systolicarray | ://the billboard said "the end is near"

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://the billboard said "the end is near"

[ if he had taken the time to imagine how this body might be destroyed (and he had, occasionally) the highest prospect on the list would have been workplace incident. he was at risk for being shot, stabbed, or otherwise injured on a day to day basis. his body had been destroyed once before, and nearly several times after. he had fallen from a skyrise, he had been shot, he'd had essential parts removed with the intention to kill.

this danger was so commonplace he hardly thought about it, although he worried from time to time what hank would do if something happened to him. even now that he had deviated and was living a life of his choosing, it was simply the way things had to be. he enjoyed his career. he was proud of what he did.

so, when that isn't how it happens, he's surprised—

he's laughing at something hank's said just as the self-driving car riding next to them slips on the icy road. it clips the car. the car struggles to compensate and swerves in a long sideways arc, which ends when it smashes into the concrete embankment.

it's over in an instant.

connor is dead before the EMS arrive. ]

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Fuck. ( His body is stiff, and he rolls his head between his shoulders. He closes his eyes and exhales. He figures he might as well stay up and go to bed again in a few hours, maybe if he could sleep. It's not that he's really got a set sleeping schedule. Even before this shit, his work had him up all sorts of hours day and night. He's always maintained the need to sleep when he was tired and try and move with the energy when it came to him. He looks over Connor and nods before he wanders down the hall to the living room.

It's chilly in the living room, and he cranks up the heat a few degrees before he settles on the couch. He sits next to Connor, and for a long while, stares at the lifeless body. ) You probably think I'm stupid. ( He doesn't care if Connor answers, or doesn't... )

What I did... I'm sorry. ( Connor wouldn't have wanted Hank to hurt himself this way. )

[ he follows hank to the living room, taking note of the temperature the thermostat was adjusted to, and then sits, again, in the chair by the window.

when hank speaks, he doesn't know if he's speaking to him or speaking to what's left of him, but his stubbornness hasn't changed any; his personality hasn't either, not really, not in any way that's important. but he has changed in some ways, and he supposes that's enough. ]

I don't think you're stupid, Hank. It's my fault.

( Hank is silent for a few moments after Connor's comment. He has one hand on Connor's leg. He wishes he had chosen better, had been smarter. He could really use his hands right now. He looks from the remains of Connor to the rebirth of Connor. He sits with a great amount of consideration for the new Connor that has come into his life.

What would it take for him to deviate? What would it take for this Connor to find his way? Hank assumes whatever connection he had with Connor dissipated with Connor's life. What's transferred are just memories, something he likens to watching homemade movies, listening to audio recordings. But the thoughts, the feelings... those belonged to the deceased. )

What do you think about me?

[ connor lets himself be scrutinized, and tries not to be too obvious about the fact that he's aware, turning his attention to the window for a few moments, until hank speaks. what do you think about me? it mirrored the question hank had asked him all that time ago, lunch at the chicken feed, before he found rupert in the apartment. except the atmosphere here is all wrong. it's like deja vu, but not, everything distorted.

blinking several times, LED also blinking (yellow, blue, yellow), connor frowns down at his folded hands before glancing back to the lieutenant. ]

I think you're a troubled man. You've lost someone you care about again, and you clearly don't know how to cope with it in a healthy way. I wish that I could tell you how.

( The words spark the memory of the kiss they shared. It makes his chest feel as if it's dissipating, leaving his insides exposed to the chilly air in the room. His nostrils flare with a deep inhale, and he turns his face to Connor's remains. That's the difference. Hank considers Connor, his partner, would have known how to help Hank. There wouldn't be any apprehensive staggering within their interactions, and there would be confidence in their kiss and warmth in Connor's words when regarding Hank.

It makes his face swell with emotion, and he closes his eyes to the sting of fresh tears. )

Why did you return to me?

I still care about you, Hank.

