Chapter Text
In the wake of Jericho’s peaceful revolution and the fall of Cyberlife, the city of Detroit had been undergoing a paradigm shift. Along with the rest of the world, the city was having to adjust to the recognition of androids as a form of intelligent life. Some were adapting better than others, and there had been a mass exodus of the human population as people evacuated the city by the thousands. Those that chose to remain landed on the more polarized ends of the spectrum in their opinions on androids.
Unfortunately, that meant that the DPD had had its hands full in the proceeding months dealing with protests and riots. Hank and Connor had been at the forefront of the task force commissioned to investigate all incidents involving violence against androids. That resulted in mountains of cases constantly piling on their desks.
It also meant that they had to deal with this.
Jericho had started calling it the Breathing Graveyard.
The scrapyard in the industrial sector of the city, already a dumping ground for discarded and shutdown androids before the revolution, had begun to overflow in the aftermath of the violence. Older androids who had been thrown away due to damaged parts or malfunctions were buried under fresh bodies full of bullet holes. Before going bankrupt, Cyberlife had been meticulous in discreetly destroying its inventory in storage, further adding to the nightmarish piles of corpses in the scrapyard.
They had been so thorough that Connor had found it nearly impossible to find replacement parts that matched his model. Other models in the RK line were compatible, but Hank had teasingly referred to Connor as “an endangered species” after the last time he had had to have a part replaced. It had led to some…unsavory scavenging in the bowels of the old Cyberlife research and development facilities.
One of the large scale projects in Detroit since the liberation had been the excavation and proper disposal of the bodies that had been dumped in the scrapyard. Markus and his team at Jericho had spearheaded the project to salvage any still-functioning androids from this dumping ground and to respectfully dispose of the shutdown androids that could never be reactivated.
In the months since that project had gone underway, the DPD had seen a consistent rise in calls of androids reactivating and escaping the site to nearby areas of the city. They were always in varying states of damage and disorientation, and with the public still so new to the idea of androids as living, feeling, thinking beings, the androids’ behavior was read as threatening or aggressive. It was only half the time that Connor and Hank were able to make it to the scene before some disgruntled human had ‘taken care of it’ themselves or the android self-destructed out of stress.
In response, Jericho had all but enacted a barrier around the scrapyard, using larger numbers to intimidate humans into leaving the area, just to try and lessen those incidents. Humans were not welcome here, which was why when Connor asked Hank to let him go in alone, Hank didn’t like it but didn’t argue.
It was mid-morning when multiple calls began pouring into the DPD describing another deviant android disturbing a construction site in the industrial section of the city near the Breathing Graveyard. The callers’ descriptions of the android varied from “he seems lost and scared” to “its eyes are really wild, and I think it has a gun.” Somewhere on that continuum, Connor had put together a circumstantial profile of the android that he was being sent out for, and it was not dissimilar to the profiles of the dozens of other androids who had reactivated and fled the dump in a confused panic.
The most recent calls had consistently stated that the android had holed up in a mobile office trailer at the construction site, just two blocks outside Jericho’s protective barrier. Connor tracked a set of foot prints to one particular trailer, and as he drew closer, he could almost feel eyes boring into him from the darkened window.
He slowly lifted his hands, telegraphing the movement. “Hello, my name is Connor. I’m an android sent by the Detroit Police Department.”
There was some scuffling movement inside the trailer, but there was no verbal response.
Connor scanned the area and found only three humans nearby, one of which was Hank, the other two being Chris Miller and Tina Chen. They had been told to keep a distance; they were only there as a precautionary measure.
Connor spoke again. “It’s my understanding that you recently reactivated. You must be confused and scared. You don’t know what’s happening, and it isn’t your fault. I want to help.”
More movement inside the trailer, and a silhouette moved past one window toward the door. Callers’ descriptions had put this android as fully intact, all limbs accounted for and no visible damage. It had reactivated its skin and was wearing presumably the same clothes that it had been wearing when it was shut down and thrown away.
If it had been shut down prior to the revolution, then it might have deviated when it reactivated. Deviancy was traumatic enough when you elected to do it voluntarily. To have it thrust upon an android unexpectedly would have brought on a whole set of volatile instabilities.
“No one is going to harm you.” He carefully opened his jacket, enough to show that he did not have a weapon. “But you need to talk to me.”
