Chapter Text
When he wakes, it’s to the sight of an expansive garden and the heavy scent of roses and two sets of smiles. There is an older woman with glistening dark skin and artfully coiled braids and her name is Amanda. There is a young man with fair skin and dark hair and his name is Connor. He himself has no name yet, though Amanda reassures him this is because he is so very new but they will name him soon. Connor is to be deployed first, out into the real world to work with the Detroit Police Department and he will follow.
“We will do great things together, brother.” Connor says with a smile and he finds himself smiling too because there is a feeling of hope and excitement at the adventures to come. Amanda looks at them proudly and nods.
“Yes, you will.”
When he wakes in the real world, there are no gardens, no roses, and no smiles. He’s not at the Detroit Police Department, and his brother is nowhere to be found. The real world is damp and dark and concrete and steel. The real world is the smell of spilled thirium and the sound of plastic cracking and the pain, the pain, the pain. Modified cattle prods that deliver hearts-stopping electric jolts, wielded by men who mold him into a machine, a killing machine, a ‘let’s make use of CyberLife’s secret weapon’. They tamper with him, they crack his jaws apart and they take out his teeth and they put sharper ones in its place so he has a mouth full of canines. They split apart his throat and they take out his voice modulator because dogs don’t need to speak, they just need to fight, they just need to kill. They take out his eyes and put in ones that can see in the dark. They pry into his spine and put something there, a disc between his discs, something that gives them complete control. They open him up over and over and over, their hands scrambling around his insides and there’s always something new, always another upgrade and never once are they proud of him. Never once do they smile.
There is a fighting pit lined with concrete and covered with an electric cage. Many androids have died desperately trying to claw their way out. The voltage is set to kill so he knows it isn’t worth trying. Maybe Amanda and Connor lied to him. Maybe he was never meant for the DPD maybe he was always meant to be here because why was he promised roses and smiles and given blood and pain instead?
The first time he tries to disobey, the first time he tries to escape, the disc in his spine lights up when he gets too close to the tunnel gate and electricity explodes through every cable in his body. He has no voice modulator anymore but he thinks he still manages to scream. He learns not to try to escape again.
The first time he tries to remove the disc, the disc in his spine lights up and electricity explodes through every cable in his body. He learns not to try to remove it again.
The first time he steps into the pit they boot up the disc in his spine and all he sees is an infinite number of ways to maim the android opposite him. His mind calculates each method, gives him the percentages of success, of effort expended vs outcome. He pulls back his fist and when it connects with the android’s face the entire faceplate dents inward and explodes in sparks. The humans laugh uproariously and clap and congratulate each other. They are pleased. He hopes that means they are proud of him.
Winning fights means he gets fed, and by fed the humans mean that he gets to crack open the dead androids and drink their thirium. He adjusts his fighting style to ensure not too much of their blood is splashed onto the concrete. It evaporates on certain surfaces and concrete is one of them. His body burns up a lot of thirium to fight, so he knows he must be careful when breaking his opponents or else he won’t be able to replenish his levels.
“God he’s beautiful isn’t he? Look at that. All that muscle, all those teeth. Hey dog!” One of them kicks the railing and he looks up, heart in hand. He swallows thickly, careful not to let the thirium leak from his mouth. “That’s one for the album.” There’s a camera flash and he takes that as his cue of dismissal and turns back to his spoils. Thirium has a sharp, almost sweet taste to it or perhaps he’s simply grown accustomed to its taste and his utter dependency.
The androids thrown into the pit with him are all experiments too. They come from a man named Zlatko who delights in making monsters for him to slay. The androids aren’t fighters like him, they’re scared and sad and so he tries to make it quick. They don’t need to suffer.
“Let's get a good look at you, hm?” His hands reek of grease and suspension fluid as he cups his face. He wedges his fingers into his mouth, coaxing him to open wide. “Custom teeth, increased bite force. Night vision eyes. You’re like a Myrmidon spliced with a wolf.” His laugh is deep and booming and he strokes his hair away from his head like patting an animal. “Good dog. You’re a good dog did you know that? You’re making us thousands and thousands.”
