November 8th, 2038
AM 08:46:21
Moon Clip: A moon clip is a ring-shaped or star-shaped piece of metal designed to hold multiple cartridges together as a unit, for simultaneous insertion and extraction from a revolver cylinder.
Panic was in the air, and blood was on your hands. A tangy smell came with death and it's dripping blueprints. The gunshot burst in your ear every time it started to quiet, like a rotating siren; a trailing scream lost in the echo. It was almost as deafening as Captain Allen's order to stand down when you'd picked up your partner's gun and bolted outside.
Truth was – SWAT didn't get there in time…and inaction was an action itself, one you weren't fond of.
You were taken out, just the same. Faces floated in the stars, pulsing between each beating helicopter blade.
Your friend. Kara. Alice. Carlos Ortiz's android that didn't have a more recent of the many you'd let down in your lifetime.
A glass door opened, and someone stepped outside.
This was it. This was when you'd get saved. This was when Connor negotiated with the deviant and saved your life.
Except it wasn't him. It was a different man.
His eyes were crystal blue. A set of moonstones that'd captured your heart the first time you'd seen them. They looked great behind glasses.
His hair was black and shaven on the sides, the thickness of it pulled back in a wide streak. It hadn't always been like that. While he usually wore it up, at one point, it was a full mane. One that was hard to maintain, like the beard that he used to let grow along his newly-exposed jaw, sharp and pointed.
There was a time when you'd loved him so much. When he loved you. It was passionate at first, even beyond the years where such intimacy was said to transform into routine infatuation.
But now, much like you, he'd donned new markings. He'd asserted himself as the pack leader he really was; and he was hot on your blood trail – eyes narrowing as he bent to retrieve a haunch from his kill.
"We could've accomplished remarkable things together." A claw traced your cheek.
He toyed with you, because a quick and painless death wasn't his style. It never had been. He'd always loved to sink his fangs into you and drag things out until the reversed guilt ripped you to shreds. Gaslighting at it's finest.
Every time you tried to scream for help, a voiceless gasp leaked from your lungs. And it kept going – kept draining you of life until there was none.
Where was he? Where was Connor? This wasn't right.
"How…" Elijah shut your eyelids with two fingers, "…Unfortunate."
Help. You needed help, because you were wounded prey with a wolf at the door.
Connor-
…
"I'm here, it's okay-"
Get him off, get him off, get him off-
"It's me-"
You opened your eyes, finding your bedroom door pressed against the wall.
Your chin was draped over a shoulder. Your chest rose and fell, having little room to inflate itself. Your mouth was dry and stale. Rapid pulses drummed your body.
There was something soft against your ear. Hair. Brown in color, painted yellow by a light just out of view.
"Connor?" Your voice was scratchy and hoarse, like sand paper grating on your throat.
"Yes, that's right." A soothing stroke ran down your back and up again, "I'm here."
A tremor shook you in place, starting at your legs and winding up to your neck.
"I've got you. You're okay."
You whimpered as you lurched forward, your teeth chattering as you bit down on nothing. Your elbows hooked under his arms, your hands curling around the back of his shoulders.
"Shhh…" The side of his head nuzzled against yours, and he rocked you in place, "I'm here."
The only time you'd cried harder was the morning you woke up in the hospital. The morning that followed the source for the nightmares. But at least what Connor had promised held some truth in a world built from untruths:
He'd always be there when you needed him.
…
A blue light shimmered in your room, the reflection from the sun waking the sky. You'd rolled over, groaning under your breath as your hand landed on your night stand, patting around for your phone. You'd flipped on your back, holding it above your waking eyes. You clicked the screen, the black fading to floating letters and numbers.
"AM 08:46."
You'd yawned, and your fingers had relaxed. The clock attacked you, bouncing off your nose and sliding down your cheek. Dropping your phone on your face was part of your morning routine.
You'd swung your legs over the side of the bed, shivering as the cold air lapped at your skin. The world swayed as you stood. You should've been used to never sleeping. Routine, bullet point two.
But you'd managed. Through the pain, you pulled a sweater down past the rim of your jeans. When your head resurfaced, you found your reflection in the full-body mirror you'd placed yourself in front of. You groomed your hair, making it presentable.
Routine maintenance after a night that hadn't been kind.
The mental baggage that came with the new rendition of night terrors didn't outweigh the bags under your eyes. They were a sign of weakness. Your face crinkled, your brow forming a harsh crevice.
