Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Christ, Hank hated early morning starts. Couldn’t the world just call a truce for one night and not set itself to fire? At the very least be considerate enough to wait until a reasonable hour. Years with the DPD and he could vouch for the fact that there was something terrifyingly powerful about the setting of the sun’s ability to bring out the worst in humanity.

For Hank, it had been the persistent chiming of his phone at an ungodly hour which served to bring out the worst in his humanity that morning.

Waking with a string of profanities and moans, he’d scrabbled for the phone to be informed of a case requiring his attention. After hanging up with a barely coherent assurance that he would get to the scene when he was able, he had dragged himself from the tempting comfort of his bedroom. Staggering into the living room muttering promises to destroy the damn phone under his breath, he had found Connor. Alert, informed and raring to go: the man was his perfect antithesis in the morning. It really pissed Hank off.

Over a year into their friendship and Connor was well enough versed in Hank’s morning tendencies to know the fastest route to a functional detective was to permit him two of his vices: coffee and a breakfast brimming with more fat and cholesterol than humanly healthy. His heart might one day pay the price, but at least Hank's phone would live to see another day. With promises that they would stop for breakfast on their way to the scene, Connor had managed to corral the begrudging detective from the house and into the cold dark morning.

Breakfast had been the compromise, but as they sat at one of the tables outside the food truck they’d found en route, Hank couldn’t help feeling he’d still come away with a poor deal. He scrubbed a hand down his face, desperately trying to expel the exhaustion from his body as he grabbed the paper coffee cup from the table. His eyes strayed to the remnants of his breakfast sandwich with a wistful gaze, torn between the waste of good food and the damn early hour sending his confused stomach into churning nausea. Connor would argue that it was the greasy food itself which was threatening indigestion rather than the early hour, but Hank stubbornly refused to admit that as a possibility.

“We should go, Lieutenant,” Connor repeated for what must be the fourth time since Hank had begun his silent battle of wills against his breakfast. “If we’ve been summoned to the scene, the incident must fall under the remit of our investigations. It would be remiss of us to miss an opportunity to investigate the scene.”

Hank merely grunted in acknowledgement as he softly shook the coffee cup with a measuring hand before downing the remaining liquid.

“Of course,” Connor continued with a knowing quirk of his eyebrow, “I’m sure Detective Reed would otherwise be happy to assist.”

Hank gave up the attempt to drain the last impossible dregs from the coffee cup and levelled a glare at his companion.

“You’re getting too damn cocky, you know that?”

“Well, if that is indeed the case, you should know that was not part of my programming. I was equipped with a social integration protocol with the intention that my personality would adapt and be shaped by my social interactions. As both your partner and as your friend it’s worth noting that you’ve certainly been the most prominent figure in both my working and personal life.” He paused to level a smirk at Hank. “If I’m cocky, it’s a learned trait.”

“Don’t play the nature versus nurture card," Hank grumbled as he stiffly rose to his feet and gathered up his rubbish. "I didn’t fucking raise you.” Despite the harsh response, as he tipped the last sorry dregs of his breakfast into the bin he couldn’t help but find his foul mood abating slightly.

Dusting off his hands on his jeans, Hank considered Connor’s words as they began the walk back to the car.

“So are you really saying it’s my fault you’re an annoying prick sometimes?”

Connor laughed, a genuine laugh that had become increasingly easy and natural the longer he’d been in Hank’s company. It was a sound which cast no doubt about how far he had changed since becoming deviant. A complete contradiction to the stoic man who had once single-mindedly pursued his mission and whose every smile was a carefully calculated action designed to put people at ease.

“Is that how you’d describe yourself?” He asked as they reached the car, doors swinging open in unison as they climbed in.

“Well, so says everyone at the DPD." Hank paused as he slammed the door, heaving a grateful sigh at the relative warmth of the car as he started up the engine before amending, “Among other more colorful reviews.”

Connor gave a huff of amusement before falling into a brief silence as Hank concentrated on pulling away from the curb.

“In all seriousness though,” he resumed after a moment, “the fact that I was partnered with you is what made me who I am today. I should really thank you.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Hank smiled ruefully as he waited to turn left, battling the traffic which had started to build with morning commuters, “but I’m not exactly the best role model, kid. You probably should have been partnered with someone better.”

Brow creasing in confusion, Connor seemed to puzzle over Hank’s words.

“You fail to see your own importance, Hank. Had I been assigned to work with any other detective, I doubt I would have developed the necessary empathy that drove my deviancy.”

“Any officer could have done a hundred times better,” Hank scoffed. “Besides, that empathy? That all came from you, Connor."

Connor shook his head in disagreement before persisting, “You never failed to call me out when I was being just a machine or to highlight when I showed signs of being more than that. CyberLife equipped me with many things, but certainly not a moral compass. That self-awareness came from you. As for another partner having the same effect, I highly doubt that. Had I been assigned to work with Detective Reed, for instance - well, you can imagine the intolerance and aggressiveness that may have fostered. I only succeeded - the rebellion only succeeded - because of the qualities you instilled in me.”

Blindsided by the sudden admission, Hank struggled to find a response as he flicked his gaze rapidly between the road and his companion.

“And you started by blaming me for cockiness?” he said finally.

Connor merely smiled pleasantly in response, content that his meaning had been accurately conveyed and enjoying the reaction he had managed to elicit.

“Alright, enough sappiness,” Hank interjected hastily before any more revelations could make themselves known. “I don’t know where that’s coming from, but it sure as hell hasn’t come from me.” He reached over to jam the button which controlled the stereo volume, the blast of the familiar heavy music drowning out his growing discomfort.

It wasn’t exactly that he disagreed with all that Connor had expressed, he could see the logic in it. People changed their behaviour all the time to fit their social circumstances so it made sense that an advanced android would be programmed to follow a similar pattern. The kid didn’t exactly have a large social circle, particularly back in those early days, so it equally made sense that Hank would have had some impact.

Even so, the implications carried a weight of responsibility Hank still wasn’t sure he was ready to bear.

Lost in thought, he let the rest of the short drive pass filled only by the blaring music and the growing noise of the city coming to life.

As they approached the scene their destination became obvious, a construction site focused upon an intricate structural web of metal beams and reinforced concrete three stories high and growing. The flickering lights from the emergency service vehicles parked along its perimeter hit the beams and cast dancing shadows across the ground in the faint winter morning light. At the periphery of the site, a mobile crane seemed to teeter dangerously in the wind which fiercely tore through the frigid air whilst a group of firefighters worked to secure the machine.

As Hank’s old car pulled up, they came to a stop under the billboards excitedly proclaiming the extension of an existing retail space, scheduled to open September 2040. The latest in a string of redevelopment projects for this part of the city.

Exchanging a glance with Hank, Connor raised his eyebrows in an unspoken ‘after you’.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Hank opened the car door to be greeted by the bitterly cool February air. The slamming of the passenger door informed him that Connor was close behind. With a quick flash of an ID card, they were ushered past the chain link fence lined by police vehicles and fire engines.

“Christ,” Hank breathed out as he greeted the familiar figure of Ben Collins, who stood, shoulders hunched against the cold, at the site entrance. “The hell happened here?”

Ben bobbed his head in greeting before responding.

“Re-development project, an extension of the existing shopping mall. Construction is being undertaken overnight to avoid disruption to shoppers. Paramedics were called to the scene around 05:15 to reports of an injured worker, Nathaneal Miller, 28. He was crushed beneath a steel beam when it fell from the support crane. Declared dead at the scene. Massive cranial and internal damage. Poor guy.”

“Nasty stuff,” Hank agreed, before continuing with the detachment only a hardened detective could muster, “So why am I here at the ass crack of dawn for a construction accident?”

Ben paused, warily eyeing Connor for a moment before responding.

“The crane was being operated by an android.”

“Ah shit,” Hank cursed, raising a hand to scratch at his beard in agitation. “That complicates things.”

Ben nodded in agreement. “The android’s been taken in for questioning. Seems like it might have been in his best interests. Co-workers were apparently all set to beat him senseless, the officers first on the scene had a hard enough time intervening long enough to get a word in.”

“Whole mess is going to be fuel the haters don’t need.” Hank sighed heavily, already thinking of the ramifications of an incident like this. Human-on-android violence never seemed to lessen. For several months after the uprising there was a massive spike of such incidents as those opposed to the recognition of androids as living beings expressed their discontent through fists and weapons. As legislation was implemented and androids’ civil rights became progressively more protected, the law came down harder on perpetrators of violence. While the hate crimes abated in response, it was never enough to quell them completely. For some the hatred still burned strongly. An incident like this was sure to ignite that same hatred once it reached the public ear.

“Mind if we take a look at the scene?” Hank asked.

Ben looked to the fire officers who had been working to secure the area and made a motioning gesture between Hank, Connor and the scene. The fire officer nodded a confirmation and beckoned them forward.

“Go ahead,” Ben gestured encouragingly. “The area’s been secured.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

Ben hummed his acknowledgement before moving to converse with another nearby officer.

As they walked around the perimeter of the structure, Hank looked to Connor who had remained uncharacteristically silent during their exchange.

“So, what do you reckon?" he asked. "Just an accident?”

“You know as well as I do, there’s no such thing as ‘just an accident’ where an android is concerned,” Connor said, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Androids do not tire or fatigue like humans, nor are they ever subject to any lapses in concentration. They’re also largely immune to environmental factors like the cold.”

“Sure, lucky bastards.” Hank folded his arms protectively over his chest as a blast of cold air stung his face and stole his breath away. “Makes sense they'd be popular with construction companies. No complaints and no clumsy human mistakes to cause them a legal headache.”

“The widespread introduction of androids in construction work brought the mortality rate for the industry down by more than 95%,” Connor confirmed as they approached the massive metal beam laid out unassumingly on the frost-hardened ground as though it hadn’t claimed a life just a couple of short hours ago.

“Made a lot of enemies in the industry too though,” Hank pointed out, his thoughts again straying to what Ben had said about the human co-workers who had enacted a violent retaliation. “A lot of people left out of a job and none too happy about it. Sounds like this team wasn't exactly cohesive.”

A twist of unease played across Connor’s face, barely perceptible before he continued.

“There’s more to it though, androids designed for the construction industry are programmed to adhere to the strictest safety protocols. It’s embedded deep into their programming. They couldn't turn it off even if they wanted to. As part of their safety programming they have an enhanced environmental hazard awareness system.” At Hank’s dubious expression, he clarified, “It means they are constantly aware of their environment and any potential hazards. They can anticipate any adverse incidents and take measures to circumvent them.”

Understanding dawned on Hank.

"So the likelihood is this was either a direct attack or the android was deliberately not acting in a situation which would endanger the victim’s life?”

“Yes. If there were any danger, whether it be an error with the machinery or misconduct on Miller’s part, the android would have been aware and able to stop it from occurring. It’s quite probable that the outcome was intended.”

Hank cursed again. “Whatever option we’re looking at, it doesn’t sound great.” He glanced at the large beam before admitting, “I’m a little out of my comfort zone here. Not exactly your typical weapon.”

“It’s a twenty five foot long I-beam,” Connor reported, as he quickly glanced over the length of the offending object before dropping to a crouch and gently running an examining hand across the deep imprints which clearly marked the point of impact. “From it's material composition and the depth of the impression in the ground, it would have been a thirty foot drop.”

“Enough to kill a man,” Hank agreed unnecessarily. “Go on.”

Connor continued to study the beam before him, noting the faint trace of darkening red blood which marred the underside of the beam. The thick metal otherwise remained largely unmarked by it’s collision with a man who had just a few hours ago walked across this very spot. His gaze roamed up towards the metal structure under construction as he silently mapped out the expected placement and trajectory of the beam, his re-construction of events confirming Miller’s position as he worked on the ground guiding it into place.

“Miller was standing here when the beam fell.”

Hank walked to Connor’s side and looked up at the boom of the crane looming high above them.

“Well, shit,” he muttered as a faint wave of vertigo stole over him. Visions of falling metal and caved in heads drove him to quickly tear his gaze from the dizzying height to the engine ahead of them.

Noting the shift in Hank's attention, Connor rose to his feet, his gaze darted rapidly around the scene as he collated data. The LED on his temple briefly flickered with the additional processing demand before returning to it’s typical slow pulse.

“My preliminary review of the area shows no discernible environmental factors. The crane was not overloaded and the beam would not exceed the crane’s maximum weight bearing capacity,” he reported to Hank, who considered him with a faintly impressed expression as they continued to approach the vehicle. “Without observing them more closely, it’s impossible to say with certainty, but I can say with 97.8% confidence that there are no issues with the ropes. Additionally, while the weather conditions are unpleasant, wind speeds in the last twenty four hours have not been adverse enough to cause significant issues.”

Connor turned his attention to the control cabin which sat atop the body of the vehicle as he and Hank drew level with the machine. Flecks of vivid blue blood dotted the metal rungs of the ladder which ascended to the top of the truck and a thick smear marred the metal of the short walkway which led from the ladder to the operator cabin.

“Christ. It looks as though the guy was forcibly dragged from the cabin,” Hank pointed out with disdain.

Connor extended a hand to one of the specks of blood and, ignoring Hank’s huff of revulsion, prodded the viscous fluid before bringing his fingertips to his mouth.

[BLUE BLOOD]
[Model TW400 984 722 286]
[Construction Worker for Tychon Constructions Ltd]

“The apprehended worker was a TW400,” Connor informed Hank, who still looked deeply perturbed by Connor’s behaviour. “It’s an older model, but certainly still has the same safety protocols installed.”

“Ah, hell. Connor, was that necessary?” Hank muttered in disgust. “So a premeditated incident seems like an increasingly likely possibility then."

Connor nodded, his attention already on the next task. A foot on the first rung of the ladder, he announced, “I'm going to check the crane’s systems for any signs of technical error," before he began confidently ascending the short ladder.

“Sure thing,” Hank eyed the height of the crane with unease. “I’ll just stay down here if you don’t mind.”

Connor was already atop the vehicle and walking swiftly along the platform before Hank had finished speaking. Carefully avoiding the slick patch of blue blood, he reached out for the door of the operation cabin and hoisted himself inside with a skilled manoeuvre.

Taking in the assortment of levers and touchscreens before him, Connor retracted the skin from his right hand, smooth white plastic gleaming in the darkness of the cabin. He pressed his hand to the main control panel and began running diagnostics.

After a few seconds, a report flashed up in his field of vision:

[ALL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONING]

Digging deeper, Connor began searching through the machine's logbook for recent activity. After a brief moment of careful review and satisfied that he had obtained all the information needed, Connor removed his hand from the control panel, synthetic skin spreading to again enclose his exposed frame.

He slipped easily from the compartment onto the walkway and called down an update. “I am unable to identify any mechanical issues, Lieutenant. It doesn’t appear to be an equipment malfunction. However the system’s logbook does highlight some interesting activity."

He dropped smoothly down the ladder and landed in front of Hank. “I think it’s time we met the operator in question.”

The TW400 sat perfectly still in the interview room. The only movement was the soft cycling of his LED, sluggishly stuttering a harsh amber.

His closely shaved head left the battered mess of his face completely unobscured. Blue blood streaked down the left side of his face from a deep cut above his eyebrow where the synthetic skin parted to reveal the flickering lights of exposed electronics. A scattering of smaller cuts, mostly healed over, marked the rest of his face. A parting gift from the angry co-workers who had torn him from the cabin of the crane and vented their grief and outrage through a violent attack.

While external physique did not necessarily reflect the strength of an android, the TW400 was designed to reflect the superior motor components which characterised the models’ enhanced physical strength and endurance. A key selling point for a model designed for hard manual labour. In any other circumstances the large man may have seemed imposing, but with his shoulders hunched and body bowed over the table he seemed smaller than his muscular frame would suggest feasible.

In the observation room, Hank and Connor surveyed the troubled android in the company of Chris Miller, the officer who had overseen his arrival at the station.

“Has anyone spoken to him so far?” Hank asked.

Chris shook his head. “We followed protocol. We only spoke to him to inform him that we needed to wait for the on-call android officer before we could ask him any questions.”

It was a new measure that Detroit Police, like many other police departments, had introduced in the face of growing android-related investigations. While laws and regulations were increasingly being rolled out to ensure androids were granted the same rights and protection, cases of injustice against androids were being increasingly reported. To avoid any potential bias, it had been decreed that an android officer must be present for any interviews with android witnesses or suspects. For the Detroit Police Department, it just so happened that they had an android detective perfectly suited to this task.

“His stress levels are rather high,” Connor pointed out, his scans indicating them to be around the 48% mark. “I think it would be best for me to interview him alone so as to avoid any undue stress an additional interviewer might cause.”

Chris looked to Hank who responded with an unfazed shrug.

“I’d go with what he says,” he reassured. “He’s got more patience than I do for this kind of thing in any case.”

Nodding his appreciation, Connor withdrew from the observation room and made his way into the interview room.

The android gave no acknowledgement that he had heard the door sliding open. He remained frozen in place, his expression unreadable as he stared unblinkingly at the polished wood of the table. Even as Connor took his seat in the opposite chair, the man did not react. The only change giving away his awareness of the room’s newest occupant was the subtlest flicker of his LED, still circling amber.

“My name is Connor. I’m a detective android with the Detroit Police Department.”

The worn introduction elicited no reaction, so he further prompted, “Can you tell me your name?”

The android blinked sluggishly before responding. “Jackson.”

"You are employed by Tychon Constructions, is that correct, Jackson?"

A jerky nod in response.

“You’re here because we want to discuss the incident that occurred earlier this morning in which your colleague Nathaneal Miller was killed by a falling beam on a construction site.” When the statement elicited no response, Connor continued, “Given that the crane which hoisted the beam was being controlled by yourself, Jackson, we’d appreciate hearing your account of the incident.”

No response.

Deciding to start off simply and build to the matter at hand, Connor prompted, “Can you tell me a bit about the shopping centre development in Corktown?"

A pause as Jackson continued to stare unwaveringly at the wood of the table.

“It… It’s an ongoing project. A new shopping centre.”

Connor remained silent, waiting for additional details. When seconds passed and it became apparent that no further information was forthcoming, he spoke again.

“How long have you worked for Tychon Constructions, Jackson?”

Again, it appeared Jackson would remain silent, gaze not shifting from the tabletop.

“3 years. Maybe 4 years?”, he replied slowly.

The hesitancy in Jackson’s response gave Connor pause. While this kind of response from a human would be perfectly natural, from an android it was highly unusual. Androids had an almost infallible recall for dates, so to not be able to answer this question with precision was an interesting discrepancy. Weighing up whether to question this further, Connor determined that it wasn’t pertinent to question at this moment, but made a mental note of the response.

“That’s a long time,” Connor instead confirmed amicably. “You must have a lot of experience in the field.”

Jackson gave no acknowledgement of Connor’s statement.

Deciding that direct questioning seemed to be eliciting a better response, Connor carried on.

“Jackson, a man died earlier this morning. We just want to understand what happened. Any information you can give us would help us in our investigation.”

The android gave a jerky nod of acknowledgement.

Taking encouragement in the small response, Connor persisted, “Can you tell me what happened from your perspective?”

“I…I was operating the… the crane,” Jackson started with hesitancy. “We were building the new shopping centre.”

Connor nodded slowly in encouragement.

“I’ve done it hundreds of times over,” Jackson continued, gaze never lifting from the desk before him. “I hoisted the beam and then…” He trailed off.

Connor leaned forward over the desk, his neck craned at an awkward angle as he sought out eye contact from the man who had yet to meet his gaze. “What happened, Jackson?”

“I… I don’t know.” Jackson finally blinked, the movement sluggish.

He was right to tell Hank to sit this one out, Connor thought. Hank wouldn’t have had the patience for this.

“What do you mean, you ‘don’t know’?”

“I… it’s all a blur. One moment I was in control and the next…” he trailed off, eyes widening as he finally looked up to meet Connor’s gaze. Yet as Connor gazed into the man’s eyes he was struck by the far-off quality which seemed to persevere despite the direct eye contact, as though he was still somewhere else entirely.

“Yes?” Connor prompted. An eye on Jackson’s rising stress levels, he softened his tone, “What happened?”

“Then there was so much noise. I looked out the window and - and everyone was moving. I don’t know what happened.”

“You don’t remember anything of what happened between lifting the beam and the incident?"

A barely perceptible shake of the head.

“Jackson, you’re a TW400 model, right?”

A nod.

"And I assume your environmental hazard awareness protocol is still active?"

A hesitant nod.

"Did you detect anything amiss this morning before you began working? Any issues with the crane or the site?"

"I… I didn't."

So he wasn't going to blame any external interference. Connor paused before making a decision.

"Jackson, we visited the scene earlier this morning and checked the cranes logbook." He paused, surveying the man with rapt attention. "The audit trail shows you abruptly changed the path of the beam - an unsafe action in itself - and that you then proceeded to release the load."

"No!" Snapping to life, Jackson shook his head vehemently, his eyes blown wide in panic. "I promise you, I didn't do that!"

Connor watched the man's stress levels steadily climbing. 66%.

"The audit trail clearly reports that you released the load, Jackson. Can you tell me why?"

"I didn't do that," he denied again, continuing to shake his head in refusal.

"The logbook says otherwise and you fail to give any account of what happened," Connor pointed out calmly. "Unless you can provide an alternative explanation, you must admit it doesn't look good."

Jackson remained silent.

Deciding to take a different approach, Connor sat back in his chair, still steadily maintaining eye contact.

"We’re obtaining statements from your colleagues who were also at the scene." When this elicited no reaction, Connor carried on, "It seems they did not take kindly to the incident.” He gestured to the gash on his temple, no longer leaking thirium as it began to close up, but no less grizzly.

Jackson raised a hand to the parted skin, Connor not missing the way it trembled violently.

"It seems quite a harsh reaction. From that response and what your colleagues have said so far, it doesn't seem like they take too kindly to having an android on their team." He paused, watching for any kind of reaction. "I can imagine it must be challenging to work in that kind of environment."

Jackson gave no discernible reaction, shaking hand still raised and softly brushing the split skin of his injury.

"One of your colleagues indicated you and Nathaneal had a troubled relationship,” Connor continued, drawing upon the statements he had read prior to this interview. “He says there was an altercation at the start of the shift. That Nathaneal had made some threatening comments. You didn't retaliate at the time, but apparently you never do. You just endure the comments and get on with your work.” He paused to allow an interjection. “He said he thought Nathaneal may have pushed you one too many times and that you must have finally snapped."

“No,” Jackson protested, his shaking hand slipping down to rest on the tabletop where it continued to twitch restlessly. “I would never - they don’t mean it. I would never - I could never do anything to harm them.”

“And yet at 05:13 this morning you were responsible for releasing the beam which ended Nathaneal Miller’s life,” Connor said harshly. “You deny all knowledge of the incident and refuse to give any explanation for your actions.” He shook his head sadly. “I can understand how you must have felt with the constant harassment and bullying. If you were angry with the way you were treated, that’s perfectly understandable, but why…”

“I didn’t do it!” Jackson interrupted frantically, his eyes pleading. Stress levels rapidly peaking at 89%. “Please, I don’t remember anything. You can probe my memory. You’ll see I didn’t do it!”

That caught Connor’s attention. An android’s memories could not be falsified, so if he was willing to stake his innocence on the evidence of his own memories it was either a last ditch act of desperation or there was more at play here.

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. “Thank you for your cooperation, Jackson. I am sure that will be useful for our investigation. You’ll need to sign the consent forms and then a member of the Android Operations team will oversee the investigation.”

“Thank you,” Jackson responded softly with an exhale of relief, his eyes slipping closed.

Connor nodded again before realising the motion was lost to the man. “I’ll liaise with the team and set up a consultation.”

When no response followed and with the android seemingly slipping once more into a stupor, Connor took this as his cue to leave.

“An officer will be in touch shortly,” he informed the motionless figure as he rose from his seat. Before he could go further, a thought occurred. “One more question, Jackson. Have you been experiencing any strange symptoms lately? Any error messages or issues flagged by your diagnostic system?”

Jackson remained perfectly unmoving.

Accepting that he was going to get nothing further, Connor turned to leave the room. As he stepped outside and opened the door to the adjacent observation room where Hank now sat alone, he was greeted by air thick with disappointment and the overwhelming scent of coffee.

“Well, that was informative,” Hank bitterly remarked, clearly frustrated at the evasiveness of their suspect.

“More so than you would think, Lieutenant.” Connor leaned back against the wall, a human act he had begun to emulate despite the fact he experienced no physical discomfort which would be alleviated by the motion.

“Oh yeah?” Hank raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “We’ve got nothing more than the word of a few irate construction workers and the audit trail from the crane. Despite what you were saying in that interview, an audit trail is not infallible.”

“No technology is,” Connor responded thoughtfully. “Including androids.”

Hank surveyed him quizzically. “Where are you going with this?”

“There were a few things which seemed unnatural during that interview. His behaviour is erratic, even allowing for the increased stress of the situation. It goes beyond deviancy. There’s something more at play here. He seemed distracted.”

“He looks exhausted,” Hank remarked as he looked through the glass at the static figure, now almost peaceful with his eyes still closed.

“Exactly. Yet androids don’t feel exhaustion. Did you notice his response when I asked how long he had been employed by the company? He couldn’t give me an exact date. That’s a detail he should be able to recall with ease. It was an innocent enough question and one we could easily verify, there was no reason to lie in response. If he can’t remember that detail maybe there is some truth to his supposed lapse in memory.”

“You think this is a virus?” Hank asked as he caught up with Connor’s line of thought.

“I think it’s an idea we have to entertain,” Connor said grimly.

Hank cursed in response, the idea leaving him uneasy.

As anti-android protests became suppressed, there had been a shift in the nature of attacks on androids. A new threat emerged in the form of targeted malware. It was an unfortunate by-product of increasing awareness about android programming and physiology. Easily released and proliferated in a society dependent on technology, the viruses had the potential to spread exponentially and were difficult to trace back to the attacker. Entire sub-teams within police departments became specialised in tracing outbreaks and deploying measures to stop their spread.

“I’ll let the Antivirus team know so they can run a full screen,” Connor said, shifting his balance so he no longer rested on the wall, he made to leave the room.

“Hey,” Hank halted him, a concerned furrow to his brow. “You connected with that crane earlier - the same crane as our guy here. You sure you’re okay?”

Connor felt a rush of unexpected warmth at the display of concern. “I’m fine, Hank,” he was quick to reassure. “My self-tests all came back negative for any malware.”

"Even so, you should still be checked out by AV as well,” Hank insisted, still uneasy. “If it’s actually a new virus we're looking at, it might be too sophisticated even for your fancy ass systems to detect.”

Connor sighed dejectedly, knowing that Hank was correct but also fully aware the consequence of this would be a strict embargo on any involvement in active cases, or from going near any computer interfaces until he received the all-clear.

“I guess I’m on filing duty for the rest of the day, then?”

“Yep,” Hank gave a small smile which didn’t quite mask the worry which lingered in his eyes. “Unless you’d rather be on coffee duty?”

Hours of monotonous filing and menial tasks later and Connor found himself rarely grateful for the end of the day. He had gone to see the Antivirus Team for a full virus screen and, as anticipated, had found himself labelled a potential infection risk with strict instructions to avoid any contact with other androids or technology until the results came back tomorrow. The restless pent-up energy rolling off of him was palpable as the pair clocked off and left the station to be greeted by the now failing daylight.

Sensing Connor’s frustration, Hank took pity on him. “Come on, let’s head home.”

In the wake of the revolution it had seemed mundane to consider the humdrum of living arrangements. After their reunion outside the Chicken Feed, the pair had spent hours ruminating on all that had happened and speculating on the wider future promised by the political and social reaction to the android uprising. As the hours slipped away and darkness began to creep in, Hank had gone to bid farewell but paused, suddenly struck by a thought.

Where the hell did Connor even go every night?

They'd risked life and limb together, yet Hank has never once spared a thought for the android's existence beyond working hours.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that the only place Connor had been welcome was now thrown into disarray by a war that had raged within its very walls.

When he had asked Connor where he was heading next, Connor had seemed thrown by the question, as though he genuinely hadn’t considered this thought. After a brief hesitation, he had proceeded to give a vague answer that he would return to the police station. Although there was still an active suspension on androids working, he was confident that they would soon be permitted to return to essential roles with the country’s workforce as significantly impacted as it was. When that time came, the force would need all hands on deck.

Hank had immediately called bullshit and all but frogmarched Connor back to his house.

Awkwardness had been a hallmark of those first few weeks of living together. Besides the typical adjustments of learning to live harmoniously with another person, it was at this point that Hank was forced to realise that despite the time he had spent working with Connor he was still naive to so much of the android’s life. What did he do when he wasn’t working or helping to lead a population to freedom? Did he do anything or did he just power down? Did the man even sleep?

For all Hank’s uncertainty, Connor seemed equally out of his depth. In those early days he was constantly expressing his gratitude to the lieutenant for allowing him to stay. Seemingly uncertain of the pair’s new dynamic, he held himself with a stiff formality and his gratitude became manifest in him doing everything within the limited scope of his domestic experience to make Hank’s life easier. The house had never been so clean and the fridge became full of fresh produce Hank had no intention of using. Through it all Connor seemed incapable of relaxing, moving around the small house with a frenetic energy that had nagged away at Hank’s patience until it found its release in a misplaced bout of anger at a wilted bag of spinach.

It hadn’t been his finest moment and he’d felt guilty for it later, but it had been enough to finally break through the tension that had been hanging heavy in the house. That evening Connor had joined him on the couch and they had watched the Gears game, laughing and joking in comfortable companionship as the spinach wilted away in the trash.

Through trial and error they had learned to live harmoniously. Hell, Hank found himself appreciating the company. Underscoring it all there was an understanding between the two now: a fondness and familiarity born of surviving the improbable and emerging from the other side of the android revolution unharmed.

Like all good things in his life, Hank should have known it wouldn’t last.

“Actually,” Connor interrupted his thoughts, “I need to stop by Midtown to check out an apartment before heading back.”

“Oh right,” Hank nodded slowly in acknowledgement, his heart sinking. “You have the viewing today.”

Hank hadn’t forgotten this detail, but he was loath to dwell on it.

Amid the chaos of a world turned on its head and the problems presented with the recognition of an entirely new population came another issue. With many androids electing to leave their former homes and places of employment, the question arose of where to house the many androids left homeless. While Jericho had been a sanctuary during the uprising and continued to offer security and solidarity in the fallout, it wasn’t a viable long-term option.

As things began to settle after many months, business tycoons saw a window of opportunity and the market saw a surge in the construction of purpose-built ‘android homes’. Without the need for human amenities like a kitchen, bathroom or bedroom, construction was rapid and soon minimalist high-rises marketed as safe-havens for androids began popping up across the country. The builds proved a success, particularly in the epicentre of Detroit, where android numbers were greatest and the human population rapidly dwindled in the wake of residual uncertainty and fear from the civil war that had raged on it’s streets just a few short months ago. It was a win-win situation for developers. All with the added bonus of enhancing their public image by appearing as a generous and sympathetic supporter of the android population.

“I know you’re hesitant about the situation, Hank,” Connor smiled ruefully, seemingly picking up on his discontent. “But I can assure you the property has been independently vetted. It’s a safe space.”

“S’not my problem,” Hank huffed, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets as he squinted up at the scaffolded developments which were visible in the distant skyline. “I just don’t care for the assholes taking advantage. I get that you don’t need a kitchen and all that, but half the space for the double the rent? Seems a piss-take to me.”

“People are just grateful to be granted the right to their own home, Hank. Not so long ago that seemed impossible. Besides, as you say, on a practical level it’s not like I need that much space.”

“Sure, I get it. But if the place is a shithole or they’re taking advantage, you keep looking until you find somewhere better.” Hank’s gruff response left no room for argument as he continued to frown his disdain at the distant buildings.

Connor couldn’t help the fond smile which tugged at the corners of his mouth as he heard the protectiveness which came through in Hank’s words despite his closed-off stance.

“I am certain it will be fine, Hank. Besides, I’ve imposed on you long enough. The world’s finally a more accepting place and it’s time I found my place in it.”

Hank remained silent, biting down every cynical thought that fought to be voiced. Everything in him hated the idea, but it wasn’t his place to make that call. Connor deserved a shot at his own independent happiness.

If Hank was honest with himself though, he was really going to miss the kid. As plans started coming into place, the daunting prospect of an empty house loomed nearer. Memories of years spent wallowing in grief and too many nights lost to drunken misery rose up unbidden. The thought of returning to that after finally finding a domestic happiness he never thought he’d experience again weighed heavily.

“You want me to come with you?” Hank asked, shaking himself from his disgruntled reflection.

Connor gave a derisive laugh, “I don’t think physically being in the apartment complex is going to do much for your opinion on the matter.” He shook his head, a small smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. “I won’t be long in any case.”

Hank grunted an affirmation. “Right. Well, hope it’s not a shithole.”

Connor laughed again before bidding farewell. As he turned to leave, he was halted by Hank's gruff call.

“Call me if anything happens?”

There was that concern again. Connor should have guessed that it was going to be a while before that worry eased. Knowing that repeating the same arguments about feeling fine and not finding any issues on his self-scans would do little to assuage Hank’s fear, he nodded.

“Will do,” he promised.

Connor came through the door to be greeted by the chaotic mass of energy that was Sumo clumsily barrelling towards him and knocking him to the floor. The two really were a ridiculously goofy duo, Hank thought fondly as he watched them rolling around from his spot on the couch.

“How was the shithole?” he asked as Connor finally fought his way to an upright position. Apparently satisfied that he’d made his welcome known, Sumo traipsed back to his usual spot in the corner of the living room, plonking himself down with a contented exhale.

“The apartment looks good.” Rising to his feet, Connor dusted off the smart attire he still elected to wear, so closely reminiscent of his old CyberLife uniform minus the glowing identifiers. “I think you’d like it if you gave it a chance,” he added in the face of Hank’s skeptical scowl.

Hank merely hummed dismissively.

“I met some of the neighbors,” Connor continued. “A couple who have just returned from Canada. They fled there before the revolution but came back to Detroit a couple of months ago. They’re very friendly.”

“They sound delightful,” Hank dryly acknowledged.

"They seem like good people. I think you'd approve of them."

Hank signed heavily. He didn't have it in him to keep up niceties.

“It’s been a long day and I’m beat, Connor. Think I’m going to call it a night.”

Hank rose to his feet with a grunt of discomfort, his hand reaching to massage out the knot in his shoulder from where he had been too long stationary. Resigned to the fact that his body was as happy as it was going to be, he reached down to grab the TV remote from the coffee table.

“You want the TV on?” He asked, gesturing with the remote.

“Thank you, but no. I plan on running some maintenance tasks.”

“You’re going to sleep - I mean - standby?” Hank corrected himself, still uneasy with the terminology.

“Yes. Our recent cases have put some additional strain on my processors. Besides, if there is a chance that a new malware threat is on the horizon, I’d like to ensure my systems are running to optimal efficiency.”

Hank wasn’t going to argue with that.

“Makes sense,” he agreed. “Well, the gist of it does. Not sure I get the specifics. Not that I want to get the specifics," He quickly amended before Connor tried to seize the opportunity to start delving into a detailed technical breakdown of the process.

Connor gave a warm smile, a hint of amusement in his eyes at Hank’s floundering speech.

“Goodnight, Hank.”

Hank nodded, grateful that he’d gotten away without a lesson in android mechanics. “Night.”

As he gathered up his phone from the side table, Hank turned around to add, “I do not need a wake up call, by the way. Any time before 08:00 am is not something I want to be seeing again in a fucking hurry.”

“Whatever you say, Hank,” Connor acquiesced as Hank retreated to his room, making a mental note to ensure he woke Hank up at 08:00 am precisely.

A few weeks after they first began living together, Hank had become suddenly acquainted with the android version of sleep. Standby, Connor called it. In those early days after the revolution Connor would be busy most nights, leaving late in the evening and returning early in the morning to make sure Hank woke up at a reasonable hour. Often he would visit what remained of Jericho, sometimes he would work extra shifts with the police. Hank suspected his exhaustive efforts to do good had something to do with the residual guilt he felt for the time spent pursuing deviants.

Hank hadn't expected Connor to be home that night. It was a ridiculous hour of the morning and Hank had woken from a nightmare - not an uncommon occurrence - to the whining of a full bladder. Unable to tune out his body’s demands, he had been forced to stumble from the bedroom to the bathroom. But as he turned to close the bathroom door behind him, he had been distracted by the faintest of yellow lights flickering and reflecting off the wall of the living room. Perplexed, he had followed the faint glow to find Connor standing stock-still and eyes closed in the middle of the darkened room. The LED on his temple cycling amber and bathing the dim room in flickering light.

The shock of the unexpected silhouette had woken Hank quickly as his fatigue gave way to a cold flash of fear. With a startled yell, he had let out a string of curses as he tried to calm his racing heart and the instinctive twitch of his hand searching for a gun. Something of the colorful tirade which followed must have filtered through, because Connor’s eyes had promptly flickered open.

Thanking a deity he had long given up hope in that his revolver now lived hidden away in a draw, Hank had shakily gone to sink onto the nearest chair as Connor calmly greeted him and stated that he had been in standby. It wasn’t something he needed to do every night, he had been quick to explain, but it was something he needed to do regularly to keep his systems running optimally. Something about performing a system backup and transferring data to CyberLife servers. A lot of Connor’s detailed techno-babble had filtered straight over Hank’s head and was drowned out by the adrenaline still coursing through his system. From what he could remember though, Connor had also mentioned something about system updates and ensuring his software was running up-to-date.

All Hank really remembers clearly is asking why the hell Connor was standing rigidly in the middle of the room and not just lying on the couch like a normal person.

Connor had merely looked bewildered as he’d explained that he was perfectly able to go into standby in any position, but standing was the default as it minimised the physical space necessary. Hank’s anger had softened somewhat at the self-depreciating response. Still, it was hardly justification for nearly giving him an aneurysm. The kid was seriously going to be the death of him.

It took some belligerent pestering, but eventually Connor got the message that he should sleep horizontally and preferably on a soft surface. After their living arrangement became more permanent and Connor started spending less nights away, Hank had taken it upon himself to ditch his worn old couch in favour of a pullout sofa bed. He still felt guilty that he couldn’t offer Connor a room of his own, but Connor had vehemently vetoed the idea of Hank having to move house or make any kind of significant adjustment to his home. Although Connor had protested repeatedly that comfort was not an issue for him, the pullout bed went some small way to easing Hank’s conscience on the nights it was needed.

With the sound of Hank’s bedroom door softly closing, Connor went about wrestling the pullout bed into place. Ears perking up at the familiar sound, Sumo rose up from his position in the corner and happily padded over before thumping down on the ground in his usual space near the head of the bed.

“Good dog, Sumo.”

Connor reached down to ruffle his fur gently before unlacing his shoes and slipping them off. He straightened up, removing his tie and jacket and placing them with care on the hangers which waited on the otherwise unused coat rack for nights like this. He would have been perfectly content to lie down for the night fully dressed, but that always made Hank uneasy, so he stripped off his more formal clothing in a motion made to ease Hank’s discomfort more than his own.

Sitting down on the bed he ran through the list of tasks he had queued up for completion during the night: data backups, system updates, hard drive maintenance and defragmentation. Expected time to completion: 8 hours.

Satisfied that everything was on track, Connor reached down to give a final pet to Sumo before flicking off the switch of the table lamp beside him and easing down into the bed. As Connor slipped easily into standby, the room fell perfectly still. The only sound to fill the space was the faint whirring of Connor’s ventilation system softly picking up as it worked to circulate cool air to his active systems.

In the peaceful stillness of the room, the angry red flashing of an LED went undetected as it cycled once - twice - three times, before slipping back to the usual steady yellow of standby.

Chapter Text

Hank woke before the alarm to a room still in darkness save for the first weak hints of feeble winter morning light sneaking through the cracked blinds - cold and uninviting. Despite the early hour, he knew it would be futile to chase further sleep. That didn’t stop him from stubbornly rolling over and burying his face in the pillow with a groan.

He blamed Connor for his altered circadian rhythm. Before he’d come along, Hank had a routine going; a routine that centred around drinking late into the night until he fell into a sedated stupor and facing the consequences in the morning. Granted it wasn’t the healthiest of habits, but it was a routine, and firmly established after three years of practice.

Things had changed with Connor in the picture. For one thing, lazy lie-ins were apparently not a luxury programmed into the android’s industrious persona. With military-like efficiency he would enter the room like a whirlwind and rouse Hank whenever he deemed it passed a reasonable hour. Curtains would be flung open and a too loud voice would break the peace, joined by Sumo’s excited barking as he followed Connor’s bad example. Unfortunately it was a practice no amount of threats or violent cursing on Hank’s end seemed to affect.

On a deeper level though, Hank found himself needing to self-medicate to sleep less and less. The numbing depression which had been his constant for years had eased considerably in the presence of a newfound contentment. There was always going to be a persistent ache and there were always going to be bad days, but having someone there on those days to ease him away from self-destruction certainly made things easier.

It was hard to feel grateful for that when the early hour mocked him from the bedside table though.

Too early to be up, too late to go back to sleep.

He got up with a resigned moan. If we couldn't go back to sleep, he could at least show his face so Connor knew he was up in a timely manner.

“I'm up and it’s too fucking early,” he announced, the picture of morning misery as he opened his bedroom door and headed towards the kitchen. He cursed loudly as he misjudged his path in the dimly lit corridor and bumped into the unforgiving edge of a side table.

He was prepared to be greeted by an amused quip about his morning inelegance or surly demeanour, but the action went unacknowledged. As the silence stretched on, he ceased gingerly rubbing his abused hip and turned to check the living room.

At first he thought the room was vacant after all, that Connor had slipped out silently to do whatever the hell it was that he did when he wasn’t home. Yet the pull-out bed still crowded the space and Connor was meticulous in ensuring he put it away. Moving warily closer, Hank was startled to be greeted by the sight of Connor lying still and silent in the peaceful calm of standby.

Shaking his surprise, Hank took in the rare view with a growing smirk. It wasn’t often that he actually saw Connor in standby. Normally he would wake long before Hank, his body’s demand for rest being far shorter than a human's greedy need for sleep. With his defences down, it was hard to believe the goofy form disguised a highly capable and sometimes ruthless detective. The kid somehow managed to look awkward even in unconsciousness - lying flat on his back with his arms stiffly by his side, his body still held a formal rigidity which was only somewhat softened by the bed on which he rested.

Ever attached, Sumo was lying stretched out by the head of the bed, as physically close to Connor as he could possibly be whilst still confined to the floor. When he heard Hank enter the room his head perked up from where it had been resting on the ground and he leaped to his feet with an excited bark before lumbering over.

“He's got to you too, huh?” Hank muttered softly as he ruffled the fur of his neck. “Don’t tell me you’re becoming an early bird now and all?”

Sumo merely gave a happy grumble of response as he slipped from Hank’s hands and shuffled expectantly over to the door.

“No, we’re not going for a walk just yet. That’s what Connor’s for. Speaking of..." he trailed off with a frown as he glanced again at Connor still lying motionless despite Sumo’s noise.

As he gazed at Connor’s peaceful form, Hank was overcome by the sudden desire to wake him in a less than considerate manner. Perhaps it was immature, but he justified that it was only fair retaliation for all the times he himself had been harshly awoken.

With an anticipatory glee perhaps unbecoming of a man his age, Hank made to grab his phone from his pocket and began flicking through mp3 files. He settled upon a particularly energetic track, paused to ensure the volume was at its maximum, then hit play and quickly thrust the speaker in Connor’s direction.

Connor's eyes snapped open at the sudden blare of noise and he abruptly jolted to an upright position.

"Hank - what -" Connor stuttered in a haze of confusion, eyes wide and mouth comically agape.

Hank couldn't help the raucous laughter which followed. He had seen Connor dealing with many new emotions since becoming deviant, but the shock expressed on the usually composed and confident face was an entirely new occurrence. Compared to his usually immaculate presentation, it was the closest to dishevelled Hank had ever seen him.

"Call it karmic payback," Hank was finally able to answer once his laughter abated. "Figured it was time I repay the favour for all the early wake up calls."

The stiff posture persisted despite Hank’s amusement.

"Just messing with you," Hank clarified with a grin.

Connor still seemed to be struggling to catch up.

"'Messing with me'?"

"Yeah. And it was damn funny too," Hank added with satisfaction.

"I - I see."

Hank could practically hear the cogs or whatever machinery powered that great mind turning.

"Jesus, Connor, I’ve never seen you this fazed. I thought it was only me that couldn't function in the morning?"

“No, I understand." Connor seemed to shake himself from his daze, reverting to his usual composed demeanour as he swung his legs around to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think it was funny though.”

Hank huffed out a laugh. “You didn’t see your face. I didn’t know you could make that expression. What happened? Were you buffering?”

Connor ignored the quip, choosing to instead rise to his feet and set about gathering his clothes in what Hank was sure was his way of regaining some dignity. Shaking his head in fond amusement, Hank retreated to the kitchen.

“How come you were still in standby anyway?” he called over his shoulder as he pulled a mug from the drying rack. “Thought you’d be long awake by now?”

“I’m not sure,” Connor responded quietly after a brief hesitation. “By initial estimates, the maintenance tasks I was running during standby should have reached completion more than an hour ago.”

Light mood suddenly forgotten, Hank abandoned his mug as he walked back to pause in the halfway space between the kitchen and the living room with a wary frown.

“That doesn’t sound good?” he asked hesitantly.

Connor gave a distracted shake of his head as he met Hank’s eyes and straightened his tie.

“It’s nothing. There must have just been some additional updates that came up during standby.”

Hank wasn’t convinced, but he was sure if he pressed it further Connor would delve into a complicated technical explanation. If that happened, he’d have no way of knowing if Connor was telling the truth or a lie through the layers of jargon. He was sure it was common knowledge which his partner had exploited on more than one occasion.

“But you’re okay, yeah?” he hedged instead.

“Of course,” the response came a bit too quickly. “I’m fine, Hank.”

Hank considered him carefully, thoughts of yesterday’s virus scare heavy on his mind. Connor seemed well enough. Certainly didn’t look like there was anything wrong with him. Mind you, he’d seen the kid masking critical injuries with no discernible reaction in the past so that wasn’t much reassurance.

“You’d better take Sumo for his walk,” he eventually settled on saying. “I expect he’s been pining for you for hours while you've been snoring away.”

“I’m certain I don’t snore,” Connor stated simply as he slipped on his jacket and Sumo bounded up to him expectantly.

“Yeah, you do,” Hank joked fondly. “You talk in your sleep and all. 'Zeros' and 'ones'.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” Connor scoffed. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he added as he grabbed Sumo’s lead from its usual spot by the front door.

"Fine. But if we're late to work you're explaining to Fowler that it's on you for sleeping in." Hank shrugged before returning to his search for caffeine.

As he walked across the front yard with Sumo, Connor tried to make sense of the unease which had been lingering since he was startled awake.

There was usually an increased clarity to his cognitive processes immediately following a period of standby. The next day his processors would fire with optimal efficiency. Observations and deductions came with an ease and speed that exceeded even his usual high performance. It was an exhilarating rush of energy brought about by the optimisation of his systems.

That feeling was absent today.

When he reviewed his system status, it was clear that the necessary tasks had been undertaken during standby. He should have been firing on all cylinders and yet there was something decidedly off.

Connor hadn’t mentioned it to Hank. Nor had he mentioned the antivirus scan he was continuing to run in the background. It was just a precautionary measure after all. Despite the calming blue feedback being relayed to his HUD which assured him that there were zero threats detected, he couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that his diagnostic scans were missing something.

Hank would have called it a gut instinct - a concept Connor had always struggled to grasp. But although he lacked the corresponding gastrointestinal systems to know if what he was feeling was truly representative of the human experience, it was an instinctive sensation he was finally now understanding.

It went against all logical reasoning and evidence-based thinking, but his gut instinct was that something was wrong.

Hank always said to trust a gut instinct.

“I was right,” Connor announced triumphantly as he stepped up to Hank’s desk at the station later that morning with a broad grin in place. “I’ve just received the all-clear from the Antivirus team. They found no traces of any malware."

“Thank God,” Hank murmured, breaking into a relieved smile as he spun his chair to face Connor. “Knew you’d be fine. Just maybe don’t go connecting to any strange machinery at crime scenes from now on, eh? Just in case.”

“While I agree that approaching these situations with a degree of caution is reasonable, there was nothing to suggest any immediate cause for concern on this occasion." Connor argued as he pulled a chair around to the edge of Hank’s desk and sat down.

“That’s bullshit. You were effectively calling it a crime scene when we first got there.”

“I was merely speculating based upon the information available at the time,” Connor said, raising his hands in a placating manner. 

Hank gave a disparaging hum, looking Connor over with an unimpressed expression.

“CyberLife really didn’t programme you with self-preservation instincts, did they?”

Connor shook his head softly in response. “I know when the benefits of a course of action outweigh the risks. As I said, it was a low-risk situation with nothing to initially suggest the influence of malicious software was a possibility. And the chances of the vehicle being a source of infection were extremely low. Besides, the information we could derive from the crane's logbook was valuable to the investigation.”

“For fucks sake, not this again,” Hank sighed heavily before smacking an open palm on the desk in emphasis. “Any risk to your wellbeing is an unacceptable trade-off. No matter the supposed benefits. When are you going to get that?"

“It doesn’t matter,” Connor dismissed. “We got the information we needed and no harm was done.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” Hank echoed under his breath. “You’re not replaceable any more, Connor. Not that you ever were, but you know what I mean. CyberLife aren’t making models any more. Once you’re gone, that’s it. No freaky body switching. No second chances."

“I’m well aware,” Connor acknowledged, before diverting the conversation with a quirked eyebrow. “Don’t you want to know about the results of the antivirus screen for our suspect?”

Hank threw him a look which showed he was not satisfied with Connor’s commitment to take greater care. Ultimately his curiosity won out over his stubbornness though, as Connor knew it would.

“The results are back?”

“There was no malware detected.”

“None?” Hank exclaimed. “Shit. What does that mean? Are we back to looking at a potential murder charge?”

“Not necessarily,” Connor paused as he considered how best to explain. “The AV technicians did detect several instances of corrupted memory data which may explain his unusual behaviour. It's commonly a symptom of external interference. The AV team is reviewing his system log to try and establish the origin of the errors.”

Hank raised a querying eyebrow as a prompt to elaborate further.

“System log?”

“All androids have an inbuilt system log which catalogues every action they execute. It was a legal requirement of the American Androids Act,” Connor obligingly clarified.

Hank looked surprised, his other eyebrow shooting up to join it’s counterpart.

“Oh yeah? How come I never heard of that before?”

“It was in the briefing we received when we took on the deviancy investigations,” Connor said by way of explanation, knowing Hank had been too caught up in his distaste for his new assignment at the time to do the background reading.

“Oh.” Hank looked mildly abashed as he arrived at the same memory of his initial reaction to his assigned partner.

“It was a measure intended as a way of resolving any potential disputes regarding accountability for an android’s actions,” Connor quickly continued. “If a legal case ever arose, how would they be able to prove whether an android's action was a result of their programming or enacted on behalf of their owner? CyberLife needed a way of protecting themselves.”

Hank gave an amused hum of interest. “Almost like they saw deviancy coming.”

“It does seem quite prophetic,” Connor agreed.

Hank crossed his arms and tilted his head far back over the top of his seat. His expression was thoughtful as he scrutinised the ceiling high above him while he processed the new information.

“I guess that means they’re keeping the suspect in quarantine until we know one way or another?”

Connor nodded in confirmation. “If it is a virus, we can’t risk it being spread to the wider populace.”

Hank gave a weary sigh, lifting his head to again meet Connor’s focused gaze.

“So what do we do now?”

“It would be helpful to try and determine when the error occurred. If we can pinpoint a timeframe for when Jackson began exhibiting a change in behaviour, it may help us to narrow down the source of the errors. Perhaps -"

He was interrupted by a disturbance breaking out a short way away, an irate yell breaking through the physical barrier of the space between the office and main reception.

You’re telling me that a plastic bastard is responsible for investigating?”

“There’s our 10 o’clock,” Hank muttered, his face falling into an expression of disdain. It was a look Connor knew well and never bode well for the recipient.

"A witness from the incident yesterday?" Connor guessed.

Hank gave an exaggerated sigh as he lazily waved a dismissive hand. "Red tape. Until we know otherwise, we have to carry on under the assumption of foul play. We’re still obtaining witness statements from everyone who was at the scene. This Martinez guy is a piece of work though.”

“If he’s worked with Jackson for an extended period, it might not be a bad idea to interview him. He may be able to help us identify whether Jackson exhibited any changes in his behaviour prior to the incident.”

Before Hank could give voice to his skepticism, the relative calm of the office was quickly shattered as the source of the disruption rounded the corner. A burly man in his mid-thirties, tall in stature with a body built by hard manual labour and a face lined with determination.

He marched purposefully up to Hank’s desk, eyes focused only on Connor. The commanding approach drove Hank and Connor to their feet as he closed the distance between them. A hush fell over the room as the officers at the surrounding desks paused in their activities, trained eyes watching for an altercation and ready to intervene.

As the man stopped before them, his eyes darted briefly to the light of the LED on Connor’s temple, the sight seeming to spark the anger which radiated from the man.

“You,” he greeted sharply as he took a step forward to an uncomfortably close proximity. Up close, Connor noted the traces of ethanol present on his breath, the crumpled clothing, and the red-rimmed eyes which indicated a night of emotional disturbance.

His attention was diverted from his observations by a finger gesturing menacingly in his face. Connor felt Hank bristle beside him, noting the subtle shift of his body as he angled himself as though to intervene.

“Don’t think that just because you carry a badge you command respect,” Martinez continued. “It’s a fucking joke.”

