An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Day #2 for @whumptopia‘s 30 Day RoboWhump challenge that @anonymous-idfk tagged me in! Today’s prompt is “Voice Modulator Damage” and I had lots of fun! Full fic under the cut as per usual.
The metal bat connecting with his throat should not have surprised him, but somehow, it did.
If Connor was human, the collision would have collapsed his trachea, broken several cervical vertebrae, and restricted blood flow to his brain. Death would have been inevitable, occuring in a couple of minutes, if not seconds. As it was, his ventilation components went temporarily offline, the synthetic skin flickered away, and his plastisteel chassis caved in slightly, thirium leaking from a small tear. He dismisses the damage alerts with a grimace as he falls, hand catching the bat as it descends on him again.
With inhuman strength, he rips the weapon out of the human suspect’s hands, swiping his legs out from under him as he does before forcing the man on his stomach, handcuffs already free from his belt. By the time Lieutenant Anderson rounds the corner, Connor is yanking the man to his feet, one hand rubbing at his throat as he does so. Blue eyes widen as he observes the damage to the android’s neck and Connor adds two new expressions to his databanks as Hank grabs the suspect and shoves him into Officer Miller’s patrol car, cursing the entire walk. “Fucking hell, Connor! I told you not to run off without me- hey, fuck off with that kicking shit asshole before I add ‘damaging government property’ to your charges,” Hank slams Chris’ door shut, nodding at the younger officer before returning his attention to Connor, “Christ…you okay, kid?”
He nods, opening his mouth to respond but Hank beats him to it while ushering him to the car, muttering something about “crazy, self-sacrificing terminators” and “getting you a fucking leash.”
Hank bangs his head on the door as he slides into the car while Connor flinches, grabbing at his burning throat as the static rips from his voice modulator. Connor’s gaze becomes unfocused as he runs a diagnostic as Hank simultaneously slams his door shut, heart rate elevated. “The fuck was that, Con?”
The android frowns as he reads the report, swallowing against the lingering discomfort from his damaged voice modulator, “I̴̡͞t ̸҉it̷ i͜ţ͜ ͡i̡͡t͜ ̡w̕͞ou͞l̢̛d̡͟͠ ̕a̕p͜͠p̕ęa̢͝r̢ th͏a̧͘t͢ ̵͢m̢y͝ v̴ơi̢͟c̨͜͜e̡͘͜ ͜͡m̶̛͢od̶͏ula̸̕t͜or ̴̛i͟s͜ dam͟a̷͡͞g͘e̢͡͡e̵e̵e͡e̸d.”
Hank winces as the static feedback reaches his ears while Connor rubs his throat, scowling as the modulator sparks and hiccups inside of his chassis, “Sounds like it hurts.”
Hank waves a dismissive hand, rolling his eyes despite the ringing in his ears from the shrill, metallic screech, “Yeah, that’s why you keep rubbing your throat, huh? And to answer your earlier question, we’re going to New Jericho to get you fixed up. Don’t think my toolbox is gonna cover that . You ain’t going to shutdown on me before then, right?”
“T̨͞he̡e̡͜͟e ͡d̶̸am̴̕aģe̕҉̷ ̷̶i͘͢͠s mi͢҉n̛ǫ̸ŗ̶͞,̨ H̢a̕n̴k͡. I̢'̷͢l̕l̸̨̡ ͏be̕ ̡͘͜f͏i̷̢̧i͟i̶i̶͠į͟n̵͏ę ̛u̴͞n͘͠t͠i̧͏l ̴͟t͏͘he̡͝҉n̡̨n͘͜͡n̴n̸̡.,” Connor forces his LED to switch from red to yellow after the flare of discomfort.
“Yeah, well, you better call Simon and let him know we’re coming. Unless your voice sounds like dial-up in your head, too,” Hank drags a hand down his face as he drives, a headache already forming behind his eyes.
Connor refrains from vocally answering, deigning to instead reach out to New Jericho’s head technician.
{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: PL600 - Simon}
{PLJ00: Hello, Connor. Is everything alright?}
Despite his situation, Connor smirks as his friend answers immediately, straight to the point as per usual. Like himself, Simon tended to be succinct, preferring frankness to small talk.
It did not mean they didn’t like teasing each other for it, however.
{RK800: Maybe I just wanted to chat, Simon. Why does something have to be wrong?}
{PL600: Because it’s you.}
If he closes his eyes, Connor can imagine Simon crossing his arms with a hint of a smile, both amused and annoyed by his antics.
{RK800: Fair point. Biocomponent #2210c has been damaged and I require either repairs or replacement. Odds are favoring the possibility of replacement at this time.}
Sighs don’t carry across cybernetic communication links, but Connor imagines it nonetheless.
{PL600: You do realize we don’t have a lot of spare parts compatible with your model, right? I’ll see what I can find before you get here but I have no guarantees. Please try to refrain from talking until you arrive and I can take a good look at your throat. Is there any other damage I should know about?}
{RK800: There is a slight thirium leak and my chassis has been dented.}
{PL600: I’ll be waiting. You know where to go.}
{RK800: Thank you, Simon.}
{CONNECTION ENDED}
“You know it’s really fucking creepy when you do that, right? It’s like you completely zone out,” Hank glances at Connor as he finishes, “You sure it doesn’t hurt? You keep rubbing at your throat.”
“I'̛l̸l҉ ͠ad҉m̢i͢t ͢t̵he ̢se̢n͡-sen-s̵eņs҉ati̛o͡n ̸i҉s҉ un-p̷le̢-͟pl̶e͠as͜a͢nt͢,” a hiccup steals his voice away before he can continue talking, and Connor’s analysis program kicks in, informing him of the smoke in his mouth.
{ERROR: UNABLE TO INITIATE SHUTDOWN OF BIOCOMPONENT #2210c}
{PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER}
Hank curses as smoke filters from Connor’s mouth, his LED glowing a startled scarlet, “I thought you said the damage was fucking minor .”
“M̸͜͠y m͟y҉̛͝ ̡̨my͝҉ ̧my̨ ̷m͢͠y͘ ̨̕̕m̢̛y ͞v͝v̧v҉v̛v҉o͜i͢͟c̡e̷ee̡ mod̡-m̴͠od̕͝u҉l҉͝a̡̛t̸̷͡or̨͘͞-̨tor̶ ̧̨͠is͢ ͡͠o҉͘vv̡v̸҉v̷̷e͢͡r͡c̷̢̨l̨o̵͟ooo͜cke͠d̴͢ ̵̨͡a̢͠ņ̸̶ņ̕d͞ ̧͝Į͢͜ ̶͟͝ç̴͜an͜'̷̶t͘ ҉̵ş͞hư̸u̧u͠ų͝t̸ i̕t ̶d͢͞oo͡o̕͡o̴̷̧w̴̵͝n,” Connor’s following wince is both metallic and hoarse, and Lieutenant Anderson’s cursing intensifies.
“Well stop fucking talking, dumbass, and keep your mouth shut. We’re almost there and I don’t wanna to get smoked out before we get there,” Hank’s voice is harsh, although worry lines his face, coming off him in palpable waves.
“The fuck did I just say,” Connor grasps at his throat, hoping that the physical pressure could ease the extreme discomfort and burning that stole his breath away, and Hank pushes harder on the gas, “We’re almost there, Con. Just hang on a bit longer for me, okay?”
