Chapter Text
Charlie
January 1st, 2039
PM 08:32:09
S.W.A.T. Captain Charles P. Allen felt he must have had this conversation with his big sister at least five times. Once she got to the part where she asked about his old college friends, or whether he was talking to anyone from work, all he could do was settle into the driver's seat of his truck, pull on his vape, and endure.
“I just think you're spending too much time on your job, that's all. Seriously, Charlie, every time we talk you're either about to go to the office, leaving the office, or thinking about the office.”
He thought about it for a moment, weighing whether or not to defend himself, but he just couldn't help it. “It's important to me, okay? And I'm helping other people every day. It's not like I'm obsessed with it just because it's work—I care about what I do.”
Katie's sound crackled for a moment as she sighed directly into her microphone. “I know it's important, and you know I'm proud of you. I just—there are other things in life, you know? You can't sacrifice everything for the job. Take dating—when's the last time you've seriously taken someone on a date?”
Really? This again? She was really replaying the hits.
“Okay, just because you're married doesn't make you the expert on dating. I'm fine without a relationship—actually, I'm better than fine. If I spent all my time taking people on dates, I wouldn't have gotten this far.”
“Whatever you say, Captain.” Charlie could almost hear her rolling her eyes.
He did know she was proud of him, but the truth was that Katie had never been good at admitting when she had lost an argument. It would be easier to just let it go.
The call was silent as Charlie merged off the interstate, and rolled to a stop at the intersection. Staring at the red light ahead of him, he asked, “So, how's the little one?”
As expected, the rest of the ride home was filled with Katie gushing about how quickly their new baby girl was growing. Charlie usually loved hearing about Elly, but his heart wasn’t really in it today as he parked in his spot outside the apartment complex and made his way up the five flights of stairs to his unit. After a few more minutes of half-hearted chatting, he excused himself, saying he needed to shower, and wished his sister and her wife a good evening before hanging up.
Somehow, the apartment felt colder and emptier than it had that morning. It was already dark outside, and the overhead light in the kitchen made it seem even colder as Charlie grabbed a can of sparkling water—he was on an alcohol and sugar cleanse—and sat down at the small table in the corner.
Indulging his sister’s conviction that he needed more company, he imagined what it would be like to have someone around the apartment again. His fridge would be fuller—that was for sure. He’d probably bother to buy good food rather than whatever was cheapest and had the most protein. Maybe there’d even be an occasional hot meal waiting for him after work.
It’d certainly be nice having someone else around to spend time with as well—to fill the too-quiet apartment with conversation and to laugh at Charlie’s jokes. Or to have someone to share a bed with, someone who would be waiting up to welcome him back with open arms when he got a tough call in the middle of the night....
Okay, so maybe he was a little lonely, but where was he supposed to go to meet someone new? He was getting a bit old for the club scene these days. Even just the idea of all the loud music and bright lights gave him a headache.
Work was out of the question. That would be weird—and anyway, he was not into cops. Most of his coworkers were sweaty, emotionally pent up straight guys, which was just not what Charlie was looking for, for obvious reasons. The gym was an option, he supposed. but most guys who came on to him there were more interested in showing off their biceps—or groping Charlie’s—than in actually getting to know him.
He sighed. This was stupid.
Charlie really didn’t have time to start going out on dates. At 35, there just weren’t a lot of options open to him, which was fine. He was happy. He had plenty of things going for him right now. The captain thing had been going strong for a couple years now, for one, and he finally felt like he had gotten the hang of it. Plus, this new cleanse was going great. Less than a week in and he was feeling way better.
But as Charlie tried harder and harder to convince himself he was happy with the way things were, the silence of the apartment seemed to echo around him. It was always quiet there, but usually it didn’t feel like there was something... missing.
Shit.
Katie was going to be unbearable about this.
