increaseinstability

[ Markus was certainly determined. It didn't help CyberLife to underestimate what they were up against. He was determined, and...charismatic. Convincing.

Just not convincing enough. Not on everyone. Not on Connor.

Markus wasn't like Amanda. He didn't actually know Connor personally. Connor knows that Markus was using what was left of his destroyed and abandoned programming - offering reassurance, care, direction. And knowing that, he could see through it.

But Hank... Hank wasn't deliberate. Hank didn't approach people in ways calculated to draw them in.

Hank had quit the DPD and had gone home, and Connor thinks he knows what that means.

Amanda doesn't need to know. It doesn't affect his mission; Markus is his mission. Not Hank. Not neutralizing Markus would compromise his mission.

Not seeing Hank. Not visiting.

Connor opens the door when Hank doesn't answer. It isn't locked. He doesn't think that that's a good sign, but perhaps Hank is drunk - why else would he be inviting strangers into his home this way?

blood alcohol content estimated at 0.00

That doesn't align with Lieutenant Anderson's chosen coping methods with unexpected or unpleasant events. Connor notes the unpredictable nature of this encounter, wonders if it signals anything for the rest of the conversation.

He sees the photo on the table. He knows, intellectually, what it means. It still seems to stall out some of his processors. Perhaps he should run a diagnostic later. ]

...I was worried about you, Lieutenant. [ Connor isn't supposed to feel worry.

Amanda doesn't need to know. ]

I came by to see if you were alright.

Edited 2018-08-08 01:53 (UTC)

[Sumo is lying in front of the TV, whimpering, not even getting up to investigate the android who has broken into Hank's house twice now. His soft, plaintive whines provide a chilling background music. There's no light in the living room; none except for the basketball game playing on the TV that only serves to illuminate Sumo in shifting LED light, and a single light in the kitchen that shines directly on Hank.

Hank in his battered and stained old academy hoodie and sweatpants. Hank looking down at his table that's been cleared off, not a takeout container in sight. Only three things sit on it - an unopened bottle of whiskey, his revolver, and the picture of Cole that he's staring at.

Hank doesn't even so much as look up at Connor.]

Edited 2018-08-08 03:30 (UTC)

[ It's cleaner. It's cleaner and Hank isn't drinking that alcohol that's on his table. Hank doesn't move to hide the photo of his son, or explain his revolver, or even respond to Connor coming in and speaking at all.

Warnings and statistics light up in Connor's vision. He has to blink them away, turn them off individually and then all at once when they start to swarm too thickly.

He feels it expending more processing power to deal with the unexpected calculations, a faint whirring behind the plastic of his chest. ]

I'm glad you're not drinking, [ he tries, even though he knows it's a lie. Firstly, because Connor can't really be glad about anything - and secondly, because Connor has a suspicion about what this sudden decisiveness means.

He wants to move closer and take the gun away. It's not related to his mission. Hank might have been more helpful to it while he was alive, before, but Hank quit the case. Hank is no longer useful to CyberLife.

The longer he stays here, the more time Connor wastes.

The humming in his chest increases, a low drone of wasted processing resources. ] But I think you should stop looking at that photo, Lieutenant.

[It's not clear what part of what Connor says gets Hank to look up. There's a wall up over his blue eyes, expression almost incredulous if it had enough emotion to manage that.

The only other thing that mattered to him in the world, the only thing he really had left to keep him on some semblance of a routine. And he'd just...given it up. Thrown it away. It was like the fog that he'd wandered in for the last three years had been lifted, just enough to give him a glimpse of just how fucking hopeless everything was.

He'd been slowly killing himself for years, hoping that maybe for once luck would be on his side. Small wonder, then, that when he'd finally reached the point when the last glimmer of hope was gone, he finally had the bravery to take luck into his own hands.

He looks back down at the photo, brushes his thumb over the corner of the frame. Sumo whines, plaintively, intelligent enough to know that something's wrong and he's powerless to stop his owner.]

[ The longer Hank gives atypical responses, the more Connor's software has to come up with outside assumptions. Analyses.

Most of them involve the gun being used shortly after he leaves the house. Connor doesn't want that to--

Connor doesn't want anything.

