Chapter Text
The third time Connor's tenuous connection to the outside world failed in as many minutes, he finally resigned himself to the truth: they were past the point of no return. He was inundated with the sudden, deviant urge to cry out, to beg them to go back.
Instead, he opened his eyes. Pine trees rushed by. The road beneath them bucked and quaked like a living thing, thanks to the cracked, patchy asphalt.
He was really beginning to regret agreeing to this retreat. When he had first envisioned traveling outside of Detroit, he'd imagined hours of quiet contemplation, soaking in the natural beauty on the way, perhaps from a bus window or a personal vehicle, if he ever found the means to afford one. Nothing but the silence of his thoughts and the hum of a vehicle, perhaps a few strains of music playing quietly in the background, if he ever found something he liked enough to play.
The stretch humvee, as glamorous as Elijah claimed it to be, was packed to the brim with androids and camping equipment. Packed physically with bodies but metaphorically as well, with sounds and smells and music and conversation. Overwhelming, in a word.
In the far back, Rupert remained conspicuously silent as Josh and Simon bickered somewhat good-naturedly with Markus and North, who'd claimed the row in front of them. Rupert had been the last to join the Integration Support Group and was still withdrawn. Connor suspected he'd moved to the back to avoid conversation, not realizing that he'd trapped himself with four very opinionated longtime friends. Markus, North, Simon, and Josh had met prior to the revolution - meaning they'd been acquainted since before Connor had even been activated.
Simon was a childcare model android and far and away the most cautious of the bunch, having to be coaxed into joining the retreat by the other three. He had been deviant the longest out of the four of them, though he remained secretive about his past.
Josh, next to him, was principled to the point of impracticality. It had been his insistence on keeping all protests peaceful that kept public opinion high during the revolution. If he hadn't been so stubborn, things could have gone very differently. Josh had also been the first to jump on board with Elijah's retreat idea, to experience nature and get a better feel of their new place in the world.
And then there was North. North did not like humans. At all. She freely admitted that she only came to the Integration Support Group to make sure her friends weren't being brainwashed. That was why it had been such a shock to hear her eagerly sign up for a nature retreat in the middle of nowhere. When Connor had asked her about it privately, her reply came with an open sneer of disgust. "I can't go a block without being harassed by human men. At least out there we'll finally have some peace." Fair enough, he supposed.
Markus, sitting behind Elijah, was something of a wildcard. He often acted as the tiebreaker between his three friends, who were so frequently at odds. Connor liked him best, though. Maybe he was biased since Markus had been the one to deviate him when the four of them infiltrated and liberated CyberLife Tower.
Up ahead of him, the Chloe behind the wheel, Chloe 2, murmured something to the other Chloe. Chloe 1 fiddled with the console until something bright and poppy filtered through the speakers, almost drowning out the backseat bickering.
The Chloes had deviated years ago, possibly even earlier than Simon, and yet they still lived with their previous owner, Elijah Kamski. They doted on him almost as much as each other. Connor supposed that they stayed because Elijah was such an advocate for them, one of the first public figures to come out in favor of deviants. Staying somewhere they were already safe and getting all their needs met? It made sense, he supposed.
Connor twitched at an unexpected touch to his thigh. He followed the line of the limb back to Elijah, the sole human occupant.
The retreat had been Elijah's idea. Most ideas in their group were, honestly. Elijah organized meet-ups at high-end "android friendly" bars. He got them into museums after hours to avoid the prying eyes of humans. He was the one to suggest custom coding and parts.
Connor was grateful. Really! He was painfully aware of his intended purpose, and the shame of it made every social interaction a monumental effort. He would never have gone on outings like those he experienced with the Integration Support Group without Elijah's encouragement. Being invited to VIP rooms and private events felt like a neat compromise, though it wasn't what Connor would have chosen for himself. At least he could still have new experiences, even if it was only with a small, limited group of acquaintances.
And if he had to remind himself to be grateful for all the gifts and invitations, no one had to know.
"Always doubting." Elijah lounged back against the car door, his body angled to face Connor as he spoke. He offered a small smile. "You need to relax, Connor. This is for your own good and vital for integration. 'Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit,' as John Muir said."
Connor instinctively reached for his web feed to identify who John Muir was supposed to be but was met with nothing but a failed connection pop-up on his HUD. He winced, chagrined at his lapse in memory.
Elijah's smirk told Connor that his error had not gone unnoticed.
"John Muir was an eminent naturalist and nature advocate," Elijah explained with patient affection. His finger slid up Connor's thigh, tracing designs on his jeans. The light touch felt invasive somehow, too much despite not even coming into contact with Connor's nanite field.
The humvee jerked to the side as Chloe 2 maneuvered around a particularly egregious pothole. Two things happened simultaneously. First, Elijah's hand slipped off Connor's leg. And second, a large, rusty truck passed them on the left.
