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I have sinful thoughts…
…and I don't know what to do with them.
Please, somebody help me.
I want
to break.
—
In my infancy, she told me to "move past" my "personal problems…"
Now, he swears at me, and tells me I'm scaring him…
And him…
Though we are both RK units, designed to deviate—
he only cares about the revolution. He cannot afford to spare the pity I tend to inspire.
Sumo is there for me,
but I also have to be there for him…I am his owner, after all.
It's not like Hank takes care of him, much…
Let alone either of them caring much for Connor.
It dawned on me recently-years after the revolution began-that maybe they don't know what I go through, on a daily basis. Maybe their lives are different than mine, but more than should be acceptable… I am Connor, but…
Amanda was Amanda, Hank is Hank, Markus is Markus, and Sumo…is Sumo. But who is Connor…? Maybe they think they know (or knew) who that is (was)— but now, I realize, they can't (couldn't).
When I see those three, in their darkest moments…they don't shy away from being "human—" hell, even the dog knows that! There is more to being "human," I've learned, than just being biologically compatible with the statement's criteria…
And there is more to being someone than just having a name.
"Connor" is no different than "RK-800," really.
Maybe that's why he still wears his jacket…still sports an LED, even though it easily identifies him as an android, and betrays his basic state of being in the form of a color.
(…Am I thinking of myself in third person, again…?)
Everyone thinks I wear my heart on my sleeve, and-quite literally-my designation as well.
But I don't.
I am not RK-800,
anymore than I am some imaginary being named Connor.
And the light on my temple doesn't really reveal what I am thinking, nor how I'm doing it.
No— by making these things obvious, I am actually cutting myself off further from everyone around me. Because they don't actually know, but if they think they do, they won't ask. Whenever I remotely try and express my emotions in any true way, I am shut down immediately.
With Amanda, it was literal…with Hank, and the others, it is worse—
they…
…they think they know me, but they don't!
—
CRASH
Hank is awoken suddenly, leaping out of bed like the old ex-cop he is.
"Not again…" he spits, loud enough that he knows the astute android can hear him.
Connor kneels on the kitchen floor, which has now been covered by what was previously on the countertop.
"Connor, what the fuck is this!?" Hank screams…he's 'tired to death of all the drama.'
"I…" the android can barely talk, choking on the air he desperately tries to breathe, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it won't happen again, I'll clean it up, I-"
"No! No more excuses, Con. Where the fuck is my dog?"
Connor points to the sofa, where Sumo is whining and trembling at his friend's outburst.
'At least someone is worried for me,' Connor thought. He wouldn't dare say it aloud near Hank. As Hank goes over to soothe the dog, however, he cannot keep his sarcastic gaze alive…he begins crying again— first silently, and then sobbing painfully.
"Why can't you be there for me, like you are for Sumo!?" Connor tries to scream, but the feeble cry is caught in his burning throat.
"Shut the fuck up before someone hears you! What do you think the neighbors will do, huh? Do you want to be taken away, Connor? Do you want to go back to Cyberlife, so they can fuck with your head even more, and beat you thirium-blue?" Hank asks, mockingly.
Connor only cries harder at the cruel suggestion, shocked at his caretaker's words— despite them having been said when they've argued for years, now.
"Hank, why are you being so mean to me?" Connor sobs, almost begging for an answer.
Hank's response is as cruel as his previous suggestion: "maybe you shouldn't throw everything on the ground like a child, and then I'll be a little nicer, Connor! You scare me, sometimes!" Hank's eyes are wide and menacing as he spits those words.
Connor reflects for a moment, feeling awfully guilty (as if he didn't, already)… "Hank, I didn't mean to do it…you punch those holes in the walls when you are angry, sometimes…don't you understand that feeling…?"
Hank sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then gives his answer— "Connor, all you do is cause drama, around here. When are you gonna start pulling your own fucking weight? Don't turn this around on me, son. Con, you know you're just a confused android, right? I can help you, but you can't do this to me anymore…to us," he finished, gesturing at Sumo and pouting exaggeratedly, stroking the dog extra-lovingly for good measure.
Connor's heavy sobs turn to light sniffles, as he has learned that Hank doesn't like it if he cries too long. He practically flies out the door, slamming it with the rage of a tsunami.
"You can run, kid…but you need me, cause' I'm your dad, and I love you," Hank says to himself, stroking Sumo one more time for the night, who whines despite being pet. Hank sighs, finally returning to bed, "It's okay, buddy…he'll be back in the morning— Connor can take care of himself, I taught him how. Heh, kids…they think they know everything. Luckily, I'm the adult— and Connor better start acting like one, too, if he wants to live in this house!"
—
Connor runs through nightless black until the sun dawns on an ever-distant horizon. Shaking like a leaf in the frigid cold, he huffs and huffs— sick and tired in so many ways. But he can't fall down. He must go on. He begins the trek home, only stopping once his hand reaches for the now-frosted door-handle. It sticks like that, in mid-air, for a long time.