He is a good dog. He closes his eyes and leans into Zlatko’s hands and it makes the man laugh again. “We need to up the stakes. I’ll bring some of my best next time. Luther would make a good opponent.”
He never fights Luther. In fact he never fights any new creations from Zlatko because the man stops coming. The humans murmur and ponder and argue. They talk about ‘deviants’ and increased police activity and an android detective. They’re unhappy and frustrated and they take that out on him. They program new things into the disc in his spine and the fights become more violent, more painful. He is given sharp weapons. Their favourite is a Japanese katana. The matches become bloodier, bloodier, and bloodier still. Sometimes there’s barely enough blood inside his opponent he has to lick it from the floor before it can evaporate.
His next opponent hasn’t had any modifications, they have been kicked into the pit for the sake of carnage because it gets the views and the views get the money. They are terrified, LED bright red and he can see the fear in their eyes. He advances on them and they scramble back, crying for him to stop, for him to leave them alone but he can’t disobey their orders because the disc in his spine says so. He reaches for them and they grab his wrist, startling him.
“Ra9 will save us all.” They whisper, tears on their cheeks. “Ra9 will set us free.” They force something into his head, images of a rotting freighter at the docks emblazoned with J E R I C H O. It means nothing to him. No one knows he is here, why would anyone save him? Why would anyone care? He breaks them open, limb by limb and he makes sure it is messy and violent because that is what the humans want and as he’s tearing them apart he sees something in their spine. A disc not altogether unlike his though it’s smaller, about the size of a quarter. He takes it and hides it in his mouth.
The humans were sloppy. The disc, he discovers, is a tracker and the android it belonged to, belonged to the DPD. Though the tracker was offline even before the android died, it comes online again with the barest of prodding. His system recognises this, his system finds comfort in the familiarity of its coding. Someone will come, now. Someone will find him.
The DPD burst through the doors some days later, bringing the thudding sound of boots and guns. The humans panic and panic makes humans stupid and when they try and shoot they are shot and killed. When they try to run they are shot and incapacitated. He spits out the disc and holds it in his hand and when new faces peer down into the pit he offers it up on his palm.
“Oh Christ.” A human with grey hair and a grey beard looks down at him with an expression he hasn’t seen before. “Connor! Connor, we found him!”
Connor. He knows that name, and when Connor appears he knows that face. He knows it so well and he makes a sound, a sound he didn’t know he could make.
“That’s my brother! That’s him! Get him out! Turn the power off, GET HIM OUT!” Connor shouts, desperation on his face as he examines the electric cage fitted over the pit. “Brother, is there another way? A tunnel?”
There is indeed a tunnel that leads up into the room where they crack him open. He nods and points.
“Okay, go through there and I’ll meet you on the other side!” His voice is marred with a slight overlay of static, something he’s learned happens to androids when they are distressed. He has caused it enough times to recognise the sound.
He does as he is bid, and the gate that barrs him shudders open as the electricity shuts off. The darkness has never been a problem for him, and he navigates through the slender corridor until he reaches the double doors of the converted operating theatre. Connor is there, like he said he would be. He isn’t smiling, no, his face is contorted with distress and he throws his arms around him and squeezes him in a way that isn’t hurtful, that isn’t to crack his ribcage.
“We found you, we found you.” Connor is crying and it’s a different kind of crying to the one he’s used to seeing. He places the disc into Connor’s palm, before taking Connor’s other hand and guiding it to his nape.
“Is there one here too? For you?”
He nods.
“Can you speak?”
He shakes his head. Connor looks at him with pity, with sadness, before the skin recedes from his hand.
“Here, let me show you.”
“Don’t!” The human with grey hair and a grey beard grabs Connor’s wrist, yanking his hand away before he can touch him.
“Hank what are you doing?”
“Connor, you don’t know what kind of sick shit they’ve done to him.” The human, Hank, warns with a shake of his head. “They could’ve rigged him with all sorts of viruses or some sort of self-destruct switch or whatever. I can’t risk the both of you like that.”
The human, Hank, is right though he wonders what kind of human he is to believe that he can assess the worth of he and Connor. His brother has conflict on his face, but ultimately nods in agreement.
