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]

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.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Same difference.

[He squints at the screen, realizes what he's been reading is the intro, and gives a series of angry taps to skip it.]

Why's the success of the mission gotta come before the success of you? I mean- your wellbeing. You know what I mean.

[bleps]

Because the point of my existence is to see a successful mission through to the end. If injury to myself does not hinder this substantially, then I see no reason why I shouldn’t act accordingly.

[Maybe some of this is defiantly spoken — maybe Connor has felt the flicker of fear associated with deactivation, though he’s not inclined to say that now.

Also... that’s a lot of tapping. Hank’s phone screen?]

What are you doing?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

What?

[Oh. What's he doing. Because the phone in his hand.]

Right. What 'm I doing. Dancing a fuckin samba. Don't change the subject. You got it the wrong way around, Connor. The mission is just there. You're your mission.

Fuck, if I couldn't explain this before on a full night's sleep, why the hell am I...

[bleps]

[Connor frowns, wondering if he should press the issue further. But what was the point, if he couldn’t move? If he was stuck like this, still imprisoned in his own body? His options weren’t just limited, they were non-existent.]

...you should rest. It’s dangerous for you to drive while exhausted.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[He laughs, exasperated, stressed, and shifts around to try and stretch his legs out over the duffle bag on the passenger seat, letting his head thunk back against the window.]

You warning me for your sake or mine? I'm not driving, anyway. And I'm not done. There's no fucking time.

Hey, Connor, you think you could make a really annoying noise for a while, keep me up?

[bleps]

For both of our sakes.

[Not done? Connor pauses, mulling over that. He treats the last question as practically irrelevant.]

Sure, Lieutenant. Allow me ample time to work on that for you.

[8| No, he won’t.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Ha. Fuckin smartass.

[There's a smile in his voice. Connor sounds like himself - kind of pissed, but like himself - and it's kind of the most comforting thing happening right now. But he doesn't try to provoke any more of that sarcasm. His brain can only do one thing at a time right now, and that only barely. Hank sighs some, taps at the screen some, curses under his breath a little, and slowly slides down the side of the door without realizing it, until his phone is laying on his chest, his neck is at just the right angle to feel like royal shit in a few hours, and Hank is asleep.]

[bleps]

[Connor is quiet, listening. He hears the subtle noise of Hank shifting, wondering if he’s just readjusting himself to be more comfortable, but then he listens to his breathing. Strains the audio processing of his biocomponents just to be sure, but it’s unmistakeable. Deep, steady. The kind that humans employ when they’re sound asleep.

His mind works at a solution to his problem, now that there’s a faint chance of not being interrupted. But being useless as he is, it’s difficult to know what to do — there’s nothing back here that he can utilize, nothing that he can see at least, and even if he could, he couldn’t move.

Connor feels Sumo shift next to him.]

...Sumo. [His voice is low, a whisper, but still trying to grab the dog’s attention.] Sumo!

[He tries to move his head, to make some kind of rustling noise under the blanket. Results are limited at best.]