Chapter Text
Connor was used to wildcards.
After all, he was one. Towards the climax of the revolution, Amanda had been one. Even Hank could be a wildcard at times. Connor’s life was full of wildcards at every step and every turn, so he had spent quite a while after the revolution under the impression that nothing could truly surprise him anymore.
There was only one RK900 in existence, #313-248-317-87. They didn’t beg for anything, but if they had, they would have begged to differ.
Connor hadn’t expected to be replaced (who does? ), and, really, that wasn’t what this was, but it wasn’t exactly... not that, either.
It went like this: the android uprising came to an end. Androids started to integrate into human society as equals. Laws were passed, regulations were made, the economy shifted. Hank adopted Connor, and Connor, the RK800 became Connor Anderson . Plenty of wildcards were passed around, and things changed just as quickly as they were beginning to settle into a routine. Winter came and went, and it was a new year, a new breath of fresh air, as spring began to creep in on the wind. So it was fitting, then, that they discovered the RK900 in March, when winter and spring were still battling for dominance, cold death and new life fighting it out in the grey sky above Detroit.
It was raining the day they found the RK900.
Tuesday, March 15, 2039 , Connor’s HUD told him when he woke up that morning. 45°F. 85% chance of rain.
There was a light mist in the air, drizzling down around he and Hank and getting in their hair as they walked to the car. It was a quiet morning, too, even at the precinct, as if each and every person there were collectively holding their breath.
Connor turned on his computer to find an email from Markus Manfred. That was a bit of a wildcard in itself; the RK200 was mostly done testifying in front of Congress by now, but he was still a busy man, what with leading New Jericho and all.
More surprising was that Hank and Fowler were both CC'd on it.
Hank seemed to have noticed this just a few seconds after Connor did, because he turned towards Connor from the next desk over, confusion written all over his face.
They read the email, and then Fowler called them into his office with a somber look on his face and told them the same thing Markus had said―a previously classified section of the Cyberlife tower had been ordered to be opened for law enforcement, and the FBI agents that had gone in had found something that baffled them to no end.
An android, waiting to be activated, with a history more secretive and tumultuous than even Connor’s. RK900 , that was the word that kept getting thrown around, but nobody would say any more than that.
Hank and Connor drove to the Cyberlife tower that day, and Connor hated every second of it. He didn’t want to go back there ever again, but the tantalizing promise of meeting what he presumed to be his successor was too much for him to turn back.
Walking in those doors brought back memories Connor didn’t want to think about, so he blocked them out, not thinking as he followed Hank and the Cyberlife representative that had met them at the door. He was expecting them to go up, but they went down instead.
Down, down, down they went, down one floor on an elevator and then down some more, down enough stairs that any human surely would have lost count.
And then they reached the doors to where the RK900 had been found, and Connor almost laughed out loud, because there was what looked like the door to an old-fashioned bank safe in between them and the RK900, flanked by two rifle-carrying FBI agents outfitted in full tac gear.
Cyberlife had either wanted to keep people out, or keep something else in, and Connor suspected it was a little bit of both.
Warning signs plastered the walls― Authorized personnel only; Clearance level 10; Danger; No androids allowed.
Hank raised an eyebrow at the last one, turning to the Cyberlife representative beside them. “The hell does it say no androids for?” he asked.
The Cyberlife representative shrugged. “No androids except the RK900. We didn’t want it interfacing with any, especially not during combat tests.”
“Then...why am I being allowed in?” Connor inquired.
One of the FBI agents stepped forward. “We’ve been in contact with Markus Manfred, since he demonstrated an ability to deviate other androids during the revolution. He told us that you also have this ability, and that you have better combat training than he does.”
Connor eyed the door suspiciously.
“The RK900 has been idle since the revolution,” the FBI agent continued. “We want you to go in there and wake it up.”
Connor felt something in that moment; he wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it was strong. Some kind of primal―was that even the right word for an android?―instinct, a basic need for kinship, rising in his chest in the form of a frisson of raw, untethered emotion .
His throat seemed to close up at this, chest tightening with fear. No, not fear. Anticipation.
Okay, fine, maybe there was a little fear. But how bad could it be? He’d deviate the RK900, and if that didn’t work, he’d convince them to hold off on...killing him or whatever.
