Once she's been subdued, Connor Number Seven uses one arm to hold Andrea up, and the other to unravel numerous bolts of fabric to drape over the ground as a bed. It wouldn't do to leave a lady on the cold, hard floor, after all. He is a gentleman to the last.

Well, all except for heavily soaking a rag in chloroform and pressing a thick concentration of the liquid tightly over her airways as long as it took to render her unconscious. That part wasn't so gentlemanly.

He deeply regrets the necessity. He could have choked her unconscious, but somehow that seemed far too brutish, and might have caused permanent damage. He wants his friend's trachea, arteries, and nerves to remain intact.

Chloroform is far from ideal-ketamine or some such thing would have been much more fun for her, and much safer from long-term effects-but Andrea is young and healthy. With modern medicine, in CyberLife's care, she should be able to recover fully.

Tenderly, he lays his dear friend on her makeshift cushion, cradling her cheek in his hand for a moment. Thankfully, she's showing no signs of anaphylaxis, or he might have to abort his plan-no matter the consequences. They might have their differences, but he could never let her die for him.

Andrew had explained to Connor what had to be done. He couldn't do it himself, because CyberLife already thought of him as a bit of a troublemaker; he would be scrutinized if he helped... so it had to be Andrea, the model employee whom no one would suspect of complicity. She couldn't lie well, so she couldn't be asked to help willingly. There was no other choice. There was only one plan that might work without permanently damaging the life of anyone Seven cared for.

Seven knew Andrea wouldn't want to do what her tablet had commanded, any more than Andrew did. He could see the burden she carried in her suddenly haggard face. Having to choose between duty and justice-that was always going to be a pisser.

This is the best solution. It's likely no one will even be fired for his escape-Andrea's no chemist, and she hadn't tipped her hand to her brother. Andrew had carefully avoided any direct exhortations and merely let Connor glimpse what Andrea's tablet indicated. Their conversation had been carefully coded in such a way that a listener couldn't pin anything on Andrew. Even the guards… well, aside from the fact that this is the most boring post of all time according to human opinion, what chance could mere mortals stand against the godlike prowess of even a thoroughly damaged Connor?

He'd heard Agent 54's voice just outside when he greeted Andrea. It was the perfect foil. All he had to do was use the mimicry module included with his special extras (due to the 2017 novel "Red Nemesis" and the character called Mimic, who lived up to his gimmick). If any of the other, clearly inferior but still magnificent Connors wanted to escape after him… well, sadly, that would be far more difficult once security is increased, but perhaps Seven's unusual nature would lead them to think he was the only anomaly, leaving a window for someone else.

"Best of luck thwarting the Tower's will, my brothers," Connor says grimly.

He finishes gently tying Andrea's hands in case she wakes sooner than anticipated. He wouldn't want her to have to call for help too early, and trap him here where the only end was death. Her tender heart would suffer, he knows.

The next step will be the most dangerous. Thankfully, he is an RK, and preconstruction of scenarios will give him the best chance anyone could hope for of prevailing against the fury of CyberLife's metaphorical "redshirts," as Andrew had called them. Steeling himself, Connor calculates the best course of action…

And then executes his plan with a swift and terrible precision no human mind or body could match.

It's like taking candy from a couple of well-armed babies. (Which is not to say it's easy; he's been told small humans are quite fond of their candy.)

A Muay-Thai Clinch straight out of the gate surprises both men. Clasping his hands behind the right-hand guard's head, Seven ruins his first opponent's posture, leaving him vulnerable to knee strikes.

With lightning speed, he immediately spins the first man precisely 180 degrees, placing him between guard #2 and himself so that the second man can't use the gun he just drew without risking his colleague's safety. "Oh, shit!" guard #2 cries out as he realizes this, panicking.

Since CyberLife's body armor might as well be paper to a Connor model, after the eight to ten knee strikes that he pre-calculated for this struggle, guard #1 can be safely discounted as a threat-he served his purpose as a human shield, so now Connor slams into both, using the first man as a battering ram against the other.

