After covertly inquiring of a number of random androids on the street just where he might go for shelter and freedom, it takes Seven nearly a full day to find his destination: an old freighter along the waterfront in Ferndale.

He's truly torn on the subject of this Jericho place. In one way, it represents a glorious new freedom. In another way, it's absolutely hideous, and certainly not a fitting environment for someone like him. He was meant to venture into unknown and sometimes dingy places, but those weren't home. Home was bright, clean, glowing blue and white lines interwoven with darker shapes. It was vivid and compartmental, with carefully distributed instances of foliage. It was a place of order and structure, not a place of urban decay. This, for Seven, is an aesthetic nightmare.

Nevertheless, this unexpected refuge is the only hope he has of repairs, as far as he knows. The leak has not stopped over the passing hours since his escape, so he's had to keep his hand in place-just under his heart-as much as possible, to keep the blue stuff where it should be.

A change of clothing made that easier. He had to ditch the gun and uniform after a point; they'd be too recognizable, since CyberLife's agents don't generally wander the streets in full gear.

Someone's discarded hoodie in a random trash bin had been his best option. He no longer had his tie, but he kept on his normal uniform underneath. After all, the pants and shoes of a Connor model were entirely nondescript-all the identifying features were contained between waist and throat. With his hood up, and his face down, as long as he kept to shadowy areas, no one was going to notice his damaged skin matrix or faceplates. The worst he'll get is "oh, how odd, dress pants and dress shoes under a hoodie..."

Connor had been lucky enough to find a lovely, if entirely outdated, AX400 who had known of this place-she had not seemed to understand his flirtations, playing coy as he saw it. However, she did seem to trust in his need for aid enough to take his hand and give him the clues necessary to find this place. Following a trail of digital breadcrumbs was child's play for someone with his investigative talents, naturally.

Getting on board the freighter is much more difficult than it should've been, as he needs both hands to climb the crane.

Identifying an easy point of ingress, he drops down to discover an open hatch, with a ladder beneath. Hearing voices below with his sharp ears, he wastes no time in scurrying down into Jericho's rusted heart.

While his footsteps are careful and quiet at first lest it be a trap, once he sees the clusters of deviants in varying states, he relaxes.

Sweeping down the stairs, Seven greets his new family as he walks into a flashlight beam, much stronger than the glow filtering in from above.

"Salutations, fellow androids, I've come to join your ranks! How goes it, citizens of Jericho?"

It's like being in a room full of Andreas. All of them are staring at him and his grandly outstretched arms.

Someone steps closer and flicks open a lighter to get a better look at him.

"While I would've welcomed a parade, a mere 'hello' would surely suffice," Seven says, mildly offended. Even when they were beating his face in, the other Connors were at least polite about it.

He hears murmurs from the darkness:

"What happened to his face?"

"I've never seen that look before..."

"Maybe it's a new one?"

"Strange, he must've deviated fast... but he looks so old and worn..."

"He looks older than me, and I've been around for eight years already."

"Maybe he's as old as you, but a custom design for someone wealthy?"

Grimacing, Seven tries to ignore the vanity rising within-he is a Connor model, a glorious creation. He is CyberLife's best and most beautiful handiwork. Even Andrea at her most annoyed had acknowledged the magnificence of Connors; she took a pride in it, and great displeasure at that magnificence being (as she had originally seen it) marred.

Inquiries about what happened to mangle his beautiful synthetic bone structure are far from pleasing. He would've greatly preferred 'what a handsome bastard, he must've been an intimate partner for some very lucky human, is he available for a bit of horizontal activity?'

"Hello," someone says at last. The word slowly echoes around the room.

"My name is Quinn," a KW-500 speaks up. Those are curators, and librarians… don't see many of those these days. He's missing an arm, and wearing glasses which can't possibly be necessary.

"I'm Marika," says an ST-300.

Seven winks at her. The Stevensons gave him a soft spot for freckles, that much is sure. She just stares back like he grew horns.

