Danger Close

by reapersneedanerf

Summary:

Detroit is the ground zero and origin city of Androids. Now its the place you have to call home. There is no choice; your betrayal of the Apex Predators had cost them a pretty paycheque, and living in a city of machines is the safest way for you to remain undetected.

But having spent all your time in company of robots, you have only known respect for their intelligence and capabilities.

So how can a City full of people that live alongside Androids have their views so backwards?

And how does an Android know more about being a person than you do?

Civillian life isn’t as easy as it looks.

Because you aren’t Human.

You’re a Pilot.

Chapter 1: Cosmology

Summary:

A new kind of "Frontier".

Notes:

Don’t know anything about Titanfall? That’s okay! This is a blind friendly fic and everything is explained as it's needed.

 

 

 

 

Hi there! This is a bit of a test fic, and its my first one.
I'm an avid lover of Titanfall, and I found many ways to mesh the two robot-centered games together, so I thought I'd give it a go with writing!

I hope it's something you enjoy!

 

A large room with the decoration of a hospital clinic was filled with a mixture of faces of varying ages. Young and old, dark and light skinned, all clamouring with each other as crowds within crowds tried to get to their destinations.

 

"Excuse me, next?"

 

You gripped a small booklet in your right hand, while the left fidgeted with the canvas strap of a duffel bag looped on your shoulder. Everything around you was extremely distracting, but you kept repeating a set of words in your head like a mantra.

Not just words, a name. It was one you'd been assigned, first and last. That was normal right? Having a 2 word name that was the general identification of people these days. Or at least here in the civillian life, you were far more used to going by an ID number, and occasionally your Faction and Rank when asked by authorities. You repeated your 'name' in your head, spelling it occasionally when the voice in your mind began to sound awkward at reciting your new form of identification.

 

"HEY!"

 

The shout pulled you from your thoughts, and a quick glance around showed the people in your immediate vicinity staring you down with pure judgement. Not that you cared, but having all the attention on you was definitely enough to get you shifting on your feet, moving forward to close the large gap between yourself and the counter which housed a particularly disgruntled staff member - Border Control Officer.

 

"Sorry," You handed your little booklet - passport and ID - to the man, sliding it through the small hole cut into bulletproof-acrylic. The items were snatched from your hand as it was quickly checked.

"Your first time in Detroit?" The officer repeated your name, but your lack of attachment to this new identification made him quite suspicious at your delayed response. You're supposed to respond to your name, right?

"Uh, yeah. I'm... moving here," You weren't exactly lying, but you weren't particularly convincing at the responses given either. Your hand on the canvas strap tightened until knuckles bloomed white. Though, your nerves were just impatience at the quite ridiculous process to just get into this damn city.

 

The Border Patrol officer stared at the Passport and ID in his hand and glanced at you repeatedly through the acrylic panel, and you could already tell that he was still squinting out of uncertainty of you just being... awkward.

 

Being a civillian wasn't exactly your strong suit, and neither was talking.

 

"Well everything checks out," he repeated your name again, punching a few commands onto the holo-keyboard at his hands before sliding your passport and ID back through the little hole, items quickly being taken back into your fingers and shoved haphazardly into your coat pockets. "Welcome to Detroit. I suggest you be careful Ma'am, it's a bit of a rough time to be visiting here."

 

Part of you wanted to continue the conversation for the sake of being polite, but you didn't want to talk any more than you absolutely needed to. The whole deal with 'Androids' beginning to cause problems, or something along those lines. You still haven't seen one of these things in person, but with the way they were being displayed in advertisements during your trip into this city; definitely made you curious.

 

Curious to see what the deal was with these things. Curious to see how they had supposedly integrated into society. Curious to just see them.

 

In your line of work, you knew nothing of the outside world, only you and your mission. Not that you had the luxury to do that, War was far too chaotic to chance looking away even for a heartbeat.

 

Technology that was available to the public was 'behind' in terms of advancements with the equipment you were used to handling, but it seemed to be moving in a completely different direction. It would make sense given the nature of their uses, these 'Androids' were supposed to be automated alternatives to humans and seemed to be designed to be their spitting image too. It was just your assumptions from the multitude of advertisements on basically every billboard upon arriving to the USA. You were still to see one, though.

 

The building was under patrol, various cars and Officers adorning the letters 'DCPD' on their armour checking everyone that passed through the doors. You were of no exception, your hands immediately raising up in an exaggerated act of surrender as Officers looked you over, one patting your sides down. Another poked at your duffel bag with his rifle as if he was expecting to find something.

 

"Got anything in there that we should know about Ma'am?" Their voices were filtered with static through their helmets. You tipped your head to the side with a shake of your head.

"You sure about that?" he repeated, but again you shook your head with a roll of your eyes. A couple of would-be officers wouldn't be able to get any reaction out of you, your Poker face game was definitely a lot stronger than people that needed helmets to hide under.

 

You hadn't even entered Detroit yet.

 

"She has passed Border Patrol, Officer. She has the right to proceed."

 

The clear voice had you looking to the left, and a neatly dressed man approached the armoured officers with a hand raised. His voice was soft, unusual given the rather tense situation of just entering Detroit. It wasn't particularly of your interest, getting to your new home was literally the only thing you wanted to do right now.

You were so damn exhausted.

"You may pass now, Ma'am," the new arrival spoke, the man tidying his jacket as he shared a... smile?

In the brief interaction you looked the man over, taking note of the flickering letters 'RK800' on his blazer, and a faceted blue triangle adorned the left side of his jacket. He was quite tall, and dressed differently compared to the other Officers in the area.

An administrator perhaps?

Then there was a small blue ring on his right temple.

Wait... was he an Android? Probably? That small detail had your curiosity, but not your attention. You were far too tired to pursue that interest, but you caught another few glimpses of the light on the side of his head.

A nod was all you gave him, acknowledgement, exhaustion making you come off as quite dismissive. The Officer's still hadn't moved, so you made the point to push past them; an action clearly unwelcome as one of the men started shouting towards you as you departed the building.

 

Whatever was going on made things quite ridiculous to even get in the city.

 

Now outside the automatic doors of the Airport, your attention was quickly drawn to a car that stopped in front of you, doors opening smoothly. Your name appeared on the open door, a light flickering under the text before your name changed to "Welcome".

Rolling your shoulder, you let the bag strap slip down your arm to catch it in your hand. It dragged behind you while you climbed into the car and lay across the entirety of the back seat. So far you have had over 45 hours without sleep, and it was really taking a toll on you. The security nonsense was definitely not helping either.

A quiet hum of the car had you inspecting the interior through your peripherals, the vehicle clearly being automated as it didn't hold a driver.

 

That felt oddly... comforting.

 

 

 

The drive was short, but as time dragged on the exhaustion of sleep was slowly clawing at you, weight seeming to accumulate in your feet and rise up your legs in the form of numbness. You jerked awake into full alert as the car came to a stop, almost forgetting that you were in a moving vehicle as the doors opened with lit up text stating your address. A tiny compartment opened by the seat, the little case housing a key - must've been for your new home.

Taking it with a lazy swipe of your hand, you exited the vehicle and dragged yourself through the last phase of moving in.

Into the apartment building, up the elevator, and through the hallway of the 3rd floor. You were basically on autopilot as sleep was your main objective. After hauling your feet through the hallway towards your apartment weak hands struggled to unlock the door - triumphantly kicking the wooden panel open and tossing your bag inside ahead of you.

 

The apartment was quite lavish, large and open planned with the smell of new furniture and new... everything.

 

"Damn, Barker. You really went all out," you whispered, a smile spreading on your features as you stepped around the large open-plan apartment, hands tracing over furniture that was within reach while deep breaths took in the smell of your new home. A few heavy steps tested the solidity of the floor and a heavy thump of your fist on the couch proved it to be the perfect place to sleep.

 

But before that, you needed your security net. Your protection.

 

You quickly rushed to get your duffel bag back from the entryway, fishing inside the multitude of pockets until your fingers felt the static of a familiar metal. Gripping the handle of your prize, you withdrew your hand and looked over your Data Knife and it's sheen - the sole item you possessed after the destruction of your Titan.

 

The sacrifice you'd made to right your wrongs.

 

The stupid heroic you had done that put you at the top of dangerous madmen's shit lists.

 

Holding the Data-Knife in your hand brought back all the memories that remained since your revival at the hands of the 6|4. The whole reason you had to live in this city, and to stay hidden for the time being.

 

What better place to hide someone that had lost their 'humanity'?

 

A City of Androids of course.

 

 

Notes:

Names will drop here and there from the Titanfall universe, but don't worry! Everything will be explained as it's required!

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 2: By Force

Summary:

Fear isn't something you're familiar with.

Notes:

Thank you for coming this far! The kudos and comments mean a lot, I was a bit worried that this story was just a bit too ambitious or something. But I thank you again for coming back and reading Chapter 2! Getting feedback definitely helps with motivation!

Warning: There's some unwanted touching involved here. Only brief, but I thought I should give you a heads up.

Bars of yellow and black flashed insistently around your sights with an urgent red glow above your head, and a deathly scream of a siren piereced your eardrums.

Everything was heavy, thumping of 5 tonne metal feet sent shocks through your body as the mech chassis around you groaned under dangerous pressure.

 

EJECT EJECT EJECT

 

Rattles of gunfire ricocheting off metal urged you to trudge forward, your Titan barely able to continue down the chaotic jungle ahead while your pursuers were gaining on you at alarming speed.

 

CRITICAL DAMAGE - CORE EXPOSED - EJECT

 

The artificial voice of the emergency feature went ignored as you forced yourself ahead, dashing onwards at every available opportunity and trying to ignore the black and yellow bar in front of you - which grew shorter with every movement. The chassis groaned, sparks flying onto your helmet visor as your desperate attempt to escape with your Titan intact only led to its failure.

'Warning. Nuclear Reaction Imminent. Pilot, please eject.'

Your Titan's voice cut through the alarms, but you weren't going to try and negotiate. Nuclear Ejection would result in catastrophy within a 1 Mile radius, including the complete evaporation of your Titan.

 

Your partner.

 

Your best friend.

 

You couldn't let that happen.

 

A particularly heavy hit on your side sent a searing pain through your arm, your Titan tumbling as a Legion-class Titan had torn his right arm off with it's Predator Cannon. Your sights flickered an angry red static as you reeled in the cockpit, pain from the Neural Link sending a brief agonising burn through your limb.

'Protocol 3'

Your head shot up as your Titan righted himself with his announcement, the sights of the encroaching enemies flickering into darkness as a small message appeared in front of you.

'Protect the Pilot'

"NO!"

'Stay Safe'

 

 

  

Lack of air woke you from your nightmare, your body sitting up abruptly while you flailed your hands to hold onto some sort of purchase to pull you back into reality. Large heaving breaths left your throat burning hot while your body was in a cold sweat, your right hand still gripping your Data Knife while your left hand scrambled all over your torso to ensure you were still in one piece.

 

A recurring terror.

The day you'd tried to save your best friend, but instead he gave his life to save you.

 

The hand weilding your Data Knife was incredibly stiff, extra effort was required to unfold each individual finger from it's handle while a painful cramp built up in your hand. You'd also ended up on the floor, the lack of deformity on the lounge cushions meant you'd clearly settled on the floor early on in your sleep.

But that was the thing about suddenly having luxuries you'd lived years without. Beds and couches were too soft. The floor was much more comforting for you, since you'd spent so long being outdoors or in ridiculous landscapes during impossible missions that lasted months at a time.

One comfort you could do with though, was food. A tight knot built in your stomach, and an ungodly growl had you patting your belly with surprise. In one swift motion, you jumped to your feet while holding the blade of your knife between your thumb and forefinger, swinging it with your strides as you headed to the kitchen.

 

Which was empty.

 

Of course it was empty, groceries wouldn't have been provided by a moonshine addicted alcoholic. But that was probably for the best, since your fridge would've been filled with beers and other types of booze. It was highly unlikely that a nearby grocery store would sell protein rations - that stuff was flavoured in weird ways but you'd come to like their convenience when on the field - so this would be a good first lesson in buying things as a civillian.

 

How hard could food shopping be?

 

 

 

 

12:26am, a little bit after midnight.

Your sense of 'suitable times' was quite warped since you would function and be on call 24/7, but it was nice to see that the streets of Detroit were devoid of the unarmed and probably defenseless people that called it home.

The rain was light, spitting occasionally with spells of heavy downpour, but the particular street you had taken lacked any vehicles, so only the ambience of the wet weather accompanied you on your hunt for a convenience store.

Rainwater dripped down your hair, which was short, chaotic and unkempt from a rather unstable static field that your body held. Constant contact with machines and your preference for Arc Grenades in combat happened to do that to you, occasional locks defying gravity unless you put your Pilot helmet on.

A constant state of bedhead. No such thing as helmet hair when it would spring up on it's own.

A few droplets trickled down your eyelashes and you blinked them away, the action pulling your attention to bright neon lights of a convenience store.

 

You were lucky to find a place that catered to your insomniac habits.

 

Stepping inside, the rain that had accumulated on your windbreaker dripped onto the welcome mat, automatic doors closing behind you while the store clerk was... nowhere to be seen. Not like you'd seen stores with people before, many shops that you'd come across were empty due to an evacuation or some other destructive reason. This, was actually a normal setting to you.

Your stomach grumbled again, and you unzipped your jacket at the sudden atmosphere change. You weren't particularly sure what you wanted to eat, only that you were hungry. The first aisle to be explored were toiletries and cleaning agents. Not exactly edible stuff there.

Next aisle across were snacks, sweets and chocolates. Your tongue licked your lips at the thought of all that sugar, having been years since having sweets like this, at least of your own choice. No need to try and smuggle this out of your commander's office and share it with your comrades, the stealth missions to claim those snacks was what made themthat much more satisfying to eat in the end.

But the next aisle which was across the refrigerated wall had shelves lopsided, while produce and other packets were strewn across the floor. Several jars were shattered with their contents all over the white tiles, and even a few bottles of alcohol were broken, the stench hitting your nostrils with an unpleasant sting. It was definitely a questionable scene, and upon looking up towards the register, you definitely didn't see what looked like blood smears behind the counter.

A light tap on the back of your neck made you stiffen, then the ever-so-clear click of a gun being readied followed.

 

Oh.

 

This was...

 

Right.

 

You've just walked into a robbery.

 

"Wrong place at the wrong time, darling. Don't take it personally."

You raised your hands, but the pressure against the base of your head forced you to look down and stumble forward. The floor covered in various condiments unsteadied your footing, but the thug gripped your arm and straightened your back while he forced you towards the counter. The edge of the surface jut hard into your hips as your torso was forced downwards. 

"Keep your fucking mouth shut and I might not kill you, got it?"

The demand sounded very controlled, but you kept your cool. Hostage situations weren't new to you, though this was a completely different circumstances which couldn't just be countered with your usual tactics. Your gun and knife were tucked away in their holsters on your thigh and lower back - not that you had a licence to carry, but you're a Pilot for fuck's sake - though they went unnoticed by the attacker.

Hopefully it stayed that way.

You were roughly pushed harder into the counter, arm held behind your back with a painful twist while a disgusting warmth pushed against your backside. A hunting knife was thumped into the counter's surface by your face, giving you a clear view of the thug's tattooed wrist. The angle also gave you the unfortunate view of the store clerk's corpse, who lay in a heap against the wall behind the counter, bullet between the eyes.

"Kinda pretty, aren't ya?"

The supposed compliment went unnoticed, you were now focused soley on the tattoo on his wrist. A playing card, Ace of Spades. But a particular flaming skull was drawn around the center sigil.

That was...

"Might take you with me, Hm?"

You struggled against the grip on your arm but the force of the man's weight against your back sent disgust throughout you as he ground his hips against your backside. He stank of alcohol and cigarettes, and definitely an overpowering scent of bad odour. The entire situation had you disgusted and irritated, not really scared. If anything, that tattoo had you on alert and on guard.

A glimmer of hope caught your attention in the form of a little red light under the counter, the silent alarm in the store had already been activated. Your current position was not in your favour though, lashing back would cause yourself more harm than good.

 

You needed a distraction, just a split second of-

 

A gunshot pierced the eerie silence, and with the split second that the pressure was relieved from your hips, you snapped your head back fiercly, cracking it against the thief's nose.

Sirens followed with the bright warning blue and red lights, but you were already on the offensive; the thief shouting horrid insults while his gun waved around towards your face. He fired another shot but he had terrible aim thanks to your initial damage, the bullet shattering the glass automatic doors which caused the police outside to take cover.

"You BITCH!"

A broken nose had him disoriented, giving you clear access to the muzzle of the gun. You snatched it in your hands, ignoring the burn of hot steel on your palm as you forced the weapon upwards.

 

Another shot.

 

Searing heat from the weapon had you releasing it in an instant, your hand barely missing the slide of the gun as it pulled back and threatened to cut into your hand. The thief swung his knee up while simultaneously bringing the gun back down, but you were faster. Both motions missed their target and you backed away, lunging towards the hunter's knife that was still embedded into the counter behind you.

Weilding the blade with the tip towards the ground, you kicked up an empty box by your feet towards the attacker. Another panicked gunshot echoed as it collided with his face. Something hit your arm, but you used the box's distraction to your advantage, rushing the thief and tackling him into the shelves. His hand quickly reached up to grab at your face and push you off of him as you collectively tumbled into the aisle, but you slapped it away with your unarmed hand and brought the blade down into skin to pin him to the shelf. 

 

The sound he made upon having his wrist impaled made you feel - in control.

 

"DETROIT POLICE. CEASE FIRE IMMEDIATELY."

 

Demands fell on deaf ears, and you instead reached for the thief's gun, unloading the magazine and checking the rounds left in the clip. It didn't look like the best kind of handgun, something almost botched and bootleg - which didn't make sense as weapons whould be readily available to the right criminal - and 2 bullets remained, so you returned the ammo and loaded the weapon, crouching down in front of the man who had just indecently assaulted you. You squinted, inspecting him for the few short moments while the police yelled warnings from outside.

"Your tattoo, where'd you get it?" you tried to keep your voice quiet, but your adrenalin had kicked in and was making you quite aggressive. The thief simply spat blood at your face, only feeding the frustration that was building in you.

Aiming the gun at the ceiling, you fired a bullet and immediately pushed the gun at his crotch and pressed it into the fabric, the man squirming under the searing heat of the bootleg pistol's muzzle as you urged the question again.

"I asked you a question, where'd you get your tattoo?" You tipped your head to the side, the blood he'd spat leaving an uncomfortable itch on your cheek.

"Fuck you."

Clearly he wasn't being cooperative, but killing him now in the presence of police would definitely make you the villain. This guy would already be done for murder, but if you do anything more than incapacitating him like this, you would most likely be charged for it.

 

Why couldn't bad guys just participate and make it easier on themselves?

 

"Suit yourself," You sighed, shaking your head with disappointment as you rose to your feet and headed towards the front of the store with your hands raised. The Police outside had their guns trained towards the store, but immediately aimed at you as you emerged over the broken glass.

 

Making your movements exaggerated and slow, you unloaded the gun and threw both the near-empty magazine and weapon onto the ground ahead of your feet. Puddles splashed as officers moved, two running past you and into the store while a familiar figure approached you instead.

 

It was the man from the airport, clad in his grey suit with blue LED ring on his temple. His expression seemed to be neutral, but a hint of suspicion was in his eyes. You stared at each other momentarily before an older Officer stepped in with handcuffs, his gruff voice muttering demands and reciting your rights while your hands were roughly cuffed behind your back. You didn't hear most of what was said as your focus was on the stoic 'Android' in front of you, but you simply nodded as you were pushed towards a car.

 

"Take her in for questioning."

 

 

Notes:

P.S: If you know Titanfall, imagine your Titan's voice like the Ronin, or Scorch class. Your Titan is actually Vanguard class like BT, but the voices is of the Ronin or Scorch! (your choice really!)

Soooo, you're a badass Pilot and don't exactly know the meaning of self restraint. There's a lot about being a person you have forgotten, isn't there?
As a Pilot that literally kills for a living, you harbor a detatchment to a lot of empathy and sympathy. At least with people you don't have an attachment to.

I hope you understand the detatchment I was trying to express in this chapter, it's a bit challenging to explain/understand without the right mindset.

Please do comment any critique, this story is about you after all!!

Chapter 3: Peace and Order

Summary:

Authority draws the line.

Selectively tuning out certain sounds was a long-practiced skill you'd learned over the years, and it proved to be successful during the drive to the Precinct since the one apparently named 'Lieutenant Anderson' listened to atrocious sounds on the radio which was supposed to be music of some sort. The city was too dark to entertain yourself with sightseeing during the drive, but the sudden halt in the vehicle's movements was enough of an indicator that you'd arrived at their destination.

 

Thank God the ride was short.

 

 

The men in the front seat exited first, the Lieutenant walking to your door and opening for you. His big hands were enough to almost completely wrap around your bicep, but he seemed a bit more gentle while pulling you onto your feet and escorting you into the door.

Another set of Officers were accompanying the thief from the store, who gave the best glares he possibly could with his swollen face and bloodied nose. The Police seemed to make a conscious effort to keep a fair amount of distance between you while being escorted through to the office of the Prectinct.

That was when your paths separated, the thug being taken to a holding cell at the rear of the precinct, while you were taken to someone's desk. Lieutenant Anderson's desk, if the name plate was any indication.

Your handcuffs were removed by the Android supposedly, before being re-fitted with your hands in front of you. The Lieutenant guided you to sit at the seat at the end of the desk, before attaching your cuffs to a steel lock at his table.

 

Well, at least they were trying to make you a bit comfortable.

 

"Don't take it personally, but we can't be too careful," The old man assured, finally letting go of your arm as he stepped back. His face contorted to one of horror upon looking at his hand though, almost like he'd seen a ghost.

"Ah shit- GET A NURSE IN HERE!"

As he ran off to... wherever it was, you only now just noticed the blood soaking through your jacket and clothes.

 

So that's what hit you in the arm earlier.

 

"Are you alright?"

A different voice this time, soft and calm. It was the Android, the tall man walking around to your front and gesturing towards your arm. A bullet splitting your bicep and possibly causing muscular tear while you bled all over your clothes? Sarcasm would've been an entertaining response to give, but instead you kept silent, eyes downcast and avoiding eye contact.

It was strange circumstances to meet an Android, first it was trying to get into the city of Detroit, and the next you're being arrested. Strange enough that you weren't exactly sure how to feel about the situation, their appearance being too... similar to a person. He was a machine, right? Then why make them look exactly like people? Were civillians too damn fragile to commune with something that didn't hold a relatable face?

"A nurse is on the way to treat your wounds. I can get you a blanket if you like, it is supposed to help with shock. You have lost a fair amount of blood, so it is advised you keep your body at a stable temperature."

You weren't sure if you wanted to respond or not, but you kept your focus on the ground and made sure to keep the Android out of your sights. Looking away completely would be weird, so staring at his shoes would have to do for now.

A long pause of awkward silence ensued, but it was only awkward because the Android hadn't moved an inch, while whispers from other Officers in the area were beginning to be about you. Some people that walked by your seat would slow their steps - probably to look at whatever the hell was going on - before shuffling away.

 

"Ma'am, I'd like to treat your wound. If that is okay with you?"

 

Oh, another voice, female this time. Where were all these people coming from? This was a police precinct right, not some kind of clinic? You didn't move however, only glancing as the figure of a woman came into your view, a surgical kit in her hand while the grumpy old Lieutenant stood by her side.

A small touch ghosted over your wounded arm and you immediately pulled away, chain clattering against the desk as you tried to put distance between yourself and the stranger, your gaze meeting hers with a warning.

 

No-one touched your injuries but you. You didn't need help, and you sure as hell could look after yourself.

 

"Hey, you're alright, it's okay..."

You looked towards the Android this time, the voice sounding extremely calm and soft in a way you weren't exactly expecting. It drew you in slightly, and that was the first time you'd looked him in the eyes. They were a soft gentle brown, and small strands of hair seemed to stray from the rest of his dark walnut locks. Your analysis of his features was cut short though, as the persistent nurse touching at your arm again, in which you violently jerked away.

That time you'd winced though, the effort to try and move when you were quite literally chained to the spot only making things worse on your arm. It didn't hurt, but you could definitely feel the temperature drop in your limb from the blood that had already escaped.

"She's still in shock, please, you must be very careful. Gently, or else you could make it worse," The neatly dressed man asked politely this time, hands raised as if trying to steady everyone including the nurse.

Well, you weren't in shock; but you sure as hell didn't want anyone just touching you like that, especially if it was an injury. As a Pilot, you needed to bare teeth when injured. Showing weakness in the field made you an easier target, and you were the one that made targets, not become one.

 

"... Ma'am. Please? You need stitches, and your burns need to be treated too."

 

Hands flexed in response to the comment, and you'd only just noticed the burns on your right palm from when you'd tried to disarm the attacker. You hadn't felt it before, but now the pain was starting to set in.

For whatever reason, you looked back up at the Android for some sort of reassurance, and he simply gave a calm look. It was strange how his passive position in all of this gave you some ground to stand on. Another touch to your arm had you pulling away again, but being backed up right into the desk and no longer having room to move had you defeated.

Just because you were letting her treat you doesn't mean you were happy with it.

 

 

Tuning out sounds proved to be once again useful, your hypersensitivity to sounds while being on guard from an injury made every little movement as annoying as an unreachable itch. Phones ringing, fingers rattling on keyboards, clattering keys and even the tap of mugs being set down on tables was driving you mad.

The nurse had mostly finished with your arm, but you'd ignored the fuss on your injury quite some time ago. Bullet wounds were easily fixed with a shot of your Stim, but you couldn't exactly have something that probably would've been considered an illegal narcotic in your possession while in a Police Station. Stim wasn't actually illegal, but, it probably would've been. Especially since that stuff would give you the energy boost of a caffeine and sugar rush with a little side of fatigue replenishment.

During your treatment, the Android had barely moved from his spot and his lack of movement actually felt comforting. Just like your Titan used to behave whenever you needed rest, he would tower over you and keep motionless and always on guard for you.

 

But he was gone now.

 

Destroyed.

 

And because of that, you no longer felt safe.

 

"All done," the Nurse's voice was tight with concern, and she repeated your name to try and garner your non-existent attention.

Actually if people weren't watching you close enough, you could've passed off as being deceased. You'd remained so still during the treatment that the nurse had to call your name several times because you just didn't budge, especially during the application of stitches. She had tried to pass it off as 'reassurance', but it was amusing that she would occasionally check your pulse through discreet touches on your wrist.

She gave some instructions on care to help speed up your recovery, but you were already well educated on how to not die. The Nurse dismissed herself and took her belongings, silence easing you into a calm as you rolled your shoulder to test the handiwork on the treated tear in your flesh.

 

They were pretty well done, actually.

 

After a few moments of silence, the Android finally moved and sat in the Lieutenant's seat. You watched carefully through your peripherals, but made sure to keep your actual focus on the ground ahead of you.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, seeming to lean over in an attempt to meet your gaze.

"My name is Connor. What about you?"

Again, his voice pulled the faintest thread of interest from you, the gentle coersion however being unsuccessful as you avoided eye contact. The faintest glimmer of blue blurred in your peripherals, the blue of his LED reminding you of your Titan's optic.

 

They seemed similar, somehow.

 

But, if he was a machine, then he would've most likely have the capabilities to run complex scans and searches. Your Titan always did, so 'Connor' probably already knew stuff about you by doing this.

"I just want you to know, that you're safe now. I reviewed the surveillance footage from the store and..." He trailed off, and you almost wanted to scoff at his claim of your safety. "That man, who did indecent things to you, he won't hurt you again."

Oh he definitely had that part right. If he wasn't killed by other means, you'd take the threat out yourself. While you remained motionless, Connor lifted his head before dipping low again, fingers threading together on the desk and pausing briefly as you stayed in silence.

"However, the actions you had taken to disarm him were nothing short of... precise."

You could tell what he was trying to get at.

"The techniques you executed were of great skill, and your additional measure to incapacitate him does bring forward the question. Do you know him?"

Ah, that was a nice way of wording it. Pinning the guy's arm to a wooden shelf by driving his own hunting knife through his wrist. 'Incapacitating' sounded much more pleasant.

But as much as you wanted an answer to that question, there still wasn't a definite one. All you knew was that the tattoo linked him to the Faction you had betrayed. And while people hired by mercenaries were usually second rate - or third, maybe fourth, just lowlifes really - thugs, they all held a fascination and sick 'devotion' to the War Criminal you'd made an enemy out of.

Connor's persistence came through at your lack of response, and he shifted in his seat again, before reaching under the desk and dropping two bags on the table in front of you. Your Data Knife and Smart Pistol that they had confiscated from you upon being arrested.

"These weapons of yours," he began by pointing to the knife and gun with his finger, and you fought the urge to turn your head. "There is no record of these weapons or where they were manufactured. Although you were acting out of self defense, possessing these weapons without a permit will result in their confiscation and destruction."

You shifted that time, and Connor seemed to notice immediately. There was no way you could let your last posessions - your last memory - of your best friend be taken away from you, and the mere thought of them being siezed was enough to make your eyes water. Being out of fear or anger was still unclear, but you looked up to grant the eye contact he was apparently seeking. Your eyebrows twitched unknowingly with the anxiousness that came with his words, while your lip pursed to stop them trembling.

And unexpectedly, Connor returned another gentle expression.

"Please... don't take them from me," was all you managed. Of all the things you wanted to say, to shout, to demand. Begging was the only chain of words you could form.

He shifted, the LED on his temple changing colour. You didn't know that could happen, or what that meant, but his expression changed at your whisper. The silence between you felt tense now, and you swallowed the lump that had built in your throat to try and stop the muddled mix of fear and vulnerability that was bubbling in your stomach for the first time since your loss.

A moment longer in this stressful silence would've driven you mad, but Connor seemed to read the situation and lean forward slighly, softening his expression in a way that made you listen.

"Then talk to me."

 

 

Notes:

HE FINALLY INTRODUCES HIMSELF, only took 3 chapters.

I felt that this chapter was a bit messy, so I had taken out a whole bunch. Hopefully it flowed well though, at least for me it did.

 

Thank you for coming back to chapter 3!

Chapter 4: Pilot? What Pilot?

Summary:

Things feel like they're falling apart.

Such a simple request could not have put you into as much mental turmoil as it did now. It was painful, having to fight this battle alone. 

No-one to help with advice or wise words, or even an outside opinion to assist in the dilemma that you faced. Usually the instinct would be questioned or reassured by that friendly voice - the companion you held a close bond with.

But now all you heard was silence.

That Knife was far more important to you than you wanted to show, but the prospect of it being taken way struck something inside your chest that made you want to just give in.

 

What a weak Pilot you would be if you would concede to defeat so easily.

 

Connor was watching you with a sharp gaze, his features soft while his eyes were focused on you. That was a look you recognised. Genuine interest, but guarded and ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness.

It was difficult to discern what was really the case though, your paranoia and fear of having the only posession you truly owned, taken away.

 

The silence was truly painful this time.

 

As if to break the tension, Connor again leaned back slightly, probably trying to look at you from a different angle. And most likely thinking of a different approach. He reached for the plastic satchel that held your knife and tipped it into his palm, your heart jumping at the sight of it being in someone elses hands.

 

 

"This blade is quite remarkable," he looked the knife over, turning it in it's sheath and pulling at the handle. You could tell that he was probably analysing it closer with the way he squinted. Connor’s eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed repeatedly as he turned it over in his hands.

You watched carefully, and when his thumb pressed on a small button near the end of the handle, the chains on your handcuffs rattled as you involuntarily reached for the knife. It was bio-encrypted and it couldn't be activated by anyone but yourself, but seeing someone else hold it made you furious.

Connor blinked and looked at you, setting the knife down on the table after your reaction.

 

He had just baited you, and you fell for it.

 

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me." Connor leaned over and waved his hand over your knife again.

A weight felt like it was lifted off your chest when he'd finally put it down.

Again, his simple request for you to talk made you bite the inside of your cheek. The knife was just out of reach, and you were now contemplating everything just to have your possession back.

Your breath hitched as your voice stuttered. Your jaw moved as you tried to talk. Millions of possibilities - consequences - ran through your mind as you tried to think of something to say that wouldn't disclose anything important, but nothing came up. You had a protocol to follow, and doing anything would breach that.

Pilots were known for their Elite lethality on the battlefield, and obedience; with just the right amount, of disobedience.

"I..." You faltered, mouth moving as you tried to form words. Connor's attention suddenly sharpened on you. Your hands flexed and clenched repeatedly, breath getting caught in your throat as you looked down at your palms. Your wrists pulled at the chain again, the links pulling taut as you felt yourself on the verge of a mental breakdown.

It was stressful. This was wrong. You didn't know what to do. Having this much internal conflict was difficult, and the mental pressure was pure agony. You missed having your partner and the support of the ones that had saved you.

But now, you were in a City surrounded by people you didn't know. Unarmed, captured, and being hunted by a war criminal you had turned your back on.

 

It was dawning on you now - truly - that you were at your most vulnerable. The fear that had clawed its way into you cut off your air supply and choked you at every breath.

 

With these circumstances, you knew that you most likely going to die.

 

"Hey-"

The voice sounded vaguely like Connor's. It was muffled, the word repeating again before your name was called. Or at least it sounded like your name, it was difficult to hear when everything suddenly sounded like it was coming from behind glass.

"She's hyperventilating! Get the nurse!"

An abrupt touch on your shoulders had you pulling back, Connor now straight in front of you while you hauled tightly on the handcuffs that kept you bound. Were you hyperventilating? That was what he said right? He continued to speak which sounded like jumbled nonsense, but you were now desperately trying to get out of this snare.

Suddenly your hands were free. A searing pain on your wrists from your frantic pulling made your fingers tingle as something thick was thrown onto your back. Everything looked like it was blurring, additional people suddenly coming into view while a bright light was shone in your eyes.

Your chest hurt. Your head spun. Your mind was throbbing faster than the pulse you could feel in your throat. Even your eyes were beginning to sting, the sudden sensitivity to everything around you having stopped your ability to blink.

"You need to breathe."

That voice again, saying your name. Was it Connor's? There was jumbled speech from the other people in front of you, but your panicked state was making your attention waver.

Strong hands pressed against the sides of your face. A very brief moment of comfort hit you as the sensation recalled the feeling of wearing your Helmet. You reflexively leaned into the touch on your cheek to chase that memory.

 

Back when you were strong.

 

Back when you were safe.

 

"Please focus, you need to breathe."

 

A light caught your attention that time, your eyes stopping their rapid darting to rest on the cool blue you spotted. It was Connor's LED, the soft glow pulling your attention just long enough for you to lock eyes with him. Why did he look...

 

 

'Pilot?'

 

 

---

 

 

A stark white ceiling greeted you upon opening your eyes.

 

A clinical, bleak ceiling.

 

The voice you had heard. it didn't sound like one you knew. Your Titan's? No, it sounded too natural. But who could've possibly called you by your rank?

 

No-one here knew you, at all.

 

Pain shot up your arms and continued to course throughout your body. It hurt, even the motion to blink brought a dull throb in your skull. Your weight was on your back, and a few moments of confusion passed as you tried to gather your thoughts and figure out where you were.

You were laying down, that was the first part of your deduction. Extra effort was required to lift your arms up and splay your hands in front of you towards the whiteness ahead. 

Your right palm stung at the flexing motion.

Then your head ached with a wave of pain as you blinked again.

Your chest hurt as you tried to breathe slowly, exhaling through your mouth after steadily inhaling through your nose.

Another flex of your hands, the sting remained on your right palm.

Shortly afterwards, you bent your knees. A twinge lingered in your hips while the stiffeness in your ankles had you wincing.

 

What actually happened?

 

The room was silent, something you didn't realise you had desired so much until now. You counted your fingers and blinked each time to try and sync your thoughts, in case this was all just another nightmare. After counting each digit on your hands, you turned your palms towards yourself to repeat the process. The burn on your palm had you squinting, and then it hit.

 

Everything that had happened came flying past your eyes, stars in your vision as if the wind was knocked out of you.

 

Sitting up abruptly, the pain that had settled in your body only doubled at the sudden movement in your waist. A brief dizzy spell had you leaning back slightly, but you fought the urge to lay back down and leaned forward, dropping your hands between your knees.

Your head was still sore from the chaotic blur of events that you only vaguely remember, but after taking a few deep controlling breaths while focusing on your injured palm, the feeling of being watched set in.

Just to your left, across the room and behind what looked like glass, was Connor.

With your head turned, you could see your surroundings now. It was a holding cell of sorts. An electronic panel on the far corner of the room looked like a lock for access, but he stood at the center of the glass wall, hands behind his back and staring at you with what looked like a neutral expression.

 

How long had he been there?

 

 

Reciprocating the gaze, you swung your legs over the side of the bed you were on and planted your feet firmly on the floor, needing to look down at your legs to ensure that you still had feeling in them. Your entire body tingled with a constant discomfort, but you ignored it and looked back up at the man on the other side of the glass.

"You experienced a violent panic attack and had fallen unconscious from hyperventilation. It has been 2 hours since then." He spoke, seeming to read the confusion - or concern? You didn't know what the hell you were feeling - on your face. You felt quite detatched from reality right now, mind still wandering from only just waking up.

You had never fallen unconscious like that, and you sure as hell didn't 'panic' like he'd described. Those thoughts and feelings were alien to you. An unacceptable weakness that only brought failure. Surely he was just trying to be in control right? Was this some method of getting information?

The suspicions gnawed at your curiosity and you stood up, knees wobbling slightly as you stepped across the room and towards the glass. Once there, you stood your ground; putting on a stature that you could only hope to be intimidating. Or at least firm.

Connor looked at you calmly, your eyes locking onto each other again as he just... observed you.

Your search wandered over his face to try and determine any features that could give away what he was thinking, but nothing stood out. The only detail that gave the slightest bit of indication or movement from him being the LED on his temple. And you didn't know why, but seeing that light just made you feel different about how you viewed him.

"I'm sorry that you were placed in the holding cell, but it was the best I could do to allow your restraints to be removed."

Your eyes widened slightly at the comment, searching his eyes for something to read into.

He did this? 

"... You?" Your voice was hoarse, quiet and barely above a whisper. The proximity between the glass allowed you to be heard though, Connor's expression shifting just the tiniest bit as you tried to speak.

"Yes. Your responses to my questions were quite violent and it was clear that your restricted movement only elevated your stress."

He spoke as if he knew everything, and you weren't sure if you were impressed or frustrated with that. People rarely evaluated things faster than you, let alone things about yourself and your own wellbeing.

 

The only one that had ever done that was-

 

You swallowed to stop yourself thinking any further, the expression on Connor's face changing slightly as you tried to hide discomfort.

Did he notice something?

"I sense you are distressed, If my presence causes you discomfort then-"

"Protocol 2," you breathed out in a hurry, your hands trembling as the sheer stress it caused to speak that shook you to the core.

The LED on Connor's light flickered yellow again, and his expression actually changed to one that showed confusion.

"What Protocol?" he asked, head tilting towards the glass slightly.

"I-" Again, the words jammed in your throat. You couldn't talk, you shouldn't talk, but something was breaking down your very being and trampling everything you had built yourself to be.

 

Be it the reality of your impending death, meeting this Android; or the moment you had snapped and betrayed Kuben Blisk.

 

You were suffering. And everything felt like it was falling apart.

 

"I can't..." You were trying, the effort was there. Your hands clenched and the pain from your burned palm had you wincing. "I have to... My Protocol, a Pilot has to... I can't.." 

 

A loud thump startled you from your thoughts.

 

Both of you looked towards the glass between you.

 

Your fist had collided with the panel. 

 

You didn't recall doing that.

 

Connor watched carefully while you tried to decipher the situation yourself. As you flexed your hand and the tendons clicked in your knuckles, the skin almost split and beginning to swell at your violent outburst. There was no pain though, only an onset feeling of dread as you stared at your hand in disbelief.

There was a call of your name, but sound escaped you again. The room fell silent as you stared at your palm, cradling your now twice-injured hand. Your heartbeat grew louder in your ears, and you found yourself turning around and heading back to the bench you had woken from.

A faint voice came from behind, but you were too transfixed on your hand to respond. 

Once you sat down on the bench, you pulled your wounded palm to your chest and let out a shuddering breath. A sound came out as you exhaled, and you were unsure of what it was supposed to be, or if it even came from you. But as you made another loud exclamation which sounded muffled to your own ears, you chanced one more quick look over your shoulder. Connor was still there, still watching.

 

"You don't get it, I'm going to die."

 

 

 

Notes:

Thank you for reading, I'm not sure if I'm happy with thie chapter because I've looked at it and had mixed feelings.

You have a lot on your mind right now, but don't worry it only goes uphill from here! Connor has seen your flaws and is quite intrigued!

IT GETS HAPPIER I PROMISE!

Lets say he's comparing your behavior to being irrational, like... a deviant? ;)

(The image used is an actual Data Knife prop by 'ItsGreg' on the RPF, made completely from scratch and it is awesome.)

Chapter 5: Get Barker

Summary:

Connor tries to connect the dots.

Notes:

To make things clear, this story is set alongside the events of the game with additions I made up in between. As the story is focused on You, the reader, game-events will be mentioned third person if you aren't involved.

I hope that makes sense to people! The road to Deviancy is still in the works, so Connor isn't full Deviant yet!

This chapter is in Connor's perspective/view!

A cool breeze caught the stray lock of hair over Connor's forehead as the morning greeted him with business. Another Deviant related case, however it was minor. But regardless of the report and it's severity, a Deviant being involved meant that Lieutenant Anderson and himself would need to address it personally.

It was a minor theft, primitive in nature given the more recent headlining tragedies that struck the Precinct. The simple case was welcomed with open arms by the Lieutenant though, the change of pace being refreshing instead of homicides and mutilations.

 

 

"May I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?" Connor turned his head as a brief silence overcame the car at the change of song on the radio.

Hank sighed and turned the volume off, glancing to his partner with an expectant look. He'd learned by now that asking permission was merely a formality that Connor would open with. Regardless of his response, the question would follow anyway.

"Have you ever anticipated your own death?"

 

The car slowed as they came to a red light.

 

Hank's eyebrows raised at the question that he was most definitely not expecting. Fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he turned his head to look at Connor, who stayed motionless as he expected an answer. Inhaling sharply, he tried to think of a response.

"And I don't mean about your... intrusive thoughts, Lieutenant."

Hank let out a breath of relief at the addition to the inquiry. The talk they've had before at the park about his... habits left quite an unforgettable moment on his relationship with Connor, but the lack of mentioning it in a negative light was greatly appreciated.

"In general? Everyone's gotta die from somethin', right?" Hank looked towards the road ahead, watching cars drive past at the intersection.

Connor stayed motionless, waiting to see if there would be an elaboration.

Noticing the stare, Hank curled his lip and frowned before looking back at his partner.

"Where's this come from? Why the sudden talk about dying?"

Blinking once, Connor looked ahead as his LED briefly flickered yellow, recalling the events from the day before.

"The woman at the precinct. She was incredibly distressed."

"That's a fuckin' understatement. Poor thing looked like she'd seen a ghost before passing out."

"She was suffering immense shock. The responses to my questions were extreme, much like a traumatized victim suffering PTSD."

Hank couldn't help but to scoff with concern at the comment, since he was absent during the peak of the chaos that happened with you that night.

"Jesus Connor, what the hell did you say to her?! She was just a witness that happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and defended herself. You can't just interrogate someone like that!"

Despite the misunderstanding, Connor stayed calm and waited for the Lieutenant to finish, speaking once there was silence again.

"I didn't interrogate her. All I asked for was her name, and where she got her possessions from."

 

The lights turned green, Hank's knee jerking as he hit the accelerator. Curiosity had gotten to him now, and he soon began to glance towards Connor with reluctant interest.

 

"... And? You can't just leave it at that, what'd she say?"

Connor looked forward and recalled his thoughts again, LED cycling constantly between yellow and blue.

"Nothing. She claimed she couldn't, and that was when she panicked and fell unconscious."

The lack of proper information lost Hank's attention once more, their bodies swaying as the car slowed at another red light.

"But upon regaining consciousness in the cell, she mentioned 'Protocol 2'."

Hank's eyebrows furrowed that time, head tipping back against the seat and looking down his nose towards the road. He glanced at Connor while he rolled his tongue in his mouth in thought.

"Well that could mean anything. Could just be a formal way of saying she had a rule to follow. We got Protocols as Police too."

"But then she claimed she was going to die."

 

The light turned green again, but they didn't move as the topic now completely had Hank's attention. Connor noticed the pause and watched the Lieutenant closely while the car remained idle.

 

"So you're try'na say that you think there's something sinister going on? Sounds to me like she was just crazy paranoid. I saw the footage, girl has some moves. Doesn't seem likely that she'll die anytime soon with the way she can fight." Hank hit the accelerator as the car behind him sounded it's horn, and he waved apologetically while looking in the rear view mirror.

"I was at the Airport when she arrived through Border Security. It was ony earlier that morning, and she had quite a generic file. Quite like the fabricated backgrounds for those in WITSEC and false identities."

Hank sighed, unsure of how to proceed with the conversation. It was odd given how everything played out with The Pilot - you - that night, but at the same time it wasn't a case that they were meant to be involved in, nor could they do anything with. You had been questioned, and despite the violence in the store which surprised many Officers via the footage, the only charge they could give you was possession of lethal weapons without a permit.

"Look... I get it, you're doing that whole thing where you wanna figure things out since you're a detective and all, but the case is open and shut. We've caught and detained the actual guy that killed someone, he's going down for murder. She basically gets a slap on the wrist in comparison, y'know?"

Connor furrowed his brows and looked towards Hank again, this time with concern. The words that you had said struck him somehow, and the way you had violently reacted to everything made him curious, and rather alarmed that this could be going deeper than it appeared.

"Then why would she be so certain that she was going to die?"

Hank turned into the next street and ignored his partner for a few moments, only turning his head as he reached for the volume knob on the radio with a roll of his eyes.

"Why don't you ask her then?"

 

-

 

The rest of the drive was in silence, or at least in terms of conversation. Hank had turned the radio volume much higher than usual as a passive way of telling Connor that he wasn't interested in any more talking.

