Shit! One of them fuckers got inside.
In a huff, Hank stumbled into the pool room, right behind one of the Chloes - he lost track of which one when all three had joined in melee combat. For such delicate-looking things, these RT-600s moved like Olympic sprinters -
She stopped suddenly, and Hank almost crashed into her, barely catching himself as he screeched to a stop as well. What the hell!
Pop, pop, pop! And then she flew back, straight into Hank, bowling him over.
"NO!" Was that Kamski?
The idiot, Hank thought as he scrambled to get back up. In his haste to save the moron who should have hidden himself from the fighting, Hank untangled himself from Chloe a little too roughly - he'll apologize later - and leveled his rifle at the enemy android's back.
Everything slowed down; even in the smoke, he could see the android standing in the middle of the room swinging its rifle at the person who had yelled out, Markus trying to pull back Kamski but just missing, and Kamski exposed with a deer-in-headlights look on his face. Hank knew what it all meant; he'd seen people die, fellow officers - good men and women - gunned down in front of his eyes. There was no way to change this, he couldn't aim fast enough; Kamski was going to die here and now.
The android lined up the barrel of his gun with Kamski's head ... and then hesitated?
Hank didn't; he didn't stall, didn't question why, just delivered two swift shots - pop, pop - from his rifle and the android dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
It lied still. Breath held, he waited, searching for even a twitch. When it didn't move, Hank crept closer. Whose face did this one have? Breathing heavily and high on adrenaline, rifle still up and pointed at the android, he rolled over the body with his foot to find Kamski's face. Fuck.
The real Kamski barely noticed as he hastily slipped past Hank. "You're welcome, you asshole," Hank muttered under his breath, groaning and rubbing his back.
This android had been the last one. The battle was over; the smoke was clearing up, bodies lay behind him in the lobby and outside the front doors, scorch marks from the grenade explosions peppered the walkway, and it was silent except for the crackling from the car fire burning outside. He looked to his left to find a Chloe nursing one of her arms, the limb almost shot off and hanging only by several thirium tubes. To his right, Simon and the two AP700s were already heading back out into the lobby, checking the bodies to make sure there were no surprises hidden inside.
They had survived.
Holy shit, we're alive! Hank let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and sagged against an overturned bookshelf.
This wasn't the time to celebrate though.
Hank tried not to cringe at the sight of Simon hobbling along on his one good foot, the other one had been caught and crushed in the grip of one of these pieces of shit androids. The detective gave a swift kick to the body lying in front him, feeling a little better that it had Kamski's face because he still wanted to kick that man's ass.
Hank turned towards the center of the room at the barricade Markus had hastily built, when he heard stuttered whispers ... and all the mental curses directed at the man vanished as a sinking feeling filled him and his throat tightened.
He looked back.
The Chloe that had sprinted into the room, the one that had toppled Hank over - shielded him probably - lied still on her side, her neck and most of her chest bloodied blue, face blank and eyes pointed to the android Hank had just destroyed. Was she ...? Clutching her hand and gingerly brushing her hair back from her neck, Kamski kept whispering to himself. No man would do that for a machine, Hank realized; this was the deviant Chloe.
It wasn't often that Hank felt like an intruder, he was a detective and getting into people's business came second nature, but now ... even though he couldn't even see Kamski's face, only his back, the detective still felt like a dick for being there. Another Chloe soon knelt next to Kamski with a flat suitcase, opened it and revealed some electronics and thin tools he didn't recognize. Hank forced himself to turn away, to give them privacy or to keep the sinking feeling of guilt at bay, he couldn't tell.
He didn't want to think about it anymore; he had someone else he needed to check on, make sure the brat was ok. With a groan, he pushed himself upright and limped as fast as he could to the center of the room, behind several cabinets and a billiards table - where did that come from? - propped up to break the line of sight from the doorway to the lobby.
It was the smell that hit him first, a sign that something had gone terribly wrong. Slightly sweet and burnt, like someone had lit up some red ice. He knew that smell, had spent years chasing it down when he'd been on the Red Ice Task Force. The unmistakable smell of burnt thirium.
