Chapter Four

Wren couldn't see. Her eyes slid shut every time she pried them open. Lightning flashes. She forced her eyes open, but the rain blurred her vision. No, not rain… Tears. And not lightning… Headlights. To her left. She turned her head and saw headlights. It was the last thing she saw before the other car crashed into hers. Her car skidded and spun across the pavement. Her vision danced into darkness, she couldn't see, everything was wrong, she couldn't control the car –

She was airborne, the guardrail failed to stop her car from going over the cliff. Time slowed as the car plummeted. Shards of glass floated up, glinting as they caught the light. She had floated up out of her seat. Her seatbelt locked her in place. Her heart floated, too. It soared right into her throat and lodged there.

The car was still falling, but everything was still. Wren looked to the passenger side. Connor looked back at her, his head tilting slightly. "You can't escape."

Wren gasped awake. Hands gripped her shoulders. She forced them off of her and scrambled back, her heart sprinting in her chest.

"Wren, it's me, Connor," said the source of the hands. Wren looked up at him, still heaving. He held out his hands, palms forward. His forehead creased as his eyebrows lifted in earnest. He crouched slightly. "I believe you were having a nightmare. Everything's alright. You're safe."

Wren stared at him for several seconds, waiting for her heartbeat to calm. Her breathing evened before her heart did, but eventually, the tension left her body. She released her grip on the sheets and straightened her legs out. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Connor's brow furrowed. "You don't need to apologize."

Wren's eyes grazed over him. Her stomach squirmed and she dropped her gaze. Connor wore the same clothes as the night she attacked Jericho. His jacket bore a hole in the sleeve where she shot him. Wren avoided Connor's furtive gaze, her neck warming. "How's your arm?"

"It's been repaired," said Connor. Wren met his gaze. The android simply looked at her, his face pensive.

Wren gestured loosely to his jacket. "I'll replace it."

Connor glanced down at it before looking back at her. "There's no need. I have others."

"I'm, uh… I'm really sorry," Wren avoided Connor's gaze again. "I didn't want to, but…"

"I understand," said Connor. The gentleness of his tone brought Wren's gaze up to his. She offered him a tiny smile, which he returned.

Wren rubbed her hands against the sides of her legs. "Is Hank back yet?"

"He will be here shortly."

Wren nodded, staring ahead. She felt the android's gaze on her. She could practically feel him analyzing her. The thought set her teeth on edge. She clenched her fists. "Don't analyze me."

She looked at him. He looked down and away from her for a brief second before returning her hard stare. "I'm sorry."

Wren forced herself to relax. She loosened her fists and unclenched her jaw. "Just… don't do it again. Please."

"Got it," said Connor. Wren looked away from him. Her stomach growled. She hugged her middle, Connor's eyes still upon her.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

"I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable."

Wren puffed out an exasperated sigh. She looked at him again. "Then stop staring at me. Just because Hank told you to watch me doesn't mean you have to literally watch me."

Connor folded his arms as he peered down at her. "What were you dreaming about?"

Wren's breath hitched. Heat prickled up her neck. Her fingers curled around the sheets. "Did I say anything in my sleep?"

Connor narrowed his eyes. "Yes."

"What did I say?"

"Help me, I can't escape," Connor recited. He cocked his head. "Were you dreaming of Prometheus?"

Wren shook her head. "The car wreck. Only… it was weird. The car kept falling. And it was definitely raining that night, but it wasn't in the dream…" She sighed. "The one thing I wish could forget about my old life…" She snorted and shook her head. "Figures. It stays with me the most."

"Why don't you want me to analyze you?" Connor queried.

Wren stared at him. She ran a diagnostic.

*Probability of betrayal calculating = 50%*

Trust?

Don't trust?

Wren compromised with half of the truth. "Other than the fact that it's an invasion of privacy?" She jutted out her chin and quirked her lips. "I'm supposed to be good at hiding my weaknesses and emotions, but when you analyze me, it lays it all bare. Kind of makes everything I went through pointless."

