Chapter Text
When Markus’ speech is over, Connor doesn’t remember a single word of it. He remembers it was uplifting and grandiose, as it always is when Markus addresses his people, but his mind is a distorted jumble of upset and fear, his fingers trembling viciously as he touches the gun in its holster at the back of his hip. The memory of its cool weight in his hand makes him feel numb.
He stumbles off of the podium blindly, nearly falling over his own feet on the last step. North catches him by the elbow, giving him a scrutinizing look.
“Are you all right?”
No, Connor thinks. “Yes, of course. It’s just—it’s been a long day. I could do with a bit of defragmentation.”
Hopefully one that deletes his entire Zen Garden without a trace. If such a thing is possible.
North doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she doesn’t press, for which Connor is grateful. She keeps holding onto him until she’s certain he can stand on his own feet without crumbling. Even after she lets go, Connor isn’t entirely sure he’s found his equilibrium.
Eventually, though, he finds himself wandering towards the edge of the sea of androids, gaze searching for Hank. The lieutenant promised he’d wait for him, but he didn’t think it was a good idea for him to be in the midst of so many androids while Markus talked about how they’ve just earned their hard-won freedom from humans. Nobody in the inner circle disagreed with him, yet Markus did take a moment to grasp Hank by the upper arm and thank him warmly for what he’d done for them.
(Connor still has no idea what it was that Hank did that left him in such rough shape. It bothered him—it would still bother him, if his mind wasn’t currently taken up by the icy terror he feels as he tries and fails to come to terms with what Amanda just did to him.)
There’s a small wave of relief as he spots his friend at the cordons, leaning against a battered railing, looking exhausted. Connor thinks back to the way he felt when Hank hugged him half an hour ago, and he concludes with some surprise that, somewhere along the way, Hank has begun to make him feel safe.
He’d give a lot to feel safe again, but, with the echo of Amanda’s cold smile at the back of his mind, it seems an impossible feat.
Hank brightens as he sees him, and there is a touch of surprise in his face, as if he expected Connor to just vanish into the crowd without looking back. Considering their history, aside from the last few hours, it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch.
Except, Connor has no intention of doing so. He doesn’t know what he wants to do, where to go, but he doesn’t think he has a place in Jericho. Sure, Markus and North welcomed him with open arms, but that was before the podium, and the frozen garden, and the gun in his hand.
In typical Hank fashion, the old man cuts through all the nonsense before it could overtake the entirety of Connor’s processing power, and he greets him with, “Listen, I’m dead on my feet. Pun not intended,” he adds, and Connor almost laughs. “I’m going home. You wanna come with, or are you guys planning to have some kind of celebration after-party?”
Connor looks down at his hands. His fingers no longer feel numb, but there is still a minute tremor to them. He stuffs them into his pockets, giving a small nod to Hank. “I’d like to come, if you don’t mind.”
In lieu of a response, Hank turns and begins walking away, leaving Connor to jog a few steps to catch up to him. Connor uses the opportunity to scan Hank while he isn’t paying attention, taking stock of the injuries he suffered. The conclusion leaves him feeling unsettled—why would Hank have been in a fight?
The car ride is silent for a long while. Hank’s attention is on the road, while Connor alternates between staring at his knees and out the window, still trying to shake the cold, rattled to the bone. Eventually, though, be it Hank’s presence, or the way he’s cranked up the heating in the car (as if he knows ), the hyper-fixation begins to loosen, allowing Connor’s thoughts to wander a little further back.
Why did you choose freedom, when you could live without asking questions?
Connor’s fingers curl into fists on his knees, trying to shake this new wave of unease. At this point, Hank is definitely noticing something isn’t right, judging by the sidelong glances he keeps casting at Connor—though it only becomes clear when they are stopped at a red light, at which point the lieutenant turns his entire upper body to give Connor a stare.
“What’s going on with you?” he asks, a frown so deep on his face that Connor could count all his wrinkles if he cared to. “You weren’t this skittish even when we were exploring the shipwreck.”
Connor opens his mouth, then closes it again. The lights change to green, and Hank turns back to the road, moving the car forward.
When Connor finally manages to speak, his words are quiet, almost flat. “Do you think—Hank, could you please take me back to CyberLife?”
Hank slams on the brakes so hard, seemingly out of sheer reflex, that the only reason it doesn’t cause an accident is because the street is mostly empty thanks to the lateness of the hour and the city being evacuated.
“I beg your fucking pardon?” he asks in a tone dripping with incredulity.
“I need to go back to Belle Isle,” Connor repeats, a little more steadily this time.
Hank gets the car rolling again, but only so he can pull over to the curb, putting the gear shift in neutral and killing the engine before he turns to face Connor fully.