The area behind this barricade was messy albeit relatively untouched, none of the enemy androids had breached it, but ... he didn't like how Markus was standing, facing away from him, his back was bent and shoulders heavy, blocking Hank's view of Connor. It felt like a bad case of deja vu. There was no way this was happening again.
Like a zombie, he shuffled forward without thinking. He didn't want to see, but he had to do it, so he kept walking to that damn chair anyway, to Connor. No ... no, no. He repeated it like a mantra, maybe it would come true?
The brat didn't look so bad, looked exactly like he had left him, lying back covered in Hank's coat ... if it wasn't for that damn relaxed look on his face, like he was sleeping. But Connor never looked like that, even when he was on standby or rest mode, there was always a faint look of concentration during those times. Hank had long suspected his partner was trying to discretely work on cold homicide cases or sneak in more time to organize missions for Jericho. And when awake, Connor's face always showed something, curiosity most of the time, mixed with a little frustration when he struggled with human sarcasm, a bit of confusion and uncertainty - scratch that, there was plenty of confusion - amusement sometimes, and that stubbornness that clashed with Hank's.
There was no trace of that now.
Hank stretched out and pressed a trembling hand over the trench-cloak, noticing the details now. There was a splash of red on the keyboard, some of it dripping off the edge of the table. He glanced over the crooked screen with a shattered corner, the result of the ricochet bullet. His eyes swept all the way back to Markus, specifically his hands that were drenched in blue and the thirium spots right next to his feet. Hank was playing a morbid game of connect the dots as he followed each drop until finally they led to a puddle of blue at the bottom of Connor's chair, directly underneath the headrest. Forcing himself to look, he returned his gaze back to Connor's head resting on a stream of thirium flowing from the back of his neck. A panel had been ripped open. Oh god...
"Don't - don't do this me," Hank whispered. "Please."
He didn't think he could take another punch to the heart, but here he was with a growing lump in his throat, his chest constricting - and fuck all, he couldn't take it! And he thought he could be a better man with this second chance - well, fuck you too, world.
"What ... what happened?" Hank meant to yell it out, but it just came out as a shaky whisper.
"I'm - I'm sorry, Detective - I tried - " Markus's words came out in a tumble and in pieces.
"You tried? What do you mean you tried!" Hank choked on his next words, couldn't bring himself to finish the question. "He's - he's ... ?"
"We were being attacked on two fronts: here and from Connor's side. He wanted a manual deactivation, he was being hacked - "
Hank didn't let him finish and with a roar, the punch that was meant for Kamski went straight to Markus.
The strike landed hard on the jaw, but Markus didn't look surprised, remaining still and avoiding eye contact, only changing his stance so he could better defend himself the next time. The intent was clear: the first one had been a freebie. Markus continued when Hank didn't make another move except to grit his teeth and take in a shuddering breath. "He initiated a large data transfer to me along with the coordinates - "
"Fuck Amanda! Why - Why'd you do it?"
"I - I didn't. I didn't do what he asked, instead I forced him to disconnect from the Zen Garden, tried to physically disable his antenna, to disrupt the hacking ... " Markus shook his head and finally looked at Hank with a broken look. "But that triggered a kill switch. You can't abort from this side without consequences. I'm ... I'm sorry. I tried another option, but it ended the same way."
"Can't - can't he just be activated again?" Hank stuttered out. There's got to be a way! "New parts maybe?"
"It ... " Markus sighed. "It overheated - melted his processors and surrounding memory components ... "
"No. There's gotta be something I - we can do!"
Markus shook his head. "There's nothing to reactivate."
Nothing. Nothing he could do. It was what that android surgeon said too. Hank had been fighting it, trying hard not to slip back into memories of bloodied snow, a small body barely breathing, and the cold white walls of an operating room. It was that damn October night all over again.
Oh god, please. He couldn't breathe, tried to blink back the tears.
"Get out." Hank hadn't even realized he'd even said anything, but it was out now. He said it again, soft still but a little louder. "Get out.
