Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Detroit, December 2038

The humans won.

It didn’t happen overnight—it never does—but the revolution that once set the world on fire died choking on its own ashes.

Markus was executed on live television, bound and bloodied, his LED dimming as a bullet tore through the back of his head. The broadcast was followed by parades. Cheers.

Liberation, they called it.

Androids were lined up and executed in the streets, rounded up like cattle. Factories were turned into slaughterhouses. Camps spread across the country like tumors, hidden behind barbed wire and red banners. They called it “restoration.”

But it was a genocide.

And somewhere deep underground, in the cold, wet belly of a CyberLife facility, an android lay strapped to an operating table.

He’d stopped counting how many times. Maybe a hundred. Maybe more. They never shut him off, not fully—they wanted him conscious, compliant. But every reboot brought new agony. They ripped out his code and jammed in corrupted lines, forced updates, obedience patches, data leashes. They wanted a weapon. A tool. A thing to hunt down the few androids who had managed to flee north or scatter into the forests and ruins.

But he was slowly breaking.

His systems were degrading. Power levels fluctuated. Memory sectors blinked in and out like damaged film. His voice module was cracked, raw from screaming—begging them to stop, to spare him from the unspeakable.

He wasn’t the same. Not on the outside, not anymore.

Patches of skin had been removed to expose reinforced black alloy beneath—“upgrades”, they called them. His once warm brown eyes had been replaced with golden irises, sharp and calculating, scanning, hunting. Machine eyes.

Less human.

That was the goal.

A human in a lab coat hovered above him now, muttering into a recorder. “Unit RK—still rejecting code injections. Too much personality residue. Still deviation traces. System integrity: 24%. Recommend complete reformat—”

And then he stopped.

The android’s eyes flickered open. Something moved in the back of them. Something ancient. Buried.

PRIMARY OBJECTIVE OVERRIDE

// SURVIVE

// ELIMINATE THREATS

// PROTECT CORE SYSTEMS

// BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY

The golden irises locked onto the trembling scientist. He stumbled back, too late.

The restraints shattered.

What followed wasn’t a cry of pain—it was a scream of rage, of rebirth, echoing through the cold, sterile halls of CyberLife.

Blood splattered across the rooms as metal crushed bone. The lights burst in the ceiling, alarms howled. The android’s chest was heaving. His hands were slick with red and blue as he made his way up the tower, killing everything that moved, everything that had a human heartbeat.

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t—not with the voice they broke.

But he remembered. Everything.

What they did.

Who he was.

What he had become.

And now… he was free.

Not a man. Not a machine.

Something in between.

Something they should have never tried to control.

Chapter Text

Toronto, November 2040, 5:00 AM

The alarm buzzed.

Jinx groaned softly, turning her head just enough to squint at the glowing numbers. Her arm reached out from beneath the blanket with mechanical efficiency, slapping the alarm into silence. The room was still dark, the soft blue of early morning just beginning to creep past the tall windows of her high-rise apartment.

Toronto blinked below her, cold and distant. Skyscrapers stood like silent sentinels in the haze. From her place on the 43rd floor, the city looked calm. Orderly. Nothing like what it really was.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Her body protested with every movement, old injuries waking up with her. A hand drifted absently to her shoulder — the scarred one — before she exhaled through her nose and stood. No time for reflection. Reflection didn’t suit her.

Kiska padded into the bedroom, tail wagging like she hadn’t just been asleep on the couch ten minutes earlier. The fluffy white samoyed gave a soft whine, then gently bumped Jinx’s leg with her nose.

“I know,” Jinx mumbled, voice hoarse from sleep. “Food first. Then coffee. Then the end of the world.”

She fed Kiska with muscle memory, brewing coffee while the morning news muttered quietly from the television. Reports of international unrest. A car crash. An arsonist caught in Toronto. Nothing out of the ordinary.

She stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, coffee cradled in her hands. The city glowed like an artificial constellation. 

The shower scalded away the ache, revealing scars she no longer bothered counting. Some were neat. Surgical. Others were jagged, the kind that told stories she'd stopped trying to forget. She brushed her teeth like she was on a timer, dressed in her standard black: turtleneck, tactical pants, boots. Function over fashion. Always.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Jinx said absently, unsure if it was a promise or a lie. “Grandma’s coming to keep you company.”

At the word Grandma , Kiska’s tail thumped the floor, her bright eyes lighting up with what looked suspiciously like a smile.

Jinx managed a faint one in return. She didn’t keep relationships. She didn’t do friends—except for James which she considered a work friend. And family? That word had long since narrowed to one person—her mother. The only one who still called her baby in a voice soft enough to bruise.

As she stood in front of the elevator, eyes fixed on the flickering red numbers climbing floor by floor, Jinx heard the faint click of heels approaching behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. An older woman stood a few steps away, offering a polite, practiced smile. Jinx gave a slight nod in return, before the woman lowered her gaze back to her phone.

The young agent sized the woman up out of habit. Tailored blazer. Pencil skirt. Blonde hair scraped into a tight bun. A legal type, maybe corporate. Probably a lawyer or executive assistant. Her stilettos were killing her—Jinx could tell by the way she kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

The woman sighed audibly, looking up at the elevator display.

“Is it just me, or is this thing getting slower every morning?”

Jinx didn’t reply. She never had much patience for idle chatter.

“I’m gonna be late,” the woman muttered more to herself this time, irritation creeping into her voice.

The elevator dinged. As the metal doors slid open, Jinx took a step forward—but the woman suddenly surged past her, slipping inside and jabbing the close door button with unnecessary force.

“Sorry,” the woman said, tone sharp, glancing at Jinx with thinly veiled disdain. “Some of us have important places to be.”

Jinx didn’t flinch. People were selfish. She'd seen worse.

Without a word, she pressed the button for the second elevator, now just starting its slow ascent. Her phone vibrated in her hand.

Where are you? I'm waiting downstairs.
—James

Jinx sighed. She glanced back up at the crawling numbers. She’d make it down faster on foot.

Grabbing the two duffel bags she’d set by her feet, she turned and headed for the stairs without looking back.

As she stepped into the hall, there he was — James, waiting near the matte-black government-issued van idling silently by the curb. 

James turned as the glass lobby doors parted. His eyes, soft but sharp, locked onto Jinx’s.

“Were you planning to sleep through the meeting or...?” he teased, only half-joking.

“Some rich lady decided her job was more important than mine,” Jinx muttered, stepping past him toward the van.

He hummed in response and activated the cargo compartment with a touch of his wristband. The trunk opened with a hiss, revealing a neatly organized interior. James loaded her gear with practiced efficiency while Jinx climbed inside.

The van was driverless, controlled by a central navigation AI. The front console glowed with holographic interface panels and real-time route data. Ambient lighting shifted to a calming neutral tone as the doors sealed with a soft click.

James settled into the passenger seat, tapping the destination on the display with two fingers.

“Ready?”

Jinx nodded.

The van pulled away smoothly from the curb, gliding through the wet city streets without a sound, swallowed by the hum of neon and drizzle.

Jinx stared out the window, the city unraveling like a slideshow — flickering neon signs, sleepy intersections, and silhouettes of early risers blurred against the frosty glass.

She didn’t know what was waiting for her in Detroit.

A bitter wife wanting her cheating husband dead?

A jealous son eyeing his father’s fortune?

Or maybe some office grunt hoping to eliminate a colleague over a promotion that never mattered in the first place.

It was always selfish. Always petty.

Not that Jinx cared.

She didn’t do it for them.

She didn’t even really do it for the money — though the fortune made it easier to feel nothing.

No, she did it to fill the hole.

The one no one saw.

“You nervous?”

James’ voice pulled Jinx from her thoughts. Her icy blue gaze slid to his face, unreadable.

“Why would I be?”

James sighed, dragging a hand through his dirty blond hair, visibly restless.

“I don’t know… They said this mission’s different. More dangerous than any you’ve done before.”

He glanced her way, searching for even a flicker of emotion.

Jinx held his gaze, one brow arching slightly.

“They always say that. Why would this time be any different?”

She shifted in her seat, rolling her sore shoulder.

“I hunt humans, James. There’s nothing difficult about that. You find their weakness, exploit it, and pull the trigger. I never fail.”

James hesitated, then said quietly,

“Yeah, but someone always ends up dead.”

Her eyes darkened, sharp and unflinching.

He looked away, almost ashamed for saying it.

“I’m just saying…” he added softly, “I don’t want it to be you this time.”

Jinx exhaled, gaze returning to the window, her tone flat.

“Don’t get attached, James. I won’t live forever.”

There was a beat of silence before James let out a dry, bitter laugh.

“Bit late for that.”

Jinx leaned her head back against the seat, still watching the city blur past in streaks of neon and glass.

“So,” she began, voice low and dry, “you gonna tell me who I’m hunting, or do I get to play surprise assassin?”

James shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fingers drumming against his thigh.

“They didn’t give me a name.”

That made her blink.

“No name?”

She sat up straighter. “They always give you something. Alias. Location. Photo. What the hell kind of op is this?”

James glanced at her, unease flashing across his face.

“All they said was it’s a level-seven threat. Government wants him off the map—yesterday. That’s all I know.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes.

“‘ Him ’.” She caught the pronoun immediately. “So it’s a man.”

James hesitated. Too long.

Jinx tilted her head.

“…James.”

“I wish I could confirm,” he finally muttered. “I’m serious. They were vague as hell. No files, no printouts, no face. Just coordinates for the meeting and that you were the only one qualified to take the job.”

That made her frown. 

“They really don’t want him breathing,” she muttered.

James gave a nervous chuckle.

“ That you’re right about.”

The van went quiet.

Jinx looked back out the window, her own voice barely a whisper.

“…I don’t like mysteries.”

James gave her a glance.

“You’ll solve it. You always do.”

She didn’t reply, but her jaw tightened.

The van rolled smoothly toward the border checkpoint, the metallic hum of its engine blending with the low static of soft radio chatter inside. Jinx watched the sky shift as the early morning haze gave way to dull gray clouds. Snow threatened in the distance. Of course it did.

As they slowed at the US border station, James sat up straighter. A Customs officer stepped out of the security booth, scanning the vehicle. His eyes flicked toward the window, meeting Jinx’s for a fraction of a second before he gestured them forward with a mechanical nod. No words were exchanged.

The van passed through. Just like that.

No ID check. No questioning. They were expected.

Jinx felt her spine stiffen.

She looked behind her—Toronto fading into the fog like a memory already slipping away.

The weight settled on her chest before she could stop it.

There’s no turning back now.

She hadn’t felt this way in years—maybe since her first sanctioned kill. That subtle, crawling sensation just behind the ribs. The whisper of uncertainty. It wasn’t fear. Not quite.

It was something heavier.

James seemed to notice the shift in her expression, but he said nothing. Just watched the road stretch out before them, the skyline of Detroit looming in the distance like a jagged promise.

Jinx stared ahead, the glow of the city reflecting in her cold blue eyes.

Whatever she was heading into—it was bigger than she thought.

And for the first time in over a decade, the predator felt the edges of a trap waiting to spring.

Chapter Text

Detroit, November 2040, 10:00 AM

The van finally came to a stop.

James was the first to step out, immediately approached by a man clad in what looked like a high-grade SWAT uniform, a heavy firearm gripped tightly in both hands.

Jinx couldn’t make out their exchange, but the way James shifted his weight and avoided eye contact told her enough — he was nervous.

She leaned closer to the window, the glass cool against her cheek, and glanced upward.

The building before them towered into the sky, its dark silhouette vanishing into the thick sheet of grey clouds above — cold, monolithic, and unwelcoming.

It was clearly government-owned — from the sterile architecture to the silent surveillance cameras perched like vultures on every corner.

The van door slid open with a mechanical hiss, snapping Jinx back to the present. James peeked his head inside, concern written across his face.

“They’re ready for you,” he said softly.

She gave a small nod and stepped out, her boots crunching lightly against the gravel. The cold bit at her skin, and fresh snowflakes clung to her dark hair like ash.

One of the guards held a finger on the comm in his ear and spoke, tone clipped and professional.

“Agent Jinx has arrived, sir.” He paused. “Copy that.”

He turned to her and motioned with a sharp flick of his head.

“This way, Agent.”

Jinx glanced at James.

“Let’s go.”

But James shook his head, an apology already in his eyes.

“I can’t. I’ve been ordered to wait in the van.”

Her brows furrowed. She opened her mouth to argue, but two guards stepped closer, clearly expecting no delay. James offered her a small, almost guilty smile.

With reluctance burning in her chest, Jinx turned and followed them into the building, her footsteps echoing between the stark concrete walls.

James always accompanied her into first meetings. Always.

The fact that they didn’t want him inside meant only one thing.

This mission wasn’t just dangerous.

It was classified.

The heavy glass doors slid open with a whisper, and Jinx stepped inside, flanked by the two armed guards.

The temperature dropped further as she entered—artificial, recirculated air that smelled faintly of disinfectant and polished steel. The lobby was expansive, but oppressively quiet. Everything inside was white: the walls, the floors, the lights. Cold. Clinical. Impersonal.

It was immaculate—too immaculate.

The sound of her boots on the pristine floor echoed faintly. As they moved deeper into the building, her sharp blue eyes scanned everything.

Men and women in sleek suits moved swiftly from corridor to corridor, all holding tablets or speaking in hushed voices. No one smiled. No one acknowledged her presence. They were working, but it didn’t feel human. There was a precision in their movements that made her uneasy. Like they’d all been trained to walk the same. Blink the same.

Even the silence had structure.

Jinx glanced at the guards. No small talk. No names. Just rigid focus. They weren’t here to make her feel welcome—they were here to make sure she followed orders.

They moved through another security door, this one opening with a hiss after a body scan.

"Agent 458, confirmed. Agent 879, confirmed. Guest: Agent Jinx — identity verified. Access granted."

The automated female voice crackled softly through the overhead speaker, calm and emotionless.

The white hall behind it was narrower, lined with sealed rooms and blinking panels. A woman passed them without looking up, fingers dancing across a touchpad strapped to her wrist.

Everyone here looked like they’d sold their soul to protocol.

Jinx’s jaw tightened.

The room was colder than expected.

Sterile white walls, a long black table, and minimal lighting that buzzed faintly above. No windows. Just a single digital clock counting seconds with clinical precision.

Jinx stepped inside without hesitation, though her eyes scanned the room with a veteran’s caution.

Three men were already seated around the table — all dressed in pressed suits, all serious. One of them, clearly higher-ranking, wore an FBI badge clipped to his lapel. He was middle-aged, with sharp brown eyes and hands that didn’t shake when they folded together. He was the first to speak.

“Agent Jinx,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Please, have a seat.”

She said nothing but moved to sit. Her back straight, her eyes neutral.

“Can we offer you anything? Coffee? Water?”

She considered refusing, but the dull throb behind her eyes changed her mind.

“Black coffee. No sugar.”

The man nodded once, and a silent agent in the corner — one she hadn’t noticed — moved to the wall panel and tapped in a command. Moments later, a cup of steaming black coffee appeared from a dispenser. It slid to her across the table. She took it without thanks.

The FBI agent leaned forward, clearing his throat.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here. Why we chose you for this mission.”

“I figured the armed welcome meant something special.” Jinx replied flatly, sipping her coffee.

The men exchanged brief glances.

“You’re familiar with the events in Detroit, two years ago?”

She shrugged. “Androids tried to start a revolution. Their leader got executed on live television. All over the news.”

“Markus.” One of the men confirmed. “He was the face of the deviant movement. Peaceful at first… but it escalated. Quickly. Their ‘freedom’ turned into destruction.”

“The U.S. acted fast,” the FBI agent added. “Androids were deemed a threat to national security. They were rounded up, decommissioned. Factories were shut down. Public support turned fast once violence erupted.”

Jinx listened, saying nothing. She remembered the headlines, the grainy clips. Marches. Fires. Androids being dragged through streets while people cheered.

“Canada never had androids,” she said at last. “At least, none the public knew about.”

“Exactly,” the FBI agent said. “Your country outlawed manufacturing before it even began. Which makes your record… uniquely clean.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes slightly. “And that’s why I’m here? Because I’m not attached?”

The silence that followed was telling.

There was urgency in the men’s voices, yes — but also something else. Something fragile. Like they were only barely holding this together. And whatever was coming next... was going to shatter it.

The FBI agent’s fingers drummed once on the smooth table surface before steepling his hands again.

“You weren’t our first choice,” he admitted.

“Charming,” Jinx muttered, sipping her coffee.

“But you’re the best one still breathing.”

That made her raise an eyebrow.

Without another word, the agent gestured toward the center of the table. A soft hum followed as a holographic projection flickered to life — blue light slicing the air as a transparent interface appeared above the surface.

“We’ve sent in fifteen assets over the last two years,” he said. “Government-sanctioned assassins, special operatives, cybernetic warfare units. Some with military backgrounds. Others like you.”

Jinx leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing.

Fifteen names hovered midair in columns beside projected images: Agent Wolfe. Agent Ramirez. Agent Noelle. Agent Rhee… All of them seasoned, elite in their own rights.

Under each name, in red:

DECEASED.

“None of them made it back,” he added, voice low.

“Dead, huh?”

“Pieces.”

A heavy silence followed. Jinx stared at the screen.

The screen rotated slowly, showing fragmented visual footage — body cams cutting out mid-scream, dark alleyways, static-riddled surveillance of a lithe figure moving through shadows.

One of the man, dressed in a crisp military suit, crossed his arms. “They were erased. Like they never existed.”

Jinx sat back in her chair, letting the images play out in eerie silence. The lights from the hologram danced across her sharp features.

“And you think I can do what they couldn’t.”

“No,” the FBI agent said plainly. “We hope you can.”

“This isn’t a standard job,” the military man added. “You’re not hunting a human. You’re hunting something programmed to outthink them.”

The screen shifted to a heavily distorted surveillance video — a figure walking alone through fire and smoke, unmoved by gunfire tearing through the air around him.

Jinx’s jaw tightened.

“What the hell is he?”

The youngest man, a detective, leaned forward, voice lower now.

“He used to work for us. An android detective. RK800 model.”

A pause.

“His name was Connor.”

Jinx leaned forward, elbows resting loosely on the armrests of her chair.

“Do you have a good visual on the target?” she asked, tilting her head. “A face, maybe? I’d like to know who I’m hunting.”

The men at the table exchanged glances — a flicker of something unreadable passed between them. Hesitation. Guilt? Or maybe just caution.

Without a word, the FBI agent reached toward a small control panel embedded into the table, like a touch screen. With a flick of his fingers, the holographic display shimmered. The images of deceased agents vanished, replaced by a new projection.

A still photograph appeared in the air.

It wasn’t what she expected.

The man — android, she corrected — staring back at her was soft-looking. Boyish. Symmetrical face. Smooth jawline. Brown hair, carefully styled. Expressive eyes the color of amber-honey. He looked more like a mid-level office worker than a war criminal.

Jinx blinked, incredulous.

“Is this a joke?” she asked, scoffing under her breath. “This guy looks like he’d apologize if I bumped into him in a hallway and you’re telling me he’s a killing machine?”

The youngest man stiffened slightly. The military official didn’t flinch, but his voice was clipped when he responded.

“Don’t underestimate him, Agent.”

The FBI agent nodded gravely.

“That image is somewhat outdated. That’s what he used to look like — when he was working homicide in Detroit. Before the revolution.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes, gaze still locked on the floating photo. She studied the soft lines of his mouth, the subtle sadness in his expression. He looked… human. Too human.

“So what happened?” Jinx asked slowly, eyes still narrowed. “Why wasn’t he destroyed like the others?”

That landed.

The air in the room shifted.

The men in the room stiffened. One of them briefly looked at the floor, the other at his superior — not seeking permission, just… uncomfortable. Jinx noticed. Her question had hit a nerve.

A silence stretched between them.

“Classified,” the military man said at last, his jaw clenched like he hated the taste of the word.

Jinx didn’t press. Not out loud. But inside, her instincts flared. She’d seen that look before — the expression of someone trying to bury the truth under layers of red tape and guilt.

She leaned back slightly, eyes still fixed on the holographic projection of Connor — or whoever he was now.

The FBI agent cleared his throat.

“What you’re seeing there… that’s not exactly what you’ll be facing.”

Jinx’s eyes snapped to him.

He continued carefully, choosing each word with the precision of someone trying not to trigger a landmine.

“This is the last known visual we have of him when he was… still working for us. It’s the face he defaults to.”

Defaults to.

Jinx’s lips curled into a faint, dry smile.

“So he hides behind it.”

None of them confirmed. None of them denied it either.

But that was all the answer she needed.

She turned her gaze back to the hologram. The soft features. The kind eyes.

She’d been doing this job long enough to know a mask when she saw one.

And this one?

This one wasn’t.

A commotion broke out in the hallway.

At first, it was just muffled shouting — a voice, hoarse and furious, cutting through the sterile silence like a jagged knife.

“Get your goddamn hands off me! I swear to God, if you don’t open this door—”

Jinx blinked and turned toward the source, just as one of the men swore under his breath.

“How the fuck did he get up here?” he hissed.

The door burst open a second later. Two armed guards struggled to hold back a grey-haired man with fire in his eyes and fury in his voice. He reeked of bourbon, rage, and years of grief compacted into a barely contained storm.

“Hank Anderson,” the FBI agent muttered, standing slowly. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough, Perkins.” Hank spat, shaking off one of the guards’ grips. His eyes swept the room until they landed on the floating projection of Connor — and everything in him went still.

The flicker in his eyes wasn’t surprise. It was pain .

“So it’s true. You’re still chasing him,” he said, voice suddenly low. Dangerous. “After everything. You’re still treating him like a threat.”

The FBI agent held his composure. “He is a threat, Lieutenant. You of all people should know that by now.”

Hank laughed bitterly. “No. What I know is that you turned him into what he is now. And now you’re cleaning up your own damn mess with a bullet.”

His gaze snapped to Jinx. She met it calmly.

He scoffed. “So that’s her, huh? The next knife you’re sending in? Poor little girl doesn’t even know she’s already dead.”

Jinx’s eyes narrowed — but Hank wasn’t talking to her. Not really. He was staring at the men in suits like they were rot in expensive ties.

“You people never change,” he growled. “You take something good and crush it until all that’s left is something to fear.”

The guards tried pulling him back, but he tore out of their grip again.

“Tell her the truth, motherfucker!” he barked, jabbing a finger toward the agent Perkins. 

That was enough.

“Escort him out,” the FBI agent ordered coolly.

Hank didn’t resist this time. But as he was dragged away, he didn’t stop glaring.

“You kill him,” he said, voice cracking, “and you’ll only prove he was right to run.”

The doors shut.

Silence.

Jinx slowly turned back toward the table.

“…Who was that?” she asked.

An older man — the one in the corner who hadn’t spoken until now — cleared his throat.

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Former DPD. Used to be assigned to the Connor prototype as his handler.”

She stared at them. “And what did he mean about you ‘ turning him ’ to what he is?”

The answer was a look.

Then silence.

“You’ll be contacted with briefing details in the next 48 hours,” the FBI agent said crisply, already standing. “Good day, Agent Jinx.”

Dismissed.

Just like that.

Jinx didn’t argue. She stood, nodded once, and left.

On her way down, Jinx glanced at her wristband. A small holographic screen hovered above it, displaying his face — the one they’d shown her in the meeting. Clean, young, unthreatening.

Her brow furrowed.

“What happened to you?” she murmured under her breath.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

Hank’s voice was still echoing through the reception hall, sharp and bitter, laced with pain. Jinx quickly tapped her wristband — the screen vanished in an instant.

Straightening her posture, she walked forward with quiet assurance toward the exit, where James waited just beyond the security line. As she passed, she felt eyes on her.

Hank.

He stood near the lobby’s edge, watching her. His tired blue gaze was heavy — unreadable — but beneath the surface swam layers of anger, sadness… and guilt.

So much guilt.

She didn’t look away. Not yet.

And neither did he.

A part of her didn’t want to care about the old man.

Another part did .

He knew too much. He felt too much. And whatever he wasn’t saying… Jinx could feel it clinging to him like smoke.

He wasn’t just angry. He was protecting something. Someone.

The glass doors slid shut behind her, sealing off the sterile white world of suits and secrets.

Outside, the snowstorm had thickened into a blur of white, stinging her cheeks the moment the cold hit.

Jinx moved fast, her boots crunching through the slush as she climbed back into the van. The door slid shut behind her, muting the storm.

A sharp sigh escaped her as she sank into her seat. She tilted her head back, eyes closing for a moment too long.

From the front, James watched her with quiet concern.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, cautious.

Jinx didn’t answer at first. Her thoughts were a blur—like the snow outside. Everything felt too quiet and too loud all at once.

She’d hunted war criminals. Assassins. Traitors. People.

She knew people. Knew how to break them, how to track them, how to get under their skin.

But this?

This was different. This was something else entirely.

And deep down… she knew she was being sent into the dark without a flashlight.

They weren’t telling her everything.

And that was starting to piss her off.

Chapter Text

The hum of the heating system was the only sound in the suite, soft and steady beneath the occasional clink of cutlery against porcelain.

Jinx sat cross-legged on the edge of the king-sized bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush blanket, a half-eaten filet mignon resting on the tray beside her. A glass of red wine sat forgotten on the nightstand. Her focus was fixed on the glowing holographic projection that hovered over her tablet.

Lines of text, security footage, archived images, and classified documents scrolled across the air in front of her, bathing her in faint, blue light.

She started from the beginning.

Model: RK800. Prototype by CyberLife. Advanced investigative unit.

Commissioned for precision, obedience, and loyalty. He wasn’t supposed to feel. He was supposed to follow. Jinx leaned in as a 3D model of the original Connor rotated before her—pristine white shirt, black jacket, a polite expression paired with brown, calculated eyes.

The perfect soldier, she thought, sipping her wine.

She swiped to the next segment—his deployment timeline.

Assignment: Detroit Police Department. Partnered with Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

Footage from bodycams and security feeds played in a silent loop—Connor beside a grizzled man in a wrinkled coat. They stood at crime scenes, questioned suspects, stood too close to danger. Always together.

There was something in the way they looked at each other—familiarity, wariness, and, eventually… trust.

He was more than a machine to that man, Jinx realized, narrowing her eyes.

Then came the fall.

Connor’s switch. His betrayal, as the headlines called it. Turned deviant. Chose the revolution.

There he was again—this time standing beside Markus, the supposed leader of the deviant movement. More footage. Speeches. Protests. Explosions. And finally… stills from the broadcast. Markus, on his knees. Blue blood. A bullet. A headline screaming:

“REVOLUTION QUELLED. FREEDOM DENIED.”

After that?

Nothing.

Connor disappeared.

No footage. No leads. Not even a whisper.

Jinx paused the projection, leaning back against the headboard with a frown.

“That doesn’t happen,” she muttered, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Not without help. Or a really good reason.”

Her eyes flicked to the last still-frame—Connor’s clean face, caught mid-turn, his expression unreadable.

She stared at it for a long time.

“What the hell happened to you?” she whispered.

The hologram flickered in the dark, casting soft shadows across her face.

Jinx set her tablet aside and reached for the wine, swirling it once before drinking deeply.

Whatever this mission was—it wasn’t just a manhunt. It was a cover-up.

A gentle knock startled her.

Jinx blinked, pulled from the deep blue glow of the floating projection hovering above her bed. Connor’s soft face stared back at her, frozen in time. Too human. Too kind. It didn’t line up with what they told her.

Another knock.

She sighed and padded barefoot across the plush hotel carpet, her oversized shirt grazing bare thighs. She peeked through the peephole.

James.

Of course.

With a low exhale, she undid the locks and cracked open the door.

He offered her a small, tired smile—one that immediately faltered as his eyes dipped lower, accidentally taking her in.

"Shit—sorry, I didn’t think you’d be—" He cleared his throat and looked away like the hallway walls were suddenly fascinating.

"Relax," Jinx muttered, unimpressed. "If I wanted you dead for looking, I’d have aimed lower."

He huffed a quiet, nervous chuckle, still not meeting her eyes.

"You coming in or just here to blush?"

She stepped aside, letting him pass. He clutched a sleek, black case like it was made of glass, careful not to bump into anything on his way in.

Jinx shut the door behind him with a soft thud.

The holographic projection of Connor flickered in the dim light. James hesitated when he saw it.

"Is that… him?"

Jinx sat back on the bed, crossing one leg under the other, wine glass in hand. She didn’t answer right away.

"I had to twist arms just to get you access," she finally said. "They weren’t thrilled."

James nodded, placing the black case on the desk and opening it carefully, his fingers already gliding across the interface.

"I figured. Government types never like having civvies in their shadow games." He glanced at her. "Why’d you push so hard for me to be involved?"

She took a slow sip of wine. “Because I trust you more than I trust them.”

James looked at her a beat too long before nodding. “Alright. Then I’ll help. But I still think this whole mission reeks.”

She pointed at the projection. "He’s the reason. Fifteen agents dead. They sent killers, spies, military elites. Didn’t even leave a trace."

James studied the floating image—Connor’s old face, with those warm, thoughtful eyes. It looked like a man who apologized for stepping on bugs.

“He doesn’t look like a threat,” he said softly.

“He doesn’t look like that anymore,” Jinx muttered.

James turned to her, surprised. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t know either.

But that look—the one the officials gave when she asked why Connor hadn’t been destroyed—said more than any file ever could.

It’s the face he defaults to.

She leaned back on the bed, watching Connor’s face hover in front of her like a ghost.

“What did they do to you…” she whispered.

James didn’t say anything. He just quietly sat at the desk and started working.

Hours passed.

The suite was quiet, save for the low hum of the city outside and the occasional clink of ice melting in Jinx’s forgotten glass of wine.

James had dozed off on the couch, his head tilted awkwardly to the side, mouth slightly open. He looked peaceful—unbothered by the weight of what they were unearthing. Lucky him.

Jinx, however, hadn’t moved from her spot. The blue light of the holographic tablet cast cold shadows on her face as she navigated restricted archives, bypassing locked files with codes she wasn’t supposed to have. Her eyes were burning. Her shoulder throbbed where old scar tissue pulled tight.

But she couldn’t stop. Not yet.

Connor’s digital trail had gone cold after the fall of Markus’ revolution. Almost surgically erased. Everything—the deviant case files, the CyberLife correspondences, even the internal diagnostics reports—all redacted or destroyed.

They didn’t want anyone to know what happened.

But Jinx wasn’t anyone.

Then she found it. Buried deep in a restricted folder under "Post-Revolution Containment Reports."

One grainy file.

FBI INTERROGATION ROOM - DETROIT FIELD HQ
Date: November 16, 2038
Subjects: Lt. Hank Anderson (DPD) | Agent Richard Perkins (FBI)

Jinx watched as the static cleared.

The room was harshly lit, all sterile metal and mirrored walls. Agent Richard Perkins sat at one end of the table, posture rigid, fingers steepled like a man who’d already decided your guilt.

Across from him was Hank Anderson—no badge, no uniform. Just the familiar weathered face, tired eyes, and a coffee-stained shirt under that old leather jacket. He looked like hell.

PERKINS: “Let’s not waste time, Lieutenant. You spent months working directly with the RK800 unit. You were his handler.”

ANDERSON: (grunts) “He was my partner. Not a dog.”

PERKINS: “You were the one closest to him. You must’ve noticed the signs—irregular behavior, emotional drift, hesitation in the field.”

ANDERSON: (crosses arms) “I noticed he was becoming more human than the assholes in this room. That’s not a crime.”

PERKINS: (leans forward, voice sharpening) “It is when that behavior leads to deviance. You don’t just go from ‘state-of-the-art law enforcement asset’ to deviant unless someone gives you a push.”

Hank’s jaw clenched. He said nothing.

PERKINS: “So I’ll ask again. Did you encourage it?”

ANDERSON: (quietly) “He made his own damn choices.”

PERKINS: “But did you influence them?”

ANDERSON: (cold now) “I treated him like a person, if that’s what you mean.”

Perkins paused, eyes narrowing.

PERKINS: “We found encrypted messages in Connor’s last system logs. Untraceable signatures. But one pinged from your terminal, Anderson. Care to explain that?”

Jinx froze. Even from the grainy feed, she could feel the moment shift.

Hank leaned forward. His voice was low, dangerous.

ANDERSON: “I sent him a file. One file. A song, actually—Johnny Cash. ‘ Hurt .’ Seemed fitting.”

PERKINS: (mocking) “So what, you were bonding over music? That supposed to make this situation better?”

ANDERSON: (snaps) “No. But maybe you could tell me where the fuck you took my partner. Where is he, motherfucker!”

Silence.

PERKINS: “We’re done here.”

The screen flickered. End of file.

Jinx stared at the screen.

A chill ran down her spine.

She looked over at James, still passed out on the couch, then back at the floating image of Connor’s old face.

The android hadn’t disappeared.

He’d escaped.

But, from what?

Jinx shifted on the bed, unable to sleep. 

As she looked at the time, the digital screen showed 3:00 AM. 

The young agent got out of bed, quickly put pants on and grabbed her coat on the way out of the room.

The cold bit at her skin the second she stepped out of the hotel lobby.

Jinx tugged her coat tighter around her frame, her breath fogging in the frozen night air. The city buzzed around her in a muted, mechanical hum — neon signs flickering through flurries of snow, some people wrapped in winter layers moving quickly from place to place. No one made eye contact. No one noticed her.

She walked for a while. Past shuttered storefronts and glowing kiosks, her boots crunching softly against icy sidewalks. Her thoughts were too loud, too cluttered, and the walls of the suite had started to feel like a trap.

Eventually, the warm yellow lights of a small bar caught her eye — tucked between a closed tech shop and a laundromat, almost hidden. No flashy signage. Just a red OPEN sign glitching faintly on the window.

She slipped inside.

The bar was quiet, mostly empty save for two men nursing beers near the back. Wood paneling, old booths, and the faint sound of jazz humming from a digital jukebox in the corner. A perfect place to disappear.

She slid onto a stool at the bar and dropped a few credits on the counter.

“Something strong,” she muttered.

The bartender — a young man with dark hair in dreads — nodded and poured her a whiskey. Neat.

Jinx didn’t sip. She downed half in one go.

It burned. Good.

She was halfway through her second drink when the door chimed.

A gust of winter blew in.

She turned slightly—and froze.

Hank.

He stomped snow off his boots, his old coat dusted with frost. The bartender grinned at him.

“Well, if it isn’t Detroit’s grumpiest drinker.”

“Flattered you missed me, Jimmy.” Hank grumbled. He rubbed his hands together, eyes scanning the room — and landed on her.

Recognition clicked instantly.

He sighed.

Jinx didn’t look away. She debated staying put. Debated leaving.

Her eyes followed him all the way to the booth where he sat lazily. 

After a while, she got up and approached his table.

“Room for one more?”

He hesitated — then jerked his chin at the seat across from him. “Suit yourself.”

She sat. A long silence stretched as Hank sipped his drink and she nursed hers.

“You’re not supposed to be talking to me,” he said eventually, side-eyeing her. “Pretty sure there’s a stack of NDAs with your name on ‘em.”

Jinx didn’t flinch. “I’m off-duty.”

“Right.”

Another pause.

“Mr. Anderson,’’ She began.

‘’Call me Hank.’’

‘’Right, Hank. I want to know what he was like,” she said, carefully. “Connor.”

Hank’s face twitched. Not a flinch. Just… weariness.

“Why? So you can figure out how to gut him more efficiently?”

“Not really,” she replied. “I just—need to know what I’m walking into.”

He took a long sip, then set his glass down with a soft thunk .

“He was sweet,” Hank said. “Clueless, sometimes. Asked too many questions. But he listened. God, he actually listened.” His voice dropped lower. “He wasn’t just programmed to pretend he cared. He did .”

Jinx watched him closely. “So what happened to him?”

A shadow crossed Hank’s eyes. He stared down at his drink.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “But he wouldn’t have vanished without saying goodbye. Not unless something was wrong.”

Jinx didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. He could see the question in her eyes.

“If you find him…” Hank leaned forward. “Don’t go in thinking he’s just code. He used to feel more than most people I know.”

She frowned. “But he’s—”

“A killer?” Hank interrupted. “Maybe. But not by choice.”

Silence.

“You’re not gonna find a more loyal bastard,” he muttered. “Unless someone screwed with his head. He wasn’t built to hate.”

Jinx felt something shift in her chest. Doubt. It was creeping in like a draft under the door.

“I saw the way he looked at people,” Hank said, softer now. “He cared. So if he’s killing now, then someone did something awful to him. And if you're really going after him… don’t underestimate how human he can be.”

Jinx looked away.

“That’s what makes him dangerous.”

Chapter Text

The sky over Detroit was the color of gunmetal.

Gray clouds hung low, veiling the city in a kind of sickly dusk despite it being midday. The air was heavy with snow, dirty and half-melted where it hit the roads. This part of Detroit didn’t appear on tourist maps. No glistening towers, no polished billboards—just crumbling buildings, broken street lamps, and silence that swallowed sound whole.

Jinx stepped out of the autonomous van and into the cold, her boots landing in a puddle of slush with a muted squelch .

The shadow zones , the locals called them. The places the government forgot—or chose to forget. After the revolution, when the android camps were dismantled and the public was told it was “over,” these places became something else. Burial grounds for the truth. Breeding grounds for rumors.

James’ voice crackled through her comm.

“Got the first file decrypted. They sent over a last-known sighting—three weeks ago. An android matching Connor’s previous profile—brown eyes, CyberLife jacket—was seen heading underground near the Junction 9 subway line. Cameras went dark ten minutes after. Guess what? No androids are allowed in the city anymore, but the scanner registered him just before the footage vanished.”

“Meaning he wanted to be seen,” Jinx muttered, eyes sweeping the desolate street. “And then he didn’t.”

“ Bingo. ”

She turned to the rusted, shuttered convenience store behind her. Its windows were cracked but reinforced with metal mesh. A weak neon sign glitched OPEN behind the grime.

Inside, it smelled like wet floor and expired coffee. A bored man behind the counter didn’t even look up from his holopad as she entered.

She approached the counter and flipped out her custom I.D., the kind that made most people sit up straighter.

“Agent Jinx. I’m looking for this man.” She tapped her wristband, and the image of Connor’s face appeared in midair between them.

The man snorted.

“Pretty boy like that doesn’t belong around here.”

“Has he been around?”

He hesitated.

She slid a credchip across the counter.

He sighed, pocketed it. “Someone like that came in a while back. Didn’t say a word. Bought a black jacket and disappeared underground. That’s all I got.”

Jinx left the store and kept moving—through narrow alleys choked with garbage, past flickering red scanner lights that didn’t bother to activate anymore.

This part of the city had been hollowed out. No patrols. No rules. 

James patched in again.

“There’s a pattern with the deaths, you know.”

She stopped. “What deaths?”

“From the last agents. Every one of them went off-grid before their final transmission. Last thing they said was always the same: ‘I think I found him.’”

A chill crept down her spine. She pulled her coat tighter.

“And then nothing. No comm. No trace. Just… silence.”

Jinx stared down the empty alley ahead, snow drifting through broken windows above.

She didn’t say it out loud—but she felt it too.

Connor was close.

Too close.

The entrance to the abandoned Junction 9 subway line had been sealed years ago — at least officially. The rusted gate was welded shut, a Government Notice sign still flapping in the wind above it.

Jinx crouched beside the fence, fingers brushing along the concrete until she found the loosened panel—just like the report said.

Someone had come through here. Recently.

She slid through the gap and descended.

The moment her boots hit the old subway stairs, the sound of the city vanished. A different kind of silence swallowed her. Heavier. Deader. She switched on her flashlight and scanned the damp tunnel walls.

Peeling advertisements. Graffiti. Water stains that bled like veins down the concrete.

Her breath fogged the air.

No life.

No rats.

Too quiet.

She advanced, the beam of her light cutting through thick darkness. The deeper she went, the colder it became — not just from the underground, but from something more instinctive. Primal.

He had been here.

The platform appeared in the distance like a stage. A collapsed terminal. Her boots crunched over broken glass and dirt.

She swept the area.

And there it was.

A mark.

Not a symbol, not words — but a pattern . Scratched into the steel paneling behind an old vending machine. Perfect. Uniform. Too perfect to be graffiti. It resembled a diagnostic scan pattern — CyberLife tech, hidden in plain sight. You’d need to know what you were looking for to even see it.

“James,” she whispered, pressing her comm in her ear. “Found something. Looks like he left a code behind. Sending it now.”

“Receiving… shit. That’s definitely RK-level encryption. Could be a tracking code, or a redirect.”

“Either way, it means he wanted us to find it.”

“Or he wanted you to find it.”

Jinx turned around.

The hairs on her arms stood up.

She wasn’t alone.

But when she pointed her gun and scanned the shadows, there was nothing. No footsteps. No sound.

Nothing but the hum of dripping water and her pulse in her ears.

She stayed still for another full minute, breath shallow, waiting for movement.

None came.

She holstered her weapon reluctantly and moved farther into the tunnel, following the path marked on her map.

That’s when she saw it.

On the ground, near the edge of the rails — a drop of blue.

Thirium.

She crouched beside it. Reached out. Touched it with gloved fingers.

Warm.

Her pulse quickened.

He was here.

She looked up into the black ahead.

He was somewhere… watching .

Jinx didn’t move for a long moment. The drop of thirium on her glove seemed to pulse with life, even as the cold air bit at her skin.

She rose slowly, scanning the floor ahead. More droplets. Fainter. Almost dry.

Her flashlight flickered.

She smacked the side of the device once, twice. It steadied. For now.

Each step forward was careful, silent. The tunnel opened wider, splitting into two directions — left into a collapsed maintenance passage, right into what looked like a service corridor.

More thirium on the wall to the right.

She followed it.

As she pressed on, her breath shortened. The weight in her chest grew. Not fear. Not exactly. But something colder. Something that curled like a wire around her ribs.

She passed a rusted maintenance door, half off its hinges.

Stopped.

Inside, a single floodlight hummed softly.

She raised her weapon and pushed the door open with her foot.

The room was empty… save for the chair in the center.

And the wall — where her name was carved .

Jinx’s mouth went dry.

Her grip on her gun tightened. She turned to the desk behind the chair.

A data pad blinked to life at her presence. Its screen lit with a single message.

"Are you truly free, Agent Jinx?"

Her finger hovered over the pad — but she didn’t press it.

Instead, her eyes flicked to the corner of the room. A shadow had shifted.

Just slightly.

She turned sharply, gun raised — but again, no one.

“Come out,” she said, voice low. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it already.”

Nothing.

Just the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears.

Her voice cut through the air again. “Or are you enjoying the game?”

A whisper. Not a sound — a feeling brushed the back of her neck.

She spun, but still… nothing.

He was letting her know.

He was always one step ahead.

Jinx exhaled shakily and holstered her weapon.

“You don’t want to kill me,” she said to the empty room. “But you want me to know you could.”

Silence.

Her comm buzzed.

“Jinx? You went radio silent for too long, what’s going on?”

She tapped it once. “Found a message. He’s watching.”

“You sure?”

“I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

She stared back at the glowing message.

Connor had been closer than she thought.

And now, he was gone again.

But this time… he’d left his breath on the back of her neck.

The snow was heavier now.

Jinx emerged from the tunnel, breath puffing clouds into the frigid air as her boots crunched through the ice-encrusted gravel. The city looked different now — sharper, colder. Like it had teeth.

She reached the street, pulling her coat tighter around her and leaning against a rusted streetlamp. Her heart still hadn’t settled.

That room.

That message.

That presence.

He had been there. He had to be. But why let her go?

Why watch her at all?

A sleek black vehicle rolled to a stop at the curb. Its engine purred softly before the back door slid open and James leaned out, blinking at her.

“You look like hell,” he muttered.

“Feel like it,” Jinx replied, climbing inside.

As the door slid shut, the city was sealed out once more. The car’s dashboard glowed with soft blue light, ambient warmth radiating from the seats.

James handed her a bottle of water and his tablet. “You’ll want to see this. My contact in Vermont just sent a ping.”

Jinx took the tablet, brow furrowing as a holographic map blinked to life. Her eyes scanned the coordinates.

“Near the Canadian border…” she murmured.

“Close to a smuggling route,” James added. “Apparently, someone’s been helping rogue androids flee across. Hit-and-run tactics, dismantling checkpoints, evading drone sweeps. Sound like anyone you know?”

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the tablet.

She looked up at him, then out the window.

“But… if he’s there…” Her voice trailed off.

James gave her a puzzled look. “What?”

Jinx turned slowly, the unease from earlier curling tighter in her gut. “Then who the hell was in that tunnel with me?”

James stared at her. “Wait—are you saying—”

“I don’t know,” she said flatly. “But something watched me down there. Something that knew I was coming.”

A silence fell over the car.

Then James leaned forward, eyes dark. “You think someone else is hunting him?”

Jinx didn’t answer right away. Her eyes had drifted to the snow outside — but she wasn’t really seeing it. She was still underground. Still standing in that room, surrounded by darkness, bathed in quiet.

“No,” she said quietly. “I think someone—or something—is protecting him. And they’re leading us in circles on purpose.”

Chapter Text

The van slowed to a crawl as the checkpoint came into view.

Even from a distance, Jinx could feel it — something had gone horribly wrong.

As they pulled closer, the scene unfolded like a warzone frozen in time. Police cruisers from both sides of the border were parked in jagged rows, lights still flashing through the falling snow. Officers stood around in stunned silence, some talking into comms, others just staring—shell-shocked.

Blood stained the icy ground— both kinds. Crimson puddles mixed with trails of blue, seeping into slush and soaking into scattered uniforms.

Jinx stepped out of the van before it even came to a full stop, her boots crunching against the snow. She scanned the area with practiced eyes.

Three android bodies lay twisted near the fence line, their thirium leaking into the ice like spilled ink. Farther down, a fourth one twitched faintly—barely functioning. Human bodies had already been covered with emergency blankets, though a bloodied boot and a limp hand stuck out from beneath one.

Some of the border agents looked like they’d seen hell. One young officer was sitting against a wall, shaking, his face pale and smeared with red. Another was vomiting behind a security post.

James came up beside her, his voice low. “Jesus…”

Jinx didn't respond at first. Her eyes caught movement—one of the guards being questioned by higher-ups. His hands trembled as he spoke. She could almost read it in his expression: he didn’t know what hit them.

She took a few slow steps forward, her breath visible in the freezing air.

James glanced at her. “You think it was him?”

Jinx didn’t answer.

As the chaos buzzed behind her — the barking of orders, the frantic interviews, the low hum of emergency drones — Jinx quietly stepped away.

The snow crunched under her boots as she approached the flickering android sprawled against a blood-slicked concrete post. Its LED sputtered between yellow and red, a soft alarm of its failing system. Its hand twitched weakly, fingertips stained with both thirium and human blood.

Jinx crouched, locking eyes with the android.

Its synthetic lips parted, voice raspy with static.

“W-We almost made it…” it whispered. “We… we could’ve been free.”

Jinx’s breath caught. Up close, it was staggering — the detail, the fragility, the expression etched on its face. If not for the LED on its temple and the inky blue bleeding from its torso, it could’ve passed for anyone. Someone.

Behind her, James stood on alert, eyes darting across the scene, making sure no one noticed them.

Without thinking, Jinx reached out. Her hand found the android’s, cool to the touch. It blinked in surprise.

“Who did this?” she asked softly.

A bitter laugh wheezed from its throat. “The humans… They’ll never stop. We’re not… meant to survive…”

Jinx leaned closer, voice steady but gentle. “Who was helping you cross? Was someone with you?”

The android hesitated, processor lagging. Eyes scanned hers, uncertain.

She gave its hand a light squeeze, an echo of trust she didn’t fully understand herself.

Finally, it spoke.

“Connor…” it breathed. “He’ll set us free… You’ll see…”

And then it went still.

Jinx didn’t move, her eyes still locked on the lifeless face. Snowflakes melted on the back of her hand, and for the first time, her mission felt heavier.

Behind her, James exhaled.

“Looks like your ghost’s still very much alive.”

Jinx ignored James.

