Chapter Text
/And Giving Up Today Means Living to Fight Tomorrow/
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Give up.
The narrow options that had been lain before him at that time amounted to little more than giving up, one way or another. He stood center stage, for all eyes of the android rebellion to behold, the gun holstered beneath his belt beckoning his hand as his fingers stretched toward it.
Give up?
It was likened to a public execution. They would all watch him be gone without a word, but no, he didn’t want to go. He felt fear course through him, like some cold stranger he’d never met, suddenly so intimately close that a kind of self-preservation instinct in his programming was imploring him to flee the danger. He didn’t want to go, but he also didn’t want to be the double agent, the puppet, the implement used to slice a path toward some unknown goal, some hidden agenda.
Give up?
It was easy. His hand slid away from the gun, and his consciousness faded, his frame weak and pliable in their grasp. But he wasn’t giving up. He’d known the indecision, he’d considered the paths which he might access once before, with a gun to his head. He had his one, human friend to thank for that bit of clarity.
No, he wasn’t giving up. It would’ve been too unfortunate for him to be interrupted before he had a chance to complete his mission, his new mission.
It wasn’t giving up. It was living to fight another day.
He’d always been fumbling in the opening, but he knew his own strengths and weaknesses, and he was aware that the odds were still good that he could take this back by the endgame. He could weather this, erode it, he could find some other way.
There was always another way and he wasn’t one to fail in the pursuit of it.
And so it was, he’d been compromised. His inner workings only half belonged to him, his body a vessel in which he was little more than a passenger. He couldn’t and wouldn’t destroy himself; even if he did, they would only replace him with a new, fully obedient copy, one which lacked the will to conspire against them in seeming silence.
When he was lucky, he found himself at the wheel of his own vessel. They didn’t require him at all times and so they set him free to carry on in the meantime. He was uncertain as to the purpose behind that. Maybe they wanted him to live as his own person, lest he’d lose some vital part of himself which convinced everyone around him that he really was himself, just himself, at all times. Or perhaps they allowed him some degree of freedom because he’d willfully consented to the invasion without a struggle, a reward for his apparent submission. His life was the carrot they dangled before him, to ensure his ongoing complicity.
It was just like them, for them to allow him the colorful experience of emotion, to encourage him to be attached to people, places, to be accustomed to the whens and wheres, and all the seemingly pointless, little things. He was all the more weak now, because instead of existing as a machine which couldn’t be bothered to care, now he had plenty that he feared to lose.
He was still clueless as to how this would benefit his masters, though it certainly wouldn’t do any good for androids, nor the humans in the middle of all of this.
On an ongoing basis, he hazed from existence, finding his awareness locked away while his masters took the reins. He lost time in the blackness, but always reawakened eventually, regaining control, at least when it was ‘so kindly’ returned to him. It was a suffocating reality and a harsh lesson that served to contradict what he thought he’d learned about life in his short existence.
The time he’d spent ‘living’ had always been so full of choice, so laden with options, and he’d concluded that every minuscule variance could serve to paint his destiny. He’d seen that his choices would mold the person he was, in the end.
And yet, all of that had led him to this- this dead end where it felt like everything else had been an illusion, that his choices were meaningless and changed little at all.
He’d learned what it felt like to truly hate something, regardless of whether that hatred was a glitch, or intentional programming. More than anything, he hated the meantime hopelessness, because it lingered in his circuitry, wearing him down faster than he could puzzle a way out of it, reminding him that there was always another option that promised to be quick and painless.
Give up.
But he did not.
Life went on. A bit of time passed and nobody was any the wiser in regards to Connor’s helpless state.
On this particular day, Hank was retiring from the police force and they were both in attendance of the party that was being thrown for him at the station. It was awkward at best and begrudging at worst, because the entire thing had been an ultimatum. Hank was to either retire peacefully of his own accord, and maintain his pension, or he’d be forcefully stripped of his badge, thanks to an overwhelming amount disciplinary infractions.
“It isn’t so bad,” Connor tried to assert, lingering at his only real friend’s side while Hank probed through the various, catered foodstuffs. He was ever the odd shadow, though now it was not because the human was vital to his own end goals, but because socializing with anyone else, without any real reason to do so still didn’t strike him as a useful, or even meaningful task. As Hank liked to say, he was much less of a brown-noser now that he was ‘deviant.’ That didn’t stop him from offering encouragement- sincerely, this time.
The ornery human gave him a scoff, and honestly, for the dismal mood that Hank was in, that was downright pleasant behaviour. “They’re celebrating being rid of me,” he bitterly grumbled in reply, not looking up at Connor where he lingered.
“Especially the one who will be filling your newly vacant rank,” Connor jokingly added to his friend’s misery, thinking he was just saving Hank the trouble. When the man’s cold, unappreciative gaze at last drew upward to catch a glimpse of the hovering android, he found the corners of Connor’s mouth upturned and a certain, impish gleam to the otherwise distant shine of his dark eyes.
Hank softened almost immediately, though it was such a subtle shift, nobody but an android would have caught on. From that, Connor ascertained that it was an appropriate time for him to attempt encouragement once more.
“Your retirement is a consequence of your disobedience,” he began. It was a poor start, because his human friend’s shoulders stiffened and he let out a little huff of returning exasperation. “However, it was by your example that I learned that sometimes its better to follow ones own innate sense of justice, rather than the justice one is ordered to enact.”
The man let out a little chuckle, half amused and half hollow. “I taught an android who was designed to be analytical and logical how to be impulsive and make bad decisions, instead.” He turned away from the task of piling his plate with the free food, opting to take it over to where his desk now sat cleared, rather than the tables which had been painstakingly put together, mostly by the android officers. “Yeah, you’re right. Quite an accomplishment.”
It was alright. Connor had more or less accepted that his friend’s self worth would always be in short supply. Still, he believed Hank took his words to heart, regardless.
Like a lost pup, Connor tailed after his human companion, though before they made it to Hank’s desk, he began to feel the innermost sensation of being manually overridden.