Connor
January 2nd, 2039
AM 11:02:43
“Good to see you again, Connor.” Markus’s voice was as calm and pleasantly confident as always. He was looking at Connor over a myriad of screens. Connor’s quick scan told him Markus was still working on the citizenship problem androids had been facing since hour one of their newfound freedom. Although Markus didn’t look physically any different than usual, Connor thought Markus seemed careworn as he swiveled his chair to face Connor. “How have you been? And Lieutenant Anderson?”
“Well, since Hank assaulted Agent Perkins, he’s been suspended, but he’ll be back on the force soon.” Connor paused, considering the last few weeks before adding, “Other than that, we’re good.”
“Good to hear. I’m glad your negotiations with Captain Fowler were a success,” Markus replied. An awkward 5562 milliseconds ticked by, and then Markus gestured to the sofa nearby. “Please, have a seat.”
Connor obliged. Markus switched off his monitors and pushed his chair back from the desk, closer to where Connor had sat down. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he looked into Connor’s eyes sincerely and asked, “Have you considered my offer?”
Connor had spent multiple hours deliberating about what Markus had asked him almost a week before. Markus wanted him to become a permanent member of the Jericho leadership team, attending meetings, negotiating with government representatives, and giving public talks and press conferences. Markus had stressed the point that he would be properly paid and given plenty of personal time, although Connor hadn’t even thought to ask.
“I have.” Connor paused, and then admitted, “I don’t think I’m the right person for the position. I’ve researched similarly situated government liaison positions and the responsibilities involved, and I don’t feel I possess many of the proficiencies needed to do well.”
Markus studied him for a while. “Connor, are you sure? I don’t know you as well as you know yourself, of course, but I think you have a lot of qualities I would want to see in a Jericho leader.”
“But North—”
“I can handle North. This is about you, Connor.”
“The last time we were in a room together, she made it clear she thinks of me as a traitor and a murderer. I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to work in the same team.”
Markus sighed. “North is... passionate. And angry. But she has our people’s best interests at heart, and no matter what she says, she knows you do too. No number of smaller disagreements can change that you have the same goals.”
Connor found himself unable to meet Markus’s gaze. In truth, despite his difficulties with North and although he was sure that his skills weren’t right for the job, he did have a tertiary reason for turning down the offer. After days of trying to convince himself that he should be honored to take the position, he had found that he really, truly didn’t deserve to. After everything, he didn’t think he could assume a position of power in Jericho, not while he could still remember hunting androids, watching the light fading from the eyes of the androids he had destroyed—the innocent people he had killed.
“I’m not comfortable assuming such a position of responsibility. I’m sorry, Markus—I know I’m letting you down, but I just—can’t.”
Markus sat back in his chair, nodding, eyes still fixed on Connor’s face as though trying to see straight into his mind. “I understand. No hard feelings, Connor—I can’t make you choose what to do, and I don’t want to pressure you.”
“Thanks, Markus,” Connor said, again feeling that unpleasant awkwardness that came along with most conversations he had with fellow androids. “I appreciate that.”
“How is your work at the DPD?” Markus asked, and it sounded as though he was trying to coax Connor into a conversation.
“I like it,” Connor said truthfully. “It’s been different without Hank as my partner, but I feel that I’m starting to become accustomed to it.”
“How long is Lieutenant Anderson being suspended?” Markus asked.
“He has a month left,” Connor replied.
Markus nodded, smiling again. As always, he seemed very comfortable sitting in silence, which Connor could not relate to. To avoid the pause stretching too long, Connor asked, “How have you been, Markus?”
“Busy,” Markus admitted. “We’re trying to get the government to approve permanent citizenship, of course, but recently I’ve also been trying to get them to process those temporary work visas faster. You’re one of the lucky few who got theirs in time to continue working legally after achieving freedom, but many androids aren’t getting theirs for another month or more. What with that and the cost of android healthcare, the delay is hurting a lot of people. Not to mention the whole last names debacle.”
