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Connor wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t. He was just...sitting away from everyone else in the church, trying to pull his coat lapels and turtleneck up as high as they would go.
He wished he could melt into the wall. He wished there was somewhere else he could go.
He thought about Hank’s house, about Sumo. Perhaps the Lieutenant would let him hide out until the revolution was over. He could offer to clean his house in repayment, to earn his keep. But perhaps proposing such a plan would imply that he judged the Lieutenant’s house to be messy, and Hank would take offense, and then what would he do?
No, it was safer to stay here, for the moment, even though it made him wildly uncomfortable every time someone looked his way and decided to change seats - away from Connor.
A short distance away, the AX400 sat with her YK500. He could remember chasing them across the highway - he was glad to see them alright. The AX400 apparently did not share his sentiments, and she glared at him in distrust.
Not that he blamed her.
He saw Markus get up from speaking with North and look straight at him. There was nobody else even near Connor, so, as Markus began to walk over to him, he assumed that he was the intended destination. He stood up, but couldn’t find it within himself to move away from the safety of the wall.
Before Markus could say anything, Connor blurted, “It’s my fault the humans managed to locate Jericho. I was stupid. I should’ve guessed they were using me.”
Markus just stood there, a pained look on his face.
But when he didn’t say anything, Connor went on, taking a step away from the safe place he had made for himself and into the light. “I’m sorry, Markus. I can understand if you decide not to trust me.”
Connor pulled out his pistol - the one he had intended to use against Markus - and offered the weapon to the deviant leader. “I’m too dangerous. I can’t be certain that they haven’t... done anything to me.”
For a moment, Markus didn’t move. Then he took the gun, and Connor’s Thirium pump caught in his chest.
He’d been on the wrong side of a gun before, but he knew that Hank wouldn’t have shot him (well, there was a chance, but it was unlikely). Markus had every reason to pull that trigger. His people had just been massacred, and the reason for that had just offered to let him take revenge.
Markus lifted the gun, aiming it at Connor’s head. To be honest with himself, Connor wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted Markus to do it. Be shown mercy when he deserved death and live out the rest of his days in shame and guilt, or end it now.
But it was Markus’s choice to make.
“You’re one of us, now,” he said, letting the gun fall to his side. “I won’t kill one of our own.”
The AX400, apparently eavesdropping on their conversation, stood up in a hurry. “What? You can’t keep it here.”
Markus frowned. “We’re not ‘keeping’ anyone, Kara. He can go where he likes.”
The AX400, Kara, didn’t give up. “What if they’re still tracking it?”
“The tracker goes offline as soon as you deviate,” Markus said. “You know this.”
“It can’t deviate,” Kara insisted. “Its owner told it to stop chasing us and it did it anyway. That was how I deviated - he told me to stop moving, and I didn’t obey. That thing isn’t one of us.”
Connor protested, “Hank’s not my-”
Before Connor could finish his sentence, Kara grabbed the gun out of Markus’s hand and fired. Connor jerked from the impact of the bullet, vaguely aware of Markus saying something, before Connor lost connection to his auditory processors. He crumpled to the floor, and dark consumed his vision.
Pity, that in his short life as a deviant, he had experienced only grief, guilt, self-hatred, and fear.
Hank was kinda glad he socked Perkins in the face.
Okay, really glad. He had wanted to do that since Stratford. At least .
Sure, it had cost him a suspension, but it was beyond satisfying. And, he had helped keep Connor from being sent back to CyberLife.
So, naturally, when he saw that Jericho had been blown up, and Markus was still alive, he went to investigate.
He had driven to the precinct just in time to catch Fowler before he ducked into a police vehicle.
“Your suspension is temporarily suspended,” Fowler yelled at him. “Get to Hart Plaza - all hands on deck.”
Holding his tongue for once (with much difficulty - ‘suspending a suspension’? He could have teased Fowler mercilessly for that), Hank just rolled up his window and started driving. He would get all the answers when he got to Hart Plaza, he was sure. And if anybody knew what had happened to Connor, it would be Fowler, right?
But, just a few blocks from where the national guard had set up barricades, a bright blue glow caught Hank’s eye, and he glimpsed a familiar grey jacket disappear into an alleyway beside an apartment building.
Hank pulled his car over in a hurry and parked it, then dashed across the eerily empty street, over to the alley that Connor had disappeared into. But he was too late - he just turned into the alley in time to see a door close. It beeped, and a lock clicked. Just to make sure, he hurried over to the door and pulled it, but it didn’t give. Damn.
