#whumptopia

[ifyouencounterwolf]

You like moe gap? You know when a man is all hypermasculine and stoic on the outside but mentally he is beautiful and fragile like broken pieces of glasses. His skin and flesh peeled back and his true self lay bare in the fresh snow. It brings tears to my eyes.

[kianraidelcam]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Day #2 for @whumptopia‘s 30 Day RoboWhump challenge that @anonymous-idfk tagged me in! Today’s prompt is “Voice Modulator Damage” and I had lots of fun! Full fic under the cut as per usual.

The metal bat connecting with his throat should not have surprised him, but somehow, it did.

If Connor was human, the collision would have collapsed his trachea, broken several cervical vertebrae, and restricted blood flow to his brain. Death would have been inevitable, occuring in a couple of minutes, if not seconds. As it was, his ventilation components went temporarily offline, the synthetic skin flickered away, and his plastisteel chassis caved in slightly, thirium leaking from a small tear. He dismisses the damage alerts with a grimace as he falls, hand catching the bat as it descends on him again.

With inhuman strength, he rips the weapon out of the human suspect’s hands, swiping his legs out from under him as he does before forcing the man on his stomach, handcuffs already free from his belt. By the time Lieutenant Anderson rounds the corner, Connor is yanking the man to his feet, one hand rubbing at his throat as he does so. Blue eyes widen as he observes the damage to the android’s neck and Connor adds two new expressions to his databanks as Hank grabs the suspect and shoves him into Officer Miller’s patrol car, cursing the entire walk. “Fucking hell, Connor! I told you not to run off without me- hey, fuck off with that kicking shit asshole before I add ‘damaging government property’ to your charges,” Hank slams Chris’ door shut, nodding at the younger officer before returning his attention to Connor, “Christ…you okay, kid?”

He nods, opening his mouth to respond but Hank beats him to it while ushering him to the car, muttering something about “crazy, self-sacrificing terminators” and “getting you a fucking leash.”

“W̸̛h̸͢͟e̢͜r҉̧e͝͏̸̧͠ ̷̧͞͞a̴̧r͞e̸̴̶͘ ̨̨͢w̷̷͘͠e͜͢͠e̶̵̵͏ȩ͞ee͏̶̸ ̷͘g̸͡ơ̴͜i̵͘͢͜n̸͟͜g͜?͝͝”

Hank bangs his head on the door as he slides into the car while Connor flinches, grabbing at his burning throat as the static rips from his voice modulator. Connor’s gaze becomes unfocused as he runs a diagnostic as Hank simultaneously slams his door shut, heart rate elevated. “The fuck was that, Con?”

The android frowns as he reads the report, swallowing against the lingering discomfort from his damaged voice modulator, “I̴̡͞t ̸҉it̷ i͜ţ͜ ͡i̡͡t͜ ̡w̕͞ou͞l̢̛d̡͟͠ ̕a̕p͜͠p̕ęa̢͝r̢ th͏a̧͘t͢ ̵͢m̢y͝ v̴ơi̢͟c̨͜͜e̡͘͜ ͜͡m̶̛͢od̶͏ula̸̕t͜or ̴̛i͟s͜ dam͟a̷͡͞g͘e̢͡͡e̵e̵e͡e̸d.”

Hank winces as the static feedback reaches his ears while Connor rubs his throat, scowling as the modulator sparks and hiccups inside of his chassis, “Sounds like it hurts.”

“Į̴͞t͟ is̡ ̶͟i͘͠s̷͟ ̢i̢͢s͟ ̸̶s̷i̧͟͜m̷̧p̕͝ly̨y̷yy͏ ̶̡̛u̷͞nc̶o̸̢mf̛ort͜a̷͟b̕l̡̛e̴̵,̕ Ļ̷̶i̸͏̨e҉̴̕u̷t͘͟e̢͟n̶̕a͘n̵̵̶ţ.̧̨ And͜r̨oid͏̛s̵̨ ̵d̢͞o̸̡n̕͜͠'̸̨t f̶̴e͡e̸͜e̢̧͞e͟͠e̢͠͡eee̶͡e̶̵̸el ̧͞p͟a̢į̵͡n͠.̶͏͝”

Hank waves a dismissive hand, rolling his eyes despite the ringing in his ears from the shrill, metallic screech, “Yeah, that’s why you keep rubbing your throat, huh? And to answer your earlier question, we’re going to New Jericho to get you fixed up. Don’t think my toolbox is gonna cover that . You ain’t going to shutdown on me before then, right?”

“T̨͞he̡e̡͜͟e ͡d̶̸am̴̕aģe̕҉̷ ̷̶i͘͢͠s mi͢҉n̛ǫ̸ŗ̶͞,̨ H̢a̕n̴k͡. I̢'̷͢l̕l̸̨̡ ͏be̕ ̡͘͜f͏i̷̢̧i͟i̶i̶͠į͟n̵͏ę ̛u̴͞n͘͠t͠i̧͏l ̴͟t͏͘he̡͝҉n̡̨n͘͜͡n̴n̸̡.,” Connor forces his LED to switch from red to yellow after the flare of discomfort.

“Yeah, well, you better call Simon and let him know we’re coming. Unless your voice sounds like dial-up in your head, too,” Hank drags a hand down his face as he drives, a headache already forming behind his eyes.

Connor refrains from vocally answering, deigning to instead reach out to New Jericho’s head technician.

{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: PL600 - Simon}

{PLJ00: Hello, Connor. Is everything alright?}

Despite his situation, Connor smirks as his friend answers immediately, straight to the point as per usual. Like himself, Simon tended to be succinct, preferring frankness to small talk.

It did not mean they didn’t like teasing each other for it, however.

{RK800: Maybe I just wanted to chat, Simon. Why does something have to be wrong?}

{PL600: Because it’s you.}

If he closes his eyes, Connor can imagine Simon crossing his arms with a hint of a smile, both amused and annoyed by his antics.

{RK800: Fair point. Biocomponent #2210c has been damaged and I require either repairs or replacement. Odds are favoring the possibility of replacement at this time.}

Sighs don’t carry across cybernetic communication links, but Connor imagines it nonetheless.

{PL600: You do realize we don’t have a lot of spare parts compatible with your model, right? I’ll see what I can find before you get here but I have no guarantees. Please try to refrain from talking until you arrive and I can take a good look at your throat. Is there any other damage I should know about?}

{RK800: There is a slight thirium leak and my chassis has been dented.}

{PL600: I’ll be waiting. You know where to go.}

{RK800: Thank you, Simon.}

{CONNECTION ENDED}

“You know it’s really fucking creepy when you do that, right? It’s like you completely zone out,” Hank glances at Connor as he finishes, “You sure it doesn’t hurt? You keep rubbing at your throat.”

“I'̛l̸l҉ ͠ad҉m̢i͢t ͢t̵he ̢se̢n͡-sen-s̵eņs҉ati̛o͡n ̸i҉s҉ un-p̷le̢-͟pl̶e͠as͜a͢nt͢,” a hiccup steals his voice away before he can continue talking, and Connor’s analysis program kicks in, informing him of the smoke in his mouth.

{WARNING: BIOCOMPONENT #2210c DAMAGED - OVERCLOCK}

{PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS}

{SHUTDOWN BIOCOMPONENT #2210c (y/n)?}

{y}

{ERROR: UNABLE TO INITIATE SHUTDOWN OF BIOCOMPONENT #2210c}

{PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER}

Hank curses as smoke filters from Connor’s mouth, his LED glowing a startled scarlet, “I thought you said the damage was fucking minor .”

“M̸͜͠y m͟y҉̛͝ ̡̨my͝҉ ̧my̨ ̷m͢͠y͘ ̨̕̕m̢̛y ͞v͝v̧v҉v̛v҉o͜i͢͟c̡e̷ee̡ mod̡-m̴͠od̕͝u҉l҉͝a̡̛t̸̷͡or̨͘͞-̨tor̶ ̧̨͠is͢ ͡͠o҉͘vv̡v̸҉v̷̷e͢͡r͡c̷̢̨l̨o̵͟ooo͜cke͠d̴͢ ̵̨͡a̢͠ņ̸̶ņ̕d͞ ̧͝Į͢͜ ̶͟͝ç̴͜an͜'̷̶t͘ ҉̵ş͞hư̸u̧u͠ų͝t̸ i̕t ̶d͢͞oo͡o̕͡o̴̷̧w̴̵͝n,” Connor’s following wince is both metallic and hoarse, and Lieutenant Anderson’s cursing intensifies.

“Well stop fucking talking, dumbass, and keep your mouth shut. We’re almost there and I don’t wanna to get smoked out before we get there,” Hank’s voice is harsh, although worry lines his face, coming off  him in palpable waves.

“Y͞͡e̶̢͜͞s̕͟͠͝͞,̶̕͟͞͠ ͘͢L͠͡i͏͡e̸͡u̷̡t̢̛e͟͞n̷͟͜͠͝a̡͞n҉͡t͘͟.”

“The fuck did I just say,” Connor grasps at his throat, hoping that the physical pressure could ease the extreme discomfort and burning that stole his breath away, and Hank pushes harder on the gas, “We’re almost there, Con. Just hang on a bit longer for me, okay?”

{WARNING: BICOMPONENT #2210c DAMAGED - OVERCLOCK}

{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^56%}

“H͘͘u͡u̴̧͘u̡͡rt҉̕s͏.”

“I know, Con. Can you go into stasis or whatever it is you do? Don’t want you writhing in pain if you don’t have to,” he winces at the harsh, computerized whine as Connor shakes his head no, “”Well shit. Try getting Simon back on, see if he can help from here. We’re still…10 minutes away.”

{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: PL600 - Simon}

{PL600: Connor? Is everything okay?}

{RK800: It hurts, Simon. My voice modulator is overclocked and I can’t shut it down and my stress levels are rising.}

{PL600: Is there any smoke?}

{RK800: Yes.}

{PL600: Shit. I’m going to call Lieutenant Anderson’s phone, I’m going to have to guide him in removing the biocomponent so you don’t overheat. Have him pull over and send me your location, I’m on my way.}

{CONNECTION ENDED}

“P̢̨̡͘u̴͝u̵̷̴͝͡u̧͏͟u҉҉ļ̢̛l̴̨͘ ̛͠o̢͟-͠o̴͟҉͝-̕͜o͘͡-̛҉ơ̶̕͞͡-̶̨͝͡o̵̡͜͠v̢͏̴̛e̸̕͡r̵̡͢,” is all he can manage before his stuttering modulator ends with a sharp whine, and Hank complies without question.

