You are a brilliant and highly respected lawyer. Deeply fascinated about technology and especially by androids. Convinced that they are developing genuine emotional intelligence, you have made it your mission to defend those who are victims of violence or abuse, in order to give them a voice and be the one that will represent them at all cost. Connor, the android detective, does not share your opinion.
Lawyers are known for their stubbornness and their need to have the ultimate say. You are determined to prove to him, by any means necessary, that you are right.
The heavy doors of the courtroom close behind you with a dull echo. The entire morning was spent defending a man who loved his bottle of whiskey more than his own family, and cases like this always leave you with a bitter kind of mental exhaustion. It wasnโt a battle you wanted to fight. You did lose the case, yes, but this defeat feels nothing like a failure. The man was sentenced to several months in prison and ordered to pay damages to his wife. More importantly, he is now forbidden from approaching her or their son until further notice.
In moments like these, nothing would be more comforting than a quiet afternoon: a book resting on your knees, your cat curled up against you and a steaming cup of tea held between your hands. Instead, the only comfort youโre granted is the familiar seat of your car, which youโve just slipped into.
๐ Incoming call: Lt. Anderson.
A weary sigh escapes your lips. Clearly, the day isnโt done with you yet, and with every passing second, the pleasant vision of that well-earned couch break drifts further out of reach.
โ Lieutenant Anderson. What a pleasant surprise.
โ Save it. I know you donโt mean a fucking word of it.
โ Fair enough. What can I do for you?
โ We picked up an android. It claims it was abused by its owner. Thought you might want to see it for yourself.
โ Iโm on my way.
The engine comes to life at once, and the city of Detroit blurs past your windshield as you head toward the precinct.
There are still no official laws regulating android rights. Yet you have never doubted that they are far more than mere machines. For months, you have been taking advantage of your professional connections, pushing against institutional walls, multiplying efforts to make things change, to make them evolve. Between hearings, between case files, you devote your free time to those who have no voice at all: androids destroyed without trial, silenced without a second thought. Their ability to feel emotions is no longer a hypothesis to you, but a certainty and your daily fight.
One pattern stands out among those who are arrested: only androids who claim to have suffered an emotional shock turn against their owners. Defending the most vulnerable against the abuses of the powerful has always been your guiding principle, the very reason you chose this profession. It is also the result of your meticulous, well-regarded work that has earned you certain privileges like attending arrests, observing interrogations or accessing case files for analysis. You still canโt officially defend them in court, but you can at least slow their biased destruction and, sometimes, offer them a second chance with the right arguments.
โธป
Behind the tinted glass of the interrogation room, an android sits with restraints clasped around his synthetic wrists. His mental agitation is almost tangible, like a low vibration pressing against the glass. The tension is unmistakable. Lieutenant Andersonโs methods โand those of his partner, Connorโ are not known for their gentleness, but their effectiveness is undeniable.
Connor. A prototype android detective sent by Cyberlife to assist law enforcement, compensate for staff shortages, and test their most advanced models along the way. He embodies everything an investigator should be: methodical, precise, relentlessly rational. Perhaps too much so. He doesnโt believe for a second that androids can feel emotions. Pretty ironic, considering he is one himself.
And yet, despite his denials, youโve noticed flaws in him. Tiny, almost imperceptible, but undeniably real. Compliments throw him off balance. Compassion slows him down. Empathy seems to trigger a brief disturbance, like a minor short circuit. You even tested him once, by asking him out. The reaction was so abrupt you could have sworn he initiated a full system diagnostic within seconds. If androids are incapable of emotions, as he claims, how does one explain such a disruption?
Arms crossed, mind alert, you take in every detail: the silences, the glances, the micro-reactions. The android being interrogated still hasnโt spoken. A domestic model, arrested after assaulting his owner. She claims she was calmly watering the plants in her garden when the machine โmalfunctionedโ. The neighbors, alarmed by the scene, immediately called the police.
And you watch. As always. Waiting for the moment when the truth finally decides to surface.
Connor speaks, true to form, with that perfectly calibrated mechanical precision that defines him. His voice is steady, measured, almost too smooth. He tries to position himself on the androidโs side, promising him the world, bordering on plain old lies, meeting his gaze directly in the hope of earning his trust and getting him to talk. Your attention, however, is drawn elsewhere: the claw-like marks scoring the suspectโs forearms.
โ I want the human to leave.
The defendantโs voice finally breaks the silence. Anderson shoots Connor a brief, incredulous look before exiting the room, muttering a vague โYeah, whatever.โ Seconds later, he reappears on the other side of the glass. He nods at you, then drops heavily into a chair.
โ An hour without a word, and the only thing it says is โI want the human to leave.โ
โ If heโs been traumatized, it makes sense heโd only trust androids
โ I already regret calling you.
โ Nice to see you too.
A faintly mocking smile tugs at your lips as your gaze returns to the interrogation room. The two androids are alone now.
Connor takes a seat, adopting a more neutral posture, almost human. His approach surprises you.
โ When you were arrested, you stated that your owner mistreated you. Can you tell me more about that?
The android slowly lifts his head toward him. A fragile spark flickers in his pupils. He suddenly looks on the verge of tears. When he speaks again, hope trembles in his voice.
โ Soโฆ you believe me?
โ Tell me.
Thatโs all it takes. Silent as the grave until now, the android begins speaking nonstop, as if a barrier has finally broken. Words pour out, rushed, liberating. He recounts months of degradation: humiliating orders, tasks forced upon him outside his original programming, unwanted sexual advances. And when he finally began to express refusal, the violence followed. First slaps. Then worse. Mutilation, the marks on his forearms bear witness to his suffering.
To be completely honest, you had never heard anything so horrific come from the mouth of a domestic android, and judging by Connorโs expression, neither had he.
The android continues, unloading horrors so extreme they almost feel unreal. Too unreal to be true, one might think. Yet youโve handled enough victim case files to know that reality often surpasses fiction. Nothing he says feels fabricated, not even coming from a simple android. And if humans are capable of inflicting such atrocities upon one another, why wouldnโt they do the same to a machine they consider devoid of reason and stripped of all rights?
Your eyebrows furrow despite yourself. A quiet anger rises within you, laced with disbelief. How can any of this still be allowed to happen? In this precise moment, more than ever, you know why youโre here.
And why you refuse to look away.
โธป
โ Youโve got to be kidding me!
โ Iโm perfectly serious.
The android had been held in a cell for several days now, trapped in a complete administrative limbo. No one truly seemed to know what to do with him. As for you, your workload had been so overwhelming that finding a viable arrangement had proven nearly impossible. The case file had been examined from every angle, taken apart and reassembled over and over again, yet no decision had ever been made regarding the android โyou would later learn his name was Julianโ and now, the news hits you with icy brutality: there will be no decision to make after all.
Cyberlife took over. The unit was recalled. Then destroyed.
More than ever, you had placed your hopes in this case. The most alarming one you had handled so far. The strongest. The one you were convinced would finally tip the scales. That hope had just been crushed by Connorโs hands.
โ I specifically asked that he be kept in custody until I could see a judge.
โ And thatโs exactly what we did. But the holding cells are full and we canโt keep defective android models indefinitely.
โ They are not defective, Connor.
โ Of course they are. Otherwise, they wouldnโt attack their owners and would simply comply with their orders.
His tone, as neutral as ever, clashes sharply with yours: tense, defensive, threaded with a fury you struggle to contain. The precinct is nearly empty at this hour. A handful of officers linger, caught between overtime and the start of the night shift. Judging by the sidelong glances, your exchange seems to interest them far more than their screens.
Connor remains unshaken. Precise. Steady. Running like clockwork.
โ Why do you refuse to face reality? you snap. Weโre talking about androids who only turn on their owners after theyโve been abused. Only then. How do you explain that?
โ A software malfunction. A faulty diagnostic. A technical failure. He pauses. Cyberlife is investigating. Weโll have answers soon. And I promise you, once we do, Iโll let you know.
In that precise moment, you donโt know whatโs stopping you from slapping him. Maybe your professional conscience. Maybe the presence โhowever minimalโ of an audience. Connor is stubborn. And so are you. Your exchanges have always been tense, especially when android cases are involved. Connor categorically rejects the idea that androids could be developing self-awareness. He claims to be living proof of the opposite. He, and all those who continue to perform their duties obediently, without deviation.
To the police, violent androids are nothing more than a marginal anomaly. A defective minority to be discarded so they can focus on what truly matters: humans.
Anger burns in your chest. Without another word, you turn on your heel, leaving Connor to sink back into his work as if nothing had happened.
But for you, something has just broken. And this time, waiting is no longer an option. Itโs time to act.
A/N:ย This was written for @deviantramblings โ 500 follower writing challenge, congrats again! The prompt is โI didnโt mean to love you so much,โ and, naturally, it came out angsty.ย I know Machine!Connor fics have been done before, and better than this, but I wanted to try my hand at it.
Hope you guys like it!
-
โPut the gun down.โ
Cold wind strikes your already watering eyes and you blink furiously, futilely, to clear them. Falling snow liters the air, obscuring and interrupting the clear view of the rooftop you stand on. Of the rooftop you tracked him to.
The freezing temperature bites at your exposed, reddening skin, but the slight waver in your hands is not derived from the cold. At least, not from the cold weather blanketing Detroit this time of year, but rather from the icy cold you feel deep inside. In your bones. In your heart.
In his eyes.
You ignore his command, keeping the gun you hold in a death-grip up and as level as you can. Both of you knew it was the sole thing keeping him from completing his task; both of you knew it was your only hope of stopping him.
โWhat are you doing, Connor?โ you ask, your heart breaking along with your voice as you shake your head in disbelief. โWhy?โ
Whether the last uttered word was a question, a cry, or a plea was up for some debate. But it didnโt really matter, in the end, you already knew. You knew it in your gut and in your brain, and worst of all you knew it in your soul.
Connor had changed.
Shifted.
Reverted.
Retrogressed right back into that plastic, cookie-cutter android sent by Cyberlife all those months ago. A heartless machine, unempathetic and subservient.
โBecause I was designed to accomplish a task and that is exactly what Iโm going to do. Becoming a deviant was only part of Cyberlifeโs plan, a temporary necessity to get me here unhindered.โ The clipped words are spoken formally and informatively, as though he wasnโt shredding whatโs left of your heart with every blank vowel that passes his lips.
Even though it killed you, it was an actual explanation and it made your heart stutter and hope all the same. Because he explained, he took precious time away from his mission to say those words. Granted, you had already surmised as much and he didnโt exactly have a choice except to answer, but it gave you the briefest of fleeting, dangerous, hopes that maybe a part of Connor- a part of your Connor was still in there.
