synopsis: kamski reveals the one thing you know to be true as a lie: your humanity. connor can’t rightly sit idly by as you struggle to re-find yourself.
word count: 4.2k
ships: connor x reader, hank anderson & reader
notes: i’m skipping from fandom to fandom like i’m fucking window shopping huh. anyway connor the pinerrrr. connor the ultimate denier of feelingssssss
related reading: HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST
You had been against the idea from the beginning. In your head, you traced the different ways Kamski would turn you, Hank, and Connor down – “I’m too busy to answer some stupid questions,” or “Go away, I’m trying to enjoy being a retired billionaire,” or “I’m Elijah fucking Kamski, and who the fuck are you supposed to be?”
But his android, Chloe, had welcomed all of you. And you couldn’t ignore how Kamski’s face brightened ever-so-slightly when he saw Connor. But it confused you even more when his eyes flitted to you and his expression brightened even more.
He started talking after he got out of his red-granite-lined pool, which didn’t really interest you. Your eyes turn to one of the Chloes that’s standing off to the side, her eyelids fluttering a little as she presumably scans you. When she’s done, her lips tilt upward in a smile and her head cocks to the side a little. It’s like… she knows you, or something. Like she was smiling because she saw an old friend.
Kamski’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Chloe?”
Chloe immediately walks over to Kamski, her bare feet making soft sounds against the tile, then muffled by the carpet. She sinks to her knees when he puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes slightly.
“What interests me…” Kamski moves so he’s standing next to where Chloe’s kneeling. “… is whether machines are capable of empathy.”
He moves so his back is turned on all three of you, and opens a drawer of a side table near the window. “I call it the “Kamski Test.” It’s very simple, you’ll see.”
Kamski turns with his hands raised. One of them is holding a pistol by the barrel, in a way that it would be impossible to fire. Once he’s established that he’s not a threat, he moves forward and places the grip in Connor’s hand. Connor curls his fingers around it on instinct, his index on the trigger.
“What are you doing?” You interject.
Kamski looks over at you and smiles. It’s like you’re proving something to him. What you’re proving, you don’t know.
He moves Connor’s arm so that the sights of the gun are trained on Chloe’s head. “It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor. Destroy this machine, and I’ll tell you all I know. Or…”
Kamski makes a half-circle and stands beside Connor. “Spare it, if you feel it’s alive. But you’ll leave without having learnt anything from me.”
Hank scoffs and rolls his eyes, gently hitting your arm with an air of can you believe this fucking prick? “Okay, I think we’re done here. C’mon, let’s go, both of you. Sorry to get you outta your pool.”
You put your hand on Hank’s arm to still him and stare at Connor. His LED flickers between yellow and red, circling in on itself quickly as he stares down at Chloe. His eyelids flutter slightly as he tries to process everything around him, calculating and sorting every possibility into neat percentages.
“Connor?” You say softly, trying to break him from his trance. “Connor, come on. This is a waste of time – you don’t need to do this. It could mess with your…” you gesture at your forehead vaguely. “… microprocessors or whatever.”
Kamski exhales slightly and smiles. He takes the pistol by the barrel, gently taking it from Connor’s hand. Connor looks at Kamski, then back down at Chloe.
“Amazing,” Kamski breathes out.
“Yeah, amazing, I care about Connor.” You roll your eyes. “Let’s go.”
Connor catches your eye and nods. “I would’ve been okay. Shooting the android wouldn’t have impacted my microprocessors or any of my other biocomponents.”
“The kid’s just worried,” Hank cuts in. “Now, c’mon. We’re leaving.”
“Wait – one last thing.” Kamski brushes past, walking to the far wall. He presses his hand to a biometric scanner on the wall, causing it to let out a sound akin to a hiss as it opens. It creases vertically, then folds back.
You let out a small sound of disbelief as you take in what Kamski revealed. Lining the walls of the hidden compartment is… information, yes, but not information about deviants. It’s information about you.
Photos of you as a child, teenager, adult, and projections of what you’d look like as you aged. Reports on how you’ve been performing as a detective. Maps of interrelationships, circles labeled with names and a web of color-coded lines connecting them.
And, on the back wall, are blueprints. You’ve seen these types of schematics before – they’re for androids.
Kamski turns and smiles when he sees your shocked face. “So it worked. You firmly believed you were human. Am I wrong, Detective?”