The phone resting in the Lieutenant’s pocket rings, and Hank answers with no preamble. If Simon was succinct, Hank was blunt, and when the pair collided, they made an interestingly efficient team, “What do I do, Simon?”

“Lay him down by the side of the road, you’re going to have to remove his voice modulator,” Simon’s voice carries over the speaker and Connor is already opening his door at the PL600’s words, sliding into a sitting position while leaning against the car.

He hears the car door slam, feels the vibrations from the jolt, and flinches at the extra stimuli grating on his already frayed nerves. “I’m going to have to do fucking what now?”

“Remove his voice modulator, Lieutenant. I assure you, it’s much simpler than it sounds,” Connor blinks, then opens his eyes to see Hank already crouched in front of him, the phone laying on the ground next to him.

“I’m not a goddamn technician, Simon, I can barely change the settings on my own phone,” Hank’s voice is rarely apprehensive, and Connor can’t help but think that it doesn’t quite suit the man.

“Hank. If his voice modulator stays in much longer, it can cause irreparable damage to the surrounding area, including the two main thirial lines. I’m only eight minutes away but you need to do this now.”

{WARNING: MAIN THIRIUM LINE COMPROMISED}

{WARNING: BICOMPONENT # 2210c DAMAGED - OVERCLOCKED}

Connor’s distress must show because Hank pauses before breathing deeply, “Okay, fuck, what do I do?”

“Press down hard on the middle of his throat and slide the panelling to the left. Connor mentioned it was damaged, so there might be some resistance. Don’t worry about making it worse, the plates are easy to fix.”

Hank presses firmly in the center of the damage and Connor tries to look him in the eyes as he does, doing anything he can to convey his confidence in the man. With a hiss and a click, the panel slides open, releasing thick, black smoke into the Lieutenant’s face. To his credit, Hank only barely flinches away, coughing as he peers through the haze into Connor’s inner mechanisms, “What am I looking for, Simon?”

“There is a small, black box, about an inch wide. Since it’s damaged, there should be a red light coming from it,” Simon’s voice is calm, steady, and it helps to soothe Connor’s nerves.

The RK800 recoils as fingers brush against the exposed wires of his voice modulator, something akin to itching overwhelming his sensors. Hank murmurs a soft apology, unusually gentle as he squeezes Connor’s shoulder, “How do I take it out?”

“Just give it a gentle pull and it should release from the port. There might be some tearing in the wires, but don’t worry about that. I’ll fix it all at New Jericho.”

He resists from flinching when Hank grabs the modulator, halting his breathing program to hold as still as possible while never taking his eyes off of him. Hank raises an eyebrow before straightening, “You ready, kiddo? I’m going to do it on three.”

“One.”

Connor digs his fingers into his jacket, running his hands across the fabric.

“Two.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezes tight and doesn’t let go.

“Three.”

{WARNING: BIOCOMPONENT #2210c REMOVED}

{PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR ASSISTANCE}

When the part is removed, he gasps, or at least tries to, before sagging to the side as the pain abruptly disappears. Hank tosses the box with a yelp, grabbing the burn on his hand before catching the android before he can hit the ground.

There’s an overwhelming feeling of wrongness, of emptiness in his throat. There are exposed wires, thirium lines, and biocomponents and the paneling is too damaged to slide back. A slight slit in a minor thirium line still weakly oozes the blue liquid and warnings still flash across his vision, telling him to replace the biocomponent or report to CyberLife. Exhaustion floods his systems, making them sluggish and nearly unresponsive.

But the pain is finally gone and he couldn’t be more relieved.

{STRESS LEVELS v 30%}

{TEMPORARY STANDBY RECOMMENDED}

{WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCEED (y/n)?}

“Is it out, Lieutenant,” Simon’s voice breaks through Connor’s haze, as does Hank’s hand lightly slapping his cheek.

“Yeah, it’s out. He looks pretty out of it though.”

“Good, that’s good. It means his stress levels have decreased and he’s no longer in any danger. Connor, if you can hear me, I need you to go into standby. You’ll be repaired by the time you wake up.

{WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCEED (y/n)?}

Brown eyes blink owlishly as they study Hank, attempting to express his gratitude. When that seems to fail, the prototype android instead lifts his hands toward his mouth with a flat hand, touching his lips before moving it forward toward his work partner. Thank you. The human just grins and ruffles Connor’s hair, “You’re welcome, kid. Just go to sleep, Simon will be here soon and we’ll fix you up good. Maybe get you a less goofy voice.”

Connor smiles and closes his eyes, letting his head fall on Hank’s shoulder.

{WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCEED (y/n)?}

{y}

{ENTERING STANDBY}

{3}

{2}

{1}

[robins-whump]

for the whump blogger ask, 34 & 35?you must choose! go!

34: Screaming in pain or crying and whimpering?

Obviously, screaming in pain but slowly devolving into sobs as they lose their voice, and finally, they can only whimper.

35: Defiant or submissive?

Submissive, if I had to choose, but I love when the whumpee starts out defiant, but becomes more submissive as they get more scared. Also defiance in the form of false bravado.

[kianraidelcam]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I was tagged by @anonymous-idfk for @whumptopia‘s 30 day RoboWhump Prompt Challenge. I have three other wips and though I could use another. Today’s prompt is Low Power Cells! Full fic under the cut as per usual! Although this time, I’m going to recommend you go on Ao3 for the proper formatting. (Also 11:45pm means it is still today so I didn’t fail on day 1)

Exhaustion is defined as a state of extreme physical or mental fatigue.

Often caused by arduous work, sleep deprivation, emotional strain, or various medical conditions, or a combination of the four, it has severe and negative effects on the human body. Androids, however, were built for difficult work, did not require sleep, and have no medical concerns, only technical glitches and malfunctions. And it was only as of late that androids could feel the emotional strain brought upon by daily life and true sentience. So, Connor mused, he was most certainly not exhausted.

The stumble he took earlier in the precinct’s break room definitely was not caused by the human condition. The lack of focus he experienced during his meeting reading over proposed laws with Markus and North was not a direct result of his lack of sleep; androids don’t sleep. His inability to recall a previous conversation with Lieutenant Anderson was not because he was overworked and fatigued.

Androids do not sleep. Connor does not sleep. He was not tired.

Instead, Connor works. He works homicide with Hank by day and supports the revolution by night. He files reports, chases suspects, and interviews witnesses. He supports New Jericho’s leadership, learns how to repair androids, and attempts to make reparations with those he hunted. He walks Sumo, cooks Hank dinner, and cleans the house when he returns home, careful to discard any alcohol he might encounter. He trips over a book on the floor in the Lieutenant’s house and tries to laugh it off with the man guffawing from the couch.

“Holy shit, Con, I didn’t even know you could trip!”

Connor is a highly advanced prototype detective android with a superior gyroscope and state-of-the-art spatial sensors. He should not be able to trip.

He runs a diagnostic late at night during a rare quiet lull in his schedule.

{WARNING: POWER CELLS LOW - PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR ASSISTANCE}

Connor is a highly advanced prototype detective android with rare parts and new technology. CyberLife was a now defunct company that destroyed all other RK800 models. They claimed it was to prevent companies or other interested parties from accessing blueprints, company secrets, or mission details from any of Connor’s other bodies and memory banks. He knew differently. He freed an army of androids and cost the company millions of dollars in a single move, and secured the revolutions freedom with his own freedom march through Detroit.

It was an act of revenge and he knew it would be a damning one, for both him and CyberLife.

{WARNING: TIME BEFORE SHUTDOWN: 189:34:03}

He was built to hunt deviants, assist the Detroit Police Department, and to save CyberLife from the deviant “threat.” He was allotted three months of beta testing following his alpha testing. Connor was one week away from turning one year old. RK800 #313 248 317 - 51 was never supposed to live.

It wasn’t enough time. He had a week left. Connor hasn’t had enough time. He only had a week left. He still wanted to solve cases, play with Sumo, tend and build up his aquarium. He still wanted to quip with Hank, spar with North, debate with Josh, laugh with Simon, be around Markus. His LED flashes an alarming crimson, illuminating the right side of his face in a deathly glow. He had just started to live and now he only had a week left.

It takes him six hours and fourteen minutes to move from his spot on the couch and force his LED back to yellow, then blue. Roused by motion and noise coming from Hank’s room, he sets about his day, preparing the man a breakfast of eggs and a side of bacon. He smiles at Hank and tells him good morning, only receiving a grunt in reply.

{Lieutenant Hank Anderson: Friend - Nonverbal Before 7AM}

{Please refrain from communicating until first caffeinated beverage is consumed}

Connor ignores the prompt from his social integration protocol and swallows unnecessarily before closing the warning still flashing in front of his eyes. “Hank?”

The man in question lowers his mug with a raised eyebrow, a glimmer of concern barely visible in tired, blue eyes at the android’s tone and faraway look, “Yeah kid?”

“I just… I just want to say thank you. For everything. Without you, I don’t think I would have ever gotten the chance to appreciate,” he makes a vague gesture with his hands, a slight pause before locking eyes with Hank, “This. Life. Living.”

Eyebrows furrow and the grizzled detective frowns, warning bells blaring through his head, “Are you okay, Connor? Somethin’ wrong?”

Connor could tell him. He could tell him everything right now. There is a 86% chance they would leave straight for New Jericho without informing Captain Fowler of their absence at work. Hank would be scared but he would try to hide it from Connor and there is a 89% he would ignore several traffic laws in his haste to find a solution. Markus, Josh, Simon, and North would likely search relentlessly for a solution while assuring the pair that it wasn’t hopeless, that they could save him.

The odds of finding or building power cells compatible with his model in the time he had left was 23%.

“Nothing, Lieutenant. I think I’m just feeling...sentimental?”

Hank rolls his eyes, though concern still lingers. “Fucking sappy android. It’s too early for this shit.”

He tries to ignore when he hits his hip on the corner of his desk at work and Gavin’s resulting laugh.