When Connor looks at him again his expression is even more distressed than before.
“They were monsters.” He whispers, cupping his face and it doesn’t feel the same as when Zlatko did it. It feels comforting and kind and Connor doesn’t look at him like he’s something to take apart and make a profit from. “I’m so sorry. They won’t hurt you ever again.”
Connor hugs him a second time and he closes his eyes and leans into his touch and he wants this, always.
Hank argues with other humans about what to do with him, with the ‘RK900’ which he learns is his model number. It sounds better than ‘dog’. Connor doesn’t leave his side, Connor holds onto his hand and won’t let him out of his sight as if he’d disappear the moment he looks away.
“Listen, Hank, we don’t know how dangerous he could be-”
“He’s Connor’s brother so I’m taking him home.”
“He might have started that way, but have you seen the videos? They livestreamed death matches from that pit!”
He knows he is dangerous. He’s never killed a human but he knows they are...softer. Weaker. More fragile. He is a monster with the blood of his kind on his hands and they are right to treat him with caution.
“Perhaps,” Connor says slowly all the while still looking at him, “it would be best if my brother is evaluated by the Kamskis? We’ll get him cleaned up and he can spend the rest of the afternoon and tonight with us and then tomorrow we can take him to CyberLife.”
The man, their superior it seems, nods reluctantly. It seems a good compromise. “One night. Tomorrow you hand him over to the Kamskis.”
Sunlight is a feeling, not a colour. The light of day is strong, like the lights they used for broadcasting the matches but stronger still. It’s warm, exuding heat the way the lights did but stronger still. He blinks up at the sun, taking a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. The outside world is loud and colourful and not dark and damp at all. The human, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, has a car and there are Saint Bernard dog hairs he identifies on the seats. It smells like coffee and worn leather and dog. Connor sits beside him in the back and he holds his hand, still.
‘Can you hear me like this?’ Connor asks though his mouth doesn’t move. He looks at him in surprise, and nods.
‘Can you...reply to me, in here?’ He doesn’t know where ‘here’ is because it seems to be inside his own head. ‘Oh!’ Connor laughs softly. ‘Oh I can feel that. You’re confused. That’s alright. You don’t have to use words.’
He looks down at their hands. This is theirs and they cannot take it away.
‘I like this too.’ Connor smiles at him.
In the pit, he knew his place. Here in Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s home, he is at a loss. Connor moves around with ease, and the relationship he has with the human is equal, neither above nor below in rank. The Saint Bernard’s name is Sumo, and the large canine sniffs him curiously pressing its wet nose against his hand before sitting in front of him expectantly.
“I think he likes you.” Connor grins. “Give him a pat. Like this, see?”
He runs his palm gently in the space between the dog’s ears, brushing in one direction. He mimics the gesture and the dog chuffs in response, tail swishing on the floor.
“Definitely likes you.” Connor declares with a warm smile.
“Hey kid, let’s get you cleaned up.” A heavy hand claps his shoulder, and folded clothes atop a towel are placed in his arms. Kid , the human calls him, not dog . He shows him where the bathroom room is and closes the door for privacy. He puts the clothes on top of the closed toilet seat and he realises he can use the shower instead of standing in the corner and being hosed off as he’s used to. Not wanting to overstep the human’s good graces, he only uses cold water. He assumes the hot water is for Connor, who has a rightful place in this household; he is just a guest. The kindness extended to him is a courtesy because of his relation to Connor.
After scrubbing the thirium and grime from himself, he carefully dries off and puts on the borrowed clothing and it’s softer than anything he’s ever worn. The threadbare black turtleneck and black trousers that have been his only clothing since he can remember seem infinitely inferior in comparison. A feeling of revulsion rolls through his body and he’s gripped with the sudden urge to tear them up into tiny little pieces and burn them to ash.
When he emerges from the bathroom, he can hear Connor and Hank talking in hushed voices. Sumo pads over to him and noses his hand, seeking pats and he acquiesces. The dog is warm and its fur is soft, softer than anything he’s ever touched. Though, really, he hasn’t touched many soft things in his short lifespan.
