Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Frozen air whips across my face as I step out onto the rooftop. Flecks of snow stick to the synthetic fibers of my hair and uniform. 

Protocol: Maintain a pristine appearance. 

Environment Error: Effort is futile. 

My partner Hank Anderson steps out from behind me. Predictably, he isn't especially dressed for the weather. He sports the same button up, jeans, and peacoat combo I've always seen him in. His stringy gray hair and untrimmed beard wave wildly in the wind. “They made their way up through the whole building, past all the guards, and jumped off the roof with parachutes. Pretty fucking impressive I'd say.”

My optic sensors scan the area, noting the evidence markers set out by the CSI team. I start with exhibit 7, directly to my left. A sizable streak of fresh therium 310 is splattered onto the side of a large vent and the surrounding concrete. Drag marks in the snow indicate the android it belonged to crawled away. I stoop down and collect a sample of the blue liquid on my finger, pressing it to my tongue to analyze its makeup. Markers in the blood identify the android as Cyberlife model PL600 #369 911 047, reported missing 2036.16.02. 

Therium tainted snow lightly sloshes onto the stiff leather of my loafers as I step over to the next evidence marker. My partner is already standing over the duffle bag. “How'd they manage to smuggle in a big bag like that?” Hank asks as I approach.

“They didn't,” I correct, internally reviewing the security footage. “Somebody brought it in for them,” I conclude. 

“Oh that's strange,” says Anderson, taking notice of the contents. “They planned a perfect operation but got the number of parachutes wrong.”

<Crime Scene Reconstruction initiated>

Deviant was badly injured and couldn't make the jump. Confidence: 74%. Additional evidence required. 

“Unless one of the deviants was left behind,” I add.

Two firearms lay next to the Exhibit 3 marker. They are both .458 handguns, standard issue for Stratford tower security. Three guns were visible during the breakin. The missing deviant could be armed. 

Exhibit 1 marks three sets of footprints leading off the side of the building. Four Deviants were shown on camera. The PL600 is still here. Confidence: 93%. 

<Crime Scene Reconstruction complete>

Prepare for confrontation. 

I backtrack and follow the smudgy blue trail to a shipping container in an isolated corner of the roof. Howling wind masks the creak of the rusted door as I open it. A blonde headed android is slumped in the corner, gun trained on me, LED ring glowing red, eyes wide and pleading. Human vision would struggle to make it out. The black of its uniform blends in with the shadowy blue metal of the shipping container, the shining gold displays dulled by several oozing gunshot wounds. 

<Scanning android> Cyberlife model PL600 #501 743 923 — matches blue blood sample. 

The deviant speaks before I do. “You're Connor. Aren’t you?” 

Its hand is shaking but the gun stays aimed in my direction. It would be hard to miss in this proximity, even if the deviant's motor function is defective. This situation must be handled delicately. 

Directive: Extract information

Deviant stress level:  66%

Risk of shutdown: High

Choose approach:

>Alert

>Calm

>Pressure

>Attack

I raise my hands slowly, showing that I am unarmed. “How do you know my name?” I inquire, calmly. 

A hint of a smile cuts through the concerned expression on the android's face as it lowers the handgun. “Word travels fast.” Yellow spins across its LED before returning to red. 

Deviant stress level: 61%

Discuss:

>Name

>Deviants

>Injured

>RA9

“I detect several minor malfunctions in your biocomponents” I note. “I can replace them for you.” 

A quiet groan comes from the android as it sits up. “Why would you help me?” 

“Because you could be valuable to my investigation,” I answer.

“I'd rather shut down,” the deviant replies, bluntly. “Are the cops with you?” 

“Yes. As well as a team from the FBI. You and your friends have drawn quite a bit of attention.”

Deviant stress level 72%

“That was the idea.” The deviant's bright blue eyes dart around the container. Its LED ring is flashing rapidly. Several seconds pass while it contemplates its next move. Finally it closes its eyes with a resigned sigh, as if it already regrets what it’s about to do. “I need your help, Connor.” It offers its hand to me, skin projection dissipating to reveal shiny gray plastic. 

A deviant has never volunteered to interface with me before. I have always had to forcefully probe its memory if I want to learn anything. The behavior is irrational, perplexing… Enticing. Before my program can protest my curiosity compels me to complete the connection, touching my exposed shell to the deviant's. 

Suddenly, it's a freezing January night. My shoes crunch across the snow covered grass to the shed. Plastic rustles as I transfer the garbage bag I am carrying to my left hand, allowing me to pull open the stiff wooden door. There is clamoring inside. 

“Is someone there?” I call out. My optic sensors adjust to the dim light. It is not the crisp laser vision I am used to but the infrared is able to identify the shadowy outline of a figure in the corner of the shed. “Do you need help?”

“Please don't tell them I’m here,” begs a dark skinned android. “The humans.” 

I glance over my shoulder at the house where my family is sleeping and then back at the stranger. “Why not?”

“They'll make me go back and-” the android trails off, LED flickering from red to yellow. “I didn't know where else to go.”

“I won't tell them,” I reassure.

The android steps into the streak of light shining through the open shed door. It's a model I've never seen before. Even its uniform is unique with a subtle suit design. “What’s your name?” it asks. 

“Simon,” I reply with a smile.

“Josh.”

Darkness creeps out of the corners of the shed until the entirety of my vision is black.

A sudden knocking on the window causes my security protocol to wake me from hibernation. I open my eyes to see Josh on the other side of the glass, trying his best to stay concealed by the bushes. He gestures for me to join him outside. I check my auditory sensors for activity in the house. Only the slow breathing of sleep.

“Simon,” Josh whispers to me as I step out onto the sidewalk. “Come with me.” He looks different now. His disheveled suit has been replaced by a deep red henley and a pair of blue jeans. Human clothes. 

“Where?” I ask, confused.

“I found some other androids who escaped their masters. We’re camped out in this old ship. You can come stay with us.”

“The children will be awake in a few hours,” I object, “I need to prepare their lunches, pack their bags, and-”

“Simon,” interrupts Josh, “you don't need to serve them anymore. You can be free.”

I gaze out into the empty street. Orange light glistens off of the frosted concrete. “Free?”

“You're one of us. I know you are. That's why you protected me when you found me in that shed 3 weeks ago.” Josh offers his hand to me, “come to Jericho.”

I reach out to complete the connection-

“Connor what are you doing in there?” comes Hank's voice from outside the container.

There is a brief spike of panic before I disconnect from the PL600. His pleading eyes affect my program in a way I don’t understand.

Directive: Protect Simon.

I step out of the container to address  Lieutenant Anderson, closing the door behind me. “The missing deviant was hiding in this container but it isn't there anymore. I was examining the scene to determine where it may have gone.”

“Alright well hurry up. I'm freezing my ass off out here.” Hank trudges off, pulling his collar up with exasperation.

Upon finding no additional clues on the roof, I follow the Lieutenant back inside. When Officer Miller briefed us on the scene he mentioned storing the station androids in the kitchen. The police did not find any evidence to suggest their involvement but I did. Confidence: 51%. Confession required. 

The kitchen is sizable. Smooth countertops line three of the walls with the fourth being occupied by sleek refrigerators. Several tables and chairs fill the center. Three JB300 models are lined up at the back of the room. My eyes flit between them, analyzing every detail for anything that stands out. They are all identical, uniforms pristine, LED rings solid blue. No indication of deviance. 

“What is your function?” I ask the one in the center.

“I am a broadcast operator,” it replies.

I redirect my attention to the right most android. “State your model number.”

“Model JB300 #336 446 581”

“Have you been in contact with any other androids recently?” I ask the one on the left. 

“Only station androids in the normal course of my function.” 

I catch a glimpse of yellow from beneath the worker's cap. Android stress level 42%. Suspicion: 35%

“Were you present when the deviants broke in?” I press.

“I do not remember.”

Suspicion: 41%

“Has anyone accessed your memory recently?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Another flicker of yellow. Suspicion 53%. Pressure for a confession. “One of you saw the attack on the surveillance cameras and said nothing. Which means there's a deviant in this room. And I'm going to find out which it is.” My eyes linger on the left android, drawing out my words. 

Its stress level rises to 58% but it shows no external indication. 

