Your feelings towards androids had always been complicated. Helpers to society, destroyers of the economy. Personable technology and demons of the uncanny valley. Submissive and unthreatening, to loud and dangerous. Like humans, you supposed, your feelings towards androids would fluctuate. And that was just as a whole. When it came to individuals, the waters only got muddier.
Connor was uncomfortable to talk to and awkward to watch, and then he was funny to listen in on and cute to look at. But then he was a dangerous person to anger, capable of quick and efficient take-downs and bloody fighting techniques. He was an other. A figure with no emotions you were simply working a job with. Then he was a friend. Scared, confused and overwhelmed by the moral choices he’d only recently started to understand.
He had captured your heart, wholly and truly over a matter of days.
But right now, he was an utter asshole, who posed a bigger threat to Detroit than the so-called criminal deviants he was hunting.
“Connor!” Your voice, broken and laced with hurt cut through the whistling wind and flurries of snow. The same snow that had held you up minutes before when you threw yourself from Hank’s stuck car, sprinting down empty Detroit streets with Hank’s yells in the background, swallowed by the sound of your feet on the pavement and heavy breathing. Feet that had dragged you up countless stairs and out a metal door to a freezing rooftop.
Feet that had dragged you desperately towards him.
It was hard to see, but he was there. In between the dark and specks of snow was his figure, perched at the edge of the building, knelt down, with a sniper on his shoulder. You’d have appreciated how defined and attractive he looked, was he not in the middle of attempting murder, and subverting history’s entire course.
“Connor-” You walked forward 10 paces when he stuck out his hand. Palm first, a signal to stop. There was a fluid, programmed feeling to the movement, and it twisted unease into your stomach.
“Y/N,” He said your name with a sharpness that only served to heighten your anxiety. His head turned, and briefly, you could see his eyes. A harsh brown, with the determination of a man who could not be stopped. His brow creased as he noted you standing there, alone. No weapon, no anything. “What are you doing?”
It was a good question, and one you were asking yourself. What were you doing? Connor was doing his job. Your job, Hanks job. Stopping the Deviants, ending the rebellion. Making things go back to the way they used to be. When you’d first joined the case, that was the end goal.
“Stopping you… I think?” You offered him a half smile and a shrug in a weak attempt to defuse the tension. You could see Connor’s jaw clench as he held you in a cold stare, lasting a few more seconds before he turned back, grip tightening on the sniper rifle. In all honesty, you had no plan. You were leaving that part up to Hank up until you all but abandoned him. You were starting to regret that now.
“It’s too late. You can’t. This is what I was made to do.” His finger trailed to the trigger, and you could feel your heart jump to your throat and your stomach drop to your gut. No, this couldn’t happen. You had to stop him-distract him somehow.
“But- But what if it wasn’t?” You asked, taking two more steps forward. Whether it was your words or your movement, you caught his attention. Turning to face you, his fingers momentarily left the gun. The sigh of relief that left you was audible even to your own ringing ears.
“What?” For an android that supposedly felt no emotion, he sure did sound pissed. You’d seen him like this before, during interrogations. Back then you were just happy he was on your side. Now you weren’t sure how to feel.
“What if you could be something else, something more?” You took a step forward and watched him flinch. There couldn’t have been more than a few meters between you two, but he felt a million miles away. You watched his face contort into disgust.
“Like what? A deviant?” It was your turn to flinch at his raising voice, your foot moving back on instinct. You tried to shake your head and disagree, but he wasn’t having it.
“I don’t mean-” He stands, and takes two steps forward, sending a chilling, fearful shiver up your spine. Your body locks up, you cannot move as he yells- shouts at you.
“You’ve seen what they do, Y/N! What they think. They aren’t people, they’re things.” The rifle is with him, shaking nearly as violently as you are as he speaks. You try to calm yourself, assure yourself that you were buying Markus more time. That Connor wouldn’t hurt you, because that wasn’t who he was.