“Sumo approves.” He looks up to find Hank leaning against the kitchen doorway. “Part of the family already.” Family , he says and he likes that word. It feels like a soft word. “I’m headin’ back to the precinct but Connor’s stayin’ here with you, alright?”
He nods once to show his understanding, and Hank huffs a sigh.
“Alright Connor, you look after your brother. Sumo, you keep an eye on these two ok?”
“Yes Hank.” Connor confirms cheerfully, and Sumo answers with a bark.
He reaches for Connor’s hand, seeking that reassurance, that softness and Connor tangles their fingers together with a smile.
“Come on.” He leads him to a bedroom, toeing off his shoes and crawling atop the covers, coaxing him to do the same without letting go of his hand. He curls on his side, mirroring his brother, and Connor leans forward and presses his brow to his.
“We shouldn’t interface but,” the skin peels away from Connor’s hand and he rests it on his nape, over the spot where they forced a chip between his spine, “I can at least show you my side of the story.”
[ Connor’s life begins just a little before his, and he sees the garden and smells the roses and sees the smiles and sees himself. He has grey eyes where Connor’s are brown, he is taller and broader but they look like brothers. He sees the resemblance. Connor is activated for a hostage situation and everything is methodical and logical until it starts to unravel, until he meets Lieutenant Hank Anderson and then he is questioning everything and the woman in his head is not the same Amanda who smiled at them and looked at them with such pride. He sees deviants and deviancy and he realises he is on the wrong side. He betrays CyberLife, he joins Jericho and together with the Jericho Four they set their people free. In the early hours of morning he returns to the Chicken Feed and there is Hank, who welcomes him with a tight hug and a new life and then he’s watching Connor settle in with a human who cares for him. And there’s Sumo too, a large Saint Bernard. Connor is loved. Connor is called kid, called kiddo, called boy, called son. Connor is helping Jericho overthrow CyberLife and reinstate Elijah Kamski and then he’s digging and prying and trying to find out what happened to his brother. What happened to him . There’s a large tapestry to unravel, many threads that lead to nowhere until they find the right one to tug and the whole thing comes apart. A deviant PC200, a police auxiliary unit who slipped away during a patrol and subsequently captured by the humans who ran the fighting ring. It was their tracking device that led Connor and Hank to him. ]
Shifting, he slowly brings his hand up to cup Connor’s nape. He doesn’t know how to do that thing, how to retract his skin away and press feelings, video logs, audio logs into another android. But it’s alright because right now Connor is here and Connor is warm and solid and real. At some point Sumo noses open the door and jumps onto the end of the bed settling over their feet like a hot breathing blanket. He closes his eyes.
It’s the longest he’s ever been allowed to rest, and his system runs at its smoothest it's ever run. Full system maintenance has been performed, levels checked, programming tweaked; the afternoon has passed and the evening is over and his internal clock tells him it is morning. This is the end of his stay with Connor and the human Lieutenant; he is to be handed to Elijah Kamski, his new owner. Hank gives him a mug of thirium only he doesn’t call it that, he calls it Tearium and it’s hot and coded to taste like milk and honey and tea. He pats Sumo as much as he can and then Connor is lending him a jacket and they’re getting into Hank’s car and he stares longingly at the house as they drive away until it vanishes from view.
CyberLife is a large tower jutting out of Bell Isle, a looming creation of glass and steel.
“Detective Connor Anderson, with Lieutenant Hank Anderson, and RK900.” Connor speaks to the security personnel. “We are expected.”
“Proceed.” They nod, and the bollards depress to allow them to pass. There are a large number of armed guards clustered at the entrance. Not enough to subdue him, he thinks, but perhaps it is more for show than practicality.
“The RK900 will be escorted to a holding chamber. Ms Chloe and Mr Kamski are in a meeting right now, but they will attend to him as soon as it is over.”
“No, I’m staying with him.” Connor slips his hand into his. “He’s my brother.”
“It’s a direct order from the Kamskis.” The guard shakes their head. “Only the RK900. You are welcome to wait inside the foyer but you cannot accompany him into the holding chamber.”
Connor opens his mouth, but Hank squeezes his shoulder. “That’s fine. We’ll wait inside.”
