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

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.]

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.

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?

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...

[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.

[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?

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.]

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.]

[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.]

[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.]

Edited 2018-08-09 01:14 (UTC)

[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?

[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.]

[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.]

[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.]

[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.]

[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-]

[The bark is loud, startling, and only motivates Connor to move faster. He knows Hank’s going to wake up with Sumo getting excited, and so he bolts out, inhibitor component clutched in a palm. Darts to the edge of the trees, working all on instinct, as if his limbs have been coiled with energy after being still for so long. Tosses the stupid thing clear over branches and into a little creek just down the way, landing with a inconspicuous, almost cartoonish plop in the water.

He realizes, belatedly, that he could’ve just crushed it under his heel instead of throwing it, but... he’ll allow himself some irrational thinking, since apparently his mind is just brimming with it these days.

He hears movement in the car, doesn’t seem to initially care, not even looking over. Falling snow catches in his hair.]

[Hank snatches his gun from the glove compartment and stumbles out of the car, holding the gun steady in both hands and moving on instinct-

And then he sees Connor on the other side of the car and over toward the trees, too far away to grab but not too far for a bullet - there's not even as much risk of an android bleeding out like there is with a human, and he has a better idea now than he ever did of where to aim to incapacitate.

His gun doesn't rise more than halfway. He stands there, panting, feeling his heart going a million miles a minute, and watches Connor, just standing there. Why the hell is he just standing there?

He'd expected an attack, kill Hank or just throw him on the side of the road, steal the car. In the sudden absence of that, he doesn't know what to do. In a few seconds, maybe the rest of him will wake up and figure it out. For now he watches Sumo amble up beside Connor, glancing back at Hank and then looking back in the same direction Connor's looking. The two of them standing together like that, from the back, all outlined in falling snow, they look like a picture.

Hank watches them, and he doesn't move. He can't move.]

Edited (remembered sumo exists...) 2018-08-09 02:57 (UTC)

[It’s nice to be able to move again, he thinks. That’s all that flashes through his mind at the moment, just that stark feeling of no longer feeling like he’s a prisoner of his own body.

There’s the sound of something padding along in the snow, and Connor looks down to see Sumo. Smiles faintly at him, wanting to reach down and pet him, when he realizes that Hank is probably catching up to him right about now—

He turns to see he Lieutenant half-heartedly holding his gun, not quite aiming at him. Connor doesn’t say anything at first, eyes just skating over the man, trying to analyze the situation from here. The distance isn’t optimal, the snow is a white haze that obscures his form only slightly.]

Are you going to shoot me, Hank?

[Incapacitate him, toss him back into the car and let his blood stain the backseat blue?]

[Hank opens his mouth to answer once, then again. His gun rises an inch, two, three. Then it dips again. Finally, he speaks.]

I should. Who else is going to keep you from doing something really stupid?

[His face twists up into a sneer when he says it. It's easy for him to hate Cyberlife, always was, even if he's got a different reason now, and Connor was right - he can't hope to understand what it's like to know just that one thing, that one purpose, your whole life. He can't respect it, can't respect chasing that at every cost, and he doesn't want to.]

Edited 2018-08-09 03:16 (UTC)

[He stares at him for a long moment, expression reverting back into that default, faraway look that all androids possess. But it’s purposeful; it’s him considering, while trying not to give too much away. Not when the man before him — his friend — is armed and might just shoot him if he tries to make a run for it.

Instead, he steps forward. Once, twice.]

It isn’t your concern nor your authority to dictate what I can and can’t do. If I wanted to walk all the way back to Detroit, do you think you could stop me?

I could try. I should try.

[His gun rises again, a little.]

If you're going back to get picked up by Cyberlife you're going to have to get rid of me first.

Get “rid” of you.

[That makes him frown, makes his brow furrow. Shatters the placid expression on his face, as short-lived as it was.]

I’m not going to hurt you, Hank.

You might as fucking well.

[Hank's starting to breathe hard, emotion trying to pull back that adrenaline rush that'd faded when Connor hadn't attacked him. The air's cold enough to burn his throat; he was too fucked up when he left the house, he realizes, to think to bring a good winter jacket. If this little standoff takes so long that he is shivering by the time it's time to shoot, he is going to be pissed.]

What the hell do you think's going to happen to me if they kill you? Or make you into some obedient little robot?

[Connor’s sensors tell him with great accuracy just how cold it is. Not detrimental to his own body, and even if it was, he wouldn’t do so much as shiver. Just let the snow fall, little white flakes catching on his normally pristine, perfect uniform.

Hank’s words make him feel another surge of something he had never experienced before. At this whole entire station being thoroughly unfair, and how it claws at him.]

You can’t blame me for that. [One more step forward, but the car stands between them, and it’s as far as he will comfortably go.] You can’t put the consequences of what I’ll do from here on me, when you were the one who kidnapped me! Who tore out my tracker!

[His voice raises without him realizing it.]

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