SEQUENTIAL ━ Connor // RK800 ✔️

five ━ not alive, not dead

Mia scrunched her nose up at the word choice, but sighed — it was too late and she was too tired to argue on the phone with anyone, far less an old man who probably was just as tired as her. "I am responsible of such a model, yes. What is this about?" By that point, she assumed this was an advertising call. Her mind was scattered, so though it didn't make sense to her how an advertising company could consider Connor as her android in their records as he wasn't even registered as CyberLife merchandise, it was her best working theory.

"It is company policy that I alert owners of found faulty models before I get their androids in the trash compactor, ma'am."

The world was swept from under her feet. That's not possible, the thought flashed through her mind. Her free hand flattened against the door and caught her from falling forward with the sudden dizziness that dawned upon her. Faulty model? Trash compactor? Her right hand gripped the phone just a little tighter.

"Is this some sort of joke? I'll have you know I am in no mood for jokes-"

Her growing anger was cut short by the man who kept his calm, "Your RK800 model android was found on the outskirts of the town with critical damage. It was reported to us for collection. If you do not wish to retrieve it for repair, we will be taking care of its destruction process in full."

"No!" Mia exclaimed before fully processing the words that were being burdened onto her. Her knees were barely holding her up with their constant trembling and she felt as if she needed to finish that second, abandoned coffee now or she might die. "I mean... just wait, please." Her lips trembled with questions she didn't have the time to ask, "Give me the address, I'll come pick him up right now."

"We can schedule you for tomorrow," the man answered her, once again irritatingly unalarmed. Could he not hear she was losing her mind? Did he not care? Did he often call people about their androids just to hear their panic? "There will be, of course, a fee as androids are made out of plastic and it is considered littering to abandon one in any state of malfunction—"

"I'm coming tonight," she interrupted decisively, already out of the house, searching online for the company name she was given at the beginning of the call. If the damage was substantial, time is crucial for the full recovery of his memory.

"We are closing in thirty minutes, ma'am."

"I'll be there," Mia almost shouted, reading on her phone that the address was only a fifteen minute walk away. She could make it there in ten if she ran maybe. "Please, just wait for me."

Running the distance wasn't the wisest of choices, but she much rather preferred reaching the wired fence of the junkyard near the end of the town with her lungs on the verge collapse than to risk getting there late.

She couldn't have walked even if she tried - to walk in silence with only the absolute noise and disarray of her mind for company was as close to suicidal thoughts as she ever wanted to get. Running, in that sense, was good. She had been in too much physical pain for the majority of the way there to realize what was truly happening.

Only once her hands grasped the wired fence and she leant forward to catch her breath did one glance at the piles of trash grouped on material category strike her with the truth: Connor was in there. Her Connor. Wounded and tossed with the trash. Someone hurt him.

The burning ache in her chest grew and Mia grabbed a better hold of the front gate, trying to yank it. "Come on!" She cried out, breathless. "This wasn't thirty minutes, please! I can't..."