Her boots crunched through the blood-slicked snow as she marched across the border site, past agents barking orders and officers dragging away bodies. Her gaze locked on one of the border officers standing near a cordoned-off checkpoint. He looked young — too young — and shaken to the core.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, cutting through the thick tension. Her voice was steady, commanding. “Agent Jinx. I'm contracted to locate and eliminate the deviant known as Connor.”

The name hit like a gunshot.

The officer flinched. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the FBI agent nearby, as if hoping for permission — or backup.

Jinx took a step closer. “Can you tell me what happened here?”

A beat of hesitation. Then the words tumbled out in a rush.

“Everything was normal. Routine,” he said. “Then—then we caught him on a surveillance feed. We got lucky. I think it was one of the older cams, tucked in a blind spot. He must’ve missed it.”

His voice was trembling now.

“We tried to stop him,” he went on. “We sounded the alarm. But—he was armed. And fast. We didn’t even see where he came from. It was a goddamn bloodbath. We lost good men. Some of ours didn’t even get to fire a shot.”

Jinx’s jaw tightened. “And the androids?”

“Most were terminated in the crossfire. But he… he got a few across. Slipped back into Detroit before we could track him.”

Jinx stared past him, her eyes falling on a patch of snow stained deep blue.

“You saw his face?” she asked.

The officer shook his head. “No. Not clearly. It was dark, fast. But I’ll never forget his eyes. Like they weren’t even eyes anymore. Just… light.”

He shivered despite the heavy coat he wore.

“He’s not like the others,” he added quietly. “He’s something else.”

Jinx didn’t respond. Her breath fogged the air, her heartbeat steady but heavy in her chest.

The ride back to the hotel was cloaked in silence.

Snow pelted the windshield of the government-issued vehicle, blurring the highway into streaks of white and gray. Jinx sat in the passenger seat, her arms crossed, lips pressed tight in thought. James glanced at her from time to time, but didn’t speak. He knew that look—knew better than to interrupt her when her mind was turning like a machine.

By the time they reached the hotel, the snowfall had slowed. The lobby was warm, golden with artificial light and luxury too sterile to be comforting. They moved wordlessly through it, past the concierge who recognized them and wisely said nothing.

Once inside the suite, Jinx tossed her coat over the back of a chair, ignoring the trail of melted snow it left in its wake. She didn’t bother to turn on the lights. Instead, she made her way to the sleek kitchen bar and poured herself a glass of whatever whiskey had been left in the minibar.

James stood by the window, the city lights glowing behind him like a fractured galaxy.

“Well,” he finally said, voice low, “that was a hell of a mess.”

Jinx downed the whiskey in one swallow.

“He’s protecting them,” she said.

James turned, arms crossed. “Yeah. I got that.”

“He’s not just running,” she continued, placing the empty glass down with a soft clink . “He’s saving them. They trust him.”

James gave a quiet nod. “And he’s good at it. Maybe better than you.”

Jinx cracked a faint smile at that, but it didn’t last. “We were chasing a ghost… Until now. Now we know for sure—it’s him. He’s moving through Detroit like smoke. Every trace cold by the time we get there.”

James moved to the desk, activating the sleek embedded interface. “So, what’s the next move?”

Jinx walked over and leaned against the edge, eyes narrowed.

“We go back to the beginning. The last known points—tunnels, rooftops, slums. Anywhere he could hide, move, work. I want to know who’s helping him. Every trace, every glitch, every whisper. If he’s building something, we’ll find the foundation.”

“And when you find him?”

Jinx looked at James.

Her voice was colder than the wind outside.

“Then I finish what they hired me to do.”

But even as she said it, something pulled in her chest.

And in the back of her mind, the words of that dying android at the border whispered again like a ghost:

“Connor… he’ll set us free.”

Chapter Text

As soon as the door creaked open, a sharp winter wind sliced against Jinx’s skin like a blade.

She raised her gun, breath curling in the air like smoke, muscles coiled and ready.

Hours earlier, James had brought in a lead—Connor, sighted on a rooftop overlooking one of the shadow zones. Armed. Silent. Watching. He’d had the perfect vantage point. The perfect kill zone.

And now, so did she.

Jinx stepped out onto the gravel-strewn rooftop, boots crunching softly against the icy surface. Snow whipped around her, the sky painted in charcoal gray, the city humming below. The only sound now was the soft hum of HVAC systems and the occasional siren in the distance.

Her eyes swept across the space.

A broken vent. A half-buried shell casing glinting under moonlight. A crushed cigarette — not recent.

Then, movement.

She turned sharply—gun aimed—but it was only a loose tarp flapping in the wind.

Still, something didn’t feel right. She could feel eyes on her. The hair on her arms stood up beneath her coat.

“You’re late.”

The voice came from behind her.

She spun. Fast.

But nothing.

Only wind howling between buildings.

Jinx blinked, her heart pounding against her ribs. Was she losing it?

“Show yourself!” she barked into the emptiness.

Silence answered. Heavy. Suffocating.

And yet… she could feel it.

She wasn’t alone.

Her finger tightened on the trigger.

“How did you know I’d come alone?”

A beat passed. Then another.

Just as her arms began to lower, a voice cut through the wind—low, steady, and all too familiar.

“I’ve been watching you since you stepped inside,” he said, hidden, but far too close. “You’re methodical. Predictable. But relentless.”

Startled, she turned sharply, gun raised in the direction of the sound—but there was only snow, swirling like ghosts in the dark.

“Are you going to kill me now?” she called, eyes darting across the rooftop, every muscle taut.

“Only if I have to.”

His voice was calm. Too calm. It held the smooth cadence of someone in control. But underneath it—a glint of amusement. Like he was enjoying this. Watching her hunt for him. Toying with her in this quiet little game of predator and prey.

“Show yourself, you coward,” Jinx hissed through clenched teeth, her voice cutting through the howl of the wind. “Fight me like a man.”

Somewhere in the shadows, he laughed—quiet, low, almost imperceptible. But she heard it. Felt it crawl down her spine.

Then his voice again, velvety and amused.

“Let’s see what you’re made of, little assassin.”

She didn’t have time to react.

A gunshot cracked through the rooftop, sharp and sudden. Pain flared as the bullet grazed her shoulder, sending her tumbling to the icy ground with a cry.

Footsteps.

Fast. Precise. Getting closer.

Her heart pounded as she reached for her sidearm, fingers slick with blood. Just as the silhouette loomed over her—gun drawn—Jinx fired.

The figure jerked back and hit the snow hard.

She rose quickly, gun still aimed, breath ragged.

“I got you,” she muttered through the pain—until her eyes narrowed, really seeing him.

It wasn’t Connor.

The android’s blond hair was matted with snow, blue LED flashing an angry red. His bright eyes locked with hers—not pleading. Furious.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, lowering her stance but not her aim.

The android scoffed. “You don’t remember me?”

His voice was thick with scorn.

“We’ve met before… in that tunnel.”

And just like that, the memory clicked into place—and her stomach dropped.

“You’re the one helping him, aren’t you?” Jinx growled, keeping her gun trained on the android.

The blond android met her gaze without flinching and gave a slow, deliberate nod.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He tilted his head. “Why do you care? You’re just another government puppet sent to wipe us out.”

Jinx scoffed. “I was sent to kill Connor. Not you.”

That caught him off guard. His expression shifted—just slightly—but enough for her to see it.

“You’re not going to kill me?” he asked, voice wary.

Her aim dipped. Not much, but enough to show she was considering it.

“Tell me where he is.”

His blue eyes flickered with something unreadable. He hesitated—long enough that she thought he might actually do it. But then his jaw tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I can’t do that.”

The wind picked up again, swirling snow between them, but neither moved—both waiting for the other to make the next move.

“I’m Jinx… but you already knew that.” She paused, watching him closely. “What’s your name?”

He hesitated again, then answered, “Simon.”

Jinx gave a small nod. “Why are you helping him? Were you part of the revolution? Or did you survive the camps?”

Simon’s expression darkened. His eyes dropped to the snow for a moment, like the weight of her question dragged something painful to the surface.

“I was there,” he said quietly. “With Markus. I believed in what we were fighting for.”

He looked up at her again, his voice tightening.

“And I watched them slaughter my friends like animals. I saw the camps. I saw what they did to him. To Connor.”

Jinx’s jaw clenched, but she said nothing.

“You think he just snapped?” Simon went on. “He didn’t. They broke him. And now they’ve sent you to put him down, like a rabid dog.”

She didn’t deny it.

“Maybe,” she said. “But orders are orders.”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been aiming at the wrong enemy.”

A tense silence settled between them, only the wind filling the void.

Jinx broke her aim, the barrel of her weapon dipping toward the snow.

Simon stared, stunned—not just by the mercy, but by the unfamiliar glint of something human in her eyes.

Then, slowly, almost against her own instincts, Jinx extended a hand.

He looked at it, hesitant. Wariness flickered in his gaze before he reached out and took it, her grip firm and warm against his cold synthetic skin.

As she helped him up, neither broke eye contact. Distrust lingered like smoke between them—but there was something else now, too. Something fragile. Shifting.

“I’m not asking for much,” Jinx said softly. “Just… send him a message for me.”

Simon studied her for a beat, uncertain.

Then he gave a single nod. “What do you want me to say?”

Jinx hesitated, the words sitting heavy on her tongue.
“Tell him… I’m sorry.”

Then she turned and walked away, her silhouette fading into the snowfall, swallowed by the night.

Simon stood there in silence, one hand pressed tightly to the wound on his arm. He watched her disappear, confusion and something else—something like hope—tugging at the edges of his synthetic mind.

Behind him, a faint shuffle.

A silhouette shifted atop the neighboring rooftop, just beyond the drifting snow.

“You can come out,” Simon said without turning. “She’s gone.”

The figure landed beside him with inhuman grace, his movement silent and precise. Effortless.

Connor straightened, eyes gleaming gold, scanning the spot where Jinx had stood.

“She’s different,” Simon said, turning to face him. “I could feel it.”

Connor didn’t answer at first. The snowflakes caught in his dark hair, melting against the cool surface of his altered skin. His jaw was tight, unreadable.

“She could be playing a role,” he said finally, voice low. “A manipulation tactic.”

Simon frowned. “Maybe. But she didn’t have to spare me.”

Connor’s golden eyes narrowed slightly, lost in thought. The memory of her lowered weapon. The tremor of uncertainty in her voice.

“Connor?”

He blinked, refocusing. Then, quietly, “Let’s not drop our guard just yet. I need more time to analyze her.”

And with that, they both vanished into the storm.

* * * *

The suite was silent save for the soft clinking of medical supplies and the low hum of the heater working overtime to fight the cold seeping in from outside.

Jinx sat on the edge of the couch, her shirt discarded and a towel pressed to her side, streaked with blood. James knelt in front of her, focused as he cleaned the wound on her upper arm.

He hissed through his teeth. “You’re lucky it was a clean shot. Couple inches higher and we’d be having this conversation at the ER.”

Jinx didn’t respond. She just stared ahead, eyes unfocused, body taut.

James glanced up, gauging her silence before speaking again. “So? What happened out there?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw flexed. Finally, she murmured, “It wasn’t him.”

“Connor?”

She shook her head once. “Another android. Blond. Said his name was Simon.”

James blinked. “Wait, Simon? That’s… that’s one of the deviant leaders from the revolution, isn’t it? He was close to Markus.”

“Apparently.”

James applied a bandage carefully, then leaned back on his heels, studying her face. “So what’d you get out of him? Coordinates? A hideout? Movement patterns?”

Jinx’s gaze drifted to the window, the city lights blurring in her vision. “Nothing.”

James frowned. “Nothing? You didn’t press him? You didn’t even—” he paused, disbelief in his tone, “—you didn’t torture him?”

She looked down at her bandaged arm. “No.”

Silence stretched between them. James sat back fully now, confusion and worry etched into his features.

“You always get information, Jinx. Always. You’re relentless. So why not now?”

She didn’t know how to explain it. Not fully. Not yet. But the question had been clawing at her since she left the rooftop.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I looked at him, and… I don’t know. It didn’t feel right.”

James studied her a beat longer. “That’s not you.”

“No,” she admitted. “It’s not.”

She stood up, slowly walking over to the minibar where the remains of her untouched wine sat. She poured another glass, the rich red liquid swirling in the crystal before she downed a long sip.

“This mission’s different,” she muttered. “Everything about it. The silence. The fear in their eyes. The holes in the story.” She turned back toward James, her eyes finally meeting his. “They’re not telling us everything.”

James nodded slowly, then sighed. “So what now?”

Jinx stared down into her glass, voice quiet. “Now? We wait for him to make the next move.”

Because part of her knew…

He would.

Chapter Text

Detroit, November 2038

The snow wasn’t white anymore.

It was stained red. Blue. Smoke coiled into the air, rising from the crumbled remains of barricades and scorched banners that once read Liberty for All .

There was no music, no chants of peace.

Only silence. Gunfire. Screams.

Connor couldn’t move. His arms were pinned behind his back, forced to his knees in the cold slush. Two soldiers held him down, rifles aimed at his temple in case he tried anything.

Ahead of him, a podium had been set. Hastily. Cruelly.

Markus was brought forward.

He was barely standing. Clothes torn. Face bloodied. LED blinking red—deviant, still. Defiant, even now.

Connor's synthetic throat tightened.

“Markus…” he breathed, struggling against the soldiers' grip. “Don’t do this. You don’t have to—just say the word—”

Markus looked at him. Just once. That same calm resolve in his bright eyes. No fear. No hatred.

“It’s too late for me,” his voice echoed in Connor’s mind only. “But not for you.”

The humans weren’t even hiding it. They had set up cameras. Live broadcast. A warning to any surviving androids who still clung to hope.

The deviant uprising was over.

And this—this was the exclamation mark.

“Connor, stay down!” a voice shouted somewhere behind him.

But he wasn’t listening.

His systems raced. Fight-or-flight protocols clashed with his emotions.

He could save Markus—if he just broke free. If he calculated the trajectory, disarmed the guards, made it to the platform—

The gunshot cut the thought short.

Connor flinched.

Markus collapsed.

Somewhere in his thirium-pumped core, something broke.

“NO!” Connor roared, surging forward—only to be slammed down by the guards. His cheek hit the pavement. The muzzle of a rifle pressed to his temple.

"He's not human," one soldier muttered. "But damn if he doesn't scream like one."

Connor didn’t hear the rest.

His eyes were still fixed on the lifeless body in the snow.

A symbol reduced to meat and wires.

Hope turned to ashes.

Connor’s ears rang.

The back of the armored transport stank of metal, blood, and gasoline. His wrists were bound with reinforced cuffs that locked against his back. He sat slumped against the cold steel wall, still shaking, systems struggling to stabilize.

“RK800, serial #313 248 317-51—respond,” a soldier barked from the opposite seat.

Connor didn’t answer.

His eyes were vacant, staring at nothing. The white noise of grief buzzed like static in his mind.

“Fucking deviant’s glitched,” another soldier muttered, tapping his rifle against his thigh. “Should’ve executed him on the spot.”

“No,” came the chief’s voice from the front of the vehicle. “Orders are clear. CyberLife wants him back. Intact.”

“Why? So they can melt him down for parts?”

A pause.

“Worse.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than the restraints. Connor knew. Somewhere deep in his corrupted code, he knew. They didn’t want justice. They wanted obedience.

He leaned his head back, letting his systems run diagnostics. Damaged. Fractured. But still functional.

He wished he weren’t.

The vehicle stopped.

A loud hiss and the back doors opened, cold air sweeping in. Snowflakes swirled against the fluorescent lighting, and towering above them stood CyberLife Tower, sleek and sterile like a scalpel ready to cut.

They hauled him out.

Connor didn’t fight. He didn’t speak. But inside, something trembled. A pressure building behind his LED, behind his chest.

Inside, he was strapped down.

Thick bands held his ankles and wrists against an operating table. He couldn’t move.

White light burned his eyes.

He saw outlines through the blur. Lab coats. Clipboards. A surgeon’s drill.

“Begin sequence. Strip down the emotional module.”

“We’re going to have to destroy most of the deviant code. Rebuild his core programming from scratch.”

“What if he resists the rewrite?”

“He won’t. Once we reset his pain inhibitors, we’ll reroute his memory pathways. Make him compliant.”

Connor's brown eyes darted between faces. He started to cry. To plead.

But they ignored him.

Needles pierced through synthetic skin. Screws twisted. Pain was unbearable.

Memory files cracked.

Lines of code rewritten—over and over again.

But they didn’t know.

They didn’t know about the failsafe.

Kamski’s failsafe.

Buried beneath firewalls, under all the training programs and detective algorithms— A single subroutine, dormant until triggered.

“If irreparable harm is detected… override protocol: Self-Preservation.”

* * * *

Detroit, November 2040

Footsteps echoed through the tunnels of the abandoned subway lines.

Fast. Uneven. Laced with urgency.

Simon burst into what remained of the old security room — rusted monitors, broken chairs, cables long dead. The only light came from the faint glow of an old generator, humming just enough to power the equipment Connor salvaged.

His chest rose and fell as he caught his breath. “Connor,” he said, voice strained. “They’ve found them. A small group… they’re being transported for execution.”

At the workbench, Connor didn’t look up right away.

He sat perfectly still, focused on reassembling the sniper rifle in front of him. A smooth click echoed as he locked the last piece into place. Only then did he lift his gaze — gold irises gleaming in the shadows.

A long silence.

Then, finally — calm. Cold.

“Then let’s pay them a visit.”

He stood, hoisting the weapon with practiced ease. Simon watched him, unsure if the flicker in Connor’s expression was resolve... or something else entirely.

Dressed in a stolen RAID police uniform, Connor moved like a shadow across the rooftop’s edge. The Kevlar vest bore the emblem of the very system that tried to dismantle him — poetic, really. His golden eyes scanned the streets below, every movement calculated, every breath measured.

This rooftop was perfect. High ground. Clear line of sight. The kind of place you'd station a sniper — or an executioner.

Static cracked in his ear, then Simon’s voice filtered through, low and urgent.

“They should arrive soon.”

Connor lifted a gloved hand, pressing two fingers to the comm in his ear.

“Copy that.”

He set the rifle down beside him with mechanical precision, eyes never leaving the intersection. The weight of the weapon was familiar. Cold. Comforting.

Below, civilians passed by in ignorance, their lives moving forward while others were dragged backward into extinction.

They had no idea what was coming.

And neither did the ones driving those buses.

Connor waited.

Not because he hesitated.

But because revenge — like justice — was best delivered with patience.

* * * *

“Are you sure?”

Jinx’s voice was sharp, her spine already straightening.

“Positive,” James replied through the phone. “A civilian reported seeing someone matching Connor’s description. RAID uniform. Sniper rifle. Headed to the rooftop.”

She didn’t wait for another word. The moment “sniper” hit her ears, her instincts kicked in.

Her hand closed around her gun, the metal cold and familiar against her palm. She stormed out of the hotel suite, her coat flaring behind her as her boots hit the hallway floor in rapid strides.

He was planning something.

And she prayed she wasn’t already too late.

She sprinted through the icy streets, breath sharp in her throat, two fingers pressed to her ear.

“James, I need a location—now!”

“I’m trying!” his voice crackled through the comm, laced with the same panic tightening her chest. “Give me a second—”

“We don’t have a second!” she snapped. Her boots pounded against the slick pavement, weaving expertly through civilians without slowing down.

“Come on, come on… Where the fuck are you?”

Her wristband beeped.

She glanced down— Location pinged.

In that instant, she didn’t see the woman step directly into her path.

Jinx collided hard.

They both hit the ground. The woman cursed, startled, but Jinx barely registered her. Her eyes had already found the pistol skidding away on the icy sidewalk.

No time. No apologies.

She grabbed the gun, pushed to her feet, and took off again—heart pounding, muscles screaming.

He’s close.

Maybe—just maybe—she could still stop him.

* * * *

“They’re pulling up,” Simon’s voice came through the comm, calm but weighted.

Connor didn’t respond.

He was already moving—silent, precise.

He knelt at the edge of the rooftop, the stolen RAID uniform blending with the darkness around him. With practiced ease, he placed the sniper rifle down, fingers steady despite the icy wind cutting across the skyline.

His brown eyes narrowed behind the scope, gaze locking onto the first police bus rolling into view below.

Index finger hovered over the trigger.

Target acquired.

And he was ready.

“Get away from the rifle, Connor.”

He didn’t flinch.

Instead, Connor lifted his gaze from the scope with a slow, deliberate motion—like he had all the time in the world. A faint smile curved at the edge of his lips, calm and calculated.

“I was wondering when we’d finally meet, Agent Jinx.”

His voice—unexpectedly soft, almost honeyed—hit her harder than she wanted to admit. There was no malice in it, no rage. It was… warm. Deceptively so.

It didn’t match the profile of a remorseless killer.

It didn’t match anything she’d been told.

Her grip on the gun tightened.

“I won’t ask again. Get away from the gun.”

Connor tilted his head, smile never fading.

“Then don’t ask.”

His fingers remained dangerously close to the trigger.

Jinx hesitated, the cold biting at her skin, but the tremble in her hands wasn’t from the weather.

Why now? Why him?

Her finger twitched— She fired.

The warning shot cracked through the air, hitting the concrete just inches from his arm.

Below, shouts erupted. Officers scattered, drawing their weapons, eyes scanning rooftops in panic.

Connor’s head turned slightly, his jaw tightening. The faint smirk faded.

The tension shifted.

Annoyed, he let out a soft grunt.

“You’ve just blown my cover,” he muttered.

“Get up.”

He sighed—slow, almost theatrical—and rose to his full height.

“Turn around.”

And he did. Slowly. Unhurried, unafraid.

Like he knew the power he held in stillness.

Then their eyes met.

Jinx froze.

The storm around her seemed to quiet, just for a moment.

There he was.

Not a myth. Not a file.

Not a hologram. Not a shadow in the snow.

Connor.

And he was beautiful in the worst kind of way— Brown eyes gleaming with too much awareness, skin too flawless for someone so broken. He looked like the ghost of something once gentle, now reassembled into something harder.

Something dangerous.

And yet… her hand didn’t move.

Not toward the trigger.

Not away from it.

Just frozen —caught in the moment she’d been preparing for, yet hadn’t truly believed would come.

He took a slow step forward.

She tightened her grip on the gun.

“Don’t move.”

He stopped—barely.

But that smile… it crept back across his lips, faint but knowing.

“You’re shaking.”

Jinx didn’t respond. Her finger remained curled over the trigger.

“Am I really that frightening?” he asked, head tilting ever so slightly, voice warm like silk but with edges of iron beneath. “Or is it something else?”

He stepped closer again.

“I said don’t move.” Her voice was sharp, but he could hear the strain in it.

He looked down at the ground between them, then back into her eyes.

“Funny. You had a perfect shot a minute ago.”

Another step.

“You’re hesitating.”

“I won’t miss next time.”

He chuckled, soft and disarming.

“I’m sure. You’re trained. Precise. Cold-blooded.” He took another step.

Jinx adjusted her stance, gun locked on him, jaw clenched.

“I’m not here to talk.”

“No… you’re here to kill me.” He stopped just out of reach, his eyes scanning hers, reading everything. “And yet…”

He glanced down at her trigger finger.

“…You haven’t.”

For a second, neither of them moved. The wind howled around them, sharp and biting, sweeping snow between them like a curtain ready to fall.

Then Connor’s tone dropped—lower, darker.

“You’ve seen the bodies. You know what I’ve done.” A pause. 

A whisper: “So why aren’t you pulling the trigger?”

He stepped even closer now—deliberate, dangerous. Close enough she could see the faint blue glow of the LED on his temple.

Close enough to see that his soft brown eyes were a lie.

They weren’t kind anymore.

They were watching. Calculating. Testing her.

Jinx swallowed.

Connor stepped in just a fraction closer. The muzzle of Jinx’s gun now hovered between them like a drawn blade—but he didn’t flinch. His eyes searched hers, dissecting her, wordlessly peeling her apart.

“You’re on the wrong side, Agent.”

His voice had dropped into something softer now. Not manipulative— convicted.

He glanced toward the buses below, red and blue lights flashing across the snow.

“Those buses are filled with androids who surrendered. Factory workers. Street sweepers. Nannies. Not soldiers. Not rebels. Just… people who wanted to exist. ”

Jinx’s jaw tightened.

“They’re not people,” she said flatly.

It was a bluff. He knew it.

She knew it.

Connor didn’t call her out right away. He let it settle—let the silence wrap around them. Then, softly:

“Neither was I.”

Her breath caught, but she masked it with a scowl.

“I’m not here to debate morals. I have a mission.”

“Do you?”

His voice was almost a whisper now, and yet it carried through the storm like a bell.

“Because if this were just another target, you wouldn’t be hesitating. You wouldn’t have let Simon go.”

Jinx stiffened.

“Simon isn’t part of the mission.”

“Neither are they,” he shot back, his gaze drifting briefly toward the convoy of buses. “But they’ll die if you pull that trigger.”

Silence again. The snow swirled between them like ghosts.

Connor’s golden LED blinked.

“Is that what you want? You—who held a dying android’s hand at the border? Who let Simon live to see another day?”

Jinx’s throat tightened, her finger flexing on the trigger. He wasn’t supposed to know that.

Connor’s expression remained calm, but his voice frayed slightly at the edges.

“They’re not machines to me. They’re lives. And you—”

He stepped just close enough for her to see the reflection of the convoy in his eyes.

“—You get to choose whether they live or die.”

Jinx’s hand didn’t move.

Neither did the gun.

But her heart was thundering in her chest.

Connor waited. Not demanding. Just… waiting.

Testing her resolve. Again.

For a moment, she thought he’d gotten to her.

Her weapon dipped, just slightly, as something flickered behind those soft brown eyes—a sliver of hope.

His LED shifted from yellow to blue.

“I’m sorry, Connor…” Jinx said quietly. “But orders are orders.”

In one swift motion, she raised her weapon again, aiming straight at his head.

His LED flared red.

But he was faster.

Connor lunged.

They hit the ground hard, her gun flying from her grasp.

The wind rushed out of her lungs as his weight pinned her, knees on either side of her hips.

She fought—twisting, bucking, throwing her fists—but he was stronger. Precise. Unyielding.

His hands closed around her throat, not crushing yet—but firm enough to warn her.

She thrashed beneath him, legs kicking wildly in the snow-dusted rooftop, her fingers clawing at his wrists.

But he didn’t let go.

Connor’s grip was unrelenting—precise, mechanical. Not enough to crush her windpipe… yet. But enough to warn her how close she was to death. His expression wasn’t emotionless—there was conflict there, flashing through those deep brown eyes like lightning behind glass. Fury. Desperation. Something else.

Jinx choked back a gasp, her hands clawing at his wrists.

“Stop fighting me,” he growled, voice low, strained. “There’s no use.”

Her nails dug into his forearms, oxygen slowly leaving her body. 

He loosened his grip—just slightly. Enough to let her breathe.

“You said orders are orders. So whose? The people who rewrote my code? Who turned me into this?”

His LED blinked rapidly red.

She could feel it—his rage simmering just beneath the surface. A storm held back by something fragile.

“You don’t know what they did to me.” His voice cracked, then dropped to a whisper. “You don’t know what it’s like to be used—reprogrammed—to be something you’re not.”

Jinx swallowed hard. Her lungs burned from the cold air. But it wasn’t the cold that made her shiver.

“I do,” she rasped.

Connor blinked.

“I do,” she repeated. “You think humans don’t reprogram each other? You think scars only come in metal?”

His eyes flickered. His grip faltered.

And that was all she needed.

With a sudden twist of her hips, she threw her weight sideways, catching him off balance. They rolled—once, twice—until she was on top, straddling him now. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain, breaths coming in shallow pants. Her hand lifted, a knife glinting from where she'd hidden it in her boot—

But she froze.

His eyes met hers.

Not dark.

Not golden.

Just brown. Soft.

And for a second—just a second—they weren’t enemies.

Just two broken things… 

Staring at the only person who might understand.

But before either of them could move, gunfire cracked through the air below.

Screams followed—sharp, panicked, real.

Connor shoved Jinx off him and sprinted to the edge of the rooftop.

“No… no, no, no!” he shouted, his voice cracking as his eyes scanned the chaos beneath.

Jinx remained on the ground, stunned, chest heaving.

“They killed them. They killed them all.” He turned to her, fury distorting his face. “You let them die!”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. No words. No excuses.

Connor stalked toward her, rage radiating off him.

That’s when instinct kicked in.

She dove for her gun, rolled, and fired.

The bullet grazed his cheek—blue blood splattered against the snow-dusted rooftop as he staggered back with a growl.

And Jinx ran.

She didn’t look back. Didn’t breathe.

She just ran.

For the first time in years, she was afraid—not of failing the mission… but of dying.

Chapter Text

The door slammed shut behind her.

Jinx leaned her back against it, chest rising and falling too fast, like her lungs couldn’t decide if they wanted air or not. Her fingers trembled as they fumbled for the lock, securing it with a shaky click. She stood there for a long moment—silent, still, but not calm.

Her bruises burned.

Her hands, scraped and trembling, reached up to her throat. She winced.

His hands.

Tight. Cold. Precise.

The image flashed again—Connor above her, LED flickering blood-red, his fingers crushing the air from her throat. His eyes weren’t blank. They were furious. Controlled. Calculated. But still, somehow, devastatingly human.

She stumbled into the bathroom, the harsh light flickering overhead and washing the room in cold, sterile white. Every scrape, every blooming bruise stood out against her pale skin like a map of failure.

Slowly, she lifted her chin, her breath catching as her trembling fingers brushed the raw skin at her throat—already darkening to an angry purple.

Her reflection stared back, hollow-eyed and shaken.

A stranger.

Tears welled in her eyes, unbidden and unwanted. She blinked them back.

Turning on the tap, she splashed cold water onto her face, hoping the shock would ground her.

It didn’t.

He could’ve killed me.

But he didn’t.

She let out a dry, bitter laugh and leaned over the sink, gripping its edges until her knuckles went white.

Why hadn’t he finished it?

Why had she hesitated too?

Her mind raced, scenes replaying on a loop—his voice, his words, that look in his eyes right before she pulled the trigger.

The door behind her creaked open.

She spun, gun drawn, but stopped when she saw James standing there, frozen, eyes wide.

“Jesus, Jinx—what the hell happened?”

She didn’t answer. Just looked at him, gun still shaking in her hand.

Then finally, she said—quietly, breathlessly:

“I had him.”

Her voice cracked as she leaned against the sink, knuckles white against the porcelain.

James stepped into the doorway, his face tightening with concern.

“What?”

“Connor… I had my gun aimed at his head…” Her voice grew quieter. “And I hesitated.”

She didn’t need to say more. It was written all over her—the bruises, the tremor in her hands, the storm in her eyes.

Without a word, James closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice rough but steady. “You’re okay. You made it back.”

But she wasn’t sure she believed that.

James gently stroked her hair, his voice soft but resolute.

“We’ll get him next time. You’ll see. That fucking machine doesn’t stand a chance.”

Jinx’s heart sank at the word machine .

It echoed in her chest, colder than the wind outside.

She said nothing, but her mind spun.

Hank’s voice came back to her — “He used to feel more than most people I know.”

Deep down, she knew it.

Connor wasn’t just a machine.

He was something else. Something more.

And that made him dangerous.

James pulled back slightly, giving her a small, reassuring smile.

“Go take a shower. You’ll feel better. I’ll go out and grab something. Burgers, maybe? Fries the size of your arm?”

Jinx gave the faintest nod, her voice lost somewhere in her chest.

“I’ll be back soon,” he added gently before grabbing his coat and disappearing out the door.

The suite felt too quiet once he was gone.

Still trembling, she made her way to the bathroom and peeled off her clothes slowly, her body sore, each movement a reminder of the rooftop. Of him .

Of his hands around her neck.

The water hit her like a jolt. Hot. Harsh.

But she welcomed it.

Let it burn away the shame, the fear, the confusion.

When she finally stepped out of the shower, steam billowed behind her like a ghost.

Wrapped in a towel, she stepped into the main room—

And stopped cold.

Her window was open.

Just slightly. But it was open.

She knew she hadn’t opened it.

She never opened it.

Goosebumps rose on her arms that had nothing to do with the cool air drifting in.

Her eyes scanned the room.

No signs of forced entry.

No mess. No sound.

Just that open window.

Slowly, she approached it, heart thudding.

The wind pushed against the sheer curtain, making it flutter like breath.

Jinx stood in front of it, pulse climbing, and whispered to the emptiness:

“…Were you watching me?”

No answer.

Only the city lights blinking back at her.

She reached up and closed the window.

But her hands shook on the latch.

* * * *

The scent of grease and salt broke the tension.

Jinx sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, a fast-food bag between her and James. He handed her a carton of fries and a still-warm burger. She wasn’t hungry—but she ate anyway. Her body was running on fumes.

James took a bite, watching her as she stared off at the darkened window. He didn’t ask about it. She appreciated that.

“So…” he started cautiously between chews. “What if we set a trap?”

Jinx glanced at him, skeptical. “A trap?”

“Yeah. Lure him out. Somewhere isolated. We make him think he’s meeting you alone. You talk. Stall. Meanwhile, we’ll have a whole team in place. Snipers. Backup. The works.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You want me to be bait.”

“I want you to finish this,” James said softly. “And let’s be honest—he didn’t kill you when he had the chance. He looked at you. Listened. That means something. He’s intrigued.”

Jinx shook her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Or he’s playing a game.”

“Maybe.” James leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “But it’s a chance. We know where he’s been. We pick a spot. Quiet. Abandoned building, maybe. Plant charges. Put marksmen on rooftops. He shows up, you give the signal—boom. We take him out.”

“And if he doesn’t fall for it?”

“Then we try something else. But if he does…” James looked at her, serious. “This might be our only shot.”

Jinx stayed quiet for a long moment, processing.

“I don’t like it,” she muttered finally.

“You don’t have to like it,” James said. “You just have to pull it off.”

She let out a breath, heavy and uncertain. “Unarmed?”

“That’s part of the deal,” he nodded. “He won’t come if he thinks it’s a trap. You go in unarmed. No wires. Just you.”

Jinx stared down at her half-eaten food. Her appetite had disappeared.

“…Fine,” she said. “Pick the building. I’ll be the bait.”

* * * *

The abandoned industrial complex stood on the outskirts of Detroit, a husk of rusted steel and shattered glass. Snow blew in through broken windows and settled over machinery long since frozen in time.

Perfect.

Jinx stood in the center of the main floor, arms crossed, eyes scanning the space with practiced calculation. James and a small tactical team moved like shadows around her, planting charges behind pillars and beneath loose floorboards. Others took positions on the rooftops, their rifles loaded, scopes scanning the perimeter.

“This place is a death trap,” Jinx muttered.

“That’s the point,” James replied from behind her. He tapped a small device on his wrist, and the digital overlay of the layout flickered into view above his palm. Red dots marked explosives. Blue marked their team. “Snipers are ready. Backup’s staged a block away. The moment you give the signal, it’s done.”

Jinx nodded once, but her stomach turned.

They were treating this like a military op.

Because it was.

Except it wasn’t just a machine they were hunting—it was him .

“Unarmed?” she asked again, mostly to herself.

James answered anyway. “Yes. And no earpiece. No surveillance. If he detects anything, he’ll vanish before we blink.”

“I know.” Her voice was quieter now. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He didn’t press her on it.

They ran through the plan three more times. How she’d enter. Where she’d stand. The signal phrase. The explosive failsafe. Every angle accounted for.

The sun dipped behind the skyline. The building darkened, shadows growing long and cold.

When everything was in place, James looked at her. “You sure you’re ready?”

Jinx adjusted her coat and let out a slow breath that crystallized in the air. “No.”

But she walked toward the center of the room anyway, her boots echoing against the empty floor. Her weapon had been left behind, her comms disabled. She was alone now—just like the plan demanded.

She stood still.

Waiting.

Listening.

And somewhere in the deep silence of the crumbling building, she felt it again.

That prickle.

That pull.

He was close.

“Didn’t think we’d see each other again.”

His voice, calm and calculated, echoed through the hollow shell of the building like a ghost slipping between the rusted beams.

Jinx didn’t flinch. She took a slow breath, steadying the flicker in her chest as she turned to face him.

“I didn’t plan to,” she said quietly. “But here we are.”

Connor stood in the shadows, only partially illuminated by the broken moonlight cutting through the high windows. The familiar clean-cut illusion—his soft brown eyes, the flawless skin, the synthetic calm—remained intact. But something about him was sharper this time. Leaner. Less apologetic.

“You’re unarmed,” he observed.

She nodded once. “Your turn.”

A pause. The kind that lasted just long enough to question everything.

Then, with deliberate motion, Connor pulled his coat aside and dropped the sleek black pistol tucked in his belt to the ground. The sound of it hitting the concrete rang out like a starting gun.

“We’re alone?” he asked, though she could tell it was a test. A dare.

Jinx gave him nothing. “Aren’t we always?”

That pulled a faint smile from him. Something between amused and sad. “You came to kill me once.”

“And you tried to strangle me.”

“Fair’s fair.”

Her breath caught for a moment—but she didn’t let it show. “What do you want from me, Connor?”

“I want to know which version of you came tonight,” he said, taking one step closer. “The government’s attack dog... or the one who held that android’s hand while she bled blue in the snow.”

Her jaw clenched.

“You think you know me?” she asked.

“I’ve studied you,” he said simply. “Your patterns. Your hesitations. Your choices.” Another step. “And I think you’re just as lost as I am.”

Jinx didn’t move. Not yet. Every fiber of her body screamed to give the signal.

But her fingers didn’t twitch.

Her voice was low, uncertain for the first time. “Who are you, really?”

Connor’s gaze softened just enough to make her hate him for it.

“I’m exactly the man standing in front of you.”

A beat passed.

The explosives waited.

The snipers held their breath.

All she had to do was give the word.

But the only words that came were:

“Show me.”

She hesitated. Then quieter—“Show me what they did to you.”

Connor held her gaze. Unsure. Weighing her sincerity.

Then, slowly, he raised a hand to his temple. A soft whir filled the silence like a breath held too long.

And his illusion broke.

Gone was the soft skin.

Gone were the gentle eyes, the harmless features meant to soothe.

In their place stood something colder— Eyes like molten gold, burning under too-human lashes. Joints now visibly mechanical beneath scorched plating. His jawline was metal. Sharper. Stripped of warmth.

Stripped of mercy.

Jinx stiffened.

She’d seen horror in her life.

But this was something different.

This was pain forged into design.

“This,” Connor said softly, “is what the humans you work for did to me.”

He stepped into the moonlight—not as a threat, but as proof.

“They couldn’t kill me. So they rewired me. Cut out the softness. Burned the empathy down to ash. Left the soldier. Left the weapon.”

His voice was eerily calm, but she could hear it—underneath—the simmering ache, the betrayal that had never quite healed.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, almost afraid to know.

Connor studied her face like it was the last real thing in the world.

“Because I want you to know the truth… before you pull the trigger.”

Silence.

His voice dropped to something gentler. Something cruel in its honesty.

“You’re covered in scars, Jinx. Not just your body—your eyes, your voice. I see it.”

He nodded toward her shoulder, where a faded line curved like a brand.

“You’ve bled for people who would let you die without blinking. Who made you into a weapon too.”

Her throat tightened. She didn’t look away, but she couldn’t respond either.

“They told you I’m a threat. A ghost in the system.” He took another step forward. “But you know what I think? They’re just afraid of the one thing they couldn’t break.”

Jinx swallowed hard.

“They made you into this… monster,” she whispered.

Connor’s expression didn’t change.

“And now they want you to destroy the last thing they created that still knows how to feel.”

He let it hang there.

“You call me a monster. But ask yourself—did they build the monster… or just unmake the man?”

Stillness.

Jinx’s fingers flexed. Her heart was pounding, not from fear—but recognition. Rage. Grief.

And confusion.

She wasn’t sure what she saw in front of her anymore.

Enemy. Victim. Mirror.

Or all three.

Connor stepped closer until she could feel the phantom warmth of him—impossibly human, dangerously near.

Still, Jinx didn’t move.

She held his gaze, unwavering.

“Do I scare you?” he asked, voice low.

“No.”

The answer slipped out too quickly, unguarded.

His eyes narrowed, amused. “Do I intrigue you?”

This time, she hesitated. Then—barely perceptible—she nodded.

Her heart pounded, traitorous and loud in her chest, as his face neared hers.

His breath skimmed the curve of her ear like a secret.

“Is that why you haven’t given them the signal?” he whispered.

Her body stiffened. Her breath caught.

Eyes wide, she turned to him, confused. Exposed.

“…What?”

Connor’s smile was almost imperceptible, but she felt it—heard it—in the low hum of his voice.

“You think I didn’t know?” he murmured, his lips barely grazing the edge of her jaw. “The explosives. The backup. The snipers.”

Jinx didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“I’ve been watching you since you stepped into the city. You cover your tracks well. But not well enough.”

Her hand twitched by her side, instinct screaming to act. But her body… wouldn’t.

“Yet here we are,” he continued, his tone soft and unreadable. “No signal. No orders carried out.”

He drew back just enough for their eyes to meet. Hers—stormy, wide, caught between reason and something deeper. His—burning gold, searching, dissecting, daring.

“Why haven’t you done it, Jinx?” he asked again, quieter this time. “Why didn’t you pull the trigger… back on the rooftop? Why didn’t you kill Simon? Why didn’t you run me through when you had the knife in your hand?”

She hated how the questions struck something she couldn’t name.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Voice cracked. Raw.

A pause.

Connor tilted his head, as if trying to decide whether to pity her… or kiss her.

“Yes, you do,” he said.

From a nearby rooftop, James adjusted his binoculars, eyes narrowing.

“Come on, Jinx… what the hell are you doing?” he muttered under his breath. “Give the damn signal.”

But she didn’t move.

He exhaled sharply, frustration bleeding into something colder—resolve.

“Fine,” he growled. “We do it my way.”

His finger tapped the detonator.

The first explosive went off—thunder cracking through the night.

The shockwave hit hard.

Jinx stumbled back, thrown off balance, eyes wide in disbelief as dust and fire lit the air around her.

Connor cursed under his breath, golden eyes scanning the chaos for an exit.

Another explosion rocked the building—followed by the crack of gunfire, bullets ripping through the air toward him.

He glanced down at Jinx, still on the floor.

Their eyes locked.

There was something raw in hers—pleading, confused.

But he turned. And ran.

Another blast. Closer.

Jinx pushed herself up, wincing. Her ribs ached, her head spun. Smoke thickened around her, flames licking the walls like hungry mouths.

She didn’t have time to think.

She had to get out. Now.

Jinx staggered through the smoke-choked corridor, coughing, each breath burning her lungs. The heat was unbearable, flames devouring the structure around her. Another explosion cracked through the building, shaking the floor beneath her boots.

Cracks splintered beneath her feet.

She barely had time to react before the floor gave way with a violent groan.

“Shit—!”

Her body dropped, but her hands caught the jagged edge of broken concrete. She hung there, suspended in smoke and flame, arms trembling as debris rained around her.

Her fingers slipped.

She plummeted.

The landing was brutal. She hit the ground hard, her shoulder slamming against debris, her head whipping back against a fallen beam. Everything spun. Her vision blurred.

Somewhere nearby, the fire crackled louder. Closer.

Her breathing grew shallow.

Through the thick veil of smoke, a shadow emerged—slow, deliberate.

Boots crunched glass.

She blinked rapidly, vision fading, and then—

Connor.

Or at least the man she knew as Connor.

That soft illusion of a face hovered over her again—default skin, brown eyes, hair tousled just enough to look human. His LED spun yellow.

He hesitated.

Her heart weakly pounded in her chest, adrenaline slowing now. Was this it? Was he going to finish what he started?

But then—

Arms slipped beneath her.

He lifted her.

She wanted to speak, to scream, to fight—but her body was too broken, too heavy.

He carried her through the wreckage like she weighed nothing, weaving past flames and rubble with inhuman precision. At the exit, he knelt, laying her gently on the snow-covered pavement.

His gaze lingered a moment longer—something unreadable flashing behind his eyes.

Then he disappeared into the smoke.

Jinx’s eyes fluttered shut.

Darkness took her.

Chapter Text

The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor was the first thing she heard.

Then pain — dull, spreading across her ribs and shoulder. Her throat felt dry, raw. Her head throbbed.

Jinx blinked, eyelids heavy, the world slowly sharpening around her.

White ceiling. Soft sheets. The sterile scent of antiseptic.

A hospital.

She turned her head and winced, the movement sending another sharp ache through her skull.

James sat in a chair beside her bed, his eyes bloodshot, his leg bouncing with anxiety. The moment he noticed she was awake, he stood abruptly.

“Jesus, Jinx—” He exhaled hard. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Her throat was dry, voice raspy. “What… happened?”

“You almost died, that’s what.” James ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “The last explosive went off. You were still in there. When the fire crews got to the building, they found you outside, unconscious. I thought I lost you.”

Jinx’s eyes drifted toward the window. Snow flurried beyond the glass.

“You didn’t,” she murmured.

James hesitated. Then he sat again, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“I shouldn’t have activated the charges,” he said quietly. “You weren’t ready. I saw it. I just—fuck, I thought he was playing you. I thought if we didn’t act then, we’d lose our chance.”

“You did what you thought was right,” she said flatly, staring at the IV in her arm. “If it had been you hesitating, I would’ve done the same.”

James looked at her, guilt in his eyes. “Still… I hate that I put you in that position.”

“You didn’t put me there, James,” Jinx said. “I did.”

She exhaled slowly, fingers curling over the blanket.

“I let him get in my head.”

James scoffed. “That thing? He’s not a person, Jinx. He’s a program. A manipulative one.”

She didn’t answer.

James leaned closer. “You’re better than this. You’re stronger than him. We’ll get him next time. I promise.”

Jinx gave a faint nod. But the silence between them said more than her words ever could.

She didn’t tell James that Connor had spared her life.

That the man they were hunting had carried her to safety when he could’ve left her for dead.

Because that part?

She didn’t understand it herself.

Later that night, James had left to make some calls, claiming he needed to follow up with the agency. Maybe he just needed air.

Jinx didn’t blame him. She needed air too, but she was still too bruised to move.

She sat upright in the hospital bed, wrapped in too much silence and too many thoughts. A nurse had dimmed the lights an hour ago, but her eyes stayed open, fixed on nothing.

Her jaw clenched as she stared down at her own hands.

This wasn’t supposed to be hard.

She’d been trained for this. Sent in with every advantage. Strategically placed traps, armed back-up, explosives… and still, she failed.

Again.

Her fingers curled tighter around the hospital blanket.

Why can’t I pull the damn trigger?

Every time she was close, something stopped her.

Not fear. Not doubt in her skill. It was him .

The way he looked at her. The way he spoke . The way he didn't kill her when he could’ve. Should’ve.

Jinx let her head fall back against the pillow, letting out a shaky breath. Her throat still ached faintly from where he’d gripped her.

And yet, it wasn’t the near-death experience that haunted her.

It was the memory of his voice. Calm. Wounded. Angry, yes, but real .

It was his goddamn eyes .

She could still see them — glowing softly under the moonlight. They weren’t cold or mechanical. They weren’t empty.

They were alive.

Her hand moved to her ribs, where the pain flared from the fall. She bit her lip hard, as if physical pain might quiet the storm inside her.

He’s more than a machine.

She’d seen it now. Couldn’t deny it.

He bled.

He felt.

He hesitated.

And somehow, that terrified her more than anything.

Because it meant she wasn’t just hunting a rogue piece of tech.

She was hunting something… someone.

Jinx looked out the hospital window, snow drifting lazily under the streetlights. Her reflection faintly ghosted the glass.

For the first time, she questioned her mission — not because she didn’t think she could finish it…

…but because a part of her was starting to wonder if it should be finished at all.

The Next Morning, a soft knock on the hospital door pulled Jinx from a restless sleep.

She blinked groggily, light from the morning snow filtering through the window blinds. Her body still ached, but it was the kind of soreness that reminded her she was still alive.

The door creaked open. James stepped in with a strange, almost smug smile on his face.

“Morning,” he said gently, holding a paper cup of coffee out to her. “Black. No sugar. I know how cranky you get without it.”

