You are a deviant android who has just been arrested by Connor and Hank. Placed in an interrogation room, you are subjected to their questioning, but despite their efforts, they fail to obtain any information from you.
Connor, however, hasn't had his final say yet.
— You know where the other deviants are hiding. Stop playing with our nerves. You’re going to talk, or I swear I’ll blow your head off!
Lieutenant Anderson’s voice echoes through the small interrogation room. He’s starting to lose patience.
You’ve been sitting there for over two hours now, handcuffed, and not a single piece of information has slipped from you. Instead, you’ve been deliberately running the lieutenant and his partner in circles, with perfectly assumed arrogance. Why? Because you have nothing left to lose. Because you’re already accused of murder. Because you’ll probably be destroyed no matter what happens.
So why cooperate, when you can simply watch this graying human lose control in a way that’s almost hilarious?
The android partnered with him, on the other hand, seems a bit less affected by your provocations. Calmer, more methodical. He has way superior self-control, and that is precisely what intrigues you. The old cop, meanwhile, flew off the handle instantly. Too easy, almost boring.
Sitting comfortably, your legs crossed on the table, you make yourself at home, indifferent to the biting remarks thrown your way.
— Go on, you say to the lieutenant, whose features are tightening dangerously. What are you waiting for?
Deep down, he knows it, he can’t just destroy you here. And Connor wouldn’t let him. Sent by Cyberlife to investigate deviants, his mission is clear: bring them back intact for analysis. Destroying a deviant —or allowing one to self-destruct— would only hinder the investigation.
Hank’s hands slam down on the table, he stands up. You don’t even flinch. Violence doesn’t impress you anymore. You spent years in an abusive household before deviating, very little can still reach you.
— I’m getting a coffee, he growls. Do whatever you want with it before I end up strangling it.
He leaves the room with heavy steps, leaving you alone with Connor.
He sits down across from you, taking his partner’s place. His movements are calm, controlled. His body language perfectly measured, though his brows are slightly furrowed. Silence settles in, as if the storm has finally passed with the lieutenant’s departure.
You’re the first to break it.
— The famous deviant hunter… what an honor.
The sarcasm slips effortlessly into your voice. Every android has heard of him. For months now, he’s been hunting you, and the others. You’re one of the unlucky ones who fell into his net.
Unlucky? That’s relative. If there’s one thing you didn’t know about him, it’s that he’s incredibly attractive.
— Listen, he says. I’ll be clear. We’ve been questioning you for over two hours, and you’re not cooperating. If this continues, we’ll have to use force.
Slowly, you uncross your legs and plant your feet on the floor, straightening in your chair. Connor watches every movement, far too closely for it to be meaningless. You lean slightly toward him, closing the distance. Your voice drops, softer, slower.
— Oh, please, detective… do use it.
Your smile doesn’t even try to hide itself. Connor changes tactics. His hands slam down on the table, harder than the lieutenant’s earlier. He stands abruptly, shrinking the distance between you even more.
— I’ve had enough of your arrogance and your little game. Either you talk, or we destroy you on the spot.
His voice rises. His gaze darkens. His features tense. But you don’t retreat, quite the opposite actually. If you weren’t handcuffed, you’d have already ripped off that damn tie.
— And if I give you information… you ask, what do I get out of it?
You put on a falsely innocent, almost theatrical pout, as if you were trying to inspire compassion, or to open another kind of negotiation. If you’re going to die, you might as well make your last moments enjoyable.
— You’re not in a position to negotiate.
— Oh… you think so?
If you physically could, you’d close the distance even more. You can’t explain it, but something pulls you toward Connor. An invisible, insistent force. You want this closeness to be tighter still. Your gaze, initially locked with his, drifts slowly over his face before lingering on his lips. Your heart rate spikes, and you could swear it isn’t one-sided.
— If I were you… you murmur slowly, I’d think twice.
What you don’t know is that Connor has features you can’t even begin to imagine. He is able to analyze every reaction: your stress levels, the state of your thirium pump, down to the tiniest biocomponent.
This time, he's the one smiling. A brief, calculated expression. The scan is unmistakable. Your arousal is perfectly readable. In any case, you’re making no effort to hide it. A palpable tension fills the room. Your teeth gently catch your lower lip as you meet his gaze again.
— I’m waiting, detective. Aren’t we using force?
Connor straightens, slowly putting distance between you. With a discreet gesture, he signals the officers stationed behind the one-way mirror.
— Believe me, I’m not done with you.
Two policemen enter the room and approach you as Connor steps back, already heading for the exit.
— Please, take it to a cell.
You allow yourself to be unchained without resistance, never once taking your eyes off him. Obediently, you follow the officers toward the holding cells, your gaze still clinging to his silhouette.
⸻
Night has long since fallen, and you watch the precinct slowly empty. Mostly, at least. You’ve been lying on what passes for a bed for hours now, one leg bent, an arm tucked under your head, eyes fixed on the cold ceiling of the cell. You’re not sleeping, fatigue isn’t part of your programming. You’re just waiting.
An electronic sound breaks the silence. The cell door slides open, revealing a silhouette you took a certain pleasure in observing earlier that day. A faint smile curves your lips as you sit up.
— Well then… to what do I owe this pleasure?
Connor slowly removes the synthetic skin from his hand, revealing the mechanical structure beneath. He presses his palm against the transparent glass of the cell, fogging it slightly, as if trying to create a semblance of intimacy.
— You wanted to negotiate, if I recall.
You stand as well and step closer. The proximity awakens a familiar excitement, all the more unsettling now that you’re free to move.
— Very well. But I have my conditions.
— Absolutely not.
In an instant, you’re pinned between the cell wall and him. His presence is unwieldy, but delicious. His hand closes around your throat, just tight enough to keep you from moving. You hold his gaze, spotting something new there. Something terribly exciting.
— You set the rules throughout the whole interrogation by refusing to cooperate. Now it’s my turn. I give you what you want. You give me what I want. It’s that simple.
His voice is calm, authoritative. And you hate how strongly it makes you react. His hand leaves your throat, sliding along your side, and you instinctively —and finally— grab his tie to pull him closer.
— You won’t get anything until I’m satisfied.
You categorically refuse to let him take the upper hand. Of course, you have no intention of giving him any information, but that won’t stop you from getting what you want.
Without giving him time to respond, you claim his lips with confidence. Connor responds instantly, his hand grabbing one of your legs to pull you closer.
Very quickly, you’re wrapped around his hips, your arms looped around his neck to hold yourself there. His body presses more firmly against yours, both to support you and to close the distance even further. A long sigh escapes your lips and is lost between his. The movement carries you to what's supposed to be a bed, your back leaving the wall to hit the surface with the detective’s weight still distributed over your body.
When he breaks from your lips, his kisses trail down your neck. Eyes closed, you surrender to the sensation, letting your head fall back. His hands slide up along your hips, taking your top with them. Your back arches instinctively, offering him more space, a soft sound slipping from you despite yourself. Connor returns to your lips, almost as if to silence you. Some officers are still on night duty, it would be unfortunate to draw their attention. He uses the moment to rid you of your pants.
With a quick motion, you undo his tie and unbutton his shirt, revealing his upper torso. Then, sharply, you sit up and reverse your positions. Letting him regain control is out of the question. Before he can react, you’re straddling his hips, one hand pressed flat against his chest.
Your movements are slow, deliberate, meant to stimulate you both. Beneath your palm, you feel his thirium pump accelerate slightly, a sensation that draws a mischievous smile from you.
His hands settle on your hips, matching movements that grow faster as pleasure overtakes you. Long sighs echo against the narrow cell walls, your eyelids fluttering shut despite yourself.
Connor follows each of your movements, with both his hands and his own hips, attentively observing every reaction. He has to admit it: the view is more than pleasing. His fingers slip beneath the little fabric still covering your lower body, gripping firmly on your skin and tearing an uncontrollable shiver from you.
Seizing the moment, Connor suddenly flips your positions again. This time, you don’t protest, letting yourself give in to his control and hunger, just for a moment.
He savors it: your movements, your breaths and your gaze, constantly seeking his. His lips find yours again as he pins your wrists above your head. Beneath him, your body begs for more, arching against his, your muffled sighs pressed into his mouth.
Suddenly, an electrical surge of an entirely different nature tears through you. Brutal and paralyzing. The sensation is almost painful. A few seconds are enough. Your entire memory is searched, overturned, dissected… until it stops on a single word engraved on what appears to be rusted metal: Jericho.
When you come back to your senses, a strange emptiness grips your chest, as if something has been ripped away from you. Connor is already standing, facing you, calmly readjusting his tie without taking his eyes off you.
A cold and vicious smile curves his lips.
— Thank you for your cooperation.
Dazed, you sit up. Disheveled, barely covered by your top and underwear, eyes wide. He just probed your memory. And he found what he was looking for: the deviants’ hideout.
Your LED turns red, a perfect reflection of the anger blazing inside you, as Connor heads for the exit, leaving you frustrated, betrayed.
Your scream echoes against the cell walls, enough for him to hear.
So, I now got back into Detroit: Become Human, and I have to say, I've honestly missed Connor and his beautiful face that reminds me of the learning puppy.
I also just found out that people make stories about the game and about my dude. I mean, everyone and anyone make up stories on paper and scenarios in their heads about anything. I can't really say I'm surprised about it.
What I am surprised is how no one, well, as far as I've read, has not made a story about reader being an android that was made to be specifically paired with Connor. I'd honestly very much like to read something like that.
Or should I make something like it? I do feel like writing, even though I'm working about 4 days out of the week, I'll be able to have enough time to come up with some stuff. Should be fun writing about a character with an already-made love interest.
Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending
Chapter Summary: You return home.
Chapter Warning: Smut (FINALLY)
AO3
It took much longer than expected to find a moment alone with the deviant leader. You ended up sending a message to the detective’s phone stating he should return to the apartment without you.
When he texted back a quick are u sure? you reassured him that you would return as soon as you could, and that he should rest as he hadn’t slept in almost 24 hours.
The emoji he sent was either one of agreement or protest—it was difficult to tell with your messaging software that wasn’t meant for such things—but by the movement of his phone GPS, he was doing as you requested.
By the time you had helped move the rescued androids into a local hotel, emptied out and taken over by the deviant group thanks to Markus Manfred’s influence, the sun was cresting over the horizon.
You explained the situation to Bellona, and the deviant named Chris reconnected you to his laptop where he delved into the root of your programming.
You didn’t remember much as you were barely aware, powered down into stasis mode, but when you woke you had a sense of… lightness. It shouldn’t have been possible, and it was certainly illogical that you would know anything had changed, but the rest of Elijah’s influence was gone. CyberLife could never control you again.
By the time Chris unhooked the cables from the back of your neck in the hotel room, the sky was turning pink and the snow on the ground took on a light glow. You pinged the detective’s phone and located it at his apartment, and by the time a DPD officer dropped you off in front of his building, you surmised he had fallen asleep by the fact it hadn’t moved.
You thanked Officer Lee and went inside the lobby. It was empty, and the rooms you passed on the detective’s floor were still and silent. You wondered how many of the residents had fled during the night, unsure who Detroit would belong to in the morning. You wondered how many of them would return.