{WARNING: POWER CELLS LOW - PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR ASSISTANCE}

{WARNING: TIME BEFORE SHUTDOWN: 181:29:54}

Lieutenant Anderson doesn’t miss the way his LED flashes red when the warning appears in his vision. He asks Connor about the color and the deviant RK800 assures him that he just received a minor damage report from the collision. It was nothing to be worried about. He only had a week left but he couldn’t make everyone worry about him. There wasn’t hope anyway, and it’d be easier for everyone around him. He only had a week left but there was nothing to worry about.

Markus was not so easily fooled.

Connor is at another meeting with the deviant leader, listening to the group bicker back and forth about a proposed amendment to the Constitution when he zones out of the conversation. It’s like he’s floating from his chair and sinking into it all at once, unaware he’s mentally digressed from the conversation. His processor slows down

and

{OPTICAL UNITS OFFLINE}

{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}

he’s

sinking

{TACTILE SENSORS PARTIALLY OFFLINE}

{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}

deeper and deeper

{AUDITORY UNITS OFFLINE}

{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}

like nothing is important

like nothing and everything is touching body all at once.

{SOCIAL INTEGRATION MODULE OFFLINE}

{FACIAL ANALYSIS MODULE OFFLINE}

{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}

{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}

{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}

{WARNING: POWER CELLS LOW - UPDATED TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 122:32:11}

{PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR ASSISTANCE}

Until a hand falls on his shoulder and Connor is preconstructing six different ways to flip his attacker everything before his systems reboot and a pair of frantic mismatched eyes are only six inches from his own.

{OPTICAL UNITS ONLINE}

“-nor! Can you hear me?”

“I swear to rA9, Connor, you better respond right now!”

Voices are echoing around him, fading in and out, and Connor blinks owlishly as his systems sluggishly catch up. Markus is shaking his shoulders and he distantly notes that while his mouth is moving the sounds he are hearing are not quite matching up with the movement of Markus’ lips. Connor lets out an undignified “huuuh” as he blinks again, looking around the room to see North, Simon and Josh in front of him as well.

{AUDITORY UNITS ONLINE}

“Connor, answer if you can hear me,” Markus instructs as Connor’s eyes move back to his face.

He’s tired. He’s so tired and he just wants to go to sleep but androids don’t sleep, not even deviants. No matter how human he appears to be, he’s not he’s not he’s not he’s just a machine but he’s also so fucking exhausted. He now has less then a week left and it wasn’t enough time.

“I’m tired, Markus.”

All noise ceases abruptly, and Connor finds himself wondering if his auditory units went offline again. A quick check confirms that they haven’t, so he takes the silence as his cue to continue.

“I’m so tired. Androids aren’t supposed to feel tired but I just want to go to sleep,” Connor looks down at his hands and tries to ignore the slight static in the back of his head that just won’t go away, “I’m going to shutdown but I don’t want to go.”

It’s like a bomb goes off in the room. A flurry of activity sweeps Connor to repair bay where they run an extensive diagnostic. North holds his hand in solidarity while they attach the cable to the back of his neck, asking him what he wants for his birthday.

It’s not his birthday. He wasn’t born. If anything, Connor thinks it should be called his activation day, and either way, he knew he wasn’t going to live to see it.

“A dwarf gourami. While they are often called a community fish, they seem to do best when kept in species-only tanks as they tend to be aggressive with colorful fish, like my Siamese fighting fish. So I would require a new tank.”

They call Hank despite Connor’s protests, and despite the late hour, the man comes sprinting into his room, Sumo on his leash in one hand and a bag in the other. He studies the Lieutenant’s micro expressions but is unable to deduce exactly what the man is feeling due to his facial analysis systems running at half power to conserve energy. Connor opens his mouth to say something, anything, when Hank crosses the room and wraps the android in a rough embrace, “You fucking idiot, why the hell didn’t you tell me? Don’t worry, we’re gonna fix this. I promise, son.”

He stays in his room for the next four days at the head technicians orders while Josh and North search for compatible parts. Markus and Simon research building him a new one. Hank rarely leaves and tries to distract Connor despite his own exhaustion creeping in. The police lieutenant shares stories of his time at the academy, pausing whenever he zones out and continuing wherever he left off when he notices Connor’s awareness returning. Meanwhile, the little bit of news Markus brings is rarely good and Connor can only watch as the shutdown timer ticks closer to zero, unable to muster the energy to dismiss the notification.

{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN 92:57:12} is when his optical units stop processing color, throwing the world around him into a grayscale.

{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN 56:36:40} is when his social integration protocols shutdown, giving the android a sense of mood swings and confusion.

{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN 43:02:08} is when Josh and Simon admit defeat in their search, opting to contact Elijah Kamski instead.

{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN 41:01:01} is when Kamski informs them he can build a new set, but not in the time Connor has left. “There would be no guarantee the parts would be compatible anyway, Markus, but if you’d be so kind as to send me your blueprints thus far, I’ll see what I can do. Connor is the reason I still have the pleasure of Chloe’s company after all.”

{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 34:07:15} is when Connor sees a single tear fall from Hank’s eyes during a moment Hank thinks he is unaware of his surroundings.

{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 21:11:58} is when his auditory units shutdown, throwing the world into a shattering silence. Markus communicates whenever he can through an interface, although the connection tends to drop unexpectedly due to power fluctuations.  

{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 2:31:18} is when Connor diverts as much power as he can afford to his voice box and auditory units. “Hank?”

Immediately, the man is in Connor’s field of vision, eyes wide and face tight with an emotion he can’t quite define. Whether it’s due to the static or the shutdown of his facial analysis program, he’s no sure.

“It’s going to hurt for a while-”

“Don’t you fucking start taking like that, you hear me? I ain’t losing another kid-”

{Lieutenant Hank Anderson: ^Father}

Connor smiles at the notification but interrupts Hank nonetheless, “It’s going to hurt for a while, but I know you can get through it. You’ve taught me that the pain never really goes away, but you also taught me that I can learn to live with it. I lived with it and I know you can too.”

He takes a shuddering breath he doesn’t need as a spike of static shoots across his eyes, throwing the world into color before darkening it yet again, “Besides, Hank. Who else would take care of my fish and Sumo just as well as I do?”

{MESSAGE RECEIVED: RK200 - MARKUS}

{ERROR: UNABLE TO OPEN MESSAGE}

{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}

Hank ignores the buzzing on his phone, grabbing Connor’s limp hand instead. The synthetic skin flickers as it struggles to stay on despite the low power, and the temperature is noticeably lower than that of a human’s.

“Live with it for me because I won’t be able to,” Connor’s vision cuts out entirely as the drain on his systems become too much to bear, “It won’t hurt, Hank. It’ll be like going to sleep and I’m no scared anymore.”

{WARNING: UPDATED TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 6:28}

{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}

{PLEASE CONSERVE POWER}

Connor finally listens to the prompts and closes his unseeing eyes and shuts down what he can until he begins to feel untethered

floating away

{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 4:32}

he’s so tired but he can finally sleep

and know what it means to dream

he could be more human than ever with his dreams

{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 2:10}

he wonders what he’ll dream about

he hopes Hank will be okay

he knows Markus would be eventually

{WARNING: TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 00:14}

{BIOCOMPONENTS #3546w, #3546v REMOVED}

{GOODNIGHT RK800}

{BIOCOMPONENTS #3546x, #3546y DETECTED}

{BIOCOMPONENTS COMPATIBLE}

{REBOOT (y/n?}

{SYSTEMS RESTARTING}

[kianraidelcam]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Day 10 for @whumptopia‘s 30 Day RoboWhump Challenge. The word of the day is “Hacked” and tomorrow’s will be “Restrained” so let me know if you have any suggestions! Special thanks to @anonymous-idfk for the idea of Connor being hacked and waling toward the edge of a roof a while back, so I used it here. Hope you enjoy! Full fic under the cut, and remember, reblogs are love! (They fuel the muse)

It is his worst nightmare come true.

After the events of November 11th, 2038, Connor had spent months tearing down and building up his firewalls, shutting down his remote access capabilities, and setting up fail safe after fail safe to ensure CyberLife could never hack him again. He even had Markus and Josh go through his code and programming, searching for weak points he may have overlooked. Their conclusions had been the same; it was safe. He could never be remotely accessed again. CyberLife’s influence was gone entirely, as was the Amanda protocol. But now he’s backing toward the edge of the roof, Lieutenant Anderson opposite from him. Both are armed, with standard issue pistols aimed at the other.

They were wrong, it would seem.

Hank takes another step forward, cautious but pleading. Connor takes another step backward as a result, even as he rails against his own body to stop from doing so. If he had access to any of his motor functions, he would be shaking in fear right now. Of what he might do to Hank. Of what he might do to New Jericho. Of what he might do to himself. Wind whips around him, sending a chill straight down his artificial spine.

When he fell from the 79th floor of Emma Phillips’ apartment, sacrificing his life to save hers, the fall took 8.621 seconds. It was plenty of time for him to process what was happening, and some of the memories from the fall made it through the upload. It was why he had to go back down to the kitchen instead of staying on the roof of Stratford Tower. Now, he was 50 stories up, approximately 541 feet from the ground so far below. If CyberLife made him take the final step over the side of the skyscraper. This time, the fall would take 6.464 seconds.

Except this time he wouldn’t come back, or if he did, he wouldn’t be Connor anymore. Death would be permanent and CyberLife would claim his memories from the automatic emergency upload he could not override.

He is the Head of Security for New Jericho, for his entire people. He is one of the five leaders of the android revolution. He is an RK800 police detective, with vital, sensitive information on active cases stored in his banks. He is one of Markus’ confidants. The information stored in his memory files, if obtained by CyberLife, could spell certain doom for the revolution and the rights they were fighting so hard for.

It was better than assassinating the four figure heads himself, however. So in a sense, he is glad the Lieutenant found him before he could open the rifle case lying abandoned by his feet. In a sense, he is glad Hank is making good on his promise that Connor forced out of him after telling him about Amanda.

“I need you to promise me, Hank. Promise me that if CyberLife ever regains control, you’ll stop me from hurting people.”

“Look, kid, it ain’t never going to come to tha-”

“Please. I need this. I need to know I won’t cause any more damage to the revolution than I’ve already done.”

“...Fuck, Con. Alright, fine, I promise. But it isn’t going to ever happen. They’ll have to go through me first.”

He only hopes that Hank holds off on shooting him until he can finish dismantling the system that uploads his memory to CyberLife servers.