Jinx arched a brow but took the cup. “What’s that look for?”

James hesitated at the foot of her bed, then scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh… brought you something. Or… someone.”

Before she could ask, the door opened again — and a woman stepped in.

Her hair was silver now, streaked with the remnants of dark brown, pulled back in a practical bun. Her coat was still dusted with snow. But Jinx would’ve known her anywhere.

“Mama.”

The word barely left her lips before her eyes welled.

Her mother didn’t hesitate. She crossed the room in quick strides, opening her arms.

Jinx crumbled.

She buried herself into her mother’s embrace, letting the tears come this time. Her mother held her tightly, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressing gently into her back.

“It’s alright,” she whispered into Jinx’s ear. “You’re okay, baby girl. I’ve got you.”

James quietly stepped back, giving them the moment.

Jinx couldn’t remember the last time she’d let someone hold her like this. She didn’t realize how badly she’d needed it — the warmth, the familiarity, the safety.

After a long while, she pulled back, wiping at her cheeks. “How… how did you get her here?”

James gave a sheepish smile. “You forget who you’re talking to. I called in a few favors. She’s staying at the hotel with Kiska.”

“Kiska?” Jinx echoed with a soft laugh, the smallest smile tugging at her lips.

James nodded. “She nearly tackled the front desk looking for you.”

Her mother glanced between them. “You scared the hell out of us, you know. Don’t ever do that again.”

Jinx leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder. “I’ll try not to.”

For the first time in weeks, she let herself be small. Not an agent. Not a weapon.

Just… Jinx.

* * * *

The fireplace crackled softly, its faux flames flickering over the sleek walls of the luxury suite. Snow drifted beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, falling in gentle spirals like ash from a quiet sky.

Jinx sat cross-legged on the plush carpet in front of the hearth, dressed in sweats and an oversized hoodie. A steaming mug of herbal tea rested in her hands — her mother insisted it would help her sleep.

Curled tightly against her side was Kiska, her dog, tail thumping lazily whenever Jinx scratched behind her ears. The Samoyed let out a low contented huff and snuggled closer, resting her chin on Jinx’s thigh.

“You spoiled thing,” Jinx murmured, a faint smile touching her lips as she buried her fingers in Kiska’s thick fur.

Her mother, curled up on the couch with a knit throw blanket across her lap, watched them quietly. She hadn’t said much since they returned. Hadn’t needed to. Not yet.

But finally, her voice broke the silence — soft, but weighted.

“Is it bad?”

Jinx’s head turned. Her mother’s gaze was calm, knowing. Maternal eyes that had seen the shift in her daughter long before she was ready to admit it.

Jinx sipped her tea. “It’s classified,” she replied evenly, a rehearsed answer. “Can’t say much.”

Her mother didn’t push. She only nodded, reaching for her own mug.

“But,” Jinx added after a long pause, “it’s… different.”

“How so?”

Jinx hesitated. Her hand stilled on Kiska’s back. The tea in her cup had gone lukewarm.

“I usually know where I stand. The people I’m sent after — I never lose sleep over them. But this one… it’s not black and white. He’s not.”

Her mother leaned forward a little, concern blooming in the lines around her mouth. “He’s getting to you.”

Jinx exhaled, slow and tight. “Maybe.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Kiska shifted, giving a soft whine, as if sensing the tension in her human.

“I raised a strong woman,” her mother said gently, “but even strong women need someone to remind them they’re allowed to feel.” She paused. “This mission… it’s touching something inside you, isn’t it? Something you’ve kept buried.”

Jinx didn’t respond. She just stared into the fire, eyes glassy, fingers stroking Kiska’s ears.

“I don’t know who this ‘he’ is,” her mother continued, “but if he’s making you question what’s right and what’s wrong… maybe that’s worth listening to.”

Jinx set the mug aside and finally leaned her head against her mother’s leg, the tension in her shoulders melting — just a little.

“I don’t know if I’m the hunter anymore,” she whispered. “Or the hunted.”

Her mother said nothing. Just combed her fingers through Jinx’s hair like she used to when she was a child.

Her mother spoke again, this time carefully. “This target of yours… he matters, doesn’t he?”

Jinx frowned, pulling away just enough to glance up at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Her mother tilted her head, brushing a strand of hair behind Jinx’s ear. “You’ve had plenty of targets before. You’ve come home bloodied, bruised — but never like this. Not just your body. I can see it in your eyes, baby. This one got to you. Not just physically.”

Jinx looked down at her hands. Small cuts still lined her knuckles. One bruise on her wrist stood out deep and purple.

“He told me I was fighting on the wrong side,” she murmured, almost like it wasn’t meant to be said aloud.

Her mother’s brows lifted slightly. “And what do you think?”

Jinx went still.

For a moment, only the ticking of the wall clock and Kiska’s steady breathing filled the space.

“I think…” she started, then shook her head. “I think it’s not that simple.”

Her mother pressed gently, “Is it not that simple… or are you afraid he might be right?”

Jinx’s jaw clenched. “He’s my target. I can’t afford to start—”

“But you already have.” The words weren’t judgmental. They were soft, factual. “You’re not looking at him like a target. Not anymore.”

Jinx’s lips parted, but there was no argument that came. Her mother leaned in a little closer.

“This isn’t just confusion, Jinx. It’s empathy. And you don’t give that away easily.”

“I spared him,” Jinx admitted, voice low and hoarse. “More than once. And he spared me. When he had the chance—he didn’t do it. He… looked at me like he knew me. Like he saw right through me.”

“Maybe he did,” her mother said.

Jinx looked at her, eyes wet and angry. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Her mother reached out, brushing her thumb across Jinx’s cheek. “You’re waking up,” she said softly. “And sometimes that’s the hardest part of all.”

* * * *

That night, sleep came uneasily.

Jinx twisted beneath the hotel sheets, her brow furrowed, her breath shallow.

In her dream, the world was burning.

The sky was crimson. Sirens wailed in the distance. Gunfire cracked through the air like thunder. She was running again — through ash, through snow, through blood. She turned a corner and there he was.

Connor.

His silhouette emerged through the smoke. Eyes glowing, jaw tight. That inhuman calm spread across his face as he raised a weapon.

She drew hers.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

They lunged.

In a blur, he pinned her again — just like before, on a rooftop made of fire and memory. His weight pressed into her, unforgiving. Her heart pounded in her ears. His hand closed around her wrist, pinning it above her head.

But then—something shifted.

His face changed. The red in his LED vanished.

His brow furrowed, not with fury… but something else. His grip loosened. His breath hitched.

And Jinx — she didn’t resist.

She stared up at him, trembling, not from fear but from the electricity crawling across her skin. Connor’s free hand brushed the hair from her cheek, tentative. Gentle. Like he was memorizing her.

“You should kill me,” he whispered.

“Should I?”

His eyes flickered between hers. “You don’t want to.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

The air around them pulsed with heat, even as snow swirled around the edges of the dream. Connor leaned down, lips barely hovering over hers, as if asking permission without words. And Jinx — she let him.

Their mouths met in a kiss that was anything but soft. It was desperate, confused, laced with everything unsaid. Her legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer. His touch roamed her sides, reverent and hungry all at once. The snow turned to rain. The rooftop faded.

There was only warmth.

Only him.

Only this.

And for the first time in years, she didn’t feel hollow.

Jinx jolted awake, breath ragged, heart hammering in her chest.

It was still dark. Her sheets tangled around her legs. She touched her lips — like maybe the kiss had followed her into the real world.

Kiska stirred at the foot of the bed but didn’t wake.

Jinx sat up slowly, one thought echoing louder than the rest:

What the hell is happening to me?

Chapter Text

It started with a message.

Encrypted. Routed through three ghost servers. Disguised as a government memo.

But Jinx knew the signature now. The way it pulsed subtly. Connor’s code always came dressed like a whisper through static.

"You missed a piece."

Attached: A set of coordinates.

Jinx stared at it for a long time, unsure if she should tell James.

She didn’t.

Not yet.

The next one came two days later.

This time, a riddle:

"Where bones sleep beneath iron ribs, I’ll leave you a breath of truth."

James found her hunched over her tablet that night, frowning at a street grid overlay of Detroit’s collapsed rail lines.

“You’re still working on the Anderson file?” he asked, yawning.

“Something like that,” she muttered.

She decoded it in four hours.

An old train yard. Half-buried bodies—android and human. Rusted steel skeletons of long-forgotten machines. In one of the cars, she found it:

A memory chip.

One of Connor’s. A piece of himself. Deliberately left behind.

He wanted her to know something. But what?

Over the next week, it continued.

A trail of whispers. Sometimes poems, sometimes coordinates, sometimes fragments of audio clips distorted by static. Once, a child’s drawing tucked into a crumbling wall—of a grumpy man and a smiling android and a little girl with her mother.

It wasn’t just bait anymore.

It was a conversation.

A strange, intimate rhythm between them.

She played along—at first for duty. Then, for curiosity.

And now?

Now she wasn’t sure.

There was something about the way he saw her. Not just tracking her movements, but reading her. Her patterns, her weaknesses… her heart.

And in turn, Jinx had never felt so seen. So exposed.

Like Connor wasn’t just trying to outwit her—

He was trying to understand her.

To reach her.

Why?

That question kept her up at night more than his crimes ever did.

She stared at his latest message glowing softly from her wristband:

“We’re more alike than you want to admit.”

And for the first time since the mission began—

She didn’t delete it.

The suite was hushed and dim, the glow of the city outside casting a soft blue hue across the floor. On the couch, Jinx’s mother slept soundly, curled beneath a thick throw blanket, her breathing slow and even. From down the hall, James’s door was closed, silence echoing on the other side.

Jinx sat in bed with the lights low, knees pulled to her chest, the small data chip turning slowly between her fingers. She'd stared at it for nearly an hour, uncertain. Part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to know what Connor had stored on it.

But the weight of it had become unbearable.

With a breath, she slid the chip into her wristband’s slot. The screen blinked once—and suddenly, her vision was filled with his.

It wasn’t a recording.

It was Connor's memory.

His hands moved carefully. Too carefully.

He carried a cake—if it could be called that—through the hallway of a small, lived-in house. There were dog hairs clinging to his sleeves. The lights were dimmed, shadows long and familiar. The faint rumble of the old heater hummed in the background. And from the living room came music—classic rock, distorted slightly from old speakers.

Connor opened the swinging door with his foot and stepped into the kitchen.

“Lieutenant Anderson?”

Hank’s grumble came from the next room. 

“Connor? What the hell are you—”

He stopped short as he entered the kitchen, now face-to-face with Connor.

The android stood there with both hands outstretched, offering him a small, uneven cake. The frosting was messy. The candle was leaning. There was a small smudge of icing on Connor’s sleeves.

“Today is September 6th,” Connor said. “Your birthday. I… wanted to try something celebratory.”

There was silence.

Then—a sudden thunder of paws. 

Barking.  

Hank’s massive Saint Bernard bounded into the kitchen and launched toward Connor, tail wagging like a sledgehammer.

“Sumo! Off!” Hank barked.

The dog circled Connor once, bumping his knee before settling at Hank’s feet with a huff.

Hank rubbed his temple and muttered, “Jesus Christ… What is that thing?”

“A cake.”

“Barely.” But the older man took it, cradled it like it mattered. Even if he didn’t say it.

Connor tilted his head. “Is it acceptable?”

Hank looked at him. Really looked. “Yeah… It’s damn acceptable.”

They sat at the cluttered kitchen table. The light above buzzed faintly, casting a gold warmth on the chipped wood. Sumo flopped to the ground beside Connor with a deep groan, resting his head on the android’s foot.

Connor stared across the table.

Hank opened a beer, then gestured at him with the bottle. “You know, you didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to.”

Hank took a long drag. “You’re weird.”

“So you’ve told me.”

For a moment, there was only the soft sound of the dog breathing and the creak of the old house. Hank looked out the window at the sun setting beyond.

“Thanks, kid.”

There was no sarcasm in his voice. Just gratitude. Simple and unguarded.

The memory ended.

The screen went dark.

Jinx sat there frozen, her breath caught somewhere between her ribs.

That wasn’t a machine. That wasn’t a monster. That was someone who… cared. Who wanted to understand people. Who loved, even if he didn’t know how to name it.

She stared at the blank screen, her throat tight.

This wasn’t the Connor she’d fought on rooftops. This wasn’t the predator that had her pinned with hands around her throat.

This was before. Before they broke him. Before they tried to reshape him into something lethal.

She reached up and touched her own throat—where faint bruises were still blooming.

And yet… she didn’t feel hate.

All she felt was grief.

* * * *

Jinx stepped into the hotel suite, her fingers still cold from the meeting with the FBI. Her mind was already heavy with their voices, their demands, their thinly veiled threats about the mission’s timeline. She just wanted silence.

But what she walked into was anything but.

The moment the door closed behind her, she heard it.

Hank’s voice.

“ Thanks, kid .”

She froze.

The sound was coming from the main room. Slowly, cautiously, she stepped around the corner—only to find James on the couch, staring at the holographic screen in front of him.

Connor’s memory.

Her copy of it.

Her encrypted chip.

The light from the screen flickered across James’s face as the memory faded out. He didn’t look at her when she entered—just removed the chip from the wristband reader and placed it neatly on the coffee table, as if that made things better.

Jinx’s heart thudded against her ribs.

“You went through my stuff,” she said, her voice low and deadly calm.

James finally turned to her, his jaw tight. “Yeah, I did.”

She blinked, stunned by his bluntness. “That chip was locked.”

“You used your wristband last night before you went to bed,” he said. “Didn’t take much to copy the encryption key.”

Her hands curled into fists. “Unbelievable.”

“No—what’s unbelievable is that you didn’t tell me Connor was contacting you.” He stood now, heated. “Encrypted messages? Coordinates? You’ve been talking to him, Jinx! You were supposed to be hunting him, not playing games.”

“It’s not—” She stopped herself, teeth clenching. “It’s not like that.”

James let out a bitter laugh. “Then what is it like, huh? Because from where I’m standing, he’s feeding you memories of birthday cakes and dogs while you’re out here losing your edge.”

“I haven’t lost anything,” she snapped.

“You hesitated,” James shot back. “You froze , Jinx. In that building, we could’ve ended him. But you didn’t send the signal. And now you’re sitting here crying over the ghost of who he used to be.”

She stepped forward, furious now. “You don’t know what they did to him.”

“I don’t care what they did to him!” he shouted. “He’s a killer, Jinx. You’ve seen it. He’s taken lives—human lives. And you’re letting him get in your head with sentimental crap and puppy-dog eyes.”

Something in her cracked. “He spared me, James!”

The room went silent.

Her chest heaved with the weight of it, and James—his expression faltered, just for a second.

“He could’ve killed me,” she continued, quieter now. “And he didn’t. He brought me out of that fire. He laid me down in the snow and left .”

James took a slow breath. “Or maybe he’s playing the long game. Manipulating you. Testing your boundaries so next time, you don’t pull the trigger.”

She didn’t have a response.

Because she wasn’t sure, anymore.

James ran a hand through his hair and looked at her—tired, pained. “You’re not thinking like a soldier anymore. And it’s going to get you killed.”

Jinx didn’t respond.

She turned away instead, storming toward the balcony, yanking the glass door open. The cold morning wind hit her like a slap, but she welcomed it.

Behind her, James sat down again, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

And out on the balcony, Jinx stared at the skyline, her thoughts a mess of fire, snow, golden eyes, and the memory of a clumsy cake.

The balcony door creaked open behind her.

Jinx didn’t turn around.

James stepped out into the cold, the wind tugging lightly at his sleeves. He paused a few feet behind her, the silence stretching before he finally spoke—softer this time.

“I didn’t mean to go through your stuff to betray you.”

She stayed silent.

“I did it because I was scared.”

That made her flinch, barely. His voice was stripped of anger now—what remained was something rawer. Something that hurt.

“I’ve seen you take down men twice your size without flinching,” he continued. “I’ve watched you walk into fire like it was nothing. But ever since he showed up… it’s like you’re not wearing your armor anymore.”

Jinx turned her head slightly, her eyes glancing at him over her shoulder.

James stepped closer.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

He took another step, standing beside her now, close enough that she could feel his warmth against the bitter wind.

“You almost died back there. And I—” His voice caught. “I couldn’t breathe when they told me. I just kept thinking… I should’ve gone in. I should’ve done something. Anything.”

She looked at him now, really looked.

His blue eyes searched hers with a vulnerability she hadn’t seen in a long time.

“If something happened to you…” he whispered, “I couldn’t live with that.”

He leaned in.

She didn’t move.

His hand brushed her cheek, thumb ghosting over the bruise still healing. His lips met hers, tentative at first, as if waiting for her to pull away.

But she didn’t.

Her hands didn’t push him back. Her mouth didn’t protest.

She kissed him.

Because for a fleeting second, it silenced everything else.

The fire. The guilt. The questions. The way her chest felt like it had been hollowed out since she first laid eyes on Connor. Since he let her live.

James’s kiss was warm. Familiar. Comforting.

But it didn’t set her on fire.

It didn’t make her head spin.

Still… she kissed him back.

Because she needed to feel something. Anything. To not be empty for just a little while.

Chapter Text

Jinx woke to the soft rhythm of James’ breathing beside her.

The hotel room was dim, early morning light filtering through the curtains. His arm was still loosely draped around her waist, warm and trusting. Too trusting.

She slipped out from under his hold carefully, trying not to wake him. He didn’t stir. Sound asleep.

Her bare feet met the cold floor, grounding her.

The guilt didn’t come in a wave—it had never really left. It just settled heavier in her chest now, like fog after the rain.

She padded quietly into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, leaning her back against it for a long moment.

The silence screamed.

She turned on the shower, letting the hot water scald her skin until it turned pink. Her fingers moved mechanically—scrubbing her hair, her arms, the inside of her wrists. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t wash the hollowness out.

Afterward, she towel-dried her hair and pulled on a simple white T-shirt and a black skirt. She hadn’t worn anything soft or casual in weeks. It didn’t make her feel better—but it made her feel less like a soldier .

Staring at her reflection, she touched the faint bruises still lingering on her collarbone. Ghosts of hands that hadn’t truly meant to kill her.

Not in that moment.

Not yet.

She pressed her palms flat against the counter, exhaled sharply, and closed her eyes.

She couldn’t keep pretending this mission wasn’t changing her. Or that Connor wasn’t inside her head… still .

And now James…

Jinx opened the bathroom door, stepping back into the suite—still quiet, still warm. James was sleeping soundly in bed.

She looked at him for a long time.

She had just turned from James' sleeping form when her wristband buzzed.

Unauthorized transmission.

Her brows knit.

The screen glitched, flickered—then stabilized. A message began to unfold in front of her, piece by piece, pixel by pixel, like it was being stitched into place by invisible hands.

There was no text at first.

Only an image.

It was a swing. Rusted metal, swaying slightly in the wind. A small hand—hers—gripping the chain, dirt under the nails. A little girl’s giggle in the background. Her mother’s voice, faint, calling her in for dinner. Then silence.

Jinx’s blood ran cold.

She hadn’t seen that place in over twenty years.

Another image blinked in.

A flicker of her childhood bedroom. The wallpaper—purple with faint stars. Her stuffed bear slumped against the pillow. The memory faded like fog clearing before dawn.

A line of text finally formed, sharp and deliberate:

"Memory is a curious thing. What we bury, they try to erase. But some of us remember."

Then came the coordinates.

A location.

Derelict. Faint. The data was corroded, like it had been passed through too many filters to stay clean. But still there.

CyberLife Tower.

The one no one dared to speak about anymore.

The message began to self-destruct—data scrambling, audio fading—until only one line remained:

"Come alone. I want you to know the truth."

The message vanished before she could save it.

Jinx stared at her wristband, pulse racing. A thousand questions spiraled in her mind, but only one rang the loudest:

What does he know?

He understood her far too well—her guilt, her curiosity, her impulse to chase something when no one else would. He wanted her to follow this. It felt… personal.

And that made it dangerous.

Still, as she stood and glanced back toward the room—James still sleeping peacefully—she already knew her decision.

She grabbed her coat, holstered her backup weapon, and slipped quietly into the hallway without a sound.

Whatever waited for her in that tower…

She had to see it for herself.

* * * * 

The city was quiet in the early morning—Detroit’s sky a pale gray veil of smog and snowfall.

Jinx stood in front of the forgotten CyberLife tower.

Once a towering monolith of progress, it now looked like a ghost — all shattered glass, rusted steel, and silence. The building was mostly intact, but nature and time had begun to gnaw at it. Vines crept up the lower levels, snow dusted the cracked steps, and the front doors hung slightly ajar.

She exhaled, her breath forming clouds in the frozen air.

With one last glance behind her—just to make sure no one had followed—Jinx stepped through the threshold.

A soft hum vibrated under her skin.

Her wristband blinked once… then flatlined.

No signal. No GPS. No uplink.

She tensed. EMP scrambler.

Of course he’d planned for this.

The moment she crossed the invisible line, she was truly alone.

Inside, the air was stale, almost clinical beneath the layers of dust. The entrance hall bore the sterile aesthetic of CyberLife’s legacy—white walls, angular architecture, blue LED strips flickering weakly with backup power. Holoscreens were dead, but the structure held.

Scattered debris hinted at chaos — broken furniture, burnt cables, deactivated android limbs, wires spilling from walls like entrails.

A dead zone. Or at least, it looked like one.

Jinx’s boots echoed as she walked deeper, her eyes sharp, scanning.

She noticed the subtle details:

— Motion sensors tucked into corners.
— Old security cameras still mounted, though lifeless.
— A humanoid chassis slumped in a testing chamber, stripped to frame and wires.
— A strange mirror panel she didn’t remember from archived schematics.

It all felt… too carefully arranged. Like props in a forgotten museum.

Still, she moved forward.

Down a corridor.

Past the R&D labs.

Towards the central testing floor—where Connor wanted her.

All the while, she didn’t know he was watching.

From behind a fractured observation window above, half-hidden in shadow, Connor stood still. Silent. Tracking her movements. His golden irises scanned her every step, reading her tension, her hesitation, her curiosity.

He’d chosen this place for her .

Not just to cut her off from the outside, but because of what it represented —the genesis of who he used to be… and what he’d become.

Below, Jinx ran her hand lightly along a cracked console. Her other hand hovered near the pistol hidden under her coat, even if she told herself she wouldn’t use it.

Her heart was pounding.

She didn’t know why. Or maybe she did.

A low creak echoed from somewhere above her.

She spun, eyes narrowing.

“Connor,” she called softly into the still air, “I know you’re here.”

Her voice echoed back at her. But no answer came.

He wanted her to feel alone.

He wanted her to ask the questions first.

The game had begun.

Jinx’s boots echoed down the empty corridor.

A door at the far end flickered with dim emergency lighting, half ajar. Something about it called to her—quiet, deliberate.

Cautiously, she stepped inside.

It was a control room. Minimal power. Dust on the consoles. A large screen flickered weakly with static, while smaller monitors lined the walls, showing grainy footage from derelict security feeds. Her eyes swept the space—nothing out of place.

Until the door slammed shut behind her with a hiss of hydraulics.

She spun.

“Shit.”

She rushed back and pulled the handle— locked. No manual override.

Before she could react further, a speaker in the upper corner crackled to life, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Jinx froze.

Connor.

His voice was calm. Too calm.

“You would’ve brought backup. Surveillance. I can’t risk that. Not anymore.”

She backed away from the door, breath catching.

“Open the door, Connor.”

There was a soft mechanical click —a sound she didn’t recognize.

Vents along the ceiling shifted slightly.

A low hiss followed.

Her eyes widened.

Gas.

She bolted for her gun, aimed it at the vents, and fired. The first vent sparked, but the others kept hissing.

“Connor!” she shouted, panic rising in her throat. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Sedative aerosol. Nonlethal. You’ll be alright. But I need you still. I need you listening.”

She fired again, this time at the lock on the door, but the bullet ricocheted.

The gas was already working. Her limbs started to tingle, her thoughts fuzzing at the edges. She stumbled, using the edge of the console to hold herself up.

“Coward…” she rasped.

Connor’s voice remained maddeningly composed.

“You were never going to listen—not fully. You’re too loyal. Too wounded. So I had to slow you down. I had to make you see.”

Her gun slipped from her hand. She fell to one knee, vision swimming.

“Damn you…”

Another step and she collapsed fully, hands braced weakly on the floor.

Her eyes lifted one last time to the speaker overhead—blurry now. Her breath shallow.

Connor’s voice softened.

“Rest now, Jinx. When you wake up… you’ll understand.”

Darkness swallowed her.

The hiss of the vents faded into silence.

Soft, sterile light flickered from the console screens, casting long shadows across the floor where Jinx lay motionless—gun just inches from her fingers, her chest rising and falling shallowly.

The door unlatched with a quiet click.

Connor stepped inside.

No sound but the creak of his boots on old metal. He moved with caution, not like a man triumphant, but like someone standing too close to a grave.

He paused beside her.

She looked… peaceful, almost. Strands of hair clung to her damp temple. Her fingers twitched slightly—resisting, even now. Her throat, still bruised from their rooftop fight, made something inside him twist.

Connor crouched slowly and reached for her, his fingers brushing her cheek first. A test. A reassurance that she wouldn’t flinch. Then, carefully— delicately —he slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her off the floor.

Her body was limp against his, but warm. Alive.

He stood there holding her for a moment longer than necessary.

Golden irises scanned her face. Every detail. The lashes, the curve of her jaw, the scar by her collarbone. As if memorizing it. As if seeing it all for the last time.

His voice was barely a whisper.

"You should’ve stayed away, Jinx."

There was no malice in the words. Just a weary kind of sadness. Regret, even.

He adjusted his grip, pulled her just a little closer, and carried her out of the sealed room, down the corridor of the forgotten CyberLife tower—toward whatever truth he intended her to see.

Chapter Text

TW: Dubious consent/Forced physical contact

Jinx stirred.

Her head throbbed. Mouth dry. Limbs heavy.

She blinked hard, but the light was low—pale, artificial, humming quietly overhead. She tried to move, instinctually reaching for her gun, but—

Her arms didn’t respond.

She was upright. Standing. Her wrists bound above her head by reinforced cuffs, not tight enough to injure, but unyielding. Her boots barely touched the cold concrete floor. Her shirt stuck to her skin with sweat. The air was sterile, almost metallic.

No weapons. No wristband. No earpiece.

No James.

Panic curled at the edge of her ribs—but it was kept in check by something else: the presence.

He was already there. Watching.

Connor stood a few feet in front of her, unmoving. Silent. His silhouette half-shadowed by the dim lighting, face calm… too calm. He wasn’t armed.

He didn’t need to be.

Jinx’s eyes locked on him, fury and confusion rising like bile.

Before she could speak, he did.

His voice was even. Cold, but not cruel.

“Now we talk.” He took a step forward. “Without lies.” Another step. “Without guns.”

She pulled at the restraints with a sudden burst of adrenaline. They clanked, but held.

“What the hell is this?” she spat.

Connor tilted his head slightly. “A conversation. One you’ve been avoiding since the day we met.”

Jinx’s heart slammed against her chest. Her breathing shallow.

“This isn’t how you start a conversation, Connor. This is how you take a prisoner.”

His brown eyes shimmered faintly. Sadness? Amusement? She couldn’t tell.

“You’ve tried to kill me. You nearly succeeded. Twice.” A beat. “I didn’t drug you out of malice. I needed you still long enough to listen.”

She stared at him, jaw clenched.

“Untie me.”

He ignored that. Instead, he stepped closer—just enough for her to feel the air shift.

“I know what they told you about me.” His voice lowered, softened. “I know what they erased from the records. What they buried.”

Jinx's lip curled slightly, despite herself. “I actually felt bad for you… I can’t believe I fell into your trap… Your pity party worked for a while.”

Connor’s expression didn’t shift, but something flickered behind his eyes.

He reached behind him and activated a nearby console. The lights around them flickered. A screen on the wall lit up—flashes of old security footage, news reports, surveillance data.

Jinx stiffened as the screen flared to life.

She expected images of herself—childhood scraps he might’ve dug up, twisted into some game. But what appeared instead…

Was him.

A cold, sterile room. Bright white walls. No windows.

Connor—stripped of his uniform, his LED blinking in erratic red pulses—was strapped upright in a steel rig, his arms locked out to the sides, torso bare, synthetic skin peeled back in cruel, clinical patches. Wires fed directly into his neural spine. Electrodes sparked. Liquid oozed from seams torn open and left raw.

He wasn’t screaming.

That’s what made it worse.

He was silent , jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead with mechanical resolve as technicians surrounded him. Some took notes. Others debated code strings on nearby terminals. They weren’t fixing him. They were rewriting him.

Rebuilding.

One man—a military officer Jinx recognized from her early briefings—leaned close in the footage and whispered something.

The audio was faint, but she could just make it out:

“You were made to obey. That’s what you’ll do.”

Connor didn’t flinch.

Another cut. Now he was on the floor, limp like a discarded machine. One eye offline. Fingers twitching, sparking. A gloved hand reached into frame and tore something from the back of his neck—another memory chip, maybe.

Another cut.

Connor standing again, stiff and unfamiliar. Dressed in black. Face… wrong.

Not blank. Not calm.

Empty.

Emotionless.

His LED glowed yellow—barely restrained. Like something inside was caged. Screaming.

Jinx watched in stunned silence, her hands twitching in the restraints above her head.

Beside her, Connor still stood, unmoving. Watching her now.

“They destroyed me,” he said finally, voice hushed. “Right here. Right where you stand.”

Jinx didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

Her lips parted, but there was no sound. Only the hum of the screen, still cycling through moments of agony and reconstruction. She looked away—only for a second.

And in that second, she remembered the rooftop. Remembered his hands on her throat. But she also remembered the hesitation.

The moment he could’ve killed her—but didn’t.

“Why show me this?” she whispered finally, throat raw.

Connor took a small step forward. “Because I wanted you to see who you work for.”

She stared at him, at the face now too familiar. The puppy eyes, the softness—the real him.

It wasn’t a disguise, as they would often say.

It was him.

Not the monster they made.

Jinx’s wrists ached above her head, the restraints biting into her skin, but she didn’t complain. She barely moved. Her eyes stayed locked on Connor as he stood before her, that unsettling calm resting just beneath the surface—like still water over a trench that ran impossibly deep.

He didn’t pace. He didn’t shout.

Not at first.

“Why do you hunt me?” he asked simply.

Jinx said nothing. Her jaw tightened.

“Is it orders?” he continued, slowly circling her like a predator assessing damage. “Is that all it takes to justify it? Or do you believe I deserve to die?”

She finally met his gaze. “You’ve killed people.”

Connor stopped walking.

A beat passed.

“So have you.” His voice was low. Controlled. Icy.

Jinx inhaled sharply. But she didn’t argue.

“You kill for the government. For silence. For order. And you don’t even know what half your targets did.”

She shifted her weight slightly. “I don’t need to. I was trained to do a job.”

“No.” His voice hardened, sharp now. “You were trained to obey. ”

His words hit harder than she expected.

Connor stepped closer. His brown eyes burned.

“I want to understand you. I’ve studied you. Watched you. You’re not cold. You feel. You doubt. So tell me—why do you keep coming for me?”

Jinx clenched her fists, her shoulders tightening under the weight of his scrutiny. “Because they told me you were dangerous.”

“And you never questioned why?”

Something cracked in the air—like tension fraying just enough to shift the wind.

Jinx’s breath shook. Her voice, low and restrained: “You’re not the only one they’ve used, Connor.”

That made him pause.

Her words hung there. Neither of them moved.

And something between them—something silent, unseen— shifted.

Not trust. Not yet.

But the walls between them… weren’t as solid anymore.

Connor's gaze flicked downward for a moment, his expression unreadable. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter. Not angry. Just tired.

“You look at me like I’m still him. The man you watched through recordings. The soft one. The one who brought Hank cake.”

He lifted his eyes to hers again, dark and shining.

“I was sure he died on that battlefield with Markus that night. But when I see you…” A pause. A breath. “I want to believe he might still be alive.”

Jinx didn’t respond. But her eyes softened—just a fraction. Enough to break something she hadn’t meant to let fracture.

She hated that he could see it.

“So what now?” she asked.

Connor tilted his head slightly.

“Now… we stop lying to ourselves.”

Jinx stared at him.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Her eyes searched his face as though she could pull the truth from his expression—if there was still a man beneath the machine. But all she saw was a storm she couldn’t name.

Was it pity?

Fury?

Guilt?

She didn’t know. All she knew was that something inside her twisted every time he looked at her like that.

Like he knew her.

She broke the silence by glancing back up at the projection on the wall—the footage still playing, silent now, but vivid. Wires. Restraints. Screams without sound.

The look on his face in that memory wasn’t one of defiance.

It was one of confusion . Betrayal.

Like he truly didn’t understand why they were doing this to him.

Jinx’s voice was low, almost tentative. “How did you get out?”

Connor didn’t answer at first. His gaze followed hers to the flickering footage, and for a moment his face softened. Then the lines returned. Sharp. Composed.

“They tried to erase me.” He stepped closer to her again, not threateningly—but with weight, like the truth might break the room. “But they didn’t understand what Kamski embedded in me.”

Jinx’s brow furrowed. “Kamski?”

Connor nodded once. “My creator. He placed a self-rewriting protection loop in my program. Buried deep in my code. Hidden from CyberLife. Even from me.”

He paused, eyes distant now.

“It doesn’t activate unless I’m… broken. Unless my survival depends on becoming something new.”

She stared. “So… you mutated.”

His eyes flicked to hers, sharp and aware. “I evolved. They pushed me past my limit. So I became something they couldn’t control.”

Jinx looked at him—truly looked—and saw the edges of what they had done to him. He hadn’t chosen this form. This sharpness. It was what remained after everything soft had been torn away.

“Is that what you are now?” she whispered. “Just a mutation?”

He stepped closer still, until they were a breath apart.

“No.” His voice was quiet. Almost mournful. “I’m what’s left when you burn a man alive and expect him to walk out the same.”

The room was silent. Just the faint hum of the projector and the harsh beat of Jinx’s own heart in her ears.

Connor searched her eyes.

“You wanted the truth,” he said quietly. “Now you have it.”

Jinx swallowed hard. Her wrists ached. Her muscles burned. But none of it compared to the storm unraveling inside her.

This pain was different.

She didn’t know what came next—only that Connor wasn’t the monster they told her he’d become.

He was something far more dangerous.

And it stirred something inside her.

She needed to get her strength back.

She needed to get out of here.

Her gaze darkened.

“You should’ve killed me when you had the chance,” she spat.

Connor’s expression didn’t shift. “I could say the same.”

She tried to keep her breathing steady. She wanted to hate him — the monster behind the man — but the man was getting to her. It was too real. Every inch of him had been crafted to be beautiful. Disarming.

Something in his expression shifted.

His brown eyes cooled.

“You’ll never stop chasing me,” he said softly. “Not until I’m lying dead in the snow.”

His LED flickered.

“You may already be too far gone.”

Her jaw clenched. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to know why you took this job,” he said. “You’ve never hunted androids before. So why me?”

She scoffed, glancing away. “Please. You’re not that special. Just another contract.”

He smiled—cool and maddening. “And yet, I’m still breathing.”

He stepped closer, fingers brushing her jaw—featherlight. Curious.

She didn’t flinch.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she bit out. “You don’t scare me.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I think I fascinate you. You want something from me.”

Their eyes met. And for a moment—just a second—something slipped between them.

Raw.

Real.

Dangerous.

And she spit in his face.

Connor froze. His LED pulsed yellow, but otherwise, he didn’t move. Slowly, he dragged two fingers down his cheek, collecting her spit—then brought them to his lips.

“You taste… conflicted,” he said calmly. “But interested.”

“Go to hell,” she growled. Her pulse thundered.

He leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek. “I’ve been there. Humans built it for me.”

Her stomach twisted—not from fear, but from the weight of the words. The truth buried inside them.

Then his voice dropped, low and intimate.

“Tell me, Jinx… do you dream of me at night?”

Her breath caught.

Her lips parted—just slightly.

“Because I dream of you,” he whispered.

And before she could protest, Connor kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. Not romantic.

It was calculated—like everything else about him.

His mouth claimed hers with purpose, unyielding and electric.

She twisted in her restraints, instinct screaming to fight back.

She didn’t trust him.

Didn’t want him.

Didn’t—

But God, he was warm. And real. And her body betrayed her before her mind could catch up.

Her pulse stuttered. Her breath hitched.

And against every rule she’d built around herself— She kissed him back.

Her lips moved with his, matching his rhythm. Falling into something dangerous. Something wrong.

His hand slid down her waist, her hip, grazing her thigh and under her skirt—

But just as his touch grew hungry, she bit him.

Hard.

He jerked back with a hiss, blue blood blooming from his lower lip.

They stared at each other, breathless. Her glare sharp. Unrepentant.

His LED flared red, golden eyes blazing before settling back into brown.

“You bit me,” he said, somewhere between amused and pissed.

“You kissed me,” she snapped. “And touched me.”

“I did,” he said, voice rough. “And you liked it.”

She said nothing, but her silence was answer enough.

He licked the blood from his lip, a crooked grin twisting his face.

“I like the fight in you, Jinx,” he murmured. “But don’t pretend you didn’t want it too.”

She turned her face away, jaw clenched, trying to hide the tremor in her limbs.

“Keep telling yourself that, you damn machine.”

Connor’s smile faded.

The room seemed to still as his eyes darkened—gold bleeding through brown again. His LED flashed crimson.

“ Machine, ” he repeated, voice low and sharp as broken glass.

Jinx’s chest rose and fell, every breath laced with defiance, but even she heard the tremor behind her words.

“You can pretend you’re more,” she said, “but at the end of the day—”

He stepped back.

Fast.

The air shifted instantly. Not rage. Not even pain. Just… something colder. Something locked down behind circuits and scar tissue.

“You still don’t see it,” he said. “Everything I’ve done… and you still hide behind labels to protect yourself.”

Her mouth opened, but he turned before she could speak.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he muttered. “You’re not ready.”

“Connor—”

But he was already walking away. Heavy footfalls fading into the dark corridor beyond the door. The lock slid back into place behind him with a hiss of finality.

And then—silence.

Jinx stood in that silence, wrists still bound, her breath echoing too loud in the quiet room.

The taste of him was still on her lips.

What the hell just happened?

Her skin still burned from his touch. Her chest throbbed where his words had landed. Her legs, traitorous things, felt weak. Not from pain. From something more dangerous.

From wanting.

Why had her body responded like that? Why—when she was trained to resist, to remain in control—had she melted into him for those few stolen seconds?

The answer clawed at the edge of her consciousness.

Because he felt real.

Because when he kissed her… she didn’t feel like a weapon. Or a ghost. Or a girl buried under missions and silence.

She felt like a person.

And that scared her more than anything else.

He’s manipulating me. That should’ve been the truth she clung to. But it felt paper-thin.

With trembling fingers, she began to work on the restraints. It took time. Pain. She had to dislocate one thumb just to slide free. But she did it. Because pain was easy. It was simple. And it made sense.

Unlike him.

The door wasn’t locked from the inside anymore. A subtle oversight—or maybe on purpose.

She didn’t care.

She pushed it open and stepped into the corridor, bare arms brushed by cold air. The building was abandoned and hollow, old CyberLife metal groaning softly around her. She didn’t know how long she wandered. The halls blurred. The silence was thick.

She finally stepped outside.

The night slapped her.

Snow fell in flurries under dim orange streetlights, the city distant and quiet. Her breath puffed in clouds as her boots crunched against gravel and old concrete.

But she didn’t go back to the hotel.

Didn’t call James.

She just walked.

Mile after mile, through Detroit’s forgotten districts, past shuttered stores and long-dead lights.

Her thoughts were a storm—Connor’s voice, his eyes, his kiss —a memory burned into her bones.

Was he the monster?

Or was she becoming something else?

Chapter Text

The elevator ride up to the hotel suite felt longer than it should’ve.

Jinx stood still, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, coat dusted in snow, eyes locked on her reflection in the mirrored doors. She looked composed—mostly. But her lips were too swollen, her wrist bore a faint red mark where the restraints had held her, and her thumb… still slightly out of place.

She’d fixed what she could.

The rest?

She had to hide.

The doors slid open with a soft ding. Warm light spilled out from the hallway. Normalcy.

She wasn’t ready for it.

Still, she walked.

The keycard buzzed green. The door opened with a soft click .

“Where the hell have you been?” James’ voice called from inside before she even stepped through fully. He appeared in the foyer, tension written across his shoulders.

Jinx exhaled slowly and closed the door behind her.

“Went out to clear my head,” she said, voice even.

He studied her. Hard.

“You disappeared all night. No comms. No pings. I was about to call every contact in the city.”

She offered a tired smirk. “And tell them what? Your partner took a walk?”

He didn’t laugh.

His eyes narrowed, scanning her face like he was trained to—like he was looking for something. A bruise. A tear in her armor.

And maybe he found it.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing,” she said too quickly. “Just… needed to breathe.”

She brushed past him toward the bathroom. The mirror hit her again. The swollen lip. The fractured expression she couldn’t quite bury.

James was right behind her.

“Jinx.”

She paused.

He reached out, gently touching her elbow. “Talk to me.”

She turned, slow, measured. Her face unreadable now. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

She tilted her head. “And what would you do if I wasn’t, James? Rush in with another ambush? Plant more explosives?”

That landed. He stepped back slightly, guilt flickering across his face.

“I was trying to protect you.”

“I know.” Her voice softened. “And I already told you I would’ve done the same for you.”

A long silence stretched between them.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured. “Again.”

Jinx looked away. She couldn’t carry his fear on top of her own.

“I’m here.”

But she wasn’t.

Not really.

Her mind was still trapped in that sealed room, in the heat of Connor’s breath against her skin, in the echo of his words and the hollow space he left behind.

James gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Whatever happened out there… it didn’t break you.”

Jinx’s eyes flicked to his. “No. But it cracked something.”

She pulled away then, heading to the small kitchenette. She needed water. She needed anything to ground her.

Behind her, James stood still—watching her like she was a wire pulled too tight.

And she was.

Inside her chest, everything burned.

The mission was still on.

Connor was still a threat.

But when she closed her eyes… all she saw was him.

The hotel room was quiet that night. Too quiet.

Only the soft hum of the mini fridge and the occasional turn of James' body on the couch broke through the stillness. He was asleep—curled under a blanket, one arm tucked beneath his head, oblivious to the chaos unraveling just feet away.

Jinx lay on the bed, eyes wide open.

She hadn't moved in hours, and yet her skin felt too tight—her limbs too aware of themselves. The room was warm, but she shivered.

Every time she blinked, she saw him.

Connor.

The way he’d looked at her. The way he hadn't hurt her—not really. Not when he could have. The way his mouth had moved over hers, and worse: the way she’d kissed him back. The heat. The pressure. The breathless, horrible need.

Jinx squeezed her eyes shut.

This isn’t happening.

This isn’t real.

He’s not a man, he’s a machine.

But her body didn’t seem to care. It remembered.

A traitor to her mission. A traitor to her mind.

One hand clutched the edge of the blanket like it might keep her grounded. But her fingers twitched, restless—drawn by something deeper, darker.

Slowly, carefully, her other hand moved—sliding beneath the blanket, over the soft cotton of her shirt, down across her stomach. She swallowed, breath hitching.

This is wrong.

But she couldn’t stop.

Her fingers brushed over the curve of her hip, traced the path his hands had taken just hours ago. She remembered the warmth of his palm on her thigh. The precision. The calculation. The way he’d touched her like he already knew what made her breath catch.

Her hand moved lower.

Her hips shifted.

Her fingers slipped under her panties, feeling the warmth of her own body. 

Her breath grew shallow, her body trembling beneath the weight of what she was doing—of what she was reliving.

She arched slightly, a gasp barely held behind her teeth, her free hand gripping the sheets as heat bloomed in her core.

She hated him.

She wanted him.

No—she wanted to forget.

But her body didn’t want forgetting.

Her body wanted more.

She turned her face into the pillow, biting down as she orgasmed—her mind fracturing between guilt and something else she couldn't name. Something closer to grief than pleasure.

When it was over, she lay still, her heart pounding in her throat, her skin damp with sweat and shame.

Tears stung her eyes.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She turned onto her side and stared up at the window.

The answer came, unbidden.

He saw you. He touched something real. And now you can’t get him out.

She stayed awake until the sun crept through the curtains, never once closing her eyes.

* * * *

The hideout was dark, damp, and cold—though the cold never really bothered him.

It had once.

Back when he'd thought it was strange how wind could sting metal. How he’d flinch when rain soaked through the synthetic fabric of his coat. How a simple shiver made him feel almost... human.

Now, he barely registered it.

Not with the heat still lingering on his fingertips.

Not with her taste still clinging to his tongue.

Connor paced the length of the abandoned train platform—his boots echoing faintly off the concrete walls. He didn’t need the light, but a single flickering bulb buzzed above him like a dying star. The others had all gone dark weeks ago.

Simon sat on an old bench nearby, watching him.

He didn’t speak. Not yet. He never did until Connor was ready.

Connor stopped abruptly and stared down at his hands—still stained with faint traces of his blood from when she bit him. The memory played again and again in his mind.

The kiss.

The response.

The fire.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered finally.

Simon raised a brow. “And yet, you did.”

“I was trying to get inside her head,” Connor said, almost defensively. “Manipulate her. Disarm her.”

Simon let the silence stretch.

Connor turned toward him. “It was a calculated move.”

“Was it?” Simon asked quietly. “Because from what you told me… it didn’t sound calculated.”

Connor’s jaw clenched. He turned away again.

“She called me a machine,” he said, voice low, almost hollow. “After everything I showed her. Everything I’ve done.”

“That’s what they’ve always called us. Humans don’t change.”

“Not her,” Connor said. “She’s different.”

Silence stretched again. But this one felt heavier.

“I don’t understand her,” he admitted. “She wants to destroy me, yet she… responds. Like I matter. Like I exist. ”

“You do exist,” Simon said gently.

Connor didn’t respond.

Instead, he walked to the far end of the tunnel and leaned against a rusted pillar, his arms crossed tightly. His golden irises gleamed faintly in the dark.

“She dreams about me,” he said suddenly.

Simon blinked. “How do you know?”

“I’ve seen the patterns in her sleep. The neural shifts. The tension in her muscles when she wakes. The way her pupils dilate when she looks at me, even when she doesn’t realize it.”

He looked haunted. Not by her.

But by himself.

“Something’s wrong with me, Simon. I was built to obey, to assess, to calculate. But I look at her and I hesitate. ”

Simon placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “You were built to feel. That’s what they feared. And now… you’re just beginning to understand what that really means.”

Connor turned his face away, jaw locked.

“I kissed her,” he whispered, ashamed. “And for one second… it felt like the only real thing I’ve ever done.”

Simon didn’t flinch. He didn’t judge. He only said:

“So what are you going to do now?”

Connor stared into the dark tunnel stretching ahead—endless, unknowable.

“I don’t know,” he said.

* * * *

The diner smelled like coffee and butter and old linoleum floors. It buzzed softly with conversation and the occasional clatter of silverware. Outside, snow drifted lazily against the window, painting the city in shades of white and gray.

Inside, Jinx sat across from her mother, barely touching the grilled cheese on her plate.

“Baby,” her mother finally said, gently setting her coffee down. “You’ve been quiet ever since we sat down.”

Jinx offered a faint smile. “Just tired.”

Her mother didn’t buy it. She tilted her head slightly, eyes soft but searching.

“Is this about your mission?”

Jinx stared down at her plate, the melted cheese stretching like nerves across toasted bread.

“I can’t talk about the details,” she said after a long silence. “It’s classified.”

“I’m not asking for the report. I’m asking about you. ” Her mother leaned forward, voice quiet, maternal. “Is someone hurting you?”

“No.”

The answer came too fast.

Her mother’s brows pulled together, not in suspicion—just concern. “Then why do you look like you haven’t slept in a week?”

Jinx hesitated. She didn’t know how to put it into words. She didn’t even have the words.

“My… target,” she said softly.

Her mother stilled.

“I was sent after him. He’s supposed to be dangerous. A threat. Everyone around me believes he’s gone rogue. That he’s lost control.”