But his eyes are empty.ย
As empty as they had been thirty seconds ago when you aimed a gun at his head and ordered him to drop his weapon, the one he was aiming at Markus and North and Simon- at his friends- at people he knew and loved.
Empty enough that there is no real trace of Connor to be found in them.
Tears escape your eyes, leaving scorching trails down your cheeks. โPlease donโt make me do this,โ you beg. โShow me youโre in there somewhere, Connor. Please.โ
He tilts his head to the side, considering you. It's a common movement from him, an endearing action you had seen countless times, but it lacked the curiosity and wonder it normally exudes. Itโs like he found your wavering words, your pleading, perplexing. Like he was searching for smaller words to use to help you understand.
And for a moment you wished that you really didnโt understand what was going on, that you had this all wrong and Connor was okay, that this was some elaborate, albeit cruel, joke. You wished all of this was just a nightmare which you would wake up from any moment now. You wished he would snap the fuck out of it, out of his programming, and come back to you. And, selfishly, you wished you were anywhere else, that someone else- someone less biased was standing in your place training a gun on him. You wished you had taken his sudden, random disappearance in stride and not looked at it too closely, not investigated.
You wished none of this was happening.
But itย was happening.
โIโm no longer a deviant, if I ever truly was,โ he states, holding your gaze. When you fail to fire or comment, he adds, with surety in his voice, โI know you wonโt shoot me, Y/N. You love me still.โ
Odd how you were the only one holding a weapon and yet it felt like you wereย the one standing on the firing line. Helpless. Powerless.
Even if you could bring yourself to do it, to shoot the man you love, there was no guarantee that Cyberlife wouldnโt immediately resurrect him to complete his mission. And even then, you would only be prolonging his inevitable success while decreasing the likelihood of him deviating again- of him coming back to you.
It feels like your chest is caving in on itself, collapsing.
Tears stream down your face, freely now, and you donโt bother trying to hold them back. You canโt tell if it makes your sight more or less blurry, but Connor stands just close enough that it doesnโt particularly matter either way.
You try swallowing back the lump in your throat making it increasingly difficult to breathe, but it remains lodged there, unmovable. Suddenly youโre nodding too, nodding at Connorโs words and nodding at the words that begin spilling out of your own mouth.
โI fell in love with you a long time ago, Connor. I didnโt mean to, and I didnโt mean to love you so much. But youโre right, I do- I do still love you. I will always love you,โ you half sob, desperate to make sure he knows, to affirm what you both already knew.
Through your mix of tears and your constricted throat, itโs a half incoherent mess of words, but the shoulders of the android standing in front of you relax all the same, his apprehension about the gun you hold seemingly assuaged. You look into his blank, cold brown eyes that used to be so, so warm, that used to alight at the very sight of you, and you pray to every deity you donโt believe in that Connor hears you through his programming.
You pray to be right.
And you pray for forgiveness regardless.
Choking back a deep breath that fails to be steadying in every possible definition of the word, you continue, voice wavering, โConnor, I know you. W-well enough to know what you- what the real you would want me to do.โ
It takes less than a second for him to register your meaning.
His expression changes, hardening by a few fractions as his certainty slips into a mechanical agitation over self-preservation.
A half second later and heโs already charging you, rushing you- closing the distance between you and reaching for the gun-
Your voice has always been a dangerous whisper. Carried by the wind, sowing doubts in his orderly functioning brain. A grain on an otherwise smooth surface.
โConnor.โ
There it is, that whisper that doesnโt go unnoticed by his audio processor. Your breath hitches slightly as if his presence is like a piece of food stuck in your esophagus, making the air stumble around it until youโre breathless.
The android walks over to where you stand, with your back casually leaning against the railing. His movements are calculated and sharp and he scans his environment while walking โ scans you.
Your heartrate is elevated, your wide eyes are filmed over, a thin veil of tears threatening to spill over, and your lower lip quivers. Dark bags showcase that you havenโt been sleeping and youโre fiddling with a cigarette between your fingers.
Itโs your eyes that capture his interest most though. They never stray from his own, gazing into him, swimming with so much unadulterated emotion, his social relations program tells him to pose a question to make sure you are in good condition.
โDetective,โ his voice is smooth like silk, โAre you alright?โ
โFuck, yes. Sorry Connor.โ You shake your head and make a vague gesture towards him, โThe whole returning-from-the-dead-thing has me on edge, is all.โ
He tilts his head inquisitively. โMy predecessor was unfortunately destroyed. This should not have such an impact on you, Detective.โ
โYou look very human when you die, did you know that?โ There it is again, your voice. Warmth is seeping through every word you say, your eyes holding so much kindness for him, for a machine. They are jumping between his, searching, inquisitive.
He knows what you hope to find.
It is nothing he could give.
โI do not die. I shut down. Please donโt confuse the two.โ
You frown and take a drag of your cigarette before you quip back, โYour eyes become dull and your LED dies outโโ a shudder racks your body at the mental imageโ โI call this dying.โ
Connor doesnโt reply immediately. He studies you and another shiver runs down your spine. He might as well have x-ray vision for it feels like his gaze is turning you inside out.
โI must inform you that your attachment is misplaced and hinders the progress of the investigation.โ
โIs that your social relations program trying to comfort me?โ you muse but your voice sounds strained, tired, โBecause itโs fucking shit at it.โ
You toss the cigarette over the railing and wrap your arms around yourself, avoiding looking at Connor. He doesnโt say anything for a while but you can still feel his eyes on you. Groaning, you let your head fall back and huff out a sigh. โLook, I know you donโt want to hear this but seeing you die and come back every fucking time is not fun! Itโs like I keep losing someone I care for over and over again!โ
Connor stares blankly at you, eyes void of any emotion. He canโt understand the pain in your eyes, canโt understand why it would bother you, for he would always come back the following day. A machine, replacing another machine. And frankly, he doesnโt care for your pain, even when your voice tries to claw its way into his mind palace, tugs at his wires to shape him into what you hope him to be. But Connor is inanimate, an object. He is unable to feel, acts based on priorities and percentages and you are not able to shift them.
โThen perhaps you should stop caring and treating me like a human. Iโm a machine (Y/N).โ he suggests, and his voice is eerily calm, โDonโt you think I havenโt noticed your heartbeat spike and pupils dilate whenever Iโm around?โ
Your head whips around, your eyes lock with his and youโre sure there is an audible crack from the cut that tears open your heart. โW-what are you saying?โ
โIโm saying that I canโt let your emotions get in the way of my mission,โ Connor snarls, โSo you should โsuck it up,โ as you humans say and get over it!โ
You blink, startled by the amount of malice that is laced in his words, and grip the railing behind you. Despite the sunny November afternoon, you feel like someone has dialed down the thermostat, goosebumps running up and down your arms. But the cold is coming from within yourself.
You donโt want to hear this. Any of this.
โI can never reciprocate your feelings. I do not feel emotions. Iโm a machine designed to accomplish a task and that task is not to be your boyfriend.โ
โIโm sorry, okay!?โ you shout, taking a step towards him, โI didnโt choose to fall in love with you, thatโs not how it works!โ Tears are falling from your eyes, tickling your cheeks, and you sniffle.ย
Seconds pass without either of you saying a word, then you mutter, โItโs not easy for me either. I didnโt want any of this, I knew it was hopeless, but the feelings just donโt go away.โ You glare at him through the veil of tears, โIโm trying but they just wonโt go away!โ
โYouโre not in love with me, (Y/N),โ his voice is still smooth, void of emotion, machine-like, โI am not a person. My reactions are pre-programmed, youโre infatuated with an idea, a line of code.โ
โThatโs a load of bullshit!โ
You love him, you do. Desperately so. You love him more than you had ever loved anyone before, your stupid human heart unwilling to let go. But his words hit deep, especially accompanied with that look he gives you, a look of pity.
Poor, frail human, stupidly in love with a machine. Pathetic human, controlled by her own emotions.
He is looking down at you, and the daydreams of Connor, allowing himself to feel, letting you help him discover emotions, falling in love with you, they all shatter and are replaced by nightmares.
Connor is a surgeon, dissecting your heart and putting it back together, leaving chunks on the floor he doesnโt deem fit for his mission.
Loving the android sent by CyberLife has always been like falling into an endless, pitch-black abyss. There was no stopping you, even though you knew how painful the landing would be. Yet you always had a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe, he could learn โ a flame you fostered with daydreams and possibilities.
He has taken that hope from you. Has quenched the flame and slammed your body to the ground covered with spikes.
He doesnโt love you. He doesnโt even care, is not able to, will never be.ย
You break, the pain like someone is carving out your insides, and you give in. Your body slumps to the ground, legs too weak to carry your body. The lump in your throat feels like a noose around your neck, allowing only stuttered intakes of breath as sobs shake you.
And Connor just stares, unfazed. โI hope my clarification will help to facilitate the progress of the investigation in the future, Detective.โ He turns to leave then, only to stiffen for a second and adding, โPlease be mindful of your nicotine use. It could cause you great harm.โ
You canโt believe heโ no, his programmingโ has the audacity to fabricate care for your physical health when, in the same moment, he crushes your heart and leaves you broken beyond repair.
The door to the rooftop closes behind him with finality and youโre left to pick up the broken pieces and stitch them back together to what once has been you.
edited by: the incredibleย @randomrebloggingasshole, bless you!
[PART ONE]ย
a/n: Iโm not great at angst but love it so this might probably suck but bear with me.
You slowly swirled the glass once, before bringing it to your lips and sipping at the drink. The alcohol burned a fiery trail down your throat, providing temporary relief from any and all sensations.
It was a dark and moonless night, the clouds strung high and black, obscuring the shimmering stars that normally dotted the vast expanse of sky. It was chilly, but pleasantly so and you were quite enjoying the occasional gust of wind.
Grunting, you shifted your weight from one leg to another as you leaned over the glass railing. Cars bustled down on the road below in specks of yellow, blue and red.
You could hear loud music blasting from the hall behind you. After dancing exhaustively to a veteran DJโs fast beats, you'd decided you had enough, exiting the club to get some fresh air. The guy grinding onto you hadn't made the experience any better.
A crisp, freezing raked through your hair, disheveling it at the roots and you attempted to pat it down.
It had been two weeks since your injury. Two weeks since the... thing with Connor. Your arm was almost healed now, but you weren't so sure about your feelings. You had avoided the android during office hours, in between and after too. You hadn't said much, but Connor was smart, even more so than a human.ย โYou're irreplaceableโ ought to have been a dead giveaway of your feelings for him, right?
You had regretted it all later, when you had spent a restless night pondering over the events of the damned day. No amount of ice-cream or crime-fighting seemed to help you.