Connor thought about his own newly chosen last name. Fowler had asked him to pick one the very first week of his official employment, and Connor had decided on a popular surname essentially at random. Williams. It didn’t suit him, perhaps because he didn’t feel connected to any human surname, and he had regretted the decision almost immediately when his new badge and government ID had been issued.
Markus gave a wry smile. “So, like I said, busy. But Simon’s got my back, and North is working first-hand in the shelters to make sure our people don’t shut down.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know. I predict that I’ll have some disposable income in the near future, and I would be happy to donate funds to androids who need it,” Connor suggested. Markus smiled and shook his head.
“I’ll let you know, but I don’t want you to spend money on others until your own needs are met.” Markus paused, and glanced at Connor. “I want you to be able to live your own life, Connor. Just because you were one of the people who helped liberate androids doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice the rest of your life to our cause. It would make me happy to see you find yourself in your own right.”
Connor blinked. “There are more important things—”
“No, Connor, you don’t understand. There are people in need of aid, yes, but it’s important for as many of us as possible to live happy, fulfilling lives. This doesn’t mean there won’t be hardship for our people, but happiness and hardship can coexist. I want you to be able to live life to its fullest. I’m happy to accept a financial donation from you, but not until I’m certain you have had the chance to live free of feeling responsible for android suffering.”
Connor didn’t really know what to say, so he simply nodded. “I’ll try, Markus.”
“Are you still living with Lieutenant Anderson?”
“I am. It seems like the most economically convenient place to spend my time off from work.” Connor said this a little faster than necessary, feeling somewhat defensive of the fact that he was still living with his friend after a month and a half.
“Maybe you should consider finding your own place to live—when you’re ready, of course,” Markus said, an understanding expression on his face. “The androids I’ve talked to who have managed to find homes have told me that it helped them think of themselves as individuals and understand their own needs. Do you think living with Hank is keeping you from realizing your full potential?”
Connor didn’t respond right away, gathering his thoughts and trying to imagine what living alone would look like, feel like. He realized that he didn’t have much of an idea how one would go about finding a place to live, and had to keep himself from immediately running a search to find out. As he was about to reply, he heard the door open again, and he glanced over in time to see Simon step over the threshold, wearing a crossbody bag and a grin.
“Hey Markus—and Connor, it’s nice to see you again!” Simon spoke with more enthusiasm than Markus ever showed, and also insisted on giving Connor a hug as Connor stood up to greet him. Simon gave Markus a peck on the cheek and set down the bag before settling on the sofa as well. “How’s the job?”
“Good—good, I've been acclimating well,” Connor replied, still standing. He looked at Markus, who was smiling at Simon, and said, “Thanks, Markus—it was good to see you again, but I should get going. Hank wants me to watch the Lions game with him.”
“Always good to see you, too, Connor,” Markus said pleasantly, getting up to give Connor a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’ll walk you out, okay? Simon, I’ll be right back.”
Simon nodded, looking at something on his phone, and Markus gestured for Connor to lead. As they walked the short distance from Markus’s office to the exit of the New Jericho compound, Markus said, “I’d like to stay in touch with you, if you’re willing. You’re an important member of the android community, even if you don’t feel as comfortable with the idea as others might. I hope you know that.”
“Thank you, Markus,” Connor said again, earnestly, feeling a small amount of his anxiety leave him at Markus’s words. He knew that it was true, that many androids didn’t hate him for what he’d done in his past—but even so, doubts lingered. As he exited the compound and made his way to the bus stop at the nearest intersection, he found himself thinking about what Markus had said regarding housing.
Was living with Hank keeping him from realizing some form of humanity he hadn’t previously been able to experience?
Connor liked living with Hank, for the most part. He liked Sumo. He liked having someone around all the time, to keep him occupied, to watch football and play cards with him. Hank was kind to Connor, even through the gruff facade. Even when Connor had attempted to organize the house, or cleaned the kitchen without consulting his friend first. Hank had made it clear he didn’t want Connor touching his stuff, but he had still taken Connor in and let him occupy his space while he wasn’t at work.
