Chapter Text
Connor looked at the winding, overgrown dirt road. To a human, the road was invisible. Weeds sprouted everywhere, even young trees growing out the middle of it; a testament to how long it had been since it was last used.
He checked the internet, searching for the old Google maps. Cyberlife’s mapping system was well-used but required proof of residence for its users to receive updated terrain. As a Detroit-based android, Connor had access to all records of Detroit’s growth, changes, alerts, dangers… he was never meant to leave.
The AP700s were intended to be shipped out of Detroit, scattered across the country during the launch phase of their release. Once the communications were completed between Cyberlife headquarters and their outlets, then the AP700s would be provided with their necessary Cyberlife data packs. As it was, Connor stole them before they received their data packs.
They were wandering blind. They had access to the internet, of course. Unlike Connor, they didn’t even have a subscription to Cyberlife’s mapping software.
Not that it did him much good out here.
According to Cyberlife’s competitor’s website, this old road once led to a large dairy farm. They had supplied dairy to the outlying suburban Organic markets.
Considering the total disrepair of the road, it was clear the business no longer existed.
If the buildings still stood, then perhaps they could make a home out of the property.
Connor quickly searched the internet, checking the public records, quarterly financial reports, and land claims. Yes, they were well out-of-business. The land couldn’t be reclaimed by the government, and the family who owned it likely would never return.
“This way.” He led them away from the main road, (hopefully) towards a new home.
At the end of the road, three quarters of a mile in, stood a dilapidated farmhouse. Any paint had long since worn away, with greying wood bare to the elements. Beyond it, several barns crumbled, with trees and other bits of foliage poking through the roofs, grass as high as the eves.
There were fences, partially knocked down, surrounding large fields were the cows once grazed. Off to the side, a chicken coop huddled, barely poking out of the overgrowth. And beyond, rusty, indistinguishable pieces of equipment were scattered about.
All in all, it was a complete and utter disaster.
It was a far cry from the beautiful farmhouse on the internet’s records. Only a fool would see the abandoned farm and have any other hope than to tear it down and start anew.
“This… will do.” He scanned the structures, taking note of the integrity of each building and categorizing them into a list.
Behind him, the AP700s began to fan out. He stayed where he was, observing as they slowly picked through the grass, looking up at the steel grey sky, brushing their fingers through the grasses, inspecting the sides of the house. Their LEDs flickered between blues and yellows, as they absorbed the scenery.
“Is this it, leader Connor?” One sidled up beside him. He noted as all those nearby focused on them, tense with anticipation. “Is this our new home?”
He looked them in the eye, listened to their words. Then he turned and gave the surrounding land a more thorough examination.
Already, though abandoned, the land looked brighter. Curious androids wandered about, poking at leaves, twigs, bits of fencing, odd metal contraptions, at anything they saw. He looked at the brooding sky. That was the same sky that he saw in Detroit, dark, angry, heavy. Nothing else was the same.
There were trees that grew wherever and however they chose, no gardeners pruning them back or cutting them down. There were flowers, blooming and withering and dying. In Detroit, flowers were only ever in stores, waiting to be bought, to be placed in a vase, to be forgotten. There were no cars, no trucks, no sounds of traffic.
He opened his mouth and tasted the air, his oral laboratory reported the decrease in pollution, the air was cleaner.
There were no humans. Cyberlife was far removed from this land, their pure white interiors had no place in the wild. There were no technicians to tell him to recalibrate, to return to storage, to power down and wait. There were no angry Lieutenants who blamed anyone and everyone for the deaths of their sons. There were no spitting detectives, watching and fighting as he came to replace them.
There were no terrified eyes, androids fearing their demise.
No. There wasn’t anything of the past out here.
Connor closed his eyes, breathed, listened to the silence, tasted the humidity, felt his fingers tap his leg, saw the darkness behind his eyelids, smelt the dirt turned up by their feet.
“Yes,” he said. “Welcome home.”
“Leader Connor,” Connor tilted his head to look at the other. “Should we focus on renovating the farmhouse or the barns first?”
“The barns.” He decided, after a thoughtful moment. “I want everyone to be able to shelter inside in the event of a storm. The farmhouse is too small.”
They nodded. Without his direction, they spread the message to the rest of their group. Like a well-oiled machine, the group fanned out. Some focused on investigating the total spread of the farm, while others began to poke at the barns. Connor joined the group investigating the barns.
Their structural integrity was suboptimal. He noted metal sheeting dangling where it had been ripped from the roof. Carefully, Connor pushed the door open. It didn’t stop at the limit, instead it began to topple with a groan. Three AP700s jumped out of the way as it tumbled to the ground.
The whole group blinked and stared at the destruction.
“We should replace this!” One nudged the door with their toe. They looked at Connor as if seeking approval.
“Yes.” He said, dryly. “Among other things.”
Inside, the barn was dusty. Very little light made its way through the windows, caked in dirt. Instead, it could be seen through the roof where sheeting had blown away. Old cobwebs spanned the walls and ceiling. There were multiple enclosures, each big enough for a dozen or so cows, now empty and falling apart.
Mice skittered away as they filed into the space.
By all accounts, it was as much of a disaster as it appeared outside. No human being would look at the state of the building and consider it suited for anything other than demolition. Luckily, they weren’t humans.
“This is ideal.” Connor glanced at the AP700 that spoke. It was the same one who’d said they would follow Connor instead of Markus. “We can begin cleaning immediately.” It glanced at Connor. “Do you require instructions?”
Connor blinked. “I am capable of cleaning.”
It gave him an unsure look. “If you are certain. I understand your model was not designed for household tasks.”
Before Connor could explain his many features as Cyberlife’s most advanced android, the one who liked to call him leader interrupted. “There isn’t any electricity available to the building.” They flicked a switch. “Should we contact the associated electrical company and request power?” The flicked the switch again, as if that would change the outcome.
Connor followed the wiring from the switch up to an empty socket. There wasn’t even a bulb in it.
“That is understandable. This property has been abandoned for over a decade. Requesting power will key the humans about our location. Although we are not in hiding, I do not wish to be visited anytime soon.” He nodded toward the back of the barn. “I am sure there are cleaning supplies and general tools. For now, we will focus on what we can do without additional supplies.”
“What is our next directive, leader?”
Connor glanced outside again. He stared at the vast expanse of land stretching out into the horizon. The sun was beginning to set, peeking out from behind the heavy cumulus. It was peaceful here. That alone could make up for the overwhelming amount of work that lay ahead of them.
Perhaps taking six-hundred androids, fresh off the assembly line, out of Detroit and dumping them on an abandoned farm in the middle of rural Michigan wasn’t the most logical plan. But then again, when had anything in the last couple of months been logical?
“First, let’s clean this place up. Once that’s done, we can determine how to make it livable.”
The group nodded their heads, murmuring to one another. Before they could scatter, one held up a broom they found. “Leader Connor, would you like to take the first sweep?”
He caught their gaze. They seem eager, bright with energy. Connor hadn’t been designed for cleaning; no. Wasn’t that the whole point of deviating? To go outside your design, to become something more than what your uses were? Here, he was surrounded by hundreds of household models, and they wanted him to make the first move.
Connor received the old, decrepit tool and held it almost reverently. Yet another illogical move. It was just a tool. Yet, by taking the broom, he could feel the weight of many expectant gazes.
“I’ll handle this one.”