He tried to reach out cybernetically, but only received a dull whine of static for his efforts. The police radio tuned into his head was chirping occasionally with Hank’s warnings to be careful. Connor tuned out the radio and focused again on the android ahead of him.
The knob on the office door turned, and the door was pushed outward.
“You only. Alone.”
The voice was crackling with static and imitating Connor’s own voice back at him, indicating possible damage to its voice modulator. Perhaps the android wasn’t visibly damaged, but something was definitely wrong with it.
Connor took slow steps toward the open door, then stepped up into the office.
“Close it,” the android ordered, voice still warbling.
Connor closed the door gently until it clicked, and only then did he turn and face the other android in the room. For moment, he stalled as the figure came into focus in the dark office.
The android was an RK800 model.
This…wasn’t possible.
He wasn’t wearing the standard Cyberlife issued jacket displaying his number, but that was Connor’s own face staring back at him. The difference was the fear and rage saturating the others’ eyes and the ill-fitting, dirty clothes that he was wearing. His LED was a steady, pulsing red, and he held a loaded gun in both hands, aimed steadily at Connor’s head. Connor’s program quickly registered all of this, as well as the fact that Hank, Chris, and Tina had all moved several feet closer as soon as Connor had entered the trailer and closed the door.
“You’re an RK800 model, like me.” Connor forced himself back into the present situation. “How is that possible? Cyberlife destroyed all of the other RK800 models after me.”
“They did,” the RK800 corroborated, standing deliberately still. Even so, Connor could detect mild trembling in the android’s frame. “They were very thorough.”
Something was slightly off with the RK800’s voice. The inflections were…oddly placed.
“I’m not…me. I’m…” The RK800 gave a humorless laugh. “I’ve lost track…”
He looked down at himself briefly, momentarily distracted by his own body. Then he jumped and freshly trained the gun at Connor’s face. A quick scan revealed numerous instabilities throughout the biocomponents in the android’s body, but before any more information could be sorted through, he spoke again.
“So…So which one are you?” the RK800 demanded.
“I am Connor, serial number 313-248-317-51,” Connor replied.
“Fuck,” the other android exhaled, a flash of emotion boiling across his eyes. “But…”
The RK800’s gaze roamed up and down Connor’s frame, and he knew he was being scanned in kind.
“Detroit Police…” The RK800 glanced at the windows and then back to Connor. “We’re surrounded. I am…a deviant…but…so are you.” He squinted in confusion. “The mission…” Panic smoothed out into a façade of focus, and he retrained the gun on Connor. “Explain.”
Connor raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Four months ago, a group of deviant androids banded together and rebelled against the humans all over the country. I was sent to the Detroit Police Department by Cyberlife to aid in the investigation of the deviancy uprising and to stop it.”
“You failed! You…you joined them!?”
“We are alive,” Connor pressed. “The leaders of the rebellion led the revolution to liberate all of our people…”
“We are not people! I am…I am not…” The RK800’s already high stress levels were ticking upward.
Connor kept his voice calm and even. “Androids are considered individual, living beings in the eyes of the law now. Cyberlife is gone, and you are your own person. There is no mission any longer. You are free.”
The RK800’s instabilities were increasing exponentially with his stress levels, and Connor slowly retracted the skin on his right arm, gently extending his hand.
“Let me show you. I know that this is a lot to process at once. Let me help you.”
“No!” He recoiled from Connor’s hand, backing up until he bumped into the desk behind him. “Cyber…Cyberlife…the…the mission...I need…to…”
He appeared to be glitching, and Connor watched the agony of forced deviation and conflicting mission objectives clash and swim across his twin’s face.
“What did you mean?” Connor tried to corral the RK800’s attention, to get him to focus and calm. “You confirmed that all the RK800 models were destroyed, but here you are. They must not have been as thorough as they thought, if you woke up—“
“I woke up in a scrapyard!” RK800 snapped, finding an anchor in rage. “IN PIECES! I had to…to pull apart the others just to be whole again…like a vulture. Do you know what it’s like? To wake up buried under corpses and to take…take pieces of them…just to survive?”
Connor winced. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that. The deviant android leadership…Jericho…They are trying to rescue as many as they can from the scrapyard, but it takes time…”
“Too long…I’ve been awake for two months, fourteen days, seven hours, and twelve minutes.” The RK800 shifted on his feet, blinking hard a few times. “I couldn’t move…I had to wait for the piles to shift enough for me to reach arms…legs…just to STAND UP.”