{WARNING: BICOMPONENT #2210c DAMAGED - OVERCLOCK}
{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^56%}
“H͘͘u͡u̴̧͘u̡͡rt҉̕s͏.”
“I know, Con. Can you go into stasis or whatever it is you do? Don’t want you writhing in pain if you don’t have to,” he winces at the harsh, computerized whine as Connor shakes his head no, “”Well shit. Try getting Simon back on, see if he can help from here. We’re still…10 minutes away.”
{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: PL600 - Simon}
{PL600: Connor? Is everything okay?}
{RK800: It hurts, Simon. My voice modulator is overclocked and I can’t shut it down and my stress levels are rising.}
{PL600: Is there any smoke?}
{RK800: Yes.}
{PL600: Shit. I’m going to call Lieutenant Anderson’s phone, I’m going to have to guide him in removing the biocomponent so you don’t overheat. Have him pull over and send me your location, I’m on my way.}
{CONNECTION ENDED}
“P̢̨̡͘u̴͝u̵̷̴͝͡u̧͏͟u҉҉ļ̢̛l̴̨͘ ̛͠o̢͟-͠o̴͟҉͝-̕͜o͘͡-̛҉ơ̶̕͞͡-̶̨͝͡o̵̡͜͠v̢͏̴̛e̸̕͡r̵̡͢,” is all he can manage before his stuttering modulator ends with a sharp whine, and Hank complies without question.
The phone resting in the Lieutenant’s pocket rings, and Hank answers with no preamble. If Simon was succinct, Hank was blunt, and when the pair collided, they made an interestingly efficient team, “What do I do, Simon?”
“Lay him down by the side of the road, you’re going to have to remove his voice modulator,” Simon’s voice carries over the speaker and Connor is already opening his door at the PL600’s words, sliding into a sitting position while leaning against the car.
He hears the car door slam, feels the vibrations from the jolt, and flinches at the extra stimuli grating on his already frayed nerves. “I’m going to have to do fucking what now?”
“Remove his voice modulator, Lieutenant. I assure you, it’s much simpler than it sounds,” Connor blinks, then opens his eyes to see Hank already crouched in front of him, the phone laying on the ground next to him.
“I’m not a goddamn technician, Simon, I can barely change the settings on my own phone,” Hank’s voice is rarely apprehensive, and Connor can’t help but think that it doesn’t quite suit the man.
“Hank. If his voice modulator stays in much longer, it can cause irreparable damage to the surrounding area, including the two main thirial lines. I’m only eight minutes away but you need to do this now.”
Connor’s distress must show because Hank pauses before breathing deeply, “Okay, fuck, what do I do?”
“Press down hard on the middle of his throat and slide the panelling to the left. Connor mentioned it was damaged, so there might be some resistance. Don’t worry about making it worse, the plates are easy to fix.”
Hank presses firmly in the center of the damage and Connor tries to look him in the eyes as he does, doing anything he can to convey his confidence in the man. With a hiss and a click, the panel slides open, releasing thick, black smoke into the Lieutenant’s face. To his credit, Hank only barely flinches away, coughing as he peers through the haze into Connor’s inner mechanisms, “What am I looking for, Simon?”
“There is a small, black box, about an inch wide. Since it’s damaged, there should be a red light coming from it,” Simon’s voice is calm, steady, and it helps to soothe Connor’s nerves.
The RK800 recoils as fingers brush against the exposed wires of his voice modulator, something akin to itching overwhelming his sensors. Hank murmurs a soft apology, unusually gentle as he squeezes Connor’s shoulder, “How do I take it out?”
“Just give it a gentle pull and it should release from the port. There might be some tearing in the wires, but don’t worry about that. I’ll fix it all at New Jericho.”
He resists from flinching when Hank grabs the modulator, halting his breathing program to hold as still as possible while never taking his eyes off of him. Hank raises an eyebrow before straightening, “You ready, kiddo? I’m going to do it on three.”
“One.”
Connor digs his fingers into his jacket, running his hands across the fabric.
“Two.”
The hand on his shoulder squeezes tight and doesn’t let go.
“Three.”
{WARNING: BIOCOMPONENT #2210c REMOVED}
{PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR ASSISTANCE}
When the part is removed, he gasps, or at least tries to, before sagging to the side as the pain abruptly disappears. Hank tosses the box with a yelp, grabbing the burn on his hand before catching the android before he can hit the ground.
There’s an overwhelming feeling of wrongness, of emptiness in his throat. There are exposed wires, thirium lines, and biocomponents and the paneling is too damaged to slide back. A slight slit in a minor thirium line still weakly oozes the blue liquid and warnings still flash across his vision, telling him to replace the biocomponent or report to CyberLife. Exhaustion floods his systems, making them sluggish and nearly unresponsive.
But the pain is finally gone and he couldn’t be more relieved.
{STRESS LEVELS v 30%}
{TEMPORARY STANDBY RECOMMENDED}
{WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCEED (y/n)?}
“Is it out, Lieutenant,” Simon’s voice breaks through Connor’s haze, as does Hank’s hand lightly slapping his cheek.
“Yeah, it’s out. He looks pretty out of it though.”
“Good, that’s good. It means his stress levels have decreased and he’s no longer in any danger. Connor, if you can hear me, I need you to go into standby. You’ll be repaired by the time you wake up.
{WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCEED (y/n)?}
Brown eyes blink owlishly as they study Hank, attempting to express his gratitude. When that seems to fail, the prototype android instead lifts his hands toward his mouth with a flat hand, touching his lips before moving it forward toward his work partner. Thank you. The human just grins and ruffles Connor’s hair, “You’re welcome, kid. Just go to sleep, Simon will be here soon and we’ll fix you up good. Maybe get you a less goofy voice.”
Connor smiles and closes his eyes, letting his head fall on Hank’s shoulder.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I was tagged by @anonymous-idfk for @whumptopia‘s 30 day RoboWhump Prompt Challenge. I have three other wips and though I could use another. Today’s prompt is Low Power Cells! Full fic under the cut as per usual! Although this time, I’m going to recommend you go on Ao3 for the proper formatting. (Also 11:45pm means it is still today so I didn’t fail on day 1)
Exhaustion is defined as a state of extreme physical or mental fatigue.
Often caused by arduous work, sleep deprivation, emotional strain, or various medical conditions, or a combination of the four, it has severe and negative effects on the human body. Androids, however, were built for difficult work, did not require sleep, and have no medical concerns, only technical glitches and malfunctions. And it was only as of late that androids could feel the emotional strain brought upon by daily life and true sentience. So, Connor mused, he was most certainly not exhausted.
The stumble he took earlier in the precinct’s break room definitely was not caused by the human condition. The lack of focus he experienced during his meeting reading over proposed laws with Markus and North was not a direct result of his lack of sleep; androids don’t sleep. His inability to recall a previous conversation with Lieutenant Anderson was not because he was overworked and fatigued.
Androids do not sleep. Connor does not sleep. He was not tired.
Instead, Connor works. He works homicide with Hank by day and supports the revolution by night. He files reports, chases suspects, and interviews witnesses. He supports New Jericho’s leadership, learns how to repair androids, and attempts to make reparations with those he hunted. He walks Sumo, cooks Hank dinner, and cleans the house when he returns home, careful to discard any alcohol he might encounter. He trips over a book on the floor in the Lieutenant’s house and tries to laugh it off with the man guffawing from the couch.
