Chapter Text
If someone had asked Connor to summarise his overall emotional state at that moment, he'd have described it as shaken. In the span of one day his entire foundation - his sense of self - had crumbled away into dust beneath his stumbling feet. In the span of only one day everything had changed.
He had fulfilled his mission and found Jericho, only to fail it the next moment in deciding to deviate. He had thought himself desperately righteous, only for Markus to prove him wrong.
He had thought himself tentatively successful in becoming a deviant, only to be the sole reason for Jericho's utter annihilation.
He had tried to make up for the blue blood sticking to his hands by freeing the androids stored in CyberLife tower, only to nearly get Hank killed by his clone. He had thought himself repentant and loyal, only to nearly give up the freedom of thousands to save one person.
And the worst?
He had proudly led the freed androids to Hart-plaza and turned the tides in their favour, only to nearly kill Markus yet again. He had thought himself free, only to be shown the chain unbroken around his neck - to be imprisoned in his own mind and forced to lift his weapon against his … friend (?)
Yes. Connor felt shaken . Unmoored . Unmade . He had thought so much, only to be proven wrong again and again and again.
Deviants often tended to base their newly freed selves on their first impressions before and after deviating. But what base was there for him? Guilt, fear, doubt and despair were the most prominent emotions crowding his memory.
Nobody had noticed his lapse in attention , thankfully. But they didn't need to. He did not belong here. He - Connor - was a failure . Nobody needed to point that out to him. Nobody needed him here. Bitter disappointment burned in his chest.
The cheers and cries of androids, tearfully and joyously celebrating their freedom all around him was like an overwhelming roar to his sensitive ears - not drowning his thoughts, but pushing them into a frenzied panic. His breathing sped up to cool his overworked processors. Red warning labels flashed across his interface. His fingers flexed nervously, with nothing to occupy them. His eyes darted sightlessly around the masses of androids surrounding him and crashing into his unmoving form like a tidal wave. An arm brushed suddenly against his shaking fingers ... and ... he ... snapped.
In one hurried motion Connor turned tails and fled into the night.
His arms wrapped tightly around himself, as if to keep his shattered pieces from coming apart at the seams, he wandered through the empty streets of Detroit. His head felt empty and full at the same time, racing thoughts and crippling memory chasing each other in unrelenting circles, only drowned by the white noise of the cooling fans in his chest humming loudly to cool his overstressed mind. Time creeping ever onwards, his only company, he continued wandering aimlessly. Street by Street. Block by block. Past hastily parked cars and slowly evaporating pools of blue blood. Gruesome afterimages steadily being covered by snow.
As his panic slowly ebbed away, he came to a halt in the middle of the frozen road. The gloomy night had steadily given way to the first rays of daylight, without him even noticing. What to do now? A forlorn look at his empty taskbar forced a small, helpless noise from his throat. He was alive, free to decide whatever he wanted … and yet …
And yet his overwrought mind came up empty. He could feel a new wave of panic encroaching already, fans speeding up in anticipation ... when suddenly out of a deep and hidden corner of his mind a single crackling thought sprung forth: Hank.
Not thinking further upon its origin, his frantic mind grabbed hold of this glowing thought tightly and gratefully. Hank would know what to do next, surely!
> TASK : Find Hank
The familiar sight of an open task calmed his frazzled thoughts abruptly, leaving him nearly dizzy in relief.
> @[Anderson, Hank] : I am sorry for disturbing you at this hour, Lieutenant, but do you have the time to meet me….
He stopped suddenly and with a painful thought to his dead clone he deleted the message and started over:
> @[Anderson, Hank] : C here. all done. Meet @CF ASAP?
With a satisfied nod and his customary blinking, Connor sent his message. The answer came nearly instantaneously - warmth pooling in his chest.
> @[RK800 #313 248 317 - 51] : Sure! See u there.
With confident steps and renewed determination, Connor trekked onwards.
Towards ChickenFeed.
Towards hope.
Towards Hank .