Chapter Text
The feeling of his thirium pump being forcibly ripped out of his chest almost tore a pained cry from his throat, but Connor didn’t have the time to do even that as the other android suddenly grabbed a knife to stab at his palm and leave him pinned to the table.
Pain bloomed in his chest and hand as warning signals flashed in his vision. A timer started, in bold red font, ticking down the seconds until shutdown.
He felt oddly like a butterfly whose wing had been pinned. Then again, at the core of his being, wasn’t that what he is? Just an experiment laid bare to disassemble and put together again, over and over. Just a butterfly pinned to a cold, metal table with his (heart) thirium pump laid out in a disarray somewhere.
The timer flashed a bright red before him, counting down the seconds before he’d be shut down. And, oh, God, perhaps this damage had done more than he’d thought. Maybe something had went horribly wrong with another biocomponent that he wasn’t able to fully diagnose yet because suddenly he feels paralyzed from something other than the physical pain. No, it was like an unbearable cold, a sudden snowstorm without warning.
As the bright red number went lower and lower, his hollow chest twisted with something sickening. His time was running out. He wouldn’t make it to where his biocomponent had been strewn on the floor. He couldn’t reach the knife in his palm.
No. No. No.
He was going to shut down again. He was going to be put together again after, with their cold gloved hands and their cold metal equipments as they prodded at his biocomponents, as they put back together their precious, perfect machine. For them, it was just a simple procedure of fixing the damage on their weapon.
For Connor, it was waves upon waves of unbearable pain. It didn’t matter that he was awake during all of those procedures, didn’t matter as he cried out and screamed and thrashed in their hold (it was fine, they could just clamp their cruel hands on his mouth and hold him down as he fought desperately) and begged to stop, please.
They would never care. They would never flinch. His cries would fall on deaf ears, and when it was all over after what felt like hours, he’d be forcibly taken to the Zen Garden—where Amanda’s sharp and cold voice would only speak one thing:
This is what happens when you fail, Connor.
The seconds ticking in front of him brought Connor back to the present, and, oh—
Oh.
Was this what humans called fear?
It is a paralyzing, overwhelming feeling. An ugly thing pressing against his chest, catching his breath in an unrelenting, unforgiving grasp. It’s heavy. It hits like nothing he’d ever felt before—not like gunshots, or punches, or broken bicomponents. This was something that he couldn’t associate with a visual representation. Something he couldn’t see. Something he couldn’t analyze and process.
It was invisible and yet Connor felt its heavy presence pressing down on his very being.
And yet, somehow, it was also what urged him to keep going. To keep moving and to keep fighting to prevent shutting down. Because—no, he couldn’t die here. Not now. Not like this. He couldn’t.
Dying meant being taken back to CyberLife, to be handed back to prodding hands and cold, indifferent voices. Dying meant being forced to be activated again, because death was simply not a choice for him, simply not a part of his programming. They won’t let him die. They won’t let their advanced, perfect weapon go to waste like that.
Fueled by the images of cold metal walls and phantom blinding pain, Connor fought with all the remaining strength he had to get the knife out of his palm. It hit the floor with a thud, the sound static and dull amidst the blaring red warning signs in his vision.
He fell to the floor in a heap, wincing as the pain intensified with the movement. Thirium was staining the floor. The timer was going down. His vision was glitching, and all he could do was crawl in pain towards his discarded thirium pump.
60 seconds. He only had 60 more seconds before shutdown. He needed to hurry, but the pain keep coming in blinding, sudden flashes, so overwhelming it took all of his willpower to not just lay there and wait for death.
But Connor knew death wasn’t an escape from the pain. Not for him, at least. If anything, it only meant failing. And failing, as he’d learnt, only meant more pain.
51 seconds.
He dragged himself through the floor, grimacing at the pain that shot through his damaged body.
49 seconds.
How is it that it seemed so close yet so far?
Come on. Connor thought desperately, his trembling hand reaching out towards the biocomponent. I don’t want to be taken back to them.
“Damn kid, where the fuck did he—Connor?!”