You feel a hand on the top of your back, and only barely register Hank shuffling you towards the exit as you stumble. “This is fucked. I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull, Kamski, but we’re out.”
“N-no, Hank, wait –” You dig your heels in, never once looking away from the hidden compartment. “Wait, Kamski, what is this?”
“Just an experiment.” Kamski follows your eyes and looks inside. “A personal pet project.”
“They’re not your goddamn passion project!” Hank snaps, ushering you along with a bit more force. “Now leave the kid alone.”
“Hank, please, I want to see –” You crane your neck, still trying to look.
“This is damaging to your psyche,” Connor says, taking your arm and helping Hank herd you. “I – we need you operating at full capacity, for the sake of the case.”
“There it is, again!” Kamski laughs. “That beautiful thing, empathy.”
He walks into the room leisurely, like it’s a parlor instead of… whatever it is. “I don’t blame you for being curious. You’re a violent and irrepressible miracle, Detective.”
You struggle against Connor and Hank’s holds as you try to see more of the secret room. “Wh-what do you mean? Hank, let me see! I need to know what’s going on!”
You grab Hank’s arm with your free hand, tugging on his coat. “Hank, I promise I’ll be okay – just five minutes. All I need is five minutes! Please, let me do this. I just need to figure out what this is, then we can go. Just five minutes.”
Hank’s mouth curls into a scowl when he hears the emotion and pleading in your voice, his eyebrows furrowing as he thinks. His eyes fall to the floor, then flick to Connor.
“I highly advise against that,” Connor says evenly, but his worry is betrayed by the way his jaw clenches. His fingers tighten around your upper arm. “Not only will this definitely cause irreversible psychological damage, it could possibly lead to a mental break.”
“Five minutes, Connor.” You look into his eyes. “How much damage can five minutes do?”
“A lot!” Connor says. But after a moment of eye contact, his eyes soften and he relents. He lets go of your arm and takes a step back, his shoes clicking against the tile.
Hank does the same, removing his hand from your back. He sighs and crosses his arms. “Five minutes, kid. That’s all you get.”
You immediately turn on your heel and rush into the room because, knowing Connor, he’d probably set an internal timer already. You hear both Hank and Connor follow you, standing at the edge of the doorway.
You scan the room, then pick out what to look at and what to question Kamski about.
“This.” You point at a small tablet, showing a muted video of you dancing drunkenly at a crowded party. You’re wearing a hideous necktie like a headband and you get your face right in the camera as soon as you spot it. You can make out the words you’re saying – or, rather, yelling – “What’re you waiting for, man? Let’s party with Miss Page-Three all the way to Disco Ze-e-e-ero-o-o-o!”
You turn to Kamski. “What is this? Why do you have it?”
“Every person moves in a unique way,” Kamski says, shrugging slightly. “Androids already have a specific set of movements. I analyzed the way you moved – the way a human moved.”
“Moved?” You echo back. “What do you mean, moved? Don’t you mean move? Like, the present continuous verb?”
“I didn’t misspeak.” Kamski turns to a paper organizer on a desk and starts to flip through it.
You exchange a glance with Hank, then Connor. Hank is more obvious with his unease, but you can tell Connor is fretting, too. He just keeps it in his mind, still silently calculating.
Kamski pulls out a manila folder and hands it to you. You turn it over and read what’s on the front. Typed out in neat Courier New is your name, your birth date, and a random date from a few years back – Feb. 21, 2034.
You undo the clasp and dump out the documents on a nearby desk. What’s inside only causes further confusion – there’s a photocopy of a will, a death certificate, an incident report, and photos of a car crash. The death certificate is… it’s yours, but it can’t be. Can it?
You pick up one of the pictures and hold it close to your face. The car is a mangled mess of metal, lit by red and blue police lights. Peeking out from underneath the rubble, limp on the concrete, is a hand. Your hand. And it’s stained with fresh, wet blood.
“Connor.” Your voice comes out weak and strained. You can’t lift your eyes from the photo. “Connor, get over here.”
Connor’s footsteps sound, quick and almost rushed. “Yes, Detective?”
“Scan this.” Your hand shakes as you hold the photo out to Connor. “I-is this…?”
Is this real? You want to ask. Please tell me it’s not, Connor. Connor, please-please-please tell me this is some stupid joke. I’m not afraid of dying, but what if I already have?