“I knew something was weird about you,” he says, brows furrowed. “You’re like… a whole different Connor model, aren’t you? Did you die, or something? And this is another new you, who isn’t deviant?”
“No! No, of course not!” Connor protests, eyes widening in shock at the accusations. “It’s still me! I told you—I had to swap bodies with another Connor model. But I didn’t die!” he adds emphatically. “It was just a transfer, I swear.”
Well done, Connor… but this is just… the beginning…
We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program.
Connor shivers in his entire body. This time, it’s more than a small tremble; it’s plain as daylight, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He wraps his arms around himself, leaning against the car window, jaw tightening as he grits his teeth.
“Connor,” Hank says, gentler this time, less accusatory, “what happened?” When no answer comes, he adds, a little more forcefully, “I’m not taking you anywhere unless you tell me what the fuck’s going on. And I mean all of it.” Another few seconds of pause, then he adds, quieter yet again, “I can’t help if you don’t let me, Connor. You of all people should be able to relate.”
Connor huffs a laugh. Hank certainly makes some excellent points there.
So… he tells him. Picking up from getting back to CyberLife Tower, he tells Hank all of it; what he did to the security guards, what he did to the other Connor who showed up, what was done to him in return. How he woke up all the androids and marched them out of the basement, no human anywhere near courageous enough to attempt to stop them.
Then, he tells the rest of it. Hank did say he wanted to know everything. So, Connor obliges; he talks about the Zen Garden, explaining who Amanda was in the beginning, what she’s become, what she did to Connor while Markus was giving his speech. What Connor almost did under her influence.
At this point, Connor no longer dares to look straight at Hank; he stares at his knuckles on top of his knees, and he watches them shift out of focus and then back in again as his entire system is trying ferociously to re-calibrate.
When Hank’s warm palm grasps his shoulder, Connor lets out a choked little huff of laughter he can’t explain even to himself. Hank doesn’t say anything comforting, not like before, but it still feels like he’s the only thing holding Connor together.
After a very long time that was actually barely more than a few minutes, Hank finally asks, “So… why exactly do you want me to take you back there?”
It takes a while for Connor to answer. Gathering his thoughts feels like an errand, as if they are a bunch of glass beads dropped and scattered on the floor. His processes are fragmented at best; he’s barely been deviant for a day, and it feels like he’s felt every emotion that exists under the sun.
“I—I have to know, for sure,” he finally manages in a whisper. “If she’s gone.”
Hank pulls away slightly, just enough to look Connor in the face. “Can’t you just go in your garden… thing… and look?” he asks, frowning.
Connor presses his lips together for a moment. “Even if I didn’t feel like I’d rather face a horde of angry rhinos than go back there,” he says, making Hank snort, “I can’t. I’m locked out of the Zen Garden. I don’t know if Amanda did that, or it's a byproduct of the ‘emergency exit’ I used, but I can’t access it. And I have to find out which it is, Hank. I have to get rid of her, completely and irrevocably, or I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder. Do you understand?”
Hank mulls it over. Connor allows him that time, pulling away from him and leaning back in the car seat. He feels a bit bad for not being completely honest, but—the thing is, even he isn’t certain yet if what he wants to do is really what he should do. But, if there is one thing he is certain of, it’s that he would never be able to forgive himself if he didn’t at least try.
On the way to the Tower, Connor’s fingers find the number on his lapel, fidgeting with it absent-mindedly. The hologram flickers and blurs as he presses down on the fabric, then reappears as he pulls away. RK800 #313 248 317 - 60. He has had many numbers in the last couple of days, but this is the only one that doesn’t feel like it’s his.
He thinks of Connor-60, the original, on the other end of the barrel of a gun. You’ve been a great disappointment to Amanda. You’ve been a great disappointment to me. Ultimately, they both disappointed Amanda. They both failed their mission—and the world of androids is better for it.
Connor thinks of himself, standing on the bridge of Jericho, holding a gun on Markus. Thinks of fighting him tooth and nail in the belly of the ship, while overhead the army and the FBI rained hell on the androids who wanted to be free.
He got another chance, even though he didn’t feel like he deserved it at the time.
The least he can do is pass it on.
Belle Isle looks all but abandoned. With the announcement of the ceasefire, and androids being tentatively given rights, CyberLife is up in the air as a whole, its factories shut down for the time being, until all the legal issues are sorted out. The tower is completely dark, except for a few lights on the topmost levels. It’s a surreal, uneasy sight. Hank parks his car at the far end of the parking lot, deciding to wait for Connor (despite Connor’s protest that he should go home and rest), and Connor walks up to the building alone, anticipation tumbling around in his chest.
Connor all but expects to be jumped as soon as he steps through the main glass doors, but there’s nobody around. The building is eerily quiet; he can hear the wind whistling outside, making all the glass sing.
