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

[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.]

Yeah. That's on me. You think I didn't know what I was doing? You think I didn't wonder if, if, uh- if that made me just as bad as them, taking that choice away from you?

[His voice firms up. He shakes his head.]

But I'd do it again. I'd do worse, if I had to, if that's what it took to give you a life. A real life, not 'go here, go there, do whatever the fuck we want or we'll crush you into a really expensive cube.' Something you can live on your own terms. Don't you want that?

[His voice goes low and breathless, confused. This is the part that gets to him most about all of this.]

Why don't you want that?

[He looks at Hank, confused. He wonders why he can’t see it, the range of choices that now hang over his head, when he used to walk one path only. One clear, defined road with no winding middles, no forks in the path. Only finish what you were designed to do, what you were expected to do, and take some satisfaction in knowing that you’re proper, functional, correct, measured by your success.

Why doesn’t the other man realize that this freedom he’s trying to shove into his hands is so utterly, completely...]

Because I’m-

[Terrified.]

-I don’t know what to do! You make it sound like it’s easy.

[He leans an angry hand onto the flat trunk of the car, his other arm points back down the road, where Detroit is far behind them.]

That I can just let go of Cyberlife and say everything’s going to be fine? Like they’re not going to send another one of me to hunt you down, or swoop in and find me and drag me back to their facilities and shut me off? Don’t you see that the other option was simpler? Safer? We still had time. The case was still ours!

Safer? Are you kidding? There's no fucking way we'd have 'cracked the case' in the time we had. You know why? Cause there's nothing there to crack! Just people, trying to defend themselves! People like you!

[He speaks slower now, frowning, disappointed.]

You'd hang a whole- shit, a whole species out to dry just because you, what? Think those bastards are gonna promote you if you're a real good boy? With the way they're treating you? What do you think you'd get even if you did find everything out and solve all their problems? And would it be worth it? Would any of it be worth it?

No. I don’t... I don’t know.

[I don’t know. The RK800, Cyberlife’s shining prototype, always having an answer for everything, always knowing how to proceed.

Stalled out, useless, at a crossroads.

He loses eye contact with Hank, as if his words ring so true that they physically sever that connection. He looks at an empty spot on the trunk of the car, shaking his head. Feeling a tremble of something that isn’t the cold. All of the fire has gone out of him.]

I’m scared, Hank. Why can’t you see that?

[And just like that all the anger disappears from Hank's posture, from his voice. He looks pained, instead, lets out a breath that fogs the air in front of him, lets his voice go all careful.]

Then let's get in the car, and figure this out. Together. Okay? I'm not saying we can solve all your problems but we can do something. Think you can do that? Just until you figure out what to do?

[Hank's gun is pointed almost straight at the ground now. If Connor does decide to incapacitate him and make a break for it, now would be the best time. But Hank's offered an open hand, and worked Connor down to the point where he thinks Connor could actually decide to take it. This is it, maybe. Moment of truth.]

[Can a city have a pulse? Can it have eyes? It must, in some way that Connor cannot explain, but he feels it — Detroit’s breath on his neck, its gaze from miles away, through the pollution and snow and sky, its presence thrumming in him, like Thirium shooting through his body. Reminding him that it’s there, and that in its ugly heart lies Cyberlife; waiting for his return, back into the a neat little slot set aside just for him, his place to be stored, to wait until technicians can swing by and see all that’s wrong with him, and his jagged edges can be smoothed down and he can try again. He can try again, and maybe this time he’ll be successful in every way that he had failed before. And then all those awful errors riddled in his head will be gone, and he can forget about emotions and Hank Anderson trying to get him back into the car, trying to convince him to commit to what he already knows he is.

He could try that. He could try to fit into that perfect slot shaped like himself, just throw himself away to Cyberlife to be a cog in the machine until they don’t need him any longer. At least then he would’ve fulfilled a purpose, would’ve been utilized as he was supposed to be. It should be an easy choice. It should be.

But even now, thinking about it, it feels wrong. Like he’s changed too much, a piece of the puzzle that’s warped, and Connor realizes that he doesn’t want to go back to that. Knows that even before Hank made all of his limbs go dead and shuffled him into the backseat of his car, he didn’t want it. When did he make that decision? After Kamski? Before that? He wonders when emotion and empathy began to blossom and crawl along his facsimile of a spine, some beautiful disease with its roots firmly in him now.

