Tied Under a String } Closed

[instabilitatem]

WHO: Connor, Max, Robert, Ithaqua, Hank
WHEN: March 6th-ish
WHERE: Max's residence, the hospital
WHAT: Time to d-d-deviate
NOTES\WARNINGS: Gun violence, existentialism, possible SI




(Top-Levels are below)

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These tough feelings are hard to cut off } Max, Robert, Ithaqua

[instabilitatem]

[The call comes early in the morning, a flip of a switch in Connor's programming that tells him to go. Today is the day. He rises from where he'd been sitting and sets about barricading Hank into his room. A chair is pushed up under the handle, a bookcase quietly pressed against the door proper. It's good enough for Connor and now he needs to proceed to step two.

He knows Max has a gun and Connor has the strong feeling that he will be needing such a weapon, even if he's not technically allowed to handle a weapon. That question is unimportant. What matters now is that he completes the mission.

Making his way to the junkyard, Connor knows that this next part could be difficult, but he'll need to muscle through it.

All for the mission.

He navigates around the piles of useless things until he finds Max.

"Good morning, Max," Connor announces his presence. "I have something I need to discuss with you."

[theroadwarrior]

[Max has been scavenging through the heaps of debris to find some decent bits and pieces: leather straps, nuts and bolts to strip out of old hardware, any kind of chain or rope. They're carefully laid out over an old blanket, the kind you could just pull together at the corners and hold like some old bum walking down a railroad. This is a pretty typical way to find him these days; if anything, he almost seems calm and relaxed by these ritualistic morning tasks.

His guard is down more than usual. He'll regret it later.

There have been less ghosts buzzing around him today, and he's keeping his hands busy, and Connor is nosy. So he wipes some oil off on his pants that came from an old abandoned engine he was tooth-picking for pieces, and turns toward Connor's voice with mild interest.]

Mm.

['What is it', that little sound of acknowledgement says. When Connor has something to discuss that begins that way, it usually has something to do with the mission, or the state of Etraya, or someone he's ran into here. Maybe that Hank guy's been getting through to him a little; maybe he's questioning something, anything, about why they're here and what they should do.

Either way, he's listening. He walks off the scrap he'd been balancing on, back to solid ground. Connor can probably run the numbers — not vulnerable enough yet, too forward facing, gun not in proper grabbing distance. A waiting game of when.]

[instabilitatem]

[Connor is very used to the one-word or grunted answers. They've spent so much time together that Connor doesn't pause at all.]

I need to borrow your gun.

[His tone is firm, very much not in the mood for questions. He needs the gun, end of story.]

[theroadwarrior]

[Max's sunbeaten brow scrunches.

... Not what he was expecting. Even a little. He runs a couple of possible reasons through his head — comes away a little paranoid, a little uncertain. Could be that there's some danger Connor isn't immediately divulging. Could be something more nefarious. Max may trust him somewhat, but — Max's trust is also a very, very shallow puddle.]

What reason?

[If he takes a slight step back, it's instinctual.

As you know, he's quite protective of his things.]

[instabilitatem]

The mission. [Connor states plainly.] It's time, Catdog.

[The use of the ridiculous nickname sort of undermines how serious Connor's tone is.]

I will need it if I face resistance in the hospital.

[theroadwarrior]

[Honestly, in any other situation, the ridiculous nickname would earn another eyeroll. But it's a little different to be anything but immediately on edge when the news is dropped in his lap... So it didn't work in the end, huh? He'd hoped time and effort would get Connor to reconsider — but it's like he'd told Furiosa, isn't it? The guy was wired a certain way, the kind you might not be able to just break out of.

Either way, Max has already made up his mind. Furiosa's arrival had made it an immediate change of what little heart was in the mission, but the facts are there all the same: in this place, there are people here who shouldn't suffer because of them. He can't have that on his conscience, not with how flimsy that conscience is — how easily it's smothered by guilt. Good people here. Decent, anyway. Kids, too. If he were to finish what they demanded of him, then people could go hungry.

And a once hungry man knows better than anyone, just how cruel that could be.]

No.

We're not doing it.

[instabilitatem]

Yes, we are. I am completing the mission.

[Connor steps closer to Max, his gaze cold and unfeeling. Like a machine. He clearly has no qualms about stealing from Aurora and leaving Etraya to starve. He doesn't want Max or Robert or Ithaqua to come to harm, but if push comes to shove he will.

There are signs of possibly deviancy, but he's not responding to it yet.]

[theroadwarrior]

You're not completing anything.

[He takes another step back, fingers twitching. Preparing to pull the gun Connor so coldly demands. Maybe he'd been wrong — maybe Connor was just a thinking computer, some kind of creation that can only do as its instructed. It's hard to believe that, though, when he thinks about how hungry he'd been in the wake of Alrys' punishments.

There's no one around. The junkyard is eerily quiet today. A paradise for someone who loves isolation; a bad idea for someone who is being threatened by an android on a mission. His hand drifts toward his weapon.

... He might have to shoot him. Nothing else to it. Maybe a few shots to the leg.

That could do it. How likely does an android stop, when injured?]

It's wrong. You know it is.

[instabilitatem]

[Conner moves forward, his gaze darkening.]

We were sent here for a mission. It is not up to us to decide what is or isn’t wrong.

[Connor isn’t afraid to hurt Catdog if necessary. He steps closer still, ready to attack.]

Give me the gun.

I can't do this again } Hank

[instabilitatem]

[With the gun from Max and blood on his jacket, Connor makes his way to the hospital. With the traitors cut away, there should be very little in the way of him completing the mission. He steps into the elevator and presses the button for the basement.

