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

[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.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Sumo makes an alert noise, quieter than a bark but louder than a whisper, and lifts his head to nudge the bump in the blanket where Connor's face is. His tail hits the seat as it wags expectantly; the start of the trip was a long time ago and Sumo is thirsty, and expecting food, and has to pee.]

[bleps]

[In retrospect, this will not be one of this RK800 unit’s finer moments. But Connor isn’t concerned with dabbling in the ridiculous if it means a way to get this damn inhibitor off of him, and Sumo’s attention is promising. He wonders if he can get his curiosity to meander under the blankets without waking Hank.

It’s been a while. He must be hungry. (Hank should feed him, he thinks, in a hilariously ancillary way.)]]

Sumo... [Connor’s voice is still a half-whisper. But he tries to add a lilt of energy to it.] Hungry? Want to eat?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Sumo's tail goes faster and he lets out a bark. Not his loudest, but enough to make Hank mumble and stir, his arm flopping between the seats close to where Sumo lays. Sumo doesn't notice; all his attention's on the words that bring food and he nudges at the blanket over Connor's face, shuffling it half off him to try and get him to stand up and bring it.]

[bleps]

[Connor winces a little at the light bark, eyes trying to flick over judge if Hank’s stirring too much... before realizing he wouldn’t be able to see, anyway.

But he feels the blanket having shifted, falling away from half of his form, and the muzzle of Sumo trying to encourage him to sit up. (He would if he could, he thinks.)

Sumo’s big, his strength not insubstantial; if he can maybe nudge against the little inhibitor on his chest, it would be enough to dislodge it.]

Come on, Sumo. Let’s eat. [Don’t let him down, furry buddy.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Sumo whines, starting to get to his feet - his paws - but not having an easy time of it with so much space taken up by this big blanket lump. His wagging tail is starting to make his butt wiggle, which is sort of starting to rock the car. Sumo knows what he has to do, because Sumo has done it more than once: after his hind end slips down behind the seats he's stable enough to raise a big front paw and drag it repeatedly here and there over Connor's chest. That usually makes the standing up happen, and then the food happens, and honestly right now food happening would be amazing.]

[bleps]

[The jostling of the car? Not particularly good, especially since he can’t see what’s happening. Can’t see if Hank’s going to wake up and put a stop to this admittedly very sloppy escape plan. But the pressure of Sumo pawing against his chest? Very good.

Connor continues with low-toned encouragement, until a nail from Sumo’s paw catches in that sweet spot — right against the device clinging to his chest, prying it up. The connection falters, and Connor can feel motor functions returning. As soon as he can, his fingers twitch to life, and he raises an arm to grip at the thing on his chest to properly detach it.

Stay quiet, he reminds himself. Slowly he sits up, and his other hand pulls down the tie around his eyes. Connor quickly glances around. Sees Sumo, sees Hank thankfully still sleeping. He idly runs his hand through the large dog’s fur.]

...good boy.

[Sumo is his new favorite living thing on the planet.

Carefully, without disturbing anything in the car — or at least trying to — he moves towards the door and tries to open it slowly, attempting to slide out.

He hopes Sumo isn’t too riled up, or won’t feel too upset about how he’s not getting his food just yet.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Too late, Connor. Now Sumo has expectations. He tries, clumsy in the back seat of the car, to follow, barking in excitement at the food and outside that's almost here. Hank's whole body jerks when he does it.]

Shit, Sumo...

[Hank wipes a hand over his eyes, half rolling over before he realizes that this is not just any Sumo-mandated wake up call. For one thing, parts of the car are digging into his butt. For another, there's a shock of cold air coming from the backseat-

Where the door is open. Where the blanket draped over it is empty.]

Shit-

[Hank scrambles to turn around, adrenaline making all the aches and pains of sleeping in shitty positions for a-night-and-not-much-change seem insignificant. Which it is, because Connor is out, Connor who is Cyberlife's man no matter what parts of himself he has to cut out along the way, Connor who is going to fucking kill him-]