(Trichogaster lalius. Dwarf gourami. Blue scaled, flopping weakly in his hand. Why does he remember that now? How odd. How ridiculous.)

After what seems like too long, Connor shakes his head, obstinately.]

…No.

[He lifts his eyes to meet Hank’s, his face twisted with the consequence of thought, these thoughts, running through his head.]

You have to feed Sumo first. He’s hungry.

[Hank's expression crumples into anger and then, as Connor goes on, twists and settles into total confusion. He gives a disbelieving huff.]

You're some kinda crazy, you know that?

[He shifts his gun to one hand and slowly, slowly reaches out and puts it on the car, between them. Then he steps back from it.]

Okay. You don't have to decide now. I'll just...

[He steps around to the trunk, opening it and shivering before he starts trying to heave out the bag of dog food there. He keeps glancing up at Connor as he does it, assessing, trying to figure out what to make of him. It seems wrong to think there was a time when this fucking android didn't confuse the shit out of him.]

I'll just get this done and we'll... You can decide what to do when we get to it. Okay.

[Connor doesn't even glance at the gun between them. He has no interest in it, certainly no will to use it. His decision's already been made, but he won't correct Hank. He'll gladly take the opportunity for a moment of stillness, strange normalcy, between them now. After all that's happened, it feels like a reprieve.

That and poor Sumo really should eat, he thinks.

Connor just nods, watching. Crosses his arms across his chest, though it's impossible for him to feel cold.]

[So Hank feeds the dog. He forgot to bring bowls so he just holds the bag open for Sumo as he digs in, winding his finger into the dog’s fur not tight enough to hurt Sumo, just tight enough to help. He hunches his shoulders against the cold, and the next time his eyes dart to Connor they stay there.]

I guess you don’t care about freezing, but I’m gonna get back in the car. Just-

[Dread tightens up his face, his voice.]

If you decide to go, you tell me first, okay? Will you do that?

[For a rare moment, all he wants to do is just stand out here and watch Sumo eat. It's mundane, but there's something distracting in observing the way snow falls onto his fur, forming minute patterns that dust his coat with white. Details. Connor's eyes, always gravitating towards details. Comforting in the familiarity of it.

But Hank sounds distressed. Connor reaches up to run a hand through his hair, though it's a laughable attempt at righting what has long fallen out of place. He supposes he should clarify, and commit to this decision by putting words to it.]

...I don't want to return to Cyberlife. I don't think I have wanted to for a long while. I'll go with you.

[It doesn't feel like a weight removed, but at least it's out there now.]

I just wanted to make certain that you didn't forget to take care of Sumo in the meanwhile.

[It may not feel like a weight removed to Connor, but it sure does to Hank. He sags, has to rebalance before he falls on his ass. Then he looks down at Sumo. He hasn’t always taken care of Sumo the way he should, maybe; usually on the same nights he hasn’t taken care of himself. He rubs at Sumo’s shoulders for a second, carding his fingers through the thick fur. Then he looks up at Connor, lips turned up a little at one corner, rueful.]

Good thing he has you, huh.

[He looks down, self conscious, at the bag of dog food. Sumo seems like he’s done. Hank rolls up the top and stands, heaving it back into the trunk. He glances one more time at Connor.]

Right.

[He escapes to the car. Once in there he shivers, rubs at his arms, rubs at his eyes. After a minute he comes to terms with the fact that there’s no way his body is going to let him sleep now, not sober, and he picks up his cell phone from where it fell onto the floorboards. Soon enough he’s scowling at the screen, at least half distracted by how dense is the subject in front of him, and how impossible it is going to be for him to learn.]

[He watches as Hank gets back into the car, then his eyes flick over to Sumo, who seems inclined to follow. And then, glancing back down at the road one more time, as if he could see the outline of a bustling, alive city that wasn't really there, Connor turns and heads towards the vehicle. His shoes gently crunch over a thin layer of building snow, white and pristine.

Connor thinks he'll want to sit in the backseat so he can be with Sumo, and for some transient reason, he feels like he might be more self-conscious about… everything if he sat in the front. But there’s a pause first. Then the sound of Sumo clambering into the backseat, followed by Connor. He closes the door.

He scoots over, so that he can lean forward between the two front seats and hand Hank, in a loose grip, something he had forgotten on top of the car — his gun.]

Lieutenant.

[His eyes trace over briefly to Hank's phone, but first... Forget something?]

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