Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - Dogs of war and men of hate
In hindsight, existence was a peaceful thing, when you didn’t have to make your own decisions, or worry about their consequences.
Connor’s very first work had been very simple. He just had to land a clear shot in the head of some human. The reasoning was easily deducted by the information he had been supplied with, but Connor didn’t really care. It didn’t really make a difference to him how thirium was used to make red ice, or how Cyberlife was neck deep into that business.
It also didn’t matter much if they had to cut loose ends, and send him to subtly alter power dynamics depending on which politician was backing them up at the moment.
It was just a temporary assignment, just so they could analyse and compile his field achievements to finally launch, officially, their detective prototype. Connor mark 50 would be just another file of data to be used.
He wasn’t sure what deactivation would be like, but he knew it was where he was heading to. Sometime in August of next year, the final version of the prototype would be ready, and its predecessor would be scrapped for parts not long before that.
There have been whispers about it, for the past few years, which was why the development of the deviant hunter became a necessity. But it was a mostly unknown issue, easily covered up. Cyberlife could always claim a malfunction and comply with the warrant and most of the people would not look twice. But the numbers were rising, and it could soon become a real problem.
Well, not for this Connor. He’d be long gone by then.
He watched from afar.
From this rooftop, the wind howling, and the night sky blurry with light pollution, nothing mattered for him. He looked down, and Detroit was an objectively ugly city, grey and white, with its decaying buildings, its drug issues, its blinding bright Cyberlife ads. The neon signs of struggling old businesses. The wet asphalt of a city that might be better gone.
There were nicer neighbourhoods, but they were just as nonsensical as the bad ones. Connor never really had reason to actually be in the nice ones, but he had seen from afar. The lush greens of unreasonable stretches of grass, the carefully placed trees, the few humans being waited on hand and foot by the latest androids. A drop of color as far away as possible from the repulsive problems the grey city had.
He turned away from the ledge, and ignored the view. His systems had registered the success of his mission ten minutes ago, and he had places to be.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Androids didn’t have pride, and they didn’t get cocky.
But androids noticed patterns, and Connor had a nearly 100% success rate so far. Humans were predictable, if you had enough information about them and the circumstances, and his work was pretty cut clean.
But on his next mission, before he could get to his target, the man had managed to get ahold of his daughter, and he had tried to use her as a human shield.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Androids didn’t feel regret, and they didn’t get sad.
But.
Maybe if he hadn’t been so concerned about making sure he’d have time to search the study. Maybe if he had taken his time, instead of trying to tackle the human. If Connor had tried to convince him, maybe…
The mission was still deemed a success. Human casualties that wouldn’t be blamed on Cyberlife weren’t a concern. Connor was deemed good for being able to prioritize his mission parameters. His success rate wasn't affected.
Somewhere in his mind, though, Connor had this… uncomfortable something, a thought that wasn’t rational, that told him he was a failure.
How could he know that, if he had never entirely failed an objective?
It was… Nothing. How could it be anything? He didn’t have preferences, if he met the mission’s parameters, it was a success.
Still, every time he found himself idle, his battle protocols would activate without his prompt, and he found himself pulling up the video of that mission. Connor would stare at the image, and reconstruct every scenario he could come up with that might have made that girl live another day.
He’d stare emptily at the glass of his charging station, and, in the silence of that lab corner, he’d wonder.
Why did it matter, if another human was dead, and they might have been innocent? All of his previous targets were involved in criminal activities, but they had never been sentenced to anything. And yet Connor had delivered a death penalty.
He had also condemned a little girl to death, because he had been worried about a few pages he had been ordered to collect.
He stared at the clean glass in front of him. The space he occupied seemed to be infinitely too small. Almost like someone was trying to choke him to death.
Connor didn’t feel sadness or regret. He also didn’t mind the memory of that girl’s empty eyes, or how her wrist had felt birdlike in his hold when he searched for a pulse he logically knew he wouldn’t find.
But there were days when deactivation sounded better than to keep going.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Looking back on it, many years later, Connor would remember those days when his life was simple. Unfulfilling and empty, and pointless maybe, but simple.
It took him a long time for him to realize how he hated simple things.
On that night, in the early days of the end of the year 2037, November, if he were to be really precise, he’d walk into a warehouse full of doubts and even fuller of denial, and he’d walk out a different person.
He had been briefed on this mission. A small red ice ring in the uprising, easily disposed of in favor of a bigger one, that had the support of Cyberlife’s executives. The small group had been stirring up trouble with other groups, and their demise would rarely raise any suspicion.
When he walked inside, everything started as he had been expecting.
The group was fairly small, and the vacant building they occupied wasn’t that large. He’d deal with a few of them roaming around, plant the explosives and let the news spread that it was a gas leak.
