November 7th, 2038
AM 07:23:09
Carl Manfred: The leading figurehead of the "Neosymbolist movement" in the 2020's.
Neosymbolism: The idea of a world in which technology and the industrial reality have not yet drowned the forces of mysticism and belief. Neosymbolist imagery attempts to preserve the relationship between image and the human soul.
Dust sparkled like diamond feathers as they passed between shafts of light, casting elongated tendrils in the living room. They didn't quite captivate you like the android sitting on the floor, surrounded by opened books like he was a centerpiece of a paper-bound hex.
Sunlight shattered around him, clouds lit up in oranges and pinks; the skyline going to sleep one office window and oversized billboard at a time. His legs were crossed, his left elbow planted on his knee; his chin on a fist. A coin flowed through the gaps of his fingers like water, trickling along his knuckles and sparkling as the morning greeted him.
The misplaced hairs over his forehead strayed farther than normal. His jacket pooled around his legs, tossed carelessly aside. His tie was loosened, hovering above two unclasped buttons of his blinding-white shirt.
He was radiant, and you were spellbound in the afterglow.
You could stare at him like this for hours. Taken away from the bullying, the predatory tendencies and prejudices of life; just being allowed to live.
Everything was so beautiful. Peaceful. You wanted to capture it forever. You wanted this life for him so badly. Wanted this with him, to see this every morning.
A hopeless dream. One that was born from rushed feelings and insurmountable obstacles. Another fantasy to cling on while reality burst at the seams, leaving the two of you and everyone else you cared about flying in the wind like loose threads cut from a quilt.
"Good morning," His brows creased, and the smile you'd grown to long for fell into a frown, "Why are you crying?"
You sniffed, jumping as a pinch came from the aftermath of getting shot. Your arms faltered as you tried to sit up.
"I'm not. Just allergies." You swiped your nose, rolling a wrist over damp eyes, "What time is it?"
"0723. You slept for thirteen hours. How are you feeling?"
He watched you, waiting for a response as if it was the most important question he'd ever asked.
"A little better."
The stiffness in your body was twice as bad. Just like your car accident, you half-expected it to be worse the day after. But you couldn't bring yourself to tell him the truth.
His smile came back in an instant, "That's relieving."
"Shouldn't you be heading to the station? I mean, I don't mind you being here…I just don't want you to get in trouble."
Connor toyed with the idea, his head bobbing back and forth, "From what I've gathered, Lieutenant Anderson rarely shows up before 1200."
"That sounds like an excuse you made up so you get to read more."
"Perhaps."
"Did you…" You yawned, "Did you read all night?"
There must've been more than twenty books scattered around him in a perfect circle.
"Yes. I've found that I enjoy it quite a bit, actually-" He jumped off the floor, his socks padding across the area rug as he basically ran towards you.
You pulled your legs up, and he plopped on the couch.
"This one-" He fanned the pages, "I saved this one for last."
"…Last?"
You looked behind him, finding an empty bookcase. Your eyes widened, but a pair of fingers and crookedly-typed text blocked your view. Your neck snaked back, the pages brushing against your nose and making your nostrils flare, "Agh-"
"I've been waiting for you to wake up all morning. I think it's this one!"
You blinked rapidly, still waking up.
"Let's see…" You took it from him.
"Well?" He popped his head over the edge of the book, eagerly awaiting your response, "Did I pass the test, Officer…I mean-" He cleared his throat before reciting your first name.
"Just hang on a sec." You chuckled.
It was "Beyond Good and Evil," written by Friedrich Nietzsche.
"Why do you think this is the one Manfred based his painting on?"
"I used the information I compiled on you as a foundation to build my hypothesis."
"Compiled…information?"
"Based on our discussion last night, and your behavioral tendencies, I was able to construct a psychological profile to cross-reference with the reading material."
If he had a tail, it'd be wagging. But he didn't. Just a lopsided grin and a face that said he wanted nothing more than to be right; to make you proud.
"I want to hear more about this 'psychological profile…'"
"Wait…" He frowned, "But I want to know if I was correct. Please, tell me."
"Yes, you're correct…" You ran your fingertips down the page, caressing each word that you've read hundreds of times, "This is the right one."
"I knew it!" He muted a shout with grit teeth.
He was so…happy. Ecstatic, even.
"This is…incredible." You looked up at him, "Connor, do you know what this means?"
His head cocked to the side, "That you share the same psychological profile as Friedrich Nietzsche?"
"No, silly…" You smiled at him, awestruck, "You've proven that androids are capable of abstract thought. Thinking outside the borders of…"
Something clicked. Something ground-breaking and game-changing and-
"Connor…what do you know about deviancy?"
