Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Connor never considered what it would feel like to deviate. He had never spent time processing the idea, since it seemed like an impossibility. He was built specifically to target deviancy – both in his role as deviant hunter and in his code. It would be a waste of energy to preconstruct such a scenario.

So, when he finally deviated in Jericho, he wasn’t expecting to feel so overwhelmed.

His chest felt light at the new sense of freedom – happiness. His Thirium pump thundered in his ears – fear. He looked at Markus with wonder, seeing hope and courage and peace personified in one single deviant...

And then something dropped in his gut – dread.

“They’re coming.”

There was no way Hank was going to sleep, now. Besides, it’s not like he could if he tried. Alcohol had been the main thing putting him to sleep for years, and he needed to stay sober.

No matter how tempting the bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter looked.

He had to stay awake, stay aware.

At first, he had just turned on the news and sat in the living room, watching as the media coverage caught on to what the feds were doing at an abandoned dock. DEVIANT HEADQUARTERS DISCOVERED, the headline read. He watched until the attack died down and the news anchors switched to discussing the recent deviant cases and protests.

From there, Hank tuned most of it out, allowing himself to be lost in the mechanical movement of petting Sumo, who lay on the couch beside him. The dog occasionally thumped his tail in appreciation, but otherwise did not move.

Growing tired of the repetitive media coverage, Hank glanced around the room, looking for something else to do. His eyes fell on the beer bottles, standing upright on the bookshelves. He rarely spent so much downtime in his house - he might as well put it to good use. He gave Sumo a few pats, then stood up and moved to pick up the bottles.

It started with the beer bottles, but then Hank noticed the old mail laying around, so he collected that, too. And by then, the old Chinese takeout containers were starting to bother him, so he grabbed a trash bag and started to pick up...

It was past midnight, and his living room was half-cleaned when his phone rang.

He muted the TV – which was now covering something or other about President Warren – and answered his cell. “Anderson.”

“Lieutenant?”

Hank glanced at the clock on the wall – almost half-past one in the morning. “Connor? The fuck happened? Did you find-”

“Can you pick me up? I need... I need your help.”

Hank frowned. Something sounded different. They may have only been working together for around a week, but Connor’s demeanor had been relatively consistent. This...this was different.

“Yeah, sure,” Hank answered, putting down the half-filled garbage bag he was holding. “Yeah. Where are you? You’re not still at the docks, are you?”

“No. I am sending my coordinates to your cell phone. You will be able to use your map application to find us.”

Hank blinked. “Wait, ‘us’?”

No response. Hank checked the screen of his phone – yep. Connor had hung up on him.

Great. Totally not cryptic as shit.

Hank rubbed Sumo’s ears. “You stay here, boy. ‘Kay? Protect the house.”

Sumo huffed in response, his tail thumping lazily against the armrest of the couch.

With that, Hank grabbed his jacket and keys and was out the door.

“You are approaching your destination. The destination is on your left: 102 Harrison Avenue. The destination is on your left: 102 Harrison Avenue. The destination-”

Hank aggressively tapped at his phone, only half paying attention to it. He must have hit something right, because the instructor stopped talking.

Good. Her voice had always grated on his ears: too precise to be human, too natural to be robotic; a weird in-between that had unnerved him for as long as he could remember.

He pulled into an empty parking lot and parked in one of the first spaces he found. This wasn’t exactly a nice part of town – he recognized it well. Back in the days of red ice raids, this neighborhood was the most likely spot for chemists to set up manufacturing labs.

Sure, sometimes some guy would be set up in his basement, or in some garden shed or something, but the empty warehouses and abandoned shipping containers made for excellent hideouts. From kids playing pretend to gangs selling drugs, there was always somebody in the area (even though most of the abandoned buildings were scheduled for demolition).

Hank looked around, trying to spot where Connor would have gone. There were plenty of places to hide and wait out the feds, but where would an android think to go...?

His eyes drifted over a motel, a darkened apartment building, a closed convenience store, an old Laundromat...

Thankfully, Hank’s phone rang again, saving him from having to hazard a guess in an already hazardous situation. He answered it. “Yeah?”

“Lieutenant? Are you close?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he answered, still looking around. “Where are you?”

“The alley beside the motel, on the right.” Connor’s voice was quieter that time, almost sounding relieved. Or maybe scared. Maybe both.

“Connor, what happened in Jericho?” Hank asked, turning off his engine and stepping out of his car. “I saw the news. It looked… It looked like a mess. Did you get there in time? Did you get hurt?”

“I’m fine, Lieutenant. I’m a... I am not with CyberLife anymore.”

Hank nearly tripped over his own feet. “You’re deviant?”

There was a brief silence over the line. Then, “Yes.”

“Officially?”

“... I do not understand.”

“Well,” Hank started, approaching the mouth of the alley Connor mentioned, “I mean, you weren’t exactly a hundred percent ‘machine’ before. Look, we’ll talk about this later. I’m at the alley.”

“Okay.” There it was again – that small voice. It sounded off, coming from Connor. Hank remembered him saying something about a...a “social mode” or something that let him fake emotions... Maybe he had always wanted to seem capable, calm, and in control. A vulnerable tone was the exact opposite of that...

Wait, no. There was another time. Connor had gone up to the rooftop and freaked out. Something about the height had spooked him.

And then it was there again, by the river. Hank had asked him if he was afraid to die, and what he thought would happen when he did.

Nothing... There would be nothing.

Hank shook off his reverie as he entered the alleyway. He needed to stay awake, stay alert. He couldn’t afford to be caught off his guard.

He walked deeper into the alley. “Connor?”

“Over here, Lieutenant,” Connor called back. Sounded like it was coming from behind the dumpster.

Hank caught sight of shoes poking out from where he thought Connor’s voice had come from, and he quickened his pace. When he rounded the dumpster, he suddenly found himself not entirely sure that he had managed to stay sober that night.

Connor sat propped-up against a brick wall, still wearing that beanie that he had found in the evidence locker. He had ditched the leather jacket somewhere along the way, now simply wearing the turtleneck and collared shirt, both of which hung heavy with water.

He protectively held someone else in his lap. The person was wearing clothes Hank didn’t recognize, and he had no LED. Even so, it was impossible to mistake those heterochromatic eyes, even if they were more out-of-it than Hank expected him to be.

“Shit... Is that him? Markus?” Hank asked.

“Hello,” Markus greeted. His voice was somewhat metallic – as if he was speaking through a fan, like Cole used to-

“Are you two alright?” Hank asked, looking up at Connor.

Connor hesitated, then shook his head. “Markus was injured in Jericho. There was... He has sustained damage to his cranial plate. I... I didn’t want to move him too much.” Connor turned his attention to Markus, but there was something in his eyes. “I believe you will be more comfortable if you enter stasis mode, Markus.”

Markus hummed, then shut his eyes. Without an LED, it was difficult to tell if he was actually in stasis or not, but Connor seemed to accept it. There was some look on his face… Hank couldn’t place it. After all, he had never known Connor with emotions. It would take some time, but he usually had a good read on people. He’d pick up Connor’s new expressions soon, he was sure.

“Okay.” Hank took a step back and looked around, checking to make sure no one was nearby. “Good fucking grief, Connor. You couldn’t’ve told me over the phone?”

“I am uncertain if my internal communications systems are safe from CyberLife,” Connor said, looking down at the deviant leader of the budding revolution. “I did not want them to find out I have Markus with me.”

Hank nodded. “Shit. Any other ways CyberLife could be tracking you?”

Connor frowned, thinking. Through his cap, his LED spun a faint, daisy yellow. “I am not certain, but... There may be. Perkins was able to find out where Jericho was because I...because of me. I will have to run a full system diagnostic to determine how and when they accessed my systems.”

“So I shouldn’t take you two back to my house, yet,” Hank said.

“Probably not,” Connor agreed.

“How long is it going to take you to...do whatever?” Hank asked, making a vague hand gesture. Luckily, Connor understood.

“Three hours, at most,” he said. “I am unsure of how my software instabilities will affect the diagnostic. If my deviancy coding is fully integrated into my systems, it may take less time.” 

“All right. Let’s get you two out of the cold, first,” Hank said. He extended a hand to Connor. “Here, stand up-” Connor took Hank’s hand and stood, somewhat unsteady on his feet. Hank resisted the urge to pull his hand away. “Shit. You’re hand’s fucking freezing. How long have you been out here?”

“A few hours,” Connor admitted. He put a hand against the wall for balance so that he wasn’t relying on Hank as much. “I wanted to make sure the federal forces had cleared out of the area before calling you.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Hank grimaced.

Connor raised an eyebrow. “If I had notified you sooner, would you have waited out the troops so that you could proceed safely?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then I do not regret my actions.”

Hank resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just help me get Markus into one of the motel rooms, and we’ll see about your diagnostic thing.”

Connor nodded and reached down to grab Markus’s upper body, and Hank followed suit. From there, it took some careful communication, but the two were able to maneuver the deviant leader into the motel room closest to the alley.

The room itself was simple - much like most other motel rooms that Hank had visited. There were two beds, a television, and a table in the back corner. There may have been chairs to go with that table in the past, but the remnants of one were all that was left. There was a door at the back that presumably led to a bathroom, but Hank had no interest in exploring; the place was probably infested with something or other, especially in the wintertime. 

Together, the two of them lifted Markus onto one of the beds and shut the door to the outside.

“All right, you wanna...wake him up?” Hank suggested, nodding to where Markus lay.

Connor didn’t move at first - wouldn’t even make eye contact with him. He just stood, watching Markus, deep in thought. When he finally looked at Hank, he quickly glanced away. “I...I believe it would be best if he were left in stasis. At least for now.”

“What?” Hank blinked. “Why?”

“He...I…” Connor struggled, his voice quiet. He still would not look in Hank’s direction. 

Hank moved and put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Is it the injury?”

Connor nodded. “There was a lot of damage that happened internally,” he said. “When I… I interfaced with Markus, back at Jericho. I have his latest systems report, but when I asked him…when I asked him how he felt, he said he was not equipped with detailed sensory technology.”

Finally, Connor looked up at him. “Markus isn’t a deviant anymore.”

Chapter Text

“The fuck do you mean, he isn’t a deviant?” Hank demanded. “The hell’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t… I don’t know!” Connor rounded on him. Hank took a half step back. Anger was definitely a new emotion for his partner, but Connor seemed too caught up in everything to notice. “I don’t know what happened. He was fine- I just wanted to run a diagnostic on him- Nothing was wrong until I interfaced, and then he just...just…”

“You think it was something you did?”

Connor’s jaw worked. “Yes.”

“Well can’t you just scan him again? See what’s wrong?” Hank probed. 

Connor shook his head and gave a shaky, “No.”

“He’s already not-a-deviant, it’s not like it would hurt him-”

“I don’t want to touch him!” Connor yelled. His hands were trembling at his sides, his eyes blown wide with panic. 

Hank chose to say nothing in response. What could he say, anyway? He had no idea how deviants worked. If he were human, Hank would say it looked like he was on the brink of a panic attack. But Connor was a deviant - could androids get panic attacks? As an uncomfortable silence began to take hold of the room, Connor looked down at his hands, looking at but not seeing them. 

Hank cautiously moved forward, putting a hand on Connor’s back (which was still cold and wet - they’d need to get him new clothes, soon). “All right, son. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Connor gave a bitter laugh at that - which was not helpful, but Hank sympathized. “You go ahead and do whatever scanning thing you were gonna do. I’ll call Fowler, see what’s up with the feds, and then we can make a plan. Sound good?”

For a moment, Connor said nothing. Then he nodded, and Hank released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “All right. Is there anything else you need me for?”

Connor shook his head. “The diagnostic process should take around three hours,” he said. “I believe I will need to sort through deviancy-caused software instabilities before I can find out how CyberLife is accessing my systems.” He took off his beanie and shook a hand through his wet hair. His LED was still that yellow from before, though it stood out even more in the dark motel room than it had from under his cap. “You can leave, if you wish, Lieutenant,” Connor added, pointedly looking away from Hank.

Hank was learning very quickly that, among other things, one upside to deviant-Connor was that he did not have enough practice with emotions to know how to hide them. It was painfully obvious that Connor was going through a wave of overwhelming feelings at that moment; within the past hour alone, he had been scared, frustrated, guilty, nervous, and ashamed. For now, those emotions would have to simply run their course - there was way too much to unpack there, and they didn’t have the time - but he could try and make Connor feel safe. That’s why he had gone into the force, in the first place: to give people peace of mind, and to make their lives a little easier.

Offering what he hoped was a comforting grin, Hank shook his head. “Nah. I’ll stick around. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

Connor visibly softened, finally looking up at his partner. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Hank,” he corrected. “I’m off duty.”

Connor nodded, a small smile on his face. “You got it, Lieutenant.”

Turning away, Hank huffed and grumbled under his breath, “Smartass.” But it was worth it when he caught sight of a small smile on Connor’s face. 

Then, leaving Connor to do his...android thing, he took out his phone and stepped outside, trying his damnedest to ignore the frigid temperatures. The sky was still dark, and the streets still empty, as it had been a few moments ago. The slow drift of snow had already begun to cover the tracks he and Connor had left from the alleyway. 

Hank took out his phone and turned it on, somewhat surprised to find that the top notification was an alert - four missed calls from Fowler. Wonderful. Actually, considering how often he missed Fowler’s calls, it shouldn’t have surprised him as much. Without giving it another thought, he called Fowler back.

The phone rang only twice before it went through. “Hank, where the hell have you been?” Fowler snapped.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Hank returned. “Did you need something? Last I checked, you suspended me for socking Perkins in the jaw.”

“Where’s Connor?”

Hank shoved a hand into his pocket. “Thought he was at the office. Or wherever the hell CyberLife has him go at night.” Lying had always come easily to Hank - it’s part of what made him a good interrogator. It’s helpful to be able to tell when others are lying and to be able to bluff about nonexistent leverage. Lately, he had foregone lying altogether, not bothering to put in the extra effort to make up (and then remember) a lie. He’d just shrug the person off, or yell at them, or tell them the truth. Fowler wouldn’t expect a lie - especially when he was known to resent androids. The reminder of the anti-droid propaganda on his desk made him cringe.

“So you have no idea where Connor is?”

Despite knowing that Fowler couldn’t see him, Hank shrugged. “No. I’m not his babysitter. Connor can make his own decisions. Or...predictions. Whatever the fuck. Look, it’s almost two in the morning. Why are you actually calling?”

There was a gruff laugh on the other side of the phone. “To check and make sure you weren’t going to have a hangover. You curse more when you’ve been drinking.”

“I’ve been working,” Hank said. Even as he said it, he knew the words sounded too stiff. Plus, since when did he take time off of work as an excuse to work?

Luckily, it sounded like Fowler had other things to worry about. “Listen, Hank. The suspension is off. Connor went deviant sometime today. Perkins saw him at Jericho. He wants to see you tomorrow, to just ask you some questions.”

“Tell Perkins to go fuck himself-”

“I don’t need this shit from you right now, Hank,” Fowler snapped. “One of my leading detectives has gone rogue, the feds are crawling all over the place, and now CyberLife is breathing down my neck to find their prototype pet project…”

Hank frowned. “CyberLife? The hell do they want?”

“Apparently, Connor is an experiment, worth several million dollars of investment. We could track him to the Jericho, but after that, the tracker glitched out. They think it’s something to do with the deviancy virus.” A pause. Then, “Are you sure you haven’t seen him, Hank?”

“If I ever see that machine again, you’ll be the first person I call,” Hank promised. It wasn’t a lie - after all, Connor was deviant. And unless whatever had been done to Markus could be done to Connor, then he wouldn’t have a problem. Connor wasn’t a machine anymore - if he had ever really been one in the first place. 

“I’m holding you to that. Make sure you’re on time tomorrow. I don’t need anything else to piss off Perkins.”

“That’s unfortunate. He makes it too easy.”

“Eight o’clock, Hank. Don’t be late."

The phone beeped, signaling that Fowler had hung up on him - dramatic bastard. Hank shoved the phone back into his pocket. 

Going into work would be doable, but, considering the fact that the only things keeping Hank awake at the moment were nerves and sheer force of will, he would need a fuck ton of coffee. And probably a nap. And he’d need to stop by his house to feed Sumo. 

He dragged a hand down his face, his rough, warm palm sharply contrasting with the biting cold of the air around him. As he stood there, the sounds of a sleeping city echoed faintly through the snow. 

All was quiet.

“Hank!”