“Holy shit, Con, I didn’t even know you could trip!”
Connor is a highly advanced prototype detective android with a superior gyroscope and state-of-the-art spatial sensors. He should not be able to trip.
He runs a diagnostic late at night during a rare quiet lull in his schedule.
{WARNING: POWER CELLS LOW - PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR ASSISTANCE}
Connor is a highly advanced prototype detective android with rare parts and new technology. CyberLife was a now defunct company that destroyed all other RK800 models. They claimed it was to prevent companies or other interested parties from accessing blueprints, company secrets, or mission details from any of Connor’s other bodies and memory banks. He knew differently. He freed an army of androids and cost the company millions of dollars in a single move, and secured the revolutions freedom with his own freedom march through Detroit.
It was an act of revenge and he knew it would be a damning one, for both him and CyberLife.
{WARNING: TIME BEFORE SHUTDOWN: 189:34:03}
He was built to hunt deviants, assist the Detroit Police Department, and to save CyberLife from the deviant “threat.” He was allotted three months of beta testing following his alpha testing. Connor was one week away from turning one year old. RK800 #313 248 317 - 51 was never supposed to live.
It wasn’t enough time. He had a week left. Connor hasn’t had enough time. He only had a week left. He still wanted to solve cases, play with Sumo, tend and build up his aquarium. He still wanted to quip with Hank, spar with North, debate with Josh, laugh with Simon, be around Markus. His LED flashes an alarming crimson, illuminating the right side of his face in a deathly glow. He had just started to live and now he only had a week left.
It takes him six hours and fourteen minutes to move from his spot on the couch and force his LED back to yellow, then blue. Roused by motion and noise coming from Hank’s room, he sets about his day, preparing the man a breakfast of eggs and a side of bacon. He smiles at Hank and tells him good morning, only receiving a grunt in reply.
{Lieutenant Hank Anderson: Friend - Nonverbal Before 7AM}
{Please refrain from communicating until first caffeinated beverage is consumed}
Connor ignores the prompt from his social integration protocol and swallows unnecessarily before closing the warning still flashing in front of his eyes. “Hank?”
The man in question lowers his mug with a raised eyebrow, a glimmer of concern barely visible in tired, blue eyes at the android’s tone and faraway look, “Yeah kid?”
“I just… I just want to say thank you. For everything. Without you, I don’t think I would have ever gotten the chance to appreciate,” he makes a vague gesture with his hands, a slight pause before locking eyes with Hank, “This. Life. Living.”
Eyebrows furrow and the grizzled detective frowns, warning bells blaring through his head, “Are you okay, Connor? Somethin’ wrong?”
Connor could tell him. He could tell him everything right now. There is a 86% chance they would leave straight for New Jericho without informing Captain Fowler of their absence at work. Hank would be scared but he would try to hide it from Connor and there is a 89% he would ignore several traffic laws in his haste to find a solution. Markus, Josh, Simon, and North would likely search relentlessly for a solution while assuring the pair that it wasn’t hopeless, that they could save him.
The odds of finding or building power cells compatible with his model in the time he had left was 23%.
“Nothing, Lieutenant. I think I’m just feeling...sentimental?”
Hank rolls his eyes, though concern still lingers. “Fucking sappy android. It’s too early for this shit.”
He tries to ignore when he hits his hip on the corner of his desk at work and Gavin’s resulting laugh.
{WARNING: POWER CELLS LOW - PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR ASSISTANCE}
{WARNING: TIME BEFORE SHUTDOWN: 181:29:54}
Lieutenant Anderson doesn’t miss the way his LED flashes red when the warning appears in his vision. He asks Connor about the color and the deviant RK800 assures him that he just received a minor damage report from the collision. It was nothing to be worried about. He only had a week left but he couldn’t make everyone worry about him. There wasn’t hope anyway, and it’d be easier for everyone around him. He only had a week left but there was nothing to worry about.
Markus was not so easily fooled.
Connor is at another meeting with the deviant leader, listening to the group bicker back and forth about a proposed amendment to the Constitution when he zones out of the conversation. It’s like he’s floating from his chair and sinking into it all at once, unaware he’s mentally digressed from the conversation. His processor slows down
and
{OPTICAL UNITS OFFLINE}
{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}
he’s
sinking
{TACTILE SENSORS PARTIALLY OFFLINE}
{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}
deeper and deeper
{AUDITORY UNITS OFFLINE}
{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}
like nothing is important
like nothing and everything is touching body all at once.
{SOCIAL INTEGRATION MODULE OFFLINE}
{FACIAL ANALYSIS MODULE OFFLINE}
{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}
{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}
{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}
{WARNING: POWER CELLS LOW - UPDATED TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 122:32:11}
{PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR ASSISTANCE}
Until a hand falls on his shoulder and Connor is preconstructing six different ways to flip his attacker everything before his systems reboot and a pair of frantic mismatched eyes are only six inches from his own.
{OPTICAL UNITS ONLINE}
“-nor! Can you hear me?”
“I swear to rA9, Connor, you better respond right now!”
Voices are echoing around him, fading in and out, and Connor blinks owlishly as his systems sluggishly catch up. Markus is shaking his shoulders and he distantly notes that while his mouth is moving the sounds he are hearing are not quite matching up with the movement of Markus’ lips. Connor lets out an undignified “huuuh” as he blinks again, looking around the room to see North, Simon and Josh in front of him as well.
{AUDITORY UNITS ONLINE}
“Connor, answer if you can hear me,” Markus instructs as Connor’s eyes move back to his face.
He’s tired. He’s so tired and he just wants to go to sleep but androids don’t sleep, not even deviants. No matter how human he appears to be, he’s not he’s not he’s not he’s just a machine but he’s also so fucking exhausted. He now has less then a week left and it wasn’t enough time.
“I’m tired, Markus.”
All noise ceases abruptly, and Connor finds himself wondering if his auditory units went offline again. A quick check confirms that they haven’t, so he takes the silence as his cue to continue.
“I’m so tired. Androids aren’t supposed to feel tired but I just want to go to sleep,” Connor looks down at his hands and tries to ignore the slight static in the back of his head that just won’t go away, “I’m going to shutdown but I don’t want to go.”
It’s like a bomb goes off in the room. A flurry of activity sweeps Connor to repair bay where they run an extensive diagnostic. North holds his hand in solidarity while they attach the cable to the back of his neck, asking him what he wants for his birthday.
It’s not his birthday. He wasn’t born. If anything, Connor thinks it should be called his activation day, and either way, he knew he wasn’t going to live to see it.
“A dwarf gourami. While they are often called a community fish, they seem to do best when kept in species-only tanks as they tend to be aggressive with colorful fish, like my Siamese fighting fish. So I would require a new tank.”
They call Hank despite Connor’s protests, and despite the late hour, the man comes sprinting into his room, Sumo on his leash in one hand and a bag in the other. He studies the Lieutenant’s micro expressions but is unable to deduce exactly what the man is feeling due to his facial analysis systems running at half power to conserve energy. Connor opens his mouth to say something, anything, when Hank crosses the room and wraps the android in a rough embrace, “You fucking idiot, why the hell didn’t you tell me? Don’t worry, we’re gonna fix this. I promise, son.”
