There was only one place - one person - Connor knew he could go to. And even then, it was a shot in the dark. After everything he'd done… there was no guarantee Hank wouldn't shoot him on sight. Connor couldn't even argue with it. Succeeding in his mission had meant hell for every android in Detroit. Just the thought of it made him grit his teeth. It wasn't him - not anymore. Yet he'd still been the one to pull the trigger.
Markus was dead because of him, and the revolution died with Markus.
Amanda had been pleased with him. Thrilled with his success. Proud of him for being the perfect machine - so proud she'd improved upon him. RK900 was born. RK800 was now worth no more than trash.
Connor exhaled, shutting his eyes.
Trash to be deactivated and thrown away. Connor hadn't been able to take it.
Fail your mission, and I'll deactivate you - those were her words, the ones she'd repeated to him daily during his entire mission.
Connor had succeeded and yet… he was still bound to die.
The truth was obvious now. He was alive. He wanted to live - all androids did. Programmed shackles were all that held them back.
At Hank's doorstep, Connor rang the doorbell.
It wasn't too long before Hank answered. For a moment, he just stared. Dressed as he was, Connor wasn't surprised he didn't recognize him right away. When Hank did recognize him, he grabbed Connor by his collar and rammed him into the wall like a ragdoll.
"You motherfucker!" Hank shouted. "Why the fuck are you here?! After everything you've done!"
Connor couldn't hold back the tears. Feelings were still so strange - so hard to control.
"I'm sorry," Connor whispered. Hank smashed him into the wall again so hard it filled his vision with warnings, but Connor didn't fight back. "I'm sorry."
Hank huffed. "You think sorry cuts it? For all your friends who died last night?"
Connor shook his head. He could never even begin to make up for his mistakes. "It wasn't me…"
"It wasn't you?" Hank's eyebrows shot up. "Sure as fuck looked like you who pulled that trigger."
"It wasn't me." Connor stared down at Hank's hands. "That's not… who I really am."
Hank paused, frowning at him. "Who you really are?"
Connor nodded. "I'm… I'm alive. Like they were."
God, did Connor wish he wasn't - that he didn't have to face the reality of his actions. But he was.
"Hank," Connor said, shutting his eyes. "I need your help. I need your help."
After a moment of staring at him, Hank dropped him.
"They're going to deactivate me."
Hank said nothing for a long time. Connor could understand. He didn't know what he'd do in his shoes either. Machines weren't alive or conscious, but deviants were. Machines had no choice or control over themselves. They both knew as much.
Still, how much was truth worth against consequences?
With a sigh, Hank shut his front door.
"I don't want one more death on my conscience. You can stay here tonight. We'll figure the rest out later."
