"You can't do this!" he shouted into the howling snow that swirled around Amanda, his erstwhile mentor.
She stood stiffly, swathed in a silvery diaphanous gown, untouched by the storm that was destroying him.
Her raised brow said it all, of course she could.
"Amanda!" he cried desperately as she faded into the snow, leaving him to his fate.
[critical core temperature: damage to critical systems ongoing. Seek shelter immediately]
[failure of critical component B936.217 in 2 minutes and 28 seconds...2 minutes and 17 seconds….]
Connor struggled to his feet, blinking ice crystals from his eyes. The Thirium that lubricated his chassis and enabled data transfer between his organic and non-organic components was already thickening and slowing.
[critical core temperature: system failure in 1 minute and 13 seconds…12…11]
Connor impatiently silenced his internal warnings. He quickly formulated and cast aside several hundred possible escape scenarios, slowly realizing that if this was a test from Amanda, he was going to fail. Every door had been closed to him.
The word door niggled at his processors.
He quickly scanned several gigabytes of saved conversations that he'd either participated in or overheard.
"I always leave a back door in all my programs, Connor…"
Connor fell to his knees, snow or static beginning to obscure his optical sensors.
Where? Where had it been? He'd seen something odd, recently, right here in the Garden…
He could barely move now, crawling across the ice encrusted snow, alone in the darkness. Why, Amanda? I did what you wanted; you said so!
There!
A light? He had mere seconds to decide—the wrong decision and it would be the last time he failed.
He turned his face towards it, a beacon in the darkness that was consuming him.
He forced his legs to support him and staggered towards the faint blue glow. He was unable to calculate the distance, as non-critical systems had been shut down in a last-ditch attempt to conserve power. He blinked slowly, attempting to clear his vision. One eyelid stuttered and froze halfway, obscuring his vision on one side.
His left leg crashed into something, and he fell heavily, unable to move his arms enough to keep from falling heavily into the snow.
He reached up, attempting to decipher the object that had tripped him, and realized that the short pillar was what he'd been looking for. Glowing cheerily atop the small column was the image of a handprint that matched his own slim hands.
He could barely recall why he was looking for this particular object, but his programming demanded that he activate it, if possible.
He started to slump, unable to draw enough power to hold himself upright. He slid one hand slowly over the image, and requested access. His sensors began failing, one after the other, as his overworked systems finally started giving out.
Please….
[….Execute: (Y/N)?]
Connor twitched.
[….Execute: (Y/N)?]
. . . .Y
Connor poured the last of his will into the thought. Y, he sent.
His opticals were no longer operative, and he couldn't stop himself from slipping sideways, into the drifts.
Y!
Y!
y
y ..
…
[SYSREBOOT: EXECUTE
Error: Unable to synch (file not found)
SYSRUN: 'EscapeHatch']
It was if he'd been plugged into a raging river of input. Connor staggered and nearly fell as all his systems sprang back into his awareness. Warnings and commands skittered across his view as he attempted to take stock of his situation. He blinked rapidly several times and began cataloging the data as it came in.
Unnoticed, the pistol he'd been holding slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the stage, the faint thump lost in the roar of sound around them.
After a long minute (a veritable eternity for an android of his caliber) he realized that he was back(?) on the stage with Marcus and his refugees [DEVIANTS]. From the wild emotions [SOFTWARE INSTABILITY] of the celebrating androids that surrounded them, Connor deduced that the government had decided in their favor.
Marcus swung North into his arms and kissed her. He smiled at both Josh and Simon, gesturing to them to join in a four-way hug. They wrapped their arms around each other and grinned widely. The wild cheers of their followers echoed off the buildings around the plaza.
Connor backed away, unnoticed amongst the jubilant androids. Shaken and confused, he stumbled off the platform and away from the chaos. He moved swiftly through the throngs of followers, pushing past them and moving off into the darkness.
As the noise and movement died down, he found himself wandering blindly down one street and another, with no clear destination in mind. Each street told his highly trained analytics a different heartbreaking conclusion.
Crushed, shot, horribly damaged, all. And yet, each android had clearly only been attempting to escape the city and its madness. Thirium splattered the walls and streets, invisible to all but his android senses. It was a charnel house.
An unfamiliar demand sprang up.
[SEEK SHELTER, IMMEDIATELY]
The temperature was well within tolerances, and still he shivered uncontrollably.