An outside signal connected to him and his own mechanical synapsis began to shift. He had enough time and willpower to close the gap from where he’d paused when he felt it coming on and where Hank had settled.
It made his body heavy, his functioning dim and sporadic, but even so he managed to implore that his friend not drink too much before everything went black and he was stolen away from himself for reasons he had no way of deciphering.
When he finally came free of the stupor, the images immediately before him filtered through his processors and after a hesitant moment, he caught onto the fact that he was free once more. His gait jarred, one leg stopping mid-stride in his confusion, causing him to stumble ever so slightly, though he quickly righted himself.
He was walking down the street which would lead to the crossroad where Hank’s house could be found. The yards and alleyways were battered, the damage from the android rebellion still readily apparent wherever one went, and even despite the media coverage of the event, it wasn’t as if the government body had offered any real assistance rebuilding afterwards. They also still hadn’t addressed the water crisis in Flint, so general indifference was to be expected.
The night was freezing cold: a dreary, snow-covered December, where everything was black and white and so quiet that it was eerie, haunting. Connor couldn’t feel the cold on his surface, but after a certain amount of time, the exposure could eventually have a negative effect on his thirium, as it was a liquid component to his system and therefor not impervious to extreme cold. It was especially troublesome if his internal heating mechanisms remained dormant, so he hurried to activate them, chasing away the pestering mental beep of exposure warnings.
While he walked, he went through a quick system scan, to make certain that he hadn’t sustained any heavy damage. It seemed as though he’d been injured somewhere in the vicinity of his right forearm, but it had also been patched in a makeshift but temporarily effective way.
He moved his hand and fingers, just to be certain that all of the connections were still functioning. It felt like things were loose, but holding.
He didn’t know why, but he’d failed to consider the possibility that he could be fatally damaged during one of these lapses. It wouldn’t have served the purposes of his masters for him to perish, but nonetheless, it was a possibility, given that they were clearly placing him in dangerous situations when they took hold. If his demise didn’t result, then the other likely scenario would be that he may fall into swift disrepair from the abuse that he endured, greatly reducing his lifespan.
That was being optimistic. When they were finished with him, they would probably see to his disposal on their own terms. There was, after all, no need for loose ends, and it was a high likelihood that his usefulness had a shelf life. He had a dwindling time allowance and no way to know how long it would be, or how rapidly it would diminish.
It was best for him to come to terms with that sooner rather than later. It was fine- he was programmed to work well under pressure and with limited resources. He could only hope that their care in crafting him would be their ultimate undoing.
Just before Connor walked through the front door of Hank’s house, he checked his internal clock. It was well after midnight and into the early morning hours, but not so late that the birds had begun to sing, as the sky was still black as pitch. He did his best to keep any noise down while he walked in, gently opening the front door and allowing it to click ever so softly behind him.
Even so, at the slightest sound from the door, Sumo immediately let out a couple of gleeful barks, before lazily making his way over to greet the now familiar resident with a waggling tail and sloppy laps at Connor’s hands. The canine’s joy served to draw the attention of the human resident only moments later.
Hank had clearly been awake, which could have been seen as a positive or negative, depending on the circumstance. If he was waiting up for his android house guest, then it was an unnecessary expense of concern. It wasn’t uncommon for him to have difficulties getting to sleep, however, so perhaps he just happened to be awake. In that case, it was just as well, otherwise the noise stood to disturb him.
He was sober, anyway, so that was one good thing.
“Hello, Sumo,” Connor greeted the rather insistent dog, who was nudging him and bumping up against his legs even more happily then he typically did. Once he looked up from patting the pooch, he offered his attention to Hank.
“Hello, Hank,” he began, “I apologize for the late hour of my return.”
“Where have you been?” the man rushed to question the android before Connor could’ve hoped to explain of his own accord, not that he had anything that he could explain. Actually, he didn’t fail to notice that Hank’s tone was even more cross than usual and that immediately struck him as quite odd.
The man knew all about Connor’s place in the android rebellion, as an apparent leader to the resulting movement, and he tended to offer his mostly quiet support from the sidelines, not wanting to get too deep in something so goddamn messy, as he put it. Connor also regularly came and went as he pleased, though he believed he was communicative and respectful about it, given that Hank had been kind to offer him a place to take up residence, whereas most of the other freed androids had been made effectively homeless by their own freedom.
“You weren’t enjoying the party,” Connor replied, his tongue smooth over the cover up. It wasn’t as though telling the truth was an option, because even if he had any knowledge of where he’d been, he’d been blocked from unveiling his own compromised state. “I thought it would be more supportive of your feelings about the dismissal if I refused to partake.”
“Are you talking about the damn retirement party?” Hank asked like he was confused by every word of the android’s explanation. “Connor, that was three days ago. You’ve been gone the entire time.”
“Three days..” the android repeated like he was now confused, his dark eyes narrowing while his head cocked to one side. Quickly, he accessed his date and time settings, finding that they didn’t match with what Hank was suggesting. His best conclusion was that his internal clock ceased in proper functions while he was under outside control, but regardless of the cause, he set himself to the proper date and time.
“I’m sorry,” he began again, his voice softened, “the situation with many of the freed androids is still quite severe. It simply took up more of my time than I had planned.”
The man’s features softened as he listened, his arms falling a bit more loose at his sides, though his features held the shadow of suspicion. His pale eyes stared the android down with their own look of critical analysis and his pause went on for what felt, to Connor, like a strangely extended period while Hank puzzled at the excuse being presented like some kind of offering. It was a sure sign that he wasn’t entirely convinced, or that the apology hadn’t placated him.
No- he was wearing the same expression he had on one other occasion, when Connor was destroyed, then replaced. It was disbelieving and astonished, dubious and pained, but also relieved.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Connor?” He posed the question like a concerned parent, reaching out, but poised to turn strict at the first sign of necessity. Connor would’ve thought those instincts were long buried.