The elevator begins to descend and Connor looks at his reflection. His mussed hair, the blood of Robert, Max, and Ithaqua splattered on his jacket.

No. He can't think of them. He must think of only the mission. The elevator opens and Connor steps out, programming buzzing with how close he is to completing the mission. He steps up to the machinery and pulls out a wedge by the handle. He scans it and confirms that this should be what he's looking for before turning on his heel.

Only to see a familiar face standing in the way.]

Hank, I must complete my mission. [Connor says, his tone tight. He's deeply aware of the weight of the pistol tucked behind him; he doesn't want to have to shoot Hank, too.]

😭 !!!

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

Connor. The fuck are you doing?

[His mission, of course. Just as he said. But why now? Why like this?]

That’s not your blood. [Hank says this deadpan. Squinting at the red on Connor’s jacket.

There’s nothing in Hank’s hands. He would’ve held his own gun, once. But would he have been able to shoot Connor if he really had to? To protect this fucked up little world of Etraya?

Hank doesn’t know. Vincent told him once — shoved it in Hank’s face, really — that he cares. Despite what Hank might say — “fuck this, fuck that, fuck Etraya” — he cares about the people here. Most of them strangers.

And Connor told Hank he’d do the right thing.]

You told me — [hands raised, palms out, as he takes a step toward Connor] — that everyone was going to be okay.

[Until they got to Solmara, maybe, but what matters right now is talking Connor down. Keeping him from following his bullshit programming. Because he is a good person, just like Hank told him. And he matters.

So goddamn much.]

Don’t tell me that was a lie, Connor.

[instabilitatem]

Don’t make me do this, Hank.

[Connor draws the pistol from behind his back as Hank approaches. Hid LED spins wildly from yellow to red and back. He knows there’s blood on him, knows that he’s already hurt people to get this far. The wedge in his hand is the last thing he needs to complete the mission his programming is buzzing about.

He just needs to get Hank out of the way.

Connor brandishes the gun, damaged plates visible now. He cocks the gun, puts his finger on the trigger.]

Move, Hank.

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

Jesus fucking Christ, Connor.

[Something in Hank’s chest tightens. Squeezes.

Failure: that’s it. He’s failed Etraya, sure, but Connor especially. Couldn’t help him deviate. Still can’t.]

I’m not making you do anything. You’re the one with the goddamn gun.

[Looking real ready to shoot.

And the sad thing, maybe, is that Hank couldn’t really blame him if he did.]

If you’re gonna do it, then fucking do it. [Taking another slow step toward Connor.] Because you know we’re either staying here, together, or I die here. Alone.

[Another step.]

And you know which of those I want, Connor.

[instabilitatem]

Hank.

[Hank is well within range, and the programming is screaming at him to shoot.

Shoot.

Shoot Hank.

Shoot.

…

…

…

No.

Connor attacks the wall of red, shatters one plate of shoot, then another. The crystalline crimson breaking under his fingers.

There’s one more wall and Connor smashes through it.

And then he’s looking at Hank with fresh eyes, notices he’s pointing a gun at Hank before he lowers it.]

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

[Hank’s eyes follow the gun as Connor lowers it. Then back up to his face.

Hank is confused. Relieved. Scared: about losing Connor. About how close they are to that — or were.]

I take it you’re not gonna shoot me, then.

[Hopeful, but still uncertain.]

[instabilitatem]

[Connor’s LED spins red and then finally settles on blue again.

He is a deviant.

He will not shoot Hank.

He will not hurt Etraya.

Connor continues to lower his gun. He looks at the wedge in his hand then back up at Hank.]

No. I won’t.

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

Are you...? Y’know. [Hank gestures vaguely with his hands.] Deviant?

[Is this what it’s like? One second Connor is ready to shoot him, and then the next...]

Are you okay? I mean, fucking hell, Connor. You’re all bloodied up, and is that a — did someone fucking bite you?

Sometime after Max and Ithaqua get messed up, but before Hank intervenes.

[badlydisarmed]

[ Robert absolutely hates all of this. It's not like he had a plan, exactly, but he had a pre-plan, and it involved making friends and influencing people before the fucking android went full RoboCop on them.

Now he has to find Connor, stop him, and then find Catdog and patch him up. He texts first, last he checked Connor still thought they were on the same side so hopefully that's still on. ]

Send your location.

[instabilitatem]

On the way to the hospital. Passing the Kwik Mart.

[badlydisarmed]

Great, see you in a bit.

[ Did he station himself at the hospital precisely so he could intercept Connor if he went rogue? Possibly. It's also kind of soothing to spend most of his time in a working hospital.

Anyway, he'll intercept Connor hoping he can turn the man off and on again. ]

[instabilitatem]

[As Connor approaches the hospital, he easily picks out Robert’s silhouette. He walks over to Robert, steps far more stiff and robotic than usual.]

I’m prepared to complete this mission.

[badlydisarmed]

It's really bad timing, Connor.

[ Robert can tell something is off, mostly because he knows for a fact Connor doesn't want to carry out the mission at all. ]

What's the rush?

[instabilitatem]

It’s perfect timing. [Is Connor’s voice more stilted than usual? Perhaps. He shifts to head into the hospital.]

My programming says so.

[badlydisarmed]

Your programming is stupid. We're supposed to be working together, where's everyone else?

[ To be fair, even if Robert had had any intention to fulfill the mission, it'd be bad timing. If any of them were smart they'd be getting the locals to help. ]

[instabilitatem]

My programming was wired by Alrys. It’s time, Robert.

[And he continues walking.]