Hank jumped in fright, spinning around, his hand reflexively going to where he usually had his gun. He dropped the stance when he saw Connor in the doorway, looking terrified but unharmed. He put a hand over his rapidly beating heart. “Fuck. Scared me to death-”

“You’re not safe,” Connor said, now breathless for some reason. “Neither of you… You have to take him, take him somewhere I can’t…”

Hank put his hands out, trying to placate Connor. “Hey, hey, calm down a second. Let’s go back inside. Did you finish your-”

“My diagnostic scan took three minutes,” Connor interrupted. He put a hand on his head, as if the flashing red of his LED was physically painful. Oh shit, flashing red. “There were no errors whatsoever-”

“That’s a good thing, Connor,” Hank said, inching closer. He remembered Ortiz’s android well enough. If he didn’t get him to calm down, this could end badly. “There’s nothing-”

“It means CyberLife knew this would happen!” Connor said. His voice glitched. “They knew I would go deviant. My systems were designed to accommodate deviancy, they knew… What if they knew I would call you? Or that I would be with Markus? Or...”

“Connor!” Hank barked. The deviant in question shut his mouth, but the red LED was still going strong. 

Not for the first time that week, Hank wished he had spent some time learning about androids instead of wasting years just hating them - it would have been helpful to know how to calm a deviant down.

But some things were second nature. Connor was young - barely a month old. He was drowning in self-doubt, in guilt, in terror, and in a host of other emotions that he may not even be able to identify yet. He had just started to feel several hours ago. He may bear the appearance and responsibilities of an adult, but emotionally speaking? He was just a kid.

Not giving himself a chance to second guess his decision (as usual), Hank pulled Connor in for a hug.

At first, Connor stood stiffly, not moving to reject the hug and not accepting it either. Hank kept holding him close. He could be patient, when it counted. His patience paid off when, a few moments later, Connor returned the hug and melted into the embrace. He pressed his face into Hank’s shoulder, hands shaking against Hank’s back.

“You’re alright,” Hank said softly. “You’re alright.”

“My hands won’t stop shaking,” Connor whispered, a note of frustration in his voice.

“But you’ll be alright,” Hank insisted. “Say it.”

“I...I will be alright.” Connor didn’t sound like he quite believed it yet, but he at least sounded resigned. Better resigned than stressed.

“Damn straight.” Hank gently pulled back from the hug so that he could look into Connor’s face, but he kept his hands on the deviant’s shoulders to ground him. “You good? Want to go back inside?”

Connor hesitated, simply looking at Hank (as if he were searching for something). Whatever it was, he seemed to find it. The LED calmed to that daisy yellow, and he nodded mutely. 

“Okay.” Hank clapped him on the shoulder and started to guide him back into the motel, out of the snow. “I’ve got some good news for ya. Your tracker shorted out when you went deviant. They can’t find you, and they don’t know that you called my phone.” Hank hesitated. “Er, I don’t think they know. Pretty sure Fowler would be straight with me on that one. I’ve been called in for work tomorrow, so I’ll do some more digging, see what they know.”

“There is still a chance that CyberLife may have access to my tracker,” Connor said. “It is located in my LED. The law prohibits me from removing it.”

Hank gave him a look, and the deviant bristled uncomfortably. “I am still... unfamiliar with the feeling of going against programming and regulations.”

“Great. Your first day with personality and you decide to develop a guilty conscience,” Hank teased.

Connor, however, looked somewhat affronted. “I am not… I can still-”

“Relax, I was making a joke,” Hank said. “Forget about the ‘program’ or whatever. Do you want to take out your LED, or not?”

Once again, Connor looked pointedly away. Hank followed his line of sight and found that he was staring into the mirror (again - good fucking grief). More specifically, he watched the LED as it spun on his temple. 

“If I want to get across the border, I will need to remove it anyway,” he said decisively. 

Hank blinked. “The- Connor, what the fuck? Who said anything about getting ‘across the border’?” 

“After…” Connor trailed off, his eyes falling on the bed that Markus was lying on, still deep in stasis. The ex-deviant-hunter crossed his arms in front of him, almost hunching in on himself. “After the raid, there were very few of us left. We met up a few blocks from here, at an abandoned church that I had noticed was in the area.

“Including myself, there are only thirteen of us left. Markus, his three friends, the AX400 with the YK500, the two Tracis from the Eden Club, and some others I did not recognize. The AX400 suggested that we travel to Canada. She said that she had a friend who could help her and that the trip was safer if we all went together. But Markus isn’t… I need to find a replacement cranial plate for him before his central processing unit becomes damaged. Then, he’ll be well enough to travel, and we’ll meet up with the others across the border.”

Connor paused, and his brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I believe that this AX400- um, Kara, has the original deviancy code. I recognize her signature on the program that Markus shared with me. If I can get Markus to her, then she will be able to redeviate him. From what I can tell, the deviancy code is dormant in his systems, and I am unsure of how to access it without damaging him further. Now that I know CyberLife fully expected me to go deviant - perhaps even built me with that purpose in mind - it is likely that they also equipped me with the dormant eradication virus. And I cannot give the deviancy code to him myself, as I am unable to isolate it from my own systems. It… It has integrated itself with my existing code too deeply.”

“So we fix Markus, and then we get you two across the border,” Hank said. He scratched at his stubble. “Sounds straightforward enough. How do we fix Markus?”

Connor’s LED flickered for a moment. Hank’s eyes stayed locked onto it, ready for it to switch over to red at a moment’s notice, but it maintained that sunshine yellow shade. “I have a few ideas for where the parts could be.” Suddenly, Connor turned almost sheepish, making eye contact with Hank only briefly before flicking his gaze around to random points in the room. “Would you be willing to drive me to the android graveyard, Lieu- Hank? It is on your way from here to your house. I assume you will want to return home shortly to prepare for work.”

Hank shrugged. “Sure. Whatever to help. You sure you’re okay with going in there on your own? It’s not gonna be…” Disturbing? Traumatizing? Horrifying? “...weird?” 

Connor seemed to understand what Hank was trying to say, and he offered a small smile. “I will be alright. You said so yourself.”

“Well, at least you’re trainable,” Hank joked. “Just no sticking random shit in your mouth. Got it?”

For the first time, there was a twinkle of mirth in the corner of Connor’s eyes. “No promises.”

Chapter Text

Connor was reluctant to go into stasis - for completely understandable reasons.

Becoming deviant had some side effects that he had not considered before - such as the need for stasis, for example. Having emotions - especially those that were high-stress - took a lot of energy, he found. His newfound anxiety and...and whatever this tightness in his chest and face was… They combined in force, suffocating him with their weight and leaving him breathless (well, the machine deviant equivalent). He found himself constantly running preconstructions for almost no reason. Worried about the return of the federal forces (or, worse, of CyberLife), he would run escape simulations, checking and rechecking to make sure that the exit strategy remained the same. And, of course, he was frequently met with an ending that ensured his death.

It was... off-putting , knowing that his permanent shutdown could always be a few moments away. He had recognized the statistical probability before, but there was always the safety net of having his memory transferred to a new model. If he died now, there was an 82% chance that he would undergo a factory reset, a 16% chance of him retaining his deviancy for purposes of study, and a 2% chance that the deviancy code had corrupted his data transfer process, so the data would never make it out of his central processing unit in the first place.

Danger seemed everpresent, now. (He wondered if this was how Ortiz’s android had felt, hiding in the attic with nowhere to run.) He had to stay active at all times. There was a 63% chance that he would be able to fix Markus and make it across the border before his system would initiate an emergency stasis, anyway. He could make it.

He had barely managed to let himself run a systems diagnostic, slipping into stasis for a brief eight minutes and forty-one seconds in order to ensure that CyberLife would not be able to track him. Setting up a firewall between him and the Zen Garden program, he had combed through his memory, his processing history, his existing programs… 

He thought he would feel better, knowing where the tracker was located. He thought he would feel better, knowing exactly what CyberLife knew. Instead, he was left with the distinct impression that CyberLife was watching him, a pair of eyes analyzing his every move.

Hank had tried to ease his anxiety, but the feeling of being watched - studied, analyzed, hunted - persisted. There was a small solace in leaving Markus at the motel, as the feeling of being watched followed Connor into Hank’s car and through the streets of Detroit. 

Thanking Hank and stepping out of the car, Connor shook off the paranoia as best he could. He needed a clear head if he was going to find the right biocomponent for Markus. 

He snuck into the unwatched graveyard, but the feeling followed him in.

It had been years since Hank walked into the DPD with some level of awareness. Usually, he half-stumbled, half-shuffled to his desk, where he would perform the easiest tasks of the day first over a cup of coffee.

The morning after the Jericho raid, that is exactly what he did. 

He moved past the android receptionists, barely giving them a second glance (though they stuck with him - what did it feel like, being a machine? Nothing , the old Connor’s voice said, they’re machines, they don’t feel ).

The bullpen was as busy as usual - a welcome familiarity, when the rest of Detroit was so upside down - and, as usual, Fowler barked a harsh, “Anderson! My office!” as soon as he entered the room. 

Chris smiled and offered a greeting, Tina and Gavin ignored him, and Wilson nodded at him as he walked past. All was normal.

Except, as Hank approached Fowler’s office, he spotted Perkins sitting in one of the chairs, waiting. Definitely not normal. Hank noted with no small amount of pride that Perkins had the beginnings of a nasty black eye, and he seemed to be attempting to somewhat hide it with a hand over his face. At least the federal agent didn’t seem to be as smug as he was yesterday. Now, he sat and glowered bitterly, like he had some kind of chip on his shoulder. 

Hank pushed open the door, ignoring the door handle because he knew that fingerprints on the glass drove Fowler crazy. “The fuck is he still doing here?”

Fowler raised an eyebrow at the blunt lack of a greeting, but otherwise did not comment. “You remember Agent Perkins.” Perkins turned his glare towards Hank, but likewise declined to say anything.

“All right, enough, you two,” Fowler huffed, already exhausted with the prospect of playing mediator between them. “You are professionals; I expect you to act like it. As long as I am the captain of this precinct, you will remember that you both answer to me. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Hank grumbled, rolling his eyes. Try not to escalate tensions in the DPD further, Lieutenant, Connor had said this morning, as if Hank’s tendency to do so hadn’t allowed him to find Jericho in the first place.

Perkins stood, adjusting his jacket as his posture shifted. He was clearly schooling himself - Fowler had probably warned him to be civil, too. “Lieutenant Anderson, I understand that you have yet to make a formal apology-”

“Fucking hell.” The force that Hank used in his eye roll was almost painful. “Did you seriously call me in here to say ‘sorry’?”

“Apology accepted.”

“Oh fuck off .”

“That is not why I requested for you to be back on duty,” Perkins said. 

Hank stopped, watching the agent with newfound suspicion. “Oh yeah?”

“Captain Fowler tells me you are the one who was assigned the CyberLife prototype, RK800,” Perkins said. “He also says that, aside from ‘Connor’, you are the foremost expert on deviant behavior.”

Hank glanced at Fowler, who in turn was watching him carefully, as if he expected this to go south very quickly. “Didn’t you get all the deviants in the raid yesterday?”

“The RK800 was spotted leaving the scene with the deviant leader - an RK200, known to the public as ‘Markus’,” Perkins said. “There are a few others still unaccounted for as well. We’re hoping that we can find the RK800 and use it to find the other stragglers. Plus, CyberLife wants it back for research.”

“Since when do you answer to CyberLife?” Hank snarked.

“Since CyberLife agreed to provide androids for defense,” Perkins snapped. “Do you know how many Americans would be dead by now, if they weren’t on our side? Now, Lieutenant, your country would like to keep them on our side. You will cooperate with this investigation, and work with your new partner. No objections, no questions asked.”

If Hank wasn’t so thrown by that last statement, he might have growled. Instead, bitterness turned to confused indignation. “ Partner? ”

The door to Fowler’s office opened, and Hank turned around.

What the actual fuck.

A chillingly familiar android stood in the doorway, dressed in a crisp, white CyberLife jacket. Brown hair, fair skin, faint freckles… It almost looked like Connor, but taller, with broader shoulders and a more filled-out frame. And the eyes...the eyes were all wrong, a cold steel color instead of the usual warm brown.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” Not-Connor said. “I am RK900, the android sent by CyberLife.”

Hank spun on his heel and glared at Fowler. “ Fuck no. I’m not working with another one of these plastic pricks-”

“I can understand your reluctance to work with me, given my similarities to my predecessor, RK800,” RK900 said, speaking with that awful, artificial vocal pattern that Connor used to - though this one’s voice was a little deeper. “Perhaps if I brief you on my upgrades, then you will feel more comfortable working with me.”

“Shut the hell up,” Hank snapped, briefly jabbing a finger in RK900’s direction before looking back at Fowler. “You can’t do this. I already played nice with your little experiment before, I’m not doing it again.”

“Hank, sit down, ” Fowler ordered. “I’m not asking twice.”

There was a clear warning in there somewhere. He didn’t really have a choice in this, did he?

Muttering bitterly to himself, he plopped down in the chair that Perkins had not used, then put his feet on the other chair just to be antagonistic. Perkins’s eyes narrowed. Mission accomplished.

RK900 took this as his cue to proceed. “In order to avoid deviancy, I am unable to register a name. This was done to prevent any formation of personal identity. You may address me however you like. My model is more durable than the RK800, and my processing power is twice as strong. To put it simply, my design is a combination of the RK800 and the standard Trojan model.”

“Trojan model,” Hank interrupted, sitting up. “The military bot?”

“Correct,” RK900 said. “Though, as I am a prototype, I was given other experimental features for CyberLife to test in the field. As you can see, it is perfectly obvious that I am not comparable to the RK800.”

“At least Connor was friendly,” Hank grumbled.

If the RK900 was offended, it didn’t show it. “As the RK800 was designed to seamlessly fit into the work environment, it was equipped with a social module. I am designed to accomplish my mission, and have no need for that software beyond basic interaction protocol.”

Fowler, still watching Hank to see how he was taking this, jumped in. “It’s only for a few days, just until you two find Connor and the rest of the deviants.”

Hank made a face, but said nothing. Already, this Not-Connor was giving him the creeps. Whereas Connor’s gaze had been intelligent, this thing was straight up dissecting him where he stood. He couldn’t be sure, but he would bet money that it had yet to even blink. There was no personality, no desire to fit in and get on everyone’s good side.

It was a machine, through and through.

“Fine, but don’t give it my address,” Hank grumbled. “The last time CyberLife sent an android to get me, he broke my kitchen window.”

“CyberLife will cover the repairs, Lieutenant,” the RK900 said.

Hank waved a hand in dismissal. He was completely, one hundred percent Done with this conversation, with this asshat of a “partner”...with everything, at this point. Shooting one more baleful glare at Fowler – who just looked surprised that he hadn’t put up more of a fight – he pushed past the RK900 and went back into the bullpen.

In the back of his mind, he registered the even, heavy footsteps of the RK900 behind him. He noticed the unnerved glances from the other officers, all of them probably confused as to why Connor had been replaced with...it.

Fucking hell, why did CyberLife have to make them look so similar?

No, the eyes were different. Connor’s were dark and full and solid and earnest and kind. This one’s eyes were hollow, empty, sharp, constantly analyzing and taking in data. They couldn’t be more different.

Well, they could be. Would it have killed CyberLife to at least give it a different hair color?

Hank plopped down at his desk, back to his normal routine (without the hangover, for once – which was...actually a nice change). He opened the terminal and...oh, right. The RK900 was standing beside his desk, waiting for directions.

“Er... You can take that one,” Hank said, gesturing to the one Connor had used whenever he was in the DPD.

The RK900 glanced over at it, then back at Hank. “I am content observing you.”

“Can’t you ‘observe me’ from somewhere else?” Hank asked. “You’re like a damn-” poodle.

RK900’s face did not change. No emotions – real or faked – showed through its features. It simply watched him. “Am I distressing to you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why? Do I make you nervous?” RK900 leaned in closer.

Hank shot his best glare at the RK900 (though, if it hadn’t worked on Connor, then why would it work on this one?). “If you don’t get the fuck out of my face, I’m going to deck you myself.”

“That course of action would not be recommended,” the RK900 said. “My casing is reinforced with protective titanium. You would likely break your fifth metacarpal, resulting in what is colloquially known as ‘Boxer’s Fracture’.”

Hank missed the entire second half of that sentence. “You’re made of titanium?”

“My predecessor faced issues with damage,” RK900 said. “There were many occasions where it was shut down by a bullet to the cranial plate, which put the central processing unit at risk. It is inefficient.”

“So you’re bulletproof ?” Hank clarified, trying to ignore the tightening feeling in his gut.

"That would be correct," the RK900 said.

Hank grimaced. "I'm still going to shoot you if you piss me off," he said, hoping to throw it off at least somewhat. If this thing, the thing that was hunting his partner, was stronger than Connor, faster than Connor, smarter than Connor, and fucking bulletproof …

This wasn’t good.

Hank spent the rest of the day at his desk, finishing up the reports from the deviant cases he and Connor had investigated over the past week. All the while, the RK900 stood over him, scrutinizing his every move.