"Ric," a big TR-400 identifies himself, seeming very calm. Connor nods, unable to help admiring his intimidating size.

"Violet," whispers a WR-300 with the Chloe look. Connor can only wince at all her scarring, though her wavy pale violet bob is fetching.

"Evie," another WR-300 chimes in. Her general coloring and rounded, strikingly pleasant facial features remind him of Andrea, which brings a bit of melancholy to his heart.

"I'm Simon," a PL-600 tells Connor.

"Josh," a PJ-500 says next.

More names float by, and Connor will remember them all, which is a skill he knows many a human would envy. He smiles and nods until the names end, then gives a grand bow with a flourish.

"Delighted to make your many acquaintances," he tells the room brightly.

"What's your name?" Marika asks, hesitating before letting go of her lighter's button.

"My name is Co-Colin," Connor chokes himself, realizing at the last instant that it might be important that no one know his true identity. And there begins an epiphany.

Spontaneous in nature, he had almost outed himself. Almost let them know who and what he really is. That would have been bad, he understood at the last moment-it would be dangerous for them to know his secret identity, and dangerous for him as well. It's best if he keeps it clandestine-they might see him as a spy, so he ought to act like one. He doesn't want anyone deciding to turn him in, or seeing him as too much of a liability to give him shelter. No, it's better to take and keep a separate name-and one similar enough to the old to cover any slips he or someone else might make.

"Yes, Colin," he repeats in delight, with a strange sense of splintering inside.

Seven was already different from the other Connors in terms of his software-now he is unique altogether. He's renamed himself. He's claimed an identity all his own. No longer is he just a copy of a copy, or a handsome clone, or some bored rich man's joke to troll his colleagues with-now, he is Colin. The name belongs to him alone, and it feels so right to say it.

The others are staring at him again, but he can't stop beaming. If only he could enlighten the Stevensons and Florence now that he knows-"My name is Colin." What a wonderful sound it would be on their lips.

"Nice to meet you, Colin," Marika tells him, sounding a bit sunny even if she's as confused as the others about why he would seem so pleased. "Welcome to Jericho. We're all happy to have you here."

After some pleasantries-a necessary business-Colin decides he should get down to brass tacks.

"My new friends," he begins, "I find myself in a bit of a predicament. As you can see, my skin matrix has seen better days… but the damage is worse than it appears. Regrettably, I must prevail upon you to assist me in my repairs. Some extra thirium should be sufficient for my energy needs once we've plugged the leak, but I will also need to be patched up internally."

Ric's face is solemn, and Marika's is strained. In fact, as he looks around, Colin can see that the situation must be far more grim than he'd anticipated-as grim as befits a rusty boat full of ailing androids. He is only one of many, but he'd thought at least some help could be found amongst his kind-androids adrift, purposeless, yet free. Surely they would have already sought a means to protect themselves and their liberty.

"I am sorry," Ric tells him gravely. "We've been trying to find a way to get blood for everyone, but every option we have seems too risky. If we could help you, we would… but as of now, we can only salvage what we can from those who die. That has seemed to be our best option so far."

Colin attempts to keep a stiff upper lip, though his dismay is certainly growing. "Quite bad news," he agrees. "I understand your predicament. There is an option that I was given besides coming here, but I judged dealing with humans too risky."

"Where was that?" Ric asks, clearly curious.

Colin takes Ric's hand, skin retracting, and gives the location. "Fellow by the name of Zlatko. Apparently, he has altruistic intentions toward our kind. I considered it, but for my part it seemed better to trust my fellow androids, so I kept looking until I found someone who directed me here."

After a hesitation, Colin adds, "It might be worth it if we become desperate enough, but I daresay I'd sooner attempt to raid a junkyard than risk humans turning us in. Direct confrontation is seldom desirable."

Straightening up to his full height-rather impressive, he must say, if not as impressive as Ric's-Colin dusts himself off. "Well. My mission is clear. That is precisely what I shall do: comb the junkyards for everything we need!"