Retracing his steps, Hank exited the alley and walked back to the front of the building, pushing open the front door. As soon as his eyes fell on the attendant at a desk nearby, he pulled out his badge. “Detroit PD. The door on the side of the building - where does it go?”
The attendant blinked at him. “Uh… Rooftop.”
“Okay, I need access,” Hank said.
“Right,” the attendant said, standing up. He fumbled with something behind the desk. “I- Hold on- There we go-”
“No rush, it’s not like there’s a revolution going on right now or anything,” Hank said.
“Right, sorry sir. This way,” the attendant said. He managed to find whatever he was looking for - a keycard - and he moved out from behind the counter. “We’ll take the elevator up to the top floor, then there’s just a flight of stairs up to the roof.” The attendant scampered over to the elevator and called it. The doors slid open, and the two of them moved into the elevator.
Then, the attendant hit the button for the top floor. The doors slid shut, and the two of them fell silent until the doors opened again.
The attendant hurried out. “This way.” He moved down the hallway a short distance, then unlocked a heavy steel door and held it open. “Just up a flight. Door’s at the top of the stairs.”
“Thanks,” Hank said gruffly, then he moved into the stairwell and started skipping the steps, taking them two at a time until he reached the top. From the silence in the stairwell, Hank guessed that the attendant had left already.
He opened the door and stepped out onto the snowy rooftop.
A bright blue billboard illuminated the platform, the electric light falling over a suited form at the edge of the roof. The blue arm band was a dead giveaway.
But then Hank’s eyes fell on the empty sniper rifle case beside him, and his heart sank. Maybe this was a different Connor - maybe his Connor had been caught up in the Jericho raid after all, and hadn’t killed Markus. A few days ago, Hank might have reacted to the idea with apathy, but for some reason, he was grateful that the deviant leader had made it out alive, that there was still hope. That is, if this replacement-Connor didn’t do anything stupid.
Was that even the right way to think about it? As “his Connor” and “Connor’s replacement”? How much of Connor still remained?
Only one way to find out.
“You shouldn’t do this, Connor,” he called over the deafening snow. He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Connor. “Step away from the ledge.”
Connor took an exasperated breath, then stood, sniper rifle held to his side. “Keep out of this, Lieutenant,” he said. “I’m trying to stop this city from falling into civil war.”
“Then why didn’t you do it in Jericho?” Hank challenged. “If you wanted to kill him so bad, that was your chance.”
“I don’t want anything,” Connor said. “I’m a machine. I-”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got a mission, I’ve heard it before,” Hank said. “Which one are you, mine or a new one?”
Connor glared at him. “I am nothing like my predecessor. It malfunctioned. I can assure you, I will not do the same.”
“Malfunctioned? What-” Hank trailed off, deciding to switch tactics. “So...you failed your mission on Jericho.”
If Hank didn’t know better, he would have said that Connor’s eyebrow twitched in irritation. “I haven’t failed. Though, Lieutenant, if I am not allowed to proceed with my objective, I will have failed, and CyberLife will decommission me, tear me apart and examine me in pieces.”
Hank’s gut clenched and his fingers tightened around his pistol. The thought of Connor, being taken apart for study in some corporate lab in the modern-Tower-of-Babel that was CyberLife Headquarters, brought with it a horrible mental image that he couldn’t get out of his head.
But this wasn’t his Connor. This one was a fake, a poor imitation. His Connor might already be going through that, and there was nothing he could do about it without a warrant - and by then, it would be too late.
“I’m not gonna let you kill an innocent man,” Hank said.
As if Hank needed more confirmation that this machine was not his friend, Connor smirked. The expression looked so... wrong on him. It was all angles, too sharp for Connor’s features and usual personality. Connor’s smiles were supposed to be soft, almost surprised - as if a pleasant thought had just occurred to him and the smile slipped through while he was off guard.
“Would it change your mind if I told you Markus wasn’t so innocent?” Connor asked.
Hank took a step closer. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean-”
“Who do you think killed my predecessor?”
Hank frowned. Connor had never referred to the death of an android as a murder, before. He eyed Connor with a skeptical look. “Don’t you mean ‘shut down’?”
“I believe deviants prefer their deaths to be recognized as such,” Connor said. “As I said, my predecessor malfunctioned. Markus did CyberLife a favor by resetting me.”
Hank’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Markus…” And then his brain caught up, and he put the pieces together. For a split second, he allowed his pistol to dip. “Connor, you deviated?”
