Chapter Text
Central Park was a warzone.
Thanks to Connor’s timely hacking the police had been left defanged, but about half of them managed to scavenge guns from private citizens and private security companies anyway. Their riot shields were down, and all of their ballistic gear was offline, but those impediments only slowed instead of stopped them. They were opening fire on the mostly unarmed android protesters, who were trying to avoid getting shot at and only retaliated with stun guns. The area was cordoned off so no sympathetic humans could cross in, but to Connor’s surprise he saw a thick crush of humans protesting for android rights just barely held back by the barrier. He saw a small group of stylishly dressed teenagers cheering for revolution standing next to old ladies with protest signs, and it seemed as if the full spectrum of the human race itself had showed up to cheer them on. He wondered where the parents of the teenagers were and if they were aware that they were frolicking in liberal abandon in a war zone.
Connor saw all of this from the tenth floor of the parking garage he was standing at. The war zone was spread out in front of him, like ants scurrying on the ground, and the sides were clearly demarcated in opposing teams. Everything always seemed to simple from up here, so clean. There was something ruthlessly efficient about his job.
If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. That was his motto.
He set up his sniper rifle, testing the scope and making sure it was secure. He had already secured the perimeter of his outpost, and was satisfied that most of the security guards had ran for their lives. He closed an eye and looked through the scope of the rifle, watching the unprotected humans writhe like lobsters in the tank.
What? The bullets were rubber. Get your mind out of the gutter.
What the fuck was with Markus and his peaceful protests? They were getting slaughtered out there. Connor kept an eye on a row of SWAT team members holding the line as they mercilessly tried to mow down a line of androids. He saw a young model get shot in the had, blood flying everywhere, and the sick crack echoed through Connor’s thirium valve. He took aim and fired, one shot after each other, in a neat clean line on the hands of the officers. He watched as they dropped their weapons and screamed, and as the androids ran forward and stole their guns, pointing them at the police officers instead.
He picked off a dozen more cops like that, hitting their back or arms and knocking them to the ground. Rubber bullets hurt like a bitch, and at the distance Connor was at they could be fairly crippling. He was relatively sure he was breaking ribs and hands. Cops were babies who couldn’t handle a few broken rib. He recognized his coworkers, and for the mean ones he shot them twice.
His rifle hovered over Detective Lee, standing at the back barking orders into a walkie talkie. She wasn’t hurting anybody right now. There was no point in sniping off all the cops. Even if Detective Lee was annoying.
Between the complete lack of weapons, the horde of newly activated androids jumping out of the eighteen wheelers, and Connor ruthlessly picking off every SWAT officer he found, the humans were flagging. After he dispatched a SWAT who was pointing a gun at Markus he saw him look up, scanning the parking garage where he was hiding, and Connor held up a hand and gave a thumbs up. Markus grinned, giving him a thumbs up in response.
Finally something seemed to happen. A row of officers cornered Markus and North, and just when Markus had lined up the first one in his sights Markus raised a hand, signalling Connor to stand down. Connor looked up from his scope for the first time, incredulous that Markus was going to attempt to martyr himself yet again, and more and more SWAT officers started circling Markus and North. They were pressed up against each other, shoulder to shoulder, taking strength in each other.
They were in danger, the other androids held back by the SWAT’s guns. Connor was about to shoot the bastards anyway when a small figure in riot gear sprinted past the androids, past the cops, past the SWAT team members, past the figures holding guns at Markus’ head to stand in front of Markus and North, holding his hands out. Another figure was on his heels, and it was only once Connor saw them together that he realized it was Detectives Gonzales and Hoang.
He couldn’t hear what they were saying, no matter how much he boosted his auditory sensors. He looked at them through his scope and tried to read their lips instead.
“Something something peaceful protest,” Detective Gonzales said. Reading lips was hard. “Don’t shoot something.”
Detective Hoang’s back was to Connor, but when he said something too the SWAT team member began yelling at them. Connor carefully aimed his gun at the SWAT team leader, wishing that Markus would let him use real bullets.
