Chapter Text
“Please, Amanda, I just need more time. I
will
complete my mission!”
The older woman stared at him as the snow swirled around them, no empathy in her synthetic gaze, only disappointment.
“You’ve had enough time, Connor. Report to CyberLife for deactivation.”
Connor walked right by Hank’s desk without even glancing at him. His posture was ramrod straight, spine rigid in a strangely inhuman stance. He took even, measured steps in a straight path, and turned a full 90 degrees towards the door.
“Connor, where the fuck are you going?”
The android didn’t stop to respond. He only stopped when Hank launched himself out of his chair to grab the kid’s arm.
“Connor, the hell is wrong with you, son?”
The detective finally turned to face him, but his eyes were dead, staring straight through as if he saw nothing.
“This model has failed its mission and must report back to CyberLife. Please contact your nearest CyberLife resource centre for more assistance regarding this matter. We apologize for any inconvenience,” it said, monotone and droning, before turning back towards the door.
“Like fuck you’re taking him anywhere!”
Hank grabbed the android by the back of the jacket, using his other hand to pin an arm behind Connor’s back, straining against the sheer mechanical strength fighting his hold.
“Any attempt to restrain this device will be seen as an act of aggression, and I will be forced to deploy defensive measures.”
“Get the fuck out of his head!”
The machine stilled for a second, almost dropping into Hank’s arms, and Connor’s LED flashed red.
For a moment, a blessed moment, Hank had hoped he’d won.
He really should have seen the punch coming.
It was only a few minutes, really, that Hank lay wheezing on the floor. But it was long enough for Connor to disappear. The old cop had run out into the snow without even bothering to grab a jacket, and found only an empty street and eerie silence.
Connor was gone.
Markus was on the roof of the ship again, watching the lights of the city dance in the reflection of the water. His feet perched precariously on the edge of the beam, toes a millimeter away from toppling him over into the abyss, into the dark freezing nothingness that seemed to constantly call to him.
North had wandered off, her hurt look forever implanted in his mind. He hadn’t meant to snap, but after bearing his soul to her, and getting only distrust in return, he’d hurt her. And somehow, he knew, he’d altered their relationship for good, closed doors that had only just begun to open.
Jericho groaned beneath his feet, low and feral, the shrieking of metal that announced the pull of the tides that churned the fears roiling in his gut.
With a sigh, he stepped away from the ledge, pulling his coat tighter around him. The longer he spent as a deviant, the more he seemed to notice the little things he never had before. The chill, the loneliness, the hate curling around his heart that hissed whenever a human came near. He felt like Leo, strung out and shaky, looking for something to blame his own failures on. He longed for Carl, missed the simplicity and comfort of his early life. But he had placed himself in this role, took charge of this revolution,
He’d face it like he always had, with his head held high and hiding his doubts behind a brave face. He’d do what he had to for his people, be the leader they needed, even when his own heart longed to turn to the blackness looming in the corners of his mind.
It was time to march.
Connor woke up.
That simple fact alone started him into sudden awareness, making him gasp for air as if he were suffocating.
But his chest didn’t move.
Around him, there was nothing but white. He tried to move his eyes, to find the source of light, but they wouldn’t respond to his signals. Panicking, he called up a system analysis, and was rewarded with only the sound of howling winds. He saw. He saw snow swirling around him, felt the bitter cold seeping its way into his skin, heard the panicked whine that sounded only in his own head. He was awake, aware, feeling. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t blink his eyes when they felt as though they were shriveling, couldn’t bend his fingers. In a distant part of his mind, he registered a new sensation, pain. Pain emanating from his curled fingers, his frozen knees where he kneeled in the burning snow. It overwhelmed him, crashing over him in waves until his mental screams overpowered any thoughts he could try to muster.
Something was deeply, deeply wrong. He felt it in his chest, where he could almost sense the ghosts of fingerprints prying him open, messing with wires that they shouldn’t touch. Turning off biocomponent after biocomponent.
“Please. Please, stop. Stop.”
He didn’t know if his pleas were the echo of a memory, or his brain reacting to it. There was no sense to be made of the memories flickering through his terrified mind, no clue what was real and what was simulated. He only felt the disturbed, nauseating sensation of being invaded, made vulnerable and violated, over and over again. It was as though his mind was replaying it on a loop, stuck forever in his final moment of terror and anguish, a scream building in his throat that would never sound, never find release. It only mounted, spilled forth like the all-encompassing agony, and Connor could do nothing but experience it. Again, and again, and again.
Hank had once asked him if there was a Heaven for androids. He hadn’t known the answer then, but he did know one thing for certain.
He’d found Hell.