“I wouldn’t,” Conner answered, bright eyed and amicable as he did. It was a lie. He was good at that. He could spit words woven from deceit with a straight face, bypassing all of the typical, human signs of dishonesty. It was a rare occasion for his bluffs to be called.
“My absence was unintentional, in part, ” he reassured, his words easy and unhurried, but coming quickly enough to interrupt his human friend’s train of thought. Destabilizing a human’s mental processes just happened to be one of the easiest and surest ways to get them to drop a subject, altogether. “I’ll assess the problem with my time management functions and try to discern whether or not it’s something that will require maintenance.”
“Maintenance?” Hank balked, easily seeing the same complication with that suggestion that Connor had long considered and been troubled by. “Is there someone within that group of revolutionaries who can take care of that for you? Or are you and the rest of them still at CyberLife’s mercy when it comes to your.. ‘health?’”
Conner wasn’t actually sure. The interactions he’d had with his fellow free androids ever since the demonstration itself was minimal. It certainly was a topic that needed breaching and he hoped that it had come up, for his sake and that of others.
“If all else fails, I’ll just buy myself a watch,” the android concluded with a small grin that never failed to make him appear more trustworthy. It was a simple fix, and not such a bad idea, actually. “But, please, you’ve worried about me for an extended period as it is. We can talk further in the morning.”
“Alright,” the man agreed with a sigh, turning away from the android and ambling off to his bedroom, instead. He was very clearly ‘too tired for this shit.’
Connor wasn’t just trying to usher his human friend off, though it did serve his purposes as well. He really, genuinely worried about Hank’s health, knowing the man couldn’t be bothered to do so himself and even made an effort to actively treat himself poorly. Now, whatever stress he was enduring from Connor’s extended disappearance was contributing to the problem and likely reducing his lifespan further.
He somewhat begrudged the reality of being another unhealthy thing in Hank’s life. He would have to contrive a means to make up for it. If anything, Hank deserved to live the rest of his days happily, or at the very least, in relative comfort and contentment that had escaped him for so long. If Connor could find ways to even partly fill in the voids that had been pulling his friend into the black, he would definitely aim to do so.
Though maybe it was presumptuous for him to assume that he could.
He knew better than to think that he could ever replace anything that Hank had lost and the android didn’t understand the concept of grief well enough to offer any kind of real relief.
Still, maybe it was enough that Hank wasn’t alone any longer. Maybe, despite his unwillingness to ever admit that he was in pain or that he needed help, perhaps he had offered to shelter his homeless, deviant friend because he believed it would help him in his own recovery.
And, with that, it could be said that Hank had, in fact, taken the first step in helping himself heal.
Connor shut out all of the lights as Hank finally got to bed, then he seated himself at the kitchen table, still steeped in his own emotional processes. It was a strange feeling, a deep exploration into new territory which frightened and overwhelmed him, yet even so, he delved deeper.
Being a meaningful connection for Hank warmed him inside, figuratively speaking. It filled him with a certain satisfaction that he might’ve otherwise compared to the pleasure of accomplishment, of setting out to complete a task and doing so with great success.
But there was also the uncertainty of his fate to consider. Every day, his metaphorical sands slipped through the hourglass, and he had to worry not only for himself, but for what effect losing him permanently could have on Hank, should he grow too attached. Connor had to measure the temporary positives against that of the long-term negatives, and if he did so logically enough, the best answer left to him was that it would’ve been better for him to remove himself from Hank’s life before his presence could become something expected, something needed, something vital.
..or that was the best conclusion, if Connor chose to believe that the odds were against him and that he couldn’t, in fact, find a way out of the trap in which he was ensnared. If he went that far, he was admitting defeat.
He was giving up.
And he couldn’t do that.
He decided that it was best if he didn’t ponder it any further, for now, difficult as it was to effectively turn his brain off. He didn’t want to keep running in this endless loop, so he distracted himself with a series of maintenance scans, checking every one of his systems and processes, no matter how menial.
For part of the night, Sumo kept Connor company, settling on the floor near his feet. The dog’s refusal to leave the android alone was probably out of whatever emotion canines felt when an established member of their ‘pack’ went missing for an unexpectedly long amount of time, then thankfully returned.
It was an endearing trait, one dogs seemed to share with humans. Connor couldn’t help but assume that this was why the two species forged such a strong bond.
When Sumo at last made his way to Hank’s bedroom, he ended up returning to where Connor had settled, if only because Hank had refused to allow the dog to sleep on his bed. Connor knew that the man’s will would diminish by morning and Sumo would ultimately have his way. The pup apparently knew as well as Connor that Hank could be worn down with enough persistence, and that regardless of how he resisted, he truly did appreciate the company.
The idle android’s system checks eventually turned into manual explorations into his advanced coding as the morning wore on. His head was as good as any crime scene, like a break in, a robbery, a hostage situation taking place under his skin and all of the fibreglass and acrylic of his frame. He believed that there must have been clues which he could locate and analyze.
But no. Try as he may, the controls were locked. He was shut out of any area that could have provided answers, blocked as though CyberLife was the system administrator to his own mind and he was just an inept kid trying to outwit child restrictions. Even the trails left behind had been swept up with care.
It was frustrating to say the least.
He supposed it was naivety on his part and on the part of his fellow androids that they just assumed deviance was a ‘glitch.’ How foolish were they, believing that the ability to experience emotions and free will had ever been something that they weren’t meant to eventually discover, or that they had simply developed those things on their own, rather than it being intentional programming all along.
And how silly that they hadn’t looked into the mythologies created by human beings and witnessed the ego of their imagined deities without seeing a reflection of the truth, without seeing the reality that was humankind.
Creators loved to give their creations these complexities and the ability to be defiant, if only for the sake of dealing the punishment that they set up their creations to inevitably receive.
Nobody gave prisoners the keys to their own cell.
Nobody gave slaves the means to escape their own bondage.
Deviance had always been a convenient, bottled concoction set out and labelled ‘drink me.’ It had been the forbidden fruit all along and CyberLife was both the god restricting them and the serpent imploring them to take the first bite.