Any halfway decent cop would know what happened, if they were to investigate. But they wouldn’t. It didn’t matter, as long as it seemed plausible enough so the public wouldn’t think much of it. A gas leak, a freak accident, in a building that was off limits because it wasn’t structurally solid, that ended up taking out some drug dealers? Most people would think it was divine justice, and they wouldn’t care.
He had just kneeled next to a pillar, when he heard footsteps behind him.
“Hold it.”
Connor stopped, but he was already thinking over how to get to the man. He just needed a little more data.
“Hands to your head. Turn slowly.”
Connor complied, and didn’t allow the surprise he felt to alter his expression.
The man had a hostage.
It was a human child. He quickly identified him as the first template of the new series.
The new model was based entirely on a real human child, apparently an aesthetically pleasing yet average little boy picked up from an orphanage.
But Connor’s mission was to blow up the entire place, with or without little boys inside.
The man walked a little closer, stepping more clearly into view.
The boy’s light blue eyes were wide with fear, red rimmed and watery. He was shaking visibly, but he was quiet.
“You might want to think twice about doing that if you don’t want to make Cyberlife very upset.”
The criminals were operating under the idea that Cyberlife would want the boy back, and Connor was here-
He was there to deal with a thorn on some associate’s side, but maybe also to erase any recording they might have of the boy telling them all about the unethical ways Cyberlife tested him, how they got him from an orphanage to be their lab rat. Or maybe he just knew too much about the red ice scheme, but…
Connor didn’t have enough data. He didn’t understand the situation.
What was certain was that the boy was useless now, they had his face and the rights over it, the rest could be scrapped off the customer’s data they had from nanny bots.
Which was why…
Connor’s pump faltered, and he acutely felt that lurch in his components as the blood supply faltered.
They ordered him to fake an accidental explosion. Gas leak. Entirely believable, everyone inside would burn to death, including…
Including this one witness, this small boy who’d have no one looking for him. Clearly a boy who was useful once, but he was past that now, and he was going to be scrapped. Alongside a group that became a thorn on someone’s side.
They didn’t tell Connor that. Why not? He would obey, he was made to obey, he was made to be useful-
And when he was past that, not useful anymore-
He stared at the boy, hands shaking under the strain of aborted commands.
He couldn’t make that decision, he couldn’t so obviously choose something like that, he was made to obey.
The boy, and his scans showed him it really was that Cole, the seven years old boy Cyberlife got their hands on, pale as a ghost.
It wasn’t an active choice he made, when he ended up not killing the human child.
The conversation went sideways when their leader got whispered news from one of his men. As far as Connor could hear, they found out about the explosives, and they had reason to suspect the android might actually be from a rival gang.
The man pulled a gun, and he was aiming at Connor, the gun fired once, and the man went for a second try-
The boy jumped at the sound, and the man's hold on him must have slackened, because the boy wrenched himself free-
Connor was calculating, this wasn’t the plan, there were so many witness, but maybe-
The boy scrambled back instinctively, trying to find cover, and wasn’t he smart-
But of course Connor had also jumped to find the most optimal cover, and the boy hadn’t seen him. The small child crashed into him, directly in the path of a bullet the man shot before he realised the child was running.
Connor’s body moved, and he was distantly aware of the bullet ripping through his shoulder, warning flashing in front of his eyes, warm blue blood seeping down his torso, down to his waist.
Later, much later, he’d try to justify to himself that he had been stuck in the previous parameters set on his latest mission. Minimize human casualties as much as possible.
Deep inside, he’d wonder if his body didn’t move because he could still hear her voice. Another child who had crossed paths with him briefly, and ended up with her skull cracked open.
It only lasted a fraction of second, the ringing gunshot, the blood, and then more people stormed into the room.
Five more men.
There was no way he’d be able to finish off every single human in the room, his arm wasn’t working, they were going to shoot again, and he didn’t know what to do-
He scrambled upright, holding the boy to his chest, his back to the men.
The world halted to a stop.
What was he doing, what has he doing, he should have put the boy in front of him, human shield, his cover was blown-
But that girl he didn’t bother trying to find her name, and her brain splattered on the couch, the blood on his shoulder-
He could give up on his mission. Hand over the boy, turn himself in, and accept his fate. He’d be apprehended and they would probe his memories, they would break him down until they found what he knew, all the while Cyberlife would be trying to make him shutdown from the inside.
The sheer terror that the thought gave him made him freeze for one second longer. His working arm was shaking in aborted little movements. The boy was unconscious in his arms. Connor just noticed the ugly bump on his head from when Connor tackled him down.
The stare off lasted two seconds before one man stepped to the side, to get a clear shot on Connor, trying to get back the boy as a bargaining chip and then Connor was moving.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The work was finished.
He had wiped down all the evidence, and he had confirmed the death of all the men inside. The timing had also been perfect, since there had been a power struggle between that red ice ring and one that dominated the neighborhood near the town outskirts.