Connor lifted his chin. "I see."

The door opened and Hank walked in, carrying a to-go order from Chicken Feed, Wren's backpack slung over his shoulder. Hank set the backpack down and rifled through the plastic bag. He withdrew a carboard box and placed it on the trey in front of Wren. "Eat up. As soon as you're done, we're looking at your laptop and faking your death."

Wren looked at Connor. "I need a forceps and a curette. Maybe some surgical scissors, too. Something that can get into a small place."

Connor's eyes flicked to Hank, his LED circling yellow. Then, he left the room. Wren opened the cardboard box and practically moaned at the sight of the cheeseburger. She took a huge mouthful, her stomach immediately thanking her. Hank started eating his own burger, eyeing her. He wiped his mouth.

"What d'you need that stuff for?" he asked around a mouthful of burger.

Wren swallowed her second bite of cheeseburger. "For my tracker. It's a tiny thing, lodged in some of the wiring of my left arm. There's a specific way I have to disable it in order for it to look like a died. I can't just crush it or anything like that. It powers off when my heart stops, but I need to make it think my heart stopped."

"Hmph," muttered Hank.

By the time they finished eating, Connor returned, tools in hand. He set them on Wren's trey table while Hank cleared away the food. Wren pushed the trey aside and crossed her legs. Hank took out the laptop and placed it on Wren's lap. She opened it up and unlocked it. She held out her hand.

"Flash drive."

Hank pulled it out of his pocket and placed it in her hand. "That was hard to find, just so ya know."

The corners of Wren's mouth quirked. "In an advanced world, sometimes older tech is more secure. Paper is actually the most secure, but unless you wanna copy all of these files by hand…" She shrugged.

"Yeah, no," said Hank. He folded his arms and watched as Wren transferred the few files on her laptop to the flash drive. "You don't have that much data on here."

"Yeah, they cleared it after every mission," muttered Wren. "We won't find anything regarding their location or even aliases involved with them, but sometimes, details of the mission can reveal things."

Wren finished transferring the files and took out the flash drive. "You might want to put the laptop on the other side of the room," she told Hank, pulling the trey back toward her. Hank picked up the laptop and placed it gingerly on the floor on the other side of the room, the screen still facing them. Wren rested her arm on the trey. She pressed on the bottom of her left forearm, the synthetic skin peeling away to reveal the white plastic skeleton underneath. She slid open a panel in her arm, exposing the wires and circuits. Her brow pinched as she focused moved the wires around with the curette in her right hand. She bit her lip and used the forces to remove the miniscule tracker once she found it. She tugged, breaking the magnetic connection. She laid the tracker onto the trey.

Holding the tracker in place with the forceps, Wren used the curette to move aside the front panel of the device, exposing a mess of tiny wires. She picked up the surgical scissors. Hank shifted beside her. "You sure you know which wire to cut?"

"Prometheus shouldn't have trained me so well," Wren answered vaguely. She cut the wire and lifted her head to watch the laptop. A few seconds passed. Then, a warning flashed across the screen.

CY001 TERMINATED. SELF-DESTRUCTION IMMINENT. SECURING FILES. DELETING DATA. 01000100 01100001 01110110 01101001 01110011.

p/ UploadingtoCONFIDENTIAL>/p

The laptop began smoking. It sparked, and then the screen blacked out. Wren exhaled, her shoulders slumping. Her eyes pricked. She was free. Her eyes flicked to Connor and Hank. Well, sort of free. She wondered if she had just traded one prison for another.

"Does that mean…?" Hank trailed off, still staring at the laptop.

Wren nodded. "I'm free." Her voice cracked, earning her a glance from Connor. His LED flashed yellow for half a second before settling into blue.

Hank cleared his throat. "So, what do you need to fabricate your background?"

"A computer," Wren replied, lifting a brow, "and a few supplies to make a fake license and whatnot. That'll take longer to do, which is fine. We need to let at least a week or two pass before I try to get a job at the DPD, to let things cool down. For now, we can work on the story part."