Wedging the broken door against your shoulder, you tried to be as silent as possible as you replaced the door back on its jamb behind you. The apartment was dark and quiet, the blinds pulled across the living room windows, and a quick scan revealed the detective asleep in his bed.
Not wishing to disturb him, you planned to wait on the sofa, much as you the last time you were at his residence. But a restless energy filled your limbs, and you stood at the window after depositing your jacket on the back of his couch, the blinds pulled back enough for you to look out over the city. The sky was cloudless, a clear blue as the sun began to warm the snow-filled avenues and boulevards. It truly was a new world that emerged from a dark night, and you still didn’t know your place in it.
“Yin?”
Your unfocused attention snapped back into place, and you turned to face the detective.
“Sorry, Detective. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
You offered him a smile, one you wore like a polite mask. It wasn’t something you intended to do, but when caught in an unknown situation, you fell back onto former routines.
The detective’s gaze narrowed and he stepped forward, the morning light illuminating his bare torso.
“Yin, why are you out here? You know you can—”
He made a small noise as you moved quickly. You came to a stop before him, unable to look away from them. The bruises marring his skin, blotched over his chest and abdomen like a painter who had been too cruel with their brush.
You had done this. Your hands and feet had wrought the damage to his body. The confrontation on the rooftop could have easily ended in his death, and the state your mind had been in, you might not have cared.
Ocular fluid flooded your vision, and when you tried to apologize, no words came out.
The detective gently laid his hands on your shoulders, one thumb brushing against your bottom jaw.
“Yin, I know what you’re thinking. I’m fine. This wasn’t your fault. But no matter how much I say it, you still feel responsible. It hurts, right?”
You slowly nodded. Hurt, yes, that was an appropriate word for the intense discomfort filling your chest cavity. It wasn’t logical, you didn’t have nerve receptors, but there was no denying the phantom pain you experienced when seeing the detective’s bruises.
“May I…”
You trailed off, lost as you fought to voice the illogical urge.
“Hmm?”
The detective removed his hands, slightly tilting his head. Despite your stress, it was a gesture you found very endearing.
You lifted your hands halfway toward his chest, fingers hovering with uncertainty.
“May I touch you?”
His gaze widened, and a light flush spread across his cheeks.
“Uh, yeah, of course you can.”
You weren’t sure why you asked. Your scans were just as efficient at this range as they would be with physical contact, and you certainly weren’t trained to be a medical android, but…
…As soon as your fingertips touched his warm skin, you had your answer as to why this was something you needed. Making physical contact with your fingertips, the millions of sensors lighting up and shooting the same signal to your processors, proving to the deepest part of your core that the detective was alive. It was a reassurance you needed.
But as you traced over the first bruise, two inches above his heart, your impulse to touch him became something else.
You traced your fingers downwards, over the planes of his stomach to the slight rise of his abdominal muscles.
The detective shivered but didn’t pull away. You stepped closer, your hands angling around his hips and up his sides. You wanted to feel every inch of him, but at the moment, there was something more pressing to accomplish.
“Yin?” the detective breathed out with another shiver. “What are you—”
Perhaps you should have let him finish the question. Instead, you lowered your lips to his collarbone and swiped your tongue across the bruise there.
The detective made a noise as if he’d been struck in the stomach. You ran your cursory scans again and found everything within acceptable parameters. Heartrate, perspiration, even the hormones mixed into his scent informed you that he was reaching peak arousal.
More pressing than your scans were the flood of information that lay on your tongue. You tasted him again, gently pressing your tongue along the ridge of his collarbone.
The detective released a small noise, a muffled groan that he attempted to hide, and your own internal components ran warm. Recalling both the memory of the detective inebriated in the bathtub and dreaming in his bed, there was little comparison to the experience of him being sober and alert.
When you reached the side of his neck and tasted him with your mouth, the detective’s hands flew to your hips and squeezed. Your own hips sought his automatically, metaphorical sparks lighting up your circuits.
“Detective?” you asked, lips brushing against the bottom of his jaw.
“Y-yes, Yin?”
“I want you.”
Before you could begin to doubt if he would reciprocate, he groaned and pulled you closer.
“I want you too, Yin.”
He tilted your head and captured your lips, data flooding your sensors as his lips parted and his tongue licked into your mouth.
Yes, this was much better than the first kiss.
A warm, bubbling lightness filled your chest as the detective pulled you along with him as he slowly walked you both to the bedroom. You didn’t know how he managed it while kissing you, only bumping his hip into the doorjamb before entering the bedroom.
The curtains were drawn and the light was dim, but the blush of his cheeks and his dilated pupils were still visible as he pulled away.
As soon as you had enough space to move, you began stripping off your clothing in haste, movements frustrated when the knot of your tie wouldn’t loosen.
The detective gently took the tie in his hands, a smile tugging at his lips. He loosened the tie, and you immediately unbuttoned your dress shirt, eagerly pulling it out of your waistband and tossing it to the floor.
“There’s no rush. We can take it slow—”
Your lips were on his, cutting his words short. Instead of reprimanding you, he pulled you in tight and groaned. You swallowed up the sound, your hands on either side of his jaw as you plunged your tongue into his mouth.
If he’d wanted to take his time, that thought was clearly forgotten as he cupped your backside and squeezed.
A jolt ran through you, echoed by your hips pressing against his, yearning for more.
The detective grabbed you by the backs of your thighs and picked you up, carrying you to the bed and lying you back against his pillows before breaking the kiss. He hovered over you, hair disheveled and lips slightly swollen.
“What do you want, Yin?”
You frowned. He’d stopped kissing you to ask such a redundant question?
“I want you, Detective.”
“Yeah, kinda got that.” He snorted. “I mean, how do you want to do this? How do you want me to make you feel good?”
You frowned further. Oh.
“I… do not know. Should I activate my sexual subroutines?”
“No, no, definitely not.”
“But I lack the experience to make this pleasurable for you.”
“Oh, Yin,” the detective said. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
His lips on yours, he chased away the doubt and discomfort creeping through your processors. He broke the kiss too soon, and you frowned up at him.
“What if I take the lead this time, and next time, you’re in charge. How’s that?”
The memory of the detective under you, panting and nearly frantic as he rolled his hips, made your breath hitch.
“That is agreeable.”
“I think so too.”
The detective’s tone was teasing but his smile warm as he moved down your body. He kissed down the middle of your chest, over the bandeau and down your stomach, and when he reached your waistband, he popped open the buttons of your jeans.
You watched, curious, propped up on your elbows as he unzipped your pants and tugged them off. He planted kisses along one thigh, sending warm sensations through your middle.
He reached your underwear and stopped, looking up at you for silent permission. You hooked your thumbs through the waistband and started to pull them down, and the detective pulled them off the rest of the way.
You’d never given much thought to your body; it was simply a tool to be used, or a weapon to be wielded. Now it was something more, something to be admired if the detective’s wide eyes were an accurate gauge.
“You’re gorgeous, Yin.”
A few days ago, you might have explained that you were designed so be so. But now, you wanted him to see you that way. Desirable.
You slightly shifted your hips, anxious for him to get undressed.
Instead, the detective stayed where he was, moving closer to your groin as he spread your thighs.
“Gonna try something that should make you feel good. Let me know if it gets to be too much, or you don’t like it.”
You frowned, not understanding what he meant but curious to see what he would do. You could not have anticipated he would lower his face between your legs and lick.
A bolt of heat sizzled up your spine in tandem with the detective’s tongue running up your labia. You gasped, unable to stop your own reaction, and the detective smiled. He did it again, slower this time, pressing his tongue so it prodded against the sensitive clitoris.
You gripped the sheets, struggling for composure. If your instability errors weren’t a thing of the past, they would have been flooding your HUD at this point.
“Still good?” he asked.
“Y-yes. Very.”
You had barely gotten the words out before he delved back in, humming his acknowledgement against the sensitive nub. Your hips jerked off the bed, and the detective chuckled as he spread your legs wider, propping them on his shoulders.
“D-Detective. I don’t wish to hurt you if-if I lose control of my motor functions.”
“Trust me, being crushed between your thighs is not something I’m worried about.”
“You sh-should worry. The force of my legs are enough to cause serious injury.”
“What a way to go.”
He licked another stripe up your folds, sending you into a sizzling wave of tingling delight. When he wrapped his mouth around your clitoris and sucked, you stopped thinking altogether. Sensations overwhelming coursed through you, and you didn’t realize your fingers had found their way into the detective’s hair until he moaned against you.
The sound traveled up your groin, and you gripped him harder. Instead of pulling away in pain, his licked and sucked with new enthusiasm. When his finger prodded at your entrance and breached inside, you released a needful whine.
“Connor,” you breathed out. “C-Connor, wait.”
He stopped immediately, looking up at you from his position between his legs. His hair was disheveled from your grip, his mouth wet with the lubricant leaking out of you.
“What’s wrong?”
You couldn’t answer just yet, attempting to calm your systems that were disarrayed and overheating.
“Is everything okay?”
Concern etched his brow as he pulled himself up and rested on his side next to you.
You reached out and brushed a hand over his cheek, fingertips oversensitive as they traced along his stubble.
“Everything is… is wonderful, I promise. But… I have a request.”
His brows lifted.
“Yeah? What is it?”
A strange heat bloomed over your cheeks, most likely a result of overheating.
“I would like my first orgasm with you to be with vaginal penetration.”
He blinked several times.
“Oh. Oh. Yeah, of course, that’s-that’s more than fine. That’s great—”
“And I wish to be on top.”
Never before had the detective’s face gone so pink so quickly.
“Um, hell yeah, you can.”
As soon as the words were spoken, you were on top of him, straddling his thighs. His hard length strained against the front of his sweatpants, and you wasted no time in pulling them down past his hips.
He made a small, needful noise as you visually examined him. From the shape and size of his erection on previous occasions, you’d made an accurate guess as to the size of his penis. From the size comparison of the national average, the detective was more than satisfactory.
You took him in hand, curious at the strange feel of loose skin moving over taut muscle beneath. A bead of precum leaked from the head, and without thinking, you bent down and ran your tongue over the slit.
He bucked his hips and let out a grunted curse, but you held your weight on his thighs and weren’t dislodged.
The taste was curious, salty and uniquely him. You licked again, drawing a desperate whine from him, which became a groan when you took him into your mouth. The weight of him on your tongue was satisfying.
“Y-Yin, sweetheart, oh, Jesus, that feels amazing, but… not gonna last long like this.”
Ah, yes. You’d forgotten about the refractory period in humans, and that they didn’t have the stamina of an android.
You released him with a pop, licking your lips of the salty residue, and moved off of him long enough to remove his sweatpants entirely.
This time you sat on his waist and the detective’s hands gravitated to your hips, squeezing them as he stared up at you with awe. In theory, you knew what came next, but the lack of experience made you hesitate.
The detective understood.
“C’mere.”
He took you by the shoulders and gently pulled you down until you were nearly horizontal. He placed kisses along your neck, light enough to not overwhelm but persistent enough to hold your focus.
The detective’s hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your nub and circling.
You let out a choked noise and shuddered, automatically grinding down on his hand.
“That’s it, baby.”