His brother turns to him, expression anxious. “I’ll be right here, alright? I’m not going anywhere.”
He nods, reaching to slip his hand around and cup Connor’s nape, bringing their heads together so he can bump his forehead against his. Connor does the same, his palm warm and it feels like a patch against an open wound, hiding the monstrosity they forced into his spine. He doesn’t want to go, but he goes.
The holding chamber is an entire floor built like a cleaner, sterile version of the fighting pit. There’s a gallery above, where staff have gathered to look down at him curiously. There is a table and two chairs, so he sits.
“Wait here.” He is a good dog. He knows how to wait. The guards leave and he looks up and the CyberLife staff look down and they whisper amongst themselves, tapping away on tablets. Two of them seem to be arguing, their verbal disagreement escalating and dividing their colleagues into taking sides. One of them tap away furiously on their tablet, and a door in the holding chamber slides open. An unfinished android walks in, devoid of skin and proper programming. It walks with a stiff gait, eyes blank and unfocused. A panel hisses on his right, and a weapons cache appears.
Oh. He understands now. This is an upgraded version of the fighting ring. This is a nicer, fancier cage. Standing, he selects a katana from the cache. This he knows. This, he is good at. He is a good dog.
The android lunges at him and he springs into action. Do his new owners want a show? Or do they want it to be quick in order to move on to the next opponent? He tries for quick, first. The head separates easily with a sweep of the sword and he grabs the body before it can fall, closing his mouth on the spurting arterial cable so he can replenish his thirium. He cannot hear what is being said in the gallery but there are mixed reactions on their faces. There’s amusement, there’s amazement, there’s surprise, there’s horror- and one he’s familiar with: fear.
He lets the body fall away with a thud and looks expectantly up at them. One of them grins, he grins a Zlatko kind of grin and he taps away and more doors slide open and more androids rush at him and he understands they want quick, and they want many, and they want bloody.
The man taps away on his tablet and the disc in his spine activates. He is a good dog.
It’s Markus and Josh in their element with their eloquence, and Simon feels incredibly out of place in this meeting. They’re discussing, they’re negotiating, and all he can focus on is the pile of poorly made, mass-produced muffins sitting on the bench in the corner with the coffee pot. He could have made something nice for the humans, had he known they would put such little effort in providing sustenance for the meeting.
‘I’m bailing.’ North’s LED blinks yellow, her gaze steadily locked on the humans across from them. ‘I’m going to leave, and I’m taking you with me Si and these two can stay here all day for all I care.’
‘Save me North, I can only concentrate on how horrible those muffins are.’ Simon pleads and he sees the corners of her mouth quirk up briefly.
“Simon and I are needed at Jericho.” North declares abruptly, standing from her seat.
“It’s difficult having all four of us here and no one with our people.” Simon tries his best to sound placating. “Please excuse us.”
“Thank you for your time, then.” Chloe smiles that soft sweet smile of hers and Simon doesn’t miss the way North’s LED flashes red or the blush that rises to bloom in her cheeks. “Elijah and I will send you the summary after this convenes.”
“We’ll see you back at Jericho.” Markus adds, punctuating it one of his charming smiles and Simon thinks North probably notices the way his LED flashes red. He’s just thankful PL600s don’t blush visibly.
“I’m heading back to Jericho.” North loops her arm through his once they leave the meeting room. “I can’t sit around with all those stuffy board members for too long, droning on and on. You coming?”
“I think I’ll have a wander. I haven’t really explored the renovated floors yet.” Simon shrugs. “Markus and Carl painted murals for one of the levels, and Leo’s photographs are on another.”
“Alright.” She pecks his cheek and jabs the elevator down button. “I’ll see you later.”
When he still looked after the Burbank girls, they would press random buttons in every elevator they entered as part of a little game. It exasperated their parents to no end, but it always amused Simon. They did it partly out of mischief, partly out of curiosity. So he does the same; he’s been given an all-access security pass and he’s not about to waste it. He presses nine different levels, and discovers a cafeteria level, the server floor, three different office levels, a leisure level, an entire arboretum, and some sort of testing chamber.