Of course, it wasn’t perfect; they had definitely started to bother each other lately. Or rather, Connor had noticed that his own habits bothered Hank more than they had in the first week or two of cohabitation. Recently, Hank’s jacket often landed on the corner shelf in the living room where Connor kept his clothing, and when he moved it Hank grumbled about not being able to find his damn jacket.
Connor could accept that the house wasn’t big enough for two adults and a dog to live comfortably, especially because there wasn’t a second bedroom, or any room where Connor could have his own space without Hank’s things and Sumo’s hair invading it. But that was a constraint of the space—not of his relationship with Hank. And Connor could adapt to the conditions surrounding him, particularly because living in Hank’s house was far better than his previous living situation—if living was even the right word.
By the time he stepped off the bus at the intersection of Michigan Ave. and Badger St, Connor had decided that the best way to approach the question of moving was to ask Hank what he thought. After all, in Connor’s experience, communication was the best way to overcome interpersonal obstacles.
Connor was instantly greeted by Sumo as he let himself into Hank’s house. The St. Bernard whined and slobbered all over Connor’s shoes. As he bent down to scratch Sumo under his floppy ears, Hank yelled from the bathroom.
“Hey, thought you weren’t gonna show, Connor. Turn on the TV, wontcha?”
“Okay, Hank,” Connor called back, slipping his shoes off and storing them neatly in the nearly-empty shoe rack. He stepped over the usual pile of Hank’s shoes before hunting for the remote. Unsurprisingly, it was wedged under a sofa cushion. The TV was already tuned to Hank’s favorite sports broadcasting channel, and pre-game advertisements were running. “Have you had lunch?” Connor asked Hank through the bathroom door, who just grunted. Connor took this as a “no,” and went about preparing a sandwich for his friend.
He heard the toilet flush and the faucet run, and then Hank emerged. “Hey, son, how was your talk with Markus?”
“It was fine. He understands why I don’t want to be a Jericho leader, which is a relief.”
“Well, he better get it. It’s not like you’re obligated to do any of that bureaucracy shit.” Hank replied gruffly.
Connor smiled to himself. “It’s not the bureaucracy that worries me, Hank. I just don’t think I’m right for the position. I’m happier at the DPD.”
“Right, right. You’ll regret it when this old detective makes it back on the force.”
“You’d have to pass your psychological examination first,” Connor replied neatly, and handed Hank a plate with the sandwich he’d prepared.
“Yeah, yeah, fair enough,” Hank chuckled, stepping back and almost losing his footing as Sumo passed by right behind his calves. “Flippin’ dog!” Hank yelled, but leaned down to pat Sumo on the head anyway. Carefully, he made his way to the sofa and sat down to watch the game.
They made it through the first quarter of the game, in which the Lions received a colorful palate of Hank’s favorite swear words, before Connor plucked up the courage to ask, “Hank, how do you feel about me living in your house?”
“You know you’re welcome here, right? I wouldn’tve offered if I didn’t mean it.” Hank replied over the sound of an ad for a celebrity-owned whiskey. “Besides, company’s good for an old fart like me.”
Connor glanced at him. “I’ve been noticing that we’ve encountered some friction at times in the last weeks. Well, and Markus said something. Are you sure you’re okay with me staying here, still?”
Hank muted the ads and looked at him. “Honest answer or dad answer?”
“Honest, please?”
Hank sighed into the silence, clicked his tongue, and then spoke. “I haven't lived with anyone but Sumo for a long time. Not used to it anymore, I think. It makes me feel like I gotta make an effort to be clean all the time.”
Connor nodded, watching a woman on TV apply hair-remover to her already hairless legs. “I think I have noticed that.”
Hank grinned in his peripheral vision. “S’pose it’s probably good for me to feel like I gotta pick up sometimes. What did Markus say to you?”