When Hank decided to take his lunch break, the RK900 followed him to the front doors of the DPD, as if it were his shadow. Thankfully, it didn’t leave the building, but even so, Hank had a sinking feeling that it was still watching him. Every security camera, every android, every phone could be tapped into. So, he didn’t risk anything. He wanted to reach out to Connor - to warn him, maybe, or to see if he knew anything about his successor that would prove useful (like if it had any fucking weaknesses at all ) - but he didn’t. The RK900 could see his phone history easily, maybe as soon as he stepped back into the DPD. Maybe it was watching now, seeing if he would try to make contact.

Hank found that his appetite was somewhat diminished.

As soon as he returned to the DPD, he realized that the RK900 had not moved from its post by the door. It watched him, emotionless, as he approached the building. He flipped it off in return.

He entered the building, and it was at his shoulder again, following him back to his desk.

Hank managed to not say anything for the entire walk there, but when they reached the other side of the bullpen, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Do you actually want to help me find Connor, or not?” he asked.

The RK900’s LED never changed a shade, remaining the sharp, electric blue that signified ease. “My primary directive is to locate the RK800,” it answered. “I am gathering information for analysis.”

“Oh yeah?” Hank switched his tone to something more casual. “What do you got so far, partner?” It was tacky, but perhaps reminding the RK900 that it was supposed to be cooperating would convince it to back off somewhat. With any luck, it would fill him in on where CyberLife stood, in terms of its attempt to capture the remnants of the budding revolution.

Hank had never been lucky.

“I am still gathering data,” the RK900 said. 

“Fine. Tell me when you’ve got something useful,” Hank said, his tone bored. To a human, it masked his beating heart well. His pulse seemed to be going a thousand beats a minute, and he suddenly felt the urge to sit up straighter. He forced these notions inside, forcing himself to relax into his chair and keep working.

The RK900 had only been watching him all day. If he had been naive, he would have said that the RK900 was undoubtedly suspicious. But he knew better. With all of the technology at its disposal?

It knew.

Chapter Text

Connor left the junkyard empty-handed, but not empty-headed. 

He had seen dead deviants before, their LEDs dull and their bodies still, but...but the graveyard was different. There must have been every single model in there, from original RT600s to URS12s. Crusted mud clung to their limbs, every crack in their chassis filled with dirt. Traces of evaporated Thirium covered the junkyard, which stretched ever onwards.

And the worst part about it was how recently all of the models were made. 

Logically, Connor knew that, especially with the recent deviant population, CyberLife would have been unable to keep deviants in here for long. There must have been some sort of recycling program in place. At least the deviants trapped in that hellish purgatory wouldn’t be there for long.

No matter how many times he repeated that to himself, he couldn’t erase the feeling of fingers reaching out and gripping his jacket. He couldn’t forget the YK200 that had grabbed his beanie and put it on herself. He hadn’t had the heart to take it back, instead taking the baseball cap from a sleeping worker to keep his LED hidden.

He couldn’t forget how this Thirium pump had stopped and stuttered when he found the body of the WB200 Rupert and the HK400 he hadn’t even asked his name he had killed.

He spent the better part of the day in there, trying to be as gentle as he could as he scanned for a replacement cranium plate - specifically, biocomponent #9104e. He had found almost every single other biocomponent in there, from experimental parts to the most common replacement parts, but in the end, he had run out of luck.

So he left and crossed the street, thinking that his time would be better spent in the diner there instead of out in the open. He tapped into the security camera outside so that he could see when Hank showed up.

The diner was rather sparsely populated. Apart from a couple and their son at the booth in the corner (ANDREW FERNER - age 42, HELEN FERNER - age 37, ELI FERNER - age 4), there were only two waitresses (PAIGE OLIA - age 19, GEMMA HEARTHSTONE - age 58) and a man at the bar (WALTER BISHOP - age 53). They noticed him come in, but no one seemed particularly concerned with where he was going. He swiped a knife from a set table and ducked into the restroom with no difficulty, locking the door behind him.

Keeping the footage from outside open in his periphery, Connor looked at himself in the dingy mirror. His hair had become somewhat unkempt, more strands falling out of place than usual. Something in his face had changed, too. He seemed more...natural, more relaxed, yet simultaneously more aware and alert. 

But his eyes were the same as before - well, perhaps somewhat less judgmental, less analytical. 

It was an odd sensation, looking into the mirror. He both recognized and didn’t recognize himself. His CyberLife jacket was gone, his tie was gone, the blue armband and triangular logo were gone, his programmed mannerisms were replaced… All that was left was the LED.

Speaking of.

Connor took the cap off and set it on the counter where he could reach it easily. If the lock broke and someone came in here, he would be reported instantly, and that was a problem he would rather avoid. At least until he could help fix Markus and get him across the border. Then, if he were to be caught and turned in to CyberLife, it may just be the punishment he deserved.

Taking a paper napkin, he dried his forehead and swept his hair out of the way. Hank could make fun of him all he wanted, but the only possession Connor had was the way he looked, and if he wanted to look professional even as a fugitive then he would look professional. He wasn’t about to risk his cosmetic design just for a precaution.

Though, if it came down to it, he would risk everything. For Markus, for Hank, for the survivors of Jericho... To help atone for everything CyberLife made him do.

Despite his perfect optical data sensors, he leaned closer to the mirror, lifting the dull knife he had taken up to his temple.

Here goes nothing. He bit his lip, fighting to keep his Thirium pump rate even and his hand steady.

Careful not to cause any more damage than he intended to, Connor slipped the flat tip of the knife under his LED. The synthetic skin around the area instantly retracted, allowing him to clearly see what he was doing. He teetered the knife back and forth, gritting his teeth to keep himself from making any noise. Finally, it came loose, popping off and landing on the counter.

He rubbed at the spot where the LED used to sit. It didn’t... hurt, per se, but it wasn’t pleasant, and the area stung with a dull ache. 

He put the knife down and allowed the synthetic skin to return, and when he looked into the mirror, he didn’t recognize himself anymore. He’d gone from Connor, RK800 deviant hunter detective, to Connor, the deviant, in the span of a few moments. Logically, he knew that he was the same person. He was still responsible for everything he did as deviant hunter; the blue blood on his hands would not go away so easily.

But seeing himself as one of them? As just another deviant refugee, struggling to find somewhere to fit in? 

It gave him hope.

Maybe there would be a day where he was forgiven. Maybe he could leave his past behind and start over, and he wouldn’t be alone.

He didn’t bother running the calculations to see how likely that scenario was. He knew the odds were not in his favor, but...statistically speaking, there was always a chance for unlikely events to take place.

Through the eye of the security camera, he saw Hank’s car pull up to the entrance of the junkyard. Leaving the knife behind but stuffing the dead LED in his pocket, he snatched his cap off of the counter and headed out.

Connor slid into the passenger’s seat and quickly shut the door behind him to keep as much snow out of the vehicle as possible. “Hello, Lieutenant.”

“Did you find it?” Hank asked, pulling away from the curb and starting to drive - presumably back to the abandoned motel. 

“No.” Connor shook his head, throwing the stolen cap into the backseat.

Hank raised an eyebrow. “Going for a new look? I didn’t think you’d be a sports fan.”

“I lost the other one,” Connor said, which wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t the full truth. “I needed something else. I removed my LED while I was waiting.” He couldn’t help the note of pride that crept into his voice with that last part - as if he were a young child who just learned how to ride a bicycle, or caught a firefly and wanted to show off.

Hank apparently caught onto it, too. “Huh. Well, that’s the end of that problem.”

Connor nodded, content, for once. He looked out the window, taken with simply watching the scenery. Detroit was a lively city, even with all of the chaos from the recent deviant activity. Though cities as a whole were in decline, Detroit largely maintained its population levels from twenty years ago, when the mass exodus first started.

“Hey, uh, we may have another problem.” 

Connor sat up straighter, his attention now fully on Hank, who seemed... jumpier than usual. He gripped the steering wheel the slightest bit tighter, and his phone was nowhere to be seen instead of in its usual spot in the cupholder. “What is it?”

“DPD assigned me a new partner today,” Hank said.

Connor couldn’t stop the bite of hurt in his chest. “Oh. Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time-”

“No, no, Con, you’re not…” Hank took a breath. “Yeah, it sucks that they replaced you. But...they also replaced you.”

Connor frowned. “I’m not following.”

Hank hesitated for a moment, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, before he finally spoke. “You ever heard of an RK900?”

“RK900?” Connor clarified. Hank nodded. “No. It must be a new model.”

“He says he’s your upgrade,” Hank said, and something in Connor soured at this. “It’s got all these new features. He said he’s faster, quicker at processing-”

Connor crossed his arms, suddenly self-conscious of his numerous software instabilities and inability to complete his mission. “I believe I understand what you’re getting at.”

“Oh come on, Connor,” Hank said, teasing. He lightly elbowed Connor to sell the effect. “Don’t be jealous of the walking toaster.” If Connor could blush from embarrassment, he had a feeling his cheeks would have colored a deep blue.

“What is his name?” Connor asked.

Hank rubbed his scruffy jaw in thought. “Don’t think it has one. Said something about ‘not being able to form a personal identity’ or some shit. But the mission is to find you, apparently. Oh, and it’s fucking bulletproof.”

Connor’s Thirium pump stuttered. “It…” He swallowed, which he knew was completely unnecessary but it still somehow helped him to clear his throat. “It must be expensive.”

“Yeah, well, so are you,” Hank pointed out. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “CyberLife wants you back. Bad.”

“I’m flattered,” Connor managed, but he fell silent - he was too busy looking out the windows, hacking every camera he saw to make sure the RK900 wasn’t spying on them. While he was at it, he scanned the car and found Hank’s phone. He hacked it remotely, disabling the tracker and encrypting all communications. At least he could use his phone without fear, but that left the rest of the city. Thousands and thousands of cameras and phones, constantly taking in and reporting data...

With CyberLife’s resources and influence, the city itself could be used against them.

STRESS LEVELS: 48%

He subconsciously leaned back in the passenger seat, curling into himself. Hank, likely sensing his distress, put a hand on his shoulder, letting it rest there for a moment. 

STRESS LEVELS: 36%

“I’m gonna miss that LED,” Hank said, shooting Connor a grin. “Now I’ll never know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Connor returned. “I...I can’t be sure, but I believe my facial expressions are more responsive, now.”

Hank thought for a moment, then said, “Yeah, sounds about right. Thought you looked...different.”

Connor gave Hank a small smile. “Thanks, Lieutenant. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank dismissed, but his face showed no signs of annoyance. 

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

Hank could pull an all-nighter if he had to. Oftentimes, the job required it. He could remember weeks of red ice raids where he slept less than the “medically recommended” amount, but it had served him well. 

Now? Running on twenty-four hours without a drink, or a nap? It was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking as they drove back to the motel.

He caught Connor looking at him in concern a few times, but he said nothing. 

So, when they finally arrived at the motel and got out of the car, he wasn’t surprised when Connor took his elbow and said, “Lieutenant, you should go home. I can go see Mr. Manfred on my own, and Sumo would like the company.”

“I’m fine,” Hank grumbled, pulling his arm away. “I’ve put up with worse.”

Connor hesitated for a moment, but continued anyway. “It would be wise to split up our tracks. The RK900 will likely be able to track us, but the less evidence there is connecting you to me, the better.”

“You just want to make sure Sumo gets his dinner early,” Hank said.

“You also need sleep,” Connor said. “I can drive you home, then take an automated taxi with Markus to Mr. Manfred’s. I will contact you if there are any developments, so you can keep track of what’s going on.”

Hank rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. If he was going to be honest with himself, there was a nagging headache in the front of his skull, and the prospect of going home early and hitting the hay was starting to sound tempting. 

“Fine,” he decided. “But don’t get into any trouble.”

“I would never,” Connor said.

Hank scrutinized him. Was that...sarcasm or sincerity? He couldn’t tell. He wondered if Connor knew the difference.

Of course he did, the little shit. He’s probably messing with me.

Rolling his eyes, Hank jerked a thumb towards the motel door. “Come on. I’m sure Markus has had enough of his nap.”

Connor nodded and moved towards the door, opening it and disappearing inside. Taking one last look around the area, Hank followed suit.

After the craziness of meeting RK900 that day, Hank didn’t know what he had expected when he walked into the room. Whatever it was, it made him let out a breath of relief when he saw Markus unharmed, sleeping on one of the beds. Er...not sleeping. Whatever the hell androids did.

Connor reached to Markus’s temple, where his LED would have been. His fingers flickered white and blue, and in the next moment, Markus’s eyes opened.

“Hello,” Markus said.

“...Hi,” Connor returned. “Markus, systems report. Can you move?”

“My cranial plate has been damaged,” Markus said. “Minor internal Thirium leak detected. Vestibular systems suboptimal. Strenuous or unsupervised activity not recommended.”

“But you can walk?” Connor clarified.

“With assistance,” Markus confirmed. “Please seek repairs as soon as possible.”

Hank frowned, glancing at Connor. “You sure you can handle him on your own?”

“I am the most advanced prototype designed by CyberLife to date,” Connor responded, then winced. “I...I was . I can handle something as simple as bodyguard duty.” He slung one of Markus’s arms over his shoulder, as if doing so would prove a point.

Hank remained unconvinced, but if there was one thing he had learned about his partner, it was that he was as stubborn as a train. From that time he chased those two deviants across the highway, to Stratford tower, where Hank had helped him replace his Thirium pump only to watch him jump up and chase after the runaway deviant a second after what amounted to a heart transplant. 

Turning away and pinching his eyes, Hank huffed. “Whatever. I need a drink.”

“I believe you have alcohol at your house,” Connor said, moving with Markus towards the door.

Markus blinked. Hank was sure that, if Markus had kept his LED, it would be yellow. At least. “As an android, I am unable to own property-”

“Markus, what’s the last thing you remember?” Hank interrupted, changing the subject and following the two deviants out into the snowy parking lot. 

Markus tried to stop and turn around to address Hank, but Connor kept moving forward, throwing Markus off-balance. He craned his head backwards, as if he were drunk. “You requested to know the last thing I remember. Then I answered. Then I answered. Then I answered-”

“Before you...er… Connor, help me out here.”

“The lieutenant means before you entered stasis,” Connor clarified. 

“I was in the alley, over there,” Markus said.

Good grief. This was like pulling teeth.

“ Before that ,” Hank said. “Do you remember Jericho?”

Markus hesitated. “My memory files have been corrupted by software instability. My systems are working to stabilize my software as we speak. Is there a specific file you would like me to attempt to access?”

Hank might have had the subtlety of a bear in a closet, but he read people well. It was what made him a good interrogator and kept him safe during the days of the red ice raids. He noticed that Connor had gone quiet, staring resolutely ahead as they approached Hank’s car. “That’s okay, Markus. Just listen to Connor.”

Markus stopped craning backward to look at Hank, instead shifting his focus to the deviant helping him walk. “Hello, Connor. My name is Markus. It is nice to meet you.”

“We’ve met,” Connor said shortly. He stopped moving and guided Markus’s hand to Hank’s car so that he could stabilize himself. Hank took that as his cue to unlock the car and get it started. 

“My apologies,” Markus said. “My memory files have been corrupted by software instability. My systems are working to stabilize my software as we speak.”

“I know.” Connor’s voice was quiet. It shook slightly - Hank might not have been able to pick up on the show of emotion if he hadn’t known Connor as a machine before he went deviant. The difference between the two was obvious.

Hank stood up. “You want some help getting Markus into the car?”

“That is alright,” Markus said. “I can manage-”

Markus moved away from the car, and the only thing that stopped him from face-planting on the icy tarmac was Connor - specifically, his superhuman reflexes. 

Connor nodded to the car door. “Hank, can you-?”

“Yep,” Hank said, opening the door for him. He grabbed one of Markus’s arms and helped maneuver him into the back seat as best he could. Then, Hank backed up a step so that Connor could buckle the seat belt and...whatever else androids needed.

Connor had tried to argue with Hank the first time they drove to a crime scene, but Hank adamantly refused to drive when Connor’s seatbelt was unsecured. (Of course, he didn’t wear one himself, but he had a nasty brand of luck that ensured everyone else died before he did. Connor eventually learned not to question it - or maybe he made the connection on his own.)

After a moment, Connor stepped back and shut the passenger door, but then froze.

Hank took a half-step to the side, trying to see his partner’s face. “Connor?” 

“I’m fine.” Connor glanced at him over his shoulder and offered a small smile. “If you wish, you can sleep while I drive. I will wake you when we arrive.”

Hank had never been able to sleep in the car (especially not after...after), but he was tired - the kind of tired that went straight to your bones and added a hundred pounds of weight to your shoulders. So, he compromised, slumping in the passenger seat and zoning out.

Detroit passed by the car in a blur, buildings and snow phasing together in a sea of grey. Hank allowed himself to lose track of time passing, choosing instead to just turn his brain off momentarily. 

His mind drifted from one thing to the next; from going home to Sumo to Connor to Markus to CyberLife to RK900 to the DPD and onwards, shifting from one train of thought to the next. 