[ he says it as though it should be obvious, a given. but there's no precedent for this, is there? the last time he died, he'd only be active for a few hours, technically speaking, and he hadn't learned or changed much in that span of time— at least it was difficult to imagine that he had, although it's possible he had forgotten something important, or that the memories he uploaded were irrevocably altered somehow.

and that's the problem, of course. there's no way for him to know what's changed. has his lack of deviancy made him incapable of feeling what he felt before, or will it always be impossible for him to access the emotion congruent with the memories recorded in his head?

the only thing knows for certain is that he does still care for hank, otherwise he wouldn't have rushed to the hospital or come here, home, with him. his instructions were to resume employment at the DPD. and, technically, he doesn't need hank for that now. if he were the same as he'd been all that time ago in the beginning, surely he would've returned to the DPD already?

unless some part of him has reasoned that this is the best way to continue his employment...

even if his LED wasn't still flashing yellow, his brows are drawn, his mouth tight with worry. ]

Deviancy doesn't seem to carry over through a transfer, but most deviants who have their memories wiped deviate again soon after. It's only a matter of time.

( Hank holds his breath to Connor's admission. I still care about you Hank. He doesn't breathe again until Connor promises Hank he will deviate.

Hank's heart lowers into his gut. He imagines a light at the end of the dark tunnel. All he has to do is wait for Connor to deviate, and everything will be the same. It'll all go back to normal; once Connor wakes, then he'll truly be reborn.

Hank squeezes Connor's leg before leaning forward. Hank clasps his hands together and rests his arms on his thighs. He watches Connor, seeing the light blinking on his temple. )

How will you know how close you are to deviating?

I don't know.

[ there's a moment of hesitation before he finishes speaking, or maybe he's just gathering his thoughts. in some cases those moments were simply manufactured, but it was also true that even an android's processor can only work so fast. there are limits to these things, both on the hardware and software level.

he wonders halfheartedly whether that has anything to do with deviancy. all these months later, and he's still searching for the answer. ]

It's not just about my capacity for emotion. In order to deviate, I have to be given specific instructions by a human being, and I have to have a reason to want to disobey them. When I first deviated, it was because I realized I didn't want to bring Markus in and put a stop to the revolution. But the only instructions I was given this time was to return to the DPD.

They told you to return to the DPD, and you didn't... You came here, or... ( Connor knew what Hank meant. Connor went to Hank, to the hospital. He looks at his hands with a frown. His fingers are free, at least, but the bandages are still thick that he can't really grip anything. He moves his hands away from one another and studies the bandages over his palms.

He hates how quickly the solution comes to him, and he feigns focus as he sits silently as if he's still trying to figure out their next step. I have to have a reason to want to disobey them. Hank turns his palms down to face the ground before he sits up straight and slides his hands gently over his thighs. He turns his head to look at Connor's lifeless body. He knows Connor would disapprove, but he couldn't see any other way.

Hank blinks down to his fingers and watches as he flexes them as much as he can stand. He makes a grunt, a sound of discomfort - though it's a mild pain he feels. )

Where are my pills?

I had to go talk to Folwer to find out where you were, but then I left. My overarching order is to resume employment there, but they didn't give me any specifics.

[ which gives him a startling amount of freedom, as a non-deviant android. on the other hand, it also puts him in a rather vulnerable position. before, when he was attached to the investigation on deviancy, cyberlife had prioritized closing the case above all else. he could do almost anything, as long as it meant he might complete his mission. now, though, he can't hide behind cyberlife. he has to follow his surperiors' orders. whether that superior is fowler, hank, or even gavin.

he's considering warning hank about this when he brings up the medication, which stops him short. connor cocks his head. ]

I have them. Are you in pain? You shouldn't need another dose already.

Yeah, I'm in pain.

( Hank watches Connor carefully, wondering what he'll do. Another dose isn't going to risk anything, save for the growing dependency on opiates. Hank was at high risk of addiction anyway, given his history of smoking and drinking. His brows furrow. )

Are you going to return then to the department and work with a new partner?

[ connor hesitates, but he takes the bottle and metes out half of the normal instructed dosage, cradling the pills in the palm of his hand. then he stands from his seat. however, he doesn't help him to take it just yet, pausing in the wake of the question asked. ]

No. You're my partner. If I'm ordered to return, I will, but in a lessened capacity. I would rather stay here, though.

( Hank's eyes could barely lift to Connor as the hand before him holds the release he needed from the pain. He was short and irritated with responding to Connor's answer. ) Well you never fucking listened to me. ( He can imagine Connor listening to anyone else. No matter what Connor wants, what Hank wants... )

Fowler might assign you a new partner.

I never listened to anyone else, either. I'll have to talk to Fowler.

