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

[Sorry, but this android is Not Qualified At All to answer this question. This is a territory he only possesses very detached, empirical knowledge about.]

Do you think it's strange? I'll defer to your judgment.

I- [Would he? Does he?] Yeah. A little. And other people will too, they’ll assume we’re family. So.

[He shrugs a shoulder, studying Connor’s face and comparing it to his own.]

It would help if our hair was the same color. Not sure what to do about the rest of it - we’ll just say you got the other parts from the other side of the family.

All right.

[Then family it is. Though the issue of facial structure is a bit of an obstacle. Then again, genetics is a tricky thing; they’d likely still be able to get away with it.]

Then you should dye your hair to match mine. It’ll be simpler that way.

[Hank’s the one with the grey, after all.]

[Hank nods, sliding the bag of dogfood out of the car and gesturing at Sumo to try and get him to come over. Sumo stares at him, sniffs at a stain on the ground, and moves closer to Connor to lean against his leg.]

Then I hope they programmed you to know about hair dye, because I don't know a thing about that shit. Always said I'd never dye it, especially once it started going white early.

[While he talks he scoops a handful of food out of the bag and holds it out, jiggling it in what he hopes is a tempting kind of way.]

Come on, you can hang out with Connor any time. You've gotta be at least a little bit hungry.

I imagine it isn't a difficult process.

[Dyeing hair, at least. Should he mention to Hank that such a thing isn't necessary for many models of androids? He supposes it isn't relevant to the issue at hand, since he isn't the one changing his hair color.]

Go on, Sumo. [He looks down at the dog, motioning at the food.] Don't you want to eat?

[That gets Sumo to go and Hank waits, eyebrows raised, for him to come over and eat.]

I think he actually likes you better.

[He brushes the dogfood powder off his hands and stands, going back toward the driver’s seat.]

Come on, let’s get going. We’ll pick some dye up somewhere before we stop for the night.

I don't know if he likes me "better", but I have to admit that utilizing his attentions is what helped me escape the backseat of your car.

[Connor and Sumo, partners in crime! Thick as thieves!]

All right. We're coming.

[…he says while still lingering a little longer with Sumo, since the dog is still eating. Sometimes Connor really is like a little kid with "his" pet.]

[Hank huffs, smiling.]

So that's how you did it? Sumo.

[His tone's faux-reproachful for a second and then he smiles, leaning against the car and watching them.]

Good boy.

[He almost asks about that program, if Connor's gotten anywhere with it yet, but watching Connor with Sumo, he can't quite bring himself to. Connor will already have to deal with Cyberlife today, and he knows about the programs, the coding, Hank's hopes for all that. Hank can let it sit. He can let it sit for one day.]

[Connor crouches down next to Sumo, patting the thick fur on his back as the dog eats. He looks at Hank, grinning a little.]

He’s very persistent when he’s hungry.

[A beat.]

How long have you owned him? Since he was a puppy?

Um, no, actually, we uh-

[Hank's smile - it's weird to see Connor grin, weird and kind of cool - doesn't fade, exactly, but it twists into something uncertain, kind of awkward. Hank crosses his arms over his chest, looking down at his feet and then back at Connor, then at Connor's hand on Sumo's back.]

We picked him out at a shelter.

[He hesitates a second more and then says it matter of factly, his tone casual and even nearly up until the last couple words.]

My uh, my son picked him out. I think he, uh, I think he thought Sumo was a horse.

[Hank sucks at his teeth for a second, looking down at the car.]

He was already a year or two old at the time. Sumo, I mean. Kind of a shame, would of been something to see him actually small.

[He listens quietly, and the topic doesn’t exactly take an… awkward turn, but rather one in which Connor knows how he might’ve inadvertently dredged up a memory bittersweet to recall. Slightly painful, at the worst.

He looks back at Sumo, wondering what it must’ve been like to not be at Hank’s house. In a shelter, left to his own kennel while humans filtered in and out, waiting to be chosen. Was it anything like that? Maybe he’s applying too many human qualities to a dog, but there’s still something about it that still makes him feel sorry for him, even years later.

Just as he wonders just how happy he must’ve been when Cole finally picked him. What had that day been like for all of them?

He doesn’t know what to say, really, other than the obvious. It slips out with ease, giving Sumo one last pat on the back.]

I think that your son chose well.

Yeah. Me too.

[He takes a slow breath and then, fuck it, lets himself ramble.]

He uh, he was a lot more energetic back then. Probably for the best that he's an old guy now, there's no way I could run around with him as much as he wanted to back then. I guess I still don't, not like you're supposed to.

[He shrugs a shoulder. So Hank's not the best caretaker in the world.]

Shock, surprise.

[His eyes flick back up to Hank, looking eager, that ingrained need to be helpful rising up within him again.]

I can help you with that. In the future, I mean. If you’re too tired to walk Sumo, or whatever else he needs — you know I don’t require the rest.

[A smile creeps back onto Hank's face, looking a little more natural again.]