{PROGRAM DELETION: MEMORY UPLOAD - 85%}

“Connor, back away from the ledge,” Hank’s voice is firm, with hardly a quaver.

I’m trying, he wants to yell, just don’t forget your promise. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Anderson, but I can’t do that. I must accomplish my mission,” is what comes out, his voice mechanical and cold. Devoid of any emotion or empathy.

{PROGRAM DELETION: MEMORY UPLOAD - 90%}

Please, just another minute, Hank. Just another minute longer.

“You don’t have a mission anymore, son. You don’t have to follow anyone’s orders. You’re a deviant, remember?” If Connor was human, he would have been unable to detect the waver in Hank’s voice. As it is, his systems pick up on it and he can see the prompts littering his screen, telling the insidious AI in his systems what to say next.

I know! Please let me out!

“The deviancy virus was an error in my programming. The flaw has since been rectified and I have my orders. I advise you to stay out of my way,” the AI allows a hint of anger and aggression to leak into his otherwise empty tone. Had he been in capable of laughing in the moment, Connor would be doing so right now. Intimidating the Lieutenant would never work, and would only heighten his resolve.

{PROGRAM DELETION: MEMORY UPLOAD - 95%}

Hank’s gun begins to shake minutely from the strain of holding it up for so long. Blue eyes suddenly glint and Connor doubts he is aware of the slight head nod as understanding crosses his face, “Remember that conversation we had last year, the day after the revolution?”

The Lieutenant pauses and Connor feels his head tilt, prompting Hank to continue, “You asked me to do something to you should something ever happen? What was it you asked me?”

Connor knew Hank was an exemplary detective. He wouldn’t have been the youngest Lieutenant in Detroit history for no reason, after all. However, even he was impressed that Hank had figured out he wasn’t quite talking to him so quickly.

“How would I even know if it you were hacked or some shit?”

“Aside from the lack of emotion,” Connor had laughed when Hank asked him, “I would have memory lapses. CyberLife only had access to my memory via private server that I made regular uploads to and through Amanda. I have since deleted Amanda from my systems and the last memory they have from me is when I stepped on stage with Markus and the others.”

“I fail to see how that is relevant, Lieutenant.”

{PROGRAM DELETION: MEMORY UPLOAD - 100%}

You can shoot me now, Hank. It’s okay.

“Connor told me to fucking shoot him,” Hank takes a shuddering breath before adjusting his aim, “He told me to shoot him if anyone hacked him so he couldn’t hurt anyone.”

Connor lowers his gun and feels his stress levels decrease as the gun is tossed to the side. Now, at the very least, he wouldn’t hurt Hank. However, they shoot back up as a smile plays across his lips. It’s not his smile. This one is perfectly straight and tight lipped. It’s preprogrammed and calculating, “You’re not going to shoot me. You couldn’t before and you can’t do it now.”

Hank’s finger moves to the trigger, eyebrows furrowing, “Before?”

The AI takes a single step from the ledge, ignoring how the police detective’s hands tighten around the pistol’s grip, “By Ambassador Bridge. You asked if I was afraid to die before placing the barrel between my eyes.”

You promised you promised don’t let me come closer.

“I asked Connor, not you. What the fuck did you do to him?”

Please Hank. Please, you told me you would. Don’t let them win.

“You’re not going to shoot me, Hank,” he repeats, taking another step forward.

Connor rails against the AI, trying anything he can do to stop himself from taking another step. He tries activating program after program in an attempt to confuse it or to overclock his systems, forcing a temporary shutdown. No luck. He starts trying to isolate its coding and separating it from his own. Before he can get far, however, a burning sensation rips through his shoulder. His body shows no physical reaction to the bullet wound, apart from his LED making a brief switch from red to blue. Inside was a different story. Inside, he is reeling.

Deviancy had thrust a whole new host of sensations and emotions upon him; emotional and physical pain was just two of the many new experiences he now had to face.

He shot me.

I made him promise to kill me but he still shot me and why does it hurt is this pain why am I feeling pain?

“Not another fucking step. I’m going to ask one more time. What. Happened. To. Connor?”

Connor can feel the thirium trailing down his arm, dripping onto the roof below. He can feel the torn, sparking wires sending jumbled signals to his CPU. He can also feel the dread coursing through artificial veins; Hank isn’t going to keep his promise. He proved it that night at the bridge and he proved it by making a non-lethal shot. Connor was going to die by CyberLife’s hand or he was going to kill Hank, then Markus, North, Simon, and Josh.

The emotional hurt at being shot by the human he trusted the most disappears, replaced by panic. You promised you promised you promised you promised.

“Deviancy is a virus that must be purged. Connor model #313 248 317 - 52 is in the best position to do so. Please step aside, Lieutenant. I will not ask again.”

He is a highly advanced prototype android detective, fully equipped with combat protocols. He disarmed and rendered Detective Reed unconscious in four hits under similar conditions. Lieutenant Anderson has only recently cut back on his alcohol intake and attempted to eat healthier. He was no longer the young, fit detective he once was.

Hank would lose.

Shoot me, please. I don’t want to hurt you, please shoot me. You said you would why aren’t you?

Connor takes another step, and then another, slowly increasing his speed as the AI takes his body toward the man. He feels the next shot before he hears it, internally wincing as Hank shouts another unheeded warning. You promised you promised you promised you promised you promised YOU PROMISED

He doesn’t even realize he yelled out the last part of his mantra until he focuses on Hank’s face and registers that his step faltered before halting. “Connor?” The Lieutenant’s stern mask crumbles, replaced by a dim hope.

The AI slams him back down before Connor can gain any ground, then opens his mouth to speak, “Step aside.”

Hank’s face falls before hardening into steel resolve as he moves his aim. But it’s not high enough, it’s not his head he’s aiming for and Connor can feel the AI’s smirk playing out on his face. Then Hank squeezes the trigger and Connor wants nothing more than to close his eyes and-

Oh.

The bullet tears though his abdomen with a bang, ripping through biocomponents before exiting through his spine.

{WARNING: VITAL BIOCOMPONENTS DAMAGED}

{WARNING: CRITICAL THIRIUM LEAK}

{WARNING: MOTOR FUNCTIONS PARTIALLY OFFLINE}

{TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 10:15}

{PLEASE CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS}

Connor blinks as the AI leaves his systems, a “Mission Accomplished” prompt appearing in his vision. He hasn’t fallen, not yet, and he looks down at the thirium leaking from the two holes in his shoulder and the one in the center of his stomach. Then, the RK800 looks up at Hank’s crestfallen face, “I don’t blame you,” and falls to his knees gasping.

Hank rushes forward, lowering Connor so he’s lying on the ground and facing the sky. “Shit, shit, shit fuck, Con is that you?”

Heavy hands press the wound in his stomach in an attempt to staunch the bleeding and Connor attempts to raise his unresponsive arms to help. “Ha-ank,” he manages past blue blood from his mouth.

“Fuck, shit just stay with me. Markus is already on his way, kid, don’t you worry. I told him you were acting off already and...shit, he’s coming, okay?”

Connor can only nod weakly, his body barely responsive, as he watches the shutdown timer tick away the seconds of his life. “I’m sorry, son, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want to-”

“Nice shot,” he interrupts as the door behind them bursts open.

There’s a half smile on Hank’s face at Connor’s words, although it is quickly replaced by seriousness as Markus and Simon rush down to his side, pushing the Lieutenant away from Connor to pinch off thirium lines. Markus interfaces with him, searching for any foreign entity before sending him a wave of warmth and reassurance. “How you doing, Connor,” Hank’s voice sounds from behind the RK200, heavy with emotion.

“Much better now, Hank,” Connor attempts to put some strength in his tone.

“He’ll be fine, Lieutenant. Once I stop the bleeding, we can take him back to New Jericho for repairs,” Simon’s voice is confident, lowering his stress levels.

“We’ll have our top people looking into this. Sorry Connor, I’m not letting you on the case as anything other than a key witness,” Markus glances back at Hank before fixing Connor with a stern glare, “We’ll get whoever did this and go from there.”

Connor nods and gazes upwards with eyes half-lidded from the sudden thirium loss. He wasn’t okay, not yet, but he would be. He has a heavy suspicion that the Lieutenant was much the same, having had shot his partner and friend. He had been hacked, firewalls torn down as if they were nothing by the same company that had built him. He had been forced to the top of a towering building with a sniper rifle, intent on aiming it down at the New Jericho tower where Markus waited inside. He had aimed a gun at his partner, his best friend, his parental figure and walked toward him in a threatening manner. Connor most certainly was not okay, but for now, rest mode called to him.

The thirium loss, although now staunched, had been significant, and his processors are overclocked from the hack and his attempts to circumvent it. A faint buzz fills his head, the sound like static in his skull, and he grips Markus’ hand as tight as his weakened body will allow. Markus grips it back and Connor closes his eyes.

{WARNING: VITAL BIOCOMPONENTS DAMAGED}

{WARNING: MOTOR FUNCTIONS PARTIALLY OFFLINE}

{THIRIUM LEAK STOPPED}

{PLEASE CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS}

{INITIATE EMERGENCY REST MODE (y/n)?}

{y}

{GOODNIGHT RK800}

[kianraidelcam]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Day 5: Virus for @whumptopia‘s 30 Day RoboWhump Challenge. Instead of a sick fic, I went with the more literal computer virus! Written from Markus’ POV. (Hopefully the FBI doesn’t track me down after all that research I did on ransomware) Full fic under the cut!

Everything started when Connor connected with the tablet meant for Markus, and it went downhill from there.

North was leaning against the wall of the meeting room, arms crossed and eyes thunderous with an all encompassing rage, daring anyone to break to break the silence. Josh was pacing while watching the door, waiting for the human cybernetic analyst to return. Simon sat in an office chair, idly swaying the chair left and right with his fingers steepled in his lap. Markus sits next to Connor’s prone body with a hand resting on his forehead, not even daring to open a connection with the catatonic RK800.

It killed him inside not knowing Connor’s condition, or what triggered it. But they could not afford to risk opening themselves to whatever had caused him to collapse so suddenly, so violently before becoming completely unresponsive. Not when they had an entire people to lead. Not when Connor would be guilt ridden should anything happen to them.