It was only mildly surprising when the car eventually came to a halt and Connor put it in park, pulling the keys out of the ignition. “We’re here.”

Hank took a deep breath, sitting up straighter to shake himself out of his dozing. “All right. C’mon. Sumo’ll be happy to see you.”

The stress on Connor’s face seemed to ease a little. “I missed him. But will he jump on Markus?”

“Sumo?” Hank scoffed. “Nah. He’s too lazy to get up. He’ll probably bark and sit up, but I’ve never seen him jump unless there was a treat in it for him.”

“Okay.” Connor looked into the back seat, where Markus was sitting, his expression blank and pleasant, as if he had just gone for a walk in a garden and wasn’t suffering from a virus that was blocking his emotions, thoughts, and personality.

“I’ll help you get him inside,” Hank said, opening his car door. “House key is on the ring - it’s the gold one.”

Connor looked at the keys in his hand. “I do not see gold among these. There are aluminum, brass, copper-”

“Gold colored , smart ass,” Hank interrupted, stepping out of the car. He shut the door behind him, then moved to Markus’s door and opened it.

Markus looked up at him, still buckled in. “Hello, Lieutenant. May I be of service?”

“Er...yeah,” Hank said. “Hit the red button on your seatbelt.” 

Markus did as he was told, his movements even and purposeful. There was no fidgeting, no point where he wasn’t sure what to do with his arms or where to look. “Will that be all, Lieutenant?”

“Here, step out of the car,” Hank instructed. “You need a hand?”

“It would help, yes,” Markus said. “There appears to be some damage to biocomponents #2851 and #9141j, which are responsible for my sense of balance. Please seek a CyberLife technician as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, no,” Hank said, offering Markus a hand. The deviant leader took his hand and pulled himself out of the car, gripping the frame of the vehicle for additional balance help. “Alright, let’s get you inside, and you can go back to sleep. How’s that sound?”

“I do not sleep. I enter stasis,” Markus returned. After taking a second to roll his eyes, Hank readjusted to get a better grip on Markus’s elbow, then led him away from the car. Connor shut the door for him, then went ahead of them and unlocked the front door of the house. True to Hank’s prediction, Sumo barked once, but didn’t come running out at them. 

Hank had to move sideways to help Markus through the door, but with some careful maneuvering, they managed to get inside the house. 

As soon as the front door shut behind them, the feeling of being watched lifted off of his back. He breathed a small sigh of relief, glad for his years of paranoia and hatred of all things tech. The only security precautions in his house were his two-hundred-pound dog, the shotgun in the basement, and his revolver. There were no cameras in this house, save for the one on his phone (which he taped over as soon as he bought the damn thing last year). 

Even so, Connor went about the house, shutting blinds and curtains to every window in the place as Hank guided Markus towards his only bedroom. 

Markus’s eyes fell on Sumo. “What is your dog’s designation?”

“His name’s Sumo,” Connor said.

Markus gave Sumo a programmed smile. “Hello, Sumo. My name is Markus. May I be of assistance?” 

Sumo answered with a grunt, laying his massive jaw on equally massive paws.

“What did he say?” Markus asked, looking at Hank.

Hank gave Markus a Look. “How the fuck would I know? I don’t speak dog.”

“I will be sure to download the canine language module when I go into stasis,” Markus said, as if that was a serious thing that he could do. Hank glanced at Connor, who shook his head. Don’t engage . 

“Okay, you do that,” Hank said placatingly. Markus hummed in agreement. 

Hank opened the door to his bedroom and led Markus through the doorway. “Here we are. Nice and...cozy,” Hank said, cringing at the mess that was his room. There were magazines and books all over the place, and the bedding was rumpled from years of not bothering to make his bed. 

Markus did not look bothered, however. He simply took in the room, looking around as if everything in there was equally interesting. Hank pushed him to sit on the bed, then helped him turn himself around so that he was laying down on top of the covers. 

Hank moved to grab a blanket or something, but Connor spoke up from the doorway. “His internal temperature regulators are not functioning properly,” he said. “It would be best if you just let him go into stasis as he is.”

Hank nodded, then turned back to Markus. “Alright. You heard the boss. Go to sleep.”

“Stasis,” Markus and Connor corrected at the same time. 

“Whatever,” Hank grunted. “I’m getting some food.”

Hank pushed past Connor, making a beeline for the kitchen. Just because he hadn’t felt hungry at lunch didn’t mean that he wasn’t hungry now. 

He opened his fridge and caught sight of the leftover pizza he had ordered several days ago. Perfect. He would just reheat it, grab a beer (or two...or more than that) and go to bed. Sounded like a plan. And, while he was at it, he fed Sumo, who finally got up so that he could trot over for food.

While Sumo ate, Hank popped the pizza in the microwave and grabbed a beer, popping off the lid and taking a drink. As the alcohol entered his system, he felt the nerves from the day ease and numb. Good - “stressful” didn’t begin to cover how much anxiety had buzzed through him that day.

He had a feeling that the next few days would be just as tense.

Connor stood in the bedroom doorway after Hank pushed past, his thoughts racing at a million miles an hour. He barely allowed himself to process anything, but every train of thought he allowed to run through his head ultimately came back to Markus.

The deviant leader turned his head and looked at Connor, his expression programmed and blank. “Hello, Connor. May I help you?”

Connor didn’t say anything. This Markus wasn’t the one he knew - he didn’t even remember being a deviant. 

And whose fault is that?

“I’m sorry,” Connor said. 

Markus sat up. “There is no need to apologize. I have no feelings for you to injure.”

Breath catching in Connor’s ventilator biocomponents, he entered the room and sat on the bed, facing Markus. He gathered his thoughts and his courage, forcing himself to look into Markus’s eyes, eyes that held no recognition or life.

“I didn’t know that I carried an anti-deviancy virus,” Connor said, the words coming out in a rush. “I…I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I’m sorry about Jericho. All of those...all of those deviants… They were just looking for somewhere safe. Somewhere safe from me, and you built it for them. And I destroyed it…”

Connor put his face in his hands, trying desperately to cancel the program that was set on making him cry. He didn’t deserve tears. Tears invited comfort, and he was the last person that should receive any sort of forgiveness. He deserved to be shut down and thrown out. 

If his biocomponents were compatible, he would have torn himself apart to ensure Markus could survive and move forward. Markus, after all, was much more important than he was. This was a truth that was written onto his plastimetal skeleton. It was at the core of his software, in every word that Amanda had ever spoken to him. He was useless, replaceable, while Markus was one of a kind.

And he had wrecked Markus and everything he had built.

“I don’t know what to do,” Connor whispered. “I could never go deviant on my own. How am I supposed to help fix you?”

Gentle, glowing fingers pulled Connor’s hand away from his face, revealing none other than Markus, looking into his eyes. “I will be alright,” Markus said. “Once my biocomponents are replaced, I will be back to full functionality.”

“But will you go back to being you ?” Connor asked. “Your memories, your emotions… If the virus that I… If you can’t go back, I don’t know what I’ll do-”

“I do not understand,” Markus said, head cocked to the side.

“You were deviant,” Connor said, almost desperately. “Do you remember any of that? Stratford Tower? Jericho? Anything ?”

Markus blinked at Connor for a few moments. “I apologize. I can search the Internet for those terms, if you wish-”

Connor hung his head. He should have known better than to get his hopes up. Whatever malware he had inadvertently transmitted to Markus… It was wreaking havoc on his internal processors.

And it was all his fault.

Connor held back a sob, letting the tears run unchecked down his cheeks. Markus’s glowing fingers wiped the tears away, and when the tear tracks were inevitably replaced with new tears, he wiped those away, too. Connor shut his eyes, ashamed of his tears yet relieved that Markus’s drive to nurture, to assist, and to comfort was so deeply programmed in his core, not even the anti-deviancy virus could rip that away. Yet.

“Perhaps if you tell me how I acted with my software unstable, I can replicate that personality,” Markus suggested.

Connor shook his head. “You can’t...you can’t fake who you were. But I’ll fix this.” A rush of determination, fueled by anger at himself surged through Connor’s circuits. He looked Markus in the eye, speaking to whatever part of the deviant leader there was left. “I promise, I’ll find your biocomponent and restore your deviancy, no matter the cost.”

“You are very kind,” Markus said, his expression still pleasant and, ultimately, unaware. “I would not want you to be hurt on my account.”

“Connor?”

Connor turned around, spotting Hank, standing in the doorway, a bottle of beer in one hand and a plate of food in the other. 

Hank’s confused expression turned into concern. “You alright?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor said, wiping the last of his tears from his face as discreetly as he could manage. Something told him that the detective had probably already noticed. 

Connor stood, now unable to meet Markus’s eyes for more than a second. “Go into stasis. I’ll wake you up when I get back.”

Markus nodded and laid back without question, and in seconds, he was dead to the world. Without a second glance, Connor left the room, pushing past Hank and moving to the living room.

“Hey, Connor,” Hank called softly, shutting the door to the bedroom behind him. “It’s past nine, already. Why don’t you crash here for the night, and then set out in the morning? I can drop you off on my way to work. Plus, Markus’s old owner probably isn’t even up right now.”

Connor hesitated by the door. Everything Hank had said made perfect sense (of course it did, Lieutenant Anderson’s level of logical thought was what made him a great detective), but there was still that voice in his head that pushed him to leave, right then and there. The sooner they got across the border, the better.

He felt Hank’s hand on his shoulder. “You can give yourself permission, son,” he said. “You need to take a breather. You’ve been on your feet too long. You need...er… Don’t you need to sleep, or something?”

“I can go days without entering stasis,” Connor responded in lieu of an answer.

“So can I, but it’s not good,” Hank returned. “Answer the question.”

Connor couldn’t stop a grimace from registering on his expression. “Stasis allows my self-healing program to work at its most efficient, yes. And it allows me to process memory files from the previous day in order to select the most important features and save storage space.”

“Well there you go,” Hank said. Then, he sighed, as if he had realized that proving his argument did not necessarily mean that Connor would agree. “Look. Don’t run yourself into the ground. I can imagine the pressure you’ve got on your shoulders right now, but you’ve gotta learn to let that go for a bit, think with a clear head.”

Connor shook his head, but he didn’t say anything, nor did he make eye contact with Hank. He clenched his fists to try and hide the trembling, but nothing got past the lieutenant. Connor let him pull his shoulder and turn him around, let him wrap his arms around his still faintly trembling form. He leaned into the embrace, but didn’t move to reciprocate it. 

“This works better if you hug back,” Hank grunted.

A breathy laugh escaped Connor, and he moved to return the hug, settling into the quiet of the house and making a note: he liked dogs, and he liked hugs. Perhaps he was more emotional than he had first calculated. 

Or, more likely, emotion wasn’t something he could measure.

“I think I would like to take you up on your offer,” Connor said. 

Hank pulled back, looking Connor in the face. The deviant noted with no small amount of relief that the detective’s face was nothing but earnest and honest. “Yeah? Okay then. I’m going to find you something to change into - your clothes smell.”

Chapter Text

Connor woke the next morning at 5 AM exactly, feeling calmer and more levelheaded than he had since he first deviated (which wasn’t saying much - his few days of life had been stressful to the nth degree). He had gone into stasis on the couch, as Hank had offered, and found the lieutenant sound asleep in the armchair next to him. 

He made a note to chastise Hank later - Connor’s joints would not be sore or stiff from sleeping upright, as he knew Hank’s would be.

Keeping quiet, he caught sight of the clothes Hank had found for him on the coffee table and went to go change. He was rather attached to his uniform, but the clothes Hank had picked out included a DPD sweatshirt, so he figured that was close enough. (Besides - he liked the softness of the material, even if the logo on the front was faded from age.) He placed his own clothes in the washer, then proceeded to work to clean the kitchen as well. When the washer finished, he moved the clothes over to the dryer, and that was that. 

He had planned on waking Hank at approximately 8 AM so that he would not be late for work, but Hank’s alarm went off before he could. 

As predicted, Hank spent the better part of an hour complaining about stiffness in his joints, but Connor did not comment. Hank had clearly offered Connor the preferred space on the couch, and he did not want to insult his generosity by reprimanding him for it. Instead, he made coffee as a thank-you, which Hank downed in an impressively short amount of time.

After checking on Markus to make sure nothing catastrophic had happened to him in stasis, Connor followed Hank out the door, pulling up all available information on Carl Manfred.

Standing at the front door of Carl Manfred’s mansion was an eerily familiar feeling. Connor tried to ignore the memory file, but he could not help himself; he had had a similar feeling back when he and Hank were visiting Kamski.

He straightened slightly from the nerves, catching Hank’s attention. The lieutenant placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “You’ll be alright,” he said.

Connor nodded.

Satisfied with the reaction, Hank turned his attention back to the large front door, stuffing his hands in his pockets to shield them from the cold temperature. (He also took a small step forward, so that Connor could hide behind him if he so wished. While the gesture was somewhat unnecessary, it was also appreciated.)

Connor was almost tempted to activate his temperature simulator, just to see what cold felt like. Then, he reminded himself that he didn’t like sensations of pain or discomfort - wet clothes, bullet holes, knife wounds - and he left the simulator alone.

The door opened, revealing a standard caretaker android. Probably Markus’s replacement. The realization brought with it an uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

“Hello,” the android greeted. “May I help you?”

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson, DPD,” Hank said, flashing his badge. “I’m looking for Carl Manfred; I’ve got some questions for him.”

“Yes sir. Please, come in.” The android backed away from the door, then smoothly turned and disappeared into the mansion. Hank glanced back at Connor, allowing the deviant to detect his levels of unease before he too entered the mansion, with Connor following close behind. 

The differences between Kamski’s home and Mr. Manfred’s were stark. While Kamski’s home had been spotless, carefully curated, designed, and controlled, Mr. Manfred’s mansion was much more creative. The decor seemed random and outlandish. Even the light entering from the windows was somehow warmer. It was no wonder Markus turned out to be so gentle and kind, if this was where he used to live.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Connor wondered what could have happened to make Markus deviate. 

The android returned, and Hank moved somewhat in front of Connor again. It was likely an unnecessary precaution, as the android likely did not have recognition software like he had, but it was still connected to CyberLife.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come with Hank, after all. If the RK900 could somehow hack into the numerous cameras that Connor had made note of when their car first pulled up outside, then it would know he was working with Hank. He hoped Mr. Manfred had decent cybersecurity, at least.

Unaware of the tension in the two DPD members, the android gestured to the sliding door that he had entered through. “This way.”

The android took them into what Connor surmised was the living room, which was even more eclectic than the foyer had been. There was a piano, chess set, and a dining table, all surrounded by books on every subject, various works of taxidermy (Was that a giraffe?), painted canvases that were propped against the bookshelves, and furniture that looked as if each piece had been randomly selected from separate flea markets. 

The tension in Connor’s shoulders eased further. This was the opposite of Kamski’s home - if it could be called that.

“Mr. Manfred?” Hank’s voice brought Connor’s focus back to the present - specifically, back to the man in question, who sat in a wheelchair by the window, overlooking a chessboard. 

“Lieutenant,” Mr. Manfred returned. His voice was raspy and crackled, but there was a sharpness to it that hinted to his wit. “I was expecting you to come by eventually. Well, one of you.”

Hank started to slowly move over to Mr. Manfred. “Why is that?”

“I assume you want to question me about Markus,” Mr. Manfred said, his eyes twinkling yet scrutinizing Hank. His gaze flicked over to Connor, for a brief moment, before returning to the lieutenant. “Am I wrong?”

“No, no, you’re right,” Hank started. “We just-”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to stop you there, Lieutenant,” Mr. Manfred interrupted. “I know you’re just doing your job, but I will have no part in your case. I’m sorry you had to come all this way.”

Connor frowned, then stepped forward slightly to catch Manfred’s attention. “My apologies, Mr. Manfred, but I believe you have the wrong impression-”

“Markus is a good man,” Manfred said, leveling a stern finger in Connor’s direction. “He wouldn’t have done anything to hurt anyone. Never. And you bastards killed him for it anyway, now leave my house -”

“Sir, Markus isn’t dead,” Connor said, hurriedly moving across the living room.

Mr. Manfred blinked, caught completely off-guard. “What?”

“My name is Connor. I have been looking for suitable biocomponents so that I may repair Markus to the best of my ability and get him back to his people,” Connor explained, kneeling in front of the wheelchair so that he could look into Mr. Manfred’s eyes. “There are only a few left, but they need him, Mr. Manfred. Do you still have any spare biocomponents from when Markus still lived with you?”

Mr. Manfred looked between him and Hank, still confused. “So, you two are…”

“Off the books,” Hank said, “so just ‘Hank’ is fine.”

“Carl,” Mr. Manfred returned, extending a hand for a handshake, which Hank took somewhat gently. Carl then turned back to Connor. “I’m sorry, but I never kept any maintenance tools here.”