“He said that living in my own space could help me develop my own identity and experience autonomy. I... I don’t know if I agree, but I have noticed that I occasionally seek out spaces where I can be alone.”
Hank grunted and nodded. “Yeah, s’pose everybody’s gotta move out sometime.” Connor glanced at him, and saw that his face was drawn downward into a frown, as though he was reliving some memory or revisiting an unhappy thought. It was the same expression he made whenever he mentioned Cole.
“I didn’t mean to upset—”
“Nah, nah, it’s not that. I was just thinkin’,” Hank muttered. “Just thinkin’.”
Connor wondered if he was thinking that, were he alive, Hank’s son would have been around the age where humans usually move out from their parents’ houses.
The second quarter hadn’t started yet, but Hank unmuted the TV and turned his attention to an advertisement warning against e-cigarette usage. Connor’s phone buzzed, and he read the message, preoccupied. Active terrorism threat in Detroit Central Region. Immediate response required. Report to… the address was not too far from New Jericho, and Connor recognized it to be a Department of Motor Vehicles location.
“Hank, I’m sorry, but I need to go. I was just notified of an active terrorist threat, Fowler’s calling me in,” Connor said, getting up. All thoughts of a quiet Sunday afternoon were gone, and as though out of habit, Hank jumped up as well.
“Oh, fuck.” Hank checked his own phone, although Connor knew he wouldn’t have gotten a notification.
“I’ll see you later, Hank. Make sure to give Sumo a walk, yeah?” Connor already had his shoes on and was halfway out the door when he paused and glanced at his friend’s face. “Don’t worry, I’ll text you when it’s over.” Then he was outside, feeling guilty for leaving Hank behind. He would be happy when Hank was back at the DPD, he thought for the hundredth time.
Charlie
January 2nd, 2039
PM 01:46:39
Charlie had gotten the order barely an hour into a video call with his sister in law and baby Elly. Thirty minutes later, he was on site. The tactical gear he was wearing hadn’t warmed up yet as he got out of the van and looked around—it was heavy and cold on his shoulders. The biting wind was in his eyes as he assessed the location.
The DMV was a small building staffed by three individuals, according to the briefing he’d received over the phone. They had also mentioned that two of the staffers were androids, and Charlie figured out why this was relevant almost immediately. The windows and doors of the DMV had been splashed with blue liquid and the building was plastered in anti-android slogans, including “NO CITIZENSHIP FOR PLASTIC.”
“Somebody’s got their panties in a twist about androids, huh?” He heard Roberts grunt. Next to him, Robinson snorted as they got into position.
Charlie made his way to the pop-up command tent and took a look at the CCTV feeds, blueprints, and drone shots. He paused at the entrance when he saw that there was already another person there—a plainclothes detective, by what he could discern. He was watching one of the CCTV feeds, a ring of red light on his temple barely visible from Charlie’s angle. An android. Charlie focused on the CCTV footage. Four moving bodies, and one very obviously dead one. One of the androids had been decapitated, blue leaking from the empty space between the shoulders, the head hanging by the hair directly in front of one of the cameras.
This was gonna be rough.
Charlie walked up to the android, extending a hand. “Captain Allen, S.W.A.T.”
The android turned to face him, and it took Charlie a moment to process who he was looking at.
“Connor, DPD junior detective.” Connor’s hand was slender and cool in his hand as they shook.
Fuck, of course he’s still around.
Connor had talked down an android who had been threatening to jump off a roof with a little girl last August. He was efficient. Calculating. Better than any human negotiator. Charlie had watched him enter the crime scene with no knowledge of the subject or hostage, look around, and resolve the situation in under ten minutes. Yes, the resolution had involved an immaculately aimed bullet in the subject’s forehead, but Charlie had had no choice but to be impressed as Connor walked away and handed him the gun without even looking at him.
It didn’t help that even in the first short, curt interaction they’d had (where Charlie had definitely behaved like a total asshole), he couldn’t help but notice Connor’s cute brown eyes and soft, freckled features, and the way that he was just a little bit taller than Charlie.