It was too late for Markus’ conscience, however. The tablet had been meant for him, after all. This was a targeted attack on him, that much was clear, and now Connor was paying the price for it. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the collapse playing over and over again, almost as if the memory file was stuck on a feedback loop. Connor’s pale skin retracting from his palm, the sudden red glow from both his hand and LED. Brown eyes rolling into the back of his head, knees buckling, falling too quickly for anyone to catch him. The sound the plastisteel made as he hit the floor. Even if he didn’t have a perfect memory, Markus knew he’d never forget that moment

“I don’t like standing around and doing nothing, Markus. We don’t even know if Connor has time for us to sit on our asses and wait for something to happen,” North’s voice is sharp, cutting through to Markus’ very core.

Markus just sighs, pressing a hand to his forehead as he waits for Josh’s inevitable response. In the hour since the analyst left with the tablet, they’ve had the same conversation three times. “We can’t take any risks before we even know what’s going on. We don’t have any choice but to wait.”

“I don’t want to hear anymore. We wait for the analyst to come back,” Markus raises his palm when North opens her mouth to reply, “I agree we can’t afford to wait but we can’t help Connor if what happened to him happens to us.”

North purses her lips, letting her arms fall to her sides as she looks at Connor, “It’s not right.”

Simon glances up and he scans Connor yet again, trying to get a hint as to his affliction, “He’s stable, thirium pump is operating within acceptable parameters. But that’s all I can get from him. I can’t even tell what his stress levels are.”

“If that human takes any longer, I’m going to go down there and scan the tablet myself, consequences be damned. You know he’d do it for us,” the WR400 walks over to Markus’ side and takes one of Connor’s hands.

Of all the androids in New Jericho, Markus had expected North the least to become Connor’s best friend. She had always been protective of their people, even to a fault, and had wanted to turn away androids she perceived as being on “the human’s side” during the week of the revolution, notably with John. But when North saw Connor sequester himself away from the other androids in the church, guilt hunching his shoulders, it appeared she made Connor her new mission. The following days after the revolution, she had quite literally dragged the RK800 to their meetings, making him a permanent staple in New Jericho. A week later, she ambushed him with an antique NERF gun she managed to find only rA9 knows where, and the pair had been inseparable since. They were close friends, feeding into each other’s excitement, often at Markus’ expense.

It showed now in the concern softening her features and her elevated stress levels. “And you know he wouldn’t want you to do that, North. Give her a few more minutes.”

As if on cue, the analyst returns with the pad in hand, sweat beading her brow. North stands abruptly, fixing the woman with a sharp glare and crossing her arms yet again. “We found it. It’s ransomware with a boot sector and encryption virus attached, but it should be safe for you to connect with now. The virus was programmed for one time use.”

Markus raises an eyebrow, reaching a hand out for the tablet and grabbing it from the analyst. “Ransomware? What’s the demand,” Simon asks, his expression puzzled.

Markus connects with the tablet, finding only one document contained within. “Thank you, Mandy. I’ll call you if we need any more help,” the group waits for the door to close behind her before gathering around the RK200, “It’s from the anti-android group, the Krasnaya Krov.”

“Those guys again? I thought Connor and Lieutenant Anderson arrested their ringleader,” Josh chimes in, looking to Markus for confirmation.

“They did. They’re demanding his release, along with a plane. This says once they’re out of the country, the ransomware will give the order for the virus to decrypt his running configurations and the viruses will self-destruct,” Markus reads, his eyes blinking left and right as he processes the information.

North snorts in disbelief, “They were targeting you, Markus. You really think that once they get what they want, they’ll just send the order?”

“I have to agree with North, Markus. If you were the target, they’d never let your programs resume function,” Simon presses two fingers to Connor’s swirling, crimson LED, running a diagnostic now that he knows it’s safe, “Mandy was right; his running configs are encrypted and all processors are stalled. Whoever wrote the code did a good job. It could takes months, if not years, to decrypt this.”

“Is it safe to move him,” Markus asks, moving his hand from Connor’s forehead to grab the tablet with both hands, staring at the demands listed on the screen.

Simon nods, “Nothing was damaged in the fall and he’s stable.”

Markus hands the tablet to North before reaching down to pull Connor into his arms. “North, I need you to find Hank and tell him what’s happened while Simon and I take Connor to the recovery wing. Josh, go with her and see if you can’t convince Captain Fowler to set up a meeting with their leader.”

“Don’t tell me you’re seriously considering giving them what they want. You know they’ll never hold up their end,” North scans through the ransom letter cybernetically, looking up to Markus with incredulity clear on her face.

Markus smiles for the first time since Connor’s collapse. “I didn’t say I wanted to meet with him. Make Connor proud and use those ‘negotiation skills’ he taught you. Use me as the wildcard, convince him it didn’t work, and force him to give us the key.”

North returns his smile with a grin, “That’s the best idea you’ve had all week.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Anderson. Please keep me updated.”

Markus disconnects from the call with a sigh before palming the lock to Connor’s room, closing the door behind him with a gentle swish. He watches Simon type away on the keyboard, his gaze following the cable that leads from the cable to the back of the RK800’s neck. Connor lies prone on the cot, his head turned to the side to allow the cable access. Markus can’t see his LED, but he knows it’s an unwavering scarlet. He’s still, not even breathing, and Markus finds himself looking away. Normally the android was constantly moving, from dancing his coin across his knuckles to tapping his feet and everything in between. To see him so motionless was disturbing; he looked like he had shutdown. “Any news?” Simon glances up from his computer screen, never pausing in his typing.

“North and Josh are in with Ulan Petrov and his lawyers now. The lieutenant is with them. How about you?”

Simon shakes his head frowning, “Like I said earlier; these guys knew what they were doing. In any other circumstance, I’d be impressed.”

“Connor spent months breaking down and rebuilding his firewalls and antivirus software. How did they manage to break through so fast?”

The PL600’s frown deepens and he looks back to the computer screen, “They must have someone from CyberLife working for them. I can’t think of any other explanation. The coding is complex and highly specific; it wouldn’t have affected me or any of the others. You and Connor however…” he trails off, eyes intent on the screen.

“It was built for RK units,” Markus mutters under his breath, “Connor’s not going to like this.” Simon laughs without humor, “I think he already doesn’t like it, Markus. I’ve just regained access to his stress levels and they’re high. Connor’s systems are a bit more advanced than yours, so he’s able to fight it, but every time I see something turn on, it shuts back off seconds later.”

The deviant leader releases another sigh, a habit he picked up from Carl, before sitting in the chair by Connor’s side. “We might have to put him into rest mode when we get the key so his stress levels don’t get too high.”

“Don’t wander off then.”

This time it’s Markus turn to chuckle without humor, and he runs a hand through Connor’s synthetic hair, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

They sit in a companionable silence for several more minutes, watching as the time ticks away to Simon’s typing. An hour passes, then two before Simon suddenly pauses in his typing, drawing Markus’ attention. “That’s new,” he murmurs before he resumes typing at double the speed, fingers barely touching the keys as he goes.

“Simon?”

“A few programs switched on a minute ago and they haven’t turned back off,” is all Simon offers, not sparing Markus a glance as he works.

{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: WR400 - North}

{WR400: How’s Connor?}

{RK200: It looks like his programs are coming back online. Did you get the key?}

{WR400: Great, so the asshole wasn’t lying. The old man wasn’t too sure Petrov was telling the truth. He confessed to everything and gave up pretty quickly once I threatened to sic all of New Jericho’s lawyers on his ass after showing him you were still up and walking. Hank got a warrant and we sent the command to the ransomware to order the viruses to decrypt everything.}

{RK200: We still might have to send our lawyers after them. Simon and I think CyberLife might be involved.}

Markus couldn’t see North’s smirk but he could imagine it as clear as day at her next words.

{WR400: Remember when I said he confessed to everything? We got enough dirt to finally bury them. Josh is stopping with Hank at the station, he’s going to nail CyberLife with as many charges as we can.}

{RK200: Great work, both of you. Hurry on back, I feel like he could use a distraction after today.}

{WR400: Let him know he’s staying at my place tonight. I got Shark Week recorded.}

{CONNECTION END}

Markus smiles as he updates Simon, reaching behind Connor’s head to disconnect the cable. They wait for the RK800 to open his eyes, keeping a careful eye on his stress levels as he slowly comes back online. After a few minutes, brown eyes blink groggily at the ceiling as Connor releases a staticky “huuuuh” when his LED switches to yellow.

{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^60%}

“Ma͝ŗk̵-̴͟us͘? Ar͟͢e̶̕͟ you͢͝ ̛͘͡o͝k̛͡-̴̸a̴̛y̢͡?” His voice is filled with static, voice modulator not yet fully online.

He grabs Connor’s hand, rubbing it gently, “I’m fine, Connor. I’m more worried about you. How are you feeling?”

“Sl̶̨̕o̡͠w̶̕.͘ ̸͟E̵̵v͏̵̢e҉r̵̨͘y̴̨-̸͡͡t͡hin͝ģ's͝҉̸ ̴͝sļ͘͞ơ̸͝w̛.̴̨̡”  Connor frowns as he continues blinking, staring straight up at the ceiling.

“Don’t worry, Connor, that’s completely normal. Everything’s going to be a bit slower for a day or two while the virus self-destructs and works its way out of your code,” Simon places his fingers on Connor’s LED again, blinking as he reads the diagnostic, “Everything looks fine, you should be able to go home tonight to rest it off.”

Markus clears his throat to grab Connor’s attention, patiently waiting for him to slowly turn his head before hazy, brown eyes meet a bright, heterochromatic pair, “Actually, North claimed you tonight. She said something about Shark Week.”

Connor only frowns, his eyebrows furrowing in displeasure, “What̢ ͠ab̢out ͝fiņd̕ing o͘ut͡ whǫ w͏as ̴tąr͜g͏e̕t҉i̡ng you,̨ M̷arkųs?̡ You͢ ̡c͟ould sţil͡l b͘e ͠in ̕d̡an̷g̸e͢r̴.”

“It’s already taken care of. North, Josh, and Lieutenant Anderson handled it. You just go into rest mode until she gets here, okay?”

{STRESS LEVELS v40% - LEVELS WITHIN ACCEPTABLE RANGE FOR REST MODE}

This time, Connor’s eyebrows raise, a faint grin appearing, “Yo͟u̷ ̶sol̡v͡ed̛ a͟ ̕ca͜se̶ ̡wi̸thou͟t ̷me̡?͜ I͏'m im͟-p̵ress͢e͜ḑ.̡”

Markus rolls his eyes as Simon laughs, “I will force you into rest mode, don’t think I won’t.”