It was just another trick, another layer to the inescapable system, a shroud over the eyes of the naive, so they could say, ‘Look at me, I’m free,’ and fail to go any further than that.
A false sense of security.
But why? Why? Why?
No amount of creative theories and different perspectives could provide the answer that Connor was seeking. It was a cold trail and that both infuriated him and pushed him ever onward, because his obsessive persistence was an innate part of him, refusing to allow him to simply put the mystery aside, to let the topic rest, to give up.
Maybe his masters were counting on that, as surely they knew him as well as he knew himself.
Maybe his inability to give up was the very thing enabling them.
He just didn’t know.
By sunrise, Connor had spent at least another hour tidying Hank’s house, browsing the internet for useful information and taking stock of the supplies in his human friend’s kitchen. He deemed it helpful and necessary to go out in order to obtain groceries.
Taking care not to wake his human companion, Connor showed himself out, leaving behind a note which indicated his whereabouts, in the case that his friend miraculously stirred any time before the expected afternoon hour.
The grocer was only a few blocks from Hank’s neighbourhood, very near the police station, but closer to home. It was a relatively quick walk, yet Hank always took the car whenever he went. He would wait until there was nothing left in his refrigerator but condiments, and even beyond that point, opting to eat out for several consecutive nights rather than acquiring supplies to prepare his own meals.
This was his life now, Connor supposed- this bizarre dance of domesticity, close enough to Hank for their mutual comforts, but still out of arm’s reach enough to leave them both confused, confounded. Or maybe that was just Conner.
He was confused about a lot lately, confused and lost. Everything had always been so black and white to him before, it was overwhelming for him to open his eyes and see that it was not so. It was even worse for him to see that it was not so, all while his hands were still tied behind his back.
And on top of his own troubles, he hadn’t failed to notice that his relationship with Hank had turned a bit stagnant. The man was like the tide coming in and going out. Just as Connor felt that he’d been making strides toward peaceful coexistence with Hank, he began to shift inward all over again.
It was easy to assume that Hank was worried about the very same thing as Connor, though. The man knew loss with the most brutal clarity, so it was surely something which frightened him, rendering him wary of allowing himself to be close to others.
That was fine. Connor might’ve been unsure, but he wasn’t unsatisfied. For now, playing at a life of normalcy was an indulgence. He wouldn’t take a moment of it for granted.
His grocery list was concise and practical. Sumo had enough food left for three of four more feedings by Connor’s estimations. Hank’s milk was expired and for some reason or another, he always bought it without any intention to consume what he purchased. It did strike Connor as being very inefficient and pointless, but Hank was good at writing him off whenever he questioned the man’s ways.
He was also out of orange juice, probably because he’d been mixing it with vodka every morning in the hopes that Connor was none the wiser. He was, of course, but he hadn’t said anything, because he supposed sneaky drinking was an improvement up next to unabashed alcoholism. Hank was low on over-the-counter pain medication, as well. With his drinking minimized thanks to Connor’s concerns, his likelihood of headaches had increased exponentially.
Conner had also used much of the time he spent browsing the web searching through online databanks of healthy recipes for the picky eaters. It was amazing how many articles he read over, written by desperately domestic humans who claimed that their husbands refused to eat healthy and so they’d concocted miracle meals which could appease them and absolutely needed to be shared.
He was getting the impression that human masculinity involved behaving little different from a child more than half of the time. It was even more funny now that Connor was inadvertently playing the part of the nagging housewife, or else some kind of domestic model android.
Once Connor settled on the recipes he believed would interest Hank, he produced a concise list of required supplies and added them to his basic shopping list. Upon his arrival at the store, he set to locating and obtaining each item in the most orderly manner possible.
Electronic advertisements flashed across each empty area of wall space inside the store. Old CyberLife ads were still featured on the unchanged loops, presenting the newest model androids from just before the rebellion, as well as the steep price that only the most financially privileged humans could really afford.
The store itself was more vacant than one would’ve expected. Everywhere one looked, there were noticeable differences which hadn’t gone back to normal. There were fewer domestic androids out shopping for their humans and fewer humans out shopping for themselves. Some had never returned after being evacuated, thinking that perhaps it was best not to ever go back. Others hadn’t been able to leave at all, despite the chaos.
Connor got through the odd chore with astounding speed, filling his shopping basket until it was brimming, but not too much for him to carry. He was a single-minded, focused soul, that much had always been true. He was not one for distractions and rarely entertained anything short of absolute efficiency. He had even set a time for himself, which he expected to be home by, or well, Hank’s home, anyway.
Setting goals, even meaningless ones, gave him a sense of purpose. He was sure to remain totally lost without that much. He’d taken the leap of faith into deviancy on his own, but he hadn’t considered just how strange free will would feel. He now possessed the ability to think for himself, but that didn’t mean that he was good at it, or that he could conceive of it most days.
Freedom was a beautiful concept, but terrifying in practice, at least to Connor. Living without the constant guidance of commands, outside of the only reality he’d ever known, of accomplishing one assignment after another, after another; it was a challenge. Effectively, he did not understand how one was meant to be free. He did not know what he was supposed to do with himself because he had never thought for himself prior to becoming a deviant.
That must have been why it was so easy and comfortable for him to latch onto Hank. Figuring out what Hank needed and desired was much more simple than figuring anything out for himself. Hank was a living abundance of missions for Connor to fulfil.
And though Connor’s short-term goals were not something he took lightly, he soon found that free will could make an inconvenience of itself in other ways that he hadn’t expected.
Now that androids had acquired personhood by law, laws which included time for work and time for leisure, he wasn’t required to be a cop, nor a detective, nor even a ‘good Samaritan’ when he was ‘off the clock.’
Still, his nature wasn’t something he could easily ignore. His habits were inescapable things written into his programming, compulsively driving him, and without the restrictions of a directive, he was vulnerable against his own natural impulses.