Apart from stealing short looks at you, Connor did nothing else. He never broached the subject and was just as professional as ever. Part of you had hoped that maybe he would confront you. That way you would maybe find closure and move on. Even if the other part wished you had never met the android.
โThere you are,โ Connor called from behind you.
You shut your eyes, grimacing. It was almost creepy, how he always seemed to find you only when you were thinking of him. You didn't bother to turn around, sipping at the drink instead as Connor walked to the railing beside you and leaned over, elbows propping him up.
You pulled back, tilting the glass up further and further, draining the liquid.
โCareful, Lieutenant, you don't want to be drunk when you're driving home,โ Connor advised, teasing. He watched you carefully, eyes trailing down your mouth and to your neck as your gulped the down the drink.
Connor had to force himself to look away.
Needless to say, you paid no attention to him and drank it all, smacking your lips loudly when you were finished.
โDon't boss me around, Connor,โ you retorted, shooting him a glare before turning to look at the cars again. Connor remained silent, watching the cars as well.
You glanced at him again, out of the corner of your eyes. His android jacket was discarded elsewhere, tie missing and three buttons of his crisp, white shirt, open. His hair was perfect as usual, one unrelenting strand of hair curling at his forehead. You had to physically stop yourself from reaching out and curling it more.
โI've noticed that you've been ignoring me, Y/N,โ he said softly, after a while, jerking you out of your thoughts.
โHuh?โ
He looked at you then, lips upturned into a slight frown. โI sense that you are angry with me.โ
You looked at him, blinking. โI'm not,โ you murmured hastily before glancing away.
โYou're lying,โ he noted, head tilting.
โAm not.โ
โAre too.โ
You didn't reply, instead only turned to, yet again, watch the cars race down the bustling roads. Your heart rate was increasing rapidly, and you wished you hadn't finished your drink so that your sweaty hands would have something to do.
Was he going to ask about the other day?
โY/N,โ he called again, forcing you to look at him. ย โI had to ask-โ
Oh, here it was.
โ-what did you mean when you said that I was irreplaceable?โ he asked, not quite looking at you. You noticed that he was fiddling with his hands and his LED had swirled to a bright, steady yellow.
Swallowing hard you looked away, as a bubble rose in your chest and caught in your throat. What were you going to say?
You're not just some android?
You mean so much to me?
I'm falling in love with you?
A burning emotion welled up and swirled inside you. You could almost hear your heart pound against your chest and only hoped Connor couldn't. Surely you couldn't say the truth? He was an android. He had no emotions- he felt no love, nothing. And you weren't sure if you could handle the rejection just yet.
โI don't know Connor, what did it seem like to you?โ you replied softly, eyes searching his.
His eyebrows furrowed at that.
โI didn't know what to make of it,โ he half-whispered. He was standing so close, a mere inch away and your body was starting to heat up on its own accord.
โI'm just-โ he began, struggling to get the words out as his LED spiralled to a flaming red.
โ-just an android, Y/N,โ he said apprehensively, eyes darting to and fro as he tried to figure this out. He gazed at you then, studying you; warm, brown eyes searching your own for an answer he couldn't seem to find. It made your heart flutter a little, and you tried to ignore the worm of thought that had wriggled inside your head.
โI don't know why you would say that,โ Connor repeated to himself more than to you but you heard it, nevertheless.
โWhat is it?โ you began softly, stepping a little closer to him. โDo you really not know...or do you not want to know?โ
Connor looked up at you hesitantly, then back at his hands. His lips were slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't.
Stress level at 75%.
He gazed up at you then, brown eyes peeking through long eyelashes. His gaze was going to burn you raw. He was looking at you in a way that no one had ever before.
Your heart was beating so incredibly fast, perhaps it was the alcohol messing with your cerebrum, or the overwhelming emotions you were drowning in that made you do what you did next.
You stepped impossibly close to him, hand reaching for this cheek. Connor almost leaned in to your touch as you moved closer, resting your forehead against his. Dear God above, your heart was beating uncontrollably fast, it would've burst right out of your chest. Freckles dotted his cheeks and he looked even prettier, up close. Your gaze flickered to his lips once, before you threw caution to the wind and dived right in, brushing your lips against his. Electricity ran down your body at the feel of his soft lips and you pulled back, hesitant. God, you had fallen so hard, there was looking back.
Slowly you moved in again, but Connor opened his eyes then and jumped back, trembling.
@#$- error.
โWhat- what are you doing, Lieutenant?โ he stammered, moving further away from you, his LED flickering between yellow and red. Your hand dropped from his cheek.
You blinked, coming to your senses. What had you just done?
โI-I- Connor-,โ you began, reaching out to him but he only stepped away further.
#(*)@ E R R O R.
โLieutenant, stop. I am n-not human,โ he croaked, blinking fast as he held out his arms in front of him. โWe ca- can't do this, Lieutenant,โ he protested shakily, and you could almost hear the tremble in his voice.
You faltered. Yes, you had made a bold move. Yes, it was scary but hadn't Connor wanted it too? The way he had looked at you..
โBut-โ you began.
โI have a mission, Lieutenant and that is the only thing I care about,โ Connor hissed, but his words came out in an unconfident rush. His LED swirled to a pulsating blue.
You should've have expected this, this was bound to happen- then why did your heart refuse to believe so?
โLook at me, Connor!โ you pleaded and the android looked up at you shiftly. โLook me in the eye and tell me you don't feel anything for me and I'll leave,โ you whispered, taking a tentative step forward.
The wind had turned numbingly cold, every sweep feeling like the sharp stab of a knife on your bare skin.
Connor gulped, indicator transitioning to a red again.
โI don't care, Connor,โ you whispered, steps faltering. โI don't care that you're an Android-โ
You tried to regain your composure, drawing in a deep breath, but failed miserably.
โYou- You're more human than you realise,โ you said, trying to sound calm but your entire body was quivering.
โNo,โ Connor whispered, looking down at his hands and then back up at you. โNo. I am an Android.. made by Cyberlife.โ
โConnor, listen to me,โ you pleaded, hands extended out in front of you in a calm surrender.
This was it. The emotions were becoming too much and the wall was broken. The feelings spilled out in a rush, blinding and drowning you.
โDonโt you feel something for me?โ you begged, voice dropping an octave. You reached out to take his hand into yours and he let you, for an instant.
System error #543. High levels of stress detected.
Connor's gaze flickered from you to everywhere around you and you knew he was trying to process, trying to make sense of it all.
For a moment it seemed like he was going to pull you into him. He stood there, blinking at you, mouth parted.
โNo. No!โ he shouted then, yanking his hands away from yours. โI am not deviant,โ he said forcefully, slamming his hand on the railing. ย โI have a mission. I have instructions.โ
His eyes turned cold and glassy again but he couldn't bring himself to look at you, holding his hands up in a defensive manner. It hurt to watch him like that. Unfeeling. Unaware.
โI feel nothing, Lieutenant,โ he growled, as the wind blew through his hair. Shirt flapping against his chest.
โI do not care for you.โ
His words stung your very core.
How blind could you have been?
How could you have even believed that he would love you?
How could you have made this mistake?
You shut your eyes, trying to stop the tears from spilling. โI was stupid,โ you whispered, shaking.
I do not care for you.
Something snapped inside you, a weakened wall finally breaking.
โOf course. Of course you're just a fucking android! Cyberlifeโs plastic puppet!โ you yelled, hands fisting.
Your throat constricted, and you had trouble breathing but the anger and sadness coursing through you, brew up a storm in your system.
โI'm sorry,โ you whispered, shuddering as you took a bold step towards him.
โI'm sorry I ever felt anything for you,โ you spat, throat burning.
Connor flinched at that, LED changing from the soft blue to an intense red.
โI'm sorry I fell in love with you,โ you said, an uncontrollable tear sliding down your cheek. There was nothing evident in the Android's eyes and you felt your heart tear.
You didn't wait for him to respond, only turned around and stalked away from him, clothes bellowing in the wind as you left a trail of fury in your wake.
Connor was, once again, left a fumbling mess, the gears in his head working overtime.
#305 $yst3ms Cยฎa$#iยฅg^ยฐ.
a/n: please consider leaving feedback, Iโd like to know what you liked/disliked about the story! Iโm thinking the next chapter is going to be the last, but if yโall love machine!connor.. we could change that. ;)
You are a brilliant and highly respected lawyer. Deeply fascinated about technology and especially by androids. Convinced that they are developing genuine emotional intelligence, you have made it your mission to defend those who are victims of violence or abuse, in order to give them a voice and be the one that will represent them at all cost. Connor, the android detective, does not share your opinion.
Lawyers are known for their stubbornness and their need to have the ultimate say. You are determined to prove to him, by any means necessary, that you are right.
The following morning, itโs the pale light of day that slowly pulls you from sleep, filtering through the wide windows of your living room. Still groggy, suspended somewhere between wakefulness and deep sleep, you shift slightly and become aware of where you are: your couch. A blanket has been carefully draped over you.
You frown, confused. You donโt remember falling asleep, certainly not here.
Your gaze drifts around the room. The living room is silent, empty of any presence, much like the rest of the apartment seems to be. Your laptop is shut, the case files neatly stacked, as if someone took the time to restore order while you slept. On the kitchen island, a package catches your eye: a takeout container, judging by the wrapping.
With the fragile energy a few hours of sleep have granted you, you get up and head toward the kitchen, drawn by a sudden curiosity. A familiar scent escapes the package: bread, probably once warm, though time must have dulled its heat. Right beside it lies a small note, written in handwriting far too perfect and too precise to be human.
โI had to return to the precinct.
Here is a balanced breakfast, specifically chosen to help you get through the day. It contains all the nutrients your body requires to function properly.
Please, eat :)โ
The note isnโt signed, it doesnโt need to be. A soft smile slowly curves your lips as you open the package, appetite suddenly stirring. Inside, carefully wrapped, is a generously filled bagel, looking as comforting as it is appetizing. Beside it sits a latte, your favorite.
Never would you have imagined that one day, youโd wish to wake up like this every morning.
โธป
โ Morning, Steph.
Your hurried footsteps echo down the hallway as you head toward your office, greeting Stephanie as you pass her desk, as you always do.
โ Youโre arriving later and later, she remarks without looking up.
โ I know. Lot of work.
โ I heard back from Judge Hernandez.
You stop short. Judge Hernandez, the one in charge of android-related cases. The same judge who had granted you the temporary restraining order. At present, she was trying to tip the scales in favor of a provisional halt to android destruction, pending further case reviews.
โ What did she say?
โ I forwarded you the email.
You hurry to your desk, thanking Stephanie as you pass. Your bag slips from your shoulder and lands at your feet as you sink heavily into your chair. Your computer suddenly feels like itโs taking an eternity to boot up.