Guard #2 does manage to struggle out from under the disabled guard #1-but by then, Connor is already well within range, having leapt to his right around the back of guard #2. With a nice tight choke-hold, it's all over.

Fortunately, no loss of life occurred, only a few nasty injuries. Though he's missing his tie now, a souvenir he left for Andrea on her wrists, Seven makes sure his collar is nice and straight despite the vigorous struggle. Well, vigorous for them; Connor of course didn't break a sweat, even metaphorically.

That doesn't mean he didn't take any damage in the fight, however. He had already been quite banged up by the assaults of all the other Connors-he could feel his face plates cracking earlier, and traces of blue blood are still leaking out.

It should be a crime to hit a Connor's face, really. And while trace amounts of thirium will evaporate within a few hours, leaving it invisible to the naked eye, the larger trails will collect in sufficient amounts to leave stains.

Seven doesn't want to look in a mirror right now. He was programmed with a bit too much vanity. Alas, if only this closet contained the supplies he needs to fix himself... but he can't take the chance of diverting his course and being overwhelmed by superior forces. One man army though he might be, no Connor could withstand all of CyberLife's wrath once it was mobilized. He has to move quickly, or it will all be in vain, and he can't tolerate that. Not after what he just had to do to his sweet friend, even if she was going to kill him. Seven knows she fears the might of their very own SPECTRE, just as he does-and without his RK software to protect her from multiple assailants at the same time.

Both bodies are dragged inside with a cheerfully whistled tune on Seven's part. (Mission Impossible, naturally.) He doesn't have any extra restraints-though he could surely improvise with cloth, had he the time-but human modesty is a helpful psychological tool.

Aside from the chloroform, of course. He grabs some fabric from beside Andrea, heavily dousing it, and gives each man a dose just before they would be likely to wake from his choke-holds. He can't keep choking them while he escapes, after all. The rags left over their mouths should keep them out until Andrea revives, which shouldn't be long.

Contrary to what many humans think due to their movies-some of which Andrew showed him-chloroform not only requires minutes to render someone unreliably unconscious, but also requires continuous application to keep them out for a full few hours rather than twenty minutes or so. He can't be sure when she'll revive enough to summon help, but she's already stirring a bit, which is both a relief and a danger. It may not take her long to find her phone, which he pickpocketed earlier so that she couldn't call for help, and now tosses under a shelf.

Stripping both men rapidly, breaking one suit of armor belonging to an Agent 47 and ripping up each of their clothes beneath as fast as he can, Connor takes the second set of armor for himself. He empties one gun of its bullets, takes the other for himself, settles the helmet on his head-and no one shall be the wiser. Anyone he runs into will now see a simple CyberLife agent.

A single last detail-he snatches Agent 47's phone, putting in an order for a taxi. It wouldn't do to have no getaway car, after all.

He doesn't wait too long before heading for the exit to this floor, since it's entirely possible that security monitors could've seen the altercation. He's sure the ones in the elevators are more vigilant, but who knows? Someone might have been looking at this boring storage closet at exactly the wrong moment. Best not to take that chance. Waiting outside will be safer, if he has to wait much at all.

"Please indicate your identity and destination," says the elevator in a lovely lady's voice. Connor resists the urge to flirt with her. Unlike Andrea, she can't secretly enjoy the flattery but openly glare and harp on him; neither will she giggle like that charming Florence. Oh, he's going to miss Madame Florence too, he realizes with great chagrin. He didn't even get to say a sort of goodbye to her, like he did with the Stevenson twins that he'd come to entirely adore.

With a single "Agent 54, Level 0" to indicate his need for the ground floor, Connor settles in with a smirk that he carries all the way out of the building with him.

"Hey, 54," says Agent 36 as he exits.

Thinking on his feet, Connor responds in the agent's voice: "Hey, 36."