"Story? Like what?" Hank crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

"Like, my relation to you, why I'm in Detroit, etcetera."

"Uh huh," Hank muttered out of the corner of his mouth. He squinted at Wren. "Y'know, my ex-wife has a nephew about your age…"

"Okay, I'm his ex," said Wren. Her mind and mental processor worked to piece together a viable story. "We were serious, but not enough to get married. I didn't want to get married, he did, so we ended it. I'm out of touch with my biological family because…" Wren glanced toward Connor. "Because I'm supportive of the android cause and they're not. I moved to Detroit because I have an interest in it. I came to you," Wren turned her attention back to Hank, "because you're the closest relative I have. We have to say we knew each other before your wife left, too."

"Just say you'd been with Blaise for five years," Hank grumbled. "Which means… You know about Cole."

Wren frowned at the raggedness in Hank's voice. "Look, you don't have to tell me just yet. All I need to know is your ex-wife's name and how Blaise –I'm assuming that's his name – is related to her."

"He's her nephew," answered Hank.

"I know, but how? Sister's son? Brother's son?" Wren raised her eyebrows at Hank.

"Sister," said Hank. "My ex-wife's name is Ellie. Her sister is April Lawson. And yeah, Blaise Lawson is my nephew."

"Okay," said Wren, nodding slowly, "I need to come up with a last name and fake family… As for the DPD, I'm not going through six months of police academy. If I say I have a degree in criminal justice and worked as a private investigator for a few years, then it cuts my time. I should only have to take the exams and shadow different officers and detectives before 'graduating.' So, I'll need to make documentation for closed P.I. business, fake an academic transcript and fake an I.D. Shouldn't be too difficult, as long as I have the resources to do this."

Wren looked up, realizing that both Hank and Connor were staring at her, their lips parted and eyes wide. Wren would have laughed at their expressions if a blush hadn't crept up her neck and to her cheeks. She hugged her knees to her chest.

"You've… You've done this a lot, huh?" said Hank, rubbing the back of his neck.

Wren pursed her lips and nodded. "I've had to create twenty-two aliases in my time with Prometheus."

"Jesus," huffed Hank. "Is that how many people you've assassinated?"

Wren shook her head. "Not all of my assignments involved killing someone. Some of my assignments were just covert operations. Actually, a lot of them were like that. I've only assassinated six people. I've killed seventeen in total."

Hank stared at Wren, one eyebrow raised, his mouth hanging open. "Why… Why seventeen if you were only ordered to kill six?"

"Twice, I had to get rid of a bodyguard. The other nine were at Prometheus. They wanted to make sure I could fight… I'm not counting the androids," Wren lowered her gaze and dropped her chin to her chest. Heat tingled in her face as she felt Connor's eyes on her. Wren rubbed her face. "Can we move on from this?"

"Yeah," said Hank, sounding ill, "let's."

Wren drew in a shuddering breath and looked at Connor. "Do you know where I can get resources for this?"

"Markus," he answered.

Wren nodded, shaking slightly. "Okay. While I'm at it, I can think of ways to better protect him, starting with his security system. It was shit. We can work out more details of my background once I'm out of here. I need time to think about it." She looked at Hank. "I need to find a cheap motel. I don't have enough cash on me to pay for more than a week."

"You're staying with us," Hank grunted.

Wren wrinkled her brow and pressed her lips together for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Well, it's not like we can just let you roam wherever the fuck you want. We gotta keep an eye on you, day and night." Hank's lips twisted.

Wren looked down and away from Hank, letting her hair fall toward her face to hide it. "Right. Makes sense."

It was stupid of her to entertain the idea, however briefly, that Hank offered his home to her out of kindness rather than obligation. Of course Hank didn't trust her. She didn't trust him or Connor, either. In fact, she didn't seem to have freedom with them, as they would watch her every move from now on. Her heart shriveled in her chest. Which was worse: imprisonment with Prometheus, where they were at least somewhat honest about the it, or with Hank and Connor, where she lived under the pretense that she was finally free, only to live under different watching eyes?

