Chapter Text
April 18, 2040, 12:02 AM
Cassandra wonders, not for the first time, just how simpler her life would be if Jonah had not been the only deviant in that arena two years ago. She looks at the tablet once more, at the missing person reports and the description of the prime suspect and she wants nothing more than to throttle him.
The Spider seemed to think that Jonah could handle himself out in the field. After all, he is good at hiding, good at manipulating, and Cassandra has to admit that he can certainly fight if it comes down to it. However, what the latest addition to their menagerie of winners lacks is brains. Was his processor damaged in the Competition? Did deviancy suddenly redirect all that super CPU power into his ego?
Cassandra supposes it doesn’t matter now. The DPD is onto him, and by extension, the rest of the Web. He was sloppy and now it’s a mess: a mess that Cassandra is not looking forward to explaining to the Spider.
“Cass?”
The Idiot of the Day speaks.
Cassandra looks up from her tablet with a glare. Jonah, to his credit, raises his hand, perhaps admitting that he fucked up? Then, he opens his mouth again. “Spider wanted deviants and I got him two. Why are you so pissed at me?”
Cassandra closes her eyes. She is used to being surrounded by idiots, drunken patrons of the Competition and VIPs alike, but she is not used to having one in her peripheral constantly. This is going to take some adjusting.
“Did you not read the article?” she responds coldly. “The DPD has your description!”
“So? I can change my appearance!”
Not the point!
“It’s the deviant hunter!” Cassandra retorts. “He’s one of Cyberlife’s most advanced prototypes!”
“Prototype,” Jonah says in a matter of fact way that almost seems condescending and it takes every ounce of Cassandra’s willpower and restraint not to punch him right in the opticals.
“You reckless, idiotic, careless piece of–”
“Enough!”
The Spider’s voice cuts into the bickering like an ice cold knife, silencing both androids instantly. He spun around in his office chair, his weathered face pinched into an irritated expression. “Both of you, stop. Cassandra is right, Jonah. You were careless.”
Cassandra opens her mouth, intent on thanking the Spider for his support, but then that irritated gaze shifts to her and she instantly deflates. “And you are worrying too much about this so-called deviant hunter. He’s lost his edge since deviating. He’s no longer as efficient as he was when he was a machine.”
Cassandra’s mouth flattens into a thin line at the rebuke. Maybe she is overestimating the deviant hunter. Maybe she is blowing this all out of proportion. Every processor in her being screams otherwise, but if Spider isn’t nervous, why should she be? After all, Spider knows best.
(There was no way this ended well…)
April 28, 2040, 1:57 AM
Ten days have passed.
Three more deviants have been reported missing.
And the only lead, the only person Connor can tie any of this to, is still in the wind.
>> Stress Levels Elevated
The first was an MC500 named Naomi. She was a medical android that had been owned by Highland Med, a prominent hospital system in Detroit, before the revolution. She had remained there as an assistant ER doctor afterwards, and was quite respected among her colleagues. Dr. Madeline Decan had reported her missing after Naomi had failed to arrive at work. “She has to be in danger,” Dr. Decan had said. Connor still remembered the way the older woman’s voice shook. “She would never miss work, let alone no call no show. I keep trying to get ahold of her but she’s not picking up! And her apartment is empty too!”
The second was a WJ700. His name was Jacob and was on the lookout for his next gig when he disappeared. Before the revolution, he was an engineer, but had joined up with Jericho during the Freedom March and had survived the revolution by laying low, and began taking small jobs to make ends meet after. He had been reported missing by his roommate, Thomas, after he didn’t come home for a few days. “I don’t know him that well,” Thomas had said. “We work opposite schedules and we’re mainly just two guys who pay the rent. But I haven’t seen him in a while and I can’t get ahold of him either.”
The last missing android was something of a vigilante. He didn’t go out of his way to hurt anyone physically, but Rhinehardt, a GS200, had been responsible for the sabotage, espionage, and destruction of the livelihoods of many anti-android bigots. He had been arrested, released due to lack of evidence, but had failed to report to his required check in and a search of his home made it very clear that he had been taken by force. “Signs of a struggle,” Hank had mused. “Hit from behind, just like Amy had been. But he recovered and kept fighting until he couldn’t.”
That particular incident had left Connor slightly shaken. Whoever took these androids has gone from ambushes to home invasions. They are getting brazen, and while that meant they’d make mistakes surely, Connor can’t help but think of his friends who were androids, and whether they could be targets as well.