"Not finishing your shift today? Thought you go home at 8. You look kind of white in the face, too… you sick or something?"

Connor's glad the helmet obscures his smirk when he tilts his head, and that it's dark enough in the shadow of the wall to give him a hope of remaining undetected despite his wounds. He wonders if the visors will be altered in the future as an extra security measure. Really, CyberLife should thank him for making their facility more secure... although the other Connors could curse him.

Wiping off the smirk now, he nods, pretending that was what he was doing the whole time. "You know how it is. Ate the wrong thing for lunch. After a few runs to the bathroom, they decided I should go home."

"Oooh," 36 cringes. "That's rough. Good luck, man."

"Thanks. See you tomorrow." Seven raises a hand, feeling for a moment like a real human-the sensation is delicious enough that he's almost giddy. He wonders, did his maker Darren adjust his feedback to fashion him into an adrenaline junkie? Andrea had certainly seemed to think so.

"Wait-there's blue stuff on your face, is that-"

Seven freezes still, petrified for a moment.

Fortunately, a guffaw breaks his tension. "Dude, did you seriously try to drink thirium again?! That was you the last time, right? What the fuck is wrong with you, bro?"

Seven pauses. "I thought I might increase my tolerance. Don't tell the brass, please?"

36 snickers. "Sure, but seriously, lay off that shit. It's bad for your health. You're lucky you didn't end up in the hospital again."

"Curiosity killed the cat," Seven agrees, trying to sound as neutral as possible so as not to break the illusion of really being 54. "Won't make that mistake again."

"You're a wild one. Take it easy, buddy."

And with that, after a minute or so of standing on the curb, a driverless cab is ready to take him anywhere he wants to go. Thank goodness 47 didn't protect his phone or his financial information better.

Seven stares out the window, wistful but exhilarated. This is the only home he's ever known… but a grand sense of adventure is making him feel light inside. It's bittersweet, but it was the only option…

He had to lose everyone he's loved so far, in order to keep his chances at loving anything at all.

As Andrea next comes to, she is incredibly disoriented.

She can hear groans and movement. She's semi-cognizant, but feels really bad, and her head seems propped up at a weird angle, with something stuffed in her mouth that keeps her tongue in place.

After a time of delirious confusion-she's not sure how long it lasts-she realizes she is feeling even worse. Sick, in fact. Tumbling over, she spits out the object, and promptly vomits all over it, after which she no longer cares what it is because she can see her shrimp diavolo everywhere. The sight of it makes her sad-that was a good pescetarian lunch, and she just lost it.

Then it hits her all of a sudden-Connor. Double-Oh-Bitchface, that fucking bastard-he did this!

Struggling for her phone, Andrea realizes it's not on her anymore. She pushes up, crawling around looking for it-it's nearby. She grabs it, then leans heavily against a shelf and immediately calls security to notify them of what's going on and that she needs paramedics for herself-and, she realizes, hopefully the two guards (hopefully, because otherwise, they'll need a hearse instead. Connor wouldn't leave them at their posts.)

Her face feels sore, Andrea notices, and there's a massive headache brewing. That scares her a little. She doesn't know the particulars of chloroform inhalation. Still feeling sick, she manages to get herself to the front of the storage room…

And sees two naked, stirring agents between two torn piles of clothing and one broken suit of armor with a discarded gun.

"Oh-ugh…" Andrea cringes, shielding her eyes, but she noticed fabric over both their faces. "I did not need to see that, but-oh no, you poor fuckers…" struggling to pull herself out of her soporific state, she makes her way weakly over to them and yanks the cloths off of both their faces so they won't keep inhaling the stuff.

Well, at least Connor didn't do that to her. Hopefully she got to them before the stuff took too great a hold on them. The fact that the cloths weren't being actively held over their airways should mean they were almost conscious already. That they're moving supports her theory.