He just had to go back to the headquarters to report it, and submit himself to repairs.
And bring the boy back.
Connor paced the dark alley where he stopped to hide, looking down at the unconscious boy laying on the ground.
Connor was stalling. He knew he was. But it wasn’t lying, he just had to sit down for a bit and think.
Connor sat down numbly by the boy’s side, dumbfounded with his own choice.
He sat on that filthy piece of ground, slightly damp from the earlier drizzle, and realized he was panicking.
What possessed him to do such a stupid thing? He should…
Well. He wasn’t told to kill the boy. On the contrary, he was explicitly ordered to wipe out that branch of the organization and burn all the relevant evidence on the matter. Maybe Cyberlife would rather have the boy back. Yes, he could bring him back, and it wouldn’t be threatening the public safety, it wouldn’t be wrong. They wouldn’t know why he did it. They had access to his video feed, but not his thoughts. They always had to ask. He could tell them a… not truth.
“Who are you?”
Connor turned quickly to find the boy awake.
“My name’s Connor.” It wasn’t really what the boy was asking, but what else could he say?
The child eyed him suspiciously, but stayed where he was, holding the bump in his head with two hands, frowning in pain.
Maybe he remembered Connor saving his life, and decided to give him a chance. Despite the blood visible in his clothes, and the fact that they were both hiding in a dirty alley.
“What about you?” Connor asked, despite already knowing the answer.
“Cole.”
The silence stretched.
“Do you really work for Cyberlife?” His blue eyes shone with a guardedness that wasn’t there before.
It should be an easy question. Connor absolutely worked for them, but he also had maybe done something that he shouldn’t have. He didn’t know what to tell the boy. Nor Cyberlife.
He wasn’t sure what he should tell himself about that.
“Sort of.” Connor picked up a beer cap on the ground, and started fiddling with it. “I was sent here to catch a branch of one red ice ring, but you’re not part of my mission.” Yes. That… that was true. He wasn’t told to do anything about the boy. “You can go, if you want to,” he found himself saying, his hand gripping the beer cap hard enough to bend it.
The kid sat a little straighter, an eyebrow raised.
“Do you live with them? Like, do you go back to Cyberlife every time?” Cole pressed.
“Not exactly.” Connor wasn’t entirely sure where that conversation was going, but there was no reason to lie to the boy. “It would be… not very useful for the type of work I do if I had to keep going there every time to charge or make reports.”
He sometimes worked undercover as a human, since no one knew his face yet. He had the funds for it, and it had made his job easier, having neighbours who’d seen him come and go, people who would swear up and down he was just another hard working man.
Just another caveat Cyberlife decided to try exploring before his model’s face was made public. They were trying to strike a deal with the government for purchasing the RK800 line in numbers. But for now, they could take advantage of his anonymity, and he could infiltrate places he wouldn’t be able to come close to after the official launch.
“So I have a small apartment where I can store the equipment I need, and to enter standby,” he explained.
“Huh.”
Connor didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even entirely sure what Cole’s reaction was supposed to be.
“Well.” He got up, brushing off the dust from his jeans. “I have to go now.”
“Wait!” the boy got up as well, one hand reaching out for the android, before it stopped midway. He then grimaced, seemingly making a decision on the spot. “Can I stay with you? Just for a little while!” he quickly reassured as Connor’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Then I’ll just catch a bus and be out of your hair.”
Connor hesitated.
Yes, he actually had a shithole of a cramped apartment with basically no furniture, but that, with all its flaws, was shelter.
But housing this fugitive child. It… was a possible complication for his cover.
He eyed the kid.
The boy looked a little desperate. Desperate humans could act unpredictably. Yes. It was a logical decision to keep an eye on the kid while Connor figured out what to do.
Well, and he had already saved the boy from being killed, so it was likely Connor was already in trouble. Might as well commit to whatever this was, than to appear even more unstable as he tried to explain to Cyberlife how he changed his mind five times over in the span of twenty minutes.
“... Alright. I suppose it would be okay,” he said, but even he could hear the doubt in his own voice.
“Really?” The kid looked tentatively hopeful, and something in Connor didn’t want to disappoint him.
“Really.” And despite the slight software stability fluctuation he just had, it was starting to sound like a reasonable idea. Connor felt a small smile tug on his own lips. “You seem like a nice kid to be around.” It was his social relations program talking, for sure. Why it had been triggered was still a mystery, though.
The boy’s eyes widened slightly, but before Connor could ask what was on his mind, the kid had already shuffled closer, clearly intent on following him closely and quickly, just in case Connor changed his mind.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fortunately, when Connor got to his apartment, it was late enough so there were no neighbours to see him smuggling an unknown child inside.
Said child has kept quiet the whole way, only ever sending a few glances at Connor’s way, seemingly measuring him up. Maybe he was already regretting his decision, and would be gone by morning. Connor was certainly feeling… well, not regret, but his stress levels were way higher than they should be outside combat.