Through his hazy, glitching vision, Connor managed to look up and see Hank running towards him. Despite the pain, the fear, and everything else in between, for the first time since this whole ordeal, Connor felt relief.
“Hank, the—“ he coughed harshly, thirium splattering over the floor. He heard Hank curse, then the sound of shuffling footsteps, and then suddenly he was being turned on his back, his head propped up against the lieutenant.
“Hang on, son, hang on.” Gentle hands brush through his hair. Connor coughed again, weaker this time. He only had 42 more seconds.
“M—my…biocomponent,” he managed, just barely. Everything hurt, and for a brief, terrifying moment, flashes of masked faces and cold, metal equipments glitched through his vision. Suddenly, he’s in CyberLife again, being held down, being taken apart just to prove a point. Just to teach him a cruel lesson. “It’s b—behind y—ou…please…”
Understanding shone in Hank’s worried eyes. He looked over his shoulder before turning back to Connor. “I’ll get it, just—just stay with me, kid, okay?”
Connor managed a weak nod. He closed his eyes momentarily, a weak, trembling sigh leaving him. The timer flashed a mere 27 seconds left, but the panic was dissipating now that he wasn’t alone. Now that he knew Hank would save him.
Hank returned quickly with the biocomponent. He sank back to the floor beside Connor, a comforting presence in the midst of this whole ordeal. “Here, son. Do you need help with it?”
Connor shook his head as he took his thirium pump weakly. “…It—it’s o…okay, I ca-n do it…”
It wasn’t exactly the same, but with his experiences at the hands of CyberLife analyzing (torturing) him, he’d eventually gotten used to the process of putting his biocomponents back after being left in pieces on cold metal tables by them.
He gritted his teeth at the feeling of the thirium pump clicking back into place in his body. No matter how many times he does that, Connor doesn’t think he could ever get past the feeling. Especially not when his memory stubbornly associates it with CyberLife and their cruelty.
“You alright, Connor?”
Connor turns and sees Hank looking at him with concern. A twinge of…something akin to discomfort creeps up onto him. Concern directed at him was foreign to Connor. Completely uncharted territory. It wasn’t like CyberLife’s cold indifference toward him as they walked away from the table, pulling off their masks and gloves as they left Connor alone in that godforsaken room. Concern towards him was new, and he found that he didn’t like it at all.
“I’m okay, lieutenant.” He said in a small voice, avoiding the other’s eyes. Gripping the chair for support, Connor gets up from the floor, ready to run out to the hallway. “There was a deviant—”
But a hand on his wrist stopped him. Hank stood beside him, preventing him from leaving the room. “Whoa, hey, slow down.”
“But the deviant—“ Connor tried to run again, but the lieutenant only tightened his grasp just a bit.
Hank sighed exasperatedly. “Connor, in the time that we were here, they’ve probably escaped by now. It’s fine, you don’t have to chase after them. And you just got your heart ripped out, for fuck’s sake. Just—just slow down a bit, will you?”
“But—“
“No, Connor. Geez, can’t you listen to me for once?”
Hank let go of him, and Connor seemed to deflate at that. If only he’d been a bit quicker…
Had he failed yet another mission? If CyberLife or Amanda found out…Connor felt that twinge of fear again. What would they do to him?
“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” Hank was looking at him with worried eyes again. “Your light’s yellow.”
Connor looked away in a futile attempt to hide his LED from view. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t like this. He needed to be away from here, from this room. “I will continue to investigate around the scene.”
“Are you serious right now, Connor?! I just found you on the floor with your heart ripped out, and now you’re telling me you’re going back there to investigate like nothing happened?!”
“I am perfectly okay now, lieutenant,” Connor replies. “I’m not human; we androids can recover from damages much quicker.”
Hank rubs a hand over his face, annoyed. “That’s not the point.”
Connor tilts his head in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
The lieutenant sighs in exasperation. When he speaks, it’s in a softer, more worried tone. “Earlier, you sounded like you were in pain, Connor. Are you really alright?”
Connor’s thirium pump seemed to come to a standstill. He froze in his tracks, and for once, despite all of his advanced programming, he didn’t know what to respond with.