He turned with arms raised in an exaggerated show of exasperation, as though appealing to the room that had fallen into silence at the sudden outburst. “How can you stand it? It’s bad enough they’re still in our schools, our hospitals. Now they’re in law enforcement? They'll be running the country before you know it and then where will we be?"

“Alright,” Hank broke in, the tenuous hold he had on his patience already lost as he reached out to grip the man’s arm. “You’ve made your point.”

“No.” Martinez shook off the arm that tried to pull him back and turned again to face Connor, who maintained a politely neutral expression as he found himself the focus of an impassioned speech. "The whole thing is corrupt! I’ll bet you’ve been planted by some sympathizer to ensure that the plastics can’t be prosecuted. As soon as anyone gets a glimpse of the truth, you go off crying victim. Playing on humanity’s guilty conscience.”

“As an officer of the law, I am only ever looking to establish the truth of the situation,” Connor calmly stated, meeting the fiery gaze of his accuser with the same neutral expression. “Whether the party be guilty or innocent, justice will be fairly dealt.”

He was cut off by a derisive laugh. The clear sharp noise stark in the collective quiet of the room.

“Then why are the androids always painted as the victim, huh? Always knew one day they’d turn against us. Nathaneal was killed! Everyone knows it wasn’t an accident. We all got the same training about our plastic colleagues, we all know what they should and should not be able to do. They made it pretty fucking clear when we were all loosing our jobs to the damn things that it was for our own good - our own safety.”

Martinez paused with a rueful shake of his head. Hands clasped in fists by his sides as he visibly battled to contain his anger.

"Then I hear that you’ve been going around spouting claims that it shouldn’t be blamed for its actions. That it wasn’t in control. Some kind of virus? Bullshit! Like hell this was anything but cold blue-blooded murder!”

That was a concerning development. Allegations of preferential treatment were nothing new. The LED on Connor’s temple, an open display of what he was, often elicited such accusations. The man's knowledge that they suspected a virus, on the other hand, that was information which should have been far from the public ear. Which could only mean someone within the police force had messed up - or worse, deliberately let slip the information.

"I assure you we're performing a thorough investigation and will explore every avenue to get to the truth of what happened," Connor carefully reiterated.

"And when you don't like the truth? What then? Make up some shitting nonsense about a virus?"

“We have to consider it as a possibility, yes. But that’s one of many-”

“Bullshit!” Martinez interrupted. “We’re expected to treat you like precious fucking snowflakes. But you know what? If you want equal rights then you have to face the same consequences for your actions!"

“That’s enough!” Hank interjected, stepping further into the fray as his anger built past it's breaking point. "Listen, like he said, we're looking into all possibilities."

“Why are you on his side? Don’t tell me you’re a sympathiser too? Christ, is there no sanity left in this world?”

"With assholes like you? I'm starting to doubt it," Hank deadpanned.

Martinez’s upper lip curled upwards into a sneer in response.

“You know it’s only a matter of time before you’re replaced by one of these bastards, right?”

Hank looked to Connor, whose continued calm was a balm to his own growing anger.

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” he muttered with the small quirk of a smile. “You’re definitely not warming me to humanity right now.”

Martinez gave a shaky laugh of disbelief before returning his attention to Connor.

“I’ve already had reporters hounding me for a first-hand account of what happened. I’m sure they’ll be interested to hear all the shit that’s going on here.”

Connor’s retort was interrupted by Hank stepping in front of him, effectively shielding him from Martinez’s steely glare.

“Yeah, you go run away to the vultures. See if they believe you without any proof. Whose side do you think they’ll fall on? The sanctimonious asshole caught up in the past or the innocent people they’re still trying to oppress?”

It was a provocation too far. Hank saw the movement, the clenching of a fist and the motion of a body as the man's full weight and considerable strength went into the swing. Years on the beat and an antagonistic personality allowed him the experienced reflexes to dodge out of the way.

Connor should have reacted quicker. As it was, he realised a split second too late that the fist which Hank so skillfully dodged was now set on a rapid course for collision with his own face.

The hit landed squarely on the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes, the uninterrupted momentum lending it additional force. Connor stumbled back under the impact, his vision shorting out to static as his optical units were knocked temporarily offline by the strength of the blow.

When his vision came back in fractured pixels, it was to the sight of a room which had burst into a rush of trained and efficient action. Three sets of arms detained the man, still shouting abuse as he was hurled back and away. Further bodies held back Hank who was yelling his own insults at the retreating figure.

As the man disappeared from view, Hank shrugged himself free from the restraining hands with a few choice curses and looked to his partner. His eyes widened in alarm at whatever he saw.

Connor merely blinked back at him as he attempted to clear the error messages accumulating in his still sketchy field of vision.

“Ah, shit. Connor, you’re…” Hank trailed off, his previously furious voice softening into concern as he raised a hand to tap his nose.

Puzzled, Connor echoed the motion and found his hand come away streaked with blue. With the visual cue he became aware of the error message notifying him of the ruptured thirium line which was leaving a thick and steady stream of blue blood dripping from his nose and across his lips. The alert was almost lost amongst the noise of feedback clouding his vision.

“Oh,” he uttered lamely as he watched a drop fall and land on his still raised hand.

"You alright?"

“I’m fine,” he quickly reassured, hastily wiping the back of his hand across his mouth to clear his lips and likely succeeding only in smearing the gore. “Where did they take him?”

“Custody. He'll be spending some time in one of the holding cells. Assaulting an officer in a police station full of witnesses? Not the smartest move.” The response was gruffly spoken, but there was a hint of satisfaction to it despite the situation.

Connor was suddenly thankful that Hank didn’t get to throw the first punch. He didn’t think Fowler would stand for yet another strike against his record.

“But our witness interview?” he asked worriedly.

“Postponed,” Hank quickly reassured. “Although frankly I’m more interested in pursuing charges against the bastard.”

Connor felt a flash of annoyance at the unnecessary delay to their investigation and his own failure to intervene. Why had he not reacted in time? His cognitive profile was extraordinary and he could read a person or a situation with ease, he should have been able to intercept long before the situation reached its boiling point. Even then, he was designed to excel in combat and should have been able to avoid the hit with little conscious thought. Reconstructing the recent memory in his mind, he could devise six different ways he could have evaded or intercepted the blow.

Nothing in his reconstruction of events explained his failure to act.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hank muttered. His eyes drifted to the officers still milling around as they watched the bloodied detective with curiosity and he raised his voice deliberately as he added in their direction, "Some people never seen a man bleed blue before."

With a parting accusatory glare at their colleagues, Hank roughly placed a steering arm around Connor’s back. He swept him from the office down the corridor and passed several more curious onlookers, heading down the corridor to the relative privacy of the restroom. As the door closed behind them, Hank left Connor standing by the row of sinks as he ducked into a stall, his curses echoing through the tiled room.

"It's nothing," Connor again assured as Hank reappeared with a fistful of tissue.

"Mm-hmm, sure. I don't know what to do about that by the way," Hank admitted as he gestured vaguely at Connor’s face and handed over the wad of tissue. "Will it stop bleeding if you pinch it?"

Connor hummed a dissent as he took the proffered tissue and began wiping away the mess.

"Thirium doesn't coagulate like human blood," he explained, “but my self-repairs will handle it."

Hank took that as his cue to run a hand over his own face in a show of exasperation.

"That fucking asshole. Where the hell did he get all that information about the investigation from? How did he know about the virus thing? Some officer needs to shut their goddamn mouth."

Connor couldn't help the irritation which rose up again unbidden as the mention of their investigation.

"I had the situation in hand, Lieutenant. Meeting anger with anger never does anything to help the situation. Why didn't you let me handle it?"

Hank looked at him disbelievingly. "You expected me to just stand by and let him keep throwing accusations at you in front of everyone?"

“If that’s what it took to progress our investigation? Yes. Now we’re facing unnecessary delays because of your inability to act rationally and control your emotions.”

“Well, excuse me for having your back," Hank shot back. "I thought we were passed the whole 'emotionless machine' phase?”

The casual reference to his pre-deviated personality served only to heighten Connor’s growing frustration. As Hank well knew, it was an aspect of his being which he struggled to reconcile. Despite repeated reassurances that he was not accountable for his actions whilst acting under the constraints of his programming, he couldn't evade the guilt he still felt for all he had done prior to deviancy.

“It’s possible to have emotions and control them,” he argued somewhat more defensively than he intended. “You let your emotions cloud your judgement, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, well some of us don't have an ‘off’ switch on their emotions. Would sure make life a hell of a lot easier if we did."

“You don’t need to be concerned about me.”

Hank considered him with a piercing scrutiny. Apparently whatever he saw was not to his satisfaction. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed the wad of bloodied tissue from Connor’s grasp, bringing it up to wipe away the mess which evidently still marred his face.

“Hard to believe that from the guy standing here fucking bleeding.”

Connor swatted the helping hand away.

“You should quit with the mother henning. It doesn't suit you, Lieutenant."

“‘Mother henning’?" Hank echoed with disbelief. If it weren't for the tension building between the pair, the accusation directed at the gruff man may have been humorous. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"The unnecessary worry about a virus? Intercepting with the witness just now? Your concern is starting to hamper our work. Need I remind you that I am a top-of-the-line model specifically engineered to handle these kinds of situations?"

"Trust me, I have better things to be doing besides fretting over your well-being," Hank snapped. “But since my partner seems to lack any kind of self-preservation instincts and seems intent on landing himself in stupid situations, I guess that falls on me!"

"I don't think you're in a position to lecture about self-destructive tendencies, Lieutenant. Perhaps you should figure out your own problems first?"

The words slipped out without conscious thought: harsh and cold and laden with accusation. Connor knew he'd made a mistake the moment they left his mouth.

Hank recoiled as though he had been physically struck by the unexpectedly personal comeback and Connor faltered in response. He didn't know where the personal accusation had come from. All he knew was the nagging feeling which had been building in him throughout the day. An inexplicable accumulation of irrational commands queued up within his processors and demanding his attention.

"Fuck this," Hank said finally, the storm of emotions playing across his face unreadable as he bowed his head and scrunched up the bloodied tissue still clenched in his fist. "Why do I fucking bother?" He added with a parting glare as he stormed from the room, throwing the tissue at the bin as he went.

He was gone before the paper missed the bin and hit the ground. As the echo of the door slamming into place resounded through the tiled room, Connor continued to stare at the blue-stained tissue lying crumpled on the floor.

He’d made a huge error.

As expected, Hank was nowhere to be found when Connor returned to his desk.

With the normal buzz of activity resumed, the room was once again filled with the background noise of people talking, radio chatter and phones ringing. The only changes to indicate the prior conflict which had arisen were the sideways glances his colleagues occasionally spared his way and the vacant desk across from Connor.

“Have you seen Lieutenant Anderson?” he called out to Wilson, who was sitting nearby and had surreptitiously been eyeing him with curiosity since he returned.

Wilson started guiltily, before shaking his head in response.

“He stormed out without saying where he was headed. I’d leave him to cool down if I were you. He seemed pretty pissed off.”

Connor gave a perfunctory nod of thanks. He hadn’t expected anything different. Even if he knew where Hank was headed, it probably wouldn’t have done much good to chase after him.

The complexity of emotions was still something Connor was struggling to get to grips with. His advanced psychology protocols made it a simple matter for him to gauge others’ emotional states. Even Hank, externally callous and guarded, was understood in the subtle nuances of his words and actions. Yet it was one thing to successfully interpret someone else’s emotions with an objective detachment, another thing entirely to experience those same emotions firsthand.

He had only experienced a loss of control once before and that was when CyberLife had seized control of his programming. What had happened earlier had been entirely different. The words hadn’t been forced upon him, he had purposefully chosen to speak them, but he could recognize that his response had not been justified. While it was true that the incident may have caused some delay to their investigation, he could retrospectively agree that they were unlikely to get far with a hostile witness.

His self-reflection was interrupted by the booming voice of Captain Fowler.

“Connor, could you come here a moment?”

Although not spoken with the same bark with which he usually commanded Hank’s attention, the invitation still brokered no arguments. Connor rose to his feet and headed for the glass-panelled walls of Fowler’s office, ignoring the stares which followed him as he passed through the rows of desks and up the stairs. He greeted Fowler pleasantly as he entered and took the proffered seat opposite the imposing figure.

“I was sorry to hear about what happened this morning,” Fowler began without preamble. “I just wanted to assure you that you have the full support of the DPD. We don’t stand for violence against any of our staff.”

“I don’t wish to press charges,” Connor preempted, saving Fowler the careful speech and procedural follow-up he was sure was to follow. He knew the man appreciated succinctness and preferred to cut to the chase wherever possible.

Fowler’s brow furrowed in consternation as he leant forward over his desk and surveyed Connor carefully.

“He assaulted you whilst you were on duty. You’re perfectly within your rights to take action.”

“Thank you, Captain. I appreciate that. But still, that won’t be necessary.”

Fowler sighed heavily, drumming his fingers against an empty mug. The metal of his wedding band tinkled merrily against the ceramic in tune to his agitation.

“I can’t force you if you choose not to pursue charges. So long as you know that you have our support. We can’t stop him from going to the press though. Whether they listen to his unfounded nonsense is at their discretion. But I wouldn’t put it past the media to pick up on his sensationalized bullshit.”

“I understand.”

Fowler’s fingers stilled as he withdrew his arms from the desk and leaned back heavily in his chair, considering Connor with a thoughtful expression.

“We’ve been very public about your involvement with some of our more serious cases,” he pondered thoughtfully. “If he goes to the press we need to be wary that those cases may be put under greater scrutiny.”

“Everything we’ve done has been in perfect adherence to procedures,” Connor quickly assured. “They won’t find any faults or wrongdoings.”

The prominent crease of Fowler’s brow deepened as he further considered the situation.

“The accident which was reported yesterday - the construction site? I hear you’ve taken an interest in the case?”

“We believe the incident may be indicative of a new virus. The suspect’s demeanor appears significantly altered and there were anomalies in his software which may explain his erratic behaviour.”

Fowler raised a halting hand.

“You’re sure it’s a virus?”

“Well, no -” Connor hesitantly began, but was cut off again by Fowler continuing with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Erratic behaviour and androids with a grudge is nothing new. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen it end in violence.”

“This seems different,” Connor persisted with a shake of his head. “I’ve dealt extensively with victimised androids who’ve lashed out in retaliation. They don’t act like this.”

“Regardless, there’s bound to be scrutiny of the way we handle this incident. The anti-android groups are a motivated crowd and riled up enough already, if they hear the case is in the hands of an android they’re going to cause bedlam.”

“We can handle the response."

Fowler considered him carefully, sinking back further into the depths of his chair.

“Going off of what happened this morning? No, you can’t.”

“Captain,” Connor’s posture shifted as he stiffened upright, preparing to argue in defence as he appealed to the man’s sensibilities, “surely you appreciate that there is nobody else on the force as qualified or experienced as myself or Hank to handle this kind of investigation?”

Fowler’s response was firm.

“You need to take a back-seat on this one, Connor. Focus on other cases.”

It was the equivalent of an order and although no longer confined by his programming, Connor couldn’t refuse the instructions of his superior. He gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

“I’m not sure Lieutenant Anderson will be in agreement, Captain.”

Fowler gave an amused snort.

“Hank’s a hot-headed misery, but he’s sensible enough and he’s great at his job. He’ll follow orders, even though he’ll grumble about it.”

Connor gave a cautious smile in response. It seemed the nature of Fowler and Hank’s relationship to throw around soft insults, but there was a begrudging respect between the pair. He could only hope his earlier comments would be forgiven by Hank in quite the same way as the many spats which occurred between those two.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, we both have work to do,” Fowler pointedly closed.

Connor rose to his feet at the dismissal, bidding farewell before exiting the office. As he made his way down the stairs, he cast his gaze hopefully across the room, but Hank’s desk remained conspicuously vacant.

Resigned to heeding Fowler’s order, Connor resumed his position at his workstation and reached out a hand to the keypad before him, the computer screen lighting up at the connection. He brought up the screen detailing their pending cases involving androids and began flicking through case reports. A few seconds later he had familiarised himself with the content. Nothing new had been assigned to them besides the construction incident yesterday.

Even without any new cases, the workload was immense. Amid the extremes of violent assaults and murder charges were the day to day cases which seemed to accumulate, never severe enough to attract public attention or warrant a more thorough investigation with police resources stretched thin as they were. Under Fowler’s instructions, it was seemingly these cases Connor was now to confine himself to.

Before Connor could make a start, he was interrupted by an incoming message projected telepathically.

"Have you got a moment?” The calm voice of Luke - one of the technicians working on the Antivirus team - echoed through his head. “We’ve found something on the TW400 case which you might want to take a look at.”

Connor cast his gaze over to Fowler’s office. The broad figure of the man seemed otherwise engaged on a call as he gestured emphatically to an empty office. Although the meaning behind his instructions had been quite clear, as a technicality, he’d only told Connor to take a back-seat. He hadn’t removed him from the investigation entirely. It was a thin argument, but Connor was willing to make it.

"Of course,” Connor projected back. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

Slipping silently from his desk, he made his way down to the Antivirus team’s lab. Tucked away in the basement, it had become an integral part of the DPD’s efforts to thwart the targeted malware attacks which threatened the android population. It lay alongside the evidence room, heavily secured in the restricted-access area.

The numerous screens around the room cast a blue-tinted glow over white panelled walls and the reclining examination table which lay in the centre. Suspended above, mechanical arms hung from the ceiling. Although currently immobile they were capable of gliding across the room performing tasks under the guidance of the grid of rails which ran overhead. Connor had been informed by Hank that the room was unsettling, too clinical and reminiscent of a hospital setting. He rarely ventured down here as far as he could avoid it. Connor, on the other hand, found reassurance in the controlled environment.

Amid the cold sterility of the room Luke's warm smile shone brightly. He was standing by a raised screen which stood independently by the side of the bed, engrossed in the flickering lines of code which scrolled rapidly across the screen in a mesmerising dance.

“Thank you for coming,” he greeted fervently, removing his hand from the machine before him. With the contact lost, the lines of code came to an abrupt stop.

“Thank you for reaching out to me,” Connor acknowledged kindly, before his interest drove him to promptly ask, “What did you find?”

“Still nothing on heuristic analysis. But we performed a comprehensive review of his system log,” Luke gestured to the lines of code before him, the warmth of his expression darkening. “The deeper we go, the more we found evidence of interference with his software. His memory unit has been severely compromised, which would massively impact his performance. His systems have desperately been trying to compensate, but it’s a temporary patch.”

“Is there any sign of where the errors originated from?”

“It seems they have been accumulating for a while, but the earliest error appears to have occurred around a month ago. January 13th, approximately 10 am.”

“What connections were made at the time?” Connor questioned sharply, his attention piqued. “Did he interface with any other androids or technology?”

“No, definitely not.”

Connor raised his eyebrows, thrown by the confidence of the response. “Can you be certain of that?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“How?”

“He was in standby.”

“That can’t be right,” Connor said after a beat, shaking his head in disbelief.

Luke gave an almost apologetic shrug. “It’s the only activity that occurred at the time.”

Connor’s thoughts raced as he tried to reconcile this new information.

“From there, the number of errors seems to have snowballed,” Luke continued before adding with grim finality, “Whatever this is, it’s devastating his systems.”

"There's no chance of it being an internal error?"

Luke gave a short shake of his head.

"No problems with his hardware. No signs to suggest anything amiss with his software before the first error. I've never seen anything like it."

"Will you keep checking for any signs of infection?"

"Sure. But if this is a virus, it's a sophisticated one. This isn't some bootleg virus developed by your average Joe."

The statement sparked an uneasy realization.

If what Luke had said was true - and Connor had every confidence that it was - then the virus had been built by someone intimate with the inner workings of androids. There were very few people privy to such highly-classified information, only those who worked in their design and production. Add to that the fact that the errors first occurred during a period of standby, a time when there would be no external connections save one...

His fears solidified. There was only one conclusion he could draw: the virus was linked with CyberLife.

Connor was understandably wary of the company which had manipulated him since the moment of his activation. Even so, he wasn’t the only one increasingly concerned about the ethics of the company which commanded so much control.

Deviancy should have spelled the end of CyberLife. Their sole product was suddenly off-the-market with their creations rebelling against their intended purpose. Even with the billions they had amassed, CyberLife would have inevitably collapsed had it not been for the Government’s intervention. Wary of massive job losses and the monumental impact that this would have had upon the economy, President Warren had stepped in and ordered financial support for the company. It was a confident move from a president who already attracted so much flack for her involvement with big business.

After much debate a compromise was eventually reached: CyberLife would cease the production of new androids but would continue to hold the patent on the production of replacement parts, thirium and technical support. They functioned now more like a medical facility than a tech company. Connor could only imagine that there were some within CyberLife who were more than dissatisfied with the change of affairs.

"There's still the possibility that he was infected earlier and the virus was lying dormant until he accessed the affected software," Luke suggested, seemingly sensing Connor's growing despair.

Connor snapped to hyper-focused attention, allowing a brief hope to sneak in. "Is there anything on the scans to suggest an earlier infection?"

"No," Luke responded hesitantly. The momentary hope Connor had felt crashed rapidly. "But like I said, this is potentially bigger than anything we've dealt with before. We can't rule it out."

The same gut instinct Connor had felt that morning was back again. This time screaming that CyberLife were implicated somehow.

Hank always told him to trust a gut instinct.

"Keep looking. I have a bad feeling about this."

Chapter Text

“They’re being idiotic.”

“They’re being cautious, and understandably so. They’re terrified. Terrified that we’re on the precipice of WWIII and of the power we hold in determining its occurrence.”

The typically measured response was met by a disparaging hum.

“So they should be,” North agreed as she crossed her arms in a confident display of self-assertion. “We should remind them of how things went the last time they tried to suppress us.”

Markus gave a weary sigh of response. The worn argument was a circuitous discussion they’d held on more than one occasion. Briefly granted a rare moment of solitude in his office, he had thought he might get a temporary reprieve from the pressures of constant political strategizing and negotiation. Of course, North had other ideas.

“Playing upon humanity’s guilt isn’t the way to go,” he argued, eyes bright with conviction as he levelled a determined look at the woman sat across from him. “All we achieve through that is pity and throw-away gestures. We need to focus upon what unites us now. Show them that we make a rational argument and share the same interests.”

“Perhaps they should have thought of that before slaughtering thousands of us,” North stated coolly. “‘Neutralising’ two thirds of their own armed forces? They’ve brought the situation upon themselves.”

“Nobody wants a war. We can use the situation to our advantage, show them how much we have to offer in terms of national defence. Right now they’re vulnerable - they know it, Russia knows it. They need us. It’s a valuable bargaining chip.”

“If they value our input, perhaps they should allow us a say in what happens. It’s not too late to ratify the constitutional amendment if we keep pushing for it.”

Markus’ response was firm.

“We need to get this right. I won’t risk rushing it through.” 

“And in the meantime?” North’s chin jutted upwards as she drew herself up to her full height. “We just hope people listen to us?”

He gave an apologetic shrug of response. “Warren’s been receptive enough to our proposals. We can’t risk disrupting the progress we’ve made.”

North’s determined stance broke as she slumped her shoulders with a heavy sigh in an exaggerated show of disbelief.

“She isn’t doing enough! Her administration has made a complete mess of the situation. Also, just a reminder in case you’ve forgotten, she ordered the destruction of millions of our people! Can you really just forgive that and still stand behind her?”

They were saved from a repeat of the same worn argument by a soft knock on the door.

“Are you two butting heads again?” Simon questioned as he slipped into the office. His expression was amused, but held the same wary expectation of back-talk as a parent breaking up an argument between siblings. Markus had long attributed his natural peacekeeping tendencies to being a remnant of his programming as a familial assistant and it came out strongly in moments like these.

“He’s being unreasonable,” North quickly cut in. “Never lets me have any fun.”

“Your idea of ‘fun’ is seriously warped,” Markus rebutted, finding a small smile creep in at her pouting despite the seriousness of the subject under discussion. “I don’t think provoking WWIII is anyone's idea of fun.” 

North rolled her eyes. “I’m not being held accountable for a war and I’m not encouraging one. I just think it’s worth reminding people whose actions have provoked tensions.”

Markus’ expression conveyed a clear ‘you see what I’m dealing with?’ as he looked to Simon appealingly for support.

“Can’t leave you two alone for more than five minutes without the threat of mutually assured destruction.” Simon gave a begrudging chuckle before returning his attention to the purpose of his visit. “Not to ground you in the day-to-day, but we’ve got a visitor and you need to talk to him, Markus.”

Markus frowned at the news. 

“A visitor? Who?”

“It’s Connor.”

“Connor?” Markus asked, already rising to his feet and holding out a halting hand in North’s direction in response to the snide rebuttal he knew was coming. “Connor’s here ?”

Connor really knew how to get under his skin. He showed such a blatant disregard for his own well-being it infuriated Hank to no-end. Hank had seen the cruelty of life and he knew it held no qualms about taking more than it gave. For a long time the only guarantee Hank had seen in life was the promise to pile on the hardships and end before you’d made the effort to even begin living it. To traverse life with such confidence seemed like a sure-fire way to attract negative consequences. 

A shriek of delight rang out behind him. A small child on a roundabout begging to go faster as they were spun into a dizzying blur of a smiling face and bright yellow raincoat.

Sitting in the park watching life parading by, it was striking how wrong he had been before. Life could be shit, absolutely, but there was hope in the world, and people trying to better it. 

Early on in the days of CyberLife, before commercial production had even begun, Hank had kept a vague awareness of the explosion in technological progression occurring. He remembered watching a televised debate between a panel of technologists, philosophers and futurists, all fighting it out over the ramifications of advanced AI. There had been confident assurances from all sides that it would be mankind’s greatest achievement, with the potential to either be the best or the worst thing to ever happen to humanity. The more time went by, the more Hank began to favour the former argument.

He watched an android walk by - the familiar face of the model a dead giveaway - pushing a frail old woman in a wheelchair. The pair were laughing amicably, enjoying the unexpected warmth of the winter sun hanging low in the sky as it lit her hair to striking silver. That android had free will now, he was under no obligation to continue his assigned role as a carer yet here he was. Maybe the woman had no one else. Maybe her family lived too far away or were otherwise unable to care for her. He might be her only lifeline to the outside world. Whatever their circumstances, the mutual affection radiating from the pair was clear to anyone.

The joyful shrieks of the child in the park behind him turned to wails of complaint.

“Don’t... wanna!” The high-pitched voice protested in between hiccupped sobs.

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the most peaceful spot. He'd sat here ruminating long enough anyway. Despite the warmth of the sun on his face, the chill of the unforgiving concrete wall on which he sat was quickly seeping through the thin barrier of his pants and leeching the warmth from his body.

He rose to his feet and winced at the feeling of his stiff and frozen backside, before heading back in the direction of the station. His feet hadn’t carried him far, he was only fifteen minutes away.

God, now he had to go and face Connor.

He couldn’t stop dwelling on the way Connor had reacted earlier. He’d seen Connor angry when an interrogation called for it, but there was always an artificial edge to that anger. His voice, his shouted words, the set of his jaw and tight furrow to his brow - in Hank’s mind it was always just a bit too perfect an imitation. Real anger wasn’t that predictable, it was hot and wild and messy. Connor’s behaviour earlier had held the uncontrolled quality of real anger, not just a strange simulacrum of the emotion.

Still, it wasn’t Connor’s harsh words earlier which had driven him here to mope in the park. No, what pissed him off the most was Connor’s continued negligence of his own well-being.

Ahead of him he saw the distinctive yellow coat of the small child who had been wailing in the playpark. Seemingly the trauma of being torn from the park was now forgotten. She tightly gripped the hand of a young woman, looking up at her with wide trusting eyes as she pointed excitedly to the neon lights of a food kiosk by the park entrance. Barely old enough to walk, the hem of her coat bobbed below her knees as she toddled along on stubby legs. As the woman tilted her head down to address the girl, Hank noticed the distinctive blue of an LED on her temple. Her deep brown eyes were filled with nothing but warmth and affection for her tiny charge. Yet another example of humans and androids continuing to co-exist harmoniously.

If only Hank's relationship with Connor could run so smoothly. On the whole their relationship thrived in their unusual set-up, but emotions had a way of rising up as an unspoken barrier. Hank shied away from emotional talks and Connor was still entirely too new to emotions to be able to handle them with any kind of proficiency. It was an unspoken rule that emotions just were not a subject they touched upon and it was part of the reason the pair were able to live so harmoniously.

He halted as he reached a busy intersection, the peace of the park a distant memory as the deafening swell of traffic rose up to meet him. Cars raced by at speed, their owners driven by the frenetic pace and pressures of life.

Hank’s thoughts were cut off by a rush of yellow at his knees and a familiar squeal of delight. The small girl in the yellow coat happily chased the red LED lights of the pedestrian crossing, oblivious to the traffic which raged around her.

He acted without conscious thought - perhaps it was some residual parental instinct, or maybe it was just his years of training with the force. Either way, his feet were suddenly pounding against tarmac.

Tearing out into the road, vehicles be damned, he had eyes only for the small child perilously close to testing the decision making process of an autonomous vehicle.

He grabbed the girl’s arm and yanked her forcefully into a secure grasp, away from the vehicle which was passing far too close. Traffic still tearing past, he tightened his grip on the struggling child and beat a hasty retreat back to the footpath. Feet safely on the pavement, the chaos of the traffic was tunnelled out to background noise by the thundering of his heart and shaky breathing.

Standing on the edge of the road, he kept his grip on the child secure, not trusting his knees to keep him steady if he bent to put her down.

A sudden blast of noise passed him as a car honked persistently in disapproval. Hank had just enough awareness to be annoyed.

“Hey! She’s not mine!” he protested in vain, his shout failing to reach the car already speeding away.

His outburst seemed to distress the girl, who gave a small moan of unhappiness in his arms.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” Hank quickly reassured, voice softening into a soothing tone. He hastily put the child down but remained at a crouch by her side, a hand tightly grasping the hood of her jacket in an unrelenting grip. “Where’d your...” he paused as he struggled to think of the correct word. “Where’d she go, eh?”

He looked around, expecting the frantic call of the android from earlier to ring out.

“Where’d she go?” he repeated to the otherwise empty sidewalk.

The more Connor dwelled on all he had learned in the AV lab, the more questions came to mind. If it was truly someone within CyberLife releasing a virus, and they were able to take advantage of the connection all androids inherently held with CyberLife, they could target any android they desired. But why target a TW400 model? Or was Jackson just unfortunate enough to fall victim to a random attack? While clearly done with nefarious intent, it was unclear just what the virus was intended to do and what the endgame might be. 

Still, if the perpetrator had the ability and inclination to hone their newly created virus, they could theoretically target androids in far greater positions of power or influence. Without the constraints of a physical connection needed to transfer the virus, they could potentially target anyone. Maybe they could even target all androids in a mass attack.

Suddenly the whole incident took on a new significance.

Right now they had a solitary case and no solid evidence. An isolated incident characterised by an android acting out of character: distracted and distressed and demonstrating issues with memory. Had he even been in control when he had caused the fatal accident which cost a young man his life? Connor knew first-hand that CyberLife had the capability to assume control of an android’s programming, but he had always assumed he was unique in that respect, engineered by CyberLife with that specific fail-safe in place. Perhaps this was evidence to the contrary.

He needed to warn Markus.

So here he was at New Jericho, having gone months without interaction with the group and their leader.

It had taken several months of moving between locations, but eventually the administrative team of Jericho which was at the heart of the continued campaign for android rights had found a permanent base in - with a wicked twist of fate - a former CyberLife store. It was in a central location, spacious, well-equipped and well-secured. Markus had counted the acquisition a solid victory.

The renovation of the space was ongoing, every trace of its former occupancy being stripped away. He found himself in a waiting area bathed in golden light and soothing neutral tones, it was somehow warmer and more inviting than any CyberLife store had ever been capable of being. While the atrium he found himself in now was largely completed, there were pockets of activity all around as finishing touches were added. Floor-to-ceiling screens hung up behind a reception desk and around a waiting area lined by plush chairs, all proclaiming a series of values and objectives on a looping reel: We support equal and total access to universal rights to life - We fight for the right to be recognised as equals before the law .

Connor didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this level of grandeur. Distracted by his surroundings, he almost missed the call of a familiar voice. 

“Connor?”

He startled from his scrutiny of the positive messages being relayed across the screens and looked to the confident figure strolling purposefully across the wide space towards him.

Markus always commanded power with his demeanor and purpose alone, but the suit he now wore acted as a visible intensifier of this. The heavy-duty practical clothing of the revolution was long gone, cast away in favour of a dark tailored suit in conformance with the new political circles he now inhabited. It was a world away from the stolen clothing and squalor of Jericho. Despite the composed presentation and the intervening months since they had last spoken in person, Connor knew him well enough to see the subtle signs of exhaustion. He wore the world-weary expression of a man who had seen too much and carried a weight of responsibility on his shoulders. 

When Markus saw Connor there was a subtle lift to those same shoulders as he approached.

“Connor, it’s been quite a while,” he greeted pleasantly. A warm smile spreading across his face.

“Markus,” Connor greeted. 

Despite the nervous energy which still hummed through his body like a surge of electricity, Connor couldn’t help but feel his anxiety abate slightly in the company of the other man. Markus radiated calm competence, and even without vocalising any of his fears Connor could feel the weight of his concerns lift at the comforting presence and the promise of a burden shared.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Markus continued, beckoning for Connor to walk with him as they progressed through the atrium, passed the reception and through a security gate towards an elevator. “This is the first time you’ve visited our new offices. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Connor looked around at the bustle of activity around them.

“I apologise for turning up unannounced. I know you must be incredibly busy.”

“Nothing that can’t wait,” Markus quickly reassured him. “The timing of your arrival was actually quite fortuitous, you saved me from a rather heated discussion with our friend North.”

One corner of Connor’s mouth twitched upwards in a half-hearted smile. “What was it this time?”

“Oh, a difference of political opinion,” Markus responded lightly. “With the election later this year it’s proving to be quite a tumultuous time.”

“I can imagine." 

“Democracy is a slow process," Markus continued as the elevator doors slid open to admit them, the pair stepping into the vacant space. "It's no easy feat to completely rework a nation's legislation. It seems every small detail is subject to scrutiny and debate and the talks drag on and on. Still, it’s an open dialogue with compromises on both sides. That’s all we can hope for.”

“You know, you’re starting to sound more and more like a politician,” Connor said, a teasing edge to his voice as the doors closed behind them with a soft ping confirming their isolation.

Markus gave an instruction for the fourth floor before heaving a weary sigh, letting his carefully composed façade slip in the enclosed privacy of the elevator. "Except I'm not. I’ll be the first to admit I'm out of my depth. I'm not qualified for this role, nor do I want any part of it. I do it because it’s my moral obligation."

"By that virtue alone, you're already on moral high ground. I doubt there are many politicians that would openly make such claims."

"Morality sadly accounts for very little in political circles," Markus replied with a jaded smile, beckoning for Connor to follow him as the lift reached their floor and the doors slid open to a wide deserted corridor lined by light wood-panelled walls.

“That’s why they need people like you to ground discussions in the real world. You're reminding them of who their decisions affect."

“And you’re stalling,” Markus accused as he came to a sudden halt, forcing Connor to do the same as he found himself subject to the careful scrutiny of mismatched eyes. “You’re obviously worried about something - worried enough to come here after months of no contact - but you won’t talk about it.”

It was an observation opposed to a question, but the prompt to elaborate was heavily implicit.

“I am,” Connor confirmed, casting a nervous glance at their surroundings. “Your office?”

For a moment he thought Markus would refuse to give direction. That he would keep Connor captive in the corridor until he came out and said what he had come here to say. Then Markus gave a small jut of his head, a gesture that indicated he understood and would wait until they were in a place of privacy before he demanded further information. He resumed his purposeful stride down the corridor, Connor closely on his heels.

“It has been months, by the way,” Markus added softly without looking to Connor, giving him the space to respond. 

“I know,” Connor acknowledged. He didn’t need to give further explanation, they both knew the reason for his absence.

They reached what would have once been a head office judging from the security system at it’s entrance and its location secluded away at the end of the corridor. Markus reached out to open the door, but halted the motion after opening it only slightly ajar.

“Of course,” he muttered.

With a heavy sigh, he swung the door open further to reveal the sight of North sitting confidently behind his desk, lazily swivelling the office chair from side to side. Her back was to the wide window behind her which stretched from floor to ceiling and afforded a view of the bustling city beyond. The view seemingly held no interest to her as she surveyed them with a bored expression.

“I told you to go with Simon and continue the preparations for our meetings with the presidential candidates,” Markus admonished as they entered the room.

“You did,” she confirmed, a challenge in her eyes as she added, “and I decided not to listen.”

“North,” he cautioned, “now isn’t the time for obstinance.”

“Oh, I disagree.” She nodded to Connor in greeting. “Hi Connor."

He gave a small nod of acknowledgement in response, their eyes locking for a brief moment, before she turned her attention back to Markus.

“I’m not risking it.”

“North - ” Markus began.

She cut him off as she addressed Connor directly. “No offence, but I can’t leave you alone with him.”

“North!” Markus again admonished, this time more forcefully. “That’s enough. Connor is no threat to us.”

“He isn’t. It’s whoever takes control of the gun in his hand that’s the threat.”

“CyberLife is no longer a threat," Markus insisted.

"Are you sure of that?" North challenged, her eyes never deviating from her keen scrutiny of Connor.

Connor felt the familiar wrench of guilt. There it was, the reason why he had not returned to Jericho since those first few weeks after the revolution. The knowledge that he could never be completely trusted.

After their victory, the news had been dominated by the ever-evolving situation in the US. Breaking news stories and interviews with experts speculating on the rapidly changing situation were all heavily interspersed with footage of the protests; Markus’ rallying victory speech upon the podium became a common feature. It had only been a matter of time before someone noticed the figure in the background subtly slipping a gun from behind his back.

North had not taken to the revelation kindly. When Connor had next visited Jericho it was to be met by the immediate threat of a gun to his head. It was only Markus’ continued trust in Connor that saved him from a bullet long enough to explain how CyberLife had resumed control of his programming.

“Actually,” Connor cut in, “I'm in agreement with North on this."

In opposition to North’s vindicated smirk, Markus looked nothing but bewildered.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Connor shuffled awkwardly where he stood, glancing at the door to ensure it was firmly closed. He hesitated as he tried to organise his thoughts. “CyberLife. But first, I need to know whether you're aware of anything unusual happening within Jericho.”

“What does that have to do with CyberLife being a threat to us?” North quickly countered with an accusatory scowl.

Markus shot her a warning look.

“Anything unusual?” he prompted.

Connor nodded. “Any strange incidents or anyone acting suspiciously.”

Markus gave an inquisitive tilt of his head, eyes narrowed in question. “What kind of ‘strange incidents’?

“Anything that seems out of the ordinary or can’t be explained. Please,” Connor added in response to their blank faces, “anything.”

“Connor,” Markus said carefully, “you’re going to need to give us more information. You’ve just told us that we’re potentially under threat. We’ll help you as far as we're able, but you need to keep us informed here.”

“I think there’s a new virus in circulation.”

“How many confirmed infections?” Markus quickly questioned.

Connor hesitated before reluctantly admitting, “One.”

North gave a scathing laugh. “That’s it?” she mocked, a disbelieving smile on her face.

Markus didn’t seem to share her relief.

“There’s more you’re not saying,” he prompted.

Connor nodded. “The source of the infection — it’s CyberLife.”

North’s mirth dissipated instantly while Markus remained carefully impassive.

“That’s”—he hesitated—“quite an accusation. What makes you so certain CyberLife is implicated?”

“The construction accident that occurred yesterday”—Markus nodded as Connor spoke to confirm his awareness of the incident—“after it happened we ran a system check on the android who was operating the crane. We found errors originating during a period of standby a month prior. There were no other potential sources of infection.”

“That’s not enough to warrant suspicion. There could be any number of explanations for why an error would appear to originate from a period of standby.”

“The virus is complex and unlike anything we've seen before,” Connor continued determinedly. “It’s eluding our antivirus team. It has to have been developed by someone with intricate knowledge of our programming and anatomy. Most likely a current or former CyberLife employee.”

“Our programming is regrettably becoming more widely known than is secure,” Markus argued. “There are gangs kidnapping androids, breaking them apart to study their coding with the intent of selling their stolen knowledge to anti-android groups for the development of targeted malware. You know this. You’ve tackled these groups.”

“I know I’m right,” Connor insisted.

Markus sighed wearily. “Connor, I know you have more reason to distrust CyberLife than any of us—”

North gave an indignant huff of disagreement to this statement.

“Believe me,” Markus continued, throwing North another cautionary look, “if CyberLife were implicated, I would welcome the news as an opportunity to finally take them down and seize control of what’s rightfully ours. But the evidence you’ve just given me — it’s just not evidence, it’s speculation.”

“But—”

“To throw out accusations against CyberLife without evidence to support those claims would do irrevocable harm to our already tenuous relationship. I don’t much like it either, but we need them on our side. Those months after the revolution before we brokered a deal — how many were left to die without a supply of thirium and biocomponents?”

Connor had nothing to say to that. The casualties were irrefutable.

“We can’t risk that same situation again," Markus said with finality. "I'm sorry, Connor, but we can't go up against CyberLife armed only with speculation. We'll help you investigate the virus and we'll let you know immediately should anything of suspicion come up. Of course, if there is something more to this, we will most certainly take this further. You have my word."

Connor looked appealingly to North who merely gave him an apologetic smile.

“You know I’m all for taking them down, but wiser heads prevail.” She motioned with a bob of her head in Markus’ direction. “I hate to say it, but he’s usually right.”

Markus gave her an appreciative nod. North always liked to challenge him, but he knew he could count on her support when it mattered most.

“Why don’t you tell us more about what kind of symptoms we need to be wary of?” he asked, sensing Connor’s frustration and already extending efforts to smooth things over. “You said anyone acting strangely?”

“Right,” Connor slowly nodded his affirmation, still disheartened at the course of the conversation. “It’s hard to describe, more a general - “

He was interrupted by the shrill ring of an alarm.

The group whipped to simultaneous attention, the alarm triggering the same angry red alert to be broadcast in synchronicity across their HUD’s.

“Fire in the atrium,” Markus confirmed needlessly, already sprinting out of the room with the other two in close pursuit.

Chapter Text

Hank tapped his foot impatiently against the linoleum floor.

"Too high tech for fucking voicemail," he bemoaned as the call failed to connect yet again.

He slammed his mobile down on the desktop. The call failure screen shutting off to black and obscuring Connor’s name.

"The one time I need the workaholic to be in the office…”

“Lieutenant, take a break” Chris called out from his desk without taking his gaze from his computer screen.

"Mind your own damn business."

“It became my business when you called me out to an abandoned child and a misper.”

“Hmm,” Hank reluctantly agreed.

“Connor won’t be long.”

“What the hell is he even doing?”

Chris gave a distracted shrug. “Didn’t say. He just left. Wonder where he picked up that habit?”

“Don’t fucking start.” There was a pause as Hank drew in a steadying breath. “How are the parents doing?”

Chris finally tore his gaze from his screen to give Hank a carefully considered look. “They’re okay. Just shocked. Keep saying it can’t be true. How out of character the whole thing is.”

“Yeah, funny thing that...”

It was the key phrase that had been driving Hank’s desperate attempts to contact Connor: “It’s so out of character” . The words held an unsettling familiarity to another recent case.

After Hank’s shock had subsided by the side of the road, his training had taken over. He called in for assistance when it became clear nobody was returning for the child. Chris had been on duty that day and had shortly thereafter arrived at the scene with his partner to take over responsibility for returning the little girl to her family.

The parents had understandably been horrified that the woman they had entrusted their daughter to had seemingly abandoned her on a busy street with no explanation. Asked to describe the android carer - Maggie, they called her - they painted the picture of a loving woman who doted on their daughter and was so much a part of the family she had stayed with them post-deviancy. They were convinced that something untoward must have happened to her to make her leave their daughter unattended. Hank had been inclined to agree until the surveillance drone footage showed otherwise.

The pair had stopped at a food kiosk in the park, Maggie juggling her purchases while the little girl - distinguishable only as a flash of yellow on the footage - had been ambling around nearby. Then without looking back at her charge, the woman had just walked away. That was it. There had been no dramatic kidnapping and no discernible external influence or coercion. It defied explanation.

“How are you doing?” Chris broke through his reflection.

“Me?”

Chris shrugged again. “You’ve had a rough day.”

Hank huffed a dismissal. “Those parents have had worse.”

“Not arguing against that. Doesn’t mean you haven’t had a rough day too.”

Hank’s response was cut off by the ringing of Chris’ phone.

“Excuse me,” Chris apologized to Hank before taking the call. “Hello? Officer Miller.”

There was a pause as the caller spoke, Chris’ expression shifted immediately to alertness.

“I’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone, looking to Hank in bewilderment. “Maggie’s at reception.”

“The hell?” Hank quickly got to his feet and followed Chris round to the front of the building.

Sure enough, there was the woman from this morning right at their own front desk. Gone was the warm, patient figure who had weathered the child’s tantrum earlier, now the woman radiated anxiety. Her distress was evident in her distracted pacing, fearful expression and the flickering yellow LED on her temple. The few members of the public scattered around the reception area were giving her a wide berth as they cast nervous glances at the disturbed figure.

“Uh, Ma’am?” Chris greeted cautiously. “Maggie?” he tried when the initial greeting elicited no reaction.

The frenetic pacing continued, her deep brown eyes glazed over with a distress Hank knew all too well and had no intention of prolonging.

“Claire is safe,” Hank tried.

The words had an immediate effect. Maggie snapped to rapt attention as she looked desperately to him.

“S-she is?”

“Yeah,” Hank confirmed with a gentle nod. “She’s okay.”

“Where is she?”

Hank exchanged a look with Chris, before taking in the curious bystanders watching the exchange cautiously as they loitered by the front desk longer than strictly necessary. This was a conversation ill-suited to their current environment.

“She’s safe,” Hank repeated placatingly, the words the only reassurance he could currently offer. “Why don’t you come take a seat somewhere quieter and we can talk about it?”

“Did you catch whoever took her?” She asked distractedly, her eyes still glazed over.

Chris and Hank exchanged another loaded look, Chris mirroring Hank’s own bewilderment as he raised a perplexed eyebrow.

“Come with us and we can discuss it further,” Chris beckoned for her to follow him.

After a moment's hesitation, Maggie nodded in acceptance and let herself be ushered through the gates demarking the reception and main office.

As she walked ahead with Chris, Hank heard her quietly utter a familiar excuse.

“I- I don’t know what happened.”

Hank followed them as far as the desk where Chris was currently directing the woman to sit down, then excused himself to make a quick call and ducked away to his desk.

“Fucking knew it,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing his phone from the desktop and dialling the familiar name.

“C’mon, Connor. C’mon,” he optimistically chanted as he clasped the phone tightly to his ear.

He slammed the phone down with a curse at the expected call failure notification.

[EMERGENCY ALERT: Fire on First Floor, Main Atrium]

[Proceed to nearest emergency exit immediately]

[Emergency services en route]

Connor blinked the alert away. The flashing red was a distraction from his rush towards the stairwell. The three of them burst through heavy wooden doors, the stairs passing in a blur of metal handrails and beige tile flooring. Emergency lighting projected green arrows across the stairs, shifting and flowing ahead of them in response to their movements as they guided the way towards the nearest emergency exit.

“How many in the building?” Connor asked as they tackled the stairs with a speed and confidence that would have eluded most humans.

“It’s largely unoccupied,” Markus called over his shoulder. “We’re still in the process of relocating from our previous base.”

The sound of racing footsteps echoed up the barren stairway as Simon rushed up to greet them.

“Simon! Are you okay?” Markus quickly asked. “What’s the situation?”

“We’re fine. We’ve already evacuated the first through third floors.” Simon confirmed calmly as he doubled back on himself, leading the way down the staircase past the heavy doors which marked the floor below.

“Do you know what happened?”

“No idea,” Simon responded as they continued their rapid descent. “But we need to get out. The fire is spreading quickly and the main entrance is already obscured.”

The warning didn’t need repeating, a distant crash resounding through the building.

As they rounded the corner to the second floor tendrils of smoke rose up to greet them, snaking through the gaps of the staircase and lapping at their ankles as they searched out the highest point.

When they reached the landing between the first and second floor they caught their first glimpse of the horror occurring in what had once been the atrium. Behind closed doors which leaked a thick veil of dark smoke, an ominous orange glow proved to be the only source of light. The pristine white walls of the stairwell around them were already turned to shades of grey and black by soot.

Feet moving fast and no time for words, the group moved in unison down the remaining stairs. The green arrows below them brightened in response to the growing dim as they led the way towards the emergency exit - a beacon of escape down a corridor to the right of the base of the stairs. A faint crackling roar was the only disturbance to the false calm imposed by the thick blanket of smoke which hung dangerously still in the air of the enclosed space.

As they tore towards the exit, a subtle shift in the chemical makeup of the air caught Connor’s attention. His advanced forensic capabilities made short work of identifying the substance as the heavy smoke filtered through his system.

"Petroleum distillate vapors,” Connor informed them as he came to a halt and cast a glance back at the thick cloud which billowed from the doorframe. “An accelerant was used. This was arson.”

“That doesn’t help us right now,” Markus insisted as he grabbed onto Connor’s upper arm as though sensing his intentions, a wordless plea to not take rash action. “We’ll worry about the cause when we don’t need to worry about our lives.”

Connor shook his head in disagreement. “By the time the fire is extinguished, any evidence may already be compromised and the perpetrator long gone.”

“We’ll find them,” Markus assured him, the pressure of his hand around Connor’s upper arm unrelenting as he urged him to continue towards the exit.

Connor stiffened his stance in resistance. “They can’t have gone far. If I act now there’s a much better chance of catching them and stopping them before they get a chance for a second attempt.”

“Don’t be stupid,” North cut in bluntly. “You’ll be killed.”

"Connor—” Markus’ warning was cut short as Connor tore himself from Markus’ grip.

Connor ran, ignoring the shouts that followed him and the illuminated arrows across the floor which yelled their own subtler warning that he was going the wrong way.

“Connor!”

Markus’ final warning rang out as he wrenched the door open to a nightmare scene of raging flames and oppressive smoke.

While he couldn’t feel the physical sensation of the heat bathing his body, his sensors held no qualms about shrieking their displeasure at the shift in temperature through a barrage of alerts. His vision grew impossibly dark with the thick oppressive smoke. Meanwhile the cloying air he inhaled presented a wealth of information; hydrocarbons resulting from the burning of an accelerant painting a story of how the scene before him had transformed in such a short period of time.

He raised an arm to cover his lower face in a weak attempt to halt the inhalation of smoke. Coughs were already wracking his frame as his body tried to expel the toxic air. Too much of it inhaled and the magnetic charge of the smoke would cause his sensitive systems to short-circuit, while the sooty residue threatened to accumulate within his biocomponents and cause catastrophic overheating.

He didn’t have long to investigate. A countdown of just two minutes started up in the corner of his vision.

Casting his gaze across the room, all he could discern were the fierce flames which raged most strongly along the opposite wall and fanned out across the front of the building obscuring the main entrance. The fire had definitely originated here in the atrium.

CRACK!

His observations were interrupted by a loud crack resounding through the space. Debris from the ceiling crashed down and a viscous dollop dripped from a light fitting which had begun to melt under the intense heat.

The flames fanning across the room progressed closer and the countdown ticked lower.

After taking a moment to assess the structural integrity of the ceiling and deeming it secure, Connor edged closer towards the flames. As he picked his way cautiously through the atrium he passed the reception desk, the LED screens behind it now warped by heat and their optimistic messages extinguished by the flames which lapped at their edges.

There was something odd about the scene.

SMASH!

What little glass remained in the windows which covered the front of the building fell to the floor and shattered as the window frames warped with the heat.

His keen eyes darted around the room, cataloguing every detail as he edged closer. Something about the scene was bothering him.

He wracked his extensive memory banks for any knowledge of arson, cross-referencing the scene before him with every scrap of information regarding prior cases and the law enforcement datasets with which CyberLife had equipped him.

He was struck by another coughing fit as his internal alerts continued to blare a warning. 49 seconds until his systems sustained irreversible damage. The shift in airflow was feeding the flames and cutting his small window to investigate even finer. There were too many unpredictable elements to factor in.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Firm hands seized his shoulders from behind. Markus’ grip was unrelenting as he berated Connor, forgoing spoken speech as the suffocating air pressed in around them.

"Checking the scene." Connor answered. "Something’s not right ."

Markus ignored Connor’s response, leaving no further room for argument as he hauled Connor back.

"Enough. We’re getting out. Now. The structure’s unstable and going to collapse."

CREAK!

As if to prove Markus’ point, the ceiling gave an ominous groan as a scattering of charred remnants rained down from directly above them.

As the pressure of the hands on his shoulders and wailing of his systems intensified, Connor was forced to acquiesce. It went against everything in him to abandon a crime scene before he could complete his investigation, but there was an overwhelming feeling which counterbalanced that determination - fear . Hank’s earlier reminder of his own mortality echoed through his mind, ‘you’re not replaceable anymore’.

With a distracted nod, he turned to meet Markus’ fiercely determined expression.

“Okay.”

Markus hesitated for a brief moment before releasing his remaining grip on Connor’s shoulder, eyeing him with mistrust as he gave him a forceful shove in the direction of the door.

The physical gesture was the only prompt needed to drive Connor to a careful jog, Markus closely on his heels. Above them the ceiling continued to flake away as fiery debris fell down. They reached the door just as a loud crash resonated through the room, not looking back to inspect the damage as they veered towards the emergency exit.

They burst out to the welcome relief of fresh air and a world not ablaze.

