#connor replies

[deviant-by-design]

@soulxism 

Continued from here

____________________________

Had Connor been less steady on his feet, or even if he hadn’t noticed the dog running towards him and momentarily registered it as a threat, he probably would have lost his footing. Instead, Connor braced himself for the impact, and was surprised to find that the dog rushing towards him was not any sort of danger, but rather quite friendly.

“H-hello!” Connor yelped, putting his arms out to maintain a little distance between himself and the unfamiliar dog. She remained propped up against him, tail wagging rhythmically and tongue lolling out in excitement. “Who are you?” He went to reach for its collar to check for any sort of identification, when its owner came into sight, bounding after his canine companion. The man took the dog by the collar, gently pulling her down from Connor, and beginning to apologize as the German shepherd --- Riley he had heard him call her --- remained at his side, still looking at him with anticipation.

Ignoring the damp marks left upon his clothing from Riley’s venture to climb his torso, he attempted to tidy himself up before addressing the stranger. He stood upright, straightened his tie, and brushed off any dirt remaining from the German shepherd’s impact, before offering a small smile to the man.

“No need to apologize,” Connor responded calmly. “We all get a little excited sometimes. I’m sure she meant no harm.”

Connor looked back at Riley as if asking for her confirmation on the matter. The dog’s obedience and pleasant nature answered his question for him without any need for a follow-up investigation. It wasn’t long after he received his answer that he knelt in front of her and acted upon the compulsion to pet the dog, the smile returning to his face. He reached out, gently smoothing down the fur between her ears. She was far more energetic than the St. Bernard belonging to the Lieutenant, and she was younger too. Connor wondered if such an energetic dog would suit him or not, but looking at the rather active looking man before him, there were no doubts in his mind that the two were a perfect match.

“It’s reassuring to know that I wasn’t perceived as a threat,” he said, looking back up at the owner. “A dog’s intuition is greater than a human’s, they say.”

[deviant-by-design]

@ruthlessnessisyourdesire

Continued from here

——————

Upon spotting the all too familiar RK800 in the precinct, Connor notes that his movements are just as they were in the tower; theatrical and bold, yet measured and thoughtful, as if every step was a tactical advance upon a stage of his choosing.

He had turned back to Fowler for what seemed like a moment, to express his concerns, when a sharp intake of breath tore his attention from the man in charge.

Hello, Connor.

The words that follow come just as smooth, but they are equally as hard to swallow. Connor’s memory records them eidetically, but in the moment, their meaning is lost.

New. Prototype. Employment.

Sixty.

At first, Connor’s fears had been elementary and egocentric: a simple case of the fear of replacement. That was until he read the serial number printed upon the android’s jacket.

Now the fear had diffused from its Connor-centric origin, to infect the rest of the DPD.

If he was here the people he cared for were in danger.

He scanned the number again.

#313-248-317-60.

It was definitely the same one. But… how?

He had watched it happen at CyberLife Tower. Tried for himself. Hank had put a bullet between his eyes. Surely that damage must have been fatal. His shutdown should have been imminent.

Nevertheless, he was here. Well and dangerous as he had ever been. Too close to humans. Too close to Hank. Too close to him.

Connor could hardly wait for Sixty to speak. Like caustic poison every interaction with him burned. It seared into old wounds and left him aching for a chance to do things differently.

Connor took his hand, firm, but not friendly. He smiles at him, but it does not reach his eyes, so he closes them instead.

“’Sixty’ it is. It seems that we’ve already caused a great deal of confusion around the office, so it would be best.”

Connor locks eyes with his successor before letting go of his hand. He had to keep him away from Hank, from the others, and the easiest way to do that was to keep Sixty close.

“Welcome to the team.”

The change in colour of his LED, though fleeting, was unmistakable. Connor wondered if he was too quick to judge. He had made mistakes, held a gun to those he cared for, and had forgiven those who had done the same to him. What made him — Sixty — any different?

While Connor asked himself this question, he did not spend long searching for an answer. Sixty was dangerous; deviated or not. The contempt in his eyes was proof enough of that.

Fowler cleared his throat and tore Connor from his thoughts.

“Now that that’s been dealt with you can go on. Family reunion can take place somewhere else. I’ve got shit to do. Thanks for coming. Play nice you two.”