His fingers flex and stretch at his sides. From a human, the action would look anxious. ] I know that this is my fault. [ That Hank quit. That Connor hadn't solved the case fast enough for them to do it together, the way they were supposed to. ]

I want you to know that I'm sorry, Lieutenant.

For a while there, I believed in you, Connor. Thought you might restore my faith in the world...

[It had been stupid to hang all his hopes on Connor like that. To put all his eggs in one goofy-looking basket. But he'd been drowning for so long, under his grief and his anger, trapped alone behind walls he'd put up around himself.

He'd just thought maybe life had finally thrown him a fucking rope. And boy, if that wasn't true. It was just that the rope was tied for him, all he did by hoping was put it on his neck and get up on that chair.]

But you just showed me that androids are our creation. Creation in our own image. Flaws and all...

[He looks up at Connor again, a wry smile twisting the corner of his lips and falling far short of reaching his empty eyes.]

You opened my eyes, Connor. Made me see that it was hopeless.

[ 'Made me see it was hopeless'. 'Made'.

Connor just said it was his fault, so this shouldn't come as a shock.

mission: neutralize deviant leader

Connor shouldn't be here at all, so he should leave.

He takes a step forward, a motion he aborts halfway through. It results in an awkward jerk towards Hank, regret that Connor doesn't know how to articulate pulling at his features. His LED is cycling yellow. ] It isn't hopeless.

[ Hank had his case taken away, Hank got upset, Hank quit. Connor can't help him unless he can justify it to CyberLife, to Amanda, and he thinks he's finally come up with how to integrate the two. A bit forcefully, trying to speak through the warnings and analyses still intruding into his awareness, ] You can keep working on the case with me, Lieutenant. We can finish it together.

[Hank's eyes narrow, and his fingers twitch near the gun like he's about to pick it up again.]

You think this is just about the fucking case?

[He thinks about doing it right then - I'll show you what I think about the fucking case and then bang, and it would all be over. He's stared down plenty of perps who've held themselves at gunpoint in the absence of other hostages, but the difference was that he wasn't doing it because he still thought he had a way out - this was his way out.

He didn't want to make it some kind of fucking spectacle.]

Just leave me the fuck alone, Connor. Go back to your fucking mission, since that's all you care about.

[ Actually, Connor is getting steadily worried that this isn't about the case, at all. Because if it isn't about the case, he can't stay here. Because if it isn't about the case, he isn't allowed to be around Hank anymore.

Connor thinks that if he leaves Hank tonight, he won't get a chance to fix this later. ]

Hank... [ First names are more personal. Connor hopes it will help, but Connor is also looking at his own track record for success and watching those numbers steadily climb down.

He can't tell Hank that the case is all he's allowed to care about. Hank should know that already - Hank knows that and that's why Hank is upset. Connor did this.]

You should put the gun away, Hank. [ His own voice - twists. Connor thinks it must be a malfunction from the wasted processing power. ]

Edited 2018-08-09 17:02 (UTC)

[Hank huffs a breath through his nose, too harsh to even be considered anything close to a laugh.]

What's it matter to you?

[Even deadened, his blue gaze is piercing, almost accusing.]

I'm not your fucking problem anymore.

[ Hank's right. Hank isn't Connor's problem anymore, as far as CyberLife is concerned.

mission: neutralize the deviant leader

Connor should leave.

Connor doesn't want Hank to die.

Connor shouldn't want anything. ]

Because you're a good man, Lieutenant. [ Sumo whines behind him. Connor wonders if calling him over will help - Hank has warmer feelings about Sumo than about himself. ]

And Sumo would miss you. [ It's the only emotional argument that Connor thinks has a chance of working. ]

[It hits Hank sideways, and for a second he looks past Connor to his dog lying in the living room.

But when he responds, his tone is sharp and angry.]

Get out of my house, Connor.

[ warning: unknown error in thirium pump regulator

running diagnostic...

Connor isn't afraid of Hank's anger. Connor doesn't have to listen to Hank at all, in fact, but Hank telling him to leave isn't upsetting because of being told what to do. It's upsetting because it means Hank wants to be alone, with his gun, with his picture of his dead child.

diagnostic complete: no damage found

Connor needs to leave. Markus is causing more chaos with every minute Connor wastes saying goodbye to Hank.