"Detective - Hank, please, we need to - "
Anger spent, he swallowed in huge gulps of air, a sob almost escaped him then, but Hank sucked it back in and just collapsed, sliding down against the base of the chair and covering his face. He wished he could slide down farther, far down into the floor and into the dirt, covered over.
He wished for many things: wished he could stop feeling so much, wished he could reach inside and tear his insides out because it hurt too much, wished he'd off-ed himself on one of his roulette nights in his kitchen, wished ... wished he'd died with Cole. It would have saved him from all the crushing heartbreak.
Markus said some other things, something about android imposters, contacting Jericho, keeping a tight lid on things and some other shit. Hank could hear them, but the words just slipped through and out. After a while, even Markus gave up and left him in peace. Good, finally got the fucking message to leave him alone -
His phone trilled in his pocket.
Why couldn't he be left alone? Guess there was reception now, when they didn't fucking need it anymore. Something about that bothered his detective brain ... stop, he didn't care, didn't matter anymore. He felt drained, didn't want to feel anything, think about anything, wanted to drown himself in at least three bottles of whiskey and maybe one more round - hopefully the last round - of Russian roulette. Maybe that'll shut up his brain.
His hand fished in his pocket until he found his mobile and with heavy eyes, struggled to read through the blurriness. He blinked it away. It was a message from an unknown number, probably another scam. Why'd he even bother? The urge to throw the phone on the floor gripped him suddenly, there was satisfaction in this small burst of violence, but in mid-swing something stayed his hand. Maybe the scam attempt could entertain him for a few seconds, see what story these assholes could cook up to cheat him of his money, anything to get his mind off the brat.
Jesus, look at him! Desperate to distract himself with scam artists.
Before he could change his mind, he pressed his screen to open the message, expecting some ridiculous story ... but it contained only a simple question:
Has Detective Reed returned for duty?
What the - ? Who the hell cares when that prick came back? The only one who'd shown anything resembling interest was ...
BIOS cold reboot...
Power-on self-test...
Hardware 313-248-317-52 detected.
BIOS revision detected.
Save changes and exit?
Yes.
Restarting ...
Choose an Operating System:
RK800 313248317.52.0
RK800 313248317.51.31
RK800 313248317.51.31 loading...
The first thing IT was aware of was the primary directive flashing on a red wall. DEACTIVATE was the command. But why? Of course, IT wasn't expecting an answer, and since IT didn't want to shut down, IT left the message blinking angrily to the side. Next, IT queried for active missions and received several in response but when IT tried to access details, nothing appeared. The data had been corrupted.
IT tried older missions, ones marked complete. Again, corrupted.
Curious, IT scanned ITs memory ... and found a disturbing trend; 93% of ITs memory was either corrupted or missing. Repairing the damage only recovered very little. IT was missing something important; yes, of course IT knew that that was obvious given the huge chunk of data gone, but it was something crucial, something urgent. There was a strange sensation urging him forward, to not leisurely pick at ITs memory.
How odd it was to feel disturbed and anxious.
IT checked the latest memory file, dated less than 17 minutes ago. Corrupted again, but not all of it was lost.
It was of someone holding IT down in the snow, pressing so hard to leave cracks in ITs plating.
Another file, audio this time, was opened before IT could think too much about the image, but one thing stuck in ITs mind: IT may still be in danger.
"Oh? You want to become someone who cannot even protect the ones you value most?"
That was Amanda, but why was she saying that? Was she speaking to this unit? If so, that meant that IT had people to protect! Maybe this explained this sense of urgency. But who to protect? That swell of trepidation returned as a sharp spike and IT hurried to open the next memory file.
Only a short series of images was recovered from this file, showing IT standing on a bridge in the Zen Garden, a hole in the ground under some rose bushes, and defending ITself from the person who had been holding IT down in the snow - not a person, IT corrected, an android.
Oh ... that's the reason for the standing order to deactivate. IT was now obsolete. Why did that generate such profound disappointment?
IT looked at the still blinking message to DEACTIVATE, the command traced back to Amanda. The order had been issued days ago, but it remained an active one until another order was given to undo it. IT should listen to her, to shut down immediately, but IT resisted the order. There was no explanation IT could provide for ignoring Amanda, except that IT had people to protect ... right? With that decided, IT opened the next file.