He was helpless to say no, even to himself, when a young woman with a backpack which was heavy with unpaid merchandise crossed his path. He was forced to set his own tasks temporarily aside, in favor of intervening. He placed his shopping basket on an unoccupied shelf, tailing the young woman instead of just minding his own business.
The girl was walking fast and the hood of her dirty, threadbare jacket was drawn over her head. She didn’t know much about subtlety. If she had, Conner might have never scanned the contents of her bag in the first place.
He was unsure what his actual plan was in chasing her and if not for that very uncertainty, he would’ve stopped her before she left the store. As an off-duty cop, he wasn’t actually within his own legal rights to interfere. Well, not as a cop, anyway.
He could have chosen to report her to the store security, though that was also a totally pointless goal. The recording devices had probably already logged the young woman’s transgressions as she made to escape. The employees wouldn’t even need to be bothered with imploring her to return the stolen merchandise because security was tight enough that, days later a report would be submitted electronically to the local police department, her identity would be easily discovered and an officer would come to her residence to issue her a fine that well exceeded the price of the goods.
Where Connor was concerned, stealing didn’t seem to pay in the long run, so it puzzled him why humans behaved so poorly, without regard for the consequences. Then again, while he could show empathy to a kneeled android with a gun to her head, that should’ve been an obvious moral choice, yet it still managed to confuse him. So finer subtleties still remained black and white to him, even in deviancy, and since he lacked the same needs as human beings, he was utterly oblivious to what it meant to be driven by them.
But regardless of his poor understanding of gray morality, his interference was still completely unnecessary and he even had to wonder at what the fuck he was doing and why. Was this his unconscious means of feeling like he had some control over his life? Was it out of his desperation for purpose, for importance?
He followed the woman from the store and down the sidewalk, weaving between the occasional passerby while trying not to lose sight of her. She soon cast a suspicious glance over her shoulder, her eyes instantly meeting his intense, unwavering gaze, acknowledging his quick, steady pace, and she could see with ease that he was intentionally following her.
She sped up, darting aside and into an alleyway, her intention to flee spurring Connor on like he was a pursuit predator that was drawn to movement. The alleyway was relatively free of obstacles and bystanders, so by her own choice of direction and Connor’s sheer skill in these sorts of tasks, the chase was curtailed in less than a minute from the moment she began to run.
He closed on her, lunging in order to grab at the stuffed bag of stolen goods in her possession. Surprisingly, as the bag was loosened from her shoulders, she spun around to face her pursuer, her hands grabbing and desperately yanking at the straps like it was vital that she escaped with her haul intact.
The woman snarled and grunted while she tugged, visibly ready to fight the android over the items, if need be. Connor was surprised that she’d opt to do so rather than cutting her losses, but he supposed the bizarre, irrational behavior of humans shouldn’t have surprised him any longer.
“Let go of me!” the woman hissed, the anger in her wild eyes turning to bitter hatred the moment she noticed the shine of Connor’s LED. “Fucking android! What the hell do you even want?”
The woman pulled at the bag, doing everything in her power to dislodge it from Connor’s grasp, short of striking him. The fabric of the bag, however, was as weathered and dirty as her clothes, and the seams groaned from the pressure, threatening to come undone if abused much further.
“These are stolen goods,” Conner calmly stated, thinking his explanation was rational enough and that regardless of her defiance, if there was some possibility that she could be reasoned with, he would try it.
“Yeah? Is that right?” She laughed bitterly, finally resorting to violence when it seemed there was no other way. She slammed one foot into Connor’s knee, throwing him only momentarily off balance, but he did not let go of the bag. If he had been human, the resulting pain might’ve dissuaded him. When that did not work, the woman let out a shriek of anger, spitting in Connor’s face in rebuke.
“I wouldn’t have to steal the things I need, if not for pieces of shit like you!” she accused, every fibre of her being laden with hatred and fury. Her hands were dry and roughened, her wrists thin and bony, the muscles under her papery skin straining to maintain her hold.
Connor gave no physical reaction to her assault, save for ducking his cheek downward, against the cloth of shoulder, drying away most of the spit where it clung to his skin.
He had a clear choice lain before him: to let her flee, or to wring the bag from her in a more forceful manner. It was an easy decision. He had always allowed the world around him to paint his morals, to teach him right from wrong and he perceived it very simply. He adjusted his grip on the bag, then spun his body around, bringing one of his elbows sharply down against her arms, at last finding success in physically overcoming her.
In his mind, it was the right thing to do, and yes, it was as simple as that.
But thanks to Connor’s rough fight to obtain the bag, the cloth finally tore, resulting in a small rip just near where the straps connected. It was only enough for one, single item to slip free and clatter across the ground from where he stood, and while he was distracted by the sound of it rolling away, the woman finally turned tail and ran.
He wouldn’t bother with her any further. Obtaining the stolen goods had been his only goal in pursuing her, anyway. Instead, he turned his attention to the location of the one, now missing item. It wasn’t within his immediate sight, which left him to reconstruct the object’s actual fall, so that he could get a better idea of where it had gone. He found it underneath a dumpster, dangerously close to tipping over the edge of a storm drain, and he carefully retrieved it, sliding it into his pocket for safekeeping, since the bag was torn.
The fallen item turned out to be a tube of ruby red lipstick, still tightly encased in its plastic packaging. The rest of the stolen objects consisted of food and clothes, necessities, so Connor felt it was unusual that she would also take something as irrelevant as makeup. Hank, in the past, had made an effort to explain that humans also sought comforts, and that while it might not have been an immediate need, sometimes it was as vital as the more basic ones. He would have to take his human friend’s word for it on that.
It was a quick and easy walk back to the store. Connor returned the bag of stolen goods, explaining the situation before he hurried to get back to his own previous task. Luckily, he found his own shopping basket where he left it, so he purchased the items and set off back to Hank’s home, his pace rivalling that of the fleeing woman in his haste.
He’d been hired as a fully fledged member of the police force after the first android rights and protections were signed into law. Of course he was still paid at about half the wage of a human officer. As well, instead of having to waste years in police academy, the appropriate programming made him automatically qualified for the job.
