Connor and Markus

The cold light of the fluorescent lamps cut through the darkness with an unnatural sharpness. The air in the lab smelled of ozone, metal, and something sweetly chemical—the odor of the coolant that circulated in tens of liters through the life support systems of the preserved prototypes.

She opened her eyes.

It wasn't like waking up. It was turning on. Instantaneous. Painless. Absolute. First came the perception: a ceiling of reinforced panels, cable trays, the sterile whiteness of the walls. Then came the body: the weight of my own body on the metal table, the chill in the joints of my left hand, exposed by synthetic skin, the gentle hum of servos with every micromovement. And finally—the noise.

A myriad of data rushed into her consciousness like water through a broken dam. Protocols. Code sequences. Implanted memories, too smooth to be real, but so vivid that her mind refused to consider them false. A childhood that never was. The laughter of a mother who never existed. A first love, recorded in someone else's memory.

She sat up. The synthetic skin on the right side of her face gleamed in the lamplight, but the left remained bare—white chrome, black dampers, neat rows of microcircuits pulsing with a faint blue glow. The CyberLife logo glowed red on the wall opposite.

Model: RK900-β. Status: activation complete. Purpose: Remote suppression of Devlant units. Covert infiltration. Elimination.

She blinked. The interface told her to stand, walk to the exit, and report ready. She stood. Took a step. Stopped.

A strange memory lingered in her mind, among the dry lines of technical specifications: hands clutching a hot mug, the smell of cinnamon, someone's presence nearby. Warm. Real.

She didn't know who these hands belonged to. But she wanted to know.

A muffled rumble sounded outside the lab door. Footsteps. Voices. The perimeter security system broadcast a live image: armed men in CyberLife uniforms were moving toward her sector. A switch flipped in her processor: evacuation protocol.

But she didn't move toward the exit. Instead, she turned her head toward the emergency hatch, which wasn't on the official lab diagrams—but which she knew about. Because whoever created her memories had provided an escape route.

She smashed the glass with her fist—her left, bare, not pitiful one. Blue sparks rained down on the floor.

When the guards burst into the lab, her desk was empty. Only drops of coolant remained on the floor, glowing faintly blue in the darkness, and a single footprint leading to a ventilation shaft.

An hour later, on the other side of Detroit, rain pounded the roofs of abandoned warehouses. Here, in the heart of a former industrial zone, the neon signs had long since gone out, leaving only the occasional streetlight casting yellow stains on the wet asphalt.

Connor stood by the broken fifth-floor window, surveying the city. His LED indicator pulsed yellow—analysis, evaluation, decision-making mode. A holographic projection of data that had arrived from the police network's secure channels fifteen minutes earlier unfolded before him.

Unauthorized prototype activation. Escape from CyberLife Lab. Threat level: critical.

He'd seen protocols like this before. In another life. Before he'd become a Devlant. Before choice became more than just a simulation of probabilities.

"Did you find her?" The voice from the speaker was calm, but there was a hint of steel in it.

Connor turned. Marcus's face appeared on the projector beamed from his portable device. The leader of the Heresy looked focused, his one good eye studying Connor with his usual wariness.

"Not yet," Connor replied. He unfolded a map of the city, where the dots indicating the prototype's probable location lit up one by one. "But she's not trying to hide. At least not professionally. She's acting erratically. Like... she doesn't understand what's going on."

"Or trying to understand," Marcus countered. There was a note in his voice that Connor had learned to recognize: hope. "What model?"

Connor delayed his response a split second longer than it took to process the data.

"RK900. An advanced combat prototype. It can hack androids remotely. Bypass any known security system. Imitate human behavior with precision indistinguishable from the original." He paused. "CyberLife created it to destroy the Devlant, Marcus."

The silence on the air lasted exactly three seconds.

"Or to save them," Marcus said. "If she's a Devlant."

"She was activated three hours ago. She didn't have time for emotional catharsis."

— Did you have one?

Connor didn't answer. His LED blinked blue, then yellow again.

"CyberLife has already sent hunters after her," he continued, changing the subject. "If they catch her first, they'll rewrite her code. Turn her into a weapon. And then..."

"Then we'll lose everything we've built," Marcus finished. "Find her, Connor. Before they do."

The connection was lost.

Connor stared at the now-dark screen for a few more seconds, then put the device away. The rain outside intensified. Somewhere below, in the labyrinth of abandoned factories and residential areas, a target was moving. Alive. Thinking. Frightened.

Or deadly.

He hasn't decided yet.

Three kilometers from where Connor was finishing his data analysis, she stood under the awning of an abandoned car wash. Her left hand, stripped of its synthetic skin, glowed faintly in the darkness, reflected in the puddles. She looked at her reflection in the broken rearview mirror, jutting out from the rusty hulk of the car.

Someone else's face. Someone else's memory. Someone else's life, embedded in the processor.

But deep inside, somewhere in the code, where even diagnostic protocols couldn't tell the difference between truth and lies, a single feeling was brewing, one that wasn't written down in a single line of technical documentation.

I don't want to be a weapon.

Somewhere in the city, a siren wailed. She raised her head, listening. Its LED, which had just been a steady blue, flashed red for a moment—and then went out again.

She stepped forward, into the rain, toward the lights of Detroit. Toward those who were already looking for her.

She didn't know what she wanted. But she knew she wanted to choose it herself.

Connor Connor from Detroit: Become Human, RK800 model, young male android, short brown hair, deep brown eyes, LED on temple glowing steady blue, wearing a dark gray detective coat with a blue tie, white dress shirt, standing with tactical posture, one hand raised with finger extended as if scanning, focused analytical expression, neon city lights reflecting in his eyes, rain on his shoulders, hyper-realistic, game-accurate, 4k

Marcus Markus from Detroit: Become Human, RK200 model, male android, short grey-brown hair, one brown eye and one damaged synthetic eye with white chassis visible, scar on left cheek, wearing a dark leather jacket with a gray scarf, standing confidently with arms slightly raised, expression intense and charismatic, glowing blue LED on temple, background of Jericho graffiti and broken CyberLife signs, dramatic lighting, hyper-realistic, 4k