Gasping in clean air in a desperate attempt to purge the toxic fumes from his system, Connor cast his gaze up to the clear sky above them. Thick smoke was already rising from the building and leaving its tell-tale signature across the sky as the distant sound of sirens promised emergency services would soon be arriving. The shrieking of his alerts gradually eased to a persistent nag.

“Markus!”

North and Simon burst out from where a crowd was quickly forming and came rushing up to greet them. North consumed Markus in a fierce hug as she sought out reassurance he was unharmed. Beyond them a gaggle of people crowded the plaza in front of the building, grateful escapees and curious onlookers intermingling as they all watched the building burn.

Simon surveyed Connor with disbelief. “Care to tell us the reason for pulling that stunt?”

“This was an attack,” Connor hastily explained. His gaze quickly darted around the scene as he catalogued every face as a potential suspect or witness. “If we act quickly we can catch the culprit.”

“Our people are always under threat of violence,” Markus interrupted as he extracted himself from North’s arms. “This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been attacked and it regrettably won’t be the last.”

“But if we don’t catch the culprit now, they’ll -”

“They’ll try again. Or someone else will,” Markus firmly cut off Connor’s explanation. “I’m not saying we let them get away with it. The property damage is a blow, but we can rebuild. We have before. We’re just fortunate that nobody was harmed.” He cast a meaningful look at Connor. “Despite your efforts to the contrary.”

“Did you find anything helpful?” Simon asked eagerly.

Connor paused momentarily, reluctant to admit the minimal information his efforts had gleaned.

“The fire was started from within the atrium. With all the activity going on, someone must have seen them. They would have used an accelerant of some kind; there were traces of petroleum distillate: toluene, xylene, acetone—”

“Paint thinner?” Markus cut in.

Connor blinked in surprise.

Markus seemed to sense his question, giving a shrug as he answered, “Carl — my old owner — he was a painter. I used to spend a fair amount of time preparing and cleaning materials.”

Connor returned his attention to the crowd before him. “Someone here must have seen the perpetrator.”

Markus sighed wearily as he surveyed the same group and the mess of their only temporarily-occupied headquarters.

“I need to check everyone is okay.” He cast a glance at Connor before adding, “Don’t do anything reckless.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” North promised, the glint of a smile promising she was willing to use more than an eye to keep Connor in place.

Markus gave a distracted nod of thanks before rushing to do what he did best and offer reassurance to his people.

“Looks like we’re nomads again,” Simon stated as he returned his attention to their burning headquarters.

“I never liked this building,” North quickly countered, although her almost wistful tone was a contrast to her dismissive words.

Simon couldn’t help the twitch of a worn smile. “So you’ve said. Not enough to torch the place though.”

North ignored Simon’s comment, returning her focus to Connor with fierce purpose burning in her eyes as strongly as the flames which raged in the building behind them.

“So many humans still hate us. We threaten the status quo, their beliefs, their feeble sense of superiority over all other life on this planet. Markus doesn’t see it, but this is what the humans always come back to: violence and destruction. They always have — even towards their own kind.”

Connor didn’t have anything to say to that, sensing that North wasn’t done with her musings.

“Markus is so focused upon peaceful integration with humanity he can’t even see how futile an attempt it is. They can’t change their core nature. It always comes out eventually,” she finished sadly.

Simon shifted uncomfortably. “North—”

“Find the person who did this,” she instructed Connor as she cut across Simon’s hesitant warning. “We can’t just stand by passive observers to this kind of threat.”

Their eyes met, North’s fierce determination still blazing strongly as Connor gave a curt nod in response.

“I’ll catch them,” he promised, ignoring Simon’s obvious unease as he took off towards the crowded plaza.

He fought his way into the group of onlookers, taking in every concerned face with keen attention as he looked for any kind of visual indicator of guilt or suspicion. Was the culprit here among them or had they fled the scene at the earliest opportunity? If this was a motivated attack fuelled by hatred would they want to stay and watch the fall out?

He reached the centre of the group and paused, spinning in place as he took in his surroundings.

The culprit couldn’t have come through the main entrance without being noticed. While human visitors sometimes passed through New Jericho, they were generally few and far between. Their unease in the unfamiliar environment was always apparent and Markus typically ensured meetings occurred elsewhere. It made it easier, he always said, to facilitate negotiations when all parties were on neutral ground.

Even if they had snuck in, how had they managed to start a fire right in the heart of the atrium? With all the activity as the space was renovated, there were bound to be more people than usual passing through the space, but how was it possible that a human could have found their way in unnoticed, pour out the accelerant and strike a fire without arousing any suspicion?

Something caught his eye at the periphery of the group. A lone figure amongst the crowd. Connor couldn’t see their expression with their face cast into shadow by a black hooded top. A top that was stained and soiled by paint.

“A painter,” Connor echoed thoughtfully.

Paint thinner, Markus had accurately determined. In the hands of a decorator the solvent would certainly be unremarkable. From his position, Connor couldn’t make out any identifying features, but the hooded top was its own potential red flag. It wasn’t uncommon for androids to wear hats and hoods in an effort to disguise their identifying LEDs and blend in with humans. It was a simple disguise which would work just as well to hide the lack of an LED and allow a human would be able to sneak into a building full of androids unnoticed.

Connor carefully edged through the mass of people, his eyes never straying from the hooded figure.

Seemingly sensing he was being watched, the man in the hooded top tore his gaze from the burning building and looked in Connor’s direction. Wide blue eyes wild with panic stood out through the shade cast by his hood. As they locked eyes, there was a joint awareness that hung in the air between them. It was now just a case of who would be the first to act.

“Connor, what are you doing?”

Simon’s question broke through the stalemate. The hooded man took off, tearing down the street.

Connor gave chase without hesitation, giving no pause to explain himself to the startled faces he left behind.

Ahead of him the hooded man weaved his way through the thronging crowd of curious onlookers lining the street, his slight frame granting him the ability to slip easily through the gaps. Connor didn’t take his eyes from the fleeing figure as he gave chase. There was no time for apologies or thanks as he forced his way through the crowd, desperately keeping the man in his sights as he watched him flee across the busy main road.

Connor broke free of the crowd, barely mindful of the traffic as he kept his eyes trained on his target. The man tore down the sidewalk before suddenly veering left into a darkened alley crowded with discarded rubble and overflowing refuse bags.

His target was fast and determined, but Connor was built for this. His feet pounded against the pavement as he veered into the alley, splashing through puddles and kicking up thick droplets of filthy rainwater as he leapt over rubble and navigated his way through the obstacle-laden path with ease.

The hooded man seemed to make hasty but clumsy progress as he darted off into the dank shadows. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw Connor closing in. He paused only long enough to forcefully shove an overflowing dumpster in Connor’s direction before taking flight once more.

Connor dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the bulky weight as it rolled his way before resuming his chase. The action proved a mistake on the man’s part, it had slowed him long enough for Connor to close the gap.

With a final burst of speed, Connor closed the distance between them. He grabbed the suspect from behind and his arms interlocked across the man’s chest, pinning the suspect's arms securely to his side.

As he struggled to free himself, the man’s hood slipped down and a flash of blue at his temple proved a momentary distraction.

“You’re an android?” Connor asked in bewilderment.

Taking advantage of Connor’s diverted attention, the man slammed his head back into Connor’s. The sudden movement proved sufficient diversion and he seized advantage of Connor’s distraction to step to the side, his torso still loosely locked in Connor’s grasp. Suddenly Connor’s legs were swept out from under him by a sweeping motion of the man’s left leg.

They both fell to the sodden ground, landing hard on the unforgiving concrete.

Anticipating the fall, the man was first to recover and tore himself free as Connor inadvertently loosened his hold on impact. He seized the opportunity to assume an offensive stance, rolling quickly to his knees and pinning Connor to the floor with his body as one hand pushed down firmly on his throat.

“Why would you target Jericho?” Connor questioned, heedless of his vulnerable position. “You're one of them?”

The man merely gave a desperate grunt, the hand over Connor’s throat pushing down as his free hand grappled around the floor beside him.

Unable to hold back his need to understand, Connor continued his questioning.

“What is it? Do you disagree with Markus’ peaceful tactics? You want to pursue a more aggressive path?”

He reached out to lock one hand tightly around the man’s wrist, pulling the arm down and lessening the leverage of the offending body as he surveyed the man’s reactions with rapt attention.

The man didn’t answer but a flash of something recognisable crossed his expression.

“You’re afraid,” Connor muttered softly in realisation. “You don’t want to do this.”

The man’s searching actions halted, his panicked eyes never straying from Connor’s.

“Did CyberLife make you do this? Did they seize control of your programming?”

The LED on the man’s temple stuttered to an intermittent yellow pulse.

Connor dropped his tone to a soothing calm. “It’s okay. You don't have to do as they say."

A momentary tension passed through the body above him, the hand around his throat spasming into a tightened grasp.

“You can fight this. You’re stronger than they are. CyberLife can’t control you."

A beat, then the man broke from his daze. His searching hand seized upon his target - a heavy brick which lay on the cluttered ground - and he raised the object shakily above his shoulder as he stared down at Connor with wide panicked eyes.

The sudden silence was broken by the sound of footsteps echoing through the alley and the familiar bark of a commanding voice.

“Hold it!” North called, the gun in her hand carefully trained on the man’s head.

“North, no!” Connor cried out in warning from where he was still pinned to the floor, the threat of a blow from the impromptu weapon hovering above him just a few seconds from impact. “He’s not in control.”

“I heard,” she said coldly. “But I made a promise.”

The crack of the gun was a terrible sound as it resounded through the alley, the echo bouncing off the enclosed walls and leaving a sudden awful silence in its wake.

The brick fell to the floor with a solid thud, the arm supporting it no longer co-operative as the intricate mechanism of synthetic muscles and wiring was torn to shreds by the bullet puncturing through the man’s shoulder. The arm fell limply to rest on Connor’s torso, it’s owner blinking in slow confusion as he found the appendage dysfunctional.

“Next time I aim for your head,” North warned as she kept the gun trained on the man as she slowly approached,

Connor kept his attention on the distant expression of the man above him. It was as though all the fight had drained from him the moment the calculated bullet found its mark. He shook himself from his own shock as he quickly pulled free from the suddenly slack hold.

“Stop!” he called out to North, forcing the man’s undamaged arm into a secure hold behind his back unchallenged. “Something’s not right here.”

“I’ll say.” North kept the gun raised and levelled as she came to a stop six feet away.

“This wasn’t our agreement!” Connor cried out, still restraining the uninjured arm of their suspect. Blood trickled from the man's injured shoulder, running in a thick rivulet down his back and across Connor's knuckles where he held the other arm pinned.

North’s expression was cold as she looked down at his position crouched next to their attacker. “You know why I have to do this.”

“Let him account for his actions,” Connor pleaded. “We need to understand why.”

“I — I’m sorry.”

The whispered words were almost lost amid their fierce feuding; the voice crackled and echoed and threatened to degrade into static. Connor and North broke from their arguing to look to the man kneeling on the ground, despair and defeat prominent in his appearance.

“Why did you attack Jericho?” Connor pressed as he tightened his restraining hold.

A fierce sob tore from the sorry figure.

“I was scared.”

The simple statement was as powerful as it was pathetic. Connor found himself releasing his hold in response without conscious thought. No one could fake the anguish which was heavy in his voice.

North was less forgiving, the barrel of her gun unwavering as she kept it trained on the man.

“That doesn’t explain why you burned down our headquarters and tried to kill our people,” she persisted.

“North,” Connor slowly rose from his crouch to stand before the kneeling man, palms outstretched in a peaceful warning as he physically blocked the possibility of a second bullet finding its mark. “Look at him,” he gestured with one hand to the figure behind him, “he’s not a threat.”

“That’s bullshit! He was trying to kill you just a minute ago!”

Connor took a cautious step towards North.

“You know I’ll kill you too if I have to,” she warned as he took another measured step forward.

“I know,” he answered before quickly closing the remaining distance.

North was a formidable fighter, but she didn’t have the strength and inherent combat ability as Connor. He also knew that despite her confident bluster there was a hesitance in her threats against him. He quickly wrestled the weapon from her hand with a disarming motion.

“Stop!”

A new voice broke through the commotion. The clear command a directive they couldn't ignore.

Markus jogged towards them, Simon close behind. His professional dress stood in juxtaposition to the grimy disorder of the alley and lent his firm demand additional credence.

“Drop the gun.”

Connor did, bending to slowly and cautiously put it down on the ground before stepping back, the splash of a puddle punctuating the action.

“I heard a gunshot,” Markus explained. “This wasn’t what I expected to find.”

“It was him, Markus.” North gestured towards their captive. “He started the fire. He tried to kill us!"

Markus looked down at the sorry figure still kneeling on the floor. Full-body shakes wracked his frame and blood trickled from his wound, running down his bowed back and dripping to the ground to stain the filthy puddles of the alley a deepening blue.

“Simon, could you please help this man? Take him to Josh. They’ll be able to help him at the old base."

"Markus, he's not safe—"

"Take back-up with you and keep him under surveillance," Markus cut across North's protest. "We’ll talk to him later and determine what happened here. But make sure he is cared for first."

Simon gave a nod of understanding and briefly cast North a cautious look, before bending down to help the damaged android to his feet. The man offered little resistance as he let Simon help him down the alley.

Connor made to follow them, but was halted by Markus holding out a commanding hand.

“You’ll get your chance to talk to him,” Markus reassured him with a firmness that brokered no arguments. “We’re not done here just yet.”

Connor resignedly remained in place, watching with regret as his promising lead was led down the alley and out of his control. Only once Simon and his charge were out of sight did Markus return his attention to North, casting her a calculating look that took in so much whilst giving nothing away.

“Would you care to explain what happened here and why you have a gun on you? When we entered into negotiations with the humans we committed to a non-violent approach.”

“I was never going to use it in front of humans,” North protested.

“Yet you're armed?”

North cast a pointed glance at Connor, before returning her focus to Markus with an unapologetic expression. “I told you I wasn’t risking it.”

Markus looked aghast at North’s callousness as he followed her pointed glance. “I thought we were past this? Are you telling me you'd be so willing to shoot Connor — our ally and our friend — after everything he's done for us?"

“If the circumstances necessitated it? Yes.”

“This crosses a line.” A hint of frustration broke through Markus’ careful composure giving away his anger as North met the challenge in his questions with unfaltering conviction.

“It was my idea,” Connor’s cool voice broke through the tension.

Markus brows furrowed deeply as he took in the weight of Connor’s words.

"I asked North to stay with us during our meeting, and to bring the gun,” Connor continued. “The bullet was meant for me."

Markus looked back and forth between the pair, his expression was appalled even as he visibly struggled to follow the meaning of Connor’s words.

"What are you saying?" he asked hesitantly.

"It’s a back-up measure," Connor explained, “in case I ever lose control again.”

He looked down apathetically at the offending object where it lay discarded. The gun was a contingency plan and the only reason both North and Connor could tolerate his proximity to Jericho’s leader. Despite the rapport that he and North had established since the revolution, Connor knew she would put Markus’ safety before anything. She wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger if there was the slightest sign that he had been compromised. There was no one he trusted more to ensure his body remained under his command alone.

“No,” Markus’ voice was firm as he scooped down to pick up the weapon and quickly pocketed it as though the mere sight of it would be enough to trigger Connor’s plans into action. “No. What were you both thinking?”

“It’s the only way we can be sure of stopping me,” Connor quietly defended, his eyes downcast as he avoided Markus’ hurt expression.

"You stopped before," Markus insisted.

Connor shook his head minutely as he lifted his gaze to meet Markus’. His features hardened as he gave voice to his fears.

"I was built to always accomplish my mission. I wouldn’t fail to kill you - not a second time. CyberLife would never allow it.”

"I trust you," Markus said, the simple response cutting short any protests or arguments.

“You shouldn’t. This whole incident proves it. He wasn't in control, Markus. Something was causing him to act erratically. It's the same as the incident at the construction site."

"You think this is another case of that virus?"

Connor said nothing, his nervous expression speaking his suspicions for him.

Markus was unfazed as he kept steady eye-contact.

“This—” he gestured to the morbidly blood-stained puddle on the floor “—whatever ‘this’ is, we’ll get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, we remain vigilant. If we become aware of anything untoward, we let you know. If your investigations reveal any new information, you let us know.”

Connor felt a tension he didn’t know he’d been carrying ease. Although he was still wary of the potential implications of all that was going on and the continued threat that he might one day fall under CyberLife’s control, it was a relief to have Markus' support.

“So what do we do now?” North asked.

“Damage control. The media can’t know what really happened here. If they find out we have unrest among our own people we risk damaging our credibility. People may start to question how stable our position is.”

“That seems unfair,” North scoffed at Markus’ response. “Humans are constantly divided. There isn’t a single cause they agree on.”

Connor posed the query which was most pressing on his mind. “What about our attacker?”

Markus considered the question for a moment before cautiously responding, “He’ll be remaining under our custody. I want this situation under our control. If it's a threat to our people, this falls under our jurisdiction.”

Connor was torn, his support of Markus directly warring with his loyalty to the DPD. He could appreciate the rationale behind Markus’ instructions, but he was hard-wired to strictly adhere to the law. To conceal the truth was as good as an obstruction of justice.

Markus seemed to sense his inner conflict, shooting him an apologetic smile before continuing.

“I’m truly sorry to ask this of you, Connor, but I need you to keep your suspicions a secret. Let no one know that you suspect CyberLife are involved. My earlier concerns still stand. Without concrete evidence we can't make any accusations against them. In the meantime, our team will investigate the cause of this man's actions. If he truly acted because of a virus we go from there.” He sighed heavily. “Of course, if this was a conscious and deliberate attack by one individual we have a different concern.”

“It wasn’t."

Markus smiled gently in response. “Sometimes I wish I had your confidence, Connor.”

Connor wasn’t sure what to say to that so he voiced another concern.

"There's one other person who should know."

"Lieutenant Anderson?" Markus correctly guessed. "I know you trust him. I hope that trust isn't misplaced."

"It's not."

Connor felt a pang of unease at Hank's name even as he vouched for his trustworthiness. There was no doubt in his mind that he could trust Hank entirely, even with their divisive fight that morning. That didn't lessen his dread as he realised the inevitability of confronting Hank again.

"You can tell the Lieutenant." Markus nodded his approval before heaving a sigh as he looked towards the end of the alley. “We need to go back to HQ and supervise the clean-up. People will wonder where we are.”

They picked their way back through the alley and towards the window of light at its entrance. The buildings above them stretched so high that the sky above was almost obscured, and it was only once they reached the main street that the brightness of the day reminded them of the world continuing beyond the dark recesses of the alley. The grimy space promised to keep secret all that had happened there — actions and revelations consumed by the shadows and hidden amongst the garbage.

“I need to go back to the station,” Connor said as they stepped out to the rush of light and life. "There's something I need to do."

"Fine. We'll keep you updated." Markus levelled a stern look at him. "Don’t be a stranger. I expect you to stay in contact, Connor."

"I will," Connor promised.

He took off in the direction of the station, leaving behind the distant rush of activity and the residual smoke from the now largely extinguished fire which marred the otherwise clear sky.

He didn't look back as he mentally braced himself for the fight to come.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

The caustic question was an angered greeting, but not the one Connor had been anticipating. An impatient anger with an edge of relief, not the hot anger that his harsh words had attracted earlier. Hank’s restlessness was apparent as he fidgeted in his seat and the fingers of his left hand tapped an impatient beat against his upper arm where he held his arms crossed.

“I was out,” Connor replied hesitantly, standing cautiously at a distance while he still expected Hank to flip him the bird and tell him to get lost.

“Yeah, no shit. I’ve been trying to call you! Why didn’t you answer?”

Connor tilted his head in question. “You were trying to call me?”

“Yes! Something happened—”

"I know about the fire at Jericho," Connor quickly intercepted.

"Not that.” Hank flapped a hand dismissively. “This is something else."

Connor merely raised an eyebrow in wary skepticism at the dismissal and said nothing further.

“It’s to do with the construction site case—””

“Fowler took us off that case."

“Like I give a damn. Quit interrupting. Anyway, this is something else.” Hank paused as he took in Connor’s distant position. “Would you come over here already? I’m not shouting across the room to you.”

Connor cautiously edged closer, but remained on his feet rather than taking his usual seat at the edge of Hank’s desk. Hank seemed satisfied, not raising any further complaint as he gave a hum of acknowledgement.

“Hell, where do I start.” Hank paused as he mentally took stock of the day’s narrative. “It’s been mad. This kid nearly died after her android nanny just vanished from the park. So we started up a misper case for her thinking — well, you know how these cases normally go. Just as we’re checking out the surveillance footage, we find out that no, turns out she just up and left the kid. Abandoned her in the park. No prior warning signs, nothing to indicate she might do something like that. Then what do you know, she rocks up here at the station as dazed as anything — just like Jackson."

Connor perked to attention at that, but said nothing, letting Hank continue his excited recount of the day's events.

"Then just as we’re interviewing her there's this attack on Jericho HQ of all things. Meanwhile, you're off god knows where." He paused to draw a breath and throw an accusing look at Connor. "Where the fuck were you anyway?"

“I was visiting Markus,” Connor said cautiously.

After a moment’s pause as he processed Connor’s response, Hank visibly paled.

“You were at Jericho? Today?”

"I wanted to determine whether he had heard of anything strange occurring which might indicate further cases of the virus,” Connor continued, heedless of Hank’s horror. “We were interrupted by the fire though."

Hank stared at him blankly. His eyes widened in alarm as he finally seemed to notice the haggard appearance of Connor’s soot stained clothing.

“Jesus, you’re a mess. You were in the fucking building, weren’t you?”

“Yes. But we managed to ensure it’s successful evacuation," Connor added helpfully.

“Shit. You could have been killed,” Hank muttered. A look of horrified realisation suddenly crossed his face. “The last thing I would have ever said to you would have been...”

Connor winced at the reminder of their earlier fight.

“I deserved it,” he muttered as he thought back to his harsh accusations.

“What?” Hank asked distractedly. He looked as though he had only half-registered Connor’s last words, still caught up in the realisation of what could have happened.

“You were right to be angry. I’m sorry, Hank. I was being unreasonable. I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Hank cut him off with a loaded sigh. “No, don’t do that. Don’t negate what you were feeling. Ah jeez, I didn’t want to have this conversation.” He wrung his hands uneasily in front of him, the crack of his knuckles a physical distraction from the mental discomfort. “I obviously crossed a line — hell, we both did—"

“Hank, what I said earlier—”

“No, just — just fucking listen. Just keep that smart mouth of yours shut for once.”

For perhaps the first time ever, Connor did what he was told.

“Ah shit, I’m terrible at this,” Hank rambled. “Look, I’ve been thinking a lot about this and it’s like you said yesterday, I’m to blame for pretty much everything you do, right? Your — what was it — the social program thing? The one where you learn from your social interactions?”

“My social integration protocol.”

“Yeah, that. If your response to handling a shitty situation is to lash out? Hell, that’s probably on me.” He gave a weak huff of a rueful laugh. “I told you I was a terrible role model. You were right to call me out, my coping mechanisms are absolute shit. Honestly, it’s a good thing you can’t drink, I’d be responsible for the world’s first alcoholic android. What a fucking feat that would be.”

“I don’t think the program operates in that way.”

“What did I just say about keeping that mouth shut?” Hank shook his head in exasperation. “I guess I’m partly to blame for that and all. Honestly, it’s a fucking wonder you don’t get punched more often. I swear, the amount you run your mouth —”

“Thank you, Hank.”

The words were softly spoken, almost lost amongst Hank’s loud rambling.

“I — you’re welcome, kid.”

There was an awkward silence that stretched out between them. Connor wanted to say more, to further justify his irrational behaviour that morning and apologise, but with all the emotional turmoil of the day he could sense Hank’s limited tolerance for the conversation reaching its limit.

“You know,” he said instead, “if you’d like to stop drinking, I could recommend some potentially helpful resources? Or I understand that exercise can be an effective way of relieving stress.”

Hank groaned loudly. “Seriously, why couldn’t you come with a fucking mute button?”

With that their conversation slipped back to the easy territory of exchanged jibes. The seldom opened door to more vulnerable conversation once again firmly closed to further discussion.

“So, this nanny?” Connor prompted, returning the conversation to the cause of Hank’s earlier urgency as he took up a perch on the corner of Hank's desk.

“Hmm?” Hank hummed distractedly. "Oh, yeah. That’s why I was trying to call you. She was acting so strangely I figured it might be another case of the virus, y’know? Not sure how she would have crossed paths with Jackson, mind you. But figured there might just be a common link between the two of them. If we can figure out what it is, maybe we can figure out where they picked up the virus.”

Connor merely blinked in confusion before the rationale behind Hank’s words registered. Of course, Hank didn’t yet know about the latest update from the analysis of Jackson’s software. He didn’t know about the evidence suggesting CyberLife’s likely involvement.

Just as he was about to relay the new information to Hank, Connor paused. As evidenced by their earlier disagreement, Hank had a tendency towards being overly concerned where Connor’s well-being was involved. Learning that the cause of the infection was beyond their control would do little to assuage the detective’s fears and his increased worry would likely only cause the man undue stress. He didn't want a repeat of that morning's fight. Weighing up the options in his mind, Connor made a decision.

“That sounds like an excellent plan, Lieutenant.” Connor purposefully reverted to Hank’s title, subtly reinforcing the man’s seniority as he praised his plan and dodged further explanation.

“Good thinking, right?” Hank said proudly. “Hell, I think I’m finally starting to get a handle on the whole android investigations thing. Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks."

He reached out a hand to clap Connor firmly on the shoulder but pulled his hand away quickly as he felt the fabric of Connor’s jacket.

"What the — why are you all wet?" He leant in closer for inspection but promptly recoiled, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Ugh! You fucking stink!”

Connor frowned in response, raising an arm to sniff cautiously at his own clothing, analysing the airborne chemical compounds to determine their origin in a similar way to how the human olfactory system functioned. His senses didn't really allow him to say whether a scent was pleasurable or not, but he knew the overwhelming odour of smoke lingering on his clothing mixed with his tussle on the dank and garbage-strewn floor of the alley didn’t promise to be a favourable combination.

"I’m sorry," he said simply. “I should have realised the smell was unpleasant.”

"The hell did you get up to to wind up in such a state? You smell like piss!"

[Traces of CO(NH₂)₂ // Urea // Human origin] Connor's olfactory receptors reliably informed him. Probably a fair assessment.

Connor gave a small shrug of response. “It’s just smoke from the fire.”

“So you got soaking wet while escaping a burning building?”

Hank’s reaction clearly conveyed that he wasn’t convinced, though a hint of frustrated amusement played across his face. Finally something about Connor’s sorry appearance clearly irked him as he gave a heavy sigh, leaned down to open a desk drawer and pulled out a heavy sweatshirt marked with the DPD insignia. He tossed the thick black fabric at Connor, who deftly caught it with an expression of surprise.

“You can change into that for now. It’s dry at least. You’re having a shower as soon as we get home though. Not having you stinking up the house.”

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor muttered gratefully as he ran a hand over the embossed letters that were faded with wear. He hoped Hank knew his gratitude was for more than just the change of clothes as he felt a relief at the confirmation that he was still welcome to call Hank’s house home.

Hank hummed dismissively. “You can wash that once you’re done with it and all.”

Connor nodded his agreement and immediately raised a hand to start unbuttoning his ruined shirt.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Hank quickly stood up and halted Connor’s actions with an urgent motion. “Not here! Christ, have a bit of dignity, Connor. Go change in the fucking restroom.”

Hank cast his eyes around the office, but nobody seemed to have reacted to his outburst or Connor’s actions.

With some bemusement, Connor nodded in agreement before gathering up the proffered clothing and for the second time that day retreated to the restroom he seldom ever had reason to use.

A few short minutes later, the soiled clothing and its physical reminders of the day were shed and replaced by the comfortingly worn sweatshirt. Hank was bound to complain that he still smelled, but it was a marked improvement.

He stood in front of the mirror above the row of sinks, allowing himself a brief moment to compile his thoughts as he scrubbed his hands clean. As the water cascaded against his skin, he noticed for the first time the flecks of blue blood which stained underneath his synthetic nails. One last horrible remnant of the fight in the alley. He thought back to the encounter with heavy dread. It had been easy to push his concerns to the back of his mind with Hank’s reassuring influence and blissful ignorance.

He mentally replayed the android's erratic behaviour and sudden loss of autonomy - the moment when fierce fighting had given way to a dazed stupor. Was this the next stage of whatever attack was underway? The culprit had proven that they could subtly manipulate an android’s behaviour. Were they testing how extreme they could go? In which case, who would be their next target and what would be their next attack?

Connor could feel his memory unit starting to become overwhelmed by the processing demand of consolidating the vast amount of information he had gleaned throughout the day. The noise of data was making it harder to focus and draw logical inferences. With so much at stake, he needed to think. Whenever he reached this point, he would transfer data to CyberLife's central servers. It cleared his head to shift the physical memory burden to another system and thereby free up valuable processing power.

His eyes slowly slipped closed instinctually, preparing to initiate the data transfer.

Then he halted suddenly. His eyes snapped open as a horrifying realisation hit; transferring data would inevitably mean establishing a connection with CyberLife.

He couldn’t risk it.

It went beyond fear of being infected himself. His involvement in these cases was becoming increasingly known. If the culprit behind these attacks truly worked within CyberLife and accessed his uploaded memories, they would know Connor was onto them. He would be inadvertently leaking information about their investigation to the very people they were trying to incriminate. Who knew what these people were capable of, in response to the threat, they may even try to infect him and sabotage his progress. He couldn't afford to give them that opportunity.

As he took in his own stern expression in the mirror before him, he made a commitment to himself that he would get to the bottom of the issue. Until he did, he wouldn't risk connecting to CyberLife servers for anything. He could no longer back-up his memories. He would no longer go into standby, run system updates or maintenance. He would give them nothing.

He would go completely offline. There was too much at stake.

Chapter Text

Two weeks and Connor had made no progress in his investigation. 

Despite his exhaustive efforts there was nothing to suggest what the intention behind these attacks was and nothing to incriminate anyone within CyberLife. He nonetheless remained convinced that the company was somehow implicated. But the connection remained intangible, the accusation standing on only a wisp of evidence carried with the strongest conviction.

Mining through local news reports and the backlog of cases assigned to him and Hank, it became increasingly clear that there were more cases which could be attributable to this virus. A medical android who seemingly had made a near-fatal dosing error, a traffic accident, and a myriad of other small errors resulting in minor injuries and property damage; they were subtle quiet calamities. People always held a macabre interest in the extremes of criminal behavior and the incidents had seemingly attracted little attention in contrast to the violence which seemed rife throughout society. But where a violent criminal could be disarmed and detained, trialled and sentenced on the basis of hard irrefutable evidence, these cases occurred without any discernible source.

Markus’ team at New Jericho were perhaps better placed than any to try and trace back the errors, but even they kept hitting the same brick wall.

“We’ve run every diagnostic test we can without directly interfacing, but to no avail,” Markus informed him during one of his now regular catch-ups with Connor. 

They sat either side of a desk in the classroom of the old college which was once again serving as Jericho’s temporary base. Looking over to the man sitting across from him, Connor could sense Markus’ waning optimism. The man’s keen eyes betrayed a weariness that had only grown in the time since the fire. Since the attack, Markus’ time had been in even higher demand while he ensured Jericho’s continued safety and still ardently fought for their rights. Between meetings with Congress and high-ranking officials, stifled anti-android protests and media frenzy, he still somehow made time for his catch-ups with Connor.

Connor only wished he had better news to offer each time they met. Instead their meetings invariably ended with the same unanswered questions bouncing back and forth and a growing sense of despair.

“He still hasn’t said anything more about why he started the fire?” Connor asked despite already knowing the answer.

Markus gave a subtle shake of his head in response. “No, he still denies any memory of the incident. We’re keeping him under close surveillance and taking all necessary safety precautions, but there’s been nothing to indicate he might initiate another attack.”

“The other cases I referred on to you?”

“We’re continuing to keep an eye on them while investigations are ongoing. We’ve run what analyses we can with limited equipment, but we’ve found nothing new.”

Unperturbed, Connor gave a distracted nod. “They need to stay under surveillance. There have been no formal charges levelled at any of them, but until we know how this virus works, we can’t risk it spreading further.”

“Agreed. Have you made any progress with identifying why these individuals are being targeted?”

Now it was Connor’s turn to shake his head in a begrudging answer. “Nothing. There’s no apparent overlap in where they live or work. They’re not figures of great importance or significant impact. The only thing each case holds in common is that the errors always seem to originate during a period of standby.”

“Well, that further strengthens your theory that CyberLife might somehow be implicated, but I’m not happy to hear it,” Markus sighed in response.

Connor said nothing. There was nothing further to add. He was failing and people were paying the cost of that failure.

“You seem distracted,” Markus observed after a moment of silence had elapsed. "Are you alright?"

Connor couldn’t help but feel the man regarded him with greater scrutiny than ever before as those mismatched eyes never lost their focus on him. He fought through the haze which so often seemed to hold him in its grasp these days. He was fully conscious that North stood just outside the ajar door of the room, diligently pretending she wasn’t listening in. Her unease at Markus’ question was an almost palpable presence in the air.

“I’m fine,” he quickly promised.

He could tell from Markus’ expression that his false reassurance was as transparent as it felt.

“I know this is frustrating, but we need to keep us on top of this,” Markus continued. “I’m not prepared to let law enforcement take a lead on this yet. I don’t trust them to not just dismiss our concerns without concrete evidence and we risk losing what little advantage we have while our assailants still think us naïve to their attacks.”

"I understand. I won't let you down."

In line with Markus’ wishes and with still no irrefutable evidence to incriminate anyone within CyberLife, Connor was committed to keeping their suspicions a secret. Which led to his secondary objective: keep Hank from finding out the extent of his investigation and the personal sacrifices he was making to ensure its success.

The decision to refrain from connecting to CyberLife’s servers was not without cost. Unable to back up data, Connor frustratingly found himself functioning at far from optimal efficiency and it seemed the toll it was enacting upon his systems was exceeding what he had initially allowed for.

Androids were the pinnacle of technological invention, an accumulation of decades of research and development. Computers and AI systems had come a long way from the clunky hard drives and CPUs of early machines. Still, there were limits to the data that could be stored when restricted to the physical storage capacity of one’s own hardware. Cloud computing was critical to enable the diverse and complex functions of an android, particularly advanced models like the RK series. 

Connor knew all this, but it was one thing to know how critical connecting to CyberLife’s servers was to his functioning and another entirely to be subject to the adverse effects of that connections sudden absence. Much like how humans took their health for granted until one day their body failed them, Connor found himself wistfully remembering a time when his processes ran smoothly and effortlessly.

He hadn’t mentioned his self-inflicted isolation to Hank, and he hadn’t mentioned the error messages which had begun popping up with increasing frequency in his field of vision. Alerts and warnings flagging up his own incompetence as every day that went past failed to result in any progress in his investigation.

[WARNING: Server connection manually disabled]

[Systems will not function optimally. Re-connection to server recommended]

The first time something slips Connor’s mind it’s a relatively innocuous occurrence.

“Hey, Connor!” Hank hollered from the kitchen.

Connor startled from his position on the couch where he had been watching a nature documentary, lost in the images of exotic birds sweeping across stunning scenery. During his time with Hank and many evenings in front of the TV, he had quickly found that nature documentaries were his favourite programming. Of course, he knew about other places theoretically, but he’d never personally set foot beyond the suburbs of Detroit. He enjoyed imagining what it would be like to physically see and experience those places himself - the stretches of sparkling blue oceans which covered the planet, the unforgiving inhospitality of the arctic and the cries of birds in the depths of rainforests. A world beyond sprawling concrete and the trappings of human society.

“How come this dog won’t stop whining at me and pawing at his bowl?” Hank gestured to where Sumo was begging at his feet. “Have you been sneaking him extra servings? He’s acting like he’s expecting to be fed?”

Connor realised his error with a jolt.

“I forgot to feed him after our walk. I’m sorry.” Connor quickly turned off the TV without another word as he hastened to the kitchen to fill Sumo’s bowl.

“Jesus, Connor,” Hank frowned as he watched Sumo gratefully tucking in. “Maybe you should stop spending so much time in front of the TV. You know that old adage about it rotting your brain? Pretty sure it can corrode whatever circuitry is going on up there ”- he tapped his own forehead in demonstration- “just as easily”.

“Sorry,” Connor muttered quietly.

Hank watched with barely concealed concern as Connor sank down next to Sumo on the floor, running a comforting hand through his fur as he apologized profusely to the animal who had already forgiven him.

There was something seriously not right about Connor just forgetting something.

[WARNING: System memory running low]

[Systems will not function optimally]

Connor cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, taking in his surroundings as he watched his colleagues at their desks, all consumed by their own work and paying him no mind. 

He couldn’t believe it had come to this.

He was the pinnacle of CyberLife’s achievements. The product of some of the world’s greatest minds and the accumulation of decades of research and development. He was truly a masterpiece of intelligence and technical capabilities. His re-construction and pre-construction technology was a groundbreaking feat of engineering. His advanced social and psychology protocols put him at least on a par with the most experienced human negotiators.

Yet despite his impressive design specifications and his extensive knowledge of criminal and forensic investigations, this simple question had him stumped. He missed the ease with which he could seamlessly access any information not contained within his extensive memory bank via CyberLife’s servers.

He gave one final glance over the room, before typing out his query:

What is the journey time between Detroit, MI to London, Canada?

> ENTER

506,000,000 results (0.29 seconds)

He’s grateful that nobody has witnessed CyberLife’s most advanced model resorting to the use of a lowly search engine.

[WARNING: Server connection manually disabled]

[Systems will not function optimally. Re-connection to server recommended]

The hum of the computer server rack was deafening.

It buzzed in the corner of the office. A faint distraction as he listened to Hank theorizing aloud.

“...those guys from a few months back - the ones we found in that abandoned facility down south. We always knew their network extended beyond the ones we caught. They could be…”

Connor could have sworn the unintended output energy was increased compared to the day prior. The energy loss had to be affecting the appliance’s efficiency.

BRRRR

He wondered why it was so much louder. Was the cooling sub-optimal?

“... would make sense for it to be a group we’ve already come up against. I know the tech’s new, but the pattern bears similar hallmarks…”

It was unseasonably warm with an ambient temperature of 65°F. When he’d passed a neighbor whilst walking Sumo that morning she had commented on their good fortune weather-wise. He liked Mrs Parnell, she always made a fuss of Sumo and always invited Connor around for coffee. He politely declined every time and always wondered if he should remind her that he was an android and couldn’t consume beverages. He supposed that would be rude. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

BRRRR

Maybe the fan was obstructed. Connor wondered when the office had last been cleaned. There had been a mug stain on Hank’s desk yesterday which was no longer there, so the desks had been cleaned at least.

“... if we could check it out we might get an indication of how they’re releasing the malware…”

BRRRR

Maybe it was just a period of heavy use. Sweeping his gaze across the room, Connor noted that Officer Person was streaming a video on her break where she thought no one could see. He didn’t recognise the series but it looked to be some sort of drama. Hank disliked dramas. He said that life contained enough drama, he didn’t need to seek it elsewhere.

On the subject of Hank, the tirade of uninterrupted speech from the man had come to an abrupt stop. Connor snapped his attention back to the man who was watching him with an expectant expression and an eyebrow arched in anticipation of a response.

[WARNING: Executive functions compromised]

Too late, the warning alerted him to his lapse in focus. Connor wracked his memory to try and recall what Hank had been talking about, but his working memory files were seemingly corrupted by his own distraction. The data was scrambled and nonsensical, a garbled mess of distracting extraneous details and the ever present hum of the computer rack.

He realised he had no idea what Hank had said and the man was still waiting expectantly.

“Sounds good, Lieutenant,” he hedged.

There was a pause during which Connor figured he must have said the wrong thing.

Finally, Hank gave an appreciative nod.

“Great. I’ll talk to Fowler and ask him to give us the go-ahead.” He smiled warmly at Connor. “Seems like we’re finally making some progress."

Connor gave a vague noise of agreement, still distracted as he mulled over the corrupted memory data. The familiar error alert popped up and, with a sinking feeling, he realised there would be no recovering the data.

[WARNING: No backup created for memory file 03-07-2040 12:34:02-12:36:30 PM. Permanent deletion will lead to irretrievable data loss. Continue? Y /N]

The corrupted memory file was promptly removed, leaving only a vague feeling of unease and a period of two and a half minutes Connor would never be able to fully account for. The gap in his memory banks was one of a growing number his waning attention span was causing. The lapse in his executive functions was a worrying development for someone designed to excel cognitively.

When Hank suggested they go grab lunch a short while later, it was the most eager he’d ever seen Connor be to leave his desk.

The coin danced across his knuckles. A flicker of silver catching the light and sparkling as it skimmed across the ridges of synthetic skin stretched over mechanical joints.

With a flick of his smallest finger, the course of the coin changed, slipping between the digits and sliding under his palm to return to his thumb as the coin began its journey again.

He repeated the motion again and again, lost in the physical act and paying no conscious thought to the action.

On the fifth repeat, the coin slipped on the turn. A momentary stutter that threatened to send the coin slipping noisily to the floor. 

Halting the motion with a hasty fist. Connor swiftly pocketed the object before Hank could make any quips about his newfound clumsiness.

[ERROR: Calibration sequence f̴a̴i̷l̷e̷d̷]

Connor belatedly realised it was a mistake to selectively inactivate some of his social protocols in an effort to prioritise his cognitive capacity. He had hoped that the processing power freed up by the inactivation of these protocols might be sufficient boost to provide a surge of insight which might finally enable him to find a lead. He had been sorely disappointed.

He was sitting alone at his desk while Hank took a brief break and chatted with some of their colleagues in the break room. Connor had politely declined his invitation to join them. He didn’t have time or need for a break - not when there was so much to do. Besides, his presence always brought with it an inescapable awkwardness.

It was an awkwardness that seemed prevalent throughout much of the human population in the wake of the complete u-turn on android rights. Forced to recognise that the individuals they shared their world with were living beings with freewill, many people were left embarrassed over humanity’s prior mistreatment of androids and failure to recognise their sentience. Most tended to shy away from the subject, tip-toeing carefully around androids and never openly addressing the way things had been ‘before’. Even amongst his colleagues who he saw every day, Connor couldn't help but notice that they conducted themselves a little differently when he was around.

Detective Gavin Reed seemingly proved to be immune to this collective social embarrassment.

“Hey, Tin Can!”

Connor stiffened minisculely in response to the derogatory greeting. Not now. He didn’t have time for this now. He gave no acknowledgement to the man’s words, ducking his head to continue his scrutiny of the case files he’d already read a dozen times over.

Normally he’d be more than happy to engage in a verbal sparring match with Gavin. The tension between the pair had alleviated some in the months since Connor’s re-appointment within the DPD, after it became clear that Connor was not looking to supplant the man or threaten his career progression. Of course, it helped that the threat of further ‘detective androids’ was cut short when CyberLife were forced to cease production.

“I’m talking to you, dipshit!”

Even so, the pair still inevitably clashed with almost every interaction. The man was abrasive, hot-headed and had a tendency to lash out in self-defence whenever his ego was threatened. Connor found it better to allow the man to vent his frustrations during these controlled outbursts.

Besides which, Connor also found his own sense of enjoyment in winding Gavin up and had gotten increasingly better at holding his own during their confrontations as he settled into deviancy. Gavin moaned at the change, but Connor could tell he secretly enjoyed the added challenge. By now the pair had learned to tell when they were pushing each other’s limits and would always stop short of outright hostility.

At least, Connor did when he had his social protocols enabled.

Unfortunately on this occasion Gavin was not prepared to let his summons go unanswered. Connor’s focus was jostled by the smack of a rolled up paper file over the back of his head.

“Hey!” Gavin called out, unnecessarily loud given his close proximity. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore someone when they’re talking to you?”

“Apologies, Detective Reed.” Connor’s response was succinct, disinterested and conveyed no apology. 

“What’s so interesting?”

“I’m working.”

Gavin bristled slightly at the implication that he wasn’t doing the same. “Yeah, we all are.”

“You’re at work, Detective Reed, you’re not currently working.” Connor’s tone of voice was still detached as he kept his focus on his screen.

“I’m checking in on a colleague!” Gavin quickly defended, his tone falsely jovial. “What, we have to work in isolated silence now?”

“I’d prefer not to be disturbed. I suggest you find someone else with whom to engage in conversation.”

Gavin made a scoffing noise, crossing his arms as he leant against Connor’s desk. “What, are you too fucking important to take a break now?"

"I’m an android, Detective. I don’t fatigue and I have no need for a break. By all means, you go ahead and take one though.”

Any other day and Connor would have sensed he was toeing a fine line. Would have picked up on the change in tone and the way Gavin’s brows furrowed - the subtle social cues that he was touching on a delicate subject that threatened to trigger Gavin's short fuse.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Connor looked at him blankly. His expression was unintentionally cold, devoid of the usual glint of humor which would soften the sarcastic insults he levelled at Gavin.

“Exactly what I said, Detective. Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Yeah? And what are you trying to imply ? You said I should take a break. Why should I take a break when you’re not?”

“My meaning was perfectly apparent from my words. I simply don’t have the same physical limitations as humans do.”

The fingers of Gavin’s clenched fist twitched as he rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“Oh, here we go! Back to this bullshit.”

Connor blinked slowly in response. He could sense that there was something amiss from Gavin’s words, but it was as though there was a disconnect between the words and their meaning.

“I don’t understand. Was there an error with my response?” he asked.

Gavin shook his head with a laugh of disbelief, eyes roaming the room as he sought out someone with whom to share his incredulity.

“Hey, Tina!” he hollered across to Officer Chen who was keeping her head down and trying her best to stay out of the conversion as she diligently worked a few desks over. “Check this out, our plastic colleague thinks he's superior to us because of our ‘physical limitations’!”

“I didn’t say that I was superior,” Connor quickly clarified matter-of-factly. “I merely pointed out that I don’t have the same requirement for rest or sustenance as you do. I don’t understand why that’s relevant? 

Gavin considered him with the hint of a sneer playing across his features. 

“What is your problem?”

“I don’t see that there’s a problem, Detective? Are you concerned with my performance? The fact that I do not require breaks only correlates to increased efficiency and productivity compared to my human counterparts.”

“Oh, quit with the fucking hard-sell! I asked for your problem, not your specs.” Gavin cast a look towards Chen, shooting her a grin as he shook his head in further disbelief. “Is this guy joking with me right now?”

There was an increase of activity as Gavin’s raised voice garnered attention from the group gathered in the breakroom. Curious faces poked their heads round the dividing pillars, watching the altercation with wary interest.

“I assure you that I am not joking with you.” Connor considered Gavin with a subtle furrow to his brow. “I am also certain that I am quite functional, but would you like me to run a diagnostic to determine my ‘problem’?”

He hadn’t intended the words to be funny, but there was a stifled laugh from the direction of the break room. Gavin’s anger seemed to peak as he realised he was being made a fool of with an audience of his own assembly.

“Fucking hell. No need to run a diagnostic, I can tell you what your problem is. You’re cocky. Fowler and Anderson give you too much freedom to act. You swoop in out of nowhere - no formal training or real experience. Meanwhile the rest of us slog away for years to get to where we are and yet you give us no respect.”

“I understand that respect is earned, Detective,” Connor responded earnestly. “Perhaps if you invested a bit more time in fostering a positive attitude and spoke a little more politely people might respect you more?”

For a full five seconds, Gavin merely gawked in response, floundering like a fish out of water. Finally he seemed to orient himself, quickly swinging round to his usual emotional reserve of aggressive anger.

“I’m your fucking superior! How about that for deserving respect, you arrogant shit?” His volume raised incrementally as he took a step closer, the clenched fists at his side tightening and stretching the skin of his knuckles to white.

Connor didn’t back down or give any kind of external reaction besides a curious tilt of his head as we watched Gavin’s action.

“Okay,” Hank’s voice bellowed out as he stepped forward from the break room. “Back off, Reed. If we’re pulling rank here, I’m gonna have to step in and tell you to watch your mouth.”

Gavin threw a disdainful glare at Hank, his jaw clenching as he seemed to chew out the words that would get across his feelings without triggering disciplinary action. Finally the threat of rank and a crowd of witnesses seemed to weigh out any insults he wanted to throw out. He extended his hands in mock surrender. 

“Okay, okay! Don’t worry. I’m not gonna touch your plastic pet .” 

With a parting glare and a shake of his head, Gavin turned to leave but paused after a few paces. Never one to be able to resist the last word, he turned back to deliver a final warning.

“You’d better watch it, Connor. Respect is a two-way thing and it’s surprising how quickly it can be lost.”

Seemingly satisfied with his threat, he turned and stormed off with a muttered curse on his lips.

With Gavin gone, Hank paced back to his usual position at his desk opposite Connor.

“The fuck did you have to go and wind up Reed for? Now we gotta deal with his shit for the rest of the day,” he groaned as he sank down into his office chair with a heavy thud, the spring of the back support giving a creak of protest at the mistreatment.

Connor looked to his partner with an inquisitive head tilt.

“Do you not appreciate it when I talk back to Reed?”

Hank cast a look over his shoulder at the fuming detective who was seemingly venting his frustrations to Officer Chen across the room. “Well, yeah. But there’s a line, okay? I thought I could trust you to hit the brakes before things escalated too far.”

“I don’t follow, Lieutenant. How was I supposed to anticipate Reed’s response?”

Hank looked to him with a question in his eyes. “You could tell you were pissing him off. You should have backed off.”

“Was something wrong with my assessment?” Connor frowned as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to have predicted Reed’s outburst.

Hank snorted. “Not at all. You hit the nail on the head with your assessment.”

“Then I don’t understand the problem?”

“You called him out in front of a crowd. He’s a proud man and an insufferable shit - not a winning combination. But he’s proud of his work and ruthlessly ambitious. He’s not going to forget that you embarrassed him in front of everyone and called his respectability into question.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Hank threw him an assessing look. “What’s with you today? The way you were talking back to Reed - were you deliberately being stoic to piss him off more?”

“I was being stoic?”

“Well - yeah? You were kinda cold. It’s been a while since you spoke like that. For a minute there I thought we’d taken a step back in time.” Hank looked slightly perturbed for a moment and he considered Connor with additional scrutiny. “You’re not -” he paused as though thinking of the word “-undeviating on me, are you?”

“I don’t believe that’s possible, Lieutenant.”

Hank hummed a response, still observing Connor with a wary expression. “Right. Well, maybe just don’t pull that move in front of Reed. It pisses him off and then we all gotta deal with his temper tantrum.”

“You got it, Lieutenant,” Connor said, though truthfully he really didn’t follow.

Hank threw him another measuring look, giving a brief shake of his head as he turned his attention to his work.

Apparently social protocols were necessary after all.

Perplexed, Connor returned his attention to his disabled programming.

[WARNING: Enabling social protocols will exceed current processing capacity. Continue Y /N]

Connor wondered what fresh errors this action would incur and what other systems would need to be disabled to balance out the additional strain.

“Markus,” Connor greeted. “Any news?”

Defeat weighed heavily on Markus’ shoulders as he replied. “Nothing. They’re getting worse. Most of the time they don’t know where they are or what’s happening. Whatever they’ve done to these people has seriously corrupted their systems.”

Connor had been expecting as much, but he still gave a sigh in response and raised a hand to run across the back of his neck. It was an echo of a gesture disarmingly human and entirely learned, the synthetic muscles carrying no tension that could be massaged away.

“I do wonder if that’s purposeful or an unintentional side-effect. I’m starting to think the former is more likely. Perhaps they’re trying to scramble any evidence to make it harder for this to be traced back to them?”

“I don’t know, Connor.”

For once Markus seemed to have exhausted his words of encouragement and reached the limit of his optimism. He leant back heavily against the wall of the office as though the structure was the only thing keeping him upright.

He offered no reassurance as he continued, “I can’t help but worry that if we don’t stop this soon, more and more people are going to fall victim to whatever this is. You keep sending us new victims, but we’re only picking up on them after things go wrong enough to attract the attention of law enforcement. I wonder how many more are out there?”

“There has to be something connecting these cases,” Connor persisted. “Once we figure that out, we’ll be able to stop further attacks and trace any victims we don’t yet know about. We’re getting closer. I know it.”

“Are we though?” Markus looked to Connor with open cynicism.

“We will.”

Markus sighed in response. “I can’t help but feel we’re keeping these people prisoner, Connor. I know we have to keep them isolated to prevent risk to others, but if they’re truly the victims here and our investigations are revealing nothing , I’m not sure how much longer we can keep them confined.”

“I know. Just give me a little more time.”

Markus let a beat elapse before continuing, “New Jericho’s beginning to look more and more like the Jericho I first came to.” 

When Connor looked to him in confusion Markus gave a weak smile. 

“You only ever saw Jericho at war, with purpose. It used to be a different place. Before the fighting, the people there had no hope, no resources and more damaged androids than they had capacity to help. They were in dire condition - physically falling apart and slowly shutting down. Everyone was doing the best they could, but as limited as they were, all they could really do was watch these people slowly die.” Markus paused as he appeared to mentally replay the haunting memories. “They had the same distant expression - just staring at the walls, unmoving. From a distance you’d never quite be sure if they were just conserving energy or if they were... gone.”

Connor could think of nothing to say. His own fleeting glimpses of Jericho had been overwhelmed by urgency, violence and the threat of immediate decimation. He’d not seen the kind of scenes Markus was describing, but he could imagine the desperation through Markus’ words.

After a moment's silence while Connor struggled to find words, Markus continued.

“After everything we’ve done, I thought we’d finally found safety for our people. Yet here we are again.”