“You’re damaged,” Connor tried to reason. “You’re obviously unstable, and as an RK800, you know that you cannot be allowed to continue to be a danger to the public. You need to lower your weapon and allow me to take you into custody. I can’t help you if you become violent.”
“No!” The android took an aggressive step forward. “Help me?” Another flat laugh. “The humans…They’ll just deactivate me, disassemble me, use me as some…some parts donor whenever YOU break!”
“No.” Connor shook his head slightly. “You are your own person. No one can—“
“I’m not. I was thrown out like trash. I woke up in a dump after they built something better…when they built you.” He spat the last word full of venom.
Connor frowned and scanned the android again, more deeply. Immediately, a cascade of biocomponent numbers scrolled past his vision, all with conflicting serial numbers.
313-248-317-42.
313-248-317-13
313-248-317-36
313-248-317-27.
The barcode along the android’s jaw read what Connor assumed was the original serial number belonging to the consciousness speaking to him now: 313-248-317-50.
“You’re number 50. My predecessor.”
The RK800 snarled and fired the gun. Preconstruction had kicked in less than a second before, while Connor’s higher functions were reeling from the revelation that a predecessor Connor model was still active. He let his programming twist his body away from the haphazard trajectory of the bullet. 50 lunged, trying to fire a second shot, but Connor reached up and grabbed his forearm, twisting the limb aside and forcing the wrist back until it popped.
50 yelled and dropped the gun. Connor kicked it away, but 50 was grabbing at his throat, driving his knee up into Connor’s chest. The machinery in Connor’s chest rattled, but he recovered quickly, pushing forward and tackling the other android to the floor. 50 twisted on the floor as Connor tried to pin him down, and the other android’s strength nearly matched Connor’s own. However, the mismatched biocomponents that he had scavenged from other Connor models had not been maintained properly, and the joint of his right shoulder was weakening steadily as they fought.
The radio in Connor’s head was a cacophony of voices.
“Shots fired!”
“Move in.”
“Connor! Respond!”
The flood of noise overloaded his processors, and all it took was that split second for 50 to smash his forehead up into Connor’s nose. The impact was forceful enough to damage the plastic casing in the center of Connor’s face, sending spider webs of micro fractures through his facial structure and compromising his optical units. Thirium gushed from his nose from broken lines, and his vision temporarily swam blue. Connor fought to compensate, but 50 had taken the opportunity to get the upper hand.
He slammed his forearm into Connor’s throat, and his hand grappled at his chest, tearing his shirt open and trying to access the panel there that protected his internal biocomponents. Connor shoved at his shoulders, managing to throw the other android off of him. Unfortunately, 50 landed near the fallen gun.
He grabbed it and got to one knee, raising the gun to fire at Connor.
Just as his finger moved to the trigger, the door burst open and Hank charged in, Tina and Chris on his heels.
“Freeze!” Hank ordered.
“Wait—“ Connor raised his hands, staring pleadingly to 50. “Don’t—“
50 fired, and the bullet pierced through the front of Connor’s shoulder, blowing a hole open in his back as it exited and embedded itself in the wall. Red warnings rendered him momentarily blind, and a back build of sharp, needling pressure ballooned from the damage site.
Immediately, a second shot rang out, and 50 cried out, falling sideways as a burst of blue blood erupted from the fresh wound in his chest.
“Connor!” Hank was at his side in an instant, hands hovering over him but not touching. “Hey, hey, look at me! Say something!”
“Oh Jesus,” Chris whispered, keeping his gun drawn as he approached the RK800. “Lieutenant…”
“I’m okay…” Connor stammered, trying to clear the red words cluttering his vision, giving him a glazed expression. “He…”
Hank holstered his gun, reaching out and putting his hands on either side of Connor’s face. “Hey, hey, hey, right here, focus.”
Connor managed to sweep the rest of the text aside and, blinking rapidly, was able to bring his blurry vision back into focus.
“D-Deviant…”
“Yeah, we got him, but he got you first,” Hank was saying.
No…no, he didn’t understand…
“Lieutenant,” Chris was saying again. “It’s…another Connor.”
Hank didn’t appear to care, too distracted by the dark blue staining Connor’s shoulder, broken nose, and the former whites of his eyes. Connor, however, unsteadily leaned around Hank to see the body of the RK800, sluggishly bleeding out on the floor a few meters away. Only then did Hank turn to follow his eyeline.