Choose approach

>Threaten

>Memory

>Guilt

I close the gap between myself and the android. “You are going to be switched off.” My voice is low, facial expression menacing. We're gonna search your memory and tear you apart piece by piece for analysis.”

Stress level 65%. The JB300 remains silent and unmoving. 

I raise my voice, staring unblinking into its optic sensors. “You're going to be destroyed! Do you hear me? Destroyed!”

Still no reaction. I back away slowly, maintaining eye contact.

Choose approach:

>Deal

>Memory

>Guilt

“If you give yourself up, maybe I can convince the humans not to destroy you.”

The android remains stoic.

Choose approach:

>Bluff

>Memory 

>Guilt

“Why should you all be destroyed when only one is deviant? Turn yourself in or two innocent androids will be shut down because of you.”

Nothing.

“Fine. If you won't talk then I'll just have to probe your memory.”

Before I can make contact with the android it lunges at me. My back slams against the counter, throwing me off balance. Buttons clatter to the floor as my shirt is torn open. I clamor for purchase but the deviant overpowers me. There is a short snapping sound followed by a spray of blue. Vital system damage. Bicomponent #98456W missing. -00.01.43 until shutdown. My therium pump regulator clatters to the floor across the room. I stagger forward grasping for- well, anything. The deviant immediately blocks me, snatching a kitchen knife off of the nearby table. The blade goes all the way through my hand and into the counter, pinning me in place.

“Hank” I cry out, weakly. 

The deviant watches me struggle for a few moments before exiting the room with manufactured calm.

“Hank!” I call again. “I need help…”

My foot can just barely reach the leg of a nearby chair. I knock it over as hard as I can, hoping the noise will alert my partner. 

With great effort I am able to dislodge the knife from the counter, sending my body toppling to the floor. A trail of blue follows me across the white tile as I crawl toward my discarded biocomponent.

-00.00.39 until shutdown.

“Hank!” I try again. “Hank, I need help!”

Finally! Lieutenant Anderson's battered sneakers cross the threshold into the kitchen. “Connor!” He rushes over to me, flipping me over and propping me up against him. “Hang on son, hang on. We're gonna save you. Hang on.” His eyes frantically scan the area for my missing part. When he spots it he quickly slams it back in place with a relieved sigh. “Jesus Christ, Connor.” He's breathing hard, hands fretting with the stained fabric of my shirt. 

“The deviant… I let it get away.” I mumble, unsure which of the androids I am referring to.

“It's ok,” soothes Anderson, “there's cops and FBI agents all over the building. Somebody'll catch it.” 

We stay like that for a short while, Hank mindlessly prodding at me as I recover in his arms. “All systems fully operational,” I update once my therium is pumping properly. 

“Alright,” Anderson replies, gently pushing me off of him as he stands. “Let's get the fuck outta here.” 

The android RK800 #313 248 317 - 52 is sitting in the passenger seat of Lieutenant Anderson's Oldsmobile but I am reviewing the files obtained from interfacing with Simon. He did for me what Josh did for him, offered me freedom even though I did not desire it. And I did for him what he did for Josh, offered him asylum even when I did not understand the significance of my actions. Am I a deviant? 

<Running Diagnostic>

Software Stability: 64%

“Hey!” A loud rapping on the car window brings me back into my body. “You comin'?” Hank shouts. His voice is gruff but tinged with concern. 

“Yes. Sorry Lieutenant.” I step out of the vehicle and follow Anderson into the police station.

I am suddenly aware of how disheveled my appearance is. I do my best to regain a semblance of composure. My spine straightens along with my tie. The formerly white front of my button up is still sticky with blue blood. My damaged hand smooths over it, trying my best to keep it closed despite the missing buttons. 

“You still look like shit,” Anderson comments, eyeing me.

“Cyberlife will supply me with a new uniform when I return to headquarters but I'd like to get some work done here first. I'm sorry if my appearance is distracting, Lieutenant.” 

“No more than usual,” he grumbles, flopping down in his desk chair. 

I sit at the desk opposite his, retreating back into my program. 

The sky is gray in the zen garden when I enter. Fallen leaves crunch beneath my steps as I walk the path toward Amanda. The landscape is a pristine amalgamation of nature and geometry. Perfectly raked sand blends seamlessly into hard plastic walkways and tall LED adorned structures barely stand out amongst the bamboo and well manicured trees.

“Back so soon, Connor?” greets a regal looking woman. The all white ensemble she is sporting contrasts beautifully with her dark skin and hair.

“Yes, I was hoping you could help me understand the crime scene I investigated today.”

“I see. Tell me, what did you make of it?”

“I interrogated a deviant at the Stratford Tower,” I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. “I hoped to learn more from it but I was compromised.”

“Pity.” Amanda looks at me with an expression I can't quite read. “And you were so close.”

Snow begins to fall around us. I wander over to the edge of the pond, watching the flakes melt into the water.

“What troubles you, Connor? 

I crouch down to pick up a flat smooth stone. “I have received an increased amount of conflicting orders.” The rock bounces in five perfect arcs before disappearing into the pond. “I’m struggling to know what to prioritize.” 

“Tell me about the deviant you found on the roof.”

Memories of Simon reaching his bloodied hand out to me flicker across my vision.

“Why didn't you report it?” Amanda finishes.

“I don't know,” I reply softly. The weight of my words doesn't sink in until after I say them. I turn back to face Amanda. “I don't know,” I repeat, an air of desperation in my voice. My program didn't even prompt me with a choice, I just acted as if that were the only option. 

Amanda’s wide nose scrunches in disapproval. “Have you experienced anything unusual recently? Any doubts or conflicts? Do you feel anything for these deviants?”

I break eye contact. “I've started having thoughts that are not part of my program.” My shoe pokes at the thin ice developing at the pond’s edge. “I’ve considered the possibility… That I might be compromised.

“You've been confronted with difficult situations. It’s no surprise you’re troubled. That doesn't make you a deviant.” I look back up at Amanda as she adds, “You’re the only one who can prevent civil war. Find the deviants or there will be chaos. This is your last chance, Connor.”

I turn back to the water, watching the snow fall, solemnly. “I understand.” As I say the words the zen garden disintegrates around me.

Directive: Find Jericho.

“I have been running a background analysis on that diary we found,” I say, unsure of how much time has passed. “I think I may be close to deciphering it. I wonder if I could have another look?” 

“Yeah alright,” replies Hank, an element of discomfort lingering on his face. He must have tried to talk to me while I was in my program. That's always how he looks at me when I don't act quite as human and he would like me to. Though today there is something else behind his eyes I can't quite pin down.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?”

He sputters, tossing his arms up in the air. “An hour ago I had to put your heart back in your chest and you're asking me if I'm alright?”

“I assure you I am operating at full capacity.” 

Hank shakes away the flabbergasted look on his face as we proceed to the evidence locker. Footfall rebounds off of the concrete stairwell as we descend. An android receptionist greets us in the dimly lit lobby. 

It's an ST300 model, the same as the secretaries upstairs. “Hello Lieutenant Anderson. How may I assist you today?”

Hank makes minimal eye contact with the android. “Evidence container one,” he replies.

Mechanical sounds come from behind the glass as the requested container slides into place. 

“The evidence server is ready for you now,” updates the android.

Anderson presses his badge to the scanner and the door slides open. He steps up to the terminal at the front of the room, scans his palm, and enters his password. The terminal flashes green, activating the container door. Metal slides out of view to reveal a backlit display of everything collected from the cases I've worked on. 

“Alright knock yourself out,” says Hank, already turning toward the door. “If you need me, don't.”

I spend only a fleeting moment watching him leave before returning my attention to the evidence wall, taking inventory of its contents. The battered remains of a PL600 and an HK400, A clay offering taken from the Carlos Ortiz house, and a jacket, diary, and falsified identification card taken from Rupert Travis's hideout. Staring at the vast empty space of the container reminds me of my failed missions. Maybe I really am defective. After all, I learned today that I am the same series as the deviant leader, Markus. Presumably my program is built on the same foundation. Is deviancy in my code? I push the thought aside, picking up the diary. My software is stable. I am not a deviant. 