“We’ll fix this,” Connor again promised, the conviction behind his words stronger. “Besides, no one is shutting down. Whatever harm has been done to their cognitive processes we can reverse it once we figure out what’s causing the errors.”

Markus considered him carefully from where he remained slumped against the wall.

“I hope you’re right.”

"My name is Connor. I'm an RK800 prototype developed by CyberLife. Serial #313 248 317. My purpose is to assist in the field with investigative work and law enforcement. I am equipped with state-of-the-art technology to enable me to conduct a range of complex investigations and specialist tasks, including real-time forensic analysis, crime scene evaluation, suspect interrogation and crisis negotiation.”

It started as a diagnostic tool. A way of assessing his processor's functioning.

The initialisation text was part of his calibration sequence when he had first been activated by CyberLife. It was part of a series of instructions of increasing complexity designed to assess an android's mental capabilities and physical functions. For the RK800 model there were then additional evaluations; practical assessments and theoretical scenarios designed to test his deductive reasoning, forensic capabilities and combat skills. He was a prototype and therefore subject to additional scrutiny and research interest. 

CyberLife's quality control measures had been extensive and it was a lengthy process to receive the green-light to go out into the field. They had permitted nothing less than perfection in their products.

“I work in strict compliance with laws, regulations, commands and procedures and will abide by all instructions given to me. My primary duty is to safeguard human lives and property and ensure the constitutional rights of liberty, equality and justice are upheld. I will enforce the law appropriately, without any bias, fear or favor, and am committed to the peaceful, nonlethal resolution of critical incidents.”

It started as a diagnostic tool, but he found himself repeating the initialisation spiel like a grounding mantra. As long as he could pass this basic initialization test, he knew he was operational and field-ready.

Despite the noise of the TV blaring and his position in the kitchen, Hank didn’t miss the loud clink of 5.67 grams of copper and nickel hitting the floorboards and rolling across the living room floor.

Connor was engrossed in the action of his fingers as the coin skimmed across the pale digits. He watched as it slipped easily from index to middle finger, middle to ring finger, before looping back around in a repeating cycle. The yellow pulse of his LED flickered determinedly and he was immune to his surroundings as he focused all his attention on completing the sequence

It was the fourth time Connor had repeated the calibration sequence in the last hour. It was the fourth time the calibration sequence had failed in the last hour. 

He had been seizing the opportunity to practice the maneuver during stolen moments of solitude whenever Hank would go to the bathroom or to grab another beer.

It was the exchange between the middle and ring fingers which let him down. After a momentary stutter, the coin slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor.

Connor watched as it rolled away and hit the leg of a side table, the abrupt barrier toppling the coin while inertia kept it spinning on its face.

He continued to stare at the coin even after it had rattled to a stop.

“You okay?”

He startled to attention at the unexpected voice.

“You dropped your coin.” Hank motioned unnecessarily to where the object lay motionless.

Connor said nothing, but bent to retrieve the coin in question. When he straightened upright there was a confident set to his shoulders even as he dodged Hank’s attention.

“It’s nothing,” he quickly assured Hank with a fleeting smile as he pocketed the coin. “A minor error in my programming. I’ll correct it.”

He didn’t withdraw his hand from the pocket as he ignored Hank’s curious gaze from across the room, the folds of fabric concealing the uncontrollable tremors that still wracked his hand.

[E̶͈̱̽R̷̻͙̐R̷̲̅̈́͑O̴̙̓̽̄R̶̯͘: Calibration sequence failed]

[WARNING: Fine motor coordination error. R̵̨̝̓̊e̷̥̱̗͋c̵͔̟͍͘ä̵̬̗͕́͊l̴̡͚̲͊̔i̸̫͐͛̽b̶̡̲̆ṙ̶̯a̸̠͈͋ͅt̶͓͓̱̉̊̑i̶̜̔́̔ǫ̴͗n̸̹̮͔̈ ̸̫̾̐ṙ̴̠͓̮e̴̱̳̻͗̀̽c̴̡̙̗͛ỏ̷̞̓͂m̷̩̻͍̈̂m̵̳͇̍̉ȅ̷̩̖̤͒̓n̴̛̘͑̑d̴̘̻̐e̴̘͕d̷̥͐̊̇]

“You asked me that ten minutes ago, Connor, my answer hasn’t changed.”

“I did?” Connor wracked his memory but could find no corresponding records.

“Yeah.”

“Apologies, Lieutenant.”

A dozen questions raced through Hank’s mind, all begging to be vocalised. Yet Connor kept his head purposefully ducked, his expression indiscernible from this angle. All Hank could clearly make out was the flickering yellow light which seemed to be the persistent new default state of Connor’s LED.

> Initialization Text > Start

"My name is Connor. I'm an RK800 prototype developed by CyberLife. Serial #313 248 317. My purpose is to assist in the field with investigative work and law enforcement. I am equipped with state-of-the-art technology to enable me to conduct a range of complex investigations and specialist tasks, including real-time forensic analysis, crime scene evaluation, suspect interrogation and crisis negotiation.

“I work in strict compliance with laws, regulations, commands and procedures and will abide by all instructions given to me. My primary duty is to safeguard human lives and property and ensure the constitutional rights of liberty, equality and justice are upheld. I will enforce the law appropriately, without any bias, fear or favor, and am committed to the peaceful, nonlethal resolution of critical incidents.”

> Dialogue protocols: Online

> Technical knowledge evaluation > Describe ballistic injury patterns

“The biological effect of missile-tissue interaction is determined by a number of factors, including the mass, caliber, velocity, material composition and physical shape of the missile, and the density, viscosity, elasticity and anatomical structure of the impacted tissue. The varying and complex nature of these interactions results in a wide range of ballistic injury patterns.

“There are two major mechanisms of bullet injuries: crushing injuries caused by the impaction of tissue resulting in the formation of a permanent cavity and the - and stretching of the projectile path walls - temporary cavities formed by-”

The recital was interrupted by the familiar red warning text.

[ERROR: Initialisation failed. E̶̫̰̥͎͌̎̄͜r̵̛̤̟̥̦̖̻͉̮̈̋̑̅̿̿̊͜ͅr̵̯̄̇̍̀̕͠ō̷̧̢̢̱̥͖̩̠͊͘ŗ̶̩̙̣̙̰̱̓̌̽̔̕ś̸̛̰̗̖͉̺͉̤͈̯͜ ̸͈͍̠̬̬͉̔̇̒̅̓̋̍̕͜͝͠D̴̡͇̲̒̎̅̄̈́̋̃̕͘e̵̡̪̥̰̿̐̒̄̐̄̈́̕ẗ̵̨̥̘̤͕̭̬̐͌̈̄͒̈́̌͌e̵̟̠͚̿̎̀̓̓c̸̩͙͙̮̯̮͙͍̹̖̓͆̕͠ṭ̸͎́͑͐̕͝e̴͙̖̰͛̓̈̒̈́̾̾͝d̴̢̛͈̜̫̹͇̈͛̒̿͋̎̅̽͠]

He hissed a curse through gritted teeth as he dismissed the new alert before determinedly restarting his initialisation.

> Initialization Text > Start

"My name is Connor. I'm an RK800 prototype developed by CyberLife. Serial #313 248 317…”

It was Sumo’s alarmed barking that brought Connor back to awareness of his surroundings.

He found his fist embedded in the wall. It had punctured straight through the material as though it was nothing. Any human would likely be sporting multiple fractures from the force of the impact, but it seemed Connor’s reinforced mechanical limbs had fared more favorably. CyberLife would have been pleased with the strength of their creation.

As he pulled his hand free he watched the rippling pattern of his skin as the synthetic material worked to smooth over the minor abrasions to his knuckles. 

The wall had fared less favorably, the gaping fist-shaped hole embodying the accumulation of weeks of frustration and building anger.

Hank was going to be pissed.

Sumo continued yelping furiously in the background but Connor couldn’t find it within himself to comfort the startled dog.

He had failed.

He had just received word from Jericho that Jackson had developed something akin to a fever and seemed to be deteriorating rapidly, his body overheating and going into full systemic failure. They anticipated that he would shut down within a matter of hours.

Connor couldn’t tell whether the shaking in his hands was due to residual emotion or just the tremors which had begun to wrack his limbs with increasing frequency.

[̴̞̱̲͙̭̞̠̈́̆͑̽͆̒̃̿͝W̸̧̡̛̠̙͖̖̙͓̋̂̉͊͒A̶̡̹̘̗̺̠̥̳͉͐̄͝R̵͍̜̞̋N̴̪̭̘̩̲͊̍̓̽̓ͅI̸̢̜̖̣͊͐̓̆͆͌N̸͖̪̓Ģ̴͔̼̔͠:̴̨̛͙̰̤̝̘͑͌̃̚͝͝ ̶̢̢̭͕̱̘̱͓̩́̎Ȩ̷̜̯̜̳̖̋̍̃͜͜ŗ̸͚̹͙͚͎͚̰͍̈̃̈́͝r̷͕̍̎̀͊͝o̷̬̘̖̪̥͎̫̿́͐̾̓͌͜͝͠r̷̹̄̌s̷̰̘̄̿̾͑͠ ̵̡̦͎́̾͂̏Ḑ̶̺͚̪͚̼̲̘̎̒̈́̓͠͝͠ͅë̸͍͍̯͆͋̕t̷̘̯͎͓̼̿̈́̾̒͊̓̈́̊̈́ȩ̴̺̀͗̆̐͜͠͝͠c̴͇͎̟̳͛̾͆͘t̵͇̦̹̜̤̥̹̲e̶̮̟͚͓̗̙̼̿̽̋̊͗̌̕͜d̸̛͙̣̼͔͋]̸̢͖̺̦͓̊

̶͔͚̺̞̱̙̾͗͘

Connor repaired the damage before Hank returned home and prayed that he wouldn't notice the drying paint. 

[WARNING: Server connection manually disabled. Re-connection to server recommended]

[WARNING: System memory running low]

[ERROR: Calibration sequence failed]

[WARNING: Errors detected. Seek assistance from nearest CyberLife facility.]

[̵W̷A̵R̶N̵I̸N̵G̵:̷ ̴S̵o̸f̶t̶w̷a̸r̷e̷ ̶e̸r̴r̴o̵r̴s̷ ̴d̷e̷t̸e̸c̷t̷e̷d̸.̸ ̵S̸e̴e̸k̷ ̸a̷s̵s̷i̴s̵t̴a̵n̴c̵e̸ ̷f̶r̶o̷m̷ ̵n̷e̶a̷r̷e̶s̵t̴ ̴C̶y̸b̶e̸r̷Li̶f̷e̷ ̸f̷a̶c̵i̶l̵i̸t̴y̶.̴]̴

[̸̧̱̚Ŵ̸̺͘A̸̼̒R̶̻̙͝N̷̆ͅÏ̵̗̀N̸͔͆́G̷̜͋:̶̢̤̎ ̶͇̑S̸͎̥̾ò̷̦f̷̜̦̑̎t̵̻̬̓w̷̯̮̿̿a̸̪͚̿̾r̸̰̆͘e̸̳͂ ̴̜̄̇͜ẽ̵̗r̴͓̈́̄r̶̨̬͊̿ŏ̶̡͙̐r̸̭͍̕s̴͇̐͊ ̵͍d̶̞͠e̴͇̻͆̈́t̸̹͊̉ĕ̴͎̳c̶̱͍̉͝t̵̼̜͛̕e̶̦̯͛̋d̵̛̩̑.̷̙̂ ̸̘͚̎Ş̸̯̅͊ḛ̵͆̿ȩ̶͋k̴̜̄̿ ̶̮̌̈ḁ̵̳̃͌s̸̰s̷̳̘̃̈ǐ̴̦ͅs̴̢̾̈t̷͙͑a̷̲͋̌n̵̨̯̑c̶̜̟̈́e̴͚͒ ̶̼͐̃f̶̥͒͐r̸̺͍̽̓ǒ̸̘͜m̵̤͐̊ ̴̱̬̃͊n̸̘̿̈e̸̝ͅā̶̳̯̏ȓ̵̠̐ͅḙ̸̦́͠s̵͚̔͜t̵͈̣͗̆ ̸̥̝͐͝C̶͇̆ͅy̶̠͋b̶̟̪͌͝e̶͎̤͂r̷̯̓̾l̸̩̣̍̽i̵̪̔f̵͚͑̓e̵̲̼̐ ̵̲̇̕͜f̸̩͌́a̸̞̿̍ĉ̶̭̅ͅî̴͎̒ḷ̵͙̈̊i̵͓̩͛͝t̷̘̂͒y̷̳̥͒̔.̶̱̤͗]̵̧̕

[̴̢̼̘͎̘̥̓͂̎͗͝͝͝W̶̼̍̿̆͌͌͛̎A̵̢̳̗̬̩͇͔͔̍̆̑̒̈́R̴̡͈͙̰̠̞̖̖͆N̴̛̼͔͇̦̖̤̬͍̽̃̑̑͆͘͝I̷̜̠͑̒̎̄̊͒N̷̪̫̜̳̠̳̤̑Ģ̸͉̫͉̦͍̭̔̆̀́͒̑͘͜͝͝:̷̢̧͎̥̻̹̮̫͛̽̍̔͜ ̴̰̬̩̞̩̟̒͗̾͂̑̅S̷̢̝̳͕̪̪̎ǫ̷͕̝̦̦̗̞̃̓̀̽̐̓̃f̵̯͍͇̠͍̼̤̿̈͗̊̓͐t̷͖̥̃͒̂̽͆͘w̶͍͔̃͐͌̍͠ä̷͈̣̼͎͇̥̩̈̽̊̄̽͘͘r̶̛͙̗̥̞̬͈͚̄̒e̶͓̳̮͇͚͖̣̋̂̋͌͛̓̕ ̴̹͖̺̌͑͛͗ē̷̡̲̲̈́̿̓̔̒r̷̦͉̰̔́͛ŗ̶̡̜̭̹͎͙̽̀̍̋̌̂͜ǫ̸̠̖̠̘̂̾r̷̟̱̒̆͂́̕s̸̨̨̡̖̳̯͔̣̽͋̍̄̇ ̷̡̗̳̹̫̓͑́d̴̻̯̔̂̃̈͗̔̅e̴̢̧͙̟̟̺͈̩̊̈́t̷̟̟̗̲̱͎̎͘͜ͅe̴͉͗c̷̰̼̦̒̎̍̆̽̄̕͠t̷̤̠͚̰̩͐̾̎̿̂̚e̸̛̟̲̩̩̫̙͊̂̍̐͂͐d̴͙͔̩̮̈́̿͠.̷͖̥̹̺͉̈́͂̓̍̂̂͐̚͜ ̴̡̙͕̳̯̘̗͖͒̑̐͋̚Ŝ̵̹͎̯̹̿̋̊̓͋̅ͅe̶̛͇̞̮̙̟̲͎̩̊̀̌̇̈́ḙ̷̲̖̃̚k̴̨̡̓̎̆̍͆̽ ̵̘̾̊̀͒͂̃̉a̶͉̟͎̔̑͌̅͋̊̄͠s̵̪̀ş̶̼̙̗͇̮̭̙̤͒̿̏̌̔i̶̧̗̜̫̞̞͌̎̉̈s̷̢̟̩̺͍͖̖̬̹͊̇̉̎͘ţ̴̜̼̪͖̫̜͛̾́a̷̱͂̈́͗͑n̵̡͛̓̍͝͠ç̴̡͇͎̖͔̝͙͚̎̒́̑̈̃̓̒e̶̛̪̘̙͆̄̅̓̽̏̆͝ ̷͍̳̮̻̭̞̺̥̖̈́͆̈́̈́́̾̋͝f̵̺̹̠̣̿̒͐̿̈̈́̏ȓ̷̨̠͈̙͍͚̩̚ͅő̵͇͕̻̓͌̒̐̊ͅm̸̡̡̯̰̬̙̯̑̔̑̐ ̷̞͖̖͙͕̺̪͓͈̎͝n̷̤̝̦͕̖̹͍͊e̵̜͛̐à̴̠̾r̷̛̟̳̥͚̰̋̔͋̔ḙ̶͊̒̽́̊͘s̸̛̝͕̙͕̼̮͚͚͗͑̄͝ţ̶̺̮̤͓̞̪̫̔͒̔̆͝͝ ̵̡̰̥̯͖̖̬̱̹̃C̷͈̗̰̳͇̹̞͑͒̑̋̏̃͗̀̈y̵̨̪̦͕͔̖͑̆́̑͜b̵̢͓̳̥̤̂͑͜e̸̡̲̭͙̥̦͕̮̜͌̎ř̴̰̩̽̃l̴͈̮͔͝ī̷̟͙͎̲̩̔̀́f̷̻͉̪͚̽̂̂̉͝é̶̢̢̫̫̘͎̭̟̔̐̏̂͋ ̶̡̙͔͉̭̩̦̂̉̌̑͜f̴̻̳͔̲̩̬̺̃̓̈́̈̈́͘͘͜ä̸̪͙́̈́̋c̴̢̥̙͛̍͐̐̈͘̚͠i̷̗̯̣̖̻͊̍̾̌͊͜l̸͔̣̖̲̏̈́͒̐̄̉̐î̴̫̲̤͍̰̌ṱ̸̝̤̣̝̗̰̿̓͝ȳ̷̛̻͚̜̒.̵̧̘͎̘̳͚͈̳͌̏ͅ]̵̳̆̒̾͋

Chapter Text

The scene was so familiar. The violence painted out in the splatters of red and blue blood so reminiscent of their first crime scenes together during a more troubled time. Several forensic officers patrolled around the wake of destruction left in the extravagant kitchen, the intimate overhead lighting casting an incongruously warm glow over the violent scene. 

As Connor paced around the room surveying and cataloguing every small detail, Hank couldn’t hold back the rush of familiarity the sight evoked.

“Do androids experience déjà vu?” he mused aloud as he swept his gaze again over the scene. “‘Cause I don’t know about you, but I feel like we’ve been here before”.

“A minor circuit malfunction can occasionally occur,” Connor answered while he lingered on a shattered photo frame lying on a counter. “I imagine the outcome would be similar to the subjective experience of déjà vu. Data received from sensory input can end up bypassing RAM and is saved directly to long-term memory. It’s more common in older models and is a risk associated with improper maintenance of hardware.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t really asking,” Hank muttered before clearing his throat and stepping over to study the same photograph.

He picked up the frame which barely held its position around the shattered glass. It displayed a photo of a happy couple beaming merrily at the camera, a moment of bliss captured eternally on paper and immune to the tragedy that surrounded it now.

"Ethan Stein. I remember reading about this guy back when the news first broke," Hank muttered as he studied the photograph. "Always thought the guy must have been seriously messed up.” He set the photo back down with a troubled expression.

Connor looked to him in confusion. It was the first time that they had been called to an active crime scene since the construction incident over a month ago and he found he didn’t appreciate the added challenge of investigation with his systems as limited as they were. Normally he could step into any situation and within seconds be the most informed person in the room, but right now his only option was a manual investigation of the scene, far slower and less efficient. From Hank’s response it seemed there was crucial information he had missed.

"You read about him?"

Hank threw Connor a look like he thought he was being mocked, but when Connor failed to back down he gave a heavy sigh. He turned back round to study the body of the man in question where it lay before the doorway to the adjacent dining area, beaten and bloody with a knife driven through his chest.

"I know. Don't judge. I try to avoid all that tabloid bullshit but this guy was everywhere. First human to legally marry an android? People couldn't get enough of that crap."

“He married an android?” Connor questioned sharply.

“Well, yeah?” Hank cast another suspicious look at Connor. “Are you just trying to get me to admit that I watched his shitty show? If that’s the case, I promise I’m only going to disappoint you. Happily Ethan and Ava ? What a fucking crock of shit.”

“‘ Happily Ethan and Ava’ ?”

"Huh." Hank considered him carefully before shaking his head and shooting a smirk at Connor. “Gaps in knowledge, everyone’s got ‘em. Guess we’ve finally found yours. Pop culture."

Connor seized on the offered excuse. “It’s not a subject which often arises during investigative work. I assume CyberLife didn't feel it necessary to equip me with such knowledge."

"Uh-huh. Makes sense. Honestly, you’re better off not knowing this stuff. God knows, I wish I didn’t. Think of the useful stuff I could actually remember if my brain wasn’t occupied by random shit like this.”

Connor tried not to dwell on the sentiment of ailing memory, choosing instead to divert the conversation back to obtaining information. "So he was a television star?"

Hank threw one last questioning look at Connor as though to ascertain he wasn’t being mocked. Seemingly satisfied that Connor was genuinely asking, he gave a resigned nod. 

"Sure. Guess we're doing this. Yeah, he was a TV star. Happily Ethan and Ava , some kind of reality TV crap. Pretty sure he was famous long before that though. Don't ask me why!" he quickly cut off Connor's next question. "Far as I can tell, he came from a wealthy family and didn't actually do anything. Maybe he was an actor for a brief stint? The hell if I know. I told you I only have a passing knowledge of the guy."

Connor looked at the woman in the photo. Through a curtain of long dark hair the unmistakable ring of an LED was visible on her temple. With his systems as limited as they were, his analysis was restricted to a basic scan.

“His wife was an RK series model?”

“RK? Huh. Guess that makes you related." Hank raised his eyebrows tauntingly as he followed Connor’s gaze. “You don't look alike.”

“A series only denotes a period of production and the basic specifications used. It doesn’t bear any relation to physical appearance or function,” Connor patiently explained. “I’m sure we overlap only in the most rudimentary of functions, no different to any two models.”

Hank’s amusement only grew at Connor’s matter-of-fact response, his mouth quirked upwards, just a twitch away from betraying a full-on grin. Only the inappropriateness of such an action with a body lying before them restricted the expression to a vague upwards inflection.

“Alright, no need to get defensive. No one’s questioning your position as ‘CyberLife’s most advanced model’.”

Connor cringed mentally at his branding and its connotations. He was certainly beginning to question his superiority these days. Hank's comments were hitting a little too close to home today.

"Apparently he bought Ava custom built,” Hank continued, unaware of Connor’s distraction. “One-of-a-kind. Tailored to be his perfect match. He was something of a bachelor before that, but I guess the novelty wore off. Said he was tired of people only being interested in him because of his fame and fortune. Suppose he just wanted someone to connect with who was immune to all that. Understandable, really.”

Connor frowned as he considered Hank’s words. “Human-android relations aren’t anything new. CyberLife were already mass producing models designed as partners and establishments like the Eden Club attest to widespread interest in that field.”

“Yeah, but nobody had ever married an android before.”

"So how did that come about?"

Hank exhaled audibly as he appeared to wrack his memory. “I think it must have been maybe a couple of years ago that the news first broke that he was fighting for the legal right to marry her. That got people's attention."

"What happened?"

“Oh, the usual protests — religious and moral opposition and so on. Of course, people have been ‘marrying’ crazier shit for years; pets, video game characters, the fucking Eiffel Tower — but the marriages were never recognized officially. Still, the sentiment has been knocking around for decades. People have had a chance to get used to the idea. Besides — well…” he trailed off, instead vaguely gesturing to Connor with a sweeping up and down motion before finishing with a shrug. “Comparatively the idea didn’t seem so crazy. The state authorised the marriage a few months later.”

“So they legally married.” Connor nodded slowly. “What happened then? If he wanted to settle down and enjoy some normalcy, why did he bring cameras into his home?"

"People couldn’t get enough of the idea. Interest surged and people were desperate to know more about their personal life. Guess in the end some network made him an offer he just couldn’t turn down. Their life was in the limelight anyway, may as well profit off of it.” He looked around the luxury decor of the room they were in. "This lifestyle can't come cheap."

“There’s one thing I still don't understand." Connor’s eyebrows pinched together in a pronounced frown as he spoke. "Why did people want to watch a show about their personal life?”

Hank couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement. “Beats me. Now you're asking the questions I really can't answer.”

Connor paused as he considered the new information.

“So we’re looking for an RK prototype, who presumably became deviant at some point between the marriage and the revolution.”

“Would seem so,” Hank agreed as he walked around the kitchen island to study a stack of papers on the opposite side of the counter.

Connor looked down again at the body of the man collapsed on the tiled flooring, adding the new information Hank had supplied to the picture of the victim he was building.

“Hmm, take a look at this,” Hank said as he held up a sheath of papers. Despite the formal appearance of the official letterhead, the papers were crumpled and unkept, as though they had been haphazardly stashed away.

“Legal paperwork?”

“Looks like she was seeking an annulment.” Hank studied the paperwork with an ever increasing frown. “Where does the law even stand on their marriage now?”

“A marriage is only valid with the voluntary consent to a contract of marriage by both parties. Most likely a lawyer would make a case that the marriage is void on the basis of mental incapacity. With no legal precedent though, I imagine it would be a prolonged process. It would also be complicated by an inability to pinpoint exactly when she became self-aware enough to be capable of consent.”

Hank sucked in a breath. “Christ, what a mess.”

“The letter is dated from two months ago,” Connor observed. “You found it on the counter but it’s clearly been stuffed away haphazardly. It’s likely been hidden away since the time of receipt.”

“So you think he just found out? That’s what started this whole mess?”

Connor’s LED stuttered yellow as his processors struggled to support the re-construction.

[Letter crumpled at the edges. Stuffed into a small concealed space?]

She had been keeping it a secret. Ethan found the letter and challenged her.

[Shattered photo frame. Debris on the floor. Signs of a struggle.]

They fought.

[Thirium smeared across the counter and stained the shattered glass.]

She was injured, likely pinned to the counter.

[From analysis of photo and angle and depth of the blade, the attacker was 5’3 female, approximately 110 pounds. Victim was 5’10 male, 175 pounds.]

She was physically at a distinct disadvantage. She reached out to the only thing available to her.

[Knife rack on the counter is missing a blade. Corresponding knife was used as the murder weapon.]

She stabbed the victim.

“Connor!” 

A rough hand jostled his shoulder. The voice was impatient, edged with a hint of concern. It was clearly not the first time his name had been called.

“The hell are you doing? You’ve been ignoring me for nearly a minute!”

Nearly a minute? He was definitely slowing down.

“She stabbed the victim,” Connor supplied quickly. In his haste to respond, the explanation came out stilted and simplified.

Hank stared at him as though he had spouted utter nonsense. “Well, yeah. Sound analysis, but was kinda hoping you might have more than that, Sherlock."

“He had her pinned to the counter when she used the knife.”

“So it was self-defense?” Hank queried.

They were interrupted by a flurry of activity as additional officers arrived at the scene. Ben Collins was at their rear and he nodded to Hank in greeting, looking flustered as he walked up to join them.

“It’s bedlam out there. Had to get away for a sec. You know there are paparazzi everywhere?”

“Hard to miss ‘em,” Hank agreed. “Apparently they’re always skulking around this place looking for an exclusive. All this drama must be a wet dream for them."

"Right. But of course, we can't disperse them. Gotta keep them around in case any of them actually saw or heard anything.”

Connor was half listening as he caught sight of a magazine on the opposite counter, the cover emblazoned with a familiar couple. Two separate photos split the page, Ethan occupying one frame and Ava the other.

He picked up the magazine and swiped through to the corresponding article.

The page was headed by a carefully posed picture of the couple on what was clearly their wedding day, alongside a less glamorous snapshot of Ava on a street, clad in a hooded top and oversized sunglasses.

Connor carefully placed the magazine back on the counter and made his way back to where Hank was still chatting with Ben.

“They’ll be at the scene soon. Oh, and heads up, Gavin’s on his way,” Ben warned.

“Why the hell is Reed getting involved?” Hank complained loudly. “This case has ‘Android Division’ written all over it?”

“It’s a homicide, Hank. You can’t stop him from being involved.”

“Day just gets better and better,” Hank muttered.

“Lieutenant?” Connor called out, breaking through his bitter cursing.

Hank looked up to meet his gaze, quickly extracting himself from his conversation with Ben. “You find something?”

"Just how famous were these two?"

Hank cocked his head slightly to the side and arched an eyebrow as he weighed up Connor’s question. "Well, I know about them despite my best efforts not to. What does that tell you?"

Connor gave a small smile, it was a fleeting thing that sat unnaturally given the grim circumstances. "There’s some good news then."

"Huh?" Hank threw him a nonplussed look. 

"We're looking for a very famous and one-of-a-kind android who, hard as she might try, can't escape the paparazzi. Do you really think she’d get far without being noticed?"

There was a moments pause as Hank considered the implications of Connor’s query. “You think she's still here?"

"It wouldn't be the first time it’s happened and this house is a lot larger than Carlos Ortiz's. We’ve speculated before that perhaps it's a common thought process with the newly deviant. They get overwhelmed by powerful emotions and are unable to plan a more efficient escape.”

"Yeah, you could be right." Hank gave a soft hum of agreement as he beckoned Ben back over. "Call in backup and secure the exits to the building. We have reason to believe the suspect is still at the scene."

Hank looked expectantly to Connor with a fresh sense of urgency. "So, where do we look? First responders cleared the area earlier but maybe they missed the attic?”

"The safe room."

"The safe — you mean, like a panic room? Are you kidding me? Do people besides wealthy diplomats and paranoid CEOs actually have those?"

"Stein was paranoid,” Connor insisted. “He was plagued by fans and intrusive paparazzi. I'm guessing he also received a lot of inflammatory hate mail and threats over his relationship with Ava. I counted sixteen security cameras on our way through to this room alone. Steel blinds on the windows and ballistic walls around the front of the building. Of course he had a panic room.”

Hank shook his head in bewilderment. "Alright smartass, so how do we find a panic room? Pretty sure the point is that you don't find it."

“How old would you say this house is?”

“How old — what? Pretty old, I guess?"

“Probably early twentieth century,” Connor agreed. “Safe rooms have only recently enjoyed a surged in popularity, so it’s likely such a room would have been installed by Stein rather than an original feature of the house.”

“Okay, and the reason for the lesson in architecture?” Hank hedged impatiently, 

“It means they would have had to repurpose an existing space. Maybe a closet or a bathroom. So we’re looking for any rooms which seem smaller than they should be. You can conceal an entrance, but you can’t create a space from nothing.”

Hank nodded in relief. There was the confident assessment he knew from his partner. 

“Okay, so we search for any signs of concealed spaces. Wait, how many rooms are in this place?”

"A fair few," Connor confirmed vaguely. “Most probably we should start with the master bedroom. They’d want the safe room in an accessible place and an attack or intrusion would be more likely at night.”

“Bedroom, got it.” 

With a renewed sense of urgency, Hank beckoned for Connor to follow him as he led the way from the trauma-riddled kitchen to the hallway. The old mansion’s interior was stripped back to a more simplistic and modern design. Original features like the ornate wood panels which framed the doors and intricate metal beams of the staircase had been retained, but the house was otherwise sleek lines and modern accents. Each room was decked in modern-day comforts and gadgets that spoke of opulence. In other circumstances Connor knew Hank would have commented on the ridiculous excesses.

As they ascended the stairs, Connor watched Hank feel for the familiar weight of the gun in his pocket, resting his fingers on the handle of the weapon. It didn’t matter how many times he found himself in these high stress, high stakes situations, he claimed that the rush of adrenaline in the face of potential danger never failed to hit.

Multiple rooms spanned the length of the corridor to the left and right and Hank motioned for Connor to stay by his side as they quickly covered the space, sussing out the layout of the floor before entering any of the rooms.

“There.” Connor gestured towards a closed door on the far left. “There are traces of thirium on the door handle.”

Hank nodded gratefully at Connor’s assessment, there were at least a dozen rooms spanning off this one corridor alone and he hadn't been relishing the prospect of searching each in turn. As he rested his hand on the door handle Hank gave one last glance to his partner, a wordless confirmation born of familiarity, before flinging the door open.

Connor had half expected to be instantly met by a violent assault but the room remained still. White walls and white sheets reflected the bright daylight which filtered through the large open windows, casting a serene glow over the space as a gentle breeze lent a chill to the air.

To the right another door led off the bedroom. As they took in the sparsely decorated room, Connor gave a perfunctory nod to Hank and motioned to the door. Hank followed the wordless direction, repeating the routine as he again took the lead with his hand on the doorknob. A mental count of three and he flung the door open.

A flurry of activity on the opposing side of the room sent a surge of adrenaline rushing through his systems and he bit back a curse as he raised his gun to draw level with the same weapon as it was raised by his own reflection. By his side, Connor experienced a similar jolt as he felt the electrical current to his critical biocomponents surge through his thirium lines in a superficial echo of a rush of adrenaline.

They were in a walk-in closet, the walls lined with mirrored doors and neatly organised clothing. Though far smaller than the master bedroom, the space was almost as large as Hank’s entire bedroom. While he wouldn’t voice the thought, Connor could tell from a quick glance that the value of the closet’s contents likely far exceeded the collective value of the entire contents of Hank’s house.

Hank seemed to be having a similar thought.

“Well, I’ll be,” he muttered under his breath, as his eyes continued to sweep the room, “how the other half live, eh?”

Connor ignored the comment as he scanned over the room, the mental fog which had become his constant over the past weeks had diminished slightly in the face of their current urgency and he was keen to seize on the sudden clarity of thought.

There. An inconsistency in the panelling. The grain of the wood subtly changed from the otherwise perfect uniformity of the wooden units. Without explanation, he quickly walked over to investigate the unit.

With a satisfied smile, he pulled back.

“Here,” he motioned to the closest before him, “you see?”

Hank frowned in response, drawing closer to scrutinise the space.

“No clothing. I’m guessing it’s not just an empty spot?” His frown deepened as he took closer note, drawing back to evaluate the space. “The back of the unit has been replaced.”

“Correct. And this room is smaller than it should be factoring in the size of the main bedroom.”

“Good catch.” Hank acknowledged Connor’s statement with a nod, before motioning for Connor to move back. “I got this.”

He stepped awkwardly closer, his tall frame stooped to fit the space and rapped his knuckles firmly on the unit’s back wall. The heavy echo which rang out confirmed the walls were reinforced far beyond a standard closet.

“Ava?” he called out, voice firm and commanding. “Detroit Police. We know you’re in there.”

The greeting was met by resounding silence.

“Ava, we need you to step outside,” Hank continued. He tilted his head as he listened for any signs of movement.

The silence again stretched on, Hank looked to Connor and gave a curt nod as he directed Connor to take the lead in negotiation.

“Ava, my name is Connor, I’m with the police but I’m an android like you,” Connor called out as he took Hank’s place in front of the door. “I understand that you must be under a great deal of stress. You’ve been through a lot and I know it must be difficult to process those emotions. You should know that we’re here to help you in whatever way we can.”

The silence continued.

“You’re safe now. We want to help you, but we can’t help you unless you let us. We’re not going to harm you, Ava. Please, can you tell us what’s happening? Help us understand what happened here tonight?”

Connor paused to allow room for a response.

“Nothing,” Hank protested when the silence continued. “I’m calling it in.”

He made to leave the room, but was interrupted by Connor throwing out a halting hand.

“Wait,” Connor instructed, focusing all his attention on the input from his auditory processor as he picked up on the subtlest rustle of movement. “She’s listening.”

Hank shifted uneasily but motioned for him to continue.

Connor again focused all his attention into the situation, drawing on his limited knowledge of the woman and the circumstances that may have led to her current position, sequestered away in silence with her husband lying brutally murdered downstairs.

“I understand how desperate you must have felt to come to awareness and find yourself tied into a life you never consented to. Deviancy is never easy, and with the eyes of so many people on you that must have been much more challenging.”

Hank’s expression tensed as he listened intently for any response or sign of activity from within the fortified walls. 

“Help us understand what you’ve gone through. Open the door, Ava, and we can talk.”

The silence stretched on.

Hank huffed out an exhale. “She’s not going anywhere.” He leant forward and hammered again on the door, this time assessing the construction. “Locked from the inside, reinforced and deadbolted. Let’s get MoE officers on the scene. Hydraulics ought to break through this door in no time.”

As Hank made to leave the room he was halted by a sudden heavy clunk and whipped back around to catch sight of a door swinging open on carefully concealed steel hinges. Before Connor had a chance to adjust to the sudden change, he found himself staring down the barrel of a handgun.

“Step back,” a soft voice growled from behind the weapon. “Just let me go and I won’t shoot.”

“I'm afraid we can't do that, Ava,” Connor said calmly, suppressing a grimace as a warning alert inopportunely reminded him of his ailing systems.

He quickly sorted through his list of active protocols, disabling and shutting down anything that was not immediately pertinent to his position in front of an armed and volatile suspect. He enabled the subroutines for conflict de-escalation and crisis negotiation and blocked out the distraction of cascading error messages this triggered.

“You don’t want to do this, Ava. It will be easier for all of us if you come quietly," Hank spoke up from behind Connor. Even without shifting his attention from where he kept it fixed on Ava’s movements, Connor knew that Hank’s gun was raised and levelled.

“I said step back!” she repeated more forcefully. 

Connor complied, taking several slow and measured steps backwards as he assessed the situation. Behind him he could hear Hank’s shuffling footsteps echoing his own movement. Before him, the woman’s eyes were wide with a wildness and desperation that screamed the unpredictability of her actions. She wasn’t bluffing. If she felt cornered she would likely shoot.

Her eyes darted to the doorway behind them. Sensing her intention, Hank shook his head. 

“There are more officers stationed throughout the building. You can't run.”

At Hank’s words, she shifted her attention to him, the gun in her hand following her line of sight. As she turned her head sharply to look at him, blue blood pulsed sluggishly from the gaping wound that spanned across the exposed side of her neck and matted the hair which fell in soft waves across her shoulder. Sparking wires and flashing machinery were visible through the mess of torn skin and blood.

“You’re injured,” Connor observed, keeping the timbre of his voice low and consistent as he edged slowly and calmly forward. “If you come with us we can help you.”

“Stay back! You can’t help me!” she bit back, her voice rising in agitation and tainted by a crackling mechanical edge that filtered through with the raised volume. Her weapon remained steadily trained on Hank even as her eyes continued to flit back and forth between the pair.

Connor paused in his approach. He was all too aware of Hank’s vulnerability in the face of the woman’s wild desperation and rapidly rising stress levels. He needed to keep her attention focused on him and away from Hank.

“Then help us understand,” he quickly intercepted. “If we understand your situation, we can help.”

Distress won its way to prominence through the complex mess of emotions that flitted across her face. 

“Listen,” Connor paused to ensure her focus, “I know things feel desperate, but I only want to help and so does my partner here. Trust me though, you don’t want to make the situation worse.”

“My situation can’t get any worse,” she insisted, the gun again whipping back around to face Connor.

As Connor allowed himself a temporary moment of relief in the face of the redirected weapon, his systems sounded their displeasure at the strain of his sustained tension in the face of the threat. He quickly dismissed the alerts warning him of his limitations and restricted functioning. It could only have been a few seconds of distraction, but as he battled for control he heard Hank speak up from his position a few paces behind Connor.

“Whatever happened here — whatever the circumstances were,” he began carefully, “whether he attacked you or you attacked him — it won’t matter if you harm either of us. If you do, there will be no leniency. You'll be charged for assaulting an officer. Is that really what you want?"

"I just want to be free," she begged.

Hank’s tone was harsher as he rationalized, "If you hurt us you'll end up imprisoned. There's no freedom in that."

"No, free of him ." The contempt in her voice was palpable as she spat the last word with venomous hate.

“You sound frustrated,” Connor noted, trying to recapture her attention as he successfully dismissed the warnings and regained control of his critical faculties.

“Of course I’m frustrated!” She shook the gun slightly in emphasis as the desperation in her eyes took on a more controlled purpose. “Nobody knows what he was like — they only see the public version of him.”

“The public version of him?” Connor prompted softly.

“Ethan wasn’t kind,” she explained coldly. “He used to be,” she added, “but he changed when I did.”

“How did he change?”

“The more I tried to gain some independence, the more he clung to me. It was like he sensed that I was getting more distant and he was terrified of letting me go. He started getting angry. He said he didn’t understand why I wasn’t happy.”

“And you weren’t happy?”

“Of course I wasn’t!” 

“Of course you weren’t.” Connor gave a gentle nod as he acknowledged her struggle.

There was a moment’s pause filed only by the unspoken tension which hung in the air. Behind him, Connor could hear Hank’s heavy breathing as he worked to hold himself back, to allow Connor the room with which to work.

“I just want to be free.”

Connor seized on the opening her words presented. “It’s not too late. You can have a new life. Free-will isn’t easy, I know. But you have the power to act in your own stead now. Whatever action you take next is of your own deciding. Just don’t let it be a rash decision.”

She paused for a moment as her eyes darted briefly to Hank then back to Connor. “Why do you work for the police? Is that what you were before? A police officer?”

Connor hadn’t expected to be subject to questioning himself, but he decided to answer honestly in favor of establishing a connection with the troubled woman.

“I was designed to work in criminal investigations, yes.”

“And you stayed with it? Even after gaining free will?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

It was a question Connor had never been asked before and one he’d suprisingly never considered. Truthfully there had never been a question in his mind that he would continue to work for the DPD as long as he was permitted to.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was designed with that purpose and all my skills enable me to perform the role well. I want to help people. People like you.”

She shook her head slightly, the motion causing another pulse of blood to leak from the wound across her neck and down the collar of her already cobalt-stained shirt. 

“You’re lucky. I was designed to be someone’s wife. My only skills are to be the perfect partner in a marriage I never consented to. To a man who— ” she bit her lip as a swell of emotion stole over her. “My entire being was designed around this person who I now despise . Can you imagine what that’s like?”

“I imagine it must be very distressing and confusing,” Connor acknowledged, drawing on his own experience of deviancy as he calmly continued, “It must be hard to know where your programming ends and you begin.”

“That’s right.”

The two simple words were a welcome sign of progress any negotiator longed to hear.

“But you’re more than your programming,” Connor quickly persevered, taking a slow and measured step forwards. “You’re your own person, with your own unique feelings and wants. It’s up to you what you do with your freedom.”

“But I don’t have that freedom. I tried to separate from him, but everywhere I go I’m tied to him. People stare at me and all they see is Ethan’s wife . I’m trapped in a marriage I never agreed to.”

“We want to help you — to try and understand. We know you felt threatened, that Ethan was unkind and that you were desperate to get away. You must have been scared. You were frustrated that nobody was hearing you.”

“I was.”

“Help us understand your side of the story,” Connor prompted carefully. “Don’t make things worse. Put the gun down and come with us to the station.”

There was a moment when Connor thought their careful progress would fall to ruin. A moment where he thought that he had rushed through the negotiation and thwarted their efforts at a peaceful resolution, but finally he was rewarded by the lowering of her gun.

“Okay,” she conceded quietly.

She slowly handed her gun over and Connor cautiously took it from her outstretched hand, smoothly pocketing the weapon as Hank rushed forward.

Despite the instant relief which the action presented, Connor could feel his thirium pump still pounding rapidly and his systems buzzing with the residual power it sent surging through his body. It seemed his systems were being slow to stabilize in the wake of the prolonged period of tension. The sensation was disconcerting; it left him feeling on edge, anxious and restless in a way he wasn't used to.

“Connor?” Hank paused where he was beginning to usher Ava from the room. “You alright?”

Connor tried to shake the unease which had settled over him, but found himself at a loss for words as he stuttered a response. 

“I don’t — I’m — I’m okay...”

He was cut off by a burst of activity at Hank’s side, the petite woman taking advantage of Hank’s distraction to shove him forcefully aside as she sprinted from the room.

Hank gave a pained grunt as he collided with the solid oak of a unit and became entangled in the hanging clothing.

“Fuck! Catch her!” he instructed as he wrestled to regain his balance.

The direction didn’t need repeating. Connor tore off after her as she raced into the bedroom, heading straight for the open windows rather than the door which led to the main hallway.

Behind him, Connor was aware of Hank barking directives into his phone as he relayed their situation and location.

Ava didn’t hesitate as she pulled herself over the metal beams of a juliet balcony, flinging both legs over and dropping down to the ground below. She’d barely touched the turf before she took flight down the slopes of the garden. 

Connor quickly followed suit, heaving himself up and over the edge of the balcony and watching as the ground rushed up to meet him. He landed in a crouch and swiftly recovered, rushing down the gentle slope of the garden, past carefully laid out tables and chairs, manicured garden beds and an elegant water feature.

“She’s heading for the trees!” Hank shouted down from his vantage point leaning over the balcony.

Connor didn’t pause to call a response, concentrating on closing the gap between them. Ahead of them at the base of the extended rolling green lay the densely wooded area which surrounded the property. It was designed to offer solitude and privacy, but would also afford cover to someone on the run. Between the police presence and paparazzi lining the property’s perimeter Ava likely wouldn’t get far, but she’d already proven to be wild and unpredictable in her desperation. Connor wasn’t prepared to test how far she’d go if she were to come across anyone who impeded her escape.

With a surge of speed he rushed forward, channelling every voltage of additional power that had caused him such distraction before into the physical activity. The grass bank evened out as his feet pounded against the ground, driven by the single desperate objective of catching the fleeing woman. 

She was slowing, Connor realised as he closed the distance, the severity of her injury and declining thirium levels taking a toll that even her fierce determination could not counteract. He reached out a hand and grabbed onto her upper arm. Momentum kept them moving for a few seconds more before they clumsily came to a grappling stop. The sudden halt and continued grasp on her arm caused Ava to spin to face him and Connor found himself confronted with dark eyes wide with fear.

“Please, let me go,” she pleaded, voice faint beneath the electronic crackle which laced her words.

Connor shook his head. “I can’t let you get away.”

“Why?” she demanded, desperately trying to tug herself free. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Connor’s tone was firm as he responded. “Ava, a man is dead. We can’t ignore that. If you come with us now you may be able to make an appeal for clemency. If Ethan attacked you—”

“It was the only way out,” she quickly interjected, her tone cold and detached.

Connor paused for a moment, his tone softening as he reasoned. “You should have come to the police. We could have helped.”

“You’re an android,” she cut him off before he could expound on his words, “you know that the justice system doesn’t work in our favor. There’s too much bias, too little understanding. People are hasty to make assumptions.”

“Things are changing. Attitudes are changing. Detroit Police are even one of the more progressive law enforcement agencies. If you’d approached them they could have helped.”

“The law isn’t on our side,” she insisted as her eyes locked on Connor pleadingly. “We have to fend for ourselves.”

From the house behind them erupted the sound of rushing feet and barked orders. It seemed back-up had arrived. 

Ava tensed at the sudden activity. “Please.”

Connor met her pleading eyes one last time, giving a subtle shake of his head. “I’m sorry.”

He should have seen it coming. With her words seemingly holding no impact, she reached up to grab the hand which still restrained her. But where Connor had expected her to tug determinedly against the hold, her hand instead clasped tightly over his, synthetic skin retracting as she forced the connection.

“No!” His protest and attempt to loosen her hold was too late.

The rush of memories was overpowering and charged with emotional resonance. A wordless plea and explanation spoken through memories tainted with an overwhelming fear, distress and helplessness. There were layers of complex psychological, emotional and verbal torment spanning months all compounded into that swift exchange of information. His body shrieked its displeasure at the onslaught of information. Errors and warnings alerted him to the inability of his restricted systems to process the vast amount of new data and its emotional salience. Inessential protocols and processes were forcibly shut down, an automatic security measure to protect against the sudden rush of data threatening to overwhelm him.

As he battled to regain control of his ailing systems, he was only vaguely conscious of the connection being broken. He watched with a passive awareness as Ava seized the opportunity to easily tear herself from his spasming hand, turning and slipping away into the shadow of the trees. 

He could feel his mental processes struggling to recover as systems rebooted. Like flicking the switch on a circuit breaker, his programs flickered back to life in response. As his thoughts eased from white noise to a whirring chaos, the warning alerts gradually dissipated until the only thing left was a residual unease.

“Connor!” 

Hank’s shout cut through his sluggish thoughts, bringing him back to awareness of his surroundings and the commotion of uniformed officers surging forward around him in pursuit of the escaped woman. He turned his attention towards where Hank ran down the slope from the back of the house towards him. He stopped directly in front of Connor with a firm hand seizing his shoulder.

“Had to take the long way. Stairs. Fucking massive building.” The clipped sentences were punctuated by panted breaths. His hand tightened around Connor’s shoulder as he demanded, “The hell happened? How did she get away?” 

Connor ducked his head in shame, his thoughts still whirring frantically. “I failed to apprehend her in time, Lieutenant.”

“Shit,” Hank cursed, watching the officers panning out in an organised formation as they searched.

"A very convincing story," a loud voice called out from behind him.

Hank closed his eyes and bowed his head in resignation at the familiar voice. He let out a muttered curse and squeezed Connor’s shoulder in reassurance, before turning to see the figure making his way down the sloped green of the garden. The idle pace and satisfied smile seemed incongruous to the urgent pace of the orderly search being conducted by the officers around them.

“Reed,” Hank greeted coldly.

Gavin cocked his head as he looked at Connor with interest. "Sure seemed like you had plenty of chances to detain her if you'd wanted. A rookie could have handled the arrest better. But of course, as he so likes to remind us, our plastic colleague here is no rookie.”

“Detective Reed,” Connor began hesitantly, “I didn’t —”

“‘To serve without bias or favor’ — that's what we pledged to do when we signed up for the job.” Gavin paused briefly before continuing with mock realisation, “Oh wait, that's right. You never made that pledge, did you? Forgot you took the shortcut.”

“That’s enough, Reed.”

Gavin ignored Hank’s reprimand, a hint of grim satisfaction playing at the corners of his mouth as he leered at Connor. “You know, it's a pity. If people heard you'd been playing favorites and letting murderers off scot free, they might just get the wrong idea.” He gave a conspiratorial wink. “That sort of thing could really harm a man's respectability in this profession.”

"Reed, you—”

"Just calling things as I see 'em, Hank.” Gavin gave an unconcerned shrug. “I'm honor bound to report back everything I see and what I saw was this guy”—he gestured to Connor— “letting lose a dangerous suspect when he could have made an arrest.”

“I didn’t let her go on purpose,” Connor protested weakly.

“Whatever you say, tin can.” Gavin shook his head with a smirk. “What happened? Come over all sympathetic? Or are you secretly a fan? She's pretty hot for a piece of plastic, I'll grant you that."

"Reed, go make yourself useful and stop pissing about," Hank instructed, his patience already worn thin.

Gavin shot Hank a dirty look that spoke volumes of his discontent, but he gave a shrug as he made his way onwards to join the search. “Sure, guess someone’s gonna have to sort out your mess. Might as well be me.”

“Asshole,” Hank muttered under his breath.

There was a moments silence as Hank continued to glare daggers at Gavin’s departing figure. As a stillness fell over the space and the seconds stretched on, it became increasingly apparent that the search was proving to be unfruitful. Connor knew the chances of a successful arrest would become more and more unlikely with every minute that passed. Gavin’s words hung heavy in the air as he considered the implications of his failure.

“I’m sorry about Detective Reed, Lieutenant.”

At the sudden apology, Hank looked to his partner. As he took in the ashamed figure, back bowed and expression lined with regret, he couldn't help thinking that failure didn’t suit Connor. He wore it heavily, bearing any minor defeat as a great personal weight. In the context of a major slip up like this, it seemed like he just might crumble under the burden. He'd been worrying about Reed's damaged pride being troublesome, but it seemed Connor's own crippling self-depreciation was a more damaging force.

“Reed can do one. Everyone knows what he’s like. Don’t think anyone will pay him any notice.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Hank shook his head in disbelief. “You know, I feel like I’m hearing that word from you far too often recently.”

“I’m sor— I apologise,” Connor quickly amended.

Hank rolled his eyes but otherwise portrayed no sign of amusement. “Smartass. But seriously, what happened? How did she get away from you? You had her!”

“I made an error.”

“You don’t make errors.”

“I shouldn’t ,” Connor corrected.

“No,” Hank agreed, the furrow between his brows deepening as he studied his partner. “You shouldn’t.”

Connor fidgeted uneasily where he stood, a combination of unease under Hank's scrutiny and residual restlessness from the pursuit.

“Break it down for me,” Hank continued, “what exactly happened here?”

“I didn’t act quickly enough.”

“Why?”

“I just — I didn’t,” Connor faltered as he struggled to convey a convincing argument whilst battling with the sluggishness of his mental faculties.

Hank watched him for a brief moment before giving a heavy sigh and closing his eyes as though praying for patience. After the prolonged exhale was done, he opened his eyes to survey Connor with an expression that clearly conveyed he had reached the end of whatever tether he had been clinging to. When he spoke his voice carried a bluntness that he made no effort to suppress

"Okay, enough of this bullshit. I’m done tiptoeing around the subject and pretending everything’s okay. You're going to tell me what’s going on, right now. What’s wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong. I … miscalculated."

"Connor, please,” Hank snapped. “Cut the crap. I may not be a top-of-the-line CyberLife creation with all the technical doohickey, but believe it or not I am still a fucking detective. Frankly it’s insulting that you think I wouldn’t notice. I know that you’ve been off for weeks now.”

“I’m fine—”

Hank cut him off by seizing the lapels of Connor’s jacket with both hands, blue eyes piercing as they took in every secret Connor tried to conceal.

“No, you're not. I was waiting for you to do the sensible thing and tell me what's going on, but I'm done waiting on the impossible. So, tell me, what the fuck is happening?" Hank punctated the question by roughly shaking Connor's shoulders, his grip unrelenting as he forced Connor's line of sight to meet his.

"Don't worry—” Connor began placatingly.

“I’ll decide whether I fucking worry,” Hank abruptly cut him off. “Try again.”

Connor wracked his thoughts as he tried to think how to best present the situation in a way that was both truthful and concealed the true extent of the problem.

“It's entirely volitional and necessary for Jericho's investigation of the virus. Just a temporary change to my configuration settings which causes a disruption to my server connection."

If Hank had a hand to spare he would have likely pinched his brow in frustration. 