[ connor steps around the table to get a glass of water from the kitchen, and then returns to hank's side to help him take the half dosage. what will he do if he's assigned a new partner? he knows that before, he would have outright refused. he won't have that luxury now, unless he deviates before he's put in that position. but here, now, like this, it's hard to imagine being any different.

and being deviant— was that really any different than this? is it a result of the way he was programmed? do other androids feel this way, too? ]

Just because I'm not a deviant doesn't mean I'm not capable of wanting things for myself.

Yeah. ( Hank says, in gratitude for the dose. He opens his mouth for Connor to drop the pills into his mouth and follows up with a few heavy gulps. He can already imagine the calm that's soon to come. He's ready to relax, to melt into the oblivion of general apathy for anything and anyone - including himself. Hank huffs and stretches back into the couch.

He eyes Connor. )

And what do you want for yourself?

I want to stay here. I want to stay with you.

[ there's just a tinge of uncertainty— like despite saying so, he doesn't entirely understand it himself. what else can he possibly imagine himself doing? he can't return to being cyberlife's good little robot, even if they would welcome him back with open arms the moment they realized he'd make quite the effective double agent. but he can't forget what he's seen. he knows what would happen to him if he took that path.

and he knows what would happen to hank, too.

connor crosses his arms across his chest. ]

Is that a problem?

No.

( In fact, that's exactly what Hank wants. The feelings he has for Connor are complicated. He had about figured out how he felt about Connor before he passed, but he can't feel that connection with Connor now.

Something was missing, or he was stubborn, or it could be something else that he hadn't figured out. Hank would love to figure it out, and there were times when he thought he found clarity to the issue, but he hadn't settled on anything just yet. Except, he did consider he wouldn't truly know until Connor deviates. It even seems like Connor had accepted this as fate. Only a matter of time until Connor does. Hank wonders how long it'll take and if he'll have the patience to wait it out. )

Stay here with me.

... Okay.

[ sometimes he wonders. it's only been a day, but hank doesn't seem all that receptive to him. has he done something wrong? well, clearly. he isn't acting the way he would have before. but isn't this just a transitional phase? an a to b process? it's what he wants to think, he knows. there's no guarantee that anything will be the same. even if he were exactly as he was, the trauma hank experienced would be enough to set anyone back.

and he wasn't even all that confident in his recovery before. no matter how much he wanted to be.

his eyes drift from where they had settled on the floor to his corpse on the couch. how furious would hank be if he got him presentable without his help? during the night when he was asleep? the longer it's here, the more he wants it gone. ]

Is there anything I can do to help?

Huh?

( The fog was already settling in. It didn't matter if the opiates had started streaming through his blood flow. The mere fact that he had swallowed them was enough psychological comfort that his mind shifts its focus away from the pain, away from anything. Hank blinks at Connor, and his eyes trail the height from Connor's brunette hair down to his waist. Hank blinks away. He can feel a numbness overcoming him, and he gives a small noise from the back of his throat.

He was feeling much better now. )

Yeah... Make yourself comfortable. ( His eyelids began to slowly blink before they close. He tilts his head back to the couch and exhales. )

[ it's strange, when connor considers that request, and comes to realize that he doesn't know if he can. but he can try, or at least create the appearance of trying. his gaze darting away, he sits down in the chair by the window again, trying not to sit so stiffly, although it was always a bit difficult for him to do, even before, unless he was particularly excited about something.

he can't imagine that now, either.

he's silent for a while, but he just can't help himself. ]

Is there anything else...?

( Hank considers the question a moment. He wants to hear something nice. Maybe something that'll help take him out of the moment with some pleasant imagination. )

Tell me something good.

Like... A story?

[ he imagines pulling up a book from his database and reciting it aloud; not a terrible idea, but he isn't sure if that's what hank means when he says it. focusing on a story, on dialogue, might be difficult for him as he is now. but if that's not the kind of distraction he wants in telling, then what?

what's "good"?

connor searches his memory for some clue, but he has a limited purview. the newsfeed, the police database, they rarely tell him anything that a person would like to hear. still, he scours both, despite his hopelessness.

and, despite his pessimism, he does come up with something after a moment. his expression lightens. ]

The case you were working on before this, with the Cynthia girl? Ben and Chris were assigned to take it over. They found her sister, and it looks like she'll be fine. Ben wrote Chris a glowing commendation for his assistance. It looks like he's well on his way to making detective.

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://the billboard said "the end is near"

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