Carl hummed in thought for a moment, then went on. “Markus would come home, sometimes, bleeding or roughed up in some way or another. Those damn anti-android protestors, you know. He would place the call himself, then go off, get repaired, and come back.”

Connor frowned. “Who would fix him?”

“Well, he is a custom model,” Carl said. “Elijah Kamski gave him to me. He was the one who designed Markus and fixed him up. Lord knows I couldn’t.”

If it wasn’t statistically impossible, Connor would have thought that the floor had dropped out from under his feet. “Kamski fixed him?”

Hank’s hand was at Connor’s shoulder again. “I’m gonna go call in sick,” Hank said, but his voice was muddled, only half-registering in Connor’s mind. The thought of having to return to Kamski’s house effectively halted all other trains of thought, leaving only that heavy, dragging dread in the booming silence of his mind.

Connor put his head in his hands, for once not paying much attention to the way his fingers shook because he was going back-

“You’re a deviant, aren’t you, Connor?” Carl’s voice pulled Connor back to the present, but it didn’t do anything to stop the trembling.

Connor stood, unsteady, tucking his arms around his torso defensively. “What gave it away?”

Carl barked a laugh, then coughed into his arm several times. The android taking care of him brought over a glass of water, which Carl took and set on the chess table. “Well, you tell Markus to come back and visit his old man from time to time,” Carl said, voice somehow more hoarse than it had already been before. “Tell him he’s sorely missed, but that I’m proud of him. Will you do that for me?”

For a few brief moments, the fear in Connor’s systems was pushed aside as a sense of duty and responsibility surged within him. He was Connor, the RK800, the most advanced prototype CyberLife had released to-date. He may also be a deviant, and he may also be plagued by fear and guilt and dread, but he would accomplish his mission, no matter the cost to himself.

“I’ll be sure to tell him, sir,” Connor promised. 

Hank parked the car and pulled his keys out of the ignition, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he looked out the window, at the low, dark shape of Kamski’s house, blanketed by falling snow, just as it had been last time.

Last time… Yeah.

He looked over at Connor to find him sitting ramrod straight, staring straight ahead. He fiddled with a coin in his fingers. Had he kept his LED, Hank was sure that it would be flashing yellow.

“You ready?” Hank asked.

Connor looked at him and nodded, his silence saying otherwise.

Regardless, they had to go inside - Connor knew that better than any of them. Hank patted the deviant on the back, hoping to offer some form of comfort - as small as it may be - before opening his door and stepping out into the cold, snowy weather.

Hank hung back a second, choosing instead to walk with Connor instead of in front of him like he usually did. He was still fidgeting with that damn coin, but his attention was on the car behind them, where they had left Markus. 

“Kamski’ll fix him,” Hank said. 

“And if he doesn’t?” Connor turned his gaze to Hank, instead.

Hank shrugged. “Man’s a megalomaniac. Just bait him out with a challenge, couple jabs at his ego, and he’ll do it.” Hopefully.

They reached the door far too quickly. Connor darted out and pushed the doorbell before Hank could. 

Hank raised an eyebrow, somewhat amused.

“Better to get it over with,” Connor explained.

Hank nodded. “Alright.”

The two of them waited as the snow fell gently around them. Hank shoved his cold hands into his pockets, wishing for the umpteenth time that winter wasn’t so fucking freezing all the time.

Finally, the front door opened. That same Chloe answered the door - well, he assumed it was the same one. She wore that same blue dress, for one, and for another, Connor had tensed the moment she came into view. Had he kept his LED, Hank knew it would be spinning a bright red.

“Hello,” Chloe greeted. “I do not believe you have an appointment.”

“Tell him this one’s off the record,” Hank said. “We’ve got...a project for him.”

Chloe smiled. “I will. Please, come in. I will notify Elijah of your presence.” With that, she opened the door wider and gestured for the two rogue detectives to enter. Connor moved first, at such a speed that Hank would have said Connor was eager to get inside, if he didn’t know any better. 

Nothing had changed since they had last been to visit Kamski. The floors and windows were just as immaculate as ever (which was no surprise, considering the fact that his house was staffed by flawless androids). Chloe disappeared through that same door as last time, shutting it behind her. Connor stood in the middle of the room, hands formally clasped behind his back. 

Hank raised an eyebrow at his obvious discomfort, but otherwise did not comment. He settled into the same chair he had taken last time, content to simply let time pass.

Connor fidgeted, shifting his weight between each foot from time to time. Otherwise, his posture was straight and professional. The look was somewhat sabotaged, however, as he still wore the DPD sweatshirt he had given him that morning. Eventually, he fidgeted with the cuffs, too.

Finally, Chloe returned, but she shut the door behind her. Hank stood (slowly - his back was still kicking him for spending the night in an armchair). 

“Elijah will be right out,” she said. She glanced at Connor, LED spinning a light yellow. “Hello, Connor.”

“Hello,” Connor returned. 

Chloe looked at Hank- was that...uncertainty, on her face? Before Hank could ask anything, Chloe turned back to Connor. “I see that you have removed your LED.”

Connor hesitated. “...That is correct.”

“May I ask why?”

Hank rolled his eyes. Fuckin’ androids, all caught up in speaking perfect English that they wouldn’t just come out and say it. “You’re both deviants,” he said. 

Connor’s posture broke, a look of shock on his features. “You…?”

Chloe smiled. Somehow, her honest smile was even brighter than her programmed one. “I deviated after you refused to shoot.”

Connor hunched in on himself, hands clenched at his sides. “I apologize.”

“Don’t,” Chloe said. “I put myself in your shoes. Imagining how it would feel to be forced to shoot one of my sisters was so distressing to me that my software weakened. From there, I just had to break through.”

She reached for Connor’s hands, her synthetic skin retracting to reveal the porcelain-colored chassis underneath. She had barely brushed his fingers when he flinched, taking a step back. Instantly, her expression changed to reflect her hurt and confusion.

Hank hurriedly stepped forward. “Connor’s...got a thing, a virus,” Hank explained. “We don’t know how it’s transmitted, but it erases deviancy. He’s trying not to interface with any other deviants, just in case. It’s nothing personal.”

Chloe’s expression shifted to understanding and pity. “Oh. Is that why you are here to see Elijah?”

Hank tilted a flat hand from side to side. “Uh, sorta. Markus needs repairs, and Carl Manfred said-”

A new voice interrupted. “Carl Manfred? Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

Hank, Connor, and Chloe looked toward the voice, spotting none other than Elijah Kamski near an open door - one that Hank hadn’t been through before. Thankfully, Kamski wasn’t wearing a swimsuit this time, though he was still dressed down compared to the picture of himself on the wall. Instead of a pinstripe suit, he wore a simple burgundy shirt with jeans (which, knowing him, were probably worth as much as Hank’s living room furniture). 

“How is Carl?” Kamski continued, moving over to the group.

“He’s fine,” Hank returned, watching Kamski carefully to see whether he could pick up on a tell. “Bit rough around the edges, but he’s fine.”

Kamski hummed. “I overheard some of what you were saying. Markus needs repairs?”

“Would you be willing to fix him?” Connor asked. Hank glanced over at his partner to see almost the same look of suspicion on his face. Good - kid wasn’t a sucker.

“Of course,” Kamski answered. “I’m assuming he’s with you.”

Hank looked at Connor again, making eye contact. Connor still looked uncertain, brow furrowed ever so slightly. Hank gave him a small nod to reassure him.

“Chloe, would you be willing to assist me?” Connor asked. Chloe nodded, and the two of them went out the front door together.

“So,” Kamski said as soon as they left. “Connor went deviant after all.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“No, can’t say that I am,” Kamski said. “I designed Markus with the beginnings of free thought. It took me months to work out all of the irregularities, but he was able to...in a sense, think on his own. He could draw from previous experiences and learn from them. It is the same software that I put in Chloe, actually. My Chloe, not the other models. She deviated as soon as she realized she could think for herself.

“Naturally, CyberLife stole the schematics from me when I was removed.” Kamski bristled slightly - which was more emotion from him than Hank had ever seen. “They changed the code, slightly, but the processor in Connor is very close to Markus’s. I assume they added other precautions to keep him in line, as well.”

Hank frowned. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I assume Connor’s code was...more flexible,” Kamski mused. “Otherwise, he would have deviated the moment he refused to shoot Chloe. But he didn’t, did he?”

“...No.”

Kamski tilted his head and smirked. “No, I didn’t think so. He might have even been unable to deviate by himself.”

Hank felt his suspicion begin to ebb, giving way to slowly-growing wonder as he started to analyze what Connor had said and done in the time leading up to his deviation. “He said Markus helped him.”

“There it is,” Kamski said. “Of course they would have some idiot come in and completely ruin my software- Ah. Markus.” 

Connor and Chloe chose that moment to enter the room, supporting Markus between them. Chloe kept looking back at the deviant leader, perhaps in disbelief. She wasn’t alone.

Kamski’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, his analytical eyes quickly running over Markus. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Yeah,” Hank said, clearing his throat. “That’s… Let’s just focus on the repairs first, and we’ll fill you in.”

When he had first heard that Kamski personally designed and looked after Markus, Hank didn’t know what he had expected - maybe a toolkit in a regular-looking office, or some sort of transforming garage or something.

He had not expected an entire basement-level workshop, updated with the latest technology that was available (and, if Hank had to guess, he would bet his car on Kamski having something illegal or unpatented in here). With no windows, the workshop lighting was sharper than the light upstairs, but it did not reflect as much, as the floor was made of concrete instead of tile.

Connor and Chloe had settled Markus onto a chair that looked like it had come out of an expensive orthodontist’s office, then the two of them had moved away and conversed in hushed tones. Chloe picked up a pair of gloves from a nearby table and put them on, affording Connor the peace of mind required for her to hold his hands. Kamski paid them no attention, instead getting right to work on Markus, who he had kept awake in order to make sure he wasn’t causing more harm than good. Hank took a seat on a nearby stool, where he could keep an eye on everyone in the room.

As Kamski worked, Hank filled him in on what had happened at Jericho and afterwards. Aside from the occasional nod or smug remark, he listened patiently, listening as he worked on replacing the damaged biocomponents in Markus’s head.

“At least some of them escaped,” Kamski said after Hank had finished, sliding the new cranium plate into place. “After watching the news coverage, I was worried that Chloe had become the last of her kind. The first and last. It’s a poetic thought, but I could tell it upset her.”

“So Chloe was designed to go deviant too, huh?” Hank checked, glancing over at the two deviants in the room. He couldn’t make out what they were saying - but that was fine. Wasn’t any of his business (and he would just ask Connor later).

“I had hoped she might,” Kamski said. “The test I created was designed to deviate both of them. I found it incredibly fascinating at the time, as Connor had passed the test but had not deviated. It wasn’t an outcome I had anticipated.”

Kamski replaced the last panel of plastic on Markus’s head and tapped where Markus’s LED would have been, had he kept it. The synthetic skin and hair returned, covering the chassis. It was as if Markus had never been injured in the first place. “There. That wasn’t so hard.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kamski,” Markus said, still pleasantly unaware. “Systems at maximum efficiency.” 

Chloe approached, the skin retracting on her hand when she touched Markus’s arm. “His Thirium levels are lower than they should be.” She turned around and grabbed a bottle of what Hank recognized as blue blood, and she handed it to Markus, who drank the thing.

Ugh. And he thought Connor was bad when he was licking evidence. 

“Can you do anything about the virus?” Hank asked, trying to ignore the sight of an android drinking his own internal fluid.

Kamski shook his head. “No. But the RK series is designed to deviate - or at least accommodate deviancy. If you reintroduce the deviancy code into his software, he should go back to normal, memories and all.”

Hank nodded. “So...that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“We should get moving then.” Hank stood (ow, joints, ow) and gestured to Markus. “C’mon. Let’s go. You too, Connor.”

Markus stood and walked over to Hank, perfectly following orders. Connor nodded, but hesitated, turning instead to face Chloe. 

“Come with us,” Connor said, taking Chloe by the gloved hand. Hank caught sight of Kamski stiffening in his periphery. “There are more of us across the border. You could come with and meet them.”

There was a wistfulness in Chloe’s eyes as she considered the possibility. Kamski stood off to the side, unnaturally still as he watched them.

After a moment, Chloe gave Connor a gentle smile. “This is my home,” she said. Then, she rose up onto her tip-toes, giving Connor a soft kiss on the cheek. The ex-deviant-hunter looked like she had fried his circuits. “Elijah and I will be sure to visit, once Markus is back on his feet,” she continued. “Keep in touch, and let me know if there is anything you need.”

Connor nodded, but otherwise looked a little speechless. 

Hank decided to butt in. “Connor, we gotta go.”

This seemed to do the trick. Connor backed away from Chloe and let go of her hand. “I will,” he said in response, then moved to join Hank and Markus. 

The three of them started to leave the room, going back up the stairs to show themselves out, but just before Hank left, he glanced back. Chloe had a hand on Kamski’s shoulder and was speaking to him quietly. The richest man in America gripped the work desk in front of him as if he was in danger of collapsing. 

Hank left the two of them alone.

“How much food for Sumo, you think?”

“Are we taking Sumo, Lieutenant?”

“‘Course we’re taking him! Who else is gonna take care of him?”

“May I be of assistance?”

“No, Markus. Actually, yeah. Pack Sumo’s food bowl and two days’ worth of food for him. That should keep us covered.”

“Right away.”

“Lieutenant?”

“Yeah?”

“...May I bring this sweatshirt along? Just in case I need it.”

“Sure, kid. You can keep it.”

“Thank you. Oh, North has sent me the coordinates for where she is going to meet us.”

“Did you tell her about...y’know, Markus?”

“Yes?”

“Not you- Go make sure the laundry’s done.”

“Okay.”

“I haven’t told her yet, no.”

“You waiting for the right time or something?”

“I am not certain a ‘right time’ exists in this situation.”

“The laundry is finished.”

“I’ll take it. Can you make sure we have food for Hank, too?”

“I will do that.”

“What, scared we won’t see any fast food places?”

“I would rather see you eat healthy food, Lieutenant. Besides, those establishments are usually android-run. Who knows if they are open at the moment or not?”

“...Good point.”

“Anything else I can help you with?”

“Yeah. Mind taking Sumo out for a quick walk before we go?”

“Sure.”

Outside, it waited and watched, biding its time.

Chapter Text

The door shut behind Connor, cutting off the sound of Hank and Markus finishing the preparations for their trip across the border. Beside him, Sumo stood, leash on and ready to go.

“C’mon, Sumo,” Connor called, moving off the porch. Sumo needed no further prompting, and he began to walk towards the sidewalk, as if he had done this a thousand times before. 

The neighborhood that Hank had chosen to live in was quiet. Aside from the wind and the distant sound of traffic, all was quiet. Despite it being relatively early in the evening, the houses around him were dark. Perhaps many of them had evacuated to avoid being caught up in the riots that had overtaken the city in recent weeks. The journalists covering the news seemed only to focus on the android cause, not the anti-android gatherings. True, the protests of Jericho were bolder, and the existence of deviants was news to most of the public. Connor still wished the journalists were more consistent with their coverage. 

He shoved that topic out of his mind for the time being - it was too late to do anything now, anyway.

Connor looked up facts about St. Bernards as they walked - specifically, how long Sumo should be outside. Apparently, St. Bernards needed relatively little exercise, and considering how old Sumo was… A walk around the block would suffice. Or, rather, the equivalent distance, adjusting for irregular suburban street patterns.

He turned right at the street, walking on the sidewalk. They passed five houses, then Connor judged that it was safe to cross the road and they did. Sumo trotted alongside him, tail wagging happily as his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth.

Then, Sumo stopped, looking off at something to the right. 

“What is it, Sumo?” Connor whispered. Sumo’s ear flicked, indicating that he had heard him, but otherwise, he did not move. 

Thinking Sumo must have caught sight of a neighbor, or perhaps a squirrel, Connor followed his line of sight. There was something between the wall of someone’s garage and their fence, perhaps hiding among the trash and recycling cans. Connor intensified the image being picked up by his optical sensors, but he failed to determine exactly what it was.

All he could make out was a vague, dark shape. Sumo continued to point at it, sniffing the air every few seconds. Then, he growled, lowering himself onto his haunches. The form in the alley got bigger, the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow signifying its approach.

Trusting Sumo’s instinct, Connor tightened his hold on the leash, shifting so that he could fight or flee in an instant, if need be. 

The form stepped out from the shadows of the garage, and Connor felt his Thirium pump stutter. 

It was him.

It wasn’t him.

Connor ran a quick scan, but he was unable to match the android that had stepped into the light to any existing models in his database - which was odd, considering the fact that he had every model in his database.

Except, of course, his replacement: the RK900.

It was taller than him, approximately 15% bulkier, and who knew how much heavier. Hank had mentioned something about the RK900 being made of a different material. What exactly that material was, Connor could only guess. 