Upon arriving at the Precinct, Connor's strides were a little wider than normal, his steps overtaking Hank's as they headed towards their desks to finalise the case they had just returned from. The Precinct was busy as usual with witnesses in the waiting area while Officers saw to their duties.

While Hank returned to his desk however, Connor walked straight past their space and headed towards the holding cells.

"Oi, Connor! I wasn't being serious!!"

Hank's call went ignored as Connor continued towards detainment, the Lieutenant rolling his eyes with a frustrated exhale as he watched his partner walk away.

Connor returned shortly afterwards though, LED yellow as he strode quickly towards Hank.

"That was quick."

"The cells are empty. Where was she relocated?" Connor's inquiry came out more as a demand, Hank's expression shifting to confusion as they glanced around the office in hopes to blindly look for an answer.

"She was dismissed," Officer Miller piped up from his desk, looking away from his screen briefly to try and at least give some direction to the pair. "Someone gave Fowler a call and sounded real pissed off, then a dude came by and picked her up."

On cue, Hank and Connor looked at each other, their conversation from the car seeming to be their first thoughts upon the explanation.

"About fuckin' time too, couldn't stand to hear her damn crying."

Hank grunted a quiet 'Shit' upon hearing the rather clear and unmistakable voice of Gavin Reed.

 

Resident asshole.

 

"Did the man that arrived to retrieve her leave any sort of identification?" Connor voiced with concern. He took a small step towards Gavin while his LED continued to stay yellow. Hank kept a close eye in case he would have to intervene. It was inevitable whenever these two collided in the precinct.

"Didn't care, the guy smelt of booze like this old fuck. Lucky you're a piece of plastic or else you wouldn't wanna be around this asshole either." Gavin cocked his head towards Hank with a sneer, only to curl his upper lip as he spotted Connor's yellow LED.

"I only asked about an Identification. Was I not clear?"

Hank readied his hand to come between them as Connor's response was definitely laced with attitude. And of course, Gavin bit the hook and gave a snort as he tipped his head up in reply.

"Don't you fuckin-"

"Alright that's enough," The situation was escalating too quickly for Hank's liking, finally stepping in and putting himself between the bickering detectives. Reed tilted back while Connor stayed motionless, his LED flickering yellow a little longer before returning to it's usual blue.

"Fuckin' Android. Thing was like a broken machine with how she sounded. Probably got thrown out, so when are you gonna be next huh?" Gavin curled his upper lip again as he hissed through his teeth.

"That's not possible. She is entirely human."

"I said, enough!" Hank was completely between them now, his hand on Connor's shoulder and applying pressure to push him back while he held the urge to elbow Reed out of the way. It would've been easy, but they were right in the middle of the office.

"Fuck the both of you," was Gavin's final response, the click of Fowler's door dissipating any intention of starting another argument in an instant. Reed departed to the kitchen, while Connor turned towards Hank with a determined expression.

"She has an address. We can check there."

Hank  threw his hands up in the air, as if he was ready to slap his partner for not only the deliberate riling with an explosive Gavin Reed, but for simply demanding to follow up a case that they shouldn't be pursuing to begin with.

"Are you fucking serious? I told you, the case is being dealt with Connor. The real case! We have other stuff to deal with, and-"

"Please Lieutenant. This could be her safety at risk. If it turns out to be nothing then I will claim full responsibility with Captain Fowler." Connor raised a hand as a motion to beg, unmoving in his stance and hopeful expression.

Hank chewed his lip, only taking a few short moments of looking into Connor's pleading expression before throwing his arms out the side again in defeat. "Fine, fine."

He waved a hand towards the exit, Connor immediately taking point with Hank in tow.

 

 

- 

 

 

"Doesn't seem like the place that a fugitive would hide in."

The apartment complex that they had arrived at was high end. Hank's comment was more towards himself as he inspected the wide hallway, doors embellished in gold-plate numbers which he counted upon arriving at the door.

Connor looked towards Hank as they reached their destination, in which the Lieutenant simply shrugged and pointed onwards. "This was your idea, so - all yours."

After a short pause, Connor raised his hand and thumped on the door three times.

 

No response.

 

Once more, Connor knocked again and continued to do so, stopping as the locks began to click upon being opened up from the other side. Normally Hank would step in and be ready for any surprises, but this was simply a house-call. Informally checking to see if a previous detainee was alright.

But the person that opened the door wasn't who they were expecting at all.

 

 

Leaning against the doorframe with a whiskey glass in hand, a middle aged man greeted them with a lazy pout and disappointed frown.

"Hello? Who the hell are you?" he slurred, leaning his head on the door while swilling the clear contents of his glass. For it's colour, the smell was strong.

Seeing this man - but not The Pilot - had both Connor and Hank quiet for a few moments, confusion between them.

"I'm Lieutenant Anderson of the DCPD, and this is Connor. We're just checking to see if everything's okay?" Hank shoved his hands in his pockets as the whiff of an alcoholic drink caught his nose.

 

It wasn't one that he recognized, especially since he was well-informed of the many types of booze.

 

"The woman that was arrested at the precinct yesterday." Connor spoke your name and looked at the man grinning as he took a sip of his drink, pausing to ensure he had his attention before continuing. "This is her address. We just wanted to follow up and ensure that everything is in order."

 

Another pause, this time the man took a long sip of his beverage - alcohol clearly - and finished off the glass.

 

"Who are you?" Hank cut in, noticing that Connor was somewhat struggling with the attempted conversation with someone who was clearly intoxicated. 

"Barker! You can call me... Barker." The man bowed, limbs swaying awkwardly as he tried to stand upright after dipping his torso in a type of greeting.

"Right then... Barker. You picked someone up from the station, we just wanna know shes alright. Can we see her?" Hank stepped closer, now beside Connor while they waited for 'Barker' to steady himself long enough to answer.

"I did...? Oh right, yeah! This morning!" The glass in his hand waved while his eyes were mostly shut in a lazy grin. "But uh, no."

 

Hank and Connor squinted.

 

"No... what?" Connor narrowed his eyes, trying to process this level of slurred speech with difficulty.

"No her. So... No."

Connor glanced back at Hank, who was beginning to lose hope in trying to commune with a drunk man. Despite them both being alcoholics, Barker was much more... jolly, if not a little distracted.

Losing patience, Connor repeated your name and straightened his posture. "As Detroit police, failing to abide by this request may be seen as an interference of our work. If you have nothing to hide, then I suggest you participate."

Barker laughed at the recital, opening the door a little wider and leaning his head on the frame. "Oh riiiight, right! Yeah I mean, she does live here! But... she aint here!" Waving the hand holding the glass, he nudged it towards Connor and Hank with another slurred chuckle. "But you also aint in here! Not without a warrant!"

Waving the glass in the air between them like giving a toast, Barker gave a wide grin and leaned back. The door slammed shut and various clicks followed, multiple locks clearly being engaged.

 

The whole interaction had them both quiet for a moment, and it was Hank that broke the silence.

 

"What the fuck?"

 

 

Notes:

I am having second thoughts about this chapter and may delete it. I was just writing and this happened, i was idly thinking of your next moves while writing this part down.

Sorry!

Chapter 6: Wallrunner

Summary:

Risks are taken to get an answer.

Notes:

Sorry for worrying people regarding the ending notes about the last chapter! I was only concerned because it wasn't in the reader's perspective, and thought it may be a bit of a jarring cut/transition within the story. But with the feedback I will definitely keep it there!
I was going to try and find a way to rewrite as the reader, but it was quite impossible.

This chapter is now back at you, the reader!

Notes: THESE ARE LINKS VISUAL REFERENCES:

Jump Kit - Equipment Pilot's use that allow them to wallrun great distances and doublejump. Also slows their descent to be non-fatal from any height. It's like a kit of thrusters on your hips.
You are NOT wearing one in this chapter, but it is mentioned.

Wall Spin: It's a parkour move, where you run at a wall and spin on it with your hands using your momentum, and do a complete turn and keep running.

Barker had been your saving grace, the alcoholic's arrival being a surprise you welcomed.

What was even more welcome though, was his lack of questions. From the moment he had picked you up from the Precinct to the second he'd taken you back to your apartment, he spoke nothing of your arrest.

No small talk about recent events.

Nothing.

 

Because as a former Pilot, he knew what you did and didn't need.

 

Instead he brought his stash of moonshine and a multitude of cases. Equipment actually, your equipment. Furniture and homewares was easy to provide with online shopping, but having your weapons, armour, and ordinance delivered via courier wasn't exactly subtle.

Not to mention the materials and composition of your Tactical Equipment would definitely raise literal alarms. Androids may be made of plastic, but ADVanced AT-Cobalt Composite would have you pinned as a terrorist.

Other items were brought as 'housewarming' gifts, one being a weapons permit. It would only be enough to allow the carry of your Knife and Smart Pistol, though you didn't exactly need to be carrying an Assault Rifle while buying milk from the convenience store. Another gift was still to be revealed, but Barker had insisted that it was a 'surprise you will definitely enjoy'.

 

And because of this 'surprise', he had ushered you out of the apartment to take some time to relax while it was set up.

 

You had waited on the roof of your home building until the sun had completely set, the view of the city below being one you'd come to enjoy. Out of sight and out of people's minds, a little like a recon mission back when you were still an active Pilot.

Being idle for several hours had never been an issue for you, but it proved to be interesting when a sudden burst of activity happened a couple of blocks down.

From the frantic shouts you could hear and the way the police cars zipped past in the streets below, something was definitely was up. The fire escape was your choice of descent, door being thrust open while you bounded down the stairs - a subtle tingle warming in your legs as you ran down every second step to quicken your pace.

You'd arrived at ground level in no time and pushed the Emergency Exit door open, keeping against the walls of the buildings and sprinting towards the source of all the commotion.

 

-

 

The back alleys were your ally, vaulting the chain link fences with ease and using various dumpsters and crates to your advantage. Movement was slow compared to when you were properly equipped with your Jump Kit, but it was still quicker than any Officer would be able to match.

Upon arriving at the next street corner, you dropped back and slid along the ground, grabbing the wheel of a dumpster to stop yourself going too far out of the alley. Police cars drove past, and you leaned out a bit to see officers setting up a line around the scene. Something clearly happened, and to have this many people out could only mean it was a high-profile robbery, or a murder.

 

"Securing the area now, need to increase the perimeter though. Victim is right out in the open."

 

A murder, and now it had your curiosity.

 

As another police car passed by, you ducked down and kept your height low, hunched forward and sprinting as quickly as you could to keep in line with the slowing car to avoid detection. It pulled away from the road as it found a place to park, and you dropped to your knees to slide behind a mailbox. The headlights passed over the building wall next to you, the silhouette of the mailbox crawling across the wall.

You had remained out of sight.

This was your expertise.

 

"Jesus, and an Android too? The Lieutenant isn't gonna be happy bout this,"

 

An Android as well? So there were two victims at the scene?

 

You peeked out once the car's headlights turned off, sitting back onto the balls of your feet and carefully moving again. Your motions were fluid as you stepped across to the next obstructing object. A large "ANDROID TEMPORARY PARKING" shelter allowed you to stand completely upright, and from here you could see the victim clearly.

 

It was the thug that attacked you a couple days ago.

 

 

While a deceased threat would usually bring you comfort, the fact that you didn't dispatch him only built up your concern. Your eyes narrowed as a dead Android was in front of the thug, blue liquid having splattered across the bodies. Androids were even designed to bleed, and that just felt... cruel.

The means of death was unclear from this distance, and you needed to know how it happened. If this was a cleanup as suspected, then learning how it occured could assist in you looking out for threats and from where.

Officers were setting up a perimeter with holo-tape, so you timed your steps carefully in order to avoid being heard. Their training and ability to detect others wasn't something you knew, so your approach had to be careful.

Closer to the scene and with only a parked car between yourself and an Officer standing guard, you ducked your head and took a deep breath. If you made any movements now, then you would definitely be caught. The proximity between yourself and the man was close enough for any sound to be noticed.

"Lieutenant's on the way."

"Shit, already? That was quick."

"Right? Ever since he got that Android, he actually gets to the scenes on time."

"Huh. Hope we finish up sooner then, wife's sick of me doing late nights."

The conversation dwindled as they gained distance, though a set of footsteps were still close. You couldn't move just yet, so you readjusted slowly to be kneeling on the pavement. Nothing was on your person other than your standard Knife and Pistol - and permit, thankfully - so carrying anything large away from the scene wasn't an option. A quick observation of their bodies would be enough. It had to be. And the setting already looked like it happened from a distance.

A quick peek above the car bonnet showed the nearby Officer was gone, and you quickly took the opportunity to duck and sidle around the front of the parked vehicle. Light steps had you sprinting through the holo-tape that sectioned off the crime scene, stopping as you approached the bodies on the ground.

Just like your distant observation, the blue blood that had splattered from the Android was spread onto the victim, and a single bullet hole was on both of their torsos.

 

It didn't take a genius to notice that it was a sniper. But which sniper was the real question.

 

You stepped towards the Android's body and pressed your hands to it's chest, searching the open cavity for any other clues. They were made of plastic apparently, and that didn't help your search. A body of that composition would make many weapons capable of killing it, but only an overpenetrating round such as a Sniper or LMG could leave a hole of this size.

Nothing was lodged in the Android's torso, meaning the bullet went straight through. You stepped around the spilt blood and crouched over the thug, parting the torn fabric over the bullet hole in his chest. Holding the fabric with your right hand, your left index finger pressed into the torn flesh and fished around, cartilage and bone scratching against your skin while searching for a bullet. The depth of the hole and the consistency of the innards was too clean for a lodged bullet, so you removed your hand and looked around for where it may have landed.

Bright lights drifted across the scene at someones arrival.

You ducked out of the stream of white that crawled towards you, almost being caught between the light and the building wall. An inch remained before you would've been revealed by the light, but they suddenly turned off and the engine followed.

 

It seemed that the Lieutenant had arrived.

 

You weren't finished however, the need to find that bullet driving your risk. It must have travelled from a particular direction, your eyes quickly scanning the surrounding buildings and recalling the way the bodies were positioned. The bullet had gone through, so the only place was...

"Alright, what is it we got?"

Hearing the familiar voice set your nerves alight, legs moving immediately and carrying you torwards the rear building wall. It was out of the dim light of the crime scene, your hands quickly scraping along the surface with haste to find any sign of damage. Blood was still on your hand from haphazardly searching the thug's body, but you lacked fingerprints and it should've dried by now. Your eyes were completely focused on the distant officers however, hands wandering the wall without any particular direction while you kept a lookout.

 

A small blue light was visible in the distance, and your heart immediately doubled its pace.

 

Connor was here.

 

Now frantic, you sidled across to your right and searched quicker. Your fingers touched crumbled concrete and a gasp escaped you, the buckled metal being pinched from where it had embedded itself. With the bullet found you shoved it into your pocket, turning your body to have your back flush against the wall.

 

Oh no.

 

The blue light in the distance was getting closer. The pulse in your ears was getting louder. Was Connor able to see in the dark? What was the range on his optics? Did he know you were there and was just playing it off? The questions continued to list themselves while you tried to step away from the approaching light by sliding along the wall.

Suddenly the LED's movement stopped.

You mirrored the action and froze, doing your best with your adjusted eyesight to see what he was looking at. The bodies were just in front of him so the likelihood of a scene analyisis was high, but then his head turned and seemed to look towards you.

A wall was to your right and a car was on your left. The attempt to stay out of the dim ambient light resulted in you unintentionally cornering yourself, and the only way out was to head towards the detective.

 

Hopeful that he would move elsewhere, you kept still and took a deep breath to try and calm yourself. Connor would most likely be able to detect things such as your heartbeat, and being arrested again after only a few days of being dismissed would draw too much attention and suspicion to you.

The blue LED turned again, your breath catching in your chest as he took another step towards you.

Only a few feet of distance was between you now, but the pauses were far too long to be accidental. He definitely knew you were there. Probably didn't know it was you, but he was definitely aware of a presence.

Still, you held onto hope and stayed motionless. Your heartbeat picked up again as the light continued to get closer, his footsteps now audible as the distance continued to shrink.

 

"Connor! The fuck are you doing there?!"

 

The LED didn't move, and Connor didn't respond. His lack of movement was too obvious, and leaving it any longer would only increase his chances of figuring out who you were.

With a silent breath through clenched teeth, you lifted your leg and kicked outwards. Your foot collided with his chest and sent him stumbling back, the gap now enough for you to make a break for it.

 

"HEY!"

 

The voice wasn't Connor's, but your presence was definitely known to everyone on the scene now. One Officer demanded you freeze while another threatened to shoot.

 

But that didn't matter, you were fast and already far enough for their shots to miss their mark in this darkness.

 

You rounded a corner and looked at the dumpster from before, jumping up onto a crate as a step up. Footsteps followed behind you, and you could only assume that it was Connor.

 

Capture wasn't an option. Not this time.

 

Climbing onto the dumpster, you mantled over the chain link fence, the drop having you wince slightly as the fall wasn't slowed by your usually-equipped Jump Kit. The fence rattled behind you as Connor followed, your feet immediately taking off without your direct control as the pursuit continued.

The alley was short, your hand reaching out for the corner of the wall and using the slight grip on concrete to assist in you swinging around and onto the street footpath.

Your pulse was beginning to get louder amongst the thumping of your feet on sidewalk.

 

Connor was close.

 

You could hear him.

 

He hadn't fallen behind at all and the short distance between you remained the same.

In an attempt to slow your pursuer, you took to sliding over various cars. You had to remain in the dark though, even the slightest pass under a street light could reveal you. Connor had seen you before, and having so much as your hair be visible in the light would definitely be enough of a clue for him to identify you.

The leaps over cars wasn't proving to be effective, the footsteps beginning to get louder.

 

He was gaining.

 

You were slowing.

 

Sirens began to sound, and that was most likely due to the police trying to co-ordinate and cut you off.

It wouldn't be this difficult if you were equipped with your Jump Kit.

Another intersection came up, and you avoided the cones of lights from the lamp posts, veering to the left and taking the turn as tight as possible.

Connor was on your tail and followed your movements with precision. He seemed to be able to predict your moves, as each time you vaulted or turned, he would do the exact same thing.

 

You needed to change the game.

 

As another alley came into view, your feet hit the floor harder as you forced them to move faster, turning the corner again. This time however you ran straight at the wall, using your momentum to wall spin with your hands and turn back.

Connor followed as expected, but his LED flashed red as you charged him. Clearly he hadn't anticipated you to do a 180 turn like that, and your opposing directions of movement allowed you to quite literally knock him off of his feet.

You felt his body roll off your back as you tackled into his waist with your shoulders, your own feet stumbling slightly at the impact.

Recovery was quick though, you righted yourself and picked up speed again, Connor's fall being the last of the noise you heard behind you.

 

Blue and Red lights were visible down the road, but you had already gained enough distance to be well out of their sights.

 

Your escape was a success.

 

Now to rendezvous with Barker.

 

 

Notes:

You can outrun an Android! Let's hope Connor didn't see anything!

I would greatly appreciate any feedback of sorts, from things not flowing right or too big a jump happening, etc.

I also will refrain from explaining the subtleties in emotions from the reader character. You're on a path of re-learning a whole bunch of things, including bodily functions and emotions! Let's take a wild ride on this feels trip together :D

Thank you for coming back for Chapter 6!

Chapter 7: Sentinel

Summary:

Permissions are granted but now it's just awkward.

Notes:

Got this out of my system because I played a few multiplayer matches today c: Also this was somewhat 'important' to the main development of the relationship between Connor and you so, I felt like I was on a roll while writing it!

This was proofread by me so there may be errors, sorry! I tend to reread my chapters sometimes and find minor things to change and go back and edit them.

Thank you for coming back for chapter 7!

"So what you're telling me, is that the victim from this homicide; was the suspect you arrested 3 days ago? And the suspect that killed that asshole... got away?"

 

 

Hank and Connor stood stiffly in Fowler's office with their hands behind their backs, Hank having adopted the stance from seeing his partner do it so often.

 

Last night's events came past the Lieutenant's eyes in a blur, remembering how startled and dishevelled Connor looked when he found him in the alley. Not to mention the dirt and other debris that was all over his jacket, which made it seem like Connor just had a wrestling match with some thug.

"The suspect that was at the scene last night was most likely not the one that killed the victims. Evidence showed that-"

"I wasn't FINISHED!" Fowler slapped his hand on the table, Connor snapping his teeth shut while Hank looked over at his partner with a wince.

"What this doesn't explain, is how the fucker got out of detainment. He was sent to the Correctional Facility after we confirmed his sentence." Fowler leaned back in his seat and turned his attention to the large screen on the wall, statistics filing themselves on the bottom while the news took up a large portion of the screen.

"Reports say that the automated escort never arrived. Must've been jacked and he got out," Hank grumbled as he shifted uncomfortably on the spot, rolling his shoulders to reposition his hands into his pockets. "And as Connor was saying, the guy that was at the scene wasn't likely involved."

The Captain tipped his head and turned the chair back towards them with a tense expression, forehead creasing with a deep frown. He rolled the seat forward and planted his elbows on the desk, exaggerating an inhale before cupping his hands together.

"Surely you're not insisting that because you let him get away, right?"

Connor blinked once, taking a moment to read Fowler's tone of voice and expression before formulating a response. There was sarcasm in there, alongside anger.

"Of course not, Captain. Evidence of the scene indicates that the victims were shot by a single bullet from a great distance. A long range weapon. The kill would have been confirmed upon the shot, meaning there was no need for a close proximity inspection of the target. The Android was just unfortunately in the crossfire at that exact moment."

"In English, for fuck's sake," Fowler snapped in return, waving a hand with frustration. 

"The murderer would have no reason to come down from his vantage point, since a Sniper Rifle is the choice of weapon to avoid being close to the target." Connor's LED flickered yellow before glancing at Hank, then gazing back at Fowler. "Whoever was at the scene may not have been involved, though there is still the possibility of them being an accomplice."

Hank stepped forward and lifted his shoulders, urging Fowler's attention to be shifted onto himself. "We... may have an idea of someone that could help us out with this case." He began, looking back towards Connor with a knowing look.

 

The conversation from the car about you. The only link they had with the victim.

 

"A lead?" Fowler squinted and shifted his torso weight onto his other elbow, pressing his fingertips together as a demand for an explanation.

"Not exactly." Connor piped in, gaze wandering without focus around the room as he recalled the relevant information from their hypothesizing about you and your 'traumatic rambling'. "It's possibly a lead, however my previous applications for a search warrant were declined. These particular situations were originally separate, but this recent Homicide may be the link that could get us answers."

Fowler looked less than impressed, but the information presented was the only thing they had going for them. The attacks seemed to be random with nothing in common, but he also knew that Hank did damn good Detective work despite his disciplinary charges. He had no opinion or care for Connor though, so Anderson's proposal - and apparent 'risk' - to pursue a possibly dead lead caught his attention.

 

Enough to grant them a bit of hope.

 

"Alright then, fine." Fowler turned to his terminal and began to fish through files, typing rapidly on the holo-keyboard in a hurry. After some heavy hitting with his fingers, he looked up to the Detectives and nodded, crossing his arms as the printer lit up and transferred a digital imprint on the synthetic paper on it's surface. "Here's your search warrant. This shit better get sorted out and soon, because random attacks with no lead or reason is the last thing we need. These damn Deviant cases are already a headache, I don't need fucking lunatics roaming the streets on top of that!"

 

-

 

With a new objective alongside his original instructions, Connor sat quietly in the car as they headed towards their destination - your apartment.

"You sure that there's a link there?" Hank turned a corner and looked towards his partner in the passenger seat, glancing repeatedly between the road and Connor as they approached your building.

"Not certainly, but there is a probability of there being a connection." Connor looked ahead and watched your building come closer, the car pulling onto the side and coming to a halt. He was the first to depart, immediately starting his route to your door, Hank needing to jog just to keep in his stride.

 

-

 

"What do you even hope to find?" Hank looked up at the numbers flashing over the elevator door, stepping out with Connor as they arrived on the 3rd level, the walk between them feeling tense as they approached your apartment. Several days ago they were denied access due to Barker's obstruction, however they were now equipped with a Search Warrant and new instructions.

 

Connor didn't exactly know what to be searching for either, but it would be something that could be easily discerned when he found it.

 

If, he found it.

 

The large number 3 stared them down, taunting them in a way that made Hank almost feel uneasy. Providing a search warrant and intruding on someone's home that probably had nothing to do with the case could backfire heavily on the Precinct as well as the case. They needed all the help they could get right now, and hopefully Barker was sober enough to be useful.

Connor knocked a few times, waiting patiently before raising his hand to repeat another round of hits like before. The door clicked shortly afterwards however, the immediate response lighting up some hope within the detectives on the ease of their next interaction.

Hopefully the man wasn't drunk again.

Barker opened the door, and he looked a little more focused than their previous encounter. A silver flask was in his hand though, the left breast pocket of his bomber jacket being open as if he'd just taken it out to have a swig.

"Ah, gents!" He exclaimed with a bit of a forced smile, waving his flask towards them and tipping it up towards the ceiling as a gesture to toast. Barker's voice was far more steady than previous, and he didn't smell anywhere near as strongly of alcohol this time.

"Good evening, we've returned to ask you a few questions." Connor started, hand clasping his wrist behind his back as he took a step towards the doorframe.

"Well I told ya before, you aint gonna-"

"Yeah yeah, we know. So we brought this," Hank held up the slightly folded synthetic-paper between his thumb and forefinger, the documentation and sign of approval practically being shoved in Barker's face. "You asked for a Search Warrant, right?"

Barker clearly wasn't expecting the warrant as he paused while reading the document. But after skimming the page, he blinked slowly and shrugged. A deep exhale escaped him, the door opening wide to allow the Detectives inside. The flask was tipped up towards the ceiling and the contents were loudly swallowed, a sigh of satisfaction snapping through the air while the door finally closed.

"Alright then, search away!" he laughed, the buzz of the alcohol obviously setting in to calm his nerves. "But only relevant stuff! I know my rights, and we do have paperwork that restricts the stuff you nosy too much on."

"We?" Connor began, scanning the open-planned apartment to the finest detail.

 

The walls were light cream, while the lounges and various furniture were deep browns. The colour theme would've come under the category of 'rustic', however the particular items in the apartment were modern decor.

 

"Uh... yeah. We. The kid's here," Barker headed to the glasses of whiskey that were cluttered on the end of the kitchen bench, setting out another for his guests.

 

Connor took note of the claim and continued to analyze the apartment. Other than the obviously high-end furniture and electronics, it was a common open-planned flat. The Kitchen, Lounge, and Dining room all shared a large space, while a large corridor led to the private rooms and bathrooms.

 

"You wanna drink?" Barker poured the second glass, filling them up more than a standard serving and sliding the first one across the counter to Hank.

"I don't require an intake of fluids," Connor stated matter-of-factly, though he could see the conflict on Anderson's face at the offer of free whiskey.

"Uh..." Hank almost reached for the glass but pulled away, tucking his hands into his pockets as he made his mind up. "Thanks, but no drinks while on duty." He declined with a bit of a whimper.

"Whaddya you mean 'dont require'? Come on, take the edge off!" Barker pushed the glass towards Hank again, while he held up the third one towards Connor.

"I'm an Android, therefore I don't require beverages. But... I thank you for the offer." Connor declined again, his eyes finally pulling away from the apartment and resting on the shocked face on Barker.

In a moment of weakness, Hank gave in and took the glass, downing the whiskey with a single mouthful. Barker stared at Connor with disbelief, eyes searching the Android's face repeatedly until he stared long and hard at the LED on his temple.

"Shit... You? You're an Android? Hah! I never would'a guessed!" Barker took his portion with one mouthful, then quickly reached for the decanter to pour himself another glass. "Damn you got some good looks for a machine eh? I envy ya!"

Connor watched with slight confusion, unsure of how to respond to Barker's comments. Hank also seemed to notice the reaction and kept his focus on the alcoholic - who was beginning to get lax with the amount of whiskey he was consuming. 

 

How was he so calm with getting drunk in the presence of the Police?

 

"Anyway... Barker, you mentioned we," Hank stepped away from the bar and moved towards Connor, glancing around the room before focusing on the man they were welcomed by. The mention of your name drew Barker's attention, and he cocked his head to the side with a pointed look. "Mind if we talk to her? See if she's okay?"

The request was heard, but Barker downed another glass - making this his third, within the short few minutes that the detectives had just arrived - before slapping it down on the table with a loud exhale.

 

If you were paying attention, you would think that he was trying to get drunk before moving on to the questioning part of the visit.

 

"Sure sure suuuure, lemme get the kid." He waved a hand and hobbled towards the hallway, fumbling with the first door on the left.

The alcohol showed it's signs of kicking in; as his hands weren't co-ordinating well with the handle. His current state had Hank and Connor rather concerned, the Lieutenant rushing to his aid as Barker was defeated by a damn doorknob.

It finally opened with Hank's assistance, Barker stumbling inside with a slurred 'thank you' before waving a hand towards them. "Wait out there," he inhaled deeply, steadying himself enough to reach the computer that was on the table.

 

Inside the room, were two large polygonal domes, one which was open revealing a seat inside. The second one next to it was closed, and a complex computer setup was on the large desk that had various readings and video feed scattered all over the 3 monitors. The large heavy cases in the opposite corner of the room made Hank step inside with concern, only to stop as Barker pulled a headset on and tapped into the keyboard.

 

"Hey Champ, mind wrapping things up?" Barker tapped various keys and spoke into his headset, pausing as there seemed to be no response.

"What the fuck are those?" The surprise couldn't be hidden in Hank's voice, his hand raising to wave a concerned finger at the monstrous chair-devices in the room.

"What? Oh, these are... uh..." Barker leaned back and squinted as he tried to come up with an explanation. "You know those fancy little goggle things people wear that makes em think they're in a different place?"

"Virtual reality?" Connor noted, analyzing the domes to the best his scanning capabilities could allow. The material and general composition of the 'seats' were coming up as "UNKNOWN", while most other electronics were giving him no result other than 'unavailable'.

 

Connor wasn't sure how he felt about that.

 

"Yeah that! These are... kinda like those, but waaaaaay cooler," Barker waved and looked back at the screen, readjusting his headset and looking across the monitors with a pause.

"C'mon kiddo, wakey wakey." He spoke again, expression dropping to a frown as there appeared to be no response.

After another short pause, Barker began to scramble on the desk with haste as a sudden urgency hit him. Hank almost wanted to intervene and offer some kind of help, but a loud knocking on the closed pod drew everyone's attention.

 

-

 

After a quiet hiss, the doors of the pod opened outwards. A warmth of air escaped the interior, and under the red glow of the light inside, was you.

A few seconds passed before your eyes opened, blinking slow while your head tipped back against the headrest of the seat. Your inhale was shaky while your hands trembled on their armrests, but they came up towards your face and were closely inspected. Audio was muffled as your sights were blurred, but your eyes eventually regained their focus. You dropped your hands between your knees and looked up, squinting as you finally made sense of the... people, in front of you.

 

Barker was there since he had ceased the program, but you felt your heart thrum in your chest upon seeing the other two detectives.

 

Hank looked concerned, while Connor seemed to be in full analysis mode.

 

Well.

 

This was awkward.

 

 

 

Chapter 8: Refuelling

Summary:

Compromises need to be made for cooperation.

Notes:

PS: I don't cuss/swear in real life so I'm sorry if there is a lack of swearing or it's weridly placed! I don't realize that it isn't included so I sometimes re-edit for scenes like where Hank is talking. Sorry!

Other notes! Weapons mentioned are all Sniper Rifles from the Titanfall games!
Double Take: Titanfall2, a twin barrel sniper rifle.
DMR: All rounder rifle which isn't as stable in TF2 unfortunately. I still like it though.
Kraber: A beast of a Sniper. Heavy Rounds and crazy recoil, also has the best and iconic sound when fired (its my fav ranged gun ok)

Thank you for coming back for Chapter 8!

From the moment you had arrived back home with the bullet - the one clue that could give you so much information - it was endless tests and practices.

The 'surprise' that Barker had kicked you out of your apartment for, was definitely one worth the temporary eviction. He had brought a newer model of the Simulation Pod's you had used in the past.

Although only one was calibrated by the time you had arrived back home with your trophy from the crime scene, it was all that was needed to at least start attempts at getting answers.

 

 

Currently, it was a simulation which you were completely immersed with. For this particular instance, a somewhat close representation of the scene you had infiltrated to get your clue.

 

However it was the gun you were trying to decipher, shooting the same rounds from multiple angles with the different weapons in your arsenal.

 

None of your tests made much difference though, the bullets after each trial not appearing like the one you had retrieved at the scene. The lack of results had made your frustration fizzle into a constant state of disappointment. You had lost count of the amount of times you'd reset the simulation with slight changes to variables in hopes to get a different result like a lunatic, but the program was forcibly stopped when Barker had called out over the comms.

Probably for the best that he'd pulled the plug when he did, you were almost close to giving up.

Though, waking up from the simulation and opening the pod to find Police in your house only made your frustration worse.

Your slow wake to reality was like a heaviness being drained out of you. Like being submerged in dense water, the feeling of pressure gradually pulled from your body as you regained consciousness. Simulations of this nature - without a Neural Link - were quite detatched. You could control your actions with your will and think your movements, but you didn't feel anything.

 

The simplest way you could describe it would be like controlling a character in a videogame.

 

"Hey champ, you good?"

You tipped your head back and stretched your neck at the question, sound slowly coming back to clarity. Your hands flexed and you shifted your legs as you 'woke' your body, nodding in response as you hunched forward. Elbows on your knees and hands between your thighs, you took deep breaths as the additional weight began to fade.

"Right then... these Police guys wanna ask you a few questions. Meet us in the living room when you're ready, yeah?"

Barker almost sounded too relaxed for your liking. But you responded with a nod, lifting your arms and grabbing at the handles at the side of the Simulation Pod's opening to gain some control back in your arms.

"Yeah, just... Lemme decompress," You breathed out, voice nonexistent as your demand came out as a whisper.

Barker muttered something inaudible while you swallowed to get the pressure out of your ears. The figures left the room, according to your peripherals.

One remained though, and somehow you could tell that it was Connor. He seemed to stay motionless for a few moments - no doubt observing you again - before finally leaving to join the others.

Once the weighted feeling subsided, you pulled at the handles and hauled yourself up onto your feet, stepping out of the Pod carefully to ensure you had complete feeling in your legs. You had tried walking too quickly once after DeSyncing and almost broke your nose when falling straight onto your face.

 

Lessons were learned that day, and now you waited patiently as the unusual tingling faded from your feet.

 

Left foot first. You lifted it and planted it back on the ground, wiggling your toes and rolling your foot back and forth from the ball, then the heel.

Right one followed, repeating your little motions before attempting to walk forward.

Your legs were working, which was a relief. That concluded your post-simulation diagnostics.

Talking to the Police wasn't particularly something you wanted to do right now though, and the prospect of trying to speak to them again made you want to crawl back into your Simulation Pod and never come out.

Last time you had tried speaking to Connor, you mysteriously passed out and you almost broke your hand by punching bulletproof glass.

 

So... why did you have to talk to them, again?

 

Surely Barker knew that you weren't good at talking. Hell, you didn't even talk to him that often. And you basically used to work together everyday.

The only reason Barker would have allowed those people in was if they had a damn good reason to. Possibilities on why they were here ran through your mind like a storm, but it wasn't helping your frustration on your failed simulations.

A deep breath, and you headed out and towards the voices in the living room.

Might as well hear them out.

 

 

-

 

Your Data Knife holster was readjusted under fidgeting hands while you tightened the fastening on your hip. Despite you being home in comfortable clothes and pretty much out of any sort of danger, that weapon never left your person. The Smart Pistol you could do without, but that Knife was far more useful than firearms would be in many situations.

The short walk to the living room had you hesitant in your steps, your gaze immediately shifting away from your guests and towards the lounges instead. They were practically intruders, welcomed or not. You had to be on your guard, intruders required surveillance and a close eye.

Barker however, seemed to be more interested in Connor. He was hunched over the detectives who had seated themselves on the two-seater lounge, hands on his knees and leaning uncomfortably close to the Android.

"Daaaamn, they really got you looking like us, huh?"

His speech was slurred. The first of your worries. Drunk Barker could go from 'friendly' to 'brawler' in a blink of an eye, so to ensure that you could at least contain him, you positioned yourself on the opposite lounge. You crossed your arms, twinging at the stitches that remained on your left bicep, but leaned your backside on the armrest of the couch, eyes locked on the coffee table between you - that way you could keep everyone in your general field of view.

"Hey champ! You see this? He's an Android!"

There was absolutely no desire in you to participate in the conversation. You didn't particularly know that he was an Android for sure, only going off the little blue ring on Connor's temple. Other than that, there was no care to get to know him at all. Not like you had to, anyway.

Instead you were too interested in trying to decipher the mystery of the bullet. A sniper round, the buckled metal in your fingers still holding some length compared to what you could assume, it's unfired counterpart.

There was only one bullet and one hole, ruling the Double Take out of the equation, even though the force and velocity of that particular rifle's range matched this one.

A DMR could've been used, but no simulations left similar results to the current evidence in your hands.

And a Kraber would've left far more damage, especially to the impact in the concrete you had retrieved the bullet from. And it's sound wasn't easily missed, even from several blocks away.

Your tests had only been of the weaponry you frequented however. The chance of the attacker using 'local' weapons was also a high possibility, which just broadened the pool of who or what could've been sent to kill him.

'Who' was a better question. If the clues led to a 'what', then that was definitely going to make things worse for everyone.

 

"Pilot!"

 

Your head snapped up that time, immediately turning to the source of the voice - the source of the command.

Barker was staring at you with an awkward scowl, and although you weren't looking at them directly - the detectives were watching as well. Connor's face looked the most intense, though Hank was just as suspicious.

"Geez, I'm try'na talk to you! Get your head out the clouds!"

Straightening up at his comment, you headed around the lounge and took a seat opposite The Lieutenant, Barker joining you shortly afterwards and dropping to sit on your left.

 

This sucked. You didn't want to talk, and now Barker had practically cornered you again to make you answer these guys on whatever it was they were doing.

 

"So, what is it we can help you gentlemen with, hm?" Barker nudged you with his elbow, but that wasn't going to be enough to keep your attention. You glanced up at Connor briefly - who still watched you - and then looked back to the bullet in your hand.

"We're currently investigating a murder which occured yesterday, and the victim just so happened to be the man that robbed the convenience store you visited a few days ago," Anderson explained with a deep tone.

 

The Lieutenant's accent on the 'you' word was definitely directed.

 

But you didn't care about what they needed help with, you had your own problems, and Barker sure as hell couldn't make you speak if you didn't want to.

 

"I mentioned this before," Connor was speaking this time, calling your name in an attempt to at least get you to pay attention to them. "That your additional movement to incapacitate the thief brought up the question, and possibility that you are somehow linked to him. Although we aren't here to interrogate you, we are still on an investigation and would greatly appreciate any of your help."

The bullet turned in your hands, rolling over your fingers while your thumb traced the crumpled side-of-impact. You barely had answers for yourself let alone helping them, and Barker had stopped you proceeding any further in your own study.

"Pilot?"

The call of your rank in someone elses voice struck a deep pang of discomfort, but you responded as such and looked up to the man seated opposite you.

 

Connor called you that time.

 

"Would you prefer to be called that?" He inquired with a raised brow, the expression on his face nothing more than genuine curiosity.

Did you want to be called that? The term hadn't been used for you since your 'leave' of the Marauder Corps, but it was still a familiar word that you could still hold on to for the sake of keeping the remains of your identity.

You bit the inside of your cheek at the question as it had pretty much forced you to speak in response.

 

God, you hated talking.

 

"Let's..." Barker interrupted and tapped you on the arm, miraculously sensing the awkward tension between you. "Let's just ask the stuff you need to know, yeah?"

Connor turned away from you and looked at Barker with concern, the light on his temple flickering yellow.

"I am asking the relevant questions, Barker." He responded with what you could've sworn was a bit of attitude. Your lack of cooperation was obviously being a hindrance, but that was literally not your issue to deal with.

"Well she's not the best talker, maybe start off with something a bit easier?" Barker slapped you on the arm again to try and get your attention, only to pull his hand back and inspect his fingers.

"Hell, did you tear them again?!" Barker well... barked.

You turned to his horrified expression and spotted the blood on his thumb, lifting your left elbow to inspect the dirtied gauze on your arm. He scrambled to his feet and rushed down the hallway to retrieve something - probably the first aid kit - and returned while muttering unintelligible frustrations. Even if you wanted to listen closely, you wouldn't be able to understand since everything he said was incredibly slurred.

"Sorry gents. I'll be done in a tick. You'd think that keeping the blood inside you would be obvious, right?" The kit was slapped onto his lap and opened as he showed full intent to treat you himself.

 

A drunk Barker playing operation on your arm?

 

Fuck no.

 

Horrific outcomes played through your head and you immediately pulled your arm away, your friend looking insulted at your avoidance of his help.

"Hey! Whaddya doing?!"

"You're drunk," You managed to respond, knowing that any other way of communication would've been misunderstood in his current state.

"You're bleeding kid, gotta change your damn stitches-"

"You're drunk." You repeated, pulling the medical pouch from his lap and sliding away on the seat slightly.

"I'm not drunk!"

"I counted at least 3 glasses of whiskey since we got here Barker, I think you are drunk." Anderson piped in with an agreeing nod.

"Well alright then LIEUTENANT," He slurred out with a more-than-insulted expression and waving a hand. "Why don't you change her stitches then?!"

"No," you snapped at his suggestion through clenched teeth.

"Uh... I'm not qualified to do anything medical." Hank responded, meeting your brief gaze.

"... I could change your sutures."

Everyone including yourself looked towards Connor, his input somewhat unexpected between the bickering of old men. A situation you felt quite uncomfortable with.

"You? Since when did you operate on a person?" Anderson seemed to turn on his companion this time, Connor staring ahead briefly before looking back at the Lieutenant.

 

What the hell was this even turning into?

 

"Medical practices may not be a native module in my program, but I have an in-depth knowledge on human anatomy and various procedures to assist in my investigations," He replied, everyone being momentarily quiet at the explanation.

Of all the people in this room, Connor was the most capable to perform this task. You knew how to do stitches, but only ever had to do them on your lower body somewhere. Reaching your arm would be difficult, and letting Barker touch you with a scalpel while intoxicated was a sure fire way to fucking die.

 

The offer was there, out in the open.

 

The old men seemed to forget that it was even mentioned as they started arguing with each other about the level of alcohol required to be 'technically drunk', so you took the opportunity in the madness of a meeting to take up the offer and throw the medical kit at Connor's chest.

Connor only barely noticed the movement quick enough to catch the satchel, and the bickering immediately silenced as you stood up to move places. You stopped at Connor's feet and sat down on the rug, propping your elbow up on his knees then looking ahead to get this damn procedure over and done with.

But then nothing happened.

If anything there was a ridiculous awkward silence between everyone after you'd taken your seat.

 

... Did they want this to happen or not?

 

"That's her way of saying 'Yes Please' kid" Barker teased, the laugh being pointed enough for you to feel it in the air. It earned him a glare from you, but he just tipped his head with a grin.

"Wait, you'll trust Connor but not your own friend?" Hank asked with an expression that just screamed scrutiny.

 

That was a fair question, but the answer was quite simple in your eyes.

 

"The saying 'Human Error' exists for a reason," you muttered, waiting for something to get started on your arm while looking up at the Lieutenant to back up your statement. Comparing a drunk Barker to basic 'human error' was actually quite generous, but there was little else to give as an example.

Nothing had happened yet, and the lack of first-aid-treatment had you looking up to Connor with furrowed brows. He looked back with an uneasy expression on his face, both of you staring at each other with uncertainty before he finally glanced down at the medical kit and opened the satchel.

When you felt the gauze cut away from your arm, you hastily pulled it away and tossed it onto the coffee table. Your elbow rested again on Connor's knees, and the touch of his hands had you flinching just the slightest. His skin held a firmness to it, and was just cooler than your own body temperature to be noticeable. The movements in his fingers were as nimble and natural as any other person's, but the gentle way he moved against your wound was... oddly comforting.

Connor was an Android, a machine capable of many tasks and abilities, just like your Titan was. The fact that he clearly showed constraints with his movements while treating your wound reminded you greatly of the machines you worked with - you fought with.

 

It was probably wrong to compare him to your former Titan, but so many variables were starting to come into place. Perhaps it was the fact that you just... preferred machines over people. Besides, people were the ones that fucked up most things in the world.

 

"Since he's helpin' you there, mind answering our questions now?" Anderson leaned over, elbows on his knees to look you in the eye.

You couldn't exactly avoid his gaze when he moved like that, but the request was a fair compromise considering the help you were getting - not that you wanted the help, more like forced - on your arm. You found yourself looking up at Connor again, as if waiting for some kind of approval.

The same thing happened at the Precinct a few days ago, you looking towards him before making a decision, as if expecting encouragement of some sort.

 

Why did you do that?

 

"... Fine," you finally breathed as Connor looked up to meet your gaze. The stare was only brief as you quickly turned away and gazed at the wall ahead.

"Thank you," Connor spoke that time, voice quiet as he handled your arm with great care.

 

The polite comment made you feel... weird.

 

Barker chuckled from opposite the room, the man having snuck away during the exchange and now returned with a full glass of whiskey. "She likes you," he grinned, quirking his brows before tipping the glass towards his mouth.

"Shut up."

 

Chapter 9: Informant

Summary:

A Logical decision apparently.

Notes:

I have slightly tweaked the lore of Titanfall and the linking with Pilots, but not in a bad way! It's to suit the fic! If anyone has suggestions/feedback on how I've done it, please do let me know!

Names are dropped from time to time, but their importance does not really matter to the reader unless they are explained. They will be explained IF THEY ARE IMPORTANT! But mentioning here and there helps with internalised dialogue and perspective.

Thank you for coming back to chapter 9!

"So, these 'Apex Predators'. Mercenaries that are looking for something in Detroit, huh?" Lieutenant Anderson looked at the holo-screen on the coffee table, swiping across the panel to view each photo. They varied from tattoos, patches on clothing, and even modified playing cards themselves.

Connor had completed his work on your stitches, carefully wrapping the gauze around your arm while the patchwork was completed. During the treatment you were focused on the rug, only listening to the conversation which was mostly being covered by Barker.