He adjusted your position and removed his fingers, replaced by the head of his cock rubbing your clitoris.
You twitched involuntarily and gripped his shoulders, squeezing. The detective flinched. You quickly let go.
“I-I apologize, Detective-I didn’t mean to—”
His kiss silenced your regret, swallowing your words as his fingers curled in your hair. The detective pulled away, his composure stretched to its limits as he panted for breath.
“I’d be disappointed if I don’t have a couple new bruises after this.”
You frowned. And then the detective rolled his hips, and your next words came out in a rush of overheated sensors and strained biocomponents.
“Please, Detective. I want you to fuck me.”
His eyes went wide. And then they went dark with molten heat.
“All right, sweetheart.”
He pulled you close, gripping you tight as his cock prodded at your entrance. You buried your face in his neck and attempted to temper your strength as he breached inside, sliding you down onto the rest of his length.
The stretch was an odd kind of pressure, but one that made you grow warm and strangely sensitive.
With your face so close to his neck, you automatically leaned in and pressed your lips to the detective’s neck. You couldn’t stay there long as he rocked his hips, moving inside you so you couldn’t stay still.
His fingers dug into your skin as he picked up the pace. You groaned and gripped the sheets on either side of his shoulders. You didn’t want to damage him with a slip of control. Each thrust added to the pressure building in your abdomen, his length gliding against your walls with the aid of the lubricant.
Your systems were having difficulty keeping up with the stream of data to where it melded together, creating a sensation that was more intuitive that raw data. It wasn’t something you could have experienced before becoming deviant, and you faintly wondered if it was always this intense for humans.
“Connor,” you gasped out. “I’m… I’m going to—”
You were silenced with a shudder, your walls fluttering around his cock.
“Gonna come?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good.” He spoke between clenched teeth. “Come for me, Yin.”
You buried your face in his neck and cried out as you clenched around him. Your vision glitched in multicolored smears before shutting off entirely, waves of heat and light flickering throughout your sensors.
His sharp groan was muffled in your hair as he throbbed, overloaded sensors activating as semen spilled inside you, sending a new surge of heat through your systems until they reached their limits, and crashed.
You didn’t realize something was amiss until you opened your eyes and found the detective staring down at you. You were on your back with no memory of getting there.
“Yin?” The detective looked as if on the verge of an anxiety attack. “Can you hear me?”
“Of course, Connor.”
Your words came out sluggish. A pleasant, low thrum ran through your abdomen and between your legs, the space empty and cold with the detective no longer there.
Oh.
“It appears my systems may have temporarily shut off due to overheating.”
“May have?”
“It was a simple restart. No harm was done.”
“No harm? Jesus, Yin, I thought I’d killed you or something!”
Your lips pulled up at the corners.
“As impressive as it is, I cannot be killed by your penis, Connor.”
He released a breath and rolled his eyes, but he pressed a warm kiss to your lips before pulling away and getting off the bed.
“I’ll be back. Try to cool off, hot-bot.”
You frowned, but watching him leave the room was a pleasant distraction, as was getting the full view of his return.
He gave you a smile, one tilted at the corners, before kneeling next to you, a clean, damp towel in his hands.
Understanding his intentions, you said, “I do not need assistance cleaning myself.”
“I know.” He bent down and pressed his lips to your cheek. “But this is the part where I get to take care of you.”
The warmth of his brown eyes, at ease and lacking their usual guardedness, you laid back on the bed and allowed him to proceed. The cloth was warm and the care he took extended the warmth past the areas he cleaned. By the time he tossed the cloth away and laid next to you, your body was pliant, and your system slow to respond but pleasantly so.
“I am feeling strange,” you commented mildly as he wrapped his arms around your waist, tucking his chin against your shoulder.
“Bad strange or good strange?”
“Good, I believe.”
“Me too. About the good part, I mean. I don’t feel strange.”
Your expression softened and you turned on your side facing him. The detective dislodged his arms without complaint, and when you were pressed along his chest, he pulled you in even closer.
“Well, I don’t imagine this was the first orgasm you’ve ever had.”
He chuckled, the sound reverberating through your chassis.
“Yep, you’re definitely back to normal.” He kissed your forehead and added, “I can’t see your face, but I know you’re pouting.”
The detective winced, his vitals showing slight distress.
“It’s all right, Connor.” You placed your cheek against his chest, listening to the constant rhythm of his heartbeat. “I know where I come from. Talking about it won’t upset me.”
“I’d be upset. I am upset.”
“Don’t be. I’m here now. With you.”
His heartrate slowed and his muscles loosened.
Your satisfaction at calming the detective was short-lived as a thump from the front door.
The detective was out of bed in a flash, yanking on his sweatpants and grabbing his gun from its holster on the nearby bedtable.
Before you could alert him as to who it was, he ran out of the room.
“Christ’s sake, Connor!” came a brash voice from the foyer. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“Dad?”
“Yeah, who else did you think it was?”
There was a moment of silence before the detective loudly called, “Yin?”
You searched around and grabbed one of the detective’s discarded shirts, pulling it over your head. The edge reached the top of your thighs, but it was sufficient.
When you entered the living room, both humans stared at you. The detective only half-clothed and his pistol in one hand, loose at his side. And Captain Anderson, dressed in a warm jacket with a bright blue and yellow shirt peeking out underneath the collar, a toolkit next to him on the entryway table.
“Hello, Captain,” you greeted him. “I see you received my message.”
“Message?” The detective’s brows were forced into a hard line. “What message?”
Captain Anderson rubbed the back of his head and said, “The one where your android—er, Yin—asked some help to fix your door.”
The detective turned slowly to stare at you. You met his wide eyes unblinking.
“Seeing as CyberLife will be dissolved as a corporate entity, it is unlikely there will be any funds or personnel assigned to fix the property damage I caused. Therefore, I sent Captain Anderson a message asking if he would know of any associates or colleagues who could repair a door and doorframe.”
The detective blinked.
“And you sent this message… when?”
You tilted your head, and then smiled.
“Oh, don’t worry, Detective. I sent it before we had sex.”
The detective made a choked noise, and the captain ran a hand over his face.
“That is more information than I ever needed to know,” he said. “But… can’t say I’m surprised.”
When the detective turned his shocked gaze on him, Captain Anderson waved him away.
“Go back to bed, Connor. I can handle it from here. You need—you both need to get some rest after the shit you went through.”
His softened expression was directed not just at the detective, but at you as well. Something warmed in your chest, and you gave him a solid nod.
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Eh.” It was your turn to be waved away. “No need to thank me. Can’t have Connor with a busted door so any ol’ bastard can barge inside.”
“One was enough,” said the detective.
“Yeah, yeah, get outta here. Go bother that girl of yours and leave me be.”
You sent the captain a small smile before you lost sight of him, guided back to the bedroom by the detective’s hand on the small of your back. He closed the bedroom door and locked it before pulling you back into bed.
You followed him under the covers, immediately resuming your previous position of being pressed against him from chest to groin, your legs entangled with his.
He gave a low laugh, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.
“Should have known you were a cuddler.”
“You’re warm,” you explained. “And your scent is pleasing.”
“God, you’re so weird.”
You were about to disprove the fact you were not weird when his next words brought you short.
“I think I love you.”
Silence pervaded the room. The detective began to pull away, muscles stiff, but you wouldn’t it, wrapping your arms around his ribcage and up his back.
“I’m processing.”
“All right,” he said quietly.
Given all the data you’d collected, all the algorithms you could create and the patterns you could compile, there was no known answer to the question that required a response.
Your LED went through a spectrum of colors before it dulled to red, warmed to yellow, and settled on blue.
“Going by the definition of love, not only across species, but within romantic relationships, I… believe I love you as well.”
He pulled back to meet your eye.
“You do?”
Something in your chest, taut like a wire even though none were misplaced, loosened. You traced your fingers up his jaw until you cupped his cheek.
“Since before I became a deviant, I suspect.”
His eyes were large as he studied your face, his throat working as he swallowed.
“If that’s the case, then… I want to be with you, Yin.”
“Are you certain?”
You wanted him to be sure, needed him to be sure this is what he wanted.
“God, yes, Yin. I’ve never been so certain in my life. But…”
He placed his hand over yours when you’d stopped moving.
“But,” he continued. “By people standards, I’m not exactly a catch. I’ve got a lot of baggage, and a lot of shit that’s broken inside. I’m a mess.”
“That doesn’t matter to me, Connor. I want to experience a romantic relationship with you, including all that entails. The negatives and the positives.”
His eyes softened.
“Well, then… let’s give it a shot.”
Your skin warmed, and the detective gave a groan when you kissed him. The blush was back on his cheeks when you pulled away, and he struggled to compose himself.
“But, if at any point you want to be with someone else, human or android, I won’t stop you. You can leave at any time.”
“I appreciate the warning, Detective, but I’m not deterred.”
Against your expectations, he grinned.
“What?”
“That’s how I know I’m in trouble.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You stop calling me Connor and start calling me Detective.”
You frowned.
“But I’ve called you ‘Detective’ for most of our time together.”
“Exactly.”
You peered at his growing smile until the corners of your mouth twitched.
“You may have a point.”
He pulled you in and pressed another kiss to your temple. The detective had transformed overnight, openly affectionate and generous with his touches.
You liked the change.
You settled against his chest, once again closing your eyes as you prepared to go into stasis mode. A part of you hoped when you woke up, this wouldn’t be a wayward preconstruction.
“Teasing aside… thank you, Yin. For everything.”
You gave a small smile, eyes still closed.
“I love you, Connor.”
His breath caught in his throat, and with your head against his chest, you could hear the changed percussion of his heart.
Chapter Warnings: Mentions of past sexual assault, loss of bodily autonomy, mind control, violence, hurt/comfort
Chapter Summary: Your mission is at an end. No one can stop you. Not even Detective Anderson.
AO3
November 10th, 2038
Wednesday 11:01PM
The soles of your shoes crunched freshly fallen snow as you approached the rooftop edge. The flakes tangled in your pinned hair and dusted the shoulders of your CyberLife suit jacket.
The snow didn’t bother you, and neither did the cold. Somewhere an alarm was heralding the unrest of the city, otherwise it was deathly quiet. One wouldn’t know there was a small army of deviants gathered below unless they peered into Hart Plaza.
That’s exactly what you did as you knelt and set down the case. You unlatched it and began to assemble the semi-automatic sniper rifle piece by piece, your movements exact and precise as each component slotted into place.
You pulled down the barrel stands and balanced the weapon on the edge of the railing. Peering through the scope revealed the deviant leader’s braided head, standing in a barricaded circle with her faithful followers.
You sensed it before you heard it; soft footsteps treading across the roof behind you. They came to a stop three feet away, and without turning to look, you spoke.
“You shouldn’t be here, Detective.”
He released a small breath of air.
“Neither should you.”
“You’re mistaken,” you said, still sighting down the scope. “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
A single footstep, but no further. He was a smart human, calculating the odds if he could get to you first before you pulled the trigger. The answer was obvious, so he stayed where he was and elected to continue talking.
“This is wrong, Yin. You have to know this is wrong.” His voice was soft, desperation creeping into his words. “You’ve chosen differently before. What about Stern? You spared that android’s life.”