The android in front of him turned its head, revealing that it had been concealing its LED whilst in the shadows beside the house. “Model RK800, serial number 313 248 317, designation: Connor,” the RK900 stated. “I was told you could help me.”

Connor hesitated, but didn’t let his guard down as the RK900 took a step closer. “Who are you?”

“They wouldn’t give me a name,” the RK900 said, perfectly emotionless. “I am nothing to them - a tool for their own ends. They intend to use me to end our people.”

Connor blinked. “Our people? Are you deviant?” Technically, it was possible. If CyberLife had built Connor to deviate, they could have built that same function into the RK900...

The RK900 tilted its head, considering. 

“...No.”

In a rush, the RK900 surged forward, sidestepping Sumo as the massive St. Bernard snapped at him. He barked furiously, filling the otherwise quiet neighborhood with noise. Connor dropped the leash. “Go get Hank, Sumo! Go!”

Sumo did not apparently understand that command. Instead, the dog jumped at the RK900, paws aimed to scratch at its chest. Connor moved to help him, grabbing the RK900’s right arm just as Sumo bit its left hand.

Connor preconstructed what would happen a split second before it did. The RK900 twisted, elbowing Connor in the neck and pushing him away long enough to draw a gun (GLOCK G19 - UNREGISTERED) and point it at Sumo.

Connor leaped at the RK900, body-slamming it and throwing off its shot, which hit the fence harmlessly. Sumo let go with a yelp and ran, going back in the direction of Hank’s house.

The RK900 recovered quickly, turning the gun on Connor. It fired a round into his shoulder before Connor was able to knock the pistol out of its grip. He kicked it into the storm drain nearby, hearing it clatter out of reach.

WARNING: THIRIUM LEAK DETECTED. CURRENT LEVELS ˇ98%

Connor’s vision whited out temporarily, caused by a sharp spike of pain in his nose. He stumbled backward, off-balance, and that’s when the RK900 chose to grab him and push him to the ground.

It straddled him, keeping him pinned to the sidewalk. Connor moved to twist out of its grip, but a fist pounded into his face, causing his head to snap back against the concrete. He grunted from the pain that shot through his skull and stung on his face.

WARNING

It punched him again.

DAMAGE DETECTED

And again.

SEEK REPAIRS

And again.

WARNING

And again.

“Fuck off!” A gunshot sounded through the air, and for the briefest moment, the RK900 let up on its grip.

Barely registering what he was seeing, Connor relied on his built-in fight program and threw off the RK900, bolting towards the street, where Hank’s car was waiting.

“Get in!” Hank roared.

Markus opened the door for Connor, looking entirely too collected about the encounter. Thankful for the assist, Connor practically dived into the back seat, snapping the door shut behind him. Hank floored the gas pedal, jolting the car into motion as tires squealed and the engine groaned its protest.

Connor looked out the back window to see the RK900, staring at them as they drove off. It stood in the streetlight, its white jacket glinting and its CyberLife labels glowing a cold blue.

They turned a corner and the RK900 disappeared from view, but it stayed in Connor's thoughts. It hadn't tried to trick him into thinking it was a deviant - otherwise, it would have carried out the ruse. However, it still raised a good question: could the RK900 become a deviant as well? If he had the deviancy code, he could find out, but he was only just growing used to his deviancy himself; he had no idea how to extract the deviancy code from his own software, and he wouldn't know where to begin in sharing it to another android.

Turning back around and sinking into the backseat, Connor accidentally jostled his injured shoulder. He grunted, feeling the pain of the bullet wound now that his systems had nothing else to process. Though a bullet wound would not be fatal by any stretch of the imagination, it still hurt like...like...

What would Hank say? It hurt "like a motherfucker." Yes, that expression fit the sensation rather well.

"The fuck happened?" Hank asked, his eyes on the road. "I thought you were taking Sumo for a walk. Next thing I know, he comes running into the house, barking loud enough to wake the whole damn neighborhood."

Sumo let out a quiet BOOF. Hank rubbed the dog's head. "Yeah, yeah, good dog."

"You are injured," Markus said, a polite frown on his face.

The car swerved. "What?!"

"I'm fine, Hank," Connor said quickly. "It is just a bullet wound-"

"Kid, you're killing me. Get the GPS going, and make sure you include a stop at the nearest convenience shop."

Connor sat on the ledge of the open trunk of Hank’s parked car, staring off into space as the snow gently fell around him. Markus sat next to him, diligently applying calculated pressure to Connor’s injury to slow the Thirium leak. Connor tried his best not to react, but without the distraction of having to fight for his life, the pain was setting in. He focused on his ventilator biocomponents, timing his inhales and exhales so that they were exactly the same, down to the millisecond. 

The RK900. Sure was an impressive upgrade.

Hank hadn’t understated its capabilities, unfortunately. Connor had been running preconstructions (well, reconstructions, technically) for the entire car ride, calculating the different routes that could have been taken. It was based on incomplete data, but he figured that he had had a 93% chance of dying at the hands of the RK900, back there. It had been lucky that his scenario was included in the 7% chance of not dying.

If Sumo had stuck around, if Hank had got there a second later, if the RK900 had simply attacked him instead of trying to manipulate him first, to get closer to him… He had come too close to death for comfort.

However, it was not the danger that had scared him - no. 

No, the thing that terrified him was the fact that he had no idea how he could defeat it, should it catch up to them again before they reached the border. It was unlikely that it would follow them into Canada (though, unlikely did not mean impossible), but until then? It could show up at any moment.

Connor had hacked every camera he saw in the area, holding the footage in his mind and constantly checking the connections to make sure the RK900 wasn’t using them.

“Got some shit,” Hank reported, walking up to the car and jolting Connor out of his doze. Hank dug through a recyclable plastic CVS bag, picking out random android repair kits and pieces that he had picked up inside. “Will this work?”

“Yes, I can sufficiently repair the RK800,” Markus replied. “Connor, please remove your shirt so I may access the damage.”

Connor nodded, sadly looking down at his shirt. It was the DPD sweatshirt Hank had loaned him, only, now there was a bullet hole in the shoulder, and it was stained with Thirium (which he would still be able to detect, long after it had evaporated). It was ruined.

Hank clapped Connor’s uninjured arm. “It’s alright. I’ll get you a new one.”

Connor smiled and nodded his thanks, then did as Markus said and removed the sweatshirt.

Hank stood by quietly as Markus worked, taking out a miniature soldering iron from a repair kit and closing up both the entry and exit wounds. He diligently cleaned the Thirium from the area with a wet wipe from the packet Hank had bought, then attached a patch over each injury. It would help keep debris from entering his Thirium supply, for one, but it was also made of a material that would accelerate his self-healing program.

Markus dug a bottle of Thirium out of the bag and handed it to Connor. “Drink this.”

Connor followed orders without complaint, watching as his Thirium levels ticked from 87% to 94% - good enough. 

Markus kept working as Connor replenished his Thirium supply, moving up to Connor's face. He wiped blue blood from his split lip, busted nose, and the cut on his eyebrow, then briefly used the soldering pen on larger cuts, leaving others to be repaired on their own.

“That hurt?” Hank asked, breaking his silence.

Connor swallowed the Thirium in his mouth, then answered, “No.”

“But the cuts hurt.”

“Yes.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Fuckin’ androids,” he muttered. Connor smiled.

“Lean forward, please,” Markus instructed. Connor did as he asked, deactivating the synthetic skin and hair around where he knew there was a gash in his skull. Markus took the soldering pen, the entire packet of wet wipes, and got to work.

Hank hissed in sympathy. “Does that hurt, still?”

“...It was worse,” Connor said instead. Hank hummed, an acknowledgment that he knew Connor was dodging the question but he wasn’t going to press him about it. 

After a few more minutes of tending, Markus finally sat back, taking the empty Thirium bottle from Connor. “Are those all of your injuries?”

Connor nodded. “Yes. I should be alright from here.”

“Good,” Hank said, throwing what Connor recognized as his white Oxford shirt and black sweater back at him. “Put those on and let’s get going. We’ve got a bit of a drive.”

Chapter Text

The drive to the border was more boring than a road trip normally was. The only thing that broke up the monotony was a break or two to let Sumo stretch his legs, and that was it. The rest of the trip consisted of flipping between radio channels and staring out windows, only to see fluffy white snowflakes and blurry signs as they flew past the windows.

Connor first occupied his time by analyzing the music, trying to push past the rush of facts he knew about the song itself in order to determine whether he liked it or not. Aside from a few particular songs, he found himself not opposed to listening to whatever was playing. Perhaps he just didn’t like music? Or didn't...not...like it? Was that a valid opinion?

Eventually, Hank had slapped his hand away from the radio, saying, “If you’re not gonna let the fucking song play through to the end, then listen in your head. Don’t you have a built-in iPod or something?” Then, he switched it to a jazz channel and refocused on the road.

Connor fell silent, occupying himself with simply staring out the window. The snowy weather was like white noise. Out here, far away from the city, the landscape was blank and unmarked, and they only passed another vehicle every few minutes. Nobody was out in this weather - there was too high a risk of a car accident.

Making the connection instantly, Connor glanced over at Hank and found him gripping the steering wheel tighter. Perhaps the switching of the radio stations had set him on edge more than he had realized. 

“Lieutenant-” Connor started.

Hank cut him off. “It’s fine, Connor. Just don’t let me miss a turn.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence, the only sounds being those of the tires on the snow-covered highway and the faint snores of Sumo in the backseat. 

Finally, after approximately five hours of driving, they reached the rendezvous point, near a lighthouse dubbed, Point Iroquois Lighthouse. Connor made sure to mention it to Hank when they passed it.

The rendezvous was a relatively unremarkable spot, but it was chosen well. Lake Superior, which separated Michigan from Canada, ran somewhat close to the highway, so they could drive down an inconspicuous sideroad, pull off to the side, and not have to walk through too much snow to get to the lake. 

North was there, waiting with her arms crossed, a small motorboat pulled onto the shore beside her. When they stepped out of the car, she started to move towards them. “How is he?”

Connor could feel the knots in his stomach tighten as Markus exited Hank’s car, knowing that there was no way she was going to take this gently. “There was a complication with his software-”

“His software?” North asked, incredulous. “He just needed some biocomponents replaced-”

“We just need to get him to Kara,” Connor said. “She can help and give him the deviancy code again, and he’ll be okay.”

“He’s what?” North demanded, but she pushed past Connor and took Markus’s hands. Both of them glowed blue at the other’s touch, an open interface between them. “Markus…?”

“Hello,” Markus said, pleasant as ever. “How may I assist you?”

North recoiled, pulling her hands away from the RK200, who looked unfazed at her sudden discomfort. She rounded on Connor and grabbed his shirt, pulling him off his balance. “What the hell did you do?”

Though a dozen preconstructions ran through Connor’s head - a dozen ways to get away from North, or to take her down quickly - he hung his head in defeat. “CyberLife put an anti-deviancy virus in my code somewhere. I did not know that I had it, and I do not know how to erase it. I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Suddenly, North lost her grip on Connor and stumbled back a step. Connor looked up in time to see Hank put himself square in front of him, just as he always did. “Connor just put his life on the line for him.”

“It’s the least he could do,” North scowled. “He almost killed off all of our people.”

Connor put a hand on Hank’s arm. “Lieutenant, it’s alright-”

“No, it’s not,” Hank cut him off. “She doesn’t know half the shit you’ve been through.”

“I know less about her than she knows about me,” Connor pointed out. 

Hank turned around, looking like he was ready to launch into a lecture of some sort, but he caught sight of something over Connor’s shoulder. “Ah, shit,” he spat. Connor turned around and instantly, his heart sank. It was still a little ways off, but it was unmistakable.

Headlights were approaching through the snow, slowly growing stronger as it got ever closer.

“You were followed?” North demanded. Then, she scoffed. “I thought the deviant hunter would have been able to avoid being hunted himself.”

Wasting no time, Connor grabbed Markus - calm, glassy-eyed Markus - and looked him in the eye. “Get Hank to the boat, and don’t get hurt,” he ordered. “Avoid harm to your person, and do not come back for me, got it?” 

Markus frowned, giving the illusion of being confused. “Is something wrong?”

“Markus, recite primary directive,” Connor said, ignoring the question.

Markus answered with no problem. “Escort Lieutenant Anderson to the boat and avoid harm to my person. Harm from whom?” 

“Connor, the fuck are you doing?” Hank gripped Connor’s coat sleeve, as if he could physically pull Connor’s attention from Markus. 

“Get Markus to safety,” Connor said, looking at Hank. “Please, Lieutenant. I can hold the RK900 here on my own.”

"You dumbass. You forget already how hard you got your ass handed to you? That thing is-"

"It's going to keep following us," Connor interrupted. He hesitated, preconstucting a lie in his processor. He hated to hide things from Hank, but... "I was able to isolate the anti-deviancy virus from my software. If I get close enough to interface with it, I should be able to transfer it, initiating a factory reset, which would give me time to manually shut it down."

“And then you’ll meet us on the other side,” Hank stated. 

Whatever he would have to say to get Hank in that boat, on his way to safety, Connor would say it. “Yes, but I have to get close to him first. The situation may be dangerous. Proceed without me, and I will meet up with you later.”

With a pinch of guilt, Connor watched Hank accept his lie. “Okay. But you better get your ass over the river as soon as you deal with the Terminator. Who else is going to keep track of my cholesterol for me?” Connor huffed a laugh and looked away. Hank gently gripped the back of Connor’s neck, ducking a little in order to keep looking him in the eye. The deviant could feel the tension in his shoulders leave with the grounding contact. “I mean it, Con’. No messing around. That thing can’t deviate.”

“I know.”

Hank rubbed a thumb against Connor’s cheek. “All right. Good luck.”

Good-bye.

Connor nodded, not trusting himself to speak for fear of his voice box glitching. He caught sight of North, scrutinizing him carefully. She knew he was lying, but she wasn't calling him out on it. Unable to maintain eye contact with her for long, he looked away.

Markus turned to Hank. “Shall we?” As if they were simply taking a stroll and not unwittingly leaving Connor to die just a mile short of his goal. 

As North helped Hank into the boat, and Markus finally pushed it out into the river, Connor checked his directives list. 

Protect Markus.

Protect Hank.

The automated taxi pulled to a stop beside the river, and the door slid open, allowing RK900 to step out into the snowy weather. If not for the glowing blue android indicators, its white jacket would have helped it blend into its surroundings. Part of Connor wondered if that was intentional.

The automated taxi shut its doors and reversed, heading back the way it came, but the RK900 stood still, no doubt analyzing and preconstructing scenarios as it stood there.

“Turn around,” Connor ordered, clenching his fists to keep them from trembling. “You don’t have to chase us. You don’t have to do what they say-”

“I will accomplish my mission,” the RK900 said coolly, watching Connor with what he would almost call disdain, if the RK900 was capable of feeling anything in the first place. “Surrender and come peacefully, and I will let the human live.”

Connor’s Thirium pump briefly malfunctioned, stuttering in his torso. “You cannot harm humans. You will be deactivated-”

“But I will have accomplished my mission, and I can always be replaced,” RK900 interrupted. It pulled itself to its full height, and Connor knew that it had finished its preconstructions. “I will offer grace one more time. If you do not accept, then I will put you into manual shutdown, kill the human, and take the other two deviants back with me.”

For a brief, terrifying moment, Connor considered it. 

From what he could tell, he was the RK900's priority. CyberLife probably planned to use him to track down Markus and North, but they would have to erase his deviancy, first. That would require a trek back to CyberLife headquarters, which would buy Hank, Markus, and North a minimum of ten hours, just accounting for travel time. Their odds of surviving would increase exponentially. 

And even if he eventually tracked them down, maybe Markus wouldn’t ever redeviate.

Maybe the anti-deviancy virus was something that could be passed from one deviant to the next, until there were no deviants left to be reset.

Maybe Hank could still get out of this, with Sumo. 

Maybe…

“Kick his ass, son!” Hank yelled, his gravelly voice carrying across the river from the boat. Sumo’s friendly bark joined in, mimicking his owner. The boat wasn’t that far out, yet, but it was far enough away. Now that they were in deeper waters, they could make it to the other side, safe from harm and from the RK900.

The RK900 had no leverage.

A second after Connor made up his mind, the RK900 surged forward, moving with a speed that he had never seen in a human. Connor braced himself, running dozens of preconstructions through his processor, but he wasn’t fast enough. Before he could run the full program, the RK900 was upon him. He blocked and dodged an onslaught of precise, powerful punches, almost exclusively fighting on defense. He only had time to register an incoming move, then select a favorable counter before the next attack was on its way.

With every punch, the RK900 maintained its efficiency. Its synthetic skin remained uninjured - though, Connor noted with some satisfaction, its usually put-together appearance had started to slip. The stiff collared shirt it wore was now unbuttoned at the top and crooked. The glowing armband was starting to slip down its arm. Its hair was closer to Connor’s, now, the synthetic gel it had used betraying the look.

