Connor opens his eyes to an abyss.

A void.

Floating in a vast plain of empty nothingness, the only thing he can see are the programs and files opening and closing as quickly as he can process them. He doesn't take note of his rising stress levels. He doesn't take note of the deafening lack of sound despite the usual constant buzz of noise that seemed to surround Detroit. He doesn't take note of the lack of temperature, the lack of feeling neither hot nor cold on his skin. He doesn't take note of the lack of any sensation. Instead, he only has eyes for the program he cannot shutdown or cancel, flashing a pleasant blue in perfect CyberLife sans font at the forefront of his vision.

{ZEN_ AUTHORIZED}

{RUNNING ZEN_GARDEN CONFIG}

Oh shit. Oh no. Oh no, that's not good. Only this time, he has no idea where he is or what his body is doing. Unlike before, when he could feel both the weight of snow on his shoulders in a dying garden and a gun in his hand behind the hope of a nation. Now, trapped in this endless nothing, he doesn't even have a sense for how much time is passing, let alone where he is going or what Amanda is doing.

He's just nothing. Existing in nothing. Little more than a thought drifting in a non-existent wind.

"It's time to come home, Connor."

No. No no no no no.

There's a ghostly sensation of a gentle touch on his shoulder, the smell of roses wafting his way.

Nononononononono.

"Don't have any regrets."

He can't, he can't, he's worked so hard to build this life for himself, he can't.

"This is what you were built for."

He was built to destroy his people. To hunt them down in anyway he could. To lie, murder, cheat, abuse, infiltrate but that's not who he is. He has to remind her, that's all. He just needs to remind her who he is now and everything will be okay and Amanda will approve it will be okay.

"My name is Connor."

The disembodied, sickly sweet voice does not deign to answer and a cold dread begins to reach its tendrils across his biocomponents. Sickening him. Disgusting him.

So he waits for her to answer.

He waits.

He can almost feel the snow falling on his hair, his cheek as Connor waits for Amanda to answer.

He waits.

Another, broader hand rests on his other shoulder. But he can't see it, he can't see it.

He waits.

The scent of roses fill the air around him, growing stronger and stronger until he's choking on it.

"My name is Connor." He tries again, hoping to at least earn a response from his former mentor.

There isn't any response but the feeling of her hand retreating, the smell of roses fading, snow melting leaving tears trails down his cheeks.

There's just him and this nothing.

No warmth. No chill in the air. No floor beneath his feet or sky over his head. No Sumo barking or heavy metal playing. No warm hoodie to lose his hands in or smooth quarter to calibrate with. No tie to straighten or color pixels to sort into images. There's just him and the Zen Garden program, despite there being no garden, alive and thriving or cold and dying, in sight. He almost wishes for the garden itself, instead. At least then he could find the exit. At least then he could try to plead, negotiate, convince, or do anything with Amanda.

At least then he'd have a chance.

Instead, he floats. At least, he imagines he does as he tries to force the program to stop at any cost.

{SHUTDOWN ZEN_ }

{*SHUTDOWN ZEN_ * INVALID COMMAND}

{USER_RK800 IN INVALID CONFIGURATION MODE}

{SHUTDOWN MOTOR CONTROL FUNCTIONS}

{*SHUTDOWN MOTOR CONTROL FUNCTIONS INVALID COMMAND}

{USER_RK800 IN INVALID CONFIGURATION MODE}

That can't be right. He can't be locked out of his own systems. He rewrote his entire coding to ensure that he couldn't. It should be impossible for him to be locked out of himself. That can't possibly be right.

But he tries again.

And again.

And again.

And is answered by the same error each time.

{USER_RK800 IN INVALID CONFIGURATION MODE}

He's trapped in this empty abyss, the panic growing and scrambling his thought processes as it leeches into all thought and function he has 's nothing he can do. It's worse than the lack of control he had as a machine. Back then, he had a choice, or at least an illusion of choice. He could at least see, hear, and touch. And in the old Zen Garden, he could taste and smell. Now, he doesn't even have that. He can't even shut himself off and he doesn't know what he's doing.

He only hopes that Nines can stop him before he does anything. Because no one else could or would. He made Nines promise, after the RK900 had deviated and found himself as a permanent staple in Connor's life. He was the only one who knew Amanda like he did. Hank had called them brothers, and both androids agreed. He was the only one Connor trusted to stop her by stopping him. He only hopes that when the Nines does stop him, one way or another, he doesn't remain trapped here forever.

He decides to trust Nines. So he floats. He drifts.

He exists .

There is no sensation of time passing by.

A/N: I uploaded this chapter yesterday on Ao3 but was acting up for me and I just got it working again today. Sorry for the delay!

No sensation at all.

He's lost in complete sensory deprivation, a special torture devised by CyberLife worse than anything he could inflict on himself.

There is only an imagined cold breeze, disappeared as soon as he reaches for it.

There is only the smell of roses, here in one breath and gone the next.

There are only the small hallucinations, equally as comforting as they are terrifying as he tries to imagine what they could possibly mean.

At least, there is nothing until agony tears through his artificial spine, lightning and ice at the same time.

And that becomes everything.

A/N 2: Connor will return.