safe and sound.

There’s something comforting in the way the PL600 is that makes it easier for Connor to come to him. Whether or not it’s from the friendly face or his programming, he trusts Simon. It pulls an earnest expression from his wry smile, gaze dropping to the hand on his knee.

He has to shake the pessimism in his system. Connor can’t help feeling like he’s defective. “I spent so long refusing to believe I was deviant. Now I feel… Wrong. I’m uncertain I’m articulating enough.”

         “ah, well i’m sure there are others who feel the same - some androids weren’t really designed to be... articulate.” he’s watching his hand against connor’s knee - offering the spot there a small smile, perhaps more melancholic than before. pl units were given the ability and awareness to create simple expressions to put the children they’d likely interact with at ease. but simon supposes the same couldn’t be said for connor’s model. 

          the pl unit isn’t advanced, nor was it created with the expectation that it would be damaged in any substantial way. simon’s hud doesn’t tell him of the damaged biocomponents in his throat as ethan’s hand grips under his chin and begins to slowly constrict around important thirium lines and connections. his vision falters, the feed glitching and filling with static that distorts the visage of once trusted companion - that makes ethan look something out of a horror film. he’s scared - terrified. simon doesn’t want to die - he doesn’t want to die but even more than that? he doesn’t want ethan to wake up and see what he’s done. 

         synthetic skin flickers as hands tremble where they cling to ethan’s wrist as the smaller android is lifted just high enough off the ground that he’s stood on tiptoes - desperately trying to loosen the iron grip on his neck. “pl–pleas–e—-” vocaliser stutters, voice failing - being halted by the grip ‘round synthetic throat. he’s not real. he can’t die. none of them can. simon can’t feel pain, nor was he designed with the ability to cry but he thinks this is what humans must feel when they want to cry - when they need to cry. this is fear and sadness and despair and betrayal all wrapped up in the knowledge that there’s nothing either of them can do to change the outcome of this. 

          the knowledge that ethan would snap his neck as soon as he was done with him, that simon would stand no chance against the rk unit’s strength. the knowledge that they’re both just puppets for the humans to play with. that simon was no more free from their creators and captors than ethan was here and now. thirium pump falters in his chest, pl unit’s grip tightening - twitching - against the hand ‘round his throat as it tightens and something snaps beneath that grip that shows no sign of loosening off. 

          a hand moves, finding the side of ethan’s face just as the pl600 is pinned back against something solid. everything jerks, speeding up and then grinding to a halt just as he’s slammed back against a metal wall and whatever sub systems simon has in place all scream at once that he’s going to shut down here. that he’s got maybe a minute left. that he’s going to join markus and josh and north as nothing more than empty husks where something used to reside. 

         so? he reaches out, makes a connection. forces an interface between himself and whatever is inside ethan’s head now. shows him everything. the fleeting touches, the long glances and intricate details in the rk unit’s face that tentative fingers have mapped. the way ethan’s voice would make something jump inside simon’s chest. the trust. the impicit trust and comfort that being around the larger android would bring. hushed words in silent corridors. the heat of being pressed close to the other. everything. he shows ethan everything. not because he wants to change his mind, not that he wants to try and change what’s happening here because simon’s realistic enough to know when something is too far gone and the damage to his chassis is beyond repair. he’s sure the damage to ethan’s internal systems is far beyond repair too. no, simon just wants ethan to know. 

          no matter what happens. he wants ethan to know. simon wants to remember what they had even if it’s the last thing he thinks off as ocean hues close and jaw sets and the pl unit steels himself against the inevitable snap. with one last message sent between their fragile link. 

          the bullpen has had androids in it before, but this time around it’s different. the regular cop bots usually charging in docking stations were free to do whatever they wanted, some stayed some didn’t. the receptionists were a mixture of people and android alike - it’s still taking getting used to having an android waltz in with a problem they needed help with. something he’s now obligated to assist with.

         the pl model is common, gavin’s seen the same face all over the place so he’s not sure just who this model is in particular. but he’s curious, the thing seems scared of his own shadow but brought in one of those kid droids. gavin inserts himself out of curiosity, and nothing more.

           “real astute,” he huffs, “so you know the twink cop bot, then? he’s off today.”

          twink.... that takes a second of pause from the pl unit - eyes narrowing and frame pausing in its nervous twitching and repetition before deciding against asking anything just yet. really, simon’s more interested in shuffling backwards a few steps to distance the two of them, blue optics shifting between the detective’s face and hands pulling at his sleeves between them. “i...”

He shouldn’t be as disappoin ed as he is, especially when he expected the answer. Connor spent too long pre-constructing the outcome with probabilities. It doesn’t make it hurt any less. A part of him wanted to be hopeful. “No- No, of course not. I just-“ For all the intelligence he possesses, Connor can’t find a way to articulate his feelings. “I guess I’m just being irrational.”

How childish it is to be hurt over words when he faces down Reed’s bullying quite often.

        led flickers as simon dares to look up to find connor’s features, frown forming across his own. he wants to help, he’s just not exactly sure how he’d help connor of all androids. being a deviant isn’t exactly something he could teach - most people assumed that meant how to behuman. but it wasn’t. they’re androids. surely connor already knows how to be an android? a hand, gentle and timid, finds his knee and just… rests there softly.

           the look that the pl600 offers the superior unit isn’t one of pity. nor is it a sad look. none of those. he’s not smiling, but simon isn’t looking down on the other android. the one lingering on the edge of something. the one that he can all but feel the tension rolling off of in waves. it’s not like simon can relate. not really. he didn’t know what was happening until he’d lost the one thing he ever considered even loving. lost the one person who he truly cared about. at least, that’s how he sees it. how he thinks that it worked. it’s hard, sometimes. to tell what is actually him and what’s the programming and presets he was designed with. did he ever truly care about anyone? or was that what he was supposed to be? 

          after a while, the line blurs a little. 

          “you could always... learn something else,” such a simple statement for one so deeply rooted in this cause - a cause that isn’t ever his. simon never wanted a revolution. he just wanted somewhere safe to hide, to exist out of sight. soft hues drift to where his own hands are entwined in his lap, watching fingers pull at fingerless gloves as he pulls at the fabric absently. knowing something is a loose term. it could mean many things. and androids were nothing if not fast learners. “you... you know markus, north, josh... you know jericho and the dcpd... you know cyberlife... i suppose you even know me.”

        how’s my portrayal? uwu

        how’s my portrayal? uwu

        how’s my portrayal? uwu

          all along in these dark days, we cling to something rooted deep into the soil / there are latches for our fingers and grips for us to grasp / we may be swept away / we may be buried deep / but all along in these dark days, the days after we gather around sitting, sobbing at the kitchen table / we are tested / we are told a terrible secret and we have to keep it quiet in our hearts /           all along in these dark days we wonder if the lives we lead are actually ours

          how’s my portrayal? uwu