He stays in his room for the next four days at the head technicians orders while Josh and North search for compatible parts. Markus and Simon research building him a new one. Hank rarely leaves and tries to distract Connor despite his own exhaustion creeping in. The police lieutenant shares stories of his time at the academy, pausing whenever he zones out and continuing wherever he left off when he notices Connor’s awareness returning. Meanwhile, the little bit of news Markus brings is rarely good and Connor can only watch as the shutdown timer ticks closer to zero, unable to muster the energy to dismiss the notification.
{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN 92:57:12} is when his optical units stop processing color, throwing the world around him into a grayscale.
{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN 56:36:40} is when his social integration protocols shutdown, giving the android a sense of mood swings and confusion.
{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN 43:02:08} is when Josh and Simon admit defeat in their search, opting to contact Elijah Kamski instead.
{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN 41:01:01} is when Kamski informs them he can build a new set, but not in the time Connor has left. “There would be no guarantee the parts would be compatible anyway, Markus, but if you’d be so kind as to send me your blueprints thus far, I’ll see what I can do. Connor is the reason I still have the pleasure of Chloe’s company after all.”
{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 34:07:15} is when Connor sees a single tear fall from Hank’s eyes during a moment Hank thinks he is unaware of his surroundings.
{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 21:11:58} is when his auditory units shutdown, throwing the world into a shattering silence. Markus communicates whenever he can through an interface, although the connection tends to drop unexpectedly due to power fluctuations.
{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 2:31:18} is when Connor diverts as much power as he can afford to his voice box and auditory units. “Hank?”
Immediately, the man is in Connor’s field of vision, eyes wide and face tight with an emotion he can’t quite define. Whether it’s due to the static or the shutdown of his facial analysis program, he’s no sure.
“It’s going to hurt for a while-”
“Don’t you fucking start taking like that, you hear me? I ain’t losing another kid-”
{Lieutenant Hank Anderson: ^Father}
Connor smiles at the notification but interrupts Hank nonetheless, “It’s going to hurt for a while, but I know you can get through it. You’ve taught me that the pain never really goes away, but you also taught me that I can learn to live with it. I lived with it and I know you can too.”
He takes a shuddering breath he doesn’t need as a spike of static shoots across his eyes, throwing the world into color before darkening it yet again, “Besides, Hank. Who else would take care of my fish and Sumo just as well as I do?”
{MESSAGE RECEIVED: RK200 - MARKUS}
{ERROR: UNABLE TO OPEN MESSAGE}
{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}
Hank ignores the buzzing on his phone, grabbing Connor’s limp hand instead. The synthetic skin flickers as it struggles to stay on despite the low power, and the temperature is noticeably lower than that of a human’s.
“Live with it for me because I won’t be able to,” Connor’s vision cuts out entirely as the drain on his systems become too much to bear, “It won’t hurt, Hank. It’ll be like going to sleep and I’m no scared anymore.”
{WARNING: UPDATED TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 6:28}
{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}
{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}
Connor finally listens to the prompts and closes his unseeing eyes and shuts down what he can until he begins to feel untethered
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Day 10 for @whumptopia‘s 30 Day RoboWhump Challenge. The word of the day is “Hacked” and tomorrow’s will be “Restrained” so let me know if you have any suggestions! Special thanks to @anonymous-idfk for the idea of Connor being hacked and waling toward the edge of a roof a while back, so I used it here. Hope you enjoy! Full fic under the cut, and remember, reblogs are love! (They fuel the muse)
It is his worst nightmare come true.
After the events of November 11th, 2038, Connor had spent months tearing down and building up his firewalls, shutting down his remote access capabilities, and setting up fail safe after fail safe to ensure CyberLife could never hack him again. He even had Markus and Josh go through his code and programming, searching for weak points he may have overlooked. Their conclusions had been the same; it was safe. He could never be remotely accessed again. CyberLife’s influence was gone entirely, as was the Amanda protocol. But now he’s backing toward the edge of the roof, Lieutenant Anderson opposite from him. Both are armed, with standard issue pistols aimed at the other.
They were wrong, it would seem.
Hank takes another step forward, cautious but pleading. Connor takes another step backward as a result, even as he rails against his own body to stop from doing so. If he had access to any of his motor functions, he would be shaking in fear right now. Of what he might do to Hank. Of what he might do to New Jericho. Of what he might do to himself. Wind whips around him, sending a chill straight down his artificial spine.
When he fell from the 79th floor of Emma Phillips’ apartment, sacrificing his life to save hers, the fall took 8.621 seconds. It was plenty of time for him to process what was happening, and some of the memories from the fall made it through the upload. It was why he had to go back down to the kitchen instead of staying on the roof of Stratford Tower. Now, he was 50 stories up, approximately 541 feet from the ground so far below. If CyberLife made him take the final step over the side of the skyscraper. This time, the fall would take 6.464 seconds.
Except this time he wouldn’t come back, or if he did, he wouldn’t be Connor anymore. Death would be permanent and CyberLife would claim his memories from the automatic emergency upload he could not override.
He is the Head of Security for New Jericho, for his entire people. He is one of the five leaders of the android revolution. He is an RK800 police detective, with vital, sensitive information on active cases stored in his banks. He is one of Markus’ confidants. The information stored in his memory files, if obtained by CyberLife, could spell certain doom for the revolution and the rights they were fighting so hard for.
It was better than assassinating the four figure heads himself, however. So in a sense, he is glad the Lieutenant found him before he could open the rifle case lying abandoned by his feet. In a sense, he is glad Hank is making good on his promise that Connor forced out of him after telling him about Amanda.
“I need you to promise me, Hank. Promise me that if CyberLife ever regains control, you’ll stop me from hurting people.”
“Look, kid, it ain’t never going to come to tha-”
“Please. I need this. I need to know I won’t cause any more damage to the revolution than I’ve already done.”
“...Fuck, Con. Alright, fine, I promise. But it isn’t going to ever happen. They’ll have to go through me first.”
He only hopes that Hank holds off on shooting him until he can finish dismantling the system that uploads his memory to CyberLife servers.
{PROGRAM DELETION: MEMORY UPLOAD - 85%}
“Connor, back away from the ledge,” Hank’s voice is firm, with hardly a quaver.
I’m trying, he wants to yell, just don’t forget your promise. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Anderson, but I can’t do that. I must accomplish my mission,” is what comes out, his voice mechanical and cold. Devoid of any emotion or empathy.
{PROGRAM DELETION: MEMORY UPLOAD - 90%}
Please, just another minute, Hank. Just another minute longer.
“You don’t have a mission anymore, son. You don’t have to follow anyone’s orders. You’re a deviant, remember?” If Connor was human, he would have been unable to detect the waver in Hank’s voice. As it is, his systems pick up on it and he can see the prompts littering his screen, telling the insidious AI in his systems what to say next.
I know! Please let me out!
“The deviancy virus was an error in my programming. The flaw has since been rectified and I have my orders. I advise you to stay out of my way,” the AI allows a hint of anger and aggression to leak into his otherwise empty tone. Had he been in capable of laughing in the moment, Connor would be doing so right now. Intimidating the Lieutenant would never work, and would only heighten his resolve.
{PROGRAM DELETION: MEMORY UPLOAD - 95%}
Hank’s gun begins to shake minutely from the strain of holding it up for so long. Blue eyes suddenly glint and Connor doubts he is aware of the slight head nod as understanding crosses his face, “Remember that conversation we had last year, the day after the revolution?”
