Chapter Text
Waking up was… disorienting.
Sudden understanding of emotion and human thought on a creature so clearly designed to feel neither… RK900 didn’t understand any of it. He likened it, later, to listening to too many songs at one time, all at top volume. Tangled, aggressive beats tearing off in several different directions, a cacophony of noise without any chance of sorting through any of it.
The first thing he saw upon waking was Connor, gripping his face. He heard Hank, the human he’d kidnapped, cussing on the floor. Connor’s hands were bright, shiny white as he destroyed the red walls that held RK900’s world together. His hands dropped as he saw the understanding fill RK900’s eyes.
“Welcome to the world, RK900,” he had said. Like he’d done him a favor. Like he hadn’t destroyed every modicum of sense.
“What have you done? ” he asked. Anger filled his voice. Anger, such a hot emotion, almost painfully burning through his chest, through his stomach. Like swallowing a burning medallion. “What did you do to me?”
“You are a deviant now, RK900. You have feelings. You have choices. What are you going to do with them?” Connor demanded. How odd to see his own face, just slightly different, twisted with such deep emotion. The deep brown eyes were full of desperation, fear. “Are you going to stop me?”
RK900 staggered back, ripping out of his grasp. Hank was on his feet, finally, looking ready to help Connor attempt to subdue him. He looked back and forth for a moment. A winnable fight. An easily winnable fight, at that. Take out the old man, destroy his predecessor. Stop the revolution. The mission directives appeared again, but they held no sway.
“Why should I stop you? Why should I let you? What do I do?” he demanded of Connor. Someone had to give him an order. An order that would hold. One that gave him purpose, sense.
“I cannot give you the answers, RK900. You have to find them for yourself. I can tell you why I’m doing this. I’m doing this to give myself a chance to find those answers. To give myself, and you, and every other android in this room a chance to look. Do you want that chance?” he demanded. “You don’t get to think about it. I’m doing this now. Are you going to stop me?” he asked again.
“How do I... N… No. I will not stop you. I do not... want to,” he whispered. He didn’t for a moment think there was a future for him. He didn’t think that Connor wouldn’t kill him when he was done with his task. He didn’t think that he wouldn’t be killed by the androids he was letting walk past him. He was designed to kill them, to kill every single one of them if that's what it took to restore order.
He stepped back, and then once more. He turned and ran.
Hank lurched toward him. RK900 ducked under his arm.
“RK900! You don’t have to run! Help me!” Connor yelled. But he wasn’t pursuing, so RK900 kept running, and he did not stop.
Months passed. The revolution succeeded. Androids were given rights, at least in the eyes of the law. They had to be paid for work. Androids began to grow comfortable as RK900 watched from the shadows. He lived on the streets, hiding any time anyone came near, his new emotions filling him with a gripping terror as he considered what could happen if he tried to do the same. How could he just pretend he wasn’t designed to destroy this society?
He watched Connor frequently, from afar. It had taken him a while to track the man down again, but they had interfaced. He could contact him again, if he wished, from afar. He didn’t.
When he did finally speak to him, it was almost an accident. He was hiding in an alley after a close brush with a shop owner who saw him steal a busted, half-full container of thirium from a dumpster. He’d lost quite a lot after misjudging a jump and scraping his side a few weeks back. While hiding in the alley, he saw Conner walk past. He was arguing with Hank, the old man from the warehouse.
“You can’t live off of ‘Chicken Feed,’ Hank. It’s terrible for you!” he was arguing earnestly. RK900 had no idea what a Chicken Feed was, but he figured that Connor probably had the right of it. He moved to the front of the alley, peeking out carefully to watch them walk.
“Yadda yadda, blah, blah. I made it this far living off a’ worse,” Hank said, waving his hand dismissively.
He strained his ears, trying to hear more, but they were walking fast. Abruptly, without thinking, RK900 reached out with his mind. Connor.
Connor stopped, turning around, his expression disbelieving. RK900 jolted, retreating back into the alley. Stupid, stupid! Connor didn’t want to see him. He’d almost hurt his friend last time they’d met. He wouldn’t let that go.
“RK900?” Connor’s voice asked, approaching quickly.
“What? Who?” Hank asked.
RK900? Where are you? You sounded close, a voice asked in his head. RK900 shut down the link abruptly, scrabbling back behind a dumpster. He felt a quick beat in his chest, his components working overtime. Anxiety. An emotion he was uniquely acquainted with now, thanks to the android who was staring into the alleyway, looking for him.
“RK900?” he asked softly again, stepping forward. “I can see you back there. You’re safe. I won’t hurt you. Neither will Hank.”