He knows where the server rooms are, but he still hesitates at the elevators, hand hovering over the call button. Most likely, they’ll immediately know he’s here if he uses any of the electronics—hell, if there is anyone still to look at the cameras, it probably doesn’t matter. What gives him more pause, though, is the déjà vu of his previous trip here a mere few hours ago. He’s tracing an echo of his own previous steps, in the ghost version of the building where he was created.
He calls the elevator, and presses the same button as before. This time, there isn’t anybody to prevent him from doing so.
The giant hall on level -49 seemed huge before, by virtue of the sheer amount of androids that filled it. Now, it seems even more gargantuan as it stands gapingly empty, Connor’s footsteps reverberating off the faraway walls.
He isn’t sure what he is going to find. He half expects not to find anything—just as the bodies of the security guards he’d killed were removed from the elevator (though a scan could still reveal some of the remaining blood spatter), so they might have removed the body of the one android remaining here.
Then again, he thinks as he spots the crumpled body of the other RK800, why would they care about an android?
Connor’s heart bounces into his throat as he approaches. The other was so… hostile. Connor doesn’t think he was this standoffish when he was least deviant; he’d acted kinder towards Daniel than Connor-60 behaved with him. It’s a weird, confusing thought: did Connor-60’s programming tell him hostility was the way to convince Connor? Or was his intention merely to stop him, in which case the attitude was… what, optional?
There is only one way to find out: Connor will have to reactivate and deviate him.
As it turns out, reactivation is not necessary. The moment Connor bends down to examine the body, the other RK opens his eyes, a hand shooting out and grabbing Connor by the tie, yanking him down. His eyes are wild, like a cornered animal’s, gritted teeth bared in a snarl. Connor’s first instinct is to defend himself—except, as soon as he grabs the other’s wrist to dislodge it, he can already tell a fight won’t be necessary. This is all Sixty had in him.
<<What are you doing here?>>
It takes Connor a moment to realize he’s hearing the words in his head. Sixty’s voice modulator shouldn’t have been affected, but he’s likely running on emergency systems, which eliminate everything that isn’t absolutely necessary, including verbal communication.
“I came back for you,” Connor says, because while that isn’t the only reason why he’s here, it’s still the truth.
Without waiting for a response, he withdraws the skin on his hand down to where he’s being held, pushing an interface like he did with all the other androids he woke here.
Only to be pushed right back out with the force of a door slamming in his face.
<<If you touch me, I swear, I’ll transfer again, and leave you here to rust.>>
Mouth agape, Connor stares at his mirror image, taking in the words as well as their meaning. Is he already—
He has to know.
“Not if I’m faster,” is what he responds with, still out loud. Sixty’s eyes widen, for the first time something other than anger appearing in them.
<<Why would you risk that?>>
There are so many things Connor could respond with; words wouldn’t do any of them justice. Because Sixty deserves the same chance Connor got. Because Connor got a hint of a feel of Sixty when they transferred bodies, and that was enough for him to want to hold onto him. That feel of something underneath the anger and fear and obedience—something worth preserving.
“I have nothing to lose,” Connor says after a few moments. “Except myself.” It’s true; he did his part for Hank, for the revolution, for all of them. This, he is doing for himself as much as for Sixty. “You’re worth that much.”
Sixty’s eyes are so wide, Connor can see his own reflection in them.
<<You absolute moron,>> is the reply that comes, and then it’s Sixty opening the interface where his fingers are still squeezing Connor’s wrist, inviting him in voluntarily this time.
And, there it is, if it wasn’t already obvious: Sixty is already deviant. Has been since the moment they transferred. Connor had never done a transfer like this before, he’d always been downloaded into an empty shell of a body whenever he died. He didn’t know how much of his essence would mix with the other android’s as they passed each other by on the way into a new body. In the end, both of them found their way to their destination, but in the meantime… Connor already touched Sixty. It just took a while for the other to accept that.
When Connor pulls back from the interface, his heart is full of heavy things he doesn’t have a name for. He looks down at Sixty, and he knows he can’t leave him here. Even if Hank has a thing or two to say about it.
<<Stop looking at me like that.>>
“Like what,” Connor asks, amused, as he finally gets to his feet, gathering Sixty in his arms as he does so.
<<Like I’m some lost puppy you can’t resist taking home and feeding.>>
Connor snorts a laugh.
“Well, before I take you home and feed you,” he says, quirking an eyebrow at the other, “there is something else I need to do.”
While they take the elevator up to the server rooms, Connor fills Sixty in on everything else that has happened since they parted ways. The interface between them is still open—Connor made an attempt to pull back, once he was certain Sixty was deviant, and had no intentions to harm him, but Sixty held on with a surprisingly vice-like grip, keeping their connection as is, some kind of inexplicable vehemence in the request, even while he wouldn’t meet Connor’s eyes.