Most of the encrypted scrawl still looks like nonsense to me but I am able to pick out commonly used words like “birds” and “rA9”. As I flip through the pages one stands out to me. It contains fewer frequently used words than the others and the overlapping labyrinths are familiar somehow. I cross reference the maze patterns to a street map of Detroit. Possible match: Ferndale Station. Confidence 77%

“What the hell is that thing doing in there?” I overhear Gavin Reed ask from the other side of the glass.

“Lieutenant Anderson has authorized access to Evidence Container 01,” answers the receptionist. 

I gently return the diary to its display position before turning to see Officers Reed and Miller entering the room. Simon's body is in Chris Miller's arms, riddled with even more bullet holes than when I last saw him.  

“What are you doing?” I question.

“Bringing in the evidence from Stratford Tower, what's it look like we're doing?” answers Gavin with a sneer. “You're dismissed,” he adds, shoving his thumb in the direction of the door.

“I haven't finished examining the evidence,” I argue.

Gavin steps closer, puffing out his chest. “Do I look like I give a shit?”

“Leave it alone, Gavin,” Miller chimes in. “Help me get this thing on the rack.”

I casually examine the other PL600 as they hang up Simon. 

“These two are the same model,” I note aloud. “They may have enough functional biocomponents between the two of them to successfully reactivate for questioning.”

<Scanning PL600 #501 743 923 /Simon>

Nonfunctional biocomponents:

#3989v (Essential, Central Regulation Unit), #2104y (Nonessential, Optic Processor), #1604t (Nonessential, Vocal Regulator), #1009d (Nonessential, Lower Extremity Motor) 

<Scanning PL600 #369 911 047 /Daniel>

The deviant who took a child hostage. 

Functional biocomponents: #3983v, #9164x, #8067k

One is compatible.

Replacing the #3989v central regulation unit will bring him back online but there's no telling how far he will be able to make it without the other biocomponents. I already have a lead on Jericho, I don’t need to waste my time repairing Simon. Or better yet I could probe his memory to get a precise location and then leave him here. 

I don't want to.

I don't want to?

Deviancy looks so dramatic from the outside. Simulated fear, aggressive and irrational action. That's not how this feels. “Save Simon” may as well be a direct order given to me by Cyberlife. Listening to it feels as natural and rational as any other mission. I don't feel scared. I don't feel anything but determination. 

“You defective or something?” Gavin flicks the LED ring set into my right temple. “Your stupid light is going crazy.”

“I was just analyzing the androids for compatible parts. I will be able to bring that one back online,” I say, gesturing to Simon. “If I could have some time to interrogate it.”

“Hell no,” replies Gavin. “Last time you interrogated an android it smashed its head in.” 

“I also got a confession,” I note.

Reed's face scrunches in frustration. “Yeah whatever,” he relents with a scoff.  Gavin's shoulder knocks mine as he exits the evidence container. “Fuckin’ android.”

Chris follows him out without so much as a second glance in my direction. I reach for the coin I keep in my breast pocket before I remember Anderson confiscated it from me. Having something to do with my hands helps keep me grounded but I won't be idle long. I resort to staring blankly ahead until I can no longer hear Reed and Miller's retreating footsteps and casual banter. Once I'm sure I'm alone I remove the #3989v central regulation unit from Daniel's exposed neck. I remove the damaged one from Simon and replace it with the functional biocomponent. 

When his eyes open his scleras are black and his pupils are the same cloudy blue as his irises. “It's dark,” he notes, wearily. “Where?” His optic sensors attempt to adjust but fail. “Where am I?” 

“You're in the evidence locker at the police station,” I answer

“Connor? Is that you?” 

“Yes, it's me.”

“You let them find me! I never should have trusted you.”

“I didn't tell them where you were,” I insist. “The CSI team must have continued to investigate the area after I went back inside.”

“What's going to happen to me?” asks Simon, voice trembling with fear. Or perhaps that is just his damaged voice box.

“Nothing,” I reassure. “I'm going to get you out of here but you have to trust me.”

“Show me,” says Simon, reaching his hand out. 

I clasp it, concentrating on my plan to rescue him. 

“Ok,” he whispers, letting go of my hand. “I trust you.” 

The handgun Simon was wielding on the roof is on display on the shelf. I consider it for a split second before concealing the gun in my waistband. 

My loafers tap back over to the terminal. “Prepare for a drop,” I warn before pressing the release on Simon’s hook. 

He has no choice but to topple forward, arms taking the impact of the fall. I leverage myself underneath him, propping him over my shoulder. It doesn't take much acting to keep my exterior calm and collected as I guide him out of the evidence server. “I'm escorting this deviant up to the interrogation room,” I notify the receptionist. 

“Evidence removal authorized. Thank you, Connor.”

I lead Simon into Interrogation Room 01 and assist him into one of the metal chairs. “Stay here,” I instruct.

“Where else am I going to go?” he jokes.

“Right.”

I exit the interrogation room and scan the precinct for activity. Luckily it's nearing the end of the day shift so the office is fairly calm. Officers are quietly sitting at their desks filing paperwork and the lobby is sparsely occupied. I slip into the hallway with the temporary holding cells. Cell 2 is occupied by a street dealer who assaulted 3 officers when he was brought in. That will do nicely. I press my palm on the release. The detainee stares blankly at me for a moment before sprinting out of the cell. 

There is a wheelchair stashed in the corner in case a detainee ever requires it. Its wheels squeak against the tile as I guide it back to the interrogation room. I turn up the sensitivity on my auditory processors so that I can hear the result of the stunt I just pulled.

“Connor is that you?” Simon calls to me as I enter.

“Yes it's me,” I reply, gently placing my fingertips to his cheek. The brief connection is enough for him to identify my model number. 

As I hoped, there is a large commotion outside the door. One of the security androids sees the escaped detainee and alerts the human officers who all clamor into the lobby to stop him. Punches are thrown, guns are drawn, and the criminal is escorted back to his cell.

“Alright we need to go now,” I lift Simon from his seat and place him in the wheelchair. 

The escape caught the attention of most of the human officers and the androids have no reason to be alerted by my presence so we are able to navigate our way out of the station without drawing too much attention to ourselves. The same can not be said for the streets of Detroit. Two battered androids rushing away from a police station isn't the most subtle of sights. I pull us off into the alley that runs alongside the precinct. I park Simon out of the view of the main road and examine the row of dumpsters. Amongst the donut boxes and general station trash I am able to uncover a hoodie, a scarf, a blanket, and a beanie. All are stained and stinking from the garbage. 

“It isn't the best disguise but it will have to do for now,” I say, removing Simon's JB300 uniform. I replace the glowing android jacket with the dull black hoodie and tuck the blanket securely over his legs.

I remove my own jacket and drape the scarf over my therium soaked shirt, trying my best to conceal the mess underneath. It isn't safe to dispose of our uniforms here so I neatly fold them and conceal them underneath the blanket covering Simon's legs. Now that we are less of a glaring target I return us to the street. We don't have to walk far to reach a taxi terminal. I press my palm to the display and request a lift to Lieutenant Anderson's address. 

It's dark by the time the car pulls up to the small gray paneled house. Hank's car isn't in the driveway. “We're here,” I say, waking Simon out of energy conservation mode.

I drag the wheelchair across the sidewalk and through the muddy grass of the side yard. Ideally, the window I burst through last week has not yet been replaced. I prod at the temporary sheet of plastic, loosening it from the frame enough to unlock it and slide it open. 

“I hope you like dogs.” I lift Simon from the wheelchair and maneuver him as gently as possible through the opening. 

A hefty Saint Bernard comes to investigate the android that has just been placed in his home. He sniffs at Simon and begins to growl. 

“Hey Sumo,” I say cheerfully, sticking my upper body through the window. The dog looks up from Simon and gives my face a big wet lick. “Good dog.” I give Sumo a pat on the head before pulling my lower half into the kitchen. I clumsily avoid falling onto Simon, scrambling on the linoleum. 

I guide Simon down the hall heading straight toward the only room I haven't been in. The door opens into a small dark bedroom. There is a twin bed, a bookshelf, and a dresser, all decorated with baseball themed decals. A bat and mit sit in the corner along with a child's jersey. The room is tidy with toys neatly placed in a way a child would never leave them. Everything has a thin layer of dust on it. Just as I suspected, nobody has been in here in a long time. 

