PSL; [It's bigger than us, it's bigger than everything]

[bleps]

((ooc; cont. from here))

[Anything happening within the walls of Hank's house is now being shattered by the blaring of the doorbell. Once, twice, a third time for a bit longer. Less an actual doorbell and more of a buzzer, a harsh thing that is sure to grab the attention of anyone possessing a heartbeat within. The very obvious sign of someone (a certain RK800 unit) at the door, hoping to find the Lieutenant at his home if he cannot be located at his usual haunts. The sort that serves alcohol, mainly.]

Lieutenant?

[The voice should ring familiar, if not slightly muffled by the obstruction before him. Connor stands waiting, straight-backed, staring at the closed door like the obstacle it is to his entry. The usual curl of hair that falls across his forehead sways in the breeze as he waits, only half-patiently.]

Lieutenant! [The downwards cant of his head, just slightly, eyes averted to the side; the look of someone listening for noise within.] Are you home?

Comments

[bleps]

[He can feel the weight of Sumo settle next to him, feel the lurch of the car beginning to move.

His reply is purposefully unhelpful.]

What do you think the proper response is to a police lieutenant who's disappearing into the wind with a "deviant" in tow?

[He sincerely hopes Hank hears those air quotes.]

What makes you think any of this is worth it?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank sighs, looks out at the traffic, and realizes that he's still not angry. He can still feel Connor's guts - his wires, sensors, tubes - the way they'd felt brushing against his hands, but maybe that's not the whole reason. Shock, maybe. Do kidnappers go into shock? That'd be fucking funny.]

A police lieutenant who's making off with some pretty expensive equipment. You're a felony, probably, at least, not that the length of the jailtime really matters when the guy going in is a cop. But who gives a shit about the lieutenant. What about the... the equipment? Cops'll return it to its legal owners, and they'll... stick another tracker in and send you back out into the world to keep kicking the asses of all those poor bastards who only ever wanted to be safe? You think that's how it's going to go down?

[bleps]

[Connor’s quiet for a moment, digging into a certain swath of subroutines made to negotiate. A change in tactics, since the last thing he wishes to do is answer the Lieutenant in a sincere way. To admit that no, he’d be lucky if he had a tracker stuck back in him at all. They’d take one look at the Code 4 errors swimming around in his head and shut him down.]

And how many more line items are you going to add to your long list of misconducts, Hank? Just another felony for the road? Are you really going to throw your career away from an RK800 who doesn’t even want to be here? There’s no going back after this. You and I both know that this is more than just a case of you stealing “equipment” — if Cyberlife finds me, accesses my memories, see what kind of errors are compiling in my head, it isn’t just equipment you’ve stolen. You’re running off with evidence relating to an on-going case. That you’ve been working. How’s that going to look on your file?

[He pauses, wondering if those words were sharp enough to hook into Hank’s mind. To pull this sudden bout of morality out of alignment.]

…We can turn back now. We’re not that far; go back to your house, put the tracker back in, and then keep working on the case. We weren’t out of time yet.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank actually laughs. It's different from the laughing he'd been doing just - what, shit, earlier this evening? It's not really a laugh, more breath than anything else.]

Fuck, Connor. I guess you didn't find out dick from my file. My career? My fucking- That's what you're going with?

[His laugh turns into a giggle and he takes a couple fast, unsteady breaths, swallows, takes an unnecessary turn, in case Connor's tracking the direction of the car by feel. He takes a couple more breaths, slower now, and swallows again.]

I thought your big fancy brain was all in your head, I only took out your tracker, didn't I? Didn't fuck up any of those brand new prototype processors? You really think my career's not just as fucking- as fucked up as I am?

[bleps]

[Connor knew it was a long shot, but he still frowns deeply from beneath this damn blanket when it doesn't land. But his bargaining chips are limited, and frustration boils up again.

Somehow, this time, he manages to partially tamp it down.]

Then what am I supposed to appeal to? Tell me, Lieutenant. There aren't very many choices for me to pick from. [Haphazard left turn here, he notes, but he can't trust that Hank isn't taking a convoluted path towards wherever they're going.] If you're throwing it all away because of me then you're making a mistake. I'm not-

[He's not, he's not. He's not what?]

-willing to be responsible for anything that happens to you.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

I threw it away a long time ago, Connor.

[Hank glances at Connor in his rearview mirror, then wonders why. It's not like he can see Connor's face under that blanket. No one right now can see Connor's face.]