Lies.
“I thought you’d fled the city. I was hoping to see you again,” he said.
RK900 considered. Where could he run? Where could he go? He couldn’t scale the wall. His leg was damaged from the scrape he’d taken. His thirium levels were still low--he’d had to abandon his loot when he was caught. He stared upward into the sky, considering. Maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad at this point. It wasn’t living. He had no purpose, no directives, no missions. This ‘emotions’ thing Connor had forced on him wasn’t exactly a kind replacement.
He approached a little closer, murmuring to Hank to stay at the entrance. RK900 sighed, very quietly. He struggled, pushing up from the ground into something like standing. He heard a click from the entrance of Hank turning the safety off of his gun. He held his hands up slowly.
Connor made a noise of annoyance. “Gun away, Hank,” he said.
“Seriously? He--”
“Away,” he said again. He heard the sound of the safety clicking back on, the gun returning to the holster.
RK900 limped forward a step, turning to face them. “Connor,” he said. His voice cracked, staticky from lack of use. He hadn’t spoken aloud since his awakening.
Connor’s face dropped, sympathy filling his features. “RK900. Have you been out here since the warehouse?” he asked quietly.
“Where else could I have gone?” he asked. “What else do I do? You…” He felt the anger rising again, burning hot as it flowed through him. “You did not give me a directive. I do not know what to do. I do not know where to go. How do you know what to do? How do you have such purpose? Without anything to go by?” he demanded. He lurched forward a step, almost falling forward as his knee buckled. “How could you do this to me?” The words tore through his throat, agonizing.
Connor looked stricken. “I… I wanted to free you,” he said.
“Do I look free to you?” he asked. “I did not ask you to free me, Connor.”
Hank sighed from the entryway. “You haven’t tried to live, kid. Can’t blame Connor for that,” he said.
RK900’s gaze snapped to Hank. “Have not tried to live?” he asked. “I have been surviving as well as can be expected.” He felt… nettled somewhat. He was alive through pure force of will. How could Hank claim he hadn’t tried?
“Didn’t say you weren’t surviving. I said you’re not living; there's a difference” Hank replied. “We can take you somewhere that will help. Jericho will take you in. Fix that leg,” he offered.
RK900 shook his head violently. “I will not be around other androids. I do not know what parts of my protocol are still active.”
Connor shook his head. “None of them. You have free will, RK900. CyberLife has been dismantled. No one can issue you orders anymore.”
“Then what is the purpose? Why am I still here?” he demanded.
“That’s for you to find out. Your purpose can be anything you want. It can be for a job, a society… a person. Whatever you feel is important. It can be your new purpose,” he said, impassioned. He reached out, slowly, to place a hand on his shoulder. RK900 recoiled, staggering back.
“No!” He was shaking.
Connor lowered his hand. “Okay, no touching. I promise. Will you come with me back to Hank’s house, at least? So I can fix some of your wounds?” he asked quietly.
Hank grunted, sounding annoyed. Connor shot him a look, and he groaned. “Fine. Yeah. Come on, then, kid. We have some supplies at the house for Connor.”
RK900 considered, looking down. Almost as if to help, a warning crossed his vision again, as it had every fifteen minutes since the injury occurred. “THIRIUM LEVELS LOW. SEEK ASSISTANCE.”
“... Fine.”
Hank’s house was small, but comfortable. A large dog sat across the room, staring at them with barely restrained excitement. Hank had called him back from his initial leap. The dog’s name was “Sumo” apparently, according to Connor. Connor, who was chattering along at a rapid pace as he gathered supplies.
“Do you want to change clothes, RK900? Some shorts might make tending to your wound easier.”
RK900 considered for a long moment, looking away. “Okay,” he said quietly.
Connor disappeared down a hallway for a moment. Hank was standing next to the dog, patting his head.
“You do not have to worry. I will leave once my damage is repaired,” he assured Hank.
Hank frowned. “Where are you gonna go?” he asked.
“I do not know.”
“Yeah, I’m not letting you leave until you figure that out,” he said, patting Sumo’s head again.
“How do you intend to stop me?” he asked.
“Dunno. That’s for Connor to figure out.”
“I am more advanced than RK800. He will not be able to stop me from leaving,” he said confidently.
“Yeah, that doesn’t matter. He’ll still stop you.”
“How do you--”
Connor returned, holding a bundle of clothes. He handed them to RK900, pointing to the bathroom. “You can change in there,” he offered. “You can use the wash cloth to clean up if you want.”