[deviant-by-design]

@alexiscryotek 

Hope this is what you were looking for!

---------------------------------------------

Usually, Connor did not find himself alone. He was ambivalent to solitude, but perhaps it was because he was never truly alone that he hadn’t formed an opinion on it quite yet. Typically, he would spend his time surrounded by the other members of the DPD, relaxing after work with Hank, or even visiting with Markus on his rare days free. Even before the revolution, complete solitude was a rarity. If he was physically alone, he was likely within the depths of his programming, reporting to Amanda in her garden, and if not doing something advantageous to CyberLife and his career, he would be returned to the tower and put into stasis until his assistance was required. As a result, while he enjoyed having a moment to himself, he was entirely unsure of what to do with it. Wandering without an objective was an entirely new concept to Connor. Though he was now a free man, accepted almost universally as a member of society, he tried to keep himself busy. His daily routine of the past few months had been work, rest, repeat; often skipping the second step. So, he continued his walk, scanning the streets for something to occupy his time.

He saw potted plants of violet, pink, and white. Trellises of wisteria and jasmine. He noticed the displays of geraniums and hydrangeas, while the sweet smell of roses acted like a summons to his foolish blood. Though the botanical display was biological, not lines of code programmed into his system, the atmosphere froze him to the spot and put him on edge. He immediately began to scan his software, but nothing returned amiss. Despite the memories they brought to the surface, there was nothing to report. This was not Amanda’s garden.

These flowers were not as perfect as the pre-programmed images of Amanda’s garden, but Connor decided that’s what made them different; what made them comforting, rather than confining. He made his way closer, gently lifting the petals on a drooping dahlia on his trek over.

He couldn’t remember ever seeing this shop on his commute to work, but perhaps he just hadn’t paid it a great deal of attention. A quick scan of the flowers at the door told him that they were called Peruvian lilies. Perennial flowers meant to be planted between Spring and Summer. They were supposedly a symbol of friendship and devotion, which Connor found to be inviting. More inviting than Amanda’s roses, for sure.

He looked at the door, habitually scanning for any signs of anti-android propaganda, despite the revolution’s favourable results. When his search came back clear, he stepped towards the entrance.

‘A quick look couldn’t hurt,’ he thought, entering the jungle that awaited inside.

[deviant-by-design]

@ruthlessnessisyourdesire

Continued from here

----------------------

Since the revolution, the number of android-related cases had steadily increased. Not just those with androids as perpetrators, but those reporting themselves as victims of crimes with hopes of persecuting their aggressors that had harmed them before they had gained their rights. As a result, Connor was rarely without a task to accomplish, and was even more seldom seen taking any sort of break. It seemed as if taking a case for further investigation was the direct cause of the reports multiplying. No matter what Connor seemed to do or how many hours that he had committed to his foolish errand, the number never seemed to decrease.

It was starting to take its toll.

First he noticed it in Hank. He wasn't equipped to commit thousands of files worth of reports and evidence into his memory and he certainly wasn't designed to spend nights on end chasing details. Let alone suspects. Connor, on the other hand, was specifically built to do exactly that, but even he found there to be physical repercussions. Made of machinery he may have been, but even he had his limits. While androids did not need sleep in the way that a human would, rest was still a necessary part of upkeep, and entering stasis to do self-repairs was suggested. Especially for androids such as Connor that consumed as much power. However, with his current work load, the suggested services were ignored more often than not.

While Connor self-checked regularly and was functioning properly, his omnipresence in the office was starting to concern others.

When he passed the Captain's office, he heard Jeffrey's chair scrape against the floor and the glass door swing open.

"Connor! Get your ass in here."

Connor turned on his heel and returned to the centre of the building, immediately trying to think of why Captain Fowler had called him and pre-constructing the potential results. 

---

"Listen. I know what it sounds like, but we needed another detective who could keep up with you to help us." The captain watched as Connor's expression faltered, slightly amused by how the android tried to hide his disappointment. Fowler leaned forward and sighed as he brought his hand down his face. He waited for a moment before continuing, his hands now clasped in front of him on his desk. "You're good, Connor, but you can't be everywhere at once. Get over it."

Connor may not have been 'over it', but he would learn to accept it. This wasn't like failing a mission, he reminded himself. He wasn't being replaced. 