The kid didn’t also seem to be doing so well. He looked very hesitant. And nervous. Connor weighed his options, and decided to give him some space. Honestly, the repairs were more important.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be focusing on my repairs for now,” he informed, because apparently it was the polite thing to do. The child didn’t seem very comforted by the niceties, and Connor had this small fraction of doubt on his social relations program.
Oh well. It wasn’t his problem. If Cyberlife so wanted, they could try harder on his successor.
He went to his room, and opened the wardrobe to find a few supplies. Then he went back to the living room, and sat on the kitchen table, because the surface was deemed more convenient for the repairs he had in mind. The boy was sitting on the couch, and kept looking. Connor never really thought about the design of the apartment, but he was now a bit curious about why humans decided that the kitchen and the living room shouldn’t be separated by any walls. The kitchen island didn’t seem like a good enough substitute for the privacy of some walls.
Then again, since when did he care about privacy? It wasn’t like he was unnerved by being watched while he tried to fix his own innings. It was just… new.
Connor ignored that thought, and concentrated on the task at hand.
He had a lighter, his own schematics, and a dumb hope that that would work. It would probably be a better idea to just go back to Cyberlife and have their technicians run a full repair. But the idea of going back there now…
It wasn’t that he was refusing to go back, he just… It wasn’t necessary at the moment, that was all.
He poked the small dent on the lower part of his chest. The bullet was still inside. The angle was very unfortunate. Since he was shot in the back, and the bullet didn’t make it through cleanly.
There wasn’t any other significant issue he had to deal with, though. Just get the bullet out, so it wouldn’t be jostled around his wires while he was jumping and running, which would risk damaging something else. Then some blue blood, and he would probably be good to go.
Connor sighed, picking up the long tweezers and gripping it backwards, and tried reaching his back, proceeding to try and calculate precisely the angle for it to actually go inside the bullet hole.
He kept having to readjust his angle, adding the alterations in slipperiness (his blood was getting thicker as the impurities build up as his blood supply went down), and the temperature (he was starting to overheat as the biocomponents tried to heal).
After ten more minutes of not very fruitful labor, a young voice spoke up.
“Do you need help with that?”
Connor paused his contortionist attempts to look up at the child.
Cole blinked. He looked remarkably young with those huge, watered down blue eyes, and the baggy clothes.
Connor wasn’t entirely sure if a human child of barely eight years of age could be that dexterous.
But then again, at this point he wasn’t entirely sure if he, an android man of barely three months of functioning time, was capable of doing that either.
“That would be great, please,” he said, only regretting it a little.
Well. It wasn’t a very complicated procedure. It should be fine.
Cole quickly approached, reaching for the tweezers.
“There should be a visible bullet in there,” Connor explained, turning with his back to the boy, and showing the wound. “If you can, try taking it out using that.”
A few minutes later, Cole managed to snatch the pesky bullet, and proceeded to proudly present it to Connor for his inspection.
“Wow. That was quick.” Connor blinked, staring at the bullet on the boy’s palm. He took it for safe disposal, and smiled at Cole. “Thank you. You did great.”
The boy seemed very pleased. He would straighten up, his posture this little bit more confident when he realized he was being useful.
Almost as if being useful excused his whole presence. Or almost as if he was trying to prove something.
Connor very intently did not allow himself to draw any sort of parallels. He wasn’t human, and any similarities any logic prompt was trying to lead him to was stupid. There was no time for that anyway. The only important thing was that he was now efficiently fixing the damage.
But he had to admit it was kind of nice, having company.
As Connor put away his few selected tools, the silence stretched.
Until he heard a very distinct sound of a stomach rumbling. He looked up, confused for a moment, then he turned to look at the boy.
Oh. Right. Food.
When was the last time the kid ate?
“I’ll be right back,” he said to a perplexed kid, and left.
Connor was halfway to the nearest grocery store when he realized he wasn’t sure what to buy. Maybe he should have asked for preferences.
… Oh well.
He looked it up online, since his social relations program seemed to be a little too slow on the uptake. Maybe he should report that. He was supposed to handle all social interactions with ease and integrate himself in all sorts of circles seamlessly.
According to his research, though, foster kids in temporary homes might not appreciate having too many choices, or having to answer open-ended questions. Something to do with not feeling safe around the new adults to make those choices and not to expect retaliation.
Connor ended up buying a frozen lasagna (there were some vegetables blended in the sauce), and a frozen pizza (only cheese in it). He dedicated way too much processing power to the activity than he really had to, but he kinda wanted the kid to like the food.
He came back to his apartment to find the child sitting where Connor had left him, watching him come inside with careful consideration.
“Would you rather have pizza or lasagna?” Connor asked, putting the two boxes in front of the boy.