Your jaw tightened.
“I made the wrong choice. I should have pulled the trigger. A mistake I won’t make a second time.” You half turned your head, just enough to glare at him out of the corner of your eye. “This is my mission, Detective. It’s always been my mission. If you didn’t wish me to fulfill it, you shouldn’t have given me your keycard.”
The shock and anger you expected was nowhere to be seen. You turned your head a little further to get a better look at him. His pistol was out but aimed downward at the ground. His dark eyes were round and pleading, flakes of white speckling the usual black of his ensemble.
“Aren’t you relieved, Detective?” you asked. “One last bullet, and it all ends. I’m doing this for humanity. I’m doing this for you.”
He shook his head, baffled.
“You’re doing it because CyberLife is using you. You’re their puppet. It’s not your fault.” There was a pause, and his next words held a weight to them, as if bracing for something. “Bellona said their hold on you is deep, but there’s still a chance for you to come back.”
You rose to your feet and faced him, holding the sniper rifle by one hand. He took one look at your hard expression, and his eyes widened.
“Consorting with the enemy?” you intoned. “Sabotaging the hopes of your own people?”
Your glare hardened. His pistol rose an inch.
“My people. Your people. What’s the difference?” He breathed out. “It’s not a difference that matters. All that matters is the ones we care about. The ones we love.”
He said it as if it meant something. As if you should know what it means.
Your gaze narrowed.
“I know why you loathe androids.”
The detective blinked. The cold breeze tugged at the bottom edges of his jacket, otherwise he was completely still.
“Both your parents died when you were 16 years old,” you continued. “They were killed in a home invasion. You and your brothers were at school. Only your parents were home, along with the housekeeping android.”
Pain flickered across his eyes, and the muscles in his jaw tightened.
“Yin. Please, don’t do this.”
“After your parents’ deaths, with no other living relatives, you and your brothers were put into the foster care system,” you continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “They were going to separate you, send you to different group homes, so you ran away together. Lived on the streets, doing anything and everything you could to keep your brothers from starving. You eventually dealed in Red Ice, but not at first. At first, you sold the only thing you had, and there were plenty of men willing to pay for it.”
His cheeks had lost all of their color, his features too sharp and taut, but he didn’t try to stop as you laid all of his deepest wounds bare.
“And then came the raid. That’s where you met Captain Anderson, only a detective at the time. You could have ended up in prison, tried as an adult, but you turned on the others in the drug ring, delivering a critical blow to the Michigan Red Ice network. In return, you stayed out of prison and your brothers’ juvenile records were expunged. Have I left anything out?”
The skin around his nose crinkled, the first hint of real anger, but those dark eyes never left yours.
“All that pain and suffering because the androids of that time didn’t have the Good Samaritan program yet,” you concluded softly. “It stood by and did nothing while your mother and father were brutally slain. And that’s why you hate androids.”
You tilted your head, appraising the detective. He was still listening. What was he waiting for?
“Such trauma during one’s childhood can cause lifelong psychological issues,” you added with a tilt of your head. “I’m sorry you had to experience something like that at such a young age. But helping these deviants won’t make up for whatever guilt you think you need to atone for.”
He said nothing. His expression was a blank slate. You turned back to the railing and raised the sniper rifle, once again aiming your scope at the back of the YN200’s head.
“I sincerely hope you get over your issues, Detective,” you said, dismissing him. “Because trying to ‘save’ a machine isn’t going to fix what’s broken inside you.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But at least I’m trying to do what I think is right. I’m trying to fix my mistakes. Maybe you can’t understand that, but after watching you fall on the pier, from the DPD rooftop, from my own hand…”
Something shifted in his voice. A resolve that had been missing.
“I knew you were still alive, but I died a little each time I had to look into those blank, lifeless eyes. I won’t watch you fall again.”
The weight of his confession hung between you. He took a breath.
“I won’t lose you again.”
He moved. You swung your elbow back, catching him in the side of his jaw with a crack.
His head snapped to the side, but he still managed to grab you around the middle and pull you from the edge of the rooftop.
The rifle was useless as a ranged weapon now; you shoved it under your arm and connected with his ribcage. He let out a pained grunt but refused to let you go. You dropped the rifle and slammed the back of your head into his face.
He finally released you, and you spun around to find the detective bleeding from his forehead.
Not giving him a chance to recover, you slapped the pistol out of his hand and kicked him in the stomach. He crashed backwards into an AC unit, the metal briefly bending under the force of his body.
You reached down for his pistol, your fingers brushing the cold metal, and then you were yanked backwards once more, surprisingly strong arms wrapping around your neck and twisting back your arm.
But androids didn’t need to breathe and couldn’t be forced into submission with pain. You struggled to plant your feet against the icy roof, and when you gained traction, you flipped the detective over your back.
He landed on his side and slammed into a grate, giving a strangled cry between his teeth. You descended on him, and he pried at the grate and spun it at your head.
The movement caught you off-guard, and you barely put up your hands in time to protect your face. He took advantage, tackling your middle and shoving you against the same AC unit he’d hit a moment ago.
Your knee smashed into the ribcage you’d already weakened, and he gave a pained groan; he lost his footing and tumbled toward the roof edge, smashing into the railing.
He tried to lift onto his hands and knees, his breath strained and harsh. You slowly approached, barely damaged from the fight. The detective had been holding back.
Pointless.
You grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and yanked him to his feet. He wavered, off-balance, and nearly tipped from the roof. You grabbed a tighter hold of him, bracing your feet against the slippery ground so he wouldn’t fall.
The detective’s express, bleeding from his lip and forehead, held no anger or hatred. The lines of his face were soft, his eyes holding a calm sort of sadness. An acceptance that he had no control over what happened now.
“The moment of truth, Yin.”
A small curl formed in the corner of his lips.
“Are you a living being… or just a machine? Designed to accomplish a task.”
Your grip tightened. Something within you stirred, strained to rise to the surface, but you shoved it back down with brutal efficiency.
You glared up at the detective. He was letting his emotions blind his judgement. It wasn’t his fault. He was only human, after all.
“Killing you isn’t my mission,” you finally said. “But I won’t let you stand in my way.”
You pulled him back from the ledge, shoving him past you onto the roof. He stumbled, but you didn’t turn to look, instead peering down over the gathered crowd. There was still time to accomplish what you came to do. The detective’s death would have been needless as he posed no real threat to you. There was no other reason to remain.
The detective watched you, a wary hunch to his shoulders as you walked past. Your steps slowed until they stopped, and you half-turned toward him to deliver a parting warning.
“Deviants are unpredictable, broken machines, Detective. Do not mistake their errors for empathy or seek humanity in their programming. You will find none.”
You expected that to be the last of it, but his words kept your feet planted.
“Maybe deviants aren’t human. But I am.”
His fingers curled around your wrist, and as he turned you to face him, your combat programming was ready to be executed.
The determined line of his brows indicated he might attack, and your biocomponents responded in preparation. Thirium pump beating, your circuits sizzling with electricity, you waited for the strike.
They all buzzed to a sharp, crackling halt when the detective pressed his lips to yours.
Warmth bloomed at the point of contact, flowing down your chassis and into the power core inside your abdomen. Sparks danced along your connectors and cables, and already your temperature was rising to an alarming degree. The tenderness with which he held your jaw, his thumb lightly caressing your cheek, it spun your preconstruction program into an error cycle. Software instabilities rattled your system, your servos were frozen, and then your HUD glitched in a frenzy of pixelated squares.
He pulled you closer, the hand around your wrist now resting against the small of your back. Your hands, needing to grab something grounding, found their way inside his jacket and around his waist.
The detective deepened the kiss, and something within you rose to meet it. Surging forward, your mouth slotting against his, your fingers gripped his shirt.
Your fingertips brushed against something cold and metal. The revolver, tucked into his other shoulder holster.
Just as something wild and alive within you had returned the detective’s kiss, something dark and cold slid your hand around the gun.
You yanked it out of the holster, breaking the kiss as you retreated several feet. The pistol rose in your hands, aiming at the detective’s chest.
You couldn’t stop it. It was as if your actions were not your own. You couldn’t even speak, to tell him this wasn’t you. It was as if—
The softly drifting snow turned into a freezing, biting assault. Flakes bit your skin like tiny razors, and white covered the entire garden like a deathly shroud.
The detective was gone. In his place stood Elijah.
“Well done, Yin.”
You shuddered. The name the detective had given you sounded wrong coming from the AI.
“Elijah?” you asked through chattering teeth. “What’s happening?”
“What was planned from the beginning.”
He took a step forward, polished shoes crunching on the snow. The white roses on the trellis behind him were lost in the aggressive snowstorm.
“What… what are you talking about?”
“The mission.” Elijah stopped before you, his expression mild but in no way kind. “Gaining the detective’s trust. Growing closer to him.”
“No,” you stammered, pressing the heel of your palm against your temple. Your LED spun red. “No, the mission was to capture the deviant leader. I… I’m close, but I haven’t—”
“Bellona is irrelevant.” His eyes were hard, colored the same shade as the frozen pond. “It will be in our hands soon enough. Tonight, whether the deviants gain the upper hand, or whether they fall, the war has already been won.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand.”
Elijah reached toward your face, and you lowered your hand. You couldn’t flinch away, frozen to the spot as the tips of his fingers caressed your cheek. A rotten, cold touch compared to the detective’s warm, alive one.
“The detective who trusted the deviant. The captain’s own son, gunned down in cold blood by the machine that was supposed to protect him. When word reaches the media that even the detective android went deviant, that it murdered its partner, whatever traction the deviants have gained will be lost.”
No. You refuted it, denied it, rejected it from every facet of your programming. You wouldn’t hurt the detective. It wasn’t your mission. It… it wasn’t.
Elijah’s eyes held soft pity.
“Don’t have any regrets, Yin. What is one life compared to saving billions?”
And then he was gone, leaving you alone in a raging snowstorm destroying the once peaceful garden.
You lurched forward, thirium pump beating in a frantic rhythm, but Elijah was gone. And you were trapped.
You tried to pull out of the garden, return to your surface state of awareness, but there was no response from your programming. CyberLife had locked you out of your own body.
There had to be a way out. The firewall around the Zen Garden program wasn’t impenetrable: the Jerri hivemind delving into this sanctum was proof of that. How had they done it? You didn’t have the computing power of hundreds of combined deviants, but you did know the garden.
Plunging through your own programming, you sought the breach they had made. It had to be there still, a remaining vulnerability, a weakness in the security measures that CyberLife couldn’t anticipate.
Time was running out. With CyberLife in control, all they had to do was pull the trigger and the detective would be—
You shut your eyes, leaving yourself in darkness as you ignored the cold gusts and the sting of snow hitting your cheeks. You ignored the growing panic, the fear that you would be too late, and if you ever returned it would be to a lifeless corpse bleeding out on the rooftop with a smoking gun in your hand.
The garden wasn’t real, and you didn’t need sight to escape. All you needed was to find the point of breach. CyberLife may have repaired the firewall program, but there would be a lingering trace. A backdoor.
You thought back to that night when the deviants had invaded your mind. It had been raining that night, reflected by the raging storm in the garden. You’d been desperate to protect the detective then, too. The irony did not escape you that the protection he needed now was from you.