"You said that the new recruit has already started, but I haven't seen them around. May I ask who it is so that I can introduce myself?"

"I don't think you'll need to."

As if some god has aligned the office perfectly to show the man in question, Fowler gestured over his shoulder, pointing to the other side of the glass walls with his thumb.

"Take a look."

Connor obediently turned his head, trying to spot the newcomer.

Upon seeing the other RK800 it was not himself that he saw but the defeated look on Hank's face as he said, "Don't listen to him," and the disappointment that bled into it.

Suddenly, the odd looks and strange comments he had received today made sense to him.

'You're everywhere today!'

'Weren't you just with...?"

'Hello again, Connor!'

Everything this fucker says is a lie.

He had threatened Connor, threatened Hank, for taking part in the revolution. Now here he was, amongst the people that Connor cared for most, helping out?

It didn't add up.

Connor continues to stare at his face. He registers it as something foreign, despite the reflection of his visage. He knows they are different. Whether Sixty was a man or a machine he was unsure, but he certainly wasn't Connor.

[deviant-by-design]

@jericholeader

Continued from here

——————————————————

"I suppose you're right."

For what was essentially the world's most powerful supercomputer, the android — Connor — often found himself grasping for answers that even the most powerful search engines could not provide. Perhaps it was illogical to go to another person for advice for such an impossible question, but it felt right, and at this point in Connor's life, as short and inexperienced as it may have been, even being able to make that decision seemed like a step in the direction he would like to be headed.

He also wasn't sure how Markus could consider his actions anything other than a success. He had accomplished his goal, hadn't he?

But there was more to it than that. Even Connor, who so proudly claimed that he would not fail to accomplish his mission, had made numerous decisions that had hindered his progress, brought it to a halt, then eradicated the need of it altogether.

In hearing Markus' answer, he remembered Kamski's words: 'CyberLife's last chance to save humanity is itself a deviant.'

As much as he would have liked to deny it at the time, Markus had helped him discover that perhaps he had been a person of his own far before he broke through his programmed barrier. His choice to spare the RT600 was his own. It may not have been the logical choice in adherence to his mission, but it had proved his independence, if not to himself, to the others present. It may not have been the choice he was supposed to make, but it felt right. The fact that he felt anything at all made him all the more sure of this.

Connor attempted to mimic his smile, but his eyes didn't quite match the expression. Ironically enough, he had been better at integrating himself before actually experiencing the emotions that he had been trying to display. His social protocol may have been functioning correctly, but his newfound emotions were still unsure of how to properly express themselves.

In stark contrast to his stiff posture and hands folded neatly at his laps, his legs hung lazily over the ledge he refused to look out over, heels occasionally bumping the building's surface. His eyes instead remain trained on Markus, the way so many had seemed to in recent months, seeking wisdom from an unlikely source.

"I can see how you led a revolution, Markus. You may wax poetic, but you truly do know exactly what to say. You're exactly what your people need."

This time, the smile came more naturally.

[deviant-by-design]

Detroit After Dark

Tick tock on the clock. Time moves and I will kill again. Catch me if you are able, android. - SK 

Had he been human, Connor would have imagined himself to have looked as exhausted as he felt. The lights that cast shadows upon his artificial skin mimicked the dark eyes of a man overworked; an appropriate visage for the android hunched over his desk in a dimly lit room, leaning heavily on his palm, with his fingers reaching up to tousle his usually perfectly combed hair.

The message was daunting, truthful in its delivery. It didn’t matter how long Connor sat at his desk, sifting through evidence and categorizing it into false reports or something with even semblance of the truth. Despite his efforts, time would move forward. Time would move forward and with every second wasted, another pair would be put at risk. For so long androids had fought for their freedom, their rights. Now the only thing connecting them to the humans was the way their blood would run dry together.

Connor’s brows furrowed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and hoping that the answers would come to him behind dark eyelids, as illogical as that may have been. When he opened his eyes, they wandered to the empty desk across from his own. Hank had long since left the precinct for the day, but his presence was still highly recognizable. In contrast to Connor’s own desk which was mostly barren, save for the tools of his trade and a small collection of photos, the lieutenant’s desk was unmistakably his. Memoirs of his achievements, scattered papers, and abandoned personal items. Photos, sports memorabilia, sticky notes, and even the residue of anti-android stickers that had been scratched off; all things that added up to become the sum of Hank. Normally, the thought of his partner, a reminder of his deviancy, would have put Connor at ease, but the increasing number of error messages appearing on his HUD, populating his vision as well as his mind, had left him unable to be at ease for any extension of time. People were in danger and people were dying; human and android alike. People he had loved, people he had yet to love, and people he had never met. People who were so different, from each other and from himself, but people who were ultimately connected by one thing: the serial killer looming over them all.