“What? Like you? Are you just a thing? An object? Plastic and wires?” A sudden surge of adrenaline pushes you forward a few feet, and this time Connor does not step back. Holding his ground he watches as you approach, stopping a few arms lengths away. There’s a fire in your eyes, and a burn to your frustrated words as you argue, the hope of an entire people in your hands.
“Newsflash, asshole!” You shout, throwing up your arms before letting them drop to your sides as you point, wishing you were close enough to poke his chest.
“You’re not one to me!” He’s quiet as you speak, and you can see the LED on the side of his head flickering. Yellow, blue, yellow, blue. It’s a good sign, you tell yourself as he finds his words. Just not the ones you want to hear.
“I’m a machine, I don’t feel-”
“We both know that’s bullshit.” It was your turn to interrupt, your tone was firmer, sterner than you thought. Than you felt. How you managed to sound steady with what felt like your entire life on the line was something you’ll never know.
“No-” He tried to argue but you were over it, over his stupid denials. He could say that however many times he wanted, but you knew the truth. You knew what you’d seen- What he’d trusted you to see and know about him.
“What about at the broadcasting tower? With the deviant on the roof?” He flinched, and you could tell his memory processors were replaying the scene. The deviants final memories, before blasting itself through the head. His vented worries, and the comfort you gave him in the drive to the station afterwards. His LED flickered once more, but this time you could see a distinct, glowing red.
“That-” He began, but you kept going. Kept walking, closer and closer as you spoke.
“You were scared, Connor. You told me that yourself. When we were alone you said you were scared of death, of becoming a deviant- You were feeling things. Pity, empathy.” You came to a stop in front of him, close enough that you could grab his gun. Close enough that you could reach out, and touch his face. You fought the urge.
“That-That wasn’t…” He trailed off, and a hand went to his head. Like he was fighting off a headache. You took a deep breath, and outstretched your hand, fingertips moving to take his hand.
“What about the Traci’s, at the club, Connor? You didn’t shoot them. And you didn’t shoot Chloe, and Hank told me about how you saved him during that chase-” You’re so close. So, so close. Too close, it seems, as Connor snaps, his LED turning a steady blue, his hand lurching violently for yours.
“Enough!” He yells, and you cannot fall back for the grip he has on your wrist, painfully tight. Crushing your bones as he speaks through gritted teeth. “I have a job to do, this isn’t personal I-.”
“Stop it!” You yell, tearing your arm from his grip. No sooner are you free you have the rifle pointed at your head, but you’re beyond fear. Beyond the point of self-preservation.
“Of course, it’s personal you fucking moron! Why do you think I’m up here? Not to help you kill a person- a people, just trying to be free. I’m not here to ‘do my job’. Not when it conflicts with my moral code,” You stare into his eyes as you speak, and he stares back.
“I’m here for you, Connor.” He’s quiet but keeps your gaze. Maybe he’s thinking. Maybe he’s scanning you. It’s hard to tell with his face, so good at hiding expressions. At lying.
“You’re not going to back down from this, are you?” He asks, and you give your head the slightest shake.
“Not until you do.” The gun in his hands shakes, just a bit, and you prepare for the gunshot that you’re sure will be the last noise you ever hear, when he sighs.
“It’s not part of my mission to kill you.” He says, lowering the gun from your head. Your shoulders drop, your muscles untense and you look at him-stare in him the eyes and plead.
“Leave this behind, Connor. Come with me, come with Hank. Come home.” There’s another flicker in his LED, but it’s weak. Barely noticeable.
“CyberLife is my home.” He says, so sure in himself after everything they’ve done. Every order they’ve given him, every murder they’ve happily sanctioned.
“They treat you like a commodity, Connor. A product. Something they want to control- And you deserve so, so much more than that. To make your own decisions” Maybe it’s the adrenaline running through your veins that makes you so open, maybe it’s the thought that this could be your last chance. Whatever prompts you to talk like this doesn’t matter. All that matters is the ire that it draws.