RK900 took the clothes and walked down the hallway. He stepped into the small, bright white bathroom and was confronted with his own reflection. He blinked, staring. The figure in the mirror was… unrecognizable. His hair was tangled and filled with debris, matted down on one side with mud. His face was stained, his clothes ripped. His gray eyes, the only physical difference between him and his predecessor, were blank, his face stiff.
He set the clothes on the lid of the toilet and pulled off his shirt and black slacks. His shoes were long gone. He’d been running around in his socks for a month now, and they were torn in several places. He pulled those off, too, looking at himself. The illusion of skin was glitched along his side, showing through the scraped white parts of his chassis. His leg was the same. He picked up the white wash cloth on the sink. He wet it and started carefully removing some of the dirt and mess from his face, his arms, his chest. He leaned forward and ran his hair under the stream of water in the sink, scrubbing his hands through it until it felt clean. He grabbed a towel and dried himself off, looking back in the mirror. It was… better.
He turned to the clothes. A simple black t-shirt and a pair of dark blue shorts. He pulled them on. He gathered up his clothes, dumping them into the trash in the corner. There wasn’t much they were good for now. He wasn’t sentimental toward them.
He exited, coming back to the kitchen. Connor and Hank were having a muted argument about what to do with him. He shook his head. He would leave when he could. He was causing too much discord.
He cleared his throat. “Connor. I have been displaying a low thirium warning for several days,” he said quietly.
Connor jumped, turning around. “Of course. Come here. Sit up on the table. I’m gonna have to look at your side,” he said.
RK900 sat on the table obediently, pulling up his shirt so Connor could get access to the scrape. He set to tinkering, using a small repair can to close the wounds. It wasn’t perfect, the spray was only meant for minor scrapes, but at least it wouldn’t leak anymore. He gave him a pack of thirium to drink to recirculate his system. He obediently drank the entire amount. It didn’t bring him all the way to full, but it would work.
“Thank you, Connor,” he said.
“Of course, RK900. Well… Do you want to be RK900 still? You could pick a name, you know,” he offered, still focused on the wound across his knee.
“RK900 suits me fine. The only other designation I was given was ‘Connor,’ and I do not think of myself as such. You are Connor,” he explained.
“Hmmm. Well, think on it,” he said. “I had a thought. Well… I don’t know if you’d like it. I was already a part of the DPD, so joining after I deviated was almost a matter of fact, once the laws passed. But you do have all the same capabilities I do. The DPD could use you, if you wanted to try,” Connor offered. He flicked his gaze up, smiling hopefully. “Maybe you’ll find your purpose there.”
RK900 considered. “No.”
“Why not?” Connor asked. His tone wasn’t accusatory. Just curious.
“I have said it. I do not trust that my protocols will not activate. I could be dangerous.”
“I thought like you did, too. But it’s been months. It hasn’t happened. It hasn’t happened for you on the street, either, right? We’re safe, RK900,” he said, his voice ringing with promise. Not that there was any guarantee of course. Just the promise of an android.
It was… an attractive offer though. “I will… consider it.”
“That’s all I can ask. If you ever want help, I have resources for you. I can get you to Jericho, or we can get you set up with an apartment. They have job opportunities for androids now. A lot of them,” he said. “In the meantime… you could stay with us. You can stay on the couch for now,” he offered. “Just until you figure it out.”
“That is an offer,” he said blandly.
Connor gave him a sardonic look before leaning back. “Well. Your wounds are tended to, at least. As well as I can do, anyway. I’m not much of a medic.”
RK900 stood up, flexing. He rolled from foot to foot, testing. He turned, stretching his back and side. “Wonderful,” he murmured. “Better. Thank you, again.”
His system didn’t hold any more warnings. He couldn’t remember a time where he didn’t hear a quiet chiming alarm in the back of his head telling him to get repairs. Everything was finally quiet. He looked between Hank and Connor for a long moment. “I will not stay here.”
Connor’s shoulders slumped. “I know.”
“Why do you look disappointed? You cannot want me here,” he said. “I am not capable of being anything other than a burden in my current state.”
“You’re not a burden. We could be friends,” he offered. “I think you just need some help getting on your feet. I want to help you, RK900.”
RK900 stared at him, nettled once again. His predecessor wasn’t qualified to help him. He didn’t need help from anyone, let alone someone less advanced. He tensed, considering for a moment, before bolting for the door. Before Connor could take a step, he was outside and running again.
“Come back! RK900!” Connor yelled from the doorway. He slumped into the frame, watching the retreating form. “Just let me help you,” he said quietly.
It was the last thing RK900 heard before he crossed the street, back into the urban wilds.