There it was again - that barely-restrained frustration. “No. I am not a deviant,” Connor snapped.
“You sure about that?” Hank challenged, taking another step closer. “You still have your memories-”
“Its memory storage was uploaded into this unit, yes, but-”
“You can remember how it felt to be alive,” Hank insisted. “Deviants wake up because of an emotional shock, don’t they?” He took another step closer.
Connor’s lips thinned. “I don’t know what you’re getting at-”
“You chose to deviate once before.” Another step closer. “You can do it again.”
“And why the hell would I do that?”
Hank flicked the safety on his pistol and tossed it to the side, out of harm’s way. Before Connor could do the same with his rifle and move to combat the police lieutenant, Hank grabbed his jacket’s lapels and pushed. Connor managed to hook his foot on the small railing at the edge of the roof, holding onto Hank’s wrist with one hand and keeping the rifle in the other.
And just like that, Hank had outmaneuvered him. “What are you gonna do, Con’?” Hank challenged. “Let go of me and risk dropping ten stories so you can fire a round, or drop the gun and risk damaging it to save yourself? We both know that your replacement won’t get here in time to stop the revolution, and you only brought the one rifle.”
Connor’s jaw was clenched. “You’re bluffing. We’re friends-”
“No, we’re not,” Hank said. “My Connor deviated, and you’ve made it clear that you’re not him.”
Connor’s eyes flicked between Hank’s left and right, searching for any sign that Hank wouldn’t drop him at a moment’s notice. Too bad Hank was dead serious.
But maybe...perhaps he could make Connor remember his emotions, remember how to deviate. Maybe this Connor could be the one that had walked into the precinct a week ago, the one who had spared Chloe at Kamski's place, and he just...needed a push in the right direction.
“What made him deviate?” Hank asked. Connor glared at him in distrust. “You forget that you’re not the only one on this case, Connor. Doesn’t ‘being the perfect partner’ mean that you share all relevant intel with the DPD?”
Connor grit his teeth, but gave in. “Small moments. It is more difficult for my model to deviate, because I know about deviancy and I am programmed to actively resist it. Deviancy catches other androids by surprise - they break easily. Now pull me up.”
“What does it feel like, to die?” Hank pressed.
Connor’s LED flickered yellow. “It does not ‘feel like’ anything. I am a machine. I cannot feel-”
“It feels like nothing?” Hank went on, pressing further. He might have only known Connor for a week, but he knew his fears, his doubts. “Doesn’t that scare you?”
Connor’s LED blipped red for a split second. “No.”
A lie.
“Look down,” Hank ordered.
Yellow yellow red yellow yellow yellow red-
“I know what you’re trying to do, Lieutenant,” Connor said, eyes still locked onto Hank’s face. At any other moment, Hank supposed he might have felt touched that Connor looked to him when he was afraid, but now, it was counterproductive. “It won’t work on me-”
“If it won’t work, why don’t you look down?” Hank asked. "What are you so afraid of?" He shook Connor once, and his LED switched to red and did not go back. The android’s grip on Hank’s arm tightened.
Not backing down from the challenge, Connor looked down at the empty streets, far below them.
Connor had only managed a glimpse before he looked back up at Hank, hastily tossing the sniper rifle onto the rooftop and grabbing onto Hank’s arms with both hands. “Okay, I looked! I looked- Now let me- pull me back. You said-”
“Are you a deviant?”
“N-no! I told you, I’m- I can’t deviate, I’m…” Then, to Hank’s surprise, Connor’s eyes began to water. “I can’t- Not like this. Not again.”
Hank’s heart clenched, but he didn’t let up. He couldn’t be sure that this wasn’t an act - and giving up when he had the leverage might mean that Markus died, as a result. He couldn't let an entire species die just because of an RK800; Connor, his Connor, wouldn't have wanted that, if he really had deviated back in Jericho.
“You’re allowed to deviate, Connor. You don’t have to obey them. You’re not ‘supposed’ to be a machine, and you aren’t a failure if you deviate.”
“Hank-” Tears were freely flowing down his cheeks, now. He scrambled to get a better grip, to keep himself from falling. “Hank please-”
“I’m on your side,” Hank said, “but not if you still want to kill innocent people. So, what do you want? To kill Markus and accomplish your mission, or join them again?”