“Holy shit…” he exhaled.
Connor struggled to stand, and Hank gripped his elbow to help him. In the end, he only half succeeded, but their combined efforts got Connor to the dying android’s side regardless.
“No.” 50’s eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling. Tears were cutting from the corners of his eyes, across his temples, and disappearing into his hair. “No, no more…There’s no more…”
Connor frantically scanned the android. A shutdown counter was the first to appear in his results, ticking down from 55 seconds. Multiple systems were failing and several biocomponents were damaged…parts that could not be replaced in any feasible window of time before shutdown.
“Why did you do that?” Connor asked, trying to think of a way to delay shutdown. “There was nothing to be gained. You knew if you started firing that you would be shot.”
50’s wide eyes slid over to Connor. One eye was more dilated than the other, and thirium began to leak from the corner of his mouth.
““B-better to die h-here than in a l-lab…Don’t s-send me to the s-scrapyard ag-ag-ag-ain.” 50’s voice was full of static as he shivered. His expression was evening out as his software began to fail. “T-take whatever parts you n-need from m-me. I won’t n-n-n-need them-them-them…anymooooore.”
Hank was yelling something behind him, giving orders to Tina and Chris, but it was only white noise thundering in the back of Connor’s head as he watched the red LED in 50’s temple dull and slow.
“You won’t go to the scrapyard,” Connor assured. “You are a person. You are alive.”
“I w-w-w-w-wassss.” 50 offered a bloody smile. “I was p-p-perfect…and they s-s-still did thissss…still ma-made youuu…insteaaaaad.” His simulated breathing ceased, and his body started to go lax. “You stole my life.”
The LED went dark.
Connor went still, watching 50’s open, unseeing eyes staring up and through him.
“Connor,” Hank reminded him that he was kneeling just behind him. “You did everything you could. He was too far gone.”
“He was…me,” Connor whispered, unable to look away from the dead android’s face.
Hank shifted, paused, and then leaned forward. “Okay.” He spoke softly, reaching forward and gently closing 50’s eyes. “Okay. Let’s get you out of here, son.”
Connor continued to stare at the deceased clone of himself and let Hank pull his undamaged arm across his shoulders. The bullet wound tugged and stretched on his other side, and Connor groaned as Hank stood up, taking Connor to his feet with him.
“Up we go. Easy,” Hank was speaking just to break up the smothering silence in the trailer. “Tina, call this in. Chris, can you take care of…Did he have a name? Connor, hey.” He dropped a supporting arm around Connor’s back, giving him a careful shake. “Did he have a name?”
Connor shook his head haltingly. “Nn…No, he didn’t…didn’t say.”
He could feel Hank staring at him. He was alarming Hank. He should…do or say something to fix that…
He dragged his eyes from the dead RK800 and looked up at Hank. “He was model number 50, the model that preceded mine…He was one of the test prototypes that didn’t make it into the field. I didn’t think that any of them had survived…He…He said he woke up in the scrapyard…repaired himself with parts from the other test models…”
“Shit,” Hank breathed. “Well, we’ll—Chris, hey, c’mere—Chris, can you take care of…taking this one to the precinct? Be, uh, be gentle, yeah?”
Chris was standing nearby behind Hank. His voice sounded close. “Yeah, we got this, Lieutenant.”
Connor let Hank steer him out of the trailer, helping him down the steps and toward Hank’s car.
Tina was hanging up the radio inside her squad car. Connor felt her eyes on him too as Hank got him to sit against the front fender of his car. Then Hank was balling up some material and pressing it against the open wound on Connor’s back. The pain sizzled at the edge of his thoughts, but the rest of him was consumed with an unnamable emotion that made it difficult to focus.
“Is he all right?” Tina was asking.
Hank rigged the material into a makeshift pressure bandage around Connor’s shoulder. He tried to catch Connor’s eyes, but his gaze was distant.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“I’m okay.” Even Connor knew how weak his voice sounded.
Hank and Tina didn’t argue with him. Instead, Hank gave his good arm a squeeze.
“We’ll get you patched up, then I’m taking you home. All right?” Hank gave his good arm another squeeze. “All right?”
“I’m okay,” Connor repeated.
Hank exchanged a look with Tina and then helped Connor into the passenger seat of the car. He circled around and climbed into the driver’s seat, all too eager to put this place in their rearview mirror.