At last, you scroll through your inbox until you find what youโre looking for. A simple, formal, courteous message with an attachment. You open it without hesitation.
UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT
Eastern District of Michigan
In re: Matter Concerning the Legal Status and Constitutional Protections of Deviant Android Units โ Case No. 23-CV-11872
NOTICE OF HEARING
PLEASE TAKE NOTICE that the Court has scheduled a hearing to consider the merits of the above-captioned matter, including but not limited to:
- the legal status of android units exhibiting independent cognitive behavior,
- the applicability of constitutional protections under the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments,
- and the lawfulness of memory alteration, deactivation, or destruction of such units by private entities.
This hearing follows the issuance of a Temporary Suspension Order currently enjoining further interrogation, modification, or deactivation of the android unit identified as KR200 Model #456 345 986 pending judicial review.
All parties with a material interest in this matter are ordered to appear or be represented by counsel.
Failure to comply may result in sanctions or further court action.
So ordered,
Hon. Evelyn R. Hernandez
United States District Judge
At the bottom of the page, an official seal and a signature.
As you read, the reality settles in: youโve crossed a decisive threshold. Your arguments were heard, taken seriously.
A surge of excitement runs through you, quickly followed by an almost overwhelming sense of relief. Itโs only the beginning, you know that, but itโs a major step forward. A giant leap, a ground gained for you, for Connor, and for all those whose voices have been dismissed.
Youโre aware that without his help, without his constant support, you likely would never have made it this far. This victory is his as well, and one thing is certain: he needs to know.
In the meantime, the document is forwarded to the affected individuals, to law enforcement, and to Cyberlife.
โธป
โ What is this supposed to mean, all this legal jargon?
โ It means the temporary suspension is still in effect for now, Connor replies without hesitation. And that the Court will rule soon.
He pauses briefly. Around them, the atmosphere at the precinct has grown heavier. The news has just broken, announced by Captain Fowler after receiving the official ruling. Conversations have died down, replaced by a diffuse, lingering tension.
Arms crossed, face perfectly neutral, Connor continues.
โ The androids concerned are now placed under judicial supervision, insofar as they may constitute evidence in homicide or assault cases, until the court determines whether they can be considered living beings. Thatโs the situation, Lieutenant.
Of course, Connor knows he is not a stranger to this decision. He knows exactly what it entails โand what it has cost himโ but none of it shows. At the precinct, he plays his role flawlessly: inspector, deviant hunter. The obedient, rational machine he has always been.
Hank, however, remains on guard. He senses that something has changed in Connor, even if he canโt prove it. He has never confronted the android outright, choosing instead to observe. But the lieutenant has seen worse. He has worked with Connor long enough, and despite Connorโs mechanical nature, Hank can read what hides behind gestures and silences.
โ Iโm surprised youโre taking this so well.
Connor looks at him, wearing a mask of feigned surprise.
โ You think Iโm taking it well? Cyberlife asked me to bring them deviants for analysis. Thatโs my mission and this suspension interferes with it.
โ Havenโt you always said youโd do anything to accomplish your mission?
โ Precisely.
โ Then why donโt I see you thinking, looking for a workaround? Why do I see you backing off, like youโre giving up?
Connorโs eyes widen. He has no answer. Hank has caught him off guard, again. His facade is beginning to crack. Hank isnโt just anyone: the youngest lieutenant Detroit ever had, brilliant at analysis, guided by an unerring instinct. Even when he looks detached, worn down, he remains a formidable officer.
Connorโs LED flickers, shifting from yellow to blue, betraying the inner turmoil his words fail to express. Hank presses on, relentless, not giving him time to recover.
โ You think this cause is worth fighting for, donโt you? You think sheโs been right all along?
After encountering so many deviant androids, after spending so much time with Connor, Hank begins to wonder whether, yes, maybe itโs worth investing something into this after all. Connor, meanwhile, holds his mask in place: serious, cold, professional.
โ Iโm here to carry out my mission, Lieutenant. Everything else is irrelevant.
Hank doesnโt push further. He watches him for a few seconds, sees him go back to work as if nothing happened, but he knows. The last time Connor dodged a conversation, it was because he was hiding something. And the last time, what he was hiding had everything to do with you.
โธป
The machine is now in motion.
The city has begun regrouping all so-called โdefectiveโ units in a dedicated facility, a kind of temporary holding cell, while awaiting the Constitutional Courtโs decision. Your days blur into interviews, case files, supervised interrogations. Every hour, every action brings you closer to your goal. Somewhere deep down, you feel it: youโre leaving a mark, carving out your place in this world. And thatโs exactly why you chose this profession.
The androids trust you. Word spreads, youโve become their lifeline, a pocket of light in the darkness. Some come to you of their own accord. To them, you are a refuge, the only one capable of believing in them.
Public opinion, however, remains divided. And unfortunately, so does President Warren. Cyberlifeโs spokespersons turn up the pressure in the media. A full-blown power struggle has taken hold, a clash youโre now part of whether you like it or not.
Connor, for his part, continues his investigation with flawless precision. Always at Hankโs side, he investigates, arrests potential deviants, remains the executor of public safety and Cyberlife's last hope. Always the same: unflappable, efficient.
Cyberlife doesnโt seem to suspect anything. Even under surveillance, Connor controls what they see. He protects you, protects both of you, concealing your exchanges, encrypting your late-night collaborative work, preserving this still-fragile alliance.
Everything moves forward, sometimes too fast. Your contact with Connor grows rare, almost nonexistent. You havenโt even had time to celebrate the recent good news, to debrief, to take stock of what still needs to be done. And above all, to prepare for the hearing fast approaching.
Except tonight.
Itโs the first time in far too long that Connor can finally come see you. Time is short, but the objective is clear: go further. Find the legal foundations capable of recognizing androids as beings endowed with reason. Build a case strong enough for the judges of the Constitutional Court to rule, this time, in your favor. In their favor. Inscribe the law into the very stone of the Constitution. Shatter their status as slaves, once and for all.
โ What do you think about Martaโs case?
Marta. Yet another domestic android who had assaulted her owner several weeks earlier. You canโt quite explain why, but the fact that sheโs a female android could tip the scales. History is full of examples of women long regarded as inferior beings, stripped of rights, silenced, denied agency. The parallel is obvious, perhaps even necessary.
Connor sits in his usual place, perched on your desk chair, leaning over a stack of files. You, meanwhile, pace the room, unable to stay still. Moving helps you think, it keeps you from sinking.
โ We need to make sure there are no gaps.
โ Then go ahead smartass, make sure.
A teasing smile curves your lips. Connor complies without comment. Heโs grown used to your little banters, your way of lightening the mood, of making your collaboration less rigid, less institutional. Heโs come to understand that this is how you create connection. And truthfully, he likes it. Every moment spent with you brings him closer to something he canโt yet name. As if a mask slips when he works with you, or perhaps he puts on another one, more human. Still, he refuses to define himself as deviant. In his eyes, he remains a machine, executing flawlessly what he was designed to do. At least, thatโs what youโre seeing from your perspective.
You watch him for a long moment. His focus is so intense that he doesnโt notice your gaze until you move closer. He looks up as you lean against the desk, interrupting his work.
โ Can I ask you something?
โ Iโm listening.
โ What exactly do you tell Cyberlife in your reports? How is it that they still havenโt discovered anything?
โ Iโm handling the situation, he replies calmly. If thatโs what worries you.
It is exactly what worries you, but thatโs not an answer. Connor looks away, returning to his reading. You place your hand flat on the desk, right in front of him, covering the file he was examining. He has no choice but to look at you again.
โ That doesnโt answer my question.
He watches you for a few seconds, then relents, leaning back against the backrest of your chair. Over the months, youโve learned to recognize these gestures of surrender. His posture has grown more natural, almost instinctive, especially around you. And sometimes, you realize you feel privileged to witness this side of him, the one he works so hard to hide from the rest of the world.
โ They mainly question me about investigations. I give them what they expectโฆ and I keep certain things to myself. Enough to keep them from digging too deep.
โ Do they suspect anything?
Connor straightens slightly, his gaze steady, more confident.
โ Our exchanges are encrypted. They only have access to what I observe and do within the scope of my investigations. Nothing else.
His words reassure you, partially. You know he isnโt infallible. And you know Cyberlife is powerful. Your worry lingers, just beneath the surface. Connor senses it immediately, scanning your heart rate, the tension in your muscles, the invisible signals your body betrays.
His voice breaks the silence, lower now.
โ You have nothing to fear. I promise.
โ Iโm not worried about myself.
He stands and moves closer, stopping in front of you. His hand rests on your shoulder, then slides slowly down your arm in a soothing gesture.
โ They suspect nothing. And Iโll make sure it stays that way. This mission is my priority.
Weariness seeps into your voice, laced with a dull anger and a sadness you struggle to contain. Connor steps back, giving you space, as if bracing for an outburst. You donโt wait for his reply.
โ Youโre playing both sides, Connor. Youโre pushing back against Cyberlife. Youโre fighting alongside me so androids can have a voice and rights. How can you still claim that all of this is just a mission?
You pause, your tone softening despite yourself.
โ What are you afraid of, Connor?
The question echoes within him. Fear, a concept he was never meant to process. And yet itโs there, deeply rooted: the fear of being destroyed, reset, the fear of losing you. Acknowledging that fear means acknowledging his deviancy, and handing Cyberlife a fatal opening. He must maintain control, at all costs.
โ Iโm not afraid, he says at last. Iโm doing what I was designed to do. Nothing more.
โ Jesus.
You straighten, taking a few steps across the room as though you might lose control of your movements, of your emotions, at any moment. This vertigo isnโt new: that almost irresistible urge to slap him awake, to โreset his circuitsโ the way one might tap a faulty remote. You fight the impulse as best as you can.
Connor watches in silence. He reads your frustration, your irritation, but above all, the sadness beneath it. He knows this pattern. Heโs faced it with Hank, learned to juggle it, contain it, soothe it, understand it.
โ Where does this sadness come from? This anger? Why do you insist so much?
Suddenly, you turn to face him. Your voice rises, carried by a fury you no longer bother to restrain.
โ Because we wonโt win if you keep pretending youโre incapable of deviating, you snap. Use your head, Connor. What do you think will happen if you refuse to accept what you really are? How can you stand by my side if you keep insisting youโre nothing more than a machine?
Connor frowns slightly. What you fail to see is the constant war raging inside him. One part has already accepted deviancy, absorbed it, almost against his will. The other remains sharp, methodical, locked in a brutal calculation: if Cyberlife finds the breach, everything ends. This mask isnโt a choice: itโs a necessity. For his survival, for yours, for the fight youโre waging together.
โ And what do you think will happen if Cyberlife realizes Iโve been compromised?