But what's left of it- God, you want me to just, what, go into work while you're being inspected, broken down, some nut's going through your code line by line to find out what went so wrong and you want me to, what? Go home and feed my fucking dog? Do you have any fucking idea what you're asking me to do?

[For a moment he just focuses on the road. The only thing that matters right now is getting out of Detroit - not over the border, that's too hard to pull off, just out of Detroit. His route needs to be roundabout but it also needs to be quick. Hank keeps taking random turns while he tries to think clearly enough to plan it all out.]

I used to think- [He takes a breath.] I used to think I was a real tough guy, you know? Wasn't like no one could touch me but I was always a big guy, and after academy? Fuck, I think I coulda torn the world apart, if I wanted to. But I-

You don't know what you're asking. It's nuts that you're even trying to, what, look out for me? You do know you've been fucking kidnapped by me, the guy whose terrible fate you're not willing to be responsible for? But either way, it- God, it doesn't matter, either way there's nothing there to look out for. If you're going to be plotting your daring escape you'd better do it for some other reason. You're barking up the wrong tree if you think there's any point in me turning around and going back home for me.

[bleps]

[The frown doesn’t leave his face. How is it that Hank runs circles around his reasoning? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Is he just flailing to reach for arguments, for points of contention, weak as they are, because he’s too scared to really face what’s happening now? Happening so quickly, faster than this car is moving, diverging down a path where the scenery blurs past, so much he can’t fathom the sudden change.

His reply to that is accordingly weak. His logic and rationale is disintegrating with a lack of arguments that don't revolve around pure emotion.]

Then do it for me. You didn’t give me a choice. You think you’re going to force pure deviancy into my code, by removing my tracker and hiding me away from Cyberlife?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

No.

[Hank's reply is quiet. He looks out the windshield, slowing down a little when he notices the falling snow.]

We still don't know what causes deviancy anyway. Well, we kinda do. But somehow I don't think self defense is gonna do it for you. If I tried to, I don't know, threaten you- [That's a wacky scenario right now, isn't it.] -and you fought back, you'd just be following your orders. And if Cyberlife - or whoever you were telling me about, who you make those reports to - if they tried to dump all your code right now, I think you'd probably just let them.

I don't know, Connor. At least this way I'll know whether you're even alive. That's something, isn't it?

[bleps]

You’re making me out into something I’m not, Hank. I’m a machine.

[The android sent by Cyberlife. Designed to accomplish a task, a mission. What a half-hearted declaration that was, though, and he can’t even bring himself to finish the statement of, I’m not alive.]

You can’t restrict my motor functions forever. It isn’t feasible for you to move a prototype unit from location to location. Someone will eventually notice.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

You're a machine, you're evidence - I know, Connor. I know all that. What I don't know is how fucked up you've gotta be to call yourself 'evidence in an ongoing investigation' cause of errors that are just- that just mean you don't want to kill innocent people, fucking Christ.

I guess I can't tell you what you are, but I can tell you what I see. I can tell you what you convinced me you were, back when you were trying so fucking hard to get me to like you.

A persnickety little shit, vain, always has to be right - driven, focused, stubborn as hell, kind - a goddamn handful in the field, and off it - off it, a good man, when you forget to be... Whatever else it is you are. A machine, I guess. Under the circuits and the, the code, there's a good man, and if keeping him alive and, uh - and in my life, I guess - for a little while longer is all I can do, then why shouldn't I do it? What does it matter if it's 'feasible'?

[bleps]

[He's quiet. He doesn't know what to do with that compliment couched in little complaints. It feels too big for him to carry, like pieces of it are going to slip away if he doesn't process it as succinctly as he can.

A good man. Hadn't he called Hank that earlier... today? Was it only today?]

Trying to adhere to what I was designed to do is the only thing I know. Do you know what it feels like? You forcibly taking all of that away?

[He remembers "waking up" for the first time. The first day of his activation. His consciousness blossoming not on the physical plane, but in the Zen Garden, and Amanda was the first face to greet him. Told him of his name, his designation, his purpose. Repeat them to me, Connor. And he did, inherently understanding at the time it was all he needed to know, all he needed to do — just to be satisfied with prescribing to his set purpose. Why wouldn’t he?

Strange, unquantifiable, how that memory now feels like a shade of a thing. A phantom in his code, haunting every action he takes.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank's quiet for a while.]