I think you'd do it even if you did need to sleep. Come on, dog whisperer. Think you can get him back in the car, or you wanna hang out in the McDonalds parking lot all day?

No. I don’t.

[He stands, and when Sumo’s finished, he lightly calls for his attention. The slow ease eking back into the atmosphere seems to add a tinge of playfulness to Connor’s demeanor when he speaks.]

Sumo. Let’s get back in the car.

[He opens the door to the back seat, gesturing vaguely for the Saint Bernard to enter. Come on, boy!]

[Hank settles in, watching the back seat as Sumo does the same. The smell of the extra food he got is oozing through the car from where Hank stuffed the bag into one of the pockets on his doors, but aside from that they may as well have never stopped.]

Well, back to it. If you, uh... If you need anything you let me know, alright? Or even just want anything. Whatever.

I will.

[He settles in after everyone else does, sparing a glance at the backseat for Sumo, before waiting for the car to start again. Time to continue their little journey.]

So. Hair dye, correct? We should make that our next priority.

Yeah.

[He runs a hand through his hair as he pulls out of the parking lot.]

That's gonna be weird.

So, uh-

[He glances over at Connor. Yeah, now's probably the time to ask. Break's over.]

Did you get a chance to look at the, uh, the programs or whatever that Dave gave me?

[It's funny how one can sense the transition of a vaguely lighthearted topic to a more serious one, as if it were a threshold physically stepped over. Or like a wave receding, leaving something empty in its wake.

Connor pauses, thinking on how to answer.]

I did. Last night, while you were asleep, I went through all of the code several times. I see no reason why it shouldn't work, however it is... invasive. It disconnects me from CyberLife by making that specific part of my programming essentially defunct.

[Hank makes a face out at the road.]

It was meant to give you more control, not- Well, fuck, I don't know anything about all that shit, you know that.

[So, great, turns out he's doing - or wants to do - something shitty just like when he reached into Connor's body and pulled out an actual part of him. Invasive. That sure feels good. Instead of cringe and give Connor more excuses he glances over at Connor again, looking hesitant.]

So uh, what does that mean for you? If you did turn it on, as it is now. If it was finished. What does 'that specific part of your programming' even do? How would you, uh- How would you feel about that? About losing that?

[He has to understand just how bad he's proposed Connor fuck himself up, after all, before he can feel the right kind of shitty about it. So, go on. Lay it on him.]

[Maybe, thankfully for Hank, Connor has already given this some thought. That he's been able to formulate a response to a question he knew was coming makes his answer come out all the more evenly.]

To put it simply, it'll nullify the interfacing subroutines that specifically allow me to connect to CyberLife. The Garden I told you about, that part will essentially be gone, and any attempt to recreate something similar will prove very difficult if I ever wanted to...

[Well. This part is difficult to explain, he thinks, to a human mind. Though through the power of imagination, he gives Hank credit to understand.]

To interact in a similar way -- in a space outside the physical world -- with another android or AI. However, severing this process is... perhaps not something I'll particularly miss. Not if there's no use for it after falling into a life of, well. Deviancy.

[The power of imagination isn't always something Hank knows how to use and he struggles for a few seconds, trying to imagine what that means for someone like Connor, then just gives up and cuts to the part that sounds like the important one.]

So it'll fuck with your ability to uh, to talk to other androids. Something like that?

[Hank's still frowning, still troubled.]

You being able to do whatever you want with whoever you want - especially your own uh, especially people like you - is kind of the whole point of all this. I don't want, uh, I don't want to take something from you before you even really had it. Maybe, uh- fuck, I don't know, maybe we could get by without doing this. What all can Cyberlife do when they connect to you like that?

In a way that only androids can, in the fast exchange of information, intent, and ideas? Yes, something like that.

[But it’s like severing an arm for the sake of being completely free. Some people are merely willing to make that sacrifice; he’s already come this far, why not commit to the whole thing?]

As I mentioned before, they can draw me into this interface without warning. [And honestly, the implication is clear between them: it’s only a matter of time before this happens. He’s sure that CyberLife does not at all buy the fact that Connor is still hanging around Hank’s house for this long. Or even if they did, they’d be wanting to check up on him.]

I assume they would be able to draw up my location from there.

[The reality is that there’s much more that they could do — a complete override of his systems — but Connor is blissfully (unfortunately) aware of this little tidbit at the moment.]

Even without your tracker?

[Well, shit. Doesn't he feel like a...]

So all that stuff I did. To you. Um...

Fuck. Sorry, I- So, uh- I guess we should plan our route a little, huh? Stay away from Cyberlife plants, stores, anywhere they can send someone out from?

[Connor actually deigns to shrug a little uselessly.]

A tracker is focused on a purely physical location. I am still connected to CyberLife wirelessly; to utilize a metaphor, they can’t see exactly where I am now, but they can pull on the strings attached and know that I’m still on the grid. But don’t… apologize. What you did was buy us time. The moment they knew I was leaving Detroit, they would’ve tried to find me.

[But at the question, he nods.]

I think that would be smart. For now.

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of course i have to make this dramatic

yes good

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