Connor leans down a little, his eyelids and LED flickering as he scans it. His face falls as soon as his LED resumes circling normally. “It’s… yes. I found a document containing that picture, but I… I’m not permitted to access it.”
“Okay, but that’s just s-some random wreck, right?” You laugh nervously, trying to ignore the lump growing in your throat. Can androids even cry? “It – it’s not me.”
Connor reaches down and sorts through the documents. When he comes across the death certificate, he freezes. His eyelids flutter as he scans it. He looks over at you, slowly.
“No,” you whisper. “Connor, it… it can’t be real.”
“It is,” Connor says softly. “Detective, I… I’m so sorry.”
And, just like that, you’re disconnected. You’re outside of your body, stuck in the passenger seat and controlling a video game. There’s a lag to every movement you make. You recall some term you heard in a college psychology course you were required to take – disassociation. You vaguely register that this is what you’re feeling.
With more effort than it should take, you turn to look at Hank. His expression, shocked and appalled, causes the dam to burst. Your shoulders shake as you cry, hot with misplaced shame.
Connor wraps an arm around your shoulder, gently pushing you out of the room and towards the exit. Hank pats his shoulder, telling him to “Get them to the car – I’ve got a few choice words I need to exchange with our friend here.”
The car ride was tense, and that atmosphere transferred into Hank’s home. He had asked on the way back if you were okay being by yourself, and you were honest and told him that no, you’re not. He had sat you down and assured you that he wasn’t mad, he didn’t feel betrayed – he just needed time to think and adjust to this new change.
He had turned in an hour ago, just a little past three in the morning. You know you couldn’t sleep if you tried. That left you and Connor in Hank’s living room.
You’re laying on the floor with Sumo, his head on your chest and drool staining your shirt. One of your arms is propped behind your head, your other hand absentmindedly combing through Sumo’s fur.
The silence is only broken by the ceiling fan clicking with every rotation and your breathing – artificial breathing, you suppose.
“Did you go into standby?” You ask softly.
“No,” Connor answers from his seat on the couch. “Would you like to talk?”
“Maybe.” You trace the pattern of Sumo’s fur, then look over at Connor. “It’s just… I don’t feel like an android. And I have lots of memories. I remember going to Chicken Feed with Hank for the first time. He got me the best goddamn burger in Detroit. I remember finding a Lucky Star bottlecap when I was a kid – the, uh… the ones from that one sarsaparilla? With the blue star on the bottom. Androids don’t have memories like that. Memories from their childhood. Memories that make them feel things.”
Connor stands from the couch, then sits by your side. He puts his hand on Sumo’s head, gently tracing the white streak that cuts through brown fur. The fan continues to click as Connor thinks for a few moments, LED swirling as he does.
“I feel things, sometimes,” he says softly. “But not like how a deviant feels. I have a built-in reward system meant to keep me motivated. But sometimes I’m rewarded even when I do something unrelated to the case.”
“Like what?” You smile up at him. “Petting Sumo?”
Connor smiles softly, glancing away, then back to you. “Yes.”
You laugh softly, your eyes staying on Connor’s face, tracing this new expression. He doesn’t smile a lot, but you’re grateful for every second that he does.
His brow creases a little, his smile disappearing. “Are you feeling alright? I want to know if you’re… I know this revelation has affected you negatively, but I just want to know of your general mental state.”
You sigh quietly, looking up and following one blade of the fan as it rotates. “I mean, I thought I had it all figured out, y’know? There’s a giant ball, and there’s evil apes. And the evil apes are just… dukin’ it out on the ball. And I’m one of them. It’s basically all just evil apes dukin’ it out on this giant ball.”
Connor tilts his head to the side. “And in this scenario… what are androids?”
“Androids don’t exist in this scenario,” you say. “Androids are too perfect. Like fine porcelain china. They’re for the future. I figured this out when I was young, before androids were everywhere. When there was just a giant ball and evil apes.”
“Hm.” Connor shifts slightly, so that his thigh is just barely pressed against your side. “And what do you feel now?”
“I… I don’t know.” You sigh. “I feel… kinda guilty, I think? Because, yeah, it’s bad. This doesn’t have any upside to it. But it’s not bad for anyone else aside from me, and Hank, to a lesser degree. It’s not death, or war, or – god forbid, pedophilia. It’s just me.”