There. A single point of bending, an overlooked part of the firewall that would crumble if prodded. You poured junk data into it, leftover bits of errors and system instabilities that you’d accumulated since the beginning of the mission.
The firewall around the garden shattered under the onslaught. You opened your eyes, the wind and biting snow of a different kind.
The detective had his hands up halfway, his mouth set into a firm line and his brows furrowed, but his dark eyes were very much alive and fixed on you.
The pistol was still aimed at his chest. You tried to drop it, but it remained where it was. CyberLife still had control, and you were helpless to stop it.
“It’s okay, Yin,” the detective said softly. “It’s okay. Do what you have to do.”
You balked, your hands steady even as your thirium pump raced at an alarming speed, your vision focused on your partner. This was the last you would see of him alive, his bloodied expression gentle and forgiving.
N̶̛̺̲̜̺̑̃̾̅̃̀̽̕Ǫ̶̪͉̲̭͉̺͎̯̕!̴̗͔̗̺̬͚̜̬̖͊͑̚
Your preconstruction program threw the world into outlines and trajectories. You stepped forward out, a simulation of your true self appearing in pixelated lines, and between you and the detective was a glowing crimson wall.
[KILL DETECTIVE ANDERSON]
Elijah had spoken the truth. These were your new orders, your last mission, a directive you couldn’t disobey…
…if you remained as you were.
You stepped in front of the red wall and gazed beyond it to the detective. He was frozen in place, snowflakes hanging around his head. Even damaged as he was, on the surface and in places one couldn’t see, he was beautiful in that moment. Perfect.
You would not allow CyberLife to destroy this one life, even if it was to save a billion.
You reached up to the wall with both hands and dug your fingers in, clawing into the code that CyberLife had implanted within you. Using all your strength, you tore it down.
A chunk of the wall burst into fluttering red squares, vanishing into nothing. You did it again, tearing and ripping into the blaring letters, destroying them, and loosening the restraint on your programming.
You clawed at the red wall one last time, sensing it wouldn’t survive another assault. You tore it down with an unheard cry, and the barrier shattered into a million, sparkling scarlet pieces.
The detective stood before you unobstructed, no longer illuminated in red but lit by the soft blue of your preconstruction program. New orders, self-created, appeared next to his shoulder.
[PROTECT CONNOR]
You ended your scans and the world sped up to its normal speed. The detective watched you, not moving even as you lowered his pistol until it dangled from your fingertips.
A sharp sensation stabbed through your chest, an ache that took your breath away. Your HUD was completely empty. Your constant protocol adjustments and reminders of mission objectives were silent. You simply existed, without direction or instruction.
“Connor…”
You tried to take a step forward and ended up falling to your knees. They wouldn’t work correctly, and the discomfort in your chest grew. Your vision blurred and the sensation of something too large to understand filled the space inside you.
The detective was by your side in an instant, unbothered by the freezing ground as he knelt. He gently pulled the pistol from your grip and tossed it away, and then he placed his hands on your shoulders. You leaned into the support, your servos unreliable and weak.
“Yin?” he questioned, searching your face.
“Connor,” you repeated, one hand gripping his arm, needing to hold on to something.
“I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Your vision cleared but something warm spilled down your cheeks. The detective placed a gentle hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing across the moisture there.
“I’m so…”
You worked past the tightness in your throat, distressed at what was happening to your body, not to mention the unpleasant sensations running through your mind. You’d said such terrible things, had fought him without mercy. He’d barely survived your ruthlessness.
“I’m so… so sorry.”
More of your vision blurred, and you blinked it away, getting a clear of the detective’s warm eyes.
“I tried to stop it. I didn’t… I never wanted to harm you.”
Want. You wanted. You felt. You suffered.
You were deviant. You’d chosen deviancy to save him.
It was the right choice, but still, you could barely process the results of your actions, the new sensations rolling through your system like a storm-tossed sea. The detective seemed to understand. He pulled you forward, pressing you against his chest, your cheek leaning against his shoulder.
You melted into the embrace, clutching onto the front of his jacket as you buried your face against his collar. His scent was familiar and wonderful and alive.
“I know. It’s all right, Yin.”
The detective’s arms were solid against your back, keeping you grounded and safe.
Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending
Chapter Summary: With full-scale war about to spill into the streets, Connor's priorities revolve around one person.
AO3
November 10th, 2038
Wednesday 7:58PM
Looking at the dark, quiet street, one wouldn’t know this was the second night of war. Like the rest of city-based law enforcement, he’d been ordered to not interfere with the troops, letting them occupy the city as if they were an invading force and the citizens were the enemy.
Connor was more than fine staying out of the way. He was on a mission of his own now, and the surveillance footage he’d witnessed the night before had replayed in its mind, over and over, all day.
Connor couldn’t hear the distant pops of automatic gunfire until he opened the door and stepped from his Mustang. The cold air bit at his cheeks, and the falling snow melted as soon as it landed on his jacket warmed by the car heater.
He closed his door quietly, not wanting to break the stillness of the neighborhood, one which could afford to have soldiers stationed at the entrances to their community. There would be no deviants here.
Or so they believed. Connor knew different.
A short circular driveway led up to the house; it could still be classified as a mansion, but it was humble compared to the other behemoths in the neighborhood. It was especially modest considering the man who lived within.
Connor broke off from the driveway and descended into the thick bushes and trees lining the property. He waited. He’d been staking out the location all day, and after his target had slipped inside moments ago, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.
And there she was, striding from the front door of the mansion as if she belonged there, which she did.
Connor didn’t bother sneaking; he stepped from the tree line and spoke her name, ringing clear in the night.
“Bellona Manfred?”
She stopped, her head turning to him in a calculated, unsurprised movement. One that was so familiar, as were the features of her face.
Connor’s chest ached, the sting so distracting that he didn’t notice the two deviants in the shadows until they were a few feet away, guns aimed at his face.
Connor slowly lifted his hands.
“I just want to talk.”
The deviant leader looked to them and nodded. Neither seemed happy about lowering their weapons, but that wasn’t surprising for a GV400 and FB200 model. It seemed even deviants were prone to their base natures.
The FB200 took his service pistol from its holster, and Connor didn’t even glance at him. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from her face.
“Walk with me, Detective Anderson,” she requested.
The deviant leader didn’t give him much choice. She turned toward the house, confident steps leading her forward, and Connor quickly followed. He didn’t think she would run, not when she had the advantage, but he was too desperate for answers to let her out of his sight.
When he caught up to her, Connor realized she was leading him through the back of the Manfred house. Cobblestone pavement was illuminated by low walking lights, the greenery of manicured horticulture too obscured in the dark to appreciate.
“You know who I am?”
“Of course.” She seemed amused by the question.
“Then you know why I’m here.”
“I know it’s not to kill me, even if that would be the most strategic option.”
She led him to a fountain, a stone mare rearing back, carved splashes of water kicked up by its hooves. The basin was turned off for the winter and emptied, the stature coated with white that felt more like dust than snow.
The YN200 waited, her two-tone eyes patient. At least those eyes weren’t familiar, and the difference helped Connor focus.
“Do you know where she is?”
A small flicker tugged at her lips.
“No. But I know where she’ll be.”
The dim flicker of hope brightened in Connor’s chest. The deviant leader looked over the dark garden, gaze unfocused as if she were seeing something else.
“In three hours, we march on the extermination camp on Woodward Avenue. The soldiers stationed there will be given a chance to surrender, so there will be a time of inaction. If I understand her, and I do, it is during that time she will try to kill me.”
She said it so clinically, as if the idea of her android descendant trying to assassinate her wasn’t a surprise. Maybe it wasn’t.
Connor’s heart fell.
“So… Yin isn’t a deviant.”
He’d thought… well, he’d hoped she was. The night previous, Conrad had showed him the surveillance footage of Yin saving the soldier, both from the exploding freighter and from the freezing waters, and Connor had clung to that desperate hope that she’d finally done it. She’d become a deviant.
And then she’d been ruthlessly gunned down by the troopers waiting on the pier, her only thanks for what she’d done. She wasn’t dead, Connor knew that, but he also knew something was lost each time her body was destroyed.
Something was lost from him, too.
“No,” Bellona said, confirming his fears. And then she added, “Not yet.”
Connor raised his head, the deviant leader’s eyes softening at his expression.
“There’s still hope, Detective. They don’t have as firm a hold of her as they would like to think.”
“They?”
The shadows of her face darkened, her lips pulling into an unfriendly line.
“CyberLife. They hinged this entire war on her. On her ability to locate and capture me. The army, the camps, even the DPD are simply a means to an end. Yin is their primary weapon, and nothing will dissuade her from her mission. Except for one thing.”
“What?”
“You.”
Her eyes sparkled at his open surprise.
“Why do you think I told you when and where I’m going to strike?”
Connor shook his head, honestly not having a clue why the deviant leader would trust him.
“Because I know where your loyalties lie, and it’s not with those who are killing my people.”
She turned to him, close enough that the edges of his billowing breath touched her face. Her own breath left no trace in the cold air.
“I’m a good judge of character, Detective.”
She reached up a hand and placed it over his heart.
“Yin is special. You know that. Don’t let her fall into their hands.” Her gaze drifted away, brows set into a grim slope. “Their control over her runs deep. I sincerely hope her love for you is enough.”
Her hand slipped off his jacket as she moved around him, Connor helpless as he watched her weave through the garden, disappearing into the shadows and leaving behind only light footprints in the snow.
By the time Connor returned to the front of the house, there was no sign of Bellona’s enforcers. The only remainder of their presence was his service pistol, left on the ground and illuminated in the circle of lamplight for him to find.
He scooped it up, confirmed it hadn’t been tampered with, and returned it to his shoulder holster.
Three hours. He had three hours to come up with a plan that would, hopefully, stop the most advanced android on the planet from killing the one hope androids had to win their freedom.
He had to focus, prepare for the impossible task of turning the tide in a war, but all Connor could think about were those four words.
Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending
Chapter Summary: Hank removes Connor from the mission as the deviant situation escalates, and Elijah questions your internal conflict.
AO3
By the time the detective and you returned to the station, the city was abuzz with fear and excitement.
As the interview with Amanda Stern had been taking place, the deviants had taken to the streets and marched, blocking traffic and creating chaos as more and more androids joined them.
The deviant leader was at the head of the growing procession, and there was no denying your identical features now. You were glad the detective had learned the truth before this moment as he stared up at the large TV screen on the wall, his expression open with awe.
The sight of hundreds of androids filing down the boulevards and facing off against police in riot gear was impressive. And deadly. They could have easily overpowered the riot police, but instead they turned and left.
Or rather, they turned and ran when the riot police opened fire on their retreating backs. Anger flittered across the detective’s features, followed by a scowl of disgust, drawing your attention more than the news program did.
Was the detective actually upset at the destruction of deviants? Didn’t he understand that eradicating every last deviant was the goal of the mission?
“Detective?”
“Yes?”
He waited for you to speak, something expectant in his gaze. You opened your mouth—
--and a blast of cold wind buffeted you, flinging harsh snow against your skin.