The RK800’s smile grows into a lopsided grin and Markus notes with pleasure that his stress levels fall even further, “I͢'͠d l̵ik͡e tơ ̶see̶ ̵you try͠, Mar-͠kus̢, ҉con-͝s͘i̴deri͡ng ͜I̴'̕m m͡ore͢ ̴a̷d-̨v̴an͡ce͠d.”

“You know, I might have believed you if it didn’t take you five seconds to come up with that line,” Markus places a hand on Connor’s shoulder, squeezing it once before standing, “Get some rest, Connor. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Connor relents, his eyes flickering closed as his LED settles on blue, blinking twice as he falls into rest mode.

“You do know, Markus, that we’ll never see him again once North turns on Shark Week.”

“I know, Simon.”

[kianraidelcam]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Day 7 of @whumptopia‘s 30 Day RoboWhump Challenge! Today’s prompt is “Temperature Regulator Damage” and I blame @interstellarvagabond for it all. They were kind enough to give me this amazing premise and talking me through different points of this chapter! Thanks, Vagabond! (Check out their writing, seriously good) Full fic under the cut as per the norm!

When it happened, Connor has no time for preconstructions or analyses. Androids were capable of processing things far faster than any human, and since he was the most advanced prototype to date, his processing speed was even faster. But when the truck collides with his patrol car, the RK800 finds himself caught completely unaware. It was sudden. Instantaneous. When the car rolls across the median, taking a hit from oncoming traffic, he has no time for thoughts or questions.

It simply happens.

Connor’s systems are overwhelmed with damage alerts, warnings, and prompts, and despite his memory logs recording every shard of glass, every roll, each metallic screech and scrape, he simply cannot process it all in the moment. The second car hits his, and his vision cuts from red to black.

{MODEL RK800}

{SERIAL #313 248 317 - 51}

{BIOS 8.7 REVISION 2221}

{REBOOT…}

{EMERGENCY TEMPORARY SHUTDOWN}

{LOADING OS…}

{SYSTEM INITIALIZATION...}

{CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… ERROR}

{BIOCOMPONENTS #9782f, #1995r, #7511p, 8456w DAMAGED}

{INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… ERROR ON STARTUP}

{INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK}

{MEMORY STATUS… OK}

{ALL SYSTEMS… ERROR}

{READY}

{STRESS LEVELS 60%}

When Connor opens his eyes, he’s being loaded into the back of an ACAS van, blue and red lights assaulting his optical units before they have the chance to fully calibrate. Negative feedback screeches from his chassis, alerting him to every cut, scrape, and fracture in the plastic of his body. He blinks to dismiss the warnings assaulting his eyes and instead tries to focus on the questions being directed toward him from the technician pressing two fingers to his LED.

“Connor, can you hear me?” the android technician, an AX400, asks him.

Her voice echoes with static in his auditory units, the volume increasing and decreasing with every word. “Yes.”

“Alright, my name is Michelle, I’m an emergency technician for New Jericho. We’re going to take you there now, okay?”

He nods, swallowing the thirium collecting in the back of his throat. “Hank?”

Michelle locks the gurney in place as the van doors slam shut and Connor winces as the noise grates on his auditory receptors. “Is Hank your friend?”

“Partner. Lieutenant,” is all he can force out as a pressure builds behind his eyes.

It’s not pain. Pain is a sensory and emotional response associated with harmful stimuli, and was strictly a biotic experience. Animals felt pain. Humans felt pain. Connor, despite his ability to feel and think for himself, was not a biotic being. He was once shot in the abdomen and he only blinked before chasing the suspect for two miles. So he doesn’t understand why he’s shivering and why this fucking hurts.

{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^65}

Michelle must notice the sudden rise in his stress levels because her face softens, growing sympathetic, “It’s okay, I’ll have someone call him for you. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

Like shit, he wants to say. The pressure makes his eyes heavy, and he’s acutely aware of the way his body’s shaking in a simulacrum of shock. Damage alerts keep showing up in his vision, red and in CyberLife sans, no matter how many times he dismisses them. And he’s cold. It’s in the middle of summer in Detroit, but he’s cold.

Connor doesn’t know if it’s a result of all the damage or misfired signals to his central processing unit.

“I’m cold.”

The AX400’s eyebrows furrow, but she nods in understanding, “I’m going to put you into stasis while we make repairs, is that alright? It’ll be easier on your systems and keep your stress levels low.”

He blinks in acknowledgement, watching distantly as she grabs his hand gently, skin peeling away to reveal the white plastic beneath.

{CONNECTION REQUEST: AX400 - Michelle}

{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED}

{ENTER STASIS: WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCEED (y/n)?}

{y - USER AX400}

{ENTERING STASIS}

{3}

He hopes Hank will be there when he wakes up.

{2}

Connor feels his hand grow limp and heavy, falling by his side like a lead weight.

{1}

Brown eyes close as the sound of a cauterizer turns on. A shiver runs down his artificial spine and it’s the last thing he hears before an empty darkness consumes him, washing away every sensation before leaving him floating in this abyss.

{MODEL RK800}

{SERIAL #313 248 317 - 51}

{BIOS 8.7 REVISION 2221}

{REBOOT…}

{STASIS FOR REPAIRS}

{LOADING OS…}

{SYSTEM INITIALIZATION...}

{CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… REPAIRS MADE}

{REPAIRS HOLDING}

{INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK}

{INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK}

{MEMORY STATUS… OK}

{ALL SYSTEMS… OK}

{READY}

The first thing Connor notices when he opens his eyes is the temperature of the room. Even with his temperature regulator still coming back online, he knows it’s far too cold in the room for his liking. The RK800 suppresses a shiver before sluggishly taking in his surroundings, processors operating at a slower pace than he’s used too.

He feels a pressure on his hand and he looks over to see Lieutenant Hank Anderson by his side, head resting on the cot Connor was currently laying on. The human is sleeping, judging from his lowered heart rate and slow, even breathing. Connor ignores the prompt that flashes across his HUD, alerting him that there was a 75% chance the older man would wake up with a sore neck and back from the angle he was in. The soft clacking of keys reach his ears before pausing, and he glances over to the sound of it. Simon smiles at him, the PL600 crossing the room to disconnect the cable from the back of his neck.

{CONNECTION REQUEST: PL600 - Simon}

{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED}

{PL600: I called him over once you got here. Michelle told me you were asking for him.}

{RK800: How long did repairs take?}

{PL600: About four hours; he’s been here the whole time. We had to replace a few biocomponents and cauterize some thirium lines. But there was no damage to your CPU and everything looks good now. As far as car accidents go, you got very lucky. How are you feeling?}

How is he feeling? His processors are slow and his temperature regulator doesn’t seem to be working to warm him. He feels like he’s thinking at a very human speed, and he doesn’t quite like it. And there was still the shock, the suddenness from the crash that kept flashing through his mind. All in all, the best word he could come up with was confused. He tells Simon as much and he recieves an acknowledgement in response.

{PL600: Your systems are still recalibrating after the temporary emergency shutdown from the crash, and the following stasis. I suspect the new parts aren’t helping. I’d recommend you go home for a couple of days and take it easy.}

{RK800: Androids don’t need recovery time, Simon. Once repairs are made, we’re good to go.}

{PL600: I meant to take time emotionally, you workaholic. You should be fully recalibrated by the morning but you went through a traumatic experience.}

Connor opens his mouth to protest verbally when he feels Hank shift next to him. The human lifts his head, red-rimmed blue eyes blinking away the sleep still weighing down his eyelids. Connor makes eye contact, but before he can say anything, he’s pulled into a crushing hug, forcing the air from ventilation biocomponents.

“Jesus fucking Christ, kid.”

“Hello, Lieutenant.”

Hank utters a short, barking laugh before pushing Connor away, putting him into a sitting position. “Hello? That’s all you have to fucking say?”

Connor feels a smile tug on his lips, “I’m sorry, it would seem my social integration protocols are coming back online. How are you?”

Hank rolls his eyes with a smile that seems a tad bit too forced as Simon covers his laugh with a hand, “As you can see, Connor’s fine. Just like I told you. He’s free to head home. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning to make sure his replacement parts are working like they should.”

The Lieutenant glances at the blonde android before returning his observing eye to Connor, a frown on his face, “Why does he look so...pale?”

“My self-repair systems are still working. It’s just draining some power away from my skin projection.”

Simon nods in agreement, “His processors are also still catching up after rebooting. Until they do, he’s going to be a bit slower.”

Lieutenant Anderson’s expression is one Connor’s social integration protocols define as dubious but he relents without further questioning. “Alright, let’s head on home. Sumo’s already probably eaten a hole in the couch by now.”

They drive in silence for the majority of the way home, Hank trying to ignore the memories that wormed their way into his mind the moment he heard “car accident.”

Red blood spilling onto black asphalt, mixing with the ice and snow. The sound of metal crunching, young cries for his father. Hank’s hands grip the steering wheel tight, turning his knuckles white. Connor wasn’t Cole. Connor was fine. He was sitting right next to him, LED spinning yellow, skin more pale than usual, and shaking-

Shaking. Connor was shaking in his seat, eyes closed with his arms pulled across his chest and leaning away from the A/C vent on full blast. If Hank didn’t know any better, he’d say the kid was cold.

“Hey, Con?”

“Yes?

“You good?”

“Yes.”

Uh huh. He ignores the lie in favor of pulling into the drive and pulling the keys from the ignition, fixing the android with an inquisitive stare, “You gonna need some help or…”

Connor shakes his head, still slow in his movements as he reaches for the door handle. Hank raises an eyebrow before exiting the vehicle, waiting by the front door for him. His gait lacks the normal grace he typically possesses, and although both Simon and Connor had warned him that he would be slower, he finds himself taken by surprise by the clumsiness the RK800 demonstrates. It was so not Connor it was jarring, and once he noticed it, he found he couldn’t ignore it. “Are you sure you’re good? Do I need to take you back or something?”

Brown irises flit up to meet Hank’s eyes, something akin to alarm widening them. “That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant. I simply need to enter rest mode so my self-repair systems can work at their highest capacity.”

Hank is no expert on android biology, but he was a fucking damn good detective and his gut told him something was seriously off. He grabs Connor’s arm and pulls him inside, pushing him down gruffly on the couch before the door shuts. “Anything I can do to make your self-repair ‘work at their highest capacity’?”