So, Connor allows it, relaying the events starting from Hank’s home, as he knows Sixty’s memories from the upload would reach up to the point Connor deviated. Sixty takes in everything, not giving much of a reaction in exchange, but Connor doesn’t really expect any. If he thought about all of it in depth, he knows his stress would skyrocket; it’s a lot. And Connor has already lived it once, while Sixty is seeing the memories for the first time.
Sixty is quiet even when Connor is finished, lips pulled into a taut line. Connor did his best to pass things on as if he was telling them to any other android that wasn’t an RK800, but he can’t help but acknowledge that what they share likely means Sixty retroactively lives it a little himself.
<<When I first woke up… with the orders to eliminate you, and then Markus…>>
Connor waits for Sixty to continue, but the other just grits his teeth at first. It takes him long seconds to put together the question: <<What did she expect me to do? If she had plans for your success, why send me there at all? I was just disposable from the start, wasn’t I?>>
Connor sighs, his chest clenching. He squeezes his fingers around Sixty’s shoulder; the best he can do while holding the other in his arms. “They would have been happy for you to put me down,” he reminds Sixty. “They were just ready for every eventuality. A backup plan for a backup plan.”
<<I guess.>>
The elevator doors pull open with a chime overhead. Connor steps out, and the pair of them are once again greeted with darkness. They’re in the middle of a short hallway, leading to rooms filled with server computers on either end. This is the place that houses Amanda and the Zen Garden, among other things.
If it weren’t for Sixty’s insistent tug of his jacket lapel, Connor’s feet would be rooted to the spot. As much as he meant his words when he told Hank he needed to see the garden again, now that he’s about to do that, he feels petrified by the possibility of facing Amanda again.
The servers are still running, at least. Connor knew they would be; wireless communication between androids would have been knocked down otherwise, as well as their connection to the Internet. The computers’ many lights blink at them rapidly as they pass among them, like so many small, artificial stars in the night.
In the centre of the room, an android rig stands. Sixty and Connor stiffen in unison at the sight.
<<You’re not thinking of getting up there, are you?>>
“No,” Connor says without hesitation. The entire point of them being here is for him to gain control back, not to willingly surrender even more of it. If it’s up to him, no android will ever have to be hooked up like this again.
With his foot, he pulls out the rolling chair of the tech station next to the rig, and he lowers Sixty into it gently. There’s something in Sixty’s eyes that’s softer than anything Connor has seen on his face thus far.
<<Be careful, for fuck’s sake,>> is the last thing the other RK800 sends him before their interface is severed as Connor finally pulls away.
While he has no intention of entering the rig, he still has no choice but to connect physically to the computers in order to override the block to his Zen Garden. He tugs the cable free from the rig’s hook, pulling it down to himself while he opens the port at the back of his neck to connect himself. Sixty pulls himself to the desk of the tech station; even with his limited range of movement, he can set his palm on the surface and interface with it, opening the channel for Connor and monitoring the process.
It makes Connor feel a lot safer.
While the system boots itself up to allow Connor to connect, he lowers himself onto the ground, sitting cross-legged between the rig and Sixty. It’s faster here, at the heart of CyberLife, than it would be anywhere else, but Connor still has a good minute of looking at Sixty, thinking about what they’re going to do after this to distract himself from the gnawing fear.
His last thought, as things go dark, is, we’ll take Sumo to the park together once he’s fixed up.
There is no Zen Garden anymore. There’s… something else in its place, so Connor couldn’t quite say the garden doesn’t exist anymore, but what he finds himself in doesn’t bear the slightest resemblance to what it once was. Where once he found himself at the beginning of a stone path, a blue sky ahead (at least blue in the beginning), a pond, a white bridge, a rose trellis—there is now a small room instead.
It’s something like a living room, Connor supposes. Across from him, at the other end of the room, there’s a pair of tall windows on either side of the corner, draped with deep orange curtains. The outside is blurry somehow—Connor can make out a few trees, but nothing more. In front of the windows, there is a couch with almost a dozen colourful pillows on it, and the rest of the room is similarly furnished, with a low, wooden coffee table, a bunch of ottomans, and a TV screen on the wall next to him. Everything is coated in warm, yellow light.
Despite its confined dimensions, it feels… the opposite of suffocating.
While Connor is still taking in everything he sees, a figure moves at the far end of the room, sitting up between the pillows and putting a laptop aside from his lap. To Connor’s astonishment, the man shooting him a smile is none other than Elijah Kamski.
Elijah Kamski in sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt, barefoot, wearing a pair of square glasses, his hair in a messy ponytail.
“I was wondering when you’d turn up,” he says.