[It should be one more routine step of their investigation. 'Should be' is the operative phrase. Connor should expect chases by this point, but he runs subroutines that allow him to stay alert. The deviant takes off just as Hank is going to handcuff it and Connor is off after it. It carries them up into the higher levels of the factory, across conveyors, and before Connor can catch it, the deviant disappears.
Or seems to, as it catches Connor by surprise by dropping down onto him on one of the raised platforms. The deviant is an RK700, the model just before Connor, smarter and faster than previous iterations of this chase. In a matter of moments, Connor is turned on his front, his neck plates ripped away, and the factory reset button pressed down.
[It’s Hank’s fault the deviant gets away. His fault that Connor takes off running after it.
Before he can yell “Jesus Christ,” Connor is gone. And Hank can’t hope to match his speed, nor his seemingly endless stamina. He’s only human — and old, at that.
Part of him trusts Connor to make the right decision: don’t engage if the situation is too dangerous. Don’t fucking engage. But Hank isn’t up there to pull him back by the scruff of his neck, so why would he? Why would he choose self preservation at all?
It’s taking Hank too goddamn long to find Connor. He’s panting for breath after all these stairs, all this aimless wandering.
Muttering under his breath:] Fucking android always taking off. Fuckin’ A.
[But it’s quiet — too quiet — beyond the hums of the factory. No sounds of stamping feet. No sounds of a struggle.
It takes Hank too long to find Connor. Unmoving. Facedown.]
[The deviant holds Connor down by his neck, his grip firm as Connor's mental clock continues to count.
6... 5... 4...
Connor can hear Hank climbing the stairs, the huffing and puffing of his breath.
3... 2... 1...
The grip above him shifts as the deviant must realize there is a choice to be made. Continue to hold Connor down and face another confrontation.
0
The deviant initiates Connor's factory reset and then bolts out across one of the conveyors, just out of sight as Hank finishes climbing the stairs. Connor remains laying facedown as his LED spins wildly. He mentally disappears into his mind palace as it crumbles into a giant white nothing. Piece by piece-- the bridge, the trees, the river, and Connor himself-- it all tumbles away until finally only the overwhelming, but crisp, white remains.
Connor does not return from the mind palace, but the RK800 does. It slowly sits up and looks over at
> > SCAN: LT. HANK ANDERSON
It slowly looks over at the lieutenant with dead and empty eyes.]
[RK800 stares at Hank win an unblinking, unflinching lack of expression. Everything warm and Connor is simply gone. His eyes follow Hank as he moves as he still doesn't budge physically.]
I am a prototype RK800. Would you like to register a name?
Okay, that’s... not funny. That’s really fucking weird, actually. That deviant go and hit your head, or something?
[Hank raises a finger, slowly moving it from left to right and back, as if Connor might not be able to follow it if he’s concussed, or something. Whatever android equivalent there is.]
You’ve got a name already.
[Obviously!! Connor can’t just forget his name, right? He’s just a little jumbled. Got some wires crossed, yeah?]
[RK800's eyes follow the lieutenant's finger as it tracks back and forth in front of him. At the suggestion of a name, though, RK800's LED spins yellow.]
Okay. Fuck. [That can be undone, right? Factory reset, or whatever. Don’t they upload Connor’s memory to a database somewhere? He can’t just not come back.] And your name isn’t “Fucking Connor.” Just Connor.
Neck plates. Okay. [That’s something tangible Hank can look for. Probably on the floor somewhere, yeah?
He is not going to panic. His hands are shaking but this is not panicking, goddamn.]
Connor blinks and his LED turns blue again. He scans for the neckplates and finds one not far away and the other on the warehouse floor.] One plate is down on the warehouse floor. One is on the stairs.
[Connor is relatively new to the long-haul scene and this is his first visit to Portland. He'd heard of the Jublitz Truck Stop, but never seen it in person. It would be nice to stay in a real bed at the Portlander Inn, or see a movie, for a night. He settles his business in the cab of his truck before he makes his way into the stop.
Requesting a shower from the front desk allows him some time to look around, grab some snacks, and the like.
It's when Connor is carrying his towels to his shower that his whole life changes. Across the hall from him is an older gentleman, perhaps a touch past his prime, but delightfully attractive all the same.
Connor risks his door closing as he takes the couple steps to approach the other man.] Hello, I'm Connor.
[Hank is on the way to his own shower when a random guy comes up to him and introduces himself.
He really wants to sleep. Has been driving for hours, and Sumo got his wet dog hair everywhere after Hank tried to give him a bath here. Just a torrential storm of water and hair. Did Sumo have to go tromping through those goddamn puddles by the sidewalk? No, but he sure as hell felt the need to.
Hank can’t blame him. They were both happy to finally have a goddamn break.