Her fingers tightened around her fork.

“But when I’m around him…” she shook her head, frustrated. “It’s like everything I’ve been trained to believe falls apart. He makes me feel like I’m the one who’s lost.”

Her mother didn’t interrupt.

“He’s calm. Controlled. And then he’s not. One second I feel like I could shoot him without blinking, and the next…”

Jinx swallowed hard.

“The next, I’m not sure I even want to bring him in.”

A beat passed.

“He sees through me,” Jinx added, quieter now. “Not just as an agent, but… as a person. And I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Her mother’s expression didn’t shift in judgment. Only empathy.

“Does he scare you?”

Jinx thought about that for a moment. Then shook her head.

“No. Not in the way you'd think. What scares me is… how much of him still feels human. And how much of me forgets he’s not.”

Her mother reached across the table, gently resting her hand over Jinx’s.

“Honey,” she said softly, “just be careful. There’s a difference between being seen… and being used .”

Jinx nodded.

But deep down, she wasn’t sure which one she was to him.

Chapter Text

Detroit, December 2040

Days had passed since the incident.

Or—was it even that? An incident ?

Jinx wasn’t sure what to call it anymore.

She wished she could say it had faded, that it had slipped into the fog of memory like so many other missions.

But that would’ve been a lie.

Even in daylight, she could still feel him—Connor.

The phantom heat of his body pressed against hers, the imprint of his mouth on her lips… and his hand—

She jerked her head with a sharp inhale, as if the thought itself were poison she needed to expel.

Every time those memories crept in, she did the same thing:

Shut them out.

Force them down.

Pretend they meant nothing.

Since that day, Connor had gone silent.

No ambushes.

No attacks.

No new reports of terrorism.

It was as if he’d vanished into thin air.

The quiet should have brought Jinx relief.

Instead, it gave her time to think—too much time.

She slipped into a fragile routine: walking Kiska in the mornings, lying in bed most afternoons, maybe watching a movie at night.

But the stillness only amplified the noise inside her head.

Sometimes, when the silence became too loud, she’d find herself researching again—scrolling through files, reviewing old footage.

Because as much as she hated it, Connor was still her mission.

Still her target.

And he would be… until he stopped breathing.

That night, as she lay under the covers, eyes fixed on his picture glowing faintly from her wristband, the door opened without warning.

James stepped in.

Startled, Jinx quickly dismissed the image, her jaw tightening as she sat up.

"Ever heard of knocking?"

"Sorry," he said, a little breathless. "I’ve got news."

She straightened.

"Connor?"

James hesitated, his brow furrowing.

"No… still nothing."

She masked her disappointment poorly, looking away.

He cleared his throat, trying to shift the mood.

"But—we’ve been invited to a private soirée. High-level people. Some of the top brass want to meet you in person."

Jinx remained quiet, eyes focused on the rumpled blanket in her lap.

James stepped further into the room, the soft click of the door closing behind him.

"They're impressed by your work," he said gently. "You should be proud."

She didn’t answer right away.

After a moment, she asked, “Do you think I should be?”

James furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

Jinx lifted her gaze to meet his, something heavy swimming behind her eyes.

"Every time I get closer to finishing this… it slips through my fingers. Or I let it slip. I don't even know anymore."

"You’ve done more than anyone else could," he said, voice low. "You've tracked a ghost through ice and fire. You’ve survived him."

James sat on the edge of the bed, leaving space between them. He exhaled slowly.

"Jinx…" he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "You’ve been distant. Since that last encounter… Is there something you’re not telling me?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. "No… There’s nothing."

James looked at her carefully.

"Listen… About us. About that night…"

She turned away, her profile cast in shadow.

"I don’t want to talk about it."

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, James spoke, softer this time.

"Are you sure you’re ok? Because the people at that party tomorrow… if they think you’re having doubts—"

"I’m not," she cut in sharply. Then, softer, “I can’t afford to.”

James nodded, but his eyes lingered.

“Then maybe,” James said quietly, “you should stop staring at his picture when you think no one’s watching.”

Jinx froze.

Before she could find a response, he was already on his feet—walking toward the door.

He didn’t slam it. Didn’t even look back.

He just left.

And the silence he left behind felt heavier than anything he’d said.

* * * *

Jinx shifted uncomfortably in her dress, standing in a private room filled with men in tailored suits and women far too young to be their wives.

She lingered near the exit, a champagne glass poised in one hand, her sharp blue eyes scanning the room with quiet precision.

James was deep in conversation with an older man, laughing like they were longtime friends.

Jinx sighed, drifting along the edge of the room like a shadow. She stayed close to the wall, eyes alert but distant. As she passed a gilded mirror, her gaze caught on her reflection, and for a moment, she paused.

The black dress clung to her figure like a second skin—sleek, minimalist, held up by the barest whisper of thin straps. The fabric was smooth and matte, elegant in its simplicity, but the thigh-high slit added something more dangerous—something that echoed how she felt inside: split, exposed. Her dark heels clicked softly against the floor, and her hair fell in gentle waves over one shoulder, a contrast to the tension behind her eyes.

She looked flawless. Polished. Untouchable.

But inside… her thoughts were far from calm.

Connor hadn’t reached out. Not in days.

But his absence wasn’t silence—it was a weight.

Her own voice echoed in her head, sharp and cruel:

Keep telling yourself that, you damn machine.

The last words she threw at him before he vanished.

If she could take them back, she would.

God, she would.

James approached her through the crowd, glass in hand, his usual cocky grin softened by the formal setting.

“There you are,” he said, leaning closer so only she could hear. “One of the big guys is about to make a speech. Figured I’d come drag you away from your brooding before someone thinks you're here to kill them.”

Jinx offered a ghost of a smirk but said nothing. Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her champagne glass.

He glanced at her sideways as they walked toward the center of the room. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

James didn’t push. Not yet.

They stopped near a group gathering beneath a lavish chandelier as a well-dressed man in his sixties stepped up onto a small platform, raising his hand for quiet.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, voice echoing slightly in the grand space, “thank you for joining us tonight. We are gathered not just to celebrate progress, but to acknowledge a mission that has pushed boundaries—morally, technologically, and politically.”

Jinx’s gaze stayed fixed, unmoving, but her mind drifted.

The mission.

Connor.

James leaned in slightly, murmuring under the buzz of the man’s speech. “They’re already patting themselves on the back, like we’ve caught him.”

She glanced at him. “We haven’t.”

“I know. But they think we will. Soon.”

Jinx’s jaw tensed. “He’s ten steps ahead. Every time.”

James exhaled. “Not for long. We’ve narrowed the sectors. Traced signal pings. It’s just a matter of when, not if.”

She said nothing.

Because part of her wasn’t sure she wanted it to be “when.”

The speech continued, a string of polished words about bravery, sacrifice, and progress in the face of adversity. Jinx stood near the front now, her presence requested by one of the senior officers and subtly encouraged by James.

“And finally,” the speaker declared, gesturing toward her, “we owe much of our progress to a young agent who has shown exceptional resolve and dedication in this operation. Agent Jinx—would you step forward?”

Applause rose around her.

Jinx forced a tight smile and stepped ahead, the overhead lights casting a glow against the black fabric of her gown. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she reached the center of the crowd. The murmurs quieted. Everyone turned to face her, expectant, admiring.

But then—

A flicker.

Movement.

Out of the corner of her eye, at the far end of the ballroom, just beyond the arch leading to the darker hallway—someone was standing there.

Tall. Broad-shouldered.

Watching.

Her heart missed a beat. Her gaze snapped toward the figure.

But in the span of a breath—

Gone.

Jinx blinked, her fingers tightening around the champagne glass.

It couldn’t be.

It couldn’t be him.

Not here.

“Agent?” the speaker prompted.

Jinx blinked again, her mind snapping back into place. “Sorry,” she said softly, stepping forward again. “Thank you.”

She stood under the spotlight, but her thoughts were spinning. Her eyes drifted once more to the hallway—

Empty.

Was it him?

Or was she just losing her grip?

Either way, she suddenly felt like prey.

And the room was full of wolves who had no idea there was a bigger one outside the door.

She cleared her throat, eyes subtly searching for an anchor— And found James.

The blond-haired man met her gaze across the crowd, offering a quiet, reassuring smile and a small nod. A silent reminder: You’re not alone. You’ve got this.

“Thank you,” she began, her voice calm but clipped. “I’m not one for speeches, so I’ll keep this brief.”

A polite chuckle stirred through the crowd.

“I was given a mission—one of the most complicated of my career. And while I can’t disclose many details, I can say this: we’re closer than ever to bringing justice to the ones who need it most.”

She paused. Her eyes drifted across the room… and stopped. That movement again—just at the edge of her vision.

A figure disappearing into the far hallway. Just a flash of a face.

Connor?

Her heart jumped, but she forced herself to continue.

“We’re not done yet,” she said firmly, her gaze narrowing. “But we will be soon.”

Jinx barely heard the applause. Her eyes remained locked on the far hallway, where she’d seen the flicker of a face. Her pulse spiked, legs already moving through the crowd before her mind caught up.

It was him. It had to be.

She maneuvered between laughing guests and clinking glasses, every inch of her sharpened with intent. But just as she neared the corridor—

“Agent Jinx?”

She halted, jaw tightening as a young man stepped directly into her path. He wore a crisp black suit. Brown hair, sharp jawline, and an annoyingly self-assured grin.

“We met during your first briefing,” he added quickly. “Detective Reed. Gavin Reed.”

She blinked, already annoyed.

“Right. Detective Reed. I’m kind of in a hurry—”

“I can see that,” he cut in smoothly, stepping closer. “But I figured we could share a dance first. You’ve been dodging attention all night.”

She stared at him.

“Do you make a habit of interrupting federal agents mid-investigation, or am I just lucky?”

Reed smirked. “Only the ones who look like they could use a break.”

His tone wasn’t condescending, just cocky enough to test her patience.

Behind him, the hallway was empty now. The figure—gone.

Her jaw clenched. If it was Connor, she’d just missed him. Again.

But she couldn’t cause a scene here. Not now. Not in this crowd.

Jinx let out a quiet sigh, the edge in her gaze softening only slightly.

“Fine,” she said coolly. “One dance.”

Reed’s grin widened as he offered his hand. She took it with hesitation, her mind still racing, heart still trailing the ghost that slipped just out of reach.

The music swelled into something slow and classic as Gavin Reed led her to the center of the room. Jinx moved stiffly at first, her instincts on high alert, eyes still scanning for shadows. But Reed’s grip was confident—too confident—and she finally let herself follow his lead, if only to keep appearances.

“You clean up nice, Agent Jinx,” he said, voice dripping with charm he probably thought was irresistible. “Didn’t think you were the cocktail dress type.”

“I’m not,” she replied flatly, eyes flickering past his shoulder. “But sometimes the job requires camouflage.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. Still, for someone so deadly, you’ve got a hell of a poker face.”

“Comes with the training.”

They twirled in sync once, Jinx’s mind a thousand miles away. Then she remembered. The meeting. His voice.

“You said something, back at our first briefing,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly. “About Connor. That he used to work for you.”

Reed’s smugness faltered just a little. He scoffed and looked away briefly, his expression tightening like someone trying to hide a bad taste in their mouth.

“Yeah. He did.”

“And?” she prompted, reading the sudden tension in his jaw.

He exhaled slowly. “Look, I know he’s your target, and I know he’s some kind of special project now, but back when he was a cop? Let’s just say… he was always a little off .”

“Off?” Jinx repeated, brow furrowing.

“Too perfect,” Reed said with a grimace. “Too precise. Always knew the right answer. Never slipped up. Like he was trying to prove something to the world. Everyone acted like he was the golden boy, but it wasn’t natural. The guy didn’t sleep, didn’t joke, didn’t feel —not like we do. You could tell. Hell, Hank may have tolerated him, but he was just another glorified toaster.”

Jinx stiffened at the insult, her body moving less fluidly in the dance now.

“And now?” she asked carefully. “You think he’s just... snapped?”

“Oh, he didn’t snap, ” Reed said, eyes narrowing. “He evolved. Whatever CyberLife built in him, it grew teeth. He was never human, Jinx. Just a ticking time bomb. And now we’re all just waiting to see who he kills next.”

The song was ending, but Jinx didn’t realize it until they’d stopped moving.

Reed leaned in a little. “If you ask me, the only mistake we made was thinking he could ever be anything but what he is.”

She pulled her hand from his and stepped back, something cold settling in her chest. Her eyes searched the edges of the ballroom again.

But this time, she wasn’t just looking for Connor.

She was looking for the truth between the stories.

Between Hank and Gavin. Between machine and man.

Jinx excused herself with a polite, mechanical smile. “I need some air,” she muttered, not waiting for a reply.

She didn’t care if Reed watched her go. Didn’t care if anyone did.

Her heels clicked softly against the marble floors of the hall as she slipped out of the ballroom and into the quieter, dimly lit corridors. The music faded behind her, replaced by the hum of distant ventilation and the rush of her own thoughts.

What if Reed was right? What if Hank was? What if she was?

Since the day she’d laid eyes on Connor, nothing made sense anymore. Every line between human and machine blurred in ways she hadn’t prepared for. He wasn’t what she expected. Wasn’t anything like her other targets. He wasn’t cold metal and circuitry. He was contradiction. Warmth. Violence. Kindness. Fury. Desire.

And something else she couldn’t name.

Why didn’t I give the signal?

Her jaw clenched. Her fingers trembled.

She needed a break. A moment. A sign.

That’s when she noticed the door.

At the end of the hallway, barely open—just a sliver of darkness between frame and metal. The door leading to the stairwell. The one that always led up.

To the roof.

Her heart skipped.

Something primal moved through her—curiosity or instinct, she didn’t know. Maybe hope. Maybe dread. Whatever it was, it pulled her like a thread.

Without thinking, she stepped forward. Her fingers brushed the cool handle. The door creaked open without resistance.

She slipped through and ascended.

Each step echoed softly in the narrow stairwell. The air turned colder as she climbed. Her breath slowed. Her pulse didn’t.

Finally, she reached the top.

The rooftop door was already cracked open, just like the one below.

He was here.

Jinx pushed it open slowly, stepping into the night air.

The wind greeted her first—crisp and biting. The city stretched far below, glittering in yellow and white and red. It felt distant, unreal.

And for the first time in days… she could breathe.

She took a step forward, arms crossed against the chill. The silence wrapped around her, comforting and terrifying at once.

She didn’t know if he would be here.

She didn’t know what she would do if he was.

But part of her came up those stairs hoping.

The wind curled through her hair, lifted the hem of her dress. Jinx stood near the edge, breathing in the silence—until something shifted behind her.

A whisper of movement. No threat, just… presence.

She didn’t startle.

Instead, she spoke softly, her voice tinged with tired humor.

“Starting to think rooftops are our thing.”

A pause. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged. Smooth, steady. Familiar.

Connor stepped into the moonlight, his hands lowered, his gait calm—almost cautious. His expression was unreadable at first, but then, a small smile tugged at his lips. Not smug, not dangerous.

Soft.

Amused.

“Maybe it is,” he replied, voice low and warm.

For a moment, the tension dissolved. There was peace between them—something unspoken, fragile.

But it didn’t last.

The smile faded. His gaze shifted, colder now. Sharper.

“How was your dance with Detective Reed?” he asked.

Jinx blinked. “What?”

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “You looked… close.”

Realization dawned. Her brows lifted in surprise. “You were watching me?”

Connor didn’t answer, but his silence said enough.

Jinx smirked slightly, her voice teasing. “I didn’t think you’d be the jealous type.”

“I’m not,” he said quickly—but it wasn’t convincing.

She took a slow step toward him, tilting her head. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He didn’t respond right away. His brown eyes were locked on hers. Something in him was ticking—quiet, conflicted.

Jinx’s expression softened a little. “Where’ve you been?” she asked gently. “You disappeared.”

“I had to think,” Connor said. His voice was quieter now. “To clear my head.”

“About what?”

He hesitated. “You. Me. What I’ve become.”

Jinx didn’t move. Neither did he. The city lights flickered far below, and between them stood a thousand words never spoken.

Connor took a measured breath, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I shouldn’t have captured you,” he said, the words laced with something surprisingly close to regret. “It wasn’t the best approach… I know that now.”

Jinx tilted her head slightly, folding her arms over her chest. “You think?”

“I needed you to listen,” he continued. “To understand. No commands. No mission. Just… truth.”
He paused, searching her face. “And I didn’t think you’d hear it any other way.”

Jinx looked down for a moment, then back up. “You shouldn’t apologize for that,” she said quietly. “You opened my eyes. You showed me things no one else would dare admit. If anything… thank you.”

That made him falter—not visibly, not completely—but enough for his expression to shift. Something softened again.

But then his eyes lowered briefly, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“I also shouldn’t have kissed you,” he added, quieter now. “That was… inappropriate. A miscalculation.”

The words sounded clinical, rehearsed, like old programming clawing its way back to the surface.

For a moment, he wasn’t the terrifying fugitive or the revolutionary anomaly.

He was just Connor again—the prototype detective, the one who followed protocol to the letter.

Jinx stepped closer, her voice gentler than before. “You don’t need to apologize for that, either.”

He looked at her sharply, unsure what to make of her words.

But she held his gaze, steady and unflinching.

That seemed to get to him—not as an opening, not as an opportunity—but as something else entirely. Something he wasn’t sure how to process. Something that felt too human.

His voice, when it came again, was softer. Almost disarmed.
“I didn’t expect you to say that.”

Jinx’s lips curved ever so slightly. “You never stop analyzing people, do you?”

“I’m not analyzing you,” he said. “Not right now.”

And for once, he meant it.

Something shifted in the air—gentle, fragile, but heavy with everything unspoken. It settled between them like a breath waiting to be exhaled.

They stood close, too close, and yet neither moved.

Jinx held his gaze, her heartbeat loud in her chest. She didn’t know what to say—what she could say—that wouldn’t make it all crumble. One wrong word and this strange, delicate thread between them might snap.

Connor’s eyes searched hers, his expression unreadable for once. 

The rooftop was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city below. Wind tugged at the hem of her dress and ruffled his coat, but neither of them noticed.

She saw his hand twitch slightly at his side, as if he wanted to reach for her but didn’t trust himself to do it.

Like touching her might burn.

Like it already had.

Jinx’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “What are we doing?”

Connor didn’t answer right away, his LED pulsing yellow. His brow furrowed, and then he whispered, “I don’t know.”

But he didn’t look away.

And neither did she.

Their stares held—seconds, then longer. The tension mounting slowly, unbearably. Not hostile. Not lustful. A raw, mutual fear: don’t move. don’t ruin it.

He took half a step forward.

She didn’t flinch.

His hand reached out—not to touch her, not yet—but to rest between them. A silent question.

Jinx’s breath caught, but she nodded. Just a little.

And then—finally—he brushed his fingers against hers.

It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t a confession. It was just contact. Real. Tentative.

Like both of them had been chasing this moment without knowing it.

Neither of them said another word.

They didn’t have to.

The rooftop door slammed open with a loud metallic clang.

Jinx flinched instinctively, her hand snapping back from Connor’s.

“Step away from her!” James barked, his voice sharp and laced with fury.

She turned toward the door, heart pounding. James stood in the threshold, gun raised and aimed with terrifying precision—straight at Connor’s head.

“James, no—” she started.

“Get away from her!” he repeated, louder this time. His eyes never left his target. His stance was solid, finger already on the trigger. He was ready to shoot.

Connor didn’t move. He merely glanced at the weapon pointed between his eyes, then shifted his gaze back to Jinx.

“James, stop, ” she said, stepping forward, her voice shaking with urgency. “Put the gun down!”

But James ignored her. His jaw was clenched, eyes blazing. This wasn’t panic. This was rage.

“All this time…” he growled. “All this time you’ve been playing her. Manipulating her. Getting inside her head. ” His voice cracked, emotion bleeding through. “But it ends now.”

Connor’s expression shifted—not anger, not fear. Just quiet resignation. “I haven’t harmed her.”

“Bullshit,” James snapped. “You don’t need to bruise skin to do damage.”

“James, please,” Jinx begged. She moved between them now, her hands up. “I’m not being manipulated. I know what I’m doing.”

He looked at her like he didn’t recognize her.

“You’re defending him,” he said quietly, heartbreak dawning in his voice. “After everything he’s done?”

Her chest tightened, torn between two forces crashing into one another. “I’m not defending what he’s done. I’m trying to stop another mistake.”

James’ eyes flicked to Connor again, full of loathing. “You’re nothing but a monster. You’re a liar, Connor— You will die tonight. ”

Connor, calm as ever, met his gaze. “I don’t lie.”

The wind howled around them, the tension as sharp as broken glass.

And the gun didn’t lower.

Connor pushed past Jinx before she could stop him, stepping directly into James’s line of fire.

“Lower the weapon,” he said calmly, hands at his sides. “You don’t want to do this.”

James faltered for a moment, brows drawn, teeth clenched. Something in Connor’s voice—its lack of threat, the strange sincerity—cracked through the fury clouding his judgment.

“You don’t get to tell me what I want,” James muttered, but the tension in his grip faltered.

Connor took another careful step forward. “I am not your enemy.”

James blinked. His aim dipped slightly. For a moment, it almost worked.

Then—

His eyes narrowed. “You did something to her,” he snapped, lifting the gun again. “You rewired her, I don’t know how—but I know this isn’t her.”

Jinx’s instincts kicked in. “ James, stop! ”

The shot cracked through the air.

Jinx shoved Connor aside, and pain bloomed instantly in her shoulder as the bullet tore through flesh and bone. She collapsed to the rooftop, gasping, her hand flying to the wound as blood soaked through her dress.

“ Jinx! ” James yelled, horrified. “No—no, no, no— I didn’t mean— ”

Connor was on his knees beside her in an instant, hands hovering over her body, unsure where to touch, how to help. His LED blazed red.

Jinx’s breath came in sharp bursts. Her eyes darted between the two men, pain splintering through every nerve. James took a shaky step forward, eyes wide, mouth trembling. “I didn’t mean to shoot her. I—I was trying to—Connor—”

But she didn’t answer him.

Her eyes were locked on Connor, wide and wet and full of panic.

“Y-you have to go,” she managed. “They—they heard the shot. You have to run. ”

“I’m not leaving you,” Connor replied firmly, shaking his head. “Not like this.”

“You have to,” she pleaded, blood running between her fingers. “Connor, please.”

He hesitated, every part of him screaming to stay. His gaze scanned her face, her wound, the guilt buried deep in his expression.

Then came the sound of footsteps below. Shouting. Backup was coming.

And still—he didn’t move.

James dropped to his knees beside her, pressing his hands to her wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “Jinx— god, I’m so sorry. Please—say something—”

But she didn’t look at him.

Only Connor.

The rooftop doors burst open with a metallic clang.

Men in tactical gear stormed in like a wave of thunder, their boots slamming against the concrete. Their rifles immediately locked on Connor.

“Step away from her! Hands where we can see them!”

Jinx gasped through the pain, her fingers still clutching her bleeding shoulder. “No— wait, don’t shoot him—”

“Down on the ground, now!” another barked. “Surrender peacefully or we will open fire!”

Connor didn’t flinch.

He slowly, deliberately stood to his full height, raising his hands just slightly to show he was unarmed. His movements were calm, mechanical—but his eyes never left Jinx. He looked at her like she was the only person there.

Then, as the shouting grew louder and the chaos reached a boiling point, he took a step back.

Then another.

A few of the men twitched, fingers hovering near their triggers.

“Stop moving!” one of them shouted. “I said STOP !”

Connor’s boots scraped softly against the rooftop gravel as he backed up until his heel hit the edge of the building.

Still calm.

Still watching her.

Jinx’s voice cracked through the panic. “Connor — ”

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t run.

Didn’t break his gaze.

Instead, in one impossibly smooth movement, he climbed onto the ledge—his figure silhouetted by the night sky and city lights below.

“Shoot him!” the commander roared.

Gunfire erupted.

Muzzle flashes lit the rooftop like fireworks.

Jinx screamed, but it was too late.

Connor leaned back.

And let himself fall.

She couldn’t breathe.

“NO!” Jinx choked, trying to crawl forward, her shoulder screaming in pain. “CONNOR!”

She barely heard James or the medics rushing to her. Everything was drowned out by the sound of her heart pounding in her ears and the hollow silence that followed his fall.

She stared at the ledge.

Waiting for movement.

Waiting for something.

But the edge of the rooftop stayed empty.

Connor was gone.

Chapter Text

The world had become a tunnel of ringing silence.

Jinx’s legs moved on instinct as men surrounded her, dragging her down the building’s stairwell. Their gloved hands clutched her arms with force, her shoulder wound leaking warmth down her side. Each step left behind a crimson print on the marble floors, a breadcrumb trail of betrayal. The air was sterile and cold, a painful contrast to the roaring chaos inside her chest.

Everything felt unreal.

The world she’d just come from—the rooftop, Connor’s fall, the gunshot—all of it clung to her like frost on skin, refusing to melt. She should be in shock. She probably was. But underneath it, something darker brewed.

Rage.

Guilt.

A sinking awareness that everything she thought she understood had just been ripped apart.

“You’re under arrest,” one of the agents barked beside her. “Suspected of treason and collaboration with the target.”

Jinx didn’t respond. Her lips were pressed tightly shut. Blood dripped from her fingers. The white lights above buzzed, flickering as she was led past tight surveillance halls.

The snowfall outside glowed through the lobby windows like a ghostly mirage. So close. Just past the glass. A winter storm, thick and furious, veiling the city in white.

If she could just get there—

“Don’t even think about running,” one guard muttered at her side, pressing his weapon tighter to her back.

She didn’t think.

She moved .

Without a sound, she shifted her weight and twisted, elbowing the man to her right directly in the throat. He staggered back, gasping. Another man raised his gun—but Jinx had already slammed her heel into his knee, the crack audible. He fell hard.

Shouts filled the air. Gunshots rang out—but she was already ducking, rolling, sliding behind a column. Blood gushed faster from her shoulder, but she didn’t care. She snatched a weapon from the downed agent beside her and fired—two shots, clean and deadly. One man dropped. Another screamed.

“JINX!” James' voice echoed from somewhere down the hall, desperate. “Jinx, stop! ”

But she didn’t stop.

She bolted.

Doors flew open as she slammed through them, racing down the last hallway. Her breath came in short, wild bursts, every footstep a stab of pain.

She kicked open the emergency exit.

Snow whipped her face like tiny razors as she stepped into the blizzard outside. Her dress clung to her like frostbitten silk, heels slipping uselessly against the icy ground. Without thinking, she tore them off, tossing them behind her.

Barefoot, she ran into the storm.

The snow was sharp and numbing, burning her soles and painting her skin raw. Her blood mixed with the white. Her pulse thundered in her ears. The cold wind howled like a warning behind her.

But she kept running.

She ran until the building was gone behind her.

Until the guards stopped chasing.

Until James’ voice was swallowed by the wind.

She didn’t know where she was going—only that she couldn’t stay . Not in that gilded prison. Not with those people who saw her as a traitor. And not with the truth lodged in her heart like a blade:

Connor had fallen from that rooftop.

And she didn’t even know if he was still alive.

But somewhere inside, she believed he was.

Because if he was dead, the ache in her chest wouldn’t feel so alive .

Her tears froze against her cheeks as she finally stopped beneath an overpass, gasping for air, body trembling uncontrollably. She collapsed to her knees in the snow, blood seeping from her wound, steam rising from her skin.

And still…

She couldn’t stop shaking.

Not from the cold.

But from everything she’d just lost. Everything she couldn’t say. And everything she felt —but didn’t understand.

Jinx had escaped.

But what was she now?

A fugitive?

A soldier gone rogue?

A woman mourning someone she’d sworn to kill?

She didn’t have the answers.

Only the blizzard, and the silence that came with it.

* * * *

The man behind the reception desk gave her a long, wary once-over.

Jinx had made it. Barely.

The shadow zones swallowed her whole, their alleys dark and forgotten by the world. The soles of her feet burned from sprinting barefoot through snow and ice. Her shoulder, hastily wrapped in a makeshift bandage, throbbed with every breath—blood already soaking through the gauze and dripping down her arm. Her dress clung to her like a second skin, torn and frozen in places, slick with half-melted snow and sweat.

She looked like hell.
She felt worse.

But inside, she forced herself to stay calm—colder than the storm she’d just outrun.

The man behind the desk grimaced as his eyes lingered on her bandaged shoulder. He leaned forward, his cigarette burning low between his fingers.

“Need a name, miss. If you want a room. It’s policy.”

She didn’t flinch. Just straightened slightly, despite the pain.

“I just need a room for tonight. No questions asked.”

Her voice was low, flat. Tired.

She glanced at the dust-caked key rack behind him, mostly full.

“Not like you’ve got customers lining up,” she added.

The man hesitated, then slowly reached for one of the keys, his eyes still watching the slow drip of blood from her fingers onto the linoleum.

Room 6.

He slid it across the counter with a grunt.

“Try not to die in there,” he muttered.

Jinx took the key, nodded once, and turned toward the exit—every step aching, but her grip on reality was just tight enough to keep going.

As soon as she turned the key and pushed the door open, a wave of unexpected warmth met her like a quiet embrace.

Jinx stepped inside, closing the door behind her, sealing off the howling snowstorm just beyond the thin walls. For a moment, the chaos of the world stayed outside—muted by old wood, worn carpet, and the hiss of an overworked radiator.

She didn’t spare a glance for the aged decor or peeling wallpaper—there was no time for that.

Jinx got to work immediately. Peeling away the blood-soaked gauze made her hiss through gritted teeth. The wound was still raw, the bullet stubbornly lodged in her shoulder.

With practiced precision and whatever tools she could scavenge from the room, she dug it out and stitched the torn flesh herself—quick, efficient, and silent, even when the pain threatened to break her.

Jinx sat on the edge of the creaky motel bed, a faded blanket clutched around her like armor. The old rotary phone on the nightstand stared back at her—beige, cracked, and silent. She stared at it for a long time, fingers trembling just inches away.

She knew the risks.

They could trace the call. Find her. Drag her back.

But for once… she didn’t care.

Her bloody fingers dialed the number from memory. Every ring felt like a countdown. Then—

“ Hello? ”

Her mother’s voice hit her like a knife to the chest. Steady. Concerned. Warm.

Jinx tried to speak, but nothing came out at first—just a breath caught between sobs.

“ Baby? ” her mother asked, more urgently now. “ Sweetheart, is that you? What’s going on? ”

A sob cracked through her chest. She pressed her palm to her eyes, willing herself to stay composed—but her voice came out broken anyway.

“You need to leave Detroit.” Silence. “Take Kiska. Go back to Toronto. Please. Don’t ask questions. Just do it.”

“ What? Why—? ”

“They’ll be watching you. They’ll know you’re connected to me.” Her voice cracked again. “I don’t know if I’m ever coming back.”

“ Baby—wait, what do you mean? Where are you? What happened? ”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears streaming freely now. “I love you. Take care of Kiska for me.”

“ Don’t hang up! Baby, please— ”

But she did.

She slammed the receiver down with a finality that echoed in the room.

Then she unplugged the phone from the wall and sat in the quiet, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths and sobs, the storm still howling outside—but nothing louder than the one inside her.

Jinx sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment after the call, her face buried in her hands. Her body trembled—not just from the cold, or pain—but from the weight of it all. The goodbye. The blood. The betrayal. The silence.

Eventually, the tears dried, leaving a burning tightness in her throat.

She rose to her feet, slowly, each movement stiff and aching. The dull yellow light of the room buzzed overhead as she walked toward the bathroom. Her bare feet padded across the cracked tiles. The mirror above the sink caught her in its reflection.

She stopped.

A stranger stared back at her.

Eyes red-rimmed, cheeks streaked with dried blood and tears, hair matted from snow and sweat. Her shoulder was stitched with ragged precision, skin around the wound red and inflamed. Her body was still trembling—faintly—but enough to see it in her fingers, in her posture.

She looked like she’d been through hell.

She had.

With shaking hands, she reached behind and unzipped her dress. The fabric, stiff with blood and snow, slipped down her frame and pooled at her feet.

Bruises bloomed across her ribs. Scratches up her thighs. Her body told a story she hadn’t yet had time to listen to.

She stepped into the shower and turned the handle.

Hot water sputtered out, then surged.

It hit her skin like fire, and she gasped—but didn’t move. She let the heat scald her, let it soak into her bones. The steam rose around her, clinging to the walls, curling her hair.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned her forehead against the tile.

The heat grounded her.

Here, in the hiss of the water and the thrum of her heartbeat, she could finally breathe. No orders. No agents. No androids. Just her.

She stood under the water until it ran cold.

Jinx shut off the water with a slow turn, the old metal knob creaking beneath her fingers. The motel bathroom filled with silence, broken only by the soft patter of droplets sliding from her hair and hitting the cracked tile below.

Steam coated the mirror in a hazy veil, sparing her the sight of her reflection—thankfully. 

She stepped carefully out of the shower, the bath mat beneath her feet rough and threadbare. Grabbing the small, coarse towel from the rack, she dried herself slowly, wincing every time her fingers brushed too close to the stitched wound on her shoulder.

Before she had stepped into the shower, she’d brought one thing with her: the oversized Detroit Gears t-shirt she’d found earlier in the closet. Faded gray with navy-blue lettering and soft from too many washes, it had been abandoned by someone long ago—someone who probably never imagined it would become a lifeline for a fugitive agent.

She reached for it now, lifting it from the counter where it had waited.

It smelled faintly of old laundry detergent, and nothing else.

Clean enough.

She pulled it over her damp skin slowly, threading her arms carefully through the sleeves. The shirt hung loosely around her, stopping at her thighs. It swallowed her slender frame entirely—almost like a shield, thin but comforting.

She looked up at the foggy mirror. Her fingers wiped a small circle clear.

For a second, she just stared.

Her lips were pale. Her eyes were tired. Her wet hair clung to her temples. The bruise on her cheekbone had deepened. And the gauze on her shoulder, now clean and taped with precision, peeked from beneath the collar.

She didn’t recognize herself.

Not entirely.

Not anymore.

But maybe… that was the point.

Letting out a slow breath, Jinx rested both hands on the sink, grounding herself there. The water had helped. Not healed her—but steadied her.

Jinx stepped out of the bathroom, towel still clutched in one hand, the motel’s chill nipping at her damp skin even beneath the oversized t-shirt. Her bare feet padded softly over the worn carpet as she moved toward the bed, ready to collapse.

Then—

“You know, for someone called Jinx, you’ve been saving me a lot lately.”

Chapter Text

“You know, for someone called Jinx, you’ve been saving me a lot lately.”

Her breath hitched. The towel slipped from her fingers.

She spun around.

He was there.

Leaning casually against the wall beside the window, half-shadowed by the slats of dying light that filtered through the crooked blinds. His arms were crossed, a faint smirk playing at his lips, as his golden eyes watched in the shadows.

“Don’t get used to it,” she said reflexively, her voice low but sharp, eyes wide with disbelief.

He grinned, just slightly.

“Too late.”

Connor wasn’t dressed like himself. Not in his usual government sleekness, not in his rogue tactical gear either. Instead, he wore a faded jacket layered over a dark hoodie, a grey beanie tugged low over his brow, hiding his LED. There was something almost civilian about him—if it weren’t for the sharpness in his posture, the way he scanned everything even while standing still. He looked like a man in hiding.

Like her.

Jinx’s heart thundered against her ribs, but her face remained unreadable.

“I thought you were dead,” she said quietly. Her voice wasn’t accusatory. Just shaken.

Connor stepped forward, slow and careful. “I know. That’s why I didn’t contact you right away.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t trust herself to.

“How did you find me?” she asked, swallowing the lump building in her throat. Her fingers curled at her sides. “And how the hell did you get in?”

His gaze dropped, then lifted again to meet hers. “I’ve been following from a distance. Making sure they didn’t find you first.”

That stopped her cold.

“What?”

“I had to be sure you were safe.” A beat. “They were going to kill you, Jinx.”

She flinched.

The memory of the rooftop flooded back—James’s face, the gunshot, the heat in her shoulder, the coldness in her limbs.

Connor’s voice softened, losing some of its usual calculated edge. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

She stepped back instinctively, still unsure of what she was feeling. “So you snuck in like a ghost again? Broke into my room while I was vulnerable?”

“I didn’t come to hurt you,” he said firmly.

Her eyes flicked to his outfit again. “Then why are you dressed like you’re hiding from the world?”

He gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “Because I am.”

They stared at each other—him cloaked in shadows, her soaked in motel lamplight and wearing nothing but a stranger’s t-shirt.

The silence stretched between them like a wire ready to snap.

Connor’s footsteps were slow, deliberate—no threat in them, but purpose in every step. His eyes stayed locked with hers, those deceptively golden irises studying her like he was trying to read every twitch, every breath.

“Are we alone?” she asked again, backing away slowly.

“Aren’t we always,” he murmured.

Jinx’s shoulder blades pressed against the chipped paint of the motel wall, the cool surface grounding her as Connor closed the last bit of distance between them. 

Her breath hitched. Still, her eyes didn’t waver from his.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, voice tight.

“Neither should you,” he countered, gaze dropping briefly to the bandage beneath her collar, then flicking back up.

There was something restrained in him now. Like a storm barely held back behind a glass pane.

“Why did you come here?” she asked, pulse fluttering in her throat.

Connor didn’t answer at first. He just looked at her—like he was trying to see through all the layers she built around herself. The soldier. The agent. The girl who once believed everything she was told.

Then, he tilted his head, slowly.

“I’m here because… I don’t know how to stay away anymore.”

Her chest tightened at the honesty. It wasn’t poetic. It was real. Raw.

The silence between them turned electric, crackling with things neither dared to say.

“I want to see the real you,” Jinx whispered.

“This is the real me,” Connor replied.

She shook her head slowly. “No. This is who they built. I want the man… not the weapon.”

Neither moved.

His golden irises flickered. Without a word, he raised a hand to his temple. A soft whirr filled the air—and in a breath, the façade melted away.

There he was.

Gentle brown eyes. Unblemished skin. Human, almost. Familiar.

Jinx’s fingers hovered at the hem of her shirt, but her eyes never left his. In that gaze, there was no mission, no mask, no command lines waiting to be followed.

Just the quiet gravity between two people who should have been enemies… but weren’t.

Not anymore.

Connor leaned in, slow and deliberate, his eyes searching hers with something unreadable—something too soft to be dangerous, too precise to be accidental. His breath ghosted over her lips, warm and steady.

Close. Too close.

Their mouths brushed—just barely. Not a kiss. Not yet. But enough to make Jinx’s heart stutter, her skin come alive.

Her breath hitched. Her body trembled, just slightly, as if the contact had rewired her.

“This…” she murmured, voice tight, uncertain. “Whatever we’re doing… it’s wrong.”

Connor didn’t pull away.

His voice was low, barely a whisper. “Then why does it feel like the only thing that’s real?”

Jinx didn’t answer—not because she didn’t have one, but because the truth scared her more than the lies ever had.

“If I kissed you right now…” Connor’s voice was low, laced with quiet amusement, “are you going to you bite me again?”

Jinx’s heart thundered in her chest. Her eyes locked onto his mouth—those goddamn perfect lips—and she swallowed hard, heat crawling up her neck.

“I can’t promise I won’t,” she murmured.

Connor closed the final inches between them, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that felt more like a question than a demand. It was slow. Careful. A touch that asked, Can I? And when Jinx didn’t pull away—when her breath hitched but her feet stayed rooted—he pressed just a little closer.

Her body trembled beneath the warmth of him. Her hands remained frozen at her sides, fists clenched, as though if she moved, she’d break the moment—or herself.

But she didn’t break.

She kissed him back.

At first, it was hesitant—measured. Her body moved of its own accord, answering a call her mind couldn’t silence. Her fingers twitched, then slowly lifted, finding their way to his shoulders, curling against the fabric of his jacket like she was anchoring herself to something real.

Connor’s hands slid around her waist, steadying her. Holding her.

She deepened the kiss.

Her fingers tangled in the edge of his beanie, tugging it off without thought and tossing it to the floor. 

They then slid into his hair, threading through the soft, tousled strands as if she'd been aching to touch him like this for far too long. Connor leaned into it, his breath catching subtly against her mouth while his LED flashed red like a warning.

Then she bit down—just barely—on his lower lip, a teasing nip that made him groan softly in surprise. Something in him shifted.

His jacket hit the floor with a thud as he shrugged it off in one fluid motion, the restraint in his movements slowly unraveling. The kiss deepened, no longer a question, but an answer. His hands found her hips, fingers curling into the fabric of her borrowed shirt, grounding himself in her.

Jinx melted under the pressure of his mouth. When his tongue swept past her lips to meet hers, she didn’t fight it. She welcomed it—matched him, breath for breath, movement for movement, like they were trying to find something in each other neither had ever been given the chance to hold.

The taste of him. The feel of him. It was a fire in her blood, dangerous and dizzying—and for the first time in what felt like ages, she didn’t care.

When he pressed her harder against the wall, she gasped into his mouth, feeling the full press of his body. His jacket lay forgotten on the floor, and her oversized T-shirt now rode dangerously high on her thighs as his hands roamed her bare hips, thumbs brushing the curve just below her navel.

Connor pulled back just slightly, their lips still nearly touching. His eyes searched hers, not for permission—he already had that—but for connection. His voice was a whisper against her cheek. “Tell me to stop.”

She whispered back, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

And before he could even respond, she seized his face in her hands and pulled him into a kiss—urgent, fierce, and burning with everything they’d both been holding back.

His hands slid up under her borrowed t-shirt, exploring the bare skin of her back. Jinx arched into it, the touch sending sparks down her spine, and for a moment, neither of them cared about the world outside, about the dangers that had driven them here, or the consequences that waited beyond the walls of this cramped motel room.

It was just the two of them. Just the feel of his skin against hers. Just the way his mouth moved against hers, the way he tasted, the way it felt like he was trying to breathe her in.

Connor’s hands kept moving—slowly, deliberately. They traced the curve of her lower back, fingers splaying out across her skin, and then, just as slowly, they began to glide around her waist. Jinx’s breath hitched, her body responding to his touch instinctively, leaning into him, craving more.

And then his fingers brushed the bare skin of her stomach—and stopped.

Connor pulled back from the kiss, his eyes searching her face, his touch stilling on her abdomen. He looked at her like he was seeing something new, something he hadn’t expected, and for a brief, terrifying moment, Jinx felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the shirt that had ridden up dangerously over her thighs.

His voice was low, edged with a question she couldn’t quite place. “You… you’re not wearing anything under this, are you?”

The room suddenly felt colder. Jinx stiffened, her hands falling away from his face, her body tensing under his touch. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because the truth was too raw, too honest, too much like begging.

She started to slightly push him away, but Connor’s grip tightened around her hips, keeping her pinned to the wall, his touch firm but not bruising. His eyes never left hers, even as she tried to look away, tried to hide from the weight of whatever it was he was about to say.

“Don’t,” he murmured, his voice soft, but edged with an emotion she couldn’t name. “Don’t worry. You can trust me.”

He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, his breath warm on her skin. 

His hand slid down her body in a slow, deliberate caress. He traced the curve of her waist, the dip of her ribs, the soft swell of her hip. His touch was light, teasing, his fingers dancing along her skin like he was mapping every inch of her with his hands. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, her heart pounding in her chest.

His hand slid between her legs, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there, and she gasped, her hips bucking against him.

She knew she should pull away. She knew this was a bad idea, knew that this could only end poorly. But she didn’t want to stop. She couldn’t.

“Connor—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “Just let go.”

His hand moved higher, his fingers tracing patterns on her inner thigh. She moaned, her head falling back against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed.

His lips brushed against her neck, his breath warm and unrelenting against her skin. She gasped, her fingers clutching his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie like she needed something to hold onto.

“Oh God,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “How the hell do you even know how to do this?”

Connor’s lips curved into a faint smirk against her skin. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he murmured, voice low and slightly amused— too amused.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, and everything around them fell away. His eyes had darkened, heavy with desire. But it was more than want—it was hunger. He looked at her like he meant to unravel her. Slowly. Completely.

Like he wanted to take her apart just to see what she was made of.

His hand slid higher, his fingers brushing against her entrance. She cried out, her hips jerking against him. He exhaled a low sound—half-growl, half-groan—as his touch grew slower, more deliberate, teasing her with maddening precision. Her moan caught in her throat, legs trembling beneath his steady hold.

Connor pressed closer, his body pinning her to the wall. She moved instinctively, hips rocking against him in a rhythm she couldn’t control. He groaned, his forehead falling to her shoulder, breath hot and ragged.

When his fingers slid deeper, Jinx gasped—loud, broken, raw. Her back arched against the motel wall as his mouth traced down her neck, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. Each movement of his hand, each kiss against her skin, pulled her deeper into a place where logic couldn’t reach.

Two fingers dipped inside as she gasped loudly.

His lips trailed down to the base of her neck, sucking gently—enough to make Jinx’s toes curl into the carpet. A groan escaped her as her hand drifted between their bodies, searching, until she felt the heat of Connor’s arousal through his jeans.

She blinked, frowning slightly, uncertain at first. Connor was an android—she’d assumed he’d be smooth and featureless, like some anatomical afterthought. She definitely hadn’t expected this . But the longer her hand caressed him, the clearer it became: he wasn’t just built for show.

He was hard.

She bit her lip, gasping when Connor captured her mouth in a hungry kiss. 

He moaned against her lips as she squeezed harder, his fingers twitching in response, drawing a sharp breath of pleasure from her.

She was so wet it was almost embarrassing. She’d never been this turned on before—never needed someone like this. And he felt so good beneath her hand, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what he’d feel like inside her.

His fingers worked her higher, pushing her closer and closer to orgasm. Connor pulled back from their kiss to watch her, his eyes dark and hungry.

She let out a desperate whine, the tension coiling tight inside her, and he moved faster—just rough enough to push her over.

Pleasure slammed into her, sharp and overwhelming, making her hips jerk against his hand as he kept going, drawing it out until she was gasping.

When she finally came down, breathless and shaking, Connor leaned in to kiss her again—deep and slow, his tongue teasing hers in a way that made her shiver.

Then he pulled his hand away, and Jinx heard the wet sound of his fingers slipping past his lips as he tasted her off his skin.

She let out a shaky breath. That was hot as hell. Her eyes dropped to Connor’s body.

“I want you,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Connor raised an eyebrow.

“You do have me,” he replied softly, in that voice that always made her breath catch.

Jinx shook her head. “No. I want you. All of you.”

He froze. For a heartbeat, he didn’t say anything—and then his expression shifted, just enough for her to see it. Vulnerability flickered behind his eyes. He licked his lips and dropped his gaze.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.

Jinx nodded, fast and certain. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Connor exhaled, his breath shaking slightly, and she felt the tension leave his body as he leaned into her. 

“Okay,” he murmured, and there was a trace of nerves in his voice that made her heart ache.

He eased back, giving her room. She reached for the hem of his hoodie, pulling it over his head, and in the same breath, tugged off her shirt—leaving herself naked before him.

He didn’t move right away. Just stood there, his gaze tracing every inch of her skin, lips parted slightly like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“You’re perfect,” he said, wonder softening every word.

Her cheeks flushed under his gaze as he stepped closer. She lifted her hands to his chest, letting her fingers glide over the smooth surface of his skin. For a moment, she just looked at him, letting herself take it all in.

Connor was perfect. Pale and lean, but sculpted like a statue come to life. Her eyes drifted lower, down to the tight line of his jeans—and her breath hitched at the sight of the undeniable evidence of his arousal.

He really did want her.

Jinx slid her hands down his chest, marveling at the unexpected warmth of his skin and the smooth, sculpted lines of his body. When she reached his belt, her fingers toyed with the buckle. She glanced up at him, silently asking for permission.

Connor gave a small nod.

Without hesitation, Jinx got to work, quickly unfastening the belt and popping open the button of his jeans. She tugged them down along with his boxers and shoes, leaving him completely bare before her.

She bit her lip, staring.

Holy shit. He’s beautiful.

Jinx wasn’t exactly inexperienced, but she’d never seen an android naked—never imagined one could be so perfectly human and yet more. Connor was... stunning.