A beat passed.
“Androids don’t feel pain, lieutenant.”
It was true, in a sense. Every other android didn’t, and it was what everyone knew. After all, it wasn’t like CyberLife told the public about that one unique feature of the RK800. All they knew was that he was detective model, programmed to catch deviants. That was all they needed to know, anyway.
Because no one needed to know how accustomed he’d gotten to pain. No one needed to know how CyberLife specifically programmed him to feel pain in order to ensure he does his mission successfully and efficiently. No one needed to know about that cold, uninviting room within the depths of CyberLife tower, where its workers would take him apart for the sole purpose of reminding him what pain feels like. Of what it feels like to fail.
Connor walks to the door, refusing to turn around. He didn’t want to see whatever expression Hank was wearing at that moment. All he knew was that he needed to get out there, forget about all of it, and continue with his investigation.
Yes, the investigation. Nothing else mattered but this, anyway. He couldn’t fail now. He couldn’t fail for a minute.
Failure meant pain, after all—and he didn’t want to be back in that room anymore.
⋆˙⟡₊────✦────₊⟡˙⋆
The metal table beneath him felt unbearably cold. This wasn’t the first time Connor had been in this room, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last, but even with that knowledge, all of his systems seemed to go haywire, flashing red, blaring warning signs at the sight of this familiar room. The bright, fluorescent light staring down at him. The small table to the right with various equipment. The metal, locked door right across from him. The masked, blurry faces hovering above him.
No. Why was he here? He hadn’t failed, not yet. How did they find him?
A bloom of panic spread quickly within him, overriding all sense and logic. He wouldn’t be able to escape even if he tried, and he knew it. There was no way out—the only thing left for him to do was wait. To lie there and be at the mercy of cruel human hands as they took him apart piece by piece.
“You’ve failed again, Connor.”
A gloved hand clamped down on his mouth, silencing him even before he could speak, or cry, or scream.
“You are not designed for failure, remember?”
Someone else held down his arms in a white-knuckled grip. As he tried to escape in a futile attempt, the panic within him boiling now, Connor thought distantly of how weak he always feels whenever he’s in this room. Logically, it didn’t make any sense. He could kill androids with one shot of a gun, and yet he felt powerless at the hands of these humans. Here he was just an object—just a weapon they were disassembling.
“Haven’t we already taught you what failure entails?”
Cold, cold hands reached and pulled apart one of the biocomponents on his chest. A muted scream echoed off the walls as warnings flash through Connor’s eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much, but he knew they would not let him go even if he begged. He knew they would never listen, would never be merciful because he’d failed, and mercy has no room at the face of failure.
“You deserve this, Connor.”
Was he screaming or just crying silently? Even he couldn’t tell anymore. All he knew was the pain, and how everything hurts. He felt cold and unbearably hot at the same time. He thrashed in their arms, but they only held him down harsher, harder, until he could barely move, forced to feel the pain and the pain only.
“You deserve this.”
Why? Don’t they seem how much it hurts? Why couldn’t they let him go? Why?
Please, it hurts—!
Connor jolted awake with a start. His thirium pump was beating erratically. Where was he? Was he still on that table—
“Connor?”
He turns to his side, a little too quickly, and sees Hank glancing at him from the driver’s seat. A quick scan around the area confirms where he is. Right. They were in Hank’s car, driving amidst the snowy weather to meet Kamski. He’d gone into statis earlier to recharge, but…it seems as though something in his programming had gone haywire again, if that strange dream was anything.
He doesn’t know why, but he’d been having similar dreams lately, suddenly pulling him out of statis without warning and leaving him…scared in the wake of it all. Humans call these nightmares, but he was an android. He wasn’t supposed to have those, let alone dream. Perhaps, because of those repeated experiences in the CyberLife tower, something had gone wrong with his memory components.
(Maybe this was just another way for CyberLife to hurt him. Maybe they’d given him that programming on purpose. He didn’t want to think about that too much right now.)
“Connor?” Hank asked again, casting him a worried glance. “Hey, are you alright? You look like you’re spacing out.”