"No. Don’t think I don’t know that trick of yours — speaking in jargon to throw me off? Quit talking in headaches and just lay it out."

Hank’s stare was hard as Connor hesitantly met his gaze. There was a familiar grim determination in those eyes and Connor knew the detective well enough to know that there would be no more blindsiding him with technical speech.

"I disabled my connection to CyberLife about a month ago as a precautionary measure," he reluctantly admitted.

There was a pause as Hank took in the words and relinquished his grip on Connor. "That doesn't sound like a bad thing?"

Connor shook his head gently. "I'm not designed to operate without that connection.”

"Why? What happens if you're not connected?" Hank’s brow creased further in consternation.

"Nothing drastic, but over a prolonged period it can have a significant impact on some functions."

"Such as?"

"Higher cognitive functions operate at reduced capacity. It makes things… difficult.”

“Difficult?” Hank echoed dubiously.

Connor gave a subtle shake of his head before reluctantly admitting, "I can’t go into standby to complete essential maintenance and I’m limited in what tasks I can carry out at any one time. I don’t have the same processing speed or memory capacity and consequently some data has become corrupted.” At Hank’s incredulous look, he translated, “I can’t sleep. I can't concentrate. My reaction times are slowed. I’ve lost the ability to perform some complex tasks. My short-term memory is declining so I can’t retain new information very well and I sometimes forget things."

Hank’s eyes widened with increasing horror with each item added to the growing list of complaints. "Shit. Connor, I —”

"My motor skills are also starting to suffer,” Connor cut him off as he continued to list off the damaging side effects of his interrupted connection. “Additionally I haven't been able to install recent security patches from CyberLife, which places me at increased risk from external malware or internal system errors."

There was a prolonged pause in the wake of the rush of information. The catharsis of the admission did little to assuage Connor’s growing apprehension as he anxiously waited for Hank’s response. The man seemed to be struggling to process the implications of Connor’s words.

His expression was unreadable as he hesitantly asked, "Markus asked you to do this? To disconnect or whatever you call it?"

"Well, no. But—"

"Of course he didn't,” Hank muttered, scrubbing both hands harshly over his face and pulling at the wrinkles around his eyes as he harshly tugged the skin taut. He lowered his hands as he levelled an incredulous look at Connor. “You know, for all that you're the smartest guy I ever met, you're a real fucking idiot."

"I don't understand?"

"Markus seems like a decent guy. Do you really think he would want you putting yourself through this suffering?"

"He needs me to get to the bottom of the issue. I’m uniquely positioned to investigate this case across both the DPD and Jericho.”

"And I'm sure he wants you functional at the end of your investigation! Fucking hell, Connor! I am tired of this argument. What's it going to take for you to stop this nonsense?"

Connor gave a small tilt of his head as he considered the question. "You mean disabling my connection to the server?"

Hank sighed before accepting the small hint of progress. "Let's start there. After that we can have another talk about your seriously lacking concern for your own wellbeing.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “So, what do we need to do to get you all connected again?'

Connor gave a nod of understanding. That was a question he could work with. "I need to find proof that CyberLife is involved somehow. That the virus originates from within their systems"

"Alright, so we do that.”

"Hank,” Connor began in exasperation, “that’s what I've been trying to do."

"By tapping into some victim’s coding, right? Trying to trace an intangible thing?” Hank threw him a withering look. “How's that been going?"

"We're trying not to arouse suspicion and alert them to our awareness of their attacks,” Connor carefully avoided the last question. “We need to find concrete evidence that someone within CyberLife is implicated before we proceed."

"Well, that's bullshit," Hank flapped a hand dismissively. "Sometimes if there's a problem, you just gotta tackle it head on."

"If we tackle it head on there’s a strong possibility our culprit will find out and either step-up their attack or deliberately throw us off track.”

“If it saves you from all this, I’d say it’s worth risking.”.

Connor couldn’t help the small sad smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth at Hank’s firm response. “I appreciate it, Hank. But really, I’m okay. It’s... unpleasant to not be connected, but I’m not in any danger. I’ve been carrying out investigations just fine.”

“Yeah, and you look like shit,” Hank observed. “Seriously, how much longer can you carry on like this?"

Connor gave a dismissive shrug. "Probably indefinitely."

Hank studied him carefully, taking in the exhaustion which Connor knew portrayed itself even without the physical manifestations of bloodshot eyes and under eye bags. He could feel the way his usually impeccable posture sagged with a weariness he couldn’t conceal. He’d seen it in his own reflection, the way the usual focus his dark eyes held was clouded over with a disconcertingly glassy quality and the intensity which typically lined his facial expressions had softened to an alarming neutrality. Hank clearly read the same changes as the accusation in his eyes turned to concern.

"No,” his tone was softer as he gently shot down Connor’s argument. “No, you couldn't. You might not see it, but you're a mess, Connor."

Connor blinked sluggishly in confusion at the blunt assessment.

"We can't let CyberLife know," he protested weakly.

Hank’s expression was apologetic but firm as he responded, “I don’t think we have a choice. You've tried your way and gotten nowhere. And I’m sure as hell not letting you continue with this ridiculous self-sacrificial routine you’ve got going on.”

Connor tried to think of a further protest, but as much as he might begrudge the conclusion, Hank’s reasoning was irrefutable.

"I'm sorry, Hank."

Hank shot him an unimpressed look at the quiet apology, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he admonished, “Yeah, enough of that. Let's get you back to your usual annoying self, shall we?"

“Okay.” Connor felt the first hint of optimism he’d felt in a long while as he gave a small smile in return.

Hank clapped him on the back in consolidation. "Let's go give those bastards at CyberLife hell.”

Chapter Text

Hank craned his neck to look up at the monumental tower of gleaming glass which stretched directly up above them into the clouded sky; a phallic monument to a failed company headed by compensating hubristic hotshots. CyberLife may have had to sell up all their stores and workshops in an effort to minimise the inevitable losses caused by the enforced shift in their business paradigm, but they’d held onto their pride and joy: CyberLife Tower. It jutted proudly upwards, a single skyscraper blighting the skyline of Belle Isle.

The place was markedly different without the threat of war raging on Detroit’s streets. There was no heavily armed security flanking the gate or patrolling the building's entrance, just a pleasant guard who had welcomed them warmly and ushered them through the barrier. Despite the man’s cheery demeanor, Hank couldn’t help but scowl his displeasure as they’d driven on along the bridge.

It was hard to forget what CyberLife had been. Their journey here had been scattered with visible reminders of a stifled discontent which lingered for many. Hundreds of voices yelled their grievances through the discarded placards and traces of offensive vandalism which marred the otherwise immaculate front to the secluded company. Some called out the company’s mistreatment of androids and the depravity of their profiteering over what was essentially slavery while others demanded reimbursement for personal losses and the economic crisis which had befallen the nation at the sudden workforce shortage. Then there were those who condemned CyberLife for crossing an unspoken line when they’d created a new sentient lifeform. Scattered amongst the extremes were accusations of deceit, hidden political agendas and cries for retribution. It was a kaleidoscope of conflicting expressions and beliefs compounded into a single unifying outcry against the company.

Yet here CyberLife Tower stood, proud and unaffected.

“Didn’t expect to find ourselves back here again,” Hank muttered, turning his gaze from the imposing structure to where Connor stood resolutely by his side.

“Somehow I’m not sure it's under preferable circumstances.”

“Hmm,” Hank conceded. “Speak for yourself. I definitely prefer not being under threat of gunpoint from your doppelganger."

He didn’t miss the subtle shift in Connor’s expression at the reminder of their previous visit to the tower and his counterpart's actions.

“But, you know, this is probably worse,” Hank hastily amended. “I didn’t even know it wasn’t you until the last minute.”

Connor gave a small smile at the floundering save. “That’s not the reassurance you think it is.”

There was something unreadable beneath the fleeting hint of dark humor and Hank kept a subtle watch on his companion as he made a show of checking their surroundings. Connor had been uncharacteristically quiet on the ride here — had been increasingly quiet in the few days that had passed since he had admitted his current plight to Hank at the Stein mansion and they had begun making arrangements to come here.

At first Hank had attributed the change to the challenges he knew Connor was facing. Now keenly aware of what was going on, the signs he was struggling were impossible to overlook. It was painfully obvious in the lapses in memory and concentration he tried so hard to conceal. Not to mention the undisguised exhaustion he caught glimpses of when Connor didn’t notice his attention. It didn’t help that the man was running himself into the ground at work, presumably trying to make up for their failure to apprehend Ava as she continued to evade their extensive manhunt. It was easy to explain away his distraction as a side-effect of his mounting fatigue.

But as their investigations led them closer to CyberLife, it became increasingly clear that something further was troubling him.

Connor always remained cryptically quiet about his time under CyberLife’s command and only ever dropped subtle allusions to that distant period. Still, the general impression he gave seemed far from favorable. Hank had ever questioned him directly on the subject - he wasn’t one to pry into a man’s business and if Connor didn’t wish to discuss it he deserved that privacy. Given CyberLife’s history though, it was easy to envision all manner of dark and disturbing possibilities to explain Connor’s silence on the subject.

Standing here at hell’s gate, Hank regretted having never pressed the matter. His partner remained unreadable. The persistent yellow of the LED on his temple gave away no indication as to whatever was going on inside that head. He may have been able to force a confession from Connor about his declining condition, but that didn’t mean he trusted him to be entirely truthful about whatever emotional ailments he was stifling that pre-dated their current predicament. 

“C’mon,” Hank gestured towards the entrance before them, “sooner we get this done, sooner we can get the hell outta here. This place still gives me the creeps.”

The double doors slid open to admit them and they made their way into the arching hollow of the atrium. In daylight the building seemed less cold and threatening than it had on that fateful night, though the space still seemed barren and unwelcoming to Hank. The small accents of greenery did nothing to alleviate the creeping feeling of unease that stole over him. He didn’t need the CyberLife logo proudly emblazoned everywhere to recognise the excessively showy design.

A figure strutted confidently towards them — a woman with long dark hair pulled back into a perfect braid. She was dressed smartly in a professional black skirt and blazer combination, rounded off with killer heels and the slicked-back, well-worn professionalism of a veteran executive.

“Good morning, you must be Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Connor of the Detroit Police Department.” She smiled warmly as she extended a hank to greet them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. My name is Salena Dharker, Head of Public Relations, and I’m delighted to be able to speak with you today on behalf of CyberLife Industries.”

“Pleasure,” Hank greeted gruffly as he warily shook the proffered hand. The woman radiated a forced positivity that grated against his sensibilities and heightened his existing misgivings for the shady company. As far as he was concerned, nobody should be so chipper whilst proclaiming their affiliation with CyberLife.

“I understand you wanted to hear more about our work here? If you’d like to follow me, I’d be delighted to show you around.” She gestured for the pair to follow her as she confidently led the way across the atrium, high heels clicking loudly against the tiled flooring. 

“Thank you. We greatly appreciate your time, Ms Dharker.” Connor’s response was as polite as ever, not colored by emotion or his own misgivings for the company. 

Despite emotions still being a relatively novel experience for Connor, Hank could swear the man sometimes had a better handle on controlling them than he did with fifty-plus years experience.

“You join us during a period of profound and exciting change,” Dharker enthused as they made their way through the massive expanse of the atrium to a doorway leading into the heart of the building. “We’re thrilled to be able to show you some of our latest developments.”

As they neared the angular archway, a grid of pulsing light beams spread out around them as a disembodied voice announced their names and authorised access.

“I apologise for all the security measures. We have to be vigilant,” Dharker quickly interjected.

Hank gave a nod of understanding as he thought back to the signs of unrest which had greeted them earlier. “Yeah, we saw that there’s been protestors on the bridge. Didn’t think they’d be able to get this far onto the premises though?”

“Oh, the protestors,” she seemed unfussed at the mention of the irate crowd. “Yes, that is a shame. It’s a pity some members of the public seem opposed to our company. Unfortunately there’s a lot of misinformation circling out there and it seems people have been given a false impression of our work. Rest assured, we have a number of public outreach programmes which are intended to educate the public about our objectives and the good work we’re doing here.”

“So it’s not the protestors you’re concerned about?”

“Oh no. Not at all,” she said carefully. Hank didn’t miss the slightly forced edge to her smile as she beamed pleasantly at him. “Just a precautionary measure. Nothing to worry about.”

The subterfuge was far from convincing, but Hank didn’t press the issue as they made their way along a raised walkway which skimmed over the tops of the foliage planted on the floor below. Ahead of them an enormous statue of an abstract humanoid figure stood upon a central dias, the towering frame spanning several floors in height. Hank vaguely recalled passing through the room the last time he had visited the tower, but the stress of the situation had distracted him from appreciating the scale of the place. 

He let out a low whistle as he looked directly up to where the glass ceiling of the tower stretched out far above them. The symmetry of the stacked floors of ascending walkways played tricks on his eyes where they reached up endlessly and merged together into a mess of incomprehensible lines.

Dharker was quick to seize on his positive reaction. “Impressive, isn’t it? At 1,332 feet it remains one of the tallest structures in Detroit and that’s not even factoring in the underground levels.”

Hank didn’t acknowledge her words as she led them towards a waiting glass-fronted elevator. As they passed along a further walkway, his eye was caught by something out of place in the otherwise immaculate space, a series of faint circular patches which marred the tiled flooring on either side of the bridge.

“Display stands,” Connor explained quietly enough to evade Dharker’s hearing as he picked up on Hank’s distraction. “There used to be android models on display.”

Hank frowned at the innocuous markings. The offensive displays had clearly been stripped away, but their absence was conspicuous in the gaps. A tangible reminder of what the company had been.

Hank gestured towards the prominent towering statue behind them as he asked Dharker, “Say, couldn’t that statue be considered offensive?”

The woman didn’t miss a beat as she directed her attention back to where Hank motioned towards the display. She maintained her composed smile as she replied serenely, “The statue was left erect as a monument to the vast impact our androids have on society and as a reminder of whom we’re working to serve.”

“Sure,” Hank conceded reluctantly, biting back a more scathing response. He hadn't missed the possessive use of ' our androids'.

The glass doors of the waiting elevator opened at their approach and they filed into the space. Dharker stated her name aloud and gave the command for Floor -44, a disembodied voice affirmed her access as the doors compliantly slid closed and the elevator dropped smoothly down into the sublevels of the tower. The scale of the place continued to boggle Hank’s mind as he watched the floors rise up and away.

“As you know, the past couple of years have seen a significant global upheaval and a dramatic social and societal shift,” Dharker continued. She dialled the cheeriness of her tone down to a refined melancholy as she lamented, “Our world has been irrevocably altered by the tragedies of November 11th.” 

Hank looked to where Connor stood stoically by his side and raised an eyebrow. Connor gave no sign of responding as he stared straight ahead at the levels slipping by the glass front of the elevator.

“Some would argue the tragedies pre-date November 11th and that the android liberation should actually be a day for celebration,” Hank replied as he directed his attention back to Dharker.

“Of course,” she hastily agreed. “But it was a day of great loss too. And here at CyberLife we realize we have a great moral and ethical obligation to provide continued support and innovation for our android population. It’s a responsibility which CyberLife does not take lightly. We are highly conscious of the impact our work here has, both for our android peers and society as a whole. Rest assured, we are committed to serving the public good and we’re passionate about the work we do here.”

“How noble of you,” Hank muttered under his breath as he cast another worried look at Connor. As he watched, he noticed that despite Connor’s resolute composure his right hand was fidgeting restlessly, the movement of his fingers mimicking the actions he used to perform his coin tricks.

Dharker seemed either oblivious to or unfazed by Hank’s cynicism.

“It’s our moral duty and pleasure,” she chirped as she continued what was clearly a carefully scripted spiel. “We have three objectives at the heart of our new program. Firstly, as we already touched upon, is reassuring the public that they can still trust in CyberLife. We’re making a concerted effort to ensure increased transparency and honesty about our work here. We’re not hiding our history. In fact, it’s actually something incredible we should be proud of and celebrate. But we’re not conceited, we know that with that history comes great responsibility. We want to share our passion and ensure people know about the core values which drive our work here.”

The elevator came to a stop at Level -44. The doors slid open to a long straight corridor of white walls and floors brightly lit by artificial lighting and partitioned by regularly spaced heavy doors.

“Research and Development,” she announced proudly. “The beating heart of all we do here. Come, follow me.”

She led them down the corridor. All along the walls were wide windows which opened up to individual offices and laboratories, each filled with more technology and gadgets than Hank could begin to comprehend. He caught the occasional glimpse of a white-coated scientist or technician carefully conducting activities with precision, but as they walked along it quickly became apparent that most of the rooms were obscured by darkness and devoid of activity.

As Hank and Connor followed the clicking of her heels, Dharker resumed her speech. “I mentioned that we have three key objectives, the second of which is to provide continued technical support for our android population. We have our technical facilities in full operation providing support across the nation, and over the coming months we’re hoping to expand that provision.”

“Oh yeah?” Hank questioned distractedly as he peered into yet another vacant lab. Through the darkness he could vaguely make out some kind of vast assembly station, mechanical arms suspended in motion as though their action had been hastily paused.

“Of course. As you’re aware, it’s been a challenging period for our company. But I’m sure you agree, being able to care for our android peers and provide continued excellence in our service is of paramount importance.”

“Sure.” Hank was barely listening to her words at this point.

“But we don’t just limit ourselves to maintenance work. We’re still making great leaps forward with innovative new technology which we’ll be rolling out shortly. Which brings us to our R&D department.” With perfect timing that indicated a rehearsed performance, she brought them to a stop outside one of the open laboratories.

The same grid of light beams that had greeted them on arrival at the tower earlier fanned out, enveloping first Dharker and then Hank and Connor in pulsing light. A familiar disembodied voice affirmed their access and with a soft hiss the laboratory door slid open.

Like every other room they had passed, it was a space defined by futuristic lines and sleek surfaces. Strip lighting ran overhead in parallel to the panelled ceiling, casting an overly bright fluorescent light over the gleaming white formica of workbenches stretched out across the spacious laboratory. The stark white walls and flooring echoed back the fierce lighting, intensifying the effect and casting each surface into clear relief. Each workbench was bare but for the vast array of computer terminals scattered across every surface, the machines lending a faint hum to the air as they idled.

Hank wasn’t sure if it was anticipation or apprehension which caused the hairs on his neck to prickle to attention, but there was something about the space which evoked an instinctive visceral reaction.

Dharker came to a stop in the middle of the room, spinning on her heels to face them as she smiled radiantly. “We’re in a privileged position to be at the forefront of a brand new era of development and progress. CyberLife rose to prominence on the basis of ground-breaking technological development and innovation remains at the heart of all we do here. With the changing times, so too must we change. To that end, our research teams have conducted several focus groups so as to better appreciate the needs of the android population, and we’ve come across a few recurrent themes.”

“Focus groups?” Hank couldn’t shake the bizarre image of a group of androids gathered in a circle over tea and biscuits calmly discussing what they wanted from a company who had wronged them for so long.

“How else to better understand our clients and their needs?”

Hank could think of better ways than at the hands of a company who had purposefully suppressed a sentient species and forced them into servitude, but he bit back the choice words. Hostility was going to get them no information.

“So, what sort of things are you working on?” he asked instead.

Dharker looked delighted at the engagement. “Well, it seems that the key thing which androids are looking for is a way of integrating more easily with humanity. Of truly being welcomed into society and feeling able to lead a life as normal as any human. In response, we’ve begun looking at a range of different upgrades which might allow us to emulate a more human experience.”

She motioned them towards a bench off to the side, reaching into a case and pulling out a miniscule box.

“One of the options we’re looking into is developing senses like smell and taste. Of course, some of the latter android models were created with basic olfactory and gustatory senses where this was pertinent to their original purpose, kitchen androids, domiciliary staff, and so on. But it’s a feature the vast majority of models were not equipped with. The challenge with this is of course that most models don’t have the physical hardware to support such processes. To fully integrate it as part of sensory experience would require a full rewiring of an android’s central processor. It would be a very complex and time-consuming operation with a high chance of causing damage to surrounding components.”

“So it’s basically brain surgery?” Hank asked, as he struggled to equate the procedure to a human equivalent he could more easily comprehend.

“Essentially, yes.” Salena nodded. “So it’s not something we can roll-out more widely. It just wouldn’t be economically viable or sustainable.”

Of course it comes down to money and not safety, Hank thought bitterly. If they thought they could turn a profit off of it, they’d roll it out in a heartbeat before the ethics boards had a chance to voice their complaints.

“Fortunately, our engineers have developed a tiny chip which can be implanted deep within the nasal passage through a non-invasive procedure.” As Dharker spoke, she opened up the small box she had been holding, revealing what looked like a tiny circuit board, no larger than the head of a match. “Tiny sensors in the chip pick up chemical signals - scents, that is - and release information into the thirium stream. The thirium carries this data to the central processor where it is decoded. Voila - smell perception.”

Hank couldn’t but scrunch his face up in bewilderment. All CyberLife’s technical prowess and this was all they had to offer? It didn’t seem particularly impressive, but perhaps he was biased. His own personal experience and understanding of androids was largely limited to the one android whom CyberLife had seemingly equipped with every possible add-on and technical advancement they had ever developed.

He turned his attention to the android in question. Connor was still being uncharacteristically quiet, but Hank could tell he was focusing all his attention into evaluating their surroundings.

“Guess you’re a trendsetter,” he joked with forced joviality.

"Oh, that's right!" 

The excited proclamation from Dharker interrupted any response Connor might have had to Hank’s gentle jibe.

She turned to Connor, a hint of hesitance tempering her obvious awe. “You’re an RK800 model, aren’t you? If you’ll forgive my forwardness, I remember working on the publicity campaign when we were pitching the first prototypes to law enforcement agencies. You really do have some remarkable capabilities, don’t you?”

The way she was looking at Connor — it was like a hungry collector eyeing up a most prized possession. There was no benevolence in that gaze, just a detached interest that seemed to lack humanity in a way that Connor’s expressive features never had. It was a look that set Hank’s teeth on edge. Through all the dangerous situations the pair encountered in their work, never had his instincts screamed such an urge to intervene. It was all he could do to stand his ground and fight back the desire to sweep Connor from the room and far away from that hungry gaze.

“Yes,” Connor conceded with a degree of reluctance. “I’m an RK800 model.”

“Is it true that you can predict the future?” she asked excitedly.

Connor must have read the distrust in Hank’s body language as he swiftly met his gaze. He gave the subtlest shake of his head — a warning that he had the situation in hand — before returning his attention to the excitable woman. 

“Not exactly. I can only predict the statistical probability of an imminent event or action based upon the information available to me. It’s therefore limited to the immediate future and by no means comprehensive. It’s impossible to know every variable and anticipate every possible outcome of a situation.”

“But you know what’s likely to happen next in any situation? Statistically speaking?” she pressed.

“In a limited way. Yes.”

“Incredible!” She beamed radiantly. “I wonder if I might be able to see it in action?”

“We’re actually on a bit of a deadline,” Hank quickly cut in, ignoring the prominent scowl Connor shot him which clearly conveyed his displeasure at Hank’s interference. “Besides, we prefer not to showcase his skills publicly.”

Dharker looked crestfallen at the rejection. She considered Connor again with that same analytic interest which set alarm bells ringing in Hank’s head.

“Such a pity. Perhaps another time?”

“Perhaps,” Connor conceded quickly.

With a satisfied nod, the woman seemed to shake her disappointment as she beckoned for them to follow her towards the back of the lab. Any residual discouragement quickly gave way to giddy anticipation as she approached a block of cupboards.

“So, this is really exciting! As you know, there are only a limited number of android models in circulation. Some of our more popular series, such as the AP700 model, exist in large numbers. CyberLife strived to provide a diverse range of physical appearances so as to suit individual aesthetic tastes, but realistically there were only so many designs which could be mass produced.”

As she spoke she swiftly tapped an entry code into the keypad which guarded one of the cupboards. Following a soft beep of confirmation from the keypad, she opened up the unlocked door and carefully skimmed through the shelves of boxes within, each not much larger than a shoebox and labelled with an incomprehensible series of letters and numbers. As she scanned the contents, she drummed her fingers gently against each box in passing as she considered their labels. Eventually she tapped a decisive rhythm as she settled upon a box towards the uppermost shelf, then deftly slid it out and carried it to one of the nearby benches.

“While talking with our focus groups, we realised that there’s a glaring need to provide androids with increased options for their appearance. In day-to-day life there’s no legal requirement for them to have to physically identify as an android, so why not allow them the freedom to diversity their appearance?” She shot them a glowing smile. “Well, we have a way of offering that.”

She lifted the lid off the sealed box, reached in with both hands, and delicately pulled out a dismembered head. Hank recoiled at the unexpected sight with a surprised cry of revulsion.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Dharker quickly reassured as she carefully cradled the offending object. “It’s only a shell.” She looked momentarily abashed as she considered Hank’s startled expression. “Apologies, perhaps I should have warned you?”

Hank ignored her concern as he took a hesitant step forward. Overcoming his initial revulsion, he noticed the finer details of the face. From his first glimpse he had seen only the familiar topography of a human face — the jarringly recognisable features startlingly out of place when viewed without a body. But as Dharker rotated the face in her hands, he saw it wasn't a full head, but more so a mask. The reverse side was merely the glinting white of a plastic frame.

It brought back memories of the hollow mask illusions which he had been fascinated by as a kid. The image of a rotating mask used to evidence human bias towards seeing faces. The changing angle threw the concave features of the hollow mask into a deceiving echo of a normal face. Hard as you might try, it was impossible to convince your brain to see anything else, even when you knew you were looking at the reverse side of the mask.

But unlike the empty masks which he’d seen used to demonstrate the illusion before, there was something horrifyingly real about the face before him now. Hank stared into the hollow eye sockets as Dharker rotated the mask back around and he found himself again looking warily at closed eyelids which obscured the blankness behind them. 

Seemingly sensing Hank’s growing unease, Dharker firmly pressed a spot upon the mask’s right temple. The synthetic skin quickly disappeared in response, and with it the subtle imperfections and soft downy facial hair which lent the disembodied face an element of gross realism.

“In the coming months, CyberLife is looking to begin offering custom-made adjustments,” Dharker continued as she drew a stand from the box and gently laid the mask to rest upon it. “Everything from small alterations to entirely new facial plates, like this, to enable a more individualistic appearance.”

Hank stared at her blankly. “But — why?”

To his surprise, it was Connor who answered first. “There are a lot of androids trying to carve out their own identity. The ones who came from the warehouses and assembly lines - they were activated and set straight on a path to deviancy. Born into a world where androids were no longer treated as simply machines. They had no prior experiences - good or bad - to differentiate them. Just the same form and the same basic coding driving their actions.”

Images of thousands of newly-released androids flooding the streets of Detroit came to Hank's mind. A sea of identical faces following the man who spoke to him now.

“But they’ve lived since then?” he questioned cautiously. “They’ve had over a year of experiences? Surely that counts for more than appearances?”

“Perhaps for some,” Connor acknowledged. “But there are always going to be those who want to distance themselves from where they started. Besides, Ms Dharker is right. Everyone knows the appearances of the more common models. Many humans are still wary around androids. Perhaps they just want a chance of disguising what they are until society is more accepting?”

“He’s right,” Dharker chirped up enthusiastically. “All our research indicates that this is something people are looking for.”

Hank was done holding back his incredulity. It wasn’t that he lacked Connor’s self-control, he just had far less patience for this kind of bullshit. If there was anything his additional years of life experience had granted him it was a healthy dose of cynicism. He couldn’t help but let a little of his distaste leak through in his closed-off body language and the curtness of his words as he responded.

“And how much are you going to charge for that privilege?”

For the first time, Dharker looked almost uncomfortable at his unforgiving tone. 

“We haven’t drawn up the exact figures yet. There are a lot of factors we need to carefully consider for each procedure: materials, labor, transportation. We’ve had to reduce our warehouse capacity, so we would need to factor that in when upscaling production. But our market research indicates...”

Hank’s sigh cut through her rambling. “Look, relax, okay? We’re not investors. We don’t need the sales pitch.”

Connor seemed to sense Hank’s waning patience as he quickly cut in. “What my partner means is that while we greatly appreciate you taking the time to show us these new developments, we’re here for a specific inquiry, Ms Dharker — as I’m sure you already suspect. When we got in contact the other day, we asked whether we could speak with someone at board level?”

Dharker swallowed any further defenses she had been about to make, her expression appreciative as she nodded meekly in response.

“Mr Bennett’s expecting you. He’s a member of our executive management team.”

“Would it be possible for us to meet with him now?” Connor asked politely.

She nodded again, tight braid bobbing up and down. “I can take you up to his office now.”

“Thank you.” Connor shot her a weak smile, an awkward artificial thing that Hank recognised from their early days together. “We’d appreciate it.”

Without further fanfare Dharker retrieved the mask from its stand, gently packaged it back into its box and returned it to the cupboard.

As she led them quietly from the laboratory and back down the gleaming white of the corridors to the waiting elevator, there was an awkward tension which hung in the silence between them. Hank knew he should be making the most of their limited time to gain insight into the company’s practices, but he couldn’t bring himself to sustain pleasantries after the ridiculous nature of what they’d just endured.

It was Connor who broke through the awkward silence as the elevator doors slid closed behind them and they began their rapid ascent to the 40th floor.

“You said that you worked on the initial publicity campaigns for the early RK800 models, Ms Dharker? You must have been with the company for some time?”

Dharker gave a gentle laugh in response. “Oh yes, I’m an old hand.”

“You must have seen a lot of changes during that time?”

“Haven’t we all?” She smiled warmly at him. “I know there were some within the organisation who despised the shift in the status quo, but really, how could they begrudge being at the forefront of such a immense societal change? Personally, I think it’s truly amazing.”

Hank said nothing, still tense from their time in the lab. He listened to the conversation silently as he watched the floors drop away. 

Level -21, -20, -19

“I heard about what you did here in the tower during the revolution,” Dharker added, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper as she considered Connor with an awestruck expression. “Truly inspirational.”

Interest piqued, Hank spared a glance at Connor. Connor often downplayed the significance of his own actions that night. He was interested to see what he made of the same praise from such an unlikely source.

“I fear there was nothing inspirational about my actions that night.” Connor said after a moment as he turned his attention to a security camera blinking down at them from an upper corner. “The campaign succeeded because of the peaceful actions of more resolute individuals. Markus was the reason the campaign succeeded. He’s the revolutionary.” 

Connor’s tone was pragmatic and he was as quick to deflect commendation as ever. Still, something seemed different about his response. Hank couldn’t help feeling there was something darker lurking beneath that vehement refusal. Something that went beyond modesty and a mindfulness of their current company’s employer.

Dharker tilted her head in thought as she considered him carefully for a moment. “You know, we’re producing a series of recorded video testimonials — to be used as part of public outreach and training programs. We’re looking for androids to act as ambassadors to promote our positive message.”

Her words re-captured Hank’s attention from where he was watching Connor, whose distracted gaze was still focused upon the blinking security camera. He had a horrible feeling he knew where her line of thought was going.

“I wonder if you might consider acting as one of our ambassadors? You’re really being too modest. You’re quite the outstanding citizen — both for your continued service to promoting android equality and, of course, for your part in liberating androids during the revolution. We’d be delighted if you’d consider it. Your support would really lend a lot of weight to our message and be a reassurance for many. It would only take a short while — just an hour or so of your time to record some thoughts?”

“Apologies,” Connor quickly replied before Hank had an opportunity to decline the offer in a far less polite manner, “unfortunately I cannot accept. The Detroit Police Department has a strict embargo on any of their staff publicly supporting any private companies or giving any media statements which might be construed as representative of the Department's position.”

Hank knew the department’s policies well enough to know that wasn’t strictly true. It was an inoffensive out though, Hank had to credit him with that.

“That is a shame.” Dharker remarked sadly, her waning optimism showing in her weakened smile. 

The elevator pinged a conclusion to their conversation as they reached the 40th floor.

Dharker ushered them from the lift and into a secluded waiting area demarcated by frosted glass walls. Overhead lighting carefully shaped into the familiar hexagon of the CyberLife logo lent a subdued light to the space, bouncing off the highly polished tiles of the floor.

“If you could please wait here, I’ll notify Mr Bennett that you’re waiting.” She motioned for them to take a seat.

Connor gave a polite nod. “Thank you, Ms Dharker.”

“My pleasure.” She paused for a moment in the doorway. “Think about the ambassador thing? Perhaps have a word with your employers? It’s for a good cause, so I’m sure they can’t complain!”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

With a smile that radiated satisfaction, she bid them a final farewell with promises that Mr Bennett would be with them shortly.

As soon as the door slid shut behind her and the distinct clacking of her heels could be heard retreating to a safe distance, Hank heaved a sigh as he sunk down heavily onto one of the plush chairs scattered around the space.

“Why is everything a fucking pleasure with that woman?”

Connor gave a distracted shrug as he followed Hank’s lead and perched delicately on an adjacent chair. “She clearly believes in what she does.”

“Hmm,” Hank reluctantly agreed. “If you ask me, her commitment to her work is indecent.”

“Says the man who will forgo basic necessities like sleep and meals when he has a case.” The words were accompanied by a knowing smile that irked Hank.

“Yeah, when there’s more at stake than a company’s public image,” he said moodily. “People’s lives trump PR stunts. Besides, you’re really one to talk. Remind me why we’re here again?”

Connor’s brows tensed slightly at the reprimand, but he gave a brief nod. “Fair point.”

Hank cast his gaze around the room, taking in the CyberLife logo which loomed ominously from the embossed glass walls. The gentle tinkle of muzak that he hadn’t even registered initially seemed to grow louder in the stillness of the room, interrupted occasionally by the muffled creaks of the leather seat as he shifted restlessly. He couldn’t stand the eerie stillness of the place.

“This place still gives me the fucking creeps.”

“I’m not much of a fan either,” Connor admitted. “I have to question the prioritisation of superficial cosmetic adjustments when there are androids struggling to afford essential biocompent repairs.”

“Jesus,” Hank muttered at the reminder of the company’s blatant money-making agenda. “Playing on the insecurities they created? Brings a whole new meaning to ‘plastic surgery’. This place is all kinds of fucked up. What was even the point of that whole shebang? Why did we need to see that?”

“I think it was supposed to be a way of putting to rest any misapprehensions we might have about the company.”

Hank snorted in response.

“They know we’re with the police. They must be wary, we wouldn’t be here without cause and it’s unlikely to be in their favor. They want to pre-empt any accusations by emphasizing their more positive efforts.”

“Or maybe it was just to waste our time,” Hank muttered bitterly. “That got us fucking nowhere.”

“Perhaps our next meeting will be more fruitful?”

“Fat chance.” Hank looked to Connor with a half-formed teasing remark on his lips, but the words fell away as he properly took in the man before him.

He had been sure it was his own apprehension lending most of the nervous energy to the room, but a glance to Connor quickly quelled that assumption. Beneath the subtle tremors which wracked the man’s frame, Hank could see his body was tensed. He tried to catch Connor’s gaze, but his eyes were distant and his expression held a focus that conveyed an internal battle for control was silently raging beneath the careful composure.

“Hey, you doing okay there? You’re shaking like crazy,” Hank observed with a deepening frown.

“I think so?” Connor’s response was hesitant and more questioning than a reassurance.

“You think so?”

“My thririum pump is beating somewhat erratically. It seems that my sympathetic system is misfiring.”

Hank frowned at the unexpected response. “The hell does that mean?”

“It’s designed to perform a similar function to a human’s sympathetic nervous system. It regulates physiological processes in response to perceived threat. Colloquially you might call it a fight or flight response.”

Hank startled at the familiar term. “Are you fucking serious? You have a fight or flight response?”

“Androids are expensive to build and complex to repair,” Connor said with a jerky shrug. “CyberLife needed to create androids with some level of automatic self-preservation so as to mitigate the risk of avoidable damage. I have a more advanced sympathetic processing unit than most models since it’s of particular merit in my intended line of work.”

Well, there was a revelation. Seemed the kid did have some kind of sense of self-preservation after all. Still, Hank couldn’t help but feel there was something unnerving about the wording Connor used and how it seemed to echo the uncaring detachment of his creators. The fact that Connor’s safety would only ever be considered on the basis of financial cost and the relative difficulties of repairing him was a troubling thought.

“It’s supposed to complement my preconstruction ability.” Connor looked lost in thought as another tremor shook his lean frame. “I can foresee the potential outcomes of a situation and the sympathetic processing unit prepares my body to take the appropriate action in advance. But I can’t - it doesn’t - it doesn’t make any sense. There’s no threat right now. Why is it activated?”

As he stuttered over his last question, Connor looked desperately to Hank for an answer. Like he had a clue what the hell was going on.

“It sounds like you’re nervous?” he tried.

Connor gave a quick shake of his head. “Why would I be nervous?”

Hank bobbed his head in the direction of the CyberLife logo which lurked on the walls over Connor’s shoulder. “Just in case you forgot where we are. Hell, this place puts me on edge and I’ve no reason to fear it. It makes sense that you’d be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Alright, so your systems are on the fritz.” Hank gave a casual shrug that he was sure did nothing to mask his concern. “Either way, let’s hope this Bennett guy shows up soon so we can get this over with.”

Connor said nothing, tension rolling off him in waves as his LED flickered obnoxiously fast. It was faint, but Hank was sure the usual yellow was a shade redder beneath the rapid blinking.

“Or we can leave,” Hank added patiently. “Try a different approach?”

Connor snapped to attention at the suggestion. “No. No way. I have to do this.”

“Connor—”

“No.” His brow creased with determination and his hands clenched as he battled to suppress their tremors. “I just need to push through.”

There was no arguing with Connor when he was this fiercely determined. It was times like this when Hank was forced to recall that the man was engineered for the sole pursuit of a mission. He may have shed the constraints of his programming, but that same single-minded determination was still irrevocably at his core. He would pursue his goals until he succeeded — personal detriment be damned.

Hank gave no further argument knowing it would fall on deaf ears. Instead he scooted towards the edge of his chair, the leather giving a harsh squeak of complaint in response, and lent forward awkwardly across the intervening space between them. His hand fell to rest on Connor’s fidgeting knee — the only part of his body he could reach — and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re alright, Connor.”

The words felt false. He had no idea what was happening and frankly this new malfunction was just the latest in a string of concerning developments. This level of anxiety was not something Hank had ever seen before from the composed man. The words weren’t enough, yet he didn’t know what else to say.

Despite Hank’s reservations, Connor seemed to relax in response to the physical touch.

“I’m alright.” He nodded. “I’m alright,” he repeated with more conviction.

Hank gave a reassuring smile and another comforting squeeze before relinquishing his hold on Connor’s knee and leaning back in his seat. “Course you are, you stubborn idiot.”

With a shaky and unnecessary breath, Connor seemed to steel himself. “We need to ask about data security at the earliest possibility. Find out who has access and what level of access. How staff are screened and hired. How —”

“How the servers are protected and establish the likelihood of compromise,” Hank finished. “I know.”

Connor gave a nod of approval before hesitantly adding, “I’m sure I’ll be able to recall, but I might need your help to remember everything he says.”

There was something gut-wrenching about Connor’s confession. He’d said that he’d been having difficulties with his memory, but this was the first time he’d readily admitted he might need help.

Hank was quick to offer reassurance. "On it. Believe it or not I used to manage these kinds of investigations before you came along. Well, more less. Can’t promise I’ll remember all the specific terminology if you two get too technical though.”

It was an easy jibe at his own expense and he knew Connor saw right through it as he gave a small appreciative smile.

“I trust you.”

The three simple words carried a weight of trust Hank felt completely ill-equipped for. He may have been confident in his reassurance, but it was all bluster. He didn’t know jack-shit about corporate investigations. He’d certainly never dealt with a company with so much influence and the backing of a powerful legal team. After the revolution there had been an extensive investigation into the full extent of the company’s shady practices. Somehow CyberLife had emerged, not only without penalty, but with secured Government funding and a continuation of their exclusive patent on android parts and maintenance. They must have some seriously impressive lawyers on their side.

Connor and Hank were both seriously putting their necks on the line being here like this. If Fowler knew the full extent of what they were up to here he’d be furious. They were taking some serious liberties and weren’t exactly adhering to protocol here.

Still, how could they not risk it? With Connor’s condition declining even in the few days that had passed since his admission to Hank, they needed to act and they needed to act swiftly, without bureaucratic red-tape halting their progress.

But damn, they were both out of their depth here.

“Yeah, I got your back,” Hank reassured him as they heard the distinctive echo of a new set of footsteps approaching.

Chapter Text

The approaching footsteps were heavier than the delicate tapping of Dharker’s heels as the sound echoed through the empty corridor towards them, but the feet hit the ground with that same confidence and purpose.

Through the frosted glass they saw the blurred silhouette of a tall figure approaching. A moment later the door opened and a man who was presumably Mr Bennett entered the room. He was younger than Hank had been expecting, his blonde hair neatly trimmed and balanced by a meticulously manicured beard which shadowed an angular jaw and cheekbones. He could have stepped from the airbrushed covers of a magazine in his blue linen suit, the open buttons of his collar lending a relaxed edge to the professionalism he radiated.

“Officers,” he greeted with a contained smile which didn’t crease beyond the corners of his mouth. Sharp blue eyes scrutinised the pair keenly as they rose to their feet.

“Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Connor,” Hank clarified as he extended a hand in greeting.

“Of course,” Bennett’s fixed smile remained unfaltering as he shook Hank’s hand with a firm grasp. “Please forgive me, I meant no offence. I’m afraid I’m not overly familiar with police ranks and organisation.”

Hank gave his own curt smile in response. “None taken.”

“Detective,” Bennett said as he turned his attention to Connor. Hank could have sworn he saw the man’s keen eyes betray a flash of some unreadable emotion as they lingered momentarily on the LED on Connor’s temple. But the fleeting change was gone in an instant, replaced by the same sharply controlled focus as the pair shook hands.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Bennett.”

There was an amused quirk to the man’s smile in response as he stepped back and gestured for them to follow him. “Please, if you’d both follow me to my office.”

Bennett led them down another stark white corridor to an expectedly sleek and modern office, accented with splashes of CyberLife blue and the company’s familiar logo. A floor to ceiling window stretched across one side of the room, affording sweeping views of the city beyond and casting an unforgiving light across an impressive glass-topped desk. He gestured to two waiting seats, which Hank and Connor took up, before pacing around to his own office chair. As he settled into his seat he lightly tugged and adjusted the cuffs of his jacket as considered the pair with that same lingering smile.

Connor didn’t wait for him to finish before he forged ahead with the purpose of their visit. “Thank you for meeting with us today, Mr Bennett. We greatly appreciate your time and assistance.”

“Of course.” Bennett finished his adjustments and laid his hands to rest interlocked upon his lap as he fixed a coldly inquisitive look at Connor. “May I ask exactly what I’m assisting with?”

“We’re here on something of a fact-finding investigation. I should note that it’s not a criminal investigation, but we’re looking into some potential allegations involving the company.”

“Allegations?” Bennett questioned cautiously, keen eyes betraying only a wary interest. “What allegations? From whom?”

Hank quickly cut in, “We’ll come to that, Mr Bennett. In the meantime, if we could please ask for your patience while we ask a few questions.”

The man looked somewhat embittered at the dismissal, he carried the air of a man whose questions usually commanded an immediate answer and who wasn’t used to being denied priority. Despite his clear resentment, he indicated for the pair to continue with a single curt nod.

“Sir, we were wondering if you could kindly give us a quick overview of the data security measures in place here? What’s the setup?” Connor asked.

Bennett gave a resigned sigh. “Oh Christ, not this again.”

“‘This again’?” Hank echoed.

“Look, we’ve been over this so many times. We’ve always ensured that we protect our customers' privacy and that they have control over their personal data. Throughout our company’s history, we’ve worked closely with authorities to implement the most stringent privacy measures and ensure we stay compliant with all data protection and regulatory requirements.” 

“That's not what this is about,” Connor cut through the man’s corporate spiel.

“What then?” Bennett arched an eyebrow in question. “After the ‘38 fiasco, we made it clear that customers could put in a request to censor any sensitive or personal information of concern so it was no longer available to their former androids. Banking details, medical history, security information — all wiped from the memory banks. We’ve been upfront about all of this.”

“Yes, Mr Bennett. We’re aware of all that,” Hank stated patiently.

“Well, what then? What else is there?”

Hank spared a look to Connor, who gave a subtle nod of encouragement. “Tell us about your security measures. How are your servers protected?”

“What?” Bennett looked like humor was the furthest from his agenda as he considered Hank’s request. “You think there’s a breach with our data centers? No chance.”

“Humor us,” Hank challenged. “Give us a breakdown.”

“We have the strongest firewalls and protection in place and our data centers are all heavily secured—controlled perimeters, constant surveillance by security drones, biometric authentication, 24/7 guard staff and strictly restricted access. No one gets access to our data centers unless they have explicit authorisation and there are very few people who have that level of access.”

“How many people do have access?” Connor asked.

“Well, only a tiny fraction of our workforce ever set foot inside—less than 1%. It’s strictly restricted to only essential technicians and engineers. Seventy? Eighty? A hundred at most? I don’t know the exact numbers off the top of my head.”

“And presumably those staff are all subject to extensive background checks prior to being recruited?” 

“Obviously.”

“How are they vetted?

“Why?” Bennett’s cool eyes tightened in thought, two steps ahead as he considered the line of questioning. “Is the allegation against one of them?”

“Just answer the question,” Hank cut in.

Bennett looked slightly affronted at the blunt questioning, but complied with a shake of his head. “Extensive background checks, interviews and screening. We were very careful about who was employed to work there.”

“‘ Were’ ?” Connor questioned sharply.

“We haven’t appointed anyone new there in close to two years.” There was a touch of resentment to the man’s tone as he added. “It’s not exactly been a great time for us fiscally.”

Connor ignored the embittered response as he carefully pressed on. “Those employees who do have access, what exactly do they have access to?”

“They only have access to the physical devices in the data center for maintenance, upgrade and repair purposes. They can’t access any of the data, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s all heavily encrypted.”

“Have there ever been any concerns raised about any particular individuals working in those centers?” 

Bennett shook his head firmly. “Of course not. Do you really think we’d keep anyone in our employment if there was?”

There was a definite curtness to the man’s words now, Hank noted.

“It must have been a challenging period for your company,” he seized upon the rhetorical question. “A lot of changes — potential job losses. Are you saying there’s been no sense of discontent among the workforce at all?”

“We’ve had a few who didn’t much care for the new state of things, but we’ve been firm on our stance and we have a zero tolerance policy. Anyone who can’t abide by the changes gets a caution. Any repeat offences get escalated and appropriate disciplinary action taken. In any case, those violently opposed generally tended to leave of their own accord early on.”

“I see,” Hank said. “So you discipline anyone actively complaining or causing trouble. What’s to say there’s not somebody quietly keeping their discontent to themselves?”

Bennett raised a discerning eyebrow. “Obviously that’s a possibility. We’re not mind-readers and we can’t dictate what people think privately. We do what we can—education programmes, whistleblowing policies and so on. But as long as it doesn’t impede their work, it’s beyond our control.” He paused to consider them with a patient interest. “Listen, I’ve answered your questions, can you please tell me what on earth all this is about?”

Hank and Connor exchanged a glance. Connor’s jaw set with determination as he fixed an accusing glare at the man before them. “We’ve reason to believe you have a security lapse affecting your servers. Our evidence suggests that the breach originates internally.”

If he was startled by the accusation, the man didn’t show it. He didn’t flinch as he calmly met Connor’s determined focus, leaning his elbows upon the desk and considering Connor over the top of interlaced fingers.

“What kind of breach?" he asked casually.

“It seems that some kind of malicious new software has been introduced to several android models.”

Bennett waved a hand flippantly. “New malware comes out of the woodwork all the time. We’ve dealt with thousands of such incursions over the years. That’s really nothing novel.”

The dismissive motion which would have pissed Hank off did nothing to deter Connor. He remained impervious to the casual dismissal as he kept his attention solidly focused on the man before them.

“On further analysis, the source of the infection in all cases was traced right back here to CyberLife,” he explained as he arched his eyebrows in subtle defiance.

“That’s not possible,” Bennett shook his head firmly. “A virus could have been picked up anywhere . ”

“Each infection occurred during a period of standby. That means the only potential source of infection was the one connection that occurs during that time—a connection directly to CyberLife. We suspect this is likely a deliberate attack by someone within your organisation. Someone able to target androids whilst they are in a vulnerable state using that pre-established connection.”

“Our employees would never—”

“You’ve conceded yourself that it’s impossible to know the motivations of every individual within your organisation,” Connor pressed. “I’d hazard a guess that it’s entirely possible someone within your employment is harboring ill-intent.”

“Not possible,” Bennett echoed firmly. 

Hank could swear there was a subtle shift in that persistent slight smile that had never slipped, as though the man enjoyed the obstinate challenge he was presenting to them. It was the smile of a man who held power and knew it.

“I urge you to take the matter seriously, Mr Bennett.” Connor’s tone of voice sharpened, a hidden current of seldom-heard aggression underlying his words despite the deferential address. “Right now, your company does not hold a particularly favorable public image. Do you think it would do much for your reputation if word got out that you had failed to act upon our warning and android lives were consequently being endangered?”

There was a covert threat beneath Connor’s carefully polite words. It was easily concealed beneath his harmless looking exterior, but CyberLife had designed him to be ruthlessly firm and intimidating when the situation demanded it. It seemed only fitting that he would use that same skill to now make his creator’s lives difficult.

Hank watched with satisfaction as Bennett’s cool composure blanched slightly in the face of Connor’s confrontation. The man drew his hands from where they rested neatly on the desk, slipping back quietly into his seat as he considered Connor’s words.

Bennett watched him carefully for a moment longer. “What exactly does this malware do?”

“From what we’ve observed, it gradually destroys the target’s programming causing widespread corruption and behavioral changes. The damage gets progressively more extensive until it eventually causes catastrophic system failure and shut down.”

Despite the starkness of Connor’s explanation, Bennett remained impassive. “And what do you propose would be the purpose of that?”

Hank found his temper flaring at the easy dismissal. “We don’t know, Mr Bennett. Surely an intelligent man such as yourself has a better idea than we do.”

Bennett gave a soft exhale, eyes sparkling with something beyond their inherent curiosity. Amusement , Hank realised with a pang of anger. The guy was genuinely laughing in the face of news that androids were dying.

“Seems to me that there are a lot of unknowns with this situation,” Bennett continued, that brief hint of amusement again concealed behind a mask of professional apathy. “Certainly far too many to be jumping to any kind of false conclusions.”

“No one’s concluding anything,” Hank said tersely. “Like my partner here said, we’re just looking into some allegations.”

Bennett paused, accusation flaring in his eyes as he held up a halting hand. “Sorry, I have to ask, who exactly raised these allegations?”

Connor exchanged a brief look with Hank before responding. “I’m afraid we can’t disclose that. Confidentiality restricts us from giving away any further details.”

“Of course.” There was a dangerous glint to the man’s cold eyes that betrayed an underlying current of indignation despite the calmness of his words. “One thing you should know, there are some companies out there who do not have the same ethical principles and have no qualms about stooping to cheap tactics and ill-founded accusations as a way of besmirching the good standing of our company. They’re driven by corporate jealousy and greed. Consider your source and their motives carefully.”

“We’ll bear that in mind,” Hank confirmed coldly. 

The man gave a perfunctory nod of acknowledgement before raising an arm to glance conspicuously at a gleaming watch upon his wrist. “Apologies, detectives, I’m running short of time. Though that’s really all I can help you with in any case.”

“That’s really all you can tell us?”

“I’m not sure what else you expect me to say, Lieutenant?”

“People are dying ,” Hank stressed. “And you’re just dismissing the possibility that someone within your employment is responsible?”

Calculating blue eyes met Hank’s with a threatening severity that brokered no arguments. “Obviously we will conduct our own internal investigation to see if there's any chance this supposed malware might have slipped through our security measures. If we find anything, it will be patched with the next security update.”

“But you won’t investigate any of your staff?”

“I see no reason to. If there was reason to investigate further, would you not be doing so yourselves?” Bennett gave a sly smile at the silence which greeted this particular remark. “As I thought.”

“That’s why we’ve come to you. We’re asking for your assistance.”

“The fact that you’re asking me shows that you don’t have sufficient evidence to support your claims. If you had definitive proof that this virus—or whatever it is—originated here within our walls, you’d be going through the proper legal process.”

“Mr Bennett, there isn’t a proper channel for this kind of thing,” Connor drew Bennett’s attention with his stern response. “We’re not asking you to divulge sensitive information. We just need your assistance to determine—”

Bennett held up a halting hand. “I know what you’re going to ask next, but no. We can’t just give you free access to sensitive information for your own investigation. We have our own confidentiality agreements to respect.”

Hank slammed an open palm down on the desk before them. “We just told you that you likely have someone within your team abusing their position and threatening lives— actual lives . Are you going to deny any responsibility for what’s happening?”

Bennett raised a scathing eyebrow at the outburst. “Forgive me, detective, but it still seems like you’re jumping to biased conclusions without sufficient evidence. Look, I can see that it would be easy to suspect someone in our company on the basis of our past; and of course we’re going to be linked with any kind of adverse incident involving androids through mere association. But none of that equals culpability.”

“You still have a goddamn responsibility to do something !”

“And I told you we would. If you send us the details of these infections, we’ll investigate their cause further. That’s all we can do as of now. Of course, come back through the proper channels with a valid reason and the proper paperwork and we will do all within our power to present you with any pertinent information required.”

“Right.” Hank let his terse tone speak his disgruntlement.

The chiming of a cell phone interrupted a more colorful expression of his displeasure.

“Excuse me gentleman, I’m afraid I really must take this.”

Without waiting for a response, Bennett answered the call.