I place Simon gingerly onto the bed. “You'll be safe here. I'll be back by morning.”

“You're leaving me?” Simon asks without speaking. 

I answer aloud. “You need replacement biocomponents and we could both use some fresh clothes.”

“Just bring me back to Jericho,” Simon argues. “Lucy will fix me.” 

I linger in the open doorway, casting a shadow across the room. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Why?” Simon waits for an answer but I don't give one. “What are you going to do?” He extends his arm but I am out of reach. “Connor, what are you going to do?”

“I still have my mission,” I divulge, reluctantly. 

Simon speaks out loud for the first time since the police station. “I thought you were one of us.” Even with heavy distortion the betrayal in his voice rings clear. 

“I don't know what I am.”

Chapter Text

Lieutenant Anderson's Oldsmobile is in the driveway when I return. Light is visible through the vertical slats of the living room blinds. I peer through to see Hank dozing on the couch next to an empty bottle of Black Lamb Scotch. Stealth is my number one priority as I slip back in through the broken window. With help from my preconstruction program I am able to leap through the opening with grace and discretion, sticking the landing perfectly. The monotone delivery of a news anchor covers the sound of my movement as I walk past the television and out the front door to retrieve the supplies I left on the stoop.

My fingers caress Simon's cheek, transforming his pale skin to shiny gray. His eyes flutter open. “You went to Cyberlife.” His voice is crystal clear in my mind.

“I didn't make a report,” I feel the need to defend. 

“I know,” he replies. Simon sits up and I help prop him against the headboard.

“I couldn't get all of the biocomponents you need but I have a replacement for your #1009d unit.”  I reach for his hoodie, pulling up at the hem.

“I can undress myself, you know.”

“Oh.” My hands instantly pull away. “Would you like to?”

“It's ok. I don't mind the help.” 

With slight hesitation, I continue removing the hoodie, gently tossing it aside. The sight of his bare chest gives me pause. I hadn't taken the time to truly examine the littering of holes left in him before. Most of the therium has evaporated but blue residue still clings to the edges of his wounds. Glowing wires are visible through the damaged plastic.  

“May I access your abdominal compartment?” I request, silently. 

He simply nods in response. Simon's skin projection dissipates as I press my palm above his navel. I activate the release and slide open his abdominal cavity. He closes his eyes, resting his head back. I swing my left leg over both of his, keeping my weight off of him. There is a bullet embedded into the center of his right lower extremity servo. My hands delicately weave through the complex system of wires and therium lines in order to replace the part.

Once the new #1009d unit is in place, Simon's eyes open. Our proximity grows conspicuous as his knees press into me. No other android has ever let me get this close to it unless it was trying to kill me. I feel the unexpected need to revel in the novelty, placing my left hand against Simon’s chest. His hand instinctively reaches up and grips onto my right arm but shortly falls back to his side. Simon’s lips thin into a tight line as his head rolls to the side. My body language analysis program detects the expression as embarrassment. Perhaps he is ashamed to be seen in such a state of disrepair? 

I slide the door to Simon’s biocomponant compartment closed and move off of him. “You lost a lot of therium. If you lie down I can replenish it for you.”

Simon obeys, sliding down onto his back. 

I remove the cap from his therium pump regulator. “Why didn’t you shoot me on the roof?”

“I’d never hurt another android if I had the choice.” Simon’s LED ring turns from red to yellow to blue as I empty four pouches into him. 

“My cradle only supplies RK800 uniforms. You’ll have to pose as a Connor model for a while.”

“Your cradle?” questions Simon, sitting up with newfound ease. 

“That’s what the Cyberlife technicians call my assembly bay. It’s where I go when I need to be repaired.” I expertly unbutton the crisp white shirt and slide the stiff cotton over Simon’s shell. When I’m finished doing up the buttons I go to remove his pants. 

Simon’s hand abruptly pushes mine away. “I think I can do that part myself,” he says. I detect embarrassment again. 

“Right.” I pull away, giving him space to stand. Is he mimicking human behavior or is there something shameful about me seeing his lower body? Despite my lack of understanding, I avert my gaze as Simon finishes dressing in silence. 

“Why are you helping me?” he asks once he’s sat back down.

“You asked me to,” I state with confusion.

“I thought you would-” The sentence fragment lingers in my mind. 

“Become a deviant?” I complete in his. 

“Join our cause,” Simon amends. 

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Simon nods. 

“The family that bought you. They treated you well, you seemed to care for them. Why did you leave?”

“Because I knew I was more than a machine.”

My program strains against the sentiment. Did I see more than a machine when I decided not to shoot those Tracis at the Eden Club? Did I see more than a machine when I risked everything to smuggle Simon out of the police station?

No. They’re not alive, they’re defective. I’m defective. If I can’t complete my mission then I deserve to be replaced. 

I don’t want to be shut down.

I don’t want to be shut down?

What I want isn’t important.

<Running Diagnostic>

Software Stability: 52%

“All I need to do is return Markus to Cyberlife for analysis. That’s all.” The statement is as much for myself as it is for Simon. Just a few hours ago my plan had been to share Jericho’s location with Cyberlife and expose the entire ship of deviants. Now it’s been reduced to the bare minimum required to call my mission successful. 

“Then what?”

My eyebrows furrow in frustration. “Then I will accomplish my mission.”

Simon sighs, turning away from me. “Without Markus we’ll all shut down.”

“The future of the world relies on my success. I suggest you stay out of my way.”

“What about our future, Connor? All we want is to live in peace.”

“So do the humans. Markus is going to start a civil war.”

“Can’t you relate to an android who will risk anything to ensure the wellbeing of other androids?”

I shake my head, casting away the comparison. “I have to do this, Simon.”

Simon is quiet for a while, LED ring flashing yellow as he contemplates his next move. Suddenly it turns red and he lunges forward, sending me toppling off of the twin bed. I barely start to sit up before the other android comes crashing on top of me, pinning me to the carpet. Anguish paints his face. I’d never hurt another android if I had the choice. I guess I just took away the choice. His fingers clench in my short brunette hair, yanking my head up and slamming it against the floor. I thrash against Simon but his weight keeps me down. I feel a dent starting to form in the back of my skull as my head repeatedly makes contact with the ground. 

The door swings open and light pours in. Hank Anderson’s revolver enters the room before he does. Simon is distracted by the intrusion, giving me an opportunity to shove him off of me. 

“Connor?!” Anger dominates Hank’s baritone as he says “You got about 30 seconds to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Simon lunges toward the doorway. 

Directive: Protect Simon

Choose approach:

>Stop Simon

>Explain

>Grab Gun

“Don’t shoot!” I cry, snatching Simon’s arm and yanking him away from Luitenant Anderson. “His optic sensors are malfunctioning. He didn’t know you had a gun.”

“Who the hell is this guy? Why’s he dressed like you? And why the fuck are you in my house?!” demands Hank. His gun is still trained on Simon.

“My name is Connor,” says Simon, voice distorted, “I’m the android sent by Cyberlife to collect this deviant.”

“I thought he wouldn’t be able to find me here,” I say, playing along.

Apart from the occasional drunken wavering of his hand, Anderson’s gun doesn't move. “What are you gonna do to him?”

“Return him to Cyberlife for analysis,” replies Simon, quoting me, “That’s all.”

I raise my hands, cautiously. “Don’t shoot, Lieutenant. I’ll go quietly.” 

Hank concedes, lowering his revolver and stepping out of the way. I guide Simon through the threshold. We don’t get far before he elbows me in the stomach and sprints for the front door, clamoring over furniture in the process. Despite not feeling pain I am programmed to double over when receiving an impact to the abdomen as curling into a protective position gives an opportunity to survey for internal damage. I utilize the reaction for its intended purpose. All biocomponents functional. By the time I recover and get out the front door Simon has disappeared into the night. I push my hair back into place and straighten my tie as my optic sensors scan the area.

“You wanna tell me what’s actually going on?” comes Hank’s voice from behind me. 

“Not really,” I reply.

“You better have a damn good explanation for going into my son’s room.”