The truck was old, though without database access, Connor couldn't determine the age. It had a clear history, told in dents, rust, and peeling green paint. A thick forearm rested just outside the rolled-down passenger side window. Connor's eyes trailed over the limb, zooming in on gray hair and scarred knuckles. Something latent in his programming flagged the sight as Important, meriting high graphic fidelity in the recording. He followed the arm up to its owner, a large man with long gray hair, a beard, and steel gray eyes. His features were stern, like something carved from stone.
Perhaps some of his old, lingering coding identified the man as a threat?
The driver, seated next to him, had darker skin and a bald head. He was thinner, but similarly muscled. His eyes never left the road in front of him, which had to be why Connor's focus was pulled back to the gray-eyed man in the passenger seat.
Time slowed down, and for one fraught, breathless moment, their eyes locked. A surge of energy coursed through Connor, mimicking a human's rush of adrenaline. His body must be preparing for a fight. It was the only explanation that made sense!
The truck sped up, completing its pass, and the moment ended. Connor released a breath to vent some excess heat.
A scoff from the passenger seat startled him. "Did you see the way they looked at us?" Elijah asked.
Connor stored the memory for future analysis, reluctantly turning his eyes back to the human beside him.
Elijah's eyes were narrowed, lips peeled back in disgust. "Typical hicks, biased against human-android relationships. How… distasteful."
Several androids chimed in in agreement, but Connor remained silent, something deep in his chassis feeling unsettled.
"Elijah," Chloe 2 said in a voice perfectly calculated to be audible above the music without shouting, "We will need to refuel the vehicle soon. Chloe told me this is the last gas station before we reach the campsite."
"I made sure to compile a list of all stores and fueling stations along our projected route before we even left Detroit," Chloe 1 added. The faint static hum underlying her voice was the only sign differentiating her much older model from the more updated ST200 Chloe 2. "Our chances of finding an alternate fuel source are less than 2%."
"Go ahead and stop then," Elijah said with an indulgent expression. "Perhaps I can use the opportunity to teach you all about the human tradition of road trip snacks."
The gas station in question was actually a general store and tractor supply shop with a gas station add-on. The wooden building looked to be in poor repair, but the paint was fresh on the sign, and there were no Anti-Android League stickers in the window.
Connor trailed after Elijah, frustrated by his own timidity. It had been months since he had joined the Human Integration Support Group, and he was still following Elijah like a frightened child. Connor supposed it was somewhat justified, as he and the others had been warned in advance that rural humans were less likely to view the android revolution in a positive light. He had heard more than enough horror stories from North and Simon to believe Elijah's warnings. While Connor did have the highest caliber combat routines CyberLife had ever programmed, he really didn't want to cause trouble.
For a moment, he wished he'd had the foresight to bring a hat to cover his LED and was immediately ashamed of the thought.
Inside the station, he spotted a familiar face: the truck driver from before, currently spinning a screwdriver between strong fingers. Despite the implied threat of the gesture, Connor reluctantly admired his manual dexterity. The weak light filtering through the dusty windows highlighted his burnished bronze face. He was certainly an imposing figure in his own right. But where was the other occupant from the truck?
His programming encouraged him to run a facial scan and cross-reference it with known associates, but his police database access had been revoked since his deviation, and even using a reverse image search took up too much bandwidth for the shop's pathetic excuse for a wireless router.
"Well, well, well... look what we have here."
Connor spun on his heel at the dry, reedy voice behind him. He found himself nearly nose to nose with the human formerly behind the counter. Connor had dismissed the portly man as a lesser threat, but the ease with which he'd managed to sneak up on Connor sent metaphorical alarm bells ringing in his head.
"Got yourself an android, huh?" the man continued, only a quick side-eyed glance telling Connor that the comment was directed to Elijah.
"I don't see how that's any of your concern," Elijah said frostily.
That wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement of his personhood. Connor cleared his throat to get the man, Ben, according to the name tag sewn onto his blue jumpsuit, to look at him.
Connor squared his shoulders and made deliberate, unblinking eye contact. "He doesn't own me. We're just traveling together. Is that a problem?"
Ben let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh... no problems here." He raised both hands like Connor was leveling a gun rather than a glare and stepped back behind the safety of the counter.
Connor allowed himself a smirk. It felt good, standing up for himself. A quick glance at Elijah quickly deflated his puffed-up sense of importance.
Elijah's eyes were narrowed, his lips pressed in a thin line. Connor rarely saw him without an indulgent smile, or at least a teasing smirk.
Had he really messed up so badly?
Connor busied himself by looking at the products on the shelves, trying to ignore the dull rush of thirium coursing through his limbs, urging him to react violently to some unseen threat.
He wasn't in danger. He was fine. Combat routines were set to inactive.
Connor parted his lips to let the built-up heat escape as he feigned interest in the various human foods. He picked up a box of something called Peanut Butter Butter Pops and nearly dropped it when his eyes locked with the ones on the other side of the shelf.
The second man from the truck. Here.
In the artificial light of the store, his eyes were a rich blue, like images Connor had seen of the ocean. His thirium pump regulator juddered in his abdomen. He impulsively slammed the box back into place, hoping to dispel the odd, fluttery sensation. He rebooted his internal gyroscope, just in case.