This is what I was thinking about, you know. When you told me I was, uh - better than I thought I was.

[Their thoughts are, for a second, on the same track.]

About pulling your insides out and forcing you somewhere you don't wanna go.

No, I don't know what it's like. But I'm sorry. For what it's worth. Connor, I am sorry.

[bleps]

[He's run out of things to say. Arguments to make, reasoning, cloying negotiations, even that initial flare of anger has lost its drive to make him cry afoul of everything that's happening. It's replaced instead by a hollowing resignation, still lined with trepidation buzzing in his defunct body.

And so he doesn't say anything for a long time. Connor only takes in the noise of the car driving along the road, the occasional feel of Sumo shifting next to him.]

...Where are you taking us?

[He doesn't expect much of an answer, but he asks out of an innate need to know when faced with uncertainty.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

You think I'd tell you?

[But that brief hint of indignation burns itself out quick. It's only a second later when he continues, sounding slow, sounding tired.]

As it happens, I don't have a fuckin clue. Kind of thought I'd just drive until something happens. I wish- funny, if the investigation'd gone a little better maybe I'd take you to whoever's running that damn android revolution. Or take one of them to you. But if it went better, I wouldn't need to do this. I mean, I'd need to. For all the other poor bastards like you. But let's be real, I wouldn't be able to.

If you were me, where would you take you? Besides 'home'?

[bleps]

'Drive until something happens'. You neglected to even plan this out properly.

[But just as Hank's indignation is a flame dying in a breeze, so is Connor's.]

...It almost doesn't matter where you take me. I obviously won't be fleeing, not like this. And I doubt you currently trust me to not attempt to run.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeah. That's what I was thinking.

[Hank doesn't say much after that. What is there to say? He drives, and he falls into the fugue of it, the endless road in front of him and a life that kind of wasn't behind. After a while, he gets far enough from the city that there are back roads and he pulls over as far in the cover of the trees as he dares - a flat tire would be a pain right now - and fiddles with the settings of the hologram around his car until it looks like different model than it did before, with a different license plate.]

Hey, Connor. Still with me back there?

[bleps]

[Connor had remained silent up until he feels the car roll to a stop. Quietly counting the time that’s passed, as there was very little to do in the interim — stubborn as he is, it became soon obvious that fighting against his rebelling limbs was a waste of processing power.

He doesn’t reply immediately, but when he does, it’s dry in that very Connor-like way.]

I’m not in a very viable position to go anywhere, Lieutenant.

[He knows that wasn’t what he meant.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeah, but Cyberlife can still- ah, all sorts of shit, probably.

[Hank's seat squeaks as he leans backward, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.]

You doing okay? Any weird side effects from the uh, the stunner thing?

[bleps]

I can’t move.

[A light dusting of sarcasm for you, Hank.]

When do you plan on remedying this?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[He huffs, for a split second almost amused before this whole situation squeezes it out of him.]

When do you plan on activating that self preservation bullshit you're supposed to have?

[bleps]

[And at the drop of a hat, sarcasm bleeds out and leaves Taking Things Too Literally as a replacement, per usual.]

My self preservation routines were never dormant to begin with.

[He wishes the tie-now-blindfold would be removed. Even just blinking against the light oozing through the blanket would be a nice reprieve.]

You’re tired.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yep.

[The chair squeaks again as Hank straightens up, takes his hands off his eyes, and takes out his phone, tapping on its screen to open up some stupid 'coding for dummies' books Dave downloaded onto it. Dave chose that one as a joke, probably, but fuck, what else does he have?]

And trying to believe your bullshit's only gonna make it worse. Look at the way you act, Connor. You really think you act in your own self interest?

[bleps]

Do you have further criticisms regarding the way I handle our cases?

[More rustling. The tapping on a phone screen.]

Or is this more commentary regarding my working relationship with Cyberlife?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Uh.

[He yawns so hard his eyes go a little watery, and he has to rub at them again.]

Fuck. Little of both. You'd be a great cop if you could just look out for yourself more. But I don't know how much of that's you and how much of it's, I don't know, mortal fear of what'll happen if you don't do good enough.

[bleps]

The success of the mission — or rather, decisions to perpetuate that success — always supersede what you might call “mortal fear”. Though I wish you would not always equate that to recklessness.

[The yawn is noted, too. Loud and lingering. He wonders how long Hank will stay awake at this rate.]