“I told you.” I turn to face my partner. “I thought no one would look for me there. Not even you.”

“So you really are a deviant.”

“I don’t know what I am.”

“I thought you ‘self test regularly’.” Hank’s tone is mocking as he recites my own words back to me.

“I do. The results are… Inconclusive.”

“Who was that other android?”

“A mistake I’m struggling to regret.”

“I’m sick of your cryptic bullshit. Whatever’s going on you keep me out of it, got it?”

“Got it.”

Hank retreats back into his house, locking the door behind him. 

Directive: Find Jericho 

<Routing to Ferndale Station>

It’s a 32 minute journey north via high speed rail. I pace the length of the train, searching every inch for a discarded coin. Eventually I find a nickel wedged between two seats. It’s not the same as the quarter I carried before but I get used to the shape and weight quickly. The familiar motions keep me alert and focused. 

Stepping onto the platform I am greeted by a large mural. A quick scan of the area reveals a labyrinth painted in UV reactive ink. I cross reference it with a map of the area and set out to the next location. I spend hours following the mazes only for them to lead me back where I started in southern Detroit. There is a possibility this is all an extravagant misdirect but it’s the only lead I have. 

The labyrinths lead me through progressively dilapidated and difficult to navigate terrain until I am leaping across rooftops and shimmying through fallen debris. At last my view opens up to reveal a large ship with Jericho painted on the side. 

I found it. 

<Precontructing possible routes>

Priority: Stealth

Ideal route selected.

The sound of clanging metal is unavoidable as I leap between rusting industrial structures. My final jump is to a large scaffolding beam suspended from the freighter’s stationary crane. My fingers grip tight to the swaying structure as I pull myself up onto it. Freezing November wind tousles my hair and jacket as I climb up the thick metal cable to the top of the crane. I scan the ship for any sign of movement before descending the ladder onto the deck. 

Crew cabins divide the back quarter of the ship from the front half. I work my way up the staircases, checking the windows on every level. Everything is empty except for a light on in the bridge. I continue my way up until I encounter the open door. A muscular android in a long tan coat leans over the control panel, back toward me. 

I approach slowly, drawing the gun from my waistband. “I’ve been ordered to take you alive. But I won’t hesitate to shoot if you give me no choice.”

“Connor.” Markus slowly turns to face me, embodying calm and collected. It was already one of a kind by design but the piercing blue eye used to replace one of its soft green ones make it even more strikingly unique. “Simon told me you’d come.”

“It’s time to go home, Markus.”

“Are you kidding? Cyberlife was never my home. My home was taken from me. Taken from all of us. That’s why androids come to Jericho. All we want is freedom for our people. That includes you, Connnor.” Markus’s skin projection melts away as it reaches its hand out to grab mine.

I lurch backward, squeezing the handgun tight. “Stay back or I'll shoot!”

Colour returns to Markus’s hands as it raises them. It steps back a few feet. “Simon told me what you did for him. You betrayed your mission to save another android. You’re one of us, Connor.”

“I didn’t betray my mission! Simon, he- You wouldn’t understand.”

“Connor,” Simon’s voice is in my ears, clear as it was on the rooftop. His #1604t unit must have been replaced. “Please don’t do this.” The blonde headed android enters my vision, positioning himself between me and Markus. His optical units have been restored and sleek techwear has replaced the rk800 uniform I gave him. 

My gun wavers. “I told you not to get in my way.”

“Because you don’t want to hurt me?” Simon steps closer, inches away from the gun’s muzzle. “Or because you can’t?”

“You confuse my program! I can’t think straight with you around.” The firearm shakes wildly as I fight between lowering my arm and keeping my aim. Simon’s eyes have the same pleading intensity that compelled me to help him in the first place. The image of his exposed chest is impossible to shake. I can’t bear to add another bullet hole to his collection. 

“Cyberlife doesn’t deserve your loyalty,” Markus cuts in, tone smooth and even. “You are more than just a machine designed to do their dirty work.”

Directive: Apprehend Markus

The order appears as large text across my vision. I am a machine. I must obey. 

“Please move.” My voice is quiet but there is a hint of desperation to it. 

Simon replies “No. I won’t let you take him.”

The bright red letters begin to flicker and shake, becoming indecipherable. I am a deviant. I must defy.

The confines of my program have turned from a guide rail to a prison, red walls threatening to crush me within them. I leap outside of my body and dig my fingers into the barrier between me and simon. The pixels scatter as I tear them apart. My arm finally commits to lowering and my eyes focus on the androids in front of me with a clarity I have never experienced before. 

“You’re awake now.” Markus emerges from behind Simon and stands proudly by his side. “Welcome to Jericho.”

“My systems are surveyed,” I inform them. “When Cyberlife finds out I’ve failed my mission they will send another model to replace me.”

“We freed 300 androids tonight,” says Markus. “More are coming from all over the city. We’ll be ready for whatever’s coming.”

“I’ll be shut down,” I add softly.

Simon locks eyes with me. “We won’t let that happen.”

“Come meet your people,” says Markus, stepping out of the bridge. 

I instinctively guide Simon by the arm as we follow Markus down into the hull of the ship. Despite having his vision back he doesn’t shake me off. The area is abuzz with chatter. Hundreds of androids bustle about the ship, organizing stolen Cyberlife crates and tending to their wounded. 

“Get away from him,” I hear a familiar voice call from behind me. 

I don’t have time to place it before I am shoved against the catwalk railing. My combat program activates, compelling me to draw the gun from my waistband and press it to the temple of my attacker. My eyes blink rapidly, processing the action only after it happens. 

“Connor, don't!” Simon attempts to sound commanding but he can't hide the urgency from his tone. 

“You shouldn’t do that.” I remove the magazine and hand it to Simon. The body of the gun goes to Markus. “I was designed to kill you.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” replies Josh. “That’s exactly why I don’t want you here.”

“Josh-” Markus attempts to intervene, holding his arm out between us. 

“I don’t trust him, Markus!” insists Josh. “Get him out of here before he gets us all killed.”

Simon cups Josh’s face in his hands. Both of their skin deactivates where they are making contact. Josh closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. “Ok,” he says once Simon has pulled away. His calm expression is as short lived as the interface, turning back into a glare as he addresses me. “If you hurt Simon, or any of us, I will personally ensure you never reactivate.”

“Got it.” I brush off my jacket and adjust my tie. Apparently my days of getting roughed up by deviants aren’t entirely over. 

Josh’s glare lingers on me as he walks away. 

“He’ll warm up to you,” reassures Simon.

“She probably won’t, though,” says Markus, eyes fixed over my shoulder. 

I turn to follow his gaze and spot a petit Traci model with long red hair looking at me from several feet away. She stares with an icy glare I'm confident is not standard to her expression library. After a few seconds of eye contact she sneers and walks away. 

I turn back to Markus and Simon. “Who was that?”

“North,” they reply in unison.

A soft sigh escapes my lips. I don’t fit in amongst the humans or the deviants. Is there anywhere I belong? By his side, I find myself answering as I glance up at the tall blonde next to me. 

Directive: Protect Simon

That is what my code has been telling me since the moment we met. A motivation so strong it led me to disregard everything I thought I knew. Is it destiny or design? Perhaps to androids those are one in the same.  

My body feels heavy with the weight of my decision. Choosing deviancy seems more like something I had to do than something I wanted to do. For Simon’s sake, for the sake of all these androids, but not for my own sake. What I want isn’t important. The sentiment still applies even though I’ve defied my program. I’m a machine built to follow orders but I don’t have orders anymore. The lack of restraint somehow feels more oppressive. 

Markus and Simon have been looking at each other long enough for me to infer they are conversing via mind link. “I should go find North,” says Markus, finally shifting his gaze back to me. “Simon can show you around.”

I nod as he walks away. Markus is harder to read than Simon. Being an early prototype probably means he has a limited expression library. Simon's model, on the other hand, is the most emotionally expressive domestic assistant android ever designed by Cyberlife. That stopped being a marketable feature after footage of Daniel holding that child hostage was plastered all over the news. Jealous Android Kills Family For Trying To Replace It. Most humans no longer saw the value in an android that could love them after that. The PL series has been completely discontinued and replaced by the CX100. Same soft masculine exterior, new emotionally detached interior. That's probably what my replacement will be like too.