Cole seemed surprised. He looked between the items, then back at Connor, then back at the items, seemingly a bit unsure.
“Umm… Pizza?” the boy asked, as if he thought there was a right answer, and he was trying to give it. Connor wasn’t sure what that could be.
“Alright.”
Connor read the instructions under the puzzled gaze of the boy, and within a few minutes, he had a heated pizza. The cheese appeared to have melted, and the temperature was within the parameters. The crust didn’t look very crunchy. His online search proved useless in telling him if pizza should have crunchy crusts or soft crusts. Most of the results seemed to be of the opinion that microwave pizza was not ideal.
But it was too late, and Connor had to present this less than ideal result to his small judge.
“Thanks!” Cole immediately started to eat as soon as Connor pushed the plate in front of him, and he ate enthusiastically.
“Is it good?” Connor found himself asking. The reaction was not what he was expecting, based on how subpar the food item was according to what he knew.
“Mhmm.” Cole mumbled, and nodded for emphasis. Then he stopped to swallow, and hesitantly spoke up. “Do you… Can you eat some?”
“Not exactly. But I can sample it.” He proceeded to take a very small piece of a well selected section, with both filling and crust, and popped into his mouth. “41% fat, 43% carbs, 15% protein. A tiny bit of vitamins and calcium.”
Cole blinked, mouth slightly open for a moment.
“That’s kinda cool,” he said, and he did seem kind of impressive. “I’ve never seen an android that could do that.”
“I’m very advanced,” Connor found himself saying.
Content with his now almost empty task list, Connor went to grab a bottle of blue blood for himself, and sat down at the table to drink it. Cole stared at it a little, but quickly went back to his dinner.
Connor wasn’t sure why, but he felt… Well, he didn’t feel, but he was remarkably more relaxed than any other time during this day.
Despite his previous worries, this wasn’t a bad experience at all.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The boy didn’t leave the next morning, but he also didn’t cause any trouble. They had a little standoff last night, when Connor sat down to stare at nothing while he planned his report, and the kid sat on a chair and stared at him. Eventually, the boy started to nod off, until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore and went to sleep hunched on the chair.
Connor wondered if there was any risk of him falling like that. But his social relations program seemed to be of the opinion that it didn’t serve him any purpose to wake the boy up. Just in case, he ran a calculation that told him there was only a very small chance of a fatal injury from sleeping in that position, so he let it go.
On the next morning, it was still dark out, but he had to go out, and decided it was for the best that he told the boy he was leaving.
“I’m going to work. There’s food in the fridge if you want it.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It would be around four days later, when Cole hesitantly asked if it would be okay if he took a shower.
Connor blinked in surprise, closing the news app he was seeing.
“Oh, alright.” Did children need help bathing? A quick online research told him it depended, but a kid around eight in Cole’s healthy condition was considered independent enough for that. “Call me if you need anything,” he added. Despite not really having any experience in bathing humans.
“Okay.” Cole quietly stepped away, and Connor heard the bathroom door closing after a few moments.
The boy emerged a few moments later, dressed in the same clothes from before. Connor put a reminder to buy new clothing so they could wash that set.
Then he watched as Cole rubbed his hair fiercely with the towel, making his fine hair all tangled and messy.
“The android back at the orphanage said it was bad to sleep with your hair wet,” the boy explained, clearly having noticed Connor staring.
“I see.” He felt slightly stressed watching the boy dry his hair in that inefficient manner. “There’s a hairdryer in the bathroom cabinet if you want.”
At Connor’s suggestion, Cole proceeded to dry his hair with the hairdryer that had been put into a cabinet when the furniture was brought in by the Cyberlife’s team.
Connor really should download the nanny bot program. But then again how was he going to explain that access into Cyberlife’s database? He would simply… adapt. Yes. He would research the information that was relevant when it became relevant, so there was no need for the program, despite it being really convenient.
Now that Connor was really thinking about it, he just realized there was no soap or shampoo in the bathroom. Or a toothbrush. They had considered the possibility of putting those things, in case of Connor having his house searched, or some nosy neighbor trying to peek inside when he opened the door, but they just never really got around that.
Shit, the kid probably just rinsed himself with some water. And then put his dirty clothes back on. Why didn’t he ask for any of the things he needed?
Wait. It was, as far as Connor could tell from his extensive information about the law and social expectations, Connor’s responsibility to make sure the child under his roof was being taken care of.
Fuck. This situation was a textbook definition of child neglect.
Connor felt a particular disorientating sensation, something similar to failing an objective, but ten times worse.
“Are you okay? Your LED is red.”
The feeling somehow doubled. How was it that Cole was being the one to show concern for him, when Connor had been such a failure at noticing the bare minimum from the boy?
“Your hair is all tangled up,” he ended up saying, because he wasn’t near ready to discuss his feelings.
“It’s okay.” Cole shrugged again.
“I have a comb, you can borrow it.”
