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RK900 stood silently before the man he'd trekked halfway across the state of Michigan to find, the two of them nestled away out of sight in an alley not far from a back street, fenced off from the nearby overpass and a left behind construction site.
Previously known as Lieutenant Hank Anderson, he was the former glory of the Red Ice epidemic suppression efforts, fallen light of the Detroit Police Department who's stumbling career landed him with a case that led him headlong into the infamous revolution of Detroit's androids. The files on this impressive figure all loudly indicated an Android Supporter, a stance which had quickly proven inflammatory among the law enforcement network he'd worked with, resulting in his resignation from investigative services and landing him a less-than comfortable but much more morally accommodating position serving burgers at a local stand.
And yet, despite the man's otherwise positive opinions on the matter of androids, RK900 found himself on the cold end of a hot barrel.
"I don't know what kind of sick game you creeps in charge are playing," Hank gritted through clenched teeth, "but you've got a lot of nerve walking right up to me with my dead partner's face and asking in his voice where you can find him." The metal pressed forwards, digging into the artificial skin on RK900's forehead and causing an uneasy flutter to bubble up in the android's chest.
"Please, Mr. Anderson, you have the wrong impression. I only-"
"Like hell I have the wrong impression! Haven't you and your cronies caused enough trouble already? Connor's gone. And he isn't coming back. That's kind of what happens to people when they die." His voice was full of hate and bitterness, but something about the way his mouth softed around 'coming back' had the RK900 take note.
"I understand your grief over his passing, Mr. Anderson-"
"Oh and what the fuck do you know about grief," Hank spat, his face visibly tightening in what RK900 had come to know as pain. He was losing control of the encounter quickly, his LED blazing a steady yellow against his temple as he eyed the weapon still shoved into his head. He had to think of something to convince the man that he was sincere.
RK900 thought back to the first time he'd felt. That anguish, that despair, that burning and fiery need to protect, the lost and desperate look in the android's eyes as he gripped RK900's arm, much like the look now pinning him from behind hard, black iron. Much like the grip that threatened to end everything he'd worked up to so far. Yes. He knew grief. Even if it wasn't his own, he had taken it into himself. And here, it would be the deciding factor to whether he made it out of this alive.
"I know how much it hurts to lose the ones you love," RK900 began carefully. Hank's eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt this time. That was a good sign, so he pressed on.
"I know to what lengths others will go to keep their loved ones safe." There was a quaver in Hank's hand now. Slight, but distinct where it pressed into the android's head.
"I know how much they'll sacrifice, how much they'll wish it was them instead. How much they'll fight to see them whole, or die trying." Hank's breathing had become stiff, and the skin that pulled over his knuckles was white with strain. His lips moved in a way that didn't seem sure if they wanted to speak normally or scream, and RK900 went for one last try.
"I know you're not dead yet, Hank. You're still fighting." The android intoned softly, and he could tell immediately that Hank knew exactly what he meant by that. For a moment, hope flashed through the older man's eyes, and the wetness that had slowly been building up there pooled over down his haggard cheeks.
Click.
RK900's thirium pump regulator felt like it stalled at the crisp sound of the hammer rocking forward in the gun, but no bullet pierced his skull. His LED glared a terrified red, and all sub-routine functions ceased as he stared wide-eyed into Hank's tired ones. Fear, he discovered, was a horrible horrible feeling.
"It'd seem that so are you," came the grumbled reply from the ex-lieutenant, and the foreboding piece that now rested loose and easy in his palm lowered unsteadily from between RK900's eyes.
The android let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, despite not even needing the oxygen, and wobbled from the weight of his own body coming back to him. Hank stepped forward to steady him with one sturdy hand, muttering 'easy, easy now,' and he carefully regained balance with an appreciative nod.
After some time in silence, shared by the two of them leaned against the wall side by side, eyes cast blankly into the sky as they each recovered from their separate traumas, Hank spoke up.
"So why do you need to see Connor so bad anyway?"
RK900's gaze remained trained on the clouds above.
"I don't really know. It just feels right."