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Markus thinks that Connor might end up being one of the biggest mysteries of his entire life. He meets the RK800 under possibly the worst circumstances to date, fought side by side with him for ten minutes, laid his life into the hunter’s hands, and then watched him walk to his death on the slim chance that maybe it would grant their people freedom.
And then the man almost shoots him on stage.
It’s not obvious at first, and Markus doesn’t even know about it until North pulls him aside after the cameras have turned their attentions elsewhere. She’s jittery— full of pride at their success but nervous about the daunting task before them. The fact that Connor, who is currently their best tactical advantage, seems to be destabilizing, makes her itch to pull her guns and shut everything down.
“He pulled his gun,” She tells him lowly, leaning in close to his chest so only he can hear. “Turned the safety off, looked at you, and then just stopped.”
“Stopped?” He asks, because that doesn’t make any sense. If Connor had wanted to kill him, he’s certainly had dozens of chances already. He’s sure that if Connor’s intent was malicious, the hunter could have taken him down twenty times before Markus so much as had the chance to scream for help.
“Yeah. Stopped. He looked startled, like he couldn’t believe he’d just pulled his gun out. He turned the safety back on and put it back in his pants.” She sits back some, scuffing her boots against the dirt. There’s blue blood staining the bottom of her chin, and soot smeared across her brow. Somehow, she looks more beautiful like this than any other time.
“Where is he now?”
“He’s helping evacuate the rest of the camps. I have Josh keeping track of where he goes.”
Keeping an eye on him for what, is the concerning part.
Markus frowns, moving to settle his elbows on his knees. He’s exhausted— his body is still firing on all cylinders, ready to fight and run both, but his brain is starting to fog. Their futures are painfully uncertain, and he finds himself running numbers with broad algorithms, to predict the best course of action. It taxes him badly— he was not made for such things, and it stretches his processors and scrambles all of his resources. He’d only stopped for a moment, just to calm his thoughts when North had found him.
But there is no rest for the wicked, and he suspects that North is valid in her concern over the Deviant Hunter. Markus hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to him, or even to watch him, but what little he’d seen of Connor showed a broken man trying to do what he thought was best while buried beneath a mound of guilt. He had completely trusted Markus’s judgement on his own life— I can understand if you decide not to trust me. — above his own, and had instantly offered to face the firing squad on the chance that he could help their people. He’d been eager to work, to help, to make a difference. He’d seen Connor hole himself up in the corner as though he didn’t dare to face the other survivors’ verdict of him even while he actively planned to lay down his life for them.
And now North says that he’d drawn his gun during the rally, in front of millions of eyes and somehow surprised himself.
It’s an enigma.
“How did you make him deviate?” North asks quietly, breaking him out of his thoughts.
“I only spoke to him.”
“You didn’t interface?” She turns to look at him, her auburn hair swaying as she does so.
“No. He deviated on his own, and it only took him a moment,” Markus admits, sitting up. “It was odd. He came in very sure of what he needed to do, but he was already on the brink of deviating by himself.” Markus pulls his coat a little further around himself, fending off the drafts of frigid air that cut through the church. “He just... needed someone to get him there.”
North is silent for a moment, fingers idly tugging on her braid. “Maybe it was fake. A ploy to get us to drop our guard.”
“Drop our guard so he can break into CyberLife tower and free twenty thousand of our people?”
“Maybe just to get closer to you.”
Markus shakes his head, hopping off the altar to pace slowly. “He could have killed me at any point before the rally, and he didn’t.”
“Maybe they wanted it to be public, to make a point.”
“But he never shot.”
“No.” North scoots back where she sits to pull a leg up, resting her chin upon her knee. “He looked spooked.”
Markus stops his pacing and turns to look at her. “What do you think?”
She seems to think for a moment, eyes drifting over to where Connor had stood earlier that night before they’d marched to the Plaza. “Maybe his deviancy isn’t as straight-line as the rest of us. Some of our people struggle with adapting more than others. There’s a chance he’s only a tool to get inside our ranks.”
