ANGELEYES, dbh connor

THIRTY-NINE

"What was planned from the very beginning," responds Amanda in an absolutely terrifying tone of voice. She sounds like she's planning your imminent death and it is not comforting. As you frown at her, she cracks a crooked smile. "You were compromised and became a Deviant all thanks to that dear Detective of yours... We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program."

You frown, "Who's... Who's we?"

Even talking is hard, now. You feel like you hardly have control over your own body, let alone your mouth ━ your lips feel numb and clumsy and your tongue doesn't listen to you like it's meant to.

Amanda tuts. "Use your brain, Y/N. The clues are all there... Oh, well. I suppose you'll never know. I expected you to figure it out by now, but clearly, I overestimated you."

"Rude," you scoff, a shiver wracking your shaking body. After a moment, you suddenly recall which words she just used. "Wait. Resume control?! You're kidding me! You can't do that! You can't!"

"I'm afraid I can, Y/N," Amanda's voice is harsh now. Impatient. "In fact, I already am. Don't have any regrets, you did what you were designed to do. Perfectly. Your purpose has been fulfilled, now. You accomplished your missions. Both of them."

Suddenly, like she was never there in the first place, Amanda disappears.

You gasp and lurch forward, your arms outstretched in front of you like you still have the ability to stop her, "Amanda!"

Now, you're left all on your own in this horrible freezing place. That same heavy wind continues to assault you from all sides, almost like it's coming from every direction instead of just one, and snowflakes fall down the collar of your shirt against your synthetic skin.

You know what this means. You'd be a fool not to.

You're going to shut down now, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

So, like any person preparing for death, you slump to the ground and fall in a heap of discarded snowflakes, your arms wrapping around your knees as you pull them toward your body. For a moment, you think about all the things you haven't done yet ━ like hold hands with Connor, rub Sumo's belly, or try to taste-test Chicken Feed's toxic burgers.

Was this really meant to happen? Is this how it all ends?

Fleetingly, you wonder if Androids have fates and destinies. Because if they do, this one sucks.

Somehow, strength rises up inside your chest and raises its determined, ugly head. You slowly push yourself off the ground, your joints clumsy and half-frozen into being unable to work. Kamski's words echo through your head like a mantra, a chant.

"By the way, I always leave an emergency exit in my program. You never know."

That has to have more than one meaning.

You stagger forwards and through the haze, your thirium pump pounding in the cage of your chest like it's trying to set itself free. This has to mean something, everything must. You can't die already, not when you've just started to live.

So maybe your only option is to think outside the box.

The box... Wait. The box!

Your thoughts flash back to a strange screen in the shape of a square. One that you've passed often. One that is definitely shaped for a handprint. It's a sensor of some sort, and because the only other things in this God-forsaken place are withering trees and piles of snowflakes, you're sure that it's probably your best bet.

You walk as quickly as you can through the unclear storm towards the sensor. It's a bleak, distant blue light gleaming from far away, and it's the only thing keeping you going.