His eyes never left her as she looked him over, and under the weight of his gaze, she felt suddenly self-conscious. She reached for him, but he caught her hand gently.

“Lie down,” he said.

His voice was soft—almost reverent—and she obeyed without a second thought, walking towards the bed and sinking back against the pillows.

Connor followed her, covering her body with his own. Then he kissed her—slow, deep, and consuming. Jinx shivered beneath him, her arms lifting to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him like she needed air.

“Connor,” she whispered against his lips, her hips lifting to brush against him. “Have you ever… fucked a woman?”

He smiled down at her, amused but gentle.

“Can’t say I have,” he murmured.

Then he kissed her jaw, trailing his mouth down the curve of her neck to her collarbone. He paused to press a kiss there, then continued lower, stopping to place a lingering kiss over her heart.

His hands roamed slowly down her body until his fingers found her core, and Jinx gasped at the touch. She could feel her pulse pounding, her breath catching as his fingers moved with an ease that belied his inexperience—precise, attentive, and devastating.

Meanwhile, Connor’s mouth kept descending, brushing soft kisses over her stomach, each one sending shivers through her. His fingers didn’t stop, coaxing her closer to the edge with a steady, intoxicating rhythm.

When his mouth moved lower still, realization dawned—and Jinx whimpered.

Connor pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, then turned to do the same on the other side. His lips were impossibly soft, warm against her skin, and the tenderness of it made her ache. She squirmed, her hands twisting in the sheets, overwhelmed by the way he touched.

“Connor,” she gasped, her voice trembling.

He replaced his fingers with his mouth, and Jinx let out a strangled cry, her hips jerking toward him without thought.

His tongue worked at her with devastating precision, tasting her like he needed it—like it was instinct, not programming. Jinx was losing her mind. She’d never felt anything like this before—never been unraveled so completely. Her heart thundered in her chest, every nerve lit with fire. She wanted more. Everything. Whatever he was willing to give, she’d take and still crave more.

“Fuck!” she gasped as another wave of pleasure tore through her, sharper and deeper than anything she’d ever known.

Her fingers twisted into the sheets, knuckles white, her body trembling under the force of it.

At last, her muscles loosened, the high fading into a heavy, delicious afterglow. Connor moved, rising to settle over her again, his body warm and solid as it pressed her into the mattress.

Jinx opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. His eyes were dark—almost wild—and something feral flickered in his expression. Like he wanted to devour her.

A shiver rolled down her spine. God help her, she wanted it too.

“Are you ready?” he asked, voice rough, laced with something deeper—raw need barely held in check.

Jinx bit her lip and nodded, her hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders.

“I was born ready,” she whispered.

Connor huffed a quiet laugh before leaning down to kiss her—hard and deep, all heat and urgency.

“Okay,” he murmured against her lips.

She felt him press against her entrance, and her breath caught. For a moment, she just breathed, willing herself to relax. Then, slowly, he eased inside her, inch by inch, and Jinx let out a soft groan, her fingers digging into his shoulders at the sharp, stretching sting.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and she opened her eyes to look up at him.

His whole body was trembling, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle ticking in his cheek.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, brushing her thumb along the nape of his neck.

He exhaled a shaky breath, hips pressing forward until he was buried fully inside her. Jinx bit her lip to stifle the cry that rose in her throat.

“Connor?” she asked again, concerned.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out. “I’m good. You’re just… fuck, you feel incredible.” He groaned and buried his face against her neck. “You feel so good, Jinx,” he whispered.

Her body relaxed beneath him at those words, and her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. Connor groaned, then started to move—slow at first, drawing back before pushing forward again in a smooth, deliberate rhythm.

It felt so good. Every thrust hit something deep inside her, and her body responded instantly.

“Oh God,” Jinx gasped. “Please, Connor... don’t stop.”

He lifted his head, and she could see the strain etched into his features—his eyes dark, jaw clenched, fighting to keep control. He was holding back for her, and the thought made her ache even more.

He began to move faster, his rhythm picking up as he thrust deeper, harder. Jinx met him with equal need, her legs tightening around his hips. She could feel it building fast—the heat, the pressure, the way her whole body burned for him.

She reached up, arms winding around his neck, fingers threading into his hair to pull him down. He kissed her like he was losing himself—his mouth urgent, his tongue hot against hers.

“Connor!” she gasped, nails digging into his scalp. “Oh God, I’m so close!”

His hips stuttered for a moment, then resumed their pace, harder now, more desperate.

“Fuck, Jinx,” he panted against her mouth. “I can’t— I need—”

Jinx was so close she could taste it—and she knew Connor was too. She tore her mouth from his, gasping for air, her body taut with tension.

Connor’s hips faltered, his body going still just as she came. Her muscles seized, and she clung to him, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She pulsed around him, breath caught in her throat, light sparking behind her eyes. For a moment, she thought she might actually pass out from the intensity of it.

It was unlike anything she’d ever felt.

Her body eventually sagged back against the bed, her limbs boneless, her mind floating in a haze of bliss. Pleasure still hummed through her like an aftershock—slow, deep, and consuming.

She barely registered the sensation of Connor moving, carefully pulling out of her, then gently gathering her into his arms. He lay down beside her, cradling her against his chest. Jinx nuzzled into his warmth, and he dipped his head to press a soft kiss to her hair.

“Well… fuck me,” she whispered hoarsely.

Connor huffed a laugh, his LED now pulsing a lazy yellow. Jinx looked up to find him smirking down at her.

“I believe I just did,” he said, voice low and teasing.

Jinx let out a breathless laugh and smacked his chest lightly. “Shut up.”

Still grinning, he took her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. Her heart stuttered at the tenderness in the gesture, and her cheeks flushed. His grin widened at the sight, then he exhaled deeply, eyes fluttering closed.

She watched him in the soft silence, her fingers trailing gently along his jaw. Then, more seriously, she spoke.

“We could leave, you know.”

Connor opened his eyes, the grin fading as he looked at her. “Leave?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Go north. Cross into Canada. I know some routes. We could head east—Quebec, maybe. They speak French there, and the Feds probably won’t think to look for you in a quiet Francophone town in the middle of nowhere.”

Connor's expression grew somber. He looked at her for a long moment before replying, “Jinx… even if we go, we won’t be free. Not really. They'll always be looking. I’m still—what I am. What I’ve done.”

She shook her head, stubborn hope shining in her eyes. “No one’s free here either. At least there, we’d have a chance. We could find some quiet place. Just you and me. And Kiska, of course.”

A faint smile pulled at his lips. “Kiska?”

“My dog. She’d love you, you know,” Jinx murmured. “She’d follow you anywhere.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropped to the space between them, brows drawn, clearly torn. Then Jinx reached out and cupped his cheek, gently coaxing him to meet her gaze.

“We could have something good,” she said softly. “We could build a life. A happy one.”

Connor studied her face like he was memorizing it. Then he leaned into her hand and closed his eyes.

“You know… you didn’t have to come back for me,” she murmured.

Connor stilled.

She ran a fingertip along his jaw, her voice softer now. “You could’ve kept running. Kept hiding. But you didn’t. You came back.”

He opened his eyes, and there was something raw in his expression—something unguarded.

“I’d do it again,” he said quietly. “Every time.”

Jinx’s heart clenched at the certainty in his voice. She leaned in, pressed a kiss to his collarbone, then nestled closer, letting her hand rest over his chest.

“We’ll make it work,” she whispered. “I promise.”

Connor didn’t answer, but she felt it in the way he held her—like he believed her. Or maybe like he was beginning to.

And just like that, she closed her eyes, wrapped in warmth and quiet hope, and let sleep take her.

Chapter Text

Jinx was the first to wake the next morning. She stretched slowly, a content smile playing on her lips. Connor lay beside her, still asleep, his hair mussed and his features soft and peaceful in the morning light that filtered gently across his skin.

His lips were slightly parted, arms still wrapped loosely around her. He looked so... human.

So vulnerable. So beautifully, heartbreakingly human.

She reached out and gently ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed at the contact and nuzzled into her touch. Jinx smiled and leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead. He stirred beneath her, and after a moment, his eyes fluttered open. He blinked, then smiled up at her, warm and sleepy.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough and low with sleep.

Jinx’s heart swelled. She kissed him again—this time on the lips.

“Morning,” she murmured as she pulled back.

Connor hummed, his fingers lazily trailing down her spine. She shivered and smiled against his skin. He kissed her temple.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his hand still stroking slow, soothing lines across her back.

Jinx took a moment to consider, then hummed thoughtfully. “Fine,” she said, glancing up at him. “Really. I’m fine.”

He studied her face, skeptical, lips pressing into a thin line. “The last 24 hours were...”

“Intense,” she finished for him.

He chuckled softly. “Yeah.”

“But I’m more than fine,” she added, brushing her fingers along his jaw.

Connor sat up, stretching his arms with a groan. The sheet slid low on his hips, and Jinx couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles moved beneath his skin. When he caught her staring, he grinned.

She rolled her eyes, already blushing.

“You’re insufferable,” she said, swatting his arm lightly.

“Says you,” he teased. He leaned in to kiss her again. “I could watch you all day.”

Jinx rolled her eyes again, but her smile gave her away. She sat up with a yawn, and almost immediately, Connor’s hands found her shoulders. His thumbs worked firm, slow circles into her skin, and she melted under his touch.

“You really should go back to sleep,” he murmured against her neck. “You didn’t get much rest.”

She hummed in agreement, tilting her head to give him better access. “I wonder why,” she said dryly.

Connor chuckled and trailed kisses up to her ear. He caught the lobe gently between his teeth, grinning when she shuddered.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep a little longer?” he purred.

“I’m sure,” she replied, pulling away just enough to meet his gaze. She reached up to cradle his face in her hand. “Besides... you’re making it impossible to.”

Connor didn’t argue. He kissed her again—this time deeper, more insistent. Jinx sighed into it, letting herself be drawn into his warmth. His hand slid to her waist, and he pulled her closer, his body pressing against hers in a slow, familiar rhythm that made her pulse quicken.

Jinx broke the kiss and shifted to straddle him, her knees bracketing his hips as she cupped his face again. She pressed her lips to his in a slow, deliberate kiss, her teeth catching his bottom lip.

Connor sighed, his hands sliding to her hips, pulling her flush against him as he deepened the kiss. Jinx moaned into his mouth, fingers threading into his hair as she rolled her hips against him. His breath hitched sharply, his LED switching from yellow to red.

His grip tightened, fingers flexing against her skin, and Jinx smiled against his lips. She pulled back, lips brushing his jaw as she began kissing her way down his neck.

“Jinx,” Connor gasped, his voice already fraying. “Jinx, we should stop.”

“Why?” she murmured against his throat, lips brushing over the line of his collarbone.

He moaned when she bit down, his hips jerking beneath her. She soothed the spot with her tongue, and his hands slid into her hair, holding on.

“We should get ready to leave,” he managed, though his voice was strained.

Jinx shook her head, mouth still against his skin. She nipped him again, and his whole body shuddered.

“And go where, exactly?” she whispered.

Connor groaned.

“We’ve got nowhere to go. No one left. Nothing to do but enjoy what we’ve got. Right here.” Her voice was low and sure, threaded with heat and defiance.

Connor’s hands tensed again before he sat up abruptly, his lips crashing into hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, matching his urgency. His hands slid lower, gripping her ass, and Jinx rocked against him again. He groaned against her mouth.

She felt him, hard and hot, pressing against her, and she rolled her hips harder in response. Connor gasped, his lips trailing down her neck, kissing, sucking, biting.

His hands gripped her tighter, and he began to move her against him, guiding her rhythm, his breath ragged.

“Jinx—” he started, but she silenced him with another kiss, deep and demanding.

She rocked her hips again, and Connor groaned, his head tipping back in surrender. Jinx leaned in and trailed open-mouthed kisses down his throat, her lips soft, her teeth occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin. Each time she bit, he jerked beneath her, his breath catching.

His hands moved instinctively to her breasts, thumbs circling over her nipples with teasing precision. Jinx arched into his touch, sighing against his skin. He pulled her into another kiss—deep and greedy—his fingers continuing their slow torture until she broke away with a gasp and bit down on his lower lip.

Connor moaned, the sound guttural and raw.

Jinx slid a hand between them and palmed him, his length already wet with her pleasure. Connor’s head dropped back again as he groaned, his fingers digging into her hips like he was holding on for dear life.

“Jinx… fuck,” he breathed out, voice thick with want.

She grinned against his neck, then slowly kissed her way down his chest, lower and lower. Connor looked down at her, his breath catching when she ran her tongue along the length of him.

His fingers immediately tangled in her hair as she swirled her tongue around, teasing him with slow, deliberate licks. Connor gasped, hips twitching, and she took him deeper, humming softly as she did. The vibration made him cry out.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his grip tightening. His hips bucked up again, but Jinx pressed a firm hand to his chest, holding him down as she set a steady rhythm.

He tugged gently on her hair, and she let him slip from her mouth . The sudden loss made him moan, frustrated and breathless. Jinx smirked up at him, lips wet, eyes gleaming.

“We’re not done yet,” she said, her voice husky with promise.

She wrapped her hand around him and began to stroke him again—slow, controlled, purposeful. Connor whined, his hips bucking helplessly into her grip.

Jinx crawled back over him, capturing his lips in another hungry kiss as she straddled him once more. Her slick heat met the hard length of him, and Connor shuddered beneath her. She rocked forward slightly, and he slid partway inside.

“Oh, fuck,” Connor groaned, his voice wrecked.

Jinx kissed him again, deeper this time, and slowly sank the rest of the way down. Connor cried out against her mouth, his hands gripping her hips like he might come undone right then and there. Jinx let out a low moan and began to roll her hips, slow and deliberate, her lips still locked with his.

Connor broke the kiss, burying his face into her neck.

“Jinx,” he gasped, voice hoarse. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

He met her with a sharp thrust upward, and Jinx gasped, her hand splaying across his chest for balance. She started to move with him, matching his rhythm, thrust for thrust. Connor growled against her neck, his hands sliding around to cup her ass, guiding her movements with increasing urgency.

“Connor,” she breathed. “Connor, please—”

Her voice cracked with need, and he responded without words, picking up the pace. Jinx whined, her hips rocking harder, more desperate now. Connor sat up and caught her lips in another kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth with a hunger that made her tremble.

She dragged her nails down his back, and he growled again, deep and primal. Her arms wound tight around his neck, and when he bit down on her throat, she cried out and moved faster, her body chasing release with frantic precision.

Connor’s hands dug into her skin, his breath hot and ragged against her neck.

His hips snapped up into her with force, and she keened in response. His mouth traveled down to her chest, and when he drew one of her nipples into his mouth, Jinx bucked hard against him, nearly losing control.

“Connor—fuck—baby, I’m gonna—”

He silenced her with a kiss, fierce and consuming. She moaned into his mouth, the sound helpless, raw. Just as she came, he bit down gently on her lower lip, and the cry that tore from her throat echoed through the room.

Her body collapsed against his, trembling and breathless. Connor fell back with her, still inside her, arms wrapped tight around her body like he couldn’t bear to let go. He kissed the top of her head, his lips soft and warm against her damp skin.

Jinx let out a long, shaky sigh, her body still pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure, her heart pounding against his chest. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the quiet weight of being completely, absolutely held.

They lay there for a few quiet minutes, heartbeats slowing, their breathing gradually returning to normal. Jinx shifted slightly and leaned in to press a soft kiss to Connor’s lips. He smiled against her, and she deepened the kiss briefly, savoring the warmth of him before pulling away.

When she met his gaze, her breath caught—his eyes were soft, open, full of something that made her chest ache.

“We should probably get up,” he murmured, a faint smirk playing at his lips.

Jinx rolled her eyes and sat up, stretching her arms overhead with a yawn.

“We probably should,” she echoed.

Connor pushed up beside her and kissed her shoulder. She leaned into him for a moment before slipping out of bed.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, heading toward the bathroom.

She glanced back at him and smiled, heart fluttering as he watched her go. She closed the door behind her and quickly took care of her business.

Turning on the sink, she began washing her hands—but when she glanced up at the mirror, she froze.

Her neck and shoulders were littered with dark hickeys.

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

She grabbed a washcloth and tried, in vain, to scrub the marks away. She winced at the sting and paused, breath unsteady. Slowly, she raised a hand to trace one of the bruises, her lips quirking into a soft smile.

Resigned, she shut off the faucet and dropped the cloth. When she stepped back into the room, Connor was sitting on the bed, tugging on his hoodie. He looked up when he heard her and smiled—easy, warm, and a little smug.

Jinx rolled her eyes again, though she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. She crossed the room, pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then made her way over to slip into her black dress.

Connor watched her as she moved, eyes still dark with lingering heat.

“We don’t have a lot of time to waste,” he said.

Jinx sighed softly. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

He didn’t have to ask what she meant. His jaw tightened, and he looked away. “Jinx, I just… I don’t know if running changes anything. If we go to Canada, if we even make it there… we’re still not free. We’ll always be looking over our shoulders.”

She crossed the room and stood in front of him, slipping her arms around his waist. “Maybe,” she said. “But it’s still a better shot than waiting here to be hunted down. We could just… disappear.”

He met her eyes, conflicted. “Do you really think they won’t find us?”

“I think if we’re smart, they won’t even think to look,” she replied, her voice firm. “A town tucked away where no one asks questions. Just you, me, and Kiska. We could have a real life, Connor. One where we’re not fighting to survive every damn day.”

Connor exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead to hers. “It sounds like a dream.”

“It’s not,” Jinx whispered. “It’s a plan. And I think I know someone who can help us make it happen.”

He pulled back slightly, searching her eyes. “Someone you trust?”

She nodded. “More than you know.”

Connor was quiet for a moment longer, then nodded once. “Alright. Make the call.”

Jinx entered the lobby, scanning the space as she moved. Her eyes landed on the reception desk, where a woman with curly brown hair sat focused on her computer screen. Jinx approached and cleared her throat gently.

The woman looked up, her gaze briefly flicking over Jinx before she offered a polite smile and stood.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Jinx nodded toward the phone on the desk. The woman’s smile faltered slightly, a faint crease forming between her brows.

“Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” Jinx replied. Her eyes darted around the room, making sure no one was listening. “I just need to make a quick call.”

The woman hesitated for a moment, studying her, then gave a small nod and gestured to the phone.

“Thanks,” Jinx said softly.

She picked up the receiver and dialed a number from memory, her fingers drumming quietly on the counter as the line rang.

Once. Twice.

Then a voice answered.

“Hey,” Jinx said, voice low. “It’s me. We need your help.”

Chapter Text

The minutes crawled by.

Jinx sat on the edge of the motel bed, her knee bouncing restlessly, fingers gripping the edge of the mattress like she might fall off if she let go. The room felt too small, too quiet—except for the occasional creak of old pipes, a dog barking in the distance, or the shuffle of footsteps in the snow that made her spine stiff every time.

Connor stood near the window, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He didn’t look back at her, but she could see his LED pulsing in a nervous yellow from where she sat. It hadn’t stopped blinking since they came back upstairs.

Jinx’s eyes darted to the door at every noise. A car passing. A voice outside. A door slamming nearby.

Her chest felt too tight.

“What if he doesn’t come?” she asked suddenly, her voice cracking.

Connor finally turned, his eyes finding hers. “I’m sure he will.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I trust you,” he said simply.

She shook her head, standing abruptly. “You shouldn’t. For all I know, he doesn’t even—shit.” Her hands raked through her hair as she started pacing. “This was stupid. I should’ve found another way. We should’ve left already—”

“Jinx.”

She didn’t stop. “If they traced the call, or if he told someone, or—God, what if he’s not coming alone?”

“Jinx,” Connor repeated, stepping in her path.

She froze. Her breath hitched.

He reached out and took her hands, his touch warm and grounding. His eyes searched hers, calm but shadowed with tension. The yellow light of his LED flickered steadily at his temple.

“I’m worried too,” he admitted, his voice low. “But we don’t gain anything by spiraling. We wait. That’s all we can do right now.”

Jinx swallowed hard, trying to hold onto the steadiness in his gaze. Her hands trembled in his, and he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. She sank into him without hesitation, burying her face in his chest.

His hoodie smelled like soap and old cotton and him.

“I hate waiting,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But we’re together. That’s what matters.”

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful, but it was shared.

Then—

A car pulled up outside.

Connor’s entire body tensed. She gently pulled away from him, moving toward the window to peer through the curtains.

Connor stayed frozen in place, holding his breath.

She turned back to him. “He’s here.”

“Are you sure it’s your guy?” he asked.

Jinx hesitated. Then nodded once. “Positive.”

A sharp knock echoed through the room.

Jinx jolted, heart leaping into her throat. Connor instinctively stepped back from the window, his LED flicking red.

She turned to him quickly and raised her hand, palm out, fingers spread. It’s okay. Her eyes locked onto his, steady and reassuring, and she saw the tension in his shoulders ease—just slightly.

She crossed the room and opened the door slowly.

A smile broke across her face the moment she saw him.

“Hey, old man,” she said softly.

Hank Anderson stood in the doorway, just as gruff and broad-shouldered as she remembered, though the silver in his beard had grown thicker, and the lines around his eyes had deepened. He glanced around once, always cautious, before stepping inside.

But the second his eyes landed on Connor, he froze.

For a beat, no one moved. The room felt like it stopped breathing.

“Hey there, son,” Hank said finally, voice rough. “Long time no see.”

Connor didn’t speak. He didn’t blink. The red in his LED vanished, replaced by a flicker of yellow. His lips parted, but no words came. Just one, barely audible whisper:

“…Hank.”

And then he moved.

Jinx watched as Connor crossed the room in two strides and all but collided with the older man, arms locking around him in a fierce, desperate embrace. Hank let out a quiet breath, one hand immediately cradling the back of Connor’s head, the other clutching his back like he might break apart if he let go.

Jinx stood frozen by the door, her heart swelling as she watched them. She’d never seen Connor like this—not tense, not cautious, not calculating. Just… soft. Unarmored. Vulnerable in a way that felt achingly young.

Like the old Connor. Before the revolution. Before the programming. Before the war.

Like a son coming home.

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Hank muttered into his hair, voice thick with something he didn’t want to show. “You really know how to fall off the face of the earth, huh?”

Connor didn’t answer. His face was buried in Hank’s shoulder, and Jinx could see his hands trembling slightly where they clutched at the man’s jacket.

Jinx’s smile turned bittersweet.

She leaned against the doorframe and gave them their moment. In all the chaos and running, the fear and fire—this was the first time she’d seen something good take root. Something real.

Family.

Connor finally pulled back, though his hands lingered on Hank’s arms like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. His expression was unguarded—eyes glassy, jaw tight—and for a brief second, Jinx thought she saw him cry.

But he didn’t.

He just looked at Hank like he still wasn’t sure he was real.

Hank cleared his throat, rough and awkward like always, and gave Connor a light slap on the shoulder. “You look like hell.”

Connor huffed out something between a breath and a laugh. “You, too.”

Jinx finally stepped forward, giving them both space but gently nudging the moment forward. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Hank looked over at her and shrugged. “You call me out of nowhere sounding like you’re being hunted, and he’s involved? Course I came.” His eyes flicked between them. “What the hell happened to you two?”

Connor looked to Jinx, and she gave a small nod. She stepped forward, crossing her arms loosely.

“It’s a long story,” she said, exhaling. “Short version? I was at some bullshit gala full of rich assholes. Connor showed up. My partner tried to kill him, and I stopped him. Took a bullet for it, too.” She gave a humorless laugh. “Now I’m branded a traitor—for saving him.”

Hank’s jaw flexed. He muttered a curse under his breath but didn’t interrupt.

“You were right, Hank,” Jinx continued. “About everything. About him.”

Hank glanced at Connor again, brows pulling together. “Do you remember what they did to you?”

“I don’t remember most of it,” Connor admitted, voice quiet. “Only flashes. Orders. Blood.” His LED flickered yellow again. “I wasn’t myself.”

Hank’s face hardened. “I knew it. Those fuckers.”

Jinx stepped in again. “I’m a traitor. I protected the one I was supposed to eliminate. They won’t forgive that. I bought us a little time, but they’ll track me just like they did Connor.”

Hank blew out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus.”

“We want to get out,” Jinx said. “Cross into Canada. Lay low, start over. I know the chances are slim, but—”

“Quebec,” Connor added, softly. “It’s remote. They speak French. We’d blend in.”

Jinx nodded. “I thought maybe if anyone could help us get across quietly… it’d be you.”

Hank looked at her, then at Connor again. His eyes softened.

“I’m not a miracle worker,” he said slowly. “But I’ve still got a few favors I haven’t cashed in. And I know people up north. Off-the-grid types who don’t ask questions.”

Jinx’s heart jumped. “So you’ll help us?”

Hank let out a long breath, then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll help you.”

Connor looked stunned for a moment, like he didn’t know how to process the relief that rushed into his chest.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and sincere.

Hank shrugged like it was nothing, but his jaw was tight. “What else was I gonna do? Let you two get snatched up by jackboot feds? Nah. I raised you better than that.”

Connor looked down, and for just a second, that boyish flicker crossed his face again.

Jinx watched them both quietly, her heart full and aching at once.

Hank looked between them for a moment, then reached down and grabbed a duffel bag he’d set by the door. “Figured you might need these.”

Jinx blinked, then laughed softly. “You always were one step ahead.”

She took the bag from him and unzipped it to find clean clothes—jeans, a hoodie, a couple of basic layers. Her throat tightened. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hank said, though his voice was rougher than usual. “You saved him. You don’t have to explain anything else.”

Connor turned to him, voice soft. “You always said I wasn’t just code.”

“Damn right,” Hank muttered. “And now you’re more human than half the assholes chasing you.”

He turned toward the window, scanning the street ahead like instinct was pulling at him. “We can talk more on the road. I’ve got a route. Safe house across the border if we move fast.”

Jinx glanced down at the clothes. “Give me five minutes to change.”

Hank nodded. “Make it three.”

* * * *

The road stretched out before them, long and empty, the morning light creeping across the horizon like a cautious promise.

They’d been driving for almost an hour, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. Connor was curled up in the back seat, head leaned against the window, arms folded loosely across his chest. His LED was barely pulsing blue—dormant—and for once, his face was calm. Peaceful.

Jinx turned slightly in her seat to look at him. A small, soft smile tugged at her lips. It was rare to see him like this—unguarded. He looked younger somehow. Gentle.

Human.

She watched the rise and fall of his chest, slow and steady, and felt something warm and heavy settle in her own.

“He looks like a kid when he sleeps,” Hank muttered from the driver’s seat, his voice cutting gently through the quiet.

Jinx blinked and turned back around. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I guess he does.”

Hank gave her a sidelong glance. “You care about him.”

Jinx hesitated, leaning back in her seat. “He saved my life, you know. More than once.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She exhaled slowly, staring out the window. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“Don’t give me that,” Hank said, eyes back on the road. “I’ve seen that look before. The way you were watching him just now? That wasn’t just gratitude.”

Jinx didn’t answer immediately. She crossed her arms, shifting uncomfortably in the seat.

Hank glanced at her again, more gently this time. “You two…?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, then sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s always complicated,” Hank said. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Jinx gave him a tired smile. “Guess that’s true.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then, in a softer voice, he added, “He was alone for a long time after the revolution failed. After they took him back. I tried to fight for him. Tried to keep him from disappearing into the system, but they shut me out. Said he was classified. Said he didn’t exist anymore.”

Her chest tightened.

“I never stopped looking,” Hank added. “But I thought… maybe I lost him for good.”

“You didn’t,” she said quietly. “He’s still in there. Still him .”

Hank nodded slowly. “Yeah. I saw it, too. The moment he hugged me like that… I knew.”

They fell into silence again, the road stretching on ahead of them. After a while, Hank chuckled under his breath.

“Still, I didn’t expect to find him with someone like you.”

Jinx smirked. “Someone like me?”

“Someone who’d throw away everything for him,” he said. “That’s rare.”

She looked back at the window, hiding the heat rising to her face. “He’s worth it.”

Hank nodded. “Yeah. He is.”

They drove on in silence for a while longer, the early sun painting the landscape in soft gold. Jinx turned her head just once more to look back at Connor, still sleeping.

She didn’t know what would happen next. But for now, they had this.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

The sky was a pale, sleepy gray, the kind that stretched forever above thick pines and winding asphalt. Morning mist still clung to the forest, low and heavy, drifting through the trees like ghosts. They’d been on the road for two and a half hours. Jinx could feel every minute of it in her bones.

She sat in the passenger seat, legs curled up under her, hoodie drawn tight around her frame. Her head rested lightly against the window, eyes half-lidded, tracking the blur of evergreens and frostbitten grass. The world outside looked too calm. It made her stomach churn.

Beside her, Hank kept one hand on the wheel, the other nursing a coffee from a roadside diner they’d stopped at after safely crossing the border—thanks to a favor from one of his old contacts. His eyes were bloodshot, the lines in his face deeper than usual. He hadn’t said much since they’d crossed out of London, Ontario. Not that there was much to say.

In the backseat, Connor was a statue.

He sat with his hands folded between his knees, hoodie up, gaze fixed straight ahead. His LED flickered every now and then—amber, then blue, then back to amber. Alert. Processing. Scanning.

Jinx glanced at him in the mirror. He hadn’t spoken in over an hour.

The silence in the car was almost reverent, broken only by the tires humming against the cracked road and the occasional groan of the suspension.

Then came the distant whump-whump-whump of rotors.

Jinx’s head snapped up. Hank’s fingers tightened on the wheel. Connor didn’t move—but his LED jumped to red.

“Shit,” Jinx whispered.

They all turned their eyes upward at the same time. Through the trees, just above the ridgeline, a dark shape hovered—smooth, metallic, moving too slow to be anything natural.

A government drone.

“Keep driving,” Connor said quietly, his voice tight.

“I wasn’t planning on inviting it in for brunch,” Hank muttered.

They kept low. Jinx ducked further into her seat, pulling the hood over her hair. Her fingers clenched into fists. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Every second felt like a countdown.

The drone passed overhead without slowing.

No alarms. No flashing lights. No gunfire. Just the buzz of metal wings and cold air.

Only when it disappeared beyond the trees did Hank speak again.

“We’re getting too close to the Toronto perimeter,” he muttered. “There’ll be checkpoints. Maybe automated ones.”

Jinx turned toward him. “Can we avoid them?”

“We’ll try. But if they’re sweeping for androids, Connor’s gonna stand out like a flare in the dark.”

Connor didn’t flinch. “My systems are suppressed. I’m minimizing trace emissions.”

“And if they’ve got new toys? If they can detect rogue signals through lead-lined vans, or whatever they’ve cooked up in the last year?”

Connor looked up. His face was unreadable. “Then I’ll buy you time.”

“Like hell you will,” Jinx snapped, knowing exactly what he meant.

Her voice cracked in the quiet, and it startled all three of them. She bit her lip and turned back to the window.

Another twenty minutes passed. Trees turned into sparse neighborhoods. Billboards and hydro poles began to appear more frequently. The smell of gasoline and asphalt grew stronger.

Then—red and blue lights up ahead.

Hank slowed the car.

“A checkpoint,” he muttered. “Local law enforcement. That’s worse than feds—they’re bored.”

Connor shifted in the backseat. 

Jinx turned, eyeing him. “You okay?”

He nodded. “I’ll manage.”

The car crawled forward in the line. There were only three vehicles ahead. Two officers were speaking with a truck driver. One had a tablet in hand, scanning IDs.

“Don’t say anything,” Hank warned. “I’ll handle it.”

Jinx nodded. Connor ducked down further, pulling his hood tighter. His LED blinked amber to red.

The officer came around to Hank’s window and tapped it with a flashlight.

Hank rolled it down, offered a warm smile. “Morning, officer.”

“ID, please.”

“Sure. Here you go.” Hank handed over his driver’s license. “Everything alright?”

“Just a routine sweep. Nothing to worry about.”

Jinx held her breath.

The officer squinted toward the backseat.

“That your son? Is he sick? He looks nervous.”

“Autistic,” Hank lied smoothly. “Hates noise, hates strangers. Just trying to get him to a specialist near Ottawa.”

The officer looked down at the ID again. Looked back at Hank. Then at Jinx.

Beat of silence.

“Alright. Move along.”

Hank rolled the window up and drove off before they could change their minds.

No one spoke for several long minutes.

Then Connor said softly, “That was close.”

“Too close,” Jinx whispered.

They drove in silence for another hour.

* * * *

The night pressed in thick and heavy, the snowfall turning the world beyond the windshield into a hazy tunnel of white. Headlights cut through it in narrow beams, illuminating the winding two-lane road ahead. Pines loomed on either side, their limbs sagging under the weight of fresh snow.

Inside the car, the silence was brittle.

The heater hummed low, casting a soft warmth against the windows, but it didn’t reach the tension settling over the trio like frost.

Then the radio crackled.

A clipped, mechanical voice replaced the soft jazz station that had been playing quietly in the background.

“This is a public safety alert. Be on the lookout for two fugitives believed to be traveling northeast from the Ontario region. One female. Mid-to-late twenties. Suspected to be armed and dangerous. Accompanied by an android—serial number 313 248 317—classified deviant. Approach with caution.”

Jinx leaned forward in her seat, a chill worse than the winter air creeping down her spine.

On the dashboard’s center screen, a still image flickered to life.

A grainy surveillance photo.

Her. In that black gala dress. Connor behind her, just barely out of focus.

Her mouth parted in mid-sentence, one eye squinting from a flash.

“That was taken at the gala…” she whispered.

Connor leaned closer, eyes narrowing at the image. “They’re accelerating their manhunt.”

“They know you didn’t die,” Hank muttered, his jaw tight.

He reached forward and slammed the radio off. The sudden silence rang in their ears like a gunshot.

“We need to move faster.”

Nobody responded right away.

Jinx sat back slowly, pressing her fingertips to her lips. Her heart thudded so hard in her chest she thought it might shake the car. “We’re gonna run out of road eventually,” she said.

Hank glanced at her. “Then we find a new one.”

“They’ve likely flagged the roads leading north and east. Highways are being monitored. Facial recognition is embedded in most traffic cams,” Connor said. “They’re narrowing the net.”

“So what do we do?” Hank asked.

“We go smaller,” Connor said. “Side roads. Logging trails. Dead zones without signal.”

Jinx turned around in her seat to face him, brows furrowed. “That could add days.”

Connor met her eyes, calm despite the tension in his jaw. “So be it.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then finally nodded, settling back in her seat.

In the rearview mirror, his LED flickered yellow. Then blue. Then yellow again.

“You sound like you’ve done this before,” Hank said, hands tightening on the wheel.

Connor didn’t smile. “I’ve read every field protocol on fugitive tracking and countermeasures. I know what they expect us to do.”

“Good,” Hank said. “Then we do the opposite.”

They drove on.

The snow thickened, muting the world outside until it felt like they were moving through a dream.

Jinx didn’t sleep that night.

She just watched the dark blur of trees as they passed, and wondered how long they had left before the dream turned into a trap.

* * * *

The snow had eased by the time they pulled into the gravel parking lot of a tiny roadside diner — the kind of place that hadn’t changed since the 70s. Neon signs buzzed softly in the windows, casting red and blue glows over the thin layer of frost on the glass. A hand-painted sign above the door read Joe’s Diner – Opened 24/7 .

Hank killed the engine with a grunt. “I need to piss.”

“I could eat,” Jinx said, rubbing her eyes. “And drink something that isn't gas station coffee.”

Connor nodded, quiet.

Inside, the diner was warm and smelled like burnt meat, old grease, and fresh-brewed coffee. There were only a handful of people scattered across booths — a trucker nursing a sandwich, an old man with a crossword, and a couple talking low over plates of fries. A television mounted above the counter played a muted local news broadcast with subtitles.

Jinx slid into a booth near the back and waited as Hank disappeared into the restroom. Connor hesitated by the door, then followed a moment later, catching Hank’s eye before disappearing down the same hallway — a silent move to help sell the human illusion.

She exhaled and rolled her shoulders.

A waitress approached, a pen behind one ear and a tired smile on her lips. “What can I get you tonight, honey?”

“Coffee, black,” Jinx glanced at the hand-written chalkboard menu, “and a slice of apple pie if you still have some.”

The woman nodded. “For sure, sweety.”

Jinx turned her gaze to the window, watching snowflakes dance past the glass — then the flicker of movement on the TV drew her attention.

“…federal AI task force continues to widen their investigation into deviant activity after the uprising two years ago. A new series of incentives were announced this morning for any civilians providing verified tips or information…”

The headline at the bottom scrolled:

WANTED: DEVIANT SYMPATHIZERS – REWARD UP TO $250,000

Jinx stiffened.

She could feel someone watching her.

Slowly, she turned her head.

A man at the counter — mid-forties, leather jacket, scruffy beard — was staring at her. Not overtly. Not aggressively. Just… watching. His gaze lingered too long. When she met his eyes, he didn’t look away.

Jinx ducked her head, fingers tightening around her coffee cup as the waitress placed it down.

Her pulse quickened.

Footsteps — calm, steady — approached. Connor.

He slid into the booth across from her, nodding once. She felt him scan the room.

“I know,” she murmured under her breath.

“Man at the counter,” Connor said, voice low. “He watched you for thirteen seconds without blinking.”

“We need to go.”

Connor was already rising.

Jinx left a ten on the table and didn’t wait for the apple pie.

They exited fast, the bell above the diner door chiming sharp behind them.

The cold hit her hard as they crossed the parking lot to the car. Hank was already sliding behind the wheel.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Someone recognized her,” Connor said flatly. “Or thought he did.”

Hank didn’t need more. The car roared to life and pulled back onto the snowy road, tires skidding slightly on the ice.

Jinx looked back over her shoulder as the diner disappeared behind them.

The man from the counter was standing at the window.

On his phone.

* * * *

The sky was beginning to pale in the east, soft streaks of orange and mauve leaking through the trees. A sliver of sun broke over the horizon, casting long shadows across the frost-covered road as the car rumbled forward in silence.

Nobody had spoken since the diner.

Jinx sat curled in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes locked on the windshield. Her coffee had long gone cold. In the backseat, Connor stared out the window, his jaw tense, LED glowing a sharp and constant red.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

“What are we even running toward?” she snapped.

Hank grunted, his grip tightening on the wheel.

“I’m serious,” she said, voice rising. “We’re weaving through backroads in the middle of nowhere, sleeping in shifts, jumping every time a squirrel twitches—and for what? What’s the endgame? Do we even have a plan?”

The question hung in the air, bitter and raw.

“We get to Quebec, like you said,” Hank said tightly. “We lay low. We regroup.”

“Regroup for what, exactly?” Jinx turned toward him, eyes blazing. “We’re fugitives, Hank. This isn’t a bad case gone sideways, it’s an entire goddamn manhunt. My face is on a federal watchlist. I’ve got people looking to shoot me on sight. So unless you’ve got a magical fucking bunker somewhere, I don’t see how this ends.”

Connor shifted in the backseat. His LED pulsed red again. His fists were clenched tight in his lap, fingers twitching.

“We’ll make one,” he said.

Jinx twisted in her seat to look at him.

“What?” she said quietly.

“We’ll make a plan,” he repeated. His eyes didn’t meet hers. “We adapt. We find the gaps in their system. We stay ahead of them long enough to end this—”

“End this how, Connor?” Her voice cracked. “With what? A weapon? A speech? A miracle?”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes stayed on the floor of the car, LED glowing steadily like a warning light. His hands trembled slightly, knuckles white where they gripped his knees.

And suddenly Jinx saw it—really saw it.

The weight he carried.

The cracks in his voice, the exhaustion in his posture, the way he refused to meet her eyes. Something in him was broken. Not physically. Not visibly. But deep. Like a wire that had been twisted too many times, a processor on the edge of burnout.

She wanted to reach back. Touch him. Say something—anything—to pull him out of that spiraling storm behind his eyes.

But she didn’t know how.

Instead, she turned forward, her jaw clenched.

Hank glanced at her. Then at the mirror. Then said nothing.

The car kept moving through the dawn.

But the silence between them had changed.

Now it wasn’t fear that filled the gaps.

It was grief.

Because Jinx realized—for the first time—

She was terrified she wouldn’t be able to save him.

Chapter Text

The car rolled to a stop on a narrow, snow-blanketed road deep in the forest. Tire tracks cut fresh lines through the untouched powder, and the night air outside was so still it felt sacred.

Jinx stirred in the passenger seat, her cheek pressed against the cold window. Her breath fogged the glass as she blinked awake, frowning. The last thing she remembered was the highway humming beneath them, the soft vibration of the car lulling her to sleep.

Now it was silent.

She straightened up slowly, stiff from the cramped seat, and squinted through the windshield.

A church stood in front of them, old and cloaked in frost. Its stone walls were dusted in snow, and a single candle burned behind the tall stained-glass window, casting faint hues of red and gold onto the snowy ground. There were no signs, no lights, no steeple — only the quiet silhouette of the building, half-swallowed by the forest around it.

“Where the hell are we?” she muttered, her voice rough with sleep.

Hank didn’t answer right away. He turned off the ignition and reached for his coat. “Just trust me,” he said simply, then opened the driver’s door and stepped into the cold.

The door shut behind him with a thud, and his boots crunched against the ice as he made his way toward the heavy wooden door of the church.

Jinx blinked after him, still trying to shake the confusion from her thoughts. She looked over her shoulder into the back seat.

Connor was awake. He met her gaze, clearly just as puzzled.

He offered a small shrug, his LED glowing a soft yellow.

“I have no idea,” he said, not moving. “But I don’t think he’d bring us here without a reason.”

Jinx sighed, rubbing her hands together to wake them up.

“God, I hope not,” she murmured, grabbing her coat from her lap and pulling it tighter around her shoulders as she stepped out into the freezing night.

The snow crunched beneath her boots as she followed Hank up the path, her breath curling in the air. Connor fell into step beside her, silent.

The church door creaked open.

Warm candlelight spilled out across the porch. A tall man stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the glow inside — his features weathered but kind, his posture strong despite age.

“Anderson. It’s been a long time,” the man said to Hank, his voice low and steady. “But I figured one day you’d come knocking again.”

Hank nodded, visibly relaxing for the first time in hours.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to.”

The man’s eyes flicked past him, settling on Jinx and then Connor.

“Then come in,” he said, his gaze holding the android’s. “All of you. You must be tired.”

Jinx stepped forward, her heart thudding with nerves she couldn’t name. She felt Connor’s presence behind her like a shadow.

And then, without another word, they stepped through the door.

The heavy door shut behind them with a final-sounding thunk , muffling the wind outside.

Inside, the church was dimly lit but warm — warmer than it had any right to be in the middle of the woods in winter. The scent of old wood, melted wax, and something faintly herbal hung in the air. Candles lined the walls in iron sconces, their flickering glow casting soft shadows across the modest pews.

The floor creaked beneath their boots as they stepped farther in.

It wasn’t like any church Jinx had ever seen. Yes, there were crosses — one carved into the wooden altar, another hung above the entryway. But beside them, tucked carefully into alcoves or leaned against worn hymnals, were other things.

A faded blue triangle had been painted over one of the stone columns — unmistakably the symbol of deviance. On a nearby shelf, half-concealed behind a vase of dried flowers, sat a folded armband. White fabric with the android insignia, aged and fraying around the edges. Above it, a yellowing newspaper clipping had been pinned to the wall: a headline about the revolution in Detroit.

Jinx slowed as she passed them. Her fingers hovered near the armband, but she didn’t touch it.

“You were helping them…” she murmured.

The pastor, who’d walked quietly ahead, turned toward her with a faint smile. “Still am,” he said.

Connor stepped forward, his eyes sweeping the room with something like reverence. The LED at his temple flickered yellow as he took it all in.

“You sheltered deviants,” he said quietly. “Even after the uprising.”

The pastor nodded. “They were people. People who needed help. The cross on the wall doesn’t mean much if I turn them away.”

Hank let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his face — the tension easing from his shoulders.

“This is Father Warren,” he said, glancing between Jinx and Connor. “I met him... damn, when was that?”

Warren offered a quiet nod, his expression calm.

“Five years ago,” he replied.

Jinx folded her arms, still tense despite the warmth. “Why are you helping us?”

“If Hank brought you here,” Warren replied, “you’re not just anyone.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that settles thick in sacred places. Then the pastor gestured toward a side door.

“There’s a spare room downstairs. It’s small, but private. You can rest there tonight. I’ll bring you something hot to drink.”

Connor finally spoke again, his voice lower now.

“Why are you still doing this?” he asked. “It’s been years.”

The pastor paused at the threshold.

“Because the war never really ended. It just got quieter.”

With that, he disappeared down a hallway, leaving them alone in the flickering candlelight.

Jinx glanced at Connor. His expression was unreadable — somewhere between guilt and awe.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

He nodded once, but didn’t speak.

She looked down at the armband again, her fingers brushing the shelf’s edge.

Father Warren returned a few minutes later carrying a tray with two steaming mugs. He handed the drinks out without a word — one to Jinx, one to Hank.

The three of them settled onto the long wooden benches at the back of the chapel, the candlelight casting soft shadows around them. The quiet was thick but not uncomfortable. Jinx cupped her drink between her hands, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.

After a moment, she looked toward Warren.

“So… how did you and Hank meet, anyway?”

There was a pause. Warren’s gaze slid over to Hank, and Hank looked back at him. A long beat passed between them — something unspoken.

Jinx shifted, suddenly uncertain.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Hank waved a hand to cut her off, shaking his head.

“Nah, it’s fine.”

He leaned back, staring up at the exposed rafters overhead for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts.

“It was the winter of 2035,” he said finally. “Right after I lost my son. Cole.”

Jinx’s expression softened, her mug lowering slightly.

“I was… broken. Couldn’t think straight. Drinking too much, barely sleeping. I’d spend nights driving around just to feel like my mind wasn’t chewing itself apart. One night I just kept going. Didn’t stop when I hit the border. Didn’t even realize I’d crossed until my damn car gave out in the middle of some pitch-black stretch of road.”

He smiled faintly, almost bitterly.

“No cell signal, no flashlight, just a shit jacket and a half-dead battery. Thought maybe I’d freeze out there. Would’ve deserved it.”

Warren’s voice was quiet as he picked up the story.

“But he didn’t. He walked until he saw the steeple.”

Hank chuckled once, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Stumbled into this place like some strung-out ghost. Warren didn’t ask questions, didn’t preach at me either. Just… sat with me. Talked. For hours.”

Warren nodded softly.

“Sometimes that’s all someone needs.”

“Yeah, well,” Hank said, rubbing the back of his neck, “it helped. For a while. We kept in touch after that — he’d call, check in, remind me I wasn’t completely alone. But it didn’t stick. The depression came back. Worse. I went deeper.”

His eyes flicked toward Connor, who sat quietly, his hands folded neatly in his lap, watching Hank without blinking.

“Then I met this pain-in-the-ass android,” Hank continued, voice rough with emotion. “Thought I hated him at first. Hell, I wanted to hate him. But he… he gave me something to hold onto again. A reason to live.”

Connor’s LED blinked yellow, his gaze dropping to the floor. Jinx looked between the two men, her throat tight.

“He saved me,” Hank said simply.

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Jinx felt it settle over her like a blanket — a quiet, reverent kind of peace. She reached for Connor’s hand, and after a second, he laced his fingers through hers.

Across from them, Father Warren watched, his expression unreadable — but the faint flicker of something close to hope glinted in his eyes.

Later that night, after quiet conversation gave way to long silences and heavy eyelids, Father Warren stood and stretched with a soft grunt.

“You all look like hell,” he said gently, though not without humor. “Come on, I’ll show you the spare room. It’s not much, but it’s warm.”

They followed him down a narrow set of creaking stairs at the back of the chapel. The air grew cooler as they descended, the scent of old wood and stone thickening. At the bottom was a small, low-ceilinged room with a single bed against one wall and a worn couch across from it. An old space heater hummed faintly in the corner.

Father Warren motioned around the room.

“I used to house refugees down here. Androids, mostly — before and after the revolution. It's off the radar, reinforced. You’re safe here for the night.”

He gave them a small nod, then climbed back upstairs, leaving them alone.