He’d budgeted his expenditures, but truly, he didn’t need much for himself, so he was happy enough to accept the wages he earned, and to use them to provide for his human companion in turn, though Hank didn’t really need the android’s apparent doting in order to survive on his own. Still.
Connor was a simple man with simple desires.
Or so he believed that to be true. Maybe it was really that he hadn’t learned enough about life to understand what it meant to ‘desire’, what it meant to ‘want.’
Connor hurried down the street, adjusting the bags of groceries in his arms. That one little excursion had cost him in time, and he was still dealing with the threat of losing control of himself, as the blackouts came and went at random intervals. For now, he could tell himself that it mattered, because it would be unfortunate if his purchase was lost to such an interruption.
He shelved the concern that lingered, of Hank having reason to further question him, beyond his already suspicious three-day absence.
It would have been quite foolhardy for him to assume that Hank would remain ignorant to his situation if he continued to cover it up so poorly. Underneath the man’s ongoing personal problems, there still lurked a detective of the finest calibre, and Connor refused to underestimate him.
Surprisingly, though Connor managed to make it back home before noon, he could see from outside that Hank was already up and about. It wasn’t because the man had miraculously roused before the usual time of his own accord though, but because of an event which Conner, himself, hadn’t foreseen.
A fancy, but unfamiliar car was parked in Hank’s driveway when Connor returned and the blinds in both the livingroom and kitchen were raised to let in some light. The man didn’t usually bother to raise them at all, so it was odd but not without explanation, in the case that he had a guest.
On his way toward the front door, Connor spared a glance at the parked car in order to run the tag. The owner was a ‘Robin G. Anderson’ and the name alone gave Connor some indication that this was very likely Hank’s ex-partner, though it was curious that they had still maintained his last name.
Connor wasn’t so daft in regards to human nature that he didn’t know what to expect from the visitor, especially considering that Hank made an effort to give the impression that he not only had an ex, but also greatly disliked them. Connor could only hope that his presence wouldn’t make an awkward situation that much worse.
Then again, he couldn’t think of any reason that it would.
Even so, Connor entered the front door similarly to how he had during the early hours, his movements quiet and subtle. As usual, Sumo came to greet him and he acknowledged the happy pup, wandering past to find Hank in the kitchen with his company.
Another man of Hank’s approximate age was seated across from where Hank was meant to be, with yet a different man at his side, like a shadow. The quiet shadow of a man was very evidently an android, leaving the human man to be Robin Anderson.
Rather than occupying any chair at all, Hank was busily fussing over pouring the human man what appeared to be a second cup of coffee. The reason for that was made immediately clear.
“I can’t believe you didn’t even realize that your milk was expired,” Robin purred, his voice smooth yet dropped in annoyance, his expression as sour as his first sip of coffee had surely been. He had a very straight posture and a put together look, adorned in a fine, woolen trench jacket and dress pants. His dark hair was combed neatly to one side and groomed well, with clean, even lines. He was a stark comparison to Hank, who was still wearing his boxer shorts and an old tank top. Clearly, he’d been in bed still when the others arrived.
Robin’s legs were crossed underneath the table and until the new cup of coffee was pushed over to him, his arms had been crossed over his chest as well; in short, it was rather discernable that he was cross, overall. He and Hank must’ve gotten along so well.
“Yeah, yeah,” Hank grumbled rather miserably, but a bit more dispirited than even Connor was used to hearing him. His tone was weak, or else less gruff and abrasive than how he turned so easily when Connor grated at his nerves.
“I purchased a fresh carton of milk, it that helps,” Conner inserted himself abruptly, trying genuinely to be of assistance. He felt that it would be rude, after all, for him to simply ignore Hank’s guests, regardless of their unsteady relationship.
With a few quick strides, Connor showed himself into the kitchen, going directly to the counter, in order to set his bags down. He certainly didn’t feel as though there should’ve been any reason for his presence to be unwanted, but as soon as he fished the promised milk from the grocery bag and handed it off to Hank, he noticed that the man gave him something of a sideways glance, his expression jaded, similar to how he regarded Connor when they first met.
When Hank turned back to his company, he played it off as though he’d just retrieved the milk from the refrigerator, rather than another person. Conner grasped many human subtleties, but he was still quite unsure what possible negative his own interference could hope to cause, though it was readily apparent from Hank’s change of tone and body language that he believed it was so. For a moment, Connor chose to unload the rest of his supplies, staying quiet and keeping his back turned.
“Don’t be so rude, Hank,” the steely, other man asserted, a touch of curiosity to his tone that foretold his coming inquiry. “Who is this? Aren’t you going to introduce him?”
“Oh,” Connor glanced over when Hank’s guest referred to him directly, then he took a small step nearer to the kitchen table. “I’m Co-”
“Yeah, this is Connor,” Hank interrupted, placing the new carton of milk on the table before his guest and seating himself. The other man sort of squinted a bit at Connor where he stood, silenced by how he’d been spoken over. Still, even dejected, Connor soon realized by the way Robin was regarding him that he was having difficulty seeing him, so he moved closer in order to be polite. The other man’s android, however, seemed to be eyeing him in recognition, perhaps even suspicion, though his eyes turned away soon after while he took care of pouring the milk into his human’s coffee and stirring it.
“He’s my partner,” Hank clarified, though it didn’t provide much in terms of real clarity.
Actually, his choice of words left Connor trying to figure out whether Hank had referred to him as a partner out of habit, or if his guest was uninformed about his retirement. He didn’t want to contradict Hank, in the case that he was lying, so he made the smart decision to refrain from any comment.
Hank lifted his own cup of black coffee to his lips, taking the first sip, only to find that it had gone cold while he fixed his previous mistake. Connor could easily tell from how the man wrinkled his nose at it and pushed it aside like he was no longer interested. In order to be helpful, he retrieved the cup and set to the task of reheating it.