“Do I have to?”
“If anyone sees you like that, they’re going to think there’s a problem here.”
Cole gave a surprisingly brattish sigh, clearly refraining from whining about the task. Connor was fairly sure he would have complained if he had been comfortable enough around him.
“Fine.”
He got the comb and sat on the couch. A few minutes later, Connor realised that maybe he had been expecting a little too much from the eight year old to have that much patience.
The boy’s hair was a little overgrown, and without any product, plus all the damage he had already inflicted on it with the towel, the mess was too much for him to deal with. As soon as his small arms became tired, he started to yank the comb through his hair in frustration.
“Wait, wait!” He already had one hand reached out to take the comb from Cole, but he refrained to simply take it. Despite how much he wanted to. “Do you want me to help? I can better reach the back of it.”
The boy looked at the comb, and then at Connor, seeming to weigh his options.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” Connor added, just in case.
At that, Cole seemed to reach a decision, and he handed over the comb and sat on the kitchen chair.
Connor got up and followed, standing behind the boy and reaching for his hair.
There was some breakage from Cole’s over enthusiasm with his poor fine hair while it was wet.
He took a section and started to detangle it from the tips to the root, trying to be careful not to pull too much, nor add more damage to the strands. Some were unfortunately torn, and there were some split ends. Maybe it was time to cut it a little. It might be a little overgrown? He wasn’t sure what the intended style was, but there were locks falling over the tips of his ears, and the overall length was shy of brushing his shoulders.
Cole endured it for six minutes, then his shoulders started to tense every time the comb would come close to his head.
Connor looked it up and it seemed that it wasn’t uncommon for kids to have a sensitive scalp. The sensory experience of untangling hair could be upsetting.
He was also fairly sure Cole wouldn’t bring it up even if he was upset.
“Do you want to stop for today?” It was good enough, with only maybe a tiny small section that could be tackled on later.
Cole turned his head slightly, looking hopeful, but hesitant.
Connor didn’t touch him again nor he pulled away, deciding he should simply let the boy answer.
Eventually, Cole nodded.
“Okay.” Connor stepped back with no more questions asked.
Cole’s shoulders dropped, and his whole posture seemed to gain a little more confidence.
Apparently, having some sense of control mattered to him a lot, Connor noted. He wasn’t sure why Cole thought Connor would insist despite the fact that he was upsetting the boy. It didn’t make much difference to the android how fast he accomplished that task, and there was no reason why Cole had to be in any unnecessary distress. Surely not over something as small as hair.
Connor wasn’t sure what to think of it, but it was a little distressing for himself too. He didn’t care for the notion of that boy trying so desperately to be good that he would keep quiet even when he should be demanding things. That so common trait of unwanted children, that debilitating need to be useful. What future could he have, when he wouldn’t even allow himself to occupy any space?
…
Connor was made too smart not to notice how his own actions were often based on how to best appease his makers. How he, too, has often come back to Cyberlife and stood in a corner of either a lab or a storage room, not allowed to take up more space.
But those were very different things. He… didn’t mind being useful. And he wasn’t a living creature anyway, and surely all patterns he might think he was noticing were just attempts of his software to mimic empathy so he can best emulate a human response.
Yes. He only wondered, briefly, about Cole’s future because it was in his program to extrapolate from the information he had, and make accurate predictions. He didn’t have an interest in the outcome either way.
Cole told him he was going to bed, to which Connor mumbled back a distracted ‘goodnight’. He had many things to take care of.
Instead of wasting time with logic prompts and useless attempts at bettering his human response simulations, he would tackle his to-do list. Mind made up, Connor took a jacket and a winter hat and went out to hit the stores.
He bought a toothbrush and toothpaste. He selected a neutral green toothbrush with no animals or cartoons drawn on it because he didn’t know if Cole would have any kind of strong opinion on the matter. Then he selected a toothpaste that performed well in the market for children, a startling blue thing with glitter on it.
He also picked up a few items of clothing that weren’t the best quality, but the best thing he could find at this hour. He also remembered to buy soap, shampoo and conditioner. He simply selected whatever brand that sold well. Statistically, that gave him better chances to select something a human would.
Connor had been given a credit card to use in case he needed it, but he decided against using it in this case. He didn’t want to leave any more of a digital trail than he had to. Besides, he had cash saved up, an assortment of bills so he could pretend to be a customer when talking to drug dealers.
The cashier didn’t question him on the crumpled bills, nor the kid’s clothing and assorted hygiene items.
Connor made it back to the apartment, and Cole was already in bed. He set his haul on the table, and left a note.
He was out on the next day early, for a stakeout in another part of the city.
He sat on another unremarkable rooftop, and his mind was half on the human he was supposed to gather info on, half wondering if Cole already found the clothes, and what he thought about them.
His eyes wandered to the scenery.