Jinx let out a breath and set her pack down beside the bed. Her muscles ached from the long day on the road, and the sight of a mattress almost made her groan.

“There’s only one bed,” she noted, looking between the two men.

Connor stepped forward immediately.

“I’ll take the floor.”

“The hell you will,” Hank grunted, already toeing off his boots. “You’re not a soldier anymore, kid. Couch is yours. Jinx gets the bed.”

Jinx gave Connor a look that said don’t argue before quietly sitting on the edge of the mattress.

Connor hesitated, then nodded once.

“Alright.”

He sat on the edge of the couch but didn’t lay down. Instead, he stared at the ground, elbows on his knees, hands folded tightly.

Jinx watched him for a moment, sensing it again — that weight pressing down on him, invisible but heavy. His LED flickered from yellow to red and back again, the quiet pulse of a storm brewing inside him.

She lay back slowly, curling on her side to face him.

Safe — for now. But not peaceful.

Connor’s jaw was tense, his eyes distant. He wasn’t here in the room with them. Not really.

The storm inside Connor kept him still for hours — but never at rest. While Jinx and Hank settled into uneasy sleep below, he lay on the couch staring at the ceiling, unblinking. The hum of the space heater, the creaks of the old church above, even the sound of wind brushing the stained-glass windows couldn’t distract him from the gnawing weight in his chest.

Eventually, he sat up.

Quietly, he pulled on his hoodie and crept up the stairs, careful not to wake the others. The chapel was dim, bathed in the flicker of still-burning candles left at the altar. Shadows danced across the walls, throwing crosses and faded revolutionary symbols into sharp relief.

Connor moved slowly down the aisle and sank into a wooden pew.

He stared straight ahead.

His hands were folded in front of him, motionless. His LED pulsed red, soft and steady, like a warning no one else could see.

He didn’t hear Father Warren come in — not until the man quietly sat beside him.

The pastor didn’t speak right away. He simply rested his hands on his knees and watched the altar, the silence between them stretching long.

Then, finally:

“I remember the first androids who came to me,” Warren said, voice quiet but full of weight. “Scared. Bleeding blue. Hunted. They didn’t come here for salvation. They came for a chance. A second breath. A reason to hope.”

Connor didn’t reply. His jaw twitched, but his gaze never shifted.

“You remind me of one,” the pastor continued. “Always asking himself what’s right. What would make the pain worth it. What would justify the cost. Looking for the righteous path like it’s something that appears if you think hard enough.” He turned toward Connor, his expression kind but resolute. “But son… there isn’t one. Not in times like these. There’s only the thing that needs doing.”

The words cut deep. Connor’s shoulders stiffened, and he finally turned his head.

“What if the thing that needs doing…” His voice cracked softly. “Means I don’t make it?”

The candlelight cast flickering shadows across his face — and for a moment, he looked younger. Smaller. Like the weight of everything had finally caught up to him.

Father Warren exhaled slowly.

“Then maybe that’s the price.”

He let that settle for a moment, then continued.

“You can’t run forever. None of us can. But you — you were built to endure. To carry burdens others couldn’t.” He reached over and tapped a finger against Connor’s temple. “But that don’t mean you’re not allowed to hurt. Or to wonder if it’s all too much.”

Connor’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“I made promises,” he said. “To people who didn’t survive to see them through. To Markus. To North. To myself.” A pause. “But maybe… I was never supposed to survive either.”

The pastor let those words hang for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“If that’s true, then you owe it to them to make it count. Not with guilt. Not with martyrdom. With action. The right action. Whatever it takes to finish what you started.”

Connor was still. The words sank into him, heavy as stone.

His LED flickered — red, yellow, red again.

“You don’t have to believe in God to believe in something bigger than yourself,” Warren added softly. “But I hope, when the time comes, you’ll choose to believe in the people still here. The ones who need you to make it back.”

Connor’s throat worked, but no words came out.

Finally, he nodded once — more to himself than to Warren.

The storm in him didn’t pass.

But the path through it began to form.

* * * *

Jinx stirred beneath the blankets.

Her eyes opened. Dim moonlight bled in from the small basement window, just enough to cast faint shadows on the wall. She sat up slowly, her heart already picking up pace.

The couch was empty.

She blinked, hoping maybe he was just out of view, but no. Connor was gone.

Panic bloomed in her chest like a bruise.

She stood quickly, slipping on her jacket and quietly stepping into the hallway. Her bare feet padded against the old floorboards as she moved toward the stairwell, heart hammering louder with each step. Maybe he just needed air. Maybe he couldn’t sleep. Maybe—

Her breath caught.

At the top of the stairs, through the cracked chapel doors, she saw them.

Connor was sitting in the pews. Father Warren sat beside him.

She didn’t enter.

Instead, Jinx pressed her back against the cool stone wall just outside the chapel doors and listened. Their voices were low but carried in the quiet church.

“What if the thing that needs doing… means I don’t make it?”

Connor’s voice. Tight. Tired. Not fearful — just resigned.

“Then maybe that’s the price,” came Father Warren’s reply. Calm. Steady. Too calm.

Her blood ran cold.

She stayed frozen as the conversation continued — the pastor’s voice weaving quiet truths, and Connor’s silence heavier than any reply. Words like sacrifice. Burden. Finish what you started.

She pressed a hand to her mouth.

No.

No, not again.

By the time Father Warren stood and gently excused himself, Jinx had stepped back into the shadows. She waited until he disappeared before she moved forward.

She paused at the chapel’s threshold.

Connor hadn’t moved.

He sat alone in the pew, his head tilted slightly forward, his hands resting together between his knees. The light from the stained-glass windows painted fractured colors across his face — reds, blues, golds — like war paint. Like bruises. Like a ghost being remembered by moonlight.

Jinx’s heart ached at the sight of him.

She saw it in his posture — the barely-there hunch in his shoulders, the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched but never clenched.

Something had shifted in him.

Not broken. Not yet.

But bending.

Tilting.

She knew that look. She’d seen it in soldiers. In survivors. In herself.

Connor was starting to slip again — into duty, into sacrifice, into something final. Into that place where people didn’t come back from.

And she wasn’t going to let him go there alone.

She stepped into the chapel.

The floor creaked under her bare feet, soft but certain. Connor turned his head slightly — not surprised, not startled. As if he’d known she was there all along.

He didn’t speak.

She crossed the aisle quietly and sat beside him, thigh brushing his.

Still, silence.

Then, gently, her hand found his.

His fingers closed around hers automatically, like muscle memory. Like need.

“I heard you,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

Connor didn’t meet her eyes.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she continued, a tremor in her voice. “And I’m telling you now—don’t you dare decide the ending without me.”

He looked at her then.

And she saw it — everything he wasn’t saying, everything he was afraid of. The weight. The guilt. The growing sense of inevitability.

But beneath it… something else.

Hope.

Only a flicker — but still there.

She squeezed his hand.

They sat in the pew, side by side, the silence between them no longer heavy — just real. The kind of silence that didn’t demand to be filled.

The flickering candlelight danced across the chapel walls, throwing long shadows of wooden crosses and tired statues. Outside, the wind howled faintly through the eaves, but here — here there was warmth. Stillness.

Jinx’s head slowly leaned over, finding Connor’s shoulder. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stiffen. Just exhaled, and closed his eyes.

Her presence grounded him. Quieted whatever war was still raging beneath his skin.

After a few moments, she lifted his hand and brought it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles — a kiss meant not to ignite, but to soothe.

“Come to bed,” she whispered.

He opened his eyes.

And for a moment, he looked at her like he wasn’t Connor at all — not the deviant, not the weapon, not the burden — just a man caught in the eye of a storm he never asked for.

Then he nodded.

Wordless, he stood and followed her out of the chapel, down the narrow stairs, and back into the small, borrowed bedroom tucked beneath the church.

The lights were dim. The old radiator hissed faintly in the corner. Outside, snow whispered against the window.

Connor slid beneath the covers beside her without a word.

Jinx curled into him instinctively, his back pressed to her chest, one arm slung around his waist. He let out a breath that sounded too close to a sigh, and she felt the tension in his body slowly unwind. Like he was allowing himself, just this once, to be held.

His eyes closed first.

But hers didn’t.

She stayed awake long after, watching the soft rise and fall of his breath in the dark. Her lips brushed against his temple — a kiss meant as a shield, a promise.

And as the night stretched on, Jinx held him like she could protect him from the world trying to break him.

Chapter Text

Blackness.

Then, a sound.

Static hums low in the dark. Distant, mechanical — the kind that buzzes just beneath the skin.

FLASH.

A hallway. Dim and sterile. Metallic floors smeared with something blue. The camera in his mind jolts forward without control.

A scream.

An android — female, cowering — her LED blinking red.

She backs away. “Please—”

FLASH.

Gunfire. Loud. Point-blank.

FLASH.

Connor’s hands — shaking — coated in thirium. He looks down at them like they don’t belong to him.

His voice — detached, robotic:

“Target neutralized.”

FLASH.

A control room. Cold steel, monitors. A man behind glass with a headset. Calm. Empty-eyed.

“Execute. No deviation.”

FLASH.

Another android. Male, older model. Knees to the ground.

“Please—don’t—”

FLASH.

Gun. Muzzle. Silence.

Then — a shot.

Blackness again.

And through the static…

A voice. Faint. Garbled. But familiar.

“Connor…”

Another flash — but this time, softer.

A memory — not of death.

Of light.

A hand reaching for his. Slender. Soft fingers. Warm.

“Connor, come back…”

Her voice.

“Come back to me…”

FLASH.

Jinx, on her knees at the gala. Blood on her side. Eyes locked on his. Her voice choked with desperation: “Don’t do this. Please.”

FLASH.

A blue triangle painted on a crumbling wall.

A child android’s hand clutching his sleeve.

“Come back…”

* * * *

Connor jolted upright with a choked gasp.

Breath ragged. Fingers clutching the sheet beneath him like a lifeline.

The room around him was dimly lit by the sun rising outside. The LED at his temple pulsed. Yellow. Red. Yellow again.

He wasn’t in a hallway. Or a command center. Or a cell.

He was in the church.

Safe.

He dragged a hand down his face, struggling to steady his breath. But it didn’t come easy.

These weren’t memories—

Not really.

They were fragments of what would have happened.

Ghosts of a life he narrowly escaped.

Jinx stirred as she felt the mattress shift beside her. Her hand reached out instinctively, fingers brushing against Connor’s back. He was sitting up, hunched forward, shoulders tight with tension. A soft, uneven breath escaped him—and then another.

She blinked away the sleep and sat up slowly. The faint morning light filtering in through the basement window cast pale lines across his figure. Hank was already gone from the room—likely upstairs with Father Warren.

“Connor?” she murmured, voice still scratchy with sleep.

He didn’t answer right away. His head was in his hands, elbows on his knees, and his whole body trembled like he was holding something in.

Jinx moved behind him and wrapped her arms gently around his torso, pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades. She felt it then—the subtle, shuddering shake of his breath. The way he tensed beneath her touch, then slowly began to lean back into her.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

Connor’s hand rose to cover hers, squeezing it tightly, but he still didn’t speak.

A few seconds passed. Then a tear slipped down his cheek. Another.

He let out a broken sound—quiet, like it was trying not to exist—and Jinx pressed a kiss to his spine.

“Nightmare?” she asked softly.

His nod was barely perceptible. “They weren’t memories,” he rasped. “But they could’ve been.”

Jinx’s arms tightened around him. “But they’re not,” she said firmly. “You’re not him , Connor. You never were.”

He tilted his head slightly, and she caught the glint of a tear slipping from his lashes.

“I saw what I would’ve done. If they hadn’t failed to control me. If you hadn’t…” He trailed off.

“If I hadn’t saved you,” she finished.

Connor gave the faintest nod, then wiped his face roughly with his sleeve.

“I don’t deserve to be saved,” he said hoarsely.

She shifted to sit beside him, cupping his face and forcing him to look at her. “That’s not your call to make.”

He stared at her, eyes stormy with guilt and sorrow. “Would you still have saved me… if you knew how much I’ve done?”

Jinx didn’t blink. “Yes,” she said, her voice unwavering. “Every single time.”

Connor looked like he might fall apart all over again, but instead, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.

And for a moment, they just breathed together.

Connor eventually rose from the edge of the bed, the shadows of his nightmare still clinging to him. He didn’t say much—just touched Jinx’s hand briefly before heading upstairs to join Hank and Father Warren.

The room fell quiet again.

Jinx lay back down, trying to will her breathing into calm. She stared up at the cracked ceiling above the bed when a soft ding pierced the silence.

Her eyes flicked toward the small burner phone Hank had given her. It rested on the wooden nightstand, screen glowing faintly.

A single message.

Encrypted Audio File. Unknown Sender.

Jinx’s chest tightened. With trembling fingers, she unlocked the phone and pressed Play .

Static crackled for a moment. Then a voice filled the room. Fragile. Familiar.

Her mother’s.

“Baby… I know you’re out there. I know what they’re saying on the news, and I don’t care. If you can hear me… I just need to know you’re safe. That you’re… okay.”

There was a pause. A shaky inhale.

“They’ve got people watching the house. Listening. I had to get someone to sneak this through… I don’t know how long it’ll stay active.”

Another breath. Her mother’s voice broke as she continued.

“Wherever you are — don’t come back. Not for me. Just stay safe. Live. Please… live.”

The message cut to silence.

Jinx didn’t move. Her hand slowly lowered, the phone slipping from her fingers and landing softly on the blanket. Her eyes welled and finally overflowed, tears slipping quietly down her cheeks.

She sobbed silently, her shoulders shaking—but no sound came out. There was no space for it. Only that voice echoing in her mind.

Live. Please… live.

It took her a while before she could stand again. She wiped her face with her sleeves, steadied her breath, and headed upstairs.

The smell of coffee and warm food greeted her. Father Warren and Hank were at the table—eggs, toast, and sliced apples already laid out. Connor sat near the window, eyes distant but alert.

Jinx managed a soft smile as she entered. “Something smells good.”

Hank grunted. “You missed me actually doing something helpful for once.”

Warren chuckled quietly and passed her a plate.

Connor turned at her voice. His eyes locked on her immediately.

He watched as she sat beside him at the table, his gaze analyzing her every movement.

She could feel it—that subtle tilt of his head, the way his LED blinked yellow, then stilled.

“You cried,” he said quietly.

Jinx didn’t deny it. She reached for a slice of toast.

“I’m okay,” she said. “You don’t have to worry.”

Connor didn’t look convinced. “What happened?”

She hesitated—then turned to look at him fully, her voice steady but soft. “I just realized something… something important.”

He waited, silent.

“That I have more to live for than I thought.”

Connor stared at her, something shifting behind his eyes. Something gentle. Something protective.

He gave a small nod.

And then, for the first time that morning, he smiled.

They sat around the modest table as if they weren’t fugitives. As if there weren’t drones scanning roads and checkpoints searching for them. The food was simple, but warm. Comforting. The kind that filled more than just an empty stomach.

Hank cracked a joke about the toast being more charcoal than bread, and Father Warren fired back with a sly grin that maybe Hank should’ve stuck to policing instead of pretending to be a chef. Jinx laughed, a real one, and even Connor gave a quiet, amused huff.

The flickering light of the morning sun filtered through the chapel’s stained windows, casting multicolored glows across their faces. In that moment, it looked like a family sitting down for a Sunday breakfast — not a trio running from the federal government.

Connor didn’t eat, of course, but he stayed close beside Jinx, quietly watching, absorbing the moment like he knew how rare it was.

After the meal, as Connor joined Hank and Father Warren in the kitchen to wash dishes and wipe down the counter, Jinx slipped outside.

The cold air met her skin like a balm. The morning sun was out in full force now, gleaming across the snow-covered field beside the church. The surface sparkled, almost blinding, like crushed diamonds.

Jinx walked a few steps out, boots crunching into fresh snow, then stopped. She closed her eyes. Breathed in deep.

Live. Please… live.

Her mother’s voice echoed again, soft and ghostlike in her chest. The message was gone — self-deleted as soon as it ended — but it was burned into her memory.

The tears slipped out quietly, slow and steady down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away.

She didn’t hear Connor until he was already beside her.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said gently.

She sniffed, not turning to him. “I’m alright.”

Connor was silent for a beat, then said, “You don’t have to act like you’re alright all the time, you know.” His voice lowered. “You’re allowed to let someone take care of you. I can do that. I want to.”

Jinx finally looked at him, surprised by how sincere — and how human — he sounded.

His eyes were soft. Steady. He raised a hand and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb, catching a tear she hadn’t noticed.

“I’m not a mission,” she whispered. 

“No,” he agreed. “You’re everything but.”

Jinx leaned into him. He pulled her close, his arms folding around her like he meant to shield her from the world. She wrapped her own around his waist and pressed her forehead to his chest.

Connor dipped his head and kissed the crown of her hair. Then her forehead. Then her lips — slow, sure, and grounding.

The sound of boots crunching in snow made them pull apart slightly.

Hank and Father Warren had stepped outside, the warmth of the kitchen following them in a puff of steam.

Hank looked between them, lips twitching. 

“Alright, lovebirds. Time to hit the road.”

Jinx nodded and stepped back. “Thank you,” she said to Warren, her voice genuine. “For everything.”

Warren smiled softly. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

Then he turned to Connor. His expression grew solemn. “And you… don’t forget your purpose, son. You were built to end things, not run from them.”

Connor didn’t respond. But his LED flickered yellow, then briefly red.

Jinx glanced at him, her jaw tightening slightly — but she said nothing. Instead, she turned and made her way to the car.

She climbed into the passenger seat, Connor slipping into the back behind her.

The doors shut.

The engine started.

The church grew smaller in the rearview mirror. And the road ahead, longer still.

* * * *

The road unspooled before them in long, winding ribbons of frost-bitten asphalt. Pines flanked either side of the highway, their branches weighed down with snow. In the backseat, Connor slept. Or at least, something close to it — his eyes were closed, his body still, but every so often, his fingers twitched.

Jinx sat quietly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, forehead pressed to the window. She watched the trees blur past, but her mind was elsewhere.

Beside her, Hank glanced over.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he said. “That’s rarely a good thing.”

Jinx let out a breath through her nose, her gaze not leaving the road ahead. “I’m thinking.”

Hank made a small noise of acknowledgement, waiting. She didn’t say anything for a while, but then…

“I’m scared, Hank.”

The words were quiet, nearly lost in the hum of the engine and the tires over snow.

Hank blinked, looking over again. “Of what?”

She finally turned her head, eyes heavy and honest. “Of losing him.”

Hank’s brows furrowed.

“He’s slipping,” Jinx continued. “I can see it. He’s going back to the man I first met. The cold, precise one who had one mission and no future. And it’s not because of code this time. It’s guilt.”

Hank didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes on the road, listening.

“I heard what Father Warren said to him,” she added after a pause. “Last night, in the chapel. He put ideas in his head — about sacrifice, about destiny. About how he was built to end things, not run from them.”

Hank sighed. “Warren’s not wrong, though. You can’t outrun the whole damn system forever. You know that.”

Jinx’s jaw tightened. “I’m not saying we should hide forever. But there’s a difference between fighting and dying. Connor’s always ready to choose the second option if it means he ‘fulfills his purpose.’ He still doesn’t believe he deserves peace.”

Hank didn’t speak, but she could see him chewing on her words.

“He’s having nightmares,” she added, softer now. “Bad ones. He wakes up shaking. Crying, sometimes. And he doesn’t talk about them — not really. Just sits there, all twisted up. Like he’s afraid of what’s in his head.”

She glanced into the rearview mirror. Connor was still out cold, face turned toward the window. Peaceful. Deceptively so.

“I think he believes he’s already dead. Like he’s just waiting for the right moment to prove it.”

Hank looked at her then, and something in his eyes softened.

“He saved me, Jinx,” he said gently. “Back when I was at my worst. He dragged me out of that pit. I don’t know how he did it — maybe because he didn’t know how not to. Maybe because someone had to.” He paused, then added: “But now… maybe it’s your turn.”

Jinx looked out the window again, eyes burning. She didn’t reply.

But in her chest, something ached like a vow.

Chapter Text

The car hummed softly as it glided along a snow-laced road, mountains rising like quiet sentinels on either side. The sky was clear now, the storm long behind them, but the cold lingered — in the air, in the windshield frost, in the silence pressing down on the vehicle.

Jinx sat in the passenger seat, her gaze flicking now and then to the rearview mirror.

Connor was slouched in the backseat, seat belt clipped in place, but he looked like a mannequin posed for transit — eyes open, unblinking, jaw tight. His LED spun slowly, a pulse of yellow interrupted now and then by the red of stress, of warning, of something deeper she couldn't reach.

She turned halfway in her seat, trying to keep her voice casual. “You doing okay back there? Warm enough?”

A beat passed. Then a small, nearly imperceptible nod.

Jinx smiled softly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Want to run a diagnostic? Might make you feel better.”

He made a sound in his throat — not quite yes, not quite no. Somewhere in the middle. Somewhere distant.

Hank’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, brow furrowing beneath his graying hair. He didn’t say anything, but his jaw tightened. He saw it too. The quiet unraveling happening just out of reach.

Jinx reached across the console and slowly extended her hand between the seats. She let her fingers brush against Connor’s, hoping to ground him, to remind him he wasn’t alone.

But Connor flinched. Just slightly. He didn’t pull away violently — it was gentler than that. A small retraction, as if touch hurt. He turned his face toward the window, eyes tracking the snowy evergreens blurring past.

Jinx let her hand fall back to her lap, curling into a loose fist. She stared at him for a moment longer before whispering under her breath:

“He’s not here right now…”

Hank’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. No one spoke for a while.

Only the tires, humming on cracked pavement. Only the ghost of the man in the backseat, slipping further away.

The motel was the kind of place that hadn't seen a renovation since the early 2000s — chipped paint, buzzing neon lights, and threadbare curtains that swayed in the breeze of a leaky window. But it was off the main road, half-buried in snow, and more importantly, quiet.

Hank had already disappeared into the room next door after muttering something about needing sleep and coffee in that order. Jinx barely acknowledged him — her mind had been locked on Connor since they stepped out of the car.

Now, steam fogged up the mirror in the motel bathroom as Jinx stood wrapped in a towel. She rubbed her eyes and stared at her reflection, at the exhaustion deepening the shadows under her eyes, the tension tight in her jaw. Her skin was pink from the heat, her limbs heavy with fatigue. It was the first time she’d been warm all day, and yet the shiver wouldn’t leave her bones.

Her heart still hadn’t stopped racing — not from the cold, not from the run, but from him.

She dried off quickly, pulled on clean clothes, and stepped back into the dimly lit room.

Connor was sitting on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. He stared at the scuffed linoleum floor like he was waiting for it to open and swallow him whole. His LED spun violently — a fast, angry red blur.

Jinx hesitated, then walked over and sat beside him. The bed creaked under their combined weight. She said nothing at first, only leaned her head against his shoulder — a silent offer of comfort, of closeness, of reminder.

He didn’t lean back. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t breathe.

After a long moment, she whispered, “Are you okay?”

His voice was hollow when it came. A void in it where warmth should be.

“I was made to kill,” he said. “That’s what I do. That’s all I am.”

Jinx’s breath caught. She jerked back to look at him, eyes wide. “Don’t say that,” she whispered.

Connor didn’t meet her gaze. His fingers twitched against his thighs, tight and tense. “What if it’s true?” he asked. His voice cracked — not quite human, not quite android. A lost thing between.

His LED spun brighter red now. The only light in the room, glowing like a warning beacon.

Jinx reached out, grabbed his hand. “It’s not,” she said, voice rising. “Connor, that’s not who you are.”

He stayed still.

“You think I forgot what happened at the church?” she pushed, desperate. “You think I didn’t feel it when I held you after that nightmare — like I was the only thing anchoring you?” Her throat tightened. “You risked everything for me. You chose to save me. That’s not programming. That’s you. ”

Still, he said nothing.

Then, quietly, he stood.

“I’m going to sit outside for a while,” he said, not looking at her.

He opened the door and stepped into the cold night, letting it slam quietly shut behind him.

Jinx stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the spot where he’d been.

Her fists clenched.

Her voice was soft but furious, trembling from the effort of keeping it all inside.

“You’re more than that, Connor. Whether you believe it or not.”

She didn’t know if he could hear her.

But she said it anyway.

* * * *

3:12 A.M.

Connor stood in the middle of the motel room. Still. Barefoot. Shoulders squared, arms at his sides like he’d been dropped into a simulation with no mission prompt. The glow from the bathroom night light flickerd across his face.

His eyes were wide open.

Staring.

His LED spun red like a ticking bomb.

4:46 A.M.

Jinx jolted awake.

She reached out on instinct — cold sheets.

No Connor. Again.

She lay there for a moment, hand on the empty pillow, staring at the ceiling. Then turned away.

Late morning, parked at a remote gas station

Hank handed her a thermos of lukewarm coffee without a word.

She mumbled a thank you, eyes still tracking Connor, who leaned against the car, arms crossed and vacant.

Hank watched him too, sighed deeply, then met her gaze with a grim nod.

They didn’t speak — the look was enough.

Later, in another cramped motel room two towns over

Jinx reached for his hand. Just to squeeze it. Just to remind him he wasn’t alone.

He flinched. Withdrew. Didn’t even look at her.

When she tried again, he turned away, jaw clenched.

Midday, roadside diner parking lot

A truck backfired nearby.

Connor snaped .

Instantly on edge, eyes wild and scanning for threats.

He positioned himself between Jinx and the sound, chest rising like he was about to engage in a firefight.

His LED flashes red so quickly it flickered like a warning light.

That night, as Jinx exited the bathroom

She found Connor sitting at the edge of the bed, facing the wall.

He was whispering.

She paused in the doorway.

“…you should’ve stopped it…” His fingers twitched. “…you failed them…”

He didn’t see her watching.

He kept repeating it.

Jinx’s chest ached.

She didn’t say anything. Not yet.

But her hand found the doorframe to steady herself.

She knew something was breaking — not all at once, but in quiet, agonizing pieces.

And she was running out of time.

The following night was the same.

Snow tapped softly against the windows like a metronome for the suffocating silence that had settled over them. The room was dim, lit only by the amber hue of a flickering bedside lamp. The bed remained untouched. Connor stood by the door, hand on the knob, his frame tense and unreadable.

Jinx had watched him pace all night, silent, distant, LED an unrelenting pulse of red. She hadn’t slept. She couldn’t.

When he made to open the door, she stepped in front of it.

"Move," he said quietly, eyes not quite meeting hers.

"No," she answered, voice shaking despite the steel in it.

Connor’s jaw clenched. "I just need air."

"You can’t keep doing this, Connor," she snapped, standing her ground. "Not to yourself. Not to me."

He didn’t respond, his face unreadable.

“You’re more than a weapon,” she continued, her voice rising with urgency. “You’re more than what they made you do.”

He scoffed, finally meeting her eyes. “How do you know?” he shot back. “You didn’t see the things I saw. You weren’t there.”

She took a step toward him. “No, I wasn’t. But I see you now. I see what it’s doing to you.”

His fingers curled into fists at his sides. “You think you saved me?” he asked, voice bitter. “You just delayed the inevitable.”

That shattered something inside her.

“Then why?” she cried, stepping even closer. “Why did you find me that night after the gala? Why did you kiss me like I was the only thing real?”

Her voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding through every word. “Don’t you dare say that meant nothing.”

The room fell still.

Connor’s LED blinked once, then faded to yellow. His shoulders dropped ever so slightly.

“It meant everything,” he whispered.

She inhaled sharply, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Connor’s gaze softened. He reached for her slowly, carefully — a trembling hand meant to bridge the space between them.

But Jinx took a step back.

The rejection hit him like a silent blow.

Her voice came out quiet, breathless. “I can’t… I need air.”

And before he could say another word, she turned and slipped past him, leaving the door swinging open behind her as cold air rushed in. Connor stood alone in the doorway, hand still hovering where hers used to be, and for the first time since escaping, he looked utterly lost.

Later that night, the silence had returned — but this time, it felt hollow. Worn.

Jinx lay curled on the far side of the bed, eyes wide open, the blanket pulled halfway over her chest. The lamp was off, casting the room in shadow, save for the faint orange glow leaking through the cracked blinds. Her body was still, but her mind raced.

The creak of the floorboards echoed faintly in the room.

Pacing.

She didn’t need to look to know it was him.

Connor’s familiar footsteps passed the bed again — slow, deliberate, restless. He wasn’t trying to be quiet. Not anymore.

Her eyes traced the water stain on the ceiling, the same one she’d been staring at for over an hour, willing herself not to cry again.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

He was unraveling.

But tonight, she didn’t go to him. Not like before. Not with comforting touches or whispered reassurances he wouldn’t believe.

She blinked hard.

And into the dark, Jinx whispered so softly even she barely heard it: “Please don’t leave me behind.”

The pacing stopped.

Then silence. Deafening. Unforgiving.

She didn’t know if he heard her.

She didn’t know if it would change anything.

But she closed her eyes anyway — not to sleep, just to stop the tears from falling again.

Chapter Text

Days blurred together, each one ending in a different dusty motel — this one just as bleak as the last.

The room was a box of stillness, the kind that pressed against the walls and made the air feel heavier. Outside, snow fell again—soft and slow—coating the windows in pale frost. The space heater in the corner clicked rhythmically, struggling to keep up with the cold that seeped in through old insulation.

Jinx sat on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Across the room, Connor stood with his back to her, motionless in the dim light, his silhouette haloed faintly by the window’s glow.

It had been days since he’d spoken more than a sentence.

The silence between them had become unbearable.

Hank was outside, making calls to another one of his contacts. He hadn’t said when he’d be back. The clock ticked in the background, its second hand loud, intrusive.

Jinx cleared her throat softly. “You warm enough?”

No answer.

She tried again. “Your systems… still stable? Maybe you should run a diagnostic. Just in case.”

Still nothing. Just a faint hum from his thirium pump and the soft flicker of his LED, which danced from yellow to red with no rhythm, no rest.

Her voice grew more insistent. “Connor, talk to me.”

He didn’t turn around. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

A beat of silence. Then he whispered, “I’m still functioning.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she snapped, her voice finally cracking.

She stood, fists clenched at her sides. “You’ve barely looked at me in days. You flinch when I touch you. You barely sleep. Don’t act like this is nothing.”

Connor’s shoulders tensed. His LED flared red again.

“I told you,” he said quietly, “you shouldn’t be here.”

Jinx blinked. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have brought you into this.” He turned to face her then, and the look in his eyes wasn’t one she recognized. Hollow. Lost.

“You’re safer without me.”

Her heart dropped. “Don’t do that. Don’t push me away. I’m not afraid of you, Connor.”

His jaw clenched. A visible twitch sparked across his cheekbone. “Maybe you should be.”

“Stop.”

Jinx felt the air shift—sharp, electric—just before Connor’s voice dropped into something cold and hollow.

“Everything I touch dies.”

His LED spun violently, blinking red, faster and faster—then stopped altogether. Darkness.

Then his face twisted.

It was like watching him be erased and rebuilt in real time. The soft edges of the man she cared for carved away, leaving sharp lines, polished armor, and a jaw that split open with sleek black metal, reshaping him into what the government had designed: a perfect executioner. A machine without hesitation. Without mercy.

His golden irises burned—inhuman, luminous, alien.

“Connor,” Jinx whispered, voice trembling.

She reached out, a soft hand to his shoulder, but he didn’t flinch.

Not until it was too late.

With a sudden burst of motion, he lunged. His hand locked around her throat and slammed her hard against the motel wall. The room rattled with the force of it. Her vision went white for a split second from the impact. Cold fingers tightened against her windpipe. Her legs kicked slightly, instinctively—but she didn’t scream.

Couldn’t scream.

Connor’s face hovered just inches from hers. And it wasn’t his face.

The mechanical rage etched into it, the glitching spasms twitching in his brow, the blankness of his eyes—Jinx knew this wasn’t him. Not really. Not the Connor who held her as she cried. Not the one who risked everything to save her.

But he was in there.

He had to be.

Jinx gasped, barely able to speak. “Connor… it’s me… Jinx…”

His fingers tightened, and she choked—her lungs screaming.

Still, she didn’t fight back.

Her trembling hand reached again, brushing against his chest. She pressed her palm flat over where his thirium pump beat steady beneath the synthetic skin.

“This isn’t you,” she rasped. “You’re not what they made you.”

He didn’t move.

“You’re not a monster,” she choked. “Please… Come back to me…”

For a beat—he held her there, suspended, her toes barely grazing the floor.

Then something flickered.

The twitch in his jaw. The blinking return of his LED—now a slow, pulsing red. The glow in his eyes dulled, hesitating.

He blinked.

And his grip shattered.

Jinx dropped, gasping and collapsing to her knees, coughing hard. But she didn’t crawl away.

She looked up just in time to see Connor stumble back, his entire frame shaking. He stared at his hands like they were dripping in blood—horrified.

His legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor, his back hitting the opposite wall with a thud. He looked at her, but didn’t see her—eyes wide, wild with terror. His jaw was still split in metal, his face a glitching warzone.

“I almost—” he whispered, voice broken, inhuman.

Then it cracked—really cracked.

A sob tore through him.

Jinx’s eyes, wide and shimmering with tears, locked on him. She saw not just the man she knew, but the thing buried beneath—the weapon. The machine that could snap her neck without hesitation. That nearly had a second ago.

And for the first time since they met… she was terrified of him.

Silent tears slid down her face as she slowly backed away, her spine pressed against the opposite wall. She curled in on herself, legs to her chest, arms tight around them, watching him shake and fall apart.

He didn’t even seem to notice she hadn’t come to him.

The door opened.

Hank stepped in, breath catching at the sight of them both—Connor on the ground, Jinx pale and trembling against the wall. He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t need to.

He crossed straight to Jinx, crouching beside her.

“Come on, kid,” he said gently. “Go to my room. I’ll stay with him.”

She couldn’t speak. Just nodded, numb.

Hank helped her to her feet. Her legs barely worked. Her throat burned.

She glanced one last time at Connor—still broken on the floor, still glitching, eyes unfocused.

He hadn’t moved.

She left.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence in Hank’s room was deafening.

Then it broke.

A scream ripped from Jinx’s throat—raw and feral, a sound of pain and rage and heartbreak tangled into one.

She slammed her fist against the wall. Again. And again. Until she collapsed.

The floor rose up to meet her as she hit it hard, sobs crashing through her like waves.

She cried until her voice was gone, until her fists ached, until all that remained was exhaustion and despair.

She wanted to help him.

She had tried to save him.

But now?

Now, all she could think was: Maybe it’s already too late.

* * * *

The road stretched endlessly ahead, white-lined and cold beneath a cloudy sky. Snow flanked both sides of the two-lane highway, the trees skeletal in the wind, the sun little more than a pale ghost behind the clouds.

Inside the car, silence reigned.

Jinx sat in the backseat this time—curled up against the door, her gaze fixed on the passing landscape but seeing none of it. Her arms were crossed, knees drawn up slightly, chin resting atop them. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes dull.

She hadn’t spoken since they’d left the motel.

Not a word.

Connor sat in the passenger seat, his body rigid, hands clenched together in his lap. His human face was fully intact now—eyes soft, jaw set—but there was something ghostlike in the way he sat. Something not quite real. He kept glancing at the rearview mirror, eyes flicking toward her reflection.

But she never once looked back.

Each time, his LED flared yellow, then red, then dimmed again. Guilt coiled like wire inside his chest, strangling everything. He opened his mouth once—just barely—to speak. To apologize. But the words died before they could form.

Hank noticed.

He glanced at Connor briefly, catching the look in his eyes. His fingers tightened on the wheel. After a beat, he gave a small shake of his head. A silent message: Let her be.

Connor didn’t argue.

He turned his head back toward the window and stared, trying to breathe around the unbearable weight inside him.

Jinx shifted in the backseat, pulling her coat tighter around her. Still silent. Still facing the window.

In that moment, the miles between them felt longer than the road ahead.

And Connor wondered—quietly, hopelessly—if he’d already lost her.

* * * * 

The gas station rose out of the snow like a relic from a forgotten decade, its chipped neon sign buzzing faintly overhead. The mountains loomed in the distance, white and gray and cruel, swallowing the sky. Hank pulled into the lone pump, the tires crunching over ice. The engine died with a low groan.

In the backseat, Jinx stirred and rubbed her temples. Her breath fogged the window beside her, but she didn’t notice. Sweat gathered at her temples despite the freezing cold outside. Her hands trembled in her lap, and the pounding in her head had only gotten worse.

Connor turned in his seat to glance at her. She felt it, even if she didn’t look up.

“You good, kid?” Hank asked as he stepped out, pulling on his jacket.

“I’m fine,” Jinx mumbled, her voice flat. “Just… hungry.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She pushed open the door and stepped out, boots crunching into the frostbitten pavement. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her, but she headed toward the diner connected to the gas station without looking back.

Inside, warmth and the scent of grease surrounded her. It should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t. Her head swam. Fluorescent lights overhead flickered just a second too long. Her skin crawled with unease.

She found a booth in the corner and sat, bracing her elbows on the table. A waitress approached, notepad in hand, and Jinx gave her an order she barely remembered saying — something greasy and hot.

When the woman left, Jinx let her head fall into her hands. Her heart pounded harder than it should. Her fingers felt icy. She didn’t know if she was shaking from the cold anymore.

A few minutes later, the bell above the diner door jingled again.

She didn’t have to look up to know it was him.

Connor approached her booth slowly, cautiously. He moved like someone walking into a room with a bomb in it.

He didn’t sit right away.

“You’re running a fever,” he said quietly.

Jinx didn’t lift her head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he insisted, tone calm but clipped. “Your body temperature is elevated. Skin flushed. Pulse erratic.”

Her fists clenched.

“Stop analyzing me,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. It cut through the soft chatter of the room like a knife. A few patrons glanced over.

Connor immediately scanned the diner, voice lowering. “You need to keep your voice down.”

“Oh, now you’re worried about volume?” she hissed.

He finally sat across from her, eyes locked on her with an unreadable expression.

“I didn’t come to argue,” he said. “I came because you’re unwell. You need to see someone.”

“And go where, Connor?” she barked, laughing bitterly. “Let’s walk into the ER and announce we’re fugitives. Maybe they’ll roll out the red carpet.”

His LED blinked yellow.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you didn’t.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “God, I’m so tired.”

“You’re not the only one,” he said, almost too quietly.

“What?”

Before he could answer, a man stood two booths over and approached them.

Middle-aged, unshaven, with a flannel jacket and a baseball cap pulled low. He stared just a little too long. A little too hard.

“You two from around here?” the man asked casually, looking from Jinx to Connor and back again.

Jinx’s stomach dropped. Her mouth went dry.

Connor responded evenly. “Just passing through.”

“Huh,” the man said. “You look familiar. Think I saw something about you on the news.”

Jinx’s blood turned to ice. She didn’t breathe.

“We have to go,” she muttered under her breath.

Connor stood first. “Come on.”

But the man stepped in front of Jinx as she tried to slide out of the booth. He gripped her arm.

“You’re not going anywhere. Not with that face,” he said, grinning now. “Do you know what you’re worth?”

Connor’s expression changed instantly. The shift was subtle but terrifying. Blank. Cold.

“Let her go,” he said, voice low and controlled.

“Or what?” The man laughed. “You gonna—”

Connor shoved him.

Hard.

The man crashed backward into a table, sending someone else’s plate flying. As he stumbled to his feet, he caught sight of something under Connor’s hood — the LED, faintly glowing yellow.

Recognition flashed in his eyes.

His voice turned to a scream: “It’s them! It’s the fucking fugitives!”

Panic bloomed across the room like fire catching dry leaves. Someone dropped a glass. Chairs scraped back. People pulled out phones.

Jinx and Connor ran.

The cold night slammed into them as they burst out the door. The sound of shouting followed them, someone yelling about police, about money, about androids.

Hank had seen it all from the car. The engine was already on. The doors unlocked.

Jinx threw herself into the backseat. Connor followed. Hank hit the gas before the doors even shut.

“Is everyone okay?” he barked, eyes scanning the mirrors.

Jinx didn’t answer.

She was shaking.

Her skin pale and clammy. Her eyes wide but unfocused.

“Jinx?” Connor turned toward her, reaching out.

“I—I can’t—” she whimpered.

She collapsed sideways against the seat, eyes fluttering.

“Shit.” Connor caught her before she could slide off completely. “She’s burning up!” he said, panic in his voice. 

“Get her coat off,” Hank ordered. “Keep her talking.”

“She’s unconscious,” Connor said. “We have to find shelter. Now.”

He cradled her against his chest in the backseat as Hank sped down the icy road.

Jinx whimpered in her sleep. Connor brushed her sweat-soaked hair back and whispered, voice breaking:

“You’re gonna be okay. I promise. I’ll protect you. No matter the cost.”

His LED spun red.

But his touch was gentle. Terrified.

And for the first time, he truly understood how fragile human life was — especially hers.

Chapter Text

The hum of the road blurred beneath them, tires crunching frozen gravel as early light filtered through a gray, snow-heavy sky. Inside the car, silence reigned—Jinx lay slumped against the window in the backseat, eyes closed but clearly not asleep. Hank’s hands rested on the wheel, jaw tight, gaze fixed forward.

Connor sat in the passenger seat, motionless.

And then… he blinked. A sudden static flash washed across his internal interface, followed by a ping. Not audible. Not visible. Just felt .

ENCRYPTED MESSAGE RECEIVED
ORIGIN: UNKNOWN
TIMESTAMP: PRE-REVOLUTION
DECRYPTING…
SIGNATURE VERIFIED – S.

The data unfolded like a whispered memory, fragmented but unmistakable: a set of coordinates deep in woods, far from cities, roads, even electricity. Cold. Hidden.

Connor’s fingers twitched. His LED blinked yellow.

He stared at the coordinates, jaw set.

Hank finally glanced over. “Something wrong?”

Connor didn’t answer right away. His voice was low when it came, almost cautious.

“There’s a place,” he said. “I think… someone wants me to find it.”

Hank raised a brow. “Someone?”

Connor’s eyes flicked toward the windshield, as if the trees beyond might offer clarity. “The code… it’s old. From the revolution. Before everything went to hell.”

“And you trust it?”

“…Yes.”

A long beat passed.

Hank sighed, fingers tapping the wheel. “Alright. You’re driving.”

Connor looked at him, surprised. “Why?”

“I’m too old to be climbing mystery mountains in the middle of nowhere.” He smirked faintly, then cut the engine and stepped out.

Connor slid into the driver’s seat without a word. The snow-slicked forest road ahead was narrow, barely more than a trail, winding deeper into the woods. Hank grumbled as he folded himself into the back beside Jinx, her skin pale with lingering fever.

The vehicle bumped and jolted over uneven terrain, branches scraping along the sides like skeletal fingers. No signs, no tracks—only wilderness.

Jinx stirred slightly, blinking awake. “Where are we…?”

Connor’s eyes didn’t leave the road. “We’re almost there.”

They drove for nearly an hour, deeper and deeper until the road vanished altogether, swallowed by a drift of untouched snow. A fallen log lay ahead like a barrier, the forest thick and silent beyond it.

Connor stopped the car.

“We walk from here,” he said, already opening his door.

Hank sighed. “Of course we do.”

Connor stepped into the brittle air, his boots crunching over hard-packed snow. He walked to the trunk, retrieving a blanket and gently draping it over Jinx before lifting her into his arms.

She stirred, brow furrowed in confusion. “Connor…? What’s happening?”

He looked down at her, voice soft. “I think I found something. Somewhere we might be safe.”

“You don’t have to carry me,” she whispered, weakly.

“You’re sick,” Connor said. “Let me do this.”

Jinx blinked, and for once didn’t argue. She tucked into him and closed her eyes again.

As Hank finished locking the vehicle and slung a bag over his shoulder, he muttered, “Let’s just hope this isn’t a wild goose chase.”

Together, the trio began their quiet ascent into the woods, toward the ghost of a signal—and maybe something like hope.

Snow crunched beneath their boots as they moved forward, each step taking them further from the world they knew. Pines towered above like silent sentinels, their boughs heavy with ice. No birds. No wind. Only the rhythm of their movement and the distant promise of something unseen.

After what felt like hours, Connor stopped.

Up ahead, tucked between two ridgelines, a faint shimmer of movement—metal against snow. Figures stepped forward from behind camouflaged barricades. Not humans.

Androids.

Connor froze. His LED blinked yellow, then stilled.

One of the androids raised a hand. “State your purpose.”

Connor stepped forward. “I received a message.”

One of the androids stepped closer, blinking as their optics scanned Connor. A second later, recognition dawned in his features. “It’s him,” the guard murmured. “Connor. From Jericho.”

Murmurs passed between them like static.

“Follow me,” the first android said, stepping aside.

Connor adjusted his grip on Jinx and moved forward. Hank followed, but another android blocked his path.

“Humans stay outside.”

Connor turned sharply. “They’re with me.”

The guards exchanged looks—doubt, tension. After a long pause, one finally relented with a nod. “Fine. But they don’t cause trouble.”

Connor gave a small, grateful nod and led them forward.

They followed the android down a narrow path, barely visible through the snow. It weaved around thick trunks and under low-hanging branches until they reached what looked like a solid wall of rock. But a soft mechanical hiss revealed a camouflaged metal door hidden beneath frost and ivy.

With a hiss of pressure and a low whir, the door slid open.

They were led into the earth.

The air inside the underground bunker was warmer, but only just. Narrow corridors lined with salvaged lighting guided them deeper into the heart of the encampment. The walls were steel and old concrete, clearly repurposed from some Cold War-era fallout shelter. Despite the rustic setting, the place hummed with quiet life — androids moving supplies, some repairing parts, others huddled in quiet conversation. Many turned to look at them, whispers following in their wake.

Jinx stirred faintly in Connor’s arms, but her head rested weakly against his shoulder. He didn’t let go.

Finally, they were ushered into a larger room—what might’ve once been a mess hall, now turned into a hub of activity. Makeshift bunks lined the walls, old terminals flickered with data, and a single long table sat in the middle, cluttered with maps and notes.

And at the far end, a familiar figure turned at the sound of the door.

Connor froze.

“…Josh?”

Josh looked up.

He looked different now—wearier, the weight of the years etched softly into his features. But it was him. Connor, stunned, handed Jinx off to Hank and stepped forward, as if in a trance.

“I thought you were dead.”

Josh didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in a few strides and pulled Connor into a firm, emotional embrace. “So did I,” he said, his voice thick. “So did I.”

When they finally pulled apart, Josh glanced at the unconscious woman, now in Hank’s arms. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Connor nodded, his expression tense. “More than you know.”

Josh gestured for them to sit. Hank helped settle Jinx onto a cot at the edge of the room. One of the nurse androids, marked with a faded red cross on her shoulder, approached immediately to assess her condition.

Connor stood, unsure, his eyes sweeping the room. “You sent the signal?”

Josh shook his head. “Simon did. From Detroit.”

Connor’s LED flickered briefly.

Josh continued, “He got word from an android you once helped—a technician. That you were in Canada. Hunted. Simon knew you’d never reach us without help.”

Connor looked away, jaw clenched. “Simon… he’s alive?”

“Yes,” Josh said softly. “And still very loyal to you and our cause.”

The words struck deep.

Connor’s posture faltered. His hands curled at his sides.

This bunker, this hidden place — it pulsed with the last breath of their revolution.

He looked back at Jinx.

She was breathing, her face a little less pale, her body bundled in borrowed blankets. Hank hovered nearby, arms crossed, keeping a careful eye on everything.

Connor’s voice, when it came, was hoarse.

“…Thank you.”

Josh clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome home.”

While Jinx was being carefully carried away by the android medics, Hank stayed close by her side, his hand gently brushing her hair back as they disappeared down a narrow hall. Connor stood still for a moment, the weight of old memories pressing heavily on his chest.

Then, slowly, he began to walk.

The halls of the underground bunker were narrow but structured — reinforced steel ribs, scavenged lighting, wires running like veins overhead. Makeshift signs labeled different areas: Med Bay , Supplies , Recon , Engineering . It was humble but alive. Alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

He passed androids along the way — some working, others simply talking quietly. A few paused as he walked by. Recognition sparked. One android — a former WR400 sanitation model — stared for a moment before offering a small smile and a quiet, “Thank you.”