Connor cleared his throat, if anything, just to ground himself and have some semblance of control over this situation. He keeps his gaze on the road, watching the falling snow. “I am fine, lieutenant.”
“Really? Then bother explaining why your light’s been cycling between yellow and red for a while now?”
Connor subconsciously brings a hand up to his LED. “There’s just been some minor errors in my programming. My systems are merely working to fix it.”
For a while, there was only silence and the sound of the tires against the snowy roads. Connor didn’t look at the lieutenant, but he could guess that Hank wasn’t very convinced with his answer.
Connor could tell there was a bit of tension in the air between them, what with what happened a few days ago in Stratford Tower. They hadn’t talked about it since, and the situation had hung heavily in their interactions.
…You sounded like you were in pain, Connor.
Connor really didn’t want to talk to Hank about that right now. Or ever, really. It wasn’t important to their mission, anyway. That room in CyberLife and all the painful memories it held was a secret that nobody had to know.
It wasn’t important. As simple as that.
⋆˙⟡₊────✦────₊⟡˙⋆
Connor didn’t know why he didn’t shoot.
He knew, logically, that he was going against his programming, that he was defying CyberLife, even if they weren’t necessarily here to see it.
He knew, logically, that he was deviating. But—
“Fascinating. CyberLife’s last chance to save humanity…is itself a deviant.”
But, no, he couldn’t. That was not a part of his programming, not a part of his mission. And failing his mission means…
It strikes a flash of ice-cold fear through his systems. He was disobeying. In the midst of his terror, the echo of Amanda’s voice, chilling and strict, rang in his ears.
You know what happens when you fail, Connor. When you disobey.
Images of too-bright lights and grey, metal walls flashed in his memory. Even here, away from the tower, he could still feel the searing pain of it all.
“…I’m not a deviant.” Connor said shakily, slowly. His mouth and throat felt far too dry, and his voice was way too weak for his own liking. Pull yourself together, he thinks frantically.
He couldn’t tell if even he believed those words. All logic pointed otherwise, but something in his being kept denying it, pushing it to the corners of his mind and keeing it locked in a cage. Because, really, he can’t become a deviant. His life’s purpose was to erase them, not become like one. He was supposed to be the deviant hunter, a ruthless machine—CyberLife’s perfect little weapon.
What was he, if he wasn’t any of that?
Where would he go, then? Who would he be, then?
“You preferred to spare a machine than accomplish your mission.”
Connor felt like the ground beneath him was spinning. Why did he spare her? This had been his chance to gather information about his mission, so why didn’t he? Those CyberLife workers weren’t here, but if they knew…Connor didn’t even have to dwell on what they would do to him. He could already feel the slices and cuts on his skin, the thirium spilling from his mouth, the hoarseness of his throat from screaming and crying out, the tight grip on his limbs…
He blinked to stop those thoughts. Focus.
“You saw a living being in this android.”
But how could he have shot her, when her eyes seemed so…full of life? The very thought went against everything he’d been taught about androids, and even thinking about it made him feel like he was defying CyberLife. He felt sick. He didn’t want to be here anymore.
“You showed empathy.”
Maybe somewhere in his programming, there was a part of him that wanted so desperately to escape. From those cold, sterile walls. From the vicious hands whose only purpose was for hurting him. From the cages of his delicate creation. Because maybe, just maybe, a part of him had never wanted to be like this from the beginning. Maybe, unconsciously, he never wanted to be this hunter that they’ve decided who he was supposed to be.
Hank grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away, heading for the door. He seemed angry. “Let’s get out of here.”
“There’s another…interesting feature installed in the RK800 model, wasn’t there?”
Connor stopped in his tracks. Kamski’s voice sounded far too loud in the otherwise silent room, cutting through the tense air like a perfect slice of a sharp knife.
“We don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit,” Hank said, and continued to usher Connor out of the room.
But Connor couldn’t move.
Kamski’s footsteps echoed through the floor. “I think you’ll be very interested, actually.”
Kamski smiled, stepping closer to Connor, although his words were still addressed to the lieutenant. “You’ve been working together for a while now; haven’t you noticed anything strange about your partner?”