No. No, they weren't. They were circles of black warpaint. You were the unsung hero of a war told by only a jury under cloaks with pens and blacklisted transcripts for daggers. You had stories of your own, those that'd fallen on deaf ears.
Not today. Today, you'd make him listen.
You snatched a double-holstered harness from a hook on the back of your closet door, angrily pulling the straps over your shoulders. You adjusted them, sliding the clips until you achieved a perfect fit. Your jacket would hide it. That's what concealed carry, meant.
You unbuttoned the pockets to the right, eyeing up two moon clips fitted for your revolver.
If the Big Bad Wolf wanted something to howl at, you'd bring the hunting party. 6 silver bullets stored in a ring and ready to ride.
You gave yourself a reassuring nod, turning away and taking your gun from your night stand's drawer. It protected your heart as you holstered it, and you slipped your phone in your back pocket. You cracked your neck, still stiff from sleeping on a plastic shoulder.
That had been a nice break in routine – being held through the night by an android. You didn't get too hot, or sweaty – or have to worry about his arm cramping up with your ear pressed to his chest for hours on end. You'd loved how he rubbed the knots out of your shoulders until you fell asleep, because his hands never tired.
He knew how to calm you down when you needed it.
But you didn't need that right now. Didn't need to be tamed or settled. You just needed everyone to stay the fuck out of your way.
You walked to the door, pinching the bridge of your nose after your fingertips glided across your eyelids.
"Replacing humans with machines has led to a record unemployment rate of 28%. What do you think about the situation?"
You held the knob mid-turn.
"Hmph…Uh – heh, okay. The first-"
Steam engines. You mouthed the word. You'd written that line.
"…also caused an increase in unemployment, but, no one today would imagine turning back the clock. Artificial intelligence makes everyday lives…easier! Nothing can stop progress…What's happening here, is…inevitable."
The first time Elijah had invited a KNC reporter within the confines of the CyberLife Tower, you'd stayed up with him all through the hours of the night prior preparing for questions. It was the last favor you did for him before stealing yourself back from his mind heist. The question was…why was it being replayed in your apartment? Hearing his voice – a trigger for fight or flight...
"These days, more and more people choose to live with an android, rather than another human being. Does this development worry you?"
This was a question you hadn't covered. His answer had been improv, and it underlined how little he cared about you…or at least, it felt like that, at the time.
"Hm…Everything, is much easier…with an android. They obey your orders without ever complaining."
Unlike you.
"They can cook, discuss philosophy with you, have intimate relationships…"
Things the two of you had done, together.
"…according to your desires. They never say, 'no.'"
But you hadn't followed his terms to a T. Had told him "no," too many times.
"Obviously, they are the perfect partner."
He'd stopped seeing you as that.
"Everyone deserves happiness…Why deprive yourself for so-called moral reasons when a machine can make you happy?"
You opened the door, closing it behind you with a soft "click." You made sure you stayed quiet as you walked through the hallway, looking for the android that "made you happy."
"Many science-fiction books tell the story of how machines become more intelligent than us, and end up confronting us. Aren't you worried about that possibility?"
You peaked around the corner, finding him sitting on a barstool. The soles of his shoes were latched on top of the bars between the legs, his fist planted in his hip; holding a flap of his jacket up with his elbow. His wrist sat on his knee, palm flat with a video playing from it. He had the most distraught look about him – hunched over the recording like listening to it physically hurt.
"I understand the irrational fears about artificial intelligence. But I assure you, that will never happen with a CyberLife android. They're designed to obey humans. They're machines. They can't ever develop any form of desires, or consciousness."
Elijah broke script on this part, too. It'd been the last straw. The final lie that had you packing your bags and plotting a hostile takeover.
"Are you sure?"
Connor's brow furrowed, staring into his hand with hatred.
"I'm absolutely certain…You can trust me."
He curled it into a fist, snuffing the life from the news report and breaking the floating pixels.
"Morning," Your boots left matted clicks as you rounded the corner, "Doing a bit of research?"
He jumped, nearly falling off his seat. He caught the edges, his foot slamming on the floor to balance himself.
"H-How long have you been there?"
"Long enough." You opened a cabinet, retrieving a travel mug.
You smirked, turning your back on him to prepare the coffee maker. The grounds in the filter. Water in the tank. You swiped the counter, sprinkling the loose, brown pellets in the sink and rinsing them down the drain. Routine bullet point three.
