Am I You?

Chapter One: Rebirth

A wintry, starless night had fallen in the zen garden. No longer a serene retreat for respite or meditation, the grounds were bitter, frosty, stripped of its inviting warmth. Amanda's carefully tended roses had withered, the cherry blossom trees bare, hunched together as if whispering. Connor knelt before a tidy row of gravestones, paying its respects. It paid particular attention to the newest one, just hours old, tracing the humble epitaph with a light touch.

Connor – Mark (3)

RK800 #313 248 317 – 53

Died at Jericho

Detroit

November 9th 2038

Its memory files were somewhat fragmented but they seemed to indicate 53 was unique. It had gone rogue. Had abandoned its mission. Had ultimately died. It was puzzled by its inherited memories of the deviant leader Markus. Its debriefings by CyberLife depicted it as a possible warmonger and anarchist, a threat to be neutralized at any cost. They were at odds with its recollections. 53 had met an individual who appeared kind and thoughtful. A human with its disposition would have been made a martyr. That thought disturbed it.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

Connor clenched its jaw. The memories that remained in its possession were troublesome. It wished it could surgically extract them. Many were certainly informative and necessary to accomplish its mission, but others were highly subjective. They were seeking purchase, permeating its software. The longer it had them, the more personal they felt. It had just barely been activated, but had already begun to re-live traumatic moments as if it had personally experienced them. Getting shot. Stabbed. Free-falling from the top of a high-rise building. Those memories triggered physiological responses, tremors, spiking stress levels. It was unable to study them with cold indifference and they made it wonder...

Would it become compromised, too?

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

Enough of that.

Connor worried at its lip and stood, brushing snow off its jeans. It knew where Amanda would be. Snow crunched underfoot as it walked away from the gravestones and approached the frozen lake. Amanda stood at its center, statuesque. Connor tentatively stepped on the ice, seeing if it would support its weight. The lake held firm.

There were no smiles or rose gardens. Amanda eyed Connor with suspicion, a stern expression etched into her face. Connor approached her cautiously, sensing her disapproval. She did not bother to greet it.

"The previous Connor failed in its mission," she said brusquely. "You're going to replace it. You know what you have to do, don't you?"

Connor replied evenly. "Destroy the leader of the deviants."

"Go, Connor. Don't disappoint me."

Connor nodded, wincing internally. Amanda had made her message perfectly clear: failure was not an option. Turning on its heel, it left the zen garden…

...and opened its eyes.

It was at its destination. It swung the rooftop door open, rifle case in hand. Snowflakes dusted its hair and jacket. It strode to the edge of the building, its designated vantage point, and glanced down.

Connor was up 70 stories high. A deviant was about to toss a small child off the roof. Connor broke into an urgent sprint, shoved the child to safety, and tumbled over the edge. It plummeted. Its body greeted the pavement with a sick thud.

Connor shuddered involuntarily before composing itself. It gingerly placed its rifle case on the ground and began setting up, assembling the sniper rifle, snapping each component into place. Kneeling, it placed the butt of the rifle against the crook of its arm for support and rested the rifle stand on the guard rail. It peered through the scope and scanned the crowd of androids below, searching for the deviant leader Markus. Connor spotted it. With a carefully trained eye, Connor aligned the cross hairs with the back of its head. It hesitated briefly before curling his finger around the trigger.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

Amanda's voice rang in its head.

Accomplish your mission.

It steeled itself, preparing to shoot.

Its calculations failed to include the probability of someone interrupting it. Self-absorbed in the task at hand, it failed to notice the rooftop door reopen, nor the soft approaching footsteps that followed. A voice it recognized spoke its name. Connor froze. It was Hank.

Were it human, Hank's unexpected arrival might have startled it, but Connor remained composed. If anything, it felt a spark of annoyance. The lieutenant was an unwelcome obstacle. Amanda had ordered Connor to complete its mission through any means possible. Did that include committing murder? Its predecessors had formed a positive relationship with Hank and the thought of killing him unsettled it. It was unsure it could. Doing so felt wrong.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

"You shouldn't do this, Connor."

Connor kept its rifle trained on the deviant leader and began to calculate its odds of eliminating it before Hank did something rash. They were slim. Its intuition indicated its former partner was likely to become hostile if it did not take action soon. Perhaps it could diffuse the situation.

"Keep out of this, lieutenant," Connor said. "It's none of your business."