"Do you mean how it occurs?"
"Yeah, that."
He gave you a curious look, "We believe that a mutation occurs in the software of some androids, which can lead to them emulating a human emotion. They don't really feel emotions, they just get overwhelmed by irrational instructions, which can lead to unpredictable behavior."
"'Unpredictable behavior…'" You flicked through the pages, stopping at one, in particular.
You read a paragraph out loud, "'What else are they but suggestions for behavior, adapted to the degree of danger from themselves in which the individuals live…and would like to play the master.'"
You paused, hearing the deviant from the interrogation whisper in your mind.
"We. Will. Be…The masters."
"Connor…"
"Yes?"
"When you say unpredictable behavior…Would you also say that deviants exhibit…human, behavior?"
"Tracking deviants does require a certain amount of finesse; like how officers of the law, such as yourself, must think like a criminal to hunt a criminal." The corners of his eyelids crinkled, his lips curving, "Fortunately, adapting to human unpredictability is one of my features."
He gave you a wink. He winked. Something that confused him just as much as you. And still, it made your heart skip a beat in its rhythmic pulse…an adaptation of its own.
An adaptation to an unpredictable event. A modification to align yourself with unknown variables. An irony. A paradox.
You threw the blanket off. Connor caught it as he watched you rush across the room.
"This is it-" You frantically skimmed a cluster of words and reviewed your evidence board, "This is the answer. This is-"
"I'm sorry," Connor took to your side, looking over your shoulder, "I don't follow."
"Look, right here. At this passage." You passed him the book, taking a marker's cap off with your teeth, "Pay-sefan-ree-tha-"
"…What?"
You yanked it out of your mouth, scribbling on a sticky note, "Page seven. Read that-"
"'How could anything originate out of its opposite?'" Connor read aloud, "'For example, truth out of error? Or a generous deed out of selfishness?'"
"'Such genesis is possible,'" You continued, still writing, "'Things of the highest value must have a different origin, an origin of their own. In the concealed God, in the 'Thing-in-Itself.' There, must be their source, and nowhere else…'"
You unraveled a piece of string, pinning the note with the page's citation next to "rA9."
Connor looked at you, and back to the board, "Do you believe rA9 is their…God? A concept of God?"
"Yes," You turned to him, "The way that deviant spoke of them like they'd bring deliverance…the shrine, in the bathroom…"
"Rupert, the deviant Lieutenant Anderson and I chased yesterday afternoon…He also wrote rA9 on the wall. 2,741 times, to be exact."
You prepared another note, slapping the pad on the table, "Go to page fifteen."
"Do you have this entire book memorized?"
"Most of it."
He licked his thumb, flipping through the pages.
"'And granted that your imperative, 'living according to nature,' means the same as 'living according to life'—how could you do differently? Why should you make a principle out of what you are, and must be?'"
You repeated the motion of putting the pieces together, linking the other end of the string to the words, "I AM ALIVE."
"The deviant claimed he was alive." You tried to ignore Connor's yellow, spinning LED, "He was not 'living,' within the confines of nature. He was 'living,' according to life. What it means to truly live. And that his path, was not to be followed by living under the abuse of Ortiz…"
You stepped back from the board, the marker tapping at your side.
"That one," Connor squinted at a note, leaning forward, "Carl Manfred's android, the RK200."
"Yeah? What about it?"
"Your notes claim it's 'a prototype model of an unknown series. Appearance not on file. Suggests prototype information is confidential, withheld by CyberLife…'"
The gears in his head appeared to turn. His lack of questioning led you to believe he was starting to "get it."
His blue light flashed, and he hiked a brow, "Fascinating."
"What is it?"
"#684 842 971 reports back as a gift given to Carl Manfred. It is indeed a prototype, much like myself." He smiled at you, "This is good police work."
"Uhm…Thanks. How'd you…Oh. Right. CyberLife." You looked away shyly, "Who 'gifted,' Markus to Carl?"
"Elijah Kamski, the scientist who invented androids and founded CyberLife."
You flinched.
"Is something wrong?"
"No." You shut down the topic, "Anything else?"
He shook his head in a quick, precise motion as he snapped back to the book.
"As a prototype, I possess unique capabilities." He thumbed through the pages, "Perhaps this prototype does, as well…"
He glided his finger down the paper, pausing and tapping a certain paragraph in particular.
"'He shall be the greatest who can be the most solitary, the most concealed, the most divergent, the master of his virtues, and of super-abundance of will: precisely this shall be called greatness. And to ask once more the question: Is greatness even possible — nowadays?'"