"Alright, I'll go see the doctor about when you're clear to leave. When we get to the house, we'll work out the kinks of your background and lay down some ground rules. Got it?" Hank moved to the door. He stared at Wren, gripping the door handle as he waited for her confirmation.

"Got it," Wren replied. She bit her lip as Hank pulled open the door. "Hey," she called. Hank stopped and turned, lifting an eyebrow at her. Wren looked at her hands. "You guys can monitor me while I make the background to make sure it's how you want it, but let me actually do it. If this ever comes out… Let me take the fall for it, okay?"

She glanced up. Hank's eyebrows pulled together and he poked his cheek with his tongue. His eyes flicked to Connor. Wren couldn't see the android's expression, but based off of Hank's nod, she gathered that Connor must've reflected Hank's feelings about her statement. Hank left the room without another word. Wren looked to Connor, who glanced at her with narrowed eyes and a tilted head. He wasn't analyzing her, as his eyes didn't appear distant. He observed her with his perceptions, not one of technological advancements. Wren held his gaze.

"You said you didn't count the androids," Connor murmured. "What did you mean by that?"

Wren tensed. "I was only counting the humans I've killed… But I've killed a lot of androids, too. They… Prometheus didn't count them as alive… They'd use them to help me train. Or target practice. I…" She looked up at Connor, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Connor looked away from her, his brow knitting. He paced away, folding his arms across his chest. "Did you think they were alive?"

"I… I don't know," Wren replied. "I tried not to think about it too much."

Connor turned. "What do you think now?"

"I think they were," Wren whispered. "Which means I've killed thirty-seven people, not seventeen."

Connor's lips parted. He looked away from her. Wren's chest tightened as she watched Connor's LED circle yellow. His gaze darted around until he slowly lifted his eyes to meet Wren's. "You regret it."

It wasn't a question, yet Wren still felt the need to explain. She needed him to understand that she hadn't wanted to be Prometheus's weapon. "Of course I regret it. I… They controlled me in every way you can control a person. I was barely alive. I did things for them that haunt me. Human and android alike, the lives I took…" She inhaled sharply, realizing she had overindulged. Her programming no longer sent an electrical shock through her when she was not adhering to her training. She was a deviant now, and in control of herself. She had been too honest. She felt torn. Part of her wanted Connor to trust her and to trust Connor. The other part didn't want to share anything with him or Hank. A third Prometheus part of her said they were the enemy and were keeping her from her mission. Wren shoved that part of her away.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Connor stared at her, awaiting her response.

"Uh, I guess," said Wren, pulling her knees to her chest.

Connor looked away from her. She watched as he pressed his lips together, his brow twitching. He looked up. "When you were asleep, you said my name. Why?"

Wren's mouth dried. Her face tingled. "Uh… You were in my dream."

Connor tilted his head. "I was?"

"You were in the car with me," said Wren, rubbing her shins. "You were the one who told me I can't escape."

Connor's eyebrows lifted slightly. His gaze darted and his LED flashed yellow. He met Wren's eyes when his LED settled into blue. "Do you feel trapped by Hank and me?"

Wren's breath hitched. "Maybe a little."

Connor's brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to reply, but Hank's entrance into the room silenced him.

"Doc says you're good to go, you just need to come back in a few days to get the stitches removed. Put on some clothes. Connor, call Markus and tell him what we need." Hank stepped back out of the room. A nurse entered and removed Wren's IV. Connor stepped out. They left the door open and stood with their backs to Wren to give her privacy. She slipped on some clothes, careful not to stretch the wound in side. Hank's bullet had merely grazed her, though it still hurt like a bitch. She put on her shoes and stuck her destroyed laptop into the backpack. She slung it over her shoulder and stepped into the hall.

Connor dipped his head. "Markus says he will set up a room for us to work in tomorrow."

"Great," muttered Hank. "Gives me time to come up with an excuse to Jeffrey. Connor, you'll go with Wren tomorrow. I'll talk to Fowler and do the paperwork on Wren's… er, death."