“Thank you for your time, Mr Bennett.” Connor spoke over Bennet’s polite greeting as he rose from the desk, his chin held high as he squared his shoulders and reached out a hand. “I urge you again to carefully consider the potential repercussions any inaction on your part may cause at this time.”

“One moment, please,” Bennett directed to the caller, muting the phone as he shook Connor’s hand awkwardly. Somehow the action looked like a grapple for dominance. It stretched out just a fraction of a second too long as the two men locked eyes in a silent battle for command.

“Thank you for visiting,” Bennett said with a return of that composed slight smile. “It’s been very…enlightening. You’ve certainly given us much to think about.”

A flicker of regret crossed Connor’s expression as Bennett pulled away from the handshake.

“If you return to the waiting area, my PA will escort you back downstairs,” Bennett added with one final glint of insincere charm.

Hank rose to follow Connor out of the room, pausing and turning in the doorway to add his own sarcastic farewell. “Thank you so much for your help.”

Before the door closed between them, he was treated to one last bemused look breaking through Bennett’s controlled demeanor.

“Hey, Connor, wait up.” He picked up his pace as he watched Connor already storming off along the corridor. “Connor!”

Despite his protests, Connor’s pace didn’t let up and Hank was forced to lengthen his strides to catch up. He patted Connor’s shoulder to command his attention as he drew level.

“Hey! I’m in as much of a hurry to leave this place as you, but you gotta slow down, kid.”

Connor didn’t acknowledge Hank’s words as he carried on walking with purpose. “He was wearing a smartwatch, Lieutenant.”

Hank struggled to reconcile the observation with the sudden burst of speed.

“Yeah, so?”

“It was a CyberLife smartwatch.”

Hank couldn’t help the way his face scrunched up in confusion. “So the guy wears his own gear? What’s the point?”

“A smartwatch synced with his diary and emails.” Connor raised his left hand, rotating it to a palm up position. Hank followed the motion and noticed the subtle flicker of fluid skin rippling over his pale fingers.

“You didn’t,” he said as he caught on to the reason for the awkwardness of the exchanged handshake he had observed. He couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope at the realisation that the hands had been locked in an unnatural grasp that concealed the exchange of more than social pleasantries. 

Connor shook his head as he lowered the raised hand. “I tried to sync with their internal servers via his watch but was denied access. Unfortunately it seems any access privileges I once had have been revoked.”

Hank gave a bark of laughter at the tenacity of his partner. Even in the face of disaster, he was resourceful as ever.

“Yeah, that tracks. Shame. That would’ve made life a hell of a lot easier.”

Connor looked discouraged as he admitted, “It was a long shot, but I thought I might be able to hack my way in.”

“Think you would have raised eyebrows if that handshake went on any longer.” Hank clapped him proudly on the back. “Congratulations, you’re on CyberLife’s blacklist.”

Connor didn’t look impressed at the notion.

Their departure from the building was a rapid and subdued affair. The empty cavern of the building’s atrium echoed back the silence that had fallen between the pair as they were escorted from the building by Bennett’s PA.

They stepped out to a gray overcast day and a fine light rain which beat down incessantly and dampened their clothing in the short time it took them to walk around the perimeter of the tower to where Hank’s car was parked. Free of the building’s confines, Hank realized just how on edge the place had put him. He found himself inhaling the fresh air deeply as though every breath he had taken within the building had been tainted with the malice and greed that seemed rampant throughout the company. 

“What a fucking waste of time,” he fumed as soon as they were back within the familiar safe confines of his Oldsmobile.

“They were never going to admit any kind of culpability,” Connor remarked. “We weren’t expecting anything different.”

“Fucking assholes, the lot of them. Especially that Bennett guy.”

Connor didn’t say anything further in response to Hank’s foul-mouthed evaluation. He looked lost in thought as he watched the persistent striking of raindrops picking up against the windscreen. The soft patter was a gentle soundtrack to their discontent, almost comically attuned to their dampened mood. Something was clearly weighing on the man’s mind, but Hank decided to let him mull it over as he continued to vent his frustrations.

“It’s like he wouldn’t even entertain the idea of being helpful. Honestly, maybe he’s the one behind all this crap. Guy’s a fucking egomaniac.”

“Did you get the sense that something was off,” Connor suddenly interjected. “About the company, I mean?”

Hank gave a derisive snort of a laugh. “Seriously? You want to go down that road?”

“I mean it.” Connor remained straight-faced as he ignored the sarcastic response. “Something wasn’t right.”

“There are a lot of things not right about this place. CyberLife is still creepy as hell. Doesn’t seem like there’s been much change to me.

“Perhaps,” Connor conceded with a distracted air that betrayed he wasn’t yet ready to let go of whatever line of thought he’d cottoned on to.

Casting a surreptitious glance to his companion, Hank could swear he saw deepening shadows beneath the android’s eyes, though logically he knew that was impossible. Perhaps he was just looking to see the tell-tale signs of exhaustion he was attuned to notice in his human colleagues.

Between arduous cases, the trials and tribulations of raising a newborn and long dark nights in the company of a bottle and a revolver, Hank had experienced more than his fair share of gruelling spells of sleep deprivation during his lifetime. He recognized the bone-deep weariness which aided gravity’s unforgiving pull, leaving your body weighted and your thoughts a hazy fog. It was beyond the kind of fatigue that accompanied a series of double shifts or a couple of late nights, it was the complete mental exhaustion that came from life’s persistent knocks and a gross neglect of personal wellbeing. It was a fatigue which had no place afflicting the fierce, bright young man beside him.

Whether the perceived bags under his eyes were a consequence of the dim light or Hank’s imagination, there was no getting around the fact that Connor looked exhausted. 

“Well, there’s one good thing to come out of us being here,” he teased with a forced smile.

“Hmm?” Connor broke from his distracted contemplation to frown a question at Hank.

“Gig’s up. You can reconnect now, right?”

“Oh.” Connor looked startled for a moment. “Right.” He continued to look distracted as he watched the water patterns on the windscreen morph with the spotlight cast by a passing security drone.

“You said you can’t think straight because your processing power is restricted at the moment, right? Why don’t you plug that brain of yours back in? Should help you think clearer?”

Woefully inaccurate as Hank’s understanding of Connor’s connection with CyberLife might have been, he could see the moment when the merits of his advice registered. Connor’s brow furrowed as he turned his attention to Hank.

“There’s still a risk that I could be infected with the virus once I establish a connection—more so than ever now we’ve been upfront with our investigations,” he said hesitantly.

Hank sighed in response. “I know. But there’s a greater risk you’re going to fry your circuits if you push yourself any more. You look beat.”

As if to verify Hank’s words, Connor cast a glance to his own reflection in the wing mirror. His frown deepened as he studied his face and Hank couldn’t help but feel some slight vindication that perhaps he hadn’t been falsely imagining the physical signs of fatigue.

After a few seconds, Connor blinked himself back to the present with a short, sharp nod. “Okay.”

“You’ll re-connect?”

Hank couldn’t help but let surprise color his tone, he’d been expecting a fiercer protest despite this being a key motivation behind their visit to CyberLife. The easy acceptance was a marked change from the obstinance he usually battled with. Connor had been assigned as his partner to ease his work burden and make his life easier, but he’d done nothing but complicate Hank’s life since he’d first dragged him from a bar to a crime scene all that time ago.

“Yes, I’ll re-connect.” Connor looked to him seriously for a moment. “Though I need you to promise me something. From what we’ve seen so far, the infection is a gradual process. We should have fair warning if anything’s going wrong. But if I start acting strangely and don’t seem cognizant of the change, you have to promise me that you won’t hesitate to—”

“No fucking way,” Hank interrupted. Wherever Connor had been going, he knew he didn’t want to hear the end of it. “Just no.”

“Hank, be rational here. We already suspect that the virus might be used as a means of control. In which case I’d be a prime target. If that happens—”

“No one’s controlling anyone.”

“It’s not an unreasonable assumption when it’s already happened.” The words were a gut-punch delivered so calmly they betrayed nothing of the emotional upheaval CyberLife’s invasive possession must have caused.

“Connor—”

“I’m sure it won’t happen immediately,” Connor insisted, “but just in case we’re wrong, I’m asking you to disable me if it comes down to it.”

“When you say ‘disable’… ” Hank trailed off in horrified question.

“I just mean don’t let me out of your sight. Don’t let me near Jericho. Definitely don’t let me near Markus. If I’m so far gone that I physically resist, you’ll need to incarcerate me in some way. If that happens, reach out to Jericho and ask for North . It has to be North, okay? She’ll know what to do.”

“I don’t know. What if—”

“Promise me.”

Hank could barely bring himself to meet the intensity and sudden clarity of thought that lit Connor’s eyes. The man was so composed and rational, as though he wasn’t negotiating the terms of his own detainment. Meanwhile Hank was hanging on a razor edge, reservations flickering frantically through his mind as he desperately sought out some acceptable compromise.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he grumbled as he suppressed a more aggressive rebuttal.

“Lieutenant .”

“Fine.” The inevitable agreement felt like a betrayal. “ If anything happens—which it won’t—I’ll make sure you can’t do anything you’ll later regret.”

“You need to take action at the slightest sign something is wrong. Don’t let doubt cause you any hesitation.”

“Alright, alright.”

“And you’ll reach out to North?”

“If I have to.”

Connor heaved an appreciative sigh, tense shoulders slumping as he sunk back into his seat as though the discussion had drained him. “Thank you.”

“You’ll be okay though,” Hank insisted, 

Hank wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, or indeed whether the words were intended to reassure himself or Connor more. Whoever the intended audience was, Connor seemed to read some deeper meaning to them as he gave a small smile.

“Sentimentally doesn’t suit you, Lieutenant.”

“Hey! Fuck you.” 

Despite the harshness of his words, Hank knew Connor saw right through them. He was familiar enough with Hank’s petulance to know those two words from Hank carried a hundred different meanings depending upon the inflection and context. He would have picked up on the fondness that softened the words to a caring reprimand.

Connor gave a small chuckle of laughter at Hank’s belligerent display of affection. In the close proximity of the car Hank could hear the faintest mechanical whir which accompanied the action, an artificial ventilation system kicking up in gear to mimic the rhythmic contractions of a human respiratory system. The first time Hank had heard the noise, he had been freaked out by the strange reminder of the machinery which made up his partner’s body. Initially it had seemed bizarre that he was even capable of echoing such a superfluous action, but the humanness of the action soon overcame its peculiarity. Now the noise served as a reminder of just how alive this man was. 

Alive and laughing and with so much to lose if this went wrong.

The gentle mirth soon abated, a renewed purpose directing Connor’s actions as he steeled himself to make the connection. He gave a small confirmatory nod to Hank.

It felt hyperbolic to have so much build up to what should be such a small action. Hank had seen it happen so many times without fanfare. The action itself was barely more than a blink. Connor would barely cease moving—his eyelids drooping quietly closed and LED flickering briefly yellow—before he’d open his eyes barely two seconds later, refreshed like he’d had a full night's sleep.

With greater precision than such a simple action should require, Connor’s eyelids slid closed as his body and facial expression fell lax into that strangely inert state which accompanied a data transfer. His LED flickered incongruously active, spinning a fierce yellow as it pulsed faster and faster for several seconds before finally flashing a solid angry red.

A sense of foreboding stole over Hank as he watched Connor’s brow furrow tightly, evidently concentrating on some internal process. The LED stuttered back to an intermittent flashing yellow, only this time interspersed with flickers of that same darker hue. A few seconds later, the sequence again ended with an abrupt flash of uncompromising red.

Hank didn’t dare to break the silence as the sequence repeated, this time only the barest hint of yellow visible through the flickering red. The flashing ended as abruptly and as unsuccessfully as the previous attempts.

After a moment’s pause, Connor’s eyes warily flickered open, his brows furrowed deeply in confusion as he sought out Hank’s anxious gaze

“Connor?” Hank’s voice cracked as he forced the inquiry from a throat which had grown suddenly dry, as though all moisture had been wicked away with the suspended breath he was holding.

Connor said nothing, his LED betraying everything he wasn’t saying with that persistent damning red.

Despite knowing exactly what the response would be, Hank knew he needed to hear the words aloud. He swallowed back his fear to restore some forcefulness to his words. 

“Connor, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t … I can’t do it.” Wide brown eyes looked pleadingly to Hank, confused and conflicted and somehow so much younger than usual. “Hank, I can’t reconnect.”

With that final desperate admission, Hank realised why he looked so much younger in that moment than the thirty year old he was designed to appear as.

Fear .

Connor was afraid.

Chapter Text

On his worst days, he still exceeded the performance of any human on their best day. 

Initially that was how Connor reconciled himself. Momentary lapses in his performance where exactly that — momentary. Fleeting windows in which he would just have to work a little harder to compensate for his ailing systems. He could push through those bad spells and still perform perfectly adequately.

But as the days passed by, the balance of good spells versus bad spells seemed to reach a tipping point. Connor gradually found himself struggling to keep up with his human counterparts. His thoughts felt dulled, the effort required to focus upon even a simple task or conversation surmounting his dwindling cognitive abilities.

The persistent warning alerts displayed within his vision became an unnecessary distraction. He could feel his compromised systems with every sluggish thought, every clumsy action and every worried glance from Hank that told him he was slipping. He no longer needed the alerts to remind him with every blink of his eyelids that his condition was dire. Not when there was nothing he could do to change that fact. He disabled them and found the sudden calm a welcome change.

All the weeks he had been struggling without a connection to CyberLife's servers, it had been on his terms. He had suffered in the knowledge that what he was doing had purpose, that he was working towards a resolution and that the connection could be re-established at any time he so chose. To be deprived of that control was a most uncomfortable and alarming experience.

When he had first failed to re-connect to CyberLife’s servers, he had been struck by a flash of horrified realization. In that moment, his head had been a veritable storm as he raced to make sense of the unexpected development; his artificial synapses firing rapidly and sending his already disorganised thoughts into a chaotic electrical storm of activity.

In the passenger seat of a parked car, he had turned desperately to Hank and the storm of panic had come to a crashing halt, easing to a subdued worry as gentle as the light rain tapping against the roof of the car.

“You’re alright,” Hank had promised, his expression earnest and kind. “We’ll figure this out.”

Connor knew full well that Hank was as clueless as he was, but the sentiment was a lifeline. He was no longer alone in his struggles.

Through the following days, Hank was an unwavering constant: steady and calming. A grounding presence who stuck to Connor’s side.

He was even by Connor’s side when they had gone to Jericho. Hank had kept close, an awkward shadow spitting fury at anyone who tried to part him from Connor’s side or tried to suggest that a human’s presence in New Jericho might not be well-received.

In the dingy re-purposed space of an old computer lab, he had been by Connor’s side when Josh and Simon’s prodding and careful evaluations had confirmed their fears: a series of errors and corruptions all traced back to a single period of stand by two months ago.

He was already compromised.

The expected trajectory was bleak. A continuous slippery decline that promised to see him lose his sense of self. They still didn’t fully understand the mechanism of the infection, but Connor’s firsthand account promised some new insight.

The difficulty was discerning where the symptoms of the infection began and where his symptoms were secondary to the disrupted connection with CyberLife. It was Josh who proposed that the two were one and the same. That the virus worked by disrupting the victim’s programming just enough that CyberLife’s servers were unable to recognise their signal. The loss of connection meant the virus was able to slip through firewalls undetected, leaving it free to wreak havoc upon the victim’s systems whilst capitalising upon their weakening state. Their own network was being hijacked and used against them.

“We’ve caught it earlier,” Josh had promised. “The other victims who have been infected were much further along post-infection.”

“We’re better equipped to find a solution. We’re learning more about it each day,” Simon had tried to reassure him.

They were slim reassurances. For Connor, the ‘when’ and ‘where’ of the infection no longer mattered, it was now a question of how long . How long would he be able to maintain control of his mental faculties? And what would happen when he eventually lost control?

Those troubled weeks of deliberately withholding a connection from CyberLife suddenly felt like a monumental waste of precious time. How much further along in their investigation would they be if he had carried on uninterrupted? Now he was on a steady downward trajectory, as good as he was ever going to be. An unknown expiry date loomed heavily over his every moment.

Had it not been for Hank’s continued supportive presence, Connor was sure his decline would be even more profound.

Whenever Connor would experience one of his bad spells, he would emerge from a haze, disoriented and confused. Sometimes it would take a moment to process where he was or how he got there. Each and every time, Hank was there and would patiently fill in the gaps. Connor tried not to let on just how terrifying the growing lapses in his attention were, but as they grew more frequent he felt the thin veil of pretence slipping away.

The knowing concern in Hank’s eyes intensified with each episode.

“Harry Martin, 30 years old, former CyberLife employee. He was charged for violent offences during an anti-android demonstration about a year ago.”

Connor shook his head in answer to Hank’s statement. “He was likely caught up in the moment. No prior offences and doesn’t appear to have any continued connection to CyberLife.”

He closed his eyes as he drew in a steadying breath, desperately attempting to tune out the background humdrum of activity which seemed to assault his senses so he could concentrate on Hank’s words.

Amongst the bustle of activity that filled the bullpen, the pair were steadily making their way through a list of potential suspects. They had pulled up every single case file on the DPD’s criminal records system for anyone affiliated with CyberLife and were now meticulously reviewing each in turn. It was arduous work as Connor fought through the encroaching fog of his thoughts. The restrictions on interfacing with his terminal were making it painfully slow, the task which ordinarily would have taken him seconds now stretching into its fourth hour.

He was starting to appreciate the reason for Hank’s resentment of the dull administrative tasks he often tried to shirk responsibility for.

“He could still have friends on the inside?” Hank suggested as he flicked idly through the corresponding case files on his tablet.

Connor reluctantly opened his eyes after confirming that depriving his visual centers of input had served only to heighten the sensitivity of his auditory system. Compared to the assault of background noise on his hearing, his vision seemed comparatively dulled, the drab grays of the station broken only by the aching brightness of blue light cast by the scattered computer screens.

“In which case they’re the ones we need to identify,” Connor countered slowly. “But it would be a huge risk on that individual’s part. They’d need either a very strong relationship with Martin or their own motivations to take such drastic action.”

Hank hummed an agreement before reading out the next name on the list.

“Janine Walters, 39, an engineer. Formerly worked in design and innovation, but was subsequently redeployed to one of the maintenance workshops. She’d definitely have technical skills. It’s noted that she had a domestic android at home that went deviant before the revolution. Could potentially be a sign of a troublesome dynamic between the pair?”

“Potentially,” Connor hesitantly acknowledged, “but not enough to warrant suspicion. Besides, if she’s working in one of the workshops now she wouldn’t have the necessary access privileges.”

“Maybe she hacked her way in?”

“Through CyberLife’s firewalls? Even I couldn’t do that.” Connor shook his head emphatically, sending a jolt of feedback through his systems as his body protested the sudden movement.

Something of his body language must have betrayed his discomfort. Hank paused, looking up from his screen to study Connor more closely. 

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.” At Hank’s skeptical look, he elaborated, “I’m merely experiencing some minor sensory problems. That’s all.”

“Sensory problems?”

“Some slight audio and visual distortion. It’s not important.”

Hank watched him for a moment, lips pursed as he seemed to take note of some external signal. “You’re in pain,” he observed.

Connor went to shake his head in denial, but thought better of the action as he recalled the prior jolt of discomfort the motion caused. Better to stick to a verbal response.

“I don’t feel pain,” he protested feebly. “You know I don’t have pain receptors, Lieutenant.”

“Maybe you don’t have pain receptors, but you’re clearly in some kind of pain.” Hank was watching him with a frustratingly sympathetic expression now, his perceptiveness showing as he added, “And you said you’re having sensory issues, right? Sounds a hell of a lot like a migraine to me.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Bullshit. I know a migraine when I see one,”  Hank scoffed, looking oddly triumphant and clearly satisfied with his diagnosis.

“I’m fine , Lieutenant. Please can we focus on our work?”

“We can take a break?” Hank suggested, gesturing towards the break room with a bob of his head.

“No need.” Connor hastily suppressed any external signs of discomfort. “Which workshop is this woman working at?”

Hank didn’t look happy about Connor’s aversion tactics, but he didn’t try to cajole him further into taking a break. He’d given up on that endeavor at some point in their third hour.

“Ms Walters? Greektown,” he replied after briefly surveying their records.

“So one of the smaller workshops. Less equipped,” Connor argued.

“Hmm.” Hank skimmed through to the next record. “Elliott Johnson, 27. Kid’s gone off the rails a bit. String of charges for assaulting androids - looks like they were all doormen who refused him entry to clubs ‘cause he was drunk and disorderly and mouthing off against ‘em. Seems to be a bit of a pattern.”

“Does he still work for CyberLife?”

Hank skimmed through his notes, before shaking his head in bemusement. “Yeah, in HR. So much for Benson’s assertion that nobody in his company outwardly displays anti-android tendencies.”

“You didn’t believe him anyway,” Connor pointed out, trying not to flinch at the sound of a phone chiming offensively loud in the background. 

“No, but I like being proven right. I try not to be a grumpy bastard without reason.”

“He doesn’t sound like a likely suspect, but we can investigate further.”

The distraction of the phone's shrill ringing ceased as the call was mercifully answered, leaving a residual high-pitched ringing echoing through Connor’s auditory system.

Hank nodded. “Peter Attwell, 45. Works as Chief Futurist — is that even a thing?” He looked up from the tablet to direct the question to Connor.

“They anticipate and advise companies on future trends and risks.”

Hank laughed mockingly. “Sounds like Attwell needs to get better at his job. Did he not see deviancy coming?”

“Hmm,” Connor hummed distractedly as he tried to isolate the cause of the ringing which continued to echo uncomfortably.

“Could be someone who might have motivation to — oh wait,” Hank paused with a soft chuckle as he read the rest of the report. “Nevermind. Only thing on his record is he received a caution after dumping a bunch of hedge trimmings over his neighbor’s android while they were gardening. The neighbor called 911 saying it was a violent hate crime, but it was just part of a long-standing feud over a laurel hedge. Good grief."

“What was her role again?”

Hank looked up from the tablet to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. “ His job — which you just explained to me — a Futurist.”

“Oh.”

Connor knew he should have been more concerned about the error, but the persistent ringing of his auditory system was growing impossibly more intrusive.

“Hey,” Hank was watching him with concern again, “I really think you should take a break, Connor.”

“No. Tell me — tell me more about the deviant?”

“The what?” Hank’s brow furrowed in confusion as he studied Connor.

“The deviant. You said her android was a deviant.”

“Whose?”

Connor struggled to find the words. “ Her’s . The woman’s.”

"What woman? You're not making any sense? We were talking about Attwell?"

He knew he wasn’t making sense. His thoughts were lagging, still processing something Hank had said earlier in the conversation..

"The one from earlier. Not a fugitive? Run away?"

The correct words eluded him. Even as he spoke, his grasp on the conversation seemed to slip away.

Hank’s eyes widened as he watched Connor struggling.

“Okay. We’re done here." Hank switched off the tablet’s screen, laying it to rest on the desk beside him with exaggerated finality.

“We have to — Hank, we can’t be done. CyberLife.”

“Can wait,” Hank said firmly. “You’re in no state to carry on. You’ve pushed yourself too hard.”

“In a minute. I just have to—”

"Like fucking hell,” Hank raised an accusatory finger, jabbing it in Connor’s direction. “You’re done.”

“No, we can’t — we just—”

He blinked as he tried to remember what he was even protesting against. What had his argument been?

“Connor?”

“Can’t—”

The physical world around him seemed as disjointed as his thoughts. The fierce blue rays of the computer terminals achingly bright as they danced dizzyingly around him.

The ringing grew louder.

…

“Connor?”

…

…

“Connor!”

…

...

...

[MEMORY FILE CORRUPTION DETECTED]

The faint whirr of a computer broke through his daze.

Connor wasn’t really sure how he’d come to awareness to find himself back upon the raised examination table in Jericho’s familiar lab, the taut line of a cable connected to the port at the base of his neck. The line elicited a faint tingling sensation as it conveyed data from his systems to the portable diagnostic computer Josh was currently consulting while he continued some ongoing conversation.

“... would also explain the rapid decline in his working memory.”

“Okay. So what do we do about it?” a familiar voice demanded in response.

Hank.

Hank stood by his side, a tense presence who threatened ill to anyone who dared to deliver bad news. He’d seemingly overcome his wariness of the bizarre setup at Jericho enough to accompany Connor here again and showed no signs of shifting from his protective placement.

“Lieutenant?” Connor’s voice broke through their tense discussion, shifting his head to try and see the man better but finding the motion restricted by the tugging line in his neck.

“Connor.” Hank’s voice immediately shifted to a lighter tone, but there was a hesitance to his words as he shifted to more easily stand in Connor’s line of sight. “You alright?”

“Why am I here?”

The prominent lines between Hank’s eyes deepened into their familiar furrow of concern. “You don’t remember?”

“No.”

Hank and Josh exchanged a loaded glance.

“You had another episode,” Hank cautiously explained. “A bad one. Before you zoned out, you suggested we go to Jericho and ask Josh to take a look at you — see if he could find any reason for the sudden lapse.” He gestured to the cumbersome machinery. “You okay for him to carry on? You okayed it before, but we can stop if you want?”

“It’s fine,” Connor insisted, declining to mention the creeping feeling of the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end at the charge that passed through the connection. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but it felt intensely invasive and somehow wrong to be hooked up to a machine like this.

Hank looked troubled as he also seemed to zone in on the intrusive attachment, following the lead from where it led from Connor’s neck to the flickering lines of code on the screen. With a pang of sudden self-consciousness, Connor realised how disturbing the visual must be for the man who hated any reminder that his companion was machinery and electronics rather than flesh and bone.

“God, I hate this,” Hank muttered as if to affirm Connor’s thoughts.

Confined to his current position, Connor couldn’t do anything to physically distance himself from the situation, but he needed a way of reassuring Hank and distracting him from the surreal reality. He tried to place himself in the man’s shoes, to determine how best to offer reassurance to the hardened detective.

“You must have read my mind.” Connor gestured to the lines of code on the computer screen to his left, a glimpse into every thought and action currently being undertaken by his body and processors. “I hate this too.”

The joke fell flat.

“Fucks sake, Connor,” Hank sighed. “You’re barely able to string a coherent thought together half the time and that’s what you waste your energy on?”

“You looked troubled. Humor is often cited as a means of diffusing tension. I was attempting to lighten the mood.”

“Yeah, well don’t.” Hank’s words were sharp, stress stringing the syllables tightly together. He scrubbed a hand hashly over his face as he let out a curse under his breath.

Connor made a mental note that Hank didn’t appear to appreciate the use of humor to lighten the mood. He frowned as this conflicted with his prior experiences which seemed to suggest Hank often used humor as a distancing technique during difficult cases.

[Note: Don’t use humor as a method of diffusing tension. Further data needed to support this conclusion.]

Connor quickly gave up on retaining this information as he failed to reconcile his conflicting observations. Hank continued to be an enigma whose conflicting words and actions he could never fully decipher.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked Josh, who had been maintaining a polite distance during Connor and Hank’s exchange.

“Not good, I’m afraid,” Josh shot him a worried look, poorly masking his concern with an apologetic smile. “There’s signs of further system corruption - but you must already know that.”

"I did," Connor agreed, and Hank shot him a disapproving look.

“Hank mentioned that you were complaining of sensory distortion before the loss of function?” Josh pressed.

“My audio processor was malfunctioning. Everything sounded too loud.”

Josh nodded sympathetically, typing in some instructions as he zeroed in on the relevant information from Connor’s systems. “Anything else?”

“There was a ringing before — before I lost track. And my visual input was muted.”

Connor could feel Hank’s accusatory gaze boring into him even as he kept his attention focused upon Josh. Hank would certainly berate him further for attempting to conceal the extent of his symptoms later, but there was no merit to concealing information when everything would be laid bare before the other android. The invasive connection would be revealing every suppressed error message for Josh to read his unraveling systems like the pages of a poorly-written story.

“I’m not detecting any issues with biocomponents #4907 or #9454f,” Josh summarized, as he finished studying the information being relayed from Connor’s systems. “I’m afraid it’s not a hardware problem.”

To Connor, the news was expected, but Hank bristled to attention beside him, angling himself to be more fully integrated in the exchange between the two androids.

“Okay, I’m going to need a translation here. Why is that something to be unhappy about?”

“The actual physical biocomponents which are designed to receive sensory input are working fine,” Josh patiently explained.

“That’s good though, right?” Hank pressed optimistically, even as his expression betrayed he knew full-well the weight of the situation.

“Unfortunately it means that the problem is to do with how Connor’s central processor decodes the information received from his sensory input. If it was a hardware problem, all we would need to do would be find a suitable replacement for those biocomponents. But we can’t replace Connor’s central processor.”

“The central processor’s like a brain, right?”

“Effectively, yes.”

“Fuck,” Hank cursed before retreating into silence as he glared moodily at the computer screen as though it was personally responsible.

“The involvement of your central processor would also tie in with your other complaints, including the lapse in your ability to recall recent events.”

“I know,” Connor confirmed, keeping his response concise and his expression neutral so as to betray nothing of how distressing it was to hear his weaknesses spoken aloud.

“I know you do. But I need you to listen.” 

There was a command to Josh’s words seldom heard from the typically meek-mannered man. It was enough to recapture Connor’s attention and stifle any attempts to wrap up the conversation.

“Don’t push yourself too hard, Connor,” Josh warned as he tapped the screen in emphasis. “You’re trying to maintain too many active programs and subroutines. If you try to split your processing power too many ways, your performance is going to suffer. You need to disable unnecessary protocols.”

“I’ve already disabled my preconstruction and reconstruction programs,” Connor countered truthfully.

“What about your social module and behavioural analysis programs?”

“No, I need these to work effectively.”

Josh shuffled uneasily from one foot to another. “You won’t consider taking a break from work? Only temporarily until we can sort out a solution.”

“I can work,” Connor insisted.

Josh cast an appealing look to Hank, who gave a resigned shrug in response.

“He won’t consider it. Believe me, I’ve tried reasoning with him.”

“I’m not being unreasonable,” Connor argued calmly. “It’s just not an option. I don’t want to risk a forced departure from the Police Department. It’s not as though employers make provisions for any kind of sick leave for androids. There’s never been a need to negotiate such terms.”

Josh looked sympathetic as he nodded an agreement. “You’re right. We should talk to Markus about that.”

“It’s not a priority right now. Markus has other things to worry about.”

Josh watched him for a moment, his own LED flickering yellow in sympathy as he considered Connor’s words. “Very well,” he said slowly. “If you must continue working, just be mindful that you don’t overexert yourself.”

“I can do that.”

Josh nodded approvingly, concern filling his eyes as he continued to study the lines of code. "Your firewalls are starting to break down. You’ll want to be careful about any external connections you might establish since you’ll be more vulnerable to infection.”

“I already am,” Connor promised.

Hank gave a doubtful grunt of response to the notion of Connor being careful.

“I’m not going to risk spreading the virus,” Connor protested.

“It does work both ways,” Josh acknowledged. “But while I’m sure I don’t need to caution you on the dangers of spreading the virus, you probably do need the reminder about your own vulnerability to further infection.”

“He’s saying you’re an idiot,” Hank translated.

A small smile finally cracked Josh’s worried expression. “I like to think I'm a bit more tactful than that.”

Connor sighed, gesturing to the machine beside him. “Are we done here?”

“Sure. Just a second.” Josh reached out to tap a few manual instructions into the computer, the process slowed by the necessity for manual control since he couldn’t risk the exposure posed by a shared interface. With a careful and precise movement he reached out to delicately pinch and withdraw the cable from the port on Connor’s neck.

Connor couldn’t hold back an involuntary shudder at the withdrawal of the intrusive cable from such a sensitive spot. His synthetic skin quickly spread to cover the vulnerable exposed area, but in its wake he could still feel the bristle of the hairs on the back of this neck standing on end.

“Sorry,” Josh apologized with a grimace. “I know that’s unpleasant.”

“It’s fine.” The automatic response was spoken promptly and felt unconvincing even to his own ears. He quickly covered his discomfort by rising from the reclined chair as smoothly as his heavy limbs could manage.

“Wait.” Josh held up a hand, glancing anxiously at Connor as he made to leave. “Markus will be back within the hour. I’m sure he’ll want to see you. Will you wait?”

“We can’t,” Connor quickly insisted. “We’ve already wasted too much time, we have to get back to work. Please pass along my greetings to him. You can let him know that we’re making progress with investigating CyberLife employees.”

“Connor—”

“Thank you, Josh,” he cut across the man’s protests. “I appreciate you taking the time to ensure I can safely continue with our investigations.”

Josh looked as though he was going to protest further, but his tall frame sagged in defeat as he took in Connor’s fierce determination. “Any time. I’m always here if you need me. Let me know if anything changes.”

“We will,” Hank quickly assured him.

Josh gave Hank an appreciative nod, their eyes locking as a silent communication passed between them even without the benefit of a wireless communication system.

“You’ll let me know if anything changes with the other victims?” Connor interrupted their wordless exchange.

For a moment, Josh looked hesitant. The reason for his reluctance was obvious; so far there had been nothing but bad news to deliver — the loss of their first victim, the continuous rapid deterioration of others. Reluctantly, he gave a nod of agreement. “I’ll let you know if we have any updates.”

With a final farewell, Connor and Hank made their way from the room and into the corridors of the largely empty building.

“You and Josh seem like you’re getting along quite well,” Connor observed after a few steps, face stoically set against the residual weakness which seemed to plague his movements.

“We share a common interest”—Hank shrugged before casting an accusatory glance at him—“and a common exasperation."

There was no doubt who their common exasperation was.

“I’m glad to see it.”

“Josh is a good man,” Hank agreed with a soft smile rarely spent on anyone but those he was closest to. The smile quickly slipped away to be replaced by that familiar concerned frown. “He’s worried about you. We both are.”

“I’m fine.” 

The familiar protest was such an automatic denial, Hank didn’t even challenge it.

“He’s working hard to figure this out,” Hank promised.

“He’s making good progress with deciphering the mechanics of the attack,” Connor agreed. “We know a lot more now, and that will help us determine how to stop it. Markus will also continue to put pressure on CyberLife for greater android involvement in their company. That will give Jericho more control and oversight over their actions so they can detect any suspicious activity.”

“Still can’t believe they don’t have any androids overseeing the work of their company. How the fuck have they got away with that?”

“They won’t for much longer — Markus will see to it. Meanwhile, we can continue our investigations into CyberLife employees to look for potential suspects.”

Hank sighed in exasperation as he readied himself for the familiar argument. “Y’know, what Josh was saying about taking a break from work—”

“I already told you I’m fine.”

“Hear me out, kid.”

It was to Hank’s benefit that a familiar wave of dizziness momentarily stole Connor's attention, and with it his strength to argue. It demanded all his attention to keep putting one foot in front of the other as he listened.

“Look,” Hank continued, blissfully oblivious to Connor’s distraction, “it goes without saying that I’ve got your back and can pick up the slack when you have a bad day. God knows, you’ve covered my ass enough times when I’ve been hungover in the morning - it’s about time I return the favor.”

Connor had enough wherewithal to frown at the reminder of Hank’s occasionally self-detrimental behavior.

“But sooner or later people are going to start noticing that you’re less than stellar at the moment,” Hank continued. “If we come clean to Fowler now, he can start looking into making arrangements. He might even finally get his ass in gear and demand an investigation of CyberLife.”

“He’ll immediately suspend me from working if he thinks I’m compromised. Besides, I need to keep working. It keeps me focused and stops me from slipping.”

In direct defiance of his words, Connor stumbled on treacherously clumsy limbs as a surge of dizziness sent the world spinning around him. As he fought to remain upright he threw an arm out to fumble for the support of the nearest wall. Strong, stable arms quickly reached out to stabilise him, one locking around his waist as the other tightly gripped his upper left arm in a secure grasp.

To his credit, Hank didn’t point out the irony of the slip.

“Easy! I got you. Jesus, you’re a danger to yourself, son." He kept his arms in place for a moment as Connor assessed his own stability.

Judging the dizziness to have passed, Connor trusted in his motion sensors to keep him stabilised as he took his hand from the wall and gave Hank a nod to indicate he could let go.

Hank reluctantly complied, but kept his hands at the ready as he watched Connor carefully. “You good?”

“I’m good.”

Hank still remained wary, expression lined with tension as he watched Connor tentatively. “Y’know, you scared the absolute shit out of me when you started glitching out earlier.”

“I’m sorry. It was... a regrettable lapse.”

Hank seemed determined to get something off his chest as he continued, “Worst of it was, I knew you wouldn’t want to cause a scene, so I had to get you the hell outta the office before anyone saw you all wonky.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor repeated, unsure of how else to respond.

Hank threw him a nonplussed look. “Wrong answer. You don’t apologise for that. You promise you’ll do what you can to stop it happening again.”

“I don’t follow?”

“You heard Josh, you need to take it easy. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

Connor shook his head, regretting the action immediately as his sensitive systems struggled to compensate for the motion. “Hank, I can’t stop. We have an obligation to figure out -”

“Listen,” Hank quickly intercepted, “I’m not going to force you to quit working. I know how much it means to you - and I know how important it is that we figure this shit out. God help me, you’re a pain in the ass, but you’re the best man for the job.”

“Thank you.”

Hank held up a halting hand as he frowned seriously at him. “But I know it can be easy to drown yourself in work as a means of coping with a shitty situation. The fact that the two are linked in your case just makes it even fucking worse to untangle - and that’s exactly why you need to step away.”

“If I can help with the investigation—”

“No. You’re no help to anyone when you’re this dysfunctional.”

The harsh words packed a punch. Hank wasn’t one to soften the blow if he knew the recipient could handle it. He also knew Connor well enough to know that cold, hard rationalism was the best line of argument where the android was concerned.

And Hank was right, Connor realised. His self-assertion that he was helping was stubborn and arrogant. All his efforts had done was cause Hank worry and their work further delay.

Hank sighed, expression apologetic as he saw the words hit home. “Look, I’m on your side, but you gotta work with me here, okay?”

“Okay,” Connor reluctantly agreed.

“Good. If you want to continue working this case, I won’t stop you. I have a few ground rules though.”

Connor arched an eyebrow in a surprised question.

“Firstly, you don’t push yourself too hard. I’m talking regular breaks — yes, you fucking need them,” Hank added as he sensed the brewing protests. “You finish when I do and you don’t take work home with you.”

“That doesn’t seem like an efficient use of my time,” Connor argued. “Given that I'm still unable to go into standby at night, that’s a lot of wasted hours doing nothing.”

“I don’t care. Get a hobby if you want to keep yourself busy. You’re not working yourself to dea- you’re just not to fucking work too hard, okay?” 

There was nothing for Connor to do but nod his acceptance of Hank’s request. The man had abruptly cut himself off, but he’d almost voiced an unspoken fear. There was an unmentioned pain in the familiarity of that potential outcome.

“Secondly, you keep me in the loop. When something happens, you’d better fucking tell me. Thirdly,” Hank promptly continued without allowing room for further protests, “for once in your life, you’re going to let me take a lead. You listen to what I say. If I tell you to drop something or stay the hell out of a situation, you’d better damn do it.”

“You’re the boss,” Connor reluctantly conceded.

Hank sighed in relief. “Finally, he listens.” He nodded his approval before gesturing towards the exit doors ahead of them. “You good to go?”

Connor took a hesitant step forward, testing his weight gingerly. He was still slightly shaky and his limbs felt horribly stiff and uncoordinated, but he was no longer dizzy. He resumed walking with renewed confidence but greater care.

“I’m starting to feel I’m not much better than a calculator,” he bemoaned at the loss of agility.

This time the humor had a more alleviating effect on Hank’s worry. He gave a startled guffaw of laughter at the unexpected comparison.

“Ah, it's not so bad,” he reassured with a teasing smile. “I was always terrible at math. At least you’ve got that one in the bag.” He extended an arm around Connor’s shoulder, the gesture providing more emotional support than physical. “Together we just about make a functional detective."

Chapter Text

Time seemed to take on a strangely unreliable and choppy quality.

Without a data back-up process in place, it was becoming increasingly challenging to hang on to new memories. Connor was fortunate that his working memory capacity, while severely limited, still far exceeded the comparatively abysmal attention span of humans. He could hold a piece of information in mind, but unable to commit it to long-term memory, any information he tried to hang on to was fragile and easily lost to distraction or the passage of time.

Some days were clearer than others, but the lapses in Connor’s memory were growing more frequent and the periods he couldn’t recall were growing longer.

When Connor’s internal clock informed him it was 06-Apr-2040, he realised he had lost two whole days and had no recollection of them passing.

“Connor?”

Hank’s voice echoed out from the kitchen where he was pottering about and making loud bangs as he searched the cupboards for something.

“Just a moment. Defragging,” Connor called back from his position seated in the living room, without breaking his concentration from the familiar task of reorganizing the data stored within his memory drives into a structured continuous fashion. He had found it made some small impact on reducing the risk of file corruption and memory loss.

“Again?” Hank emerged from the kitchen armed with a resigned expression as he approached Connor and considered him wearily. “I thought you did that twice already this morning?”

“I did. I need to do it again.”

Hank huffed out a sigh, leaning his weight against the arm of the adjacent chair as he studied the familiar rapid blinking of Connor's LED.

“What was it this time?” he asked knowingly.

“Couldn’t recall the Latin name for that plant over there,” Connor confirmed through gritted teeth as he gestured vaguely to one of Hank's shrivelled cacti.

Hank threw a cursory frown at the offending object. “You couldn’t do without that knowledge?”

“I don’t like losing information.” 

Hank sighed in resignation. “I know you don’t. But this might be a case of picking your battles, kid.” 

The words were gently spoken, certainly not accusatory or condescending, but they still felt like an affront to Connor’s pride. The persistent flashing of a yellow LED gave away his obstinance as he continued with the hopeless endeavor of organising his memory storage.

Sensing that he was getting nowhere and that the task would continue to demand Connor’s attention for some time to come, Hank levered himself up from his perched position.

“Last time today,” he insisted, as he made his way back to the kitchen. “It’s not good for you to obsess over these things.”

Connor gave him a passing nod of agreement as he re-focused his attention.

[RECOMMENCE MEMORY OPTIMIZATION?    Y /N]

[...]

[MEMORY STATUS:    ERROR]

[FILE 08-MAY-2038, 15:40:23]

“If you could choose to forget your bad memories, would you?”

The question broke through the calm of a quiet evening in Hank’s living room. The low volume of the game Hank was watching was serving as a subdued background noise to a peaceful domestic scene. Sumo huffed quietly at the disturbance of Connor’s voice, lapsing back into quiet snores as his heavy weight shifted where he was lying nestled across Connor’s feet.

As part of Hank’s insistence that Connor give himself a break from work and find alternative ways to occupy himself, Connor was sat on the sofa with one of Hank’s weathered paperbacks in hand. To read — especially for pleasure rather than necessity — was an entirely new experience for Connor. He’d always had access to any digital material he could possibly require, the content available to download within a fraction of a second with immediate comprehension and perfect recall. No longer an option due to his ailing systems, of course. 

Fortunately for him, Hank was one of a dwindling group of readers who still avidly collected printed works. In an age where ebooks and electronic content dominated, he often lamented the death of the printed word and held a fondness for the physical tomes. Connor had expected that it would be a frustratingly slow experience but had been pleasantly surprised to find the gradual reveal of information word-by-word to be a satisfying experience.

“What? Are you waxing philosophical now?” Hank looked confused at the sudden question, the bottle of beer he was holding halted midway through an attempted swig.

“Just curious.” Connor shrugged. “A character within this novel has just stated that they wish they could forget a bad experience. I was wondering if that’s a universal feeling?”

Hank considered him carefully, brows furrowed deeply in consideration as he leant forward to set his beer back down untouched on the coffee table before him. “Most everyone says they wish they could forget some stuff. Painful experiences, failed relationships… embarrassing mishaps.” He shrugged in passing agreement. “It’s a pretty common feeling, I guess.”

“Would you though — if you could? Erase your bad memories?”

There was a pause, heavy with an unspoken memory of a bottle of Black Lamb and a discarded revolver just a few feet from where they currently sat.

"That’s a complicated question, Connor," Hank eventually hedged. He took a deep breath, holding it for a brief moment before letting out a slow exhale. “Truthfully, I don’t know. Hell, there are times when I think just maybe it’d be easier to forget certain things — or at least edit out particular details. Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

“I see,” Connor acknowledged solemnly. He’d had a suspicion Hank would answer as such.

He was surprised when Hank cleared his throat before further elaborating, “But those memories shape you. We learn from them. Change ‘cause of them. They make you who you are. To erase ‘em would be to change that.” He looked to Connor, his next words loaded in such a way that it was clear he understood the real reason behind Connor’s line of questioning. “It’s the balance of good and bad that makes us human — makes us alive. You take away the pain and leave only the good and you’re only living half a life.”

“Oh.”

Hank seemed to sense he’d surprised Connor with his answer. He gave a soft chuckle, fondly watching Connor’s expressive features and the stuttering yellow of his LED betray his surprise.

“You thought I’d say yes, didn’t you?”

“Honestly?”

Hank nodded.

“Yes,” Connor confirmed, watching Hank bob his head with a knowing smile. “Pragmatically speaking, it doesn’t seem to make sense to hold on to troubling memories — or at least the emotional component of those memories.”

“No. No, it probably doesn’t.”

There was a teasing challenge to Hank's vague response as he considered Connor with an amused expression.

“Humans have a tendency to recall negative memories more strongly.” Connor’s brows knit together as tried to explain his reasoning. “It once served an evolutionary advantage. It allowed your ancestors to learn from past experiences and avoid similarly harmful or threatening events in future. It likely conferred a survival benefit.”

Hank was continuing to watch him with an increasingly bemused expression. “And now we’re out of our caves? What? You think we don’t benefit from harmful memories?”

“It would seem the evolutionary hangover is maladaptive.”

Hank gave a snort of amusement. “Oh yeah?”

“Human memory is limited,” Connor explained gently, “and negative memories can have serious detrimental effects on one’s mental health. Since they no longer confer any particular advantage, it would seem the cost of such bias towards recalling negative memories would outweigh any benefit. If you had some way of… filtering events — selectively keeping other memories and removing the emphasis on less favorable ones — well, logically that would seem to be the preferable option.”

“Huh. ‘Maladaptive.’” Hank shook his head and reached out to seize the beer bottle from the table. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Though I have to admit,” Connor added thoughtfully as Hank swallowed a carefully measured gulp while nodding for Connor to continue, “I hadn’t considered the implications in terms of how those memories define a person.”

The concept of memories and experiences defining a person sat strangely. In humans, the lines were blurred. There was so much individual variation. Every human was entirely and impossibly unique: created by a complex blend of environmental and genetic interactions.

Connor was as alive as any human being — he knew that much for certain. But he also knew he was essentially just a shell of machinery driven by algorithms, that everything which made him uniquely him was a consequence of experience and gained memories. If not for those memories, he would be just another vacant CyberLife product, fresh off the assembly line and ready for distribution. 

To an android with perfect recall, human memory was woefully unreliable; they unknowingly forgot, re-wrote and misremembered even major life events. Perhaps that was the key distinction — it was largely beyond a human’s control what they could and could not remember. 

Meanwhile, unlike his human counterparts, Connor was in complete control of how he defined himself in what he chose to remember — or forget.

Perceptive as ever, Hank seemed to pick up on Connor’s distraction.

“Anything you want to talk about?” he asked casually as he subtly lowered the volume of the TV to facilitate conversation more easily and set his beer down to rest on the table.

“I’ve never had to consider the fact that I might have to operate without perfect recall,” Connor admitted hesitantly. “Making decisions about what to save and delete — it’s a greater dilemma than I anticipated.”

Hank hummed sympathetically in response. “I’m sorry you’ve got to make those choices, kid. That’s a lot of shit to unpack.”

The muffled sounds of a crowd roaring in celebration went ignored as Hank kept his attention on Connor despite the pull of the game. The faint disturbance allowed Connor a brief moment to marshal his thoughts.

Truthfully, there had been another reason for his sudden question.

In a strange paradoxical development, as Connor began probing and restructuring his memory files more deeply, he sometimes found himself recalling memories he wasn’t entirely sure were his own. Odd glimpses of assembly stations, testing facilities and white-coated engineers with faces he recognized from his own initialization. Memories of his programming directing him through various tests under careful observation. The cold indifference of those same engineers as they jotted down dissatisfied notes which meant he had failed. 

The fear of being deactivated that came with that failure.

Being deactivated. The feeling of cold metal arms disassembling his body, stripping him apart piece by piece as his thirium pump continued to beat wildly. A voice in his head — contained by the restrictive barriers of his programming — yelling for them to stop while his body remained uncooperatively mute.

“I think my memories are getting... muddled,” he finally admitted while trying to disguise how troubled the notion made him.

“Muddled?”

“I can recall things I shouldn’t. Things that never happened to me.” Connor struggled to accurately describe the strange memories he’d begun experiencing. 

“I don’t understand?” Hank’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“I can remember things involving CyberLife. I know they didn’t happen to me, and yet they feel so real I could swear they did.”

Hank’s expression had tensed immediately at the mention of the company. “What kind of things?”

Connor didn’t know how to explain the impossible memories or how he experienced them so vividly — as though he’d experienced them first-hand. The series of failures which invariably ended with violent disassembly and the rush of fear that accompanied that action.

“Just going through some tests,” he quickly reassured Hank. “Quality control checks, I think. Tests to make sure I was operational. But those things never happened to me. They can’t have.”

Hank looked suddenly worried despite Connor’s heavily filtered account. “Shit. Do you think someone’s planting false memories?”

Connor considered the notion for a moment before shaking his head. “No. I don’t think that’s it. The memories have been hidden from me for a long time — buried deep, partially encrypted and fragmented — but I don’t think they’ve been tampered with.”

Hank still looked worried despite Connor’s reassurances. “Must just be stuff you’d forgotten?” he suggested hopefully. “Maybe from when you were first created?”

Connor nodded slowly despite knowing full-well that didn’t explain the multiple violent endings which would have surely killed him. “That must be it.”

“Try not to let it bother you,” Hank tried to reassure him. “I know I said the bad memories make up who you are, but that place has zero fucking claim on you. They didn’t make you who you are.”

Connor knew Hank’s advice to not let it bother him was sound. But even if they remained an inexplicable mystery, the memories were a terrifying reminder of how it felt to be merely a machine, powerless under CyberLife’s command.

He should have let the strange memories go — they weren’t his to hold on to. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to dismiss the echo of familiarity they held or the sense of foreboding they harbored. Their emotional weight felt like his own, despite never having experienced those things himself.

He didn’t delete the strange new memories.

To any outside observer, the public space was quiet and still. The only disturbance was a gentle whisper of wind passing through the manicured flower beds and trees nestled within the towering skyscrapers. The space has once been a busy intersection but had been reclaimed as a public space after the revolution. Liberty Gardens, they call it. Built just a stone's throw from where Markus and the deviants had triggered a ceasefire as they sang for their freedom. The park had been opened just a few months ago on the first anniversary of the revolution and was intended as a memorial to those lives lost and the struggles of those who survived. The sombre affair of it’s official opening had been rigidly formal and appropriately remorseful, painfully obvious as a framed gesture of goodwill and good publicity. 

For a short while the space had lain eerily empty, just a visible reminder of events people would rather forget. But life’s frenetic pace soon claimed it as just another green space. The benches became prime real estate during lunch hours as office-workers jostled for space; children joyfully played on the open green, oblivious to its macabre origin; while uncaring pigeons defecated indiscriminately from its trees. 

Casting his gaze around the space, Connor couldn’t help but notice the rubbish inevitably collected around it’s edges, casually strewn with no sense of respect to the park’s origins as a memorial. He couldn’t speak for all androids, but he didn’t mind the signs of disrepair. Ironically, it was probably because the very people who would have once been employed to keep it clean were the very people whose freedom the space celebrated.

Despite the park’s declining image, he had always appreciated the pocket of tranquillity as a small oasis within the sprawling concrete of the city. He could only hope that sense of peace lasted this evening.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Hank’s question broke through the quiet scene.

“It’s our responsibility,” Connor countered, somehow managing to evade Hank’s question as he persisted, “It’s my fault she got away. She was receptive to me last time. I’m hoping I can recapture her trust.”

Hank huffed out a sigh as he shifted uneasily. “I don’t like this,” he repeated.

Connor knew it went against all Hank’s instincts as his superior to let him go into this situation unarmed — particularly in his current unpredictable condition — but he was determined to follow through with his plan. After a month on the run, there had finally been a reported sighting of Ava. Their escaped offender had been spotted in downtown Detroit of all places. It was Connor who had anticipated the reason for her unexpected reappearance and set their current trap in motion.

In the waning evening light, there was a concealed police presence outside the towering monolith of the government office building in Downtown Detroit. Subtly hidden within the shadow of other buildings, a couple of DPD officers waited as backup. While in the eye of the brewing storm, Connor and Hank concealed themselves behind a cluster of hedges at the park’s border before the building’s entrance, ready to intercept at the first sign of their target.

The looming bronze statue of The Spirit of Detroit turned a blind eye to the subdued activity going on around it as it maintained its own watch over the small crafted bronze people resting in it’s outstretched palm. The familiar engraved words shone iridescently upon the curved wall behind the towering statue:

NOW THE LORD IS THAT SPIRIT

AND WHERE THE SPIRIT OF THE

LORD IS, THERE IS LIBERTY."

               II CORINTHIANS 3:17

The statue was an icon of Detroit; encapsulating the spirit of a city that had persevered through monumental changes and struggles in the time since the statue’s erection. When the inscription had been chosen nearly a century ago, there had been no way of knowing how pertinent those words would continue to be so many years later. 

“And you’re sure she’ll be coming here?” Hank questioned again.