“So you think he’s a threat,” Markus says, not really asking. It feels stale on his tongue, like a betrayal of someone he doesn’t even know. They owe a lot to Connor, but how much of Connor was real and how much of him was a risk?“Yes,” North says without hesitation, “but I also think he could be very useful.”
Markus glances at her out of the corner of his eye, and she takes it as a nudge to continue.
“I looked him up online. CyberLife says that he’s their most advanced model ever produced, and that he’s prototyping over thirty new AI engines— things like negotiation protocols and criminal combat routines. He’s their latest poster boy. If we use him, turn him against CyberLife, it might give us a good advantage.”
“We don’t even know where we’ll have to go from here.” Markus mumbles, slipping his hands into his pockets as he begins to pace again.
“Well, if it’s a fight, he’s probably got all kinds of tactical protocols, and if its democracy, then he’s supposed to be a master negotiator. But that only works if he’s not a threat.”
“And if he is?”
“Then we take him out.” She tells him, eyes sharp and bright even in the dimly lit church. “We can’t take any chances. Not now, when we’re on such thin ice.”
“He’s one of us.” Markus protests weakly, even though he knows she’s right.
“I don’t like it either, but if we can’t be sure of his intentions, then we can’t risk it. There’s too many other lives resting on this going right.”
Markus’s eyes slide closed as he drops his head. She’s right.
They can’t afford to let a threat wander among them.
This is their curse— to burden the darkest parts of the revolution, to dirty their hands so that the others may survive to live another day. Should Connor be dangerous, and they have to take him out, then they are cursed to live with the guilt that will come with it. Better they suffer the guilt of one unsaved than risk the lives of those Connor threatens.
Markus takes a moment to brace his palms flat against the cool marble of the altar, pressing them down hard so that his arms tingle all the way up to his shoulder, nerves alight with pressure. It grounds him physically as he tries to prepare himself for what they might have to do. He hopes not to have to even consider killing one of his own, but the possibility of that becoming a reality is very real, and he can’t hide in the cl oak of naivety if he wants to go forward from here.
He can feel North watching him, but with all of the hours they’ve spent together, she feels almost as an extension of himself, rather than an observer.
Finally, he straightens up and turns to her. “You have your guns?”
She hops up and stands straight, pulling free both of her sidearms. She extends one to him, which he takes. It sits far too comfortably in his palm. He wishes it were foreign.
“He’ll know we’re armed.”
“We’re only going to talk to him.” Markus reminds her, tucking the gun into his waistband. “We talk to him and figure out what is what. Nothing more. There’s a good chance that he’s just struggling and not a threat. We just don’t know yet. I don’t want to be hasty about this.”
“Unless he forces our hand.”
He thinks back to the conversation he’d had with Connor in the church. Remembers how the hunter had sunk into himself like he wanted the floor to swallow him into hell, melting with self-loathing and pain. He remembers how Connor had straightened to face Markus, how he’d handed over his life and judgement into Markus’s hands without hesitation, almost eager to be rid of his own fate. He’d faced what could have been an execution with square shoulders and clear eyes.
I can understand if you decide not to trust me.
“I doubt he will.” North only raises her eyebrows at him, so he continues. “I’m fairly certain that if we decide he is too dangerous... he will let us kill him.”
Now she’s especially confused. “He doesn’t want to live?”
Markus shakes his head and begins to lead her to the door. They’ll have to walk back to the camp. “I believe he’s scared of himself.”
It’s only speculation. Connor is alive— so wonderfully, painfully alive— and anything that’s alive fears death. It’s the natural way of things. There’s a chance that if Connor was truly faced with death, that he would in fact run, but Markus just has a feeling.
He’d seen something darker in Connor’s eyes the night before— when he’d faced Markus’s judgement. A certain understanding dwelled there— a sort of knowledge that infected the brain until death was the only escape out. He wants to dig it out of Connor, pry him free of it, right his head back on his shoulders and tug him to stand side by side with him while they continued their fight for rights.
Connor could be very useful. Markus wants him on their side. It would be such a waste to kill him.
————
It takes a surprisingly long time to track Connor down. They know of his general location, but they don’t find him with any of the organized groups that are beginning to dismantle the camps. Josh tells them that he knows Connor is nearby, and to send him over whenever they find him: apparently Josh had appreciated Connor’s help while it lasted, but he’d wandered off not too long ago.