Now, Connor stares at each case file, going over them thousands of times in his processor. So far, there is only one link. Amy had been accosted by this Jonah character before her disappearance. He had visited Naomi at the hospital. Jacob had mentioned the name when going to a job interview. His blood was found at the scene where Rhinehardt had been taken.
If it wasn’t clear before that Jonah was the perpetrator, it certainly is now. An all points bulletin had been put out on him, yet nothing . It is almost as if he knows about the bulletin and is laying low as a result. There has been no sign of him, and that frustrates Connor to no end.
>> Mission: Make Amends
>> Secondary Objective: Find Missing Androids: Progress Unacceptable
April 28, 2040, 1:57 AM
Hank knows for a fact that Connor is still awake. His fatherly instincts have yet to leave him entirely. He had stayed up late watching the Detroit Gears advance to the next round of the playoffs. If they kept up the momentum, they’d be in the finals for sure, and given that the front runner in the other conference still had about 71 years left in their curse after trading their star player a decade ago, Hank was feeling confident that the Gears would have a hell of a run.
Connor isn’t as big on basketball as his original programming had made him out to be. He preferred baseball. He has become something of a diehard Cleveland fan, a mortal sin in Detroit given the last few years, but Hank digresses.
Hank will say, however, that sleep was hard to find. He can’t stop thinking about the case either. All those missing androids, and only one suspect that hadn’t been seen in a while. A fucking pain in the ass.
The only thing they can do is keep looking, something that Hank despises, but it at least allows him to stay rested. Hank has been busting his ass on the case, but at least he’s been putting an effort into keeping his mind sharp and his exhaustion low.
Something Connor clearly isn’t doing.
It hits 2:30 AM and Hank gets up out of bed. Enough is enough. Connor needs to get some sleep or he’s not going to be able to get anything done.
He walks down the hall to Connor’s room. The desk lamp illuminates the doorway and the room itself in a soft golden light. It takes all of Hank’s restraint not to throw the door open. He knows how jumpy Connor can get, as well as his habit of throwing the nearest object towards his perceived attacker, and he wasn’t a fan of the idea of taking an alarm clock to the face again. So, Hank settles for a gentle knock on the door.
The bleary “Yeah?” he gets in response tells him all he needs to know, and Hank pushes the door open.
Hank rips off the Band-Aid. “You need to go to bed.”
Connor bristles a bit, not unlike a teenager being scolded for staying up late playing video games. “I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about the case. About Jonah.”
“Stayin’ up late won’t make him reappear any faster.”
“But I can find more.”
Hank sighs. “Connor, if those processors of yours couldn’t find anything before, they won’t find anything more. And you’re definitely exhausted.”
“Androids don’t get–”
“Actually,” Hank begins, his voice taking on a bit of an edge in response to the blatant lie, “uptime is very much a thing in androids. I did my research, you know? Performance degradation? System stability? Security? Basically the equivalent of fucking up a human immune system.”
“There is no need to condescend me,” Connor retorts. “I know full well what I’m doing!”
“No, you fucking don’t! You’re ruining your health and you’re not going to be good to anyone like that!”
“Hank, I’m not a child!”
“You may look like a grown ass adult, but for fuck’s sake Connor, a human your age would still be in diapers! I don’t like getting on your ass, but–”
“Then don’t!”
Connor’s voice is sharp and frustrated. In that moment, he sees not a concerned friend, but as someone who refuses to understand just how badly Connor needed to solve this case, to prove himself and show the world that he is not a dangerous machine. To show that he truly was deviant and not the Deviant Hunter.
However, Hank sees not a desperate and confused android, but a petulant child refusing his help. Connor’s words sting in a way that he refused to show, and he certainly isn’t going to address it. If Connor doesn’t want Hank on his ass, then he’ll stay off of it. Tonight was a bus, especially when Hank was on the verge of screaming every foul name he had at the kid.
So Hank throws his hands into the air and walks out of the room.
Connor watches him leave, his frustration softening into regret, but only for a moment. He senses the tension in the house, and almost wants to go after Hank and apologize, but something keeps him glued to his seat.
He can’t bring himself to move. Not yet. Not now.
So like his needs, he pushes the conversation to the back of his mind, something to be addressed later.
And he returns to his case files.
>> Stress Levels Elevated