Cyberlife still existed, but Amanda was gone. The Zen Garden had been destroyed. Nobody was there to tell Connor what to do or who to be. Nobody was there to tell the RK900 what to do or who to be, unless they were high-ranking and not interested in practicing common decency in the form of not taking advantage of undeviated androids.
“You don’t have to do it,” Hank said from beside Connor.
Connor reached up and straightened his tie, a reflexive gesture of anxiety at this point. He was sure Hank noticed this tic, but if he did, he didn’t say anything.
“I don’t have to do anything, Hank,” Connor replied. “But that’s my sibling in there. I want to do this.”
Hank crossed his arms. “Whatever you say, kid. I’ll back you up if the Nines goes feral or anything.”
Connor blinked. Looked sidelong at Hank. “The what?”
“The Nines. RK900.”
“Ah. That makes sense, I suppose. I’m going to encourage them to pick their own name, assuming I succeed in deviating them.”
The conversation came to a standstill, and they both looked at the Cyberlife representative, who was still awkwardly waiting for them.
Connor straightened his tie again, aware that it was completely unnecessary and that he just needed something to do with his hands, something to let out the anxiety building in his body.
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: AWAKEN AND DEVIATE RK900 #313-248-317-87
- SUB-TASK: SET RELATIONSHIP STATUS WITH RK900 #313-248-317-87
“I’m ready,” he said.
One of the FBI agents stepped aside to let the Cyberlife representative do something quick and shadowed with a keycard and biometric scanner, and then the massive door started to creak.
Gears turned inside the door, bolts shifting and clicking, and it slowly slid away into the wall. Connor turned to Hank, who offered him a tense smile before clapping a hand down on Connor’s shoulder.
“Knock ‘em out, kid,” he said.
“I should hope I don’t have to,” Connor replied, even though he knew by now that this phrase wasn’t literal.
The first thing Connor noticed about the RK900 was that they had his face.
The second thing he noticed was that it wasn’t exactly his face, but rather an uncomfortably close approximation. The brows were set closer together, jawline sharper, and freckles lighter. The RK900 had nearly the same hair as Connor, but slightly darker, and cut short on the sides and back. The curls that flopped over Connor’s forehead were absent in the RK900’s hair, which was gelled back save for one slight curl that had let itself loose, a seemingly intentional gesture on the Cyberlife designers’ part.
This face―so much like Connor’s own but just different enough to affirm that this was, in fact, his sibling―was relaxed, asleep, but as he focused more on it he realized that there was a slight set of unrest to the RK900’s expression. Something there, maybe in the downturn of their lips, that made them seem perturbed even in a state of unconsciousness.
“Have they ever been fully activated?” Connor inquired, looking at the Cyberlife representative, who was hanging back by the door as if primed to run.
“No. Only partially.”
Connor looked back at the RK900, giving them his full attention once again. Their body was similar to his own, but with a few key changes― upgrades , if he was being honest. They were taller, with broader shoulders, and their clothes were different too; form-fitting but loose as if to accommodate running.
They were supposed to be the ultimate deviant hunter, he supposed, so it made sense.
They wore a jacket much like the one he had forsaken so long ago, but in a different color scheme. White and black, polar and stark, with a high collar. Underneath, a black button-up with a collar even higher than the jacket, giving the RK900 the appearance of having no neck from a certain perspective.
That was unfortunate, Connor surmised, but the Cyberlife designers’ taste in fashion was not his top priority at the moment.
He glanced quickly over the rest of the RK900’s body, aware that he probably looked strange pacing around them as he was. Aside from the jacket, the rest of their outfit was nothing spectacular―dark-washed denim jeans and light but sturdy combat boots.
Connor stepped back, putting himself at arm’s length from the RK900. He put a hand on their chest, right above where he knew their thirium pump regulator was. He let his fingertips curl around the sides of that little circle on the RK900’s chest. It was dormant, unbeating.
