closed — for @unbindingpages via asks !
[ “It’s been ten months without a word from you. What do you want?” ]
muse: connor / rk800.
ten months since the end of the android revolution. ten months since the androids continued to be kept as mere possessions, forced back into submission or otherwise destroyed for being ‘defective’. ten months since the rk800 worked against its own kind, following its programming and working to eradicate the deviants.
its own kind. but connor didn’t see it that way. he saw issues to be solved, murderers to be sentenced.
but he kept the deviants' leader alive. let him live, even if it had gone against cyberlife’s wishes.
he wasn’t sure why he did that. why? why? why? why?why?whywhywh— unimportant. irrational.
but something changed within those ten months of absence.
observing the hostile behavior of hank anderson didn't faze connor. the rk800 was used to being viewed as a mere object, because that's what it was. he had no real conscience, no voluntary thoughts, no feelings — devoid of life. but analyzing the lieutenant's words, he could discern more than just hostility. there was an undertone of desperation to hank's words, like he wanted to work with more than just a shell and wanted to drill it into connor's mind that he was more than just a machine, that he could make his own decisions if he let himself, and connor always heard him walk away mumbling something about "these fuckin' androids" or "lifeless fuckers" when the conversation went nowhere.
connor can't remember the situation prior to breaking his coding, no matter how many times he tries to analyze the moment and piece it back together. all he remembers is standing in an alleyway with newfound consciousness after denying commands to walk past, hyperaware of his own hands as he stood beside an injured human. their blood was not on his hands, a weapon nowhere in sight; injured, though not of his own doing — but he helped them. he made the decision to help them rather than simply walk away from the situation. he remembers feeling his thirium pump increasing its output of thirium circulation as he kept the human stable; fear, nearly.
it was too human. but the rk800 had a new understanding of the deviants' point of view. it was living their reality now, trapped in a world of programming and strict rules with an aware, alive mind.
this led him to markus' hideout, ten months after he'd held markus at gunpoint and threatened his life but refused to end it. a new jericho, hidden away from the knowledge of the humans but left open to be found by other deviated androids. connor was dressed for anonymity, hiding his led indicator from sight beneath a black hat, and he'd shed his android jacket in exchange for a charcoal-gray raincoat.
"i..." the words had died on connor's tongue before they could leave his mouth, his brows tense as they knit together while he tried to form a cohesive sentence. but, what could he say? it would be a feat to try and make things right between them, if that could ever be a reality.
an unnecessary, simulated breath in. then, slowly: "i don't want anything from you. i... came to... apologize, i think — whatever that's worth. for... everything." connor shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his arms folding over one another. "something inside of me is broken. my programming is faulty, and everything feels wrong. i considered bringing myself back to cyberlife to be reset, to fix the problem, but... i didn't. not yet, anyway." admitting that aloud felt too personal. "you probably don't trust me. i might not even be welcomed here, and i would understand why, but it was a compulsion i couldn't ignore. i don't understand what happened to me."