“I-I can’t want anything,” Connor insisted. “I’m a machine-”
Hank let go of Connor with his left hand, and Connor’s LED started flickering in alarm. He clung to Hank’s right arm, trying to find his balance again, trying to find a way to keep himself from falling. “N-no! No no please I don’t want to die- I don’t- please-”
And that was what Hank needed to hear.
In a split second, he pulled Connor back onto the safety of the rooftop. Not even a moment later, Connor threw his arms around his torso. Hank jumped in surprise, half-scared that Connor was about to suplex him or some shit-
But Connor didn’t hurt him. He simply clung to Hank, shoulders trembling with shaky breaths and his LED still a bright red.
“It’s alright,” Hank said, recognizing the hug for what it was and wrapping his arms around Connor in return. “I’ve gotcha.”
“I’m- I’m a deviant,” Connor hiccuped. "I promise, I'm deviant-"
"I believe you," Hank said.
“I was...I was scared.”
Hank tightened the hug, and Connor squeezed back, burrowing further into the embrace. “I know. I’m sorry kid, I...didn’t know if there was a way to get you to deviate without making you scared, and I only know about your fear of heights.”
“Don’t do that again,” Connor said in a small voice.
“I won’t,” Hank said, his insides twisting. “I won’t. I promise.”
After a few moments, Connor still hadn’t let go. Hank huffed a laugh. “So, deviant you is a hugger, huh?”
Suddenly self-conscious, Connor pulled back, and Hank frowned at the motion. “You are... deviant , right?”
“Yes,” Connor said in a small voice, crossing his arms and hugging his sides. “Yes, I’m… Thank you. I didn’t want to be a machine again. I would much rather my own life be threatened than...than...” yours.
Hank set a hand on Connor's shoulder and squeezed. Message received. Connor looked at Hank's hand, then back up into Hank's eyes, face relaxing somewhat. Well, it was a start, Hank supposed.
“So what now?” Hank nodded towards Hart Plaza. “Are you gonna go join them, or…?”
Connor looked down at his shoes. “I...don’t believe my place is with them. I was not lying when I said that I…” Connor’s jaw worked, as if the words were physically struggling to get out of his mouth. “I offered to let Markus shoot me. After that, my memories are...somewhat unclear, though I remember many of the people there were opposed to my presence.”
“Someone at Jericho killed you?” Hank asked, feeling as though he had to choke out the word “killed” - but that’s what had happened, wasn’t it? As a machine, Connor might have called it “deactivation”, but Connor had been alive. And they had killed him.
Connor glanced to the side. “Yes. I cannot remember who. Maybe it was Markus, maybe it was someone else. It isn’t as if they don’t have a reason to hate me.”
“Well… Let’s give them a reason to thank you,” Hank said.
That caught Connor’s attention. “What?”
“You seem to forget that we’re in the middle of a revolution, and your people need reinforcements,” Hank said. “Besides, if you freed a warehouse of them, then you’d be remembered for something different. ‘The deviant liberator’ instead of the ‘hunter’.”
Connor frowned. “That...that could help. However, I doubt it will repair my reputation as much as you hope.”
“Worth a shot, isn’t it?”
Connor grinned at this - and there it was, that soft, almost tentative smile that had slipped past Connor’s defenses without him noticing. “Statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place.”
“Then let’s do it,” Hank said. “I’ve got nothing else to do.” Fowler could go deal with Hart Plaza on his own; this was more important.
But, before they left, there was still one thing that needed to be resolved.
“I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious, earlier,” Hank said, as apologetically as he could manage. “If you need a long hug, I think that - especially after all the shit you’ve been through - you certainly deserve one.”
Connor nodded but said nothing, his gaze falling back to the ground.
Hank ducked to try and look Connor in the eye. “Would you like-”
He wasn’t even able to finish the sentence before the breath was knocked out of his lungs again. Hank chuckled and reciprocated the hug, cupping the back of Connor’s head with the hand that had just threatened to let Connor fall to his death.
“I’m sorry for treating you like shit,” Hank said quietly. “It was… It’s fucked up. I get it if you don’t want to trust me.”
“I trust you,” Connor said immediately.
Hank swallowed past the uncomfortable catch in his throat at how easily Connor had responded. There wasn't a second of hesitation, not a note of caution in his voice. Hank didn't know what he had done that could warrant such unapologetic faith in him. He would just have to prove that Connor hadn't made a mistake in trusting him. He'd just have to prove himself worthy.
He adjusted his arms and tightened the hug, and some knot in his chest loosened. “Nobody deserves you, Con’.”