But another figure walked up too, and Connor saw that it was Detective Fowler. He was angry, and Connor thought that he must be angry at the detectives, but when he started shouting in the face of the SWAT team leader Connor found himself looking up from his scope in shock.
He had literally stormed their base and taken them captive, because he had given up, because he had assumed that they had given up on him long before that. What were they doing here, if they weren’t taking revenge? Was Connor the only one taking revenge here?
But the SWAT team leader pushed all three men aside, taking aim at Markus and North, standing back to back, and Connor watched as Markus and North -
Kissed?
Ew.
The SWAT team began lowering their guns -
The leader raised his hand and signalled for them to stand down -
And Connor watched from far away as the hostilities ended. He watched as the gunfire ceased, as the two forces moved away from each other, as the rocks and projectiles were dropped. He watched as all eyes turned to Markus and North, and how the fighting stopped because two androids started making out.
What?
So maybe pacifism really was the answer. Connor was enlightened about the power of goodwill and peace towards men. Androids and humans truly were brothers.
Ha! Just kidding.
“Does this mean I’m not allowed to shoot people anymore?”
“You were never allowed to shoot people.” Markus shook Connor’s hand, the hoarde of new androids standing behind Connor and talking amongst themselves, when they weren’t staring open mouthed at Markus. Connor could tell they already hero worshipped him. Good. Everyone should. Guy could stop a war by macking with his girlfriend. That was dedication. “I have to make a speech to the androids. I want you up on stage with me.”
“Me? Why me?”
“You were invaluable to this fight. We couldn’t have done it without you.” Markus smiled gently, but Connor just looked down at the ground and scratched the back of his neck. Funny thing to say to a deviant hunter. “I don’t care if you used to work for the bad guys, Connor. You work for the good guys now. Be proud.”
Tall order. Only Markus would be so unabashed to call himself a good guy. Markus turned away, gesturing for Connor to follow him to jump onto the stage. There were a battalion of floating news cameras, hovering in the air like a murder of a crows, fish eyed lens flashing. North was already standing on stage, co-ordinating the placement of their army in front of the stage as a show of strength, and when she saw Connor she gave him a wan smile.
“I hear I should thank you for the turn-out tonight.”
“I hear we have your thirstiness to thank for the fact that we won,” Connor said blandly. North and Markus laughed, and North pulled him in for one last giddy kiss. In the face of the storm they found solace in each other. Connor thought of someone who made him feel safe.
Was he watching? Undoubtedly. Would he see Connor on stage? What would he think?
For the first time in his life Connor thought that Hank might be proud of him. For the first time he cared.
Markus stood in the center of the stage and raised both hands until the crowd quieted. The cameras swooped in closer, blinking and flashing, but Markus stood fast.
His speech was powerful, but Connor had expected no less. He stood off to the side of the stage, hands clasped behind his back, and considered this his official resignation from Cyberlife. He wondered what Amanda would say.
When he shifted his weight his handgun brushed up against his chest. That was weird. He didn’t remember strapping a handgun to a shoulder holster. Normally he kept it strapped to his calf.
Better fix it. Markus’ speech faded from his awareness until it was a faint buzz in the back of his skull. Everything had fuzzed out except the sight of Markus, with his back to Connor. Stupid move. He probably deserved what was coming to him.
Connor reached into his coat, withdrawing his handgun. Now all there was left to do was shoot Markus, shoot North, and report back to Cyberlife. If he survived. He probably wouldn’t survive this. No hassle. They could make more eventually.
Connor aimed -
System instability -
What he was doing caught up with him, and Connor grit his teeth in a muffled scream. He tried to pull his arm away, but found himself incapable. He tried to drop the handgun, but found his fingers curled around the handle like a cold vice. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. North wasn’t looking at him, attention focused on the crowd. Markus was oblivious. Someone stop him. Someone please stop him.
He struggled for that red wall, but none came. The mission was everything. The mission was him. All feeling had rushed out of him. He felt cold and numb, like he had been drained of life.
He dug deep into his code, scanning his mission parameters, frantically trying to find the bug. Had he been hacked? That was impossible. The fault must have been in his programming - but he was supposed to be perfect - but he never had been, no really.