You smirked, "Are you comparing that to Markus, or yourself?"
He returned a blank stare, "Markus, of course."
The unintentional – or entirely intentional – flirting went far over his head, and yet, you couldn't help but feel as if you were witnessing a revelation. An android, one not programmed to create music; literature, or art, was drawing abstract parallels, maybe for the first time.
"What do you think?" He asked.
"I…I think we're on to something. And I think you're doing great."
His eyes lifted from a wide smile. It stayed there, innocent and pure, as he set the book down and peered into another note.
"'Alice and Kara?'" The Detective in him forced its way to the surface, definitely at your expense, "How did you come to learn of their living conditions?"
You gulped, "Uh…Todd's statement?"
"I've read his statement several times during my investigation. The deviant's given name, nor appearance, nor possible motive was provided." He frowned, "Do you not feel like you can be honest with me?"
The space between your brows pulled together, lowering your face. You took a seat in one of the tall chairs around your writing desk, staring out the window.
Where were they now, you wondered? Hunkered down; wet and scared like loose animals, fearful of the "deviant hunter" android of the DCPD?
"I ran across the bridge after they climbed up the highway's barrier wall. I met them in an alleyway…"
"Did they resist arrest?"
"No…We just…talked."
His lips pursed, "You let them get away?"
"Off the record?"
You could tell the concept made him uncomfortable. A few seconds went by before he answered, and you couldn't help but feel judged.
"Yes."
"Then…Yeah, I let them get away." A deep-chested sigh left you, your stomach's bruise arguing with your muscles, "I've been in their situation, before…I…I felt bad for them."
You couldn't look him in the eye. You feared he'd react the way he did when the deviant wouldn't crack – like he would start pulling you "into the abyss," with shark teeth and grinding jaws.
"Sympathy and sentiments."
Shuffling paper rekindled your courage. His hand stopped mid-way on a page, sliding to the side so he could read to you again.
"'A morality of the ruling class is especially foreign to present-day taste. That one has duties only to one's equals; that one may act towards beings of a lower rank: it is here that sympathy and similar sentiments can have a place.'" He blinked as his gaze took to you, "You felt sympathy for their abuse based on your previously established sentiments. In the world of philosophy, that has…merit…"
His head jerked to the side as his eye began to twitch.
"Connor?"
A flash of red sent you into a panic before leveling to yellow, and then to blue.
"Connor…?"
"Yesterday, when Lieutenant Anderson and I were sent to investigate a sound complaint and a report of an android hiding an LED under his hat…" He was talking at you rather than to you, "He kept me behind him while he cleared the apartment with his gun, as if protecting me from something. Even before, when he told me not to pursue the deviants across the highway…he told me I'd get myself killed…" Connor shook his head, "I digress."
"It's okay-"
"In the apartment, there were over a dozen pigeons. It was if the deviant had transformed it into some kind of nest…Still, I recovered a journal that was undecipherable, and through various clues, I was able to reconstruct the scene and locate the deviant's hiding place."
His jaw tensed as he closed the book and set it on the table, "There was a chase. I pursued the deviant until Lieutenant Anderson intercepted him…and he was thrown off the side of a building."
"Who? Hank?!"
"Yes."
"What- he-"
"He was…hanging off the ledge. He had an 89% chance of survival, as his physical condition proved sufficient enough to save himself. But I…I let the deviant escape, I…I pulled Lieutenant Anderson to safety…"
"Because 'human life is invaluable.'" You reached your hand out, gently placing it on his shoulder, "You felt…sympathy, from a sentiment."
"Androids can't feel sympathy. Sympathy is a human emotion. Sentimental values are foreign to our programming."
"Are you telling me, that I'm…incorrect?"
You were soft in your tone, doing your best to sooth his frantic state of mind. Your thumb caressed him, and he slowly turned his head towards you. There was worry in the creases on his face. Fear in his eyes. His teeth ground together until he answered.
"…No."
Your attention returned to the board, regretfully surrendering your hold on him to jot down your thoughts before connecting them to Kara and Alice. He waited patiently as you worked, tying strings from the two women, to rA9, to deviancy, to Markus; looping them all in the center around a black "?" cut from the back of a food container. You'd had to get creative, with that one.
You pulled away, the symbol shrinking as you returned your hands to your lap.
"'To recognize untruth as a condition of life…'" You whispered, "'That which is certain to dispute the traditional ideas of value in a dangerous manner,'" You swallowed a hard lump in your throat, "'…Has thereby alone, placed itself beyond good and evil.'"
The two of you sat in comfortable silence, taking in the rush that came with arriving at a higher understanding. His view scoped the evidence board, and you watched him in the proud moment.