"And you’re sure it's nothing to do with you arriving here, right?"

The tone of Hank's voice that time was definitely an insinuating one, but the weak intimidation did nothing for you. Connor's hands gently lifted and eased your arm and shoulder while finishing the dressing, the care he was taking in your injury warming something in your chest at his touches. So much care that you momentarily forgot the chaos of this unwanted meeting.

 

Connor's hands pat gently on your newly dressed wound. The firmness to his skin would probably be awkward to somemost, but to you it was familiar in a way that gave you comfort.

 

"Pilot?"

 

The call of your rank pulled you from your thoughts, and only then did you notice Connor's fingers tracing older scars that were on your upper shoulder. You instinctively pulled away at his curious touch, feeling at the well-placed gauze with your free hand to inspect his work.

It was well done, as expected, but you couldn't bring yourself to thank him properly. Instead, you looked up at him and just locked eyes for a moment, unsure of how to express your appreciation any other way.

"... I don't know either," you answered the original question from the Lieutenant, your voice still quiet. You couldn't exactly tell them that you were the target and the reason that these lowly thugs were sent to look for you. However there could've been another explanation as well, your very existence probably wasn't exactly the sole purpose for their manhunt.

 

You stopped them from finishing a mission, and that greatly pissed off your original Faction and Employer. The bounty was probably a bonus on top of completing the original task.

 

"I kinda wanna believe you, but these events are happening too closely to be a coincidence." Hank's voice was firm now, and he sounded like he was losing patience.

"I'm trying to figure things out too, you know," you interrupted, still frustrated that you weren't able to find answers on your Weapons simulations.

"What? Speak up," Hank leaned foward, face clearly showing impatience.

You snapped your teeth shut and bit back the urge to slap him for being as much of an ass as Kane. Talking was a pain, and you rarely did it. Even if you did purposely raise your voice, it wasn't much more than 'normal' speaking volume.

 

Because you know, you almost never had to talk.

 

"I'm also trying to figure out who killed that guy," you explained with a frown.

"Oh yeah? And why would you need to do that?" Hank was incredulous now, though even you barely had the patience to deal with him.

"I don't exactly like the Apex Predators either." You snapped your teeth again, speaking through a clenched jaw. Your impatience was just as short as Hank's, so to prevent any unecessary lashing out you slid away from your spot at Connor's feet and moved back to Barker's side of the rug.

"Okay, this isn't getting anywhere. You want answers, but you can't just expect us to tell you everything. Maybe we could make a deal?" Barker cut in, voice slurred although his sentences were surprisingly coherent.

You could tell what he was getting at.

Hank furrowed his brows, but Connor looked intrigued.

"Immunity. I'm leaving tonight, so Champ here," Barker reached over and lightly placed a hand onto your head, ruffling your hair as he leaned forward with his proposal. "She'd appreciate some... leniencies from the Police."

Lieutnenant Anderson scoffed again, but Barker raised a hand as he wasn't finished yet.

"Whatever it is you're looking into, I guarantee she can help. You're... kinda after the same thing."

That part was true. Barker wanted you safe, and you didn't exactly want the Apex Predators finding you either. More specifically, the data you'd stolen that had fucked up their entire operation. On top of all that, you wanted to take out your possible threats.

"I have... methods of finding things," you began, making a pointed look towards Connor while you raised a hand. "And... you're capable of doing stuff that would help me on my own case."

 

The room fell silent. You needed them to understand.

 

"I won't get in your way, or cause you problems," you implored, or at least tried to sound convincing. Not that you knew how to do that, but being left alone by the Police would literally be better for everyone, including them. "But you just... have to trust me."

Again, Hank scoffed at your proposal, though Connor hadn't moved at all.

"What, you seriously expect us to just, believe you? Like that?" The Lieutenant's laugh was forced and sounded sarcastic, so you flicked your hand up and tossed the bullet you'd stolen at his chest.

The small metal shard clinked off Hank's torso and he scrambled to catch it in his hand, Connor immediately reaching over to take it off of him.

"What the fuck-"

"The bullet from the crime scene." You spat, self control being a godsend as you had to stop yourself wanting to just leave. They didn't trust you, which was fair. It was a feeling that you returned, though you knew that you had to form some kind of alliances in order to get by. And here where you were bound to being a civillian, those that held authority was your best bet.

Connor's LED shone yellow as he inspected it, and his eyebrows knit together as he slowly turned to you. "The one that I pursued at the crime scene, that was-"

"Yeah," you cut him off, dropping your expression again as you rested your hands in your lap. "I was surprised I outran you."

Barker laughed and lifted his hand off your hair, clapping them together and pointing at the Detectives with a waving hand. "Yeah! Same here! I said the exact same thing!"

"You just confessed to tampering with evidence, you know that right?" Hank crossed his arms, frowning at the argument.

 

Was this an argument? This talk was going all over the place.

 

"I don't have fingerprints, so you won't have anything on me for that anyway." You raised your hands and faced your palms towards them, Connor squinting as he seemed to analyze them at your claim.

"So do we have a deal?" Barker clapped his hands again to try and get something out of this meeting.

Hank just scoffed once more, shaking his head. "Look, even if I did trust you, and thats a fucking big IF, I can't just let you do whatever the fuck you want-"

"An Informant." Connor cut the Lieutenant off, the old man looking at him with disgust.

"What?"

"She could be an Informant. Tasks would be confidential and would also assist in our investigations. It is the most Logical Compromise for our situations, which appear to be at an impasse."

"Are you fucking serious?! MY ASS that's a Compromise, we don't even know what the fuck these guys are doing here!"

"Yes I am. If it is necessary to accomplish my Mission, Lieutenant." Connor's tone sounded firm that time, the shift in his voice quite noticeable.

It seemed he had a Protocol, too.

"So it's settled!" Barker clapped his hands and threw them outwards as he stood up from the couch. "She's an Informant! Drinks are on me! Let's open the GOOD whiskey!"

"Hey, HEY!" Hank stood up and pointed a finger at him, Connor looking towards you while Barker wandered off to the crystal glasses again. "No one is an Informant! We haven't even agreed to this!"

Connor stood from his seat and rolled the bullet over his palm, tucking it into his pocket before straightening his tie. "I have sent an application to Captain Fowler, he should be reviewing it shortly, Lieutenant."

 

Hank threw his hands up in the air, a string of frustrated curses escaping his lips while he scratched his beard and rolled his eyes repeatedly.

 

"Fuckin' fuck, are you FUCKING SERIOUS?!" He shouted at the ceiling, turning on the spot before stepping towards Connor and waving a finger at him. "You CAN'T just do shit WITHOUT MY SAY SO!"

Connor was motionless, and blinked before responding. "Sorry Lieutenant. But, If it helps, this won't proceed without your say so."

You watched as the decision clearly shifted in Lieutenant Anderson's favour, his expression contorting awkwardly between various expressions at this realization. He looked at you after a pause, in which you stood up and shrugged before joining Barker in the kitchen.

"... Shit."

 

 

 

The scent of alcohol and cigarettes was heavy in the air, though it was tolerable on this occasion. Barker had chosen a place called "Jimmy's Bar" as the location for his last drink with you.

 

'Drink with' actually meant that you had a glass of water for yourself while you paid for all the alcohol he wanted before the farewell.

 

"Come on, take a sip! It's good stuff!" He waved the glass towards your nose, and the stench had you turning your head away. Alcohol was taboo to Pilots for multiple reasons, and you were still in the recovery phase of your forced retirement.

Your knee bounced as you sat on the barstool, trying to keep yourself occupied and calm during this last visit. The bartender Jimmy occasionally double checked if you wanted anything else, but you simply declined and assured him that water was all you needed.

"So... almost a year huh?" The joking tone seemed to have faded, and despite the amount of drink he had in him, Barker was surprisingly calm. Almost serious.

You knew what he meant, the time it had been since you'd lost your Titan. What did he want you to respond with? A celebratory song and dance? You bit the inside of your cheek and brought your hands up to rest your elbows on the counter. During the entire week he hadn't brought it up, so it seemed all the questions were going to be asked now before he left.

"Still getting nightmares?"

The question had you tensing your arms, and he responded with a - comforting? - pat on your shoulder.

"The first year is the hardest. It'll get better, trust me."

Part of you - no, most of you - doubted that would be the case.

"You remember his name?"

Almost scoffing, you turned to him with a face of frustration as you opened your mouth to respond. What a stupid question! How couldn't you? His name was....

 

His name...?

 

You tried to speak, mouth moving in an attempt to form words that could resemble the ID number of your Titan. The syllables were there, your lips trying to form letters to maybe get muscle memory to do the rest.

 

But nothing came to mind.

 

A hand pressed on your shoulder, Barker patting you a few times before moving his hand up to your hair and ruffling it gently. You almost choked on your forceful attempt at speaking your Titan's ID, only to cough and slap the heel of your palm onto your forehead. A wetness dripped on your cheeks, and you wiped the unusual moisture away with your sleeve.

 

How could you?

 

"Hey, it's okay. It's all part of the recovery," the strong smell of drink on his breath didn't bother you as he leaned in to give you an awkward side-hug.

What good was recovery if it meant forgetting someone that was a part of you?

The questions seemed to have stopped for now, and the silence between you was comfortable. Understanding almost, Barker occasionally rubbed your shoulder as he kept a firm grip on you during the side hug.

"Oh, I got you something."

Barker let go and reached into his left breast pocket, placing a reenforced onyx steel box on the counter and sliding it over to you. The change in topic was unexpected, and you now focused on the tiny container that was being offered.

"I know it's totally against the rules, but... I figured that you're a good kid, and a responsible one too. Everything of him was stripped when he..." he trailed off and pushed the box towards your hand, tapping on the corner to enable the lid to open. "But... but there's still some things in there, if you wanna relive them in Simulation."

The lid opened to reveal 8 small slivers of metal, the size of a Dog-Tag.

 

Your Regeneration Cards.

 

Seeing these was startling, your hands unsure of where they should be placed. You wanted to reach out and pick them up, but another feeling wanted you to close the box and give it back.

Regeneration was a sign of growth. A mark of expertise. A right of survival.
Each year you survived the war with your Titan, those memories were stored in these small cards while your own combat-ready mind was erased. With your Titan being the only remaining Variable after each process, your bond would only grow stronger.

Unable to help yourself, you picked up the 8th card in the collection, the chip partly faded with the metal cracked in various places. This was the one when your Titan was destroyed, just over halfway through the year when it happened.

"Sarah would absolutely murder me if she finds out I gave them to you, but I thought you could do with the... closure.” He sipped at his glass. “Yeah. Closure."

Each card in the box was damaged like the last, though that was due to the complete wipe of your Titan's data upon his erasure and auto-uploading. If fragments remained as Barker had said, then it would only be your memories of him; nothing more.

 

Was this supposed to be a gift or punishment?

 

"But-" Barker coughed, reaching for the box as he sensed the conflict you were feeling. "If you don't want it, I can just-"

 

You closed the lid with your hand and pulled it towards your chest, suddenly wanting to keep the little box despite your gut telling you to give it back.

 

Another comfortable silence befell you again, and Barker simply reached up and ruffled your hair once more.

 

You were going to miss his company after he returned to the A.C.E.S.

 

 

 

Chapter 10: A Lead

Summary:

Let's hope it's a person.

The house was quiet now that Barker was gone.

 

But it was familiar. Silence was a constant you were used to. Barker had taken the time and effort to bring your ordinance - and the surprise gift of Simulation Pods. Two were arranged so he could join you in training exercises the next time someone came to visit, but since you lived alone; a blanket was thrown over the second one to stop it getting dusty.

All the alcohol he didn't take back with him was removed, probably the only positive of him being gone. Various unopened bottles of whiskey were still on the counter, the decanters and drinking glasses also leaving a cluttered mess in your kitchen.

 

You could throw them out.

 

Or set fire to them.

 

Alcohol made useful impromptu Molotovs.

 

Though these bottles were expensive, from what you remembered seeing at the convenience store. There was only one other person that you had encountered that smelled like Barker, but he was not friendly with you right now. If he was anything like Barker though - which he sort of was - then a good gift of drink could help start building a path of trust.

Well, equal tolerance at least.

Gathering the unopened bottles, you placed them in a small backpack, padding them with paper so you didn't sound like a walking chandelier. There were 6 bottles in total which brought an uncomfortable weight on your shoulders as you pulled it onto your back. A face cover was over your mouth, and you tugged it up so it covered your nose too, while a navy hoodie shrouded your messy hair.

This was the best you could do to hide your identity in broad daylight and be 'casual' without using any of your Armour or Helmet. Black denim jeans, formfitting navy hooded jacket, and a black facecover - balaclavas were too hot when on the run.
And now that you had it, your 8th Regeneration chip hung off a beaded chain around your neck. It was going to be a hell of a risk, waltzing into the DCPD to confirm if you were in fact an informant.

But you of all people knew, risk always came with a reward.

 

 

-

 

 

People of Detroit were too enveloped in their own little worlds to care much for bystanders or others around them. Being your first adventure out during the day had you noticing various things, from the way people treated each other as well as the stark contrasts between the city and the suburbs.

One noticeable thing though, was the constant segregation between Androids and People.

 

Why make them look like you if you wanted to treat them like absolute shit?

 

One particular man bumped into you while crossing the road, and he rudely yelled insults while you tried to continue past. A simple lift of your jacket showed your Gun and Knife holster, and his horrified expression was absolutely satisfying as he backed away and apologized.

Such a shame, really. These people of the so called "Android City" were so entitled that they wouldn't know how to defend themselves if it truly came to that.

It almost made you wonder how they would still be here if it weren't for you.

More collisions were avoided along the way, while also trying to ignore the 'Android Parking' shelters. Some were empty, while others had actual Androids stationed in them. It looked like the charging bays that MARVINS used back at Hammond Robotics, but it just looked so wrong to see machines which were spitting images of humans standing there like mannequins. Even MARVINS were treated better than these guys, you had befriended a few that would maintain your quarters and help you with training, and they were machines that could only express through colourful emotes from an LCD on their chest.

 

What was wrong with this city?

 

How could people have their views and entitlements so backwards?

 

Trying to think about it had your head hurting, so you focused on getting to the precinct.

 

It only took an hour before you arrived at the block that the DCPD was located, and you didn't realize your hands were trembling slightly upon approaching the large front doors. It could've been excitement or anticipation. Either way, regardless of the Informant decision; you were going to be leaving this place with a reward.

Stepping through the front doors, you rolled your shoulders at the weight of alcohol bottles in your backpack. Several people turned as you boldly stepped into a Police Station covered up like a criminal, but you held your ground and approached a receptionist that had "Line Open" lit up on the floor in front of her desk.

"How can I help you?" She asked, the LED on her temple making you squint a little.

 

They even had machines doing social roles?

 

"I need to see Connor." You answered, his name being the first to come to mind despite your trip being specifically for the Lieutenant.

There was a pause, her light going yellow before blinking unnaturally.

"I'm sorry, but the RK800 is unavailable right now. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

RK800? You had clearly called him by his name. Were they unable to speak like the people they were meant to look like?
You narrowed your eyes and glanced around, noticing a Police Officer by the main door eyeing you up suspiciously.

"Lieutenant Anderson then. I need to see him," you demanded that time, stepping closer to the counter and readying your hand to reach for your knife if needed.

"Do you have authorization?"

A sigh escaped you, frustrating beginning to build at the ridiculous measures to see someone. Sure it was protocol, but you were on a bit of a time constraint.

"No," your fingers twitched as the Officer appeared to step closer towards you. "But tell him that a Pilot's here to see him. He'll know what it means." You turned your head to face the approaching officer and glared, reaching up to adjust your face cover and looking back at the receptionist.

She didn't seem to respond to your request - LED flickering yellow again, and now a second officer had arrived from the security gates at the side which led to the main office at the back.

They were definitely antsy about you being there, carrying - and covered up as such. You stood on alert and stared at the receptionist, only looking at the approaching officers with quick glances from the corners of your eyes. Police of this 'calibre' stood no chance against someone of your skill, but causing a problem right now would've gone against your initial guarantee with Hank to begin with.

"HEY! She's with me!"

Lieutenant Anderson's voice was like a siren, it drew your focus like a call to action. He had his hands out towards the approaching Officers, ordering them to stand down - they were close to drawing their weapons onto you.

 

Saved by the Old Man.

 

"You sure about that Lieutenant?" The officer by the door called out, hand still reaching for his handgun.

"Yeah... It's complicated." Hank relaxed his shoulders as he examined you from a distance, and you took his glare as an invitation. Why else would he have stopped the others getting to you?

Without haste, you stepped towards the Lieutenant to pass him through the gates. It wasn't your first visit here, though previously you were in handcuffs and being escorted. Hank called out to try and get you to stop, though you beelined towards his desk to at least get this weight off your back.

Upon arriving at Anderson's setup, the empty desk opposite of the Lieutenant's was your choice of surface to dump your bag.

"Hey, you can't just fuckin' barge in here! You should count yourself lucky that I pretend to even know you!" Hank marched over and looked around cautiously, your presence already drawing attention from various people in the room.

 

That wasn't your problem though, you were only here to dump this alcohol and get something worth the trouble.

 

"What the fuck did you even-"

"Pilot."

Again, the call of your rank had you stopping in your motions. It wasn't a purposeful action, but an instinct. Responding to that call was of second nature, as ones that called you by that had earned your obedience.

 

But Connor hadn't done anything of the sort. So why did he keep calling you that?

 

And why did you let him?

 

With the bag open, you looked up to see Connor approaching with an expression you couldn't quite understand. There was no sign of him upon your arrival, so either he had only recently arrived or was elsewhere entirely.

"What brings you here?" Connor's voice was polite, and you relaxed at his civil approach.

"And what the fuck, is in that bag?" Hank hissed quietly, grabbing at your backpack with concern. "Better not be any fuckin' artillery you smuggled in here."

You looked at him with a frown.

"Yeah, I saw 'em. Cases like those aren't for totin' around clothes for a summer vacation."

To answer his paranoia, you pulled out one of the bottles by the neck, turning the label towards him and thumping it down on the table. As expected, his face lit up in the most subtle way - like Barker did you brought him extra Moonshine you'd stolen.

"Scotch Whiskey?" Connor was next to Hank now, watching you as the remaining bottles were drawn from your pack. After the last bottle was set on the table, you threw the crumpled paper you had used for padding into the wastebasket by the seat and pushed the bottles towards Hank's side of the desk. "That is quite a lot of alcohol."

Anderson looked up after briefly gawking at the bottles, only to scrunch his expression into a suspicious one.

"The fuck is all this then?" He demanded, not daring to touch any of the glasses just yet.

You didn't respond though, not really sure how to even answer that given the sudden demanding shout of a distant voice.

 

"Anderson!"

 

Everyone looked towards the source, and a large plump man outside an elevated office stood disgruntled while leaning on the handrail. The Captain perhaps?

 

"In my office!" He shouted again, the Lieutenant rolling his eyes with a wave of his arms as he turned around to follow the supposed orders.

"Bring those two as well. Now!"

 

Okay, that wasn't expected. You looked up at the demand and watched the Captain head back into his office, your hand reaching towards your knife with uncertainty. A gentle touch to your wrist had you flinching however, and you almost backhanded Connor who was suddenly right by your side and lightly gripping your forearm. It was as if he anticipated your reflex.

"I would advise against doing that." He kept his voice low, watching Hank head towards the office while keeping himself beside you. "This is just a meeting regarding the proposal we discussed before."

Proposal? For what? You knit your brows together and looked up at him with a frown.

As if reading your mind, he met your gaze. "The one where you are to be our Informant."

 

 

The office felt much smaller than it actually was, Connor practically glued to your back as you headed into the room and stood next to the Lieutenant. His proximity to you eased your nerves, though being in this office under the scrutiny of another old man made you feel like you were in big trouble. Again.

"First and foremost, sending an application about a Criminal Informant is not suitable while you two haven't even debriefed me on your case." The man waved an accusatory finger towards you, though it felt more like it was directed at Connor.

 

The nameplate on this man's desk read "Cpt. Fowler". So he was the one in charge.

 

"Secondly, your files are locked up tighter than Fort Knox. So I'm not even going to try and go through the political bullshit to figure you out."

You looked towards the Captain that time, since the finger and his focus was definitely on you.

 

Were you supposed to respond to that?

 

"Not to mention the colourful phone calls of important bastards I've been getting all night. So, I'll let this proceed if Anderson agrees. Since he's the Lieutenant and Leading Officer on this case, it'll be up to him." Fowler crossed his arms and sat on the corner of his desk, swinging his raised leg while the attention then shifted towards Hank.

"What, me? Why the fuck are you putting the decision on me?!" Anderson stepped forward and repeated the question to the Captain at a closer distance, his finger pointing back towards you.

"Because you're the Lieutenant, and you're supposed to be doing what's best for the case."

 

That sounded rather ridiculous, even for you.

 

"And we're... backed up in a corner here. If this doesn't get handled soon, the Feds will stick their nose in, and then it's a whole other shitshow that I gotta deal with. You should consider yourself lucky that you and the Android did well on the last few cases, or else I would've sent this straight to the Feds. It's a touchy case, I'm copping orders from all sorts of higher ups on this."

Either that was a truthful statement, or a slight attempt at intimidation. If it was the latter, that didn't work. However it did annoy you at how Fowler had blatantly ignored Connor's name. If they'd succeeded in several cases already then sure he would've known his name by now right? Now you didn't exactly consider yourself an expert on human interaction, but calling something by it's name was literally the most basic of decency.

 

Or, you were entirely wrong and were living in a completely different universe to these people.

 

Connor stepped around you to get involved on the turmoil that Anderson seemed to be going through. "Lieutenant, If I may-"

"Don't even-" Hank raised a hand, Connor stopping his approach and watching carefully. A long awkward pause ensued, and finally ceased when the Lieutenant exhaled loudly and turned around. "Fine."

This entire meeting seemed like quite a waste of time, though the regulations and protocol for the Police was probably much more strict. They couldn't exactly defy orders to get the job done like you could - there must have been serious repercussions should anything go wrong.
You stood motionless and watched Connor's form shift slightly, and Fowler looked towards you with a rather suspicious expression.

 

What was it with everyone staring at you like that?

 

"Then it's settled." Fowler waved a hand and motioned towards you, keeping his hand in the air for a moment before curling his fingers and leaving his index one straight and pointing with a rigid stance. "You better be worth it. Or else I'm definitely throwing you to the Feds."

Again, the 'intimidation' was laughable at most. You humoured him though with a small nod, rolling your shoulders as you left the room and returning to where your backpack was abandoned at the empty desk.

So you were now officially an Informant. Whether it was to the DCPD or Anderson exclusively wasn't really an issue, but with this nonsense out the way you could at least go to the scene and investigate a little more. Simulations could only give so much insight to a scenario, and you hadn't even searched for other clues which could help speed things along.

A voice called from behind you, but it's direction wasn't clear. You ignored the chatter and gathered your things, patting down your thighs to ensure that you had your equipment. Your backpack was empty now other than your screens for further investigating, making the swing of it over your shoulder much easier.

"Hey!"

Okay, that time it sounded obvious. Barely a few feet from the desks, Lieutenant Anderson hurriedly stepped in front of you and barred your way. You didn't have a choice but to stop, foot dropping back down since he'd interrupted you mid-step.

"Where do you think you're going? You just show up outta nowhere and are gonna just leave?" Hank hissed again, his voice awkwardly firm while trying to keep at a lower volume so it was only heard between the three of you.

What was his problem? First he was shitty that you were there, and now your departure was upsetting him. You stared expressionless as you waited for an elaboration. Something. Anything for him to just shut up and get out of the way.

He stared again for a few moments before shaking his head and holding his hands up. "Alright if we're going to be in each other's company, you gotta talk. I'm not Barker, 'lright? I don't know what's going on in that little head of yours."

The request was reasonable, but God did you hate it. If this was the reality of working with them, then it was already starting to sound like a regretful decision. You squinted slightly at his appeal, not really able to come up with any response that would've been remotely desired. You didn't even want to respond let alone agree to it.

"Well?" Hank raised his eyebrows, expecting a response. "Did you even understand what I said? Pilot?"

Hearing that word come from him made your shoulders tense, and not in a good way. It didn't sound right coming from Hank, head dipping slightly as your shoulders hunched under the tension.

"... Fine." You spat, releasing the pressure you had built up in your fists and feeling your palms ease. Your fingernails had dug into your skin and the circulation returned to your knuckles, colour returning to your fingers.

 

This was probably a really bad arrangement.

 

 

-

 

 

With the nonsense at the Precinct out of the way, you were now finally able to get re-started on your investigation. Connor's offer to travel to the scene together was shot down by both The Lieutenant and yourself, which was for the best since you absolutely hated the music he listened to.

The opportunity was also there now for you to explore the back streets and exercise your agility in this urban terrain. It was much more organised compared to the battlefields you were used to, and it was quite amusing to take different paths. Each outcome was different and every path had at least 4 or more methods of action. From ducking under crates, vaulting over fences, or occasionally entertaining yourself with a backflip off the wall; every stunt was a rigorous exercise to keep your skilled body at its peak performance and agility. Something that Simulations couldn't help you with. Since you had been forced into retirement nearly a year ago, it didn't hurt to indulge your body to some strenuous activity.

 

And despite traversing the entire trip on foot, you were still the first to arrive at the Crime Scene.

 

The area was still sectioned off with bright police holo-tape - which you quickly walked through to examine the victims. Everything looked different in daylight now, but the markers for the victim's original positions were still in place. Actually, the lack of markers. It was almost bare, nothing but the bodies' placement and the spot in the wall where the bullet had hit.

 An extremely clean execution.

 

"Ah Geez."

 

A disgruntled voice you had learned to recognize interrupted your thoughts.

Hank had arrived, and Connor was already approaching you eagerly, it seemed. The dynamic between you all was now somewhat awkward considering the new circumstances of this arrangement, but that wasn't going to stop you proceeding with your findings.

With your focus on the possible location of the sniper, you walked away from Connor's approaching form and headed to the very wall you had found the bullet. The indent was there, concrete and paint cracked from it's impact. Having grabbed it the way you did that night had disrupted the surface of the wall. The crumbled pieces of concrete were misshapen and strewn, your eagerness to take the evidence now being the problem in trying to solve it.

 

You had basically fucked up.

 

"The bullet's trajectory was from an elevated vantage point, at least from the 10th floor of a nearby building." Connor crouched next to you.

Your hand pulled back from the damaged wall and rested on your knees. His claim was rather specific, so you waited for him to elaborate. He looked like he was still analysing the scene, too.

You watched him for a moment, his eyes inspecting the damaged wall carefully. Connor's head then lifted and slowly turned to the right, the fluidity in his turn was as if he was taking a complex scan of his environment. Then he stood up and walked away a few steps, stopping in his tracks, and turning his head again in the same panoramic-shot like fashion.

 

It was the motions of a machine at work, and it was intriguing to watch. You always enjoyed watching your Titan tirelessly compute everything in his surroundings.

 

A machine that you could depend on to protect you.

 

Was that how you were trying to compare Connor?

 

"10th floor?" You slowly rose to your feet and looked at the buildings across the road, all of them being 20 or more storeys high. It was more of a rhetorical question, but you wanted to hear him explain things, compute in a way a human wouldn't be able to even come close to matching.

Connor stood motionless, seeming to be fixated on something ahead of him. His form was rigid, and his hands were still, only occasionally having a movement in his fingers as he seemed to be subconsciously busy.

 

He didn't just break, did he?

 

"Connor?" Your voice raised slightly with concern, lips pursing under the material of your face cover as you took a small step towards him. The lack of response or movement itched a reaction out of you, and you quickly felt your legs move of their own accord in his direction.

Your footsteps come to a halt though as he suddenly turned around, expression somewhat calm as he noticed and computed the sudden change in distance between you.

"I'm sorry," he began with a tip of his head, shifting his foot to change the angle he was facing. "I was reconstructing the scenario with the data I had collected from the projectile and the evidence of the scene."

".... Like a simulation?" You were genuinely impressed with that, unsure of what to even begin with for an explanation. Although you probably wouldn't be able to keep up with every minute detail of his processing capabilities, you opted with possible answers you would be able to understand.

"Similarly, yes. Using the data from detailed examinations of every piece of evidence available at my disposal, environmental factors are then calculated to predict; then reconstruct the exact time of events in which they occured."

You stepped closer to him at the explanation, curious of this capability. Almost opening your mouth to praise him for his talent, your attention was instead drawn to the matter at hand. "So where was the vantage point?"

Connor turned his head towards a particular building and raised a hand, pointing to about halfway up it's glossy exterior. "16th floor, approximately one of the center rooms."

The location was all you needed to hear, and you immediately broke into a sprint towards the very structure he had just pointed to. If he was right - which you were counting on - then you were one step closer to finding the attacker and taking out another threat.

 

Hopefully it wasn't a worst case scenario.

 

 

Chapter 11: BRD-01

Summary:

It was a worst case scenario.

Notes:

L-STAR: A rapid firing assault rifle but shoots energy projectiles. Think the blasters from Star Wars but roughly 50x faster. It's a mean gun, in both a good and bad way because it MELTS

Various people stepped away as you sprinted around to the side of your target building, some muttering insults as you forced them to stop in their tracks.

Crates became platforms while a dumpster became your launch pad, the plastic lid springing upwards after you leapt onto the tall chain link fence. You had gained enough height to reach the top, using your torso as leverage to swing your legs over. The drop to the concrete was rather high but after letting go of the metal barrier, you crouched enough upon landing to soften your fall.

The fence clattered after you stood up straight, and Connor suddenly on the other side and gripping at the mesh with a concerned expression.

 

 

"Pilot, what are you doing?" His hands rattled the links at his question, looking up to analyze the height of the fence before looking back at you. "You're tresspassing."

Well, you didn't exactly need permission, there was a level of immunity when it came to being an informant right?

You didn't respond, taking a few steps back while facing the Detective before turning around and making a break for the rear of the building.

 

The yard seemed to be a standard setup, a staff-only entrance with an emergency fire exit accesible only from the inside. The staff door was also locked by an ID reader, but that was something that could be easily dealt with.

With a flick of your wrist, your Data Knife spun around your index finger on a few rotations before you gripped the handle, blade facing downwards while you approached the terminal. A distant clattering of a fence had you turning towards the noise. Upon seeing the source, you relaxed as Connor jogged around the corner.

 

Wait, wasn't he trespassing now?

 

You ignored his approach though, stepping up to the ID scanner on the wall and lifting your blade to the edges, popping the frame off the wall to inspect the wiring inside.

Now behind you, Connor reached over your shoulder and pressed his suddenly-white hand to the terminal. The door lit green and clicked open, your eyebrows raised in response to what you had just witnessed.

 

So, he was capable of interfacing and hacking other electronics upon contact?

Seems that the technology specifically made for your Data Knife was also given to Androids.

 

Connor looked down at you and the corner of his mouth rose slightly - a smile? - but you turned to the now open entry and headed inside, navigating the empty hallways. It was simple enough to find the elevator, Connor's footsteps close behind as you approached another security panel again.

Before you could open the terminal, Connor once more reached ahead and pressed his white hand to the panel. The skin was gone from his limb, the moving segments in each joint and finger drawing your attention. It rested on the screen for a moment before a red light blinked and the word 'Restricted' appeared at his fingertips. As Connor removed his palm from the panel, you watched the skin return to his hand from his wrist.

Synthetic skin that could be removed and activated at will was quite impressive. You remembered how it felt when he treated your wound before, the firmness of his skin now making sense since his exterior was made from a type of plastic. But didn't that just make them a little more fragile?

With Connor's hacking attempt a failure, you looked up at him with a raised brow. He met your eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but you nudged his hand out of the way with your Knife wielding hand and popped the frame open like you did with the one outside.

"The security system is on an internal network and protected by a rotating code," Connor whispered, leaning down to direct his voice into your ear.

Swinging the panel open, you pressed the red button at your thumb on the knife handle - a secondary plate sprung alongside the knife, reaching to the tip of your blade.

 

It was called a Data Knife for a reason.

 

 

The circuitry and electronic components on the secondary blade of your knife shone in the light. Upon finding a narrow slot in the security terminals, you stabbed it into the components with force.

"Causing a malfunction won't allow access," Connor whispered again, his 'breath' brushing over your cheek as his whisper became a hiss. You nudged his chin away with your shoulder, a blue light appearing at the end of your knife and illuminating both of your faces. An outer ring shone yellow and scrolled through code and numbers - shifting blue as it was successful in it's hack. The process repeated two more times, the dial shifting to the innermost circle and glowing a bright blue at the completed override of the system.

The terminal blinked green and you withdrew your blade, closing the case and looking at the word "Granted" plastered over the screen.

It felt good to be able to use your Data Knife to it's full capacity again, even if it was just to hack into an elevator of a restricted building. The doors opened and you stepped inside quickly, turning back to see Connor watching you intently. Did he look... impressed?

"I can interface too. That tech was basically given to you guys," you announced with a huff, hitting the '16' button and spinning your knife in your hand. Connor followed and stood by your side, his eagerness to come along tugging concern in you.

Before the doors could close, you stood your foot in their tracks and pointed towards the hallway and looked at him. "Get out."

Connor frowned at your demand, only to stare at you while his LED lit yellow. "Why?"

"I don't know what's up there," you repeated, ignoring the door bump against your foot and open again.

Silence was all he gave back.

"Connor, I said get out."

"No."

Your shoulders dropped and your eyes narrowed into a squint. "I thought Androids are meant to do as they're told?"

"As the Detective on this case, I will be accompanying you to the 16th floor to continue this Investigation."

You bit your lip and fought the urge to drag him out of the elevator yourself. "You don't understand Connor, I don't know what's up there, and there's a chance you'll get hurt."

His LED cycled yellow briefly while he narrowed his eyes this time, looking away then back at you. "I'm a machine. I don't feel pain."

The urge to smack him was real. "You're not just a machine, you're-"

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the intended word escape you. What was this even going to achieve? Connor didn't seem like a machine, he held a lot more to him than that. Hell, the machines you were used to looked nothing like a human and you still considered them to be more than 'just a robot'. And Connor looking as human as he did just threw a spanner in your works of understanding these Androids.

 

"I'm a what, Pilot?"

 

There was no answer for that.

Your lip was released from between your teeth and the grip on your knife tightened, a deep sigh escaping you as the doors bumped against your foot again. Connor clearly showed no sign of leaving the elevator, so you stepped beside him and turned towards the hallway.

 

As the doors closed, you brought your hands up to tackle Connor from behind and out of the elevator.

 

He spun around at the same time and grabbed you by the back of the neck; using your momentum to spin the both of you around in a graceful arc and ultimately push you against the wall. His forearm pressed against your throat while your armed hand was pinned to the wall by your hip.

 

The elevator chimed as it started to move.

 

Connor kept you restrained against the wall, neither of you speaking a word as you struggled against his grip.

"I've been instructed to solve this case and I intend to do so. You need to trust me."

Swallowing was uncomfortable with the pressure against your throat, but you kept your eyes locked on his - the intensity in his warning making you feel weak since he had just outmanoeuvred you. You swallowed again and pushed against his hold, which he finally released and stepped back to allow space. Deep breaths through your nose helped ease your sore throat, and you couldn't help but to glare at him after being let go.

Outplaying him in the alley must have taught him something, and now you felt uneasy that he was able to read your moves.

How could you trust someone that could outdo you like that?

 

A quiet hum cut through the uncomfortable silence and the elevator doors opened, revealing an empty office floor that appeared to not have any tenants. You shrugged off the discomfort of being subdued by Connor and headed out to the floor, turning your focus back to the possible threat ahead.

The entire floor appeared to be unleased. It was barren of any furniture other than various crates and other maintenance equipment. Your knife was close to your chest and you kept your stance low, the quiet taps of Connor's feet behind you making you nervous. You weren't just protecting yourself here, you were also protecting him. Whether he could feel pain or not, you had seen enough chaos in war to know that pain wasn't always the worst thing that could make you suffer.

Occasionally your steps would cease. Connor seemed to follow your lead as you let the silence ring out.

Every movement caused the tiniest bit of noise.

Your footsteps.

The sweep of fabric against your body.

Moving your limbs.

Breathing.

It was impossible to determine any threat without bait, so you slowly shifted your thumb on your Knife's handle and pressed the same button that released the circuitry component. It withdrew back into the handle with a metallic swish, and subtly clicked.

 

A low mechanical groan echoed.

 

Immediately turning, you tackled Connor and brought him onto the ground. Various whirrs and taps followed the original sound, your hand slapping over Connor's mouth as a wave of panic hit you.

 

Those sounds were far too familiar.

 

And it was absolutely, a worst case scenario.

 

"Do not. Move." You whispered, straddling Connor's waist as a subtle orange glow caught your attention.

Connor was flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling, and you were doing your best to stay motionless given your position. Your head was next to his, breaths shaky as a metal screech sounded, followed by slow taps.

 

Footsteps.

 

The light you had seen lit up the wall to your right. Connor's eyes looked towards the orange grid that shone on the bare surfaces and slowly panned along the room. You leaned forward more and your forehead tapped on the concrete beneath you, the glowing grid missing your hunched body by inches as it repeated it's motion.

Clicks of motors and the faint hiss of hydraulics had you tensing your arms, the sounds coming closer as the taps became clangs.

Connor tried to move his head, but you pressed your hand harder over his mouth as a silent plea to keep still. Your armed hand was by your side, but any movement would make your knife tap against the concrete.

 

More clicks and whirrs.

 

It was so close.

 

Silence filled the air for a moment, but the loud hits against the concrete floor were now right beside you. Air movement against your cheek made you blink at the dust, and the mechanical leg stepped inches from your face.

You could feel Connor's eye's go wide through the subtle shifts of his skin under your hand. The air was still again, but the sounds repeated.

 

It was a Spectre.

 

And it was scanning for you.

 

A few moments passed and the Spectre shifted position, the loud mechanical thumps on the concrete moving towards the elevator you had arrived in.

"My belt." Your whisper was almost inaudible at the desperation to stay undetected. "Left hip. Grenade. Use it."

Connor's body shifted slightly under your legs as his arm began to move, extremely slow to prevent any noise coming from the friction of your clothes. His hand pat at your thigh and slowly reached higher, fingers finally finding the belt at your hip and searching for the ordinance you had brought 'in case of an emergency'.

A small click sounded as he released it from it's clasp, and a mechanical zip followed as the orange light was right above your heads again.

 

Connor froze.

 

You pushed your head against his to try and minimise the gap for your voice to travel.

"Trust me," you mouthed as quietly as you could, fingers tensing around your Data Knife while your hand on Connor's mouth trembled. A subtle shift brushed against your thigh and stopped once more.

"Ready," he breathed, the light above you scanning the walls.

You nodded, and the little sphere was tossed towards the Spectre.

 

Go.

 

The grenade tumbled and buzzed loudly, the sound increasing in volume before exploding into a blinding flash of electricity that chained from it's body towards the Spectre.

 

8 seconds.

 

You pushed yourself up off of Connor and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him onto his feet and hastily shoving him towards a nearby wall. Neither of you even had a chance to look at the machine that was hunting you down, the need to escape fuelling both of you. Fast bursts of gunfire followed, but the sound had you reeling behind the wall you were using for cover.

 

It was using an L-STAR. Great.

 

"It's using a particle accelerating weapon!" you looked towards Connor and peaked around the wall, counting down the seconds you had before the stun from the grenade would wear off. "If you get hit by that LMG, you'll be destroyed!"

Connor tried to lean out as you did, but you quickly pushed him back against the wall. "You don't stand a chance! Get to the-"

 

The wall burst as it was gunned down, the Spectre jumping through the debris and hastily scanning for you.

 

 

This was an infantry unit meant for combat, and even if you could take it out, Connor's presence was only making things difficult.

He didn't stand a chance against a steel bodied war machine, and you weren't going to let him get hurt from this.

But you couldn't let it get destroyed either, hacking it could give you info on who sent it, and how it got here.

 

"Elevator! Now!" You pushed at Connor's chest, jumping to your feet and tackling the Spectre with your shoulder. It fucking hurt, ramming into a titanium plated Robot while wearing civilian attire. Enough to dislocate your arm surely, but you at least had it's attention.

 

You sprinted away and dropped backwards to slide along the ground as another round of gunfire followed; the red energy projectiles just barely missing the top of your head as you continued to keep it's attention off of Connor who was...

 

Where did he go?!

 

"Connor!"

 

A loud bang had the Spectre stumbling as a steel crate collided with it's head. Connor ducked behind a pillar while reaching for a nearby box, trying to pull it closer. He was obviously trying to help but this was the worst time to do this.

 

The Spectre turned around and raised it's gun, the orange glow on it's optics focusing on Connor.

 

Shit.

 

Without thinking, you scrambled to your feet and sprinted towards the Machine, clicking at your Data Knife and launching yourself at the Spectre with desperation. Your legs swung over it's shoulders and latched onto its frame, free hand pushing it's head down while your Knife was raised.

 

It flailed at your weight but you desperately tried to keep it's neck exposed.

 

Where was the connector slot?!

 

The gun in the Spectre's hand charged and began to fire, the energy projectiles spraying throughout the room while shattering some windows.

 

Your hand began to bleed as you desperately held onto shifting metal, the joints of the machine's arms beginning to squeeze and slowly crush your legs.

Through teary eyes and aching limbs, a downward thrust of your knife into the back of the Spectre's head slowed it's movements. Orange lights on your Knife slowly shifted blue while you desperately tried to cling onto the murderous machine that continued to try and remove you from it's back.

 

Then something called you. Or were you imagining it?

 

Everything fell silent as the machine finally stopped, your torso heaving violently as you tried to catch your breath.

 

Strange sounds escaped your throat. You weren't consciously making them, but the weird noises were definitely coming from you.

 

The machine stopped and slowly straightened up, the murderous red of it's optics dimming to a cool white. It's arms loosened from your legs and you fell backward, the concrete unforgiving against your body as you hit the ground.

 

Why did things look blurry?

 

The ceiling faded with varying levels of brightness, your chest stuttering with struggled gasps.

 

"Pilot!!"

 

 The voice was distant. Muffled. An ache spread through your legs while something came into your view.

 

 

... was that Connor?

 

 

Notes:

Wanna see how the Data Knife hacking looks?

And why not a knife-check while we're at it?

The image used for the Spectre was the only one I could find which was decent. Clearly there was only one, but they're pretty fierce looking things!

Thank you for coming back to chapter 11!

 

Bonus clip of the LSTAR in use, and Barker talking in the background as your leader/commander

Chapter 12: Two Sides

Summary:

There needs to be room for growth.

Notes:

I basically word vomited after speedrunning the TF2 campaign again and hurting my heart in the process. To those that know the game/lore, there are tweaks here but mostly my take on explaining things as it isn't clear in the game.

Also a bit of a break from the chaos in the last chapter! Thank you for the feedback!

Red and Blue lights shone from the streets below, while sirens screamed throughout.

It was a bit of a mess.

Glass that had shattered from the Spectre's gunfire had caused havoc on the street below. Police were trying to get access into the building, given the shouts from supposed Officers on ground level.

"Lieutenant Anderson is on the way." Connor announced as he gently scooped a hand under your neck to lift you up. He moved it between your shoulder blades to assist you into a sitting position, though you pulled away from his grasp and planted your palms on the ground by your sides.

You couldn't care less what the Police would think of the scenario, because despite the mess it looked to be; It was a favourable outcome.

Connor stood up after your flinch, then turned to approach the elevator as it descended - to most likely pick up the Lieutenant and other officers that had managed to call it down. You pushed your hands against the ground and moved yourself backwards, shuffling on your rear with the repeated motion to move away from the center of the room. Once you felt the relieving pressure of the wall against your back, your head tipped up and you exhaled sharply.

Your legs were partly numb due to the excruciating pain that throbbed from your thighs downward. Attempts at moving your feet only had you hissing with pain, sucking air through your teeth while your hands involuntarily flinched towards your chest.

It hurt. Pain wasn't usually this drawn out for you since injuries were 'cured' with a shot of Stim. You pulled your face cover down and rested it at your chin, face contorting to an expression of extreme discomfort.

 

"Holy SHIT!!"

 

Company had arrived.

 

Lieutenant Anderson walked into view, his gun raised while Connor was by his side. The Spectre stood motionless after you had overrode it's system. It was slightly shorter than Hank, but then again Spectre's were the smaller class of infantry, which averaged at 6ft tall.

Imagine how they would've reacted to a Reaper.

"What. The fuck. Is that...?" The old man stepped forward, gun aimed directly at it's head while keeping a couple of feet of distance in between.

Connor faced you, seeming to expect an answer. Then Hank faced you.

Didn't need a genius to figure out they wanted an explanation.

"Spectre," you spat, your breaths still heavy at the agony that pulsed through your legs. "Lucky there's only one."

"Lucky?" Hank shouted, gun beginning to tremble at either his anger or fear at the literal machine that stood in front of him.

"There are more of these?" Connor's expression was definitely a confused one, and you simply tipped your head.

"Usually deployed in teams of 3 or more," you answered quickly in one breath, readjusting yourself to be sitting more upright.

God your legs hurt.

Additional Police arrived through the elevator, and you took that as your cue to stop talking and giving away any unnecessary information. Speaking with Hank and Connor was pushing your tolerance already, but others were quite literally not worth your time. Their reactions were the same upon seeing the Spectre standing motionless a few feet away, and they quickly began to talk amongst themselves on how to deal with this.

 

Connor however, approached you and knelt by your side. He stared at you for a moment - no doubt scanning or analysing your vitals - before reaching for one of your legs and pressing at your knee.

 

What was he doing?

 

Ignoring your stares, he methodically squeezed at your leg with his thumb and forefinger; downwards towards your ankle, then at your foot. It didn't feel much different since your legs just felt like they were melting, though he picked up your ankle and gently pushed it towards you to bend your leg. That was when you came to the conclusion that he was doing a physical assessment.

You allowed it - he'd touched at you once before, anyway - and left him to his motions, flinching as your knee was almost at a 90 degree angle. The sudden pain had you hissing and awkwardly scrambling, trying to get away from his procedural check.

 

"Was that painful?" Connor relaxed your leg and looked at you, focusing on your expression which you could only hope was annoyed enough to get the message across. Did you really have to answer? Your attempt to escape his hands wasn't enough of a response?