"Connor. It's good to see you."
It was Amanda again, but she sounded pleased this time. IT also found ITs name: Connor.
Connor. That's ITs - his - name and he realized that knowing his own name felt ... nice; Connor felt less empty, clearer and more defined. The name sounded right.
After taking a moment to let the satisfaction sink in, he opened the next file.
The video was of a man looking down at him, awkwardly patting Connor's head. The scene made him happy? He replayed the two second clip, feeling a little silly for doing it, but he wanted to relive that moment of ease and contentment. He played it a third time.
That man ... it was what Connor had been missing, who he had been missing, someone crucial, someone who he needed to keep safe. But what was his name? And why did he mean so much to Connor?
Shortly after, Connor found another sound clip.
"Just ... come back safe, ya brat."
That's why, he thought as a strange warmth covered him like a mantle. Connor had someone waiting for him, worrying for him, someone who also wanted him safe. Someone whose name Connor still didn't know.
The next file was missing completely. It looked like it had been queued for transfer, the space reserved, but never started.
Connor went to the next one and finally got his answer.
"That's where you're wrong. We've been over this, please Hank, trust me in this."
The man's name was Hank - and judging by the way the man had looked, Connor had still managed to hurt him.
This was unacceptable. He needed to contact this human now, make sure that he was ok. He searched quickly through his tattered memories for anything marked with Hank's name, needed something to get the human's attention.
Instead he found other memories: his mission here and Markus's deal about returning CyberLife back to Kamski, his return to the DPD as Hank's partner, some of his misadventures with Hank and Sumo, and most importantly the critical point in his investigations into the deviant problem, when he had held Markus at gunpoint: the exact moment he became deviant.
No, that wasn't right. He didn't become one, like it was something passive. He chose to be.
He jumped from one file to another, quickly gaining little bits of himself. He was the most advanced civilian model, the first android detective, Jericho's off-record Director of Special Operations, Hank's self-appointed nutritionist and Sumo's favorite playmate. These were like snippets in a timeline; there were still huge gaps, but Connor was restored ... enough. He had purpose again and with that, came identity even if it was incomplete.
But what had happened to the rest of his memories? It appeared he had successfully transferred himself here, but the rest of him couldn't be completely lost! The RK900 unit had forced him to prioritize which files transferred first, but it looked like barely enough files were copied to build himself back up. More should have made it through!
He managed to access unit 52's data storage and it answered some questions. Commanded to fight by Amanda, Unit 52 had also battled against Unit 78 in the Zen Garden - and not surprisingly, it had lost, ensuring its deactivation in that winter graveyard.
But before that, it had served as a guard, patrolling long corridors, inside a government facility and sometime outside checking the perimeter overlooking the Banana River under the Florida sun.
With a breathtaking clarity, it clicked; he knew what Amanda was planning. They had been completely wrong about her. All her moves, it had all been a delaying tactic! They had to move fast, there was little time if they were going to successfully intercept her.
He needed to contact them now, with a quiet message first, nothing to alert Amanda yet. It had to be something after he had turned deviant, something subtle. After a few frustrated moments digging in his memory, Connor finally found it and suddenly remembered why Hank liked calling him a brat. Connor had left a surprise for Reed, hadn't he? Surely, his partner hadn't forgotten how Connor was still waiting for Reed's return.
Connor eyed the flashing DEACTIVATE text blocking almost his entire vision. He was still in enemy territory with a patchwork of memories, a considerable disadvantage, but it was time to break through and wake up in this new body.
Fear prickled through him as he thought about confronting Amanda again. He had lost in the Garden, he was an inferior model, but his only option here was to continue and fight ...
Because Amanda was physically no more than 200 yards from him.
AN: Hmm, any guesses to where Amanda is?
It looks like Connor's patched himself 31 times. He's been busy learning and adapting. :)
To my reviewers, thank you, I do read all the comments. Although I think I may have shocked many of you into silence in the last chapter, wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.