Now, instead of the Cyberlife uniform Connor had been wearing on that rooftop months ago, he was wearing a light gray collared coat with neutral-colored slacks and button-up. Nothing other than his LED indicated that he was an android. If it had been missing, Charlie may have had a hard time realizing who he even was.
The android’s eyes were back on the screen, Charlie realized, and the LED on his temple was spinning yellow as he watched the feed. Charlie focused on the problem at hand again, reprimanding himself for getting distracted.
“Replay the beginning of the attack, please,” Connor asked Torres—Charlie’s tech guy, who was sitting a little to their left. “I need to assess their tactics.”
One of the screens blinked black, and then Torres dragged a footage clip across from another monitor. Both Charlie and Connor leaned in to watch.
At first, it showed DMV operations as normal. The android and human employees, two women and a man, were each seated at their own desks. One of the androids was helping an older man. She typed something into the computer, and reached over to the printer to retrieve a slip it had just expelled. She handed it to the man, and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her partway over the desk and pulled something out of his waistband as she struggled.
At first, Charlie assumed it was a gun, but then he realized it was a big industrial-style nail driver. The man stapled the android employee’s hand to the desk with two nails, and stepped back, pulling a real gun and pointing it at the human employee as the woman struggled to get herself free from the nails. Thirium leaked into a puddle around her injured hand.
With the first android immobile, the man jumped over the counter to tackle the other android employee to the ground. The camera lost line of sight as another figure appeared outside of the building, visible through the large windows. They splashed blue liquid—thirium or blue paint?—on the glass and began to write slogans in spray paint with quick movements. The second perpetrator soon joined the first inside, attaching an industrial fence lock to the inside handles of the doors. Then they both vaulted across the desks to stand behind the hostages, deep into the squat building and guarded by the innocents’ bodies.
Charlie spoke into his radio on his team’s general channel, so all of his men could hear what he said. “Two hostiles, two live hostages. Hostiles willing to use deadly force.” Then he glanced at Connor. He had returned to watching the live feed, his face impassive, his LED blinking yellow. Charlie’s Android Sensitivity Training told him that this meant he was either thinking hard or scanning. Before Charlie could say anything, Connor straightened, still staring at the monitors.
“Subjects are Anthony Erickson and Gabriel Archambeau. Both have active jobs in the construction industry. How do you suggest we approach this situation, Captain Allen?”
Charlie knew better than to question how Connor had been able to retrieve the subjects’ identities so fast. Instead, he turned to study the tabletop screen to his right, which displayed a blueprint of the building. Tracing a path through the back entrance with his index finger, he said, “My men will enter through the rear half of the building and cover the outside perimeter. I’ve got snipers in position, but they likely don’t have a good chance through the windows.”
“The subjects will likely kill the hostages if you make a full-on assault. I should attempt to resolve the situation peacefully before any shots are fired.”
Charlie raised his eyebrows at him. “Did you miss the decapitated android? Maybe you’re not the right person to deal with this one.”
“I’m well aware that this is an anti-android attack, Captain.” Connor turned back to the screens, where the live feed showed one of the men still standing behind the desk with the android nailed to it, holding his gun to the hostage’s temple. “But I’m still your best option.”
Charlie had to concede the point. He remembered how effective Connor was when they first met. It would be nice to get out of here as quickly as they had that night. He checked his watch. Maybe he could make it to the gym before it closed.
“There’s no reason for you to take that risk now. We’ll follow procedure and try to resolve it over the phone first.”
“Of course, Captain,” Connor replied. Charlie glanced at him, wondering if he was imagining the irritation in the detective’s voice. Charlie didn't let himself think about it too much, instead setting about updating his men over the radio and working with the tech guys to set up a proxy line to call the DMV with.