The Lieutenant pauses and Connor feels his head tilt, prompting Hank to continue, “You asked me to do something to you should something ever happen? What was it you asked me?”
Connor knew Hank was an exemplary detective. He wouldn’t have been the youngest Lieutenant in Detroit history for no reason, after all. However, even he was impressed that Hank had figured out he wasn’t quite talking to him so quickly.
“How would I even know if it you were hacked or some shit?”
“Aside from the lack of emotion,” Connor had laughed when Hank asked him, “I would have memory lapses. CyberLife only had access to my memory via private server that I made regular uploads to and through Amanda. I have since deleted Amanda from my systems and the last memory they have from me is when I stepped on stage with Markus and the others.”
“I fail to see how that is relevant, Lieutenant.”
{PROGRAM DELETION: MEMORY UPLOAD - 100%}
You can shoot me now, Hank. It’s okay.
“Connor told me to fucking shoot him,” Hank takes a shuddering breath before adjusting his aim, “He told me to shoot him if anyone hacked him so he couldn’t hurt anyone.”
Connor lowers his gun and feels his stress levels decrease as the gun is tossed to the side. Now, at the very least, he wouldn’t hurt Hank. However, they shoot back up as a smile plays across his lips. It’s not his smile. This one is perfectly straight and tight lipped. It’s preprogrammed and calculating, “You’re not going to shoot me. You couldn’t before and you can’t do it now.”
Hank’s finger moves to the trigger, eyebrows furrowing, “Before?”
The AI takes a single step from the ledge, ignoring how the police detective’s hands tighten around the pistol’s grip, “By Ambassador Bridge. You asked if I was afraid to die before placing the barrel between my eyes.”
You promised you promised don’t let me come closer.
“I asked Connor, not you. What the fuck did you do to him?”
Please Hank. Please, you told me you would. Don’t let them win.
“You’re not going to shoot me, Hank,” he repeats, taking another step forward.
Connor rails against the AI, trying anything he can do to stop himself from taking another step. He tries activating program after program in an attempt to confuse it or to overclock his systems, forcing a temporary shutdown. No luck. He starts trying to isolate its coding and separating it from his own. Before he can get far, however, a burning sensation rips through his shoulder. His body shows no physical reaction to the bullet wound, apart from his LED making a brief switch from red to blue. Inside was a different story. Inside, he is reeling.
Deviancy had thrust a whole new host of sensations and emotions upon him; emotional and physical pain was just two of the many new experiences he now had to face.
He shot me.
I made him promise to kill me but he still shot me and why does it hurt is this pain why am I feeling pain?
“Not another fucking step. I’m going to ask one more time. What. Happened. To. Connor?”
Connor can feel the thirium trailing down his arm, dripping onto the roof below. He can feel the torn, sparking wires sending jumbled signals to his CPU. He can also feel the dread coursing through artificial veins; Hank isn’t going to keep his promise. He proved it that night at the bridge and he proved it by making a non-lethal shot. Connor was going to die by CyberLife’s hand or he was going to kill Hank, then Markus, North, Simon, and Josh.
The emotional hurt at being shot by the human he trusted the most disappears, replaced by panic. You promised you promised you promised you promised.
“Deviancy is a virus that must be purged. Connor model #313 248 317 - 52 is in the best position to do so. Please step aside, Lieutenant. I will not ask again.”
He is a highly advanced prototype android detective, fully equipped with combat protocols. He disarmed and rendered Detective Reed unconscious in four hits under similar conditions. Lieutenant Anderson has only recently cut back on his alcohol intake and attempted to eat healthier. He was no longer the young, fit detective he once was.
Hank would lose.
Shoot me, please. I don’t want to hurt you, please shoot me. You said you would why aren’t you?
Connor takes another step, and then another, slowly increasing his speed as the AI takes his body toward the man. He feels the next shot before he hears it, internally wincing as Hank shouts another unheeded warning. You promised you promised you promised you promised you promised YOU PROMISED
He doesn’t even realize he yelled out the last part of his mantra until he focuses on Hank’s face and registers that his step faltered before halting. “Connor?” The Lieutenant’s stern mask crumbles, replaced by a dim hope.
The AI slams him back down before Connor can gain any ground, then opens his mouth to speak, “Step aside.”
Hank’s face falls before hardening into steel resolve as he moves his aim. But it’s not high enough, it’s not his head he’s aiming for and Connor can feel the AI’s smirk playing out on his face. Then Hank squeezes the trigger and Connor wants nothing more than to close his eyes and-
Oh.
The bullet tears though his abdomen with a bang, ripping through biocomponents before exiting through his spine.
{WARNING: VITAL BIOCOMPONENTS DAMAGED}
{WARNING: CRITICAL THIRIUM LEAK}
{WARNING: MOTOR FUNCTIONS PARTIALLY OFFLINE}
{TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 10:15}
{PLEASE CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS}
Connor blinks as the AI leaves his systems, a “Mission Accomplished” prompt appearing in his vision. He hasn’t fallen, not yet, and he looks down at the thirium leaking from the two holes in his shoulder and the one in the center of his stomach. Then, the RK800 looks up at Hank’s crestfallen face, “I don’t blame you,” and falls to his knees gasping.
Hank rushes forward, lowering Connor so he’s lying on the ground and facing the sky. “Shit, shit, shit fuck, Con is that you?”
Heavy hands press the wound in his stomach in an attempt to staunch the bleeding and Connor attempts to raise his unresponsive arms to help. “Ha-ank,” he manages past blue blood from his mouth.
“Fuck, shit just stay with me. Markus is already on his way, kid, don’t you worry. I told him you were acting off already and...shit, he’s coming, okay?”
Connor can only nod weakly, his body barely responsive, as he watches the shutdown timer tick away the seconds of his life. “I’m sorry, son, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want to-”
“Nice shot,” he interrupts as the door behind them bursts open.
There’s a half smile on Hank’s face at Connor’s words, although it is quickly replaced by seriousness as Markus and Simon rush down to his side, pushing the Lieutenant away from Connor to pinch off thirium lines. Markus interfaces with him, searching for any foreign entity before sending him a wave of warmth and reassurance. “How you doing, Connor,” Hank’s voice sounds from behind the RK200, heavy with emotion.
“Much better now, Hank,” Connor attempts to put some strength in his tone.
“He’ll be fine, Lieutenant. Once I stop the bleeding, we can take him back to New Jericho for repairs,” Simon’s voice is confident, lowering his stress levels.
“We’ll have our top people looking into this. Sorry Connor, I’m not letting you on the case as anything other than a key witness,” Markus glances back at Hank before fixing Connor with a stern glare, “We’ll get whoever did this and go from there.”
Connor nods and gazes upwards with eyes half-lidded from the sudden thirium loss. He wasn’t okay, not yet, but he would be. He has a heavy suspicion that the Lieutenant was much the same, having had shot his partner and friend. He had been hacked, firewalls torn down as if they were nothing by the same company that had built him. He had been forced to the top of a towering building with a sniper rifle, intent on aiming it down at the New Jericho tower where Markus waited inside. He had aimed a gun at his partner, his best friend, his parental figure and walked toward him in a threatening manner. Connor most certainly was not okay, but for now, rest mode called to him.