Now, he gives this guy — Connor — a once over. Real slow. Eyes dragging lazily from his feet back to his face.]
[Connor watches as Hank does his own once-over and can’t help but smile. He is the definition of a twink. His slender body tapers to his waist and everything about him screams babygirl.]
Have you been to Portland before? This is my first time.
[Connor leans in the door of his room, watching Hank.]
First time, huh. [Hank crosses his arms, an attempt to be all sauve. Bag hanging from his arm with his towel and everything.] Yeah, I’ve been to Portland before. Not here, but... around.
[Years ago. The intent had been to spend most of their trip at the coast — him and Cole — but Cole wanted to spend more time in Portland on their way back, so they did.
Rainy. Gray.
Hank still has all the shells Cole got on that trip.
His gaze is a little faraway, distant, as he thinks about his son. But then his eyes snap back to Connor.
Connor and his everything. There’s something about his face that almost makes Hank want to touch him: his jaw, his lips.
Almost.]
Do you make a habit of chatting up old men at truck stops, or is it just me? [Asked gruffly. Better to nip this interaction — whatever this is — in the bud.]
[And that, Hank thinks as he heads in for his shower, is that.
Which doesn’t make him feel any less shitty about it. Standing beneath the showerhead now, Hank’s thoughts go back to the way Connor’s smile wilted. It was harmless chatting, and yet he had to go and be an asshole.
But that’s what he wanted, after all. To get in, shower, and get out. Back on the road, with Sumo snoring on the bed behind him. The monotony of his everyday.
Connor, he thinks as he washes his hair.
Connor, with the soft smile. The dark eyes. The thoughts aren’t really going anywhere, but that’s the problem: he should be thinking about anything else. Like grabbing dinner before he hits the road, or...]
Fucking hell. [Hank sighs in annoyance once he realizes he’s rubbed the truck stop provided conditioner in his hair. Even though he brought his own because he knows other shampoos usually get his hair all fried and wiry. Looking like Sumo after he’s been blow-dried.
Now, once Hank is out of the shower, he tries not to meet his reflection in the mirror as he pulls his hair back into a low ponytail. Letting himself idly think of Connor as he does so, one last time.
The guy who got Hank so distracted he’s ended up in a ponytail. The guy he’ll probably never see again.
And that, he thinks again as he slips out of the room, is that. Heading toward the bar-lounge now; he might as well treat himself. It’s happy hour...!]
[Connor takes the fastest shower of his life. He has his own soaps, shampoos, and conditioners and he left his blow drier in the cab of his truck. He slides out of his shower room first, not wanting to run into Hank if possible. Connor dries his hair out in his cab and deliberates on simply moving on. The Jublitz did have its beauty, but maybe he should just sleep at the the next rest stop West.
Still, there's something that calls Connor back and so he dresses in a pair of dark jeans, a deep navy shirt, and a gray vest. He makes his way to the bar and loses his confidence. There Hank is, already drinking. Connor pretends he didn't see him and sits several seats away.]
[Hank has his beer at the bar, barely touched, when he hears that voice. Turning his head to see... Connor from the showers. Okay, this will be the last time he sees him.
There are a few different programs playing on the TVs. Some sort of competition — Hank tries to focus on that. Going in one ear and out the other, but at least his eyes are occupied.
Listening, maybe, in case Connor says something else. The front of the bar here is mostly empty: once people order their drinks, they leave. Keeping those seats between Hank and Connor conspicuously vacant.]
Sorry. [Hank clears his throat. Sips his beer.] About before. Wasn’t trying to be an asshole.
[Connor says a polite thank you when his drink is slid across the counter. He flicks his gaze toward Hank before burying himself in his drink. Only when Hank speaks does Connor turn toward him. His shoulders are slightly cowed as he regards Hank, his eyes turned down at the counter.]
It's fine. [Sip sip.] I've been told I'm too friendly before.
[When Hank looks to him, Connor turns his gaze back down to his glass. He slings it back, swallowing his entire drink in one go and leaving only the ice behind.]
Another, please. [Connor nudges his glass back toward the bartender.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
for @bootyshortsforoldmen
Date: 2025-02-01 11:30 pm (UTC)Or seems to, as it catches Connor by surprise by dropping down onto him on one of the raised platforms. The deviant is an RK700, the model just before Connor, smarter and faster than previous iterations of this chase. In a matter of moments, Connor is turned on his front, his neck plates ripped away, and the factory reset button pressed down.
10, 9, 8, 7...]
I’m sorry, my power went out yesterday ☹️!!!
Date: 2025-02-02 08:44 am (UTC)[It’s Hank’s fault the deviant gets away. His fault that Connor takes off running after it.
Before he can yell “Jesus Christ,” Connor is gone. And Hank can’t hope to match his speed, nor his seemingly endless stamina. He’s only human — and old, at that.