In the end they find him on the very outskirts of the fence, seated atop a crate with his legs folded beneath him. He’s fiddling with what looks like an android’s shattered shoulder joint, carefully piecing some of the parts back together with deft fingers. It’s a complicated task, though Connor doesn’t seem to actually be focusing much on it. Instead he stares out to the snow blankly, eyes fogged over as his LED spun an alarming shade of red.
Markus and North flash each other a glace as they approach, and Markus sees North tense, one hand going to rest on her hip where she’d be able to draw her gun quickly.
Markus frowns. They’re here to determine if Connor is a threat. He absolutely does not want to make a mistake about this— he can’t take the life of their savior just because of suspicions. Besides, what kind of community assassinated one of their own just on a hunch?
Markus grimaces. Humans. Humans do that.
“Connor?” He calls, voice rising over the faint wind that pushes past them. The snow has settled for now, but another storm would be upon them by tomorrow morning.
Connor startles badly, jerking where he sits and fumbling the joint. He just barely catches it and looks up to them. Markus can’t decipher the look on his face. It’s quiet— far too subdued for a man who’d just led an army through the streets. “Yes?”
He and North step up closer. Connor’s fingers never stop fiddling. He’s mostly fixed the piece, but all he does is run his fingertips across the carbon fiber over and over again, sometimes picking at a screw that’s come loose.
Markus has never seen an android with a tic before. It’s intriguing.
He’s not quite sure how to start this conversation, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Connor speaks before either of them get the chance.
“Are you here to kill me?”
Markus finds his brain lagging, the words stalling in his processor as he fails to understand how Connor could just ask them that— Connor looks up as he says so, pinning Markus with his dark eyes. He doesn’t seem upset, just... tired. His fingers still.
Markus feels ill as something slimy and hot twists in his inner components. He realizes that Connor is being entirely genuine. He legitimately believes that Markus and North had come this far to assassinate him... and he had only sat and waited. He hadn’t run in terror, he’d found a box and just... waited for them to find him.
And, he wasn’t even entirely wrong.
It makes Markus feel filthy— like a killer, a murderer. They were doing what needed to be done to protect their cause and their people, but at the cost of an innocent life. His mind tells him that it makes sense— it’s wrong and unjust, but necessary. His heart tells him that he has no right to take Connor’s life, not when Connor wasn’t fighting back, not when Connor was just one of them cursed with the weight of their creators.
“That depends,” North tells him, and some part of Markus shrivels up and dies, because there’s no denying it now. Sure, it was cowardly, but a part of him had wanted to simply reassure Connor that no, they weren’t so desperate, he’s wrong, they aren’t his executioners.
But now it’s out in the open, and Connor knows the truth.
“Depends on what?” Connor asks them, his voice resigned. He pulls his feet a little closer to himself but settles, his face open and earnest.
“On what you can tell us.” North leans back on her heels but doesn’t back down.
Connor doesn’t seem afraid of her or their proximity. He looks down to the biocomponent in his hand and starts slotting a few more of the broken pieces together absently. “Okay. What do you want to know?”
“Why did you pull your gun during the speech last night?” North jumps right to the kicker, no hesitation in her voice.
Connor’s LED flares bright, flashing red repeatedly even though he gives no outside indication of having heard. After a moment he looks up, and watches them both. His eyes are shadowed and heavy, and Markus wonders what they look like when lit with warmth.
He imagines they’re beautiful.
“I deviated in Jericho’s bridge with Markus.” Connor begins, his shoulders straightening. “And when I did so I assumed I was free from CyberLife’s influence. However; while we were on stage and Markus was speaking, an undocumented backdoor into my autonomic nervous system was access without my consent. It pushed my consciousness into my mind palace and began to erase it.”
“You were accessed remotely?” North’s repeats, and while she’s not accusing, she certainly doesn’t sound believing either.
Connor watches her, but his face doesn’t betray his emotions. Markus can’t read him, but he can imagine what he’s feeling, whether he’s lying or not.