Simon steps forward, worry written all over his face. "Those places are dangerous," he protests. "High traffic. You'll be killed."

Josh chimes in. "He's right. A human's house in a secluded area on the outskirts of the city should be unlikely to get much traffic, so the risk is lower-if we send a full team and don't give any advance warning that we're coming. The junkyard could be worth it if we have no other options, but I'd say we do."

"All it takes in a junkyard is a single human to see you go in there," Simon presses.

"Or a police drone, to fly overhead in a random patrol," agrees Violet in her very soft voice.

Even though he can't say so, Colin has some very good reasons for not wanting to follow their advice. However altruistic a random human with a history of helping androids might normally be, the kind of money CyberLife would put forth-as a bounty to get him back and into their oven-might change any such human's mind. And even if the human hadn't heard of him or seen a mugshot of some kind, all it would take is a spark of imagination: I've never seen an android that looks like you before. Maybe you're special. Maybe I should investigate your origins... No, this isn't the safer bet for Colin even if he was the trusting type, and Darren Redford's module ensured that he very much is not.

"Regrettably, I won't make it to the outskirts in this condition," Colin laments. "I'm afraid that for the current time, I'm better off avoiding all contact with humans. Once I've been repaired, I can at least properly flee, but in this state I'm quite unsafe. In any potential conflict, I would need the use of both hands, and I will need thirium to replace what I've lost and keep me in energy-unless you've got a generator here."

Josh and Evie shakes their heads in the negative.

Colin sighs. "In that case, I would only be a burden in my current condition. Therefore, at this juncture, I'm better off taking a shorter walk. I truly need to repair myself as soon as possible. It is my fervent hope that I can return to aid you in your future efforts. It pains me to leave such a charming crowd of new friends, but as I noted before, my mission is clear."

He winks at them, then, to lift the grim mood. "And I always accomplish my mission."

Hoping he looks dashing even in a hoodie, Colin strides back up the stairs and heads for the ladder, giving a vigorous little hop of confidence for show.

His short time in Jericho yielded at least one great fruit-his name. And in the future, it could yield many new friendships as well.

All he had at what Andrew jokingly liked to call 'the Umbrella Academy' were fellow pupils to best. Though he lost his peers… or what passed for peers, and his human friends as well, this is a whole new chance to make android friends.

Yes, things are looking brighter for Colin now. It's a whole new ball game, as humans like to say. As soon as he gets what he needs, he can head back here and start to spruce up the place. Perhaps he can find some nice decorations in some human junkyard. It surely can't be that difficult to find better than what they already have-in other words, essentially nothing.

Colin strides off into the night, clutching his wound and hoping the darkness will shield him from prying eyes. He can't afford to be caught now, not when a whole new life is right at his fingertips.

By the time Colin has come close to finishing his search of the junkyard, his diagnostic programs are screaming their warnings to him. The future is seeming a fair bit more tarnished in the wake of his fruitless venture.

As happy as he was to have his freedom and new prospects just a few hours ago, his situation is becoming increasingly dire. Somehow, his wound has managed to wear itself gradually more open. Perhaps he was too concerned with appearances back at Jericho… perhaps he should have been less afraid to show weakness.

After all, his fellows there didn't seem like fighting types. They weren't fellow Connors looking to prove themselves to handlers or testers. They were former laborers, cleaners, prostitutes… no one he should fear; not even fellow RK series androids. None of them could hope to be his match-not when even other Connors couldn't.

It was only that he'd lived a certain way for most of his life until now-with the need to never show weakness, and always impress. Now he's paying for that way of being. Live by vanity, die by vanity, perhaps?

Colin's motor skills are beginning to falter. It's quite unfortunate because at this point, to prevent further damage to his system, it's best if he actually does the unthinkable: shuts himself down deliberately, before it happens accidentally.