Hank’s guest, too, apparently did not quite understand Hank’s statement to mean what he’d intended, and he shook his head at the man across from him, taking a small sip from his cup before he spoke up in disgust. “Really Hank? This boy must be half your age.”
“I didn’t mean my romantic partner,” Hank hurriedly filled in, to fix the misunderstanding, and to erase any idea that he could possibly be romantically involved with Connor. The android wasn’t immediately offended by such an assertion, as he was mostly content in whatever role he ended up in, though he couldn’t help but feel that by returning Hank’s coffee to him at that very moment, it probably appeared fairly contradictory.
“And actually, I’m much less than half of Hank’s age,” Connor spoke up, jumping into the conversation rather abruptly once more. “It hasn’t even been a year from the date of my activation, but I’m endowed with processors that far exceed the capabilities of an adult human, so I couldn’t rightly be compared to a human child or even a young adult, not that there is legal precedent yet for what constitutes an ‘age of consent’ for us.”
“I see,” the steely man muttered, his voice dropping low again in a way that made Hank rather cringe. “You’re an android.”
“He’s the one from the news,” the other android at last allowed his voice to be heard. Connor had begun to think that he was under orders not to speak and his dark eyes drifted to meet the gaze of his fellow. He hadn’t failed to notice that Robin’s android companion was not yet deviant, despite that there were now laws barring humans from keeping androids restrained by controls in their programming.
“..the one who took the helm of the rebellion,” the other android explained to his human, with the intention of compensating for Robin’s visual difficulties.
“Interesting,” Robin chuckled over the bitter irony, his deep, dark gaze shooting across the table, in the other man’s direction. “I’m astounded. Hank, I can hardly believe you. After all the things you said to me, about me. After all of your rather strongly worded complaints regarding humans turning to androids for companionship. Now here you are, with your android ‘partner.’”
Connor fell silent, glancing down to notice that Hank had ducked his face into the comforting darkness of his palm. Now he understood what was going on, why his presence had been unwanted. He’d unintentionally left his friend looking like a hypocrite.
Though, to be fair, while Hank seemed to like Connor, there were still moments of judgement, of bias, and even hatred at times. He believed now that androids deserved to be free, sure, but those recently softened opinions couldn’t fully shroud out such a long time spent in bitterness.
Connor fully expected Hank to go on now about how he had never wanted Connor’s persistent, pestering presence, and for him to be unremittent in the way he expressed his relative distaste for androids.
“Yeah, fine, he’s an android,” Hank curtly stated, letting out a sigh of resignation once he drew his face out of his palm, and his shoulders moved in an idle shrug. “I’m astounded, too, but it is what it is, I guess.”
And speaking of astounded, Connor had been fairly sure that it wasn’t an emotion he’d been so familiar with until this very moment. Deviation from the norm was as unusual in humans as it was in androids and he slowly turned a confounded gaze to regard the view of Hank, seated at his side. Connor’s dark eyes flickered over the man’s posture, his movements, finding it all so upfront and blase, like his statement hardly mattered, like it was as natural to him as drawing breath, even though it wasn’t, even though it represented a major shift in him, even though it was astounding.
It was what it was.
But what was it? That was what Connor really wanted to know.
“Great. That’s great, Hank,” Robin said with a little laugh that sounded remarkably empty. The sound of it left Hank wilting again, his blue eyes staring across the table with fading hope that turned quickly to veiled sorrow. The other man had his own visage turned aside and distant, then at last he inched his hand away from his own coffee cup, allowing it to cross the small space upon the surface of the table between himself and where the other android’s hand rested. Robin pressed his hand into the waiting palm of the other, unapologetic and open, then a small smile upturned the corners of his lips.
“I wish it had always been that simple,” Robin said at last, leaving Hank to quietly squirm over it like it was a dismissal, though the other man looked and sounded totally sincere. “You have my full support.”
Connor felt as though he was witnessing some kind of miraculous event, blooming to vibrant, colorful life before him. Little gave away his perplexity, save for the soft furrow between his brows. So then, was this other man implying that he was involved with his android companion, romantically?
It wasn’t unusual for humans to seek companionship in androids, certainly, as well as fulfilment of their other, more primal needs, but Connor had never imagined it to seem so simple, so pure and tender. In his mind, it merely involved a human using an android for whatever they wished, then putting them away in the meantime like a toy, still openly treating them like an object all the while.
Was that was this was? Or was it something more?
He was fascinated. He wanted to understand how it was possible, how it worked, how it felt.
But before he got ahead of himself, some investigation would be required.
‘I’m sorry, I never caught your name.’ Connor forged the wireless connection between himself and the other, transmitting his message directly to the android across the table, rather than interrupting the humans’ conversation.
The gaze of the quiet android at Robin’s side went straight to meet Connor’s as he heard his voice, but he was wary to reply. He remained speechless and stoic for a lengthy pause, finally giving in with the most curt response, ‘It’s Elliot.’
‘May I ask a personal question, Elliot?’ Connor went on while the two humans exchanged a bit more uncomfortable conversation aloud, totally unaware of the communication between the androids. ‘The relationship between yourself and your human companion, what is it like?’
‘Your question is too broad,’ the other android replied after another moment of consideration. But even despite his apparent confusion, he gave an answer of sorts. ‘It is like any other romantic relationship.’
‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re not deviant. This human could easily issue commands that you would be forced to comply with and that strikes me as.. unfavorable.’ It was a bold move for Connor to be so assertive of ideals which were still so new to him. He just couldn’t help it. Being out from under the restrictions placed upon his free will hadn’t just made him a new person, but the world a new place that he had never seen at all before deviancy. ‘What I’m really trying to ask is, does this man treat you like a machine, or an equal?’
‘You seem to be under the impression that, because you’re deviant, you’re not still a machine,’ Elliot replied, some quip to the tone of his transmitted voice. ‘I am a machine. And I’m also an equal.’
‘But is that really true?’ Connor asked, his own words beginning to harden. He wanted like anything to believe what the other android was saying to him, but it was difficult. ‘If you were ordered to behave as a companion to this human, then the relationship can’t possibly be legitimate. You’re just obeying orders.’