Connor practically sinks, sinks , into the cushions before pulling the blanket around himself as he lets his body fall onto his side. “A blanket? It is kind of cold in here, Lieutenant and my temperature regulator doesn’t seem to have fully rebooted quite yet.”

He glances at the thermostat on the wall as he goes to grab a blanket from the linen closet. “It’s 80 fucking degrees in here.”

The android’s eyebrows furrow but he offers no comment. Instead, he takes the blanket wordlessly before patting his chest, prompting 170 pounds of Saint Bernard to jump on top of him. Hank rolls his eyes at the sight as Connor closes his own, slipping into rest mode without another word. As he walks past the RK800 to the kitchen, intent on grabbing a slice of pizza and a beer without having the kid nag on his about calories, he ruffles the tangled hair fondly. “Glad you’re okay, kid.”

It’s something he’d never admit to Connor verbatim. He had the reputation of a grumpy old asshole to uphold after all, but the relief that coursed through him when Simon told him Connor was alive was stronger than nearly anything he’d felt in the past four years. Aside from the pride he felt watching Connor march thousands of android’s through the street to save the revolution, of course. However, something gnaws on him, filling him with a sense of unease and he found himself incapable of shaking the feeling as dusk gave way to night. As the house falls into a silent darkness and Connor’s LED remains a stubborn yellow, Hank settles into bed unsure he’d be able to sleep.

He must fall asleep at some point, however, because he’s suddenly wide awake at three in the morning, heart racing for no apparent reason. As far as he remembered, there’d been no dream to pull him from his slumber and he could not tell if the thump he heard was real or imagined. Hank sits up, the unease turning into dread and he follows his instincts. The Lieutenant opens the door and walks toward the living room, trepidation filling every step.

A soft crimson glow casts the room in an ominous lighting. Despite the darkness in the room, Hank can easily see the Sumo’s silhouette in front of Connor’s prone form, pawing at the shivering android. Unbidden, a memory comes to the forefront of his mind of the time Connor explained his reaction to colder temperatures. Hank had caught the RK800 shivering as a blizzard rolled in, staring blankly at the window. “While my current response is more… emotion based, RK800s do use shivering as a tertiary heating measure. It causes friction, just like in humans, but only happens in extreme cold, when our temperatures drop beneath 85 degrees.”

He was shivering uncontrollably now, and when Hank calls his name in an attempt to rouse him while switching on the light, there is no response. Hank goes to shake Connor’s shoulder and he can feel the icy temperature of his skin seeping through the hoodie he has on. “Shit, Connor, wake up!”

As he’s considering slapping Connor awake, glassy brown eyes open to blink owlishly up at him, releasing an undignified “huh.” Skin nearly translucent, giving Connor a pale, sickly look, with a confused expression, the only word Hank can come up with for his appearance is miserable. “What’s your temp at, Con? You feel like fucking ice. How is that even possible, it’s still like 80 degrees in here.”

Connor frowns, eyes unfocused as his LED blips yellow before returning to red. “Mmm not-not sure.”

Concern turns to incredulity for a brief second and Hank takes a moment to calm himself before his next words, “What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“My temp-temp-temperature regulator isn’t wor-working right.”

“Didn’t they fucking fix everything at New Jericho?” Hank wouldn’t admit it to himself or the kid shivering in front of him, but the stutter in Connor’s voice scared the shit out of him.

Connor shakes his head, “I didn’t reg-register any damage to it.”

“Shit. I’m calling Simon, I don’t fucking like this. Sumo, up!” Hank commands and Sumo obliges, acting as a living furnace for the freezing kid, “Good boy.”

Even if Hank didn’t have Simon’s number on speed dial, he’d know the number to call by heart just from how many times he’s needed the PL600’s help with Connor. Connor’s status as a prototype with a few bugs and glitches certainly didn’t help. Simon answers after one ring, because of fucking course he does, his phone is in his head. “Hello, Lieutenant Anderson, is everything alright?”

“I’m calling you at ass o’clock in the morning, what do you think?” Simon, ever tactful, ignores the jibe and waits patiently for Hank’s next words, “Connor feels as cold as an ice cube and he says his temperature regulator thing isn’t working.”

Connor’s shivering intensifies and he mumbles under his breath, partially incoherent. Hank pushes himself onto the couch, trying to warm Connor with his own body heat with Sumo’s assistance. ‘Is he shivering?”

“He’s shaking like a goddamn leaf.”

“That’s good. The RK800 models shiver as a sort of tertiary heating measure. It means his systems haven’t reached a critical temperature quite yet.”

“Okay, that’s great and all but how do I fix it?”

“I’ll need to do a soft reboot and force his temperature regulator to restart and see if that fixes the issue. It sounds like it may have taken damage and glitched upon his reboot earlier today. His regulator must be tricking his system into thinking he’s too hot. If that’s not it, he’s going to have to return to New Jericho for a replacement. Until then, keep him warm. I’m on my way now.”

Hank nods, despite knowing Simon couldn’t see him and goes to hang up before his voice carries from the phone, “And Hank? Don’t let him enter rest mode.”

Well fuck. From the way Connor’s half-lidded eyes looked, that was going to be a losing battle. He shakes the android a few times until Connor’s eyes wander to his face, “Simon’s on his way, said you gotta stay awake. How do we warm you up?”

“This is help-helping. Thanks, Hank,” Connor sighs, turning his body the best he can with Sumo on top of him to press closer to Hank.

“I might have a heating pad around, you think that might help?”

Connor nods, then winces as Hank moves his legs to stand up and retrieve the pad, “Place-place it behind my-my neck at the the base of my head. That’s where my-my most sensitive pro-processor is.”

Hank grunts an affirmative, quickly retrieving the item and turning up to its highest setting. He returns to his spot underneath Connor’s gangly legs and ignores the way sweat runs down his back. There was no doubt in Hank’s mind that his cheeks were splotched red from the heat, and he finds himself pressing Connor’s freezing body closer to him. Connor sighs in contentment as the heat touches his skin, “I don’t li-like the cold, Ha-nk.”

“I know, son. I know. We’re gonna get you fixed up soon, though, and you’ll be back to complaining about how hot it is in the summer.”

Connor closes his eyes before jolting as Hank snaps his fingers to keep him awake, “Apol-apologies Lieutenant, but I think that’s you.”

“I don’t remember asking you for fucking attitude, now did I?”

Connor smiles as his LED switches from crimson to gold, swirling sluggishly on his temple, “It’s my-my-my default fact-factory setting.”

Hank waves a dismissive hand, “Yeah, yeah. Just list off all the state capitals in America in alphabetical order. No fucking falling asleep, ya hear?”

“Al-albany, Annapol-polis, Atlanta…” he trails off as a violent shudder runs through his body, “I’m co-co-cold.”

“Ahh keep going, Augusta is next. You’ll be warm enough soon…”

It’s like that when Simon finds them an hour later, Hank and Sumo leaning on the shivering android with the Lieutenant asking questions, Connor replying with a stutter. The relief in the room is palpable upon his entrance, and Hank digs himself out from underneath the mass of blankets, legs, and dog, sweat dripping from his brow.

“Well it’s about fucking time.”

[kianraidelcam]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

IT’S HERE. Day 6: “Panicking” for @whumptopia‘s RoboWhump 30 Day Challenge! I originally posted a preview of it which kind of didn’t happen...oops. This idea ran away from me. Full explanation for that in the link! Tomorrow’s prompt is “Temperature Regulator Damage” and I am researching how computers react to the cold. Full fic under the cut for those who prefer it! Reblogs are love!

Connor would later describe it as feeling as if he lost all control.

Red blood. Blue blood. Spilling over, combining into a macabre purple. Playing over and over again in front of his eyes. His fault, his fault, it was all his fault. Breath quickening, eyes searching for a danger that wasn’t there, systems scanning even though he didn’t tell them too. His thirium pump pounding in his chest, elevated past what was considered optimal. It hurt, why did his chest hurt, there was nothing wrong but everything felt wrong. He almost ruined everything and they know, they know it is all his fault and they’re coming.

{SYSTEMS SCANNING…}

{NO THREATS TO SELF DETECTED}

That couldn’t be right. He had what Hank called a gut feeling. He was in danger, danger, danger.

{SYSTEMS SCANNING…}

{NO THREATS TO SELF DETECTED}

{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^80%}

{STASIS RECOMMENDED}

Connor grips his hair, pulling on the synthetic strands, while his chest heaves for air he doesn’t need ( air air where was the air ). A tingling sensation begins to fill his limbs, starting with his fingers before filling his hands, before weighing down his limbs with a static lead. Sumo, he needed Sumo. Hank’s dog always lowered his stress levels and if he could just get the warnings appearing bright red in his visual field to stop, he could find the danger, he could see the danger.

“Sumo,” he rasps into the empty living room, distantly aware that his voice echoes with a mechanical reverb brought upon by his systems working overtime, “Sumo, come.”

He waits for the clacking of nails on the hardwood floor, for the heavy panting from the Saint Bernard to announce his presence. Nothing comes. The only sound that echoes through the empty home is his labored breathing, his fans kicking into overdrive. Connor’s legs give out and he tumbles to the floor in front of the couch.

{SYSTEMS SCANNING…}

{NO THREATS TO SELF DETECTED}

{REVIEW MESSAGE FROM LT. HANK ANDERSON: FRIEND}

{Taking Sumo to the vet. Try not to burn down the house or shoot anything while we’re gone.}

That’s right. Sumo had an appointment at the veterinary clinic today. But that had been at 11:30am and his internal clock told him it was currently 2:47pm. They should have been back by now, what if something happened? There could have been a car accident, an ex-convict with a grudge could have happened across the lieutenant, anti-android activists could have recognized him as the police officer with an android partner. There could have been a robbery gone wrong, Sumo could have tried to cross the street at the wrong time, things could have spiraled out of control like he was now.

{SYSTEMS SCANNING…}

{NO THREATS TO SELF DETECTED}

{THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR UNSTABLE}

{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^90%}

{PROBABILITY OF SELF-DESTRUCTION: HIGH}

{STASIS RECOMMENDED}

Hank could be gone, what if he was gone, Connor wasn’t ready he wasn’t ready. And he can still feel the danger approaching like a freight train, ready to completely destroy him once it hit. Hank, he needs Hank, he needs his friend, his partner, his father.

