Chapter Text
Stratford Tower: Street - 6:10 pm
Outside the Stratford Tower, snow is cast down in heavy sheets, layering the nearly deserted street in an icy glaze. Police cars are scattered in front of the tower, flashing red and blue lights against its concrete base. A gust of wind rattles a hastily constructed police barricade, whistling through the gaps between the scattering of parked police cars. Nearby, glass crunches beneath the tires of an unmarked DPD cruiser as it rolls to a stop.
The driver’s car door swings open, yanked forcefully by the wind. A tall, broad shouldered figure ducks through the opening, their unbuttoned jacket whipping out behind them. Swearing gruffly under his breath as his shoulder length grey hair blows into his eyes, Lieutenant Hank Anderson slams the door behind him.
“DAMN wind could freeze the balls off a brass monkey.”
Above him, lights still burn on the top floors of the Stratford Tower. Hank cranes his neck to look up at the top, where a massive screen displays a static image: an android, stripped of its skin, frozen mid-sentence.
The passenger door clicks open and an android steps out of the car, its figure sleek and still as it straightens up. Its composure remains steady through the biting cold, and its calculating gaze sweeps its surroundings. Connor reaches up to straighten its tie before fixing its eyes on Hank, whose hair, coat, and scarf are swirling around his form, getting tangled in the wind.
Connor shuts the door, and Hank finally pulls his gaze away from the jumbotron. Hank turns and nods at Connor, and they head inside the Stratford Tower.
Stratford Tower - Floor 79 - 6:17pm
Hank and Connor exit the elevator and into the hallway of the 79th floor. Hank is greeted by a DPD officer, and the android and human pair are given a quick debriefing of recent events as they are led past officers, FBI agents, and CSIs alike.
They are led into the broadcasting room, where investigators are busy gathering fresh evidence and murmuring amongst themselves. At the front of the room is a large screen, where the same flickering image of that skinless android, frozen mid-speech, is displayed. A tall, balding man wearing a clean pressed suit stands appraisingly in front of the screen.
Hank, his wavy grey hair still tousled, coat sitting unevenly over his rumpled stripey shirt, is led towards the center of the room by the DPD officer. The well-dressed man looks up, locking eyes with Hank, and the DPD officer introduces him as Special Agent Perkins of the FBI. Connor walks over to its partner, standing a couple steps behind as tense introductions are exchanged.
“Hi, my name is Connor. I'm the android sent by CyberLife.”
Perkins glares at the android, “Androids investigating androids, huh? You sure you want an android hanging around?.. After everything that happened… Whatever, the FBI will take over the investigation, you'll soon be off the case.”
The air is thick with tension, Perkins staring pointedly at Hank.
“Anyways.” Perkins breaks the silence again. “Don’t fuck up my crime scene,” he says patronizingly as Hank and Connor walk off.
Perkins smirks at Hank as he passes, eyeing his rumpled clothes before turning on his heel. Hank works his jaw muscles irritatedly, grumbling as he turns back to Connor.
“What a fuckin’ prick.”
Connor walks up to the console, where chairs with the word ‘ANDROID’ are emblazoned onto the backs. It hits a button on the control board and the video on the screen resumes.
“...ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights. Together we can live in peace and build a better future for humans, and androids. This message is the hope of a people. You gave us life. And now the time has come for you to give us…”
Connor steps away from the screen and begins scanning its surroundings. Thirium and bullet holes are sprayed on the walls, the carnage leading towards the roof access stairs.
–ANALYZING–
. . .
- RK-SERIES PROTOTYPE RK200
- Registered as Markus
- Gift from Elijah Kamski to Carl Manfred
- BULLET HOLES
- Calibre: .45
- Weapon: Assault Rifle
- THIRIUM
- Model: PL-600
- Reported missing 2036.16.02
-RECONSTRUCTING SCENE. . .
- Probability of struggle occurring: 94%
- Deviant struck while fleeing –– probability of deviant sustaining critical damage: 97%
. . .
–END ANALYSIS–
“It appears that this deviant was acting with at least three others, and one was badly compromised in the confrontation,” Connor remarks. “It’s likely they escaped through the roof.”
Stratford tower - Roof - 6:55pm
Hank is first to step out onto the roof, his light blue eyes glistening in the cold air. His handsomely rugged face flashes a look of disappointment as he steps forward; the roof is almost empty. Connor follows suit, absentmindedly flipping a coin and scanning the surrounding area.
There are three sets of footprints on the ground, leading Connor to the edge of the roof. Connor grips the railing, the world seeming to tilt as Connor looks down, its gaze follows the drifting snow down to the ground, 80 stories down. Briefly, Connor remembers its very first mission, where it had to tackle that deviant, Daniel, off the roof of 1554 Park Avenue, Detroit. It had accomplished its mission that time, but it shuddered a little, the feeling of falling briefly washing over it again. Connor snaps its head back up, turning away from the ledge.
On the roof is a scattering of shipping containers, and building operating machinery. All is layered with a thin layer of snow, dusting over everything. Off to the left side of the staircase is a smear of Thirium that turns into a trail of blue blood leading to the back left corner of the roof, where the snow is slightly disturbed. Stepping between the containers, Connor makes its way over to the outside of the last container, crouching behind a rusty air conditioning unit. Hank follows closely behind, crouching with Connor.
“What? Do you see something?” Hank asks gruffly under his breath.
“It’s in there, lieutenant.” Connor replies quietly, signalling to the last container, the door slightly ajar.
Peering carefully, Hank saw the glinting of a glowing red LED. Before Hank could say another word, Connor charges towards the door to the shipping container, dodging between rusty aluminum and boxes.
“Goddamnit kid! WAIT!”
BANG!
A gunshot fires, whizzing past Connor's left ear. Connor ducks and rolls to the side, avoiding the shots and hiding behind a small aluminum container. Taking a split second to scan the area in front, Connor spots the deviant android through the door of the container it’s hiding in. Connor dashes to the right, taking cover in front of its target. Sensing Connor’s movement, the deviant lurches forward out of the container, its torso and leg covered in blue blood, a weakly determined look on its face, scanning for its attacker.
As soon as its eyes pass over Connor's hiding spot, Connor charges. Leaping over the container and landing on the powdery ground, sprinting towards the other android. The deviant reacts, sloppily aiming its pistol at Connor, firing off shots. Bullets graze Connor’s uniform, Connor’s hands reaching out desperately towards the deviant, pushing the gun aside and grasping onto its wrists. Connor lands on top of the deviant, hard. They fall back against the rusty shipping container with a loud CLANG. The deviant collapses, arms struggling against Connor’s grip.
Focusing, Connor begins to probe the deviant’s memory. Flashes of a rusty ship yard, the word JERICHO etched into the side of a massive ship. The flash of a face…one Connor has seen before…the one from the broadcast…RK-200…Markus…and the deviant… PL-600…its name…is…
Connor flashes back to the present, losing grip on the android. Connor locks eyes with the terrified android, watching almost uncomprehendingly as the deviant drags its shaking hand towards its own head. It is holding something black and blurry.
Memories – not its own – still burn in Connor's vision, making its movements sloppy. Connor reaches to swipe at the deviant’s hand.
A split second passes before Connor realizes…
BANG
And the world goes white.