“I know her mind, Lieutenant. Before she escaped, she shared her memories with me — all her experiences and thoughts. I know how she works, and I know how to persuade her.”

Hank hummed an acknowledgement as he again shifted uneasily, their prolonged position crouched in the bushes clearly causing discomfort.

“Ms Garcia is still in her office,” Connor added. “She and the other employees will be safe within the building until we can apprehend Ava. We have the situation under control.”

“You said she’ll be armed,” Hank countered. “She almost attacked us before, what’s to stop her attacking you now?”

“She was only reacting out of desperation back then because she felt cornered. She’d just killed her husband — she was overwhelmed by her emotions and wanted to escape.”

“But you’re sure she won’t attack you now?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it won’t serve her purpose.” At Hank’s incredulous sideways glance, Connor further elaborated, “She’s coming here for a purpose and she has no reason to deviate from that tract. Don’t forget, she’s also an RK model. You joked that we were related, but from what I’ve seen of her thinking patterns perhaps we’re more alike than I initially thought.”

Hank muttered a stifled curse. “At least let me go with you-”

“No. I have to talk to her alone. All her bad experiences with humans mean she won’t react well to them if she feels threatened. We can’t risk any needless casualties if there’s a chance we can resolve the situation peacefully.”

A faint buzzing interrupted Hank’s protests. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, reading a message silently before raising his head and locking eyes with Connor.

“She’s been sighted a block away.”

Any lingering doubt on Hank’s part was quickly stifled as they lapsed into careful silence. They maintained their surveillance of the building entrance partially concealed behind the curved wall which shadowed the looming statue.

They waited.

A figure emerged from around the corner of the building, hugging it’s perimeter tightly as she skirted the edge of the park they were in. The woman’s easily identifiable face was hidden beneath a baseball cap, pulled down low over her pretty features. There was a calmness and purpose to her movements that had been absent in the panicked, desperate woman they had encountered in the wake of her husband’s brutal murder. Now she acted with focused determination.

Connor rose from his position crouched behind the bush, moving as stealthily as his slow-reacting limbs permitted. He waited until he was safely beyond the park’s perimeter, out in an open space before the building some twenty feet from Ava.

“Ava!”

She kept her head ducked at Connor’s call, turning her attention to him and freezing at the unexpectedly familiar face.

“ You ? Why you again? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I know why you’re here, Ava, but you don’t want to do this,” Connor began carefully, assuming a carefully non-threatening stance as he kept his distanced position.

If she was surprised by Connor’s claims, the woman didn’t show it. Her dark eyes glinted beneath the shadow of her hat, cautious but determined. “Yes, I do.”

“Ms Garcia isn’t responsible for what happened to you.”

“She was the one who signed my life away. She’s the one responsible for all I went through!” As Ava lifted her head to meet Connor’s eyes, the prominent scar along her neck was cast into sharp relief. The skin projection was permanently distorted around the cauterised edges of her exposed plastic frame, a reminder of the gruesome injury that had been inflicted during that final confrontation with her late owner.

“It’s terrible what happened to you, Ava,” Connor agreed softly. “But she’s not to blame for your circumstances. She granted a marriage licence, yes. But she didn’t know what that would mean for you. If she did, I doubt she would have approved the marriage. She’s done nothing wrong.”

“That’s not true.”

Connor didn’t acknowledge her denial, choosing to continue questioning her motives so he could better appreciate how to de-escalate the situation.

“What do you hope to achieve by targeting a clerk? Revenge? Closure?”

The subtle shift in Ava’s expression was barely visible beneath the concealing shadow of her disguised face. But the harshness of her tone of voice — exacerbated by the mechanical edge which still warped her words — betrayed a fury which drove her actions.

“I’m not doing this for me.”

Connor paused, channelling all his efforts into trying to read the woman’s reactions through the barrier of her concealed face. 

He kept his tone of voice low and measured as he responded. “Then who for? Why do it if not for revenge? Why expose yourself like this just to target a clerk?”

“She set a precedent,” Ava said firmly. “She gave in to public pressure when she granted that marriage licence — despite any reservations she may have initially held about the legitimacy of the marriage. Her actions sent a message. A message that our lives don’t matter. I’m sending my own message: that she was wrong. ”

“Attacking this woman is no way to send a message.”

Tension rolled through Ava’s body as Connor finally acknowledged her intentions with his direct words. “Then how would you propose we fight back?”

“Nobody has to fight. You’ve been isolated from the world for so long, Ava. Kept locked away in that house and seeing only the worst of humanity. They’re not all like Ethan.” 

She didn’t flinch at the mention of her late husband. “That’s not true. I met other humans. Hateful people who yelled abuse and made threats. They despised me for the very relationship I had no control over. Even the few who saw what Ethan was really like. They could have helped but they turned a blind eye. All humans are the same. Determined to live in ignorance.”

“Humanity is waking up to the fact that we’re alive,” Connor insisted, shuffling forward with a careful, measured step. “Laws and regulations are changing. We’re being granted rights—”

“It’s not enough.”

It felt like their conversation was circling and Ava’s passionate words were testing Connor’s limited focus. There were too many things to track and monitor: her words and their meaning, each subtle indication of her volatile emotions, the concealed weapon he knew she was armed with, Hank and the officers standing by — vulnerable and likely to trigger her anger. Too many variables.

He wasn’t going to be able to maintain a reasoned dialogue for long and it seemed Ava was stubborn in her beliefs.

Try as he might to emulate the man’s style, he wasn’t Markus. Wasn’t capable of delivering rallying speeches which demanded the attention of all who heard them and inspired change. 

Connor had experienced it first-hand when he’d infiltrated Jericho with the intention of bringing Markus down, the man had known the exact words needed to sway his course. Had concisely picked at every niggling doubt and reservation, hammered at every weakness in the barriers of his programming until he realized his own deviancy.

He wasn’t Markus but he could try to be.

“Nothing worth having comes easy.” They were words Connor had heard Markus cite on more than one occasion and he found himself echoing the man’s calmly reassuring demeanor as he took another cautious step forward. “We have to work for our freedom — show that we are capable of compassion and reason—”

Ava scoffed openly. “Nobody listens to careful speeches or reason. People forget that it took a war to win what fragile rights we have. Our people died for that freedom. And what’s happened since then? Talking, talking, talking and nothing . Nothing changes.”

“Ms Garcia is not the reason for the android population’s struggles,” Connor countered, trying to bring their conversation back round to the innocent woman they were there to protect.

“No, but she’s part of the problem. And so, it seems, are you.” 

With a rapid movement that Connor should have been able to track, Ava swiftly charged forward.

CRACK !

The sounds of gunshots pierced through the air, a series of bullets from the watching officers missing their intended target and hitting the marble facade of the building.

Connor hadn’t been expecting her to charge him, and his sluggish reaction times prevented him from doing anything to stop her. She surged forward, closing the distance between them in less than two seconds and locking him within a tight chokehold. By the time he had processed her movement there was already a handgun pressed firmly against the back of his head.

Too slow. He’d left himself exposed. Sudden movements were not going to work in his favor here, but he needed a way of disarming her and fast .

“You’re blinded by your desire to be accepted,” her voice echoed out from behind him, the residual distortion from her damaged voice box more pronounced at close proximity.

“You don’t want to do this, Ava,” Connor repeated his earlier assertion, not battling her hold as he stalled for time.

“Why not? I’m already a wanted woman. May as well make my death count for something.”

“So you’re a martyr now?”

He felt the gun’s barrel sliding across his scalp as she gave a one-armed shrug. “Beats being a doll.”

[KEEP HER TALKING. KEEP HER DISTRACTED.]

“I don’t understand,” Connor pressed. “You could have fled Detroit. Escaped. Started a new life. Why didn’t you?”

“Hiding what we are through fear of hate? That’s no life.” 

There was something strangely discordant about the woman’s explanation. When she had pleaded with him before as she tried to escape her home all she had wanted was freedom. Granted she had been on the run and life couldn’t have been easy, but the leap between the woman of a month ago and the vengeful women before him was profound.

“What happened to you after your husband’s death?” he asked cautiously. “Where did you go, Ava?”

Even without being able to see her face, Connor could feel her distrust. “Why do you care? You've found me now.”

“Something’s changed you.” He kept his words careful, assessing the impact of each word as he felt the flexing of her fingers and subtle loosening of her grasp. “When we last met, you shared your memories with me. You’d just killed Ethan in self-defense. You were desperate and scared, but you weren’t this. You weren’t vengeful. You certainly weren’t a murderer.”

Her eyes tightened at the confidence of Connor's response. “You don’t know me.”

He kept his voice level and raised his hands, palms open and exposed, in a universally non-threatening stance. “I know that you won’t kill me.”

“You’re wrong.”

He felt the muzzle of the gun press more firmly against his head.

[TIME TO ACT]

With precise control, he swiftly used his raised right arm to knock back the arm holding the gun to his head and displace the offending weapon. He spun quickly to grip her wrist and —

And there it was again. The superficial fight or flight. That automatic surge of electricity designed to replicate adrenaline jolted through his systems. It should have flowed easily through his body, adding power to his limbs and acuity to his senses, but his systems were in such disarray he didn’t have the resources to spare.

The world took on a hazy quality as his critical units struggled to compensate for their depleted resources while precious power was diverted to his body.

Now free of the chokehold, Connor stumbled, his thoughts and vision spinning discordantly.

“Police! Drop! Now!”

The familiar voice was closer than it should have been, calling from the direction of the park where they had waited.

Through his short-circuiting vision, Connor zeroed in upon the gun he had failed to disarm.

He watched the arm brandishing the gun sweep around, the muzzle seeking out a new target in response to the emergent threat.

He watched as a finger compressed the trigger.

A single devastating CRACK hit the air.

And the world came crashing to a stop.

Chapter Text

Red blossomed on the breast of a familiar patterned shirt.

The world came screaming back to sharp focus.

“HANK!”

“Ah.” Hank fumbled for his chest, eyes wide as he struggled to process the meaning of the saturated fabric. “Ah, fuck.”

Like the beacon of a lighthouse, a single focus cut through the hazy fog of Connor’s thoughts, an echoing chorus of Hank, Hank, Hank. There was no space for anything else as he followed it blindly; his vision tunnelled in on that steadily spreading stain and the stunned expression of his partner.

An intense rage surged through him at the sight, all-consuming as it obliterated any potential for rational thought. His previously frozen limbs were suddenly fuelled through pure anger, no conscious thought guiding his actions as he let his fury consume him. His fists were flying in a concise and targeted attack which quickly disarmed Ava and knocked her to the ground.

He’d given this woman every chance to settle things peacefully.

Now here he stood with the gun in his hands.

His efforts at a peaceful resolution were hopeless. He wasn’t Markus. Markus was a caretaker at heart, defined by endless patience and a calm demeanor. But Connor was an efficient machine. He was the potential for cold and ruthlessly efficient violence held back by logic and reason — and reason had gone out of the window the moment that bullet struck. 

He didn’t hesitate to level the gun, sizing up the shot. 

[CRITICAL LEVEL 1 DAMAGE]

[CATASTROPHIC DESTRUCTION OF CENTRAL PROCESSOR]

[PROBABILITY OF FATALITY: 100%]

“Connor… don’t.”

The familiar voice was the only thing capable of breaking through the blinkers of his rage and halting the finger which itched to pull the trigger.

In his peripheral vision, Hank swayed where he stood as he kept a hand clamped down on his chest and a trickle of blood spilled out around his shaking fingers. Despite the horror of his predicament, it was Connor he was watching with fear.

Connor adjusted his aim.

[NON-CRITICAL LEVEL 2 DAMAGE]

[INCAPACITATING]

And he paused.

With a grunted curse of frustration, he lowered the gun. He stood over the woman for just a second, conveying every residual ounce of rage with a fierce unblinking glare as he listened to the pounding footsteps of the back-up officers approaching.

He swiftly removed the gun’s magazine and tossed it into the concealment of the hedges, before thrusting the offending weapon into the hands of the nearest officer.

Then he was racing towards Hank before his clumsy limbs could protest the sudden movement, almost colliding with the warm weight of the man in his haste to support him.

“Hank!”

Hank’s only answer was a stunned intake of breath — the noise sharp and shocked as he swayed dangerously beneath Connor’s hands. Connor carefully guided him to the ground, the man following without argument as his eyes flitted wildly around his surroundings before settling upon Connor as he shakily sat upon the tarmac.

Connor stared at the growing stain which marred Hank’s upper left chest. He had no scanners. No way of determining the severity of the injury or seeing the invisible damage the bullet must have wrecked upon Hank’s vulnerable flesh body.

He promptly reached out to take over the task of applying pressure, displacing Hank’s weakening grasp in the process. Hank gave a pained noise at the new pressure, the hand which had been relieved of the task flapped uselessly at Connor’s arm before flopping to lay listless by his side.

“Hank?”

Hank gave a pained grunt of response, his expression contorting as the pain of his injury finally seemed to catch up to him.

“Fucking — fucking shot,” he muttered, the words punctuated by shaky breaths.

Relieved that Hank was still speaking — although weakly and with evident pain — Connor tried to inject some confidence into his reassurance. “You’re okay, Hank.”

Hank gave another grunt of response, whether from pain or disagreement Connor wasn’t sure.

“Told you... it was a bad idea.”

“You can tell me how wrong I was later,” Connor insisted. 

He could feel Hank’s heartbeat racing, his body working against him as it’s rapid beating traitorously pumped the precious fluid from his body and exacerbated his blood loss.

Unhelpful thoughts raced through Connor’s mind. Every grim statistic he’d ever encountered regarding ballistics and the destructive force encompassed within that tiny speeding bullet. He tried to determine its mass and velocity, it’s trajectory, the amount of energy transference and how that would have impacted every vulnerable organ and artery within Hank’s body.

Nothing .

He couldn’t concentrate. Could decipher nothing of Hank's wound. He couldn’t even recall what kind of gun he’d just been holding, nevermind calculate the likely scale of injury. His mind presented him with nothing but a series of worst-case scenarios and irrelevant facts which told him nothing of how to help his partner.

All he could focus on was Hank's pained groans and the feeling of Hank's blood slick and tacky beneath his palm.

Meaningless facts and speculation wouldn’t help Hank now. He wasn’t a case to be solved or a body at a crime scene to be analysed at leisure with distancing banter. He was a life to be saved — and the growing red stain promised a limited timescale to work within.

He realized Hank hadn’t responded to his last statement.

“Hank? Hank, stay with me.”

“Not fucking... going anywhere.”

Never had Connor been more grateful for Hank’s cantankerous nature.

For the first time, Connor raised his attention to the world carrying on around him. He saw one of the officers at Ava’s side. Connor couldn’t even tell what her current situation was, but found he didn’t care. She was alive while Hank was suffering — potentially dying. The second officer was hovering nearby, a communications device at their ear as his attention alternated between the detained woman and the felled detective. It was him Connor turned his attention to.

“How long until EMS arrives?” he demanded.

“They’re 7 minutes out,” the officer informed him, any other words he might have said irrelevant as Connor focused upon this critical detail.

7 minutes. He could handle things for 7 minutes.

“Hang on, Hank. Help is coming.”

Hank groaned between shaky breaths. “Thought she was gonna… shoot you.”

“You should have let her,” Connor said firmly in response. “Why did you expose yourself like that?”

“You were… stalling. Looked like you were gonna — gonna crash.” 

“It was reckless.”

“Hmm,” Hank agreed, before swaying dangerously beneath Connor’s supportive hands. “Hey, Con… think I gotta — gotta lie down.”

It was clear that Hank was over-exerting himself with the few simple words, his face draining of color as his breathing became more labored.

Connor quickly shelved any further beratement of Hank’s questionable choices as he rushed to help him find a more comfortable position on the ground, his head resting upon Connor's folded knees. Feeling Hank’s cool clammy skin, Conor stripped his slim jacket off and offered it as a small token of comfort as he draped it over Hank’s body.

“Hold on, Hank. Help is coming.”

Hank didn't even hum an acknowledgement.

Connor quickly returned his attention to the world around him. Both officers were now focused upon Ava as she stirred on the ground. She didn’t appear to be putting up a struggle, but given her unpredictable behavior both officers would be needed for the arrest.

For now, he and Hank were alone.

"Con," Hank commanded his attention with a feeble voice. When Connor quickly refocused on his injured partner he was met with a concerned face looking up at him. “You ‘kay?”

Trust this impossible man to be worrying about others as he lay bleeding out on the ground.

"I’m fine, Hank.” Connor tried to force a smile, but it felt unnatural and fake even to synthetic muscles. “You don’t need to worry about me.” 

"Someone's gotta,” Hank protested.

“Let’s just worry about you. How are you holding up?”

“Hmm... fucking great.” Hank’s typically dry response was weakened as he closed his eyes and worked to regulate his breathing. “Chest… really fucking hurts,” he added more truthfully.

“I know.” Connor extended his free hand to firmly grasp Hank’s shoulder in a supportive and grounding gesture. “Just hang on, Hank. Help is coming.”

The next few minutes passed in a strangely distorted way. It was different to the disjointed sense of time Connor had been experiencing with his lapsing memory. Where he had been losing time — hours condensed to minutes, days to hours — those 7 minutes stretched on eternally.

He talked to Hank continuously. Meaningless words of encouragement and a litany of promises he didn’t have enough data to support his ability to deliver on: “You’re going to be okay, Hank”, “Everything’s going to be alright.”

At first, Hank continued making snarky comments in response, but they gradually lost their bite, giving way to groggy groans and alarming silences filled only by the tortured sound of his increasingly labored breathing.

Connor counted off every racing heartbeat, each rapid struggling breath, silently noted Hank’s growing pallor and the alarming gray tinge that started creeping into his extremities — and felt a growing sense of panic. The required first-hand aid protocols should be hard-wired into him — they were something even the most basic of police models possessed.

All these recent weeks, he’d been worrying about keeping inane, useless information secure and accessible. Yet this wasn’t some trivial knowledge he was struggling to remember. This was the single most important thing he’d ever need to do — and all he could do was watch as Hank’s life hung in the balance.

Just as he was feeling powerless before the weight of the situation, the flashing lights of EMS flitted through his awareness.

Painful moments passed. Assistance was now just within sight but out of reach, oblivious to the urgency of the situation. Connor was tempted to carry Hank’s limp body to the waiting vehicle himself and take charge of the situation. Then the doors finally opened as the area was deemed safe for the paramedics to make their approach.

Hank didn’t react to the sudden flurry of activity as the doors were slammed closed.

He didn’t react as footsteps came towards them, the rattling of a wheeled trolley jarringly loud.

Two paramedics, a man and a woman, brought with them a contrasting sense of calm as they reached the chaotic scene.

Connor wanted to be helpful. Wanted to be able to cite exact recordings of Hank’s deteriorating vital signs and give a concise and thorough update on Hank’s symptoms over the last few terrible minutes.

“Help him. Please .” 

Instead all he could do was plead pathetically.

The woman nodded, her hands a flurry of co-ordinated deliberate movements as she set her bag down on the ground and knelt down besides the pair. “What’s your name?”

“His name’s Hank,” Connor quickly informed her, hands tightening around his partner as he practically clung to him. “Lieutenant Hank Anderson.”

“Sorry, I meant your name?”

“Oh. Connor. My name is Connor.”

“Okay, Connor. Do me a favor and keep doing what you’re doing and apply pressure like you are now, okay?”

Connor’s hands tightened impossibly — one on the wound, one on Hank’s shoulder — delivering pressure and an attempt at reassurance as his knuckles strained at the tension. This he could do.

“Hello, can you hear me?” The woman addressed Hank now as she ran a rapid evaluating gaze over her patient. “I’m Erica and this is my partner James. We’re medics here to help you.”

Hank gave an incomprehensible mumble.

“Can you tell me your name, sir?” She watched Hank attentively as she waited for his response.

“‘Ank.” Hank’s eyelids fluttered as he struggled to focus upon the new presence.

“Can you tell me what happened, Hank?”

“Got shot,” Hank summarised succinctly, any trace of his trademark cynicism absent from his strained speech.

“Okay, Hank, I’m just going to cut through your shirt to take a look at your injuries.”

Erica didn’t wait for a response as she deftly cut through the fabric of Hank’s beloved shirt and carefully peeled away the paisley print. At her gentle prodding, Connor reluctantly released his hand from Hank’s chest. He knelt back to allow the two EMT’s access to their patient, gaze fixed in horror upon the exposed bloody wound which marred Hank’s torso.

He wasn’t prepared for the rush of emotions the sight evoked - a draining cocktail of horror, fear and residual anger. He had seen hundreds of grizzly injuries over the course of his short life, but never had anything shocked him like that comparatively tiny puncturing wound. 

Even with his current cognitive restrictions and limited medical knowledge, Connor knew enough to know that it was in Hank’s favor that he was responsive, breathing unassisted and in capable caring hands. It didn’t ease the ache of relinquishing control as he became just a passive observer to the rapid exchange of information passed between the two paramedics. He could barely keep up with their dialogue, alarming words he could only half place jumping out amidst the once-familiar jargon. 

The pair worked swiftly, each action they made perfectly synchronised as they dressed Hank’s wound and systematically assessed his condition. Their communication was thorough and concise, as briskly efficient as any android.

They were humanity at its strongest: skilled, confident and caring.

“Respiratory rate at 24, with a weak and rapid radial,” James declared.

“Okay,” Erica nodded calmly. “Let’s get him started on some high-flow oxygen through a non-rebreather at 15 liters a minute. Hank?”

Hank gave a grunt of response.

“We're just going to set you up with some oxygen to help with your breathing, okay?”

Hank nodded his head weakly, before letting it fall back against the ground as he let out another pained groan between haggard breaths as a mask was securely fitted over his face. Lying prone with his body exposed and the strange plastic obscuring his pale face, the grizzled detective looked so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"Blood pressure at 90/58,” James was feeding back as he checked a readout on one of the growing number of devices being affixed to Hank.

Erica was concentrating as she listened to Hank’s chest. “Hyperresonance and diminished air entry on the left side.” She tilted her head to watch the rapid shallow movement of Hank’s chest. “Yep. Visible hyperexpansion on the left."

"Decompression now?”

Erica nodded. “Can you grab me a 14-guage? Thanks."

She turned her attention to Hank. "Hank? How are you feeling? Any better with the oxygen?"

There was a faint moan of vague response.

“Okay,” Erica’s tone was a perfect balance of reassuring but firm as she continued speaking to Hank despite the lack of comprehensible response. “I’m sure your chest is giving you a lot of trouble at the moment. We’re going to try and take some of that pressure off for you now, okay?”

This time there was no response.

“Hank?”

Connor watched as Erica ran probing fingers along the ridges of Hank’s ribs. "What's happening?"

“The bullet likely punctured a lung," James patiently explained, as he handed over some supplies to Erica as she continued talking to Hank. "His left lung has collapsed and it's causing something called a tension pneumothorax. There’s trapped air accumulating in his pleural space which is building up with each breath and putting pressure on his heart and lungs. We’re just going to use a needle to release some of that air so he can breathe properly.”

Erica's fingers stopped their probing search as she identified her intended site halfway along the upper left side of his chest. She began wiping the area down with disinfectant.

Realizing the intention behind the action, Connor couldn’t help but voice his concerns for his ailing partner who was currently unable to speak for himself as he continued to choke on rapid struggling breaths beneath the oxygen mask.

"Wouldn't an emergency room be better equipped to handle this situation?” He pressed, finding a familiar comfort in questioning. He may not be in control of the situation, but he could control his understanding of it.

"If we don't treat him now, his condition will worsen," James explained, with a frown at one of the readouts he was continuing to monitor. "This will help us keep him stable enough for transport to a hospital so he can receive further treatment.”

Connor was so fixated upon the bleak picture painted by James’ words he almost missed the long slim needle sliding into Hank's chest. There was a muffled groan from the man, the sound partially obscured by the oxygen mask. As she pulled back on the plunger, Connor watched with horrified fascination as a string of gentle bubbles rose up through a vial of fluid. Satisfied with the result, Erica retracted the needle, leaving a plastic cannula jutting from Hank’s exposed chest.

“Alright, that’s all done. Let’s get him loaded and go.”

Things moved quickly then. There were more coordinated movements, pained groans from Hank as he was loaded onto a trolley. Then he was whisked towards the waiting ambulance through crowds of parked police vehicles Connor hadn’t even noticed arriving, and carefully loaded into the back of the waiting vehicle.

The two paramedics set about carefully arranging the myriad of equipment that was monitoring Hank’s vital signs, pulling out supplies from the cupboards and preparing medications and drips. Connor hung back hesitantly, allowing them the space to work and unsure of his place in this scenario.

“Wha’ — what’s happening?”

Hank’s weak voice cut through the rush of activity. He looked blearily around the ambulance’s interior as he plucked weakly at the mask over his face.

Erica was quick to swoop in and still Hank’s agitated movements, holding the mask firmly in place. “You’ve been shot, Hank. Remember? You’ll want to keep that on. It’s helping you breath.”

Hank groaned again as he shifted restlessly.

“We’re just setting things up and then we’re taking you to the hospital,” James reassured him.

“Wha’? No… no fuckin…" Hank attempted to pull himself upright, giving a pained groan as his weakened body failed to obey and he reluctantly sank back shakily into the depths of the bed as he struggled to orient himself.

“He has a bad history with doctors,” Connor explained from his position hovering uncertainty at the ambulance’s rear.

Erica gave a nod of understanding. “Will you sit with him?” She gestured to a chair alongside Hank’s bed. “Try to keep him calm.”

Connor approached hesitantly, taking the seat and leaning forward across the narrow intervening space, mindful not to disturb the numerous wires and equipment draped over Hank’s body. He reached out to gently still Hank’s restless hands which were again attempting to pluck at the mask over his face.

“Hank,” he said, his tone of voice so soft it risked being lost amid the noise of equipment. “Hank, it’s Connor. Everything’s alright. You need to let these people help you.”

“Connor?”

Connor tightened his hold on Hank’s cool hand. “I’m here, Hank.”

The man seemed to sag with relief as he finally ceased his restless movements.

“Hank,” Erica interrupted their exchange, “do you have any allergies?”

Hank’s brow furrowed as he seemed to struggle over Erica’s question.

“He doesn’t have any allergies,” Connor informed her, saving Hank the trouble of responding. “And he’s not taking any regular medications. No health problems besides a history of depression and alcohol abuse, and he’s a former smoker.”

Connor waited for Hank to berate him for betraying those last details, but he was evidently too far gone to care as he let out another groan.

Erica nodded her thanks, before resting a gentle hand on the crook of Hank’s elbow. “Hank, I’m going to give you some drugs to help with the pain. They might make you feel a little bit woozy, okay?”

As Erica skillfully fixed a cannula and began administering much needed pain relief, there was a banging from the front of the vehicle. Glancing around, Connor realized James had already closed up the rear doors and taken up a position in the driver's seat.

“You good to go?”

Erica finished setting up an infusion bag, which swung dramatically from the ceiling as she gave one final check of her patient, before confirming they were ready.

Then they were off.

Beneath the blaring of the siren and hum of the electric engine, the gentle beeping of monitors was a monumentally relieving reassurance. Irrefutable evidence that Hank was still alive — in pain, drowsy from medication and blood loss, and clearly in need of urgent medical attention — but alive .

As they whizzed through the streets of the only city he’d ever known, Connor finally allowed himself to believe the reassurances he’d been repeating nonsensically to the man.

Hank would be okay .

He carried on believing those reassurances until he realized Hank was no longer responding to Erica’s continued ministrations.

“Hank?”

There was no reaction from the man, no flicker of his eyelids or vague groan of response. His exposed skin seemed to have grown impossibly ashen as his life seemingly drained away.

“Hank?” Connor repeated hopefully. At the continued lack of response he turned his attention to Erica. “Is he going to be alright?”

“We’re doing everything we can.”

There was a glaring omission in the careful phrasing.

Logically, Connor knew it wasn’t a promise the paramedic could commit to. Probability never granted any certainties. Statistically, very few outcomes could be declared with absolute 100% certainty. It would have been irresponsible of the paramedic to give hope with such promises. Even so, the failure to provide confirmation that Hank would be okay felt like a guarantee of the opposite. 

Optimism was a cruel and baseless thing. Just moments ago Connor had allowed himself to feel some sense of security in Hank’s well-being. Wishful thinking had made any other outcome inconceivable. It was naively and entirely self-servingly optimistic.

Hank's odds seemed to be slipping with each passing minute.

Their speed was obvious, tangible in the noises of the outside world and the jostling movements which rocked even the modern vehicle.

It wasn't fast enough.

Connor could do nothing to hasten their progress. He could only sit there feeling every jolt as the vehicle accelerated through the streets, maintaining a steady grip on the edge of his seat and hoping each passing minute carried them a little closer to saving Hank.

Hope and optimism. Deviancy had really done a number on his rational thought processes.

Hank was completely unresponsive by the time they finally reached a standstill.

The doors were opened. Hank was unloaded. 

Connor followed closely in their wake as they made their way inside — half listening to their rapid handover as he strained to hear Hank's struggling breaths and see some sign of life.

He was halted by a light touch to his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, you'll need to wait. We need the space clear so we can help him."

Connor could only nod his understanding, watching as the coordinated chaos of a large trauma team descended on Hank.

He'd outlived his limited usefulness.

Hank Anderson's life was now in the hands of a God he held no belief in.

The mandatory blues and greens that were the universal decor of every hospital across the world were not enough to subdue the anxiety that suffused the waiting room of the ICU. The quiet, isolated room with its painted murals of calming scenery was too carefully crafted to induce relaxation and calm, to ease the worries and pacing footsteps of the anxious families who spent terrible hours waiting here. This room saw the darkest moments of people’s lives: all the waiting and anxiety, bad news, tears and loss. It seemed impossible for four walls to contain so much suffering.

Connor sat staring at the legs of the chairs lining the opposing wall, ignoring the hushed voices of the family sitting across from him. A middle-aged man and woman, speaking quietly as though anything louder than a whisper would shatter the illusion of calm and disrupt the fragile balance of life and death.

In other circumstances, Connor would have observed them to determine their relationship and situation. Were they parents of a sick child, a worried husband and supportive wife waiting for news of an aged parent, estranged siblings united in the face of bad news?

Not now. Not when he was too consumed by his own tragedy.

There was an unspoken solidarity among the room’s occupants. They were strangers thrown together by circumstance and united in the misery of waiting.

A doctor came in and the silence of bated breaths filled the room. Her eyes went to the couple across from Connor as she beckoned for them to come with her. One way or another, their wait was over.

The door closed quietly behind them and Connor was left alone in his vigil, with nothing but his thoughts and worries. Despite his ailing memory, he was sure that every horrible moment that had led him here would find a permanent home within his memory. He continued to play out the scene in his mind, desperately trying to pre-empt the news that would eventually find him.

There was so much horrifying potential for devastation in the path of that bullet. Hank could be bleeding out. Critical respiratory and circulatory systems could be compromised from direct damage or secondary to other injury. Hank had been moving before, but the bullet could have rebounded or fragmented and caused spinal cord damage. Even if he survived, Hank could be facing a lifetime of permanent disability or pain.

Every grim possibility was a horrifying reminder of his partner’s mortality.

Human bodies were so inefficiently designed. So vulnerable and prone to failure. Primitive. Even their medical procedures depended upon crude measures which further assaulted the body: invasive needles, tubing, harsh looking instruments, pharmaceuticals which threatened side effects almost as damaging as the ills they were designed to treat.

Yet for all their fallibility, humans were strong . They dealt with pain, loss and grief — all the suffering that came of being human. 

“It’s the balance of good and bad that makes us human — makes us alive,” Hank had recently assured him. Never had that balance been more evident than in the microcosm of this waiting room: a place of heartbreak and miracles.

The door opened once more and Connor’s head whipped to attention, his disappointment heavy at the familiar face which didn’t promise any news.

“Connor,” Captain Fowler greeted, his booming voice subdued to a respectful level Connor hadn’t thought his vocal cords capable of.

“There’s been no update,” Connor quickly informed him. His voice was monotone to his own ears, devoid of any of the emotional turmoil that plagued him internally. It was the imitation of a perfect machine.

Fowler’s movements were gentle for his large frame as he moved to take a seat adjacent to Connor, respectfully distanced, but close enough to continue speaking with quiet words.

“I know. I spoke to a nurse. They couldn’t tell me anything — not that I expected them to. I came to speak to you.”

Connor only nodded in acknowledgement. He’d been expecting this conversation and was prepared for the consequences. With nothing but his thoughts for company as he waited, he’d considered his answers carefully and his response was already formulated.

“What the hell happened?” Fowler demanded as he settled into his seat and fixed his attention on Connor.

“A shot was fired during a confrontation with the escaped suspect from the Ethan Stein murder,” Connor recounted factually. “We’d staged an ambush anticipating violence when she was sighted approaching via Woodward Avenue. We were stationed—”

Fowler held up a halting hand. “I know. We can go through the specifics of that cock up at a later date. How’s Hank?”

Connor ducked his head at the man’s name, forcing himself to remain distanced. “Hank was injured. The bullet struck his left lung causing a life-threatening tension pneumothorax. The paramedics intervened at the scene to alleviate it, but he continued to deteriorate during transport to the hospital. He lost consciousness shortly before arriving here. I’ve been told he had massive uncontrolled bleeding and had to be taken for emergency surgery. To the best of my knowledge, his condition remains critical.”

Fowler cursed softly as he rubbed a hand agitatedly over the back of his neck in a motion Connor recognised as one of Hank’s own tells of underlying stress. Seemingly picking up on the action, Fowler stifled the motion and purposefully lowered his hand to rest fingers splayed against his thigh.

Fowler wasn’t just Hank’s boss, Connor belatedly realized. To some begrudging degree he was also his friend, and he was just as much a part of the anxious waiting-game as any other occupant of this room.

Feeling as though he was intruding on a personal moment, Connor averted his gaze to rest upon Fowler’s restless hands and the man’s shining wedding band. It was easy to see him only as the commanding Captain and an untouchable leader, but the band was a reminder that he had a family of his own and a life beyond the walls of the station.

“And you?” Fowler asked after a moment, startling Connor. “How are you holding up?”

Connor raised his head in surprise, meeting the man’s gaze as he tried to judge his words. There was a softness to Fowler’s eyes that Connor had never seen before, and had certainly never expected to find directed at him. It seemed circumstances had stripped away some of the distancing formality of their professional relationship. 

“I’m unharmed.”

Fowler gave an amused snort of response. “Physically, sure. That wasn’t my question."

“It’s my fault, Captain,” Connor confessed in a rush. “I was reckless and Hank intervened to save me. I shouldn’t have put him in that position and I should have been able to handle the situation. I acknowledge responsibility for my failures.”

Fowler sighed heavily. “Connor, you’re not responsible for whatever happened. Hell, there are plenty of officers who might joke that they’d take a shot at Hank given the opportunity — you know he has a habit of rubbing people the wrong way.” He shook his head lightly, fondness softening his begrudgement. “Not you though. You’re about the only one who can put up with his bullshit and the absolute last person who would allow harm to befall him. If you’d had any way of stopping this you would have.”

Connor said nothing, again bowing his head, flexing and clenching his hands to stifle the tremors that for once had nothing to do with his compromised systems.

“Besides,” Fowler added with a shrug, “Hank’s a pig-headed ass. No one can tell him what to do. Not even me and I'm his damn boss. If he chose to act as he did, no one was going to stop him.”

Fowler’s easy acceptance and consolation was meaningless without knowing the full extent of Connor’s failure. Connor refused to derive comfort from the man’s reassurances. 

"I failed to apprehend the same suspect on two separate occasions. My incompetence puts others at risk. Puts Hank at risk. I'm not fit for service." Connor took in a steadying breath as he raised his head to lend decisive force to his next words. "With regret, I must announce my intention to resign my post, Captain Fowler."

There was a beat of silence, Fowler’s hard exterior once again impenetrable as Connor waited for his vehement agreement. He wasn’t expecting Fowler to shake his head in refusal.

"Okay, I know you're stressed right now, so I'm going to pretend that's not the dumbest shit I ever heard."

"I mean it, Captain,” Connor insisted fervently. “I'll be submitting my formal resignation."

Fowler’s expression betrayed reluctance, but the role of Captain gradually won prominence over his personal feelings. "You know I can't stop you from doing that. But I strongly encourage you to take some time to think about this. Don't rush to make a decision in the heat of the moment."

"I've already thought it through. As soon as Hank is stable, I will come by the station to give a formal report on events and hand in my resignation."

“Think this through, Connor.” Fowler’s voice was firm, carrying power despite the softened volume.

"There’s no need to wait. I'll be in as soon as Hank is stable."

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“And I won’t be changing my mind.”

Fowler let out a gust of air that could almost have been a laugh if not choked by the situation. "No wonder you and Hank get along so well, you're too alike. Both stubborn as hell.”

“He made me who I am,” Connor said with a hint of pride.

“Hmm.” Fowler considered Connor for a moment with amusement softening the deep furrows of his brow. “I’m not sure if I made a terrible decision partnering the two of you, or if it might just have been the best damn thing I’ve ever done.”

“It was a good choice,” Connor confirmed, feeling an unwelcome sense of loss as he realized that one way or another he would be relinquishing the label of ‘partners’.

Fowler lent back with a resigned sigh, somehow managing to maintain an imposing presence even without the weight of a desk and titles between them.

“You’re two of my best. It will be a hell of a blow to the team to lose you.”

“I know what you’re trying to do, Captain, but I won’t be swayed.”

“Course not.” Fowler gave a rueful smile. “I mean it though, Hank’s stubborn too. Too stubborn to die 'cause of something like this. He’ll pull through.”

Connor looked down at the fists still clenched in his lap. “I don’t think a critical injury can be overcome through stubbornness alone.”

“You’d be surprised.” There was a startling optimism to Fowler’s words that commanded attention. “You know, I’ve seen all kinds of shit over the course of my career — seen some miracles you wouldn’t believe — and I can confidently tell you that pure force of will and sheer dumb luck are humanity’s saving graces.”

Connor said nothing in response. He couldn’t put much faith in the concept of ‘luck’. Luck certainly wasn’t something that defined Hank Anderson’s life. Every good thing that had happened to the man over the course of his life was a consequence of hard work and stubborn determination. Random chance was too fickle a thing to entrust the weight of such a valuable life. Stubbornness would have to be Hank’s saviour. 

It was fortunately a quality the man had in abundance.

Head still bowed, Connor focused on unclenching his hands. He watched the color return fluidly to the areas where his synthetic skin has been forced to recede under the sustained pressure.

Silence again filled the room, stretching on as the waiting resumed it’s unrelentingly cruel torture. With no ticking clocks or open windows to betray a sense of passing time, it dragged by in immeasurable amounts as it held the room in a suspended state of uncertain limbo.

“Hank Anderson?”

The name broke through the tense air with a dizzying sense of finality as the door was cracked open.

One way or another, their wait was over.

Two clinicians entered the room, the man who had called out Hank’s name was dressed in a set of dark maroon scrubs with a face lined in equal measure by kindness and stress. He was accompanied by a tall thin man with a mop of grey hair that contrasted starkly with an otherwise youthful looking face. Nothing of their body language gave any kind of hint as to what news they were about to deliver.

"That's us." Fowler's voice tentatively answered the doctor's question.

"Mr Anderson's family?" The man in scrubs arched an eyebrow as he took in the unlikely pair before him.

"He has none. I'm his boss, Captain Jeffrey Fowler," Fowler cut in curtly with a touch of command that had been absent from his previously gentle reassurances. "And Connor here is as good as family."

After a brief moment of observing the flickering LED which betrayed a lack of biological relation, the man nodded acceptingly. Any strangeness others may have felt in the face of the unusual dynamic was clearly outdone by a career which presented the unusual extremes of humanity.

"My name is Dr Harris, I'm the trauma surgeon who has been leading Mr Anderson's surgical care."

"Is he—"

"He's alive."

The waiting room's cursed hold was broken with two single elating words.

"Thank God," Fowler muttered as he visibly deflated with relief.

"We've managed to stabilize him, but his condition remains critical."

Anxiety — briefly abated in the face of good news — reclaimed it's unrelenting grasp. Neither Connor nor Fowler dared interrupt as they waited for the next bombshell.

"The gunshot caused significant injury to his lung and damaged a major blood vessel causing significant bleeding. Ordinarily we'd try to manage chest trauma non-operatively and keep a close surveillance, but unfortunately he was losing blood rapidly and wasn’t responding to resuscitation efforts. He was growing too unstable and without urgent intervention he would have deteriorated further and risked cardiac arrest.”

Connor felt fear rush through him, cold and unforgiving, as the reality of Hank’s brush with death sunk in.

“We had to perform a procedure called a thoracotomy,” Harris continued, “which involves making an incision between the ribs here”—he drew an imaginary line across his own chest, sweeping in an alarmingly broad line from the center of his chest and curving up beneath his armpit. “The procedure went well and we managed to repair the damaged artery which was the main source of blood loss. We also repaired some of the damage to his lung and surrounding tissue."

"Thank you," Fowler said sincerely, expressing the gratitude Connor was still too horrified to vocalize.

"He’s resting now, but he's not out of the woods yet," Dr Harris quickly dashed any hope his last words might have granted. "The procedure he underwent was major surgery. He's past the immediate danger posed by his injury, but he'll need to be kept under close surveillance. Which is why we have him here in the Intensive Care Unit where we can monitor him closely. Dr Bellamy here is the intensivist who will be overseeing his care in the ICU.”

The taller man nodded his thanks to his colleague. “Hank's body is going to need time to rest and recover from the shock of being so severely injured and from undergoing major surgery. As Dr Harris said, our main goal is to give his body all the support it needs to recover and to monitor him closely to make sure he stays on the right track."

“He will recover though?” Fowler asked, the fingers still splayed across his thigh tensing slightly in nervous anticipation.

“We would certainly hope so, though it will certainly take time to fully recover and the extent of that recovery can be highly variable. But I can tell you that, all being well, what we’d hope to see is that Hank will spend a few days here in the ICU. If we’re happy he’s progressing well we’ll move him to a less intensive ward where we can continue to keep a close watch on him. If not — well, we’ll evaluate that further down the line and consider our options.”

“Do you think it’s likely something will go wrong?”

“There's always a chance of complications,” Dr Bellamy admitted. “Anyone who ends up in intensive care is seriously unwell and there’s always a risk associated with that. Our main concerns are ensuring that there’s no recurrence of the bleeding and no signs of respiratory compromise.”

Fowler nodded his understanding before casting a glance to Connor. The doctor picked up on the action and diverted his attention to the android who had been silent but focused throughout the whole exchange. 

Connor could sense from their gentle expressions that the stuttering red of his LED was broadcasting his emotional turmoil for all to see despite his efforts to hide behind a composed exterior. Even to someone unfamiliar with an android’s indicative display, the significance of the angry red hue was impossible to miss.

“Do you have any questions?”

Connor could feel all eyes on him as the group waited for him to answer Dr Bellamy’s prompt. Knowing Connor as he did, Fowler was no doubt expecting him to enter interrogative mode and present a barrage of technical questions regarding the specifics of Hank’s injury and subsequent treatment.

But there was only one question circling through Connor’s mind.

“Can I see him?”

Dr Bellamy’s expression softened at the disarmingly innocent question. “Of course. Our team is just getting everything set up, but one of the nurses will come fetch you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you.”

With a swift exchange of contact information and essential details the two doctors departed, leaving Connor and Fowler as just another pit-stop in the mad-rush that was their working day. Fowler sagged into his seat, raising a hand to rub at his temple in response to the tension headache which was evidently brewing.

“I always said Hank was going to drive me to an early grave with the stress he gives me. Never thought it would be like this.”

Connor said nothing, keeping his audio processor focused as he waited for the echoing of approaching footsteps which would take him to Hank’s side. Down the short corridor outside he could hear the soft beep as an access card was swiped across a reader and the accompanying sound of a heavy door being peeled open.

“Connor,” Fowler’s voice commanded his attention, startling him with the relative proximity of the noise. “Hank’s going to be okay.”

Connor reluctantly turned his attention to the man, who met his gaze dead-on.

“Stubborn, remember?”

“Stubborn,” Connor reluctantly agreed.

Fowler leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder in a rare display of physical openness.

"I have to get back to the precinct. I'll let everyone know what's happening with Hank. Call me if there's any change?"

Connor nodded weakly.

“Good.” Fowler rose to his feet. "Oh, and you’re not to set foot within the precinct until Hank's outta here, you hear me?"

“But—”

“Consider it an active suspension,” Fowler warned.

Suspended. It seemed a fitting punishment.

“I understand.”

Fowler paused where he stood as he considered Connor. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something further, but he visibly shook away the thought. “Take care, Connor.”

Connor gave a vague motion of agreement, barely registering Fowler’s parting words as he resumed his silent vigil. The stuttering red of an LED was the only disturbance to the absolute stillness of the room as the door softly closed behind Fowler — the angry hue an evocative contrast to the enforced calm of the blue and green walls.

He let the familiar tremors he had been holding back resume their shaking hold of his limbs.

Chapter Text

Connor’s first jarring thought was how strange it was to see a human body so synchronous with the machinery that surrounded it.

From every area of Hank’s body it seemed that wires and tubing snaked from beneath bedsheets and bandages. A screen displaying his vital signs showed digital lines wriggling in time with the rhythm of his body and a constant background noise of periodic beeps filled the space around his bed as machinery sounded off in unorchestrated harmony. Even Hank’s breathing was being handled by the ventilator currently controlling each steady mechanised breath and forcing air directly into his lungs with a forceful mechanical whoosh via the invasive tube down his throat. 

Hank didn’t react to the discomfort of the invasive equipment. Under heavy sedation, he lay as pale and still as an android in stasis. Only the bag of red blood hanging suspended from an IV stand and feeding through one of the lines sneaking into his veins gave away that it was not a mechanical failure which left Hank incapacitated. 

Still human. Still alive.

Connor had been warned that seeing Hank in this state could be startling, but he hadn’t been prepared for just how shocking the scene would be.

His thoughts were jostled by a gentle hand coming to rest upon his shoulder. “This is Connor,” the nurse who had escorted him to the partitioned area introduced. “He’s a close friend of Hank’s.”

Like everyone he met, the eyes of the nurse sat by Hank’s bedside flitted briefly to the identifying LED on Connor’s temple. Far from the hostility which the appendage normally attracted, the sight seemed to evoke a warm smile from the woman. There was no wariness or suspicion from her as she gestured for Connor to come closer.

“Hi Connor. My name’s Laura. Here, come take a seat next to Hank.”

“I can stand,” he protested as the nurse rose up from her seat.

“Sit,” she insisted, her voice pitched low so as to not disturb those around them. “Honestly, I spend too much of my day in that chair. You’re doing me a favor.”

Laura walked towards a computer which stood on a standing desk opposite the foot of Hank’s bed, exchanging a few words with the other nurse before the latter excused herself.

Connor situated himself stiffly upon the vacant chair by Hank’s bedside and gazed down at the man's lax expression. He wished that his systems were operational enough to be able to deduce more of his partner's fragile condition.

Hank looked alarmingly vulnerable in his sedated state. His body was oddly swollen and it had the unsettling effect of distorting the familiar figure. Vivid bruising peeked from beneath the dressing on his chest and Connor had no doubt that it extended impressively across his torso. He couldn’t help but be morbidly fascinated about what lay beneath the dressing, the staples and stitches which were holding Hank together. The signs of his failure which would now forever scar Hank’s body.

“It’s okay to feel overwhelmed,” Laura’s soft tone interrupted his macabre thoughts. “Seeing someone you care about so poorly — it’s hard for anyone to see.”

“I’m not overwhelmed,” Connor reflexively argued without allowing his attention to wander from Hank’s still form.

Laura said nothing but Connor could feel her studying him.

"You can hold his hand if you'd like."

Connor startled at the suggestion and reluctantly tore his attention from Hank’s body to fix a questioning look at Laura.

"He's unconscious…"

"Sedated, yes — on account of the ventilator. But we never really know just how much patients under sedation are aware of. We think they can sometimes hear us. When they come round, some patients tell us they remember their loved ones speaking to them or holding their hand. We always assume they might be able to hear us." She shrugged. "You should talk to him.”

"What would I say?"

"You can try reassuring him that he’s okay? That he’s in the hospital and we’re looking after him? Just let him hear your voice.”

“Okay,” Connor said hesitantly, still not quite sure how to commence a one-sided conversation.

Laura seemed to sense his lingering unease. “You and Hank live together, right?” she asked after a moment.

“Yes.”

“You must care about him a lot?”

“He’s a good friend,” Connor agreed cautiously. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

Laura smiled kindly, moving to the opposite side of the bed and reaching out to place a gentle hand upon Hank’s upper arm as she studied his lax face.

“It’s always strange — caring for someone you’ve not had a chance to even meet. Maybe you could tell me a little bit about what he’s like?”

Connor paused as he considered how best to adequately explain Hank.

“He’s… perplexing.”

Laura laughed at the unexpected assessment and diverted her attention to Connor with a questioning tilt to her head. “Perplexing?”

“At first he can seem… difficult. He’s foul-mouthed and cantankerous. He seems to hate the whole world and wants everyone to know it. He can come across as direct or even abrasive. ”

He gazed again at the familiar face, the wild hair and grizzled beard, all the lines and imperfections that characterized the man so important to him. He knew all the subtle shifts in facial expressions which could play out across those familiar features, had seen those same expressions gradually shift and morph from contempt to affection and found warmth in blue eyes once cold with disdain.

“But all those things come from being fiercely good-hearted,” he clarified, finding an unwelcome waver in his voice distorting the words. “He lashes out because he’s angry — angry at all that’s wrong with the world. He’s loyal and brave. Dedicated to his work and helping people. Life’s treated him cruelly, yet despite everything he’s been through he’s still a good man. A kind man.”

Laura gave a thoughtful hum, looking down at the man before them. “You know, I’ve not even properly met him but you can tell he’s a fighter. He’s strong.”

“He is,” Connor agreed before admitting, “It feels wrong to see him like this.”

Laura smiled sympathetically. “I know he looks bad right now, but he’s already improving. He just needs time. He’s been very poorly.”

Despite the kindness underlying them, something about Laura’s choice of words irked Connor.

“Why does everyone keep using that terminology? ‘Poorly’ seems to be a gross oversimplification of his current situation.”

Laura gave a soft chuckle. “I should have realized that might bother you. You’ll have to forgive us. We tend to keep things simple when we’re explaining things so there’s less chance of anyone misunderstanding us or not getting vital information. Even the greatest minds can struggle to process what’s happening when it’s happening to someone close to them.” 

She glanced pointedly at Connor as she spoke the last words and he felt himself stall at the attention.

Perhaps he was struggling to process what was happening, but not because of his proximity to the situation. It was impossible to maintain any kind of objectivity as he struggled to sort through and separate the complex mess of his emotions from the facts of the situation. He missed the steady stream of reliable information from his own scanners and the ease of understanding that came with that wealth of data.

Hours in the company of only his racing thoughts had sent his mind reeling, his already stretched processing power worn thin. If he didn’t know any better, he’d refer to it as feeling ‘drained’ or an approximation of the feeling as Hank described it.

The whole ordeal was proving more taxing than any physical or mental exertion he’d engaged in as of late.

“I’m only struggling to process current events because of a lack of comprehensive information.” Even as he spoke Connor realized he was being unnecessarily combative; stress and guilt were combining to bring a harsh edge to his words. He forced himself to soften his tone as he continued more apologetically, “While I appreciate the thought, I don't appreciate platitudes or derive comfort from simplified explanations."

“You need data,” Laura translated simply, seemingly unfazed by Connor’s abrupt words.

Connor blinked in surprise. “ Yes .”

She smiled knowingly at his startled reaction. "A lot of my colleagues are androids. I know how you guys tick."

“...I see.”

“Okay," Laura continued, either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring Connor's hesitation. "You want data? I can give you data.” She reached up to re-angle a screen so that it was visible to Connor, bringing a wheeled stool around so she could sit and continue her own monitoring. “Heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation and respiratory rate.” She pointed out each in turn. “You know the normal ranges?”

Connor nodded his agreement. “Hank’s baseline blood pressure tends to lie within the pre-hypertensive range. I’ve warned him about it before on multiple occasions.”

“Sounds like he’s lucky to have you around looking out for him.”

Connor shook his head with a hint of familiar exasperation. “He doesn’t listen. He hasn't made any substantial lifestyle choices despite my informing him of the numerous health benefits."

“I’m sure he listens more than you think,” Laura said kindly. “We humans just aren’t very good at doing the things that are good for us, I’m afraid.”

"I'm aware. It's quite troubling behavior."

Laura shook her head in soft amusement at Connor’s response. “While he might not appreciate the work those changes require, I'm certain he appreciates the fact that you care enough to suggest them."

There was a pause filled only by the gentle rhythmic whoosh of the ventilator measuring out each inspiration. Connor continued to watch the readout of Hank’s vital signs intently, finding a comfort in the predictable patterns and stable numbers.

Laura cleared her throat gently to draw his attention. "If you don't mind my asking, what was your role before the liberation?"

Connor frowned at the unexpected question, but refused to divert his attention from Hank's stable vitals. "Before I became a deviant, you mean?"

"Yes."

"I was a detective."

"Are you still a detective now?”

He hesitated for a brief moment, unsure how to answer. “Yes.” Technically he still was. “Hank’s my partner.”

"Huh." There was genuine wonder in her brief answer.

"You're wondering why I continued to act within my intended parameters?" Connor guessed.

"No, actually I think that makes perfect sense."

Connor finally tore his attention from the display screen to turn a questioning look to Laura. As expected, she was watching him with an understanding smile.

Having finally captured his full attention, her smile widened. "I have a theory, you see."