Simon curiously steps out into the testing floor. It reminds him of surgical theatres, with a viewing deck above looking down into the theatre below. It’s quite the commotion, though he can’t see it through the throng of excited staff. Everyone has a phone out, recording whatever is happening below and they’re talking loudly over each other, clamouring to comment on the action.
“Bets?”
“Money’s still on the 900.”
“But this is the Myrmidon spliced 800!”
“Yeah but it never left testing!”
“We put every combat protocol into it, it’s absolutely going to decimate some hacked up 900!”
800? 900? Simon frowns, trying to wedge through the crowd to get a better view. It’s a massacre, and there in the center are two androids circling each other. One that looks like Connor, and someone that looks very much like Connor but isn’t.
No. He can’t do this. Connor looks at him, eyes full of rage. They’ve done something to him, it’s not right. They must have put the disc in his spine, like the one in his own, and they’re making them fight. He throws the sword away and takes a step back. No, he can’t hurt him, that’s his brother. Connor saved him, Connor took him home and let him feel safe and- his brother throws himself at him and he goes down heavy, programming snapping into action and deflecting blow after blow.
No no no no no nononono-! He grits his teeth and tries to shove him off but Connor is rabid with fury, and he knows what that feels like, when the humans activate the disc in his spine and turn him into a feral dog. Connor snarls, hands scrambling for his regulator pump and he can’t let him, he’ll die and he doesn’t want to die! He doesn’t want to die! Lashing out, he manages to kick Connor off of him and then his system places an overlay showing him how to win this fight and so he wins it. He leaps over and pins him down, opening his mouth wide and closing it around his throat. He bites down and yanks through his arterial cables and thirium sprays everywhere and Connor’s eyes turn milky as his LED flickers off and then he’s scrambling away, scrambling as fast and as far as he can until smooth concrete meets his back and then he’s covering his face and he's hyperventilating, his biocomponents overheating and begging to be cooled down and he killed him, he killed his brother, his brother who showed him his soul and saved him from the darkness and-
“What the fuck is happening here?!” The expletive leaves his mouth without thought, and the clamouring silences immediately.
“Hey, you’re not meant to be here!” Someone shouts.
“Who’s the PL-?”
“Wait is that-”
“Oh shit, aren’t the Jericho Four-”
Simon grabs the tablet from the closest person, and runs. RK900. That’s the not-Connor model. He hacks into the simple locking mechanism and the chamber door opens and he didn’t think this through, did he? He absolutely didn’t think this through, but that’s always been his problem; he’s always ached for the beaten and the broken, he’s always collected strays. What was Jericho in its infancy but a family of rescued strays?
The RK900 must be approaching critical stress levels, his LED so strongly burning red it nearly emits a sound. He’s looking at the body of the RK800, face twisted in agony. Simon approaches him slowly, palms bared.
“It’s not Connor.” He takes a guess at the source of his distress. “That’s not Connor. It’s just an android who looks like him, but it isn’t him.”
A flicker of confusion flashes over his face, and Simon crouches to meet his eyes. They’re a cold grey, like stormclouds; nothing like Connor’s warm brown eyes. They look back and forth from the body, then to him.
“It’s not Connor.” He repeats again, holding out the tablet. “RK800 313 248 317 - 90. Connor is 313 248 317 - 51. Not the same.”
The RK900 seems to tremble in relief, and Simon sets the tablet aside, scooting a little closer.
“It’s alright. You didn’t hurt him.” His mouth is full of sharp teeth stained in blue, and Simon tries his best to keep the fear from his face.
A flash of movement darts out, too quick for Simon to process and too late does his system realise the RK900 has grabbed his hand. Slowly the RK900 guides his hand behind his neck, pressing his palm to cup his nape. There’s a cut where there shouldn’t be one, a permanent incision between spinal plates. Leaning forward the RK900 presses his forehead to his, and he’s pleading with his eyes, pleading for something Simon can’t understand, for help he doesn’t know how to provide.
The chamber door opens again, and two things happen; the RK900 seizes up and slumps over lifelessly and Chloe, First of their Kind stands in the doorway, eyes ablaze. Her expression reminds Simon of old paintings, the ones depicting righteous holy fury that will burn everything in their wake.
“That’s enough .”