A/N: I'M ALLLLIIIVVVVE. Sorry for the wait, the last couple of weeks have been a..struggle. But I have a week long vacation next week and I'm in a much better place so take this chapter! Prompt of the day is "Restrained" and the next one will be "Muted." Enjoy!
Handcuffs, specifically designed for androids, that meet the requirements set forth by the National Institute for Justice require a breaking strength of over 650lbs.
As Connor tests the metal cuffs behind his back, keeping him chained to the chair, he finds himself grudgingly impressed. Whoever had built these restraints had exceeded those parameters. As the most advanced prototype built to date, designed for police work and handling suspects exceeding normal human strength, the RK800 was capable of lifting 600lbs. He is capable of 675lbs if he diverted the necessary power to his arms. Theoretically, he should be capable of pulling himself free, even with his arms behind his back.
He only manages to cut through his plastic chassis, drawing blue blood and damaging the skin projection.
Connor's stuck. He's jammed, unable to warn anyone of the impending attack, and he's fucking stuck with his hands behind his back.
{WARNING: DAMAGE TO RADIOCARPAL JOINTS DETECTED}
{WARNING: THIRIUM LEAK DETECTED}
{FURTHER DAMAGE TO AREA NOT ADVISED}
{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^60%}
Recognizing the effort as a futile one, he turns his attention to his captors. James Reid and Dana Southern, his facial scan provides. Both with criminal histories for property damage. Both with strongly worded anti-android sentiments. Both intent on assassinating Markus at the anniversary speech in Hart Plaza, if the sniper rifle in the window was anything to go by. "You sure it's gonna be there?" Reid asks, his voice impatient.
"Fuckin' better. I didn't go through all this trouble for it not to show up like the news said," Southern barely glances at Connor as she talks. She had hardly paid him any attention since he opened his eyes to find himself restrained in this small room.
" You went through all this trouble? Last I checked, you didn't drag it's," he jerks a thumb back at Connor, "plastic ass up ten flights of stairs."
There was tension between the pair, it seems. After rebooting from a temporary shutdown caused by an electrical shock while patrolling the area ahead of Markus' speech, the RK800 noticed the two was constantly on the verge of arguing. Jibes were thrown here and there on both sides, and their relationship sounded tenuous at best. If Connor was capable of speaking past the gag in his mouth, he'd try to force them apart. Tear their relationship at the seams. He is a programmed negotiator after all and is more than capable of reading and acting on cues.
"Shut the hell up, James. You know that ain't what I meant," Southern clicks her tongue, still ignoring the android as she watches the crowd grow.
Reid turns away from the window at the woman's words before making eye contact with Connor, "We could always check with this plastic asshole."
His co-conspirator shakes her head derisively, "We already got the all clear recording from the thing. I don't want the plastic trying anything if a call comes in on its radio."
"It doesn't have to say anything," he walks to the chair Connor is chained to before dropping into a crouch in front of the android, "Isn't that right?"
Connor simply stares ahead, brown eyes glaring at Reid's green pair. He tugs on the cuffs again as discreetly as he can, ignoring the damage warnings flaring in his vision, but feels no give. The human watches him for a few seconds before breaking eye contact and raising his hand to slap Connor. Aside from the slight distortion effect it has on his skin projection, he does not react. He does not flinch. Instead, Connor stares ahead in an attempt to make eye contact. It's a simple intimidation tactic his programming offers as a response to his situation, albeit an effective one.
Reid stares back, pupils dilating and heart rate increasing slightly. A subconscious fear response, the RK800's analysis program supplies. The man glances up at Connor's temple, no doubt observing the red LED. "Hey, Dana. You're the tech. You sure I didn't break the thing? Was the voltage on the taser too high?"
That gets Southern's attention. She turns away from the window to fix Connor with a scrutinizing look. "It's an RK800, those things are pretty advanced. If anything, it would have been too low…"
She walks over and Connor's eyes flick over to her's. For a moment, they simply observe each other. Human and android. Then a familiar voice sounds over the radio, requesting an all clear signal, and Connor grunts past the gag while lurching against his restraints. Reid jumps back, biting down a curse as Southern smiles, clicking her tongue. "It's just angry," Reid sputters at her words but stops when Dana hands him a pistol, "It tries anything or makes any noise...shoot it."
"Just might anyway. Why the fuck do we still need it?" James mutters.
"We need the escape routes and information if we're gonna take down the rest of the leadership. Shut up and let me send the all clear."
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Reid aims the gun between Connor's eyes and holds a finger to his lips. Southern holds Connor's radio to the recorder, his voice ringing out an "all clear in section 10 Alpha." He finally allows himself to frown as he looks at the recorder. They must have gotten it in while he was patrolling the area before they forced him into a temporary shutdown with the taser. Dana smiles when she follows his line of sight, "You should get your proximity sensors checked."
His only response is to test his restraints again. He can't get an angle. Can't separate his wrists any farther. The cold steel digs into his plastic chassis, drawing thirium and damaging the metal joints beneath. With every movement, his systems flash warning after warning, telling him to stop damaging himself. If he was human, he'd be in agony.
As it is, Connor just tries again-
He hears the crowd, a mixture of cheers and jeers, as Markus takes the stage.