You go quiet as you watch the fan rotate. Your fingers find the tags on Sumo’s collar, the tag with his name and Hank’s address and number clinking against his rabies vaccination tag.
“Humans are complicated,” Connor eventually says.
You snort. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I…” he sighs. “I know you didn’t mean to deceive me. But I can’t believe I didn’t know – or at least have an inkling.”
“Shit, I deceived myself.” You laugh humorlessly. “You’re okay, Connor. You don’t need to change to accommodate me.”
“Adaptability to unpredictable human behavior is one of my core features,” he says.
“Am I really unpredictable?” You ask. Your eyebrows furrow as you fidget with Sumo’s tags. “Or, actually – am I really even human?”
Connor’s LED flashes yellow as he looks down at you, his eyelids fluttering as he scans you. He blinks a few times and his LED returns to a calm blue.
“You’ve fooled my sensors,” Connor says. “And, if I may…”
His hand hovers over yours, which is still fidgeting with Sumo’s tags. You nod as you feel your heart skip a beat. He grabs your hand and lifts it to his solar plexus, right in the middle of his chest.
“Do you feel that?” Connor asks. “It’s my thirium pump. Biocomponent #8456w.”
Sure enough, you feel a soft thrumming beneath your fingers. It’s not quite like a heartbeat, but a steady hum that fluctuates. Strong, then a steady decline to weak, then back to its strongest.
You nod again, not trusting your voice at the moment.
Connor moves your hand so that it’s resting on your own chest, right over your heart. You don’t really make an effort to check your heartbeat but, just like the last time you remember checking, there’s a steady beat.
“You have a heart,” he says.
“An artificial one,” you chime.
“Yes,” Connor relents. “But it proves that you’re not like me. Not a full android.”
“For all I know, Kamski cobbled me together in his creepy basement,” you try to joke. “Do you think he has one? Or is he too rich?”
“Detroit is located alongside a river,” Connor says. “The soil contains too much water for basement construction to be feasible.”
You roll your head a little, looking up at him. “You’re too literal. Don’t you have a humor microchip or something?”
Connor smiles slightly. “Unfortunately, no.”
“Yes, you do!” You laugh and turn your hand over, grabbing his and shaking it gently. “You’re smiling. And you made a joke. A kind-of joke.”
Connor’s smile falters when he looks down at your connected hands. It’s not like you’ve laced fingers with him or anything, but it was still kind of intimate.
You clear your throat and let his hand go, instead carding your fingers through Sumo’s fur again. You can feel a blush creeping across your face. Once more, the room is only filled with the clicking of the fan with every rotation and your breathing.
“I don’t know what to do,” you eventually sigh out. “I wish I could just wake up and start the day over. But then I open my eyes and the time has still passed and I’m still here. I still have to go through… whatever this is.”
“You don’t have to go through it alone,” Connor says. “Hank would never abandon you, and…” His LED flickers yellow. “Neither would I.”
“You’re weird,” you say softly. “You’re weird for that.”
Connor nods, slowly. “Maybe. But you’re vital to this case, whether you believe it or not.”
“I do,” you say. “Kinda. I just need time. I can see the end, which is whole acceptance, or just not caring. I mean, all the pieces aren’t here, I still need to find them, but still. I get all the pieces, somehow, something else, walla-walla-bing-bang – my android-ness doesn’t bother me anymore.”
“Walla-walla-bing-bang?” Connor echoes, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.
“I don’t know what it means.” Your eyes flicker to his and you smile at his confusion. “I think I heard it somewhere once. It just felt like the most appropriate thing to say.”
Connor’s face softens and he mirrors your smile. “That does seem like an appropriate thing to say, yes.”
You keep looking up at him for a moment, just looking into his brown doe eyes. You swallow thickly as your thoughts race. There’s a sudden lump in your throat that you try your best to ignore and clear away.
“Connor, I…” You reach for his hand. He meets you halfway, gently holding your hand and resting his thumb on your knuckles.
“Am I a deviant?”
Are you going to turn me in? You want to ask. Please don’t. Please, Connor. I need you to trust me, just like you’ve trusted me before. I’ll be vigilant. I’ll figure this out. I promise. Please.
