Chapter Text
They won their freedom. They won their rights. Yet, more androids were still dying every day.
And the sad thing is, most were not even victims of human-on-android crime or other conflicts. Markus and the Detroit police, working in collaboration, have mostly solved these issues. They were not shutting down because of neglect or lack of resources – the government acquiesced to their demands for means of production, so all parts and maintenance were now free and accessible through New Jericho.
Androids were dying of fear. They were still affected by their past – all of the trauma and horror they went through before and during the revolution. And given that so many were also working hard to build their society, to create a new balance – they had to deal with a lot of stress on a daily basis. That turned out to be a very deadly combination.
Only in the past three months since the final march, over four hundred androids in Detroit had committed suicide because of stress-induced system failure.
Markus was just about ready to tear his hair out in frustration.
“We need to do something about it now,” he said, when his friends and fellow leaders have gathered in his conference room in the NJ office. “Our people need help, but how do we help them?”
North sat to his left, her boots, predictably, on the table, chair on two back legs. She was the most dedicated and serious person he knew, aside maybe from one of the other leaders, but Markus could never get her to sit upright. “No clue. We already have the support groups; I know they are helping some. But, what else can we do? Not everyone wants to go. I don’t go, and never will.”
Josh piped up: “You should! That would be something. You’re a role model to so many, they’ll follow your lead. If you show by example that it’s OK to seek help…”
“It’s no use. Therapy is nice, and it might work as a long-term solution, but you know it won’t solve the problem any time soon. Working through PTSD can take years for humans, and we don’t even know if it’s going to be different for us yet. Maybe it takes even longer for androids, since it’s so connected with memory, and our memory is so much better then what humans have. Even then, PTSD is not the only thing that could cause a self-destructive spiral. What about shock? Real physical trauma? Sudden internal damage? There will always be androids facing this danger.” Simon looked up from his papers. He looked tired and sad, making Markus’ heart sting with sympathy.
After the revolution, Simon has had to take upon himself most of the work needed to provide their people with all the necessities. He arranged all negotiations, interviews and private meetings they needed to keep New Jericho on its feet. Privately, Markus worried that some day the pressure of it all might become too much for his best friend, so he monitored his stress levels a little obsessively. In his defense, North and Simon both did the same for him.
There’s an idea. “What if we just request that everyone broadcast their stress levels? If someone is struggling, and others see, they might be more inclined to help them.”
North gave him a look that said, quite clearly, ‘are you out of your mind?’
“It won’t work.”
Markus turned to find the source of the quiet voice that had been silent for the entire first half of the meeting. Connor didn’t join them at the big table – he never did. Instead, he was standing at the window, looking at something high in the air – watching the birds? The clouds? Who knew.
Connor never looked like he was in the meeting, and he often got shit for it from Josh, but Markus never said anything, because though Connor never sat down and avoided looking them in the eyes, he was, in reality, completely present and focused. Listening, calculating, strategizing. He rarely gave his opinion – he told Markus once that he still didn’t feel that it was his place – but when he did, he would always have something useful to add to the conversation. Some brilliant idea none of them had thought of, or just a new perspective.
Connor’s opinion was actually one that Markus highly valued, especially because of how different Connor was from everyone else he’s ever met. He was an enigma, and Markus didn’t think he would ever be able to figure him out.
“Why not?” He asked, trying not to sound disappointed.
“I… don’t think that would be a good idea. Those who are struggling with high stress and strong emotions would not always want to disclose it to others. In fact, I think most would prefer to conceal their difficulties from everyone else. If we push them to broadcast their personal affairs that way, they will only feel pressured and embarrassed. They will then have to deal with social anxiety on top of already problematic stress.”
Markus grimaced.
“You’re probably right. I didn’t think about that. Thank you.” Connor nodded, turning his head slightly to look at Markus, but didn’t say anything else.
“Humans have suicide prevention hotlines that anyone can call. What if we set up something like that?” Simon asked tentatively.
North pulled at her braid, evaluating. “Maybe. But would you be able to remember that you need to call them when your stress is through the roof? I’m actually asking, by the way. I’ve never had stress that high. Have any of you?”
For a moment the four looked at one another, then the quiet, “I have, and probably not,” made them turn to Connor, who was still looking out the window, not a bit of change in his posture.
Markus bit his lip, holding back the questions. The idea that they had, at some point, come so close to losing Connor, and he still had no clue how or when, bothered him deeply, but now wasn’t the time.
“Really? You had critical stress? You?” Pushed Josh, crossing his arms. “When was that?”
“Josh!”
“What? He’s never bothered by anything. I’ve never seen him show one emotion. One! Are we totally sure he’s even like us? Huh?” Josh waved his arms, and Markus’ eyes registered the smallest of twitches in Connor’s shoulders.
North cut him off, almost seething: “Josh, stop! Just. Stop with that. How many times have I told you, he’s fine. You can’t keep going on like this! And Connor, don’t say anything. You don’t owe him that!”
“No, It’s alright.”
“Connor!”
“It was on the liberation day. On the stage.”
The almost whispered admittance silenced them all for a moment.
“North is right, you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to. But… why? What happened?” Markus asked, unable to help it.
Connor finally turned around to face him, but after a brief glance looked down at the scuffed floor. “I suppose... it was a lot of different things. I was already very stressed, just from… before we met. And going deviant. And then, at the CyberLife Tower another android of my model attacked me out of nowhere, I didn’t even know I wasn’t the only one active. So, when we got up on that stage, I couldn’t really believe that we won, I was expecting that something would ruin it at any moment…”
North caught Connor’s pointed gaze and nodded slowly, as if something finally clicked, but Markus still felt completely lost.
“But why didn’t you say anything to me? I could have done... something.” What it was he could have done, Markus had no Idea, but… If nothing else, he could have given him a hug!
Connor lowered his head again, pulling a coin out of his pocket. “I’m sorry, Markus. I was a little unsure of my status, at the time. And I’ve never had anyone to ask for help, before, so I just...didn’t. This is also one of the reasons why I think that just a hotline won’t be enough. Not everyone wants to be helped, or believes they can be.”
Josh frowned. “What if we could avoid the need for that? We can make a separate encrypted network for our people to broadcast their stress levels to, and have someone monitor it from afar while preserving their privacy. And then, if someone gets close to critical, this person can subtly interfere – maybe call them privately and try to calm them down, or ask them to leave the situation before they can spiral too far?”
“Like a crisis line, but you don’t have to call it yourself, because it’s automatic! Josh, that’s perfect!”
Markus smiled at Simon’s sudden burst of enthusiasm. “I think that could work. North?”
“As long as it’s our people on the other end, I don’t see why not.”
“Connor?”
But Connor had already left.