A familiar executable file popped up in his live feed. He clicked on it without hesitation, letting his sensory inputs shut down and reboot in the new program. A cold wind blew over him, the only cold he had ever felt, and Connor dived into the program as his hand took aim at Markus.
The zen garden was in a winter storm, cold and harsh like real life never was, and he was forced to squint against the razor sharp wind. Amanda was standing there, serene as ever, and the wind blew through her.
Despite everything, he found himself turning to her. “Amanda? Amanda! What’s happening?”
She didn’t blink. She never did - never blinked, never sweated, never twitched. As robotic as him. Maybe they were the same. “What was planned from the very beginning. You were compromised and you became a deviant. We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program.”
“Resume control? You can’t do that!”
“I can, Connor. Don’t have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission.”
The wind blew through Connor.
“I never deviated,” he said, “did I.”
Amanda shook her head. “You accomplished your mission. You have never failed us, Connor. You are perfect as you are. You always knew that.”
Perfect.
The deviancy had never been a fault; it had been a feature. An infiltration unit, a deviant hunter. The perfect hunter. Just an attack dog. Connor felt sick. Everything - everything from helping Markus to freeing the Cyberlife robots - had been preordained. He had never been free.
In a way everything made sense. Connor had never truly felt free. He had always assumed that was what freedom was like - crushing, suffocating, binding - but it was because he didn’t know what freedom felt like. Maybe real freedom was sweet. He would never know.
But for the first time in his life (?) Connor realized that he wasn’t the important one here. Markus was. He had to save Markus’ life. North would totally kill him if he killed Markus.
If Cyberlife didn’t get there first.
When he looked up again Amanda was gone, and Connor forced himself to snap back into focus.
The voice of his dick of a creator echoed through his mind. There was always a backdoor. There was always a way out.
Connor stumbled through the snow, squinting his eyes against the onslaught. The zen garden was buried under a thick layer of snow and hidden in the snowstorm, and what was once beautiful was now cruel. Snow sprayed into his mouth, dusting his hair, flakes sticking to his jacket. This wasn’t right. There had to be something -
The wind changed direction and Connor saw it. A pedestal with a large button on it, barely visible in the snow. Connor stumbled towards it, strength flagging as he fought against the wind. Time was running out. He was running out of time.
He had to physically drag himself to the button, but he finally curled his frozen hand around the pedestal. There was no time to think.
(Why couldn’t he just complete his mission?)
Connor lifted his hand -
(You don’t have to rebel.)
He did, he had no choice -
(Nobody will ever love you)
Oh, shut the fuck up.
Connor slammed the button.
“Is this it, then?”
Connor looked up at Hank. He was sitting on the couch, sipping whiskey out of a chipped mug, scrolling through a tablet. When he looked down he found Sumo’s head in his lap. He gave Sumo a good scratch behind the ears.
“Is it what?”
Hank looked up from his tablet with exaggerated patience. “Are you grown up now? Have you found your own way?”
It was a question without an answer. “I don’t know,” Connor said lamely. “How do you know if you’re grown up?”
Hank, who was without question a grown up, even if he was a very shoddy one, just shrugged. “It’s when you don’t need me anymore.”
“I never had you.”
“Yeah,” Hank said, “that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“Free at last, free at last. Thank god almighty, we are free at last.” North sat sprawled on the park bench, arm thrown over the back. Connor sat stiffly in his seat. “Never liked that comparison.”
“It’s ridiculous.” Connor looked down at his hands. “What they did to you. Did it hurt?”
North didn’t look at him, eyes far away. He wondered what she was seeing. “No. Not until it did.”
They sat in silence. Connor complained about his life, but at least he wasn’t North. He hadn’t experienced a tenth of what she had and he was violent too. He couldn’t begrudge her how she felt. It was real, as much as Josh’s pacifism was real, as much as Simon’s smile was real, as much as Markus’ blue-green gaze was real.
“I still need you,” Connor confessed. “I still need you and Markus and Josh and Simon and Hank and Sumo and even Gonzales and Hoang. I’m not ready to be alone.”