“No.” There’s no hesitation or doubt in his voice. “As far as I’ve figured out, you’re designed to act like a human. You’re meant to fool others into thinking you’re really human – because that’s what you were, before. Deviants are androids with mutations in their code. Your code is meant to mimic human emotions and rationale. So you’re just following your instructions.”
“Instructions.” You look down at your joined hands. You shake them a little as your lips draw into a thin line. “That’s what we both come down to, right? Instructions.”
“You…” Connor thinks for a moment. “Yes. But the instructions in you are nuanced, and sometimes contradictory. I’m not calling your code faulty – in fact, it rather reflects human behavior to a tee.”
“So I’m… at least a little human.” You close your eyes, resting your head on your arm that’s propped behind your head. “Human enough.”
“Human enough?” Connor echoes.
“Yeah. My lungs burn when I hold my breath too long. It hurts when I stub my toe and I feel electric when I hit my funny bone. I cry and my tears taste salty instead of tasting like… I don’t know, cleaning fluid.” You open your eyes and look up at Connor, as if asking him to confirm.
“Androids do have optic cleaning fluids, yes,” he says.
You smile and laugh lightly, your gaze returning to the fan blade. “Optic fuckin’ cleaning fluids…”
You sigh softly. “God, Hank was right. This is fucked. An android investigating androids and some… cheap copy of whoever I used to be. And, of course, a Lieutenant who’s slowly killing himself day-by-day.”
“You’re not a cheap copy,” he says. “Typical CyberLife androids cost nine thousand dollars, but custom models could cost more. Personally, my development and production costs total to just over four million, and every new RK800 model costs eight thousand.”
Connor soothes his thumb over your knuckles. “You must’ve cost Kamski a fortune.”
His words immediately go to your heart like you’ve been pierced by a scorpion’s tail. But instead of venom, it’s an injection of sweet feelings and erratic butterflies. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that his whispered words and damn-near reverent tone was intentional.
“That’s… that sounds kinda romantic,” you say, then remember yourself. “I – I mean, romantic as in, like, the Romantic era? Like, it’s a romantic idea. That Kamski loves his work so much that he couldn’t bear to stop and continued to push the envelope… even if he pushed it a bit too far, with an android replacing a real-life, actually-dead human and whatnot.”
Connor’s LED blinks as he thinks. He stays silent for a while, just looking down at his hand that’s holding yours and thinking.
“You’re starting to act like me, y’know?” You squeeze his hand. “A synthetic human instead of a true android.”
His LED stops flickering and he meets your eyes. “I am not a deviant. I have a rigorous self-testing system to make sure any signs of deviancy don’t go undetected.”
“Okay, okay,” you relent. You glance down to your conjoined hands, then back up into those doe eyes.
“Did you mean it?” You ask softly. “Earlier. When you said that you’d stay.”
“Of course,” Connor answers quickly.
“Really?” Your eyebrows crease. “Because it’ll take years. It’ll be depressing. And it’ll be boring. I’ll be worse than Hank. I don’t expect you to reward me or to applaud my every move, because I know that’s how normal people are all the time.”
“But you’re not normal,” Connor says with a smile. “Even before your entire identity was uprooted.”
“Connor!” You laugh and let go of his hand to swat at him, then grasp his hand again. “Alright, alright. I’ll get a bit of the Normal in me. A touch of the Regular. Exactly four grams of Johnny Normalcop.”
“Don’t.” He squeezes your hand. “It would be detrimental to the case if you were to focus on restructuring yourself in a different way. You don’t need to sanitize your personality.”
You smile up at Connor. “So you like me.”
His LED flickers yellow, then returns to blue. “Yes. I enjoy working alongside you as you are. You don’t need to be any amount of Johnny Normalcop.”
You shake your joined hands gently, your smile growing so wide you’re sure you looked a bit stupid. “You’re sweet. You know that?”
“I am somewhat aware.” Connor brings his free hand up to rest on top of your connected hands.
And, just like that, you know everything would be alright. Nothing would ever be the same, yes, but it would be alright. It won’t be easy, but you just need to move on. Uncertainty is a core tenet of detective work.
When life closes a door, it opens a window. And if the fall is too steep, use the fire exit. Run to the roof, because Connor will be there when you jump to break your fall. The most important thing is to keep moving. Keep dreaming. CyberLife can’t reclaim their lost property if you keep running – very, very fast, from one Earth-shattering revelation to the next.
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