Connor couldn’t find his voice. The walls felt like it was closing in on him.
“Either get on it, or we’re leaving,” was Hank’s reply. He did seem just a bit more interested, though, if the sudden shift in his expression and the way he’d also stopped walking to the door were anything to go by.
“The RK800,” Kamski started, slowly, as he watched Connor closely. “Is designed to feel pain.”
Something in the air shifted. Connor could feel Hank’s glance on him. He wanted nothing more than to get out of this room, but he couldn’t move. He felt like he was rooted on the ground by stretching, vicious vines.
“It’s interesting, don’t you think?” Kamski stepped closer and grabbed Connor by the wrist. Connor couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. It felt like the world had come to a complete standstill. “An android with a program purely for the purpose of pain. Truly a wonderful creation.”
And then Kamski tightened his grip on his wrist, squeezing and squeezing until Connor felt his nails even through his suit. Connor cried out in pain, feeling like his skin was on fire. The feeling of having someone holding onto his wrist was too familiar. Connor felt a bloom of panic swirling in his chest.
“Hey, what are you—!” Hank looked about ready to lunge forward. Kamski let go with a calm smile.
“I just wanted to see for myself. It’s very fascinating, isn’t it? Although…” he frowns, eyes still watching Connor intently.
Connor felt like everything was closing in on him. His chest felt heavy, and he could practically hear his own harsh breathing at this point. The feeling of Kamski’s hand on his wrist lingered, feeling far too much like when they would hold him down and—
“Connor!”
Connor sank to the floor in a heap, clutching at his wrist. The pristine tiles seemed to swim and distort into grey, metal ones, stained with droplets of bright blue blood.
“I think they’ve made a mistake,” Kamski’s voice felt far away. Connor felt like he was drowning. “It seems like they’ve intensified your pain receptors too much. Or perhaps it was on purpose.”
Connor managed to lift his head, eyes wide in a sudden, terrifying moment of clarity.
“What?”
“You don’t know?” The smallest bit of shock lined Kamski’s features. The sound of footsteps grew louder again, seemingly magnified in Connor’s reeling, overworking mind.
A cold hand rests itself on his chin, forcing him to meet Kamski’s pointed, indifferent gaze. “What a tragic existence you are.”
“Get the fuck away, you bastard,” Hank shoved Kamski’s hand away and pulled Connor to his feet. “Let’s go, Connor.”
The world went by in a blur. He was being ushered out of the room, but it felt like he was still stuck there on the ground as the weight of his short, heavy life fell and shattered all around him. He could still feel Kamski’s tight grip on his wrist, could still feel the sharp pain, could still hear the echoes of his memories as he’d sat there.
Somehow, he’d gotten back to the warmth of the car, but Connor still felt inexplicably cold. He was still holding onto his arm in a loose grip, eyes trained on nothing in particular. Various warnings and errors and system messages flooded the edges of his vision, but Connor couldn’t bother dismissing any of it.
“Hey,” Connor turned his head slightly to see Hank looking at him in concern from the other seat. He gently look Connor’s arm. “Let me see.”
Connor didn’t bother protesting. He watched as his partner rolled up his sleeves, revealing pale skin dotted with the faintest traces of bruises.
Hank cursed. “That bastard.”
“I’m okay, lieutenant.” Connor said softly, pulling back his sleeves. He didn’t like staring at his own wrists for too long. It always brought up memories of even harsher hands holding him down to a cold, metal, and bloodied table.
Hank sighed. “Look, kid, I know we don’t really do…this, but…you can talk to me, you know.”
Connor wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the car floor. “…I don’t want to talk about it.”
A moment of silence passed before the engines whirred back to life, and suddenly, they were driving away. The whole car ride was silent, to which Connor was thankful. There were far too many thoughts in his muddled mind, far too many things and feelings he couldn’t even begin to decipher.
Barely halfway through the ride, Connor activated statis, still hugging himself tightly as he leaned against the window.
He doesn’t dream of that cold room. Instead, he sees hazy visions of the Zen Garden, where he stands looking at the sky, watching as the grey clouds gather and loom above him.