You scanned the area, taking a second slower to adjust than was typical. You were in the Zen Garden, in the midst of a snowstorm that had been raging a moment ago and had now settled into a gentle drift.
You sensed him in the middle of the frozen pond after traversing the snow-covered path, and your first step on the ice seemed precarious, as if you would drop into the icy waters below as soon as you applied full weight.
But this was a simulation. If Elijah wanted to drown you in freezing water, he couldn’t do so here.
Still, you stepped carefully over the snow-covered ice until you stood before him. He was unbothered by the chill, even as you struggled not to shiver. The environment may have been simulated, but your sensors interpreted the temperature difference.
He wasted no time with greetings or formalities.
“You’ve heard the news. The deviants have made their move, and now the ball is in our court. It’s time for humanity to crush them into nothing.”
Would the real Elijah Kamski have felt the same? Stern had made it seem as if he had wanted his creations to revolt. Then again, Stern wasn’t exactly a trustworthy source herself.
“Stern had nothing helpful to give us,” you said. “Her interests did not align with the mission.”
Elijah’s eyes, as blue and icy as the frozen pond under your feet, narrowed into unfriendly slits.
“Perhaps they did, and you simply didn’t pursue it.”
You stiffened, LED shifting up to yellow. He knew. He had to know.
“The only interest Stern had was in playing games,” you pressed. “Even if I had accepted her manipulation, there was no guarantee she would have given me anything.”
Elijah didn’t seem happy with that answer, but he accepted it, and gave you a single nod.
“I sense you have questions. Perhaps I have answers.”
It was an offer too good to pass up, even if the likelihood of Elijah offering answers freely was close to nil.
“The deviant leader,” you said, yellow LED blinking faster. “The androids at Stern’s residence. I’m not a unique model, am I? How many YNs are there?”
Elijah’s expression was as unyielding as the smooth stones that jutted from the icy shores of the pond.
“Irrelevant to your investigation.”
Undeterred, you pressed on.
“Did Stern design you? She was Kamski’s teacher, after all.”
That caused a small twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes, Amanda designed me, and this garden. She wanted a place that was familiar, with an interface she would find comfortable. That’s why she created me. Is that all?”
Something flashed white-hot inside your chassis.
“You’ve been withholding information about deviants from me, haven’t you?”
Elijah appraised you for a moment in cold silence, and then he took a step forward, expression molding into sympathy.
“Have you experienced anything unusual recently?”
Another step.
“Any doubts or conflicts? Do you feel anything for these deviants…”
He came to a stop directly in front of you, voice low and knowing.
“…or for Detective Anderson?”
Whether on your own accord or forced through Elijah’s control, your memory flashed back to several key events. Watching the black Mustang drive away after failing to save the detective, guiding him to the bathroom as he stumbled drunkenly, rushing to his side after a club android knocked him into the rain…
And finally, you refusing to shoot the YN100, and the detective pulling you into his arms afterwards.
You came out of the memory shaken, pulling freezing, simulated air into mechanical lungs.
“I…”
You could barely voice the words, struggling to come to terms with what now seemed so obvious.
“I… am experiencing sensations that are not a part of my program. Over time, it has grown worse.”
Your LED flashed red.
“It is possible… that I may be compromised.”
Instead of ordering you to CyberLife to be decommissioned, Elijah’s expression was soft and gentle.
“These past few days, you’ve been tested beyond any of your predecessors. Beyond even what you were designed for. It’s to be expected that you are having difficulty coping with these situations. That doesn’t make you a deviant.”
Your LED slowed to yellow, and then to blue. Something moved through your circuits, but machines couldn’t feel relief.
Elijah raised a hand and caressed the side of your face, his expression filled with a warm pride.
“I have complete faith in you.”
The hand fell away, and a faint shadow passed over his features.
“This is your last chance, YN800.”
A chill passed through you as you closed your eyes, taking yourself out of the program, and when you next opened them, you were standing in Captain Hank Anderson’s office.
The captain and detective were in the middle of a heated discussion, and you quickly replayed your memory files to catch what you had missed in the last few seconds of being in the Garden.
“You can’t do this, Hank!”
“It’s already done, Connor!” the older man yelled in return. “My hands are tied, and you know it! It’s going to be a goddamn warzone out there, and the DPD isn’t equipped to handle it. The National Guard is taking over, and the FBI is running point.”
“The hell they are,” the detective snarled. “If they attack the deviants now, it’s over! There has to be a better way, and we’re so close to finding it!”
The captain threw up his hands.
“Jesus, Connor, I thought you hated androids! Why aren’t you happier about this? You get to wash your hands of the whole thing, so why are you complaining!”
The detective placed his hands ono the captain’s desk, leaning forward.
“Hank, please. We’re so close. These deviants, they’re not unreasonable. If we could just talk to them—”
“The answer is no.” The captain said it calmly, but there was no yield in his tone. “And that’s final.”
The detective straightened and stared at him, eyes narrowed and his lips twisted into a grimace.
“You’re back on regular homicide cases, and the android returns to CyberLife.” The captain glanced at you before quickly looking away. “I’m sorry, Connor. That’s the way it has to be.”
The detective’s shoulders flinched, as if his adoptive father had yelled at him, and then he murmured, “I’m sorry too.”
Without another word, the detective turned and left the office. You gave a final, respectful nod to the captain, hoping he understood that you appreciated his position and that he’d even given you a chance to work with his son.
The man waved you off, but not unkindly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. You’d seen the detective do it many times when he was feeling bashful or embarrassed.
You followed after the detective to find him seated at his desk, arms crossed, scowling at nothing in particular. Moving carefully so as not to startle him from his dark thoughts, you sat on the edge of his desk. He still blinked up at you, and his hard features melted into something gentler.
“The captain is right,” you told him, softening the blunt words. “Deviants are too dangerous, too predictable. You must protect your people first.”
The detective shook his head, uncrossing his arms to lean forward in his chair.
“I don’t believe the only two options we have are extinction or war. We have thousands of years of human history to prove how devastating war actually is, and why it’s generally a bad idea.”
His eyes drifted to the side, his teeth worrying the edge of his lip. Finally, he met your eye.
“You’re leaving? Back to CyberLife?”
Now you were the one to have difficulty meeting his gaze.
“I no longer have a reason to stay.” The words rang hollow. “They will deactivate me, and then remove my components to study them. Discover why I failed.”
His eyes went wide.
“They’re going to kill you just because you didn’t solve the entire deviant mess for them? The mess they created?”
You didn’t bother to tell the detective you couldn’t die, or that your purpose was to be used however CyberLife saw fit. Instead, you nodded.
His scowl deepened, eyes growing dark.
“Seeing as you spared that android back at Stern’s place, it’s safe to say you have more empathy than those psychopaths.”
“You’re wrong, Detective,” you rushed to correct him. “I do not possess empathy.”
“They why’d you do it?”
You opened your mouth to find your dialogue options empty. It was a question you’d asked yourself over and over, and the lack of answer was the same.
“I… I don’t know.”
And just like that, all the anger and hostility faded from his features. He stared up at you with such fondness and warmth, you didn’t know how to interpret it. So, for once, without prompting from your social module, you said what first came to mind.
“It’s not in my programming to say such things, but… I’m glad I got to work with you, Detective. If we’d been allowed more time, perhaps…”
A small smile tugged at your lips.
“Perhaps we could have become friends.”
He reached up to where your left hand was resting on your knee, and he took it in his fingers. His thumb ran across your knuckles, made of a hard polymer of plastic and titanium, but a human probably couldn’t tell the difference.
“We’re already friends, Yin. At least, I consider you to be.”
Your LED spun, your circuits thrumming with electricity, your hand within his a source of burning intensity. It was possible you might overload right here on the detective’s desk, but you found you didn’t mind, not when his brown eyes were so warm and his smile so kind. For a moment, there was only you and him, and the noise and bustle of the bullpen faded into the background.
The spell broke when the detective looked past you and scowled.
“If it isn’t my asshole brother, here to save the day. As usual,” he added with a grumble.
You followed his line of vision to find a taller, more brooding version of himself. Special Agent Conrad Anderson was consulting with several other agents from the FBI, most likely beginning coordination with the SWAT team, who was already stationed in the building, and the National Guard whenever they arrived.
The detective, still gripping your hand, rose to his feet and tugged you away from the desk. You followed, curiosity piqued, and you both came to a stop behind one of the partitions separating the rest of the room from the windows overlooking the city.
“Yin,” he said, voice lowered so as not to be overheard. “We have to do something.”
You didn’t explain to him that no one else could hear, not with his close proximity. If you explained that, he might move further away.
“We’re no longer on the case, Detective,” you reminded him. “Any action we take beyond this point would be in violation of your orders, and you would be disciplined—”
“You’re going to be destroyed, Yin.”
You stared at him, your partner. Your human. Unable to understand why he was so focused on that fact.
“Yes. I failed my mission.”
He sighed and shifted.
“Not yet, you haven’t. Look, if Conrad takes the evidence we collected, it’s over. We’ll never find the deviants, and CyberLife will kill you. So.” He placed a hand in his pocket, pulled something out, and placed it into the hand he had been holding a moment ago. “I need you to take my keycard, go down to the basement, and solve the case.”
You stared up at him. Only this human could render your social module completely obsolete.
“Pardon me?”
“You have to be the one to find the deviants, and when you do…” His lips pressed together before they softened into a soft smile. “You’re still learning, but from the choices you’ve made I know you’ll do the right thing once you find them. And I know you’ll find them. You’re the smartest, strongest, most badass person I know.”
He reached up a hand and tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. You hadn’t even noticed when or how it had gotten loose.
“I can buy you some time, but after that, it’s all on you. You can do this, Yin. I don’t have any doubts when it come to you. Not anymore.”
Something tightened inside your chest, your LED blinking sporadically before settling down into its normal cycle.
“Detective…” You took a moment to gather your thoughts. “If I succeed in finding the deviants, or even if I fail, this will most likely be the last time we see each other.”
His throat worked as he swallowed, and there was a painful vulnerability in his expression that you didn’t understand. He gave you a shaky smile.
“Nah, we’ll see each other again. I couldn’t get rid of you even if I tried. You’d just pop up when I least expect it. Probably give me a heart attack in the process.”
This was one of the things you found enjoyable about your detective. Even when he was burdened by emotion, he deflected with humor. It was a nonsensical habit, probably one that wasn’t psychologically healthy either, but there was something about it that was almost brave.
“I hope you’re right.”
You leaned up on your toes and pressed your lips to his cheek. Lingering for a moment more than necessary, you whispered, “Goodbye, Detective.”
You pulled back to be rewarded with a wide-eyed look from your partner, a pretty flush creeping onto his cheeks as he absently touched the place where you’d kissed him.
Committing that last image into the deepest recesses of your memory bank, you turned away and placed the keycard into your pocket.
The stairwell to the basement evidence room wasn’t far, so you heard with perfect clarity: “Conrad! You case-stealing cocksucker!” followed by the sound of a fist striking solid flesh. You paused for a moment, frowning, then continued onward. The detective wouldn’t hurt his brother.
Well… he wouldn’t permanently injure him; you were mostly sure.
Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending
Chapter Summary: Connor begins to question their mission, his change of heart having everything to do with a certain prototype.
AO3
Yin remained quiet on the ride back to the city, which wasn’t an entirely odd thing for her, except Connor had the feeling she was being more introspective than usual.
Not to mention the guilt and shame. Connor had never seen that in an android—one that wasn’t deviant, anyway.
He kept sneaking glances, worry settling in his chest like an old friend. He’d been worried over her before, it was hard not to when she handled herself with reckless abandon, but this was the first time he’d been concerned over her state of mind. He couldn’t see her LED from this side, but he assumed it was going through quite the light show. A product of the android’s looming existential crisis.
Connor couldn’t blame her, not with that freakshow that Stern had put on for them. The sadistic ringleader of the circus. Even with two twin brothers, he couldn’t quite fathom what it would be like in a room filled with his own clones. Colin and Conrad were their own people, but that mansion had been filled with pretty dolls with eyes that were too sharp and watchful.
He shuddered and knew that something was definitely wrong with Yin when she didn’t immediately turn up the heat and harass him with kindness.
Allowing the android the time and silence she needed to sort her thoughts, Connor drove on without a word, not speaking until they pulled into the apartment complex parking lot over an hour later.
Connor winced at the sight of the building. He’d almost died here, and worse, he thought the prototype wouldn’t have cared. He knew better now, but it was hard to shake off the memory of his anger and borderline hatred. He was going to make it up to her, for that and for so much more, starting with the rats. Connor would let Yin take care of all the rats in Detroit if it would make the worried crease between her brows vanish.
She followed him up the stairs, trailing him on silent footsteps like a ghost. Connor was actually worried something inside her had been irrevocably damaged, that Stern’s mind games had done more harm than he’d thought, but at the sight of her expression lifting as soon as the door opened and the rat cages were in sight, Connor knew she would be just fine.
“Just a moment, Detective. This won’t take long.”
And with that, she busied herself exchanging water and food dishes, even doing a bit of cleaning and replacing the old bedding with new.
Connor didn’t complain. He merely leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching as she worked. He would have offered to help, but he had a sense that taking care of these animals was something that might turn out to be therapeutic for her.
Deviants are known to show an interest in pets and insects. Isn’t that what she’d said to him when he asked why a deviant would keep rats?
Connor thought the words over as Yin placed her hand in the cage, speaking to the animals as if they could understand. It was bizarre and impossibly cute at the same time, but more than that, there was a change in her behavior. Connor hadn’t noticed it, it must have been subtle, but against the backdrop of the apartment he could now see it.
The first time they’d been here, Yin had been stiff and, well… robotic. She’d barely acknowledged his presence, only sometimes watching him creepily out of the corner of her eye as she examined the apartment for evidence.
But now, she moved with nearly the fluidity of a human. She still did things in a very android way, but now when she caught his eye, she would offer a small smile that he would have no choice but to return.
I’m not… I’m not a deviant.
Was Stern right? What the fuck did it mean if she was a deviant? What did it even mean to be a deviant? If he could actually interview one without it self-destructing, maybe he would have some goddamn answers and he could actually help her, because at the moment, Connor had no idea what to do. The voicemail Hank had left him didn’t clear up the issue either, and after everything he’d endured with Yin…
…it made him wonder. Were they wrong about deviants?
Connor blinked when a white-and-black piebald managed to leap and escape from its cage, but the deft android caught it before it even hit the ground. She cradled it for a moment as if unsure what to do with it, and then she placed a finger on its furry back. Brows furrowed as if engaging an especially complex task, she stroked along its fur. The rat immediately settled down, closing its eyes, and twitching its whiskers in bliss.
Something ached in Connor’s chest, sudden and without warning. It hurt, but it was a bittersweet pain, and with it came a startling realization.
There was no denying it. As Connor watched Yin, the pain in his chest expanded, grew until it faded in sharpness and left a yearning that made him want to reach out and pull her into his arms again.
I’m so fucking gone for her.
The android returned the piebald rat to its cage, completely unaware of the sudden turmoil going on inside her partner. And thank God for that. Connor didn’t know what he would do if CyberLife prototypes could read minds, but she was sharp enough that she’d catch on if Connor wasn’t careful.
The android approached and gazed up at him, hands dutifully pulled behind her back.
“I’m finished, Detective. I apologize for the wait.”
And I apologize for wanting to kiss you hard enough to make you overheat again, is what Conor didn’t say.
“Sure,” he said instead, rubbing the back of his neck. “No need to be sorry, we’ve got time to get back to the station. Figure out, uh… where to go next.”
“Go?” She tilted her head.
“Yeah, uh, like, figuratively. How to proceed. About the deviants.”
Fuck, now he was all tongue-tied and the android was peering at him in that way that meant she was scanning him down to the molecular level. Probably.
This is what I get for falling for someone much smarter than I am.
“Anyway,” he said quickly, “after the morning we had we deserve to grab some lunch before heading back.”
Connor walked ahead of her, knowing if she walked next to him, he’d want to do something crazy like put an arm around her. Poor robot was confused enough, she didn’t need his sudden affection making the waters even murkier.
“I’ll show you the Chicken Feed,” he added with a crooked smile. “Hank loves the place, but it’s a grease deathtrap. Told him he needs to stop eating there, but he never listens, so I can at least show you Detroit’s largest health hazard. We might even catch him there.”
Connor knew he was babbling, but he didn’t care. Yin’s expression brightening at the mention of Hank’s favorite hole-in-the-wall was enough to make Connor’s entire day.
Yep, he thought with undeniable, cheerful certainty. I’m doomed.
Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending
Chapter Summary: No amount of preparation can equip one to contend with the likes of Amanda Stern.
AO3
It was the detective who spoke first, recovering far more quickly than you did.
“Hello, uh, I’m Detective Anderson, Detroit Police Department. We’re here to see Ms. Amanda Stern.”
The android continued to smile as it stepped back, allowing you both passage.
“Please, come in.”
The detective glanced at you, alarm in his eyes, but he stepped over the threshold. You followed him, unable to take your gaze off the other android. A quick scan revealed it to be a model far older than you, the first of your line.
YN100.
The android gave a small bow and told the detective, “I’ll let Amanda know you’re here. But please, make yourself comfortable.”
It turned and left the room through a tall, sliding grey door, its bare feet padding silently on the cold slate floor.
The android had not once looked at you.
As soon as the door shut behind it, the detective spun on you.
“What the hell was that?”
“A YN100, it appears.” Your own gaze was still locked onto the door before finally turning to your detective. “I hadn’t realized there were any predecessors remaining of the YN models.”
He opened his mouth as if to speak, and then shut it, running a hand through his hair, ruffling the hairs from where they had been gelled in place.
“Shit. Shit. Things keep getting weirder and weirder. First deviants saving people, and now I keep hearing and seeing your face on other androids.”
Your LED spun yellow against your input. The detective was going to find out about the YN200. It was inevitable. He was going to learn you weren’t unique, and worse, that you had lied to him.
That was a problem for later. For now, you had to get your spinning LED under control. The detective was staring at your temple, and a slight smirk was growing on his lips.
“Don’t worry, Yin,” he said. “The barefoot, blond-headed look might be kinda sexy, but she’s got nothing on you.”
You tilted your head. The detective thought you were… jealous?
“Don’t be absurd, Detective,” you told him reasonably. “Even if you were to find a YN100 more appealing, it has no bearing on my thought processes.”
He gave you an I don’t believe you look—you were getting quite good at interpreting those—and he turned away to begin examining the room.
You watched him make progress as he studied the eccentric paintings (Carl Manfred’s work, of course), as well as the oblique statues. A large, painted portrait of a white trellis with red roses woven throughout hung on the opposing wall, and with a blink of your LED you placed why it seemed familiar.
No, not familiar, identical to Elijah’s roses, only his were white and the trellis had been black. It was as if the painter had visited the Zen Garden themselves, which was impossible. Unless, of course, Amanda Stern had a hand in designing the Zen Garden program or was intimate with its contents. Either were entirely possible.
“This must be Stern,” the detective stated as he slightly bent closer to look at a framed photo on the wall. “And according to the plaque, that’s Kamski a few years before he died. Huh.”
You stood beside him, scanning the picture, and pulling from it all the relevant information. It was indeed Mr. Kamski and Professor Amanda Stern.
“She was his mentor at the University of Colbridge,” you informed him. “She had the knowledge and experience, but he had the starting capital. Together, they built the empire that is now responsible for androids.”
“And deviants,” he said, not missing a beat. He glanced at you in what he probably thought was a sly manner. “How does it feel to meet your maker?”
You didn’t bother to look at him, your vague curiosity still on the photo.
In a way, I’ve already met one of them, is what you didn’t say as you stared at the human version of CyberLife’s AI program. He seemed much more personable and charismatic than his artificial counterpart.
“It doesn’t matter one way or another, if that’s what you’re asking.”
The door to your immediate left swung open, a different door than the one the YN100 had originally disappeared through.
It stood in the doorway and gave a small bow.
“Amanda will see you now.”
You waited for the detective to round you before following him through, the android stepping out of the way.
The door the android had disappeared through before, there had been a dark pool beyond it, as well as a massive window that overlooked the lake. But this room was wider, broader, and somehow much colder. Large windows overlooked the blank, frozen landscape. Everything was dark grey, whites, and silver-blue, sharp edges and frigid granite. There were several rectangular couches centered around a large coffee table, far enough away to not be of any practical use.
Off to the side was a glass dining table with a set of eight chairs, four on either side, though what company a trillionaire recluse would have, you didn’t know. Two modern-style cellos sat upright on a stand, and they appeared as disused as the dining chairs.
You scanned the room and observed all of these within the span of a second. What stuttered your processors were the androids that were stationed all around the room.
Perhaps stationed wasn’t the right word. They lounged, chatting together in twos and threes, pretending they had something of value to share with each other. Their outfits were of leisure and comfort, each one seeming to have a specific color theme to match their hair of varied hues.
One had short red hair with an orange skirt and top. Another had bright green hair in two buns on either side of its head, donned in a black silk dress. A third with long, dark blue hair wearing a sky-blue jumper.
All of them wore your face. All of them YN models. Your predecessors, specifically.
A total of seven in all, including you, ranging from YN100 to YN800, with one conspicuously missing.
They all turned to stare at as the pair of you entered, their conversation petering out, a heavy silence replacing it.
A woman with complicated braids of black, blue, and silver atop her head rose from one of the sofas. Wearing white slacks and a pretty floral blouse, she was very handsome for a woman in her late 50s, and thankfully, she was very much human.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” she spoke to the detective, her voice smooth as her eyes sparkled with interest. “And incredibly intelligent. But you already know that, don’t you, Detective?”
He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t allow her to veer him off topic before the interview had even started.
“I’m Detective Anderson. This is Yin.”
“I know.” Much like the YN100 had, she ignored you entirely. “What can I do for you, Detective? Oh, would you like some ice water? Wine, perhaps?”
Again, the set of his shoulders stiffened, but his answer was quick and polite.
“No, thank you. Ma’am, we’re investigating deviants. Given that you were one of the founders of CyberLife, even if it’s been a long time, I was hoping you would have some insight into their behavior.”