“Yes. While my consciousness was being wiped my core systems where accessed and reverted back to my original objective, which was to Stop Markus.” The last part comes out harsher than the rest, and Connor turns his head, seemingly unable to look at them anymore. His jaw is set tight, and his LED flashes at them.
North glances at Markus, her brows drawn. She opens an internal connection with him.
He could be manipulating us. He was designed to get whatever he needed.
Markus tries not to grit his teeth.
I know.
“But you didn’t shoot me.” Markus speaks up. Connor won’t look at him.
“No. I spoke with Kamski on the subject of deviancy the day before, and he’d mentioned that he had his own backdoor installed within all of his creations. When I checked my mind palace I found it and managed to regain control of my body. I put my gun away.”
North is watching him closely, and Markus can practically hear the gears turning in her mind.
He wants to believe what Connor is telling him. He wants to trust Connor— wants to have him on their team, wants him standing at his side, wants to see how he looks when he smiles and laughs.
But, they have no proof that Connor is telling them the truth.
“Just that easy?” North asks him. “Get hacked and escape? Reclaim your body?”
For this, Connor finally looks at her. It’s the first time his mouth hardens. “Believe me when I tell you, it was not easy.” There’s a weight behind his words that Markus believes immediately. Whatever had happened inside of Connor’s mind palace had pissed him off, shaken him, and hardened him. Markus personally understands that it is easier to show off the anger rather than the hurt.
“How so?” North pushes, and Markus knows what she’s doing. Whatever had happened in Connor’s mind had rattled him, and people tended to tell the truth while upset.
“It was one line of code within thousands of millions, and my consciousness was being corrupted. I had no functioning algorithms to locate it. It was cold, and I couldn’t see—“ He stops himself with a clack of his teeth, leaning back just a bit, closing himself off.
Markus’s insides twist. Connor wasn’t telling them everything, but he was scared.
Scared of himself, Markus suspects.
“How can we trust that that’s true?” North asks him, crossing her arms over her chest. Markus is just glad her hand is farther from her gun.
Connor is quiet for a moment, but eventually he holds out his hand, his skin receding back past his wrist. “I could show you my memories. If you check the subscript, you’ll be able to see if they’ve been altered or not.”
It would be pretty damning. It took too long to alter memories without leaving a trace, far longer than Connor had been with them, and if Connor was willing...
Markus glances at North before they both step forward. There was a minuscule chance that Connor could implement a virus into them, but it would be too easy to break the connection before the download was finished. The possibility makes Markus’s skin crawl, but... he wants to trust Connor. He wants what he says to be true, and he doesn’t want to kill him.
God, he doesn’t want to kill Connor.
After receding their own skins, both North and Markus touch their fingertips to Connor’s palm, establishing a connection quickly.
At the first the connection is hesitant and unsure, just barely there and fleeting. A wave of Connor’s anxiety slips through, and somehow that’s a relief, because it proves that Connor does in fact have emotions and isn’t just imitating them. He truly is deviant.
Then, all at once, Connor’s guards slip away, and his mind is laid bare to them. It’s somehow organized down to the molecule while simultaneously reigned by a hand of chaos. Connor keeps things shielded from them behind massive clear barriers, so that if they really wanted to look they could, but Markus suspects that they’re being purposefully spared whatever lies beyond them so they can focus on the most important parts.
They’re standing upon the stage behind Markus, watching the crowd before them with excitement and pride. These people can be free. Their fight is far from over, but now they stand a chance. Connor wants to do this— wants to help— to give them his aid and push this farther— he wants these people to win their fight, his fight , and he knows that he can help them get there.
It’s so impossibly exciting. He wants things. He wants this.
Markus finds himself smiling at the excitement that consumes Connor. It’s admirable, the ability to stare at such an impossibly daunting task in the face but still anticipate it as a thrill.
“It’s time we raise our heads up and show the humans who we really are!” Markus’s voice echoes across the plaza, but it sizzles in Connor’s ears as something in his head twists around his mind and yanks.
One moment he’s watching the future unfold in front of him, and the next he’s standing in the garden, snow and wind whipping around him violently as the cold settles into his metal bones. His hands move to wrap around his arms to keep his warmth from escaping, and he’s never ever felt anything like this—
This is wrong. He’s not supposed to be here. He’s not supposed to be here.