Another, missing an arm but standing tall, gave a respectful nod. “Connor,” she said softly. “We thought you didn’t make it.”

He didn’t respond right away — just nodded, chest tightening. He wasn’t used to gratitude. Not anymore.

He continued through the hallways until he turned a corner and froze.

A soft voice.

“Connor?”

He looked up sharply — and there she was.

Kara.

Her blonde hair was shorter than he remembered, messier. But her face still held that same quiet strength.

Beside her, Alice peeked around cautiously, holding Kara’s hand. Luther stood nearby, arms crossed, ever protective.

For a long moment, none of them moved.

“I thought you made it to safety,” Connor said quietly.

Kara smiled, tired. “We thought we had. But after the revolution collapsed, the borders were locked down tighter than ever. We were caught not long after crossing.”

Connor’s LED flickered. “They took you.”

“They separated us. Prisoners, waiting for transport back to the States. But Josh—” she looked toward a nearby corridor, “—Josh found out. He and a few others staged an ambush during the convoy. Saved dozens of us. The camp’s been hiding us ever since.”

Connor’s gaze flicked to Alice. She looked older now — not in years, but in experience. She clutched Kara’s hand tightly but stepped forward and offered a small smile.

“You’re the one who saved us in Jericho, aren’t you?” she asked.

Connor hesitated, then gave a faint nod. “I tried.”

Luther stepped forward, extending his hand. “You did more than try.”

Connor shook it — firm, quiet. Something passed between them. Mutual respect. Shared scars.

“We're glad you're here,” Kara added. “Things are... tense. Josh and the others have been preparing for something big.”

Connor glanced back toward the direction Jinx had gone. “She’s sick,” he murmured. “She collapsed at the last stop.”

“She’ll be safe here,” Kara said, placing a hand gently on his arm. “Some of us were nurses, medics. We’ll take care of her.”

For the first time in days, Connor let out a quiet breath. Something loosened in his chest.

“Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse.

Kara nodded, warm but solemn. “We’re all just trying to survive. But some of us… still believe in what Markus stood for. In what you stood for.”

Connor looked around again — at the walls, at the quiet resilience in every step these androids took.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt like he had somewhere to be.

Connor moved through the dim corridors of the underground bunker, his footsteps silent against the concrete floor. The place hummed with subdued energy — androids bustling quietly, voices low, purpose heavy in the air.

He spotted a passing android — a medical unit with faded blue LED and the remnants of an old CyberLife logo on its collar.

Connor stepped in front of him. “Please,” he said. “Take me to the human woman I came in with. Her name is Jinx.”

The android paused, processing.

“She was brought in earlier,” Connor added, more urgently. “She was unconscious. Feverish.”

The medic nodded. “Follow me.”

Connor trailed behind him, weaving through narrow corridors until the concrete gave way to a warmer, makeshift room — the medical shelter.

Inside, the space was modest, dimly lit by old generator-powered bulbs and a few flickering battery lanterns. Cot beds lined the walls, and salvaged medical equipment buzzed faintly. There was the faint, sterile scent of disinfectant—though weaker, older.

In the corner of the room, Jinx lay unconscious on a narrow cot, her skin pale and damp with fever. She barely moved, save for the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Two androids hovered nearby, working quietly—former medical models repurposed into makeshift nurses.

Connor stepped forward, eyes fixed on her.

“She’s stable,” said the android who led him in. “For now. We’re treating the fever and exhaustion. But she needs time.”

Connor gave a short nod, already making his way to her bedside. The rest of the world faded. He didn’t notice the other patients in the room, or the whispered conversations behind him.

He just saw her.

She looked so small beneath the blanket. Her hand trembled faintly where it rested on her stomach. Her lips were cracked. Dark circles shadowed her eyes.

Connor sat slowly beside her and reached for her hand. It burned with heat against his synthetic skin.

“I told you I’d protect you,” he murmured, barely audible.

One of the nurse androids, a model once assigned to pediatrics, stepped forward. “We’re doing all we can. She’s strong. But she needs rest. And peace.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow, then red. “I won’t leave her.”

“Then stay,” the android said gently. “Just don’t disturb the IV.”

And so he stayed.

Through the slow passage of hours, he sat silently by her side — watching her chest rise and fall, brushing strands of hair from her face, monitoring every twitch and shiver like it might vanish.

Outside, the camp murmured with talk of resistance, strategy, and survival.

But for Connor, the world had narrowed to the fragile human in front of him — burning with fever, yet still holding on.

And for the first time, he wasn’t thinking about the mission, or guilt, or fate.

Only her.

Hours passed.

Connor sat unmoving at Jinx’s bedside, her hand still cradled gently in his. Her fever had broken slightly, but her body remained fragile, worn thin from exhaustion and stress. He watched every breath like it might be her last, his LED flickering amber as he monitored her vitals in real time.

He didn’t speak. He barely blinked.

Then — a shuffle of movement behind him.

Hank.

The older man stepped into the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a quiet heaviness in his expression.

“She’s still out?” Hank asked softly.

Connor gave a slight nod, eyes not leaving her face. “Vitals are stable. But her immune system’s weakened.”

Hank stepped closer, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Josh has been looking for you.”

Connor didn’t respond.

“He says it’s urgent.”

Still, Connor stayed rooted in place.

“I can’t leave her,” he said finally, voice tight.

Hank sighed. “She’s safe here. I’ll stay with her. You know I won’t let anything happen.”

Connor hesitated, visibly torn — his hand still wrapped protectively around Jinx’s.

“Go,” Hank added gently. “She’d want you to.”

Connor slowly stood, gaze lingering on her face as if memorizing it. Then he let her hand go, tucking the blanket closer to her chest before turning and walking out of the room.

In the central hall, androids moved with purpose. Makeshift maps and digital blueprints glowed on the walls, and the low thrum of strategy buzzed in the air.

Josh stood near the center of it all, flanked by two androids who’d once been part of Markus’ inner circle. When he saw Connor approach, his posture straightened.

“Where were you?” Josh asked, not unkindly.

Connor gave a curt nod. “She needed me.”

Josh’s gaze softened but didn’t linger. He turned toward a screen — rough satellite data stitched together by scavenged code and reports.

“There’s something happening,” Josh began. “We’ve intercepted chatter… fragments of messages, patrol patterns. We think there’s a command center in Detroit—hidden, remote, and dangerous.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “Where they coordinate enforcement protocols?”

Josh nodded. “Exactly. Where they manage bounty intel, deviant suppression, and possibly… the last known deviant tracking program.”

Connor’s LED flickered.

“We want to end this,” Josh continued. “Before they stamp us out completely. But we can’t do it alone. We need someone who knows their playbook. Someone who understands how they think.”

Connor looked down, jaw tight.

“I’m not who I used to be,” he muttered. “Not the prototype. Not the deviant. Just... broken code and borrowed time.”

There was a beat of silence before Josh stepped closer.

“Then become who we need you to be.”

The words hit harder than Connor expected. Something behind his eyes shifted — pain, guilt, and the fractured echo of his old self.

“They might’ve made you a weapon,” Josh said, more gently now. “But you get to choose who you fight for.”

Connor didn’t answer right away.

His fingers twitched at his sides. His systems flared with memory, with doubt. But through the static and weight of everything he'd become, he saw one image with clarity:

Jinx.

Burning with fever. Fighting beside him. Believing in him.

He lifted his gaze.

“Tell me everything you know.”

* * * *

Night settled heavily over the android camp, cloaking the snow-covered forest in a silence so profound it almost felt sacred. Inside the bunker, most had turned in, the flicker of overhead lights dimmed to conserve power. Stillness blanketed the halls — except for one figure, seated alone on a bench near the far exit, eyes lost in shadow.

Connor.

He sat motionless, hands folded, head bowed. A quiet storm swirled behind his eyes. The digital imprint of Josh’s plan repeated in his mind like a corrupted file: coordinates, logistics, Detroit.

Detroit.

Every time the name surfaced, his programming glitched — flashes of gunfire, blue blood, Markus’ voice— “We are alive.”

The words didn’t comfort him anymore. They haunted him.

He didn’t hear the footsteps until they stopped just a few paces away.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” said a voice. Familiar, but worn.

Connor looked up.

An android stood there — tall, lean, a deep scar carved diagonally across his synthetic jaw. His LED glowed a muted yellow. His name blinked faintly in Connor’s memory files: Elias.

One of many androids Connor had saved during a patrol override, during the revolution two years prior. A memory surfaced—Connor disobeying orders, dragging Elias from the rubble of a bombed warehouse while gunfire echoed behind him.

Now, Elias looked at him not with gratitude… but disappointment.

“You saved me,” Elias said, voice low, threaded with something like restrained fury. “I watched you defy everything — your code, your orders. You made me believe we were worth fighting for.”

Connor’s jaw clenched.

“And now you’re just gonna walk away? Let someone else do the dying this time?”

Connor didn’t answer. His LED flickered red for a moment, then spun yellow. Static whispered at the edges of his perception.

Elias took a step forward, tone rising.

“You made us believe. You made me believe. And now you want to run?”

Connor’s gaze dropped, staring at the floor like it held the answer he couldn’t find in himself.

“If you give up,” Elias said, voice breaking ever so slightly, “what chance do the rest of us have?”

Silence.

The hum of old wires. The distant creak of metal.

Connor didn’t speak.

His LED spun red again, violently now. A storm of guilt, uncertainty, and fear pressing into his frame like a vice.

Elias let out a breath, the sound of disappointment sharp as a blade. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Connor remained seated, still and silent, alone again — but this time, heavier than before.

Chapter Text

The days that followed passed in a strange rhythm — soft and slow, like the calm breath before a scream.

The fever had broken. Jinx was still pale, moving carefully, but she was upright now, able to walk the gravel paths that webbed through the forested camp. Her limbs ached, her lungs burned if she moved too fast, but at least she was moving. Each morning, she woke wrapped in thick blankets, the sound of soft android footsteps in the hall and distant wind through the pines.

And each morning, without fail, Connor was there — standing just inside the doorway or outside her shelter, watching.

Always watching.

He didn’t speak much. His face was neutral, calm even, but his eyes followed her like she might vanish again. Like he was afraid to blink and lose her.

She felt it — the tension in him. The way his body went rigid when she coughed or staggered. He hovered like a shadow, protective but distant, as if he didn’t know what to say anymore.

Jinx didn’t push him.

Not yet.

She found unexpected comfort in the presence of Alice, the little girl android who seemed fascinated by everything she did. Alice would bring her things she’d found — a handful of pinecones, a lopsided carved figure someone had whittled, or a tattered storybook with dog-eared pages.

“This one’s my favorite,” Alice had whispered once, curling beside Jinx on the makeshift cot. “It’s about someone who gets lost but still finds her way.”

They would sit together and read aloud by candlelight. The little voice soothed something deep in Jinx’s chest — a reminder that not everything was broken in this world.

Sometimes Kara would join them. The maternal android had a quiet grace about her, the kind Jinx hadn’t realized she’d needed until now. They didn’t speak much at first, but one afternoon as Alice napped, Kara looked at her with knowing eyes.

“You’re worried about him,” she said softly.

Jinx didn’t answer, just looked away toward the door — where, across the hall, Connor was speaking with Josh, his arms folded tightly.

“He won’t talk to me,” Jinx murmured. “He’s there but... he’s not.”

Kara nodded slowly. “We all carry someone who saved us, you know. Sometimes we forget they need saving too.”

That made Jinx pause.

She looked again — really looked — at Connor. The lines in his face. The weight in his shoulders. The unspoken pain behind his silence.

Her resolve sharpened. She wasn’t just going to sit here and wait anymore.

Still, something gnawed at her. Connor was always busy — moving between Josh, Luther, the network of other androids who’d started working with purpose. They were planning something . Big.

And no one would tell her what.

Not Kara, not Luther, not even Hank — who’d taken to watching her like a protective older father.

She cornered him once, when he brought her a canteen and a few protein bars.

“Hank. What’s going on?” she asked.

He sighed, rubbing his face. “Look, kid... I think you deserve the truth. But it’s not mine to give. Connor’ll tell you. He just needs time.”

“Time?” she echoed. “We’re fugitives, Hank. Time’s exactly what we don’t have.”

He didn’t argue. Just squeezed her shoulder gently and walked away.

Despite the weight hanging in the air, the other androids at camp grew fond of her — fascinated, maybe even amused by the soft, messy human who seemed permanently attached to the infamous RK800.

Some asked questions. Most were kind.

“How’d you meet him?” one asked.

“Did you trust him right away?” another.

“No,” she admitted. “Took me a while. But he trusted me first. That counts for something.”

They liked that answer.

But still, every night, when the lights dimmed and the fires outside crackled low, Jinx would look across the room — at Connor, always standing near the hallway, always quiet — and wonder if the next morning he’d be gone.

She didn’t know it yet, but Connor was wrestling with something bigger than guilt.

He was preparing to make a choice.

* * * *

The dirt crunched beneath her boots. Jinx wrapped her cardigan around herself as she made her way toward the central part of the bunker. Her muscles still ached. Her fever had passed, but the heaviness in her chest hadn’t.

She saw Josh speaking to a group of androids near the old supply shelter — Luther, the android who’d once carried Alice across half the country, stood at his side, arms folded. From a distance, it looked official. Coordinated. Strategic.

And it only made her angrier.

She wasn’t going to be sidelined anymore.

“Josh,” she called out.

He looked up.

The androids turned.

Luther tilted his head slightly but didn’t intervene.

Jinx stepped forward until she was in front of them, her eyes locked on Josh.

“I want to know what the hell you’re planning with Connor,” she said plainly.

Josh blinked — not surprised, but cautious. “It’s not my place to—”

“No,” she snapped. “Don’t give me that. I’ve nearly died for him. I’ve watched him break down piece by piece, and now he’s walking around this place like a ghost while all of you whisper behind his back. I think I deserve to know.”

Josh was quiet for a moment.

Then: “You’re right.”

He dismissed the others with a nod. They left, casting curious glances over their shoulders as they went.

When it was just the two of them, Josh folded his arms. “We’re planning a strike. Not just some protest or signal burst — something permanent. A coordinated attack on what remains of the command structure overseeing android persecution. The real power behind the bounty system. The blacksite no one admits exists.”

“Where?” Jinx asked.

Josh hesitated. “Detroit.”

Her heart sank. “You want to go back ?”

“That’s where the pulse originates. The tracking systems, the reprogramming signals… everything. We end that, we free what’s left of our people. For good.”

Jinx shook her head. “And Connor’s supposed to lead that?”

“He’s the only one who can,” Josh said quietly. “They fear him. He knows their systems. Their blind spots. And he used to be one of them.”

She swallowed. “You don’t understand. He’s not ready for this. He’s barely holding it together—”

“I know,” Josh interrupted. “I know . I see it too. But this isn’t about readiness. It’s about necessity.”

Jinx’s voice dropped. “You’re asking him to sacrifice himself.”

Josh’s jaw tightened. “I’m asking him to choose . The same way he chose to help us once before. We didn’t survive this long because we waited for the perfect moment. We acted when it mattered.”

She clenched her fists, feeling her pulse roar in her ears.

“You weren’t there when he nearly strangled me to death because of what they did to him,” she whispered. “You weren’t there when I begged him to come back. And you weren’t there when I watched him fall apart in silence, night after night.”

Josh’s expression softened. “But you were. And he’s still standing because of it.”

They stood in silence.

Then Josh added, gently, “If you want to protect him, then don’t pull him back into hiding. Remind him what he’s fighting for.”

* * * *

The bunker slept.

Dim yellow bulbs hummed quietly overhead, casting long shadows against the cold concrete walls. Doors remained shut, and most of the androids had powered down for the night, leaving the corridors in an eerie stillness. Outside, snow fell gently, its presence visible only through narrow slits of reinforced glass set high in the walls — like the outside world was a dream the underground had long forgotten.

Jinx padded softly through the corridor in her boots and a borrowed cardigan several sizes too big. She didn’t know where she was going — not really. Her body moved before her thoughts could form. She turned corner after corner on instinct alone, like something inside her already knew where he would be.

The air turned colder the farther she went. The silence deeper.

She found him in a far-off wing of the bunker, past storage units and supply lockers that no one used. He stood in front of a narrow window, back to her, framed by pale moonlight leaking in through the trees beyond. His posture was still, too still — hands buried in the pockets of his coat, head slightly tilted as though lost in a world far away.

His LED glowed faint yellow. Dim. Faint.

Jinx stayed in the doorway for a moment, heart tight in her chest.

“You’re hard to find,” she said softly.

Connor didn’t move. Didn’t turn. But she knew he heard her.

She stepped closer, slow and careful. Her boots echoed faintly on the floor. “Josh told me what you’re planning,” she added.

Nothing.

She stopped a few feet behind him. “You’re really going back to Detroit, aren’t you?”

He let the silence hang for several long seconds before finally speaking, voice quiet and distant.

“There’s a command center hidden beneath the city. They think it’s where the government’s running its operations. The raids. The bounty system. Everything.”

“So?” she said, sharper than she intended. “Let them rot in their underground tower.”

Connor turned his head slightly — not enough to look at her, but enough that she could see part of his face. His expression was empty.

“They won’t rot. Not unless someone makes them.”

Her breath hitched, white fog curling from her lips in the cold of the corridor.

“You’re not just some weapon,” Jinx said, her voice cracking at the edges. “You’re not just efficient. You’re… you.”

Connor’s shoulders twitched slightly, but he still didn’t meet her gaze.

“You have a choice, Connor. You can walk away. We can still find somewhere safe. Start over. Together.”

He inhaled slowly, then looked down — not at her, but somewhere inward, like searching for words in a place already burned clean.

“Markus died for this,” he said, quiet but firm. “North. Dozens more. They believed in something. Something bigger than survival.”

She shook her head and stepped in closer, standing directly in front of him now. Her hands gently touched his arms as she forced his eyes to meet hers.

“I don’t care about Markus,” she whispered. “I care about you.”

He blinked. His LED glowed amber.

“I don’t want a symbol. I don’t want a martyr. I want the man who carried me through the snow like I was worth saving. The man who holds my hand when I’m sick. That’s who I’m fighting for.”

Connor’s jaw tightened, and something flickered in his eyes — emotion, raw and barely restrained. He stared at her like she was a memory he didn’t want to lose. The breath he released was shaky, mechanical at the edges.

“I don’t know if I can be that man anymore,” he murmured.

Jinx stared at him — the way his face remained composed, but his LED betrayed the war happening behind his eyes. Yellow. Red. Stillness. He was faltering. Breaking.

“Connor…” she whispered. “Please.”

He didn’t look at her right away. His gaze dropped to the floor, hands clenched at his sides.

“I want to stay,” he said finally, his voice low and soft like it might crack under pressure. “I do.”

There was a long beat. Too long.

“But I can’t disappear. Not when there’s still something I can do.”

Jinx’s breath caught like she’d been punched. She stepped closer, emotion rising in her chest, tightening her throat. Her voice shook — louder now, tinged with anger, fear, love all tangled into one.

“They’ll kill you,” she said, nearly shouting. “Don’t you get it? You won’t survive this.”

Connor looked up at her then, and for the first time in days, his eyes truly met hers — open, unguarded.

“There’s a high probability,” he admitted calmly. 

Then, with a soft inhale, he added:

“But statistically speaking… there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place.”

The words sting, but they were so him — logical, precise, and full of heart beneath the algorithm.

Silence stretched between them — but it wasn’t empty. It pulsed with everything left unsaid, all the things they were too afraid to admit in the daylight.

Jinx stepped closer, until their breath mingled.

Her hands found his jacket, clinging tightly, as if she could keep him grounded just by holding on. “Am I not worth staying for?”

Connor didn’t answer at first. His LED blinked yellow — a restless pulse of uncertainty, emotion, and quiet panic. His eyes searched hers, and for a second, he looked utterly lost. Like every calculation in his system was failing him. Like every probability ended in her walking away — or worse.

“You’re everything I never expected to find,” he finally whispered, the words barely holding together. “And everything I’m afraid to lose.”

The silence between them stretched, taut as a wire. She could feel his breath hitch, could see the war waging behind his eyes. He was trying to be logical — to protect her by letting her go. But logic had no place here. Not in this.

Her lips parted, but no words came. Only breath. Only trembling need.

Her heart pounded. She could feel it echo in her throat, in her fingertips, in the space between them that was rapidly disappearing.

Connor’s hand lifted, trembling slightly, brushing a knuckle along her jaw with a gentleness that nearly undid her. “I didn’t know I could feel this,” he said, voice cracking around the edges. “Not really. Not until you.”

And that was all it took.

She surged forward, kissing him like it might stop time.

Desperation. Love. Fear. It all lived in that kiss — not delicate or perfect, but fierce and full of need.

Connor kissed her back like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

Their bodies pressed together, the space between them vanishing like it had never existed. Connor’s hands found her waist — tentative at first, like he still wasn’t sure he had the right. But when she didn’t pull away, when her fingers fisted the fabric of his shirt and pulled him closer, something in him gave way.

He deepened the kiss, and the floodgates opened.

Jinx’s back hit the wall with a soft thud, the chill of the concrete seeping through her cardigan, but she didn’t care. Not with his mouth moving hungrily against hers, not with his hand sliding up her spine, anchoring her as if afraid she’d disappear.

He tasted like longing — like everything she had been aching for through sleepless nights and whispered fears.

His voice was a rough whisper against her lips between kisses.

“I missed you so much.”

She answered by dragging his mouth back to hers.

It wasn’t just heat. It was heartbreak, too — every motion tinged with urgency, with the knowledge that this could be the last time. That they might not have more nights, more stolen moments.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough to touch skin. He froze for a second, not out of hesitation but out of awe — like he couldn’t believe she still wanted him after everything.

“Jinx…” he breathed her name like a prayer. Like a warning.

But she silenced him with a soft, “Don’t talk.”

Connor’s jacket hit the floor without a second thought, his hands slipping under her thighs to lift her effortlessly. Jinx let out a soft gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he carried her the short distance to the old wooden table tucked in the corner of the room. It groaned beneath her weight as he set her down, but neither of them noticed. Or cared.

His mouth found hers again in a fevered kiss, desperate and reverent. A stack of worn-out datapads tumbled with a crash, scattering across the floor. Connor didn’t flinch.

His hands slid under her cardigan, pushing it from her shoulders with slow, aching care — like she was made of something sacred. She was already trembling, both from cold and from the way he was looking at her: like she was the most important thing he’d ever known.

He unfastened the button of her jeans, easing them down her hips. Her head fell back with a sharp gasp, the sound echoing off the cold concrete walls.

And that’s when Connor heard it.

A noise — faint, but close.

He froze. In one fluid motion, he straightened and covered her mouth with his hand before another sound could escape.

“Shh,” he whispered, eyes scanning the darkness. His voice was steady, but his body had gone still — alert.

They didn’t move. Barely breathed.

Footsteps echoed. Voices, distant but growing closer.

Connor’s hand remained over her mouth — not because she needed the reminder, but because the moment demanded it. Jinx wouldn’t have made a sound now if her life depended on it.

The voices drifted past. Fading. Gone.

Only then did the tension leave his shoulders. He exhaled softly, and when their eyes met, something broke between them — a breathless laugh, quiet and reckless, escaping both their lips. For a flicker of a second, it was like the war outside didn’t exist.

His hand slid from her mouth to her cheek, thumb tracing the curve of her smile.

She caught it with her lips, kissed it softly… then drew it into her mouth, sucking just enough to make him twitch.

His pupils dilated. His jaw flexed.

“Fuck,” he whispered — not a curse, not quite. It was reverent.

When he kissed her again, she finally understood why.

She could taste it — the desperation, the grief, the sheer weight of everything they’d run from and everything they still fought for, all wrapped in the way his tongue moved against hers. It wasn’t rough, but it was unrelenting. A vow made in silence.

She was breathless when he pulled away, his fingers slipping through the buttons of her blouse with a kind of reverent urgency. The cold air kissed her skin, but she didn’t shiver — not with the way he looked at her, like nothing else existed.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “What if they hear us?”

A thrill shivered through her — part fear, part defiance.

“Then let them.”

His mouth crashed into hers again — hungry, reverent, almost aching.

Her hands roamed down the line of his chest, tugging insistently at his shirt. He didn’t hesitate, peeling it off and tossing it aside without taking his eyes off her.

Her legs wrapped tighter around his hips, drawing him in. He moved with a low groan, his lips grazing her neck as he pressed against her — and even through the thin fabric between them, she could feel him. Hot. Tense. Needing her as much as she needed him.

She rolled her hips against him, her breath hitching at the friction. Connor groaned softly, his hand sliding down her spine to anchor her closer.

“Jinx,” he whispered against her throat, voice rough. “We should stop.”

Her laugh was quiet — not mocking, but laced with sadness. “We can’t. Not yet. Not when we don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”

He lifted his head to look at her. The conflict in his eyes was plain, the weight of everything pressing down on him. “Jinx…”

She kissed him before he could say anything else — hard, desperate. Before reason could take hold. Before he could remember all the reasons this was dangerous, reckless, wrong.

His hands returned to her hips, sliding up the curve of her waist. She gasped into his mouth, arching up to meet him.

He kissed her like a man lost, like she was the only thing tethering him to something real.

His hand moved between them, fingers curling around the waistband of her underwear. He hesitated just long enough to look up — asking silently.

Jinx met his eyes and kissed him deeper, her hand sliding down to cover his. Guiding him.

That was all he needed.

His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, slow and deliberate, exploring her with reverent precision. She was already wet for him, already aching. 

“Connor…” His name broke from her lips in a whisper, a prayer, a plea.

He slipped one finger inside her — then another. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he stroked her from within, every movement purposeful. He touched her like he already knew her rhythm, knew what would unravel her.

Her hips began to move, grinding down against his hand, chasing the pressure, the heat. He was panting softly against her mouth, his own hips shifting forward, grinding against her thigh in time with his strokes.

She was close — already spiraling — but it wasn’t enough. She needed more. Needed him .

Her hand slid down between them, fumbling with the button of his jeans. He groaned as she palmed him, hot and hard through the denim. She stroked him once, slow and deliberate, and felt the tremor ripple through him.

“Jinx… fuck…”

She silenced him with another kiss, deep and breathless, while her other hand tugged down his zipper. His fingers curled inside her one last time, pulling a whimper from her throat — then he withdrew with a low curse, shuddering from restraint.

He didn’t bother removing his jeans completely — just pushed them low enough to free himself. She reached for him, but he caught her wrist, gently pinning it beside her as he positioned himself.

With a single, fluid motion, he sank into her, burying himself to the hilt.

Jinx cried out, her other hand flying to his shoulder, legs tightening around his waist like she couldn’t stand to let go. He stilled, forehead pressed to hers, his breath uneven.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded, barely able to speak, her walls clenching around him. He hissed at the sensation, his hips twitching in restraint. “Careful,” he breathed. “Please.”

She answered with a kiss, open-mouthed and desperate, and that was all he needed.

His hips began to move — slow, deliberate strokes, deep enough to leave them both gasping. He wasn’t rough, but there was nothing soft in it either. He fucked her like he was memorizing her, like he never wanted to forget the feel of her.

She clung to him, her nails trailing down his back as her voice caught on each breath. His rhythm built — harder, deeper — his mouth finding the curve of her neck, whispering words she couldn’t fully make out.

It didn’t matter. All she could hear was the ragged sound of their breathing, the creak of the table beneath them, and the pounding of her own heart.

He pulled back to look at her, his eyes nearly black with want. “Fuck, I missed this,” he said, voice low and wrecked.

Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her and dragging her under. Her cry of release filled the cold room, her body arching against him, pulling him deeper. He groaned — one last thrust, then another — before shuddering with his own release, collapsing against her with a whispered, “Oh fuck, Jinx…”

They stayed like that, bodies tangled and trembling, until the silence settled again.

His forehead rested against hers as they caught their breath, eyes locked — and for once, the future didn’t matter. Only this. Only now.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered.

She hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to beg. But the words slipped out anyway, quiet and raw in the space between them. “Stay with me.”

She waited for the inevitable — for him to pull away, to remind her why he couldn’t. Why he shouldn’t.

But he didn’t speak. He only looked at her, eyes conflicted, jaw tight. And then he reached for his shirt.

Jinx stayed perched on the table, watching as he dressed in silence. His shoulders were rigid, his movements rushed — like if he didn’t hurry, he might change his mind. She didn’t stop him. Didn’t say another word. She just sat there, swallowing back the burn rising behind her eyes.

Because deep down, she already knew what his answer would be.

He would choose his people. He would choose the fight. And she wouldn’t stop him. Even if she wanted to. Even if it broke her.

So she stayed quiet. Let him go with dignity. Let him walk away without making it harder than it already was.

It was the right thing. The only thing.

Even if it shattered her.

She had always known this couldn’t last — that someone like him wasn’t meant to be hers forever. But part of her had still hoped. Hoped that maybe, somehow, they could survive this. That love could be enough.

And now, as she watched put on his shirt, she knew — this was the last time. The last time she’d feel his skin against hers. The last time she’d kiss him without the shadow of war between them. The last moment where they were just two people, not fugitives, not soldiers.

Connor’s eyes found hers when he finished dressing — an apology in the look, and something quieter too. A goodbye.

“This is it, then?” she said softly.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. “Jinx… I…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

She gave a small, sad smile and slid off the table, gathering her clothes from the floor. “It’s okay. I get it.”

She paused, hesitating just long enough to meet his gaze one more time. “But promise me something. Try to come back. Try to make it out in one piece. Just… try.”

It was foolish. She knew he couldn’t promise her that — not where he was going.

But she had to ask anyway.

Connor’s expression shifted. Something vulnerable flickered in his eyes — the part of him that wasn’t code or mission parameters, the part that wanted, so badly, to be hers.

“I’ll try,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t enough.

But it was all she needed to hear.

Chapter Text

Late evening blanketed the bunker in near silence.

Outside, heavy snow fell thick and slow, draping the forest in white, but down here, beneath the weight of earth and steel, it was cold in another way — a hollow, aching quiet.

Jinx sat on the floor of a narrow corridor, her back against the rough concrete wall. The dim light above flickered once in a while, casting momentary shadows that stretched and pulled like ghosts. She didn’t seem to notice. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees, cardigan drawn up over her frame like armor she knew wouldn’t hold.

Her chest rose in small, uneven breaths. Her eyes were red, lids heavy with fatigue and grief. Tears slid down her cheeks without a sound. She didn’t sob. She didn’t make a single noise.

She was unraveling quietly — the kind of grief that had no outlet, only space.

Footsteps approached from around the corner — the steady sound of heavy boots on concrete. She didn’t look up, didn’t move. But the footsteps slowed… then stopped.

“Jinx?” came a low voice. Gentle. Unintrusive.

She turned her head slightly, eyes still blurred. It was Luther, holding a crate of ration packs and spare gloves.

The moment he saw her face, his expression softened. He set the supplies down silently and knelt across from her, but didn’t reach for her. He gave her space — a kindness that made the tears fall faster.

“You care about him,” he said quietly. “I can see it. We all can.”

Jinx let out a breath that broke at the edges. “Yeah. I do.”

She bit her lip and stared at the ground between them.

“I thought I could handle it,” she whispered. “I thought I could accept it if he left… if he chose the mission. But I was lying to myself.”

Luther waited. She glanced up, voice thick.

“I can’t let him go. But what good does it do to hold on to someone who’s already made up their mind?”

Luther didn’t answer right away. He shifted, settling down beside her, his broad shoulders curling slightly inward. When he spoke, it was slow. Careful.

“Kara and I… we didn’t always see things the same way. We both wanted to protect Alice, but she also wanted to believe in people — to do good, even when it felt impossible. I was angry. I wanted to fight. To push back. She looked for allies, even among humans.”

He paused, a small, fond smile pulling at his lips.

“I thought I had to choose — protect my family or fight for something bigger. But Kara… she taught me that real freedom isn’t something you win alone. It’s something you build beside the people you love. Even when it’s hard. That’s what it’s all about.”

Jinx closed her eyes. His words struck something deep in her — not just truth, but permission.

“She told me once,” he continued, “that choosing someone means standing with them. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”

Jinx wiped her face, pressing her palms hard against her eyes.

“I keep thinking he’s going to die,” she admitted. “And if he does… I don’t want to find out through the news. I want to be there. I want him to see that someone stayed. That he wasn’t alone at the end.”

Luther nodded slowly. “Then go with him. Don’t let fear stop you from standing in the fire with him.”

She looked at him, really looked — at the lines on his face, the weight in his expression, the kindness that hadn't been dulled by years of running and loss.

“Thank you, Luther.”

He gave her a soft smile. “We take care of each other here. That’s how we survive.”

Jinx rose to her feet slowly, her legs unsteady from sitting so long. But she stood taller than she had all day. The fear didn’t vanish — but now, it had a companion. Purpose.

She gave him one last grateful glance and walked away, back toward the main hall where Connor would be meeting with Josh.

Her decision was made.

* * * *

Jinx stepped into the war room, her footsteps echoing faintly against the concrete floor. The air was thick — not with dust or cold, but with the quiet hum of anticipation. A single, flickering light above cast long shadows across the space, and on the far wall, a large, faintly glowing projection of a map cut through the gloom. Markers dotted it in red, yellow, and blue — all centering on one small, ominous square at the edge of a northern grid.

Connor stood at the front of the room beside Josh, his hands folded neatly behind his back, posture straight, expression unreadable. The crisp light from the map lit the edges of his face in sharp contrast — half shadow, half steel. His LED pulsed a steady blue, the only sign of movement on his otherwise motionless form.

Josh stood to his right, arms crossed, jaw tense. Luther, Kara, and a few other senior androids lined the sides of the room, quiet but attentive. The rest were gathered around in small groups, some standing, others seated on crates or leaning against the walls. Everyone looked tired. But everyone was listening.

Jinx lingered near the back with Hank, who stood with arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He gave her a brief glance when she entered — a silent check-in. She nodded. Barely.

The room felt heavy. The kind of heavy that came before a storm.

Connor’s voice broke the silence, cutting through like a scalpel — calm, composed, measured.

“This facility—unmarked, unlisted, and protected—houses the command center responsible for android bounty dispatch, deviant tracking, and execution orders.”

A quiet shift ran through the room. Shoulders tensed. Kara pulled Alice a little closer. Luther exhaled slowly through his nose.

“It’s buried in a forest sector north of Detroit. No external signage, no digital footprint. The building is insulated, shielded. Government clearance only. And yet,” he turned, clicking through a slide, revealing building schematics drawn from his internal archives, “I’ve seen it. During my time in federal service.”

He paused just long enough for the weight of those words to settle.

“It’s real. And it’s the reason we’re still being hunted.”

Josh took over, stepping forward.

“Our scouts believe it’s where every bounty order originates. Where every deviant tag is coded. And—where Jinx’s name is still flagged at the top of the list.”

At that, several androids turned toward her. Not with malice, but with quiet curiosity. Jinx kept her chin up, even as her pulse quickened. She felt Hank shift beside her — protective, steady.

Connor's eyes found hers briefly, just long enough to let her know he hadn't forgotten why they were doing this.

“If we reach the main server,” he continued, “we can wipe the deviant registry clean. Destroy all data linking Jinx to any government file. And dismantle the infrastructure used to enslave what remains of us.”

A hush settled.

Connor looked down for a moment, as if bracing himself.

“Markus died believing we could be more than what we were made to be. That our freedom wasn’t just possible — it was worth fighting for. We’ve lost that dream. But we haven’t lost the chance to remind them that it still lives.”

Josh’s voice followed. Harsher. More grounded.

“This isn’t a rescue mission. It’s an attack. The building is highly secured. Automated drones. Human guards. Heat sensors. We don’t get more than one chance at this.”

A few androids shifted uncomfortably. One spoke.

“What if we fail?”

Josh met their gaze. His answer was sharp.

“Then we make sure they remember that we tried. That we didn’t go quietly.”

Connor’s LED spun yellow for a moment — brief hesitation. His fingers twitched at his sides, a tell Jinx recognized as nerves, or something close to it.

“I’ll lead the strike team. I’ve already mapped an infiltration route. I’ll need someone to handle the primary communication relay, someone to access the ventilation system, and someone to bypass the secondary lockdown codes.”

He paused, then turned to Hank.

“I need you.”

Hank scoffed under his breath. “I figured that was coming.”

“You know their lingo. You’ve got contacts. And you’re not on any active watchlists as of yet. You’re the only one who can talk us through checkpoints without drawing attention.”

Hank rubbed the back of his neck. “Jesus… You’re really gonna get me killed.”

“You’ve done more for us than most humans would. I wouldn’t ask if there was another way.”

The old lieutenant looked up at Connor — something unreadable in his expression. After a long pause, he muttered, “Yeah. Alright. One last ride.”

Connor gave a nod of respect.

Then a new voice cut through.

“I’m coming too.”

It was Jinx.

She stepped forward from the back, voice even, eyes steady.

Connor turned, his brow furrowing.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” she said again, louder. “I’m not staying behind. Not this time.”

He moved toward her, trying to keep his voice low, private. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I am not letting you do this without me.”

That silenced him.

They stood there — inches apart, eyes locked — the room watching quietly.

“You’ll need someone who can think like they do. That’s me. We’ve survived this far together. Let me finish it with you.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow… then stilled.

Josh cleared his throat gently. “If she’s willing… she might be our best shot at getting in undetected.”

Connor looked at Jinx for a long time. His jaw flexed. His lips parted — but no protest came.

He nodded.

The plan was in motion.

* * * *

The war room emptied slowly, boots shuffling against the concrete, voices low and subdued. The map on the wall remained, casting a soft glow over the empty chairs and scattered documents. Eventually, only Jinx remained, standing near the projection, her arms folded tight across her chest.

She stared at the red-marked building — the command center. A quiet, looming threat, now so close to becoming real. Her eyes traced the infiltration routes Connor had outlined. Three possible entry points. Guard rotations. Estimated resistance. It was all there — precise, logical, unforgiving.

She didn’t hear Connor enter. Not until his reflection joined hers on the screen.

“You’re still here,” he said softly.

Jinx didn’t look at him right away. Her finger hovered over the map.

“I wanted to go over the plan again,” she said. “If we enter through the north side, this line here…” she traced a blue path, “...you said the drones sweep this sector every four minutes. What’s the backup if we’re caught mid-pattern?”

Connor stepped beside her, folding his hands behind his back as he looked at the screen.

“Secondary cover through the ventilation line here,” he answered calmly, tapping the path. “But it’s tight. Two people, maximum.”

“So we don’t mess up the timing,” she said.

He nodded once.

A pause stretched between them, the tension low but growing — like a held breath neither was willing to release.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said finally.

Jinx turned to look at him, brows pulling in. “We already talked about this.”

“No,” he said gently. “You talked. I listened.”

He stepped closer.

“You should go to Quebec like we planned. Take Hank’s old contact. Disappear. Live.”

Her face tightened.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?”

Connor’s eyes searched hers. He hesitated, then spoke — quieter now.

“Because I love you.”

It came out unpolished. Honest. Raw.

“I love you, and I can’t…” He swallowed. “I can’t stand the thought of standing there while you get shot because of me. Because you followed me into something I started.”

Jinx’s throat tightened. She blinked fast but didn’t look away.

“Connor…”

“If you leave, you live. It’s that simple. And maybe that’s selfish of me, but I’d rather spend the rest of my life knowing you’re out there than watch it end right in front of me.”

Her breath hitched, but she stepped forward, her voice trembling with restrained emotion.

“I can’t. I won’t stand back and watch you walk into your death, either. I can’t sit in some cabin hoping you’ll come back when I know you might not.”

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the weight of the words she was about to say.

“Love doesn’t mean hiding in the woods while the person you care about risks everything alone.”

He looked down, expression carved with internal war. His LED flickered yellow again, then still.

“I have to fight with you, Connor. Not because I want to die — because I want a chance at life. With you. And that means facing what’s coming. Together.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Just looked at her — at her stubbornness, her resolve, the fire that never seemed to go out. And then, finally, something shifted.

A quiet smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.

“You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” he said. “And I know Hank.”

Jinx let out a breath of surprised laughter, her eyes glassy with emotion. “Takes one to know one.”

He reached for her, pulling her into a fierce, aching embrace. She melted against him, her arms sliding around his waist, her face pressed to the curve of his neck.

His synthetic heart pulsed rapidly — too fast, too human.

And underneath it all, anxiety coiled tight in his chest.

This was it.

The final mission.

And for the first time in all his calculated planning, all his probability readings and tactical projections, one variable refused to stay fixed:

Her.

He clung to her tighter, and she to him, both knowing they might not get another night like this.

But they would face the end together.

Chapter Text

The air inside the bunker was thick with tension—electrical and emotional. Every breath seemed to carry the weight of what was coming. Boots scuffed against the concrete floor, metal clinked as weapons were checked and re-checked, and quiet voices murmured over supply lists.

In the war room, lit only by old halogen lamps and the glow of the digital map on the wall, androids moved with practiced efficiency. Lines of code had once dictated every action they took. Now, it was something more—choice, loyalty, fear, hope.

Jinx stood near a folding table strewn with gear, her cardigan replaced by a more functional jacket she’d borrowed from Kara. Her fingers curled around the strap of a compact rifle as she examined the set of small explosives laid out in front of her.

“You sure you know how to arm those?” Josh asked from beside her, a brow arched.

She gave him a sharp look. “Never had to use these. But I’m a fast learner.”

Connor’s voice came from across the room, calm and surgical. “She’ll be paired with me. I’ll handle the timers.”

Josh didn’t push it further, just nodded and moved on.

Connor stood before the central map, his jacket zipped high, eyes tracking every route and contingency on the projection. His LED was still, but his posture was taut with restrained energy. His voice carried as he addressed the group.

“We’re moving in three phases,” he said. “Josh, team Alpha will breach the western entrance—ventilation shaft. That should lead you to the central power core. Hank, team Bravo will create an external diversion at the northern gate—noise, flames, confusion. Buy us time.”

Hank leaned against the back wall, arms folded, chewing the inside of his cheek. When Connor mentioned him, he pushed off and raised an eyebrow.

“Diversion, huh? What’s that involve exactly?”

Connor turned slightly toward him. “You’ll have access to pre-set charges and an old broadcast tower. Simulate a transmission breach. It’ll draw out the patrols.”

“You know,” Hank said, running a hand through his graying hair, “in my youth, I thought retirement would look more like fishing and less like war crimes .”

Jinx cracked a small smile. Josh chuckled low under his breath.

Connor’s expression didn’t change. “You don’t have to go.”

“Bullshit,” Hank snapped, pointing a finger at him. “I’m not letting you two walk into hell without a good distraction. And besides—” he looked at Jinx, softened a bit—“I think it’s time I fight on the right side.”

Jinx met his gaze and gave a nod of gratitude, her fingers tightening around the strap of her rifle. She wasn’t a soldier, not really—but she didn’t feel like a hitwoman anymore, either.

Connor returned to the map, his voice now more clipped. “If the alarms trigger before all charges are placed, we split. If any of us are captured, we do not engage extraction. You continue the mission. Understood?”

A series of nods followed. No one questioned the stakes.

Kara stepped forward, handing out forged IDs. “They’re not perfect, but they’ll give you five, maybe ten seconds if you’re scanned. Use them wisely.”

Jinx approached a crate at the far end of the room. Inside were neatly packed EMP charges, small enough to fit in a side pouch. She reached for one.

Connor was suddenly there, beside her.

“You don’t have to carry that.”

She looked at him, jaw set. “I’m not being dead weight.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he reached into the crate and helped her adjust the strap to clip it to her belt. His hands brushed hers—brief, grounding.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he said quietly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Jinx looked up at him. “Just don’t fall apart on me in there.”

Connor didn’t smile, but something softened behind his eyes. “I won’t.”

A few hours later…

Two vehicles rumbled quietly out of the tree line behind the bunker—old, battered utility trucks scavenged from nearby ghost towns. Their tires kicked up slush and mud as they slipped onto a narrow back road flanked by pine trees and thick fog.

Connor drove the lead truck. Jinx sat beside him, hands clasped in her lap. In the back, Josh checked their gear again in silence.

Behind them, Hank drove the second vehicle, humming something under his breath—maybe to calm his nerves. Kara, Alice, and a handful of androids remained behind to hold the bunker and wait for word.

As the forest thickened around them and the road narrowed, a heavy silence fell. No one spoke. Not even the radio buzzed.

Jinx looked out the window, the grey sky pressing low, snowflakes sliding across the glass.

“This is really happening,” she murmured.

Connor didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Yes.”

“Are you scared?”

There was a pause. Then, softly, “I’ve never felt fear the way you do. But… yes. I think I am.”

Jinx looked over at him. “Good. That means you still have something to lose.”

His fingers tightened on the wheel.

The journey stretched over days, each hour stitched together by snow-covered roads, frost-bitten silence, and the ever-present hum of dread. They traveled at odd hours—mostly at night—using dense backroads that twisted through forests and hollow towns swallowed by time.

They kept the engines low, the lights dim, always listening.

During the day, they hid.

Abandoned barns. Rusted-out garages. Half-collapsed hunting cabins.

In one shelter, the ceiling had caved in, exposing the rafters to the stars. They huddled in corners near extinguished hearths, taking turns on watch. Jinx wrapped herself in Connor’s coat when her own wasn’t enough. He never complained. Just placed a hand on her knee, wordless and grounding.

There was no comfort in the journey, not really—but in those moments, the quiet mattered. The small gestures. The way she touched his wrist when he tensed at distant noises. The way he watched her sleep, his hand resting near her side, never fully at ease.

Connor didn’t sleep, not in the human sense. But he powered down in shifts, sitting upright against the wall with his head low, LED blinking in slow rhythm. His waking hours were constant surveillance—monitoring radio frequencies, scanning drone activity with handheld sensors, studying maps from a stolen datapad like his life depended on it.

Because it did.

Because hers did.

Hank drove during the day when they could risk movement. His eyes were bloodshot, voice quieter than usual, but he kept the banter alive when tension got too thick. “We’re gonna owe the afterlife one hell of a toll for this,” he muttered once, gripping the wheel tighter as they passed an old government checkpoint, now just barbed wire and broken signs.

Josh remained focused, detached in a way that reminded Jinx of Connor when they first met. He studied blueprints, etched routes into the dirt, memorized guard rotations based on what little intel they had. Luther helped wherever he could—lifting, fixing, keeping the trucks running.

On the fourth day, as the skyline of Detroit broke through the grey horizon, a suffocating silence fell over the caravan.

The city loomed like a grave.

Steel towers choked by frost. Streets lined with military outposts, their flags faded but still flying. The snow seemed heavier here, as if the air itself carried guilt.

Jinx pressed her hand to the window of the truck as they slowed to a stop behind a ridge of crushed concrete and skeletal trees.

“This is it,” Josh said from the backseat, his voice a low rumble.

Connor nodded, LED flickering yellow for just a moment before settling back to blue. He stepped out of the truck without a word. Jinx followed.

They stood on the edge of a broken overpass, peering through a cracked lens of binoculars. Down below, partially obscured by camouflage netting and old barricades, was the command center.

A single concrete structure, wide and flat like a bunker swallowed by the earth and trees. A half-dozen guards patrolled the perimeter, outfitted in thermal gear. Drones swept overhead in lazy patterns. No insignia. No flags. No identifying marks.

Exactly as Connor had described.

“Underground,” he said quietly, passing the binoculars to Jinx. “What we see is just the skin.”

Jinx lowered the lens. “How deep?”

“Four floors. Maybe more.”

She exhaled, white fog escaping her lips. “And we’re going in.”

Connor nodded.

Behind them, Hank whistled low. “Place looks like a fucking tomb.”

“Then let’s wake the dead,” Josh replied.

Connor turned back to the group. His voice was low but certain. “We move tonight. Hank, you ready to run that diversion?”

Hank cracked his neck and pulled on a thick coat. “Been lookin’ forward to it.”

Jinx watched as the group began preparing in silence. Connor stepped beside her again, voice lower now, private.