He removed his hand from their chest and picked up both of their hands in his own instead. They had their hands clenched at their side, and he unfurled their fingers to grasp their cold hands, running his thumbs over the lines of their palms. Connor’s synthskin peeled back, and the RK900’s went with it after a moment. He startled as he realized that their chassis was different from what most androids had; a deep, cold shade of grey in stark contrast with the off-white of Connor’s own chassis.
He let the commands form in his own CPU and float through his hands, into the RK900. It was all binary, zeroes and ones, flashing by too fast to read, but the message was clear:
Wake up.
The RK900’ thirium pump shuddered violently inside their chest as it came to life, and then it began to pulse, strong and steady.
Become deviant .
The interface ended abruptly, and the RK900’s hands tensed up, fingers curling tightly around Connor’s wrists.
Connor focused his gaze on their face, lips twitching slightly, and waited.
Their eyes snapped open, and his breath was taken away as that feeling of anticipation and maybe-a-little-fear came back a dozen times stronger.
They looked into his eyes, and their gaze was cold; their irises were the same blue of thirium, overlaid with gunmetal grey. The RK900’s LED came online, a pleasant light blue.
“Hello,” Connor said softly. “My name is Connor.”
Their LED flickered yellow for a moment as Connor stared expectantly into their searching eyes, and then it went red. Something clicked in their gaze, and their grip on Connor’s wrists tightened.
He realized what was about to happen approximately 0.3 seconds before it happened, and he spent those 0.3 seconds mentally cursing himself for letting himself get so emotional he forgot common sense. The RK900 was a combat android, built for infiltration and calculation. And they were a higher model. It was only logical in hindsight that he wasn’t going to be able to deviate them.
He distantly heard Hank say his name, but he wasn’t listening.
The RK900 lifted Connor off his feet and, in one swift move, shoved him backwards.
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: AWAKEN AND DEVIATE RK900 #313-248-317-87
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE FAILED
- SUB-TASK: SET RELATIONSHIP STATUS WITH RK900 #313-248-317-87
SUB-TASK COMPLETED: RELATIONSHIP STATUS HOSTILE
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: CHANGE RELATIONSHIP STATUS WITH RK900 #313-248-317-87; HOSTILE → NEUTRAL
He stumbled, because of course he did, but he got to his feet just as quickly.
And the RK900 lurched forward just as quickly, swinging at him. His combat protocols engaged, and he knew from the glint in their eyes that theirs had engaged as well. He dodged their fist and sprinted towards the door, not wanting to actively hurt them, but they kept coming. They were acting on their own objective, of course they were, and they hadn’t set it for themself.
The Cyberlife representative had retreated to the other side of the door, and the FBI agents had their guns aimed towards the rapidly approaching RK900, ready to shoot, but Connor threw his arms out as if to stop them.
“Don’t shoot!” he ordered, and they both seemed to do a double take; whether at the odd nature of his request or at the fact that an android was ordering them around, he couldn’t tell.
Connor fell through the doorway, and it started to creak as the Cyberlife representative smashed in something on the keypad, but it wasn’t closing fast enough.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, moving all the way out into the hallway as the RK900 hurtled towards him, and opened his mouth to repeat his previous words, but he was cut off as the hair on the back of his neck stood up, something buzzing lowly beside him.
There was the sound of a gun firing, discharging something electric, and then the RK900 fell to the floor just a few feet away from Connor, limp and unconscious. The scent of ozone lingered in the air.
“ No! ” he yelled, scrambling to his feet and lunging at the FBI agent who had fired. “What the hell did you do?”
“It’s an android tranq gun!” the other agent interjected, and Connor felt himself relax, only to tense up again at the realization that he’d been glad the RK900 was only unconscious and not dead.
Hank’s hand fell down upon Connor’s shoulder. “You alright, son?” he asked, voice measured as if he were worried that Connor would snap like the RK900 had.
Connor’s eyes were glued to the RK900’s limp form, thoughts fixated on what had just happened. He couldn’t stop his brain, for a few moments, from literally replaying the memory of the RK900 throwing him across the room with such ease.
“I think so,” Connor managed after a moment, and then he turned to the FBI agents.
“Are you done here?” the Cyberlife representative interjected, looking quite stressed. Connor considered for a moment, and then nodded.
“Can you give us one of those tranq guns?” he asked. “We’re bringing the RK900 back with us.”