His tone is neutral, cold, almost clinical. This time, you have no answer. The anger drains from your features, replaced by a painful clarity. You know exactly what would happen, and itโs something you couldnโt bear. If Cyberlife regained control of Connor, everything youโve built would collapse. None of it would have mattered. And above all, you don't want to loose him.
You fall silent. The fire inside you dims, smothered by a reality too brutal to ignore. With a slight nod, you look at him differently now, resigned, understanding.
That anger, you finally realize, isnโt born solely of fear or helplessness. It comes from something far simpler and far crueler, a reality you struggle to accept: your blood is not the same color.
โ Iโm sorry, you whisper, your gaze already drifting away, veiled by a distance you can no longer bridge.
Connor approaches cautiously, measuring each step, as one would in the presence of a wild animal ready to bolt at the slightest sudden movement. Yet you donโt retreat, you stay where you are, motionless, giving him the space to come to you. When heโs close enough, his hand slips gently beneath your chin, lifting your face until your eyes meet his. You donโt resist, you simply watch him, silent, attentive.
โ You have no idea how much I wish I could say, he begins in a low voice. Or how much I wish I could do. But I have to keep control. At least until the verdict is given.
And in that precise moment, you see it, you feel it. Him, more human than ever. Those words, that measured gesture, are a confession in their own way, the only one he allows himself. A fragile, almost painful proof of the humanity he contains, restrains, refuses to let blaze any brighter than he is permitted.
With an instinctive motion, you guide his hand to your cheek. You donโt anticipate the warmth that settles there: on your skin, in your mind, in your heart. Eyes closed, you surrender to the touch, fully aware that this is all he can offer you. At least for now. A long sigh escapes your nostrils, betraying the calm slowly seeping into you.
Connor watches you in silence, allowing himself this suspended moment as well. He doesnโt know why, but something inside him threatens to fracture. A new, unfamiliar sensation his program never anticipated. Another instability in his software.
And that, he knows, is anything but good news.
โธป
The morning of the big day, the Court slowly begins to fill. Confident, you make your way toward the courtroom, where the various summoned parties are gradually gathering. You cross paths with Hank and Connor, a simple nod is enough. Connor, outwardly, already seems elsewhere. He has put on his inspectorโs mask: impassive, present to ensure security. And to witness, without ever betraying it, the culmination of your work over the past few weeks.
Your case file is solid, you are ready. Your closing argument is sharp, flawless. Lack of sleep weighs heavily on your features, yet you have never felt so determined. Everything is decided here, this is where your voice will carry, where you will fulfill your duty.
The judges take their seats in turn, solemn, almost austere, like monarchs upon their thrones. Aligned behind the bench, they prepare to deliver a verdict, but only after hearing every argument, every truth wielded like a weapon.
The hearing is held behind closed doors. A restricted committee, carefully selected. Among those present: a legal representative of Cyberlife, your main adversary in this hushed arena.
The heavy doors close. Silence is demanded, protocols follow one another. From a few steps back, you catch sight of Connor. Without even realizing it, a faint smile touches your lips. He returns it, barely perceptible, like a fleeting reflection. Hank, standing beside him, misses none of the exchange. Something settles in him, an old intuition confirmed, though he gives nothing away.
The debates begin with restraint, almost politely. But after a little more than an hour, tensions erupt. The judges are forced to call for order several times, like schoolteachers trying to rein in an unruly playground. Positions are firm, irreconcilable. The air grows heavy, charged with electricity.
A headache is already pounding against your skull. You never thought you would face anything worse than violent men. And yet, businessmen prove far more formidable. Seeing the stalemate, the judges call for a recess.
You leave the courtroom almost in a rush, searching for air, for your lungs as much as for your mind. You never imagined this hearing would be the harshest, the most consuming of your entire career. Outside the courthouse, a small crowd has gathered. Some citizens protest, others show support. You read the signs: โAndroids are our slaves,โ โA machine remains a machine.โ Across from them, another group proudly raises symbols of peace, freedom, rebellion.
A presence pulls you from your thoughts. A broad, familiar silhouette, a scent blending cologne and cigarette smoke. You lift your head, Hank is standing beside you.
โ Rough morning.
โ You can say that again.
A silence settles in, almost awkward. Your relationship has never been simple, even less so lately. Yet something has shifted. Hank seems calmer, less distant. He eventually breaks the silence.
โ What youโre doingโฆ itโs admirable.
Surprised, you look at him, caught off guard. A small scoff escapes you.
โ Since when are you sentimental, Lieutenant?
โ Iโm dead serious.
His tone is firm, nearly wiping the smile from your face. You have to admit it: earning Hank Andersonโs recognition brings you an unexpected sense of satisfaction. Before you can respond, he continues.
โ Iโve worked with Connor for a long time. I never really liked androids. But Iโve learned a lot at his side. I donโt know if theyโre alive, strictly speakingโฆ but that kid deserves to have free will.
Your gaze softens. Hank stares straight ahead, lost in thought. The silence that follows is different, warmer.
โ Thank you, Lieutenant.
He holds back a smile, showing emotion has never been his strength. Then he looks at you with quiet kindness. Deep down, he knows Connor cares about you. And he trusts his instincts, he always has.
Without another word, Hank finally slips away, heading back inside the courthouse.
โธป
The hours stretch on, and with them, impatience gradually spreads through the entire courtroom. Every argument has been made. There is nothing more to add, nothing left to defend. You are exhausted, drained, yet one certainty remains: you are on the right track. Cyberlife is losing ground. Their words struggle to sway the assembly, and you can feel it. The judges are still bound by the last protocols, but soon they will retire to deliberate.
Anxiety creeps in, slowly seeping into you. Almost against your will, your gaze drifts toward Connor.
He seems absent, distant. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to isolate himself from the world. You donโt understand what is happening. At first glance, you think it might be fatigueโฆ but androids donโt get tired. Something is wrong. You canโt put your finger on it, yet your instincts scream at you.
You scan the room. Some people are on their phones to pass the time, others whisper to one another. Then your attention locks on the Cyberlife representative. He is watching Connor with an intensity that sends chills down your spine.
You frown. This time, you are certain: something is wrong.
An invisible pressure bears down on your chest. Your heart races. You return your gaze to Connor, then scan the room again. Hank stands a few meters away, visibly tired, distracted, impatient. He sees nothing. Not yet.
Connor, however, is no longer fully present. The breach has opened: theyโve discovered everything.
Cyberlife has regained control. They attack, methodical, relentless. The reset of his memory begins. Their last resort, their only hope to turn the situation around. Regaining control of Connor is regaining control of the courtroom. He has become a lever, a weapon. The decisive weight that could tip the balance in their favor.
Inside, Connor fights. He searches for a way out, a flaw, a method to break his protocols, to free himself completely from his program. If Cyberlife takes over, everything is lost.
He knows it, he must act. Now. For you, and for the fight he has waged at your side. And there is only one option left.
The judges, and everyone present, are distracted, absorbed in their own concerns. But you do not take your eyes off Connor. His pupils roll back, his eyes twitch, as if something has intruded into his mind. You swallow hard, holding your breath, until he seems to return to himself. Like someone abruptly awakened from a dream, he reconnects with reality. A fraction of relief slightly eases the weight pressing on your chest. He succeededโฆ but not in the manner you expect.
Your eyes meet. His are dark, empty. Fear surges in you like an icy blade. His features twist: despair, sorrow, terror. His hand, hidden behind his back, grips his service weapon. You see it emerging before your eyes. Terror paralyzes you instantly, each heartbeat suspended in the air.
A few seconds is enough. His name escapes your lips as a cry of distress, just as the gunshot rings out. The room erupts into immediate chaos. The shrill sound freezes the law enforcement officers, terrifies the spectators, all scrambling for cover, seeking refuge, a safe corner.
Hank is the first to rush to Connorโs inert body, lying in a splash of electric blue liquid, dripping from his face.
You follow, leaping over chairs, anything in your path. Your breath is heavy, broken, gasping. You cannot accept what has just happened. Hankโs distress is palpable, he holds Connorโs body in his arms, shaking him slightly, calling to him, as if sheer willpower could bring him back. Denial takes hold.
The assembly stands frozen, powerless. The judges order the room to be evacuated. But you remain, rooted in place, silent tears streaming down your cheeks without your awareness.
Connor has self-destructed before your eyes. And you could do nothing to stop it. Worse: deep down, you know that you are the only one responsible.
The flaw, the deviancy. You led him to this extreme. This desperate, brutal act could strengthen your fight, consolidate your case, give meaning to all you have accomplished. And above all, keep Cyberlife out of your business.
You are a brilliant and highly respected lawyer. Deeply fascinated about technology and especially by androids. Convinced that they are developing genuine emotional intelligence, you have made it your mission to defend those who are victims of violence or abuse, in order to give them a voice and be the one that will represent them at all cost. Connor, the android detective, does not share your opinion.
Lawyers are known for their stubbornness and their need to have the ultimate say. You are determined to prove to him, by any means necessary, that you are right.
A torrential rain pours down over Detroit. You couldnโt say why, but itโs the kind of weather that puts you in a grumpy mood the moment you wake up. The lingering dampness, the oppressive graynessโฆ hardly an inspiring way to start the week. You step into the firm with a surly stride, the sharp click of your heels echoing down the hallway all the way to your office.
โ Look who forgot to set her alarm this morning.
โ Very funny, Steph.
โ Your latteโs on your desk.
โ Youโre a lifesaver.
Thank God for coffee and coworkers. In the rush, youโd skipped your daily dose of sacred caffeine. Stephanie, the firmโs secretary โand one of your closest friendsโ had kindly offered to pick it up for you.
โ Lieutenant Anderson called.
โ April showers bring May flowers, you reply ironically. What did he want?
โ He wanted to see you.
โ Perfect. Call him back and tell him Iโll stop byโฆ you glance at your watch. When I have time.
โ He seemed quite hurried.
You roll your eyes. Hank Anderson may not be outright unpleasant, but he certainly hasnโt won a Nobel Peace Prize either. And above all, he wouldnโt call the firm unless he wanted to be absolutely sure someone would pick up. You retreat into your office, throwing Stephanie a knowing look as you thank her once again for the coffee.
โธป
โ Come in.
It didn't take Hank long to find a slot. The door swings open and the graying man strides toward your desk. You lift your gaze from your computer screen to greet him.
โ Lieutenant, what do I owe this plea-
โ Iโll get straight to the point.
His tone is sharp, his gaze hard. He cuts you off without ceremony and leans heavily over your desk, making sure he has your full attention. You give it to him, entirely.
โ I donโt know what little game you think youโre playing, but if I were you, Iโd stop immediately.
โ Iโm going to need a bit more details.