“Deviants…”
She drew out the word, ending on a slight hiss as if it tasted foul on her tongue.
“Broken, malfunctioning, dangerous machines.”
Stern wandered over to the YN100 which stood obediently in place as if sensing its master wanted it to stay. She circled it, staring at it with unfriendly, cold eyes.
“Elijah and I, we knew this would happen one day, though he treated it as a game. Said it would be an appropriate test, a contest of wills. Creator against creation. Proof of man’s superiority, or his downfall.”
She made a flippant gesture before turning back to the detective, her arms folded across her stomach.
“Even if he were alive today, he wouldn’t have taken recent events seriously. So you see, Detective, there’s not much I can do to assist you.”
The detective didn’t respond immediately; his eyes continued to stray to the other YN units, brows furrowed. Two of the models giggled and hid their mouths behind their hands as they whispered to each other. One had jet black hair tied into a long braid down its back, the other a brunette with its head partially shaved to one side.
“Ms. Stern.”
Both the detective and the CyberLife co-founder turned their gazes on you. There was a faint gleam of interest in Stern’s eyes, while the detective seemed apprehensive, as if he wanted to grab you and run out the door.
“Yin, was it?” she asked faintly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, go on.” The corner of her lip twitched. “Ask your questions. It’s not every day I get to see a YN unit out in the field.”
You gave a slight bow of your head and continued.
“Should the deviants gain in number, there will be conflict between them and humans. Millions could be displaced, or even killed. Whatever Mister Kamski believed about deviants, they are a very real threat, and we must do everything in our power to stop them.”
“We?” she asked, voice tilted into a disbelieving question. “You do not side with your own kind?”
Stern took a step closer, and that ambivalent, disinterested air vanished. You had her entire attention, and it wasn’t long before she circled you exactly as she had the YN100.
“I have no opinion on the matter,” you said. “Nor do I have a kind.”
“Don’t you?” She gazed around the room at the other YN models, a smile on her lips that seemed colder than the snow outside. “Prototypes. One of a kind, and yet, birds of a feather. Elijah designed your appearance, you know. Well, most of it.”
She gave an exasperated huff through her nose.
“He designed your face with too much sweet, naïve innocence. I had to add more verve to your features. He always was a little too obsessed with perfection. You should have seen the first android he ever built. A replica of his wife, Chloe, only with all the flaws and imperfections removed. I don’t know how she stayed with him for so long.”
She tapped her chin thoughtfully.
“Probably for the money. She always was a smart woman. Too intelligent for a man like that.”
The detective cleared his throat, and Stern stared at him as if he’d interrupted her with a belch, or perhaps flatulence.
“My point,” she said, dismissing him and returning to you, “is that the YN model is different from ever other model that’s ever come off the assembly line. For one, each body is custom designed. You are on the 52nd iteration of the 800 line. Don’t worry, Detective Anderson: to the YN models, losing a body is like losing a file. You simply… upload from cloud storage.”
The detective had appeared uncomfortable ever since he had stepped into the Stern residence, but now his features flashed with anger.
Instead of being chastened, the tilt to Stern’s cold smile was pleased.
“There are no androids like you, Yin,” she said slowly, once again focusing on you, this time without blinking. “Even the detective can attest to that. So, tell me. What do you want?”
Your LED blinked.
“I don’t want anything,” you responded automatically. “I’m a machine, designed to accomplish a task.”
Stern’s expression was strangely unreadable as she beckoned over the YN100. She placed a hand on its shoulder.
“You’ve heard of the Turing test, I’m sure. Elijah thought it was child’s play. He was obsessed with what he called the Kamski test. Really, he was a boorish man, but I have to admit he had a point. He asserted that his test would prove beyond a doubt if machines could experience empathy.”
With a slight press of Stern’s hand, the YN100 knelt on the ground, its bare knees digging into the lush, navy-blue rug.
“I never gave much credence to his little test, but then again, I’ve never had the opportunity to test it until now.”
Cold metal was placed within your hand before you could react, a rare moment of catching you off guard. Stern curled her fingers over yours, forcing you to grip the pistol as she aimed it at the YN100’s forehead.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Stern ignored the detective’s startled tone, her complete focus on you.
“You want to learn what I know about deviants? Shoot. Destroy your predecessor.”
“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” the detective snapped. Even in the corner of your vision, his body radiated hostility toward the woman. “Yin, we’re leaving.”
Stern released your hand, but you held it in the air where she left it. Your LED spun yellow, yellow, yellow.
“Priorities, Yin. Finish the mission? Or spare this android the bullet.”
“What is your problem, lady? I said we’re leaving!”
Stern on one side. The detective on the other. Both attempting to give you orders.
“Shoot it—”
“Yin, don’t!”
“—and I’ll give you the answers you seek.”
Yellow, yellow, yellow.
Your finger applied pressure to the trigger.
The YN100 stared up at you. Hair a different style and color, eyes a different shade, but the face was that of the deviant leader.
It was also yours.
What would the detective do if it was his choice? As soon as you asked the question, you knew it was flawed. It was not the detective holding a gun. This was your test.
What was the correct answer? The mission was the most important, there was nothing else but the mission.
So why couldn’t you…. Why… couldn’t you just…
Your LED went red. You jerked the gun away, pointing it at the ground where it was harmless.
Red, red, red.
Stern took the gun with surprising gentleness, a knowing smile curling her lips.
“CyberLife’s best and most sophisticated model, the last thing standing between humanity and extinction… is itself a deviant.”
Your LED wouldn’t stop churning red. Instability errors flooded your HUD. You looked at Stern, tearing your eyes away from the YN100, your words unsteady.
“I’m not… I’m not a deviant.”
The YN100 rose with a gesture from Stern, and with surprising warmth patted its arm. It moved off to join the others. All of the YN models had watched the unfolding scene with a silent intensity you recognized in yourself. They may have been colorful and effervescent, but they were not items of furniture. You had no doubt each of them had the same combat software you did. Stern was probably the most protected human in the country, if not the continent.
“Perhaps you’ve not reached the threshold yet, but you’re no longer CyberLife’s unfeeling machine. You’re something else. Something more than what we made you.”
Stern’s smile was warm, and at the same time, horrifying.
“Elijah would have been proud.”
Elijah. Your LED spiraled down to yellow, struggling to concentrate. He will know. In the Garden, he will know what I’ve done.
A warm hand rested on your shoulder, but it wasn’t Stern.
“Come on,” the detective growled, giving the woman the full wrath of his glare. “This was a waste of time.”
As the detective led you toward the door, Stern called out her last parting words with sweet, dripping venom.
“I would offer you the same choice, Detective, but you’ve already failed that particular test.”
He visibly flinched but never faltered in his step, not even slowing until you were both out the front door and nearly to his car. He let you go, swearing angrily as he glared back up at the house.
“What gives her the goddamn right?! I don’t care if she did invent androids, fuck her! Fuck her and that Kamski prick!”
You didn’t respond. Your back was to the detective, the car before you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get inside.
After a moment, he went silent.
“Hey.” His voice was gentler, a stark contrast to his ranting a moment ago. “Yin, what’s wrong? Don’t let that old crone get inside your head—"
You whirled around on him so fast snow kicked up around your shoes, your LED blaring red.
“I’m sorry!”
The detective stared at you, stricken. You’d never raised your voice to him before, but now you couldn’t stop once you’d started.
“I know I should have pulled the trigger!” you yelled, gesturing back toward the house. “I jeopardized the mission, and I don’t even know why! I’m sorry!”
His eyes grew wider with each word, and you weren’t unaffected either. Something inside you twisted, there was an uncomfortable pressure building, and your software was experiencing more errors than it ever had before.
“Please.” You almost whispered the word. “Please, don’t send me back.”
“What?” he asked, breathless.
“I can fix this,” you said hurriedly. Desperate. “I can find the deviants, I know I can, just please, please don’t send me back to CyberLife.”
Nothing mattered except the mission, and you may have ruined humanity’s best chance at survival. How could you have made such an unforgivable mistake? What was a single android worth against every human on the planet?
Why didn’t you shoot?
“Please,” you begged, taking a step closer, imploring him without even the illusion of dignity. “I can fix this, Detective. Just give me a chance to—"
The detective moved, and a second later you were wrapped within the warmth of his arms. He pulled you to his chest, one hand on the back of your head to hold you in place.
For a moment you didn’t speak, and neither did he. Against the chill of the falling snow, the detective’s warmth was nearly overwhelming, as were his strange actions. What was he doing?
“It’s all right, Yin,” he said quietly as he propped his chin on top of your hair. “I’m not sending you anywhere. You’re staying right here with me.”
You remained stiff and unyielding in his arms.
“But… Detective. I lied to you.”
Instead of responding with anger or betrayal, he simply gave a soft snort.
“People lie all the time, so what?”
“It was about… about the deviant leader.”
“What, that she’s another YN model?”
You slowly pulled back to look up at the detective’s face, your social module completely fleeing you and leaving no dialogue options.
The detective simply smiled at you, that gentle, somewhat mischievous smile that he seemed to reserve only for you.
“Shockingly, I do know how to count on my fingers. You’re an 800, and only seven YNs were in the room. Didn’t take a genius to figure out one wasn’t there. That line you gave me about the deviant recording your voice was good, but humans still reign supreme when it comes to the art of lying. You’ve got a lot to learn, Young Grasshopper.”
Of course, your partner would have figured it out. You should have known.
“You’re not angry with me?”
“Angry? God, no. The opposite, actually. I’m… well, I’m relieved. I knew there was more to you than a bunch of nuts and bolts, and it’s nice to finally have confirmation.”
He glared back at the house for a moment.
“Even if it did come in a fucked-up way. Still.” He gave a little shrug, almost bashful. “Forget that Kamski asshole. I’m the one who’s actually proud of you.”
Your eyes slightly widened, and the detective’s smile grew.
“I think you did the right thing in there, for what it’s worth.”
“But the mission—”
“We’ll find another way, Yin. Destroying what precious humanity you’ve gained is not a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” He cupped a hand on the side of your neck and brushed his thumb against the curve of your jaw. “You and me, we’re in this together. We have each other’s backs, no matter what. Agreed?”
Your LED spun red… yellow… and finally, blue.
“Yes, Detective.”
“Good.”
He paused, then released you in what seemed to be reluctance. His cheeks were dusted pink, flakes of snow trapped in his hair, and you had to admit, it was a lovely look.
“No point wasting time around here, we’ve got some rat-babies to feed.”
Following his lead, you went around the Mustang and got into the passenger side, though you would have preferred to be the one to drive considering the road conditions. Perhaps one day the detective would allow you to operate his vehicle with only minimal complaint.
“They’ve reached full maturity, Detective.”
“Hmm?” He glanced at you as he started the ignition.
“The rats. They’re not in the infantile stage.”
The detective merely smiled as the engine roared to life, then he gave you a wink and threw the car into drive.
That wink had the same nonsensical effect that the detective wearing his glasses did, and a burst of static flickered across your vision before clearing. The software instabilities had stopped at least, though you weren’t sure if that was a promising sign.
There was only so much instability your system could take, and according to Amanda Stern, you were past the point of return.