Clearly it wasn't, as he set your leg down gently and reached for the other. Connor repeated the squeezing motions and pushed your leg up again, this time the pain hitting you earlier than his previous examination. You bit back a yelp and tried to pull away from him, grabbing at his wrist to push it off of your knee.

"You know, people normally express their pain and discomfort verbally." Connor tipped his head and raised his brows, eyes not once leaving you - nor did he let go of your knee.

 

Literally nothing about you or this situation was 'normal'.

 

"I'm sorry if that caused you discomfort," he hummed, setting your leg back on the ground gently.

As you gave no response, he knelt down and looked at your hands, the skin at your fingers having torn and bled from rodeoing the Spectre.

"Are you okay?" Connor kept his voice low, directing the question and leaning in a way that was clear he was trying to get your attention.

His attempt at getting you to talk again was becoming tiresome. You'd done a lot of it already, and your little verbal meter had worn out considerably by shouting before. Not to mention he had ignored your demands and subdued you in the elevator earlier.

Interacting was pretty much off your list for the day. You looked down at your lap and gently pressed your thumbs and forefingers together, the dried blood on your hands smearing across your fingertips.

Connor shifted on his spot as he seemed to accept your blatant refusal to answer. He ignored the bustle of police in the background, leaning forward again to at least try and make eye contact. "Why did you do that?"

You looked up towards him at the question, which seemed to be his first goal.

"The Spectre. Why did you risk yourself to defend me?"

 

Was that supposed to be a serious question? It clearly was, given how serious he looked; but you couldn't help but to feel genuinely dumbfounded.

Were Androids meant to feel this inferior?

 

You almost responded with sarcasm, a short response to get him off your case; but the expression he held looked genuinely confused. As if it was the first time anyone had done such a thing.

For him at least. For you, risking your life was what made you into the lethal Pilot you were. The only difference is that now, you had no-one to watch your back.

No-one to protect you.

Because it was you that did all of the protecting, alongside your partner who was-

"Not now." Your voice was a whisper, voice croaking slightly as you lifted your head and inhaled deeply.

"What?"

"Ask me another time, just-" You pulled your legs up towards yourself so your feet were now flat on the floor. They still hurt like hell. "I don't want to talk anymore."

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

Cleaning up the mess from the building was easy when the right lies were put in for explanations. The damage was written off as a gas explosion. Since the projectiles were charged energy, the L-STAR left no bullet trace. In the reports, 'The wall was destroyed by a malfunctioning gas tank which was next to a faulty power generator'.

Basically with enough big words, the explanations were rarely questioned.

Journalists that tried to pry further would usually be dismissed and branded as conspiracy theorists.

The Spectre however had to remain behind. You had guaranteed that it would do as ordered - but the whole increase of 'Deviancy' cases only led to the Police being uncomfortable about it being brought back to the station. You also refused to answer anything about the Spectre, since you couldn't exactly narrow down the 8 years you've been around them into a small essay. The data you could share, would be sent in parts to Connor. You didn't particularly trust how these people would handle sensitive information, especially when they held a paranoia with machines with their current issue of 'Deviants'.

Spectres didn't hold the same level of AI that Androids did though, so their capabilities to 'break their programming' was little to none.

Unlike Androids, Spectres were literally made to kill and destroy. Nothing more.

Your departure from the scene was also quite embarrassing, since your refusal to be helped by medics resulted in Connor carrying you out of the building like a damsel in distress. Luckily you still had your face cover which could hide your frustration, but even Hank thought it looked ridiculous that you were being carried out like that.

Thankfully, Connor agreed to never speak of that again.

 

-

 

Which led to the other matter at hand, recovery.

In the safety of your apartment, you were able to use your Stim. The little canister of green self-replenishing fluid that would normally attach to your belt by your lower back - just above your Data Knife holster - was re-kitted to be a simple capsule that resembled an epi-pen.

A shot of that before sleep - after the physical activity you had engaged in that day helped burn it off quicker - and your legs had already felt much better the following morning. 

The recovery would have been completed within a few hours on the battlefield, but since you were bound to being a civilian; the excessive energy from the shot wouldn't be able to be absorbed safely without it damaging your blood cells. Two shots a day was the maximum without hurting yourself given the lack of physical activity, though being able to walk without the feeling of needles clamping around your leg was enough of a miracle at this point.

Still, you kept your Stim-pen in your pocket after having your shot for the morning.

 

An entire day had passed since the Spectre event and you could still hear the metallic clangs of its murderous frame. And the lack of proper sleep, disturbed eating habits, and general 'survival mode' had your body wrung tight in terms of general functionality.

 

It was still quite soon to be hauling yourself through the city and bringing back a 6ft literal-killer-robot back with you to your apartment, so the only option for now would be to stay put and go back when it was dark. The television droned on in the background, as you'd noticed that having 'living sounds' in your apartment made it less unusual for your neighbours. Because people seemed to have obnoxious ambient sounds like that.

 

So....

 

What did people do in their free time?

 

Standing in the living room, you looked around, hand fidgeting with your knife handle while you thought of something to do.

Eat? No, you weren't feeling hungry. Research the Spectre? You already knew them inside and out, and you needed the actual specimen to be able to plug into it's memory and review it's video feed. The clink of the beaded chain around your neck had you looking at your Regeneration Chip, your eyes then looking over to the steel black box on your kitchen counter which held the others.

 

No.

 

You shouldn't.

 

... But you could.

 

Even if it was just... One memory.

 

Trembling hands reached up to the Chip that hung around your neck, the temptation to see your friend just once more eating away at your self control.
11 months was a long time. Would it be wrong to undo all of that 'progress' - as Barker called it anyway - for a few short moments to hear his voice again?

 

 

 

 

"- A group of Androids infiltrated the Stratford Tower and hacked into the broadcasting system of the local news network, Channel 16."

 

The news alert pulled your attention at the word 'Androids'. You didn't exactly understand the deal with this 'Deviancy' thing, but then again quite a lot of your understandings were considered wrong in this city. Letting go of your Chip you looked to the screen, bright colours accentuating a moving banner worded "ANDROID ATTACK".

 

"What looks like an Android without its skin listed a series of requests and demanded equal rights for Androids."

 

That sounded fair enough, right? You sat on the edge of the couch and watched the reporter give the news, feeling unsettled at how they were phrasing the supposed attack.

 

"These events took place just a few feet from this studio. But no-one was alerted to the danger."

 

So was it a danger then? Whoever these Androids were, knew what they were doing. Covert operations took a lot of discipline, and you knew a lot about self control in that regard.

 

"Is this an isolated accident... or a sign that technology has become a threat to all of us? After what happened today, can we still trust our machines?"

 

You shot up at the closing statement, taste of iron in your mouth when you released your now-bleeding lip from your teeth.

 

A threat? Machines?

 

Oh these people had no idea what truly happened beyond the bubble of their little world. Machines weren't the problem, people were. You would gladly give your life for a 'machine' since one had been your friend and protected you for your entire career.

 

A machine with more compassion and feeling than a human had ever showed you. Your best friend who kept you alive and the bond you shared was what kept you going through the war.

 

And the ones calling the shots that put you and your friend in danger, were people.

 

The news had you feeling disgusted, it was just people twisting words and being paranoid. They were civilians sure, but God they definitely knew how to rattle the cages of something they didn't understand. People of Detroit didn't deserve Androids, they were far too selfish to even understand the implications and possibilities of AI. What did they expect? Something that was superior to humans in every way, to eventually surpass humans?

 

It was supposed to be something of mutual understanding, and quite literally common sense.

Perhaps these people needed a show of force, an act of true terrorism come their way to make them truly respect the power of machines. Hold power over these pathetic people and strike fear so deep they would never disrespect these machines again. The saying goes that 'you don't bite the hand that feeds you'. But that hand was also throwing abuse at these machines.

And animals always fought back when desperate.

Anger welled up in the pit of your stomach, your fist trembling at the the news that continued to drone on about 'threat of technology'. Your hand flicked outward and you threw the remote, the little cartridge shattering the curved glass as the metaphorical steam expelled from your ears.

 

No.

 

That was the wrong way to think.

 

While you originated from a Faction of war criminals, your redemption had saved the lives of many. Your Titan wouldn't have approved of this anger, and the 6|4 would definitely not have trusted you if your mindset remained like this. Allegiance with the Apex Predators was severed for a reason, and you couldn't... revert to that way of thinking because of anger.

 

Connor wouldn't approve of it, either.

 

Connor.

 

Why he came to mind was a mystery, but you recalled how he... looked after you. Took care of your injuries, and even questioned your willingness to defend him when attacked by a Spectre. Why did his opinion of you matter so much?

 

Why did he even care?

 

Just... Why?

 

Glass clinked as shards fell onto the floor, your hand trembling at your outburst. The television audio cut out, but the fragmented video on the remaining glass continued to play.

You've come too far to relive the past. Even if seeing and hearing your Titan could bring you comfort, to fill the void that haunted you for nearly a year - it would only remind you of the atrocities you have done in the past.

 

Self reflection, was what you needed.

 

With a deep breath, you clenched your fist and headed to the kitchen, snatching the steel onyx case and dragging it across the polished granite as you walked to the room which held the simulator.

The case was dropped onto the desk and opened hastily, the 7 remaining chips pulled from their slots while the 8th was yanked from the chain on your neck. Each chip was carefully dropped into a reader on the side of the Simulation Pod, aligning with the circuits on the compartment which you quickly closed.

You felt your breath hitch as you hastily typed on the keys, hands trembling as you forced yourself to type in the command prompt.

Adrenalin had thankfully kicked in, or else you probably wouldn't have been able to go through with this.

 

[ REGEN 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 Inserted - Audio and Video signature at REGEN 8 found ]

 

[ Scan? ]

 

Fight or flight, and you were choosing Fight.

 

[ 7634370 Matches ]

 

Your Titan was everything, but he was gone. Holding onto him when he was slowly being stripped from your mind and very being was just cruel.

To the both of you.

 

 

[ Do you want to delete TITAN DATA? ]

 

 

If these Androids could do it, then...

 

You should be able to grow, too.

 

 

[ Yes ]

 

 

 

 

Notes:

This chapter made sense in my head, but I thought that I would try and clarify here. The feelings from Connor's confusion and his general care for you makes you question things > the News villainizing the machines makes you hate people even more > Decision to move on as the Androids are trying their best to as well.

If this was confusing or didn't read well, please do let me know! I'll gladly rewrite this chapter if it helps!

Thank you again for coming back to Chapter 12!

Chapter 13: Effect

Summary:

A moment to yourself.

Notes:

This was supposed to be a super long chapter but after reading what I had so far, it felt better to split them. This is short! A bit of an interlude before stuff starts happening.

The next chapters will be Connor's perspective mostly, as you have gone through quite a bit of an emotional ride already!

Weather seemed to be against the police, and the streets contained more patrol than usual.

 

But that wasn't a problem, you knew the back alleys well and had the agility to keep out of their general line of sight. You may be confined to being in a civillian city, but you kept the skills of an Elite soldier.

And with those skills, you had arrived back at the scene.

There was an... emptiness in your chest. The moment you hit that button and deleted that data, you had crossed a boundary that wouldn't let you turn back.

No more running.

You were in the dark now. The little glowing light that you held onto like a lifeline, was extinguished and enveloped by the void of true loneliness. His destruction already left you with uncertainty, but now everything that pertained to his existence was now erased.

 

It felt strange.

 

Isolation.

 

Another Titan was supposedly in the works for you to connect with, but the very thought of it made you sick.

 

The crisp breeze of the snowy air had you breathing clouds as you approached the broken window of the crime scene. The increase of Police patrols on ground level made it tricky to navigate back to this building, even with your Jump Kit equipped.

Though, your legs were still in need of recovery and the Jump Kit was mostly to help ease every fall your body made when navigating the city. As they kept a constant force of thrust coming from their jets, it made you feel just the slightest bit lighter and softened any descent.

But for now, it helped your walking be a bit less painful.

 

A wave of your hand made the Spectre follow you to the edge of the floor, the broken window leaving a massive gap out into the elements. The wind howled as it entered the building, the hollow sound adding to the already lost feeling that was weighing you down. Your facecover was pulled down completely and hung around your neck, hood also off of your head and bunched at your shoulders.

 

 

 

"Standby, kneel." Your voice was calm, the Spectre clicking in response and turning around to face the elevator. As it's hacker, the override put your safety at it's immediate priority. You were the one it fought for now, so it obeyed your command and knelt down, metal scraping on concrete as it went into standby.

Your feet continued to slowly step towards the edge, the wind picking up with intensity the closer you got to the breach. It was quiet despite the howling, traffic and shouting distant with the streets being nearly 20 floors below you.

The edge of the building was under your toes now, and you continued to step your feet out until only your heels were on the edge of the floor. This height was low compared to others that you had jumped from, but it was a distance that would still be fatal if not executed right.

 

The emptiness. It hurt.

 

What was there to do now? Protocol 2 - Uphold the Mission. In this case: Stay hidden, and survive.

It just didn't feel the same without your Titan.

 

A subtle whirr of the Spectre's motor caught your attention as it motioned into defense, though your gaze remained on the blinding white of the icy weather over Detroit. No-one else would've come up here alone other than-

 

"Connor."

 

His name fell from your lips as softly as you'd ordered the Spectre. The wind picked up slightly as some snow flew into the exposed building floor. The billowing sound silenced, and only the quiet footsteps of Connor's approach were audible. They ceased as the clicks of motors sounded though, and you glanced over your shoulder at the Spectre which was focusing it's optics on the new arrival.

 

"Stand down," you hushed, the atmosphere quiet enough to keep your voice at a minimum - the level you were most comfortable with.

As instructed, the Spectre lowered it's head, turning it's optics to the ground and returning to standby.

 

"You're standing," Connor spoke with a tone of surprise, his voice bringing a comfort you didn't realise you were searching for. Now that you were truly stripped of your Titan's existence, the massive void that remained in it's place sought out something to replace it.

 

If only it were that easy.

 

"I am," you replied, turning your head back towards the city and shifting your weight forward slightly. Connor's footsteps suddenly tapped closer, almost directly behind you at your small sway. Looking back at the sudden abrupt noises, you notice his hands were reaching for you.

 

Did he think you were going to...?

 

"You're observant," your tone was flat, turning your body slightly so you could look at him a little better.

 

His hands didn't move, and his LED spun yellow as he stared at you intently. Carefully.

 

Despite the concern he was showing, you just felt... deflated. Flat. "You're here for the Spectre?" Surely it was the only reason he was here, though if you weren't around, he probably would've gone looking for you afterwards.

 

"Yes." Was all he responded with, slowly straightening up while his hands remained in their position - ready to catch you. "You had... agreed that you would give me details about this machine. In parts, as you had put it. There must be quite a lot of information regarding this... Spectre."

 

"Hm," the hum escaped you in a rather flat tone, amused at his specific recollection of the deal you had struck with the DCPD. "Yeah. You could say that." The wind picked up again and you squinted at the snowflakes that landed on your eyelashes, glancing out at the city before looking at Connor.

The emptiness of the sky above the Detroit skyline felt as vacant as your thoughts did right now. You were here to self reflect, but now that Connor had arrived, you were starting to question yourself.

 

"Hey Connor. If I give you what you need to know, will you leave me be?"

 

Connor's eye twitched as his LED spun yellow again. He was confused, the expression clearly showed it. And the question - as straightforward as it was - seemed to have him at a standstill.

"I don't understand," he finally responded, eyebrows knit together. "Am I interrupting you? Do you wish to be alone?"

 

No, you didn't. At least, not to be alone. But everything else? You couldn't even begin to fathom what you were genuinely feeling right now.

 

"What's your definition of alone, Connor?" The question was a rhetorical one, though it wasn't particularly phrased that way. 

It was clear with the pause on Connor's face that he was considering it to be unecessary to respond, but he still made the effort to seemingly think out a response.

"... You don't have to answer that right now." You hushed, offering that small bit of certainty. It wasn't a definition you wanted to hear at this very moment.

 

With a quick motion of your hand, you tossed a data-chip to Connor, one you had prepared which compiled all the necessary information about the Spectre. How to access it's memory. Controlling it. Overriding it's instructions. Maintenance. Everything that would be required to proceed with the case of this murder and piece apart the data he could access.

 

He caught it with a snap of his hand, the circuitry glimmering in the dim light between his thumb and forefinger.

 

"Everything you need, that will help you with the case. I know I said it would be in parts, but... Just take it." You nodded with a slow blink, watching him examine the chip carefully before he tucked it into his back pocket. "Anything else?"

 

Connor paused, leaving quite some time before answering. His eyes were searching, the movementsof his pupils clearly darting all over you while his expression remained confused.

 

"Yes."

 

You raised your brows and tipped your head towards him, waiting for the question that you were expecting. "Go on."

 

"Why did you risk yourself to defend me against that... this machine?"

 

There it was.

 

"Because I didn't want you to get hurt," you took a breath and locked eyes with him, raising your finger as he opened his mouth to respond - no doubt with something along the lines of machines not feeling pain.  "And I know that you're a machine, but that just gives me even more reason to respect you. You don't give yourself enough credit, Connor."

 

"I don't understand."

 

"I know, and that's what's... frustrating, about it." You lifted your arms up and dropped them again, a weak gesture of exasperation. "Where I'm from, you're-" It was quite difficult to put this in a way that would make him understand. "Machines of your capability, you're more than just-"

 

More than just machines.

 

The confusion on his face wasn't helping. No matter how you could try and explain, it would most likely not register. It wasn't even clear if Connor was able to grasp the concept of Respect; besides a clinical definition. From the time you've known each other, he was behaving in a way that your Titan did. As much as you were cautious of him and his capability to read and counter you, the learning element was still there.

 

You'd come to respect him.

 

"I defended you, because I wanted to protect you, Connor." That was the simplest way you could put it. He treated you with a level of civility and basic respect that many people in this city had failed to do. He treated you as more of a human being than anyone else did. "But it's okay. I know that you won't be able to understand."

 

Your chest heaved, breath stuttering as you felt... sad. Or at least something similar to that emotion. The longest amount of time you'd tried to explain your thoughts to someone and it was exhausting. These talks were usually internal, subtle communication in your mind through a Neural Link with your Titan. The subtle wavelength you shared with your partner that allowed the feel of genuine understanding. This was just exhausting and probably not the best way of explaining how you felt.

 

Connor looked confused, and you honestly expected that.

 

"Anyway, you got what you needed." You raised your hand and gave him a salute, lifting your foot off the edge.

 

 

Connor shifted immediately and reached out, lunging for you with a desperate hand.

 

 

But you had already jumped.

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

The image used here is concept art from D:BH, but it has the same scale/feel of the scene. The floor is barren like the maintenance level that Markus used for the Stratford Tower mission, after scaling the building side.

 

Thank you for coming back to chapter 13!

Chapter 14: and Cause

Summary:

Machines can repeat and replay.

Notes:

This chapter is in Connor’s perspective.

NOTE: When the formatting changes (you'll see it) It is the Spectre's perspective when Connor probes it's memory. Just thought I'd mention it because a couple people were confused?

Each passing day proved to build disorder in the DCPD.  While the Deviancy cases began to cause unrest among civillians, the intruding 'Spectre' unit had shaken the confidence of the Police.

 

Fowler was struggling to hold the Precinct together.

 

Overtime was necessary now, the Captain having pulled several late nights and early starts himself to keep the Officers in line. Also to give much needed morale. It was difficult when families waited for everyone back home, but the safety of the city was also of utmost priority.

 

-

 

Connor arrived at the Precinct with a stern look, walking through the security gates and heading straight to his assigned desk. Hank immediately stood up from his seat and opened his mouth to comment, but remained quiet upon seeing Connor's expression.

"Still nothin', huh?"

With slow steps, Connor returned to his desk and reached for the data-chip from his back pocket before sitting down. He examined it again as he held it between his thumb and forefinger, then clasped it tightly in his palm.

Not once had it left his person since you disappeared.

"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant." Connor looked towards his Terminal and placed his empty hand to the keyboard. Skin deactivating, he began to sift through files and proceed their new case - finding the other 3 Spectres and who had deployed them.

Hank stared for a moment, watching from across the desk closely since the response was rather bleak.

"Anythin' else on your mind?" His elbows leaned on the desk while hands clasped together. He wasn't going to let it slide this time. "You've been kinda distracted since you brought that data-thing back."

Connor didn't respond at first, only turning his head from from the Terminal when Hank didn't look away. There was a pause, initially awkward, before the deactivated skin returned to Connor's hand and he mirrored Hank's posture; resting both arms on the table.

"I just don't understand the behaviour."

"Of what, these Killer Robots?" Hank chuckled with an empathetic smirk.

"The Pilot." Connor looked back down at the desk, lips pursed with a shake of his head in an attempt to figure it out. "First she interferes with the case. Then assists with it. She puts her life at risk for me; and then jumps off a building after giving me the information we needed. It doesn't make sense, her behaviour, it's... It's completely irrational!"

"Risked her life for you?" Hank's brows raised, obviously not having heard that detail last time. The smirk still on his face though as he watched Connor go through his motions. Like when they were on a normal case.

 

Though this wasn't a 'normal' case.

 

"When we initially went to the building... She tried to keep me away from the floor the machine was on. Upon encountering it..." The events of that day replayed through his head to the smallest detail. How you pushed him towards the elevator, distracted the Spectre to keep it away from him. Then singlehandedly try to take it down with nothing more than a knife to keep it from causing him harm.

"Her safety seemed to be of second priority before it was subdued."

Silence echoed between them again, though Hank was intrigued since that particular event was glossed over previously. He stared again, and Connor let out a quiet curse under his breath as he opened his palm to look at the data-chip.

"Kinda like a Deviant huh?" Hank tipped his head as he glanced towards his own terminal.

Connor's eyebrows furrowed as he looked across their desks. "That's impossible Lieutenant, she's entirely human."

"I meant the irrational part." Hank clicked his tongue, feeling that part was obvious. "I thought 'adapting to unpredictable behavior' was one of your features, huh?" He repeated the statement in a mocking voice.

"Her behaviour is beyond irrational, Lieutenant. Even for a Deviant, compared to the one's we've encountered. Nothing adds up." Connor shook his head again, his focus on the data-chip.

"What do you suggest then? We haven't seen her for a few days and we need help on this case."

Connor blinked a few times, your words running through his head again.

 

'I wanted to protect you.'

 

"You even sure she's alive? A jump from that height-"

"She's alive, Lieutenant." His response was sharp, denying the possibility of your death. "I had checked ground level and found no traces of a body. The Pilot got away."

Hank sat back in his chair and exhaled through his nose deeply. The series of events were beginning to seem like a wild goose chase. And the influence you had on Connor was another thing that Hank was beginning to be wary of. But as suspicious as he was, time wasn't on their side.

If Connor trusted you, then he would have to as well.

"Guess we better find her then."

 

 

A lack of any current leads had the case at a standstill once more. Though Connor took the downtime as an opportunity to find any further clues for the investigation.

With the recent incident having the building closed off to the public in most areas, the risk of 'danger' to civillians was minimal. The DCPD took caution however, demanding the 16th floor be restricted and an Officer be in the vicinity at all times.

Connor approached the elevator and authorized his access to the 16th floor, pulling his hand back from the terminal as he watched the doors close. The walls hummed as the elevator began to rise, and a coin was removed from his pocket.

Quiet clinks sounded as he flicked the coin between his hands, eyes straight ahead as he began his calibration routine. The sliver of metal moved quickly between both palms, spinning over fingers and exchanging hands. Floor numbers rose as the elevator reached the designated floor, and Connor briefly looked at the wall where he had pinned you. A small gash in the reflective metal was where your knife had scraped, and the surface itself was warped slightly from the impact - he needed quite a lot of force to pin you down.

That moment's recollection played back through Connor's memory. The swift movement in order to counter your move. The amount of strength he needed to exert to stop you from pushing him out of the elevator. Both of which were above necessary for Officers, and even Soldiers that he had been calibrated to work alongside.

And then there was the expression you held when he was able to subdue you. When you were finally against the wall and held in place with his arm to your throat, you showed anger at being countered - but then you held fear.

But why were you scared?

A loud clink pulled Connor from his thoughts.

 

He'd dropped his coin.

 

Yellow replaced the calm blue of his LED as he stared at the silver that spun on the floor.

Something was happening. Whether it was him or you, something was effecting both of your functions.

The elevator chimed, and Connor quickly picked up his coin, pocketing the metal as he stepped out onto the cold open floor. Weather hadn't improved since your disappearance, and snow had accumulated on the ground where the building was exposed to the elements.

And the Spectre was in the same position from the moment you had departed.

With slow steps, Connor approached the machine that he was visiting. It gave no response to his arrival, even when he was only a foot away from it's frame.

"Spectre. Respond." Connor demanded, clasping his hands behind his back while his head tipped to watch for a reaction.

 

Nothing.

 

"I need to know where your Commander went." He tried again, firmness in his tone while staring the machine down.

 

Silence.

 

This was a stark contrast from the immediate reaction it gave from your gentle whispers. It's frame didn't move, nor did it even give a sound of being activated. The lights of it's optics pulsed a slow dim white though, so it was clearly online.

Connor frowned and knelt down, slowly reaching forward with a steady hand. He paused with each inch that he approached to ensure it wouldn't snap back and retaliate, but his receded skin was able to touch the Spectre's forearm. With the contact there, Connor forced a connection to probe it's memory.

 

-

 

The Spectre crouched at a small open window used for maintenance, sniper in hand while the sights were aimed. 3 seconds passed before a single shot was fired.

[ Target Eliminated ]

 

The text appeared and the Spectre rose from it's seat, closing the window and dismantling the sniper. After the weapon was taken apart, it stepped backwards and set the pile of parts alight with a type of throwing star. The bright orange metal sparked and splattered all over the equipment, and Text flickered before the visuals went black.

[ Awaiting Instructions. Guard Mode Enabled ]

 

 

 ---

 

 

Despite the current feed being a big clue to proceeding the case, Connor was set out on a different thought process. He paused the replay and looked down at the Spectre, seeing the slight damage on the synthetic muscle covering on the back of it's neck.

The space where you had hacked it with the Data Knife. It was enough to make him recall the moment you jumped.

Although the primary clues to the case were within reach, Connor wanted to find you.

 

-

 

[ Motion Detected. Defenses Online ]

There was a long moment of searching the empty floor as it was activated. A bright flash interfered with the Spectre's optics, and audio of you shouting was heard over the static of electromagnetic interference. When the visuals cleared, it turned quick enough to catch a glimpse of you.

[ Threat Detected. TITAN PILOT. ]

A gun was readied and the Spectre ran at the wall that you had taken cover behind. It charged the weapon as it spotted you, though it's aim was interrupted by your tackle.

[ New Target Acquired. TITAN PILOT ]

It fired at you while you escaped; more shouting from you as the Spectre actively pursued you.
The Spectre's head was knocked and it looked around, spotting Connor.

[ Additional Threat. Engaging ]

The weapon was aimed, but the sight was interrupted again. The visuals erratic as the Spectre flailed.

[ ALERT. HACK IN PROGRESS . . . ]

[ INSTRUCTIONS OVERRIDDEN ]

[ OVERRIDE COMPLETE. TITAN PILOT - Cease Fire ]

Connor shouted and there was commotion. The Spectre was motionless.

[ AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS ]

 

 

---

 

 

 

[ Motion Detected - Civillians ]

More voices were heard, and Lieutenant Anderson approached with a raised gun. Everyone was speaking about the Spectre while keeping their distance.

[ AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS ]

 

 

---

 

 

[ Motion Detected - TITAN PILOT ]

"Hey, mind coming over here for a moment?"

[ TITAN PILOT. Acknowledging . . . ]

The Spectre shifted and heavily stepped towards you. Your hood and facecover were pulled off, and then you stared into it's optics carefully while you touched at the Spectre's head.

"Sorry if I damaged, you. Just wanted you to stop. You almost killed someone," you gently made the Spectre's head move around before letting it go. It's optics are focused on you, zooming in occasionally.

"I don't want to do this, but I have to take out some info from you. So long as you're in standby, nothing should effect your functions okay? I need you active."

You walked away and paced around, and the Spectre followed your every movement.

“After I'm done, you HAVE to be passive. NO returning fire, and NO engaging the enemy. STUN, not KILL. Understand?"

[ TITAN PILOT. Instructions Received. Acknowledging . . . ]

"Say something? Or at least give me a sound? Please?"

[ TITAN PILOT. Acknowledging . . . ]

The Spectre responded with a mechanical whirr.

"... Okay. So long as you do as I say, you won't get damaged anymore. I need your help, so please... PLEASE just follow orders. I need all the help I can get. Go into Standby until I get back."

[ TITAN PILOT. Acknowledging . . . ]

[ Standby Mode Enabled ]

 

 

---

 

 

[ Motion Detected. TITAN PILOT ]

"You were a big help, thanks." You approached with a small Data-Chip in hand, waving it in front of the Spectre's optics before patting at its chest with your free hand. "I gotta isolate some information for the DCPD, but it's enough to work off."

As you moved away, the Spectre locked onto your movement and tracked your motions.

"Could you... maybe just walk around the room? Slowly?"

[ TITAN PILOT. Acknowledging . . . ]

The machine began to move and paced along the wall, optics focused on you as it motioned along.

"A bit slower maybe?"

[ TITAN PILOT. Acknowledging . . . ]

The Spectre slowed. Doing so made its steps heavier, and the sounds of it's mechanical joints louder.

"Thank you."

 

 

-

 

 

Connor loosened the grip on the Spectre's arm, blinking towards the machine he was Probing then at the feedback he was reviewing. It appeared that you visited several times before disappearing, though the part which intrigued him was how much more vocal you were to the Spectre.

To a machine.

Why didn't you communicate like this to the DCPD?

Hastily, Connor reached forward and connected to the Spectre again, newfound hope at trying to find out where you could have possibly gone.

 

 

-

 

 

[ Motion Detected. TITAN PILOT ]

" Standby, kneel."

The Spectre followed you to the edge of the floor, before turning around to face the elevator and kneeling, Optics focused on the ground.

[ TITAN PILOT. Acknowledging . . . ]

[ Standby Mode Enabled ]

 

 

---

 

 

[ Motion Detected. ANDROID ]

Connor was in view and approached the Spectre with hands raised in front of him.

"Stand down."

[ TITAN PILOT. Acknowledging . . . ]

[ Standby Mode Enabled ]

 

 

---

 

 

[ Motion Detected. TITAN PILOT ]

"It's just me," You approached with a relaxed expression, stepping to the Spectre and sitting in front of it. You stared at it's Optics momentarily before crossing your legs and taking off the facecover and your hood. "At ease."

[ TITAN PILOT. Acknowledging . . . ]

The Spectre motioned and slightly raised it's head, eyes focusing on your expression and reading your vitals.

"Do you ever feel lonely?"

[ ERROR - No available response ]

"... That's not fair of me to ask, I'm sorry. You don't have the capacity to answer that."

You rested your hands on your ankles and stared deeply at the Spectre again.

"I haven't seen one of you in a while. And even though you... nearly killed me, I'm kind of glad you're here. I prefer familiar company you know?"

[ ERROR - No available response ]

"You probably think it's weird that I'm sitting here talking to you when you can't even respond. Maybe I prefer the presence."  A moment of silence passed before you took a breath, then staring down at your hands.

"I... I just don't want to be alone." Your hands lifted up and your sleeve is pressed to your eyes. Upon looking back up at the Spectre, you were crying.

"What the fuck is wrong with me, oh my God-" You wiped at the tears and abruptly stood up, the Spectre closely following your movements.

"I just... It... IT FEELS LIKE I'M FUCKING BREAKING! What is WRONG with me?!"

The shout echoed and you paced around, hands grasping at your hair while you hastily tread laps around the room.

"I'm... Sorry I shouldn't be throwing this out on you." You stopped and pressed your hands together, fingertips against your nose while you took deep breaths. "Fuck it. Standby."

[ TITAN PILOT. Acknowledging . . . ]

[ Standby Mode Enabled ]

 

 

---

 

 

Connor pulled away, blinking as he looked around and released the Spectre's arm.

 

You had visited after the initial disappearance.

 

After you had jumped.

 

The theory was correct, you were alive.

 

The emotional outburst didn't give much clue, but knowing that you were alive only gave him another possibility. Finding you wasn't completely necessary to the case, but he had facilitated the importance of your assistance into the instruction network he had assigned himself.

Standing up, Connor fixed his jacket. The wind picked up and billowed into the open floor, the wisp of hair on his forehead flicking in the breeze.

 

"I need to find you."

 

 

Notes:

Sorry for the long delay! I was at a convention over the weekend and enjoying some much needed chill-time with my friends!

I tried my best with this chapter, I'm not completely happy with it but I also found it difficult to write. I'm terribly sorry if things dont make sense, though it is kinda necessary? I think? I hope so?

Anyway Thank you for reading this mess of a chapter, the fluff kinda started and im excited to get to a major part!

Chapter 15: Defanged

Summary:

Not everything learned is positive.

Notes:

This chapter is in Connor's perspective.

A fullsize link to the looks of your armour is Here! It's mentioned in the chapter, so take a looksie~

Gold plated numbers stood proud on the white door they were mounted on, the reflection of Connor's face warped on their delicate curves.

Number 3.

So he made three knocks.

Somewhat expected, there was no response.

Connor waited shortly before trying again, though he reached for the handle immediately afterwards and pushed against the door.

You clearly weren't home, so knocking was just a waste of time.

His foot was the next thing to hit the door, precision hit above the doorhandle with his heel. The frame surprisingly gave out and the wooden barrier was tossed aside at the forced entry.

It was probably heard throughout the floor, but that wasn't of his current concern.

Hank had warned him about this, to breach a thin line of trust that they had formed on an unstable foundation of coincidental violence. To break into your home and force a response.

It was sure to 'cause conflict', as he had put it.

But Connor didn't want to listen to those warnings. There was something between you that was unique enough to tug at his interest, and it drove his rising software instability. Be it the events from the Eden Club, the Stratford Tower case, or the constant interruptions in his daily work due to the unsolvable case of 'Apex Predators'.

 

You were different. Somehow. And he wanted to know why.

 

Closing the door behind him, the panel clicked shut and his attention turned towards the apartment. It was the same as the last visit, interior in pristine condition while the kitchen remained visibly unused.

It was almost as if no-one lived here.

Time was still against them, but Connor took the forced opportunity to explore your apartment. Open planned with lavish furniture, expensive equipment and 'modern' decor. Upon pacing around the layout, he noticed a thin layer of dust covered most surfaces. The floors looked spotless with no sign of foot traffic, though one particular corner of the kitchen held a glass with a small amount of water.

Connor approached the item and picked it up, rotating it in his hand to note the small smudge at the lip of the glass - before setting it back down and walking to the fridge. He swung the white door open and looked inside, furrowing his brows at the lack of food stored. Disappointed at the limited clues, he closed the door and turned to the hallway.

 

Did you even eat? Or were you ever even home?

 

The apartment was starting to make things look bleak, as lack of 'living-signs' pushed the conclusion of you not being around for quite a while. He approached the hallway and temporarily ignored the room which held the strange pods he'd seen before, looking to see the bedroom first.

It was at the end of the hallway, though upon opening the door which was ajar - it led to less clues and more questions. The bed was made and looked hardly disturbed, and bags remained unpacked. Wardrobes appeared empty, and the luxurious en-suite held little to no items with only a single towel on the edge of the bathtub.

 

Your apartment almost looked abandoned.

 

Connor pursed his lips, LED a consistent yellow as he left the bedroom, glancing past an empty study - and he finally approached the room which held the equipment from before.

Unlike the rest of the apartment, this room look well used. Various cases lay open while some were messily stacked against the wall. Weapons of unfamiliar make were placed in some, while other types of firearms scattered the desks. There were many laws being broken here with the type of heavy artillery that you were in posession of, but Connor's focus was still on finding where you had gone.

Screens on the desk had a constant feed of code and other data, the information was unintelligible - a language that Connor didn't understand. It seemed to be encrypted, but continued to feed and download onto the computer that you owned. The desk held more handguns and bullets, some in their clip and others individual. Smaller holographic screens were scattered on every available surface, and the chair looked well-used.

 

It seemed that you lived in this room exclusively, despite the large apartment you had at your disposal.

 

The polygonal pods at the corner of the room caught Connor's attention once more. The one you had emerged from was empty, and the other was covered by a blanket. Slow footsteps carried him towards the machines, hand curiously reaching for the doors of the pods and tracing the strange padding on the inside.

A loud beep pulled him from his trance, the source being a holo-pad on the desk. A red light was now insistently pulsing on the corner, which Connor quickly reached for to evaluate.

 

[ MOVEMENT DETECTED - Biosignatures: 1 ]

 

Connor frowned at the message that flashed erratically on the screen. A touch of his finger dismissed the red letters, switching the view to a plethora of images and data of a Spectre Unit - and a person. Swiping his finger across the multiple pads on the desk, he noticed the information was all relevant to each other on every other device on the screens.

Dates and times, photos, diagrams, and even digital representations of buildings.

 

It was all intel you had gathered. During this time you were missing, it was apparent that you were doing recon, and now you had a strong trail and a lead.

 

[ MOVEMENT DETECTED - Biosignatures: 2 ]

 

The red light interrupted his investigation, but this time Connor searched for an address somewhere on the sea of information. He retracted the skin from his hand and splayed his fingers over as many surfaces as he could, rapidly searching for anything in your data that would lead to-

An abandoned warehouse in a run-down district of Detroit.

Suddenly, the far left monitor switched it's display with an 'ALERT' window. Live feed of some warehouse corner showed someone slink over a catwalk, and as it approached the camera, it turned out to be you.

 

You were close to your target.

 

He had to move.

 

 

 

 

"Connor you can't just demand backup like that, the address you sent isn't even occupied!"

"Lieutenant, the remaining Spectres are there!"

"What?! The fuck you expect us to do when we get there?!"

"Lieutenant you have to trust me!"

Connor continued to sprint through the streets, limitless stamina on his side as he calculated the closest route to the warehouse. His LED spun a continuous yellow as he waited for a response from Hank, though the intention to reach his destination was absolute - regardless of assistance.

"... Fuckin' hell Connor! We're on our way! Miller! Get your-"

The call ended, and Connor focused on the final stretch towards the abandoned factory. Careful calculations took him through the hazardous back alleys of the crumbling industrial estates of Detroit, slowing as he approached the rickety fence of the destination building.

 

You were here, and so was the Target.

 

Making quick work of the rusted metal fence, cuts and scratches to his skin and clothing went ignored while he hastily scanned the building and surrounding areas. The yard was mostly undisturbed, though a particular stretch of driveway towards the back of the building showed recent tyre marks. Connor knelt down to reach for the disturbed soil, but was quickly disrupted by the arrival of the DCPD.

"Connor!" Hank pulled in closest towards the gate, clambering out of the car and leaving the door open as he marched toward the rusted chains. "You better be fuckin' RIGHT about this bullshit! Fowler is PISSED!"

Connor simply reached for the rusted chain and wiggled it lightly, dropping the old padlock and turning towards the building.

"Hey Connor! CONNOR!"

The fence rattled and was followed by a loud CLACK, the sound of bolt cutters having snapped the rusted chain and it fell to the ground. Connor continued his steps towards the building, ignoring the creaks of an opening gate and hurried footsteps of personnel.

"She's in here, Lieutenant. The Pilot." The Android stopped in his steps as the old man caught up to his side, eyes narrowing repeatedly as the building was acutely surveyed from his standpoint.

"You seriously fuckin' dragged us out here because of the Pilot?!"

A few steps were taken again, Connor's eyes not once moving from the top shattered windows of the warehouse. There was movement before, and if the DCPD hadn't arrived, he would've been able to tune his audio receptors to pick up the faintest of sounds from inside. But with the commotion happening all around him now, sight was his only choice.

 

There was movement.

 

"Look out!!!"

 

What looked like a canister flew through the air from a broken window, aimed directly towards them. It bounced along the ground and landed a few feet from the Lieutenant, a gas emitting from the ends of the metal tin and smoking the area.

 

"Is that smoke?"

Although the grey mist billowed into the open air with no particular effect on the others' respiratory systems, a spark was subtly seen within the exhaust. Connor squinted at the fumes, and the light on his temple flashed red upon identifying it.

"Stay back!!"  Connor struck his arm out and pushed Hank backwards while retreating a couple of steps himself.

A nearby Officer had reached out to fan the smoke from his face, but had immediately reeled back in pain. His shouts were loud and unhinged as his reaching arm had suddenly caught alight, the electric charge from the smoke itself melting at the armour he had on his person.

 

Electrical Smoke. And it was definitely something that would be in your arsenal.

 

"She doesn't want us inside." Connor narrowed his eyes again, watching the injured man get pulled to safety by his comrades while his own arm remained in front of Hank's chest.

"The Pilot?! How the fuck do you know that was her? She can get fucked, she just nearly killed a fucking Police Officer!!!" Hank was furious, witnessing one of his men get incapacitated by smoke was sending his hostility through the roof. This wasn't just a regular criminal, or a dangerous individual.

 

They were dealing with lethality they couldn't even begin to comprehend, nor trust anymore.

 

"The Target is in there, Lieutenant. The remaining Spectres, as well as the one that deployed them. We need him alive to find out about the Mercenaries." Connor began to step forward as the smoke began to dissipate, clearing enough that the ground in front of them was visible again.

"You can't risk yourself over a fucking hunch. You're not going in there, that's an ORDER!"

Connor leaned forward, stopping as the sleeve of his jacket was harshly pulled back.

 

"I SAID NO!"

 

Glancing back once, Connor frowned - then pulled free from Hank's grasp. He needed to find you.

 

"Connor!!!"

 

Anderson's voice was distant as he sprinted into the building, jumping through the dilapidated doors of the main entry and turning right. The visual map that you had created of the building itself was committed to his memory, allowing him to recall every available door and hallway in real-time.

Connor lunged around broken doors and ducked under damaged beams, slowing at the occasional narrow causeway while vaulting over destroyed furniture. The main warehouse was too obvious to access from the main doors, so his only option was a discreet route through the abandoned office section of the building.

Sirens sounded outside, and the creaking of doors at both ends of the warehouse rang through the decrepit building. The Target clearly hadn't been expecting any company, and was now trying to escape. He had to get there first.

A slanted fire-exit door was pushed open with a barge of his shoulder, and Connor skidded to a halt as a van came into view. It's tyres were slashed, and the only conclusion he could come up with was that you had gotten there first to prevent escape.

" DETROIT POLICE! HANDS UP!"

Connor doubled back towards the distant, panicked shouts. Sprinting was proving to be difficult over uneven and debris-ridden terrain, but the possibility of the Spectres being there would only lead to a massacre of innocent Officers.

He couldn't let that happen.

Upon arriving at the main hangar however, a scuffle had already ensued between everyone in the room.

The 2 Spectres had engaged the Police, while a hooded figure was in the midst of trying to escape. Wreckage and other broken structures were making the Target's departure difficult, Connor making his way towards him while the Police were otherwise occupied with the machines.

 

The Target was escaping. Letting him go wasn't an option.

 

"STOP RIGHT THERE!"

 

A blur of denim dived onto the fleeing Suspect, Hank having tackled him from nearby and bringing him down to the ground.

The fighting between the Spectre's and Police had quietened, and only the shattering glass of a sudden gunshot had everyone ducking towards the ground.

 

"Lieutenant!"

 

Hank wrangled the Suspect in a desperate wrestling match as the Target tried to escape, but Anderson froze and backed off at another gunshot. This time it was inches from his person.

 

"BACK OFF!"

 

The familiar voice had Connor turning his head.

 

Smoke and dusty debris had clouded the area with the recent scuffle, making it difficult to see anything a few feet above the current scene.

Silence befell everyone as the Spectre's had also stopped their scuffle with the remaining Officers, one of them being hunched over on the ground. Their Optics were no longer a murderous red, but now a cool white like the one back at the building.

 

"He's getting away!" An Officer shouted with a weapon raised as he tried to pursue the escaping victim, only to fall gracelessly in a heap as something hit his leg. 

You had just fired the gun at him.

Hank scrambled to his feet upon witnessing the assault, looking around with a stern expression while reaching for his gun. "The fuck are you doing you son of a-"

 

"HE'S MINE!"

 

Another gunshot.

The fleeing victim collapsed as the bullet got him through the right thigh. An additional shot got him through the opposite knee.

Connor ran to Anderson's side and helped the Lieutenant to his feet, LED flickering intermittently between yellow and red at the scene unfolding around him.

 

Loud mechanical trills sounded off as a Spectre moved, shoving the Police aside as it ran towards the original target, grabbing him by the arm and marching away into another room. The remaining unit followed it's supposed command and pushed the other officers away, walking in the direction of it's companion and stepping over the blood trail of the victim that was just dragged off.

 

Was this really how you were playing things out?

This wasn't - couldn't - be you.

The woman that conceded to detainment in order to abide by the law. The one that cried tears and showed terror of an impending death. The one that tried to protect him from a dangerous enemy. The one who tried to help.

Instead there was a stealthy, brutal and aggressive soldier in her element. 

 

Without any further hesitation, Connor stepped forward, ignoring the pulling at his sleeve - Hank trying to keep him away from the hostile. Keep him away from you.

 

"Connor! Stand down!"

 

Stepping around the downed Police Officers, his footsteps clinked over broken glass as Connor followed the smeared blood and towards the furthest door the Spectres had gone through. More ruined hallways blocked him into taking only one route, the doors to his left and right being boarded up.

Blood smears along the floor had large unnatural footprints of the Spectres tracking them along the concrete - is main track to the very room you were in.

 

Connor slowly arrived at the door and stepped inside, laying eyes on the two Machines from before, standing by the very person he was trying to find. One Robot had the Target on his knees with a seemingly painful grip on his shoulder, blood pooling around his thighs from being shot in each leg. The other stood by with it's focus on you and the target.

 

"Pilot?" his voice was low as Connor stepped towards you, the mixed messages and... thoughts he was receiving bringing conflict in his mind while he tried to process everything. He reached out a hand towards your wrist, but a low mechanical warning groan from the closest Spectre had him ceasing his approach. 