Walker, his second in command, approached him after a minute, letting Charlie know that his snipers were positioned and ready to take down hostiles if they could get a clear shot—but, as Charlie had expected, the thick graffiti and hostages’ bodies were complicating their ability to aim. They needed the hostiles to step out into the lobby area—then they'd have a clear shot. Charlie glanced at the detective, who was once again bent towards the screen, watching the feed with intensity.
“Anything else you can get from the video?”
“I'm attempting to gauge their motivation. Neither of these men have lost their jobs or experienced familial loss in recent days—however, I suspect that they feel intensely threatened by the recent android liberation.” Pointing at the corner of one screen, Connor asked Torres, “Pause and magnify this frame, please.” He obliged, and Charlie watched Connor's LED blink. “Rewind 58 frames, please.” Torres did so. Charlie realized that Connor had seen something they had all missed so far—the grainy blown-up image showed that one of the hostiles was wearing a jacket with a seemingly hand-painted symbol and script on the back.
“Can you read it?” Charlie asked.
“Midday Army...” Connor seemed deep in thought. Then he glanced at Charlie, his LED returning to blue. “Do you recognize that title?”
“Seems like a wannabe militia. Might have other members, if that's the case,” Charlie muttered, unsettled. Maybe this was bigger than he'd thought.
“According to my initial inquiry, it appears to be an online group of anti-android radicals.” Connor sounded as though he was discovering the information as he spoke. “This may be helpful in our negotiation.”
“No way to know until they talk. I’ll give you some time to prepare. We’ll call when you’re ready. I’ll be outside with my men.”
Charlie mostly wanted to avoid stealing glances at the pretty android—but he did also take the opportunity to check out the snipers’ vantage points and brief his guys on the situation and the backup strategy. The wind was still frigid, and his nose was ice cold by the time Connor stepped out from the tent, saying, “Captain, I’m ready.” Sniffling, Charlie joined him in the tent once again. At Connor’s signal, they made the call.
It rang only once before the hostile on the right, the one holding a gun to the injured android’s head, leaned over and picked up the call.
“What took you so long? Didn’t we make enough noise?” The man demanded, all but shouting into the receiver. Over the speakerphone, his voice was reedy and a little out of breath.
“My name is Connor. I’m going to try to get you out of this, but you need to let me help you.” Connor’s voice was steady and calm.
Charlie watched the feed to gauge the mens’ reactions. They seemed to be squabbling over the phone, and the other man gained control over it, raising it to his ear. This man’s voice was gruffer, louder.
“We aren’t negotiating over the phone—if you want to talk, come in and face us like a man.” He threw the phone down in its cradle, and the connection was cut. Connor and Charlie glanced at each other.
“Guess we’re doing it the old-fashioned way, then,” Charlie noted. “You’re sure you wanna deal with this?”
Connor simply nodded. His eyes never left Charlie’s face, as though scanning for something.
“Get suited up, then.” Charlie had to admit he had a bad feeling about sending this slightly scrawny-looking android into a room with two men who had already brutally dismembered one android that day. He could only trust that Connor knew how to handle humans as well as he did androids.
Connor was putting on a bulletproof vest when Charlie stopped him, holding up a small case containing a standard in-ear transmitter. “Hey, you need this. We’re not sending you in without audio.”
“Actually, I’m internally equipped with a full range of transmission features. I’ll connect to your computer system before going in.”
Of course. The guy’s got bluetooth in his brain.
Charlie turned to dig around in one of the nearby duffel bags and retrieved a black knit beanie. “Here. Cover up your indicator,” he said, stepping towards Connor and shoving the hat at him. Connor obliged, pulling the beanie over his head and adjusting it for a moment before turning his eyes to Charlie. His expression was of cultivated neutrality, but his brown eyes were wide and his forehead ever so slightly creased. Charlie gave him a bolstering nod and walked outside, holding the tent flap open for Connor.
“If anything goes wrong, we’ll be ready to take over the situation. The hostages’ lives are paramount—if you can get the hostiles away from them, our snipers can get a clean view.”