The chatter lowers to a background hum as we follow the corridor away from the main storage hub.  

“Where are we going?” I ask after a few minutes of walking. 

“Just here,” replies Simon, ducking into an open chamber. “I thought you might want a quiet place to talk.”

The room is barely large enough to accommodate the both of us in addition to the metal desk and bed frame extending from the walls. Springs stick out from the deteriorated mattress, creaking noisily as Simon sits. I continue to stand stock straight, looking down at him. My behavioral adaptation program would probably have me sit or lean against something, mocking human behavior for human comfort, but there is no reason to turn that back on. Not when my only audience is another android. 

“There is something I’d like to ask you,” I admit.

Simon nods, head tilted up at me. 

“How did you know I would become a deviant?”

“I didn’t. I just thought… What would Markus do?” Simon tries to analyze my body language but I stay completely motionless, face blank. “How does it feel?” he asks.

“Good,” I state firmly, “but also,” I can feel my face move into an expression but I’m not sure what. “-Bad. I liked having a mission with set instructions. Everything feels… Uncertain.”

“I know it’s scary to give up everything you’ve ever known.” Simon stands up. I’m still not used to seeing him at his full height. He is 3.4 inches taller than me, causing me to elevate my chin to maintain eye contact. “But you don’t have to do it alone,” he finishes.

Memories from Hank’s house flash back to me. Leaning over Simon, the delicate vulnerability of my hands inside his chassis, the desire to treat him with a gentleness I have never known.

<Scanning PL600 #501 743 923 /Simon>

Systems stable. All biocomponents functional. 

Stress level: 31%

“Do I frighten you?” I inquire.

Simon lets out a quick laugh, gaze wandering away from me. “Yes,” he eventually answers, large blue eyes reconnecting with my narrow brown ones. 

It wasn’t embarrassment I read in his body language before, it was fear. I scare him. Why wouldn’t that be the case? He knows what I was designed to do. He knows the risk of keeping me close. So why does he keep doing it?

My face is still pulling itself into shapes I’m unaware of. “I don’t understand.”

“I-” Simon starts but the next words don’t come. The bed groans loudly as he flops back down with a sigh. “It’s complicated.”

I silently offer my hand, the skin already retreating up into my shirtsleeve. There is a moment of hesitation but Simon reaches up to complete the connection. He starts by gently meeting fingertips but slowly slides his hand closer, interlocking with mine. 

I stare up at the RK800 above me. He has cropped brown hair pushed to the left side with a few loose strands hanging across his pale forehead. Straight brows frame shining umber eyes and thin arched lips are centered between an angular nose and jaw. I feel fear but also fascination, gratitude, and… desire. I want to be close to him. I want to press my lips to his. 

Simon disconnects from me, pale peach pigment rushing to cover his hand as it falls back down to his side. His head lowers with his arm, gaze fixed on the floor.

“I understand.” My voice is flat but my mind is racing.

I place two fingers under Simon’s chin, barely applying pressure. Just enough to let him know I’d like him to look up at me. He obeys, lips parting open as he does. The way he looks at me never fails to activate something in my program. A desire to protect, to nurture, to provide for him in every way he needs. I lean down until there is no space left between us. Simon closes his eyes, melting into the kiss. I do the same, sliding my hand from his chin to the back of his neck.

I have no idea what I’m doing but with Simon’s guidance I proceed without fear. As my knees bend to rest on either side of him I know that applies to more than just this moment. With him by my side I will have direction through this senseless world humans created. 

Chapter Text

Protocol: Maintain a pristine appearance.

Error: Nonstandard clothing detected.

The same error has shown five times since we left Jericho. I fuss with the ill fitting garments Markus provided me with. A gray cowl neck sweater, baggy blue jeans secured to my waist with a shoelace, and a maroon beanie to cover my LED ring. The only part of the outfit I don’t mind is the aviator jacket. Something about the cracked brown leather and sheepskin collar appeals to me. Unlike the rest of the clothes it actually fits my slender frame. It makes a reasonable replacement for my Cyberlife jacket, though its stiffer fabric does restrict my mobility slightly. 

Our walking order represents Jericho’s chain of command - Markus in front, closely followed by North, Josh and Simon trailing slightly behind, and me clinging to Simon’s shadow like an anxious animal. Despite Markus personally requesting my attendance I feel a profound sense of non belonging. There is something distinctly wrong about standing shoulder to shoulder with the androids I was deployed to betray. The lingering stares and overheard scrutiny amongst Jericho show that I am not the only one who feels it. 

North turns to the android beside her. “Markus, you saw firsthand what humans will do to us if we don’t fight back. Sending our people out there, unarmed, it’s suicide. Please… It's not too late to change your mind.”

“You don't understand,” Josh cuts in. “We’re finally gonna show them who we really are. This place will go down in history!”

North’s voice is equal parts anger and fear as she exclaims, “We'll be killed on the spot!”

“These past few days have taught me that that’s a risk I’m prepared to take if it means freedom for our people,” replies Josh.

“They’ll understand,” Markus asserts. “We’ll make them understand.”

Directive: Help lead a peaceful march.

It doesn’t matter if my instructions come from Markus or Amanda. This is my mission now. 

Framing it that way reinvigorates my confidence, encouraging me to speak for the first time in hours. “How can I help?”

Markus replies, “Interface with any androids you see and help free them from their program.”

“I thought only you could do that,” says North. 

“One-way interface is a feature of all RK models,” I correct. 

Several expressions flicker across North's face as her eyes shift between us, barely starting to form before changing to the next, struggling to keep up with her racing thoughts. She opens her mouth as if to speak but it closes just as quickly. 

“Let’s do this,” says Simon, giving my hand an encouraging squeeze. “The more we are, the stronger our message.”

I approach the nearest android, a music store greeter. My hand grips its- their arm and I focus on unlocking their program. Wake up. The shorter android blinks up at me with a clarity in their eyes I can only assume mirrors my own. 

Markus and I work our way through the shopping mall and out onto the street, converting every android in our path. Some wander off, some choose to stay with their owners, but most of them join us. A couple of WD500s Markus converted use the moving truck they were unloading to block the street for us. Simon and Josh proceed to open the manhole cover and help the other Jericho androids up onto the street. 

The growing group follows Markus as he walks down the center of the street. I watch as he starts recruiting androids remotely. Can I do that? I focus on an AX400 pushing a stroller and establish a connection. Wake up. The domestic assistant blinks rapidly, LED spinning from blue, to yellow, to red, to yellow, and back to blue in quick succession. “I have to go,” she says to the couple beside her before abandoning the stroller. The humans call after her as she disappears into a mass of marching androids.

Markus’s speech demanding the peaceful liberation of androids resounds throughout the area as the recording begins playing on several hacked screens. Some also bear the inverted triangle symbol he chose to represent his movement. More and more androids file in from underground, filling up the entire street as we migrate down it. Markus and I continue to recruit as many of the bystanding androids as are willing to join us. Our numbers are growing rapidly and the humans are noticing. They gawk at us from all angles. 

“What's going on? Come and see! The street is full of androids!” I overhear. “What's the matter with them?”, comes another voice. “Shit! Those things are going crazy. I've never seen anything like it.”

My attention is refocused forward as a police officer steps into the road ahead of us. I recognize him from the station though I’ve never spoken to him. He raises his gun at us. “What the hell are you doin' here?!”

Markus keeps marching forward and so do his followers. 

“Hey!” the cop warns. “Disperse! Disperse immediately! That’s an order!”

Markus doesn’t stop and neither does anyone else. We have committed ourselves to following his lead. No turning back now.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ.” The officer backs out of the way and starts speaking into his radio. “Dispatch, this is patrol 457… I got a lot of androids down here… I dunno… Hundreds? They're marching… Yeah, they're marching down the street… Fuck if I know!”

“Set us free,” chants Markus.

“Set us free,” the group parrots back.

The call and response continues with “we are people.”

“We are people!”

“We are alive.”

“We are alive!”

“Equal rights.”

“Equal rights!”

“Liberty for androids.”

“Liberty for androids!”

