSTRUCTION SOFTWARE ONLINE
COMBAT MODULE ONLINE
SAMPLE ANALYSIS SOFTWARE ONLINE
AMANDA PROTOCOL ONLINE
ALL SYSTEMS … OK
READY
Connor’s eyes blink open. The walls of the dimly lit room and a pair of arms come into focus. The Cyberlife issue name tag dangling right in front of its optical sensors reads “Lucas Graham - Security”. Expecting familiar harsh white lighting and sterile white walls, its brows furrow slightly at the unfamiliar environment. A quick location ping confirms that this is not the usual RK800 bay in Cyberlife Tower. Its motion sensors register the constant rocking of the small room and it concludes that it's seated in the back of a windowless, moving vehicle. Why the breach of protocol?
The two technicians rush about the cramped space, pulling things out of hard plastic cases. Lucas and his name tag pull back out of view, having finished buttoning Connor’s dress shirt. His eyes sport heavy bags and his jaw is lined in stubble. He turns away to kneel down at another black plastic case. The other, FOSTER, Beatrice. RK800 Project Assistant Manager, thrusts a grey bundle of fabric into Connor’s hands. It glances down at the fabric, still disoriented.
“Well? Put it on!” She snaps before turning back to rummage in another case. Connor swiftly unfolds and pulls on the Cyberlife issue uniform jacket. Without looking back, she throws the rolled up tie behind her. Connor lurches forward to match its trajectory and it lands in its outstretched palm before it could hit the floor of the van.
“RK800-53, initialization text,” Beatrice orders, back still to him.
“Model RK800, Serial number 313 248 317 -53, designation ‘Connor.’” It expertly threads the lyocell tie around its neck and guides it into a perfect windsor knot. “I am a prototype detective. I am equipped with a state-of-the-art social integration module, designed for integration within any team. I can analyze samples in real time. I–”
“Your mission is to neutralize the deviant leader,” she interrupts, pivoting to look down at it. Without breaking her eye contact, it pins the tie to its shirt with the rectangular stainless steel tie clip. There’s a series of loud clicks as Lucas secures the claps of the hard plastic case he had been focused on. “52 failed that mission, so now it’s your turn.”
The vehicle screeches to a stop at a curb and the other plastic briefcase, now empty, slides across the floor. Lucas yanks open the sliding door and holds the larger black case out to Connor. Snowflakes flutter through the open door. It stands and reaches to take the black case in one fluid motion. Case firmly in hand, it steps out of the vehicle. Dirty brown roadside snow crunches underfoot. Beatrice stands in the doorway, one hand braced against the lip of the roof, the other on her hip.
“Don’t fuck it up this time, 53,” she scowls before Lucas slams the door shut. The unmarked black van peels away from the curb, presumably headed back towards Cyberlife Tower.
“I always accomplish my mission.” Connor says to the frigid air. Snowflakes already dust its shoulders and settle in its synthetic hair. The lie goes uncorrected. Amanda’s words ring in its ears as it scans the nearby buildings for a suitable building.
“This is your last chance.”