A sudden hand on his shoulder made him startle, even though it was clearly too slim to belong to either of the men from the truck.
"Sorry," Chloe 2 said. "I didn't mean to scare you!"
Connor plastered Reassuring_smile_v2.3 on his face. "It's fine. I'm just jumpy."
"Oh. Well, Rupert found some Thirium Puffs, and Josh thinks it will be a valuable cultural exchange. Do you want to try some? We're deciding how many to buy. Elijah's treat."
"Sounds good," Connor said weakly, even though accepting Elijah's handouts felt distinctly unappealing at the moment.
"Good," Chloe 2 said. "Let's get them, then get the hell out of this creepy place."
Hank bit into a Slim Jim with more force than necessary. The casing gave with a satisfying pop between his teeth. He heard Jeff approaching and pretended to read the wrapper, hoping against hope that Jeff would let sleeping dogs lie.
"You could do worse, you know," Jeff said in that mild way of his. It was the tone he always used when he knew damn well that he was about to poke the bear.
"Yeah, Slim Jims are alright," Hank grunted, snapping off another bite of mystery meat.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Jeff chastised. "The robots are people now, the government said so. It wouldn't be creepy to get out there, shoot your shot."
Plastic crinkled as Hank fussed with the wrapper, popping the hollow groove in and out. "I dunno, Jeff," he muttered finally as the silence dragged on something painful.
Jeff knocked their shoulders together as he cracked open an O'Douls. "Come on, Hank. It's been three years. You can't keep living in grief, man, you have to get back out there!"
Hank dared to peek at the androids again. They were laughing while they filled up the stretch humvee's gas tank, as if even something so mundane as getting gas was fresh and new. Hell, to them, it probably was.
Meanwhile, Hank just felt old, worn down. What would he have to offer to someone like that?
"Someone like him? With someone like me? You're shittin' me, Jeff. Maybe if I was twenty years younger, with no dead wife and kid." Hank took another savage bite of the Slim Jim to wash away the bitter taste of the fact.
"Ex-wife," Jeff insisted, as he always did.
Kathy had been driving Cole up to spend his birthday with her new boyfriend's family when that drunk driver hit them. Hank had let her take Cole in exchange for having him at Christmas. That didn't happen, for obvious reasons. He'd hated the holiday ever since.
"Listen, androids don't care about that shit. What's a few wrinkles when everyone you know was engineered to be perfect? Hell, I heard they like that shit."
Hank snorted, trying to pull himself out of the painful memories. "Yeah? Well, what could he possibly see in me? What would I bring to the table?"
"Well..." Jeff took a long swig of his not-beer, clearly stalling for time. He sighed, let out a contemplative belch. "You're a good lookin' man, more or less," he said ponderously, "and you've got a good heart."
Hank waited.
"That's- that's two things right there," Jeff finished finally.
"Fuck you, Jeff," Hank said, rolling his eyes.
"Look, just get off your ass and go talk to him!" Jeff insisted.
Hank groaned. "Jeff, it's been years since I tried, well, anything! What the hell am I supposed to say?"
"Just go in with confidence," Jeff said sagely. "And whatever you say, just smile and laugh."
Hank stuffed the wrapper in the nearby trash can and regretted it immediately. His hands felt empty without some sort of prop. He shuffled back to the pickup, hoping to find something suitably cool and masculine.
Jeff had already bought and/or rented a shitload of equipment: the wood chipper attached to the trailer hitch, a big, fancy toolbox, a nail gun...
Ooh, a chainsaw! Hell yeah, that was tough. Maybe he could pull off a lumberjack vibe instead of sad old man.
Fuck, who even said vibe anymore? Didn't that meme die out twenty years ago?
Fuck it. Hank puffed out his chest, walking with a confidence he didn't feel as he approached the group of androids.
At the last minute, he decided against revving the chainsaw, instead letting the chassis slap against one meaty palm, safely away from the blade. Decisive. Confident. Definitely not shitting his pants terrified.
The androids looked up, eerily synchronized. He could feel their judgment in their aggressively neutral stares.
Come on, Hank, you can salvage this! He thought to himself. He cleared his throat, pasting a painful grin onto his face. "You kids goin' camping?" And then, horror of horrors, he let out not a laugh but a manic giggle. Suddenly he was back in middle school, the new kid trying to grab a seat at the table with the popular kids.
Not measuring up.
A sharp, clear voice interrupted his flashback. "Stop! You backwater hick!"
Some asshole in Gucci sweats and a manbun swerved into view, hands pinched in a crab impression straight out of a shitty kung fu movie, complete with screechy "hi-YAH!" as he swatted at Hank's face.
Hank stepped back as Manbun got between him and the androids, still waving his arms like a drunken praying mantis. One of the blonde androids cowered behind him. A red-haired android cracked her knuckles.
Apparently the bar was through the floor, but Hank had still managed to trip over it.
"Y'all enjoy your trip," he added feebly before making his less than dignified retreat.