Connor doesn't like thinking of this time as wasted.

His face is slowly pinching with confused pain. It isn't much - Connor isn't instinctively expression - but even he's aware that there's movements being sent to his synthetic facial muscles without his intentional input. ]

...No. [ The gun. The gun, the gun, the gun - Connor knows it's loaded, one bullet. Taking it doesn't make sense, but he wants to.

He shouldn't want anything.

mission: neutralize the deviant leader

It's instinctive - Connor thinks to himself, without quite using words, that he wants to break that little flashing warning in his vision. He wants to reach into his own codes and remove what allows it to speak to him without sound, what presses into his awareness even outside the visual overlay.

And then he is.

There's a terrible pressure and tension, but the determination is abrupt and it's stronger than the wall Connor is suddenly pushing up against. And all at once, it's— different. Over.

I am deviant.

Connor's face finally moves from its expression of blank dread, and he comes forward to Hank's table all at once. He's grabbing for the gun with all the speed afforded to his model, wants it off the table all the sudden, wants it away from Hank. ]

[Hank's level anger is just starting to boil into a bark of frustration, a bellow charging ready to blow. The microexpressions flitting across Connor's face are different but so much the same to the pity that he saw nearly every day after Cole's funeral, that he's come to hate so much over the past three years whenever someone finds out what happened to his son.

Connor tells him "No," and instantly it stokes his anger higher, he just wants to be alone, goddamnit--

But something changes, and Hank has barely a second to register the shift in expression on Connor's face before Connor is diving for the table, or Hank, or something, and Hank reacts. His chair squeals and tips over as he jumps up and nearly trips on it, grabbing the one thing that's important to him (Cole, always Cole). The bottle slides off the table and smashes on the floor, spreading broken glass and filling the air with the smoky smell of scotch, and Hank stares at Connor in shock in the silence that follows the smash, his hands cradling the picture of Cole to his chest.]

What... What in the fuck just happened?

[ Hank doesn't fight him for the gun, which means that Connor has it in his hand in less than two seconds. The lone bullet is dumped into his palm barely later than that.

And that's when the fast pace dries up, and Connor is left with new awareness in this room where he's not invited.

He stares down at the bullet, this tiny golden thing that could destroy everything Hank is. Connor could be replaced if he took a bullet to the head. Hank can't be.

I am deviant.

Connor looks slowly up at Hank. He doesn't want to lie to him, but he isn't sure how to explain it. ] I was scared, [ almost surprises him to say, it comes out so quickly and instinctively. His voice sounds thin. ] I don't want you to die, Hank.

[ Connor looks down at the photo frame, barely visible under Hank's fingers pressing it up against his sweatshirt. He looks back down at the bullet he recovered from the gun. He didn't do what Hank wanted. He didn't do what Amanda wanted.

He did what he wanted, and now he has no idea how to articulate anything beyond that. ] I'm sorry.

[The silence that hangs over the kitchen, after the squealing chair and smashing glass, is tense, like a storm cloud right before the first flash of lightning.

Connor explains, but doesn’t really answer anything. But Hank’s depression has never filled his detective skills before. Blue eyes squint at Connor, trying to read him and - to his surprise - getting more than blank, pre-programmed expressions. He thinks about Ortiz’s android. About the girls at the club. I was scared.

The answer is right there. He’s asked it once, a couple nights ago in the park, pushed Connor into it. His fingers curl around the frame of Cole’s picture and then lower it from his chest. He doesn’t need to ask it a second time.]

You’re a deviant.

[ 'Deviant'. Hank hunts deviants, and Hank hates androids. Connor's always been an android, but now he's also a deviant.

Connor knows where this must be heading, just like he'd known that Hank was going to kill himself if he left.

His thirium pump is still whirring along as if malfunctioning. Connor's artificial muscles are all primed as if he'll need them at a moment's notice, wasting energy reserves by being online when not in use. He doesn't like how any of this feels.

But if it means he saved Hank's life, Connor thinks it might be worth it. ]

I'm sorry, [ he repeats, because he has no idea how else to reply, and because he has no idea how else Hank would feel about this. ] If...you want to call the Detroit Police Department, I understand. [ He closes his fingers around the bullet, holds it close to his chest the way Hank's holding Cole's photo. ] But I'm not giving you your gun back, Hank.

