The Last Deviant (A machine!Connor Redemption Story)

Part 1: 12:01 AM

[Detroit 2038 12:07AM]

"...while cyberlife continues to call for all androids to be turned in to authorities...a DEVIANT has escaped deactivation after single-handedly killing 23 soldiers at Cyberlife HQ in Detroit early this evening. Cyberlife HQ warns that this prototype rk800 model was specifically designed to be deadly. It will be armed and highly dangerous. The citizens of detroit are advised to remain alert and contact the DPD or CyberLife HQ at any sign of suspicious activity...

"Hey, Angus, where are we with the firewall?" Mae tears her gaze away from the broadcast projected on the wall of the mid-level cyberlife offices. It is a beacon in the night, the red-lipped reporter reading off scripted warnings.

Angus, in the passenger's seat, is hunched over, his face illuminated by the bright screen of his laptop. His cheese-covered fingers flash across the keys. Wires and tablets and empty bags of chips cover the dashboard. "Working on it. I'm not a 'droid, Mae. Chill."

"Well, work faster." Mae puts a finger to her earpice and leans out the window. "Bea. Gregg. What about you?"

The signal comes with minimal static from a block away. "Twelve packs of doritos and as many cans as we can carry! This corner store is load-ed!"

"Leave the chips, Gregg. How much was in the register?"

"Do we need red ice? Cause I bet this guy's got some red ice stashed in the back—"

"No! NO drugs, Greg! Take what we need and get—ARGH!" A high wine splits her ear. Mae rips out her SMARTearpiece in disgust and sticks her finger in her ear. "Why?" she asks her earpiece, as if it would reply. When she slips it back into her ear, Bea and Greg have gone silent.

Outside, neon blood runs along the sidewalks, the reds and yellows of flickering signs reflected in puddles. Rain drums on the roof of their van. A motorway roars in the distance like a faint beating heart.

Detroit is dying. Since the failed android revolution, an-Detroit has been left without purpose. Left to rot like the dead-eyed machines bleeding out blue in dumps. Businesses are closing. The people that can are leaving. The DPD is losing control of crime. People like Mae blame the shady, anonymous fat cats at CyberLife.

"Oh hell." Bea's staticky voice resonates in Mae's earpiece, followed by the faint wail of sirens.

"What?" Mae leans forward, listening. Angus glances over, sensing her concern. She raises a hand to tell him to keep quiet. "What did you do?!"

"We must have triggered the silent alarm or something."

"I thought you took care of that!" Mae shouts into her mic.

"Obviously we didn't!"

"They must have set it up after their 'droid was taken or something," Gregg says. "Someone's coming."

"Just get out!" Mae calls as the sirens rise. She hears a faint voice over the earpiece, ("Hey, get your asses back here. Punk kids!") the sound of a doorbell, then more sirens.

Gregg and Bea fill her ear with cackling as Mae removes her earpiece. She can hear the sirens with her own ears now. She leans out the window. She doesn't see lights, yet, but Gregg and Candy are shadows dashing across the empty street, their backpacks stuffed with supplies.

"Angus!" She calls over her shoulder. "You done?"

If the tall kid could stick his head all the way through his screen, he was doing it. "Almost..."