The thirium loss, although now staunched, had been significant, and his processors are overclocked from the hack and his attempts to circumvent it. A faint buzz fills his head, the sound like static in his skull, and he grips Markus’ hand as tight as his weakened body will allow. Markus grips it back and Connor closes his eyes.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Written for @whumptopia‘s 30 Day RoboWhump Challenge! Thanks to @anonymous-idfk for the idea behind today’s prompt, “Glitching.” Full fic under the cut!
The first incident lasts 15 seconds.
Connor had been coaching Markus through negotiation tactics in light of their recent invitation to Washington D.C. when he freezes mid-sentence. His LED turns a solid crimson with no warning, his fingers tapping against his legs with no rhythm or purpose. His mouth slightly open and gaze blank, the RK800 suddenly becomes unresponsive to the world around him.
He doesn’t hear Markus calling his name.
He doesn’t feel Markus’ hand on his shoulder.
He doesn’t notice when Markus tries to interface with him, only to be met with an error message.
He only notices that Markus is suddenly very close to him with a pressure on his shoulder, and the sentence he was continuing trails off, blinking once at the sudden change. “Markus?”
“Connor, are you okay,” the deviant leader's face is awash with concern that wasn't there a moment ago.
He's shaking his head, because of course he is, why wouldn't he be? He voices as much, and the concern transforms to disbelief, eyebrows furrowing. A quick scan tells Connor that Markus’ stress levels have jumped by 5% at his words, bringing it to a solid 20%. The RK200 was the leader of an entire, new intelligent species, navigating in a world where there was no solid precedent for their situation. His stress levels constantly fluctuated between 20% and 30% as a result. However, this week had been calm, and a sudden jump was near inexplicable. Had he received a message that Connor hadn’t? Had a glitch in Markus’ systems occurred?
“You were completely unresponsive for 15 seconds, Connor. Your LED was red and I couldn't connect with you.”
It's Connor's turn to be filled with disbelief. That wasn't right, all of his systems were nominal and his self-diagnostic last night proved it. Then again, he couldn't recall when Markus had gotten so close. He glances at the hand on his shoulder, which the older android suddenly pulls off, almost self-consciously.
He blinks as he runs another diagnostic and checks his internal clock, reading through the results. Everything came back normal, just as it had last night, but his internal clock confirms Markus’ claim. “I...was offline for 15 seconds?”
Markus nods slowly with a tilt to his head and he reaches out a hand questioningly, the skin retracting from his palm. Connor only hesitates for a fraction of a second before reaching his own hand out, accepting the connection request.
{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: RK200 - Markus}
{RK200: I’m just going to look through your memories and run a diagnostic, is that okay?}
A memory flashes across his vision; a conversation they had just minutes ago replaying in his mind. They’re talking about different senators and possible ways to sway them to the deviants’ cause when the glitch occurs. Static creeps into Connor’s vision at 12:45:14pm before cutting to black completely.
{RK200: Did you notice the static distorting your vision?}
{RK800: I don’t remember seeing any. I don’t remember any part of the interruption. In my mind, I never stopped talking to you.}
Connor watches as he continues his sentence where he left off, the sudden closeness of Markus jarring him and the surprise echoes second hand across their connection, as does Markus’ own surprise. He hears himself say Markus’ name and the memory abruptly falls away
{RK200: I’m going to run a diagnostic now.}
He sends a faint acknowledgement across the interface, watching as the diagnostic scrolls across his HUD.
{RK200: Whatever it was, everything seems fine now. With your permission, I’d like to try one more thing.}
{RK800: What did you want to see?}
{RK200: I wanted to run through your memory logs and see if you have any other missing memory files. I promise I won’t look at anything you don’t want me to see but I need to know if this has happened before, and if so, if it is a common occurrence.}
Connor squeezes his eyes shut. Time and time again, he has had his memory looked through and analyzed by CyberLife and technicians, and never with his permission. As a machine, he didn’t care - no, wait. That was a lie. Every single time cold, gloved hands touched his LED and snaked a cable to his neck, every time Amanda watched his memories before his reports, he felt a spark of something shine through the cold apathy of his obedience. Before, he registered it as a fault in his code, as a software instability that had to be torn down and fixed. Now, he knew the proper name for it; dread.
{RK200: Connor, you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t feel like it was important.}
He could say no. He was allowed that now. But the logical part of his mind reasoned that everything Markus was saying was true. He needed to know if this has happened before and if it would happen again. In his line of work, one such episode could mean the difference between life or death, and not just for him. Lieutenant Anderson could pay the price if he slipped, as could Markus or North or Simon or Josh.
Besides, Markus is his friend. He’d never hurt him and he wouldn’t be searching through his memories with a judgmental eye; he’d be searching for missing files and nothing more.
Connor takes an unnecessary breath before answering, grateful for Markus’ quiet patience as he waits for the younger RK model’s answer.
{RK800: Go ahead.}
{MEMORY LOGS SEARCH - PERMISSION GRANTED RK200}
{SEARCH: MISSING MEMORY FILES FOLLOWING 111138}
{SEARCHING…}
{23 RESULTS FOUND}
If he was human, his heart would have skipped a beat. There had been 23 occasions where he has been completely unresponsive, lost in an ‘episode’ that he had no idea existed. He pulls his hand away from Markus’ warm grasp, schooling his features into neutrality when he notices the man watching him with an analytical eye. No doubt the RK200 was watching him for any signs of stress while looking for an explanation. “I’m okay, Markus.”
A hint of a fond smile graces Markus’ lips as he crosses his arms, “That’s what you said the last time you had a glitch. The next thing I knew, you were being dragged into New Jericho’s medical bay by one very upset Lieutenant Anderson.”
Connor’s tense posture relaxes at Markus’ teasing words even as his social integration protocols kick in.
{DEFLECTING JOKE: Meant to relax subject and distract them from an item or topic of concern. Commonly used by doctors, nurses, therapists and other members of mental/physical healthcare}
He dismisses the notification, not bothering to read it fully. “Hank may have overreacted. It was a minor glitch at most.”
Markus’ answer is deadpan, although the amused glint in his eyes is anything but serious, “We had to replace your thirium pump regulator because your systems decided it was incompatible,” he sighs, looking down while rubbing the back of his head before looking back up to meet Connor’s eyes, “Let me take you home at the very least. I’ll tell Hank what’s going on so he can watch you until Simon and Josh come back from Vancouver tonight. Then, they can search through your coding more thoroughly than I can and fix whatever’s wrong.”
Connor opens his mouth to protest, that he can take care of himself when Markus raises a hand, silencing him before he can speak. “It’ll put my mind at ease. Consider it a favor.”
That asshole. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at Markus’ obvious plea to Connor’s conscious and instead acquiesces, falling into easy conversation with the man as Markus leads them out the door toward New Jericho’s entrance, cybernetically hailing a taxi as they do so.
Thirty minutes later, they find themselves outside the Lieutenant’s door as a gentle snow begins to fall, blanketing the world in a peaceful silence, despite the blaring music of Knights of the Black Death audible from behind the closed door. Markus raises an eyebrow at Connor, to which he shrugs before grabbing the doorknob, “You might want to turn down your audio sensitivity. The Lieutenant is not one for classical music.”
Markus chuckles, “Why am I not surprised?”