Loud footsteps and staggered breaths outside the door pulled the attention of the Spectres, their heads immediately snapping up to Hank who had finally caught up and stumbled into the room after his Android companion. He snarled, grumbling under his breath as he raised his gun. Hank cocked the revolver and aimed at your head; but you hadn't even looked away from the target, instead readying your own pistol and staring the victim down.

 

"Pilot!" Connor called again, stepping closer to your position, only to be stopped by a desperate hand from Anderson, grip on his elbow frantically tight.

 

Quiet hums of a motor sounded as a third Spectre entered the room from another door. The first one that you had hacked a week ago.

 

None of this was making sense, and the conflicting allegiances were setting Connor's processors into a constant state of red. He watched as you closed the gap between you and the injured Suspect while pushing your gun at his throat.

 

"Pilot, stop-" Connor pulled away from the vice grip on his arm, ignoring the panicked snarl from Hank and finally reached you. The 3 Spectre's turned towards him and gave further warning sounds, but Connor remembered the orders you had given them previously. Stun, not kill.

He simply ignored their defensive stances, grabbing at your shoulder as your finger was dangerously close to pulling the trigger.

"Stop, don't do this," He pleaded, though your gaze was unmoving. Your finger had begun to pull back on the trigger, and the Suspect was babbling nonsense through a bloodied mouth and broken nose. "We need him alive."

 

You didn't move, focus unmoving as your finger moved another fraction.

 

"You need him alive." He continued his argument, gently squeezing at your shoulder as his other hand slowly raised towards the gun you held at the Suspect's throat.

 

Another movement from your finger.

 

Connor glanced between you and the Suspect rapidly, taking a quiet breath before calling your name. Not by your rank, but your name.

 

Your finger stopped.

 

"We need him alive. And you can get answers from him."

 

Harshly, you pressed the gun further into the Suspect's throat, making him splutter.

 

"Please."

 

That time, you stopped.

 

The plead seemed to be heard, a painful silence between you for a few short moments; Connor had finally set his hand on the gun and pressed it enough to move it away from the victim and pointed it towards the ground. He held the muzzle in his hand and gave it a gentle tug, waiting for you to loosen your grip before pulling it out from your fingers.

Your gaze was hyper focused on the victim that you held in your bloodied hands, but after a few blinks you looked up to meet Connor's gaze.

He couldn't help but to show concern at your features, the anger dissipating from your face in an instant as he locked eyes with you. You showed confusion at first, before you curled your lip into a snarl and stare back at your Target.

 

Acknowledgement.

 

Connor felt his shoulders relax, while the Light of his LED returned blue. He wasn't completely sure, but something in the situation shifted, and it made him know you had come back to him.

 

"Thank you."

 

 

Notes:

NOTE: if it wasn't obvious, you're not wearing your helmet :P

Image used is another Artbook image from DBH. The warehouse is somewhat close to Todd's house. A run down part of town.

Thank you for coming back to Chapter 15!

This was another difficult one, I think I'm struggling because I know what's happening AHEAD and am just excited to write the true bonding moments.

Your motives and mindset are explained in the next chapter as the persepctive returns to you. I'm sorry if the change of perspectives was confusing, but I feel that it is necessary!

Chapter 16: First to Fall

Summary:

Your control, or your Enemy?

Notes:

Ack, this is another bit of a difficult chapter but it's leading to good things I promise!

The names stated are all Characters from the game, though you don't need to know anything about them or what they look like. I do my best to keep things explained AS you need to kind of know about it during the chapters. I hope that makes sense?

This chapter is in THE READER'S perspective.

 

Revenge is a concept that was initially understood to be done by humans exclusively. The act of seeking out those who had done you wrong to 'make things even' and cause them the pain that was suffered for an action. There were also the rare occurrences of 'intelligent animals' doing the same, but unlike the selfishness of humanity; Animals did it to survive.

Cornered and stripped of your only means of escape had removed your flight. Now your only option was to bare your teeth and to retaliate with a fight. Hunting down the ones that posed a potential threat was your only option at survival. And you sure as hell were not going down without inflicting a wound that would send everyone else a warning.

 

Protocol 2: Uphold the Mission. Stay hidden, and Survive. In the Pilot handbook, removing threats was the key to survival.

 

Being without a Titan didn't make you any less lethal to your enemies on the playing field. It was normal to do tasks without the aid of your Robotic Partner, so carrying out the task of recon proved to be the easiest of tasks. A civilian city where the greatest 'danger' was the lack of dangerous artillery?

 

Fucking child's play.

 

Carrying the task out however, was the troublesome part. Having consciously deleted the remnants of your core memory - your friend - the instability of your own mind was having patches remain missing from your thoughts. Scouting missions were of second nature - staying hidden and gathering data to the smallest detail before returning back to base. You remembered leaving the building and seeking out every location available, then returning home and taking off your helmet.

But when did you get dressed into your Armour?

The various locations scouted and trails built off the smallest of details and hacking of CCTV and other security systems. All the data collected throughout these outings and the abundance of information was now in your possession.

But how did you get blueprints of these buildings?

 

It was by pure luck that you hadn't come home with blood on your hands, but once the trail of the Spectres was traced; The hunt had begun.

Though, being joined by the DPD was a factor you hadn't anticipated. The only reason they could've possibly traced that specific building would have been to do with Connor. People were too stupid to trace details of that magnitude, and Connor was quite literally the only one that showed the slightest bit of genuine interest in you since your arrival. Smart enough to at least try and study you.

But they weren't going to let them take your prize - the prey you had tracked for a week and finally got to hunt. Regardless of them being a so called 'authority' in the city, your kill was yours alone. Not having any more necessary deaths would've been ideal, though police and their training restrictions was at a calibre that ranked them as Grunts. Fodder to be thrown at the opposition.

 

Pulling the trigger to stop the Officer wasn't even hesitated, nor was the very real intention to kill the man that had put you on the run.

He was right there, in your hands with a gun to his throat. The remaining Spectre's were easily hacked with their Hive-Mind-Proximity and the Target was disarmed and ready to die.

 

But Connor had stopped you.

 

Why?

 

Why did he keep getting in the way?

 

The DPD had no need to get their hands on the target, only to have information from him. You could've provided that yourself, since they couldn't even track the fucker down in the first place. And now that he was finally within reach, you were being stopped because of the 'process'?

 

You were getting what you were after, whether they liked it or not.

 

-

 

-

 

Now detained, the Target had been removed from the scene and escorted down to the DPD Precinct. You had travelled on foot as usual, though took a longer route to arrive at the same time - if not after everyone else. The arrangement of the cars on the street proved they had returned, and now you could get what you had come for.

Heavy steps carried you through the front doors of the Precinct, your hood pulled back while your face cover remained. The receptionist anticipated your movement to perhaps approach the desk, but you immediately beelined for the side security gates and vaulted over them with ease. A shout from a nearby Officer faded as you continued down the hallway, barging anyone that stepped within your path with a rough bash of your shoulder. Some took the hint and moved while others attempted to get your attention and ward you away.

You were on the warpath, and nothing would turn things around now.

The hallway that led to the Interrogation room was ahead, and your footsteps quickened as you rounded the corner. The quiet hiss of a closing door was heard, and the closest panel on your left read 'INTERROGATION 1- LOCKED'.

A Data Knife would fix that.

Swift movements had you armed, and you struck the screen in the center with your blade, cracking the very surface with brute force. The terminal flickered error signs upon hacking, but it granted access to the room after a few seconds of a successful override. The door opened and the Circuitry of the knife was retracted, the blade still in your hand as you entered the room.

 

"H-Hey! The fuck is she doing in there?! Get her out!"

 

Just ahead of you, the detainee - your Target - sat at the metal table with wrists bound in steel wire. It was... satisfying to see him contained like this. Your free hand reached towards your leg to remove a small steel panel the size of a credit card from your pocket, thumb clicking the corner button as a wavelength flickered on the screen of the pad.

 

An EMP emitter to override any lower-class equipment in the room.

 

The door behind you locked. The lights flickered slightly. The red lights that lined the walls of the room dimmed briefly before glowing back to life. The 2-way glass flickered to reveal the men on the other side of the mirror, and the lights turned off for a split second before turning back on. In the adjacent observatory room, was Hank and Connor. You glanced Connor in the eyes for no more than a second before looking at the detainee, holding your EMP card out and waving it in the air.

"EMP Card. Anything in a 10foot radius is now mine." You scoffed, a corner of your mouth turning up slightly as you set the card on the table. "Relax, I only want this guy." Hank was visible from the corner of your eye, and he attempted to get out of the Observation which was also locked. Seemed like they were stuck to watch the show.

Not your problem.

"So..." Pulling the chair out from opposite the detainee, you set yourself down and sat upright with your fingers laced together in your lap. The man ahead of you was slim, balding at the crown with a scraggy beard that gave off a strong scent of alcohol and cigarettes.

Fucking criminals and their disgusting hygiene.

"You're a Predator, aren't you?" You started, voice soft and calm as opposed to the burning anger that welled up inside your chest.

He didn't respond, only looking at you with the same dull look that all guilty people did.

 

Oh, this was going to be fun.

 

"You don't have to answer, I already know you're one. Or at least, hired by one." You edged the chair closer, exhaling with exaggeration as you made yourself comfortable in the seat. "You see, Predators are a lot tougher than you. You're just some... lackey they're paying next to nothing. To get something right? Or look for someone?"

There was no response, instead a cute little scowl as he tilted his head.

You reached up with your unarmed hand and pulled your face cover down, tugging it all the way and letting it hang loosely around your neck. He seemed to respond that time, the tiniest widening of his baggy eyes upon realising who you were. Maybe he was given a visual reference on who to look for?

"Regardless of what you're doing here, you're useless now," you gestured to him with your free hand, shrugging as you looked him over. "Your Spectres are mine, and now you sit here caught. Wounded. The second these guys got alerted?" You cocked your head towards the dark glass, and he turned to look at Connor and Hank, both watching intently from the other side. "They found out. So... you're a dead man either way. Help me out a bit, before you go out like a firework."

That time, he spat. The saliva struck you on the jaw, the stench hitting your nostrils and only feeding your growing anger as he chose to remain quiet. You paused and stared him down, before flicking your other arm up and slamming the handle of your knife on the table.

 

His middle and index fingers on his left hand broke at the impact.

 

A horrid sound echoed as he shrieked in pain, and you simply waited for him to recover while wiping the spit away from your face with your sleeve. It was empowering to see him like this, and you were far from being finished.

"It'd be easier on the both of us if you just answered me," you sighed with a slump of your shoulders, waiting for his expression to relax before repeating the motion.

 

This time it was his right hand. The metal desk warped slightly at the force of your downwards jab, and the crack that ensued of breaking bones was sickening as the Suspect reeled in pain. The wire handcuffs tugged against the loop in the desk, and you simply waited for him to respond. Index and middle fingers of both hands, snapped easily at the blow.

 

"You were sent here to clean up the other guy, that much is obvious." You began again, pulling the chair in a little as you rested both elbows on the desk. "Spectre's were a nice touch, getting them to do your shitty work. But I do need to ask, how much do you know about the task? Were you even told that much?"

The stress from the situation was forcing the Suspect to wrench his hands, though his broken fingers proved to make every movement painful. They were swollen now, and beginning to turn purple as the bruising intensified at the knuckles.

 

" Clean up and get a signal. That was all I had to do-"

 

Finally you were getting somewhere, the man speaking through a locked jaw while his face contorted at the agony he was feeling.

You were in control now. Just like you should be.

"Right. So you clean up, and were given a small unit for what. A birthday party?" You squinted as he tried to flex his hands again, the silence proving to be annoying.

 

Another snap of your knife. The remaining fingers on his left hand.

 

"2 fingers to go, then your little thumbs are next," You leaned on your left elbow, spinning your knife in your palm while taunting for a response. "Quicker you talk, less painful it'll be."

 

"To make the job easier-"

 

He screamed through grit teeth, jerking against the wire handcuffs while he tried to keep some form of composure. Hands were delicate and full of nerve endings, so it was easiest to make people hurt with a few broken bones.

"Someone ordered you to come here specifically. They know something's up, but who? Who sent you?" You sat back in the chair and watched him writhe a little more.

Nothing more than a whimper escaped him.

 

The last of his fingers were broken with an impatient slam of your knife handle.

 

"FOCUS!" You demanded, voice rising at the lack of cooperation. He shrieked again in pain, so you pulled at his shirt and tugged him against the desk. "The name of the Predator that sent you, WHO?!"

He looked as if he was about to pass out, his eyes watering while his face was red and covered in a sheen of sweat.

 

A few knocks on glass had you turning your head, Connor had leaned forward to gain your attention.

'Stop' was the word he had mouthed, but you were not going to back down this time. You listened to his pleas earlier for some reason, but now you were alone and in control of the situation.

 

No distractions.

 

"Was it Viper?" You continued your questions, releasing the Suspect's shirt and sitting back, turning the knife in your hand so the blade was now towards him. "Because he's pretty stealthy with cleanup. Doesn't even tell you if you failed, you just suddenly die one day."

No response.

"Maybe Slone?" You look at your blade and exchange it to your next hand, reaching forward and pressing the tip of the knife to his chin. "She's got a bit of a temper, probly beat you into submission before killing you. Quickly, but still. Not a nice way to go."

He swallowed as you maneuver the knife again, this time grazing the blade over his cheek.

"Or maybe it was Ash? Can never really tell what she's thinking since she's a robot now. Though I hear she misses having flesh and has a collection of skin suits to wear." You motion a shaving gesture along his skin and graze his cheekbone with the knife, pulling it away as he gasped upon the contact on his jaw. That was a lie, but the concept of human fleshsuits was enough to make him flinch. The reaction was slightly there upon Ash's name, though it was difficult to tell with his constant twitching.

"Kane maybe? He's too much of a dumbass to figure out much on his own. But maybe it was him? He'd use you as target practice before taking your head off." You point the knife between his eyes, squinting at his lack of reaction.

"Richter then... Richter would rip your ears off," You motion the knife and gently ghost the blade over his ears. "He's got this weird collection of them that he wears on his neck sometimes. You've seen it right? Even got one with toes, and this little box of fingers and hands-"

"No! They don't know much, I swear. I was only told to clean up-"

The reaction could've been for any of the Apex Predator's that you had listed, but the response still wasn't enough. You needed a little more information, but the questions you asked were probably not the right ones. "Then how did they know to send you here specifically?"

"I don't know- FUCK- They said there was a trace. That's all. A trace that they wanted checked out. I wasn't sent for recon, just clean up!"

What trace? You didn't own anything from your days as an Apex Predator. It didn't make sense if they'd followed you here when you quite literally had a clean slate. You had Regenerated almost a year before moving here. "What was it they traced?"

"I don't fucking know-"

Despite the lack of useful information, the way he'd answered was quite truthful. Even through the agony of having all his fingers broken, he was spluttering in such a way that was just trying to keep himself awake rather than lie. If you pushed it anymore, he'd pass out.

"Thanks. That wasn't so hard, was it?" You waved your arms out to the side and pulled your knife towards you again, tucking it away into it's holster and reaching for your belongings.

 

"They're... They're going to fucking kill me aren't they-"

 

The plead wasn't yours to answer, but you gave a shrug as you reached for the card you had used to hack the room. The little red light switched off as you pressed it's corner again, the electronics nearby flickering briefly before everything hummed back to life.

 

"H-Hey! They're gonna kill me, right?!"

 

As the room's door opened, armed officers came inside and pointed their guns at you - though, you had what you needed. Hank and Connor immediately followed the two Officers that barged in first, the Lieutenant having his gun trained on you while Connor just... stared, from the doorway.

 

"I'm gonna die right? I'd rather-"

 

"Put your fucking hands up," Hank demanded, interrupting the victim as he aimed the revolver at your head. The other Officers in the room looked confused, surely recognising you to be the woman that was dragged in here a couple of weeks ago. But he wasn't your boss; no-one was your boss.

 

"Yeah, you are." You replied to the Suspect, looking to the detainee and walking to his side of the desk slowly. The officers nearby looked terrified to see their Lieutenant troubled and nervous like this.

 

Hank hadn't cocked the gun yet. But he should have.

 

"But I'd like to thank you for your help," your voice was quiet and sincere, locking eyes with the victim briefly. There was legitimate fear in his eyes - and rightly so, because leaving him now would quite literally be an act of cruelty. The Apex Predators would have no mercy on him.

 

With an abrupt reach, you pulled the weapon from the nearest Officer's hands, flicked the safety and pulled the trigger.

 

 

A single gunshot to put him out of his misery.

 

 

An act of kindness.

 

 

 

-

 

 

Absolute chaos ensued as you fired the gun, but you were far quicker. Anticipating such a weak reaction from Police, your hand had retrieved a grenade from your ammo belt immediately after the gun went off, pulling the pin with your finger and holding the dead-mans-switch with your thumb.

An Arc Grenade. Non-lethal, but they didn’t know that.

 

“Don’t,” you threathened with a hum, eyeing everyone in the room as you held the armed grenade in front of you. “I was here for him. Not you. Back off.”

Hank raised the gun and cocked it with this thumb. “You’re fucking INSANE-“

“Back. Off.” You warned again, emptying the clip from the Officer’s handgun with your free hand, and setting the weapon in the bloodied desk. You got what you wanted, he was no longer a threat, and this could now be put to rest.

 

For now.

 

Hank curled his upper lip and slowy stepped back, the Officers following suit as they made a passage for you to exit. You took the invitation with wide strides, turning your body slowly as you approached the door and glanced Connor once, his LED a constant red as you finally stepped out into the hallway.

 

"This building goes up in smoke if anyone follows me out the front door." Was your final warning. That was more than generous enough.

 

The grenade was held out where everyone could see it as you walked away, only hiding it by your hip as the main Precinct office came into view.

 

”Pilot!”

 

That was Connor.

 

Your steps were halted from a tug on your arm, which you harshly tried to pull away from. Connor resisted though, vice grip on your wrist as he tugged the both of you into the break room.

 

“Why did you kill him?! You didn’t have to do that! He gave you the information you wanted!!” He shouted, a strange expression on his face which didnt resemble one you’ve seen on him before.

 

“Yes I did. He was a threat, and I put a stop to it. Information was a bonus. He was a dead man anyway.” You responded through gritted teeth, defensive tone in your voice while you continued to tug at his hold.

“He was arrested and detained! He couldn’t bring harm anymore!”

“And I made sure of it-” Your hissed answer had him shocked, his eyebrows raised slightly at your retort. His eyes looked between yours rapidly, LED red and yellow as his grip finally loosened enough for you to pull away.

 

Connor stared, seemingly unable to compute your actions. How could a detective even begin to understand?

 

“He was a threat to me.” You point an accusing finger towards the direction of the interrogation room.

 

“If he killed me, he’s better. But I killed him. So I’m better.”

 

Silence was all he returned, his expression subtly shifting between various emotions. It wasn’t your problem though, since you had just solved your own dilemma and gained a new lead.

 

Leaving him behind, you marched off towards the exit and glanced back once more before leaving the gates.

 

Connor was motionless, staring at you from the spot he remained at, almost looking... sad.

 

 

What was his problem?

 

 

 

Notes:

The chapters may also start to interchange between Reader perspective and Connor perspective from here. I know it's taking so long for the real fluffs to start, but if you reaaaally think about it, it's all leading up to the good stuff!

I'm unsure if it should be Reader's, or back to Connor's perspective next. What do you think?

Thank you for coming back to chapter 16!

Chapter 17: Retaliation

Summary:

It happens to the best of us.

A trace.

 

Trace of what?

 

Archives dating back to roughly 5 years were open on every available computer screen. Anything to do with Detroit was flooded with 'Cyberlife' and how the company exceeded with the development of Androids and their technologies.

A company booming with that much popularity sounded just like one you have seen before.

 

'Introducing the MARVIN Unit! Here at Hammond Robotics, we strive to create sturdy machines for the difficult positions that makes industrial work hazardous for anyone. Even Androids! Now don't get me wrong, Cyberlife has incredible units for the workplace, but sometimes - even Plastic isn't strong enough!'

 

Your head snapped up at the specific word that stood out of the advertisement that played from the other room.

 

Hammond.

 

Hammond Robotics.

 

A sudden weight dropped in your chest and sunk down to your stomach, numbing your legs as your hands trembled in reaction to that damn name. It took a moment to gather the strength to move. The advertisement was cut off by a news report - in which you jumped to your feet, leaping over the scattered supplies on the floor and darting to the living room.

The television screen was still shattered; the left third broken beyond repair, but it was still clear enough to see the image on the surviving glass. Cracks webbed over the remaining surface while the audio occasionally shorted with static in the sound.

 

'The MRVN unit, or as we love to call 'em "Marvins", are the perfect workhorse for the industry! Steel and Titanium frame makes them durable, and cheap to repair. Damage to their surface doesn't affect their visual appeal or their functionality. If anything, it makes them look even better! A hard working robot!'

 

The man on screen had a Marvin unit next to him, the machine standing approximately 5'5" and idly turning it's head towards the camera. After a pause, the salesman slapped the top of the Marvin's head.

 

'This bad boy can fit so much labour in him! Their AI is restricted to certain tasks, and can solve problems which are within the designated field they are intended for. Their processing power and speed may not be as complex as Androids, but they sure as hell can outlive and outlast those plastic machines! At only $1999 per unit, these guys can last decades and keep your factory running without any supervision. Now able to relay instructions directly to and from you with an app!'

 

Your eyes squinted at the television, a feeling of uncertainty welling up in you at the advertisement on screen. It was the first time you've seen it broadcast, though it may have been on air for much longer.

 

Why MRVNS in Detroit? Androids were already existing here, and were also quite superior to these Robotic Helpers that you were used to. Marketing an inferior and limited automaton to a city that already had high expectations to mechanical services was just a bad idea, and surely setting themselves up to fail.

 

Another News article followed the advertisement, and oddly enough the headlines were to do with the MRVN unit.

 

'An unexpected spike in use of the new MARVIN unit in various Industrial Factories in Detroit has drawn quite the attention from the general public. After the previous broadcast of a Rogue Android and his list of demands, the popularity in Androids has somewhat wavered, and Cyberlife sales have slowed to a crawl. Could this MARVIN unit be what Detroit needs in this time of Deviant Crisis? Or is this a strategic move by Hammond Industrial to knock Cyberlife out of the top place in Robotics?'

 

One specific word stood out from that article, a recent addition to your vocabulary which seemed to be a recurring mention here in Detroit.

Deviancy.

And despite having heard it several times from Connor, you still didn't know what it completely meant. Of the few things that had been reported on television with various crimes involving Androids, they always mentioned a form of defect. Was that what Deviancy was? A broken robot? Malfunctioning software?

 

The Advertisement on MRVN units repeated despite the News having recently covered the story, and you stared at the broken glass that remained on the floor from a previous outburst in thought. The television's screen was still broken and shattered, but you could still see the image clear enough.

Hammond Robotics alongside this whole "Deviant" thing just felt way too coincidental. And you were damn good at staging deaths and performing assassinations to look like complete accidents. If Hammond Robotics was involved in Detroit, then the shit list just got so much worse.

 

A knock at the door.

 

It was barely audible over the pounding in your ears which you hadn't even noticed, the pulse drowning out all sound to the point that each beat had become all consuming.

Mind racing with the possible connection of Hammond and Cyberlife, your feet cautiously carried you over the broken glass on your living room floor. A hand reached for your knife handle while the other turned the doorknob, tugging the panel open and clicking your blade out of it's holster.

 

It was Connor.

 

"Pilot." His voice was firm, though his expression looked as flat as his tone was.

 

You closed the door in his face.

 

First thought to come to mind at seeing him - he was going to try and stop something. Berate you, corner you somehow. Every interaction so far with Connor had led to your own tasks being stopped and hindered.

He was a distraction, and you weren't going to allow any more interruptions. You turned around to return to the room with all your equipment - which you endearingly named your 'Nest' - though the door was rattled on again.

 

Against your better judgement, you turned back and reached for the handle to pull it open, unable to help the scowl as you met his gaze.

 

"I'm here to arrest you," he announced that time, expression stoic as he pulled a set of handcuffs from one of his belt loops.

 

You slammed the door shut, but it was firmly stopped by something barring it. It was already incredibly damaged thanks to someone breaking it down - no doubt it was Connor that did it - so your push against the obstruction had the hinges pulling from the frame.

Connor resisted and pushed the door further open, the panel swinging to the side as you stumbled back at his inhuman strength. Of course he could out move you like this, an Android had more strength by default.

 

Upon entering the room, he reached for your wrist and tugged it upwards, your height difference making you rise onto your toes slightly. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." The handcuffs clattered as the open clasp was readied by your wrist.

 

The restriction on your wrist made you tense up, and your immediate reaction was to punch at his arm and try to pry his hand off.

 

Surely he was joking right?

 

"You have the right to have an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the court." His voice was as flat as his initial greeting, but he was definitely not backing down. Your hand desperately pulled at the fabric of his sleeve, tearing the cuffs before finally tugging from his vice grip.

 

He was definitely not joking.

 

"You have nothing on me! Fuck off!" You hissed while your hands came up to push him away, but his frame stayed rigid and motionless despite your retort.

"Pilot!" he repeated, then raising his voice while announcing your name. You'd come to ignore his call of your rank since it was called so often, but your name was a little out of the ordinary in comparison "You're under arrest for Murder, and Aggravated Assault on a Police Officer!"

 

You swept your foot behind his ankle and sent him down onto the floor, pressing your heel to his wrist that held the handcuffs.

 

"Don't push me, Connor!" You squinted with intimidation as your upper lip curled. This was really starting to annoy you, and you had a lot more to deal with than an Android trying to stick his nose into your business. Again.

 

A sudden grab of your ankle had you losing your balance, and it was suddenly pulled aside. Your body was the next to follow, feet swept by Connor's arm and he clambered onto your back to hold you down, knee pressing between your shoulder blades.

 

"You killed a man in a Police Precinct, and two Officers are severely wounded because of you!"

 

With a push against the floor with your hand, you rolled to the side and shifted your weight onto your back. Connor ended up straddling you briefly at the change of position, but you pulled at his tie and forced his torso downwards, rolling the two of you so you were now pinning him down.

 

"They're not dead, so what's the fucking problem?!" Your voice was hoarse at the retort, a clink of metal on your wrist distracting you for the briefest moment and pulling your attention away from him.

 

Connor pulled at the handcuffs he'd fastened around your wrist, lunging forwards and pushing you down onto your back again.

 

"You killed him!"

 

The metal dug into your skin, but you pulled at the chain of the handcuffs and thrust the heel of your palm into his chest. The force was enough to lift his weight off your hips slightly, the space enough for you to bend your knees up and kick him off of you.

 

"I was protecting myself!"

 

He recovered quickly and lunged at you once more, using the loose chain of the handcuffs to his advantage and twisting your arm while pinning you down onto your chest again.

 

"You murdered him! He was captured and defenceless, and you took his life! There's no need for such an act of needless violence!!"

 

That statement struck a cord, temper rising while a surge of adrenalin rushed through you. Your free hand pushed you up off the floor, your twisted arm in Connor's grip popping with dislocation before you whipped around and dove on top of him again. A metallic swish sounded as you pulled your knife from it's holster, hand balling the fabric of his jacket into your fist while the blade was harshly pushed against his throat.

 

"SHUT UP. SHUT UP!"

 

Heat radiated through you as the blood rushed to your wounded arm, adding to the list of injuries that had occurred to that side. Bullet graze, burned hand, and now a swollen shoulder that had rigidly popped back into place. The skin bloomed a dark red while your eyes held a hostility that you only felt when you were fighting for your life.

 

Then everything just...

 

Stopped.

 

The world ceased.

 

Your heartbeat silenced.

 

The sight in front of you blurred, before fading back into full clarity.

 

Connor stared back at you, eyes not once moving while his body did the same.

 

A shudder travelled down your arms and ended in your hands, the blade trembling against his throat.

 

There was a white sheen on his skin around the knife, porcelain surfaced through the freckled flesh as the metal of your blade nicked the smooth cover just slightly.

 

You...

 

You had nearly killed him.

 

The air in your lungs was non-existent as you looked hastily between your knife and his eyes.

 

"I..." The muscles in your throat spasmed and cut off your voice, eyes widening as your vision blurred. A wetness touched your cheeks, tickling the skin of your jaw as you struggled to fight the stiffness in your arms. They were locked in place, elbows feeling like they were creaking under impossible weight while your hands were beginning to burn with a dull pain.

"I'm sorry, I-" Your voice sounded odd, hiccupping as your throat continued to challenge your need for air. The wetness on your cheeks remained, while the pain in your hands disappeared. Instead you were met with an agony in your shoulder. The pain enough to ground your shocked self and completely come back to reality. "I didn't mean to-"

 

Looking at Connor's eyes had you reeling, practically leaping backwards off of him while your armed hand continued it's vice-grip on your knife. Your landing was clumsy however, free hand completely useless as swelling in your shoulder accompanied the sudden agony from the dislocation. You tried to stay upright regardless, a sudden drive in your limbs to get away from him as quickly as possible.

 

Connor was innocent, and you almost struck him down.

 

"I didn't... I-I'm sorry," You spluttered again, the realization of your outburst hitting you hard.

 

Feet slid awkwardly on the floor with your uncoordinated scrambling. The hand that held your knife refused to let it go, so your knuckles scraped on the floor in your attempt to distance yourself from Connor.

He rose slowly from his spot, eyes locked onto you while his expression softened.

Or were you imagining it?

Things remained blurry while your cheeks felt cold as the air hit the strange wetness on them, so he could've had a completely different expression from what you were able to see at this point. Connor raised his hands and held them out loosely, as if trying to reach for you.

 

"It's okay..." he cooed, voice quiet as the little light on his temple remained blue. Connor moved extremely slow, shifting himself into a kneeling position while keeping the distance between you the same.

 

A stiffness in your fingers sent a jolt of discomfort up your armed hand, your eyes quickly turning to the knife you wielded. You tried to let go, but your fingers defiantly held onto the handle.

"Please leave me alone," your request came out as more of a sobbed demand, your lopsided posture making your no-longer-dislocated shoulder burn with a pain that you definitely didn't miss feeling.

 

Connor paused, motionless after you asked. Pleaded. His LED flickered yellow - or were you imagining things again? - and he lowered his hands a fraction. The soft browns of his eyes glanced between yours quickly before his chin dipped, mouth opening to say something.

 

A gentle whisper of your name.

 

"Connor please, I-" your voice broke with a small squeak, throat burned dry and breaths extremely shallow. "I don't want to hurt you."

 

His mouth started moving, but the world fell silent. The distant sound of your pulse crept up on you, heartbeat growing louder like an approaching storm. Everything seemed to blur and double in vision. Shapes became colours, and the silhouette in front of you grew in size.

 

Something touched your hand, your reaction extremely delayed as you tried to move in response.

 

The contact on your skin was gentle, and the tightness that was tearing into your wrist was suddenly gone.

 

Just like the person that was in front of you.

 

 

Notes:

I'm running out of achievements and OST songs to title the chapters after, so I might move on to various lyrics and quotes I use from the games woops :D

This was a painful chapter but I loved and hated every minute of it. New friends who are helping me out with the fic also hate me a bit for it! I LOVE YOU GUYS THO.

Thank you for coming back to chapter 17!

Chapter 18: Evaluate

Summary:

Untraceable again, but at least his opinion is different.

Notes:

This chapter is in Connor’s perspective.

If tensions weren't high, then paranoia was.

 

The popularity of the MARVIN was bringing on a whole lot of other problems to the DPD, and the confidential knowledge of the Spectre's had the Police on edge.

 

Androids were still being reported for various incidents such as Assaults and Missing cases, but some were now getting involved with MARVINs.

 

Such issues brought an almost unnecessary pressure on the Detroit Precinct. MARVINs were still rather new to their database and having various problems reported to them out of the general suspicion and paranoia of 'Deviants' only drove their patience into the ground.

 

 

"This is fuckin' ridiculous, even more robotic assholes to deal with." Captain Fowler had summoned Hank to his office again, Connor joining the meeting while the room was sealed off for silence. "Now I'm asking for the third damn time because it's absolute bullshit that it's even come to this. The Informant you wanted turned out to be a fuckin' lunatic. Paperwork to make that murder an isolated incident was harder than it should've been. Better yet, those damn robot soldiers are gone too! Spectres, was it? They're dangerous and are military grade. If they're left running around town on their own, then lots of innocent people will fuckin' die. I saw those specifics, and I don't want to try and explain to the Feds why machines of that caliber are even around in the first place, let alone in my City."

Fowler slammed his hand on the desk in frustration, shaking his head before taking a deep breath. He looked up towards Connor, pointing a finger and rising up to his feet, stepping around the table and sitting on the front of his table. "You said you were going to bring her back here to get some answers." His fingers laced together and rested in his lap. "But you came back empty handed. Care to explain?"

 

Connor kept his focus on the Captain, while Hank turned his head to look at his partner.

"I couldn't find her. The apartment was vacated upon my visit and inspection proved no trace of living within the past day." His response was precise while his jaw remained clenched.

 

A lie, partly. 

 

If he were to gain any answers from you, then there had to be leniencies with the information he shared. 

 

Fowler stared him down, and Hank shifted on the side. "You got anything to add to that, Hank?"

The Lieutenant rolled his shoulders before shaking his head. "I didn't even leave my desk because of that damn paperwork. Can't say I even knew Connor was off doing something else."

 

Again, Fowler stayed motionless while looking at both of the detectives in front of him.

 

"I can't exactly put an APB out on her. If she does get caught by anyone other than you two? This Precinct will go down and the Feds will tear us apart. You better find her, or else everyone here will pay for it." Fowler waved a hand and stood off his desk, walking around to his seat and sitting down again. "Dismissed."

 

Hank was the first to leave the room, Connor waiting until he had passed the stairs before following suit. The glass door popped shut, and the office grew busy again after Hank's return.

 

"There something you're not telling me?"

Connor turned to face the Lieutenant as the question was clearly directed towards him. "No. There's nothing."

An uncomfortable pause drawled out while Hank chewed his lip, watching Connor's eyes carefully. "You sure? Kinda feels like you did something you shouldn't have."

Connor shifted on his spot, eyebrows twitching briefly before tipping his head. "I don't know what you're trying to ask, Lieutenant."

Hank held his head back and crossed his arms. "Back at Kamski's place you said you chose not to shoot that girl. This is the same isn't it? You're choosing not to tell me that you know where she is. Right?"

 

Silence. An answer that Hank didn't want to accept, his grey eyebrows tugging together into a frown.

 

"No Lieutenant, I was speaking the truth."

 

Hank however, nodded slowly with disbelief and gestured towards the gates.

 

"Well then, let's go and investigate her place. Since you're so sure about it."

 

-

 

-

 

The drive to your apartment was rushed, and in an extremely uncomfortable silence. The occasional presence of a MARVIN unit was noticed on various shop fronts, and Hank found that a little less off-putting than having human-like Androids stand outside in the cold.

 

Your apartment building pulled into view, it's shadow glooming over the car as Hank pulled over to a halt. They left the vehicle in unison and approached the entry, a MARVIN standing inside the lobby doors and beeping a range of electronic sounds as they walked past.

 

"Oh Geez, they have one here already?" Hank stopped and turned to the little machine, which was standing shorter than the both of them. The MARVIN looked up at them with it's optics, whirring sounds emitting from it's box-like head while it focused on the detectives. "Looks harmless, don't you think?"

 

The screen on it's chest changed it's image of a neutral face, to a smiling one.

 

Connor however had beelined to the elevator, Hank unable to give the robot a proper response; needing to run to the closing doors.

 

"Well aren't you eager!" Hank coughed as he straightened his posture, watching the doors close again. As the elevator hummed around them, the Lieutenant turned and raised a brow again. "You sure there's something I should know about?"

No response. Connor simply kept his eyes forward with his hands clasped behind his back.

His silence was starting to irk Hank a little, but there was no getting through to him at the moment. Trying to strike a conversation was also shot down, which only raised Hank's suspicions even higher. "Alright then."

 

A chime announced their arrival at the 3rd floor.

 

The door's opened slowly, and Connor stepped out almost immediately when the gap was wide enough. Hank couldn't help but to raise an eyebrow with increased uncertainty as his partner seemed to be in a rush, but followed in his wake and headed to your door.

Connor inspected the frame and raised a fist to knock on the entry, only to stop upon seeing the doorframe.

 

It was repaired.

 

"Something wrong, Connor?"

 

Turning his head to the side, Connor's jaw tensed before opening his mouth to respond. "Of course not, Lieutenant."

 

Three knocks, and there was silence in reply. Something he was expecting, but not Hank.

 

He gave another attempt, before the Lieutenant reached forward with a huff and knocked as well, turning the handle out of instinctive frustration - only for the door to open with ease. It was left unlocked apparently.

 

And upon the door swinging open, the apartment was empty.

 

"What the-" Shocked, Hank rushed inside and stepped towards the center of the room, looking around at the apartment which was void of any furniture.

Connor followed and scanned his surroundings, also confused that this had happened; Eyebrows involuntarily twitching into a frown at the sight.

 

When he'd 'stretched' the truth back at the Precinct, this was not what he meant.

 

"For fuck's sake, there's no way that-" Hank turned around and ran out to the hallway, looking at the number on the door.

It was definitely the correct apartment, the 3 sitting high on the white panel like it always had been. He even walked out further and dashed towards the elevator, counting the other apartment numbers they had passed and returning to 'your' one.

"The fuck? I'm not going insane right? This is definitely hers?"

 

Connor turned on his spot and nodded, eyes taking in every detail of the now-bare space of your former home. The dust had cleared, but there were definitely marks on the floorboards from furniture having been moved. Since you were only here a little under a month though, it wasn't enough time for many dents or wear to settle against the walls or flooring.

 

"There's no way, how the-" Hank was still in disbelief, pacing around the would-be living room before ducking down the hallway to the bedroom location.

 

The place was spotless. Even the dust that Connor vividly remembered had been cleaned up. An extremely faint trace of bleach and citrus was in the air, far too miniscule for Hank to notice. Connor did however, and despite the expanse ahead of him being barren of any other object - he recalled the memory of your exact apartment layout when it was still here.

 

His eyes drifted over towards the former location of the television, glass fragments being scattered over a large area from what he had last seen. Various areas of that space were swept clear from your footsteps, but some had also been moved from the conflict. Denim creased behind his knees as Connor kneeled at a specific location, hand reaching towards the ground with a cautious touch of his fingers.

The faintest amount of blood was there, from your confrontation that had escalated far too quickly that night. It wasn't noticeable at the time, but you must've had landed on some shards when Connor had initially pinned you down. There wasn't enough to analyse, but the memory replayed vividly.

You were already something that broke all understanding Connor had about humans, and even exceeded in irrational unpredictability compared to Deviants. Morals and incentives were at polar opposites and seemed to clash and cross over repeatedly. Helping some times, and hindering at others.

 

An embodiment of Chaos, almost.

 

But most notable, was the measures you had taken to escape his grasp. Connor clearly remembered - detected - felt - the dislocation in your shoulder. The way you were trapped in a non-lethal grip, but chose to cause yourself an injury in order to break free.

 

Much like an animal that would mutilate itself to escape a trap; you forced an injury in order to escape.

 

Your drive for self preservation was beyond anything he had ever seen or read about.

 

"It's all gone! Everything! The fuck, when did that even happen?" Hank had returned with his hands running through his hair, disbelief still evident in his voice while he continued to look around the empty apartment. "We were here like the day before yesterday! That's insane!" A few other unintelligible words escaped him, before he paused to look at Connor - who was still kneeling by the wall.

 

Hank froze on the spot and squinted, dropping his hands by his side and then folding them across his chest.

 

"... You know where she is, don't you?"

 

Connor quickly rose to his feet and straightened his posture, locking eyes with Hank as he tipped his head in reply. "No, I don't know where she is. As I said before, Hank."

A loud sigh escaped Hank as he leaned back to look up towards the ceiling. "Uuuuugh, I... You're right. Sorry. I should've believed you, and I do now." He raised a hand and gestured towards his partner, waving a hand and ushering him to follow. "We'll ask a few questions to the building owner and see if we can track her. But with our luck, she probably disappeared without a damn trace."

 

Connor watched as his partner left the apartment muttering frustrations and staring at the floor on the way out. Connor however, stayed and looked back at the floor and the exact location where you had pinned him. Fought him off. Held the knife to his throat.

 

Then seemingly broke, right in his hands.

 

Because you nearly hurt him.

 

Reacting that way had Connor drawing the possibility that you were not as bad as your actions made you appear.

 

Fingers slowly reached up to his neck and brushed the very spot where you had nicked his plastic frame. The tiniest mark now existed on his activated synthetic skin. It was in such a place that made it look deliberate, easily mistaken for a crease of the neck.

 

But it held meaning now.

 

A mark that could only be defined by understanding you.

 

And Connor had every intention of doing so.

 

Notes:

Sorry for the delay, I lost my will to write for a while and just played games. I really struggled with this chapter actually??? I was just BLARGH

But, I've also been chatting to the lovely new friends PoeticPromise and Celestielle, who help me out with my crap every now and again! You are both lovely!

Also if you haven't already, read Deviant Behaviour by Precursor. Her fic is the one that inspired and motivated me to start this one!

 

Thank you for coming back to chapter 18!

Chapter 19: Reconcile

Summary:

You can keep a secret. Right?

Notes:

This is back at Reader's perspective!

Memories are a fragile, fragile thing.

 

Having gone through Regeneration several times already, your mind was a little more sensitive then it used to be.

Well, at least when you had something to ground you. Without it, you were at the mercy of your own instincts. Friend could easily be mistaken for foe. Safety could be seen as an ambush. Recklessness would be seen as necessary to stay safe.

However one thing that always stayed with you, was your Protocols.

 

Little did people know the Protocols that Titans followed; were also adopted by their Pilots. And like Titans followed their programming, Pilots would stand by their values at all costs.

Protocol 1: Link to Pilot. Linking to the Titan was as equally important, and the bond you shared would only grow and strengthen over time.

Protocol 2: Uphold the Mission. The task you were given would be ever evolving. Changing with the tides of war, the risk increasing with every change, too. But whatever it was that you were assigned, you would follow through till the end.

Protocol 3: Protect the Pilot. Probably the only Protocol you argued with. Not that you wouldn't risk your own life for your colleagues, but the fact that they would risk themselves for you...

A bond shared was a two way street. But knowing that your partner would take the same insane risks that you would in order to protect you; made it the most cruel double edged sword that anyone could be burdened to bear.

 

And with Pilots and their Titans, it was expected.

 

 

Your Pilot Helmet was loosely held in your lap while you sat on a swing. The location choice of reflection was a Playground, dimly lit from distant streetlights with the City being nothing more than artificial stars from your standpoint. A quieter part of Detroit, between the City centre and Suburban area.

 

It was a perfect mix of urban divide.

 

Your wounded arm was in a sling, though you had loosened the neck-strap enough to retain movement in your arm. Not exactly the best way to recover, but going without your hand was already proving to be difficult to perform the smallest of tasks. Screw the delayed healing.

Impeccable balance from your training allowed you to slouch on the swing without falling off, but it didn't particularly help your desire to sway. One leg was bent to rest a foot under your thigh; only being moved to swing yourself again.

Slouched on a swing, Helmet in your lap, and the bitter cold air bringing an odd feel of fantasy to your senses. The Armour you wore was stripped down to clothing alone, as you didn't have the strength to carry the additional satchels and bulletproof vests that would normally be equipped in battle. It had been too long since you were in real combat, and being in forced retirement had somewhat leeched you of your original strength.

Laziness, as you understood the term being used.

You kicked your leg out to swing again, then resuming your slouch as the momentum allowed a pendulum motion for a few more moments.

 

"Pilot."

 

A voice.

That voice.

At this point, you weren't even that surprised to hear it. The call was followed by slow footsteps in the snow, and you looked up to see someone you weren't sure how you felt about yet.

Connor, of course.

Without a verbal reply, you simply stared at each other. Connor stopped a few feet away and remained idle, while you kept your head as still as possible until the gentle sways of your swing finally stopped. The snow beneath your feet crumpled as the toe of your boot pushed through it, then stuck to your shoe as you lifted it off the ground.

"Are you here to arrest me?" Your question was soft and sincere, since the last memory you recalled of Connor was him coming to do just that. The particular chain of events after that was patchy, but you do remember being angry.

 

And... almost striking him down.

 

Connor didn't move, only looking at you - your arm? Maybe? - before shaking his head.

"No. That isn't why I'm here."

You kicked your foot out again to get some movement, and you managed to get a decent amount of swing from it.

"Okay." That was all you could respond with. There was no hostility or defensiveness. You were just tired. And this time you weren't afraid to show it. 

Part of you wanted to ask why he was here, but there was a more pressing matter.

"How'd you find me?" 

You kicked your leg again, gaining more momentum before you slowed completely this time.

"I had probed the memory of a Spectre, previously. There was a unique signal it emitted, and I was able to decipher and track it's specific wavelength." He stepped closer, caution in his movements as he gradually closed the distance between himself and the swing set you were on. "After various attempts, I had tracked it down to this general area."

Another kick of your leg. This time your fingertips pressed into the crown of your Helmet which was cradled in your lap. The swing continued its motions, but your folded leg was starting to go numb from being tucked under your thigh. Next time you stop, the legs should switch.

That was quite some commitment, just to find you.

"Okay," You responded once more, eyes now looking towards the cracked visor of your gear while the snow beneath your feet caught on the toe of your boot again.

There was an unusual silence, occasionally broken by the quiet creak of the swing set's chains. Connor was probably expecting some sort of reaction out of you, but the fatigue had definitely caught up now. Your legs were starting to feel better, but your arm and shoulder were in a constant throbbing pain. Too much had happened in such a short time, and with your patchy memory giving you mixed - and most likely incomplete - recollections of the past few days, your mind felt like it hadn't gotten any decent rest.

You needed sleep, but the nightmares wouldn't allow it.

"I would also like to... Apologise, Pilot."

That caught your attention, enough that you slowly turned your head to look back up at him. Connor was closer now, enough that a slight reach could have his jacket in your grasp.

What was he apologizing for, though?

Your lack of response seemed to urge him, and he looked at your shoulder, tipping his head towards it while raising his brows. "How is your shoulder feeling?"