“How is that any different to what you want?” Connor questions you, and you pause for a moment, trying to understand what he means. There’s no chance for you to build a defence as he continues, moving back and away from you. Moving his eyes back towards the Android crowd, far below.
“You don’t want me to decide what I want, you want me to do something you want. You want something from me,” He speaks bitterly, viciously and you can feel your blood turn to ice. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want something. What is it Y/N?” His eyes fix on you. Scathing, angry. You’ve half a mind to tell him he looks human- he looks deviant, but the change of subject would do no good to the situation.
“I-I…” Is there any point in lying? A part of you felt he already knew. You weren’t subtle with your fondness, and he wasn’t a clueless as he seemed. Still, your words are lodged, in your throat, building up under an anticipation, forced forward to the surface by the one part of your brain that doesn’t want a bullet through your skull.
“I want you, Connor.” You cringe at yourself. At the meekness of your voice, the desperation that underlay it. It’s awkward. It’s pathetic. It’s not the answer he’s looking for, and definitely not the one he wants as his lip curls, gripping the gun with a strength that could break bones.
“I’m a machine. I can’t feel that way, even if I wanted to. I was made to hunt, I was made to kill. I’m not your- your fucking boyfriend!” That hurt. God, did it hurt more than any wound he could inflict on your right now. Shooting you would have felt better than the distaste- the contempt he was staring at you with.
“I know that,” Your voice wavers, and you fight back useless tears. You knew it was a hopeless attraction from the beginning. That you allowed yourself to imagine- to daydream was the real travesty here. It was the one keeping you from your goal. “And I don’t care-”
“You do. You know that’s why you’re here. Because you care about me, you like me- maybe… you even love me?” You go silent, and the cut in your heart only grows deeper. He was using this against you. Using your pain to twist the situation to his advantage. Treating you like some deviant- some criminal he had to tear apart for interrogation, and then leave to be taken care of by some clean-up squad. He was trying to hurt you, and he was doing a bloody good job of it so far.
“Well, I don’t love you, Y/N. I could never have in the first place. So you should just leave now and get over it and leave because you’re getting in my way.” There’s a quiet that falls between you. Long, sullen and heavy. You can’t find the right words to say.
He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love you, he’d never love you. And it hurts, it hurts so much. You’re not okay with that- you’re not okay. But you’re in a situation that begs for clarity of mind, and an even heart. You had a responsibility. Not to your job, but to him. And not as someone who loved him- maybe not as a friend anymore, but the responsibility one person should always allow another.
The possibility of choice.
You close the distance between you two in a few long strides, grabbing his shoulder with an urgency that shocks him into a quick silence. He’s likely to react as if you are attacking him, so you know you have to be fast. Brief.
“I don’t care that you don’t feel that way towards me, Connor.” You lie, holding his arm in a grip not so dissimilar to the one he’d had you in before. His hand falters in it’s movement to the gun, and your eyes move up to lock with his. Stern and determined.
“Fuck- I don’t care if you hate me by the end of this. That was never the end goal here anyway. I know what’s right, Connor. And I know your rights.” You let go of his shoulder as he stares, the LED on his temple going haywire. Your hand raises, pointing a finger to the crowd- the last stand of the deviants far below.
“You can shoot Markus and end your life before it’s even begun,” Your hand drops and you look back up at him, meeting each others gaze at the same time. “Or, you can put the gun down and find who you are beyond your programming.”
He stares, speechless. Gaze moving between you and the crowd, an internal battle is raging in his head. A battle that you yearn with all your heart to support him with. But it’s a battle you recognize as his, and his alone. You smile and take a step back, heart breaking all over again as you did.
“I know your rights, Connor. I know this is your decision.” You pause before you go, licking your lips and blinking back tears before you address him one last time.
“It’s your choice, so make sure you know it’s the right one.”