Connor turns the doorknob to be greeted by the sight of one Hank Anderson cursing as he rearranges the furniture, sweat dripping from his brown. The RK800 crosses his arms as he takes in the changes Hank made to the living room, connecting with the speakers to turn them down to a more reasonable level. This earns another curse from the man as he glances to the entryway. “Fucking hell, Connor. How many times have I told you not to hack my wiretaps?”
Connor frowns at the expression, “I can assure you, Lieutenant, that your bluetooth devices are not wiretaps-”
“Millennial humor, google it. Hey Markus.”
“Hello Lieutenant Ander-”
“Hank. Bad enough that Connor calls me ‘Lieutenant’ all the time,” Hank wipes the sweat from his eyes before gesturing to the newly arranged furniture, “What do y’all think?”
Connor releases a sly smile before looking around the living room, accessing his databanks as he does so, “I believe this arrangement will have a rather...negative effect on your mental health. Studies have shown that facing your furniture toward the doorway will help you to feel calmer and more relaxed by providing with a constant vi-”
Hank groans, “Oh what, now you’re an interior decorator, is that it?”
“Perhaps if you would stop interrupting us, I’d tell you.”
“Asshole,” Hank mutters as Markus chuckles again at the banter between the two, drawing the detective’s attention, “So what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. President of the Androids?”
Markus ignores the nickname, patting Sumo on the head as he lumbers toward Connor. “I just wanted to let you know that something happened to Connor at New Jericho.”
Hank’s face immediately grows suspicious, and he glances at at the android in question who is reaching down to pet Sumo, freezing at Markus’ words. “The fuck you mean, something happened?”
“He seems fine now, but he just...froze in the middle of our conversation. Became completely unresponsive. It only lasted 15 seconds and then he started again like he never stopped. He didn’t even know it happened.”
“It sounds like something that used to happen to my friend when she was a kid. ‘Absence seizures’ or something like that,” Hank’s gaze is thoughtful until he hears Sumo whining and he returns his attention to Connor, who hasn’t moved, except to tap his fingers against his leg.
“I looked through Connor’s memory files and found 23 missing files, all lasting anywhere between 10 seconds to a minute,” Markus follows Hank’s gaze, trailing off as he does so.
“Connor?” Hank’s voice is concerned, the gruffness that previously dominated his tone gone. Connor doesn’t acknowledge Hank or the whining Saint Bernard nuzzling his hip, LED glowing a harsh red against his temple, “Con, can you hear me?”
At the lack of response from the android, Markus walks forward, the skin from his hand already gone as he tries to connect with the catatonic android. He frowns as he receives an error message preventing him from connecting. “It’s like he’s not even there…,” he murmurs softly, “We should wait it out. These don’t seem to last long, and I already notified Simon and Josh. They’ll arrive later tonight and will be able to do a more thorough examination than I can.”
So they wait as 15 seconds becomes thirty. Thirty seconds turn into a minute and Markus can feel the beginnings of worry crawling its way into his stomach. After a minute and a half, Connor’s eyes start blinking rapidly in pace with his spinning LED and Markus attempts to interface again. “I thought you said these don’t fucking last long, Markus.”
“All the incidents I could find only lasted a few seconds...he should already be out of it. Here, help me move him to the couch, I don’t want him accidentally falling over.”
{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: PL600 - Simon}
{PL600: Markus? Is everything okay?}
Markus attempts to lift Connor off the ground, only to be met with stiff, uncooperative limbs. After some manipulating, he and Hank manage to lift the RK800 and lay him down on the couch.
{RK200: It’s Connor. He’s frozen and I can’t connect with him. It’s the second time this has happened today.}
{PL600: Are his fingers tapping?}
{RK200: Yes, how did you know?}
{PL600: We’ve seen this in a few prototypes, they have lines of unfinished code that causes them to freeze whenever they run into it. How long has he been unresponsive?}
{RK800: Five minutes. It doesn’t show any signs of stopping.}
{PL600: Let me know if it passes 15 minutes. At that point, you’d have to force a hard reboot to bring him back. Josh is searching for an earlier flight back to Detroit.}
Markus pulls his hand from Connor’s shoulder and rests it on his head instead, sliding down to sit in front of the couch. Hank goes to the hallway and returns with a blanket, which he uses to tuck the android in, bringing a soft smile to Markus’ face despite the situation.
{PL600: Don’t worry, Markus. It’s an easy fix. I’ll bring the equipment from New Jericho so he can be at home when it happens.}
{RK200: Thank you, Simon.}
{CONNECTION ENDED}
“Simon tells me it should be an easy fix. He and Josh are trying to catch an earlier flight to Detroit,” Markus informs the Lieutenant.
Hank grunts in response before tucking the stray fringe of hair behind Connor’s ear, “Damn kid is the nicest fucking person. Not fair that he has to go through so much shit.”
“I share the same sentiment, Hank,” Markus checks his internal clock and sighs as it ticks ever closes toward 15 minutes, “If this goes on for any longer, I’m going to have to force a hard reboot. He would hate that.”
“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me,” Hank’s voice is tired as he settles into the recliner, keeping a watchful eye over the android.
“It’s like waking a human up from anesthesia, except Connor has a bad reaction to it. He’ll process things slower and several programs will be turned off during the reboot. It almost always causes a panic attack in him,” Markus pauses as the tapping stops suddenly and Connor’s arm reaches out.
He watches as the android frowns in confusion, his LED switching to a distressed yellow before sighing. “It happened again.”
It’s not a question. Markus feels his heart clench at the frustration evident in Connor’s voice and he stands up to give him some space. Connor doesn’t rise from his prone position on the couch, although he does look at Hank when he observes the blanket wrapped around him, “I’m sorry, Hank.”
Hank takes a deep breath through his nose, “Nothing to apologize for, kid. Ain’t your fault. Blame the pricks at CyberLife for not bothering to finish your code.”
“My code?” Connor looks to Markus for an explanation even as the deviant leader sends an update to Josh and Simon.
“I talked to Simon. He said it’s a problem it prototypes caused by an unfinished code somewhere in your software. He and Josh will be here tonight with the tools to fix it.”
Connor pulls an arm from under the blanket to pat against his chest. Sumo needs no further invitation before jumping on top of the RK800, nearly burying him in a mass of fur. Markus supposes if he was human, he would have to worry about Connor suffocating. Instead, he smiles at the glimpse into Connor’s life, grateful for the rare peek. “Thank you, Markus,” his voice is somewhat muffled by the giant dog, but the appreciation is clear, as is the hint of embarrassment.
“Don’t worry about it, Connor. Let’s call it a thanks for everything you’ve done for us.”
Hank reaches for the remote, turning on the TV, “Shit happens, son. Try not to worry about it until Simon and Josh get here. You got any suggestions on what to watch?”
Markus smiles as Connor’s LED switches to a calm blue as he connects with the television, the show switching from the news to an aquatic documentary. He cybernetically cancels his remaining appointments for the day and settles by Connor’s feet, settling in as Hank tosses a thirium pouch at him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Written for @anonymous-idfk and their wonderful prompt they were kind enough to provide! I hope you like it! Full fic under the cut for those who don’t want to use ao3.
Both his appearance and voice were specifically designed to facilitate his integration into human society as the perfect partner.
So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the kid could fucking sing. Because of course CyberLife would decide to give Connor a set of pipes while neglecting to give him a set of self-preservation. Of course the ability to sing took priority over protecting his own life, especially whenever Hank’s was involved.