Part of him trusts Connor to make the right decision: don’t engage if the situation is too dangerous. Don’t fucking engage. But Hank isn’t up there to pull him back by the scruff of his neck, so why would he? Why would he choose self preservation at all?
It’s taking Hank too goddamn long to find Connor. He’s panting for breath after all these stairs, all this aimless wandering.
Muttering under his breath:] Fucking android always taking off. Fuckin’ A.
[But it’s quiet — too quiet — beyond the hums of the factory. No sounds of stamping feet. No sounds of a struggle.
It takes Hank too long to find Connor. Unmoving. Facedown.]
Oh no! I'm glad you're okay!
Date: 2025-02-02 03:49 pm (UTC)6... 5... 4...
Connor can hear Hank climbing the stairs, the huffing and puffing of his breath.
3... 2... 1...
The grip above him shifts as the deviant must realize there is a choice to be made. Continue to hold Connor down and face another confrontation.
0
The deviant initiates Connor's factory reset and then bolts out across one of the conveyors, just out of sight as Hank finishes climbing the stairs. Connor remains laying facedown as his LED spins wildly. He mentally disappears into his mind palace as it crumbles into a giant white nothing. Piece by piece-- the bridge, the trees, the river, and Connor himself-- it all tumbles away until finally only the overwhelming, but crisp, white remains.
Connor does not return from the mind palace, but the RK800 does. It slowly sits up and looks over at
> > SCAN: LT. HANK ANDERSON
It slowly looks over at the lieutenant with dead and empty eyes.]
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 05:51 pm (UTC)Connor?
[Hank is still trying to catch his breath. No deviant in sight.
Connor’s the priority now. Making sure he’s not hurt. Did the deviant knock him out and run off?
Then there’s that stare.]
Why are you... looking at me like that?
[Hank shuffles over to Connor. Kneeling beside him.]
Where are you hurt? [Assuming he is, because... that look on his face. Unsettling.]
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 05:56 pm (UTC)I am a prototype RK800. Would you like to register a name?
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 06:01 pm (UTC)Okay, that’s... not funny. That’s really fucking weird, actually. That deviant go and hit your head, or something?
[Hank raises a finger, slowly moving it from left to right and back, as if Connor might not be able to follow it if he’s concussed, or something. Whatever android equivalent there is.]
You’ve got a name already.
[Obviously!! Connor can’t just forget his name, right? He’s just a little jumbled. Got some wires crossed, yeah?]
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 06:04 pm (UTC)Please register a name at this time.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 06:08 pm (UTC)[Hank gawks at him.]
Told you, you have a name. Why the hell would I go and register — [SIGH] — your name is fucking Connor.
[It’s temporary. It’s gotta be. Whatever this is.]
Now tell me why the hell you’ve gone and forgot your name.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 06:11 pm (UTC)>> REGISTERED
Fucking Connor blinks and seems to relax just a touch, looks more like himself as he regards the lieutenant.]
I have been factory reset, lieutenant.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 06:19 pm (UTC)That sounds... way outta my fucking wheelhouse.
[Factory reset?? Sure, maybe the concept makes sense. But what does that mean, exactly? What has Connor lost?
Everything? He forgot his name. Forgot... Hank?]
So that deviant — they did this. [Motherfucker.] Did they hurt you anywhere else?
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 06:23 pm (UTC)[And he continues to stare at Hank with the same dead, unfeeling expression.]
I am registering missing components #C5150-A and #C5150-B. They are plates on the back of my neck.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 06:32 pm (UTC)Okay. Fuck. [That can be undone, right? Factory reset, or whatever. Don’t they upload Connor’s memory to a database somewhere? He can’t just not come back.] And your name isn’t “Fucking Connor.” Just Connor.
Neck plates. Okay. [That’s something tangible Hank can look for. Probably on the floor somewhere, yeah?
He is not going to panic. His hands are shaking but this is not panicking, goddamn.]
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 06:44 pm (UTC)>>REGISTRATION COMPLETE
Connor blinks and his LED turns blue again. He scans for the neckplates and finds one not far away and the other on the warehouse floor.] One plate is down on the warehouse floor. One is on the stairs.
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From:@bootyshortsforoldmen (trucker au)
Date: 2025-02-05 03:28 am (UTC)Requesting a shower from the front desk allows him some time to look around, grab some snacks, and the like.
It's when Connor is carrying his towels to his shower that his whole life changes. Across the hall from him is an older gentleman, perhaps a touch past his prime, but delightfully attractive all the same.
Connor risks his door closing as he takes the couple steps to approach the other man.] Hello, I'm Connor.
this is so cute help
Date: 2025-02-05 04:23 am (UTC)[Hank is on the way to his own shower when a random guy comes up to him and introduces himself.