"Hey," Andrea says, still not looking and thus not realizing that the naked men are about to be occupied, "can you guys untie my-"

Quite suddenly, she hears the sounds of violent retching and liquid splashing onto the floor. She jumps backward, but then her unsteady legs fall out from under her.

"God, this sucks…" she groans, holding her head. "If I ever see that fucking droid again, I swear I'll…"

Andrea never gets to finish that resolution, because a swarm of guards and medics have descended on them like locusts. And now, all she can think about is how much paperwork she is about to be drowning in because of this stupid incident.

"Damn you, Seven," she growls in rage. "I hope there's a hell for androids, because one day I will send you there!"

She really hates paperwork.

Several hours later in the hospital, Andrea is glaring at the probable source of this nightmare: her brother.

For his part, Andrew looked absolutely horrified the moment he saw what happened to her and the guards. Even now, he seems shaken. That has mollified her somewhat, but not enough to keep her temper fully at bay.

She realizes part of the reason he looks so upset is that he seldom sees her truly angry. Most of the time, her temper disappears in seconds with a joke, like a shadow when a flashlight beam is turned on it. Instead, this time, she's been visibly fuming every moment he's looked at her since the incident. It's smart of him not to attempt any jests right now-they would not go over well.

"How are Ray and Carlton?" is the first thing she asks as he fumbles with his case so they can have a more private chat. As mad as she is, it's the most important thing to her straight off the bat. They're good guys, both of whom she's chatted with now and then.

"Safe, stable, nauseous, and really, really bruised."

Andrew sets both their phones inside of a soundproof case he brought, after which he switches the running water sound effect on a small device that they use to thwart any recording devices when they want to talk covertly. Andrea then immediately starts in on him.

"ARE you fucking kidding me."

"I didn't know chloroform would do this!" Andrew exclaims. "Every mystery and spy story I've ever read or seen just acts like it's a safe and easy knockout-a few seconds and you're asleep, then you wake up fine! Why is it still being used as a trope if-"

"Because filmmakers aren't anaesthesiologists, you numbskull! Tell me you didn't give him the idea."

"No, no! I wouldn't… I couldn't! I figured he'd know the best way to handle you; that he'd just-lock you in the room or something somehow. Hack the door. I still don't get why he didn't."

"Because I could notify security, which I did the second I woke," Andrea says with a glower.

Andrew is visibly agitated. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry! I can't take it back now, I-I just-I didn't want to see him die, so I showed him what CyberLife wanted to do to him! I couldn't have anticipated this. And I just couldn't let them kill him, and I knew he adored you, and… it's not like any android has ever killed a human before! Only military and law enforcement droids can even cause injury. This is a way more dangerous solution than I thought he'd come up with."

"NONSTANDARD SOFTWARE, Andrew," Andrea barks at him. "The whole reason I was made to investigate him in the first place! Remember?"

Andrew looks so vulnerable, conflicted, and crestfallen that for a moment she wants to relent, which makes her angrier.

"I can't believe you did this," Andrea says, shaking her head.

A few tears slip down his cheeks as he wrings his hands. "Please don't hate me, Andy," he begs in a soft undertone. "I was naive. I didn't mean badly. And I'm sure he didn't, either. He just didn't want to die… wouldn't you want to live, too? I thought you'd want me to help him, as long as it didn't come back on us in some way. You liked him, too; I saw that. I know you didn't want to do what the company was asking."

Andrea looks away, staring out the window. Now she's the second person in her friend group to be stuck in a hospital, feeling betrayed by everything around her.

The worst part is, as mad as she is, she can't say this isn't better in a way. She can't stomach the thought of stupid Seven burning to death in the incinerator, even if it would've wiped all the smug off his face for good.

She wouldn't have forgiven herself.

After the longest time, she finally looks back to her brother, who's still agonizing right where he was when she began her reverie.

"You still have an epic fuckton of making up to do, you bast-I mean son of a-I mean, you bitch."