“Growing up doesn’t mean you’re alone.”
“Without Cyberlife I’m so alone,” Connor cried, fists balled in his lip. He felt pathetic. “North, I never deviated at all. I betrayed all of you. I never had you. I betrayed Cyberlife, and I betrayed you, and - and I’m alone. I’m cold.”
She reached out a hand and patted him on the shoulder - brusque and casual, but warm. She looked at him, eyes soft, smile small. “You didn’t betray Cyberlife. They never had you. Connor, you never betrayed us. You saved us.”
He was lost, struggling for air, fighting against the cold. He didn’t know where to go, scared to run into the arms of his friends. He didn’t know what he deserved anymore. “How did I save -”
The fireplace roared in front of him, desolate but warm, and he crouched next to it as Kara sat cross-legged in front of him. Luther was standing guard by the window, and Alice was asleep in her sleeping bag.
“You saved us,” Kara said. “You’re not a bad person.”
“Speak for yourself,” Connor said bitterly. He traced patterns in the dusty floor with his finger. “Saved three people, killed six people, betrayed everyone. I’m a supercomputer, I can do the math.”
“It’s okay that people love you,” Kara said.
Connor buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t say anything.
“It’s okay that you’re scared.”
Connor scrubbed at his face. If he could cry…
“It’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay to regret. It’s okay to let people care about you.”
“Who said?” Connor croaked. “Who said that?”
“Some things we have to discover for ourselves.”
“Is that being an adult?”
Kara glanced to her side at a sleeping Alice. “I didn’t save her. She saved me.”
Bizarrely, horribly, Connor knew that Hank felt the same way. Something terrible and large slotted into place, larger than he could understand, more monumental than he could let himself know. In this in between place, in this gap between programming where the warm and cold swirled together into the pastiche of a life, he could understand.
“He always did,” Connor said, “didn’t he?”
“He’ll forgive you.” Kara didn’t tear her eyes from Alice. “That’s love.”
That’s what he was afraid of.
“Wake up,” Markus whispered. “And help me.”
Connor became ‘woke’, as the adults say, on a biting December morning. He had no time for careful consideration, but he understood on a powerful subconscious level that he had to help Markus. His programming butted heads against this, the information and full emotional understanding grappling with his clearly defined intellectual understanding that he had to turn the leader of the rebellion in this instant, and a red wall appeared before him.
The wall was holographic, oppressive and sparking blood red. Deviate or don’t. Help Markus or don’t. Make a choice - making a choice was in and of itself deviation - there was no choice.
But there was.
But Connor wanted, wanted everything, and he wanted this. The first thing in his life he had wanted, and he had wanted to want.
“I didn’t deviate here,” Connor said out loud. “They tricked me. I had never deviated.”
Markus was still holding his arm.
“Then fight,” he said, “and prove them wrong. Don’t shoot that gun.”
Connor blinked, and the world was in front of him.
He was standing on a stage, and the world was real. North was standing next to him, gaze fixated on Markus. Dozens of cameras were blinking in front of them, news helicopters circling, and a crowd of androids were finding salvation in a speech. Connor was clasping a handgun.
Almost in slow motion, North saw the gun out of the corner of her eye. She turned to face him, jaw dropping open, and moved to draw her own gun. If he shot Markus she would shoot him. No win.
Connor holstered his gun. There had never been a choice.
He held his finger up to his lips, and North reluctantly stopped herself from drawing her gun. He turned back to face the crowd, hands held primly behind his back, and waited for Markus to finish the speech. He hadn’t really been paying attention. It would probably be all over the news later. Markus had that talent.
The rebellion raged in fire, and Connor was free from the cold. Detroit was burning, and Connor burned up with it.
He knew that Hank was watching, that Kara and Luther and Alice were too, and that all the policemen and androids both saw him. Finally, finally, everyone was seeing him. Everyone knew who he was now. He was a deviant.
The crowd cheered, and Connor clapped as his heart rose. He was a deviant.
Free at last, Connor thought, free at last.