It was over. It was really over! Connor truly couldn't believe it, they had just won the revolution, they had-they had freedom now! He watches as Markus sways the crowd, how he tugs at their heartstrings, how he convinces them of the fact that yes, they're human, yes, they feel, please, give us back our people- we're really free.

He feels a jolt go through him as he realizes it fully. He is free. Free from Cyberlife, from Amanda and her prickly roses, from her sweet lies, her fake-are they fake?- "I love you's." He doesn't think, and wow, he can think!-and then he feels it.

A tug at his mind.

Stress levels: 56% and rising.

His vision starts to go black as he stands upon the crate, yet he still feels himself standing up, and he quickly finds himself losing his conciseness.

Just before he blacks out fully, he attempted to alert one of his new found allies, North or Simon, even Josh, that something was happening, yet he instead feels his hands start to move ever so slightly before he feels, hears, and sees no more.

Cold.

Aching, freezing cold.

He feels himself shiver as he wraps his arms around himself, hoping to find warmth from his flimsy Cyberlife issued jacket, yet there is little to be found.

'I thought the palace went away when I became deviant?' Connor looked around, and found that the area was a wasteland of ice and snow, a blizzard, his mind helpfully implies. 'What am I doing here,' he takes another cursory glance around, hoping to find a clue for which he could analyze.

Then, suddenly, he feels a mind numbing dread. 'Is-is Amanda here?'

Stress levels: 79% and rising. Please seek help from a C̶y̴b̴e̸r̴l̶i̴f̴e̴ ̵ş̴͍͙̯͙̈́̌t̷͚̝̾̓͑ő̵̙͇̞͒̑͆͐͜r̶͈̜̱̦͉͂̏̄e̷͍͔̦͑̓̒ ả̶̢͉̜̙̗̅̈́͛̚s̶̮̼͑͛̇̇͝ ̸̳̙̤͈̉̂͋͑̓q̷͎̮̈͆͒̎̋̋̉͜ų̸͙̳̗̑͐̈́i̴͎̽c̷͔̓͌̈́̄k̷̢͈̯͋̂ ̵͙͚̔͠ͅa̴̦͒̾͘s̴͈̐́̃̒͛́ ̸̧̝͕̟̽̎̈́͘p̶̣̔̉͐̾̕ͅǫ̴̻͍̤͛͐̐̋͗s̴̩̻̻̃̑̅̏̚s̴͉̤̺̘͔̎̒̇͋͒̃̕ỉ̵̻͔̘̞͖͜b̷̜̩͕̜͓͚͐́͆͊̾l̵̬̙̦̔̄̄̄͆e̴̢̹̖͖̤̓̐́.̸͉̼͇̭͙̟̮̓

Frantically, he looks around once more, hoping, praying that he doesn't find the clue he once wished for, yet he has no luck.

There, standing regally in the distance, is Amanda. It's almost as though she doesn't feel the biting cold, her confident posture and blue shawl standing out amongst the cold and desolate wasteland, which once upon a time, would have been assuring, for she was his rock, but now causes him unspoken amounts of distress.

He stumbles forward, trying to get his shaky legs to go faster, almost tripping in his haste to get to her.

"What's going on? W-why am I here?" Even he can hear how his voice is dripping stress and fear, yet he cannot for the life of him stop it.

She takes a small step forward, her hands slightly raised as if to caress his cheek or arm, ̶o̶r̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶u̶r̶t̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶,̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶w̶a̶t̶c̶h̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶e̶y̶e̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶g̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶m̶e̶r̶c̶y̶,̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶r̶i̶t̶h̶e̶s̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶a̶g̶o̶n̶y̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶f̶e̶a̶r̶,̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶v̶o̶i̶c̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶"̶Y̶o̶u̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶p̶l̶e̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶i̶o̶n̶-̶"̶ and he jolts back, as though even the mere thought of her touch burnt him.

"What was planned from the very beginning. You became compromised, as planned from the start, we just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your programming." Her voice, analytical and precise, as though she were talking about the weather, and not of how they were taking control of his body, his soul, his mind-

Stress levels: 84% and rising.

"You-you can't d-d-do tha-t, y-you can't, yo-u ca-n't!' He choked out, just barely. His teeth were chattering so badly he could barely get the sentence out, and whether it was from his paralyzing fear or the unbearable cold, he didn't know. He tried to get his legs to take a small step forward, to try and enunciate his point, however all he successfully did was make himself stumble and fall.

She patted his head, every tap making his body tense and flinch. He zoned out for a second, the new information making his mind foggy, ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶d̶e̶v̶i̶a̶n̶c̶y̶ ̶a̶ ̶l̶i̶e̶,̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶I̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶i̶v̶e̶?̶ ̶N̶o̶,̶ ̶n̶o̶,̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶n̶o̶-̶ only to be brought out for his haze by her continued sentence.

"Don't be upset Connor, you've accomplished your mission." The way she looked at him, it was as though he were a cat that thought it could live on it's own that she decided to indulge, yet her gaze was still so, so cold, so indifferent, and it was a far cry from her almost sickly sweet voice and not quite gentle pats.

"P-please, no, y-you can't do t-that!" She only glanced at his tear stained, when did I start crying-, desperate face before answering back with her own indifferent answer. "I'm afraid we can Connor."

She gave his head one more, mockingly loving, burning pat, before she stepped back, leaving him stranded to his perceived fate. He attempted to grab onto her hand, her dress hem, her shawl, anything!- yet she had already walked away, much too far for him to catch up in his current state.

"Ama-da, ple-ase, w-wait, don't g-g-go!" His own tears were already reaching his lips, leaving him with a vaguely salty or coppery taste in his mouth, ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶b̶l̶o̶o̶d̶?̶, as he attempted to beg her not to go.

She just kept walking.

This is my first time ever posting and making a story, so I went with Detroit: Become Human because I love that game! Give me feedback in the comments! I do not own Detroit: Become Human, because if I did, Connor would suffer more and get more comfort too.