-and again-
The rifle, a L115A3 with .388 Lapua rounds, is removed from the case, placed on a stand, and Reid aims outside the window.
{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^75%}
-and again, with fervour-
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"You want me to shoot?"
"Fuck off, Dana. I shot better than you while practicing and you know it."
"Just aim between the eyes, shithead. Even androids can't walk that off," Southern huffs, nonchalant, while Reid aims down the sights.
-he jumps in the chair, unnoticed by the pair, grunting past the gag as the cuffs hold him back-
{WARNING: DAMAGE TO RADIOCARPAL JOINTS DETECTED}
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{WARNING: RADIOCARPAL STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY COMPROMISED}
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{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^80%}
As James adjusts the scope, both eyes open as he aims down toward the stage, Connor feels something give. The cuffs on his right hand slip down his wrist and catch on his thumb joint. Blue scrapes litter the white and gray chassis, pale skin peeled away from the damage. Possible ways out scroll down on his HUD, with the highest chance of success lies with breaking the thumb joint so his hand could slip past the cuffs.
The chance he would succeed in breaking free was… low. And doing so would render his right hand immobile, further lowering his chances at incapacitating the duo.
Reid's finger slips to the trigger.
The chance of Markus shutting down, irreversibly damaged, if Connor did nothing, was high. His death would cripple the revolution, setting the fight for android rights back by years, and possibly incite a war between humans and androids.
Connor reroutes all possible strength to his arm and yanks.
{WARNING: DAMAGE TO RADIOCARPAL JOINTS DETECTED}
{WARNING: THIRIUM LEAK DETECTED}
{WARNING: RADIOCARPAL STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY COMPROMISED}
{WARNING: RIGHT RADIOCARPAL JOINTS IMMOBILE}
{FURTHER DAMAGE TO AREA NOT ADVISED}
With the final pull, he's free. He's free. Connor rises from his chair, time seeming to slow as he scans the room, already preconstructing possible attack strategies. Then, Reid holds his breath and there is no more time for thinking. No time to plan. No time at all.
Two things happen near simultaneously. Connor leaps forward and Reid pulls the trigger.
The shot rings in his auditory units as he tackles the human to the ground, ripping the rifle from Reid's grasp as they hit the floor. In a single, fluid movement, he whips the butt of the rifle across the man's face with a crunch. When the human stops struggling, red blood trickling from his nose, he drops the rifle, unable to use it with one functional hand, and stands while turning to face the woman. The taser is aimed at the RK800 and Southern smirks.
Typically, Connor was calm, analytical. He'd been described as emotionless before as well as uncaring. It wasn't that he did not care, he cared quite a bit. He simply struggled with expressing emotion and tended to resort to his programming when presented with difficult situations. Dana however, seemed completely unbothered and it unnerved him. He rips the gag from his mouth with his good hand, "I'm faster than you and I don't feel pain. You don't stand a chance against me."
He's already preconstructing ways to avoid the prongs and take her down when his radio explodes with chatter.
"Shot fired, shot fired."
"Anyone have eyes on the shooter?"
"All teams, check in. I need a sitrep."
"Blue Bird is down. We need emergency techs."
"Officer 800, check in."
Markus was hit. He was too slow, he was too slow.
{WARNING: STRESS LEVELS ^90%}
He was too fucking weak to break free, to free himself. He's an RK800; highly advanced and capable of eliminating nearly any threat. He should have never let himself be caught and restrained by two common criminals.
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"Doesn't matter what happens to me now. I've already won." Her voice is smug and it pisses Connor off.
He lunges, dodging the prongs, and grabs Southern by the throat with his left arm. He lifts and slams her head against the wall once, twice, then lets her fall to the floor in an unconscious heap.
Connor had been stuck. He had been stuck and he only watched as Reid aimed down to the crowd below. It was his fault, his fault, that Markus was injured. Possibly dead. All because he couldn't break free of his restraints in time. His fault, indeed.
"Officer 800, please respond."
The RK800 glances at the radio abandoned on the table. He needs to know. He needs to know if Markus is safe. "Officer 800. Two suspects down in left quadrant building, top floor, including the shooter. They restrained me and used my all clear. What is Blue Bird's status, over?"
Hank's voice sounds over the radio, voice relieved, "Blue Bird's fine, kid, minor damage. Barely nicked his shoulder. What's your sitrep, over?"
{STRESS LEVELS v50%}
"My left wrist immobile but I'm otherwise undamaged. The suspects are currently unconscious and I'm compiling a report as we speak, over."
"Showoff," Connor ignores Lieutenant Anderson's breach in radio etiquette, "I got a team heading your way now. Keep 'em comfy, why don't you?"
"Acknowledged. Out."
Connor glances at the handcuffs still dangling from his left wrist and has to suppress a shudder. This had been an… experience. One he is quite sure he wouldn't want to repeat. Instead, he sits back into the chair, watching the pair as he waits for the backup to arrive. Later, there'd be time to fully process what had happened and how he felt about it. For now, he allows his analytical side to take over, and writes his report on the shooting while digging into Reid and Southern's background.
For now, he acts and doesn't feel.
There'd be time later for that.