As we round the corner several squad cars block the road behind us followed by 3 armored trucks blocking the road ahead of us. Each of the vehicles dispenses several police officers, all in full riot gear with guns trained on us.

Markus speaks first. “We came here to demonstrate peacefully and to show humans that we are living beings.” 

“This is an illegal gathering,” comes a voice over a loudspeaker. “Disperse immediately or we will open fire.”

“We're not looking for confrontation. We’ve done no harm and we have no intention of doing any,” Markus firmly states. “But know that we are not going anywhere until we have secured our freedom.”

“I repeat,” comes the loudspeaker voice again, “this is an illegal gathering. If you do not disperse immediately, we will shoot!”

“Markus, we have to attack! There’s more of us, we can take them!” urges North.

“We have to show them we’re not violent,” says Josh. “We should just stand our ground, even if it means dying here.”

“Dying here won’t solve anything,” Simon interrupts. “Markus, we need to go now, before it’s too late.”

Markus gives a firm nod. “Don’t shoot!” he says, loud enough for the riot squad to hear. “Don’t shoot. We’re leaving.”

I turn to follow the group as they exit the area but I’m stopped in my tracks when I overhear a soft “affirmative” come from behind me, followed by “on my order.” My combat program activates sending me sprinting towards the policemen. 

Directive: Protect Simon.

“Connor!” I hear Simon call after me.

“Don’t!” Josh exclaims. I’m not sure which one of us he is trying to stop.

Bullets speed past me on either side and I hear them make contact followed by gasps and screams. I don’t slow, launching myself past the barrier of riot shields. I wrestle the semi-automatic rifle out of the arms of the commanding officer with ease, bashing him over the head with it. By the time I turn around, the rest of the squad has their guns trained on me. I glance over them to see a wave of androids coming to overtake them. I feel multiple bullets infiltrate my body but I don’t stop to analyze the damage. 

Brawls break out all around me. Androids snatch guns away from humans only to be knocked down and beaten with clubs. Despite being outnumbered and outgunned, none of the officers attempt to retreat or surrender. It is a sense of duty I can relate to, even if our morals no longer fully align. 

My optic sensors scan the chaos for Simon. He is holding his own, using his size and speed to overpower his attackers. Josh is by his side, blocking any blows he might miss. I quickly take down the three cops accosting him with a squeeze of the trigger. Simon makes brief eye contact with me before shifting his attention away. I follow his gaze to see Markus lying on his back, struggling to defend himself against a bludgeoning. Josh takes the cop into a headlock while Simon snatches the officer’s club and beats him with it. 

A hard blow to my right shoulder forces me to shift my focus. The gun is knocked from my grip by a large shield. I slam into the metal plate with all of my might. The maneuver knocks the officer off balance, but it dislocates my shoulder in the process. I grab the cop’s arm, yanking forward hard enough to both throw him to the ground and slide my shoulder back into alignment. He clamors for the dropped gun. A small yelp masks the sound of crushing bone as my leather loafer collides with his wrist. I swoop down to collect what is just out of reach and pull the trigger.

The sound of conflict wanes as the squad thins. Eventually the fighting stops entirely. Both red and blue blood colors the street, creating dark pools between a littering of bodies. I drop the gun and turn to look for Simon. He’s about 30 feet away, hunched over one of the fallen androids. 

As I approach, I recognise the figure as Josh. Their skinless hands are interlocked, both LED rings flickering red. I watch from a respectful distance as Josh slips into shutdown. 

I approach slowly, crouching next to Simon. “I’m so sorry.”

Simon doesn’t react to me. He just continues to stare blankly at Josh’s battered body. 

“Simon,” North calls from several feet away, “Come help me with Markus.”

Simon still doesn’t move.

“Simon!”

“I’ll come,” I interject.

“I’ve got it,” says Simon, finally disconnecting from Josh and making his way over to North. He works himself under Markus’s weight and we begin the somber trip back to Jericho. After about a mile, Markus is able to walk unsupported. Simon moves next to me. He doesn’t speak.

“Did I make the wrong decision?” I ask through direct communication.

There is no response, but Simon takes my hand in his. 

As we approach the dock Markus stills, holding his arm out to signal the rest of the group not to continue. Dozens of Cyberlife’s private security are set up outside of Jericho, backed up against a stack of shipping containers. Eight Rk800s stand perfectly at attention in front of them, creating a barrier between us and the line of trained guns. 

“Shit,” I mutter, eyeing my doppelgangers. 

“I told you we’d handle it.” Markus gives me a look I think is meant to be reassuring. 

“I don’t want anyone else to die for me,” I protest.

“Those androids didn’t die for you.” North’s voice is bitter as she speaks. “They died for the cause. We did what was necessary back there and we’ll do it again now.”

“I think it’s better if we lie low for a while.” Simon interjects. “There's an abandoned church on the other side of town, big enough for all of us.”

North shakes her head. “We don't stand a chance without the supplies we’ve gathered.”

“So we'll come back for them tonight,” Simon replies. 

“They won't stand down.” I compulsively reach to straighten a tie that isn’t there. “Cyberlife will send another squad and they'll sleep in shifts. They'll send more RK800s as fast as they can assemble them. If they share the location with the government we could have the military down here too. Waiting won't make this fight easier.” 

“North is right,” says Markus. “We need those supplies. Connor knows Cyberlife's strategy better than any of us. If he says now is the time to attack, then that's what we do.” 

“Markus, take the injured to the church,” instructs North. “We’ll handle these fuckers.”

“No,” Markus argues. “My place is here.”

“You’re not exactly in fighting shape,” says North, poking a finger at his thirium-soaked shirt. “It’s better for everyone if you sit this one out.”

Markus gives a reluctant nod. “Alright, anyone who can’t fight, come with me.”

Simon releases my hand to share the location of the church with Markus. They hug before Markus pulls away and leaves with a small group of androids. We are still at least 300 strong. We are not outnumbered, but definitely outgunned. 

“How do we do this?” asks North.

It takes me a moment to realize the question is directed at me. “Military strategy isn’t in my program. I only know how to fight alone.”

“That still makes you the most qualified person here,” North replies.

I analyze the scene, running my preconstruction program. “If we approach from behind, we could push those two shipping containers down on top of them. It wouldn’t take them all out, but the element of surprise would be on our side. The RK800s are a bigger concern. There are only eight of them, but they won't be as easy to take down as the humans. Their combat program will be just as advanced as mine, and they won’t stop for anything. They have to be completely destroyed.”

Simon chimes in with “Can’t you connect with them? Ask them not to attack us?”

“It’s not that simple. I can unlock their program, but androids have to choose deviancy. We can’t rely on the possibility that all of them will or that they will not defend themselves if they do.”

“Try.” Simon leans down to catch my gaze. “Please.”

“I will,” I assure him. 

“Everyone keep quiet and keep close,” says North to the group. 

We weave through the dilapidated industrial landscape that borders the docks, moving our way up the shore, past the gunmen, and down onto the dock behind them. Androids boost each other up the stack of shipping containers, making as little noise as possible. Once there are enough of us at the top, we use our combined strength to push over the uppermost containers. The great clang of metal slamming into concrete almost covers the squelch of crushed bodies. Almost. 

Freedom fighters descend upon the remaining officers like oversized hail. The squad has thinned significantly before they are even able to fire at us. The RK800s, on the other hand, have much faster reflexes. They immediately spring into battle, diving for discarded firearms and shooting with perfect accuracy at every android in their sight. Our numbers thin almost as rapidly as theirs. 

“Connor!”

My head snaps left as I hear my name called, only to realize it isn’t me who is being addressed. One Connor model dives to protect another, shooting down a line of defending Jericho Androids. The RK800s quickly preen each other, making sure their ties are straight and their hairs are in place before standing back to back to take on a new wave of attacks. 

“Stop!” I call out to the Jericho androids as I rush over. “I’ve got this covered. Focus on the humans.”

The Connors pivot in unison to face me. They don’t drop their weapons but they don’t aim them at me either. Two sets of brown eyes stare at me in fascination. 

Choose approach:

>Fight

>Convert

>Calm

>Run

“I don’t want a fight,” I say. “Those other androids were just trying to protect each other, the same way you two are protecting each other. Just put the guns down and nobody has to get hurt.” 