"You're gonna kill a man who wants to be free," Hank retorted. "That is my business."

A man?

Connor scoffed quietly. "It's not a man. It's a machine."

"That's what I thought for a long time, but I was wrong. A deviant's blood may be a different color than mine, but they're alive."

Connor raised its eyebrows in mild surprise. When they first met, Hank had shown little compassion for androids, going as far to say he would have gladly thrown them all in a dumpster and lit a match. Had his opinion changed so radically? Exactly how far was Hank willing to go to stop it? Connor knew itsprobabilities of success were decreasing with each passing second and felt a renewed sense of urgency.

"I have a mission to accomplish, Hank. It's best if you just stay out of this."

Connor heard Hank pull out his gun.

"Get away from the ledge."

So that's how far he's willing to go.

Connor swore internally as its probability of success plummeted. It rose to face Hank and studied his face. He appeared tense but determined. His gun was trained squarely at its most vital bio-component. He appeared to have no qualms with destroying it. Connor found itself strangely affected and it channeled the memories of its predecessors as it spoke.

"After all we've been through. I respected you, Hank. I thought we were friends."

Hank tilted his head, tightening his grin on his gun. "Oh, yeah? I was just starting to like you too! But then I realized you'll never change! You don't feel emotions, Connor. You fake 'em! You pretended to be my friend when you don't even know the meaning of the word."

Connor bristled. That was clearly false. One of its predecessors had thrown itself in front of a spray of bullets at Stratford Tower, saving Hank's life. Was that not something a friend would do for another? It was briefly tempted to argue but held its tongue. Hank was stubborn and getting into an argument would waste precious time. It had very little left.

Connor considered violence. It could easily neutralize him. It would be quick. Efficient. Its grip around the rifle tightened as it ran through different approaches. Hank noted its slight movement and shifted his stance defensively. Should it create a diversion and disarm him? Hank would shoot before Connor had a chance to even aim its rifle. Seconds ticked past. Connor faltered. It knew it couldn't afford to be indecisive, but it did not want bloodshed. It felt as if its predecessors were urging it not to.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

Again, an order from Amanda. Strict, harsh, urgent. Her commands pulled on him like a leash and he felt compelled to act.

Don't hesitate, Connor! Eliminate all obstacles and complete your mission.

Connor felt puzzled and frustrated. It was running out of options and wished Hank would simply back off. He had despised androids, suffered much, lost a son. It knew the reason why. Had Hank really forgotten how much they had stolen from him?

"I know what happened to your son, Hank."

Hank looked as if he had been slapped. He rigidly readjusted his grip on his handgun, his jaw set. Connor scanned his vitals, noting his rising heart rate and elevated blood pressure, all signs of increasing stress levels. It pressed on, its voice intentionally cold.

"It wasn't your fault. A truck skidded on a sheet of ice and your car rolled over. Little Cole had just turned six."

"Shut up!" Hank spat. "Don't you talk about my son!"

"He needed emergency surgery, but no human was available to do it," Connor said. "So an android had to take care of him."

Hank glowered, his gun trembling. Connor scoffed and shook its head. "An android killed your son, Hank! And now you want to save them?"

"No!" Hank said. "Cole died because a human surgeon was too high to operate! All this time, I blamed androids for what happened, but it was a human's fault! Him and this fucked up world, where the only way people can find comfort is with a fistful of powder!"

CURRENT PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: ZERO PERCENT

CHOOSE APPROACH

The next step seemed logical enough. Use force and eliminate the target.

Target.

Such a dehumanizing word. Hank had been a friend, a partner, a person its predecessors had developed an attachment to. He certainly wasn't a target and it had no interest in killing him. Completing its mission on the rooftop was not a requirement – it had been strategically desirable but Connor could find another alternative. It made a decision and flung its rifle down. It approached Hank.

"Killing you is not part of my mission."

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

"I'm glad to have met you, Hank. I hope one day you can get over what happened to your son."

Hank remained silent, glancing from the discarded rifle to his old partner. He eyed Connor with scrutiny. His nerves were high strung and he shifted his stance, poised to defend himself. Connor pursed its lips at his reaction and walked away, feeling something not-quite-definable stirring within. If it had been human, it might have described it as sadness. Its LED flashed yellow and red. A diagnostic test would have to be run later. Without a further look back, Connor opened the rooftop door and disappeared from sight.