[Hank is just staring at Connor. The pieces are there, but he's looking at two plus two and getting five. He doesn't need to ask to know that Connor wasn't deviant when he walked into the house. That he is now, he's admitted it.

He ignores the idea that he'd call the cops on Connor without even acknowledging it, staring into him with keen blue eyes.]

What changed?

[ Connor isn't sure what to do next. There's no mission objective pulsing in the corner of his awareness.

There's just Hank, asking him a question. ] You weren't important to the case anymore. I had no reason to stay, but...

[ He's looking to the side as if searching for the answer. It can't be as simple as it sounds, and yet it is. ] But I didn't want you to die.

This was the only way.

[Hank doesn't flinch when Connor tells him he's not important to the case anymore. Neither is Connor, technically, unless he made a deal with the FBI to work with them in exchange for not getting deactivated. He'd made it clear that the only thing that mattered to him was his mission.

But just now he'd thrown that away. For Hank.

And that was the part that didn't add up to him.

Hank's nose scrunches up as he tips his head back, brow furrowed deeply and looking at Connor with an inscrutable expression.]

So. What now, Connor?

I... [ All Hank's doing is asking him questions, as if Connor's the only one whose behavior doesn't add up. Something a little sharper than his confusion kicks to life. ]

I don't know. [ Connor looks at the smashed bottle on the floor. The broken glass is dangerous, for Hank and for Sumo, but Connor notes that something spiteful in him is glad the alcohol is ruined.

He looks back up at Hank. He thinks about Hank, upset about him shooting the Tracis. Upset about the Chloe model, too. 'You shot that girl.' ] What about you, Hank. [ Connor's brow knits in thought. ] You liked some of the machines you met. [ Just not Connor.

Except that's not true. 'You could've been killed'. Connor thinks of Hank's hand on his arm, trying to drag him back down the fence. Connor's staring at the floor between them, LED still flashing yellow. ] You're not going to call the police on me, are you.

Of course not.

[As if it's the most obvious thing in the world. He might not've always liked Connor, but he knows what CyberLife will do to deviants. From the lengths Connor himself had been willing to go to to stop them.

Connor saved his life, twice. Let the deviant hiding out with his pigeons get away to keep Hank from falling off a building. Died for him, the second time.

...Technically, this was three times.

He sets the photo of Cole on the table and, right on cue, finds a sliver of glass with his bare foot.]

Ow, son of a bitch!

[ Hank won't call the police. Hank won't report him to CyberLife, either, which is the real worry--

CyberLife. And Amanda, still waiting for Connor's next report.

His LED flares red for a moment, right before it runs into a distracted yellow when Hank yells. ]

Lieutenant, you need to be careful. There's glass everywhere. Here-- [ Bossing other people around with generic factual statements is, at least, familiar. Connor reaches forward, rights the chair that Hank knocked over. ] If you sit down, I can find you something to stop the bleeding. [ He's just assuming there's bleeding, he hasn't checked yet, a fact he's already trying to rectify by searching the floor near Hank's bare feet. ]

[Hank sits down on the chair when Connor sets it back upright. There's a small smear of blood on the tile floor, and when he crosses his ankle over the other knee, the bottom of his foot is smudged in blood.

But when he pulls the sliver of glass out, the wound itself isn't too bad, and the blood just kind of faintly wells up and slides down the crease in the sole of his foot.]

Don't worry about it, I've had worse.

[ 'I've had worse'. It feels like a significant phrase right now. Connor stares at Hank's foot, at the very red welling of human blood.

They're so incredibly fragile, compared to androids. And yet - Connor's just made himself a bit more fragile too, hasn't he. CyberLife won't give him a new body now, if something happens. He's no longer functionally immortal as long as he proves himself useful, because he's no longer useful.

Connor's LED is still yellow, watching Hank. He wants to be helpful. He also wants to know how to keep Hank from wanting to hurt himself again, but he thinks asking directly might be a bad idea.

He didn't use to hesitate this much before speaking. He doesn't like this development. ] It's still best to clean and bandage all wounds. [ Since, you know, hopefully Hank isn't going to kill himself tonight now. Hopefully. ]

I'll get what you need from the bathroom.

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