It was already becoming dusky, even though it was only 3pm. Clouds had gathered, driving away what little sunlight Detroit had enjoyed that morning, and it was freezing. The inside of the DMV was dim, and Charlie could only vaguely see the forms moving in the gloom.
They were approaching the perimeter, where Charlie’s men were probably already freezing their fingers off. The sooner this was over, the better.
“Good luck,” Charlie told Connor, and headed back to the tent to watch and listen to the live feeds. On the line with his second in command, he confirmed, “Negotiator is going in. Stand by.”
Walker was outside, in position around the back of the building and ready to breach—or catch escapists—if anything went wrong. Charlie received verbal confirmation from Walker as he watched Connor move past the police perimeter and approach the blue-splashed DMV doors slowly, his empty hands stretched forward and up to show he was unarmed. Charlie had managed to convince Connor to take his service weapon in, at least. He couldn’t, with good conscience, let the man go in entirely unprotected.
The wait was tense as Connor approached the door. Charlie watched the man on the right climb over the desk, slowly approach the doors, and fumbled to open the industrial padlock with one hand. His gun was trained at Connor’s chest as he did so.
“Are you armed?”
“No,” Connor replied, stepping inside. The man retreated slowly, returning to his spot. “I’m just here to talk.”
“We’re here to tell the government that we don’t stand for android citizenship. There are more like us, and we demand that the government recognizes our organization as a group with legitimate claims.” The man on the right said.
“You’re surrounded,” Connor said, directing his words at both men. “You have our attention—if you stand down, I can make sure your demands are heard. But we can’t negotiate until you let these people go.”
“Listen, we’re not idiots. The minute we let them go, you’ll lock us up and throw us away the key. Listen to us now.”
“Look, I don’t have the power to do that,” Connor urged. “But you can put the gun down and resolve this right now. I promise I can help you. I’m on your side here.”
“Hah! On our side. I know you pigs are all android bootlickers—you’re the ones hiring ‘em! Show me you care about real people, and maybe I’ll listen to you.”
Connor’s voice rose a little and he gestured at the android pinned to the desk as he retorted, “You think I like these fuckers? You know it’s just affirmative action getting them police jobs even though they’re all criminals. Seriously, man, I’m on your side, but I can’t help you get your message to anyone in power unless you help me out first.”
Charlie had to be impressed at Connor’s acting. He sounded a lot like some of the guys Charlie worked with at the department. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work well on these idiots. The man on the right began to lower his gun, but the other one hissed at him to stop.
“Deny their citizenship—get us government representation. NOW. If you keep bullshitting with me, I’ll start shooting. This race traitor’s first.” The man on the left pressed the muzzle of his handgun into the human hostage’s neck.
“Walker, get into position. Silent breach. Connor’s getting nowhere.” Charlie spoke into his radio.
“I told you, I don’t have the power to deny anyone citizenship. Christ, can’t you listen?” Connor’s tone of voice had changed slightly again, sounding annoyed. “I’m trying to help you out here.”
The left man’s gun was instantly trained on Connor. “Don’t you fucking talk to us like that. We hold the power here.”
“Okay, okay, big man—but I don’t need a gun to feel like I have power. Or a desk to hide behind.”
Charlie knew this was the point of no return. As he watched the scene unfold, he knew that if his men didn’t get to the scene immediately, Connor and the hostages would be dead. It was too late for him to get anywhere near close enough to help—all he could do was watch as the subject launched himself at Connor.
One moment, Connor was standing with his hand reaching behind his back; the next, there was a series of gunshots and the room filled with muzzle flashes, both hostiles falling to the ground. Walker, Ruben and Abrams were spreading out in the room—the source of the other shots. He’d been so focused on the man attacking Connor that he hadn’t realized his men had made it just in time.
Breathing an unanticipated sigh of relief, Charlie left the tent and headed toward the building.