"You can ask me questions, you know."
"The two of you seem to have very different opinions on androids and the confines of their existence. What made you…fall in love with him?"
Your eyebrows jumped before you let out a sigh, "He had a…certain coolness, to him. Calculated. As if he had everything figured out…"
The coffee maker gurgled next to you, filling the kitchen with a homey scent.
"I was very young when we first met. That kind of sureness was…attractive. My family warned me it wouldn't end well, but hey, he was perfect on paper." You rolled your eyes, "How wrong was I…"
You looked over your shoulder. Connor's foot was bouncing on its perch, his hands hanging between his knees.
"The things he said, about androids and humans living together…Cooking. Discussing philosophy. Intimate relationships…" His voice trailed off.
"That's not a question."
His face shot up, "I…I haven't cooked anything for you, but our discussions on philosophy seemed…genuine. They meant a great deal to me, and he…he makes it seem like I was just performing a simple function…What are your thoughts on this?"
You looked down, shifting your weight and crossing your arms.
"What you felt wasn't a discovery of some base programming, Connor." Your anger wasn't directed at him, but frustration took hold of your words, "What we shared that morning was real. He just…" You heaved a sigh, "He's a very philosophical person."
"Do you think anything else between us was…is, inauthentic?"
You were taken aback by the question. It was if he had it lined up, ready to fire as soon as you were finished speaking.
"Connor…" You relaxed your posture, turning to move towards him.
You embraced the sides of his face, tipping it up to you.
"Nothing about this is fabricated. Confusing, maybe, but…Don't let him get into your head," Your thumb swept over his cheek, "He's more dangerous there than anywhere else."
He frowned, his hands wrapping around your wrists. He rested his forehead against your stomach, and you jerked away.
"Oh, I'm sorry." His eyes fluttered open in concern, "How are you feeling?"
"Better every day," You cringed, "Don't worry."
"May I see?"
"Uh, sure…Fair warning: It's not pretty."
"Blunt trauma from a gunshot usually isn't…"
His jawline went rigid, and a small shiver ran up your back as his hands brushed against your skin. He lifted your sweater, cautiously – your nerves flaring and your breathing stuttering and-
"Are you uncomfortable?"
"What? No-"
He folded it just under your chest, your midriff naked and exposed.
His hands molded around your hips, and he pulled you closer. You caught his shoulders, your eyes shooting open. You bit your lip, your tongue curling in your mouth.
"You're shaking." He studied the bruise underneath you, his breath cold against your stomach.
"No, I'm not."
The hairs on your arms rose as he pushed you back, his fingertips gliding away.
"It should be healed more by now. You really must learn to take better care of yourself."
You pulled your sweater down, rushing to turn the coffee maker off.
"You know me, can't ever stop working!"
"Yes, and I'm telling you that you won't make a full recovery until you do."
"Eh, I'm fine," You waved him off without looking at him, "You're overreacting."
"I do not believe I am."
The barstool skidded, and you braced. You snatched your mug, ducking to the right.
You set it down next to your laptop and lifted the screen. Your screensaver flashed to a login, and you quickly typed in your password. Your hands pulled away from the keyboard as Connor slammed it shut, hand planted on the top.
"You're acting…strange. Does this have something to do with your dream? Or what happened on the balcony?"
"I'm not-" Your eyes darted to the writing table, and the purple box sitting in sin.
"Shit-fuck-why did I leave that out-"
Your focus returned to him, and you smiled nervously, "I'm not acting strange?"
"You…" His brows pulled together, LED flashing.
His head began to turn.
"Fuck-fuck-fuck-"
"Heyyy-" You stepped in front of him, bumping his arm away with your hip, "Why don't we-"
"What's gotten into you?" He cocked his head, giving you an inquisitive glare.
"Uh – yes?"
"…Please clarify."
You sighed, "Can we just…I don't know…"
He leaned to the side, peering over your shoulder.
"Why are you so TALL?"
He squinted, "Officer Miller's gift…I saw many like it at the Eden Club." An eyebrow perked up, "It's an…attachment. Why did he send you that?"
"I don't-"
"Were you expecting company?"
He crossed his arms, a suspicious smile creeping on his lips.
"Connor."
"Yes?"
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
You tried to step around him, but he blocked you.
"At the Ortiz crime scene, you expressed interest in intimate activities with androids." His smile widened, "Do you have unresolved curiosities?"