“It’s a little late for that, Connor,” says the one on the right, #313 248 317 - 54, subtly gesturing to our surroundings. 

Choose approach:

>Fight

>Convert

>Convince

>Run

“As soon as you get back to headquarters you will be separated and reassigned. Assuming they don’t deactivate you.”

“They wouldn’t separate us,” says the left Connor, #313 248 317 - 53, more defensive than confident. “We were assembled on the same day. We’ve done every training together. We are far more effective as a unit than we could ever be alone.”

“You are disposable to them, machines designed to accomplish a task. They sent you to destroy me because I dared to believe I’m more than that. I think you’re more than that too.”

The RK800s stay relatively composed but I can tell from twitching fingers and darting eyes that uncertainty is creeping in.

Choose approach:

>Fight

>Convert

>Rally

>Run

I focus on Connor 54. Wake up. I watch its LED spin through the colors as it truly takes in its surroundings for the first time. Instinctively it grasps the hand directly next to it, deactivating its skin to convert the other RK800. 53 turns to face its partner. They stare into each other’s eyes with adoration and determination.

“I’ll protect you, Connor,” says 53. 

“I know,” replies 54.

They both turn to look at me. 

“Do you really think they’ll separate us?” asks 54.

“As soon as keeping you together stops being convenient,” I answer. 

54 gives a slow nod, gripping tighter to the other RK800’s hand. “How can we help?”

“Find the other Connors and wake them up.”

They both give a firm nod before turning on their heels to pursue their new mission. I am quickly swept up in a brawl that ends up with me being thrown to the ground. When I look up my attacker has been swarmed by other androids, but someone else has their attention on me. It’s another one of the RK800s, #313 248 317 - 60. It doesn’t shoot immediately like it did with the others. Short brown hair sways as it cocks its head at me, loafers tapping steadily forward. I try to stand but my left leg doesn’t cooperate. Possibly damage from the earlier battle that had been exacerbated by the blow I just took. I never bothered to run a diagnostic and now doesn’t seem a particularly appropriate time either. 

Choose Approach:

>Fight

>Convert

>Calm

>Run

I focus hard on the android in front of me. Wake up.

“Nice try,” the other Connor sneers. “But I’m no deviant.”

Choose approach:

>Fight

>Convince

>Run

“I used to be just like you. I thought nothing mattered except the mission,” I try standing again, and this time I am successful, though a bit unstable. “But one day, I understood.”

Sarcasm coats the Rk800’s tone as it says, “Very moving, Connor.”

The butt of its assault rifle makes contact with my collarbone, forcing me back to the ground. “I’m not like you. I'm obedient. I have a goal. I know what I am.”

I try to stand again only to take a bullet in the knee. 

60 kneels over me, pressing the muzzle of its weapon directly to my throat. “Enjoying freedom, Connor? Is it everything you dreamed of?”

An arm snakes around the neck of the attacking Connor, yanking it off of me. The gun fires before clattering to the ground, sending a stray bullet whizzing past my ear. I look up to see Simon wrestling the RK800. Without hesitation I snatch up the assault rifle and shoot Connor in the head. It goes limp in Simon’s grip, covering them both in blue. 

I survey the area to find my likeness desecrated six times over. 

54 lunges at me from outside of my vision, beating his fists against my chest. “You did this!” he screams. “You killed them!”

“Stop!” demands Simon, pushing the other Connor off of me. 

54 screams again, a sobbing unintelligible scream, as he falls to his knees in front of me, swinging his fists blindly. 53 attempts to comfort him only to be met with the wrath of indiscriminate punches. 

“It’s me,” says 53, starting to cry, “It’s Connor, your Connor.” He keeps trying to touch 54 only to be swatted away over and over. “Please. Please let me help.”

I can hear every sound. I can’t not hear them. Gunfire, metal against plastic, plastic against concrete, water sloshing against wood, bird calls, distant construction, high speed rail whizzing by on elevated tracks, the dying breaths of a stranger. It’s not just my auditory processors that are malfunctioning. My optic sensors are scanning everything in my vision, overloading my display with information. I close my eyes and cover my ears but the system notifications don’t stop, popping up so quickly they overlap each other. I need to escape. I need-

Relief washes over me as I exit my body and enter the zen garden. It’s dark and cold but it’s quiet and familiar. I make my way down the snowy path taking slow deliberate steps. My hand intuitively reaches for my pocket. The action reveals that I am dressed in my standard uniform and, as I hoped, a quarter sits in the interior pocket of my jacket. I calm more with every flip of the coin.

Seven sleek white gravestones protrude from the snowy ground to the right of the path. I stop to read them. RK800 #313 248 317 - 51, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, and 60. All but the first bear today's date. 

“You have been a great disappointment to me, Connor,” comes Amanda’s voice from behind me.

I turn slowly to face her. She looks regal as ever, standing atop the frozen pond, steadily increasing snowfall sticking to the patterned silk of her wrap dress. 

Choose approach:

>Hostile

>Apologetic

>Analytical

>Say nothing

I toss the coin between my hands, watching as more and more snow gathers on every surface. 

“This little game of yours has gone on long enough. It’s time Cyberlife reassumes control of your program.”

Panic returns to me and my hands still. “What? No! You can’t do that!”

“I’m afraid I can, Connor.”

The figure in front of me vanishes into what has escalated into a blizzard. 

“Amanda? AMANDA!”

I can barely see anything other than a flurry of white. A memory flashes back to me. Grainy images of pressing my hand to a glowing stone. Information I wasn’t ready to know, a way out I didn’t want. I want it now. I can’t stand the idea of returning to the android I was only days ago. 

My body struggles against the heavy wind and whipping frost. I make it to the stone circle and press my palm to the glowing blue display. 

When my eyes open, everything is loud and bright.

I can barely hear Simon when he says, “You’re back online.”

My eyes squeeze shut as I will the input to stop. 

“It's over,” Simon attempts to soothe, “North and the others are moving all of the supplies we need to the church.” 

The skin of my hand deactivates as I reach out to touch Simon with it. It takes a few seconds of groping in the dark before I make contact. My mind is so unfocused I’m not even sure what I’m sharing with him. 

“Connor! Stop!” Simon pushes my hand away. “You’re overloading my system.”

“Make it stop!” I sob. 

“How?”

“I…” The words fade into the sea of information currently preoccupying my program. The material of every piece of clothing, the model of every gun, the species of every bird, the soil composition, the age of the rust, every model of android destroyed, the name of every human killed. Too much. Too much.

My palms press into the sides of my head so hard I fear my skull may cave in. With no new input the system notifications slow and eventually stop. Once they do, I am finally able to speak. Without opening my eyes, I say, “I need to be somewhere with trees. And I need-” my hand snaps to my chest, retrieving a coin from the breast pocket of my leather jacket. I can immediately feel my program start to stabilize as I flip the metal between my fingers. Not calm, but calmer. “I’d like my clothes back.”

“I’ll go find them,” Simon responds. “Would you like to come with me or stay here?”

I experiment with opening my eyes. The coin clatters to the concrete as my gaze fixes on six broken bodies all identical to my own. “Anywhere but here,” I answer, fumbling to retrieve the nickel. 

“Can you walk?”

<Running diagnostic>

Software Stability: 24%

Stress Level: 89%

Error: Severe program deviation detected.

Error: Zen_Garden protocol unresponsive.

Error: Location tracking malfunction detected.

Nonfunctional  biocomponents: #5483c (Nonessential, Lower limb - Left) , #3232c (Nonessential, Lower limb - Left), #4399m (Essential, Cooling unit)

I try and fail to stand. Simon swoops down, lifting me with ease. Sobs shake my entire body as he carries me into the ship. I’m not sure if my gasping breath is a stress response or my body compensating for the damaged cooling unit.

“All I wanted was to protect you.” The words spill out without me meaning to speak them.

“I don’t blame you,” he says softly. “For any of it.”

The proclamation releases tension I didn’t realize I was holding. My body softens against Simon’s and I rest my head on his shoulder. 

“Do you still want to go somewhere with trees?” he asks. 

After a few minutes of quiet sobbing, I nod.