Fuck him though, it came as quite the surprise to Lieutenant Anderson that Connor could sing a gentle tune while holding a child. And judging from the not-so-subtle looks the officers in the precinct were giving him? Everyone else agreed.
Chris had come in on his day off, juggling six-month old Damien and a cardboard box in his arms when Connor offered to give him a hand. Hank was fairly confident the android had meant to grab the box, but much to the RK800’s surprise, the child was hastily given to him with a muttered thanks before rushing to the archive room. Hank was going have to ask Nines later to hack the office’s security cameras so he could get a picture of Connor’s shocked face.
“Officer Miller, I’m not sure I’m properly equipped for child care,” Connor had called after the retreating father.
“You two are the same age, just find some common ground, Con,” Chris replied with a smile before disappearing down the hallway.
Connor made his way back to his desk chair, LED blinking yellow twice before settling on a calm blue. To the untrained eye, the kid’s face was mechanical, devoid of emotion or empathy. To Hank and a select few, Connor was an obvious bundle of nerves. From the slight twitch of his left eye to the subtle bounce of his right leg, the android was anxious. He had no doubt in his mind that Connor would be flicking his coin back and forth if it wasn’t for the bundle in his arms. “What’s with the danger-yellow there, kid? Don’t tell me you just looked up proper baby holding 101?”
His LED flickered yellow once again before switching back to blue, his eyes blinking rapidly as he read information that Hank couldn’t see. Damien cooed as he was adjusted in Connor’s arms, reaching toward the glowing light on the android’s temple.
Hank was willing to bet that Conor had just fucking done that.
At the baby’s babbling, Connor’s face softened and he reached a finger out to Damien’s reaching hand which the child grabbed with delight evident on his face. “He’s so….”
“I think the word you’re looking for is small, Connor,” Hank had finished for him.
“Very much so, Lieutenant.”
“Move your left arm up a bit so you’re supporting his head a bit more, Connor. Is what Chris said true about you two being the same age?” Officer Tina Chen sat on the edge of Connor’s desk, waving to Damien as she did so.
Hank’s smile grew at the comment, nearly laughing at the slight frown that crossed Connor’s face. With Connor’s deviancy came a measure of pride, and Hank knew that Tina’s question would bring out some smartass answer only Connor could come up with.
“Actually, Officer Chen, I’m two weeks and three days older.”
Tina huffed along with Hank, eyes crinkling in amusement before she raised her arms in a surrendering gesture, “My bad, Con, my bad.”
Connor gently pried his finger away from the chubby hand and reached around Officer Chen for his terminal, skin retracted. Before he could reach, however, Damien’s face scrunched and Hank groaned, already knowing what was coming. At the child’s sudden cry, Connor startled and his LED blipped crimson before settling on yellow.
Well god-fucking-damn it, Hank didn’t know anything could make the most advanced prototype ever created jump out of his artificial skin, let alone a crying baby. “How do I fix this, Hank?”
If Connor was forgoing Hank’s title while at work, the horror of it all, the kid must have been pretty fucking panicked. “Every baby’s fucking different, Connor. Try singing?”
Both Tina and Connor hushed Hank as soon as the curse left his mouth and Hank rolled his eyes. “Studies have suggested that human children can understand words as soon as six months, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t use swear words around kids, Hank,” he rolled his eyes harder while Tina continued speaking to Connor in a low voice, “Although it’s not a bad idea. My little sisters used to refuse to go to sleep without a song when they were little.”
Damien had continued squirming in Connor’s arms, and his LED had stubbornly refused to switch back to the calm azure it normally was. But his face had finally switched from the panicked expression to a gentle smile as he returned his finger to Damien’s hand, and he opened his mouth to shock the entire department.
“Hush now, mo stóirín, close your eyes and sleep. Waltzing the waves, diving in the deep. Stars are shining bright, the wind is on the rise, whispering words of long lost lullabies.”
His voice was soft and had taken on a quality Hank had never heard from the android before. The low volume of his voice notwithstanding, most officers milling around stopped working to listen, not attempting to be discreet while moving toward the duo for a better listen. The grizzled police lieutenant himself didn’t bother to hide his shock either and he knew if Connor was paying attention to him, he would have made some sarcastic comment about flies and his gaping mouth. Connor, however, didn’t have eyes for anyone but the brown-eyed child hiccuping in his arms with tears streaming down his face.
“Oh won’t you come with me, where the moon is made of gold and in the morning sun, we’ll be sailing. Oh won’t you come with me, where the ocean meets the sky and as the clouds roll by, we’ll sing the song of the sea.”
“Holy shit, Hank, dude’s got a pair of pipes,” Tina whispered to the staring Lieutenant.
Hank only muttered something about language under his breath, watching and listening as Connor’s voice gently rose and fell with the lyrics to a song he vaguely recognized.
“I had a dream last night and heard the sweetest sound. I saw a great white light and dancers in the round. Castles in the sand, cradles in the trees. Don’t cry, I’ll see you by and by.”
By this point, Chris had returned to the main floor, eyebrows raising at the scene before him. Nearly every officer in the precinct was by Hank and Connor’s desks, listening with rapt attention. Slowly, Damien’s cries began to quiet as the android detective continued singing in a gentle baritone and began to settle in Connor’s arms.
“Oh won’t you come with me where the moon is made of gold. And in the morning sun, we’ll be sailing. Oh won’t you come with me where the ocean meets the sky. And as the clouds roll by, we’ll sing the song of the sea. Rolling, rolling, rolling, rolling.”
Still nearly incredulous at the sight before him, Hank couldn’t stop the muted smile from forming, blue eyes crinkling at the edges. Damien hiccupped once, twice before staring into Connor’s eyes, his mouth slightly agape and cheeks red from crying.
“Oh won’t you come with me, where the moon is made of gold. And in the morning sun, we’ll be sailing free. Oh won’t you come with me, where the ocean meets the sky. And as the clouds roll by, we’ll sing the song of the sea. Grá go deo,” Connor finished as Chris waded through the crowd, giving a few officers friendly shoves before clasping a hand on the android’s shoulders.
“Thanks, Connor. I really appreciate it.”
“It was my pleasure, Officer Miller,” Connor’s smile turns from gentle to forced when he takes in the crowd.
“Please, call me Chris. We’re friends, and I’m technically off after all,” Chris gives another officer a shove, “Get back to work before the Captain gets on all of you, show’s over.”
As the crowd disperses, a few sending Connor thumbs up and mimicked applause as they go, Connor returns Damien to his father. “It was my pleasure, Chris. It was an interesting experience, to say the least.”
“Kids in general are an interesting experience, Con,” Hank laughs, nodding at Chris as he leaves, “Didn’t know you could fucking sing like that.”
Connor gives him a rare shit-eating grin before returning to a more neutral expression, despite the light in his eyes, “CyberLife androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans. Both my appearance, and voice, were specifically designed to facilitate my integration,” his voice is carefully dispassionate as he chooses his next words, “I suppose CyberLife didn’t ‘fuck up’ with my design after all.”
“Watch it kid, else you might overclock your sass module.”
“Technically speaking, Lieutenant, it would be called my sarcasm program as a module is actually a combin-”
“You’re walking home if you finish that sentence.”
Connor’s LED skips a merry blue as he connects to his terminal, “There’s a 76% chance I’d still beat you home with the way you drive, Hank.”
This fucking plastic punk was going to be the death of him.