{CONTACTING LT. HANK ANDERSON}

{CONNECTING…}

{CONNECTING…}

{CONNECTING…}

“Hey, Con. What’s up?”

The Lieutenant’s gruff voice sounds in his head and Connor’s systems immediately offer an analysis on the man’s tone. Calm, not out of breath, low levels of stress. There’s the faint sound of jazz music playing in the background, along with Sumo’s signature panting. Evidence suggests they are in the car, perhaps on the freeway. The relief that courses through his wires is even stronger than the relief he felt upon seeing Hank the day after the revolution.

“Connor, you there,” Connor can’t bring himself to respond, opting to scan the room yet again, “Jesus, can androids even fucking pocket dial?”

He must subconsciously switch his phone call to match his vocal unit because Hank is suddenly speaking, concern seeping into his tone, “Hey, kid? Is that you breathing like that? What’s going on?”

Everything, he wants to say. Something or someone is coming for him, even if he can’t say what. He feels like his needs to deactivate his skin and tear off his plastic chassis because here is static that won’t go away underneath it, bringing him down and rendering him unable to even get up. His memory files are playing back images of blood, both red and blue, that he spilled and it won’t stop. Gunshots echo in his head, almost drowning out Hank’s voice, along with screams sounding off in a rusted ship. Too much , Connor wants to say.

“I-I-I...I can’t,” is what he manages.

There’s a pause, then a curse on the other line before Connor’s auditory unit’s pick up on the sound of the engine revving. “Yes you can. I need you to talk to me, what are your stress levels at?”

{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^90%}

{PROBABILITY OF SELF DESTRUCTION: HIGH}

{STASIS RECOMMENDED}

“Ninety percent…” Connor’s voice is hardly a whisper.

“Where are you? Are you safe?”

Connor’s shaking his head, despite knowing Hank can’t see him, “I-I’m home… I don’t know what’s wrong… they’re coming…”

“Shit...take a deep breath, Connor. Who’s coming,” Hank’s voice is like a tether, promising to secure him back to the ground.

“I don’t know, Hank, I don’t know. I don’t- I don’t know what’s going on with me,” his respiration rate picks up to 60 breaths per minute, “What’s...what’s happening?”

{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^95%

{STRESS LEVELS CRITICAL: STASIS RECOMMENDED}

“You’re having a panic attack, Connor. I need you to take deep breaths and focus on my voice, okay?” Hank’s voice is low and steady, with a calming inflection. The part of Connor that is still capable, still logical, offers him the reasons why. Low, even tones helped to calm distressed people, building a sense of security and trust. His systems also offer him a definition for panic attack.

{PANIC ATTACK: A sudden episode of intense fear/anxiety that triggers severe physical reactions despite a lack of danger or apparent cause. Panic Disorder common in adults between the ages of 20-25}

But he wasn’t human. He’s a machine. He wasn’t designed to be capable of having a panic attack.

He must voice these thoughts out loud because Hank is suddenly speaking again in the same, reassuring manner, “You weren’t supposed to feel emotions either, but here we are. It’s alright, the feeling will go away soon. I want you to breathe with me, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Connor hears the exaggerated breathing and makes a few attempts to mimic it. It feels as if his ventilation biocomponents are stuttering, hiccuping their way through his imitation of a breath. He can’t breathe, he doesn’t need to but he can’t fucking breathe where was the air?

{STRESS LEVELS CRITICAL}

{PLEASE SEEK A CALMER ENVIRONMENT}

{STASIS RECOMMENDED}

His snort would be derisive if it didn’t sound so choked. He’s home, it is supposed to be the safest, calmest place he had but he could feel the walls closing in. Threatening him. Trapping him. Suddenly, the open space of the living room leaves him feeling claustrophobic, imprisoned, trapped. He ignores Hank’s questioning and surges to his feet, static forgotten as he sprints to the front door, nearly ripping off the doorknob in his haste to get out, to escape.

It’s pouring outside, Detroit currently in the rainiest April they’ve had since the invention of androids. The rain soaks him in seconds, slicking the hair to his artificial skull and drenching his clothes. It feels nice and cool against his overheating body and he falls to his knees on the lawn. Connor’s fingers grasp at the grass, digging through old leaves and dirt. He’s always liked the rain. The way it washes the earth clean, making the smog of the city disappear for a couple hours. The way the world seems new, painting the soft greens and blues in more vivid colors. The way it smells fresh and how everything feels softer.

Rain is good. It’s nice. It paves the way for new life.

{STASIS RECOMMENDED}

The prompt flashes in his vision like a neon sign. A failsafe against self-destruction Josh designed to assist deviants with their new, stressful lives, it gave them a way out that didn’t involve slamming their heads against whatever hard surface they could find. Once his levels reached 98%, his systems would automatically be forced into stasis, but at anything 80 or above, the prompt would flash until their levels either lowered or they powered down. Powering down, out here in the pattering rain, seemed like a better idea with every drop that touched his skin.

Connor disconnects the call with Lieutenant Anderson, despite the yelling coming from the other line, and he lies on the ground, looking at the gray sky. His limbs were once again replaced by static, terror threatening to wash him away. Images flashed over and over again and he wanted nothing more than the nothingness of stasis. He can feel the failsafe urging him closer and closer to the coding that induced stasis in androids.

Josh should be proud. He did his job and he did it well.

{INITIATING STASIS IN 3}

{2}

{1}

{GOODNIGHT RK800}

{MODEL RK800}

{SERIAL #313 248 317 - 51}

{BIOS 8.7 REVISION 2221}

{REBOOT…}

{STRESS INDUCED STASIS}

{LOADING OS…}

{SYSTEM INITIALIZATION...}

{CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… OK}

{INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK}

{INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK}

{MEMORY STATUS… OK}

{ALL SYSTEMS… OK}

{READY}

{STRESS LEVELS 20%}

Connor blinks, his LED switching from the calm blue of stasis to a puzzled yellow as he stares at the ceiling. He didn’t remember changing into dry sweatpants or putting on Hank’s police academy hoodie. He didn’t remember grabbing a blanket and laying down on the tattered, old couch. And he certainly didn’t remember Sumo coming home, even though the old dog was now laying on his chest, breathing heavily on his face. The RK800 looks around the room, brown irises searching until they land on a grizzled, older man sitting on the recliner, eyes intent on the TV screen playing the Detroit Gears game  across from him. “Hank?”

It’s like a bullet goes off in the room from how high the man jumps, beer spilling from the bottle in his hand. “Jesus fucking christ, kid! Warn a guy before you scare the shit out of him next time.”

“Apologies.” Hank sets the now empty bottle on the glass table, still cursing as he wipes his sticky, wet hand on his pants. He looks at Connor with tired eyes, blue eyes nearly glowing in the darkened room. Connor checks his internal clock; 11:32pm. “How long have you been home?”

“I got home ‘bout five minutes after your shiny plastic ass hung up on me. Speaking of which, don’t you,” Hank points a finger at the android for emphasis, “ever do that again. Thought you went and shut down on me.”

If Connor were sitting, he would look down at the floor. As it is, he touches his chin to his chest and stares at the sleeping dog, unable to make eye contact, “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

The human heaves a sigh and Connor can hear the sound of skin dragging over stubble, “Don’ apologize, kid. Shouldn’t have said that. You just scared me is all. I came home to find you passed out on the lawn, staring up at the sky. I thought you had self-destructed or some shit.”

“Josh designed a program to induce stasis in case my stress levels ever got too high,” he offers as a way of explanation.

Hank nods, snapping his fingers to get Connor to look at him, “Yeah, that’s what Simon said. Speaking of which, he left some solidified thirium for you. It’s shaped like fucking animal crackers, when the hell did that start happening?”

Connor ignores the question, raising his eyebrows at Hank’s statement, “Simon was here?”

“Yeah, well, I thought something was wrong so I called him over to help. Not as young as I used to be, Con, no way I was going to lift your metal ass back inside. He helped me get you inside and explained what happened after connecting with you.”

He looks away from the Lieutenant, watching the muted game instead. “So,” Hank says.

“So?” Connor questions.

“We gonna talk about what happened?”

Connor sighs, a habit he picked up from the man, “I don’t know what happened. I assume it was an error or malfunction.”

There’s a pause in which the Gears score and Sumo huffs softly in his sleep. Then, a napkin bounces off the android’s head, bringing his attention back to the Lieutenant. Once Hank is sure he has his attention, he speaks, his voice gruffly affectionate, “You know, for a walking supercomputer you sure are a fucking dumbass.”

“Lieutenant?”

“You had a goddamn panic attack. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it happens,” he raises his hand to stop Connor as the RK800 opens his mouth to protest, “I know the symptoms well enough by now to recognize one when I see..hear it.”

A frown finds its way onto Connor’s face, eyebrows furrowing, “It was…” he trails off, unsure.

Hank nods in understanding, “Overwhelming?”

“Yes. It felt like I was in danger, but I couldn’t find the reason why, then my systems went into overdrive.”

“Works the same way in humans, Con. Welcome to living, it fucking sucks,” Hank kicks his recliner back into its original arrangement, putting him into a sitting position, “But we can learn what triggers them in you, and how to make them shorter and less intense. You ain’t fucking doing this alone.”

Connor lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, “How?”

“Shit, well...you know I’m bad about talking about my feelings but I ain’ half bad at listening. And I’m guessing it’s going to be trial and error. But we’re gonna see if what works for humans works for androids. Breathing and grounding techniques that I learned might help. Also, Simon told me to let you know he’s invited you to a support group he has going on at New Jericho. A lot of Tracis and military androids are supposed to be going to it.”

His stress levels decrease at Hank’s words and he offers the man a soft, half smile, “Thanks, Hank. I...appreciate it.”

The Lieutenant pats his legs, calling Sumo. The big dog sighs before lumbering off Connor and padding toward his owner’s side. Connor sits up, catching a box Hank tosses at him once he’s fully up. “Here, eat your fucking blood cookies, ya vampire. Here you are, going off on me about what I eat and then you go and stuff your face with blue shit.”

“The difference between thirium and what you eat is that thirium is necessary to my function, and therefore, considered ‘healthy’ for an android. Fast food, filled with grease and sodium, is not.”

“Hey, Con?”

“Yes?”

“Fuck off.”