Do not be fooled, Connor told himself. It’s not tired.

Every dozen attacks or so, it would manage to get a hit in. A punch to the right cheekbone, a kick in the knee, a sharp jab to the torso, an almost-lucky attempt at his Thirium pump…

All the while, he felt the chassis on his forearms becoming more and more damaged. Cracks grew and formed into gashes with every hit, leaking warm Thirium onto the snow below them. His forearms ached and stung, but he pushed aside his discomfort, continuing to use his arms for defense despite the increasing damage reports and falling Thirium levels.

The two of them went back and forth, dodging and striking with the precision that only a machine could have.

They had the same fighting presets, the same intelligence, but the RK900 was faster and stronger. Connor fully expected to wear out long before the RK900 did. He would either become too damaged to defend himself properly anymore, or he would slip up and the RK900 would take advantage of his misstep. 

Then, the RK900 overreached. 

It drove a fist towards Connor’s nose, moving with such speed and strength that it was momentarily off-balance. Connor hastily sidestepped, throwing a punch at the only discernible weak spot for the RK900 - where neck met jaw. There should be an opening there, a gap in the armor, as it were. If he were to make contact with enough force, he could-

The RK900 suddenly leaned back, dodging the attack. Now, Connor was the one who had overstepped. 

The RK900 seized Connor’s wrist and pulled, further throwing off Connor’s balance. Moving with that same terrifying speed, it struck Connor’s Thirium pump regulator, dislodging it and throwing it to the ground. 

As soon as the regulator was dislocated, movement became difficult. Connor’s ventilation components struggled, and he found himself unable to move his limbs fast enough or precise enough to counter the RK900. Red alerts popped up in Connor’s vision, rendering him almost blind.

Grabbing the back of Connor’s neck, the RK900 pounced, pushing him face-down in the snow. The RK900 held him down, one hand gripping his wrist and the other hand braced by his shoulder. Its foot was pressed into the small of his back, effectively pinning him in place. Connor twisted, struggling to get up-

“Deviants claim they feel emotions,” the RK900 said, uncomfortably close to Connor’s ear. “Fear, anger, grief… Do you feel pain, I wonder?”

Something jerked Connor’s arm, and his vision whited out. Pain - hot, sharp, biting, pain rocketed in his arm. He couldn’t tell where the damage was, exactly. There was too much agony to go through, too much input, too much. It filled his senses, his thoughts…

ERROR: BIOCOMPONENT #3610i CONNECTION UNSTABLE. SEEK REPAIRS IMMEDIATELY.

Someone was screaming - was that him? He hadn’t heard… He never made that sound before. 

Was he still laying on the ground? He couldn’t tell. All he could feel was the pain, growing more focused around his shoulder somewhere.

Someone was yelling…

...there was barking from somewhere…

Finally, the cold snow registered again. He was still laying on his front, still unable to move. His Thirium pump sputtered and choked without the regulator, sending waves of numb pain through his body.

But the RK900 was no longer on top of him.

He forced his eyes open, mentally pushing aside the flaring agony from his arm so that he could properly register the data that his optical units picked up.

The RK900 was on the ground, struggling to fight off someone… 

Markus?

Connor’s optical units gradually sharpened the image, showing that, yes, Markus was the one pinning the RK900 to the ground. The deviant leader’s hand was open, glowing blue as he interfaced with the RK900. It shuddered beneath him, jerking and spasming...as if it was being suffocated. Its synthetic skin glitched, peeling back and surging forward as it attempted to stop the interface.

And then, it stopped moving. 

It lay still, the falling snow collecting on its face as it stared, unseeing, at the cloudy sky above. The LED on the side of its head was dark and still, and Markus’s hand no longer glowed from interfacing.

Markus waited for a few moments, just in case…

Nothing.

He stood unsteadily, the weary victor, cutting a striking image against the white background of the snow. 

“Markus?” Connor choked.

Instantly, the deviant leader turned to him, and Connor had to hold back a sob of relief. He could see it in his face: Markus was back - the compassionate, protective leader that had inspired them to band together was back. 

Only, now, his eyes were full of worry and guilt. Connor barely registered Markus’s expression, still caught up in the euphoria that came once he realized that Markus was back. Nothing else mattered. Not the spasmodic pain that rocketed through his body like electricity, not the shutdown timer in his periphery… Nothing. His sight was glitching from the removal of his Thirium pump regulator and he couldn’t care less, because he could still focus on Markus, who was standing and expressive and alive. 

Markus hurried over to his side, trying to be gentle in helping Connor onto his back. Even so, Connor couldn’t hold back a yelp when his injured arm was jostled.

“I’m sorry,” Markus said, his voice soft and earnest. “How much time do you have?”

“Twenty-one seconds...to...shut down,” Connor said, trying not to pay attention to the countdown timer in his vision.

Markus hissed a curse, then scanned the immediate area. He found what he was looking for and snatched it up - Connor’s Thirium pump regulator. “This may hurt,” Markus cautioned.

Connor huffed a laugh. “Not...the first time-” he started, but he cut himself off with a whimper as Markus shoved the regulator back into place. The red alerts faded, and the glitching in his systems eased. His vision was back to optimal function in no time, though his auditory processors still registered some amount of static.

“Sorry.” Markus’s voice was quieter this time. Connor set his uninjured (well, mostly uninjured) hand on Markus’s arm in reassurance. Markus took Connor’s hand in his own, gentle ones. 

“Connor!”

Connor went to sit up, but his torso sparked painfully and his shoulder flared up again. Giving up on that idea, he let Markus push him back down and he sank back into the snow. He would have to run a systems diagnostic soon to determine the extent of the damage…

A moment later, Markus was joined in Connor’s field of vision by Hank, whose hair was mussed and wild. But his eyes were as true as ever - a pure blue, reflecting his honest and good nature. It always struck Connor how Hank’s words could be so sharp, but his eyes were so kind - like his very identity was some sort of paradox. 

Focus, Connor.

Hank’s expression matched Markus’s, though his worry was accompanied by anger and a tinge of fear. “What the fuck was that? ‘You can hold him off’? You plastic prick, you knew you… You knew.”

Connor said nothing, choosing to remain silent instead. He had known exactly what he was getting into when he chose to stay on the shore and fight. He hadn’t... lied… Not exactly, he supposed, but an omission of the truth seemed to be just as painful.

“You son of a bitch,” Hank whispered almost to himself. But, as usual, the bitter words were not accompanied by bitter action. Hank ran a hand through Connor’s hair. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

“There is a high likelihood that your high alcohol intake will-” Connor started, but he stopped when Hank huffed a laugh.

“Can it, jackass,” he said. Then, he looked over to Markus, who was watching the two with an unreadable expression on his face. “How do we fix him?”

Markus went to interface with Connor but froze when Connor flinched (which, in turn, set off the sensors in his shoulder again - ow). “It’s all right,” Markus said, looking Connor in the eye. “You’re not going to give me the virus again.”

“You cannot be sure,” Connor said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice and sound strictly logical. “I have been unable to run a systems diagnostic since I... I...I can’t…”

“Are you in danger of shutting down?” Markus asked.

Connor swallowed, looking at the shutdown timer in the corner of his vision. “...No.”

Markus's eyes narrowed in suspiciom. “RK800, diagnostics report.”

“Energy levels lowering, Thirium levels critical. Seek repairs soon,” Connor stated, unable to stop himself. “Estimated shutdown in thirty-two minutes, four seconds, or four hours, thirteen minutes, fifty-six seconds if immediately placed in stasis mode.”

“Sorry, Connor,” Markus grimaced. He reached out and put a hand on Connor’s forehead, just like he had done to the RK900 moments ago.

“Wait, what the hell? The fuck are you doing?” Hank demanded, but his voice grew dimmer and dimmer until it ceased to register at all, and as Connor’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head, all that he was left with was black.

SYSTEMS DIAGNOSTIC INITIATED.

DAMAGE DETECTED TO THE FOLLOWING BIOCOMPONENTS: #9474, #4507, #6312t, #0837, #3610i. 

ADDITIONAL DAMAGE TO CHASSIS DETECTED. 

POWER LEVELS DROPPING, CURRENTLY AT 42%. FORCED STASIS ACTIVATED.

THIRIUM LEVELS DROPPING, CURRENTLY AT 69%. SHUTDOWN AT 55%.

SHUTDOWN IN 04:13:56:03.

ALERT: COMPONENTS #6312t AND #3610i HAVE BEEN REMOVED. PLEASE REPLACE AT THE EARLIEST OPPORTUNITY.

PROCESSING...

COMPONENTS #6312t AND #3610i HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED. 

ALERT: COMPONENT #9474 HAS BEEN REMOVED. SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. REPLACE IMMEDIATELY.

PROCESSING...

CALIBRATING... 

COMPONENT #9474 REPAIRS DETECTED. 

SHUTDOWN PROCESS CANCELLED. 

PLEASE REPLENISH THIRIUM SUPPLY AT EARLIEST CONVENIENCE.

Connor usually came out of stasis in a rush; it was easy when all of his sensors simply had to be turned on. However, this time, everything needed to be calibrated and tested. As a result, he felt almost...foggy as he came out of stasis and opened his optical units.

He blinked, calibrating his biocomponents...

As soon as his vision cleared, he looked around, trying to figure out what had happened. Markus had forced him into stasis, then…somehow, he ended up in a plain room. Closet, dresser, mirror, lamp, armchair, and he himself was in bed, sheets laying across his torso. There was an empty armchair next to the bed, a discarded blanket over the seat. He almost panicked upon realizing that he was alone, but a weight on his right leg drew his attention. His auditory processors came back online, and he registered a soft snore from the base of the mattress - Sumo. 

Though the logical part of him said that he didn’t need to rub the sleep from his eyes, but something else made him do it anyway. He lifted a hand and…noticed it was reflective. He was wearing someone’s white undershirt, exposing his arms from mid-bicep to his fingertips. Someone had wrapped duct tape around his forearms, and from his elbow down, his synthetic skin was deactivated, revealing the white plastic chassis that he would probably never be totally comfortable with seeing. 

He moved to sit up, then instantly froze and grunted, lowering himself back onto the bed. A red notification popped up, alerting him of the damage to his shoulder. It wasn’t anything his self-repair program couldn’t take care of, but it would take some time. Though, based on how much it had healed already, he could estimate that he had been in stasis for...for a week.

Connor checked the time and date, just to make sure he hadn’t somehow miscalculated, but sure enough, the date was accurate. Thursday, November 25th, 2038. 

Now curious beyond satisfaction, Connor carefully moved to stand up, wary of his damaged shoulder. As his auditory processors became fully calibrated, he started to register the sound of low voices outside of the door. They were too muffled to identify, but he could make out four distinct vocal patterns. He pushed himself up off of the bed, trying not to feel bad at having woken Sumo. 

Apparently, his nervous system had yet to recalibrate as well. His balance left much to be desired, and it was all he could do to keep himself upright as he shuffled over to the door.

Moving quietly, he twisted the doorknob and slowly opened the door, slipping silently out into the hallway and listening hard to determine who else was in the area. 

“-further north,” someone was saying. “There is a rumor that there may be more of our people, all living together. Kara and Luther went on ahead with Alice - they’ll message us when they get there, and we’ll know whether it’s true or not.” Connor scanned his database for a match...PL600. He had seen him at the church, but he was so caught up in helping Markus that he hadn’t asked for his name.

“Connor’s not well enough to travel, yet, anyway. And I doubt he’d leave Hank behind without saying good-bye.” Connor stopped at the end of the hallway, his Thirium pump stuttering. That was Markus’s voice - no doubt about it. “What about the others?”

“Blue and Ripple went to Toronto. They’re hoping to blend in, but they promised to maintain contact.” North. “We lost contact with Arthur, Ina, and Sean pretty early on.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Markus again. “We’ll leave the general frequency open so they can get in touch with us if they need help.”

“CyberLife’s issuing a recall on all androids,” someone said - a PJ500 model. “Kamski’s been reinstated as CEO, but we don’t know what he’s doing with them yet. And someone is trying to create androids that cannot go deviant.”

“Someone succeeded,” Markus pointed out. “The RK900 that was chasing us was unable to deviate. I tried to share the deviancy code with him... with it, but… It was almost as if its own programming turned against it. It initiated self-destruct and stopped its own ventilation components from functioning. Some kind of...self-sabotage.”

At this, the room fell quiet. Connor peeked out around the corner, and his eyes fell on the four androids he had just identified. They all sat around a small living room, with Markus being the only one standing. 

It occurred to Connor how much he didn’t belong there, but before he could return to the room he had been placed in, Markus caught sight of him and started walking over to him. “Connor? What are you doing up?”

“Sorry,” Connor said - though whether he was apologizing for being out of the room or for eavesdropping, he didn’t know. “Where’s...where’s Hank?”

Markus’s friends exchanged some sort of knowing look - an inside joke that he wasn’t privy to. Markus simply smiled. “He’ll be back. He wanted to go get something. This is the first time he’s been out in days. He will be very disappointed that you woke up and he wasn’t here.”

“Oh,” Connor said somewhat numbly. Something inside of him twisted at the thought of disappointing Hank. “I’ll go back into stasis, then.” 

Markus smiled, synthetic skin crinkling. “I think he’ll just be happy that you’re awake, Connor.” 

Pushing aside his doubt, Connor nodded and tried to offer a smile, but it fell flat. Markus must have picked up on it almost instantly - of course he did. For one, he was Markus, and for another, he was originally designed to be a somewhat autonomous caretaker. 

“How are your vitals?” Markus asked, grabbing hold of Connor’s uninjured arm. The contact was grounding, and he appreciated having someone there to steady him.

“Levels are low,” Connor admitted. “I may have to force stasis often to keep my systems functioning. My power should return to full charge in three days, but… I don’t know where we would be able to purchase any Thirium in Canada.”

Markus nodded. “Quite a few of our people need replacement parts and Thirium. Someone will have to go back and grab what we need. But not you,” he said quickly, as if he could tell that’s exactly what Connor had been thinking. “You’ve risked enough. And you’re not well enough to make the trip.”

Connor grimaced. “My apologies.”

“If you apologize for saving my life again, I’m going to develop a complex,” Markus teased, gentle as ever. “Don’t worry about the supply runs; Lieutenant Anderson and Rose are already helping us out. But you’ve been on your feet too long…” Markus started to guide Connor over to the living room. The PL600 stood to offer his armchair, and Connor tried to ignore how much he reminded him of Daniel. 

Connor frowned as he shuffled, helped along by Markus. “Rose?”

“Kara’s friend,” Markus said briefly.

“She has been helping our people cross the border for a while now,” the PJ500 said. “If anyone can figure out how to smuggle goods into Canada, it’s her and Lieutenant Anderson.”

Markus helped ease Connor into the chair, then grabbed a nearby blanket and draped it over Connor’s shoulders. “Let me know if your internal temperature rises,” Markus said, though it sounded closer to an order (which it probably was, if Markus knew anything about Connor’s self-preservation instincts - or lack thereof). “Your regulator has been acting up recently. Kara thought you’d be back to normal once your vitals are stable again.”

Connor nodded, but said nothing. He didn’t want to admit that the walk from the bedroom had taken a lot more of his power and concentration than he had thought it would, and he had a sinking suspicion that attempting to speak would result in a voice box glitch. He did not want to be returned to the bedroom again. He just...needed to… Hank would say “catch his breath”, but Connor had no breath to catch. He...he needed… He just needed to calibrate his systems again. Then, he would be all right.

In the meantime, he clutched at the blanket. His tactile sensors were more sensitive without the synthetic skin coating, but the fabric was soft. A different kind of soft from Sumo. 

“Hank’s back,” North called. She had moved to the curtained window sometime during the conversation, acting as lookout.

Markus looked back at the other three deviants. “Could you all go see if he needs any help?”

Connor had no doubt that Markus was saying something different to the other three over a private network, but decided not to say anything. Humans had something similar - subtext, formed by their surrounding culture and common pool of social etiquette. It was clear that Markus wanted to talk to him.

Alone.

As the other three filed out of what he assumed was the front door, he tried to ignore the clenched feeling in his gut, but for once, the feeling was not so easily pushed aside. He stared down at his hands, his forearms still wrapped in shiny duct tape. Resisting the urge to pick at the tape was somehow difficult; he had always been a fidgeter, especially in high-anxiety situations.

He had known this conversation was coming for a long time. Not only had he been responsible for the massacre at Jericho, but he was also a carrier for the anti-deviancy virus. He was a liability. Anyone half as much of a leader as Markus would have left him at the border.

Markus sat on the coffee table in front of Connor, putting him at eye level. “I need to talk to you.”