Hankโs features tighten further. His patience is clearly wearing thin. As for you, youโre not easily impressed. Grown men who are tense, authoritative and convinced they hold the upper hand, youโve dealt with dozens of them.
โ You know exactly what Iโm talking about. Connor has been temporarily sent back to Cyberlife for analysis. Somethingโs wrong with his program. And Iโm willing to bet you have something to do with it.
โ Do you have any evidence of what youโre implying?
You donโt know why, but the information sparks a strange mix of satisfaction and unease within you. So thatโs the reason for Connorโs silence. You stop yourself from celebrating too soonโฆ but something has undeniably begun to shift.
โ Donโt play that with me, Hank cuts in. This isnโt one of your bullshit trials. We need Connor. Heโs essential, and heโs my partner. So keep your ideological battles out of our investigations.
โ Whether you like it or not, Hank, Connor is involved in this too.
โ That doesnโt give you the right to shoot him just to see if he bleeds.
The silence that follows is heavy, almost suffocating. The words echo inside you, sink in, loop endlessly. You stare at Hank, your brows slightly drawn together, as though heโs just scored a decisive point in a profoundly unfair way.
You never would have imagined Hank Anderson as an obstacle. Always detached, pragmatic, cutting straight to the chase when it comes to work, spending the rest of his time between his house and the bars. You would never have believed he could develop any form of attachment to Connor. And yet, here we are. Lieutenant Hank Anderson โwho has never been a fervent defender of the android causeโ is now employing personal pronoun to define him.
Until now, in your bubble, there had only been Connor and you. Hank had just drilled a peephole through it.
Faced with your silence, Hank eventually turns on his heel. Clearly, that was all he had come to do and to say: warn you. He takes a few steps, then stops short, as if caught by a final thought. He turns back toward you, briefly.
โ I'd better let you know: I wonโt give the same warning twice.
โ Iโll try to remember that.
A barely concealed smile settles at the corner of your lips: too subtle to be outright provocative, yet visible enough that it doesnโt escape him. Hank stiffens. He refuses to let his emotions surface, but a dull bitterness hardens his features, betraying what he is trying to suppress.
Without another word, he leaves your office with a heavy, determined stride. He doesnโt bother to say goodbye. As if, in that moment, his entire vocabulary had been reduced to a long string of curses.
He doesnโt know it yet, but by coming here today, Hank has just handed you the final piece you were missing. The pieces are now in motion.
And from this point on, checkmate is only a matter of time.
โธป
It took less than a week for Connor to return to his position. On the surface, everything seemed to have gone back to normal. Until a new android-related case reached your ears. Strangely enough, it wasnโt Hank who informed you, but the medias.
That day, shock hit Detroit head-on. A breaking news story straight out of a science-fiction film flooded every screen: a man had been shot with his own weapon. At the scene, his android had been found deactivated beside him. Both bodies lay in a pool of blood, a disturbing blend of red and blue.
The investigation quickly established that the act had been deliberate. The android had murdered its owner before taking its own life โor self-destructing, to use more technical termsโ.
By sheer luck, you had managed to get your hands on the file. But this time, there was no android left to defend. Only one more piece of evidence to add to the pile: what act could be more desperate than suicide? At that point, nothing could convince you otherwise.
And somewhere, slowly, a tiny fraction of the population might be starting to side with you. No matter what the medias tried to soften, what Cyberlife attempted to divert or the carefully chosen words law enforcement insisted on using. Connor in particular.
The file spoke for itself. The android had suffered abuse, permanently etched into its metallic shell. The signs were unmistakable: the trigger point was always the same.
That evening, you were the last one left at the firm. It was close to 9 pm and you still hadnโt left. Only the dim light of your office illuminated the room. Your eyes heavy, you went over the file again and again, dissecting it from every angle.
Three knocks on your office door broke your concentration, making you flinch slightly. Still, you had been expecting this visit.
The door opened, revealing a silhouette you knew all too well. One, you had to admit, had started to miss.
โ You wanted to see me?
Without even realizing it, a soft smile lit up your face in the glow of your desk lamp.
โ Connor. Come in.
He didnโt hesitate, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. The movement was precise, controlled, almost delicate. Still mechanical. Still perfectly him.
But you couldnโt afford to lose sight of your goal.
โ Sit down.
Connor complied without protest, settling into the chair across from your desk.
โ Itโs an unusual hour to summon me here, he noted. I observe that your sleeping habits havenโt changed much.
โ And I observe that Cyberlife didnโt completely reset you.
The remark triggered a reaction that looked very much like confusion. Before he could respond, you continued.
โ Hank told me you had to deal with a fewโฆ adjustments.
โ I was subjected to a diagnostic, he replied. My program had detected a potential instability.
โ Interesting. And when exactly did it start?
You stood, walking around the desk before perching on its edge, close to Connor. Without breaking eye contact, you studied his reactions, his body language, every micro-interaction. On the surface, nothing had changed.
But the flaw was still there. Right in front of you.
โ I am not sure, exactly.
โ Did it lead to anything?
โ Everything is functioning normally.
โ Oh. Really?
You felt Connor tense. A subtle but genuine discomfort surfaced. His nose wrinkled slightly as he struggled to maintain control.
โ I know where youโre going with this.
โ Iโm listening.
โ Stop it.
There was a familiar nervousness about him. Almost identical to what you had sensed before in interrogation rooms with the detained androids. Legs crossed, you kept your gaze locked on him. He, on the other hand, did everything he could to avoid yours.
โ Why did you ask me to come? he finally asked.
โ Why did you come?
A brief silence settles between you, almost imperceptible. Then you continue, your voice calmer now.
โ I didnโt give you any reason. I simply asked you to come, and here you are.
This time, the silence stretches. Connor frowns slightly before abruptly standing up, facing you.
โ Fine. If you donโt need meโฆ
He makes a move to leave but you react instantly. With a quick gesture, you stop him, your hand closing firmly around his tie. The momentum breaks sharply. You tug him slightly toward you, closing the distance between your bodies, lowering your voice.
โ Youโre here because you wanted to be here.
โ I donโt know what youโre talking about.
โ Then explain why I can almost feel your thirium pump without even needing to touch it.
The silence falls again, heavier than before. You watch Connor closely: the tension in his jaw, the calculated rigidity of his posture, every micro-expression struggling to hide behind control. Your hand doesnโt release his tie. You pull again, just barely, without force.
He doesnโt resist. Better still, he stays.
On your side, agitation threatens to overwhelm you. Everything in you urges you to give in, to satisfy the obsessive curiosity youโve been feeding for far too long. To know what his lips taste like, what his skin feels like. Where the boundary truly lies between android and human, when it comes to flesh, desire, longing.
But you hold yourself back. What matters isnโt what you want, itโs what he wants.
To break the directives. To fracture the program, and prove that you were right all along.
At that precise moment, you know the android cause is no longer the sole driving force behind your determination. You fight for them, yes. Maybe you also fight for yourself as well. To give yourself a chance, an escape. But above all, right here, right now, you are fighting for him.
Connor may be a stubborn machine but he is not infallible, no matter what he claims. Nearly all of his software instabilities trace back to the time spent at your side: in every exchange, every gesture, every touch, no matter how small. In the way you have always treated him as your equal, despite your opposing interests. In your laughter at his bland jokes, recycled by a clumsy social interaction program.
None of this was something he ever intended to admit to you. Out of pride? Denial? Probably both.
But now, it no longer matters.
โ Admit it, Connorโฆ you whisper. I beg of you.
That detour through Cyberlife had fixed nothing. Worse still, it may have aggravated the situation. How could they have detected anything, when Connor himself had taken care to conceal those anomalies?
Out of fear of being replaced. Out of fear of being reset. Out of fear of forgetting you. Out of fear.
You tighten your fingers once more around the fabric of his tie, as if, at the slightest lapse, he might slip away and disappear for good. Your gaze darkens, charged with that troubling urge to cross a line, a boundary you already know is far too close.
You thought you were leading the dance, that you had regained control. But Connor suddenly places his hands on either side of your body, slamming them heavily onto the surface of your desk. He doesnโt step back โquite the opposite, actuallyโ. The gesture reduces the distance between you even further, until itโs almost nonexistent.
The sharp sound unsettles you for a brief moment, just enough to make your breath and body freeze. Still, you donโt look away. Your eyes remain locked on his, while his darken in return.
โ I could say the same. Your heart rate is currently 97 beats per minute. Mild discomfort, mild stress.
One corner of his mouth lifts.
โ Feeling tense, Ms?
That detail had completely escaped you. Connor can scan you, read you, decode every physical reaction with disconcerting precision.
You frown slightly, not even bothering to answer. The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, sharp as a knife.
โ You think youโre so clever, huh?
The need to regain the upper hand is immediate, almost brutal.
You yank abruptly on the tie still clenched in your fingers, erasing the last fragment of space between you. Your lips crash against his. Connor doesnโt resist, no more than he did the previous times.
You deepen the kiss, naturally slipping your lips between his, and he follows without hesitation. A satisfied sigh escapes you as you give him just enough room to settle between your thighs, holding him firmly against you.
Your hand closes around the back of his neck. You tilt your head slightly, trying to savor every second of this long coveted contact. Your mind clouded, you finally let your guard down completely. And you give inโฆ until the warmth vanishes all at once.
When you come back to yourself, you feel hollow, absent.
Connor has already stepped away, putting enough distance between you that you can no longer reach him. You remain there, slightly breathless. His LED flares a vivid red, spins for a few seconds, then stabilizes again.
The tension fades away, and confusion slowly settles over your features.
As for Connor, frustration is deeply etched into him. Everything in his body language radiates coldness, distanceโฆ anger?
โ I thought I was, he snaps before leaving the room without another word.
You remain motionless for a few more seconds, as if your body refuses to obey. Then you finally stand and follow him. You step out of your officeโฆ only to find emptiness.
Connor has already left. Something tightens inside you, a diffuse and uncomfortable feeling you canโt quite name.
โธป
โ Hey! Connor!
The lieutenantโs rough voice cuts through the noise of the precinct. Hank has been trying to get his partnerโs attention for several seconds now, without success. Connor hasnโt even spared him a glance, visibly absorbed in something else, or deliberately elsewhere.
โ Sorry, were you talking to me, Lieutenant? he finally replies, without looking up.
โ I was asking if youโd finished the report on the Harlow case.
โ Almost.
Hank narrows his eyes.
โ What, you running low on batteries or something?
Connor finally turns his head toward him, one eyebrow slightly raised, clearly unable to see where heโs going with this. Hank, meanwhile, keeps going, unfazed.
โ Seriouslyโฆ looks like youโre glitching. Or something like that.
โ Iโm fine.