The paradoxical events and messages that the killer had choreographed had left many in fear of what their next action would be. Their modus operandi was clear, at least when it came to the victims, but the methods of killing and location of the actions varied so greatly it was difficult to pick out which clues were meant to be picked up on, rather than coincidentally repeated occurrences. He felt inadequate in his position; incapable of doing exactly what he was designed to do.

It was as if with every action the killer was becoming increasingly aware of his troubled state.

Catch me if you are able, android.

He had failed before, but not this time. He would see to it this time that his mission was accomplished.

[deviant-by-design]

@dogandroses

Continued from here

------------------------------

A quiet day was something to be coveted after the seemingly endless days of the revolution. Even if Connor was stuck housesitting while he waited for the paperwork allowing him to be recognized as an official member of the Detroit police department, he was keeping himself busy with finding things to do in his downtime.

He was still getting used to having objectives of his own, but he found great comfort in them. The messages appeared on his HUD as missions had before, but they were far less threatening when they were his own desires. More like a to-do list to be completed at his own pace than a series of commandments. 

At the top of the list was a long-term goal:

[Return to work]

Below that, a list of short-term objectives. Upon scanning through his list, he decided that [Feed Sumo] took priority and he took action to complete it. Connor filled his bowl and replaced his water, adding a new objective of [Buy more food] to his list. Once the job had been done, he scanned the room for the Saint Bernard, unsurprised to find that he was still sleeping in the living room.

Connor knelt beside him, reaching forward to gently rouse the sleeping animal. His hand stopped short of the dog’s head when he felt a twitch in his eye, shorting out for a moment.

[Server online]

[‘Zen_Garden’ restored]

[Requesting access to RK800 #313-248-317-51]

[Continue?]

[Y   >N]

Immediately, Connor began checking his systems. A sinking feeling began to settle in his gut that had no mechanical explanation.

[Initializing diagnostics…]

[Please wait]

[Model: #313-248-317-51]

[Status: functioning]

[Do you wish to continue diagnostics?]

[>Y    N]

His diagnostic software began to cycle through his systems, each test coming back clear. Vocal analysis, facial recognition, all major biocomponents. They were all in working order. It registered that his tactile perception system was online when he felt Sumo’s slobbery muzzle nuzzling against his open palm. Connor’s eyes opened, wider than they usually would, but his expression was soon eased into a somber smile. He lowered his hand slowly, laying it upon Sumo before ruffling his fur. Once satisfied with the attention he had received, the Saint Bernard’s head lolled to the side, choosing to return to his nap, and Connor rose to his full height.

The old sofa became Connor’s new location of operation as he sat down on top of the worn cushions. Once again, he began to search for the file that had been abandoned for so long.

[Requesting access to RK800 #313-248-317-51]

[Continue?]

[>Y    N]

[…Accessing encrypted files…]

Never had a moment’s deliberation felt so long to the android.

He had adopted a more human way of sitting on the couch when at his leisure, leaning back into the cushions, often with an arm strewn over the side, but now, he sat straight, with mechanical precision, waiting for the files to load.

Sumo must have sensed the emotional instability of the man and had moved from a warm spot in the sun beneath the living room window and pawed over to the couch, hoisting himself up beside Connor and laying his head on his lap. Connor closed his eyes and lowered his arm to rest on Sumo’s back. It would have almost looked peaceful if not for the yellow LED indicator spinning violently at his temple.

The last thing Connor registered before momentarily shifting in consciousness was the feeling of guilt. For disrupting Sumo, for not telling Hank, and most importantly, for disappointing her.

When his eyes flicker open, a new objective fills his vision. Overwhelming in both nature and display.

[Report to Amanda]

[howtodisassembleyourdeviant]

Damn, Connor. Honey. Your fashion sense is outta this world. These glasses? Way too iconic.

"They aren't mine. I'm only borrowing them."