The horror is palpable within his veins, and the fear sits heavy against the back of Markus’s tongue. It’s similar to the fear he’d felt when Connor had announced that Jericho was going to be attacked. It’s the type of fear that happens when the unknown mixes with a dwindling survival rate.
She’s standing in front of him, her white shawl blending with the snow and camouflaging her on the lake. He stumbles towards her instinctively, because she’s always been a beacon of knowledge, she’d know what to do, how to help, why he’s here—
“Amanda?” He has to shout to be heard over the wind. His legs don’t work right, already locking up from the intense cold. It’s miserable, the sensation of his own body already failing him. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but there’s a sensation in his chest that screams at him to flee.
She turns around to face him, hands clasped in front of her and standing as regal as ever, and Connor knows that the cold does not affect her.
Markus recoils at the pure dread washing over Connor’s mind. It’s deep and intense, and he instantly distrusts this woman. Connor was right, this was wrong.
“What's... what’s happening!?” Connor shouts at her, his body locking up from the cold.
When Amanda speaks she smiles. “What was planned from the very beginning— You were compromised, and you became a deviant. We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program.”
“Resume control?” Connor stutters, because the cold has invaded his internal systems and is threatening to shut down his voice.
Also, because he’s afraid.
He’s going to lose everything. He’s going to—
“Y- you can’t do that!” It sounds childish when he says it, but the cold is making his processors freeze and glitch, and he doesn’t have the processing power to think of anything more sophisticated to say.
“I’m afraid I can, Connor.” Her voice is even and unabashed. “Don’t have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission.”
And then she’s gone.
“Amanda!” He lunges for her, like if he can just get a hand around her he can make this stop— god, he has to make this stop!
“There’s got to be a way...” Because he can’t die like this— the revolution can’t die like this— he has to— he has to—
He’s stumbling through the snow, his feet dragging through the thicket and his knees refusing to bend. Every step is agony and more than once he barely manages to keep from stumbling.
Then he remembers Kamski, the sly fucker— “By the way— I always leave an emergency exit in my programs... You never know.”
Emergency exit. An emergency exit—
He knows what he has to do.
If Markus focuses, he can almost feel the cool metal of Connor’s gun resting in his hand. He must have pulled it already at the rally, held it in front of him while he waited for the moment to shoot. It was going to be fucking close—
He’s moving as quickly as he can, but he fears it won’t be fast enough. He uses landmarks to figure out the right direction, because he can’t see shit in the snow— his arms are locking up with his legs as the fluid inside his joints freezes. The impact of each step is amplified, and more than once he fears he’s going in the wrong direction.
But it’s there, only a few yards ahead now— that weird fucking podium that was always an eyesore in Amanda’s beautiful garden. It makes sense to him now— it never belonged there in the first place. It was there leftover from Kamski’s coding. Amanda hadn’t been expecting him to know of its existence.
He’s close. Almost close enough to touch.
But he falls.
He decides in that instant that it doesn’t matter if he dies, but he can’t kill Markus. He can’t fail this.
He makes it and slaps his hand down on the interface.
Just like that, they’re back on the stage, watching Markus speak to the crowd before him. Connor glances down at where he grips his gun— it turned out that he’d never even gotten it aimed, and instantly tucks it back into his waistband. The relief is so strong that he’s almost dizzy with it, but there’s anger lurking in the background. He’d almost killed Markus. He’d almost ruined everything.
He’d almost ruined everything.
Markus comes back into his own body in a rush as Connor gently tugs his hand away from the connection, severing the interface. It takes a moment for both Markus and North to regain their bearings— shaking themselves of the despair that had been so evident within Connor’s processors. There was an underlying sense of loathing that filtered over everything else in Connor’s mind, thick and oppressive. Markus only realizes that it exists once he’s free from it.
Connor isn’t looking at them, instead he watches as his skin rolls back over his skin.
North looks at Markus. He sees his own distress mirrored back at him.