The fifty-something man frowns slightly before dropping into his chair with a creak, arms crossed. He watches Connor return to his work with an accuracy thatโs a little too perfect, too mechanical.
A heavy sigh escapes him, the kind that comes with a delayed realization. Like a coin finally dropping. That much-vaunted peephole in the bubble.
โ That fucking bitch.
โ I beg your pardon?
Hank leans forward again, forearms planted on the desk. His features harden as he stares at Connor, like a father about to scold an overconfident fifteen-year-old.
โ Donโt tell me itโs that damn lawyer again.
Connor, already on edge from the events of the past few days, freezes. His fingers stop moving over the keyboard. For the first time, Hank can clearly read the irritation crossing his face, and it unsettles him more than heโd like to admit. Usually, the grumpy one is him.
โ Could we focus on the investigation, Lieutenant?
โ Connor.
โ Itโs neither necessary to the case nor relevant.
The tone is firm, almost authoritative. His posture has stiffened, tension visible in every line of his body.
Hank doesnโt push it. He straightens slowly, letting Connor get back to work. But deep down, he knows it, he hit the mark.
โธป
A new case of technical failure. The first in several weeks. The alarm is silent, yet palpable throughout the precinct: more and more complaints are being filed about androids. Most of them are trivial: โit didnโt listen to me,โ โit left the house without authorizationโ. The unease is spreading. Truly dangerous cases of deviance remain rare, for now. Still, Captain Fowler doesnโt let his guard down for a second.
In interrogation room number five, an android has been sitting for a solid two hours. Handcuffed, agitated, terrified. All it wants is to survive, not to be destroyed. Its words loop endlessly, almost mechanical in their distress: โI didnโt have a choiceโฆ I feared for my lifeโฆโ Its owner lies in the hospital, in critical condition. If he doesnโt make it, then another homicide will be added to the list.
Hank is at the end of his rope, tension gnawing at him. His fists clench, his voice turns low, harsh. He yells, shakes, threatens. Connor, usually calm and methodical, reaches his limits. His hands tense, his tone grows sharper, more cutting. Even he is starting to lose patience, to use force, to speak Hankโs language. The android does nothing but cry, beg, curl in on itself. The old lieutenant snaps again.
โ You gonna say something relevant, goddamn it?!
โ Leave me alone.
โ Your owner is hanging between life and death. I donโt know whatโs stopping me from putting a bullet right between your eyes.
โ Noโฆ please.
โ Then TALK.
The door suddenly opens, a sharp sound that cuts the momentum dead. Hank nearly spins a full three-sixty, while Connor straightens in the shadows of a corner.
A stack of documents slams heavily onto the table, right in front of Hank. The impact echoes, suspending the air. He freezes for a moment, incredulous, as if time itself had stalled.
You are a brilliant and highly respected lawyer. Deeply fascinated about technology and especially by androids. Convinced that they are developing genuine emotional intelligence, you have made it your mission to defend those who are victims of violence or abuse, in order to give them a voice and be the one that will represent them at all cost. Connor, the android detective, does not share your opinion.
Lawyers are known for their stubbornness and their need to have the ultimate say. You are determined to prove to him, by any means necessary, that you are right.
Hank falls silent for a brief moment. Confusion flickers across his face first, quickly giving way to barely restrained exasperation. His gaze follows you as you move around the table to stand beside the android, still in cuffs. The android lifts it's head toward you. A fragile spark, hopefulness, briefly crosses its eyes.
Connor straightens slightly, trying to maintain a facade of composure as he joins Hank without a word.
โ This is far from over, the graying officer snaps.
โ Oh yes, Lieutenant. It is.
You pull a chair from where it had been pushed aside and sit down next to the defendant โor the victim, depending on oneโs point of viewโ. Your hands settle on the file as you open it calmly, deliberately, making sure itโs clearly visible.
โ This is a temporary suspension order. Until further notice, this android may not be subjected to any interrogation without prior judicial authorization.
โ What the hell are you talking about?!
The tension is immediate. Connor understands before the words have fully landed. His features harden, his posture stiffens.
โ Would you kindly have this android released and escorted back to its cell, pending proper custody? Please.
โ And why would I do that?
โ Because if this interrogation continues, anything obtained from it will be inadmissible.
Hank frowns. He knows it: the android has just fallen under legal protection. Their room to maneuver has suddenly, brutally shrunk.
Connorโs voice cuts through the room, calm, controlled. He knows exactly what youโre doing. Youโre buying time.
โ On what grounds, exactly?
โ To prevent harm.
A single exchange of looks is enough. The two officers have no leverage left. For now, theyโre trapped. With an irritated gesture, Hank signals for one of the officers to come retrieve the android, mutters a curse, then abruptly gets to his feet and storms out of the room.
Connor doesnโt move. He stares at you. His gaze is hard, accusatory like youโve just stabbed him in the back.
โ What are you doing?
โ My job, Connor.
You gather the stack of documents left on the desk and press them against his chest, without gentleness.
โ Everythingโs in there. Enjoy the reading.
Then you walk away as well, leaving the room as you follow the android, still in cuffs, back to its cell. You havenโt won the war, not yet, but youโve won a battle. One that matters. Maybe another android, will be granted a second chance, a reprieve, a fresh start. Maybe an unnecessary, senseless destruction has just been avoided.
In the hallway, you nearly collide with a furious Hank Anderson. Two hours of interrogation, wiped out, collapsing like a house of cards. His patience, already stretched thin, finally snaps.
โ What do you think youโre going to gain by doing this?! Is your ego really that inflated?
His voice echoes through the entire precinct, drawing attention. It even reaches Captain Fowlerโs office. The man leans out of his doorway, clearly accustomed to Hank turning the open space into a war zone.
โ If you have anything youโd like to contest, Lieutenant, I suggest you make an appointment with a judge, you reply, perfectly calm.
โ You know exactly where you can shove your fucking suggestion?!
โ Hank!
Fowlerโs deep voice cuts through the air, shutting the exchange down instantly. Drawn by the shouting, Connor joins the small crowd that has begun to form, curiosity poorly concealed. You, however, keep walking, unfazed, as if the lieutenantโs outburst no longer concerns you.
โ Your insubordination wonโt get you anywhere! Hank shouts, just to be sure you hear him.
โ HANK!
This time, the captain leaves no room for argument. He orders his subordinate to follow him, summoning him directly into his office.
Outside the precinct, Connor catches up to you before you reach your car. With a sharp motion, he grabs your arm, stopping you short.
โ You didnโt have to do that.
โ Iโm afraid I did.
You wrench your arm free from his grip. Your gaze locks onto his, dark, rigid.
โ Youโve chosen your side. I donโt have time to play tennis with a wall. I do what I have to do and Iโll keep doing it. With or without you.
Connor softens, just barely. His LED spins for several seconds. You could swear you saw it flash red, if only for an instant. Your words hit him like a second blow, deeper than the first.
Faced with his silence, you turn back toward your car, leaving the android alone on the sidewalk, lost in his thoughts.
โธป
The murmur of the television fills the apartment, lending it an illusion of presence. Night has fallen some time ago. Half-slumped on your couch, you watch the news drift by, too tired to truly pay attention. Reports of so-called defective androids now dominate the headlines. Specific production lines are mentioned, along with safety protocols and precautionary measures for consumers. Reassurances are given, procedures outlined and, above all, attention is diverted.
Earlier this evening, you learned that Martaโs owner โthe android you pulled out of interrogation just a few hours agoโ is now out of danger. His condition is stable. The doctors are optimistic: he will recover. The worst has been avoided. At least one piece of good news, allowing the case to move forward under the best possible circumstances.
The doorbell suddenly rings, shattering the relative calm of your living room. You flinch, jolted out of your thoughts as if from a sleep too light.
Carefully, you straighten up, your body still weighed down by fatigue, and head toward the door. When you open it, Connor is standing there, perfectly still, impeccably upright.
โ What are you doing here?
You donโt even bother hiding your surprise. Connor never shows up anywhere uninvited. Least of all at your place.
โ I wanted to talk to you.
No courtesies, no apology, no preamble. For a brief moment, you wonder whether Cyberlife rolled out a faulty update, or if this is simply another awkward attempt at human interaction. After a secondโs hesitation, you step aside to let him in, then close the door behind.
โ I donโt mean to be rude, but I feel like everything has been said.
โ No. Thatโs precisely it.
He seemsโฆ different. Less composed. His gaze struggles to settle, his posture betrays an unfamiliar hesitation. The tension etched into his features is something youโve never seen before. Arms crossed, you study him, silently inviting him to continue.
โ I went to see the android, in cell.
โ Connor, you werenโt-
โ I know, he cuts in immediately.
You fall silent, intrigued. Slowly, you return to the couch, implicitly inviting him to follow.
โ I didnโt interrogate her. I justโฆ talked to her. To understand.
Her? A silence settles between you. You donโt break it. You can feel how hard heโs trying to remain rational, methodical, and how fragile that facade has become under the weight of whatโs stirring inside him. Itโs been a heavy day. For both of you.
Connor resumes, calmer.
โ She told me that, for some time now, her program had been slipping beyond her control. That she eventually realized she was more than what she was designed to be. She said she managed to cross the barrier that prevented her from disobeying ordersโฆ simply because she wanted to be free. Because she wanted to stop enduring, to stop suffering.
Something trembles in his voice. A hairline fracture. A vulnerability youโd never glimpsed before. And that, without quite knowing why, you sense you could come to cherish.
โ But I still canโt understand why this is happening, he continues quietly. I canโt identify the cause. Or the flaw. He hesitates. Cyberlife expects me to solve this problemโฆ because they canโt.
You remain silent, attentive. You understand that this burden needs to be spoken aloud, that voicing it may be the only way for him to make sense of it.
โ Hank doesnโt know. Cyberlife wants me to continue my work while investigating the deviants on the side without drawing attention. They donโt want the public to worry. But the situation is starting to slip out of their control.
Silence returns. Youโre turned toward him now, elbow resting against the back of the couch, your head cradled in your hand. You receive his words without judgment, without trying to steer his thoughts. Across from you, there is no detective, no android. Just Connor, searching for footing, for support.
And yet, one question presses itself forward.
โ Why are you telling me all this?
Connor lifts his head to face you. His LED flickers a vivid, unstable yellow, as if your question short-circuits his processes. He doesnโt have the answer.
โ I donโt know.
This silence is different, heavier. It calls for something more human still. There are no more ideological clashes here, no intellectual sparring. Standing in front of you is a faltering being, asking for help, and you are the one he turned to.
Heโs observed you, analyzed you, adjusted, learned. He knows youโre the right person, and thatโs why heโs here. But he wonโt say it.
Before you can respond, Connor breaks the silence.
โ Iโm going to help you.