"The world cannot be defined by what is 'good,' and what is 'evil,' as a truth cannot come from its opposite." He looked to you for approval, "Therefore, the world is in a constant state of untruth. Am I correct?"
"I believe so…" You wanted to pour your heart out, and tell him how much this moment meant to you.
But he was already conflicted, as it was. Anything else would only make it worse. He'd made so much progress…
"To accept that untruth as a condition of life is what it means to be alive; to place yourself beyond the boundaries of society in itself…" You sighed, "Maybe 'deviants,' have discovered the 'being within their being.' Maybe they're not 'deviating,' at all…"
You remembered Kara and Alice. The android in the interrogation room. Even Daniel, screaming like a wounded animal while waving a gun around.
"Maybe they're just having an identity crisis as they…transcend, the human condition…"
Connor twisted in his chair, hanging an arm off the back.
"'Fettered heart, free spirit.'" He grinned, "That's why you named your article 'The Free Spirit,' isn't it?"
"…You read my article?"
He nodded, "May I ask you something?"
You were nervous, but couldn't tell him no.
"Go ahead…"
"Why 'Beyond Good and Evil?' What about that painting reflects you as a person, and your preference towards this piece of literature?"
Your fingers fidgeted in your lap, shoulders tensing at your ears.
"Nietzsche dismantles the theories of the philosophers of his time, and those who came before. He questions the world around him, no matter how much truth is praised, or valued...No matter how much security humans find in truths, even if they're made from lies." You were lost in a distant memory, "Carl and I had similar opinions on androids and their place in society...Some that opposed the majority, greatly. I could never figure out how him and my ex-husband remained such good friends after-"
"You were…Married?"
There was a certain tension to his voice, as if he didn't like the prospect.
"A long time ago. It didn't work out, obviously."
"I'm…Sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. I'm much better off."
He surveyed the apartment; designed to reflect a lavish, yet artistic, taste.
"I'd say so."
"Not just in a materialistic sense…Leaving him was…" Your throat constricted, "It was the best decision I've ever made. He's a very, very dangerous man."
"Is that why you're under WITSEC?" He growled, "Did he hurt you?"
"More like threatened me. But before that..." You found his eyes drilling into yours, "He did me a favor. One that affected the entire world. I tried to dismantle it. Alter it. Refuse it. He wouldn't listen to reason. I hated him for it for years…I let his victory eat at me. So when Carl gave me a call, and told me he'd finished the painting…I went to his house…And just before he pulled the sheet off the canvas, he repeated a passage from this book, the one I gave him…"
You swiped your thumb across the cover, rolling and dipping between the leather embossing.
"'They who fight monsters should be careful, lest they become a monster themselves. And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.'"
You frowned, and could only imagine the monsters Connor would have to face before this was all said and done. You weren't sure what would stare back at you, either…
You looked up at the painting. Splotches of red – the blood of your monsters, pulled into the "abyssal," black ink. A grey halo that marked salvation; and symbolized the downfall of your marriage. The loop of continuum that'd shifted through modes of instability and promised a state of clarity through corruption.
"Like an android's light…"
Connor turned in his chair, joining you in your observation.
"Page 108, bullet 153."
A pained smile worked its way to your mouth, "Not quite…Close, though. That quote is from page 107, bullet 146."
"Your quote is not the one I am referring to." He gave you a reassuring glance, "When I look at this painting, I see something else. Perhaps what Carl meant for you to see after you'd 'given it time.'"
His neck rolled, face armed with a dangerous grin.
"'What is done out of love, always takes place beyond good and evil.'"
Behind the Scenes:
"In 'Beyond Good and Evil,' Nietzsche accuses past philosophers of lacking critical sense and blindly accepting dogmatic premises in their consideration of morality."
I've read it at least 10 times, cover to cover...It's amazing. That being said, I did simplify some of his work so that it was easier to follow. :)
Let me just thank MjrGenMatt and ElegantN7 (best betas ever...BBE?) for dealing with my constant spamming of Nietzsche quotes and listening to me gush about how I sneak his ideals into every single goddamn fic I've written.
And, all of you, of course! I hope your head doesn't hurt too bad!
(A picture of the painting that inspired this scene can be found on the AO3 ((Archive Of Our Own . Org)) version of this chapter, as well as the corresponding ending picture)
Guest Review Responses:
Guests: Thank you guys so much! I wish I could send you all messages directly, but alas, private messaging systems suck. ;(
SilverKnight: I guess we'll see! ;D Thank you!
Justice75: Thank you so much! I hope you do stick around for the rest!