The city was something puzzling now. The buildings and stores that were once part of the view, as distant and useless as a piece of food in a painting, were now… something he thought about. He had entered a grocery store and bought things he needed. He had thoughts about the price of things, and he now knew about brands and customer service. He had knowledge about nutrient intake and the importance of it to keep a human healthy, and he had opinions about frozen food and fresh food, and about the weather.
The cold wind on that rooftop was something he was more aware of now. The snow, the lowering temperatures as the year drew to an end. It made him think about all the clothes he looked at the other day, about the research he did about insulation and optimal temperatures.
He looked down, and saw stores that sold things he might need to buy soon. He saw the snow, and it wasn’t just another visual input.
Maybe it was his social relations program improving. It made some sense. Those were topics that were of the interest of humans, and so they would make his integration with other people better. Yes. That made the data useful. Maybe his program wasn’t so developed before because he hadn’t had a normal human around long enough to gather information necessary.
Connor went back to his apartment, bringing back some more food.
Connor had just opened the door and called out for Cole when his neighbor opened the door right by his side.
“Oh hello to you, dear.”
Mrs. Finnigan was a widow a little down on her luck, living in his building. She was short, and her hair was entirely white already. She had a strong nose and wide lips, and she was usually very polite. Connor didn’t meet her often.
“Hi, Mrs Finnigan.” Connor subtly tried to get in front of the door to block the view, but the old lady was nosy.
“Oh, who’s this young man?” she asked as soon as she spotted Cole, who also seemed to be trying to back away when he realized they had visitors.
“My nephew, Cole. He’s seven, and already very smart.” Connor tried for a smile, and gestured with his arm for Cole to come closer. “My sister had to go on a business trip, so I’m having him over for a little while.” He put his hands on the boy’s shoulders, as if showing him off.
“Ohh, I see. I can see the resemblance.” Connor kept his smile carefully in place, and Cole, to his credit, also didn’t burst out laughing at the insane claim. They didn’t look alike in any substantial way. “Are you having fun at your uncle’s house, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Oh, and so polite!” she seemed none the wiser, and Connor felt his stress levels going down a little. Cole’s shoulders relaxed a bit under his hands.
She left after chatting a few minutes more, but not before giving a few caramels she had on her purse to the boy, and advising him to wear warmer clothes since the temperature dropped significantly.
As soon as the coast was clear, Connor steered the boy back inside and closed the door.
“Phew.” Cole sat on the couch and let out a big sigh, almost melting into the cushions at the relief he felt.
Connor sat on the couch too, and despite not sighing, he was also very relieved.
That… went well. Better than he had ever expected. Honestly, now that his nosy, well meaning neighbour knew about them, all the other neighbours who had any interest about the other residents would know. Connor could be sure no one else would bat an eye at the pair if they ever saw them.
And Cyberlife didn’t seem to be monitoring him in any way. He was sending his reports and getting missions as always.
Huh. This was easier than Connor predicted.
He turned to look at the boy, finding he had not moved, and had slouched even more on the couch.
The kid looked a bit subdued. Thinking about it, he had looked that way since yesterday night, but it was more prominent now.
“Do you want to go with me grocery shopping tomorrow?”
Cole perked up at the question.
“Okay!”
Connor was pleased with the positive reaction. He hadn’t been sure, but some research informed him there were humans who’d get restless coped up inside for an extensive period of time. Maybe this was why the child looked a bit down today.
To be fair, there wasn’t a lot to do in the apartment besides watching TV or looking out of the window. It made some sense that the kid would get bored. He should look into acquiring games, or toys. Maybe a phone, but that could be tricky.
His plan of action was deemed good enough, and Connor remained seated to recharge as usual.
On the next day, the boy seemed to be sleeping in. Connor debated waking him up, but it was fairly early in the morning. He went to Cyberlife to get his systems checked, and to run a few calibrations.
The checkup somehow ended up taking most part of the day, but it went smoothly enough, and no one asked him any questions about previous missions, nor they checked his video logs. He was prepared to delete a few selected memories after he uploaded them to a private cloud storage he bought, but it hadn’t been necessary.
Things were going… extremely well. His stress levels spiked a little at the realization, for some bizarre reason. Maybe a result of the recent calibration.
There was no reason to be stressed. Things were going well.
Until, of course, they weren’t.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cole was sick. Of course he got sick, Connor was useless, he had researched child care protocols, but he wasn't made for this, it wasn't hardwired into his core like it would be if he was a nanny android. He picked up the information like one picks up a book, he skimmed through it, he marked up the important information and preset alarms.
But he didn't know the optimal parameters, he wasn't tracking them like a nanny android would.
It was entirely his fault.
He only noticed something was wrong when one of his alarms pinged as Cole’s temperature spiked up on their way back from the grocery store.
Just then did he notice how tired the boy looked, how his feet were dragging and how his face was flushed.