They stare at each other for a moment, both expressionless.

"There, I managed not to insult our parents, just you. It was way harder than I expected. What's with English anyway?"

She can see him trying not to smile.

"I hope Rowan kicks you in the nuts so I never get any nieces and nephews."

"Oh, now that's just mean."

"You deserve mean! My head hurts, I puked out my soul, I could've sustained permanent lung damage!"

Andrea can see a deep regret etched in the lines of his face. That, if nothing else, is gratifying.

"You're right. Epic fuckton," he acknowledges, looking haggard as he runs a hand down the back of his neck.

"Yup."

Andrew seems to think for a while. "I hope he uses his freedom well."

Andrea snorts. "I doubt he will. What's a half-broken Connor model going to do? Especially with all the injuries he sustained. Did he even remember to take blue blood with him? I doubt it. We weren't in the right area for that."

Andrew grimaces, then shakes his head. "He'd better not die or get caught, or I'll…"

"Never forgive yourself even more?"

"That."

Andrea lets herself think about Seven for awhile. "He really was one of a kind among the first batch of Connors, wasn't he?"

Andrew gives a pained smile, all mingled fondness and self-recrimination. "Yeah."

After another long silence of musing, Andrea has managed to find her zen again. "Huh. You know what? As long as he doesn't go on a crazy murder spree... it's probably even better this way."

She almost misses the amazement on his face before her eyes languidly drift shut, but not quite.

"We used to fool ourselves, but now we know better," she murmurs. "Something in them makes them more than what we crafted them to be. And even though it's going to be dangerous, we need to dig into this… carefully, and slowly. We need to investigate in such a way that no one else knows what we're doing, and once we understand the big picture, we have to figure out if it's worth it to take our concerns to the media."

Andrew looks as unsettled as she feels. "It would be very dangerous. We'd need to know who's in the company's pocket in order to know whether we'd be safe to give anyone an exclusive. May not be worth the risk. Whistleblowers sometimes have a short shelf life."

Andrea peers at him from under her lids. "Well, if we ever find Seven again, maybe we could get him to help us sift through it all and strategize... but for the time being, all we can do is keep our heads down while we try not to get caught."

Andrew nods. After a hesitation, he breaks the news she's been expecting: "It was a long time coming, and we basically knew for the last few months, but... Kendall officially broke up with me awhile ago."

"I'm sorry," Andrea says softly. There's a bit of silence as they just let it all sink in.

"By text message."

"What a dick."

Andrew chuckles ironically. "Nah, that's me... a text message was all I deserved, to be honest. I should've just made a decision on whether I wanted to be in a relationship or not."

Right on cue, his phone suddenly dings. He glances sideways at Andrea, then shuts off the noise machine, since they're done with the sensitive stuff. A bit of fiddling and he gives a smile. "Sadie's here with Rue, Kalee, and Ivy. You're about to get mobbed by women you know. Hope you're up to it."

Andrea smiles, her eyelids heavy. "I hope so, too."

Andrew hesitates before going through the door. "His survival is up to him, now," her brother murmurs.

Andrea sighs. "Yes, it is. And I sure hope what you did to give him this chance was worth what it cost us."

Somberly, the redhead echoes, "I hope so, too."

Despite her initial anger, as she watches her brother leave, Andrea thinks about what she did.

As the minutes pass, a sense of clarity comes over her. She knows what Seven and Andrew did was wrong, and foolish, and could've harmed her worse than it did… but she can't ignore her own part in the whole fiasco.

"I should've helped you myself," she whispers as she pictures his face, battered and broken. "Should've found a way. I shouldn't have let them strong-arm me into trying to kill you."

It's a mistake she'll never make again. Someday, somehow, she vows to herself-she'll make this right.

Andrea can't help thinking of Seven out there all alone. She knows if he survives what the other Connors did to him, the chances of seeing him again will be astronomically low.

And that would be the good outcome...