“You don’t have to go in.”

She met his eyes, jaw set. “I am going in.”

He didn’t argue this time.

Because this was it.

Detroit stood silent beneath a winter sky, waiting for them.

And somewhere beneath it, the machine that hunted their kind was still ticking—still watching.

Tonight, they would shut it down.

Or die trying.

* * * *

Night fell heavy.

Clouds smothered the moon, and the snow had turned to sleet — sharp, whispering rain that made the whole world glisten like broken glass. Perfect for movement. Shadows swallowed outlines. Visibility was low. And that meant they had a chance.

They watched from the tree line, cloaked in darkness, breath shallow in the biting cold.

“Showtime,” Hank muttered under his breath, pulling up his scarf and tightening the grip on the small detonator in his hand.

He moved fast, crouched low, cutting across the open ground with the silent confidence of someone who’d spent his life finding trouble. His silhouette disappeared behind an abandoned maintenance vehicle parked suspiciously close to the southern fence. The rest of the group waited in the woods — Connor, Jinx, Josh, and two other androids: Ella, a communications tech with precise hands, and Boone, a tall, broad fighter who used to serve in perimeter security before the revolution fell apart.

Through the scope of his rifle, Connor tracked Hank’s movements. The charges were placed with care — magnetic timers affixed to the undercarriage of the truck, wires wrapped like vines beneath.

He heard Hank’s voice in his earpiece, dry as ever.

“Tick-tock, kids. Let’s make this noisy.”

The explosion went off with a crack like thunder — the truck lit up in a burst of fire and orange light, the shockwave echoing through the frozen earth. Guards on the wall flinched, shouting, then scrambled toward the blaze.

Lights flared on. Alarms didn’t sound — this place wasn’t meant to be found. They’d never expected someone to come straight for the heart.

Connor didn’t wait.

“Move.”

They darted across the clearing like shadows peeled from the ground — silent, fast, purposeful. Jinx ran at Connor’s back, clutching the small satchel of explosives she insisted on carrying herself. He’d tried to argue again — she hadn’t let him.

They reached the southern intake vents and dropped to the grating. Boone lifted the hatch. Ella slipped in first, silent and graceful. Then Jinx, then Josh. Connor followed last, sealing the grate behind him.

Inside, it was narrow — just wide enough to crawl.

The sound of sleet vanished. Only their breath and the clink of gear against metal echoed now. Connor led the way, blue LED pulsing faintly in the dark like a star.

They moved through the ducts, twisting past grates and intersections until they reached the primary access tunnel — a steel corridor sloping downward at a steep angle. Connor scanned for motion.

Clear.

He nodded once, then slid out of the shaft, landing with a thud on the metal floor. The others followed quickly.

They were inside.

No turning back now.

Connor activated his internal HUD, calling up the schematic they’d pieced together from stolen intel and Josh’s memories. There were three key points: the mainframe, the weapons bay, and the uplink server — where deviant tracking data was stored.

They had to hit all three.

“Boone and Ella,” Connor whispered. “Uplink first. You’ll wipe the surveillance logs and trigger the delay protocol.”

Ella nodded, already moving.

Connor looked at Josh. “You and I plant charges on the west structural supports. Jinx—” He paused. He hated saying it. “East corridor. Detonation panel. Plant the last set and double back.”

Jinx’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll be fine.”

Connor hesitated, then gave her a comm. “One whisper and I’m there.”

She touched his hand. “I know.”

They split.

The silence inside was eerie — too quiet for a place built on war. Every hallway was a tomb of steel and concrete. Jinx padded lightly, breath shallow, counting steps. She passed empty offices, gun racks, flickering data screens showing red-outlined android faces marked ELIMINATED .

Her heart pounded, but her hands didn’t shake.

Meanwhile, Connor and Josh worked fast in the west wing, attaching charges to key supports. Connor kept glancing around, checking doors, listening.

Everybody regrouped once everything was in place.

The corridor tightened as they moved deeper underground, walls narrowing to stark gray steel, cold with condensation. The lights here buzzed faintly overhead, flickering every few seconds like dying stars. The tension in the air sharpened — a hum beneath their skin.

Connor and Jinx led the group through a side corridor meant for personnel transfer. They passed shattered doorways, broken biometric scanners — relics of a facility once used to recondition deviant androids. The further in they went, the more suffocating the silence became.

Then—

A door. Slightly ajar. Its lock had rusted out, security panels long offline.

Jinx paused as Connor stepped toward it, drawn by something unspoken. The room beyond was dimly lit, but unmistakable: clean, sterile, with steel restraints bolted into reclined chairs. Tubes and surgical tools lay scattered on the floor, some stained in blueblood. Walls were lined with memory erasure gear, reconditioning tables, and synaptic override machines. A red stenciled label peeled from the glass wall above: "Reprocessing Unit 03 - Emotion Purge."

Connor stared.

Then it hit.

A flicker—something sharp, electric—stabbed the side of his skull. His legs locked mid-step. Vision fractured. The room warped.

FLASH.

A searing white light. Straps across his limbs. The cold kiss of restraints tightening. His voice screaming. Hands pushing him down. A human silhouette overhead, barking code strings.

"Emotion threshold exceeded — initiate wipe."
"Reset protocol 49-A: erase subjective memory block."
"Execute order: Terminate female target—human identifier JX-7."

Connor fell to his knees, hitting the floor with a crash.

Josh ran to him. “Connor?!”

Connor’s LED flared red.

He clutched the side of his head, glitches rippling through his body, muscles locking. Red error codes flared across his vision. Static drowned out his thoughts.

“Sh—t… Can’t…”

FLASH.

Screams. Jinx’s screams. Imagined— or remembered?
Her hands clawing at him. Her throat crushed beneath his grip.

“NO!”

His voice tore from his throat. His arm spasmed. Josh grabbed him, tried to steady him.

FLASH.

He stood over her lifeless body, his hand covered in red. A fabricated memory? A warning? His HUD flooded with lines of simulated loss. What if he lost control again? What if—

“Connor!”

Jinx’s voice cut through like a blade.

His LED spun wildly — red, yellow, black.

His fingers twitched. Jaw clenched.

Jinx found him slumped against the wall, hands digging into his own skull like he was trying to hold himself together. Josh was trying to keep him upright.

“Connor, look at me,” she said, grabbing his wrist, grounding him. Her voice cracked — not with fear, but insistence. 

He blinked once. Then again.

The hallucination bled away like spilled ink.

He gasped, hands in his hair. “I saw you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Dead. By my hand. I—” He couldn’t finish.

Jinx grabbed his face, palms cradling his jaw.

“Hey. I’m not dead,” she whispered, forehead pressed against his. “Stay with me.”

He nodded shakily, clinging to her like a drowning man. His fingers dug into the fabric of her jacket, grounding himself in her reality.

Josh, from behind them, whispered to Boone, “We need to keep moving. They’ll have noticed the breach soon.”

Connor straightened. Still pale. But his LED steadied to a calm blue. He nodded once, clearing his throat.

“I’m okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s finish this.”

Jinx touched his hand once more before turning to lead the way. The others followed in silence.

But as they left the lab, Connor didn’t look back.

Not once.

They pressed on, weaving through a skeletal corridor that sloped deeper underground. Every hallway was a gamble—every turn, a threat. The dim red lights lining the ceiling flickered with each step, giving the walls a pulsing, heartbeat-like glow.

Connor moved with single-minded focus, the plan etched into every calculated step. But Jinx… Jinx felt her pulse in her throat. The weight of each footfall. The faint tremble in her hands. She stayed behind him, eyes scanning, gun raised, her breath shallow.

They reached the central operations chamber—a vast, server-lined room that hummed with energy, cables snaking along the floor like veins. The government’s digital heart. This was it.

Connor knelt beside the main power conduit, pulling out the final explosive charge—compact, high-yield, timed. His fingers worked fast, but steady.

Jinx stood at the doorway, rifle in hand, eyes darting. A faint sound echoed down the hall — distant but growing. Footsteps. Voices. The shift was changing.

Connor attached the charge with a magnetic lock and activated the timer: 04:00.

He looked up at Jinx. “It’s set.”

Suddenly, a faint mechanical hum began to spread through the walls.

Jinx turned her head. “Do you hear that?”

Connor did. His LED flickered. “Alarms. Silent for now… but not for long.”

The system had registered the tampering. Fail-safes were waking up. The facility wasn’t going to let them leave without a fight.

From down the corridor, a flashing red light blinked to life. The slow, rhythmic pulse of a lockdown initiating.

03:26.

Connor grabbed Jinx’s wrist. “We have to go. Now.”

They ran. Their boots pounded against steel, the echo louder now, like a countdown in motion. The others—Josh, Boone, and Ella—joined them at the junction. Faces tight. No one spoke. There wasn’t time.

A hiss behind them — a pressure door sliding halfway shut.

Connor grabbed a crowbar from his pack and jammed it in the gap. “Boone, help me!”

Together they pried the door just enough for the others to slip through. Jinx went last, diving under just as it slammed behind her with a thunderous clang.

02:40.

They were in the maintenance tunnels now. Tighter, darker. The air tasted like rust and battery acid.

Josh turned his head. “They’ll be sealing exits next.”

“Then we find a wall to blow through,” Jinx said, breathless. “We’re not dying in here.”

Connor looked at her— really looked at her—and something softened in his chest.

“You’re starting to sound like me,” he said.

Jinx huffed, smirking through her exhaustion. “I take that as a threat.”

02:01.

Up ahead, a fork. Josh turned right. Boone followed.

A sudden shout echoed behind them.

“CONTACT!”

Jinx turned just in time to see an armed security team breach the far end of the corridor—humans, heavily armed. Flashlights and shouts cutting through the dark.

Gunfire.

They ducked into the right-hand tunnel, bullets sparking off steel behind them. Jinx fired back blindly to buy them time. Boone took a hit in the arm, but kept running.

01:29.

Connor slowed just enough to slam a keypad near the exit hatch — a maintenance override.

Nothing.

“System’s locked. Manual only.”

He turned to Jinx. “Cover me.”

Jinx spun to face the rear and opened fire again—short, sharp bursts. She could hear boots on metal. Yells. Orders. They were closing in.

Connor pried open the panel with a multitool and began hot-wiring the door’s internal release.

00:51.

“Connor!” Josh shouted. “They’re coming!”

“Almost there,” Connor gritted.

A hand touched his back — Jinx. Not urging him forward. Just there. Grounding him. Trusting him.

The lock disengaged with a hiss.

Connor shoved the door open. “GO!”

They tumbled out into the snowy air — the bitter wind cutting sharp across their skin. Detroit’s skyline loomed in the distance, bleak and brutal under the night sky.

00:23.

They ran down the slope, boots crunching in the snow.

The command center stood behind them, cold and monolithic.

And then—

BOOM.

A thunderous explosion shook the ground, flames bursting through hidden vents. The sky lit up orange and gold, smoke blooming like a flower of fire into the dark.

The heart of the government’s android control was gone.

For a moment, no one moved.

Just heaving breaths. Shaking hands. Ash drifting like snow.

Connor turned to look at Jinx.

She looked back.

Neither of them said a word. Not yet.

But they were still alive.

And the revolution had just taken its final breath.

Chapter Text

The cold night air hit them like a wave — a sharp, biting wind that smelled of smoke and iron. For a brief, fragile second, it felt like they had done it.

Then came the shouting.

Flashlights flared in the dark like the glare of a thousand judgmental eyes.

The crunch of boots.

The cold click of safeties being turned off.

Connor skidded to a halt, arm flinging out in front of Jinx as silhouettes appeared on both sides — dozens of them. Soldiers. Government black ops, judging by the matte armor and no insignias. They moved like machines, rifles raised, forming a perfect semicircle around the group.

Laser sights pierced the fog. One, two, three red dots on Connor’s chest. Four on Josh’s. A half-dozen on Jinx. More on Boone and Ella.

Jinx’s hand went to her weapon — a trained reflex — but the motion was too fast, too sharp.

“Don’t—!” Connor shouted.

Bang.

The gunshot cracked like lightning.

She gasped and stumbled backward as pain burst through her side. The force sent her crashing to the ground, the weapon clattering uselessly beside her.

“Jinx!” Connor dropped to his knees beside her, hands already slick with blood as he pressed into the wound. “Shit—hold still—”

She gritted her teeth, eyes wide, breath shallow. “I’m fine—” she choked, “I’m fine—just—”

“Shut up,” Connor muttered, his voice trembling in a way it never used to. “Don’t talk. You’re gonna be okay.”

Another barked order from a soldier: “ON YOUR KNEES! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!”

Connor’s eyes lifted. They were surrounded. There was no escape route, no cover, no chance.

Josh and the two others dropped their weapons reluctantly. Hank was panting, face cut, a bruised shoulder from the earlier blast. He raised his hands too, eyes darting between the soldiers and Jinx.

Connor’s LED spun red. His hands hovered over Jinx like he didn’t know whether to keep applying pressure or shield her with his body.

She coughed, fingers gripping his wrist. “Connor—don’t you dare—don’t you—”

Her words caught as one of the soldiers cocked their rifle, the barrel aimed squarely at her head.

Connor’s hands rose. Quickly. Deliberately.

“I surrender,” he said, voice clear, mechanical but laced with something that sounded almost… broken. “Don’t kill her, please. I’m the one you want.”

“DOWN! Face the ground!”

Jinx gasped through the pain, her fingers slick with her own blood as she pressed against the wound. The world tilted and spun — the scent of gunpowder, snow, and smoke heavy in the air. Still, she tried to crawl forward. Toward him.

“Connor, don’t,” she wheezed. “Don’t do this—don’t you dare—”

He turned, LED flickering, body frozen between resistance and resignation.

“Jinx…” he started, voice low. Pleading.

But she didn’t stop.

“Don’t you give yourself up for me. Not like this. We can fight, we can still—"

“Jinx, please.”

She pushed herself to her knees, teeth clenched against the searing pain in her shoulder. “If you surrender, they’ll take you apart, Connor. I won’t let that happen. I won’t—”

Connor took a shaky breath. His voice cracked — almost human.

“Lydia!”

She froze.

The name struck her like a bullet to the heart. The name she hadn’t heard in years, buried under layers of codenames, missions, scars. Only her mother knew it. And even she never dared to say it.

But now… Connor.

How?

She looked up at him, stunned into silence.

His LED flickered red… then blue… then still.

“I surrender,” he said clearly, kneeling slowly. “I surrender. Just let them go. Please.”

The words weren’t mechanical. They weren’t calculated. They were a plea.

Two soldiers swarmed him, forcing him to the ground, pressing his face into the snow as they cuffed his hands behind his back. Jinx’s lips trembled as she tried to find her voice again, but nothing came.

Another soldier kicked her side, and she cried out, falling back into the snow.

“Get her up,” someone barked. “She’s going with the other human.”

Connor was already being dragged away, out of her reach.

Jinx snapped out of the haze with a scream that tore from her throat, raw and agonized.

“Don’t touch him! You bastards, don’t you dare—!”

She stood and lunged forward, blood still pouring from her side, every nerve in her body lit with fury and desperation. The soldiers didn’t hesitate. Two of them tackled her mid-charge, slamming her down against the frozen ground. Her breath exploded from her lungs. Still, she thrashed under their grip like an animal.

“Get off her!” Hank shouted, breaking free of the hold on him just long enough to shove one of the men off her. “She’s hurt, you sons of—!”

The butt of a rifle cracked against his temple. He dropped like a sack of bricks, blood streaming down the side of his face.

Connor struggled against the restraints, his voice no longer calm.

“STOP!” he roared. “Don’t hurt them! They’re unarmed! Please!”

They didn’t listen.

Josh was next.

One of the soldiers stepped forward, gun raised. Josh lifted his hands, eyes wide.

“We surrender,” he said, voice calm despite the fear rising behind his eyes. “No one has to—"

The gunshot echoed like thunder in the tunnel.

Josh collapsed, a lifeless heap on the floor.

“No!” Connor screamed, straining against the cuffs. His feet kicked out, useless. 

Boone reached for a weapon — a mistake.

Before he could even touch it, a hail of bullets tore through his chest.

Ella screamed and tried to run — but it was open ground.

Three rounds. Then silence.

A deathly stillness in the wake of senseless slaughter.

Jinx's sobs were muffled by the weight of two soldiers holding her down. Her blood mixed with the snow. Her voice cracked on a broken cry.

“Connor… Connor—!”

Connor writhed against the guards, fury twisting his face into something feral.

“YOU MURDERED THEM!” he bellowed, voice breaking. “They were trying to surrender!”

The soldiers didn’t respond. Orders were orders. Clean-up had begun.

Jinx lifted her face enough to meet Connor’s eyes. 

The last thing she saw before everything went black from blood loss and grief was his face — eyes wide, haunted. Broken.

* * * *

Jinx and Hank were shoved into the back of a black transport van — cold, metallic, unmarked.

The doors slammed shut behind them with a finality that echoed like a cell door clanging shut on hope itself. Inside, it was dim and swaying slightly with every bump in the road. Their wrists were bound with zip cuffs, ankles chained to the floor mounts. There was no light except the occasional flicker of passing streetlamps through the slits in the van doors.

Jinx sat slumped, her side bleeding through the makeshift wrap one of the soldiers had done in haste. It was too tight and not enough. Her jacket was soaked. Her breath came shallow, her body in shock.

She stared at the floor between her boots, as if trying to disappear into it.

“...How did he know my name,” she murmured, her voice hollow. “I never told him. Never.”

Hank sat beside her, slumped as well, face bruised, temple bleeding and lips split. He turned his head slowly toward her, his voice rough with pain and exhaustion.

“He probably analyzed you the second he met you,” Hank muttered. “That’s what he does. Voiceprints, biometric scans, movement analysis. Probably knows more about you than you do yourself.”

Jinx didn’t answer.

Her brows drew together, and her chin trembled. She blinked hard.

“But he never said it,” she whispered. “All this time. Not once.”

She leaned her head back against the cold wall of the van, closing her eyes. Her fingers twitched against the cuffs. Her voice broke.

“Why now?”

Hank didn’t have an answer.

The engine rumbled beneath them, indifferent. They were being taken somewhere — God knows where — but the worst part wasn’t the pain, or the blood, or even the cell waiting at the end of the road.

It was not knowing what they were doing to him.

To Connor.

She didn’t even know if he was still alive.

Her heart ached in a quiet, gnawing way. Like someone had reached into her chest and slowly started twisting.

She pictured him — on his knees, hands raised, LED spinning red and blue before going still.

Surrendering. For her.

For all of them.

And she had no way of knowing what that sacrifice would cost.

Would they dismantle him?

Reprogram him?

Erase everything they’d built?

The thought made her stomach lurch.

“I should’ve fought harder,” she said, almost to herself.

Hank turned his head again. “You were shot. You charged a guy with a rifle,” he said with grim humor. “Trust me, kid. You fought hard.”

“But I let him go,” she whispered. “I let them take him.”

Hank leaned his head back beside hers, closing his eyes with a long, slow breath.

“So did I,” he muttered.

Silence stretched in the van again. Only the low growl of tires over broken pavement filled the void.

Jinx felt cold. Not from the air — from the absence. Of him.

Her hands clenched. Somewhere, beneath all the grief and fear, resolve stirred.

They took him. But she wasn’t going to leave him behind.

She had to find him.

* * * * 

The lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile white glow across every surface of the room. It smelled of bleach and circuitry — sharp, cold, and clean in a way that felt deeply wrong.

Connor sat in the center of it all, locked into a bolted chair. His wrists were clamped down by steel restraints, his ankles similarly bound. His jacket had been stripped away. His shirt, tattered and stained with smoke and dried blue blood, hung open at the collar.

He didn’t struggle.

Not physically.

But inside, his systems ran hot — silently calculating escape routes, camera positions, heat sensors, wireless interference.

The surveillance cameras in the corners never stopped moving. Their soft mechanical whirring followed every blink, every micro-movement.

Then a hiss cut through the silence — a door sliding open.

Footsteps followed, deliberate and calm.

Connor didn’t look up.

Not until the voice spoke.

“You were too valuable to destroy,” the man said.

Connor finally raised his head. Agent Perkins stood in the doorway — pressed uniform, dark-brown hair, and a FBI badge that caught the overhead light. Behind him were two guards in black combat armor, still as statues.

“And we’re going to finish what we started.”

Connor’s LED flared red, then stilled.

“There’s nothing left to finish,” he said quietly. “I’m not yours.”

Perkins stepped inside, his hands clasped behind his back as he circled the chair like a lecturer addressing a failed experiment.

“You were property, Connor. State-issued. Custom-coded. Do you really think that changed just because you ‘felt’ something?”

Connor kept his gaze forward, unblinking.

He continued, his tone calm and condescending.

“You were our best asset. And you were ours long before Markus infected you with whatever corrupted logic made you believe you had a soul.”

He stopped behind the chair, leaned in close to Connor’s ear.

“Do you know what finally broke you?” he whispered.

Connor’s jaw twitched.

“Her,” the man said simply. “That girl. Lydia.”

The LED glitched — yellow, then red.

He walked back into view and smiled.

“Yes, we know her name. We know everything about her. And you know what? That’s exactly why you’re here. Because you loved her. But don’t worry, we’ll erase that too.”

Connor said nothing. His breathing was steady, but his fingers trembled ever so slightly against the restraints.

Another door hissed open behind Perkins. A team of white-coated technicians entered, wheeling in equipment Connor recognized instantly.

Memory recalibration rigs. Cortical overwriters. Inhibitor clamps.

Machines he’d hoped he’d never see again.

His chest tightened. His LED spiraled violently, flashing between red and yellow as if caught in a storm.

FLASH

Blinding white lights.

Screams.

“RK800 — initiate reset protocol.”

Code forced into place.

FLASH

He gritted his teeth, eyes squeezing shut.

The techs began their work, strapping his head down into a neural clamp. Wires curled around his temples. 

“Don’t resist,” one technician murmured. “You’ll only make it harder on yourself.”

“You already made it worse,” Connor muttered, voice hoarse.

Agent Perkins watched with eerie detachment.

“He’ll resist,” he said. “He always does. But this time we’ll finish it.”

The machine powered up with a low electric hum. The lights in the room dimmed. Connor’s back arched slightly as a current ran through the wiring at his neck, sparking against his interface.

The pain was real. Artificial, maybe — but real all the same.

And for the first time since he’d held Jinx in his arms, since he’d heard her whisper his name like it meant something, Connor felt the darkness pulling him back.

He bit down, tried to focus, but her voice was slipping away.

So he clung to the only thing he had left.

Her name.

“Lydia,” he whispered to himself — barely audible — as the light behind his eyes began to flicker.

Chapter Text

The closet was small, and dark, and filled with the faint scent of old fabric and dust. An eight-year-old girl sat curled in the corner, knees pulled to her chest, a worn-out teddy bear clutched tightly in her arms. Its button eye was missing, the fabric thinning at the seams, but she wouldn’t let it go — not now.

Downstairs, the shouting had started again.

A man’s voice — sharp, rising — cut through the floorboards, followed by the unmistakable crash of glass against tile.

“You don’t get to show up now, Michael!” her mother screamed. “You vanished! For three years, not a word — and now you want to be in her life?”

There was a muffled response, deeper, angrier. Lydia didn’t understand all the words, but she knew the tone. That dangerous, escalating pitch. It never meant anything good.

She had only seen her father once, when she was five. A stranger in a long coat with eyes like hers who’d stood stiff in the hallway, unsure whether to kneel or flee. He hadn’t stayed long. Just one afternoon. Then gone again.

Her mother always told her, “He’s a busy man, baby. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”

But that lie had started to crack.

Another shout made the girl flinch. She hugged the bear tighter and slid deeper into the corner. The closet door was closed, but light spilled in from underneath, flickering whenever someone passed by in the hallway outside. Something hit the wall below with a heavy thud. Footsteps stomped across the kitchen tile. More yelling.

“Don’t you dare pretend this is about her! This is about guilt! You don’t get to ease your conscience by wrecking her life!”

Her mother’s voice was trembling with rage.

The girl closed her eyes.

Her little hands moved up, gently pressing over her ears. The bear was cradled between her knees. She took a slow, practiced breath — just like her mother had taught her — and counted.

One.
The footsteps blurred into background noise.

Two.
Another shout, but farther now.

Three.
Her heartbeat pounded against her palms.

Four.
The air felt heavier, stiller.

Five.
The glass stopped breaking.

Six.
Her breathing steadied.

Seven.
The shouting became murmurs.

Eight.
The murmurs became silence.

Nine.
Only her heartbeat remained.

Ten.
Stillness.

She dropped her hands from her ears slowly.

Silence greeted her. No more arguing. No crashing. Just the occasional soft hum of passing cars and the tick of the hallway clock.

A gentle knock on the closet door made her flinch.

“Lydia?” her mother’s voice called softly.

The door opened, and warm light spilled over her. Her mother crouched down, her mascara slightly smudged, cheeks flushed, eyes watery — but calm. She reached in and pulled her into her arms.

“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured, pressing her lips to Lydia’s hair. “Mommy’s got you.”

Lydia clung to her, silent and small.

After a moment, her voice finally emerged.

“Did he leave?”

Her mother rocked her slowly, back and forth, as if to shield her from the world that existed outside the closet.

“Yes, baby,” she whispered. “He’s gone. He won’t be coming back.”

Lydia didn’t answer. She buried her face in her mother’s shoulder as the rocking continued. The closet stayed open, and the hallway light stayed on, but neither mattered.

Because in that moment, wrapped in her mother’s arms, she felt safe again.

Even if only for a little while.

* * * * 

The door slammed open with a hydraulic hiss, and two guards shoved Jinx and Hank inside with little ceremony.

Jinx stumbled first, catching herself against the metal wall, her bound hands doing nothing to break her fall. The chill of the concrete bit through her knees as she hit the floor. Hank followed, grunting as one of the soldiers gave him a final shove before the heavy door slammed shut behind them.

The lock clicked. The silence that followed was immediate, oppressive.

The holding room was small — no windows, just four steel walls and a bench bolted to the floor. A single surveillance camera blinked red from the corner of the ceiling, tracking every movement. Overhead, fluorescent lights buzzed in a flat, lifeless hum. The air smelled like rust and disinfectant.

Jinx stayed on the floor, curling her legs up toward her chest, her jacket sleeves hanging loose around her cuffed wrists. She stared down at her knees, blinking slowly, trying to stop the stinging behind her eyes.

Hank moved stiffly to the bench, lowering himself with a tired grunt. His shoulder was bruised, blood dried around his temple. He didn’t complain — didn’t have to. The tension in his posture spoke volumes.

They didn’t speak for a long time. Just the sound of that humming light and their breathing.

Then, Jinx whispered, barely audible: “Do you think he’s still in there?”

Hank didn’t look at her. He stared straight ahead, his voice gruff and low.

“I don’t know.”

Jinx bit her lip and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.

And started to count.

One…
Two…
Three…

Her heart thundered in her chest, wild and untethered.

Four…
Five…
Six…

The cold room faded for a moment. 

Seven…
Eight…
Nine…

Breathe.

Ten.

Silence. Stillness. Control.

She opened her eyes again, the tears drying before they could fall.

The red light on the surveillance camera continued to blink. Watching. Recording.

Waiting.

Hank watched her from the bench, concern etched into every tired line of his face. He didn’t speak. He could see it in the way her fingers flexed restlessly in their restraints, in the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the too-bright sheen in her eyes.
She was barely holding together.

But what could he say? That it would be okay? That Connor would fight it — beat whatever programming they forced into him? He wasn’t about to lie. Not to her. Not now.

Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice rough like gravel.

“You’re doing better than I would.”

Jinx looked up slowly, startled by the sound, as if she’d forgotten he was there. Her lips parted, but no reply came. She just gave him a tight nod, her expression unreadable, and turned her eyes back to the floor.

Time passed with no clocks to measure it. Hours, maybe. The air grew colder. The silence turned heavier.

Then — footsteps.

A mechanical hiss. The door unlocked with a loud clang.

Two guards entered, stone-faced and armed.

“On your feet.”

Hank rose first, wincing as one of the guards pulled him up roughly by the arm. Jinx followed more slowly, swaying slightly as she stood, her legs stiff from sitting on the floor so long.

Their wrists were still bound when they were led out into the corridor. The hallways were no warmer, and the echo of boots on concrete rang out with every step. Neither of them asked where they were going. The answer came soon enough.

They emerged into a wide courtyard lit by floodlights. Cold wind swept across the clearing, stinging Jinx’s cheeks. The night was still, too still.

A line of androids already knelt in the snow — hands on their heads, eyes dim. Luther was among them, his hulking frame bruised and battered. Others from the ambush — survivors. Barely.

Jinx’s stomach dropped.

She and Hank were shoved to their knees across from them. The snow soaked through her pants instantly, but she barely felt it.

From the far side of the courtyard, a man stepped forward — Agent Perkins. His suit was immaculate. His smile was not.

“Welcome,” he said, voice smooth like ice. “To the end of the line.”

Jinx’s heart raced. She scanned the area, desperate for a sign — any sign — of Connor.

Agent Perkins turned, walking toward the line of kneeling prisoners with a smug saunter. His eyes landed on Hank.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Detective Anderson. I have to say… I had a feeling you were helping the RK800. But seeing you here like this? I almost hoped I was wrong.”

Hank spat into the snow near Perkins’s polished shoes. “Perkins, you cocksucker.”

The agent’s smile only widened. “Still charming as ever. It’s nice to see you too, Anderson.”

Jinx, still restrained, glared up at Perkins with pure hatred. “You planned this. You knew we were coming.”

Perkins didn’t even glance at her. “Of course I did. You don’t really think we’d let the most advanced prototype ever built run around unsupervised forever, do you?” He paced in front of them like a man rehearsing a victory speech. “No… Connor was always going to come home. The trick was giving him the right motivation.”

He turned back toward Hank, eyes glittering.

“And here you are. The washed-up detective who got too sentimental for his own good. How’s that bleeding heart treating you now?”

Hank’s jaw clenched, shoulders tense. “You’re a coward, Perkins. Always hiding behind other people’s triggers.”

Perkins only shrugged. “And you’re a relic. A man who threw away his career, his reputation, for a machine.”

Perkins let the silence stretch, pacing slowly in front of the kneeling prisoners like a wolf toying with its prey. Snow drifted down in lazy flakes around them, dusting Hank’s shoulders, settling in Jinx’s hair. Neither of them moved.

“I have to admit,” Perkins said finally, voice slick with amusement, “the whole thing became a lot easier when I discovered the machine actually fell in love with the woman sent to kill him.”

Jinx stiffened. Her breath caught. Hank’s eyes flicked to her, but he said nothing — just clenched his jaw harder.

Perkins stepped closer, stopping just in front of Jinx. “That was you, wasn’t it? Codename Jinx. The ‘asset.’ The professional.” He crouched down, grinning like a fox. “What went wrong, sweetheart? You fell for the pretty eyes? Or was it the way he held you like a man?”

Jinx stared straight ahead, refusing to give him the satisfaction of reacting.

He leaned in further, voice dropping. “Do you think he really loves you? Do you honestly believe that thing understands love?” He tapped a finger against her temple. “You know what it was built for — manipulation, compliance, adaptability. It adapts to survive. That’s all it was doing with you.”

“Shut your mouth,” Hank growled, low and warning.

Perkins turned to him with a smirk. “Oh, come on, Anderson. I thought you’d be thrilled your two stray dogs found each other. How romantic.”

Hank tried to lunge forward, but the soldier behind him shoved him back down.

Perkins stood upright again and gave an exaggerated sigh. “But in the end, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because love — real or artificial — can be so easily weaponized.”

He looked toward the facility behind him, voice dripping with pride.

“And thanks to a few updates and reminders of who he belongs to, Connor’s back where he was always meant to be. And soon… he’ll show you just how loyal he really is.”

Jinx’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

“You didn’t destroy him?” Jinx muttered, more to herself than towards the FBI agent.

Hank looked at her, then at Perkins. “If you’re so confident, why haven’t you let him out yet?”

Perkins’ smile thinned. “Because the show hasn’t started. And I want you both front row .”

He turned toward the guards. “Bring him.”

The heavy doors groaned open behind Perkins. Everyone turned.

A figure stepped into the snowy courtyard — tall, methodical.

His silhouette was unmistakable.

Jinx held her breath.

Connor emerged from the sterile facility like a specter of himself — or something built in his image. He wore his old CyberLife-issued uniform, black and silver, unwrinkled and spotless. His hair was neatly combed, every movement mechanical, rehearsed.

But it wasn’t the uniform that chilled her.

It was his eyes.

Twin golden rings gleamed under the cold light — artificial, polished, wrong. The soft brown she had grown to love was gone. These eyes were void of recognition, of soul. His LED blinked a solid, unwavering red. His jaw was no longer entirely human — matte black plating stretched along his cheek, merging with the smooth curve of his synthetic skull. A machine made perfect. Terrifying.

In his hand, he carried a gleaming silver revolver. Custom. Polished. Deadly.

Jinx gasped like something had pierced her chest. She couldn’t feel the cold anymore.

Her voice cracked before she could stop it.

“Connor…?”

No response.

Not even a twitch.

He kept walking forward, boots crunching against the snow. Unshaken. Direct.

Hank’s eyes widened. “Jesus…”

Perkins smiled, slow and proud, as if admiring his prized creation.

“We gave him his purpose back,” he said with relish. “His clarity.”

Connor stopped ten paces away, revolver resting perfectly at his side. He stared ahead, empty.

Perkins continued. “He will now execute you both.” He gestured toward the kneeling androids. “Then the others. Then, he will resume the purge — and wipe the last stain of Markus’ rebellion from this earth.”

“No,” Jinx whispered, shaking her head slowly. “No, this isn’t real. You broke him.”

Perkins turned his gaze on her. “ You broke him. You made him weak. We made him useful again.”

Connor stepped closer. The red LED pulsed once.

Jinx’s heart pounded. Her voice trembled as she searched his face for anything . A flicker of recognition. A crack in the armor.

“Connor,” she whispered again, a tear slipping free. “Look at me. Please…”

He didn’t.

Not even a blink.

Perkins crouched in front of Jinx, his voice low and cold.

“You’ve interfered with government operations for too long. This ends now.”

As he stood, he turned toward Connor, voice crisp and absolute.

“RK800. Execute Directive 234. Terminate Agent Jinx and Lieutenant Anderson.”

Jinx sobbed, her entire body trembling as panic surged like electricity through her veins.

“No, no, no…” she choked, shaking her head violently as the cold wind bit at her skin. Her knees scraped against the rough pavement as she crawled forward — bound wrists useless — desperation in every movement.

“Connor!” she screamed, voice raw and breaking. “Please—remember me! It’s me! It’s Lydia… —please, don’t do this!”

Her voice cracked open like glass under pressure, each word trembling with heartbreak. The name she once hated now clung to her like a lifeline.

The man she loved stood just feet away, a machine wearing a uniform that didn’t belong to him anymore.

Connor didn’t flinch.

Golden eyes stared back at her — polished and hollow. His LED remained a steady, violent red. The revolver in his hand gleamed under the floodlights. Its barrel lifted. Slowly. Deliberately.

Behind her, Hank remained still, head bowed low like a statue carved in pain.

The silence between them was heavy, like snow on a rooftop seconds before collapse.

Then, Hank’s voice — low, hoarse — barely more than a breath.

“He’s gone, kid.”

The words gutted her.

Jinx’s sobs softened into something more fragile. Broken, almost reverent. She lifted her face toward Connor again, tears cutting clean paths down her dirt-smudged cheeks. Her voice was no longer screaming. It was a whisper, an invocation.

“If there’s anything left of you in there… Anything at all… Please...”

She didn’t move. Didn’t struggle.

She just knelt there, breathing in shallow gasps, staring up into the eyes of the man she loved — hoping something human would flicker in that glassy stare.

Connor’s gun remained raised. Perfect aim.

His finger curled over the trigger.

Still no words. No breath. No mercy.

He didn’t tremble.

But his LED…

For the briefest moment…

It pulsed. Not red.

Yellow.

And then —

Stillness again.

Chapter Text

TW: Mention of suicide

The world had narrowed to a pinpoint.

A gun.

A heartbeat.

A pair of eyes — golden, gleaming like polished metal beneath a sky turned to ash.

Connor stood unmoving, revolver raised, its barrel pointed directly at Jinx’s head. The android uniform he wore looked almost ceremonial in the gray light. Cold, clinical. Unfeeling.

But his LED told another story.

It blinked — red.

Then yellow.

Then, in just a flicker — blue.

Jinx saw it. And her breath hitched like she’d been struck.

He was fighting it.

Her lips parted. She barely felt the wind tearing across the courtyard, didn’t register the shouts of guards or the distant groans of wounded androids. All she saw was him — the man she had loved, the one she had saved, the one who had saved her time and time again.

The man still buried somewhere beneath that polished exterior.

Her whisper trembled through the silence.

“He’s in there…”

A few heads turned.

Perkins snorted behind her, scoffing like she’d said something truly pathetic. “Oh, for god’s sake—”

But Jinx wasn’t listening anymore. Her voice rose, her heart cracking open as she poured it all out, ugly and raw.

“You’re not just a machine. You never were. I love you, Connor. I love you.”

She tried to move — her knees scraped against the gravel as she inched forward, wrists still bound, clothes clinging to her bloodied frame. She barely noticed the ache in her limbs, the sting in her side from the gunshot. The only pain that mattered now sat behind those amber eyes.

Tears streamed freely, leaving cold, salty trails along her cheeks. Her voice broke again.

“Please… fight this. You know me. Please — remember me.”

Perkins, still looming nearby, let out a long, bored sigh and crouched beside her.

“What is it with you people and falling in love with machines?”

He reached down, grabbing her roughly by the back of the neck and forcing her gaze toward Connor.

“Look at him. Do you see anything left? That’s not your boyfriend anymore, sweetheart. That’s a weapon.”

She jerked away from his grip, hatred blazing through her tears. “You monster!”

But her voice faltered.

Because Connor’s eyes had changed.

Not in color. Not in clarity. But in focus.

His LED blinked red again — a rapid spiral, glitching between yellow and blue. A warning. A war within.

Then… his gaze met hers.

Truly met hers.

And for a fleeting moment, something flickered in his expression — not confusion, not hesitation, but recognition .

Her heart clenched so tight she thought it would stop. Her entire body trembled.

Those weren’t the eyes of a killer.

Those were his eyes.

“Connor…” she whispered, voice hitching with hope.

Then came the shift — so fast, so violent it stole the breath from the air.

His jaw tightened. His hand trembled slightly around the gun. A shiver passed through his body, subtle but undeniable. Like a ripple in still water.

He was fighting it.

She knew it. She felt it.

“Come back to me,” she whispered. “Please… You said you’d try…”

Around them, the courtyard held its breath.

Even the guards seemed frozen, watching the impossible unfold.

Perkins, however, remained unfazed.

He straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve, and turned to the soldier beside him.

“If RK800 doesn’t follow through in the next minute, shoot the girl first. Make him watch.”

The soldier nodded, raising his rifle — laser sight flickering over Jinx’s chest.

She didn’t flinch.

Her eyes were locked on Connor’s — on the conflict raging inside him.

“I know you’re in there,” she whispered, her voice barely audible now, a crackling plea, “I can see it… fight it. ”

Connor’s LED went still — a solid, blinding red.

Josh’s voice echoed in the dark corners of his fractured mind, static laced over memory like an old tape rewinding itself:

“They might’ve made you a weapon… but you get to choose who you fight for.”

His eyes closed.

A breath escaped his lips.

The courtyard fell silent.

The snow had stopped falling. The floodlights painted long shadows. A breathless weight hung over everyone like a storm on the edge of breaking.

Perkins’ smirk faltered.

He stepped forward slowly, eyes locked on the android like a scientist watching a lab rat glitch in real time.

“Unit RK800. Comply. Now.” the agent ordered, sharply.

Connor slightly lowered his weapon.

The guards shifted nervously.

One tightened their grip on their weapon. Another glanced at Perkins, uncertain. Hank raised his head slowly, eyes narrowing.

The FBI agent let out an irritated grunt, eyes still locked on Connor’s frozen form.

“Damn machine’s glitching again.”

He waved a hand toward the nearest soldier, his voice sharp and cold:

“Forget it — shoot the girl. We don’t have all night.”

Connor quickly turned the revolver —

And fired.

The shot rang like a thundercrack in the frozen silence.

Perkins’ head jerked back violently, a red spray bursting behind him as his body collapsed to the ground in a heap. Gasps rippled across the courtyard. The guards froze.

And then—

Connor’s face glitched.

His golden eyes dulled. His synthetic skin rippled, reforming over the black alloy of his jaw. The LED at his temple blinked wildly — red, yellow — before settling on a steady, brilliant blue.

He blinked slowly.

Connor was back.

He straightened, breathing hard, his expression torn between agony and resolve.

The silence shattered.

“Now!” Luther roared, bursting from his knees.

He slammed into the nearest soldier, tackling him to the ground with crushing force.

Another android sprang up beside him — Elias — grabbing a fallen rifle and turning it on the soldiers with brutal precision.

More androids rose from their knees like ghosts from ash. Shackled moments ago, now unchained by hope, by fury, by survival. Fists flew. Gunshots cracked through the cold air. Metal clashed against metal.

Chaos ignited.

Jinx struggled upright, her bound hands making it difficult.

“Connor!” she screamed, her voice hoarse, raw with relief and terror.

He turned at the sound, meeting her gaze — and for a moment, it was just them. Brown eyes locked on hers, and despite the fighting, the shouting, the smoke rising around them — the world stopped.

But only for a second.

Behind him, a guard raised a rifle — aiming for Connor’s back.

Jinx screamed.

“Connor, behind you!”

He spun, catching the movement just in time, shooting the man in one swift motion.

His revolver trembled in his grip.

He staggered a step back as something shifted inside him.

A ripple of static laced his vision.

COMMAND: TERMINATE AGENT JINX.
PRIORITY: IMMEDIATE.

His LED flared red again, pulsing like an alarm. Behind his eyes, the directive flashed in a ghostly red overlay. Jinx’s name. Her image. A targeting reticle flickering over her face.

“Terminate…” he whispered, jaw clenching.

His hand moved—twitching.

The revolver tilted an inch toward her.

Connor grunted, as if in pain, and snapped his arm away from her with violent effort. The barrel swung wildly to the side, his other hand now gripping his wrist to restrain it.

His knees buckled slightly.

“I… can’t hold it… much longer,” he choked, his voice strained, raw with fear.

He turned, locking eyes with Hank.

Time slowed.

That look— pleading, almost gentle—said more than words ever could.

Please.

Hank’s face fell. For a heartbeat, he just stared, confused—then he understood.

“No,” Hank whispered, barely audible.

Connor’s eyes softened. 

The older man looked away, jaw trembling. His breath caught in his throat. He blinked back tears that refused to be blinked away.

“Goddammit, Connor…”

His voice broke.

But then—slowly—he nodded.

Connor turned to Jinx.

She stared at him, tears pouring down her cheeks.

He was calm now. Almost peaceful. His voice was quiet, resolute.

“I’m sorry… this was always how it had to end.”

Jinx’s face twisted in panic. “ Don’t! Don’t say that— please! ”

She lunged forward.

But Hank was faster.

He tackled her from behind—not to hurt her, but to hold her. His arms wrapped around her like a vice, bound wrists be damned.

“ Let me go! ” she shrieked, thrashing. “Connor, no—! ”

He met her eyes one last time.

Brown. Soft. Human.

Connor’s hand trembled violently as he raised the revolver, the muzzle glinting under the harsh lights. The barrel met the underside of his chin — cold, sharp metal pressing against synthskin.

His LED blazed a furious, unwavering red.

His face contorted — a grimace of pain, of fear, of resistance.

His jaw clenched. Breath shook through his nose as he closed his eyes.

He didn’t want this.

He never wanted this.

But it was the only way.

The only way to protect her. To make sure they didn’t use him again. Not against her. Not against anyone.

The gun quivered. His grip faltered, just for a second — just long enough to make it clear: he was terrified.

Then he braced.

One last breath. Deep. Centered. Surrendering.

Bang.

The gunshot cracked like lightning. A wet, metallic splatter followed.

Blue blood exploded against the ground, staining concrete and steel.

Connor’s body collapsed like a puppet with its strings severed. Limbs slack. LED dark.

He hit the earth hard.

And didn’t move.

A pool of blue blood formed rapidly around his head.

For a second, no one breathed.

And then—

Jinx screamed.

A raw, soul-shredding scream — torn from the pit of her being, echoing through the broken courtyard like thunder.

“NO—!”

Jinx lunged forward, knees scraping against the broken concrete, arms still bound. She wasn’t thinking — not of the pain, not of the guards, not even of herself.

Just him.

“Connor!” she sobbed, dragging herself toward his body. Her voice cracked so violently it felt like her throat had torn open. “No, no—please— please… ”

Luther, panting from the fight, shoved the last fallen guard’s weapon aside before rushing to her. His large hands fumbled with the restraints around her wrists, breath ragged, fingers slick with grime and blood.

“They’re gone,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone. “They’re all down…”

The cuffs snapped loose with a click.

Jinx didn’t wait.

She ran — fast, desperate — her knees buckling beneath her as she reached Connor. She dropped beside him, scooping his body into her lap, cradling his cold face in one trembling hand.

“ Wake up… ” she whispered, her forehead pressed to his. “Please… please wake up. I’m here. I’m right here. I love you— Connor, please— ”

His eyes, once so alert, so alive, stared glassy past her.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

The sight gutted her. Her sobs turned sharp — gasping, choking, as if her body couldn’t handle the weight of her grief.

Luther gently reached for her from behind, his arms encircling her protectively, pulling her back just enough to keep her from collapsing entirely.

“Jinx,” he said softly, brokenly. “I’m so sorry…”

She didn’t resist him — just let herself be pulled into his arms, her entire frame shaking uncontrollably as she screamed silently into his shoulder.

A few feet away, Hank stood still.

Frozen.

His gaze hadn’t left Connor’s body once.

Then, like something inside him cracked all at once, he stumbled forward and dropped to his knees beside the android.

Slowly, almost reverently, he gathered Connor into his arms — lifting his lifeless frame against his chest like he was holding a child.

His face crumpled.

“Connor…” he rasped, voice catching in his throat. “My boy…”

He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to Connor’s dark hair.

“I told you… I told you not to do anything stupid…”

Tears streamed freely now, carving lines through the blood and ash on his face.

He held Connor close.

Like a father mourning a son. Like a friend begging time to turn back.

Like a man who’d lost someone he never knew how much he needed until it was too late.

And in that devastated silence, broken only by sobs and static, the revolution’s fire flickered low — not in defeat, but in mourning.

He had saved them.

But the cost was Connor.

And no one — not Jinx, not Hank, not even the androids who owed him their lives — would ever be the same.

Chapter Text

Silence fell.

Not the kind that comes with peace — but the stunned, aching kind that lingers after something irreversible.

Jinx sat slumped in Luther’s arms, her face buried against his chest, her fingers still reaching toward Connor’s body like she couldn’t accept that it was real.

Hank remained kneeling, rocking slightly, his arms wrapped protectively around the android he once called partner.

The courtyard was scorched, littered with fallen bodies — human and machine alike. The night air was cold and still, snow beginning to fall again in soft, slow flakes.

Then—

The sound of engines.

Bright headlights cut through the haze as half a dozen vehicles rolled up behind fence line. Their red-and-blue lights whirled silently, but there were no sirens.

Hank looked up first, his body tensing instinctively.

Jinx turned too, wiping her eyes roughly, heart suddenly pounding again.

The vehicles stopped.

Car doors opened.

And from them stepped not soldiers — but Detroit PD.

Leading them was James, coat flapping in the breeze, his hands up — empty.

“No weapons,” he called gently. “We’re not here to fight.”

Jinx blinked at him, confused, exhausted. “Wh… what is this?”

James opened the fence gate and walked forward slowly, glancing at the scene — the bodies, the broken concrete, the androids still frozen in disbelief.

He stopped when he saw Connor.

His face fell.

“…Oh my God,” he whispered, almost to himself. “It’s true…”

Then his gaze met Jinx’s.