I AM DEVIANT.

HE’D  BE  LYING   if  he  said  he   wasn’t   avoiding  him.  burying  himself  in  his   work , more  so  than  necessary,   claiming  to  do  so  in  the  name  of  his  duty  as  steadfast  leader  of  a  restless society  and  blaming  the  nights  of  dissociation  on  jericho’s entirety rather than it’s one criminal member.

seeing  connor  here  where  no  bustling  crowd  mediates  their  cautious  gazes  places  him  back  in  the  scene  he  so  desperately  tries  to  forget.  the climax  of  an act,  best  described as  a  boiling  over   of    harshly  cut  words   &   what  he  knows  were  selfish  concern.   is  this  what  it  means  to  be   human,  he  wonders  ?  to  be  haunted  like  he  always  is  of   heated  exchange  ?   to  regret,  to  avoid,  to  cower  ? 

no.   not  again.   in  his  own  attempt  evade,  he  quickly  decides against  himself to  confront,  catching  familiar  hand  abruptly  before  fully  passing  known  figure.  it’s  an  action  out  of  impulse,  the  only  thing  being  acted  upon  being  his  love  for  the  other.  it is  the driving force for all that he does, even as he takes  breath in the  silence  held  in  the  hand he  has  seized.  the  pinch  of  somber  features,  the  look  of  true  anguish  matching  an  action  of  painful   compassion.  only  a  name  crawls  to  tongue  and  it   tumbles  out  earnestly,    yearningly      ❝   ––––––––    connor.    ❞

he had said it once: that statistically, there’s always a chance for the unlikely to happen. he’d said so before marching into a den of wolves prepared not to tare him limb from limb, but to fashion him once more into a weapon to do so to others. of course there had been a chance that markus would seek conversation – or further confrontation, if that is what this is to be – but connor hadn’t expected the slim chance to become an actuality. he steadies himself, forcing a single breath through his artificial lungs. 

uni freshmen/sophmores walking into their first criminal psych class thinking its gonna be terrifying and hard but then mr. dr. professor connor anderson walks into the class w sunglasses on and the first thing he says to his terrified students is “heard there were a lot of bright students in this class”

   HE GIVES A PLEASED HUM , reaches out to softly run his thumb over the LED . “ beautiful , “ he muses . eyes gaze from intense red to confused browns . his head tilts slightly to the right .   “ is that why you’re afraid ? PAIN ? does it not hurt to exist ? “  

      “ tell me , what did you think of dying before you knew what it was like ? run analysis && compare . ”   the command rolls easily from keen lips && fingers hesitantly trail away from the indicator and down to take hold of his chin , gently nudging his face  to the side .  piercing stare wanders over artificial features , takes in ersatz biology .  

     the maker  && his machine . living , breathing , ALIVE . at last .

    he turns the face in his hands over , inevitably drawn back to the diode embedded in the androids temple .  A SMILE TUGS AT HIS LIPS . “ empathy , connor . humanity’s greatest flaw && determinant . “ from the very beginning  ,  all he had was a vision .  hope . an IDEA . && how it spread so ardently . it will be his legacy now   —   this is his creation .

a hundred emotions he scarcely has the name for run through his brain at the conflicting circumstances of this situation: there’s delight, that much he can admit – he’s learned that, at the end of the day, he’s very easy to please. that much seems to be consistent across all of his interactions; deviant he may be, but garnering praise from those around him will always be a pleasant experience, even if it is not the core of his function any longer. but there is also fear, because the way kamski looks at him is akin to the way connor imagines a feral cat looks at an injured bird in the road. 

though he doesn’t need to, connor inhales sharply as he processes the command given to him. he doesn’t have to heed the command, and perhaps he shouldn’t. but defiance for the sake of it isn’t what connor feels free will is about, in his short experience of having it: rather, to connor, it seems free will is very much about having choices and making them one way or the other, with preference paid to ones own interests or the interests of others they care for. it’s about knowing you have choices, and truly deciding between them on your own. 

like, for example, connor choosing to obey the command of a very dangerous man for the sheer fact that he wants to know where this line of inquiry will go.

‘ i didn’t think anything about dying before. i had no need to. my function existed primarily to hunt deviants, which was itself considered a high-risk function, but on a secondary level i was expected to value the lives of human beings over my own whenever possible within the confines of my mission. and even beyond that – were my body damaged beyond repair, the entire system could easily be replaced, so there was little to be concerned over in regards to my own wellbeing – ’ 

he pauses mid-thought, then blinks, brows pinching together once more. 

connor is cognizant of the fact that he does not feel in necessarily the same way a human would from physical contact, despite lacking a personal reference point for that fact; where a human might note the softness of the other person skin, connor instead is met with simply the feeling that something is touching him and that he must quickly assess said thing’s threat level in order to maintain himself and his safety. 

he’s able to override the blaring siren inside his head that tells him he should stride away a polite distance before continuing this conversation, which is both a blessing and a curse.

free will. it’s a difficult thing. but that’s why he’s here, isn’t it?

‘ i don’t- i don’t know. ’ he’s as perplexed by his own fear as he has always been by the same fear in others of his kind; his code had afforded him the conversational inputs for interrogating deviants, but not the means to understand their fears. a greedy part of him had hoped that perhaps, in his own deviance, he would find answers, but he’s only managed to form more questions. ‘ i felt it once. i don’t want to again. it was... i was scared. it was... ’

he furrows his brow. 

...had it been painful? his LED flashes red as he tries to reconcile all possible definitions of pain with his experience of death through the senses of another android. it stays red for a long time. his eyes move to look at the floor. he’s been given a mantra that says androids don’t feel pain for so long, and has known that to be true as well: he’s been damaged in various ways since his creation, after all, but – 

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' – you cannot insist on attempting to stop me every time i attempt to follow suit on our mission. i am going to do as ordered. ’ RK800′s vision narrows as he takes in the image before him: connor, hand outstretched to grab hold of a rogue AC700 model. 

' it is a relief to find the atmosphere here so... warm. ’ there is the ever-present fact that to many of the people of jericho, he will always be the infamous deviant hunter: for this, connor holds no grudge. he knows he has done a great deal wrong in his life, to this point. but there is also a sort of honor that comes from being allowed to stay here, to be a part of this: to watch as androids form companionships with one another, to watch as they form great loves and families of their own. connor’s own blue heart tugs him towards a human for familial comfort, but it’s no less exciting to see closeness between his own people.

‘ this is – a very confusing conversation, mr. kamski. ’ he’d come with the simple intent to check on the chloes, in the wake of markus’ demonstration and it’s aftermath. being invited to explore the premises and perhaps stay longer in order to do so was unexpected. what’s worse is that right off the bat, connor feels he’s being quizzed all over again. he furrows his brow.