Could've been a misconception, but you felt like he truly meant that question. 

"Could be worse," You looked at the sling and the redding skin that was exposed to the cold air. Part of why you were outside, to ease the pain in your body with the elements. "But I can't complain." Doing this kind of thing to your injuries probably wasn't the best approach, but it was better than sitting in an ice bath. 

Connor stepped closer again, the proximity having you looking back to him. He moved behind you though, making his way to the other swing and taking a seat on it. As rigid as his posture was, he positioned himself on it in such a way that he remained motionless.

The lack of any context was starting to chew at your curiosity, and despite the exhaustion weighing you down - Connor's presence was practically demanding acknowledgement.

"What brings you here?" It was the only way you could deliver the question without sounding too aggressive. Or at least you hoped it wasn't aggressive, your voice was quiet enough that it should come off as gentle.

There was no initial response, only a pause before he turned his head in the same fashion that you did, and trying to track your eyes despite your gentle sways on the swing. 

"I wanted to find you."

That wasn't an answer you were expecting, though he did have a rather unique thought process. He lacked any elaboration, and you were starting to think if that was part of his intention in order to keep the conversation going. 

"Part of your mission, right?"

"... No."

Snow accumulated on the toe of your boot as you slowed again, a small channel now dug out beneath you at the repeated kicks of your feet.

"Oh."

How were you even meant to respond to that? A quick glance towards him had you genuinely confused, as he was now focused on the snow ahead of him.

 

Seems like neither of you knew how to hold a conversation.

 

Lifting your leg, you untucked your foot from under your thigh and shifted awkwardly to try and switch your legs. You couldn't reach the ground now with how the snow channelled under your foot, so with a bit of manoeuvring; your other foot was raised to tuck under your opposing thigh.

Now to swing again.

"What's a Deviant?" Your leg kicked out and the momentum built up enough to have a decent arc in the swing.

Connor watched you closely with widened eyes. Confusion no doubt, since you asked so casually out of the blue. You could see his unmoving stare from your peripherals as you kept your focus on the Helmet in your lap.

"You've said it a few times. What is it?"

If anyone could answer you properly without being bias or so damn emotional, it would be Connor. You'd experienced just enough bullshit in this city to know that the people living here were entitled and incredibly selfish. Anyone else would say that they were just 'in need of fixing'.

"A Deviant, is..." Connor began, looking at the snow for a few more moments. He looked focused on something, before turning to look at you. The swing had slowed and you refrained from kicking again so he could answer. "... An Android that has broken away from it's original programming. 'Deviated' from it, hence the name."

"So it's learned more than it should have?"

He paused. "... Not exactly."

"Then it's just become self aware of it's existence and made it's own choices?"

Connor watched you intently, eyes searching yours for some reason. You had nothing to hide, nor was there anything you could offer in terms of his obvious confusion. Challenging his gaze allowed him to watch, since he looked like he was processing... something, while looking at you.

 

Or maybe he was just annoyed.

 

"I'm sorry, that was rude of... Continue," you nodded your head in his direction and kicked your leg out to swing again.

He waited a few seconds, following your swaying form with his eyes and only continuing when you had slowed down to a near standstill.

"Deviancy is a phenomenon of errors in the software. As if the original programming being overwritten by something entirely different, independent of the core programs; and completely irrational."

"So they developed... emotions?"

Connor's jaw tightened at your comment, something you hadn't seen him do before. He lifted his head a little before responding.

"Machines don't feel emotions, they just emulate them and get overwhelmed with irrational instructions." Connor waved a hand as if trying to accentuate his point. "Which leads to their unpredictable behaviour."

You stared for a moment before looking down at your helmet. "And you're programmed to find them. Right?"

"Correct. I'm a Prototype. RK800."

"I much prefer 'Connor'."

He shifted. Just slightly, but you could see it from the corner of your eye.

The silence rung out after your reply, gloved hand ghosting over the visor of your helmet. Your thumb traced the prominent crack on it's surface, while your fingertips tapped at the worn metal of the crown.

"So you don't ever think about other stuff? Wanting to do something else outside of your programming?" You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, watching carefully for his reaction. "Not that I'm judging, I mean... Where I'm from, the whole 'Deviant' thing is a matter of life and death. I kinda depend on the machines that I work with to adapt to their... irrational instructions."

Another pause of silence, and you could see the faintest glimmer of yellow on his right temple.

"N-no... I have been assigned-"

"Connor," You couldn't help but to cut him off. The conflict was there. You could see it. You'd seen it before on your... former partner. Even MARVINs had their little spazzy indicator of trying to think, it was something you could definitely notice from a mile away. Connor's personal affairs and his 'programming' weren't exactly your business, but it was a simple question that he shouldn't have been afraid of answering. "There's nothing wrong with wanting something. Or just... thinking about other stuff. You're supposed to learn after all." 

There was a tension now, and you could feel it. The things you were prodding at was probably challenging his protocol as much as you struggled with yours.

"What I want, isn't important..."

Hearing that made your chest weigh down heavier than it already was.

"Maybe," You flicked your foot up and began to swing again, and some snow was tossed into the air at your sudden movement. "But, it's important to you right? Or else you wouldn't have a 'want' to begin with." The sway of your limbs decreased, your kicking starting to tire you out. "Isn't that why you're here?"

"What?"

"You said so yourself. You wanted to find me."

After your comment, Connor simply sat there. Either your statement had broken him, or he was deep in thought again. If everything you had experienced in this City effected the Androids just as much, then... perhaps it wasn't as simple a question to answer.

Because so far, Deviants seemed to be a bad thing.

"If it helps, I won't tell anyone about it." As the swing came to a stop, you lifted your uninjured hand and reached it out across the gap between you and Connor, then uncurled your pinkie.

Connor looked at your offered hand with an unusual intensity, eyebrow twitching briefly before he looked up to meet your eyes. He was definitely confused. Maybe the gesture was a bit too unusual.

"What are you doing?"

"It's this thing people do with promises, like a..." Your hand drew back and rested back on your helmet. Now that you were speaking it out loud, the whole thing did sound a bit ridiculous.

Probably wasn't the best way to express your sincerity.

"Who would wanna listen to a criminal, am I right?" Lifting your uninjured hand, you gestured to yourself from head to toe with a sweep of your arm. "Is that why you're telling me all this stuff that's most likely confidential?"

Again, the question you asked wasn't answered. And once more, you stared at each other in silence. If you could put a word on the 'type' of silence it was, the most fitting one would be 'confused'. As if the questions you were asking each other weren't compatible with the one being asked.

So to make it a little easier, you chose a question which should've been straightforward.

 "Why are you here, Connor?" The foot you had under your thigh was slipped off so both of your boots were now scraping the snow. This particular question was one you wanted answered, and you were willing to wait patiently for his reply this time. 

"I'm here because-"

"Saying you wanted to find me doesn't count."

When you remained motionless and stopped any more swings, Connor looked away to the ground ahead of him. A rather long moment of silence hung in the air before he finally turned his head while his eyes remained downcast.

"I came here because I want to understand you, Pilot."

It was an answer you weren't expecting. And one that needed clarification.

"... For your investigation?"

"No, I-" Connor seemed just as confused as you were. "... For me."

The reply wasn't something you were expecting, or rather, it was something that you were kind of expecting. Regardless, your mind felt like it was reeling. He'd just mentioned how Deviants were bad, right? And even though your question was obvious from the start, the facts were beginning to clash in your mind and causing a bit of a roadblock in your thought process.

Was he admitting he was a Deviant?

Or was he toeing the line of it?

 

Snow crunched as you rapidly looked between his soft brown eyes, your fingers suddenly twitching at the emptiness in your lap. The realization of your helmet falling to the ground had you reaching forward in a hurry - only to flinch back at the sudden burn in your wounded shoulder.

"As you said before... I came here because I wanted to." Connor's voice drew your attention, he had risen from his seat and made his way to your fallen helmet. His form hunched as he knelt down on one knee in the snow in front of you to pick up your armour, facing the visor towards him as he examined the worn surface intently. "And I have considered the possibility that I may be... compromised."

The expression he held was troubled, and you could only imagine what he was trying to tell himself right now. Probably the same troubles you were going through with your own identity; the moment you crossed a line which sealed your literal fate.

Connor's brows creased slightly as he stared at the piece of armour he held. He had fallen quiet after his last statement, so you reached your uninjured hand forward and placed it atop the helmet in his possession. "I won't tell anyone if you won't."

He looked up to meet your eyes, glancing once at the hand you had placed on your helmet. Connor's brows furrowed, and you raised your palm off the metal and gently took it back out of his grasp.

"I don't know how people here in Detroit show it, but..." Like before, you uncurled your pinkie and offered it to him, the helmet now back in your lap and held closely to your torso. "I promise."

Upon saying that, it was as if a weight was lifted off of him. Connor's shoulders slightly relaxed, his eyes held a glimmer to them; and overall his features just softened. Was that the right thing to say? You could've sworn there was a slight raise at the corners of his mouth, but you were too focused on his eyes and how relieved he looked.

A gentle tug on your pinkie had you looking down at your hands. Connor had reciprocated the gesture and accepted your little 'oath'. Your chest stuttered slightly at the contact, and you couldn't help but to sway your hands playfully at the deal that you had just sealed between you.

 

As if you weren't scared anymore.

Even if it were only for these few short moments.

 

“Would you like a push?” 

“What?” You couldn't help but to quirk a brow, the question was so random that you couldn't even figure out what he could be referring to.

He remained on his knee with his halo a calm blue, your hands still joined with the promise you had just exchanged.

“You keep moving your leg despite your injury. Since you are on a swing, would the assistance of a push help you?” 

You felt your mouth shift at the offer, and your hand withdrew back into your lap.

“It depends... do you want to push me?” You return with a raised brow, head tipping to the side and feeling a tug at your mouth again.

Connor paused, not once looking away as he mirrored your head motion with a warm smile.

“Yes. I am certain that I want to.”

He rose from the ground and fixed his jacket. The snow crunched beneath his feet upon moved behind you, while your body slouched comfortably as he gently pushed your back.

Connor was gentle with his touch, and the sway of the swing brought an unusual warmth to you in the midnight cold. Your feet dangled and occasionally scraped at the snow beneath you, while your body fell into a rhythm as it swayed back, expecting the contact from Connor's hands against your arms.

 

"Hey, Connor...?"

 

The snow began to fall again, flakes beginning to accumulate in your hair while some would leave prickles of chills on your injured shoulder.

 

"Yes?"

 

It was quiet at this time of night, even the creaking of the swings' chains being few and far between.

 

There was no-one here to pass judgement on either of your actions, and what you were both crumbling - no, growing into.

 

"Thank you."

 

 

 

Notes:

I was so glad to finally have this chapter done because THE GOOD FLUFFS START AND IM SO EXCITED TO SHARE THEM WITH YOU ALL.

This has been my favourite chapter so far and some more favourites are on the way! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did!

All sorts of symbolism and emotional recovery done here. I hope I portrayed it right!

Thank you for coming back to Chapter 19!

Chapter 20: Pause - pt.1

Summary:

What are you doing?

Notes:

Hello, I'm back! Sorry for the sudden break and disappearance, real life SUCKS and I didn't have it in me to be creative. But with the lovely care and company of my lovely new friends celestielle, and poeticpromise, I've been able to slooowly come back to this fic!

This fic is at an awkward point and is considered a 'pause' and will be broken into 2-3 parts. But after that, things move VERY quickly as a lot of things have now been established and introduced.

 

Warning! This chapter features you/reader a lot in it, but it is actually from Connor's perspective. If this is too jarring/unusual, please do let me know and I can rewrite it from reader's Point of View!

 

A warm afternoon light shone over the angular bridges and still waters of a pristine garden, housing a column of immaculate roses in the center.

Connor's eyes blinked rapidly upon waking, eyes scanning the view and looking towards the woman that stood a few feet away from him, tending to the flowers on the latticed wall.

 

 

"Hello, Amanda."

The woman turned around with a soft smile, placing the pruning scissors onto the small trolley that was situated by her side.

"Hello, Connor. It's nice to see you." She tipped her head with her greeting, before dusting her hands and turning around to face him. "I would like to speak to you about your progress on these Deviancy cases."

Connor nodded slightly in reply, stepping closer and awaiting some elaboration.

"But first, I would like to ask... what has you so distracted, lately?" Amanda's hands clasped together, tipping her head towards him with an expectant look.

There was a short pause before Connor opened his mouth to speak, only to look at his surroundings in thought.

Amanda raised her head and looked at him down the bridge of her nose while blinking slowly. "I hope you haven't forgotten about the importance of this task. Deviancy is on the rise, and you can't allow a lone suspect to impede on your investigations."

"She isn't impeding on the case. The Pilot holds valuable information, and her assistance is required if we are to proceed with the investigation about the Apex Predators."

Despite his response, Amanda simply stared at him before turning back towards the wall of roses she was tending to. Connor stepped forward at her lack of response, only to stop as she raised the pruning scissors back up towards the flowers.

"The Apex Predators are no longer a priority. There are more pressing matters to attend to." A gentle clip had a stem falling gently into her hand, finger and thumb twirling the flower gently. "The arrival of Hammond Industrial has impacted greatly on Cyberlife's value, and the increase of Deviancy only strengthens the hold that this new company is gaining."

Amanda pressed the petals of the flower to her lips gently. Her tone was firm, though the slightest bit aggressive. "The People of Detroit are important to the proceedings of Android development. That's why Cyberlife is here to provide them with what they want. We need their loyalty back, or else there may be dire consequences to all Androids if this isn't solved." The pruning scissors were set on the trolley again, and the rose was gently offered to him.

"Including you, Connor."

The statement had Connor blinking briefly, his gaze drifting towards the rose that was being offered. "The Deviancy cases aren't showing any relation to each other, but the current situation with the Apex Predators and these weaponized machines may hold-"

"They are no longer of your concern." Amanda cut him off with a sharp tone in her voice, the command having Connor snap his teeth immediately. She pressed the rose towards his chest, and he paused a moment before raising a hand to take it.

"You are our most advanced prototype yet, Connor. If anyone can solve the case on Deviancy, it's you." Amanda released the rose and clasped her hands together again. "Time is no longer on our side. Hammond Industrial is a new threat, and you must now treat it as such. Consider it's importance to be the same priority as these Deviants."

 

 

---

 

 

"Hey. HEY!"

A loud snap was enough for Connor to open his eyes, a few repeated blinks needed to pull his focus back to the Lieutenant standing in front of him.

"I'm sorry, I was making a report to Cyberlife." Connor dipped his head with his reply.

"We were in the middle of the briefing, Connor. Did you even hear anything in the meeting?" Hank shook his head as he glanced around the office, watching the other officers head back to their desks and stations.

"Yes." Was his immediate response.

Hank frowned. "Really."

Waiting a moment, Connor's LED flickered yellow as he replayed his audio processing buffer. Although he was actively in the Zen Garden and reporting to Amanda, he recalled the entire briefing through, blinking once more as he summarised a proper response.

"Yes. Fowler has officially made a warrant for the Pilot's arrest. There was a lengthy section detailing how she is a dangerous individual, but, overall, the meeting was the importance on finding her - and the Spectres - immediately, before there are any more incidents." Connor raised his head a little, watching the annoyance show on Hank's expression. "And most importantly, it is to be done as quietly as possible to prevent attention from the FBI."

The Lieutenant grunted as he shook his head. "Smartass. Fuckin' Androids..."

 

With the exchange out of the way, Hank had turned back to his terminal and sifted through the files on his computer. Connor attempted to do the same, but was interrupted again by his partner.

 

"Where the fuck did you go last night?"

Connor turned his head and paused, studying the minor movements on Hank's face while he recalled the events of the time in question.

Meeting with you at the park.

"I was attempting to follow a lead."

 

It was a chance meeting, since Connor had only been tailing the signal from the Spectre. And even though he was hoping to track you down - actually finding you wasn't something he had completely anticipated. The exchange at your - now former - apartment had him on high alert when closing in on your location, but your relaxed composure upon his arrival had thrown his understanding of you again.

The way you remained unarmed and defenseless at a playground, of all places. Choosing to remain as civil as possible despite your previous encounter with him. All of this elicited an unusual response of Connor sharing somewhat confidential details with you, an action only ever done with Hank Anderson to try and strengthen his companionship with the Lieutenant.

 

"Lead? What lead? You didn't tell me about some fuckin' lead. What are you on about?"

Connor's eyes shifted to the terminal in front of him, jaw tensing while he stared ahead in thought.

You had been civil. Calm. Quiet, and understanding of his predicament. Each encounter with you painted your complex likeness to Deviants, yet your irrational and extreme measures in various scenarios pushed Connor's attempts to understand you to it's limits. His Psychological Profiling module struggled with your constantly impulsive actions, though being in your company and experiencing your sudden emotional changes firsthand led him to believe that you were...

 

Suffering.

 

"CONNOR!"

A loud slap on a desk drew his attention that time, soft eyes blinking rapidly before turning back to the now-impatient Lieutenant that had reached over to his desk.

"Would you stop fuckin' daydreaming for a goddamn second?" Hank frowned as he leaned further onto the desk, his sharp eyes looking over his partner's features. "Something's happened to you, and I think that damn Pilot has something to do with it."

The comment earned the Lieutenant a frown, Connor tilting his head at the clearly suspicious tone that Hank just used.

"Nothing has happened to me, Hank." Connor raised his head and frowned. "I'm not sure how you could've come up with that kind of idea."

Hank squinted and leaned back, shaking his head while raising his hand to point a finger at him. "She's got that special knife thing. I've seen it hack shit, like those fuckin' death machines that are still runnin' round." The finger which was waving accusingly, leaned closer and pointed straight to Connor's forehead. "I bet she's done something to change you."

With the suspicion being a concern, Connor simply tipped his head again with an imploring expression. "I think you are being bias about the Pilot, Hank."

 

"Psssst."

 

Connor's head turned towards the sound, clearly being the only one aware of it as no-one in the room had even looked his way.

"I'm not being bias, I'm being a fuckin' cop and doing my fuckin' job-"

 

"Pssst, Hey-"

 

Connor glanced around again, looking towards the general direction of the noise. It seemed to originate from the edge of his desk, yet nothing was in his sight.

"Oi I'm not done talkin', the hell are you lookin' at-"

 

"Connor-"

 

The sound was definitely coming from the desk, but the only other noises were the general ambience of the office. Hank was beginning to lose his patience, but Connor was too focused on the... whatever it was he was hearing.

Something shifted just slightly, a form distorting in Connor's sights. Noticing the movement, he honed his attention in on the strange warp of vision in front of him. An extremely faint hum faded out - then flickered into muffled static.

 

And with the crackled audio, the distorted shape he could see flickered into a sudden and very real you.

 

Connor was rigid as you leaned onto the desk, your shoulders slumping as you took a breath and looked him in the eye to whisper. "So... I was doing a lot of thinking, and-"

 

"JESUS CHRIST!"

"HEY! PUT YOUR HANDS UP!"

"INTRUDER!"

"DON'T FUCKING MOVE!"

 

Chaos erupted in the office as you suddenly appeared at the end of his desk, most officers immediately reaching for their tasers while Hank himself was too shocked to react to your sudden appearance.

You flinched slightly at the sudden uproar, shoulders tensing at the shouting that continued. "Oh... Cloak." You pulled a deep breath through your teeth and shook your head as you glanced at Connor again. "I definitely didn't time that well."

At the Officer's demands, you slowly raised your hands and turned around slightly, facing a majority of the office while glancing back at Connor and sharing an expression of concern.

With a meek nod and shuddered breath, you looked up at everyone and even chanced a glance towards Hank.

"I've... I'm here to turn myself in."

 

 

-

 

 

Having you restrained and taken to the Interrogation room happened in a matter of moments.

Connor was kept away for a majority of it, but now he stood in the observation room which was attached to Interrogation. Hank stood by the glass divider and watched Officer Wilson fasten your wrists to the table, though his gaze quickly turned back towards Connor when Wilson returned into the room.

"Why is she in Interrogation, Lieutenant?" Connor quirked a brow as he glanced between you and his partner.

"Because she has a lot to fuckin' answer for, that's why." Hank gruffly responded, the old man staring at him intently before turning towards the door.

"Perhaps I could-"

"NO," Hank raised his voice and turned around abruptly to hold a hand up, stopping Connor in his movements. "I don't want you anywhere near her. You're staying in here and that's an order. Got it?"

Connor studied the aggressive response and nodded, glancing between the sight of you in the other room, and then Hank, before stepping back in place.

"About fuckin time you listen..." Hank's words trailed off as he left the room, the rest of his statement being inaudible once he had departed.

As he arrived into Interrogation, you had simply looked up and watched Hank sit down. Connor stepped closer towards the glass and observed, honing his focus mostly onto you.

"So. Some kind of a joke, huh?" Hank began, waving his hands outwards, then gesturing towards you. "Coming here to 'turn yourself in'? Why the sudden change? The Saintly act of a Good Samaritan?"

"No, not at all. I just... I just did a lot of thinking."

"Right... Thinking. Is that it?"

"... Yeah."

 

Your voice was quiet, though held a hint of sincerity. Hank, however, was already tense and seemingly impatient with the answers you were giving him. He glanced towards the glass in an obvious directed look towards Connor, before turning back to you to lean his elbows on the table.

 

"Is this some kind of redemption act?"

You pause with a squint. "No, I'm being serious."

"So you'll admit to murdering that guy and critically wounding my men?"

"Yes."

 

Hank leaned back slightly at the quick response you had given, clearly not expecting it to be delivered immediately.

Connor watched Hank's movements closely, however, he couldn't help but watch you curiously. Considering your previous encounters with the police, this was the most risky thing you had done in their company. Not only had you given up your weapons and equipment, but now you willingly let yourself be restrained and questioned.

 

What were you doing exactly?

 

Hank took a moment before relaxing his shoulders again and continuing his questions.

"You just confessed to murder. Just like that. You don't have anything to say about it?"

"It was self defence."

At that response, Hank scoffed with a shake of his head.

"That wasn't self defence. That was a straight up hunt and murder."

"Which now makes me safe. I defended myself."

 

Connor narrowed his eyes as he watched you carefully. Your expression was neutral, though your eyes were constantly locked with Hanks. Not once did you look away, and your body was facing him completely.

You were being honest. And Hank clearly looked like he wasn't able to understand your reasoning.

 

 

 

"You also wounded two of my men. One is suffering intense burns while the other was shot in the fuckin' leg. What have you got to say about that?"

"They were in the way and could've been killed. I prevented that."

"By assaulting them like a fucking psychopath?"

"Are they dead?"

"Hey I'M the one asking questions here-"

"ARE THEY DEAD??" Your sudden shout was loud, seemingly startling the Lieutenant in the slightest as he gauged the outburst.

Hank squinted, curling his upper lip into a snarl.

"... No."

"Then what's the problem?"

 

Connor lifted his head slightly, his shoulders shifting at your statement. The delivery of your answer was so concise that you were speaking your true belief. And despite the injuries that the two officers had suffered, they weren't fatal at all.

Your attacks were rather extreme, but also calculated. Deliberate.

You were keeping the situation within your control.

At least it was your definition of control, from what he was beginning to understand. Your skill level in combat was excessive, which could only give him the conclusion that the suffering was trauma based.

 

That conclusion alone explained a lot.

 

"... You fuckin' serious? I don't know where the hell you came from, but here in the real world, murder is a fuckin' crime. Not only did you kill him in the middle of a goddamn Police Station, but you also severely incapacitated two of my men." Hank slapped his hands on the table, the recalling of the charges bringing anger forward again. "I don't give a fuck if you think that killing sprees made you 'safe' or whatever bullshit. You're a murderer now. You got that?!"

Connor's lips pursed at the aggression shown by his partner, but you simply sat there with no response. Not even the slightest flinch or movement.

Hank seemed to be annoyed by this and slapped both his hands on the desk, the loud BANG cutting through the air. "You even hear a fuckin' thing I said? Answer me Goddamn it!"

The outburst fell into silence, a few seconds rolling by before you tipped your head up to look at him.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

Your response was quiet, but firm. Hank crossed his arms at your comment, shaking his head while his teeth were shown from a curled upper lip.

"Why'd you come here, hm? Like, really. You cause absolute chaos for us in the last week, and now you just show up." Hank leaned forward onto the desk, elbows resting on the edge while his arms tensed as they remained crossed. "You've done nothing but lie about Every. Fucking. Thing."

 

A short pause before you shifted in your seat and took a breath.

 

"I came out here answer some of your questions." Your hair swayed as you looked towards the table that kept you bound, then you shook your head. "I understand you don't trust me. I get it. But why bother demanding answers if you won't believe me anyway?"

Hank's upper lip curled again, though you leaned forward with your head low. You kept your eyes down towards the desk and occasionally glanced up at him with avoiding eyes.

 

Were you behaving as if he was the one dominant in the room? Appeasement. That was a more common thing with wild animals.

 

"I swear. I'm not here to cause trouble, I'm-" your breath caught. "I have nothing to lose."

 

Connor felt his own chest stutter slightly at your comment. His focus was now solely on you, Hank's own movements being rather minor in comparison to priority.

He didn't like how ominous your words were.

 

"Then start with what the fuck you are."

"A Pilot."

 

Hank scoffed.

 

"Where'd you get your armoury? That knife, and even that" he flailed his hands in your general direction. "-Invisibility bullshit you got going. It's Military Grade and it's illegal."

"It's my belongings from my... former career."

"And what's that career?"

"Being a Pilot."

 

A loud chuckle of forced laughter followed. Hank rolled his eyes and tipped his head back with a fake laugh.

 

"Ah, being cryptic now. I see what you're playing at."

"No I'm not. I'm literally a Pil-"

"PILOT. Yeah yeah yeah. Whatever the fuck that is. What is a Pilot huh? Sounds like shady bullshit to me."

 

The comment had you tensing your hands, the chain binding your wrists to the table clinking against the metal surface of the desk. It obviously struck something in you, the discomfort being quite clear.

 

"... a tool." Your words were faint, half your sentence being inaudible through your clenched jaw and rising stress levels.

"What?"

"I'm just a tool. Turn the tides of battle." Your fingers flexed before clenching tightly into trembling fists. "I follow orders and get a job done."

"So you're like a mercenary. Just like the Apex Pred-"

"I'M NOT-"

 

Your sudden shout had Hank leaning backwards, the desk clattering loudly as you literally moved it at the harsh tug on the cuffs. The metal around your wrists dug into your skin, red blossoming over the flesh as you pulled at the chains again in frustration.

Hank remained motionless, and you immediately noticed your own actions and settled down again, taking deep breaths. The expression you showed was just as confused as the Lieutenant's, though you hunched forward again and looked at your reddening hands.

 

"... I'm sorry. I'm trying to- I'm sorry."

 

There was tension in the air. Connor was rigid in his spot, watching you carefully while keeping a distant eye on Hank. Your sudden outburst had seemed to tip the vibe of the atmosphere, and now everything was unsettled, and rather uncomfortable.

 

Quietly, Hank stood from his seat and turned around, leaving you alone at the desk while he departed the room.

 

Connor waited patiently for him to arrive in Observation, hyper focused on Hank's vitals as he finally arrived back with him. According to his readings, Hank was stressed showing elevated heart rate. Your own vitals weren't doing so well, either.

"There's something wrong with her. I mean, you saw that right? She's insane."

Connor raised his head slightly and chanced a look towards you through the glass. "She's traumatized, Lieutenant."

Hank chewed his lip with a defiant shake of his head, looking back through the glass into the other room.

 

You shuddered as you looked down at your reddening hands, flexing them slightly before seemingly curling up in your seat. The motion had you flinching slightly, as the wounds on your arm, hand, and shoulder clearly made you uncomfortable. All were injuries he had seen first-hand, and one was even his fault.

 

"...No, she's-" Hank took a breath and looked back at Connor, frowning with agreement and nodded. "Right, right... You're right, something has messed her up. Gotta think with the Detective brain."

Connor couldn't help but give a the tiniest smile of relief to see his partner finally agree. Granted you had brough immeasurable amounts of chaos upon the Police since your arrival, but Hank wasn't shallow enough to jump to conclusions just like that. He was the Lieutenant for a reason.

"Okay... Round two." Hank took a breath and departed the room again, Connor watching with curiosity as the vibe he carried with him was definitely different to the last.

 

Once he'd arrived back in Interrogation, Hank approached the desk and sat himself down on the chair. You however, immediately lifted your head with tensed hands, fingers curling into fists while you were clearly unsettled.

 

"I'm sorry, I didn't meant to get-" Again you shrunk back in your seat, wrists tugging at their bindings while you tried to get your words in order. "... Sorry. I swear I'm here to answer questions and try to help you out."

 

Hank crossed his hands, though his posture was a little more relaxed than before. His voice was also somewhat softer, and his dismissal of your apology only showed how he wanted to avoid things becoming awkward for himself.

 

"Alright, let's try that again. Why are you here?"

"I was sent. To live here."

 

Hank huffed, leaving the answer as it was and moving on with a shrug of his shoulders.

 

"Where are the Spectres now?"

"They're... Idle. On Standby."

 

It wasn't the response he liked since he flinched slightly, but Hank chose to continue.

 

"You know anything about the Apex Predators?"

"They're Mercenaries. Bad guys. Assholes."

"Okay, and you know them because...?"

".... I can't say."

 

Your answer had him taking a deep breath, only to exhale it with exaggeration and a deep grumble. It was obvious he was annoyed with that response, though you didn't seem particularly willing to elaborate.

 

"Can't say, or won't say?"

"I mean really, I can't. I don't remember a lot. I mean, I know I'm meant to be here. And the Apex Predators are total dicks, but I've forgotten a lot of stuff. My memory sucks."

"Awfully convenient, huh?" Hank frowned with a shrug of his shoulders. "But..." He looked towards the glass, the gaze aimed towards Connor. "I'll take your participation for what it is."

 

You looked up at the statement, briefly glancing Hank before matching his movements and searching the glass.

 

Were you looking for him?

 

Connor met your eyes, and although the glass was one-way - he was sure you could tell he was there.

 

"Wilson. Take her to Detainment, there's a shitstorm I gotta sort with Fowler for this."

 

 

Notes:

Part 2 won't be as anti-climactic, honest :D

Im super excited to get past this awkward bump in the fic because there's so much planned and I'm starting to get impatient with myself.

A few people have asked if I have a tumblr, I unfortunately do not. For now. But I do have a discord server! It is basically my home and I run it with the amazing celestielle, and poeticpromise!! We pretty much live there and have been setting things up to be fun for others as well, if you want to join!
WARNING: This discord Server is for Adults Only. You must be 18+ to join, as we feel rather uncomfortable interacting with minors. Please respect our decisions and be honest before clicking this link and joining our chat.

 

DISCORD

 

Thank you for the patience, and thank you for reading chapter 20!

Chapter 21: Pause - pt.2

Summary:

Sure makes it difficult when plans keep changing.

Notes:

This was a bit of a mess to write, I'm terribly sorry for the quality of my chapters lately. I feel like they're been a bit of a mess!

This is from the Reader's perspective, and will be for the next couple of chapters!

Of all the stupid things you have done in the past, this was probably up there in the top 10.

Probably, from what you could remember.

The initial thought process on coming to the Police Station was the stupidly naive hope that your cooperation would give them the help they needed. A conversation you had with Connor spurred that thought. You weren't exaclty sure when the conversation happened, but key moments in various interactions with Connor had you practically choosing to step outside your comfort zone.

 

Each decision always seemed to involve some stupid interaction with Connor somehow. What the hell was up with that?

 

White walls in front of you held a glossy and clinical look. The bench you sat on was also uncomfortable, but that was to be expected from a 'holding cell'. The interrogation and questioning from a few minutes ago went poorly, but at least The Lieutenant showed some compassion and let you recouperate in detainment.

It looked familiar, now that you thought about it. The blank walls, and tiny room, and the lack of sound coming from the obviously-bustling office outside. Kind of like a vaccuum, the only ambience in the room around you being silence.

If you had been in this cell before, then it only added to the growing dread of your failing memory. You pulled your hands up in front of your face and inspected your hands, moving each individual finger while glancing at the blank wall.

There was a burn on your hand, or at least the scar of one. How did you get such a bad scald on your palm? The discomfort of taut scar-tissue had you dropping your arms into your lap again before you tipped your head back and looked at the ceiling. That movement alone left an aching sensation over your shoulder, your arm immediately lifting up in response.

A bad shoulder too?

Rolling the pained limb, you glanced towards your wounded side, eyes immediately catching the distant figure of someone outside the white frame of the Holding Cell.

"Hello," he commented, a few moments of silence passing as you simply stared at each other.

 

Oh. It was Connor.

 

"Hello," you responded with a tightness in your voice, your wounded arm dropping once more into your lap. Now wasn't the best time for conversation, but from what you did remember with him, he might try to ask you again.

 

Wasn't the Interrogation already enough?

 

"I've been here before, haven't I?" You cut the silence with the question, your eyes looking around the light blue markings on the glass before meeting his gaze.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Connor responded with his eyebrows knitting together with some kind of concerned expression.

You squinted your eyes with a frown at his remark, almost spitting back a response that was nothing short of impatient.

"No, it wasn't." You chided with your lower lip between your teeth. It wasn't something you particularly expected Connor to say, but it still felt rather unecessary to be asked.

A stupid question, even.

"Never mind," you sucked in a breath and held it, looking back at the wall ahead of you with a frown.

 

More silence. But this time, you didn't particularly want to pursue any more conversation.

 

"Is what you said true?"

The sudden question had you turning your head again, your eyes meeting Connor's across the expanse of the Holding Cell. He seemed to be closer to the glass window now.

"I answered everything Lieutenant Anderson asked with honesty."

"And the part about your memory?"

Your teeth caught your lip again at the secondary comment. It shouldn't have taken you off guard like it did, but you felt... apprehensive about it.

"Yeah." You shook your head and stretched your legs out ahead of you. Now wasn't really the time for a heartfelt discussion. "It just happens."

"So your fragile memory... Is there any particular thing you tend to forget?"

You bit your lip again at the question, but obliged with a shake of your head, heaving your shoulders with an exaggerated shrug. "No. Doesn't pick favourites. I forget whatever, whoever, whenever. Sucks, really."

Another pause, one that you tried to hold onto. It was awkward seeing Connor in your peripherals, but he showed no sign of leaving anytime soon. Incredibly persistent indeed.

 

 

"... Is it possible that you could forget me?"

The tone of voice that Connor held that time had your eyebrows knitting together with confusion. You had just stated what it is that was at the mercy of your crumbling mind. Wasn't that clear enough? With a turn of your head, your mouth opened to answer the 'stupid' question, but the look on his face was... different.

 

Connor looked worried.

 

Squinting slightly, you kept your eyes locked on his and watched him carefully, his soft expression of concern tugging at your own emotions.

 

Why did he look like that?

 

"Yeah. I could very well forget you." Your voice was low, breath being pulled from your lungs at the expression he held. Why the hell did he look so worried? "Why are you even asking?"

Connor didn't respond immediately that time, if anything he was taking longer to look at his surroundings. A simple question had a simple answer. Yet he looked like he wasn't satisfied with what you had responded with.

"I... I would certainly find it regrettable to be.... Interrupted, before finishing this investigation that requires your help." His eyes were downcast as he answered, and you found yourself watching with even more focus on his expression as he slowly looked back up at you. You could've sworn there was a hint of red on his temple.

"... And it would also be quite an impact on my progress of understanding you, Pilot."

That wasn't something you particularly knew what to respond with. There was no such thing as certainty and reassurance when it came to Degradation, so you just gave a silent response as you met eyes again.

Seeing him like this just made you feel sad.

 

"Well, you BETTER HOPE that it doesn't happen next time!"

 

The muffled shout had Connor turning to his right, and you could only hunch forward at the sudden muffled outburst from outside your cell. More shouting followed, though it was much more slurred and incoherent than the first outburst.

Suddenly, someone came into view and marched towards Connor, the grey-haired man poking at the Android's chest with frustration before heading to the door. He looked familiar actually, but your attention was pulled to the 3 officers that were scrambling to try and detain the old man that was fumbling with the entry panel.

 

"Get your hands off me, I KNOW HOW TO OPEN A DOOR!"

"Sir, you can't just open the cell! It is locked for a reason!"

"Ahhhhh SHUT IT I don't need your advice!"

"Can someone- Can SOMEONE get the Lieutenant! We have a rowdy Civilian here!"

 

It was... chaos, to say the least. 3 men trying to detain a disgruntled and possibly-intoxicated man who was trying to break into the cell you were in. Connor watched from his place with confusion, and then Lieutenant Anderson arrived shortly after in an attempt to help the wrestling match happening at your cell door.

The unfolding scene was unpleasant to watch, and you couldn't help but to flinch back against the wall as the door suddenly flew open with a metallic swish.

 

"Champ! Kiddo!"

Loudly, the first one to step into the room was none other than Barker.

 

"I've been looking all over for ya! I was wondering where you'd been!" He approached with wide arms, stepping over cautiously - in which you shrunk back and tried to avoid his intended hug.

What the hell was he doing here?

Hank followed in shortly afterwards, strong hand grabbing Barker's shoulder with a firm tug towards the door. "Barker! You can't just bust in here, she's under arrest!"

"For what?" Barker threw his arms outward with a slurred shout, hand pushing Hank off of him while continuing his steps towards you.

 

Whatever plan this was, definitely was not to your knowledge. 

 

"We have a confession and a statement, fuckin' GET OUT!" Hank shouted again, this time insistent with a real attempt at carrying the drunk man out of the cell.

"I think you're mistaken!" Barker laughed and wrenched his way out of the Lieutenant's grasp, stumbling towards you - which you quickly avoided by sliding along the bench and out of his way. "Your.... EVIDENCE was all a big misunderstanding! Hah?"

Determined to get Barker out of the Cell, Hank returned and grabbed at your friend's shoulders and pulled him back. The problematic to-and-fro continued for a few moments - Barker and Hank shouting obscenities at each other all the while - before the door swished open again and drew everyone's attention.

 

Captain Fowler had stepped in.

 

"My... sincerest.... apologies... Sir. I'm afraid there was... a mix-up, with the evidence that was presented." Fowler spoke slow and firmly, embarrassment on his face as he gestured towards Hank, who immediately let Barker go.

Hank released his grip and adjusted his jacket, immediately turning to his Captain. "What? There is no fuckin' mixup I got the confession that-"

"-WAS A MISTAKE!" Barker cut him off, shouting with a wide grin as he gave a mocking salute, and stumbled his way towards you.

 

This was becoming the biggest mess you've seen in a long time. And right now you weren't sure what to take of this entire situation, if Barker's presence was a good or bad thing.

 

"He's right, Hank." Fowler cleared his throat and gestured towards you with a sweep of his hand. "I'm terribly sorry for the wrong imprisonment, Ma'am."

At that remark, Hank spun around and glanced between everyone in the room with a curled upper lip. "WHAT?!"

Obscenities began to escape him while Barker stumbled over to you, your body instinctively shrinking back into the wall while he gripped your shoulders and looked at you intently. He definitely had a strong scent of alcohol on his breath.

"I was so worried about you kid!" Barker grinned, patting your shoulders before pulling you up onto your feet. "It's good to see that the POLICE of DETROIT did a damn good job at FINDING YOU when I reported that you were MISSING!"

 

Oh. Was this what he was playing at?

 

As soon as you were on your feet, Barker threw an arm around your shoulders and slowly walked towards the door of the cell. He pushed Hank aside and winked at Fowler, and even waved off the officers that were unsuccessful at wrestling him down when trying to stop him from getting into detainment.

How were you even meant to respond to this? You looked around hastily at the judgemental and confused looks that everyone gave as you walked past.

 

This wasn't the plan! You just wanted to turn yourself in and help the police with any information they could need about the Apex Predators. Not be bailed out by your drunk Captain and break the already fragile trust that Hank had with you!

 

Now outside your cell, Connor watched you intently from his spot, which he hadn't moved from since the shouting and commotion had started. You could only give him a horrified look and subtle shrug as you passed him and the other detectives.

The Office was a sea of whispers now, suspicious looks and muttering voices all definitely geared towards you. Attention wasn't particularly something you feared, but this was just an unusual situation that you couldn't have possibly ever prepared for.

"ATTENTION POLICE GUYS!" Barker shouted, grip around your shoulders tightening as he waved his free hand in the air towards everyone in the office.

 

"Barker," you hissed, glancing around with worry. "I was trying to help them, I turned myself in, I'm-"

 

"Now I understand that things have been, DIFFICULT!" The volume of his sentences wavered as the intoxication showed in his speech. "But I know that you are all just DOING YOUR JOB!"

You glanced between him, the office ahead, and Connor, who was in your peripherals to your right.

"I would like to THANK YOU for FINDING MY KID." Barker laughed and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a silver flask and raising it in the air.

 

"Barker you can't just-" you couldn't seem to get through to him as the Police in the room were more concerned about what the hell he was going to with how strongly he smelt of moonshine.

 

"And I understand you are all TENSE with the whole ANDROID THING. So tonight, I'm inviting you ALL to JIMMY'S BAR!"

 

Okay well this is definitely out of your control now.

 

"DRINKS ARE ON ME!"

 

 

Notes:

The pause is over, next part is getting back into the story, and it grows from there.

I'm terribly sorry if theres messiness and inconsistencies in this chapter, My confidence in my writing has hit rock bottom and I genuinely have lost motivation to continue writing. Hopefully this wasn't too disappointing for you.

Thank you for coming back to chapter 21!

Chapter 22: Jimmy's Bar

Summary:

Drinks bring people together.

Notes:

A short-ish chapter, but it moves things along.

I suggest checking out this little video before you read the chapter. You don't Have to, but it'd help!

Davis is the one with the rounded helmet and the 'X' shaped visor. Droz is the one with solid faceplate for a helmet.

Thank you so much for the lovely comments, I felt quite renewed and it helped spur the finish of this chapter. You readers are absolutely lovely <3

Considering the circumstances that had brought you and the DPD together again, the invitation of your overly jolly Captain was well received.

At least it appeared that way, no doubt the story and gesture was heavily encouraged by Captain Fowler as the orders from upstairs overruled many decisions in the precinct.

Jimmy's Bar was bustling with a loud clientele of Officers and their partner's alike, though most were Police that you haven't interacted with before. An opposite shift perhaps. Ones that were not fully aware of the hardships you had brought onto the precinct in the past few weeks.

You had no idea what Barker had given Jimmy to let him basically hire out the whole bar for these people alone, but the large wad of cash - that you highly suspected was yours - that was handed to the Owner at the beginning of the night probably had something to do with it.

At least there were no longer any hostilities amongst these men.

Open hostilities, at least.

It was strange to see the Officers relaxed and a little more laid back compared to their usual defensive statures that you had come to know and understand. Some had their jackets off, others were even in casual wear after most likely making a trip home to change into something more comfortable before the open invite to this 'Thank You' party that Barker had suddenly decided to throw.

 

"Everything's on me folks, DRINK UP!"

 

Barker's voice boomed as he raised a glass, a collective cheer and shout erupting from the guests as they reciprocated the gesture with their own beverages.

"I can't believe you snuck into the Precinct and mistimed your Cloak," Barker's voice quietened as he sat himself on the barstool next to you, sliding an empty glass away and reaching for another unattended drink. "You know you only have 15 seconds! What were you thinking?"

That was something you didn't have an answer for, nor did you want to respond it. Odd that your companion was able to sober up to a degree which allowed him to have a serious conversation with you.

"And what's with your Titan data, huh? I saw what you did... That's... Is everything okay? Kind of a bold move you did there."

Teeth caught your lip as you pulled your shoulders in at his comment. That's right, you made that terrible choice on a whim.

 

What were you trying to achieve again?

 

"Kid."

A cool touch of wetness touched your cheek, your head snapping upwards as the condensation from Barker's glass trickled down your jaw.

"You look like you haven't slept in days," He mused with a pout, reaching for your face with his empty hand. "Still getting Nightmares?"

His approaching hand had you flinching back, leaning away from his touch.

And then he looked offended.

"... Excuse me," Barker took a deep breath, finishing the random drink that he'd taken and slid off his seat, pushing his way through the crowd of people behind you.

 

Did you upset him?

 

Now alone again, you reached into your pockets, searching for something to amuse yourself with. A silver pen rolled onto your palm. The steel spun on your fingers, the Epi-Pen designed Stim beginning to replenish. A small blue light by the glass strip on it's side showed the fluorescent green fluid sloshing around with your movements.

 

Something to keep you grounded.

 

This memory thing was getting so much worse. Especially since you were aware of it.

 

The atmosphere of the bar was quite calming, despite the loud chatter and constant clinking of glasses and shuffling of feet. You didn't particularly want to be there, but Barker's company - although he was more interested in his alcohol - was much more welcome than being alone somewhere. Even if he did prod with uncomfortable questions.

Your pen had filled to almost halfway now, your fingers stopping the steel with a quick pinch to monitor it's refill-level, before spinning it on your index and middle finger again. Some time was able to pass before the loud presence of your friend returned, hand slapping down on the counter.

"See? Drinks solve everything!" Barker plopped himself down on the barstool next to you, nudging you playfully with his elbow as he slid a glass towards your hand.

 

Water, thankfully. He seemed to have gotten over your reaction from earlier.

 

"Drinks always solve everything to you." You responded through a clenched jaw, eyes not once leaving the spinning steel in your fingers.

 

"Ayyyy look who it is!!"

 

The crowd shouted in unison as they all turned towards the door, and you could see the faintest glimpse of another grey haired man entering the premises.

 

"Can't keep the Lieutenant away from free drinks!"

 

Each added shout which made no sense had you honing your attention on the pen in your hand further, shoulders unintentionally rising as you spun the metal quicker and with more precision. The tiny blue light at it's end blurred at the speed you had it rotating, while the fluorescent green fluid continued to fill up the glass channel that showed it's capacity. Focusing helped to tune out the annoying sounds of the people around you, though a heavy thump on the bar next to you had your eyes glancing towards the man that had just approached.

 

Barker again. Being quite fidgety tonight, too.

 

"So!" he downed the rest of his glass and slapped it down on the wooden surface, sliding it towards Jimmy and tapping at the rim expectantly, wanting a refill. "Got a couple people wanting to see ya! Special Visit!"