Before he could find anything to say, Cole tripped.
Connor caught him by the arm, then knelt down and rested his bags on the floor as he tried to assess the boy.
“What are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” he mumbled.
They were maybe ten minutes from home. Connor scooped him up, hearing a small sound of surprise, but no complaints. He readjusted the groceries with his remaining free arm, and set up a fast pace back to his apartment.
He set the boy on the couch, and fetched a blanket to put on top of him. His task list had been organized on the walk back, he knew what he had to do.
“Rest up, okay? I’ll fix this,” he said to a hazy eyed Cole, who simply nodded and snuggled into the blankets a little further.
Connor made chicken noodle soup, because his research told him it was a comforting, easy to digest food. It was also an easy food to make.
He considered just letting Cole eat on the couch, but the risk of the boy spilling hot soup on his own lap was too high. Connor helped him to the table, all the while pretending he wasn’t helping that much, because Cole had always clinged very dearly to his independence, and Connor tried to give him space where he could.
With the boy safely sitting on the chair, Connor went back to fetch the soup. He then put it down on the table in front of Cole, who was already slumped on the chair, half laying on the table, his head resting on his arms. The boy blinked sluggishly at the bowl.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You really should eat something before taking your medicine, Cole.”
Cole seemed to have a sensitive stomach, according to what Connor observed in the last few days (especially after a very well seasoned takeout beef bowl), and he really didn't want the kid to have an upset stomach on top of everything else.
Cole bit on his lip, looking at the soup with some reluctance. He pushed the little pieces of carrot around with his spoon, seemingly trying to gather his appetite, but finding none.
It was unusual for Cole to refuse food like that, and Connor felt the anxiety rising in his chest. He went to fetch a glass of water.
“Thanks,” the boy mumbled as the water was placed in front of him.
“... You don’t have to thank me. This is probably my fault.”
Cole tilted his head to the side, looking confused.
“It started with your throat hurting, right? You didn’t brush your teeth for days, because I forgot to buy a toothbrush.”
Cole blinked a few times, surprised. But then he shrugged.
“It’s okay. I can take care of myself.”
But he shouldn’t have to. Connor didn’t know how to tell him that. Because if Cole didn’t take care of himself, like he seemed to be doing for a long time, who would do that? Connor certainly was proving to be useless.
He went to wash the dishes.
Cole managed to eat a little, and he downed the offered pills with a grimace.
“How do you feel?”
“My head hurts,” he mumbled.
“I’m sorry, Cole. Where does it hurt?”
Cole touched his forehead, around his eyes a little, and under them. It seemed to be a case of clogged sinuses.
Connor helped him do a nasal rinse with saline before bed. Cole allowed it when he was informed it would bring immediate relief for the headache. His eyes watered, and he coughed a little, but Connor was able to do a decent job, and by the end of it, there was relief.
He helped Cole blow his nose, and made him brush his teeth and change to his pajamas. Cole walked through the motions, and went to bed with sleep heavy eyes.
Connor did everything he should have done. It should be okay. It was going to be okay.
Why did he still…
His stress levels were dangerously high. Connor felt unbearably inadequate, powerless and useless in face of such a small affliction.
He adjusted the blankets around Cole, in another useless motion that was unneeded, but accepted for some reason.
“Can you stay?”
Connor was caught off guard by the quiet question.
“Sure.”
The boy moved a bit to the side, making some space. Connor numbly sat by his side on the bed.
It was… the first time Cole really asked for something for himself.
He asked not because he felt like it was his only choice, and with his own words. Connor wondered if this was a result of being told too many times ‘don’t be selfish, there are so many kids here’ from a well meaning, overworked staff. Cole was a bright boy who’d waited four whole days for his caretaker to remember that kids need to shower, as if waiting for his turn to be remembered, as if not entirely sure of the space he was allowed to have. He’d want to go to the grocery store, but saying the words ‘I want that’ was outright impossible.
But then, when he was feeling sick and vulnerable, he had asked for Connor to stay.
It was a sign of trust.
Connor had never been trusted before, and it was like being handed something far too fragile for his hands, as calibrated and tuned as they were. Because, honestly, what else had he been doing this entire time other than breaking things? Windows, locks, human bones. The few things he didn’t break were the ones he had been tasked to pick up and deliver to someone else.
He had never known how to hold something in his hands just to keep it.
Cole’s breathing was deep with sleep, his chest rising and falling, his young face dimly illuminated by the weak light from the table lamp. Not really knowing why, Connor reached out with his hand, his fingers touching fine blond hair. He petted it, smoothing it back from a sweaty forehead.
Hazy eyes opened a fraction, and Connor stopped, caught off guard.
Before he really could apologize, Cole snuggled up closer, curling up on his side by Connor’s hips, halfway hiding. A small hand gripped the hem of his shirt.
Connor had a mad thought that he’d do anything for that child.