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

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.

Right.

[Hank nods, taking a slow breath and trying to hold on to Connor telling him not to apologize. It's fine. He bought them time, and Connor's already forgiven him for it. It's fine.]

Right, uh, tell me if we get within - I don't know, what do you think? Fifty miles? A hundred miles? - of some place they own. I don't know if that's even doable, they're kind of everywhere, aren't they? But maybe we can manage it until you finish that program. If you uh, think it's worth running it and cutting yourself off.

Got it, Lieutenant.

[The quick agreement is indicative of one thing: he does think it’s worth it.]

I can make an attempt to finish it when we settle somewhere for the afternoon or evening. In the meanwhile, we should make use of the daylight given to us.

Yeah.

[And so Hank does. He gets off the highway for a while, once he's pretty sure he won't end up just going in a circle and going back toward Detroit. It's a small town he's looking for, some kind of hotel that's small time enough to probably be off the grid, and he hasn't yet found it.]

You against me sleeping in the car tonight too? Or can we stop for a while? If I have to stare at a fuckin road any longer I'm going to go crosseyed.

[Hank sounds tired, probably looks tired, rubs at one eye and then the other as best he can while still looking out at the road. He doesn't need to sleep, really, but this is more than he's driven all at once in a long time, or maybe ever, and he can't even ask Connor to take over.]

Stop and take a break. You don’t need to keep pushing yourself on my account.

[He knows that it’s a useless statement. Hank will keep doing it and Connor will keep telling him not to, and they’ll put themselves on repeat while the same happens again and again. But they’ve come a long way by now. They can afford for Hank to rest.]

If we need to stay someplace for more than just one night, I think we can afford to.

Nah we'll just stop like, half an hour and then keep moving.

[He's perked up a little, though, now that it's agreed they're going to stop for a bit, and he takes one turn and then another to try and find a street tiny and out of the way enough to pull over on.]

I'm still not convinced that they're gonna put out some big manhunt for us even after they find your tracker in my house - I mean, I know they won't on my account, anyway.

[He huffs, amused at the wild idea of anyone back home giving half a shit about him just disappearing.]

So what kinda reaction we get probably depends on what Cyberlife thinks about you being gone, and we won't know that till they contact you, so. I did take out enough cash to let us stay in one place a while, but till we know for sure what we're running from we might as well try not to end up on dumb criminal news. No staying in one place longer than a few hours, no uh, takin you out to the club or whatever before we got our disguises down, all that fun stuff.

I don’t think CyberLife will be very happy about me going missing. But it’s mainly dependent upon how the issue with the deviants plays out in Detroit, which is obviously where their priorities should be focused on.

[Except Connor was a big part of the solution to this perceived problem; he knows that, and it’s really all dependent upon how badly they want their investment back.]

Even so, you can’t keep up this pace forever, Hank. I need you focused and rested just as much as anything — don’t do us both a disservice.

[Knowing that if he adds them both into the equation, the argument will hold more water.]

[Hank sighs and shrugs and, yeah, reminding Hank that Connor's at risk if Hank pushes himself too hard here is a good strategy. Lucky for Hank he has a comeback.]

Once you get that program up and running I'll be happy to swap seats with you for a while.

[He decides here is as good a place as any and pulls over, fiddling with the car's hologram again and rubbing the heel of a hand against an eye.]

It's not like I just love driving that much, or like I'm sleeping any less than I would anyway or, I don't know, whatever it is you think I'm gonna do. I'll just get you out of the danger zone and once you can take over and I'll catch up on as much sleep as you think my dinky little human body needs. Till then it's not like I'm... I'm not pushing any more than I can handle, okay? I'm not gonna fall asleep at the wheel or uh, or anything like that.

[Unfortunately for Connor, that is a solid argument. And it's difficult to volley one right back that doesn't center around "but I just want to make sure you're feeling well and taking care of yourself", which he knows isn't quite as effective in Hank's case.

He mouth remains pulled into a slight frown.]

I don't doubt that you think you'll be using your best judgment. That doesn't mean I still can't worry.

[All the more reason to hasten running the programming, as if there weren't already plenty.]

[Hank makes a face at him, uncomfortable, and shifts around until his back is braced between the car door and the seat. It's not the most comfy position but for sleeping in a car where the backseat is filled with dog, it's pretty good, and this way he can watch Connor while he does it. He wraps his arms around his chest, watching Connor and thinking about that, that worry.]