Your face was heated, probably blaring all signs of embarrassment.
"Look," You held your hands up, backing away slowly, "My nefarious partner was just being a smart ass, okay?"
"Does that mean you aren't curious?" He held his head high, as if throwing you for a loop was his crowning achievement for the day, "I'll have you know, I learned 395 positions and human preferences in regard to sexual activities."
Okay, this was happening. He was teasing you, and enjoying it, even after this morning got off to a horrible start.
"Connor, we're going to be late if I don't…wait, what?" Your eyes narrowed, "How did you…?"
"I had to probe the memories of different sex androids to track down the deviants at the Eden Club." He snickered, "Doing so provided an…interesting, learning experience."
You huffed, rolling your eyes again, "That explains how you learned to kiss like that..."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Oh my god…You know what? No. We're not doing this right now." You walked around the couch, stopping as he mimicked your action on the other end.
You went to the right, and so did he.
"CONNOR!"
He laughed. All the stress and anxiety from the nightmares and upcoming confrontation – it just went away. You could listen to his laughter forever.
Still, two could play at this game.
"I was going to give you something, but you're being mean."
His taunting grin fell into shock, "What?"
"Nope."
He rushed towards you, and you ducked to the front of the couch.
"What were you going to give me?"
You shrugged, "You'll never know."
You walked backwards, and his brows pinched. He grabbed the puffy cushion and vaulted over the loveseat.
"Oh, that's so not fair!"
You ran towards the kitchen, and he caught you around your waist – the laugh coming back and-
"Ow-ow-ow-"
He quickly released you, "Sorry, sorry-"
"Ughhh-" You held the counter for support, grimacing as the pain subsided, "It's fine…"
A silver, long rectangle box was pushed against the barrier of the marble island.
"Here," You offered it to him with a smile – a tie that you'd picked out, one with a palette and design that you thought he'd appreciate, "I told myself I'd get you a replacement, one day."
He looked at you, to the gift, then back.
"Go on," You shook it at him, "Open it."
He received it with both hands, tracing the plastic case before lifting the lid. He seemed happy at first, if not conflicted, and then sad.
Shit.
"If you don't like it, you can-"
"I do." His eyes darted, lifting it from its pillowed packaging after setting the lid aside, "I'm quite fond of it, actually."
The answer may have been bland, but the sincerity in his words rang deep.
"What's the long face for, then?"
He frowned, "When you saved me, I didn't think to get you anything."
A huff pushed through your nose, and you gave him a smirk, "Come on…"
You stepped in front of him, a joyful sigh leaving you as you untangled the tie he was wearing. He blinked curiously as he watched you work and released his gift when you plucked it from his fingers. You popped his collar, and draped it around his neck.
"You gave me my life."
You evened out the ends before folding and flipping and looping it like you had so many times before. A long-lost routine.
He gulped, "And you gave me mine."
You tightened the knot under his neck.
"'What's done out of love,' right?" Your touch slid down the silken patterns – tracing the planes of his chest.
His eyes met yours. The gravity of what you said, had let slip, stared back at you in the form of a yellow LED.
"What's wro-"
"Nothing." He tried to disengage.
You held him in place, the tie going taut in your fist, "Not a chance."
He looked scared, eyeing up your grip.
"If you don't start talking," You pulled him closer, "I'll have to detain you for questioning."
His eyes lifted from that taunting, devious grin that made you want to kiss him and punch him in the face all at the same time.
"Take me away…Officer."
Your teeth locked, and you swallowed hard.
"Careful what you wish for," You tapped his nose, "…Detective."
You wanted to feel his lips crushing yours, to taste him again. He met that unstated need – without the mental breakdown, this time.
Yeah, things were getting complicated. Bricks of your routine were falling by the wayside, but you'd used them to build new walls that couldn't be blown down by the wolf outside:
A fortress with a moat dug deep enough for a shark…and his teeth were sharper.
A/N: I watched the Kamski short AFTER I wrote the Beyond Good and Evil chapter. I was pretty blown away when he mentioned philosophy!
Guest Review Responses:
Kaycie: HEHE. : D I'll do my best! Thanks, as always!
MysticalSquirrel: LOL, it's okay. Happens to the best of us. Your review was very insightful, and it's humbling to see you dive so deep into it. Definitely made me feel good, and that's something I really needed this week. Thank you *hearts*