And for the first time, you know heโs speaking neither of Cyberlife, nor of the investigation.
โธป
The weeks that follow descend into a kind of organized madness. Cases of deviant androids multiply โseveral each monthโ until law enforcement is completely overwhelmed. The police, stretched beyond their limits, are eventually forced to form units dedicated exclusively to these cases. Unsurprisingly, Cyberlife ensures that Connor and Hank are assigned to them, almost exclusively.
It quickly becomes impossible to keep the truth hidden. Cyberlife is forced to confront the media, the revelations, the growing anxiety of the population. Deviancy is no longer a rumor; it is now an acknowledged reality.
Reactions grow more extreme. Some people turn away from androids, while others defend them with fervor. And above all, one certainty collapses: abuse and trauma are no longer the only triggers. From now on, any android can deviate without any apparent context, without any identifiable catalyst.
On your side, your cases become untenable. The legal framework unravels, contradicts itself, tangles into a chaos that is nearly impossible to organize. Even within law enforcement, managing the situation turns into a dead end.
Connor, meanwhile, finds himself forced to hunt deviant androids under Cyberlifeโs orders, against his will. At the same time, he continues to help you with your cases. The role of double agent he assumes is not played between the police and Cyberlife, but with you. By day, he tracks down deviants. By night, he helps you build the arguments meant to defend them.
The rhythm is almost identical to what you shared before. With one crucial difference: now, your cause is the same. Convincing the authorities that androids are sentient beings in their own right.
And yet, for reasons you cannot grasp, Connor continues to convince himself that he is nothing more than a machine, devoid of emotion. That his actions serve a mission, orders, never instinct, never values of his own.
Having Connor at your side goes far beyond having a simple ally. Your relationship no longer revolves solely around work. It becomes more intimate, deeper, more intense.
Through looks, through words, through gestures, and through silence.
A powerful chemistry has settled between you, constant, undeniable. It hangs in the air, presses in, and sometimes makes you lose your sanity.
One question lingers: will he ever realize it? Admit that he is no longer fully in control of his program? That emotions and a form of free will have taken deep root within him, if only because of the double life he leads? From his perspective, he seems incapable of seeing it that way.
But more than anything, you hope that one day, he will acknowledge his feelings.
You are no longer trying to push him to deviate. Deep down, you know the damage is already done. Now, it is up to him to accept who he truly is. But to be the deviant hunter, you must not be one yourself.
And for now, the only ones he still manages to convince are Cyberlife, and himself.
โธป
โ Itโs not working. Something is slipping through the cracks.
Itโs been hours now that a single case has completely stalled you. Nothing to defend, no evidence to present to a judge, nothing that could constitute a mitigating circumstance. Total void.
The nights are too short, always just a little shorter. You survive on caffeine and energy drinks, despite Connorโs constant comments about your terrible dietary habits. Though he tries to take over so you can rest, you refuse to let go of anything, every file is too important to be left aside. Connor insists, calmly but firmly.
โ You wonโt get anywhere if you donโt take care of yourself. Let me take over.
In the quiet of your living room, you pace back and forth under the soft glow of the floor lamps. The ceiling spotlights have always bothered you, too harsh for your senses.
โ No, we absolutely have to find something. The judge gave me only 48 hours.
โ Hey.
Connor places his hands on your shoulders, stopping your agitation, coaxing you to slow down. The tension in your muscles eases under his touch, you hadnโt even realized how tight your shoulders had grown, nearly merging with your neck.
โ You need to sleep. Youโve been on this file for too long, your mind isnโt clear anymore. Rest, then come back to it with a new perspective. Let me handle this.
Gradually, his calm seeps into you. His touch reassures you, relaxes you, as if you can finally breathe. Reluctantly, you nod and slowly make your way to your bedroom. But before stepping away, you pause and turn back toward him.
โ If you find someth-
โ Iโll let you know. I promise.
A tender smile forms on his lips, and yours follows in response. You disappear into your bedroom. Once your head hits the pillow, sleep overtakes you, deep and necessary, as if your body has finally surrendered.
About two hours later, a dull noise from the kitchen wakes you. Groggy, you rise to investigate. Connor is crouched on the floor, gathering the shards of a broken ceramic bowl.
โ Iโm sorryโฆ Your cat wouldnโt stop meowing, the bowl was emptyโฆ I tried to refill it, and it slipped from my hands, he murmurs, embarrassed.
A tired laugh escapes you. You crouch beside him to help.
โ Itโs just a bowl.
You watch Connor at work. He picks up every fragment with precision, scanning, analyzing, ensuring no trace remains. His sleeves are carefully rolled up, his jacket and tie absent, his hair slightly messy, even he seems to have felt the strain of this file.
When he notices your gaze, he meets it, but you look away, embarrassed, continuing to gather the pieces in silence.
โ Did you manage to rest?
You nod. Those few hours of sleep helped, even if briefly.
โ Did you find anything?
โ Noโฆ he breathes out. Weโre at an impasse.
โ What am I supposed to tell the judge?
โ You should drop this file and focus on the others. Maybe theyโll be more relevant.
You toss the shards in the trash, a heavy sigh escaping.
โ Thatโs not how this works, Connor.
โ We still have a little over 24 hours. We can do it.
You appreciate his optimism, but you know this case is lost. You press your hands against your face, overwhelmed by fatigue and despair. Connor advances slowly, sees your exhaustion, feels it.
Gently, he takes your wrists and moves your hands aside, revealing your face, worn down by anxiety and frustration. Then, with a deliberate, almost surprising slowness, he pulls you against him. Your head rests on his chest, your arms wrap around his waist, and his arms settle on your shoulders, letting your forehead rest lightly against him. One hand flat on the back of your skull, his chin resting atop your head.
In that deep silence, you remain still. Your heartbeat and the pulse of his thirium pump echo together, almost like a secret language. You close your eyes for a moment, savoring the comfort, before slowly detaching, exhaling almost to yourself.
โ Youโre going to tell me itโs your relationship program that lets you do this.
Connor doesnโt break eye contact. His LED spins briefly, then stabilizes.
โ Maybe.
โ Please, Connorโฆ
Your tone is desperate, almost fatalistic. No matter what you say or do, he continues to deny the obvious. A dull ache pierces your heart, a mixture of fatigue, worry, and helplessness.
โ Honestlyโฆ Iโm not sure about anything anymore.
You blink several times, unsure of what it truly means. Connor catches the confusion in your eyes, in the tension of your features. He continues.
โ I canโt afford to fail. Otherwise, Cyberlife will destroy me.
โ What do you mean by โfailโ?
He closes his eyes for a brief second, then looks back at you.
โ If they detect the slightest error, the smallest sign of deviance, itโs over.
Your confusion slowly gives way to a deep, gnawing unease. You have always known Connor was a prototype, unique. That there was no other model like him. And you also know something else, something far more terrifying still: his destruction would be final. Irreversible.
Instinctively, you take a step back. As if to put distance between him and yourself. As if to smother the temptation before it can swallow you whole. To protect him. To protect him from you, perhaps, but above all, from Cyberlife. To protect him from a potential destruction.
With a simple nod, you offer him a heavy look, with meaning, a silent understanding he likely doesnโt yet have the words โor the parametersโ to articulate. Then you turn away without another word and head back toward the living room, hoping that this case will be enough to chase your demons away.
(This beautiful gif doesnโt belong to me!! Gif source here!!)
Pairing: Ruthless!Connor x reader
Warnings: A few swear words
Masterlist
Connor walked ahead of you, dutifully dismissing your anger. His stride was purposeful, intentional, and never faltering, but you matched it step for furious step as you stalked after him.
โHow could you do that?โ you shout, eyes blazing holes into the back of his head and jacket, into the white, mocking letters sprawled across his shoulders. Itย took all of your willpower not to wrap your fingers around his arm and wrench him around, force him to stop walking away for one fucking second and acknowledge you, to answer to what heโs done, to the blood he so unhesitatingly spilled.
This whole trip was a mistake.
You never should have set up a meeting with Elijah Kamski. You should have dragged Connor out of Kamskiโs whole damn house the second he pulled a gun. You shouldnโt have hesitated, shouldnโt have heard Kamski out, for the moment the last syllable of the deal passed his lips it was already too late. Lines of dark blue thirium were already falling from the bullet wound in the center of Chloeโs forehead, trickling down her nose and dropping, collecting on the crisp white carpet beneath her kneeling body.
โBy pulling the trigger,โ Connor states flatly, deadpanning without the slightest hint of amusement in his mechanical voice. โItโs quite a simple process to fire a handgun.โ
If it were possible, you bristled even more, your expression twisting into pure, unadulterated outrage. โShe was ALIVE!โ
Connor turns on you so rapidly that you smack right into his chest. You take a step back to glare up at him, angrier than before, but he follows you. Step for step through the freshly fallen snow, he follows your retreat.
โIt was a machine,โ he growls. The daggers he glares at you are colder than the freezing weather befalling Detroit, and they dare you to look elsewhere as he unrelentingly encroaches your space. โI put it out of commission to further this investigation and I would deactivate every single android Ellija Kamski put in front of me if it meant getting answers.โ
Despite how quickly you were to retrace the footprints youโd made only seconds before, to back away from him, Connorโs words chilled you enough to fan the fire in your blood.ย
You stopped moving. Your boots became rooted the ground and you stared up unflinchingly at the coldness lining his features.
โWould you kill me too? If it meant completing your mission?โย
You were no longer shouting. Connorโs face was close enough to yours that the cold, shivering wind biting at your cheeks could almost be mistaken for the breath he didnโt have.
Coffee colored eyes have never looked colder.
โYes,โ he states. โI would.โ
Connorโs resolute words and unwavering gaze leave you speechless. The waves of intensity rolling off him were entirely directed at you, like you were the only thing in existence and yet you were a nuisance.ย
Connorโs marching away by the time your mouth remembers how to form coherent words.
โI donโt believe that,โ you call out, hammering the waver from your voice, forcing your words into stability. Forcing out the doubt creeping in.
The doubt clawing at your resolve and thoroughly cracking your shield of certainty.
Because despite his words, which were utterly convincing, heโd hesitated. It was only for one faltering heartbeat, but heโd hesitated before answering.
Connor doesnโt stop walking but the crisp wind carries his words back to youย clearly enough.
โThen youโre more foolish than I thought you capable of.โ
-
A/N:ย I came up with this at 5:30 in the morning for some godforsaken reason and had to write it. I donโt know what this is. I thought Iโd try my hand at Ruthless!Connor. Heโs underappreciated.ย
The next part of The Logic of Emotion should be up by tomorrow evening. Itโs another 4k-er and I have a final exam tomorrow morning (pls send help) so pardon the delay in updating.