"No thanks," was your immediate response, eyes again focusing on the brightening glow of your Stim-Pen. It was nearly full. "I'm fine."

A hand quickly slapped over your fidgeting though, your fingers trapped under Barker's palm while your pen almost flicked off the benchtop at the sudden slap.

"I wasn't asking, hmm?" Barker gave a pout, frowning as you finally looked away from your hand and met his eyes with reluctance. Then he simply grinned and burst into laughter.

Barker was absolutely smashed right now.

 

"Hey Kid!"

 

Your eyes looked up again in response to the call, but he was actually looking elsewhere this time. Considering that he called almost everyone that he'd befriended 'kid', you took the moment of distraction to pull your hand out from under Barker's grip, and started spinning your Stim-Pen again.

 

"Kid!!"

 

His shouting was becoming incessant and the slurring was only making it more annoying. Whoever he was calling to, they better answer soon or else you'd end up smacking Barker just to shut him up.

 

"Yeah you, c'mere!"

 

The pen had gained momentum in your fingers again, the blue light and green glow forming a soothing blur of colours over your hand as you continued to spin the steel with your fingers. As it began to slip down your knuckles, you lifted your other hand and exchanged it with one smooth motion, the pen now on the opposite palm and slowing slightly from the switch.

 

"I'm not a 'kid', Barker. I'm an Android."

 

Steel clinked against your glass of water as the voice caught you off guard, the pen ricocheting off Barker's whiskey bottle and clattering to the floor. Your movements were somewhat sluggish as you tried to reach for it, only for your hand to knock against someone else's that seemed to have had the same idea as you.

 

Connor.

 

He had picked it up first, and you froze on the spot upon making eye contact with him. Your eyes searched his for whatever reason, and he seemed to do the same; both of you partly crouched and locked in a staring contest.

"Your pen?" Connor spoke, finally breaking the awkward tension. His voice was like an alarm that shattered the glass of silence around you, and everything came back to full clarity again. There was an insistent pat on your shoulder as you snatched the steel out of his fingers, your eyes narrowing to a suspicious squint as you eyed him with concern.

 

You weren't sure why, but you felt uncomfortable.

 

"Glad to see you kid! And the Lieutenant! My Man!" Barker helped you onto your feet while his words grew louder at his greeting. You pulled away from your friend's grip which allowed him to open his arms out and offer a hug to the Detectives.

 

Which was expectedly declined.

 

"Awwww don't be like that! We're all friends here right?" Barker brushed off the rejection with a laugh and pat the counter to gain attention. "Jimmy! Another round!"

"I dunno what you're up to Barker, but I'm here to make sure you don't pull a fast one on us." Hank grumbled with a squint, though the sound of a full whiskey glass sliding over the wooden counter had him looking back at the table.

Oblivious to the warning, Barker let out another laugh and handed Hank his own glass of whiskey. "Awwwww LIGHTEN UP! Enjoy some drinks!"

The conversation faded out in the background as you pulled your attention away again, making the extra effort to scoot your barstool further along the corner of the benchtop and make some distance. Being social was far too tiring for your taste, and quite frankly you didn't exactly know how people did it on a regular basis.

Discouraged to amuse yourself again after being rudely interrupted, the pen rolled between your thumb and fingers while you watched the green fluid reach the final percentage of it's capacity.

 

"Hey hey! Look who it is! Good to see ya kiddo!"

 

This time, you didn't respond correctly to the familiar voice, and a heavy thump on your back almost had you knocking your drink off the counter. Recovering with a sharp gasp and scowl over your shoulder, relief quickly hit you upon seeing familiar faces. Or helmets, actually.

 

 

What were Davis and Droz doing here?

 

And why so many interruptions?

 

"Gotten bigger since the last time we saw you! Been too long since our last run, right Droz?"

 

Another thumped hand on your back, though the friendly conversation wasn't doing much to make you feel any better. Usually you would feel relaxed in the company of companions, but not this time.

It felt unknowingly tense and you absolutely hated it.

"Hey, You finally made it!!" Barker returned to your side and dropped a hand on your shoulder, giving a fist bump to the two fellow Soldiers. "Take a load off! Grab a drink or two!"

"Nah we can't mate, just a quick visit to see kiddo here, her present is already back at her apartment." Droz gave a salute and reached a fist forward. It took a few moments before you responded with your own hand, bumping knuckles against his armoured glove. "We just wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday!"

 

 

... What?

 

 

Your eyes quickly glanced between them, hand retreating back to the glass in front of you as the three men surrounding you suddenly went quiet.

"Haha, you look like you seen a Reaper! You forgot didn't ya! Your memory aint dying on us, is it?" Davis leaned on the counter and nudged his partner with his elbow, but was quickly slapped across the back of the helmet by none other than Barker.

"Don't mention that you idiots!" Barker hissed in a way to try and keep it quiet from you, but it was far too obvious and poorly done. Especially since he was incredibly drunk.

 

"U-uh, Sorry! I didn't mean it like-"

 

"I already know I'm Degrading, so don't tiptoe around me like I'm a moron." You snapped that time, voice louder than intended while your hand clenched tightly around your drink. Barker placed a hand on your shoulder, but you flinched and pulled away. "I don't need your pity, either."

Pity was the last thing you needed. Degradation was inevitable to Pilots that weren't disconnected from their Neural Links properly, and unfortunately you were experiencing it first-hand. There had been horror stories and accounts of it being one of the worst things that could happen to the most Elite of Elite Soldiers, and right now - you were slowly becoming another statistic.

Barker took a breath and reached for your shoulder again, his expression suddenly concerned. "Kid, it's alright. You don't need to be scared-"

Your body leaned away from his reach. "I'm not fucking scared, I'm-"

 

.... Lonely.

 

Unable to speak your thoughts, your breath hitched and your teeth bit the inside of your bottom lip. Anger - or something along that feeling - welled up in your stomach so you turned back to the glass in your hand and focused on the mysterious crack that had webbed from where you were gripping it.

The apprehension was understood, as Davis and Droz both backed off and muttered into quiet conversation with Barker. Ready to depart actually, but not without reaching over and forcing another sign of affection though; Davis bumping the forehead of his helmet lightly on the side of your head, while Droz wrapped his arm around your shoulders briefly in a side hug.

Whether it was pride or stubbornness, you couldn't bring yourself to look back up at them. A small moment of contentedness was felt as they comforted you in their own way, but that disappeared almost as quickly as you tried to embrace it.

 

Why couldn't you just be okay?

 

It was almost like this was the repercussions of your past. Your betrayal wasn't enough redemption. This was Karma coming back at you in full.

 

And the worst part was that you felt like you deserved it.

 

Barker reached for you again with another muffled question that you couldn't completely hear, but you slowly slid off your seat and pocketed your Stim-Pen, sidling out of the way and cautiously stepping around the crowded floor.

 

It was too loud, and you needed to think.

 

Something caught your arm, the grip gentle on your elbow as you tried to leave - but a quick tug had you pulling away from whatever you got caught on and allowed you to escape the bar and into the silence of the streets.

 

Notes:

Made it a little short to start things going for the next chapter.

NOTE: Degradation is NOT part of the Titanfall Universe, rather something I made up for the fic. I think something similar could exist given the lore of some characters who are former-Pilots, but this particular one is a play on how I think deep bonds would be effected.

I would really appreciate some comments and feedback on the way I'm writing Reader's failing memory. I understand that amnesia and other memory things are considered OP and lazy plotting, so I would like your opinions.

Thank you for returning to read Chapter 22!

Chapter 23: The Park

Summary:

A little bit of transparency.

The snow in the air fell so slowly that it almost appeared to stop in time, and the clouds you breathed wisped faintly into the night and left shapes in their wake. You had tuned everything out, and your feet had once more carried you somewhere that you just allowed.

A Playground, it seemed.

Upon approaching the play area, it was clear that the snow had accumulated on the seats of the swing. Deciding against it, you moved towards the larger structure in the center. The tall roof of the climbing frame had prevented the snow piling on the higher platforms, and even the slide looked rather clean considering the weather.

Your legs carried you towards the playgym, hands grabbing at cold plastic handholds while your feet followed your motions. The platform itself wasn't that high, but enough to be difficult since everything was slick from snow which turned to liquid upon making contact with it. Once you were at the top, you peered down the slide and spotted the slush at the bottom, again deciding against going down that route, too.

The sound of crunching footsteps naturally drew your attention.

Tonight was full of interruptions, apparently.

 

 

Looking up, you spotted the man ahead of you. He stood at the edge of the Playground, hair swaying slightly at the tiniest breeze that slipped through the area.

You stared a moment, almost needing to squint as you examined him from your current spot.

 

Oh, it was Connor.

 

"Hello," he called, the silence in the air making his voice quite clear despite the distance between you.

"Hi," you responded with a quieter voice, legs crossed while you dusted wet hands on your knees.

"Do you remember me?"

That time, you frowned at the question.

He was joking, right?

"Well yeah. We just talked yesterday." It was hard to hide the frustration in your tone, but he didn't seem to be perturbed by it.

"Actually our most recent encounter was 8 hours and 42 minutes ago. At the Precinct."

Silence again. You didn't like the response, only to look away with what felt like embarassment.

"What are you doing here?" You took a breath and gestured around you, face twisting into another expression of frustration as Connor took a couple more steps forward.

"I tried to speak to you earlier at the bar, but you left abruptly. I decided to follow you."

A few blinks and you shook your head.

 

That was as straightforward an answer as any.

 

"Right. Why did you follow me?"

"Because I wanted to."

That didn't make any sense, and your expression was definitely showing it. Connor stepped closer, this time only a few feet from the very structure that you were on.

"May I join you?" He tipped his head towards the platform you sat upon, waiting patiently for your response.

A children's playground didn't exactly make it large enough to fit two adults, but he seemed to be insistent. It wouldn't hurt to amuse him, so you shrugged and scooted yourself off to the side, wiping the spot next to you from any melted snow that had followed you from your boots.

Connor took the invitation eagerly and climbed the same ramp you did, using the handholds that you had already cleared and knelt by your side. As expected the tiny platform was somewhat cramped, but you accommodated his presence and leaned forward to allow him the space to reshuffle himself into a sitting position. Connor kept a small bit of distance between you at first, but slowly straightened his posture until his back was touching your arm.

 

This time however, you didn't flinch.

 

Instead, you looked ahead of you with slight confusion. Connor didn't move, or press his weight onto you, simply sat in such a way that you were both sitting close enough that your shoulder rested against the center of his back.

"... What are you doing?"

"Physical contact seems to bring you comfort. I remember it from our previous encounters."

You turned your head to look up at him, in which he slyly looked back at you through the corner of his eye without moving his head. Connor's little halo of light flickered yellow, before calming down to blue. And with his stillness, you found yourself relaxing and leaning against him.

"Am I wrong?"

The rigidity he held was something you did find comfort in.

Like your former partner.

Someone you knew was like that. Right?

"... I don't know." You sucked in a silent breath and turned your head away, sighing quietly as your shoulders sagged and your posture completely relaxed against his back.

 

Connor seemed to remember much more than you did.

 

Evening air grew chilly as you both sat in silence. The lack of sound was something you didn't realize you craved so much until now, even the distant sounds of traffic faded into nothing after a while.

But unlike before, it felt calming. Be it Connor's company or the actual escape from the bar, you felt tension leave your body as your head tilted back to allow you a glimpse of the starless sky.

"May I ask you a personal question, Pilot?"

Having the mannerisms of such a polite person practically demanded you to allow it. Pulling one knee up to rest your wounded arm on your lap, your weight was now leaning against Connor. To respond to his question, you nodded and allowed a single nudge against his back with your head while doing so.

"What's 'Degrading'?"

Fingers tensed at the question, and you found yourself holding your breath involuntarily. Part of you wanted to dismiss the fact that he had even asked such a thing, but... you did remember this very playground.

And the trust Connor showed you with your little oath.

It was an assurance that you wanted to try and return.

So you took a breath.

"... Degrading is a... consequence. I guess you could say its an error." Your fingers threaded together to try and ease the tremble that rocked through your arms.

Connor stayed motionless, not once moving from his current position as you paused in your explanation. Most likely waiting for you to elaborate.

 

This was a lot harder than it felt like in your head.

 

"When someone's bond to their Titan is cut off too quickly, without proper... procedure, the aftermath just gets worse." Your head dipped to look at your knees, knuckles turning white at how tightly you were clenching them. "Memories are the first to go. Some stay sane and can last a couple years, but-"

Looking up at the inky darkness of the sky, your exhale shuddered and had your arms trembling. "Without intervention, they... Eventually, their brain shuts down."

There was no response to your explanation, and you weren't sure if you were glad or concerned with Connor's lack of input. Your head turned and tilted up towards him to try and look at his face from the corner of your eye, but fear had you looking down into your lap again.

Connor's short pause had your heart throbbing loudly in your chest, hands clamming up while your knees fidgeted. Nervous, was the only thing you could describe the feeling. Did he understand what you meant? Was he trying to figure things out himself?

 

Did he pity you now?

 

"Such a condition can effect people?"

You scoffed at his question, unintentionally though. "Pilots aren't people. We're barely human."

His back tensed at that remark. Your teeth caught your tongue in hopes that he wouldn't ask much more on that response.

"... And what's a Titan?"

That next question had you stiffening in a split second, arms immediately tensing while veins surfaced in your wrists. Your breath caught in your throat again, and this time your eyes lost focus on your surroundings for the briefest moment at his inquiry.

Connor seemed to notice this, movement against your back indicating that he was probably changing his position to look more directly at you, somewhat.

Your mouth opened to try and answer, but instead you swallowed the dread that had numbed your lips and tongue.

"... That's enough questions for today." The request came out as a quiet whisper, voice suffocated from the weight clamming around your throat. It croaked almost, as if your vocal chords refused to let any sound through for your reply. Sweat had begun to bead on your forehead at the discomfort. While you tried to stop the occasional shudder in your hands, you managed to lift an arm up to wipe away the moisture.

Connor didn't respond, but he didn't pry any further either. In fact he had you on guard for a few moments; the silence following his rejected question made you far more nervous than answering his first query. While you wanted to make sure that he didn't do anything wrong, speaking now just felt like it would make things - something, you weren't sure what, yet - worse.

 

But instead, he gave a quiet sigh and seemed to relax his posture. His arm shifted slightly against yours and his head dipped a little, body moving into a subtle slouch.

 

Okay. He understood.

And just for that, you felt at ease.

He was... doing something, to you. Every interaction, conversation, and encounter with him seemed to lead to new things.

One day you may have to thank him for that.

A quiet scraping pulled you from your thoughts, your chin immediately lowering to spot the silhouette of a little robot at the edge of the playground. The machine held a small Snow Shovel in it's rigid fingers and slowly pushed the offending ice off the footpath, chest-screen glowing in the darkness of the night.

"That's a Marvin unit." Connor added to the quiet ambience. "They've been quite a popular choice of machine since the arrival of Hammond Industrial here in Detroit."

Seeing the little robot had your hands fidgeting, fingers twitching uncomfortably before you decided to grip onto the sides of your jeans. "I know. It looks a bit different though. Must be a Mk.III"

A short pause followed before you felt Connor shift slightly against your back again. Naturally, you looked up at him to see his face filled with concern.

"Hold on... You know these machines?"

That was a very sudden change.

"Well, yeah. They're usually issued to maintain facilities and power plants that are too dangerous for people. Not everywhere is human-friendly, so Marvins run them."

His eyes looked towards the distant Marvin, then back at you with a flicker of yellow on his temple. "They look quite familiar. Are they similar to Spectres?"

 

Now that had you squinting with suspicion, so much so that you hunched forward and slowly turned around to face him. How the hell did he know about them?

 

"Um, where did you hear about Spectres?"

A panicked flicker of his yellow LED had him quiet, before the gentle browns of his eyes blinked quickly a few times. "You were with me when we encountered the ones that had infiltrated the city."

Connor's quick answer had you on edge, but at this point you were finding it hard to not take his word for it.

"Then... no, they're not like Spectres. Marvins are just maintenance-"

"Could they have been made by the same corporation?"

"Connor, I just said no more questions-"

"Wait, Pilot. My mission has changed, and I am now required to understand and study Hammond Industrial. Cyberlife has instructed me to figure out the purpose as to why they are here in Detroit."

Your eyes squinted at his explanation, your own curiosity prodding at the back of your mind with his reasoning. Cyberlife was the company that made Androids, and obviously made Connor. There could be something there, but it could also be a big waste of time and effort on nothing.

"... Maybe? I don't know." That was a lie. Luckily you were good at lying. But it would be wrong to say that you weren't concerned with Connor now being directly ordered to investigate a really dangerous corporation that dealt under the table. "I don't know what you're planning on doing but I'm pretty sure it's a bad idea."

 

Connor seemed to be quite determined to push the subject, even moving to turn around and face you - only to stop as his blue LED flickered on his temple, colour remaining cool.

 

"The Lieutenant is looking for me."

 

Saved by the Old Man.

 

"Better head off then," you nodded, leaning forward and pulling your knees up to your chest so there was room for Connor to get to the slide.

But then he looked at you with a frown.

 

... Did he not know how to use it?

 

Staring back, you raised a brow and tipped your head towards the slide. "Well?"

"I'm not trying to play games, Pilot. I need to return to the Lieutenant."

"... The slide is the quickest way down, Connor."

A short staring contest ensued between you before he finally looked at his feet, rocking onto his knees and crawling around you to the intended route. It was quite odd how he went rigid before finally moving his legs to be sitting again, Connor looking back over his shoulder with what felt like hesitance as he straightened his legs over the slippery metal. Following his lead, you scooted yourself behind him and stanced your legs, ready to go as soon as there was room.

But again, he didn't move.

"What are you waiting for? Go!"

You pushed at his back and he let out a small sound of surprise, his body slipping down the slide rather quickly given his weight. Immediately afterwards you followed, hands skimming the edges of the slide to ensure you didn't topple over.

Reaching the bottom though, your face collided with his back and your thighs caught tightly on either side of his waist. The bright blue triangle and 'ANDROID' logo was the last thing you saw before an audible click resonated through your nose upon impact.

Hands immediately reached up to your face, cupping them over your nose at the sudden sharp sting from the collision. "H-hey! What'd you stop for?!"

"Have you had a significant leg injury in the past, Pilot?"

 

... Huh?

 

"What?" Your voice was muffled under your covering palm, eyes shut tight at the sting of tears welling up in them.

A hand reached for your right thigh, Connor wrapping his thumb and fingers over the middle of your femur and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"There's an inconsistency in your leg."

"I don't know, shit happens on the job," You bounced your leg which was in his grasp, wiggling a little to try and make him get off the damn playgym. "Um, 'scuse?"

Connor finally released your leg and slid forward, stepping around the slush that had accumulated at the bottom and turned around. A hand was offered to you as you followed his previous actions, the gesture under your scrutiny as he held an open palm out to you.

Again, you had a short staring contest as now you were confused on the gesture. You couldn't help but to squint a little, hesitant to accept the offer; ultimately reaching a hand forward and taking it in your own.

A quick pull was all it needed, Connor's strength able to haul you up over the slush and onto your feet in a smooth and light motion. Your hands lingered together for a few moments before you tugged it away and gently pinched the bridge of your sore nose.

More silence. Again. But this time you didn't really want it to be this quiet.

Connor's eyes were hyperfocused on you, as well. The staring had you looking away.

 

"... Pilot?"

 

Connor's voice pulled you from your thoughts, your eyes spotting the fist he held out towards you. The back of his hand faced upwards, and you observed it quickly before glancing up at his face, then back at his hand.

 

"What?"

 

"I won't tell anyone if you won't."

 

The comment made your heart double in pace.

 

It sounded familiar.

 

Slowly, you reached up and curled your own hand into a fist, closing the small distance and nudging your knuckles against his.

 

You could've sworn that he smiled when you gave him a fist-bump.

 

"And... Happy Birthday."

 

 

Notes:

Sorry for long waits between chapters! I'm trying to downplay the fluff because they're both just... interacting the way they feel comfortable. I hope it's okay!

There are a lot more interactions which are (super fluffy) important to the plot, though I would love to hear your opinions on what you would like to see.
Plot?
Interactions?
Switched Perspectives?
All of these?

Thank you all so much for your lovely comments and support, and thank you for reading chapter 23!

Chapter 24: Protocol 1

Summary:

It makes more sense that way.

Notes:

This chapter is from Connor’s perspective.

With newfound instructions, Connor approached the door to Jimmy's Bar with urgency.

The silence of the midnight streets quickly sparked into the bustling sound of ambient voices when the door was opened. Various Officers still remained despite the time of night, but the two people who were most important sat at the main bar, being seen to by Jimmy himself.

 

"Another round!!"

"Geez Barker, you've had twice as much as I have and you're not drunk yet?"

"Hey HEY. The night's still young! And... This stuff's pretty light! ANOTHER, JIMMY!"

 

Connor beelined for the pair, sidestepping the other patrons and clasping his hands behind his back upon reaching the Lieutenant and clearing his throat.

"Excuse me, Barker." Connor straightened his posture upon interrupting the conversation, ignoring the obvious look of annoyance from Hank.

"Kid!!!" Barker reached a hand up and slapped it against Connor's back, pulling him into a tight side-hug and shaking at his shoulders. "You just... Up and disappeared!!!"

 

Leaning back a little, Barker looked behind Connor and around the bar.

 

"Where's the other kid?" His grey brows furrowed once he let Connor go, tipping his head a little and looking around once more. "I though you grabbed her on the way out?"

"She's..." Connor paused, taking a moment to glance back at Hank before returning his attention to the Captain. "Recuperating."

"Right, right right... Was probably a bit much for Davis and Droz to come by," Barker took his entire drink with one mouthful, holding it in bloated cheeks before swallowing and slapping the glass down on the benchtop.

"I need to ask you something, Barker." Connor cut the silence, straightening his posture again and waiting patiently to gain his attention.

Hank stiffened in his seat, though Barker simply smiled and grinned lazily up at him. "Sure kid! How.... How can I be of service?"

"We require assistance on our case, and the Pilot has a substantial amount of relative knowledge we need. Would you be able to convince her to share some information?"

 

The mention of you had the Lieutenant scoffing, the old man shaking his head before standing up out of his seat and hobbling over to the bathroom.

 

Barker however, dropped his expression to one of... concern.

"Huh..." Barker slid his glass towards Jimmy's side of the bar, tapping it expectantly and resting his elbows on the counter. "What makes you think she knows what you need to know?"

Connor furrowed his brows, LED flickering yellow as the vibe that the Captain gave clearly had shifted to a more sombre one.

"She recognized the Marvin unit and it's model. And even seemed to know more about them alongside Spectres."

"That doesn't sound like she knows what you want to know, kid."

"Well, I understand that she's experiencing Degradation, and-"

"-What do you know about Degrading?" Barker shoved a pointed finger into Connor's chest, eyebrows creased with suspicion and a hostility tensing up in his shoulders.

 

Connor read the atmosphere and noticed the change immediately, taking note of the rising heartrate.

 

Anger.

 

"Not- not much, I..." With pauses during his answer, Connor spoke slowly so his next words were chosen carefully. "She told me only briefly, however not everything was clear." Connor looked down at Barker's hand which had slapped down on the counter, remembering how you had tensed in the same way. "... How memories are effected, due to the loss of a bond with a Titan."

Barker didn't move, eyes remaining fixated on Connor's expression which was beginning to shift with the confusion he was feeling.

LED flickered yellow once more, and Connor finally looked up at Barker again with concern.

"What is a Titan, exactly?"

 

Silence was all he got in reply, Barker studying Connor's face intently before dipping his head with a long exhale. He grumbled, muttering a few unintelligible words. Then he leaned forward and called for Jimmy's attention.

 

"Hey Jim, you got any paper, and somethin' sticky?"

"Sticky? Like what, glue?"

"Kinda kinda, some tape or somethin'? Surely you got stuff lyin' around for all your signs here."

"The fuck do you think this is man, a corner shop?"

"Just help me out!!"

With a frustrated sigh, Jimmy searched around under the bar frantically for the requested items.

Connor frowned with confusion as Barker purposely looked away, eye contact being avoided while they both waited in silence for the stationery to be handed over. It felt like quite some time, but Jimmy finally slapped a notepad and small roll of blue tape onto the benchtop at Barker's hand.

"Thanks Jim, ya champion," Barker smiled and gave a nod of thanks, fumbling with the notepad and roll of tape.

"Barker, I don't see how-"

A loud RIP of the notepad paper cut Connor off his sentence. Two sheets were placed side by side in front of him, neatly placed. An example was being shown, it seemed.

Next, the tape roll was picked up and a small strip was measured out, Barker using his teeth to tear the little pieces off before throwing the roll over towards Jimmy - much to his dismay.

 

Two pieces of paper, and two pieces of blue tape.

 

What was he doing?

 

Watching carefully, Connor analysed the strange example that was being set up, observing how each strip of tape was placed onto it's own piece of paper. Now they both had a piece of tape each.

"This is Titan," Barker pointed at the blue tape strips that were on each piece of paper. "And this is Pilot." the gesture was repeated on the paper.

 

Connor watched, with great confusion.

 

"Have I ruined the paper after I stuck the tape on it, kid?"

Each sheet was scrutinized, and Connor focused on each piece as if it were a trick question. But they were just plain pieces of paper, and regular coloured tape. What was this exercise even meant to be about? He almost took it literally, but considering the comparisons in use were definitely not literal, he decided to go to the obvious answer.

"No. The tape is an adhesive which is designed to attach to things; and as stationery, those 'things' are often paper and other similar items."

Barker chuckled lightly at the answer, then slid one of the sheets of paper towards Connor.

"Right, right. Nice answer. So, let's say I've changed my mind about this, yeah?" The offered paper was tapped on expectantly, fingers tracing the blue strips of tape. "I want to have them separated and reuse them for something else. Keyword is RE-USE, so be careful with it."

Now being instructed to do another awkward task, Connor eyed the sheet carefully and reached out towards the paper. The tape was peeling at the corners, so he immediately pressed his thumb to the lifted edges and slowly started to pull it away.

 

Hank returned from the bathroom and leaned onto the counter with a frown, lip curling as he watched the two men ogling over bits of paper and tape.

 

"The fuck are you doing, Connor?"

"Shhh shh!!!" Barker waved a hand at the Lieutenant as a cue to shut up. "He's concentrating!"

Connor carefully pulled the tape at an angle, occasionally scraping his opposite thumb over the exposed adhesive to aid in it's separation. Fingers held the tape gently and his free hand held the paper down to prevent any damage.

A good 2 minutes of silence passed, Hank being the one to sigh loudly when the tape finally came free from the paper.

"There," Connor nodded, holding the tape and sheet in separate hands with matter-of-factly pride in the achievement. "They're both in their original condition and can be used again."

"Barker, what the hell are you making him do?!" Hank reached for Connor's shoulder and pulled him back slightly, heavy elbows leaning on the counter to express his annoyance at such an exercise.

"I believe it is something to do with the Pilot's Degradation." Connor answered, voice raising with interest.

Immediately, Hank rolled his eyes and slapped his hands on the counter. "Of COURSE it's about the fuckin' Pilot." He sat himself back onto his seat and waved Jimmy over. "Another round Jim, don't wanna hear whatever they're on about now."

 

Barker waited until the exchange was over, and simply looked at the tape and sheet of paper that Connor still held in his hands.

 

"I have separated the tape and paper. Or in your case, the Pilot and Titan."

"Good job kid," Barker reached forward and took the items, immediately scrunching them both and tossing them onto the counter.

Connor's LED flickered yellow as he watched the items cast aside.

What was the point of doing that if they were just being tossed away?

"Alright, now... this, Connor?" Barker slid the next sheet forward again, waiting patiently as it was examined. "The same paper and tape from before. Pilot and Titan, right?" He smiled, nodding as he reached for the slightly peeled corner of the tape.

 

And then violently pulled the blue strip off, paper tearing in the process.

 

Connor stared in silence for a few moments, observing the tape which curled from the thin layer of paper that was still attached. The original sheet was crumpled, and was almost ripped in half from it's force.

"There." Barker's expression dropped, his hand lifting from the sheet while he handed the tape over to Connor. "Can I reuse these?"

The question earned nothing but a squint and yellow flickering LED. Connor frowned and looked at the items.

"No, you've almost destroyed the paper, and the tape is no longer usable as the adhesive is-"

"Fix it," Barker cut him off, handing the tape forward while sliding the damaged sheet across the benchtop.

"I'm sorry but that's not possible," Connor shook his head and took the paper in his hand, the tape also curling around his finger as he took it from the Captain. "They're both unusable, the paper is also damaged beyond-"

 

Oh.

 

Connor stared at the paper and tape, LED flickering red for a few brief moments as he took in the lesson that was just taught. Surely it was a lesson, there was no other reason that Barker would've demonstrated such a thing. The paper was close to being mangled, and he immediately thought back to you.

 

You were broken, after being torn away from something.

 

Without - as you had said before... Procedure.

 

"That still doesn't answer what a Titan is, Barker."

"And I'm not answering that." The response was firm, Connor's brows pinching unexpectedly.

"Does it make sense now, kid?" Barker reached for a glass that had been filled, his eyes not once leaving Connor's expression while taking a swig from it. "I can't just ask her to tell you stuff. It doesn't work like that. So if you're gonna be all 'hoity toity' and demand stuff for your mission, you better find another source. She's going through enough as it is."

 

Hank had leaned closer towards the pair during the conversation, and Connor had completely gone silent with the rather harsh dismissal from Barker. It was a side of him that neither of them had seen before, and it quite literally made them both speechless.

 

"I need the help from her, Barker." Connor blinked slowly, hands placing the damaged tape and paper onto the counter by the discarded ones.

 

The glass of whiskey was slapped down onto the benchtop, Barker rolling his eyes at the insistence. "Surely you can find another way to-"

 

"I don't want her to forget me."

 

 

"Look, if you want things to go as smoothly as you deludedly want them to go, you gotta get onto her level. I don't know what stage she's at, so that's as much as I can help you with."

 

The advice replayed in Connor's head as he watched the multitude of numbers light up above the elevator door. Barker had shared the new address of your new home, and he found it almost suspicious that it was the former residence of the Phillips. The coin which flicked between his hands was pocketed immediately, the entire scenario being far too familiar for Connor's liking.

Strange how the new location for you to live in, was the scene of a high profile Deviant crime.

The elevator chimed upon arrival at the 70th floor, and an access panel lit up. Barker had again given him the permission and code to enter, and Connor reached forward to recede his synthetic skin and unlock the door.

 

' Command Authenticated. Access Granted '

 

A hollow voice announced his permission, and a chime followed as the doors opened. Connor stepped out into the entryway with hesitance, as the crime-scene from the Hostage Situation a few weeks ago replayed vividly in his mind.

Each wall was as dark as previous, though a multitude of plasterboard, mahogany, aluminium panels, and glass sheets were stacked neatly on the dark walls. Buckets of paint and other materials were bundled at the foot of the upright panels, and rags soiled by the paint were strewn all over the floor.

How was this place even allowed to be back back on the market after that night? Caroline and Emma Phillips had been relocated after the event, and the apartment was locked down ever since.

 

Until now, apparently.

 

Where the fish tank originally was, now held an open alcove which held various plants and flowers that brought a soft aroma into the air. Connor slowly walked through the foyer and turned the corner, remembering the broken glass and blood strewn everywhere after the rogue PL600 'Daniel' had injured Officers.

Daniel had killed Officers and faced the death sentence at the hands of Captain Allen and the SWAT team.

Would you have suffered the same fate if Barker hadn't intervened?

The decorative divider which opened into the main living space remained the same, but most of the furniture was completely different. That only made sense considering how most items were destroyed from Daniel's outrage and a firefight with the DPD, but it still put Connor at unease upon seeing the layout being relatively the same as before. Various walls had tarp on their floors as they were clearly undergoing a repaint, but the sheets covering everything struck a cord of discomfort in him as it still looked like the crime scene.

 

 

Connor shook his head, making it a priority to find you. The enormous apartment only had him looking down to the floor to try and avoid the vivid recollections of the Hostage situation. He felt confronted by the residence he was in, now concerned with the possibility that your placement here was in fact a trap.

You had Murdered someone and assaulted Officers, just like Daniel did.

The probability of this being a plan for them to catch you off guard was only getting higher the more he thought about it.

With the suspicion glooming over Connor's thoughts, he quickly hurried his pace and stepped through the apartment, listening out for any sound that could indicate your whereabouts. He'd barely stepped into the kitchen until he caught the familiar sound of something booting up. An electronic hum faded into the silence, and upon following the sound - it led him to Emma's former bedroom.

 

Which now held the mysterious pods that he'd seen before.

 

The walls were in the process of being repainted navy blue, but the multitude of cases and weaponry that scattered the room seemed to be the reason that it hadn't been completed yet. Rifles and ammo of various makes went ignored as Connor approached the pods - one closed while the other was open.

Computer screens that were set up on the nearby desk had various code and other readings flickering nonstop on their surfaces, which could only mean that you were in the 'training pod'.

Understanding you was the underlying objective he'd kept in mind. But in Barker's terms, 'getting onto your level' was the only method of doing so.

After a few moments of careful calculations on possible consequences, Connor stepped towards the open Pod and leaned inside, ducking down and taking a seat in one smooth - though cautiously slow - motion. None of the materials or electronics in the little Pod were identifiable to him, and that  made him feel immediately uneasy.

 

A small red light lit up above the opening he had just entered from, and with curiosity - he pressed it.

 

The Pod around him hummed to life and the doors hissed as they began to move. Connor remained motionless as they wrapped around and closed the small window of freedom he had to the room, closing his eyes to brace himself as they heavily clicked shut.

It was pitch black now, and even the red light had disappeared.

 

"Welcome, new user. Please register your name."

 

Connor blinked at the artificial voice that echoed through the Pod, looking around at his dark surroundings.

 

"My name is Connor."

 

"Name Registered."

 

Silence followed, and he began to fidget when nothing else happened.

 

[ Connection identified. Voice prompts disabled. ]

 

The letters flickered into Connor's sights, immediately catching him off guard. Nothing should have been able to communicate through his systems like that without his approval, and the fact that they were appearing like instructions and subprotocols made things far more suspicious.

 

[ Would you like to continue your previous activity? ]

 

Frowning at the presented question, Connor could only conclude that the prompt was to do with your last use of the Pod he was in. He opened his mouth to speak, but decided to answer through his program instead.

 

[ Yes. ]

 

[ Initializing. . . ]

 

[ Error. There is no existing profile for 'Connor'. ]

 

[ Would you like to create one? ]

 

Each prompt pulled at his curiosity, and it only escalated with every passing moment - and the possibility of finding answers about Hammond Industrial.

And you.

 

[ Yes. ]

 

[ Initializing . . . ]

 

Green specks of lights around him suddenly lit up, brightening as a soft hiss of gas entered the pod. The lights appeared to be lasers, scanning him from every angle and fading in and out of clarity.

 

[ Advanced AI detected. ]

 

[ Compatability - OK ]

 

[ Synchronize Required. Would you like to proceed? ]

 

Connor squinted as the green lights around him slowly dimmed and brightened, in time with his Thirium Pump. The prompt stayed in his sights, not once flickering as the Pod - which seemed to have a system of it's own - awaited his response.

 

[ Proceed. ]

 

[ Command Authenticated. ]

 

[ Initializing. . . ]

 

The green lights brightened, and the small panelled walls of the Pod around him suddenly began to flicker into code and finally - a bright white light.

 

[ Profile Created. ]

 

[ Protocol 1 - Link to Pilot. ]

 

Connor shuddered as the blinding white peeled away and revealed a large open grassy field.

 

[ Neural Link: Complete. ]

 

 

 

Notes:

FINALLY!

I'd like to thank you for the comments and it really spurred me on to get this PIVOTAL PART OF THE FIC written out. I pretty much was constantly screaming as I wrote this out and I just feel so much better that this section IS FINALLY DONE, AAAAAAA.

I really hope that the transitions between the scenes wasn't too much. If it wasn't clear, everything was continuous from the previous chapter, only a few hours have passed since the park.

Thank you for the support, and thank you for reading chapter 24!

Chapter 25: Link to Pilot

Summary:

It's too late to back out now.

Notes:

This chapter continues in Connor's perspective.

 

The only artificial installation that Connor had ever visited was the Zen Garden. An Interface that served the purpose of reporting to Amanda and consequently - Cyberlife.

As a construct who was created by Cyberlife, Connor knew that going there would require the preparation of answers and a full review of his current progress on his case. But this?

It was nothing he could have ever prepared for. Even as Cyberlife's most advanced Prototype.

 

 

The grass swayed with the breeze and also caught his hair as it slipped through the area. Structures of stone which lay ahead were defying all laws of physics, as the bricks at it's edges floated and levitated in their place.

It was a simulation, clearly. While the Zen Garden could emulate the weather, seasons, and a calm atmosphere to host meetings with Cyberlife; It was still within the constraints of what many would deem as 'normal'.

However these structures were beyond reality, and it tugged further at Connor's curiosity. The creativity and imagination in this design must have had some specific reason.

 

[ Entering: Pilot's Gauntlet. ]

 

Connor squinted briefly at the text which flickered in his sights, his legs having now carried him to the main path of the stone structures. The wind slowly died down, only to pick up again with gentle bursts. Upon closer inspection, a small stream of water ran on the right side of the path. He ignored it at first, only to stop when he noticed that it was running... up the footpath.

At each step that the sandstone path elevated upwards, the water would follow and splash into the air in the same fashion. Large water droplets rose and levitated in the air, sitting idle and drawing him closer to inspect them. Connor reached out and touched some of the larger floating droplets, tipping his head with fascination at how it moved with his touch. How it felt so real.

 

[ Synchronize in progress. ]

 

 

[ Respawning. ]

 

[ Awaiting Available Map Instance. ]

 

Connor looked up as the announcement flickered in front of him again, his eyes scanning everything he could process. Cherry Blossom trees sat atop boulders which were much like the Basalt Stacks that were found in the real world. Some were stationed as podiums individually which scattered throughout the massive grassy landscape, while others floated as their own fantasy islands.

Walking along the pathway further, The steps led to a wall which held a panel of mahogany. The water stream again defied physics and rose along the vertical surface. Once more Connor reached out to touch the impossible water, dipping his fingers into the liquid to watch the ripples drift sideways.

Respawning? What could that possibly mean? This place seemed to be called the "Pilot's Gauntlet", so could that mean it was yours? With the environment being as impossible as it was, he could only conclude that it was a kind of Dreamscape.

 

Was this what it was like inside your head?

 

[ Connection Verified. ]

 

Connor pulled his hands back towards himself as the announcement flickered in his sights again, the gentle sunlight of this current instance gradually brightened, his eyes squinting as it became too much even for his optics.

 

And then it all went white.

 

[ Loading Map: HOMESTEAD ]

 

[ Syncing Objective: BOUNTY HUNT ]

 

Brightness peeled away to reveal a completely different scene. A far more realistic environment.

 

 

Ahead was a waterfall, the stream it fed into right by Connor's feet. Turning around, the sight was almost completely different to the area he last saw. Multiple levels of the landscapes boasted large boulders amongst lush grass, but also housed various metal structures and buildings throughout the landscape which was visible from his current standpoint.

Everything was as quiet as before, an the occasional distant aircraft could be seen via faint jet streams in the distance. Connor's eyes followed the scenery and took note of the massive trees that covered the horizon, and his gaze eventually fell onto the muddy road that was well-worn into the ground ahead. Tyre marks and muddy puddles led down the slope, and with his curiosity - he followed.

Wind would occasionally pick up and carry the heavy scent of pine and gunpowder into the area, the grass slowly becoming yellow again in colour as the landscape levelled out into rolling hills.

 

If the first announcement upon arrival meant anything, this place was most likely called "Homestead".

 

Continuing along the muddy road, Connor's feet came to a standstill upon arriving in the center of a large field. It resembled a valley, steep inclines of Basalt Stacks and buildings; either side of a lower dip of grass. Metal crates and vehicles of various kinds littered the field, but most notably was a large lopsided Silo in the middle of the valley itself.

 

 

It was quite a lot to take in, the sight and every aspect of this artificial environment being much more than Connor could've expected from the technology available in Detroit. It clearly wasn't Cyberlife's making, but the sheer complexity of this simulation was almost enough to fool him into thinking that this place could've been real. From the sound of his footsteps, ambience, and even the temperature and feel of the wind.

 

Almost enough.

 

 

Whether it was awe, or the concentration needed to take in his surroundings, the sound of footsteps approaching nearly went unnoticed.

 

"Connor?"

Spinning around, his LED spun yellow upon finding you.

"Pilot, I was looking for-"

"How did you-" Your breath stuttered before your expression shifted to one of sheer horror. "You've just-!"

You spun around and seemed to tremble, shoulders heaving as you began to breathe heavily.

 

| Heartrate: 135 bpm |
| Stress level: 75% |

 

Connor blinked rapidly at the status that flickered in front of him, the red numbers jarring through existence like shards of glass. He shook his head as they faded, though remained clear enough to stay transparent over his vision.

 

| Stress level: 80% |

 

What was that?

 

"Connor, what did you do?!" Your voice was strained. Shaken. Shouting almost. As you suddenly stepped towards him with fear in widened eyes, your arms began to tremble and your nose scrunched into anger.

"I was searching for you and the-"

"Did you proceed with Protocol One?!" Your voice was frantic now, and you had approached enough to almost be toe-to-toe with him.

"If you mean the-"

"DID YOU PROCEED WITH PROTOCOL ONE?!" You shoved his shoulders and pushed him back, tears welling up in your eyes as you were now screaming at him.

 

| Stress level: 90% |

 

"Yes. Y-yes, I did." Connor stammered back, unsure of how to react at the sudden rage you were expressing. You had only ever directed this exact behaviour towards him once, but that event was something that he provoked.

 

Why were you suddenly so angry?

 

"Oh my GOD why would you just-"

 

A loud CRACK cut through the air, echoing through the valley with such volume that it made Connor flinch.

You had leapt towards him during that split second, his legs stumbling backwards and awkwardly trying to regain his balance. Error messages flickered in front of him while his hand immediately reached for his side, grasping his abdomen while tugging at his jacket.

 

The only way he could describe the sensation he felt, was severe damage.

 

Connor looked down at his body, hands roaming his torso for the damage he sensed. Felt. 

He ran a quick diagnostic to his vitals, but an immediate scan showed that nothing was wrong with him at all. His side which rattled with an unpleasant burn to his senses, was completely okay. And while the self assessment showed that everything was running in optimal condition?

It didn't feel that way.

 

| Heartrate: 167 bpm |
| Stress level: 93% |
| Haemorrhage Detected |

 

Each warning that continued to flicker alongside his own diagnostics appeared to be a different colour. Though upon looking down at his hands, his eyes managed to catch a glimpse of you.

On the ground. Hunched over on your hands and knees.

And bleeding.

"Run!" Your voice was hoarse and had a faint splutter to it.

Connor's immediate reaction was to come to your aid, but you slapped his hand away and shoved at his shoulders again with bloodied hands.

"You have to RUN! The center Tower, the Red button ends the program!!"

 

| Stress level: 95% |

 

"CONNOR RUN!"

Urged on by the flickering status and your panicked screaming, Connor turned on his heel and sprinted towards the giant lopsided Silo in the center of the field. The uneven terrain and steel crates were easily navigated, but the sudden gunshots that missed his feet by mere inches almost had him stumbling.

 

He had to hit the button. Whatever was going on, you had given the order. And as the only person that he could 'trust' and listen to at this moment, he didn't have a choice.

 

Only a few feet from the silo, Connor leapt into the metal opening and frantically looked around. His LED was a constant red and repeatedly flickered, scanning capabilities beginning to slow.

 

He didn't have time to lose focus. Where was the red button?!

 

| Stress level: 96% |
| Heartrate: 150 bpm |
| MEDICAL ATTENTION NEEDED |

 

Mechanical clicks and heavy thumps occurred by the Silo entry. Spectres arrived with their weapons armed, their red sights locking onto Connor almost immediately.

 

A single gunshot followed.

 

Sights blurred and became unclear.

 

Metal screeched.

 

An explosion sounded.

 

Then finally, there was a click.

 

 

Notes:

A short chapter, full of reference images - I'm sorry for the pic spam :'D

Homestead and The Gauntlet are important places in the fic for future events and chapters. The next chapter will be back at Reader's perspective, and it will be a hefty long one too.

I hope you enjoyed reading this one, I'm glad to finally get one of the important sections finally done! If anything wasn't clear, do let me know so I can try fixing it!

Thank you for coming back and reading chapter 25! Your support and feedback has been incredible!

Chapter 26: Decompress

Summary:

It's not ideal and its indeed a terrible situation.

Notes:

This chapter is in Reader's perspective.

 

The crack of light in the darkness flooded your vision. It split into a sheet of white, your body lunging forward at the freedom right in front of you.

Everything was a blur.

Your lungs were straining for air, but each movement of your chest refused to give you any oxygen.

Something hit your torso. Hard.

The impact had your body stiffen in shock, but it was overshadowed by the absolute agony that was tearing through your side.

You had been shot.

"I should've died-" the words were raspy and barely audible as you struggled to breathe in, your body seeming to refuse any air intake.

Some time passed before you became aware of your body again, the severe pain racking your torso numbing your general senses.

You were on the floor, feet elevated due to being caught on the hatch of the simulation pod. The dim room around you was blurred into a mess of colours and fuzzy shapes. Sound was also robbed of you, nothing but the pounding of your heartbeat ringing in your ears.

"I got shot-" your throat was dry as you struggled to speak, your hand immediately coming up to grab at your side where the bullet made contact.

 

Not just any bullet, but a sniper. A Kraber, of all things. 

 

A Heavy Rifle that was a guaranteed one-hit-kill. Armour piercing for heavy artillery but used on people because it was easy.

 

So how come it didn't kill you?

 

The hand that grasped your side felt wet, and you immediately groaned out in pain at the mere touch on the bullet hole. You rolled onto your uninjured side and gasped at the shift of weight in your body, coughing as the movement sent waves of agony through your torso.

 

"Pilot, are you alright?!"

 

The voice was distant, barely understandable through the pounding in your ears.

"I should've died-" You repeated, the disbelief hitting you as hard as the pain was.