He really wants to sleep. Has been driving for hours, and Sumo got his wet dog hair everywhere after Hank tried to give him a bath here. Just a torrential storm of water and hair. Did Sumo have to go tromping through those goddamn puddles by the sidewalk? No, but he sure as hell felt the need to.
Hank can’t blame him. They were both happy to finally have a goddamn break.
Now, he gives this guy — Connor — a once over. Real slow. Eyes dragging lazily from his feet back to his face.]
Hank.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-05 03:28 pm (UTC)He is the definition of a twink.His slender body tapers to his waist and everything about him screams babygirl.]Have you been to Portland before? This is my first time.
[Connor leans in the door of his room, watching Hank.]
cn: COLE 😭
Date: 2025-02-05 11:57 pm (UTC)First time, huh. [Hank crosses his arms, an attempt to be all sauve. Bag hanging from his arm with his towel and everything.] Yeah, I’ve been to Portland before. Not here, but... around.
[Years ago. The intent had been to spend most of their trip at the coast — him and Cole — but Cole wanted to spend more time in Portland on their way back, so they did.
Rainy. Gray.
Hank still has all the shells Cole got on that trip.
His gaze is a little faraway, distant, as he thinks about his son. But then his eyes snap back to Connor.
Connor and his everything. There’s something about his face that almost makes Hank want to touch him: his jaw, his lips.
Almost.]
Do you make a habit of chatting up old men at truck stops, or is it just me? [Asked gruffly. Better to nip this interaction — whatever this is — in the bud.]
no subject
Date: 2025-02-06 12:55 am (UTC)At the mention of chatting Hank up, Connor's smile dims. It sounds like a rejection and Connor tries to take it in stride.]
Just you. [And then Connor retreats back through his door and allows it to close.]
me being slow at tags makes me rambly -does a little dance-
Date: 2025-02-07 09:55 am (UTC)[And that, Hank thinks as he heads in for his shower, is that.
Which doesn’t make him feel any less shitty about it. Standing beneath the showerhead now, Hank’s thoughts go back to the way Connor’s smile wilted. It was harmless chatting, and yet he had to go and be an asshole.
But that’s what he wanted, after all. To get in, shower, and get out. Back on the road, with Sumo snoring on the bed behind him. The monotony of his everyday.
Connor, he thinks as he washes his hair.
Connor, with the soft smile. The dark eyes. The thoughts aren’t really going anywhere, but that’s the problem: he should be thinking about anything else. Like grabbing dinner before he hits the road, or...]
Fucking hell. [Hank sighs in annoyance once he realizes he’s rubbed the truck stop provided conditioner in his hair. Even though he brought his own because he knows other shampoos usually get his hair all fried and wiry. Looking like Sumo after he’s been blow-dried.
Now, once Hank is out of the shower, he tries not to meet his reflection in the mirror as he pulls his hair back into a low ponytail. Letting himself idly think of Connor as he does so, one last time.
The guy who got Hank so distracted he’s ended up in a ponytail. The guy he’ll probably never see again.
And that, he thinks again as he slips out of the room, is that. Heading toward the bar-lounge now; he might as well treat himself. It’s happy hour...!]
<3
Date: 2025-02-07 01:39 pm (UTC)Still, there's something that calls Connor back and so he dresses in a pair of dark jeans, a deep navy shirt, and a gray vest. He makes his way to the bar and loses his confidence. There Hank is, already drinking. Connor pretends he didn't see him and sits several seats away.]
Vodka tonic, please.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-08 03:28 am (UTC)[Hank has his beer at the bar, barely touched, when he hears that voice. Turning his head to see... Connor from the showers. Okay, this will be the last time he sees him.
There are a few different programs playing on the TVs. Some sort of competition — Hank tries to focus on that. Going in one ear and out the other, but at least his eyes are occupied.
Listening, maybe, in case Connor says something else. The front of the bar here is mostly empty: once people order their drinks, they leave. Keeping those seats between Hank and Connor conspicuously vacant.]
Sorry. [Hank clears his throat. Sips his beer.] About before. Wasn’t trying to be an asshole.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-08 03:33 am (UTC)It's fine. [Sip sip.] I've been told I'm too friendly before.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-08 03:43 am (UTC)I believe it.
[Hank gives him another long look, lingering on his face. Turning back to his beer.]
I imagine most people respond better to all that. [Unlike Hank.] Just — didn’t want to fuck up your shower. Or mine.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-08 03:51 am (UTC)Another, please. [Connor nudges his glass back toward the bartender.]
My shower was not 'fucked up' by meeting you.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-08 03:58 am (UTC)Huh. Well, that’s good. [Hank lets himself smile against his glass.] If I had fucked up your shower, I would’ve offered to buy you a drink.
[And he still might throw cash down before Connor can pay for himself, anyway. Who knows?]
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