Connor's brow puckered. "There's no reason for me to miss work, Hank. You can call in sick, but androids don't –"

"I know," said Hank, "but I can't keep up with Wren if she decides to run. You can. So take a personal day and go with her tomorrow."

"You know, I'm right here," muttered Wren.

Hank looked back at her as they trekked down the hall. "Yeah, and it shouldn't come as a surprise that we don't trust you."

Wren huffed. "Well, I don't trust either of you, either."

"I don't care," said Hank. They left the hospital and wandered the parking garage until they reached Hank's car. Wren slid into the backseat while Connor took the front. Hank clambered into the driver's side and cranked the engine. Wren jerked when heavy metal blared through the speakers. Then, she turned to the window, listening to the music as Hank drove to his house.

…

After a few hours, Wren finally had a fabricated background story. Tomorrow, she would actualize the background with documentation. A false paper trail would take pretty much the whole day to authenticate, especially if she wanted to fool the DPD. Wren sat on the couch and glanced around the room. Hank's St. Bernard (Sumo, as Connor had called him) rested his head on Wren's lap. She scratched behind his ears, a smile toying with her lips. She didn't have much experience with dogs, but she liked the idea of them.

Hank stood in front of her, his hands on his hips. "Alright, so we got your story all settled. Time to lay down some ground rules."

Wren ceased her petting of Sumo and peered up at Hank. Connor sat in an armchair in the corner of the room. Wren looked up at Hank expectedly. "Let me guess –no boys over after ten o'clock?"

"Shut up," snapped Hank. Wren leaned back into the couch cushions. She folded her arms across her chest. Hank scowled at her. "If we ask you a question, you answer it honestly. If I wanna know the names of who you've killed, you spill them, if you remember. Got it?"

"If I know the answers to your questions, I will answer them honestly."

"Good. Second, the DPD will eventually give you a gun. You are not allowed anywhere near it while you're here. Understand?"

"Yes."

"No showing off of your android bits. We're passing you off as human."

"Okay."

"No talking about your case with anyone around."

"Do I look like an idiot?"

Hank chose to ignore Wren's snark. "You are not allowed to go anywhere without either Connor or me present with you. Understand?"

Wren huffed. "Yes."

"And just so we're clear, if you ever do anything to make us think you're going to betray us or get us or Markus killed, we will kill you. Got it?" Hank glowered at her.

"I understand."

"Good," said Hank. He turned to Connor. "I'm gonna pick up some dinner. I'll be back in a few, okay?"

"Alright," said Connor. Hank shot a scowl at Wren, whose lips quirked.

"Since I'm posing as your ex-niece, can I call you Uncle Hank?" she called after him as he headed for the front door.

"No," stated Hank. He walked out of the house, locking the door behind him.

Wren turned to Connor. "How do you think he'd feel about 'mom?'"

Connor tilted his head. "I think it would be more appropriate to call him 'dad,' since he doesn't possess the correct organ to be referred to as 'mom.'"

"It was a joke."

"I know. I was joking, too," replied Connor, his lips twisting. "I would advise against calling Hank any of those endearments."

"Yeah, he doesn't seem the endearing type."

"I believe he reserves such affection for those he feels connected with, and you don't fall into that category."

"But you do."

"Yes."

Wren leaned forward. "How'd the two of you meet?"

Connor balanced his elbows on his knees. "I was sent by CyberLife to work with Hank to hunt deviants."

"You were sent to hunt deviants? And became deviant?" Wren queried, her eyebrows lifting.

"Correct."

"What was that like?" Wren pressed.

Connor looked away, his brow creasing. "It was…" Wren watched as the LED on Connor's temple cycle yellow. She almost told him to forget it, but her curiosity got the better of her. Connor's eyes snapped to hers suddenly. "It was, and still is, an experience I'm still trying to define."

Wren smiled slightly. "I'd love to hear more about it one day."

One corner of Connor's mouth twitched upward. "Of course."

A notification flashed in the corner of Wren's eye.

Connor ^ Neutral

…

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