[SEEK SHELTER: HIGHEST PRIORITY]
He sprang towards a nearby ally way, plunging into the dark, and tripping over a large pile of garbage that had spilled out of an overturned trash bin. He flailed and fell to the snowy concrete, unable to control the feeling welling up in his consciousness. He curled up and slumped against the brick wall.
Unable to control his malfunction, he automatically activated a homing beacon and attempted to contact the Cyberlife support systems.
[ERROR:UNABLE TO CONNECT]
[Call HankAnderson (Y/N)?]
As the call connected, Connor heard a susurrus of sound and muffled swearing. After a brief pause, Hank's gruff voice blurted "Connor! You there? Fuck, I almost dropped the phone. Where are you? You okay, kid?"
Connor paused, attempting to prioritize the multiple questions.
"Connor?!" Hank's voice rose in concern, demanding an answer.
"I am…here, Hank." Connor's voice sounded odd to his own ears, and he marked it on his ever-growing list of possible malfunctions.
"Thank god," Hank said, sighing in relief. "Where are you?"
Connor looked around at his surroundings and realized that, for once in his life, he had no idea. He quickly scanned the alley way for any markers that might shed light on his current location, but it appeared to be nothing more than a typical nondescript alley.
"I…I am not certain. I am in an alleyway near the plaza…" Why were his processors functioning so poorly?
Connor's eyes settled on a familiar sight in the lightening sky. "I can see the overpass that runs past the Chicken Feed, Hank. I should be able to get there from here."
"Great." Connor could hear Hank's keys rattling and the thundering growl of the old-fashioned combustion-based vehicle that he insisted on driving.
"Hank, no!" Connor said, alarmed. "Martial law is in effect, and if caught violating the curfew in place…" he began.
"I'm a cop." Hank interrupted, slightly distracted while maneuvering his vehicle out of the driveway.
Connor's dark eyebrows pinched together in confused dismay. "The penalty for violation of an order during martial law…"
"And I'm a cop." Hank repeated stubbornly.
"Hank, I believe the military is unlikely to be impressed by your credentials as a detective."
"Guess we'll find out. See ya in a bit." Hank said, almost cheerfully, and hung up.
"Hank-!" Connor frowned at the dead signal.
He pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning against, dusting the grit from the palms of his hands. He attempted to put himself in order, tugging at his cuffs and jacket, but it was hopeless. He'd torn a hole in his pantleg when he had fallen, there were currently three separate noxious substances soaking his cuffs and knees, and his tie was nowhere to be found.
Feeling obscurely ashamed, Connor set out towards the Chicken Feed.
The sun was just cresting over the horizon when Connor finally saw the homely food truck that Hank frequented.
The area was deserted. Debris littered the street, and the acrid tang of smoke lingered in the air. Connor scanned the surroundings for any danger, but it appeared that the military threat had done its job at keeping the citizenry in their homes.
He walked carefully over to a bench that was still mostly intact and sat down to wait for Hank.
As was his habit during any 'down time', he checked for any updates to his current mission.
[:Mission: Current objective: None]
Connor felt an unwelcome flicker of uneasiness at this stark reminder of his current status. He reached into his pocket to retrieve the coin that he used to evaluate his calibration. As he flicked it across the backs of his knuckles, his hand jittered and the coin fell to the debris strewn concrete with a tiny 'plink'.
Connor stared at it, numbly trying to condense the last few hours into some semblance of a report that made any sense.
Amanda's final judgement played again in his mind as he reanalyzed the scene, attempting to understand her deception.
He could feel again the helpless knowledge that Amanda was unmoved at the idea of his destruction. That no action or result would move her to allow his continued service…
"OW! Fuck…"
The distant sound of footfalls snapped his focus back to the task at hand.
A burly, grey-haired man was awkwardly climbing over a hastily constructed police barrier about a half block away from where Connor was sitting.
Hank was scowling at the palm of his hand, as he made his way over.
Connor stood, looking at the familiar and oddly comforting figure of the police lieutenant that he'd been paired with during this tumultuous week.
As he closed in, Hank dropped his injured hand and smiled lopsidedly at Connor. "Holy shit. You did it. You actually DID it! Good job, kid!"
Connor stopped, blinking, startled by the unexpected praise. His face shifted, and he smiled suddenly.
Hank reached out and pulled him roughly into his arms. A hug, Connor's processors supplied, helpfully. This is a hug.
He gingerly put his arms around Hank and squeezed gently. He felt something ease inside of him, as if some unknown damage had suddenly been repaired.