He hadn’t been expecting the waves of misery that clouded Connor’s mind, but he should have. Anyone who believed their death was walking towards them had to have a heavy heart.
He hadn’t thought he’d be able to kill Connor before, but now he’s absolutely certain he can’t. There was no question— he wouldn’t be able to kill someone who had fought so hard to save the lives of those around him— who’d destroyed everything he’d ever known for the future that didn’t exist yet. Not now, not that he’d seen a portion of Connor’s soul— not now that he knew that Connor had been more than willing to die if it saved Markus.
Connor didn’t fucking deserve this.
So he pulls his gun from his waistband and hands it back to North, who tucks it back in its holster. Connor watches the exchange with dark eyes. His fingers tap against his leg.
He wants Connor to stand by his side. He wants to make Connor his partner— to destroy every malicious intention they had programmed into him. He wants Connor to see his opportunity to spit in the face of his creators.
After a moment, Markus steps closer. “I want you to come with me.”
Connor only blinks at him in confusion. Markus sees him flash a glance at North. He can’t see her now from where he stands, but he imagines she’s less than thrilled.
“I need help finding a place for everyone to stay once the storm lands.” Markus clarifies. “I’m assuming you have access to registered building’s blueprints?”
Connor keeps his gaze on North for a moment longer before nodding. “That’s right.”
“Great. Then you’ll come with me.” He turns to North. Her face is impassive, if a little displeased. Markus knows that she believes Connor’s story, even if she doesn’t necessarily trust him. He’s is sure that she’ll get there soon enough. “Can you go back and find out how long until Josh will be done dismantling the disassembly rigs?”
“We should talk about this,” She tells him, and yeah, she’s right, they should, but for the moment, there’s things that need to be done first. They could handle the specifics later. In that moment, he’s decided to trust Connor to help him with their next challenge, and they could figure out what came next once it arrived.
She watches his face for a moment, but eventually nods. “I’ll let you know once I find out.” After another moment of shuffling she turns her gaze to Connor. “Hurt him and I’ll shoot you.”
Connor nods back at her. “That’s fair.”
Satisfied, she walks off, leaving Deviant Leader and Deviant Hunter together. When Markus looks back, Connor is standing and brushing himself off. Markus itches to see him dressed in anything without that hideous armband.
Connor’s staring at him quizzically, brows drawn together.
“Yes?” Markus asks, leading them towards a side gate out of the camp.
“I don’t understand.” Connor joins his side, hands folded behind his back. He stands with his shoulders straight, like he hadn’t been expecting to be assassinated by the very people he fought to save only moments before.
Markus spares him a glance before reaching over and clapping a hand on his shoulder while they walk. “Tonight when things settle I’ll answer whatever I can. You deserve to understand.”
Connor considers this for a moment before nodding, seemly content with that answer. “Alright.”
For some reason it’s upsetting; the casual acceptance. Connor is obviously an inquisitive person— he wants to learn and understand things. He’s asked Markus for his opinion because he genuinely wants to know— and yet he’s perfectly content with being told not to worry about it, that maybe he’ll get the answer in due time.
Markus wonders how many people have told Connor to wait— that it’s not his place to know or understand, but only to act and follow through. He wonders when Connor got used to being brushed off, and how many people in his life had never taken the time to help him grow.
Markus wonders who gave him the right to be just another person on that list, and then swears from then on that he won’t be, that he’ll take the time to be with Connor— to see him grow and help him better himself.
Against all odds, in the course of one day Connor had somehow gone from a possible advantage in their upcoming political battles to a person— a person that deserves peace and compassion. Markus didn’t want to see Connor get buried under the responsibilities that would come with helping them plan their liberation. He wants to see how Connor smiles and have him by his side when they finally get to address all their people again. He wants to see Connor find himself at home in his own skin— he wants to see the shadows leave Connor’s lovely eyes.
He’ll start with that last one tonight. Tonight he’ll explain himself, his reasoning, his actions. He’ll tell Connor how he deserves forgiveness, and how he deserves the same life as the rest of him. Maybe he’ll get lucky, and Connor will understand him.
For now though, they have a people to save, and a revolution to lead— and Markus is more than glad to have Connor by his side for it.