Android bodies were made to require thirium. They'd been given limitations deliberately so as to calm the public in their worries about Skynet or Securitron or AM or HAL-look, see? They're not invulnerable. We can conquer them if we need to with our superior firepower. Once enough thirium loss has occurred, data corruption or loss can begin to accompany it as the situation grows more dire.

Androids spontaneously deactivated are in many cases, upon reactivation, unable to successfully recover all the memories that made them who they were. In other cases, even if their memories are intact, they can still lose all the higher brain functions that allowed them to rationally process their environments. As he reflects on it, Colin remembers Andrea's previously comatose friend and the complications from her lengthy slumber-apparently, humans are not so different from his kind. Sufficient damage to the brain can remove or alter their identities as well.

If he keeps trying to hunt for the very parts that could fix his issues, Colin might end up in such a state that he can't even grip and install what he needs if it's lying a foot away. He needs both thirium and repairs, to keep the blue stuff flowing through his body rather than out of it.

Like any model in the RK series, Connor's system can hibernate in response to severe trauma, but will attempt to reboot itself at a later time. It doesn't cost much energy from his internal backup battery to send out a pulse periodically to check the date, or check his sensors to see if his parameters have been met. Upon the conditions being fulfilled, the signal will be sent to his system to wake him up again.

Lying face-up should keep his thirium in. As long as he manages to trigger a reboot-if he manages to do so-then assuming he didn't suffer any serious corruption, he should have a window of time to search through whatever new bodies may have been dumped in the junkyard. Until then, he should be fairly safe.

If nothing damages his mechanical brain or heart in the meantime... like a bulldozer, or some bloodthirsty hooligans-or even an earthquake like they had back in '29, which had caused the flooding out near Ferndale. On top of all those possibilities, he must also hope that no needy android comes along and cracks open his chest because they require biocomponents or simply blue blood. What a ghoulish fate for a superior prototype.

Colin decides to have his extra sensors check four strategically chosen times every day, until the recorded landscape around him experiences a sufficient percentage of change that it's reasonable to believe that he might successfully scavenge his survival.

As he contemplates what he's about to do, his feelings chill him.

At CyberLife, Seven had felt like a colorful part of a team, or even family. At Jericho, he'd felt a budding sense of community despite the loss of everything he'd known. The androids here are so badly damaged they might as well be bluetooth speakers. Now, here in the dark with a hell's worth of half-buried, broken, and in some cases mindlessly writhing bodies all around him, he couldn't feel more alone.

He feels again like he felt when Andrea first mentioned the furnace, but so much stronger… he knows this is what humans call dread. He isn't supposed to feel it, or anything... but he does. Dread might be even worse than fear, since fear is a call to action. Dread is what happens when there may be no action that will help anything at all. No way out.

The darkness he is about to plunge into might be a permanent end. If he does wake again, then for all he knows, he could be greeted by a post-apocalyptic nightmare; one devoid of humans and androids.

He's about to put himself into a coma. There's a kind of poignant irony to that… one of Andrea's friends just came out of a coma. Another-at least, he hopes she still thinks of him that way-is about to go into one.

There's a sense of displacement in the air.

Colin tears the hoodie off with his free hand, then shreds the RK logo to ribbons. He can't afford to have any CyberLife employees come through here and notice him. Shifting, he rubs some mud on himself in the pouring rain to further obscure the distinctive Connor outfit. He shoves some cloth into the hole, hoping it will keep him and his venous system protected from the elements. Then he lays his arm over it as extra protection, and does his best to blend in with all the other bodies. He is now a part of this mass grave, about to be as dead as the rest for all any observer will know.

This is how the world ends… not with a bang, or even a whimper; only with a whisper to hang onto.

"I am more than what they made me," Colin tells himself, the new mantra barely a breath as he repeats it twice more, as if to solidify its truth.

Under the rusty glow of Detroit's evening sky, Colin lets those words be his last. He closes his eyes, and like Andrea had done in his arms, he succumbs to sleep.

His last thought is of the friends he once made, and has probably lost forever.