Do you think you uh, imprint on people? Or I mean, they imprint on you? Maybe androids in general but uh, mostly just you. I don't want to be condescending or whatever but uh, real talk, do you think that's what happened with...?

[He gestures between the two of them, looking apprehensive, and then folds that arm back under his other one. It would explain a lot, if Connor just kind of imprinted on his assigned partner like a baby duck.]

[Connor has half a mind to ask if he wants him to move to the backseat for the sake of legroom (that doesn’t look very comfortable), when Hank’s question has him furrowing his brow. On instinct, he scoots over closer to the door on the off-chance his partner does want to stretch out a little.]

Imprint?

[He isn’t quite sure what to make of that question.]

Because I’m concerned about you?

[Is that your logic, Hank?]

Well-

[Hank hunches his shoulders up, feeling awkward.]

You make it sound so dumb. Hell, I don't know how androids work, maybe they do imprint on humans, try to, like, pair up, or whatever. Cause, I don't know Connor, the first nice thing I ever did for you was to fuckin robot roofie you, tear out a fuckin piece of your body, and shove you in the back of my car. And before that, too, what the hell kind of reason did I give you to...

[He shrugs. That awkward feeling hasn't gone away so, yay! That's fun.]

I don't know, it'd just, it'd explain a lot, that's all.

[It’s odd, when Hank puts it that way. Makes it sound like he latched onto the man rather quickly as his friend, as if doing so were... irrational? And for a brief moment, his LED swirls on his temple, trying to decide if maybe what Hank said is true, and tries to think of situations where androids had “imprinted” on their owners, but his database comes up with nothing matching that exact term.]

I...

[But he thinks of Daniel on that rooftop, helicopter blades pushing relentless air against a clear pool already tainted with a body draining blood. Remembers how attached he was to a family that was keen on replacing him for a newer model, and how that made him feel — enough to go deviant and act out in hurt and anger, with no other recourse available to him.

(Remembers high caliber bullets tearing through his body on the lip of that rooftop, splattering blue at Connor’s feet.)

Connor’s LED flashes into the yellow. Maybe not exactly the example he wanted to dredge up from memory, those months back.]

I think it’s possible for androids to get attached to humans. But if you’re asking me why I... consider you my friend—

[Well.]

We’ve been through a lot together in these past few days. Even before you took my tracker out. I’ve never... worked with someone so closely before.

[Even to his own ears, it sounds like a flimsy reason. His mind works at finding something else more satisfying to say as silence settles.]

That is to say, I don’t believe there is a single thing that qualifies as causing a friendship between two people. Don’t humans call it “chemistry”?

[Connor seems to really consider it, which surprises Hank. Hank has just enough time to think about what it would mean if Connor says, yes, actually, I realize I did imprint on you and therefore everything we've shared is false before Connor begins to come to a conclusion - a conclusion that, Hank's stupidly grateful to realize, has nothing to do with anything Hank suggested. The relief makes him snort, amused, looking down at his knees.]

Chemistry, huh? You poor bastard.

[But whether Connor should stick with Hank or find someone better is a talk Hank's already suffered through, so he leaves that at that.]

But I guess you're right. Feelings like that, just liking someone, they don't always uh, make sense like we want them to. It's just weird, that's all, like I ought to give you a better reason to give a shit than just, I don't know, being me at you.

[Hank rolls his head back against the headrest to point his jaw at the backseat and tries to pull his tone back up into something lighter, or as light as he can get it.]

Maybe it's Sumo, you ever thought of that? I mean, you don't have that much experience with feeling stuff yet, maybe you just like me for my dog.

[He isn't sure what to make of that response, other than the fact that he's glad it's not a dismissal. Poor bastard, though. That self-deprecation again, which will never fail to make Connor's brows cinch together.]

I haven't had much of a chance to figure out the complexities behind feelings, you're right about that. But I know that you don't have to give me a reason to feel the way I do; I just do.

[It's so... inelegant of an explanation, running against the grain of the detail-oriented mind of an RK800. But for now, it'll have to do. He really can't unravel the intricacies of something as complex as human emotion just yet, not when he's barely understanding it himself.

The last part, the lighter tone, he does catch this time. He follows through with it.]

But... no, never mind. I take it back, Lieutenant. I'm only here because of you're dog. That is exceptionally clear to me now.

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