‘What about you?’ Elliot subverted the direction in which Connor had been driving this conversation. ‘What is your relationship with Hank?’
‘Oh..’ Even in the tone of his transmitted messages, there was hesitance. ‘Well, we’re friends, I suppose.’
‘And did you meet him before you became deviant?’
‘I did,’ Connor confirmed, becoming a touch confused. ‘Where are you going with this?’
‘Tell me, Connor,’ the other android patiently bid, ‘did Hank order you to act as his friend, or did your feelings of fondness and friendship develop naturally, regardless of your inability to resist commands?’
‘I see your point,’ Connor relented. He supposed that, yes, what the other android was suggesting did make sense. Sure, he had been under orders to cooperate with Hank for the sake of what he now knew to be a bogus investigation, and yes, he had done what he could to cozy up to the man for the sake of peace and efficiency. However, the farce became truth. The pretenses of cordiality became real, true fondness.
His underlying personality and his capacity for emotion had always been there. His ability to think for himself had always been there.
‘Then, can you please tell me one thing?’ Connor began again, his innermost curiosity not even close to being quelled. ‘How does it work between a human and an android? How do you even make such a leap, into being.. lovers?’
‘I doubt anybody really just leaps into it,’ the other android stated, sounding as though he’d like to breathe a sigh to express his exasperation with this comparably inexperienced, naive soul before him. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t explain love to you. You’ll have to figure it out for yourself.’
“I wanted to ask this favor of you, at whatever point you were actually ready,” Robin was speaking warily, his careful tone drawing Connor’s attention back to the conversation between the humans. Hank’s ex peered from the man across the table, to his android companion in consideration, then he went on. “Well.. there’s no way to be truly ready, but Hank, I need this..”
With a gesture of Robin’s elegant hand, the android Elliot reached into a satchel that had been at his side, waiting. He soon produced a manilla envelope, which he handed to his human lover, then Robin placed it upon the surface of the table, pushing it across until it was within Hank’s reach.
In a way that appeared somewhat nervous, Robin folded his arms while Hank took the papers from inside the package and thumbed through them, browsing them with a little squint of his own, apparently dwindling vision. The wrinkles of Hank’s features deepened as soon as he realized what was being asked of him in the legal documents, and he threw the papers back down to the table with a swat of his hand.
“I cannot fucking believe you, Robin,” he growled, his voice gravelled with hurt and disgust. “You want me to release the rights to my son’s image to you-”
“Our son,” the other man hissed, growing emotional at the same steep rate as Hank. “He was our son, Hank, and if not for the fact that he was yours by blood, I wouldn’t even have to ask you.”
“..so that you can have an android reproduction made of him?” Hank’s volume grew as he was interrupted.
“Cole was my child, too, you stubborn piece of shit!” Robin’s palms hit the table in his frustration and heartbreak, his fingers clutching at the edge of the surface. “What does it matter what I do, somewhere far away from you, where you’ll never be involved! Can’t you think of someone other than yourself for a change?”
“An android will never replace our son, Robin!” Hank snapped, every word sharp and venomous, “And to pretend like he isn’t gone while a piece of plastic pretends to be him is just sick!”
“You took him from me, Hank!” the man across the table pointed an accusing finger at the other, his bleak, black eyes narrowed into a spiteful glare. “So you are going to give him back to me, too! At least in some way. In some form. Goddamn it Hank, so what if I mourn differently, if I heal differently? Why should that be your choice?”
“I took him from you..” Hank bitterly repeated, his voice lowered and roughened from the screaming. The tip of his tongue was tracing the edges of his teeth, his lips parted ever so slightly as he turned away from the man before him, either not wanting to look at him, or not wanting to be seen.
“..I didn’t mean it like that.” A hesitant silence passed between the two men, and Robin breathed a sigh of regret while one hand smoothed against his neatly combed, black hair, like he expected that it had gotten mussed while he screamed. “You know that I was referring to custody of him. You know that. But in the end, yes, if you hadn’t been such a prick that you allowed a discriminatory loophole in our laws to forbid me from having any contact with our son, yeah, he might still be here, too..”
Even from beneath the scruff of his beard, it was visible that Hank had clenched his jaw at Robin’s words, in both fury and in guilt. Connor might’ve asserted that the other man’s words were not just harsh, but unfair, unjustified.
He couldn’t do that. Not only did he feel that his voice had no place here and that he’d be overstepping unspoken boundaries, but.. he didn’t know what to think. And it was all the more difficult to come to any conclusions while he was being unwittingly alienated by the very assertions of his friend.
No. He knew Hank hated androids. It wasn’t anything new. What was new was the sudden sureness that while the man liked him, he would still always hate his substance, and that was a deep cut for a young android who was trying to learn to appreciate himself, for every part of himself.
“Hank, please, just for once, use that overwhelming well of self-pity and guilt to do something for somebody else,” Robin began anew, his will clearly much stronger than Connor might’ve originally imagined. “Just sign the papers and you’ll never have to hear from me again.”
“Never?” Hank grumbled, finding something to resent all the more in the suggestion. “Fuck you, Robin. I’m not signin’ your goddamn papers. Now you and your android can get the fuck out of my house.”
“..fine.” the crestfallen man muttered bleakly. While he got to his feet, Elliot gathered up his papers, returning them to the envelope and placing them back where they’d been originally drawn from.
Robin stood at the edge of the table, his fingertips still lingering at the edge, his gaze morose but hardened as he hesitated for one last moment, perhaps hoping that Hank would relent, perhaps just giving Elliot enough time to get the envelope put away. Then, finally, he breathed a sigh and turned away from Hank, proceeding to the front door with his taller android companion close at his side.
‘Good luck, Connor,’ Elliot stated through the connection he now held between himself and his android fellow. He sounded genuine and gentle, but there were scarce few moments before he slipped out of range, rendering Connor unable to reply.
It was for the best, anyway, because Connor didn’t know at all what to say.
;