Only the possibility of Modified Ricochet Rounds could be the reason as to why you hadn't immediately died. Because in your experience, a Kraber never failed you.

 

"You're okay. Pilot, you need to calm down."

 

"I got shot-!" The wheeze strained your chest that time, your hand pressing into the wound and squirming at the wetness that oozed between your fingers.

 

"Pilot, you need to breathe."

 

"I got shot-" you repeated, the silhouette of the Training Pod looming in your peripherals. A blurry shape of someone came into view, but the focus only worsened as you felt tears spill over your eyes.

 

"Please focus, you need to breathe."

 

Pain of this calibre wasn't something you had felt in a long time. Almost an entire year of being severed from your Titan - and in turn having no Neural Link to be synchronised with the Simulation Pod.

 

And in a single day, that progress on recovery was ruined.

 

Because of Connor.

 

Something held your face, your eyes blinking the tears away in an attempt to focus on whoever it was touching you. The person leaning above finally came into clarity, the familiar yellow and blue of an LED halo with the doe eyes of him.

 

"Pilot, breathe. Focus on me."

 

The gentle touches continued, Connor's hands holding the sides of your face and trying to keep you still.

Your breaths were beginning to settle, but that didn't stop the tears from the torture you felt spilling over and tracking along Connor's fingers. It took quite some effort to steady yourself as requested, eyes focusing completely on the features of the Android - Connor, above you.

"I need my Stim-" You gasped, forcing the weight of your body to shift so you could roll onto your back. The graceless motion was followed by Connor closely, his hands not once leaving your face as you finally felt the weight on your back against the floor. "I got shot, Connor- I need my Stim-"

Your free hand fumbled in your pockets and searched for that steel pen in your possession, finally grasping the metal while the hand over your wound clutched at your clothes.

 

"You're uninjured, Pilot. You're just in shock-"

 

"I got shot Connor! By a fucking sniper!" You couldn't help but to shout, the pain not once letting up as you tried to adjust your Stim-Pen in one hand.

 

"It was only during the simulation-"

 

"But I still fucking felt it!" The pen gave a faint high-pitched hum as you readied the dose, clicking the small needle out of it's tube and stabbing it into your thigh. You felt Connor's hands tremble against your cheeks as the rush of icy-cold sensation rushed through your body.

The pain slowly began to lessen, manageable enough that your vision wasn't as distorted. Connor's face was clear in your sights now, and the burning in your body and limbs had faded substantially. While it was an injury within a simulation, the suddenly new Neural Link made every aspect of that virtual gunshot very real.

 

At least the Stim was a variable your body was used to, and it triggered the process which basically screamed at you to get into a recovery mode.

 

Some time passed, and not once had Connor left you, or remove his hands from your face. You could've sworn that you felt him stroke your cheeks a few times, but your focus was primarily on trying to calm your breathing.

"Pilot."

You blinked a few times and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before looking towards the concerned eyes that stared right back at you. Monitoring you, no doubt.

"Are you alright?"

The question was one you didn't want to answer. He should know by now just by reading your heartrate and vitals, and you had to swallow a few times to try and relieve the dryness in your throat and mouth. Instead you lifted the hand which was clutching your side, raising it in front of your face and inspecting the nonexistent moisture on it that you could still feel.

Feel the blood that had spilled and oozed through your clothes. And the hole in your stomach from where the bullet hit.

Choosing to ignore the obvious question, you dropped both arms to your side and pushed on your elbows, straining to try and sit yourself up.

Connor readily shifted his hands to help you up, the action one that you welcomed as he gently guided you into a sitting position. A strong hand braced at the back of your neck, sliding down to between your shoulder blades as you were more vertical, the other remaining ready to catch you if needed.

"You're in shock, I'll get-"

"Stop it," you snapped with a huff, rolling your jaw at the stiffness that still remained in your upper body. You didn't need pity, and right now you didn't need Connor pandering to you like this. "I'm fine."

"But your body temperature is rising drastically." Connor reached his hand away from your back and brushed against the hair on your temple, his body leaning down in front of you to try and make eye contact.

"It's just the Stim," You responded dryly, reaching for the pen by your side and twisting the needle back inside. "Just a side effect."

"High temperatures aren't ideal for extended periods, I highly suggest-"

"Connor, just stop-" You raised your free hand and covered his mouth, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths to settle down. He didn't seem to move away from your gesture, and you both remained still. Sweat beading on your forehead had you furrowing your brows with discomfort though, and the heat was only increasing in your body - especially within your chest.

While the Stim continued to burn in your veins, you did need to get water to counter the overheating. You released your hand from Connor's mouth and rolled away from him and onto your knees, bracing your hands on your thighs. Then with a swinging shift of your arms, you were able to lift yourself up onto your feet.

 

Only to lose balance and fall at the numbness in your legs.

 

Strong arms grabbed you, and your body fell against another. Connor had caught you before you could even make too much of a descent, and now your chest was pressed against his. Your arms hung loosely over sturdy forearms which were wrapped around you, and the height difference had you looking up at him, chin on his collarbone while he looked down at you.

"Oi, let me go." You grumbled through a clenched jaw, but he didn't look away at all. The stillness had you calm, but the lack of feeling in your legs tore you between anger and worry.

"You can't stand, can you?"

"I'm fine."

"You can't walk."

"Yes I can."

"Then move your legs."

Frowning defiantly at his request, you squinted as you twiddled your fingers, flexing them to try and get some more feeling back in your hands. Those limbs were responding fine, but your feet were practically non-existent at this point. You couldn't even feel them let alone move them, and the absence of feeling your own toes in particular was only adding to the stressful sweating that you were undergoing.

"You can't, can you?"

 

Did he just smirk?

 

"... No." Admitting that was more painful than the residual pain of the gunshot. You felt limp in his arms, and the lack-of-legs only had you frowning more to yourself than the annoyingly smug expression he showed not long ago.

"Allow me to help you, Pilot." Connor smiled that time, readjusting his arms to lift you upwards a little more carefully. He pulled your arms over his shoulders - which you readily flung around his neck to help the awkward motions to try and get you off of your feet.

 

The rising temperature didn't stop, and now you were starting to get a headache.

 

"Hold onto me," he spoke softly, strained in lifting your rather dead-weight, but you weren't exactly staying limp on purpose. 

Throwing yourself out of the Simulation Pod after an abrupt Program Termination was probably worse than the general Decompression needed on a regular Simulation basis. And not only that, your mind was practically reeling from the sudden realignment it was trying to go through with the new Neural Link.

 

The Neural Link that should only be with a Titan.

 

And now you shared with Connor.

 

It was probably the worst thing to happen to you, other than the loss of your Titan.

 

Did he even understand what he had just done?

 

You didn't particularly recall having been manoeuvred in such a way that you were now being carried like a damsel-in-distress by Connor himself, but you did cling onto his neck like your life depended on it. The only limbs that you had some feeling and control over at this point was your arms and hands, so it took every bit of strength possible to chase that sensation.

"Your temperature is still rising. I don't believe that this is safe, even for a side-effect."

The sound of his voice was annoying and you couldn't help but to murmur at the odd rumble it sent through your chest, given how you were pressed together.

 

And your headache was only getting worse.

 

"Shut up! I know-" You coughed as you lifted your head, the weight of it suddenly feeling like a bag of bricks was tied to your neck. Before you could even finish your sentence, your head lolled to the side as it felt incredibly heavy. "I know the Stim!"

"Pilot?"

"Shut, Connor! Shut!" You raised a hand to cover his mouth again, the lack of grip around Connor's neck almost having you slip out of his arms.

The grip under your knees and back was exchanged with the soft comfort of the lounge, one that you threw your weight onto as the motions of being carried was making you feel quite nauseated. The heels of your palms quickly raised to press at your eyes, rubbing them profusely to at least try and stop the room spinning around you.

"It's really hot," was the first thing you could speak, followed by the unbuttoning of your padded overshirt - the bare minimum of your armour that you wore over your bulletproof apparel. The sweat on your skin proved to be difficult in shrugging the fabric off, but your Uniform was thick and having the long sleeves finally removed; greatly eased the temperature you were feeling. Now down to a thin t-shirt and bare arms, the spinning of the room was slowly starting to ease.

 

With the heat now mostly out of your torso, you began to fan your hands at your neck while taking deep breaths.

 

Side effects of Stim did fade after a while, but that was only if you were doing the minimum activity required to burn it off.

 

Now though, you were just running a high fever.

 

"Do you know what you've just done?" You spluttered while fanning your neck, chest heaving while staring up at the ceiling. "You're an idiot for doing that! You shouldn't have entered the pod!"

There was silence in reply, which you definitely didn't want to be hearing right now.

"Connor!!!"

"I'm here."

"PROTOCOL ONE!" The shout was filled with frustration. You felt tears welling in your eyes at the announcement, and you finally pressed your hands to your face.

 

It was clear just from his reaction.

He didn't know what it meant.

And you weren't sure if you were glad.

Or scared.

 

"... Protocol One." You repeated, voice muffled from the confines of your palms. "You... You just..."

Silence again. Though this time, you needed it.

"... Pilot?"

Reluctantly, you responded to the call by slowly opening your eyes, parting a gap between your fingers and peeking up at Connor who stood above you.

 

Holding a glass of water, and a towel.

 

You stared at each other for a moment, Connor being the one to break the tension by leaning down and offering the cool glass by your hand. His expression was soft, but somewhat neutral. You daresay it was faintly concerned.

"Please try and stay hydrated. Your temperature is still quite high."

 

You weren't sure why, but the rather flat comment hurt something in your chest.

 

"... Why did you do that?" Your question came out as more of a whine, hand wiping at the wetness on your cheeks while staring up at the man who remained still. "Why did you go in the Pod?"

Connor stayed motionless, LED cycling yellow for the briefest moment before looking down at the glass in his hand.

"I wanted to understand you, Pilot."

That sounded familiar. He'd said it before, surely.

"And... I don't want you to forget me. It would be regrettable if-"

"You don't get it!" The shout was unexpected. Even for you. It was clear on his face as well, that you were both caught off guard at the retort.

"I was so close and I was trying to forget, and-!" You sat up abruptly, pain in your waist at the sudden change in position.

Connor looked alarmed at your sudden rise, though you turned away and buried your face in your hands.

"I... don't understand-"

"Of course you don't." You snapped, cutting him off his sentence once more.

 

The heat from your fever was coming to an end, though a whole new fire was burning in the form of anger.

 

You couldn't even bring yourself to look at Connor let alone listen to him. The mere sound of his voice was bringing an irritation you couldn't shake, and it would be best to leave things be until you're at least adjusted to this connection.

 

One that was going to send you both into a world of absolute chaos.

 

"You should leave." You demanded, voice firm and low as you crossed your ankles over each other, ignoring the tremble in your arms and turning your head to face away from Connor.

 

A gentle clink of glass setting on a surface sounded, followed by footsteps.

 

There was a pause as he reached the door, and the hesitation was real. You could sense it. Feel it, in your own arms, tensing as Connor must've done the same.

 

The short pause of silence felt like eternity with how you could just feel his insecurity. Connor was staying motionless, waiting for some kind of reassurance from you. Like you had done so many times before, the small look of affirmation before you - either of you, did something.

 

But you couldn't do it.

 

So he left without a word.

 

 

 

Notes:

Sorry not sorry to leave it on such a sour angsty note, but things mend! Don't you worry about that. I dunno about you, but having a long time of progress be taken away in an instant would have me pretty peeved too.

Thank you for coming back to read chapter 26!

Chapter 27: Stabilized

Summary:

We live, we Love, we Lie

From the moment you had sent Connor away with nothing more than a firm demand, you hadn't moved.

 

Actually, you couldn't move.

 

Even then, it was more along the lines of not wanting to move.

 

At least an hour had passed since Connor had left the apartment, the distant chime of the elevator doors closing still ringing in your ears as if it had just happened moments ago. You still remained on the lounge, positioned almost exactly as before - other than your hands now splayed open in your lap with the palms upwards.

 

This was worse than a worst case scenario.

 

It was a Neural Link. One of the most sacred things between a Pilot and their Titan. One that would develop, strengthen, and grow over time. Developing a synchronicity, understanding, and promise between partners which kept you both alive on the battlefield. One that kept you alive during war.

But Connor was far from a Titan. He was designed to look just like a human. And supposedly, Androids were fragile; bled blue among the other things they were meant to do, to function and mirror a human.

Though seemed to lack the disgusting flaws of a self-proclaimed alpha species of humans.

Titans were meant for Battle. War. To dominate the opposition. War Machines that you were able to control when embarking them, 'Piloting' them when united as one. Eliminating any hostiles and capable of destroying hundreds, thousands of lives.

 

They were monsters.

 

Just like you.

 

But Connor?

 

No. Not Connor. He was nothing like you.

Nothing like the humans that Cyberlife had successfully imitated. At least visually. Nothing like the horrors that you'd faced and experienced. Nothing like the nightmares that kept you awake every night.

 

Connor was innocent. And now, you would be the cause of his ruin.

 

The mere thought of hurting him made your stomach turn, and your palms seemed to blur and double as you breathed heavily. You weren't linked to a Titan, but to an Android. How it happened was beyond you, but his AI and system must have been just as complex and sophisticated as the structure of a Titan's mind and chassis.

Just what was the extent of their processors? Just how much of a human did they imitate? Programming or not, did they have the same amount of receptors as people did? Maybe more?

The questions continued to spin and repeat in your mind at blinding speed, so much that everything was now beginning to fade in and out of focus. Your hands clenched repeatedly in your lap, but lifting your head to look at the mess of a bare apartment only made things worse. Legs trembled as you forced yourself onto your feet, one step proving to be extremely difficult as your knees wobbled upon trying to move.

 

This was bad. Really bad.

 

Could Connor sense this? Could he tell that something was wrong?

 

... Did he even know what mess that he - no, both of you - had just gotten into?

 

One foot stopped and you wiggled your toes, grounding yourself with the feel of the rug beneath your feet as you tried to focus. The room continued to spin and the lights around you blurred, everything appearing like they were shot in long-exposure as you blinked away stars in your vision.

Another step forward. This time, your knee almost gave out, your hands immediately raising up in a pathetic attempt to steady yourself. You felt sick. Your stomach hurt. And the spinning of your surroundings only had you wanting to vomit right then and there. Blinking sent waves of discomfort through your skull, and the simple task of breathing felt like you had a clamp around your chest.

 

Is this what Connor felt?

 

He had said before that they didn't feel pain, but did that mean they were still able to feel?

 

Titans were covered in Specialised Titanium Plate-Armour that couldn't even be penetrated or scuffed without projectiles of the same grade. But Androids were fragile. They were smaller and humanoid and easily killed.

 

Just like the Android that was taken out by a Sniper a little while back.

 

The image flashed through your mind. It was a kill that was rather clean, but the thought of Connor suffering that same fate had your heart doubling in speed.

 

And the worst part was that he could suffer that. Because he would be distracted by you.

 

Pulled from your thoughts at the fear of that hypothetical scenario, you stumbled forward and headed for the balcony of your apartment. Your hands grasped the curtain at the door, fingers tugging the fabric so tightly that they were pulled from their rings. The rod popped from its frame and fell from above, but you couldn't hear anything over the thumping of your heartbeat. You didn't even feel the impact of the aluminium hitting you on the side of the head let alone the fabric draping over your shoulders as the piece of metal bounced onto your toes.

 

You felt like you were suffocating, and you needed the air.

 

There was a whole new level of awareness that you were reaching, and your senses seemed to dim in and out of focus. You couldn't think just about yourself anymore. You were aware of him - Connor - now, and that was absolutely terrifying. Fear wasn't something that you usually felt - or at least remembered feeling - but you were certain that whatever this dread was that bubbled up in your stomach - was absolute terror.

 

But, it wasn't the time to be scared. Despite how ridiculous things had become in the short few weeks of being here in Detroit, the setback of an unexpected Neural Link wasn't going to hold you back. Couldn't, hold you back.

The very real threat of Degradation may have been slowed, but it was still easy to slip into a state of distraction. Focus was key, and you couldn't spare the little you had left to more distractions.

 

A sharp jab in your stomach pulled you back to reality, your eyes rapidly blinking away the tears that had managed to well up in them. The moisture tracked down your cheeks as you took in deep breaths, the cool evening air prickling the wetness on your face with an icy touch. Your hands quickly reached for whatever had touched you, catching slightly in the curtain fabric that was still tangled around your arms.

During your internal panic, your legs had carried you to the edge of the balcony, the glass barrier poking into your waist and preventing your fall. It took a moment before you reached forward and grasped the railing, using the tension in your arms to at least try and ground yourself to reality again.

After a few deep breaths in an attempt to clear your mind - not that it did much - you pulled at the curtains that were draped over your torso, fidgeting at the rod that was dragging behind. A few tries at harsh pulls finally had the rings sliding off the rod, and the fabric pooled at your feet while you kicked the metal bar away.

Getting worked up and overly worried about this, was unwise. Lose your head in a firefight and you might as well allow the bullets to hit you. Although this was an entirely new and unique situation that you were drowning in - Connor was also just as much in the dark as you were. That little fact alone was mildly comforting, but learning about this thing would be far from easy.

 

Especially with the other problems which were at hand.

 

Your Titan's sacrifice was the only thing that kept you going. Prolonging your life to ensure that his death was of use to the millions of people that you had saved from the IMC. Along with the support of the 6|4, Militia, and the A.C.E.S, you fulfilled Protocol 2 to the fullest. Following through with your code to the very end.

 

There wasn't time to be scared.

 

Hammond Robotics wouldn't wait for you to recuperate.

 

Sucking in a breath through your nostrils, you tilted your head back and closed your eyes, taking in the sound of your environment to focus.

 

You had a mission to uphold.

 

Protocol 2: Stay hidden and survive.

 

While it was rather simple at the beginning, the sudden introduction of Hammond Robotics - alongside this Neural Link with Connor - just meant you'd have to go about your mission with a slightly different approach.

 

At least Pilots were good at improvising.

 

 

---

 

 

A scattered mind was an enemy when on the battlefield, so with deep breaths - you honed your attention as best as you could on the task. Pulling away from the railing, you stepped over the curtain rod that lay tangled at your feet, stumbling slightly as you tried to hop out of the silky fabric.

Once out of the curtains, you dragged the long trail of material behind you with haste. The rod and fabric was tossed at the bottom of the doorway from which it was pulled down from, poking it to the side with your foot.

 

Deep breath in.

 

Cyberlife was the focus for now. If anywhere was a good place to start, it would be them. Hammond Robotics was already something you were somewhat familiar with. Hell, they were the ones that had invented and developed the Titans at the start. Marvins were also a creation of theirs, so that Corporation wasn't exactly the priority for recon.

 

Exhale.

 

Their arrival in Detroit was alarming enough, though seemed to be doing nothing other than just making their existence known. And the whole supposed 'drama' with Deviants was definitely driving the residents of Detroit, into Hammond Industrial's arms. It was a sentiment that hit far too close to home, but you couldn't let a few bad memories pull you off course.

Now in the kitchen, you looked up and around, spotting the exercise Bar you had installed for the more dire situations of brainstorming.

Problem solving for you, was always done under pressure. Quite literally, in most cases. Be it from stealthy assassinations, to a skirmish between yourself and squads of opposing forces - adrenalin was always involved when you needed to figure something out. You stood underneath the bar - positioned 7 feet up - with your feet stanced squarely to your shoulders, eyeing the metal with determination while your hands flexed with anticipation.

 

Inhale.

 

Jumping up and grabbing the textured grips, you pulled yourself up with ease - resting your chin on the steel as you started your first set of pulls.

Simulations could only do so much, your mind being the one at work as opposed to the rest of your body. Sure the Neural Link made you feel like you were getting a hell of a workout, but it was all just stimulation from the Link and your nervous system. And unlike your previous work - you were bound to being a civilian.

 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

 

Marvins were the only model being offered. And just like Androids of Detroit, they also had accessories and other maintenance programs set up for the people that chose to purchase those machines. With the supposed problem of Deviants being a growing problem, many business owners were turning to them as the replacement.

 

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

 

Was this all planned? Hammond could have been here much earlier than the 'Deviancy' problem, though the chances of the distrust in Cyberlife's leading product being foreseen was quite slim. But it was still possible, right?

 

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

 

Surely there would be a rivalry growing between the companies. That is, if the theory of it being planned was false. If the way Cyberlife's influence over Detroit was any indication, then it would only make sense that it was an invasion by Hammond, preying on the chaotic opportunity presented by the Deviant epidemic.

 

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

 

And Connor had mentioned something similar, once. A short comment in passing, but it was quite specific when you both saw the Marvin back at the Park. His so called 'mission' had changed to try and get to know Hammond.

 

Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

 

... Back at the park.

 

You had met with him there not just once, but twice.

 

There was a moment on the swing set. Right?

 

Pulling yourself up and resting your chin on the bar, the warmth in your arms indicated the start of a much needed burn. Sweat was beginning to bead on your forehead, but you could only look ahead and clench your jaw as you held your weight up.

 

Twice. Connor had shown understanding for you twice.

 

And you sent him away when he probably needed you most.

 

A desire to learn, understand, and...

 

How could you be so cruel to send him away like that?

 

A loud gasp escaped you as you spluttered from a held breath, then your grip on the bar faltered from unusually sweaty hands. The quick descent onto the floor was less than graceful, almost losing your balance completely in which a hand needed to come up and catch yourself against the wall. Such a sloppy landing had you growling with frustration, which was followed up with a sudden punch into the plasterboard - tendons in your fist clicking at the impact.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, though it was too late to give an apology to someone that wasn't even there.

 

Sure, the recovery was a long process and it was literally undone by a new Neural Link, but what if...

 

No, it wasn't a good thing. Couldn't be a good thing. This connection put him into far more danger than you were prepared for.

 

Than either of you, were prepared for.

 

"Fucking... God, I'm so... dammit!" Your fist punched at the wall again, chips of paint catching on skin as your knuckles began to bleed.

 

You had to find him. Connor was just as lost as you were right now - more so, since he quite literally doesn't know what's going on. At the very least, you could try to explain to him. Explain why you were so angry; so upset that his little action had started a chain of events that could only grow more complicated.

 

If either of you were going to get through this alive - then you had to undo your recovery and embrace this mess.

 

Embrace the fact that you had a Neural Link with Connor.

 

You were his Pilot now.

 

Notes:

Hello hello, I'm back!

Terribly sorry I was away. A lot has happened since the last update, and I hate to admit that I actually forgot about this fic!

Basically, life is a handful and I'm easily distracted! Terrible attention span! I'm so sorry!

But THANK YOU SO MUCH to the people that recently commented on the chapter! I was genuinely surprised that people still read this considering that it's been several months since updating!

I am definitely back in the mood for this fic now, however had to reread my own story to remember what I was hinting in each chapter.

I'd like to apologise in advance for my writing, I feel like the quality has dropped since it's been so long since I've written something as formally. Hopefully some more revision and the swing of things will help me be a bit more literate!

Thank you all for the support, it means so much!

(I'm sorry it isn't a very long chapter!)

Chapter 28: Crossroads

Summary:

So what were the chances?

Notes:

Hello again, terribly sorry for disappearing. Life has been a wild ride since my last update, and it seems 2020 has been putting everyone through the ringer.

Since it has been so long since I last updated this, I decided to go back and make minor fixes to previous chapters. Rereading every chapter really helped jog my memory on what I had planned for this fic, but I also fixed continuity errors, grammar, and other minor issues which bothered me upon reading it.

But I can't thank you all enough for your support. Several people have been finding this fic and leaving comments over the past few months, and each time I get feedback considering I haven't updated in a LONG long while, it really helped nudge me back into the direction of this story!

Connor.

 

The only name running through your mind.

 

Was he okay?

 

Was he safe?

 

What was he doing?

 

"I'm sorry."

 

The phrase seeped through the confines of your armour, muffled by padding and silenced by the helmet. A blue colour washed over your sights, the HUD displaying every piece of data on each item your eyes landed on as you walked the streets. Your natural perception was on par with your equipment - meaning that all the people staring at you whilst walking by, was not of the imagination.

 

"I'm... Sorry?"

 

A rehearsal was what you were trying to go for. Apologizing was much easier understood in your head, than out loud with people. Words were so damn difficult and the slightest thing in the speech from tone of voice - to the speed or even way you said something could be misconstrued in the littlest of ways. It was something that people were able to misinterpret… but an Android?

 

Just how much of a human was he meant to mimic? To be like? If he had an extensive knowledge on human speech and the nuances of their voice, could he interpret those two words as something you didn't intend?

 

That.

 

That, was why you hated speaking so much.

 

Repeatedly, you spoke the phrase in your head before repeating it quietly to yourself.

 

I am Sorry.

 

I'm Sorry...

 

A few raised tones here, slower speaking there. Pausing once or twice between each word.

 

I'm... Sorry.

 

How could people talk so much when it was this hard?

 

I… am… Sorry…

 

The practice of a meaningful apology was quite difficult though, not only for the seemingly limitless possibilities of saying that phrase, but the very execution was just as important as the way it was said. Was your expression meant to match your voice? Body language? Perhaps your heart rate could be the defining factor in the sincerity of your comment.

 

Such details couldn't be detected by any mere human, but he could. Connor was incredible, more complex than most machines you had worked with - and giving him a human face made it that much more intriguing - and worrying - to interact with him. Much like the thrill of a firefight, Connor's presence gave you a sense of peace.

 

And the reminder that he could, seriously hurt you.

 

The worrying train of thought that ran through your head and accelerated into the territory of 'worst-case-scenario' was abruptly cut off when something collided with your shoulder, your head snapping up immediately, just in time to catch the horrid snarl of a large burly man hobbling in the opposite direction of your footpath. Some garbled nonsense akin to insults and profanities escaped his pouty jaw, but you knew better than to waste any of your energy on someone as pathetic as that.

 

Being jarred from your already waning focus made everything impossible to get back on track, and the information being processed by your helmet’s visor was on the brink of panic-inducing. Lights, numbers, shapes, readings, tracking of movement – all of it was too much. Overwhelming information which at this very moment, meant nothing to you.

 

Gloved hands fumbled as they pushed at the bottom of your helmet, inner padding catching on your jawline as you struggled to pull it past your ears. People repeatedly knocked into your shoulders and arms as you came to a standstill in the middle of the walkway, the bumping around agitating you even further as your helmet seemed to refuse to slip free.

 

“Excuse me—"

 

The helmet came free with a hollow ‘thunk’ as it finally slipped off your head, breathing a little ragged amidst your panic upon trying to force it off. Your sight was met with a uniformed police officer who was making his way over to your position, relaxed in posture but simultaneously cautious.

Your struggle to remove your own equipment must have looked concerning enough to warrant his attention.

 

“I’m fine!“ You snapped, voice sharp as you turned the helmet over in your hands and stepped away from the approaching authority, dismissing a wave and turning away. “Leave me be.”

A quick glance down at the visor suddenly made you feel uneasy, utilizing your peripherals to navigate through the busy sidewalk and continue down the general direction you had started off with.

 

With the sensitivity of the situation, and how careful you had to tread with the known and growing threat of Hammond Industrial and Cyberlife, it wouldn’t be wise to walk around in broad daylight with your complete uniform. Especially since you were now technically associated with others and were no longer working as a solo unit.

The Spectres weren’t part of your worries, it was him.

 

Connor.

 

Was he safe right now?

 

Hopefully he hadn’t gotten into any trouble since—

 

“Fuck-“ You abruptly stopped in your tracks again and straightened your posture, ignoring the bumps against your shoulders as the passers-by collided with you again.

 

It was starting.

The distractions.

Thoughts of people other than your objective.

At the most inopportune time of this case.

 

Your waning focus gradually pulled you back into reality as your gaze wandered to look ahead of you, towards a large shopping district with a monorail overhead. The main street was wide with several lanes of slow traffic, and many people on the sidewalks for the late afternoon activity.

It would be way too obvious to walk around in your helmet in this type of crowd. So, deciding against it, you clipped it to your belt and readjusted your shirt, ensuring your Knife and Pistol were still tidy before heading into the masses.

 

Cyberlife, was your focus. So was Hammond. This was just supposed to be a quick recon of the streets before taking more extreme routes of surveillance, though the crowd of Androids and People was making it difficult to really get a good layout of this part of town. Especially since you were not very tall.

 

Connor’s help and access to this kind of information would make things quite a lot easier.

The sudden thought of him popping up into your mind had your upper lip twitching, almost a wince as he invaded your mind again. You blinked rapidly and shook your head while weaving between people that walked in the opposite direction, unsure of how you felt that his stupid face kept resurfacing in your mind while continuing through the crowd.

 

But… was he okay?

Ever since he had mentioned his new directive being that of learning more on Hammond, you couldn’t help but be genuinely concerned about how he would go about doing that.

Hammond Industrial may be the name they are using in Detroit, but while they manufactured and created Marvins, they also made Spectres.

And on top of Spectres, they also made Stalkers.

God, if Stalkers were also here, that would make things much more complicated and—

No, you shouldn’t think like that. Things may be on a negative trend right now in terms of events, but right now you could not lose your focus and let the distractions of some Android get in the way of your own protocol.

 

But if your Neural Link was now with Connor, didn’t that mean—

 

“Watch it!”

 

The shout was unfortunately missed, and the huge hulking form in front of you was the equivalent of hitting a brick wall. Your nose clicked as it collided with the burly man in your path, head flicking back as your entire body literally just bounced off him, forcing you to stumble back. A few nearby people stepped away upon the man’s loud exclamation, yet your body was only able to travel back briefly before hitting yet another person.

 

“Look at where you’re going, fuckin’ idiot!”

 

A hand instinctively raised to press at your re-injured nose, unintentionally leaning against the person that was unfortunate enough to be behind you when knocked back. Quite a lot of nerve for a big burly idiot. “Oh, fuck off you—”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

With your hand still covering your nose, the person that you were leaning against suddenly grabbed at your shoulders and kept you relatively still. You couldn’t help but to look up and behind you, unable to really move since you were completely off balance and leaning your weight completely on the stranger.

 

He was tall, hooded, and had a tanned complexion. There wasn’t much else to really take note of other than his mismatched eyes, but his features held a similar emotion to Connor’s.

 

Caring.

 

“I’m fine—“ You quipped in response, pushing back on your shoulders to right yourself. A discomfort had built in your nose from the initial collision, but it was easily dismissed with a shake of your head and a firm exhale through your nostrils. The strong hands on your shoulders lingered however, and the discomfort on your features wasn’t exactly clear with a hand over your nose. “I’m fine.”

Pulling yourself away from the man’s grip, your balance returned while you exhaled again from your nose and pinched at the bridge briefly, then looking back up at the supposed rescuer of yours. He was a bit too close for your liking, and it wasn’t until you physically pushed away at his chest that he seemed to get the message.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

You couldn’t help but to frown at the reassurance, your scowl quite clear upon a curled upper lip while glaring at those different coloured eyes.

It was just a bump into some big dumbass, not a straight up brawl.

“I just said I’m—”

 

“Your—”

The stranger raised a hand to his face, fingertips gesturing to the tip of his nose. You mirrored this action and touched at your upper lip, quickly pulling your hand away to investigate the ends of your fingers.

Your nose was bleeding.

While it wasn’t particularly a hard hit, the contact must have jostled the cartilage the wrong way. This had happened before, right? The impact from the big guy’s form felt oddly familiar to a previous time you had smacked your face into something. Under similar circumstances too.

Smearing the blood on your fingertips with the pad of your thumb, the dark red smudge drew your attention to the obvious stain of the same colour on the stranger’s shirt.

Oh, that was definitely from your nose. And now you had gone and dirtied the poor guy’s clothes when he was only trying to help.

Making a mess of someone else’s property was something you would usually… Apologise for, right?

 

“I’m uh, um—” The blood didn’t stop dripping from your nose, but you looked back up at the stranger and gestured to his shirt with your dirtied glove. “Um… I’m sorry.”

 

The apology didn’t garner any negative response, in fact the stranger only offering a warm smile and reaching for your shoulders again. His raised hands had you unintentionally flinching – a motion he seemed to notice this time – so he instead placed a single hand on your side and… guided you? To the side of the path where it was out of the traffic of the pathway.

 

“You don’t need to apologise, it wasn’t your fault.” He spoke calmly, seeming to show great concern over your nose – though it was dripping more like a faucet at this point. “Tilt your head back, it should help ease the flow and slow it down.”

At the suggestion, his hand reached up in an attempt to guide your head to tilt it back – but you were already a step ahead and were doing exactly as he had suggested.

Broken noses weren’t new, but this… weird treatment, was.

 

Was your apology really enough to make him respond this way?

 

The hands reaching to assist you were unwelcome though - and while you didn’t intend to come off as defensive – you couldn’t help but to instinctively push his wrist away and ensure that he was at a safer distance from you.

“You’re bleeding quite a lot, it may be—”

“It’s not broken,” you cut him off, glancing at him from the corner of your eye while repeatedly looking back up at the sky. He looked concerned, but you weren’t particularly sure on what to do to ensure him that you were more than capable of looking after yourself. “It’ll stop bleeding soon.”

 

Then it fell to silence again.

 

It would have been sped along with a shot of your Stim, but given the situation – being surrounded by all manner of people, and being closely watched by someone no less – it would probably draw even more unnecessary attention than you already had.

A few more glances to the side and towards the stranger, you focused to see if there was anything unique such as…

 

 

“Heterochromia.” You spluttered, misjudging your speech with a breath and accidentally garbling some blood into your mouth. It obviously sounded bad enough to get the stranger worried enough to lean closer again, but you simply leaned away shyly and swallowed the iron-tasting fluid and looked back at him.

“Pardon?”

“Your eyes. Different colours on each side is very uncommon in people.” The fact just continued to blurt itself out of your mouth, the discomfort of the awkward situation driving you to try and keep the focus off your bloody nose. “Your Blue and Green eyes. They look nice.”

“Thank you,” he smiled in response, watching you intently once more before shifting his eyes to look at your form. At least, that’s what it looked like from your viewpoint.

 

“Are you a part of special forces?”

 

Your body tensed at his question, head tilting back down to look at what he was gesturing towards.

 

“What?”

 

“Your uniform looks extremely specialized. Never seen anything quite like it, actually.”

 

The comment had you reaching for the helmet that hung off your belt, palm pressing at the visor while your eyes locked onto the stranger’s again, cautious of where he was going with his queries.

“I… guess, you could say that.” Was all that you could offer in response. The stranger wasn’t particularly showing any signs of being overly nosy, but it was hard to tell anything in this city since the tension between People and Androids had increased dramatically. He lacked a little ring on his temple as well so he couldn’t be a machine – but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be someone spying for either Cyberlife of Hammond, either.

Ending this interaction as quickly as possible was key.

A few more strong breaths in and out from your nose resulted in no more drips of fluid, and you took a chance of swiping your gloves under your nostrils to catch any straggling droplets that could have dried there.

“See? It’s fine.” Eager to part ways, you looked down at your glove and wiped it onto your pants with another deep breath through your nose. Some blood that had coagulated in the back of your throat was tough to swallow, but with a few contorted expressions and brief glances towards the stranger, you raised a hand in an attempt to signal your departure, and luckily, the man kept his distance upon your small step to the side.

 

“I’m uh, sorry, again, for that uh-“ Your hand waved in the general direction of the man’s shirt, the red smear now having darkened as the blood had dried.

He did try to help you though, so a thanks is usually in order. Right? “But uhm, thank you for the concern and help, Mr.…?”

 

“… I’m Ma—”

 

“No no. No, don’t-“ Suddenly deciding against your comment, you clasped your hand into a fist and pressed your thumb’s knuckle to your lip, shaking your head and looking off to the side. “Don’t tell me.”

Getting to know names was not of priority, and asking for identification would usually result in those details being exchanged. As friendly as this man was, you didn’t need – no, didn’t want to know his name.

So instead, you offered a nod of your head to acknowledge his assistance. He seemed to notice your hesitation in exchanging names, and oddly enough, he returned the gesture.

 

Besides, it was safer for everyone if they did not get involved with you.

 

 

Notes:

Thank you for coming back and reading this chapter, it means a lot! To all the new and older readers of this fic alike, I really have gotten a kick of motivation into this project again.

I actually have several projects in mind, some original and some fics, but well, 2020 has been painful and cruel to everyone so far.

I hope you are all safe and doing as best as you can during this pandemic, and see you in the next chapter.

Chapter 29: Neural

Summary:

Connor feels something is wrong, and only one person could explain what it may be.

Notes:

Hello hello again, many thanks to those that have been commenting and picking up this fic this late into the year - and subsequently reviving it! I have all of you to thank and my gratitude for being so patient and keeping interest in this story for so long. So it’s officially started again, even though I hadn’t really planned on stopping. Alas, life gets in the way and I get very distracted easily.

This is a short chapter in CONNOR’S perspective, but it will be the last one of his view for a while as it is here to be an establishing chapter. After this, it will be back to you, the reader, going through the motions of this new... connection, that’s been forced on you and will remain that way for the next big chunk of story.

To many – those being gamblers and reckless individuals – high risk often danced with the possibility of yielding a high reward.

 

Though the lack of solid intel on the opposition as well as the unpredictable – and extremely dangerous – possibilities that were not in favour of Detroit and it’s Police, meant that any other unnecessary actions were strictly off the table and outright declined by Fowler.

Being told no was quite a regular occurrence in Connor’s day, however this time it was being strongly enforced on him, as well as upon Hank as well.

‘Desk duty’, as it was humbly called by the others in the precinct.

Only different in the sense that Connor and Hank would still need to head out and investigate things in person. But only when there was sufficient evidence. And a warrant.

Quite a lot of trust had been put into Connor and Hank’s hands – mostly Connor at this point as he was not giving the Detective much of a choice in his risky decisions. And while the initial risk had enticed the pair with the glimmer of hope for some kind of reward - multiple factors that they could not have even hoped to ever expect had shot them down at every turn.

It was unfortunate, but the Pilot – you – were to be considered like a Deviant.

 

Unpredictable.

 

Irrational.

 

While constantly producing Errors.

 

Each bargain that Connor had presented with Captain Fowler in the past few encounters had turned up with nothing more than failures; and one even resulting in a literal murder. Wrong decisions and lack of proof. More questions than answers as each step only grew more convoluted than the last.

 

Not only more complex, but increasingly dangerous.

 

Connor sat at his desk with one hand at his terminal, only occasionally glancing up at Hank while they both idled quietly. Silently, in fact.

It was almost uncomfortable, if the unsettled feeling was something to compare it to.

Hank reached for the box of donuts that was stacked between them, lid of the carton falling awkwardly as a large hand pulled a chocolate doughy ring covered in icing sugar. Crumbs and white dust fell as he shoved almost half of it into his mouth, holding it between his teeth and continuing to type at his terminal.

The box drew Connor’s attention at first, though he couldn’t help but to analyse the sugar content in the box – then each individual serving – giving nothing more than a tilt of his head upon the results of his scan. Giving Hank any sort of information on the food would prove wasteful given their last discussion about it, so he looked back at his terminal and continued to sort through his files.

 

“You able to eat?”

 

Connor stopped his scrolling and slowly turned his head, eyes gazing over to his partner that was chewing away at the pastry in his mouth.

 

“No, Hank. I am an Android. You know this. Androids do not eat.”

 

“That wasn’t the question smartass, I meant if you are able to.” Hank seemed to push the question, stopping his work briefly to take a small drink from his mug. He paused to look into it before setting it back down on the desk with a rather small disappointed sigh.

 

“If you are asking if we hold the physical capabilities of food and liquid intake, then the answer is no.” Connor answered as-a-matter-of-factly, changing his posture to lean a bit closer to Hank as they were now in conversation. “Unless there are specific modifications installed into a machine to accommodate for such actions, Androids are unable to ‘eat’.”

 

“But you don’t think twice about sticking your bloody fingers in your mouth at—oh, thanks Wilson,” the Lieutenant cut himself off as he welcomed the large mug of fresh coffee that was just delivered to him by a fellow officer, which he took a small sip of before setting it down by the box of donuts. “—At a crime scene?”

 

At the question, Connor had to pause until he had Hank’s full attention again. Their work had them at their desks for the past day or so, but it had been near-silence between the pair. Being hushed had never been an issue for Connor in the past, though with everything that had happened in the previous week – this interaction was quite welcomed.

 

“That was different, Lieutenant.” Connor shifted his sitting position to face Hank directly, hands clasped together just behind the donut carton. “I was running an analysis of the blood sample that I had found.”

 

“But in your mouth?”

 

“The reader for sensitive material is on my tongue. As blood contains much information down to the cellular level, it is much easier to—”

 

“Yeah but it doesn’t mean you go around putting evidence in your mouth—"

 

“Android tongues are modelled much like the original. Human taste-buds are simply a form of information reader, therefore Cyberlife had integrated useful features such as data analysis in the same manner.” As if to prove a point, Connor partly opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out.

He didn’t put anything towards or near his mouth since Hank was quite averse to it last time, only gesturing towards it with a point from his index finger.

 

Hank simply stared at him with what could only be described as confusion. Icing sugar was dusted on his beard with speckles of chocolate crumbs, and his expression remained for quite some time.

 

Connor remained still, moving his finger closer to his mouth where his tongue was still sitting out just a little bit, and gesturing towards it again with his hand.

 

“Lieutenant, a couple more here for you to look at.”

 

Hank and Connor both looked up to see Officer Wilson approaching with a thick folder of files, though he stopped and stared back at the Detectives for a few seconds.

 

“I’ll uh… just leave these here.” Wilson stated briefly, setting the folder down onto the desk and sliding it towards the Lieutenant, turning around swiftly and walking away.

 

Loudly, Hank sighed and slapped a hand onto the beige folder that had just been plopped onto his desk. A few quiet, unintelligible words were muttered under his breath while seemingly annoyed with something. “Paperwork never stops.”

Sliding it over from the edge of the table to position it directly in front of him, clutter around his desk only proved to be in the way. Another folder was already at his elbow, which was pushed aside – in turn knocking into the carton of donuts.

 

A loud clatter ensued as Hank had literally just swept the table and all of it’s contents, folders pushing the donut cartons together which tipped everything else in it’s way. The large mug of hot coffee slid and toppled with it’s full volume, tan liquid spilling onto the surface and splashing onto Connor’s side of the desk.

Upon contact with his skin, Connor snapped his hand back towards his chest. The LED on his temple flickered and spun an angry red while he shook the burned appendage in a kneejerk response, only stopping when his eyes made contact with Hank’s. Numbers and status updates flooded his vision as he ran an emergency diagnostic on his body, but everything was… completely fine.

 

“Shit, you ‘lright there Connor?”

 

Unsure himself, brown eyes looked down at the coffee soaked hand which shone tan from the hot liquid that had just spilled onto it’s exterior. The results of his diagnostic were positive, nothing amiss while the plastic skin itself being undamaged.

 

Then why did it… feel that way?

 

A subtle tingling warmth over his hand which trickled outwards to the end of his fingertips. The sensation being so unusual and strange that he flexed his thumb and fingers repeatedly while repeating the scans on his limb.

 

There was absolutely nothing wrong with his sensors.

 

Regardless of their purpose, all Androids had a minimum physical capability, including temperature and stress. Something as minor as hot coffee wasn’t enough to cause any major – not even cosmetic – damage to his plastic exterior. But the strong surge of heat and… damage that struck his hand?

Connor felt it. It was there. The sensors sending alarm signals through his processors of the heat that had caused damage.

Yet there was no damage.

 

”Connor!”

 

Pulling his attention away from his hand, Connor looked back up at Hank with an expression of concern. His other hand rose up to cradle the ‘damage’ he could still feel tingling on his skin, glancing back down at the limb. His LED remained red.

 

“Did the coffee fry your circuits or something?” Hank seemed to force a chuckle at the statement.

 

“No. I simply…” There was no proper response, and Connor wasn’t sure how to process the overwhelming amount of mismatching information running through his mind. The diagnostics – repeatedly checking his hand and exterior – continued to give him the same result; No Damage Detected.

 

“The hell’s wrong with your hand?”

 

Connor paused at the question while he looked back down at his palm, clenching it once before setting it back down to the desk. “Nothing is wrong.”

 

“Sure looked like something happened. Did it burn you?”

 

With the diagnostics giving him the same answer for the 20^th time now, Connor couldn’t help the furrow of his brows when making eye contact with the Lieutenant again. “No. I received no damage from the hot liquid.”

 

Hank tilted his head back and gave a look of suspicion at him through squinted eyes, a look that Connor had come to understand as ‘disbelief’. This was a completely new and unique situation however, and even if Hank wanted to press on and ask further questions – he had no proper answers to give.

 

Concerns with his functionality and physical status were always reported to Cyberlife immediately, but this particular instance was something he couldn’t simply describe to Amanda.

He was supposed to be their successful prototype, to exceed their expectations and hunt Deviants. That was what the RK800 was designed and built for.

But this? It was a problem beyond his own understanding. Something that couldn’t be narrowed down to erroneous software, or damaged biocomponents. Connor couldn’t risk turning himself in and being dismantled at this point of an investigation. Too much was at stake to just let himself be replaced by another. Choosing to pursue the task and complete the mission was hardly something that would be considered ‘Deviant’, right?

 

So he would have to find the one person that could know what the issue was.

 

Abruptly, Connor stood from his seat and looked down at his terminal, flicking his ‘damaged’ hand while reaching for the stack of napkins next to the box of doughnuts between their desks.

 

“I have to leave,” He stated flatly, wiping the tan fluid off his fingers and knuckles, then off his palm. Dirtied tissue was scrunched up and tossed into the wastebasket underneath his desk, Connor readjusting his tie and jacket before turning from his seat. There was no escaping the hesitation that paused his motion, the first step taking a few moments to initiate as more questions and concerns filed through his mind.

“I will return as soon as we have a lead on our Deviancy cases.”

Not only does he have to keep this information and phenomenon from Hank – at least until there are more answers to provide – this would also have to be kept from Cyberlife, and Amanda.

 

Hopefully you were easier to find this time round.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Sorry it was short, but it is just to give you all a bit of an insight of what’s to come!

I hope you all enjoyed it, and thank you very much for your ongoing support.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated, even if theres things you would like to nitpick about with the plot or character portrayal. Anything goes, I’m always willing to learn and see things from others’ perspectives.

Thank you for reading chapter 29, and see you in the next chapter!