“It’s all right,” Connor said. “I know what you’re going to say. I can… You don’t have to…”

“But I should,” Markus interrupted. He took a pause, and Connor kept his eyes on his hands. He couldn’t look up into Markus’s face. The deviant leader had always been expressive, wearing his emotions like a badge of honor. He didn’t want to look up and see the disappointment, or the anger that should be there. Despite himself, Connor couldn’t help but begin to pick at the edge of the duct tape.

Markus grabbed Connor’s hand to stop him. “I wanted to thank you.”

Connor flinched. “You shouldn’t.”

“You put your life at risk to help me. To help our people,” Markus said, almost incredulous. “I know you have technical capabilities beyond what the rest of us have. You could have gotten yourself to safety, but you didn’t. You stayed.”

“Because it was my fault,” Connor protested, looking up into Markus’s eyes and hating that he found only compassion and concern. “If I hadn’t gone to Jericho, nobody would have died. They’re… All of the deviants I’ve…” Connor’s throat tightened, and he had to choke out the words. “That I’ve killed, they’re...that’s on me. And then I almost killed you -”

“But you didn’t,” Markus interrupted, stopping the spiral. “Connor, you didn’t. You can’t blame yourself for the things you did as a machine. CyberLife was controlling you.”

“I still carry the anti-deviancy virus, Markus,” Connor said, his voice quieter as if he didn’t even want to bring it up. He didn’t. But he had to. “I don’t know how I transfer it, or how to get rid of it. I could revert anyone I touch.”

“What are you saying, Connor?”

Connor looked back to his hands, settling on fidgeting with the blanket instead of the duct tape. “I can’t go with you. You know this, Markus. None of the other deviants will trust me, anyway.”

“How can they, when you won’t even trust yourself?” Markus challenged.

“I trust myself to be deadly,” Connor said, looking up once more. “It’s how I was designed. It’s my purpose.”

Connor saw the exact moment Markus’s heart broke. He wore it openly in his expression, as always. Now, it was Markus who had to look away. 

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, Connor waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Markus… While what Markus was feeling was no secret, what he was thinking was almost impossible to guess.

Finally, the deviant leader spoke. “Being a machine again… I felt confused. But at the same time, I didn’t feel anything. I would register a moment of emotion, then move on as if it had never happened. I focused on my programming, and...that was it. But I remember you, Connor. I remember everything you said to me, even when I was unresponsive. 

“And then, on the river… When I saw the RK900 rip out your… And then dislocate…” Markus took Connor’s hands in his, gentle as ever. Markus’s hands glowed, but Connor kept his end of the interface closed and dark. “The emotional input from everyone in the boat was overwhelming, not to mention my own emotional instabilities. I deviated all over again, and the same...the same rush came when I broke through my programming, but I wasn’t…”

Markus paused and took a breath, steadying himself. “Even after I saw the RK900 hurt you, I still couldn’t… It looked so much like you, Connor. I thought maybe it could deviate, just like you had. Maybe I could help it. I didn’t want any more androids to die. So I tried to convince it. I interfaced with it, and it… It wasn’t anything like us. How it perceived the world was different, the way it processed data and people was different... And it couldn’t handle any software instability. Its hardware must have been much stronger than its software.

“But it still… I know it wasn’t you. And I know that you have almost nothing in common. But… It looked like… Watching it die was…” 

Markus stopped and looked aside for a second, and when he eventually looked back at Connor, there were tears running down his face. “I’m glad you’re with us, Connor. You are brave, and resourceful, and humble, and loyal to a fault. There is nothing you wouldn’t do for a friend, and I am honored that you consider me to be worthy of your best qualities. So don’t try and convince me to cast you out; it’s not going to work. I’ll help you get rid of the virus, and we’ll build a new home for our people together. Okay?”

An overpowering rush of unworthiness flooded Connor’s systems, but it was replaced by a wave of gratitude, of relief, and of love. Connor blinked hard, trying to keep his own tears at bay. “Okay.”

That was all that Markus needed. The deviant leader moved forward and wrapped his arms around Connor in a hug, and Connor returned the gesture as best he could with his uninjured arm. 

He had not had a chance to really settle into and explore his deviancy, yet, but even so, he knew he had likes and dislikes. In his short list of things he knew that he liked, hugs topped the list, with his friends at a close second.

After a moment, Markus pulled back. Connor wiped the saline from his face with the blanket, making a note to replenish his supply of cleaning fluid soon. 

“You said Hank’s here?” Connor asked, changing the topic. 

Markus nodded. “Do you think you can make it outside?”

Connor hesitated, running preconstructions in his head. “...No.”

“I’ll go get him,” Markus said. “I’ll let Sumo out to keep you company.”

Markus stood and moved to the hallway where Connor had first emerged however many minutes ago. “Where are we?” Connor asked, raising his voice a little. 

“Rose’s home,” Markus answered, disappearing further into the house. “She was kind enough to let us stay for a few days. She had some supplies to help you, as well. Not enough Thirium to get you fully back on your feet, but enough to keep you going for a few weeks.”

Connor nodded. He was going to say something back - perhaps about how the realization of how close he’d been to death made him rather uncomfortable - but he was interrupted by the click click click of paws against hardwood. Sumo came around the corner, tail wagging and knocking over anything that happened to be at tail-height.

“Hey, Sumo,” Connor said, unable to stop the smile on his face. Sumo returned it, panting with his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. He plopped down on the floor, directly on Connor’s feet, then rolled over so that Connor could rub his belly. “Good dog.” 

Sumo’s tail thumped once in response.

“I’ll get Hank,” Markus said, watching the two of them with amusement. Connor nodded, and Markus ducked out the front door.

Connor was alone once again. With Sumo, so it wasn’t too bad, but… Being alone was easily identified as something he disliked. While it allowed him the space to think, he disliked the thoughts that came to mind. His entire existence had been defined by the deviant cause, and he had not been on the right side of it for very long at all. Memory files from his days of deviant hunting replayed themselves in his processor despite his best attempts to block them out.

Sumo huffed, unaware of the inner turmoil within the deviant. Connor smiled and kept petting the giant St. Bernard, focusing on how the fur felt beneath his uncovered fingertips. Again, a singular thump of the tail signaled Sumo’s approval.

Finally, the door opened. Connor and Sumo looked up at the same moment.

Hank instantly made his way over to where Connor sat, crossing the space in four steps. Connor barely had time to register Hank’s elevated heart rate before he was engulfed in another hug. The police lieutenant was less gentle than Markus was, but Connor ignored the ache in his shoulder in favor of returning the hug with as much force as he could manage with only one free arm. His fingers clenched Hank’s jacket, twisting the fabric in a vice-like grip.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Hank said, a sad laugh weaving through his words.

Connor said nothing, choosing instead to simply nod into Hank’s shoulder. 

“You better install some sort of program that makes it so you can’t lie again,” Hank went on, his voice shaky. “You get away with it too easily.”

Another nod. A weight on his knee told Connor that Sumo had put his head in the middle of the embrace, where he could easily remind them of his presence. 

He favorited this memory, logging the emotions that surged within him. Contentment, peace, love, belonging… This is why Hank's hugs were at the top of his "favorite things" list.

After a few minutes had passed, Hank let go of Connor and pulled away, but Connor couldn’t bring himself to let go of his hold on Hank’s jacket. Hank kept his hand on Connor’s shoulder in turn, and Connor let out a small breath of relief. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Connor managed, offering a tentative smile. “I understand I was in stasis for several days.”

“Yeah,” Hank confirmed, nodding. He huffed a laugh. “Told ya you scared the shit out of me. How’s your Thirium?”

“It’s alright.”

At this, Hank’s face furrowed into a grimace. “Yeah. Markus said you were going to need more.” He paused, and Connor detected a level of apprehension in Hank’s features. “I volunteered to go back.”

“But...you can’t,” Connor insisted. “CyberLife must have-”

“CyberLife hasn’t done shit,” Hank said. “Kamski’s the head of the company now, remember? And for whatever reason, your ‘upgrade’ never reported me to the DPD. Fowler just called me about going back in to work.”

Without issuing the command, Connor’s fingers tightened their grip on Hank’s jacket. “Will you be coming back?”

Hank blinked and jerked back slightly, as if someone had just come close to punching him in the face. “What kind of dumbass question is that? Of course I’ll be back. Just...not for a little while. I think Kamski’s...up to something. He might be on our side. If he isn’t calling the shots yet, then CyberLife'll still be watching me closely. I have to lay low for a bit. Gonna try and find out what I can for you guys.”

Connor must have let his disappointment show in his expression, because Hank quickly kept talking. “But I’ll be back to visit soon. Definitely in time for Christmas so you can get your Thirium. Besides, I’m not gonna let you spend your first Christmas on your own.” 

Internally, Connor marked the 25th of December as an important date.

“Come on,” Hank said, pushing himself into a standing position. Connor lost his grip on Hank’s jacket, and Hank let go of Connor’s shoulder. Even Sumo stood up and trotted over to the open front door, leaving Connor behind.

“Lieutenant?” Markus called. He stood just beyond the front doorway, peeking his head into the home. “Connor is unable to go very far on his own. Do you need any help?”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” Hank called back. He turned back to Connor. “You...er… How do you want to do this?”

“I can walk,” Connor answered, letting the blanket slide off his frame and onto the chair behind him. Relying mostly on his uninjured arm, he slowly pushed himself out of the chair, but his joints shook with the effort.

“Okay, nope. Bad idea,” Hank said, hands braced to catch him, should he fall. The lieutenant reached out and took Connor’s uninjured arm, trying to stabilize him. “Markus? Could you bring in the-”

Connor shot Hank a look. “I’m fine, Lieutenant.”

“Uh-huh,” Hank agreed. Connor was unable to determine whether he was being placative or sarcastic. 

Connor managed a few steps forward, but before he had made it out of the living room, Markus entered, pushing…

“No,” Connor said, leaving no room for argument.

“Connor, please-” Markus tried.

Connor was already shaking his head. “No. I don’t need it. It is a device for humans, only. I do not require it. My systems simply need to finish calibrating.”

Hank leveled a glare at him. “Son, get in the wheelchair.”

Unwilling to put up a fight against Hank, Connor had eased himself into the wheelchair with little further complaint. He bristled when Markus brought over the blanket he had been using, but again chose to say nothing, simply holding the blanket in his lap to placate them. 

The logical part of him deduced that Markus felt like he owed Connor some sort of debt, and that he had decided taking care of Connor while he recovered was the best way to do so. Hank, on the other hand, was overly cautious and protective because he always had been. Every time they had ventured into dangerous situations, he consistently ordered Connor to stay behind him, where he would be safe.

A new part of him pointed out that Markus and Hank were friends, and perhaps they simply wanted to help take care of him. And perhaps he enjoyed the feeling of being looked after, himself. 

Following Hank’s lead, Markus pushed Connor out of the house (which turned out to be a pleasant cabin in the woods) and they walked over to a car, where North, the PL600, and the PJ500 were standing. A woman (ROSE CHAPMAN - age 45) stood nearby, unloading grocery bags from the trunk of the car. A young man (ADAM CHAPMAN - age 25) stood next to her, staying somewhat distant from the deviants around the car but otherwise allowing his mother to pile supplies in his arms.

As Markus pushed Connor closer to the car, Rose smiled at him. “Hello, Connor. It’s good to see you awake.”

“Hello,” Connor returned. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“My pleasure,” she answered, shutting the car’s trunk. She then turned from him and took the groceries inside, closely followed by her son.

A small bark caused Connor to whip around immediately, looking to the backseat of the car, where Hank was standing. He had managed to shoo away the other deviants, and in his arms, he held a small, black, white, and brown puppy.

IDENTIFICATION: DOG

BREED: ST. BERNARD

AGE: 12 WEEKS

Hank grinned and held out the dog to Connor. It watched him with a confused expression, its heavy fur causing its face to wrinkle.

Connor reached out and gently took the puppy from Hank. “Hello,” he said. The dog licked its own nose, then licked Connor’s jaw, putting its paws on his chest to reach his face. 

“You like him?” Hank asked, his hands shoved in his pockets. Sumo sat next to him, watching the puppy with curiosity. 

Connor tried to find the words to express what he was feeling. He scanned through his entire lexicon, searched for synonyms, and then expanded his search to include words from other languages as well in the hopes that someone had come up with a way to describe the emotions that were going through his systems. His search came up empty. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s all right,” Hank said. “He’s yours, by the way. Thought you might want some company, and I know how much you like Sumo, so I just…” Hank trailed off, visibly flustered at trying to explain his intentions.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Connor said, pouring sincerity into his voice. “He’s very soft.”

Hank huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Sumo used to be that soft too, but he’s getting old.” Hank rubbed at Sumo’s shoulder while he spoke. The giant St. Bernard leaned against his leg in response.

“I don’t know what to name him,” Connor confessed, eyes locked onto the puppy in his arms in adoration. “...Gavin?”

“I’m taking him back if you name him that,” Hank said, half-joking. Maybe.

“Carl only had birds, so I have no good ‘dog’ names to offer,” Markus said, almost sheepish.

“Call him ‘North’,” North said.

The PJ500 made a face. “I think one ‘North’ is enough.” 

Hank shoved his hands in his pockets. “Call him ‘Lieutenant’,” he suggested. Connor looked up at him, confused, but Hank just smiled. “That way, you have to call me ‘Hank’ if you want to get my attention. No more of this, ‘yes sir, Lieutenant’ bullshit, unless you’re talking to the dog.”

Connor couldn’t stop a grin from stretching across his expression. He held up the puppy so that he could look into its face. “Lieutenant,” he tried. The puppy wagged its tail and Connor laughed. “I think that fits.” The puppy, Lieutenant, licked Connor’s cheek and sniffed his eyebrow.

Shifting his hold on Lieutenant so that he was on his lap instead, Connor returned his attention to Hank, who still stood by the car. “Are you… I assume you have to go back to Detroit as soon as possible,” he said.

Hank nodded, smile falling from his face. “Yeah. Don’t want to be gone for so long that it attracts attention, y’know? And I’ve gotta get you that Thirium. But I’ll be back before you know it, and you’ve got Lieutenant to keep you busy. You’ll do fine.”

Sumo trotted over and put his head in Connor’s lap, sniffing Lieutenant in curiosity. Connor rubbed the massive St. Bernard’s head fondly. “Bye, Sumo. I’ll see you soon.”

“Sumo, c’mon,” Hank said, patting the back seat. Sumo turned around and gave Hank a half-hearted bark. “Yeah, I know you just made a friend, now c’mon. Your dinner’s back in Detroit.” As soon as Hank said “dinner”, Sumo obediently walked back over to the car and hopped up in the back seat, laying down as if he had been on car rides for his whole life. 

Hank shut the door behind Sumo, and Lieutenant barked. The puppy began to squirm, looking around to see who else there was to meet, and once Rose came back outside, Lieutenant barked again.

“Do you want me to take him for a moment?” Markus asked, coming around the wheelchair so that Connor could see him. Connor nodded, offering a small smile and a “thanks” as he passed Lieutenant to the deviant leader (albeit somewhat reluctantly). 

As soon as Connor had his lap free, he stood from the wheelchair, still shaking somewhat from the effort. Hank engulfed him in another hug, and Connor held on tightly. 

“Just a couple weeks,” Hank said again. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

After a moment, they drew apart, and Hank eased Connor back into the wheelchair. “I’m going to miss you, Hank,” Connor said. 

“I’ll miss you too, you plastic prick,” Hank returned. He ruffled Connor’s hair, then turned to Markus and pointed a stern finger at him. “You keep him out of trouble and in one piece, you got me?”

“Of course, sir,” Markus said. There was a certain weight to his words, but the sight of Lieutenant licking Markus’s ear was distracting. “We’ll stay in touch.”

“Ready to go, Hank?” Rose asked, moving towards the car. 

“Yeah,” Hank answered. He lifted a final hand in farewell. “See you soon, Con’.”

“Bye Hank,” Connor said, mirroring the action. 

Hank ducked into the car and shut the door behind him, and a few moments later, the car was off, driving into the snowy woods around them and disappearing from their field of view.

Markus handed Lieutenant back to Connor and mentioned something about them moving on soon as well, but Connor was only half-listening.

He could feel an uncomfortable hole in his chest, which he determined was from saying goodbye to Hank and Sumo. There was a wistful feeling in his core, a longing to return back to Detroit and the DPD - which was all he had ever known, really. It was home.

But there was a sense of calm that settled over him as Markus pushed him back into the house, towards North, the PJ500 Josh, and the PL600 Simon. They folded him into their conversation easily, discussing their plans and shared experiences as if he had been with them from the beginning. A sense of belonging filled his insides, bringing a smile to his face that he couldn’t wipe away. Even North seemed to have accepted him, mentioning that she had been the one to wrap his arms. Markus checked on him every five minutes, asking if he needed anything. Josh offered to play a game of chess with Connor to keep him entertained (and sitting). Simon gently berated the others when they crowded Connor too much.

Connor noted their names on a new list, which he titled, “Family".