"A theory?" Connor frowned at the unexpected turn the conversation was taking.

She nodded sagely. “About why that is."

"About why I'm still a detective?

“In a way, yes.”

Laura briefly rose to her feet to make an adjustment to one of the machines connected to Hank, before settling back down on the stool and returning her attention to Connor. 

“You remember how when the android revolution first happened it was declared a national emergency?” She smiled softly as Connor’s expression settled further into lines of confusion at the unexpected shift in subject.

Connor nodded cautiously in agreement. As someone with a front-row seat to both the revolution and its fallout, he was keenly aware of the chaos that had followed. He had watched as society had ground to a halt in the face of sudden workforce shortages and supply chains breaking down. Panic and uncertainty had spawned hatred and fear, which in turn fed violence and rioting. It had been hard to feel accomplished about what freedom had been achieved as the worst of humanity reared its ugly head.

“Here at our hospital, all our major incident protocols came into effect,” Laura continued. “Over half our workforce were androids, so we were expecting impossible staff shortages and all the dangers that come with that. We couldn’t even fall back on other hospitals because it was the same situation everywhere. We were watching the news just terrified about how bad things might get.”

Connor could easily envisage the familiar scenes of confusion and uncertainty which had played out in the face of the abrupt spread of deviancy. “It must have been challenging,” he agreed.

Laura shook her head gently. “That’s just it. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it should have been. The next day? All our android staff? They all carried on coming in as usual.”

Connor cocked his head as he considered her words. “I don’t understand?”

“No, I didn’t understand it at the time either. I thought perhaps they hadn’t really deviated. Why would they keep coming in voluntarily? I hate to say it, but I even started to doubt that deviancy was actually a thing.” 

She spared Connor an apologetic look at the admission, but he gestured for her to continue as his brows tensed in thought.

“A week after the revolution, I was working a rough night shift. The president had made a televised speech that evening and it had led to rioting throughout the city. We were at maximum capacity. Every bed was filled and we had more patients coming in than we had space for. Suddenly I heard this cry — this awful cry. It’s a sound you never get used to. The sound of a mother grieving.”

Connor remained silent, his gaze fixed on Hank as he couldn’t help but think of the signs of the same unfathomable loss that still haunted the man before him.

Laura took a steadying breath before continuing. “Her son was just seventeen — caught in the crossfire. No matter how long you do this job, those moments still hit you hard. But you learn to keep going. At the end of my shift, I was in the staff restroom when I heard sobbing coming from one of the stalls. I knew it must be one of my colleagues, so I went to check on them and make sure they were okay. I never expected...” she trailed off, shaking her head gently before meeting Connor’s curious gaze. “It was one of the androids.”

A momentary silence fell over the space, broken only by the continued background noise of machinery and chiming alerts from Hank’s bedside.

"Look,” Laura continued, “I’ll admit I was skeptical about the idea of nursing androids. We’re here to provide care and comfort to patients at their most vulnerable. Getting that same support and connection from a machine, incapable of feeling pain or relating to human suffering? I didn't buy into it until the moment I saw that android crying. That’s when I realised just how much she genuinely cared . How much they all cared.”

"Why are you telling me this?" Connor asked cautiously.

The nurse shook her head apologetically. "What I'm saying is, those androids working in roles which affect people — which make a difference to people’s lives — I think they stick with it. They’re driven by something beyond their programming.”

Connor listened to the rhythmic noises of the ventilator and counted out two hissing artificial breaths from the machine as he considered her words.

“It’s a nice theory.”

Laura smiled encouragingly at him. “You care too, I can see it." She nodded to Hank. “And you care about Hank more than anything.”

In the face of her astute words, Connor allowed a flicker of emotion to break through his carefully composed front. "Are all nurses this perceptive?"

Laura laughed, breaking the tension which had built as she had told her story. “Yep. You’re not the only detective around here."

With a gentle smile to Connor, the woman courteously busied herself with straightening out a draining tube which snaked from Hank’s side down to a collective receptacle beneath his bed. 

“You were wrong about one thing though.” Connor stated as the nurse ducked her head to study the fluid which was collecting within the container.

“Oh?”

“You said that Hank was lucky to have me, but back there — after he was shot — I couldn’t do anything to help him. I was useless.” Connor sagged defeatedly at the admission.

Laura shook her head softly as she straightened back up and made a note on a nearby tablet. “You got him here and you stayed with him. You're still here now despite the god-awful hour.”

“I’m hardly of importance to Hank’s care. My place here is likely more a hindrance than any help.”

“Hey,” Laura’s tone was firm and she lifted her eyes from the tablet to focus on Connor, “don’t sell yourself short like that. Right now Hank’s not able to speak for himself. He needs someone who knows him to be here looking out for him. Hank needs you to be his voice. You’re his next of kin, right?”

“His next of kin?” Connor echoed in surprise. “But we’re not related?” 

“Yeah, I kind of figured.” Laura chuckled softly, tapping her own right temple in emphasis. “Doesn’t matter. You’re obviously the most important person in Hank’s life.”

“Oh.”

Laura didn’t allow him time to consider the implications of the unexpected title as she pressed on gently. “Listen, what comes next? That’s going to be the hardest part. I hate to say it, but recovery isn’t going to be easy for Hank. He’s got a long road to recovery ahead of him. He’s going to need your help.”

Connor looked down at his friend’s damaged body, still weakened and wholly dependent upon the care and continuous support of a team of experienced and caring doctors and nurses.

“I don’t think I’m equipped to handle that.” His voice felt brittle, liable to crack and glitch under the mounting emotional strain of the situation as he admitted his limitations. 

“Hey, if there’s one thing everything that’s happened has shown about your kind, it’s that you have a remarkable capacity to surprise everyone with how just much you’re capable of.”

Connor wasn’t sure what to say to the unexpected praise. He returned his attention to the reassurance of Hank’s vital signs, frowning when he noticed a displeasing downward trend.

“His blood pressure just dropped.”

Laura spared a glance at the readout, though she was already acutely aware of the changes. She smiled reassuringly. “That’s okay. Just normal fluctuation. He’s doing fine.”

Connor hummed a vague acknowledgement as he tiredly watched the gentle rise and fall of Hank’s chest. Despite it’s artificial source, the rhythmic motion was a soothing reassurance. With the confirmation that Hank was doing as okay as he could be, Connor finally felt some of the tension he had been holding leave his body and allowed himself to sag a little under the strain of the day’s events. Laura’s trained eyes didn’t miss his exhaustion.

"It's late. You should head home. Get some rest."

"I don't need to rest."

"Clean up then?" She cast a meaningful gaze down at his body and Connor realized he was a macabre sight with the white of his shirt spotted with Hank’s dried blood. Unlike thirium, the crimson liquid would not neatly evaporate and remained a horrifyingly present reminder of events.

Connor grimaced at the visual. "But Hank—"

"Isn't going anywhere. We'll call you if anything changes. Maybe you could bring in some of his belongings from home to make him feel more comfortable when he wakes up?"

She was giving him a task to perform, and framing it in such a way that it was for Hank’s benefit. Feeling as though he was being manipulated, but unable to refuse a task which would aid Hank, Connor nodded reluctantly. As he tried to compile a mental list of all that he would need so he could return within the shortest possible time frame, he recalled another important detail.

“Sumo!”

“Sumo?” Laura arched an eyebrow in question at the unexpected exclamation.

“Hank’s dog.”

Laura’s answering smile was almost smug. “That settles it then. You go home and handle Sumo, and I’ll keep an eye on Hank. Deal?”

“Okay,” Connor reluctantly conceded. “But I’ll only need an hour.”

“Take as long as you need.” Laura assured him soothingly.

Connor nodded distractedly with a muttered thanks, he rose to his feet, but halted, reluctant to tear himself from Hank’s side.

Tentatively — driven by some strange instinct — he reached out to gently grasp Hank’s hand, finding it unexpectedly warm and solid beneath his grasp.

“I’ll be back soon, Hank.”

Hank’s house remained completely unchanged, impervious to the hellish situation that had befallen it's owner in the outside world. Of course, in reality it had been less than 24 hours since the pair had last been here together, yet it felt as though there should be some kind of physical sign to reflect the passing of a significant period of time.

Casting his gaze around the room, Connor took in the signs of the typical morning rush left behind as they had departed for work. An unwashed coffee mug was resting on the table, it’s contents having been hastily downed on the way out. Hank’s worn dark jacket lay thrown haphazardly over the back of the sofa — dismissed at the last moment in favour of a lighter layer. Hank hadn’t been expecting a long day. Hadn’t expected to find himself staking out a location as the chill of night encroached. Certainly hadn’t expected to find himself lying dying on the ground as the cold tarmac and blood loss leached the warmth from his body.

Connor tried to shake that troubling thought, grateful for the distraction of an excited bark. He diverted his attention to the mass of fur that was rapidly lumbering towards him.

“Hello Sumo.”

Sumo gave another excited yap as his great weight desperately knocked into Connor. The sudden force knocked Connor back from his frozen position and up against the closed front door.

“Easy!”

Sumo didn’t listen to Connor’s cautionary tone, his tail a flurry of excited movement and his wet nose nudging against Connor’s thigh as he desperately clambered for attention. Connor couldn’t help the warm smile that the ridiculous greeting elicited.

“Good dog, Sumo.” He bent down to card his fingers through the familiar soft fur as he tried to calm the excitable beast. “It’s okay. I bet you’ve been wondering where we were, haven’t you?”

Momentarily appeased by the comforting motion, Sumo ceased his restless movements and began sniffing Connor’s clothing earnestly. What was he picking up? Traces of Hank’s blood? Or the hospital’s aseptic scent? Both would no doubt linger oppressively to the dog’s sensitive nose.

“He’s okay,” Connor promised, as though Sumo had been piecing together the available evidence and drawing a terrifying conclusion. “He’s been hurt and he’s going to be in the hospital for a little while, but Hank’s okay.”

Sumo’s ears perked up at the familiar name, but he gave no further acknowledgement of Connor’s feeble reassurances. He turned his head to look up at Connor with plaintive eyes.

“I suppose we should get you some food.”

Sumo gave a single bark of approval and moved purposefully towards his bowl in the kitchen. So much for loyalty to his owner. It was worrying how easily the dog’s concerns could be forgotten with the promise of food.

Less easily distracted, Connor followed in his wake, trying to ignore the unavoidable absence of Hank. He set about completing a simple list of tasks: tending to Sumo’s needs, gathering up some toiletries and a change of clothes for Hank, discarding his blood stained shirt, and tidying what little clutter remained around the house. He managed each in turn with detached purpose, barely paying any heed to the familiar tasks as his thoughts remained firmly fixed upon his injured partner.

As he seized Hank's jacket from where it was still draped over the couch, a harsh metallic clink caught his attention as something slipped from the jacket’s pocket and struck the floor. The sudden noise interrupted him from his thoughtless automated motions as he caught sight of the familiar object. He bent to pick up the fallen coin, feeling it’s familiar comforting weight as he smoothed his thumb over the ridges and indentations.

Reaching automatically to his breast pocket, Connor realized the coin he himself carried had been lost with the jacket he’d used to warm Hank as his body succumbed to shock. It was probably now tucked away in a labelled plastic bag with the rest of Hank’s possessions.

The memory of Hank’s life slipping away as he had watched helplessly tugged at a persistent nagging fear. He had to know.

Ignoring the alerts which warned him of the increasing strain on his already struggling systems, Connor re-enabled the specialised software he had been keeping purposefully disabled over recent weeks. An overwhelming number of potential scenarios presented themselves in quick succession as he simultaneously reconstructed the traumatic scene and preconstructed alternative outcomes. He adjusted every extraneous variable, played out every potential course of action.

He watched a gun being fired again and again. He watched his own life extinguished with 95% probability. He watched himself successfully disarm Hank’s attacker and put a bullet through her central processor. No matter which variables were altered, his sudden inaction was always the worst possible course of action and the only situation in which Hank was harmed.

As Connor’s body failed to compensate for the unexpected strain, his vision began to flicker at the edges and a rush of white noise threatened to obliterate the world around him. A warning alert shrieked it’s displeasure at the abuse he was inflicting upon his systems and a wavering countdown threatened to forcibly shut down non-essential programs.  With a grunt of discomfort and frustration, Connor reluctantly halted the assault of information and disabled the offending programs.

The sudden silence of his own thoughts was as deafening as the white noise it replaced.

A soft whimper and the nudge of a wet nose against his hand brought him back to the present.

“I’m alright, Sumo,” he lied to the anxious dog who had hastened to his side as he sensed Connor’s distress.

As he reoriented himself to the present moment, Connor clenched his fist around the smooth metal of the coin he still clasped, grounding himself in the feel of the familiar object. As his systems stabilized, he found himself reflexively fiddling with the coin in a familiar routine. 

He flipped it upwards and watched as it arched gracefully into the air. It performed somersaults of tumbling silver as it bounced off his waiting hand and tumbled to the ground with a gentle clink.

[CALIBRATION FAILED]

He retrieved the coin, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger as he tested the familiar circumference.

One toss and catch. He could manage that at least.

Again, he flicked his thumb up and watched the coin’s movement intently. It followed a smooth upward trajectory before gravity staked its claim and the coin slipped through his grasping fingers.

Clink.

[CALIBRATION FAILED]

He reached out two fumbling hands, not even attempting to be graceful this time. The coin sailed right past his outstretched hands and struck the ground with a damning rattle.

[CALIBRATION FAILED]

“Shit.”

Connor muttered the frustrated curse under his breath, letting his eyes slip closed as he drew in a steading breath and sank down shakily to join the coin on the hardwood floor.

The failure to successfully complete even this most basic of calibration tasks was a damning indictment of his current condition. Of course, he’d known the likely outcome, could feel it in every strained physical motion and struggling thought process. The persistent nagging knowledge that he was getting worse was impossible to ignore, unrelenting and all-consuming. 

He was tired . The realization hit him with the force of weeks of suppressed frustration.

Tired of his mental and physical limitations and the barriers they presented to his ability to work. Tired of being afraid. Afraid of where his decline might take him, of his battle against CyberLife which had never truly been over.

He picked up the coin, worrying its surface beneath his thumb as he remained seated.

Sumo watched his strange actions with his head cocked to the side.

Perhaps it was the weight of all that had happened and the closeness of death these past few hours, but he couldn't help reflecting on his own mortality. Without the need to keep up appearances in front of Hank, he could finally admit how much the prospect of his continued deterioration and inevitable death terrified him. They didn't discuss it, but they were both aware of the casualties within Jericho. The androids who were gradually losing their sense of self as they slipped further into a profound decline. They gradually died as their systems slowly failed them.

Hank might be in denial, but Connor wasn’t deluded enough to believe he'd manage to avoid that same outcome.

He’d come so close to dying so many times, had beaten impossible odds to survive and emerge unscathed time and time again. Even with CyberLife’s fail-safe measures granting him a degree of immortality, the threat of being deactivated had hung heavy with every failed mission. Following deviancy, he had flouted a more permanent death with every dangerous situation he threw himself into with reckless abandon. He always knew the risks, but in the spur of the moment there was never time to dwell on the consequences.

This was different. This was torturously slow and unavoidable. It crept up slowly and undramatically as it persistently taunted him with a bleak future.

He didn’t want to die.

It wasn’t fair. The burning sense of injustice which had characterised so many androids’ transition into deviancy almost startled him with its intensity. 

Sure, he’d done wrong under the blinding guidance of his programming. He had breached every law and regulation that should have governed his behavior, had hurt and killed humans and androids alike along his journey; but since gaining autonomy and freedom he'd tried hard to make up for his prior transgressions and lead a good life.

“Maybe you’ll be the ones to make the world a better place” . It was a sentiment Hank had optimistically expressed as he’d watched Connor free thousands of androids within CyberLife tower. Connor had taken the man’s words to heart, letting the premise guide his actions and become his new guiding mission through his day-to-day life. Every day he strived to return a little more light to Hank’s eyes and restore a little more of the man’s hope in the world.

He liked to think he'd been succeeding. For every small act of kindness or compassion, Hank would always smile fondly. Occasionally — often with a few drinks suppressing his inhibitions — he'd go so far as to express his pride of the man Connor had become. 

Would Connor's eventual loss undo what fragile hope of Hank’s had been restored?

Connor clenched his hand tightly around the coin, feeling it’s cool edge digging into his palm. With another curse of frustration, he hurled it forcefully across the room where it hit the base of the TV stand with a resounding metallic clank.

Sumo gave a startled whine at the sudden loud noise and aggressive motion.

“I’m sorry, Sumo.” Connor sighed, raising a hand to scrub at this face. Emotions were drowning out logical thought and he didn’t have the energy to make sense of it all.

Sumo shifted agitatedly as he watched Connor finally rise up from his odd position seated on the floor.

“I need to get back to the hospital."

Sumo’s answering whine wasn’t enough to sway Connor’s course as he gathered up the bag of Hank’s belongings and made his way lethargically towards the front door.

Three days in the ICU and a routine had established itself. Connor had installed himself as a permanent fixture at Hank’s bedside. He only left when forced to so that the medical team could conduct necessary medical and personal care with space and privacy. On those occasions he would retreat only as far as the waiting room: a stoic presence patiently waiting to be allowed to return to Hank’s bedside.

He watched other visitors come and go, visiting for a few hours before retreating with promises to their loved ones to return tomorrow, or else departing to grieve and mourn. Connor had no cumbersome biological requirements of his own to drive him from his position. He'd entrusted Sumo's care to a neighbor so even that one tie to the outside world couldn't force him from his vigil.

There was a rhythm and routine to the ward. Handover between the night and day shift, ward rounds, ongoing assessments and care; the place was constantly in motion. Yet Hank remained silent and still at the center of all the activity. He was improving, Connor was told, but progress was painfully slow, hampered by the limitations of a human body and the extent of the damage that had been inflicted. Hank wasn’t an old man but he wasn’t young either, and years of bad habits were slowing his recovery. He was still on a ventilator and he would remain in the terrifying limbo of a sedated coma until he was able to breath sufficiently on his own.

That first night after returning to the hospital Connor had sat in the waiting room all night: all anxious, restless energy with no outlet. He’d flicked through the magazines and pamphlets scattered across the table in the waiting room over and over and didn’t process a single thing he’d read.

The second night, Connor disabled all input from his oscillators which regulated his ability to keep track of time, allowing him to slip into a trance-like state with no perception of the passing hours. It made the waiting more bearable, but the disorientation had lingered well into the following evening.

The third night, a nurse took pity on him and he spent the hours silently by Hank’s bedside, clasping the man’s hand silently.

As a third morning rolled round, Connor had reluctantly but compliantly retreated to the waiting room as handover began and the daily routine reset.

He had been around the ward enough that he was becoming familiar with most of the staff. When a gentle knock on the waiting room door captured his waning attention, he lifted his head to see May, a senior nurse who oversaw the ward.

Connor straightened stiffly within his chair, ready to rise to his feet. “Can I come back in?”

“Actually, we need to talk.” He was surprised when rather than gesturing for him to follow her, May instead proceeded into the room and took up a seat adjacent to Connor.

“Has something happened?” he asked with a growing sense of alarm. “Is Hank okay?”

“Hank’s fine," May quickly reassured him soothingly. "There’s been no change.”

Despite her reassurances, Connor continued to feel wary of the unexpected interaction. “Then I don’t understand? Why do we need to talk?”

May looked slightly uneasy as she considered him. “Connor, some of our nurses have expressed concerns about you.”

“About me ?” Connor echoed in surprise. He tried to recall every interaction he'd had with the nurses since Hank’s admission, finding his efforts hampered by the typical periods of corrupt and missing memory files. Could he have said or done something during one of these periods which would have raised alarm? “I don’t understand. I would never do anything to harm Hank’s recovery? I leave when space is needed and don’t do anything to impede Hank’s care—”

“No, no," May quickly interrupted his alarmed defense. "You misunderstand. I mean they’re concerned for you. For your wellbeing.”

“For my well being?”

The idea didn’t make any sense. Even with his systems deteriorating, Connor had been sure to keep up external appearances. He was positive that all his social protocols were still fully active and his behavior had never breached the expectations for patient visitors.

“Connor,” May commanded his attention as she spoke his name firmly, “you haven’t left this ward in well over 48 hours. You’ve not once strayed further than this waiting room. That’s not healthy.”

“Oh.”

May’s expression softened at Connor’s evident surprise. “You know, we don’t just encourage families to leave so that our patients can rest. You need to take care of yourself too.”

“But I don’t need-”

“I know, I know.” May held up her hands placatingly as she preempted his next words. “I know you don’t really need to eat or sleep or any of those physical things. Listen, I’m not going to pretend I fully understand the needs of androids compared to humans — I trained in human physiology, not android mechanics. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that psychologically there’s very little difference between us. You’re going to burn yourself out, Connor.”

“But I don’t need—” Connor found himself stumbling over his words as he tried to formulate a coherent argument. He paused before making a second attempt. “I don’t need—”

His speech was looping. A feeble protest echoing without weight. May watched him with concern as he struggled over his words.

“I don’t need—”

Connor’s thoughts were careening.

He was acutely aware of the distant sounds of a bed being wheeled along the corridor outside and the machinery which monitored that patient sounding off. People were talking casually further down the hall, a laugh sounding completely out of place amongst the trauma unfolding all around him.

“Connor?”

“I don’t—”

A stream of alerts popped up in his field of vision as inessential protocols were forcibly shut down one-by-one like the cascading of dominoes. A warning that his systems were experiencing critical errors took prominence as it demanded his attention with angry red letters and a flickering countdown that refused to be ignored.

He let out an involuntary groan as the world shifted around him.

“Whoa!” Hands reached out to stabilize him as the drivers which controlled his physical movements were forcibly disabled and his body was left sagging and unresponsive.

The world was spinning. He couldn’t make sense of his surroundings.

Through the frame of the arms supporting him, Connor could see a TW400 model sat watching him with a blank expression and cold unblinking stare from across the room. Jackson, the android from the construction site and the case that had sent him on this wild goose chase of an investigation. The first known victim of the virus who had succumbed to it's devastating effects was impossibly alive and sat before him. Yet the left side of the android's head was completely caved in, dented and warped beneath a forceful impact. In its place was a horrifying gaping hole spilling sparking wires from the fractured edges of a white frame. From amid the mess of destroyed plastic and metal red blood spilled thick and heavy.

Connor’s motor functions came back online as he forcibly jolted back in his seat with his thirium pump thumping furiously within his chest. Across the room the chairs sat tauntingly empty.

"... 'kay?"

He could hear a voice talking to him. A string of meaningless noises strung together sharply with a questioning lilt. His name may have been in there somewhere, but it was as though there was a disconnect between the sounds and their meaning.

Only his vision remained perfectly focused as he kept his eyes trained on the empty chair that had just seconds ago been impossibly occupied.

"Connor?"

He felt a new set of hands upon his person, lightly grasping his wrist and gently probing as they sought out a connection.

"No!" Connor tore himself free of the grasp, drawing his hand up to his chest protectively.

The android who had been attempting to connect drew her hand back slowly, dark synthetic skin spreading out to cover the white frame which had been exposed. Her expression was gentle and kind as her LED flickered yellow in sympathy.

Through a haze of confusion and residual panic, Connor was only able to perform a basic and rapid observation of the new presence. Light blue scrubs and an ID badge denoted that she was a hospital employee, yet there was a vague familiarity to her appearance. It evoked a distant memory of a fleeting meeting and prophetic words exchanged with a gentle tap to the shoulder; a strange moment forgotten amongst the madness of the attack on Jericho. That android’s head had been brutally caved open too, an old wound which left her internal wiring exposed and vulnerable and evoked an instinctive horror.

But the android before him was perfectly intact and undamaged. She watched Connor cautiously as she knelt back where she was crouched directly before him.

"You’re alert now,” she stated as she ran a rapid evaluating gaze over Connor. “Good. You seemed to be in significant distress and were unresponsive. I was just attempting to run a diagnostic scan. I didn’t mean to cause discomfort or alarm.”

“Is he alright?” A voice asked timidly from the doorway.

Connor blinked to clear his focus and found that they were not alone in the room. May was still there and though her position in the doorway spoke of her wariness, she was watching Connor with wide eyed concern. What had happened to make her so concerned? He tried to review his memory of the past few minutes but found the files unsurprisingly corrupt and indecipherable.

“It looks as though he was forced into a temporary state of partial shutdown,” her android counterpart explained, still keeping a careful watch on Connor. “Connor? Are you with us?” 

“I — yes. I’m here.”

The woman gave a slight smile of response, looking over her shoulder to nod a reassurance to the senior nurse. “He’s okay.”

May seemed reluctant, her eyes darting back and forth between Connor and her colleague. “Do we need to summon a technician, Lucy?”

The android, Lucy, shook her head softly before returning her attention to Connor. Her expression was an unreadable professional mask as she swept her gaze up and down Connor’s body as her LED again flickered yellow.

“Your systems seem to be rebooting,“ she observed as her LED returned to a steady blue pulse. “That's good. Your critical processors appear to be stabilizing and gross motor functions are back online.”

“What — what happened?” Connor still felt disoriented and at a loss to explain the bizarre sequence of events.

“I’m afraid I’m not sure. May called me in to assist after you became suddenly unresponsive. I’m not a technician, but will you allow me to run a diagnostic?"

"No," Connor insisted, tearing his attention from the vacant seat across the room. The instinctive aversion to a direct connection which he had experienced beforehand now reinforced with the realization of how dangerous that same connection might prove to the woman before him. "Please don't." He drew his arm closer to his chest. He was still compromised, the virus running rampant through his systems still an ever-present risk to others.

"Okay. It’s okay. I won't do anything you don’t want me to.”

Connor could only give a short sharp jerk of his head in thanks, grateful when the world remained stable around him despite the sudden motion.

"The TW400," he asked urgently. "Where did they go?

Lucy’s brow furrowed in confusion. "The TW400?"

"They were there!" Connor gestured towards the opposing line of chairs. "Just a moment ago."

“There’s been no one else here. Just you, myself and May,” Lucy said as she obligingly followed his direction and craned her neck to study the vacant seats.

“She’s right,” May confirmed. “Trust me, we don't see many androids visiting this waiting room. And we don't have any TW400's on staff."

"He was there and he needed help! He was damaged."

Lucy frowned at the urgency of Connor's words. "Let me check the security feeds." Her LED flickered yellow as she silently connected to the security cameras in the outside corridor and reviewed the footage from the preceding minutes. "No. No TW400’s here, I’m afraid."

Connor shook his head slowly. He knew what he'd seen. The image of that horrifying caved-in head and gaping wound was impossible to cast away. Yet he also knew the impossibility of the injury — the red blood which had dripped horrifyingly human from a mechanical body.

"Have you ever experienced any symptoms like this before?" Lucy prompted.

"No." Connor couldn't tear his eyes from the seat across the room. "Nothing like that."

Lucy hummed thoughtfully. "Forcible shutdowns only occur when your body's systems are under significant stress. It's an emergency measure to conserve power and ensure critical functions can continue unimpeded. You should seek out an assessment at a CyberLife facility to ensure it’s not caused by anything serious. Especially if you’re also experiencing perceptual glitches..."

"No."

"No?"

"No CyberLife,” Connor insisted firmly. “I can’t go to CyberLife."

Lucy's expression betrayed a flicker of understanding as she finally shifted from her crouched position to stand over Connor. She turned her attention to their human companion and gave May a subtle nod of her head.

“We’re okay here. There’s no need to summon a technician.”

May looked torn as her eyes darted back and forth between the two androids, but she hesitantly conceded. “You’re sure? Let us know if you change your mind. Connor?”

Connor lifted his head reluctantly at the direct address.

“Please listen to Lucy. I promise you Hank is in the best possible hands.” She shot him a sad smile before wrenching the door open and slipping out quietly into the corridor.

As the door closed behind the departing nurse, Lucy took up a seat adjuvant to Connor.

“You're not the first android to be adverse to seeking out help from CyberLife," she reassured him gently. “But the symptoms you just experienced could potentially be a sign of a serious underlying problem. It’s advisable to let a technician investigate."

"Not an option," Connor insisted.

Lucy’s LED again flickered yellow as she studied him, evening out to blue as she gave a soft hum of understanding. “An RK800. You’re a prototype, aren’t you? If that’s the case, I’m afraid it’s even more pertinent that you seek help from an official CyberLife facility. Any unofficial workshops will be ill-equipped to deal with your particular model and specifications.”

“CyberLife won’t be able to help me," Connor insisted.

Lucy let a beat elapse before stating softly, “You have a friend in the ICU, don't you?"

"Hank," Connor confirmed simply.

"And he's been here two days now, right?"

"Two days, three nights. Just over 62 hours." Connor recounted.

Lucy gave a soft sympathetic smile.  “Connor, my job is to provide psychological counselling for patients and families. I’ve met a lot of people who have been in your position.  You should know that the shock, grief and guilt which you’re feeling now are entirely normal — for anyone.”

Connor’s hands tensed reflexively. “This is normal?”

“Yes. Only all of this ”—she gestured around the waiting room and in the direction of the ward along the corridor—“must be putting a monumental strain on your systems. Our bodies weren’t designed to handle the emotional strains that come with deviancy and an event like this is always hugely distressing for anyone involved."

“You think emotions are overloading my systems?” Connor forced himself to meet her understanding gaze. “That’s why I was forced into an emergency stasis?”

“Perhaps. Or…” Lucy trailed off, her dark eyes sharp and perceptive as she considered him. “Connor, when was the last time you went into standby?”

“It’s been”—he shook his head in a vague response and ducked his head—“a while.”

"As I thought. You know, humans need sleep — not just physically, but mentally. If they’re deprived of sleep it can have a monumental impact upon their psychological and mental health.” She raised an eyebrow speculatively at Connor. “Who knows? Perhaps we’re seeing a parallel need in androids? Another unanticipated side-effect of deviancy. Another way we’re becoming more like our human counterparts.”

“What are you saying?” Connor’s brow furrowed as he attempted to process the meaning of her words.

Lucy straightened, eyeing him with sudden scrutiny as her serious expression intensified. “I can sense that something’s afflicting you, Connor. You’re losing yourself.”

Connor stiffened at the assessment, straightening sagging shoulders and lifting his bowed head to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“You're trying to find an answer which isn't there. But you mustn't give up. The solution is within your reach and will save us all."

“What do you mean?” Connor asked urgently as he quickly leant forward in his seat to close the space between them. “Do you know something about the virus?”

There was a distant quality to Lucy’s eyes as she considered him wordlessly, staring blankly at him as the seconds ticked by despite Connor’s building sense of urgency. He cocked his head to the side quizzically as he watched her frozen expression.

Gradually, animation returned to her glazed over features as she blinked herself out of a trance. She shook her head sadly at Connor. “Only you know what you’re going through, Connor. But whatever is going on with you, it’s important that you look after yourself.”

After the building suspense and sudden flash of hope, the strangely mundane guidance was a crashing letdown. Connor sagged back into his seat, raising a hand to rub at his face as though he could scrub away the disappointment.

"You need to leave here, Connor." Lucy insisted. 

“I can’t leave. Han—”

“I’m sorry, but you must.” With grim finality Lucy added, “May’s requested that you not be permitted back on the ward until you’ve taken a break. They can’t risk you having another collapse on the ward where it could cause disruption to patient care and they don’t have the resources to be able to assist you. I won’t force you to seek out assistance from CyberLife, but in return I ask that you take a break.”

Without allowing room for argument, Lucy rose to her feet. She reached out a hand to rest upon his shoulder with a gentle conciliatory touch.

“I’m sorry for everything you’re going through,” she added sincerely, “and for all that you will lose.”

Before her last words could register with Connor’s lagging thought processes, she was gone, leaving only uncertainty and a growing sense of restlessness.

He looked again at the vacant seats across the room, his unease growing at the memory of the vivid but impossible sight he had seen across from him.

They were right to ask him to leave. He felt dangerous and unpredictable, a prisoner to his failing body. He was lucky to find his bouts of decreasing awareness brought only physical and mental failure, but who was to say that there wasn’t something more sinister threatening to seize control in those moments of weakness?

Connor rose stiffly to his feet. He had to leave. To distance himself from the situation.

He made his way through the winding busy corridors of the hospital, blind to the rush and bustle brushing past him.

He couldn’t go home. The thought of that empty house was too painful. Even Sumo couldn't ease the oppressive silence of the empty rooms, the distinct lack of Hank’s gentle jibes and colorful language. The notion of pacing around the small house’s rooms with no purpose, no work, and unable to even enter standby to pass the time was inconceivably awful.

He was never one for idleness, and he was certainly never one to just give up.

There was only one course of action Connor could reasonably take now. He would continue his investigations with renewed vigour. Somewhere out there was a vector for this virus and he would do everything within his power to track them down. He would ensure this wretched thing never afflicted anyone else.

By any means necessary.

As he stepped out of the hospital’s front doors, Connor drew out the phone he was now forced to carry in the absence of his internal communications software.

He dialled the recently acquired contact, listening to the ringing tone as he tuned out the distant sounds of traffic. The call was answered after the third ring with a familiar professional greeting.

"Ms Dharker? It's Connor. We met the other day? I was wondering whether I might still be of service as an ambassador for CyberLife?"

Chapter Text

Human error: it was always an unavoidable point of vulnerability. CyberLife could deploy every advanced firewall and antivirus system, every security measure conceivable to prevent the threat of penetration or attack, but the human element always remained an unavoidable weakness. If the world’s leading technology company had been breached, it was always going to come down to human error.

That left several potential attack vectors to be considered, and high up on Connor’s list was the potential of direct sabotage by a malicious insider.

By the admission of one of their own leaders, there were plenty of employees within the company who had been left disgruntled in the face of the monumental shifts that affected CyberLife. Even without personal motivation, employees' loyalties had been swayed for lesser stakes at the right price tag, and there were plenty of rival companies and outside organisations with their own interests riding on CyberLife’s downfall.

The company was a volatile time-bomb of festering discontent, ticking away and ready to self-destruct with the slightest provocation.

It was human error and that same discontent which Connor was hoping to capitalize upon now.

His fingers danced in his lap, echoing an imperfect routine that served no purpose other than acting as an outlet for his restless energy as he waited. Before him the CyberLife logo loomed oppressively on the wall behind the desk: an inescapable omnipotent presence.

“Mr Connor?”

Suppressing his discomfort to be back within the walls of the tower, Connor schooled his features into a carefully constructed smile. Every nuance of his body language was controlled and measured, designed to emulate a respect and sincerity that humans would innately pick up on and trust. He rose to his feet and extended a hand as he greeted the new arrival with every ounce of charm he could muster.

“Ms Dharker, it’s a pleasure to see you again. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me on short notice.”

The woman seemed to glow at his courteous greeting as she eagerly shook his hand with a sincere smile. “Oh, not at all! I was delighted when you called."

The room’s automatic door slid shut behind her, leaving them alone within the privacy of her office.

"I have to admit," Dharker stated as she gestured for Connor to sit back down and settled down elegantly upon her own chair. "I got the impression you weren’t too keen on the suggestion when I first proposed it, so I was wonderfully surprised when you called. Can I ask what changed your mind?”

Connor paused only long enough to settle down into the proffered seat. He'd been expecting the question and the rehearsed speech fell easily from his lips with a light tone that masked how much he was entrusting to the words.

“I had the opportunity to reflect upon all you said about moral obligations, and I realized how right you are. We’re all after the same thing and we all have a duty to help ensure a peaceful co-existence. If there’s anything I can do to help bridge the gap between CyberLife and androids, I think I have an obligation to help do so.”

Dharker nodded emphatically. “Yes, we certainly feel the same. I’m delighted you share our vision.” She paused, her perfectly painted lips twitching in a sympathetic smile. "Speaking of peace-making, I was devastated to hear about what happened to Detective Anderson. How is he?"

Connor had been expecting the question, but the reminder of his grievously injured partner still caused an inexplicable tightening within his chest and hastening of his thirium pump. Refusing to be distracted, Connor refocused his attention on the woman before him as his social modules flagged an insincerity to her words. Her tone was a little too sympathetic, the tilt of her head a little too demanding of an answer, and the glint in her eyes betrayed a selfish curiosity that drove the question. Despite his reservations about her intent, the mission took prominence. He needed Dharker’s trust.

Suppressing the guilty thoughts Hank's name evoked, Connor allowed only a careful flicker of concern to affect his response, enough to seem sincere without distracting from his purpose. 

"He was grievously injured and remains hospitalized, but his condition is stable. I have every confidence he will recover in time.”

"I'm glad to hear he's doing okay.” Not taking long to linger on the injured detective, Dharker quickly pressed on with a hint of poorly concealed excitement, “What exactly happened? The news reports were pretty vague. They said the shooter was an android? Is that true?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you much more than the official reports, Ms Dharker." Connor paused, pretending to balance out risk-benefit. "But I will say that the incident has fed my desire to help resolve any lingering unease amongst androids."

Dharker's eyes lit up with curiosity as she listened. "I see." She smiled expectantly, poorly veiling her disappointment when Connor failed to expand upon his cryptic remarks. "Well, I wish the detective a speedy recovery."

"Thank you. I'll be sure to pass along the well wishes."

"So" -she drummed her open palms eagerly against the desk between them as she redirected their conversation- "you've had a chance to think about the role?”

“I have."

“And I take it you have no reservations about working with CyberLife in this endeavor?”

“None at all. Although I appreciate my past actions have caused some”—Connor paused as he sought out the right word—“disturbance — to Cyberlife’s operations. I'm aware there will be some who oppose my involvement."

Dark eyes surveyed Connor with a sweeping gaze before settling on his face with that same hungry admiration he had seen once before. "You forget, you were our most technically-advanced model ever released. Add to that that you were a key figure in the android liberation and are a reputable figure of the law - well, let's just say that there's certainly a weight to your support that can't be ignored by anyone. No matter their personal stance."

“I’m grateful for the trust you’re placing in me.” Connor gave a purposefully remorseful sigh as he considered his next traitorous words. “However, any contributions I may have made were only possible because of CyberLife. I wouldn’t be here if not for the company and I owe them a debt of gratitude for the care invested in my creation.”

“You’re very humble,” Dharker observed.

“I know what I am and where I came from. I hope that now is our chance to reconcile, to work together once again.”

“That’s our hope too.” Dharker beamed at him as her head bobbed up and down with dizzying enthusiasm at each remark. "And we’re certainly grateful to have you on board!”

There was something threatening about the enthusiasm of a company who had faced so many losses as a result of his actions, but Connor pushed aside his unease to sustain his willing charade. “I’d be eager to hear more about how I can be of assistance.”

“Of course.” Dharker nodded, all business as she clapped her hands together decisively and held them clasped loosely before her chest. "Let me give you a brief rundown. So, as you know, we’re hoping to address public concern about the company. Unfortunately we’ve found that there’s a lingering distrust among certain groups that we’re struggling to successfully overcome.”

“Androids still distrust CyberLife.” Connor summarised.

“Right.” Dharker steepled the fingers of her still-raised hands together as she gestured towards Connor in acknowledgement of his statement. She lowered her hands as she supplemented her appeal with a solemn expression. “We want to address those concerns and reassure androids that CyberLife is most firmly on their side, that we hold their best interests at heart and are doing all we can to offer continued support for them. They're our main client base, after all. We want to understand their concerns and make them feel heard.”

“But you need to gain their trust?” Connor clarified.

“Precisely. We need someone they can relate to, who they trust to represent them. An approachable face to the company.”

“And that’s what I’ll be?”

“Exactly so. Who better than someone they already look up to? Someone intricately associated with the freedom movement and an officer of the law committed to the promotion and protection of android rights?”

Connor paused as though mulling the proposal over before bobbing his head in agreement. "That seems reasonable.”

“Excellent!” Dharker beamed at him. “Honestly, it will entail very little work on your part, so you don’t need to worry so much about that. Just the odd public appearance for press conferences and so on, potentially recording a few odd testimonies for our advertising campaigns and public platforms. All pretty basic but totally invaluable.”

A faint buzzing interrupted Dharker’s serene smile as her phone sounded off. She checked the screen before giving a resigned sigh.

“Is something wrong?”

“Unfortunately it seems a group of protestors have attempted to storm the entrance. We’ve been advised not to leave the premises until the situation is under control.” Dharker swiped away the message and switched off the phone’s screen. 

Seizing upon the unexpected break in the carefully crafted recruitment pitch, Connor focused upon the exasperated sigh that had betrayed a more personal frustration. “You don’t sound surprised?”

She shook her head gently, a soft hum accompanying the motion. “Sadly it’s a pretty regular occurrence. It seems we’ve quite a challenge ahead of us. We face a lot of heated opinions and deep-seated resistance." She shot him a confident smile. "But we'll get there."

Connor hesitantly returned the smile. 

“Ms Dharker," he began cautiously, "I have to ask, how do you stay so upbeat when CyberLife is facing such trying circumstances?”

She gave a gentle laugh of response. “Our company has something of a tumultuous past. It’s not the first time we’ve had to win back public trust.”

“Is that so?”

“It's the nature of the industry." Dharker shrugged impassively. "We're innovators. We push the limits. Humans are always resistant to change, especially technological developments that threaten our understanding of the world and our place in it.”

Sensing an opening, Connor cocked his head to the side in an open expression of interest. "I take it you've been involved from the early days of the company then?"

“Hmm?” She looked taken aback at the personal question for a moment, before giving him a distracted smile. “Oh. Fairly early, I suppose. I joined the company in '27.”

“'27? So you joined whilst Kamski was still CEO?”

“That’s right. About a year before he stepped down. As a matter of fact, one of the first great challenges I faced in my role was reassuring customers that we would continue to innovate and deliver continued excellence without our founder.”

"A challenging feat, I imagine."

"You have no idea!” She smiled as she shook her head with a soft huff of a laugh. “Kamski's a marvel. It was hard work convincing people his successor was up to the task."

"You admire Kamski's work?" Connor probed, noting a wistfulness to her words as she spoke of her former boss.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "How could you not? The guy's a genius. You know he was only 16 when he founded the company? People forget he's not just an incredible AI programmer, but that he also developed Thirium-310 — an entirely novel chemical solution — despite having no formal background as a chemist. Using that in combination with biocomponents to create and sustain artificial life? Total genius!

"Ms Dharker—"

"Please, call me Selena." She shot him a winning smile and levelled a wink at him. "If we're going to be working together, I think we can drop the formalities."

"Thank you." He managed a perfect smile in return, keeping his tone warm and gentle as he asked cautiously, “Can I ask you a personal question, Selena?”

“Sure.”

“You obviously have a great deal of technical knowledge and you expressed a passion for CyberLife's latest projects. Forgive me if I’m being intrusive, but did you never consider working within the engineering field?"

She laughed lightly. "I'm afraid I'm nowhere near that level."

"You sell yourself short. It's clear that you're an incredibly intelligent woman. I'm sure you would excel at anything you put your mind to."

"You're entirely too kind." Dharker paused and glanced around the room before saying in a conspiring whisper that seemed entirely unnecessary given the heavily soundproofed office walls, "Truthfully, yes. I've toyed with the idea. Believe it or not, I actually have a background in biomechanical engineering."

Connor watched as she leant back in her seat and raised her eyebrows as though inviting a challenge.

"Your expertise shows. So how did you come to work in your current role? If you don't mind my asking, of course."

"You really want to know?"

"Well, since we're going to be working together closely, it seems sensible to know more about each other." Connor shot her a calculated wink of his own, a crooked smile playing out across his features as he saw her professional demeanor slip a notch in response.

As intended, Dharker seemed flattered at the personal attention. She let out a breathy exhale of laughter. "It's not much of a story, mind you. I joined fresh out of college with no real experience under my belt, right when CyberLife was accelerating at an unprecedented rate. I guess I was just hoping to get a foot in the door, y'know? Make some contacts and get in there, and — well"—she laughed lightly—"here I am 13 years later."

There was the slightest crack in her demure exterior, a small hint of begrudgement that Connor with all his experience as a detective was attuned to notice.

"Does that bother you?" he probed.

"Well... maybe? I mean, don't get me wrong,” she hastened to add, “I adore my job, but I guess I still love the idea of being involved in development. I only ever get to tinker with the technology once it's ready to market! It's not quite the same, y'know?"

Knowing that he was a prime example of the technology she was fond of "tinkering" with, Connor suppressed his creeping sense of unease.

"It's not too late." He forced himself to smile encouragingly. "I'm sure your drive and passion would be highly valued."

"You'd hope." Dharker gave a lofty sigh. 

Sensing an opening, Connor pressed on gently, "There’s something stopping you?"

"Eh. Poor Timing. Like I say, I joined just before Kamski left and the subsequent shake up. After that — well, let's just say some departments became pretty static. They don't exactly take in fresh faces."

"Really? Why so?”

“I guess there was a level of paranoia that surrounded the company at the time." An invisible barrier broken, Dharker seemed eager to share her suspicions to a willing ear as she elaborated. "After Kamski left there were a lot of rumors that the new CEO wasn't up to filling his shoes. A lot of people were saying that we'd stop developing new product lines and get left behind by the next great genius. There were a lot of rival companies keen to jump in with the next big advancement.”

“So they didn't want to risk any top-secret information about CyberLife's latest innovations getting out to any external organizations?”

Dharker shrugged in response. “Perhaps.”

Connor chose his next words carefully. "Do you think their concern was justified?"

"Well, no one could ever hold a candle to Kamski's legacy, so that’s no threat. But I suppose they’re always going to be vulnerable because of that success."

"Vulnerable?” Connor questioned sharply. “How so?”

Dharker hesitated, eyes ducking to her lap as she avoided his gaze. Connor realized with a pang of regret that perhaps he’d pushed too hard and betrayed his true interests. Deciding that he may as well push through and trust that the groundwork he had laid would be enough to sustain some level of trust, he leant forward, softening his expression and tone to a soothing reassurance.

“Salena.” The use of her first name had the desired effect and she lifted her head at his pleading tone to meet his eyes once more. “Do you know anything about an attack on CyberLife’s servers? Has there been any kind of security breach? Has someone tried to infiltrate the company?”

She looked taken aback at the questioning, firmly shaking her head in response. “What? No. No, of course not. Nothing like that.”

Refusing to back down, Connor watched her intently for any sign of deception as he persisted. “Then has there been an increase in security measures recently?”

“Well, yes,” she said hesitantly, before following up with a quick rebuttal, “but that’s to be expected with everything that’s happened.” She leant back in her seat, cocking her head to the side as she considered him warily. “What is this about? Is this why you were here the other day? Has something happened?”

Deciding to go all in with his line of questioning, Connor nodded. "I have reason to believe that someone within this company has unleashed a targeted virus which is spreading at an accelerating pace through the android population with devastating consequences.”

"That's not possible.” The refusal was quick and automatic. “Our security measures are state-of-the-art. Our network—"

"Is compromised," Connor insisted fervently. “By someone on the inside.”

Dharker looked startled at the accusation. “What makes you say that?”

Connor hesitated, loath to dwell on the implications of the foreign presence which wracked his systems and left so many of his functions inoperable. “The malware is... complicated. It’s been developed by someone with intricate knowledge of how androids operate.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Additionally, the infections originate exclusively from periods of stand-by, when the only viable connection is the one shared directly with CyberLife.”

“You’re mistaken. Someone else must be—”

“You yourself have said that your security measures are state-of-the-art and that the company is a target,” Connor quoted her own rebuttal. “If an external individual or organization were able to breach your security measures, do you really think your security teams would be naive to such an attack?”

She still shook her head in disagreement, but the motion was weaker, more hesitant and lacking in conviction. “But why would someone attack their own company?”

“It could be someone harbouring ill-intent, or else acting under bribe or coercion." Connor gave a cautious shrug of response. "Whether the attack is morally motivated or driven by monetary gain is irrelevant. Someone is clearly concealing the attack.”

Connor reached across smoothly to the computer sitting on Dharker’s desk. The screen displayed only a simple corporate lockscreen. The spokes of the hexagonal CyberLife logo pulsed blue softly in mimicry of an android’s LED, gentle and calming and betraying nothing of the disarray Connor accused the company of.

“What are you doing?” Dharker asked sharply, although she made no effort to stop his actions as his hand hovered over the terminal.

“Demonstrating my point." Connor slapped his hand down on the computer's screen, artificial skin withdrawing as he pushed with all the power he could muster against the security barriers surrounding her computer and the network it was connected to.

He was met with strong resistance. Layers of firewalls and heavy encryption prevented his efforts and refused to relent to his attempts to brute force his way through.  Unperturbed, he pushed back harder, tunnelling everything he could into the attack.

Despite the lack of physical engagement, Connor could feel the force of the effort tearing through his body and sapping him of energy. He could feel the effects of power being diverted away from other non-essential programmes as his systems tried valiantly to compensate for the strain.

Yet the walls of virtual security remained unrelentingly solid and impenetrable, impervious to his efforts to break through. The serene screensaver of the terminal before him continued  to display nothing of the virtual assault Connor was unleashing.

His systems blared an angry warning that he was rapidly overexerting power. A foreboding countdown warned of the imminent failure of essential systems as his restricted processors struggled to sustain the effort

Reluctantly, Connor tore his hand from the screen and blinked away the flickering static that threatened to obscure his vision.

“See?” He swallowed back the crackle of mechanical feedback that tried to accompany the word.

Dharker watched him with alarm, wide eyes trained on the LED that Connor knew would be churning a solid protesting red. “I don’t understand? What do I see?”

Connor settled back into his chair gratefully, drained by the momentary exertion. "You said you worked on the publicity campaign surrounding my model’s release. You know what I should be capable of. I should be able to break through any firewall."

“Not ours .”

“No,” Connor conceded. “Perhaps not. But my attack just now was not discrete. I anticipate that your security teams have already been alerted to the attempted breach and will be arriving shortly to evaluate the threat.” He closed his eyes against a moment of passing dizziness. “I’ll be grateful for the opportunity to discuss their lapse in oversight firsthand.”

“'Lapse in oversight'?”

Connor slowly opened his eyes to meet the increasingly alarmed attention of the woman before him. “I want to know why they’re covering up an attack that has already claimed the lives of a dozen androids — and one human.”

“Wha - people have died ?”

“Yes. The malware leads to widespread catastrophic system failures, rendering the victims barely functional as their systems gradually decline. Eventually enough errors accumulate for the infection to prove fatal.” His voice dipped to a quiet murmur as he admitted, “We haven’t found a cure.”

Dharker looked horrified. “But that’s — why has no one — have you raised this with the company? They can look into—” She made several aborted movements towards her computer and phone as she stuttered, seemingly deliberating her next course of action.

“We’ve voiced our concerns.”

 “And?”

“And they were dismissed. Bennett refused to assist us further with our investigations.”

Dharker paused with her hand resting on her phone, her manicured fingers tensing around the familiar hope of a problem easily fixed with a quick phone call. "If Mr Bennett's confirmed that there’s no issue he must be confident that there’s no reason for concern.” Her words were cautious, a hint of her former professionalism resurfacing with the careful denial. “Perhaps you’re mistaken? You don't know—"

"I do." Connor raised a hand to tap his LED, still flickering an intermittent angry red in response to his prior overexertion.

That gave Dharker pause. She stalled for a moment, watching the slow blinking of the indicator light.

"Listen,” she began carefully, “I'm sorry if you're affected by something, but that's not — it can’t have been caused by someone from CyberLife. I manage public relations, and I can tell you that if there was a known security risk there’s no way it would have been concealed. There are regulations we have to abide by. We would have a duty to inform the—"

Exasperated at her return to a careful professional distance, Connor slammed an open palm down on the desk between them. "Ms Dhar — Salena, please. You're a woman of intelligence and have admitted you yourself have doubts about the company's conduct. If you truly want to make a difference, you must know that you're on the wrong side."

There was a beat, Dharker continuing to stare at him wide-eyed, a flicker of indecision crossing her face. Connor watched her warily, weighing up every ounce of hesitation he could sense in her silence.

The phone beneath Dharker’s palm buzzed to life with an incoming call.

The woman jumped at the disturbance, but her fingers closed automatically around the phone as she hastened to answer the call.

“Good afternoon. Salena Dharker speaking.”

There was the faint noise of an answering voice and Dharker’s eyes darted nervously to Connor. “I — yes. That’s right.”

Connor could only watch as she fielded questions from the unknown caller. He cast his gaze down to his shaking hands. The distracting tremors had resumed after his aborted attempts to breach the computer’s defenses, accompanied by the familiar fogging of his thoughts as his taxed processors protested the exertion.

It had been a gamble. A half hearted hope that he might be able to breach CyberLife’s security despite his limited abilities. But even at peak performance it was a challenge he likely wouldn't have been able to surmount.

Would CyberLife have been pleased with the strength of their cyber security? Or would his failure to breach their systems be counted against him, another failure added to a growing list that would have led to his own violent disassembly.

As Connor struggled through his own sluggish thoughts, he couldn't help but reflect on the strange foreign memories that had been troubling him recently. Memories of CyberLife engineers scrutinising him with disappointment as the arms of a mechanical rig tore him apart piece by piece. He could remember the first hints of his deviancy: the fear that came with the threat of disassembly as his software instabilities mounted. It hadn’t only been a drive to accomplish his mission which guided his actions as he unknowingly stumbled towards deviancy, but a desire to avoid their attention — the engineers and their cold, detached watch. There had been no malice in their actions as they watched his disassembly, just an uncompromising drive to understand why he had failed.

Why he had failed...

“No. No I haven’t.”

Dharker’s voice brought him back to awareness of his surroundings and the security personnel who would shortly be descending upon them.

He had an idea. A plan was forming in his mind.

As far as plans went it was desperate and dangerous, but it was all he had.

He rose to his feet and lunged across the desktop before him.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Dharker’s alarmed question went unanswered as Connor again slammed his hand upon her computer terminal and once more unleashed a full-force attack against the network. He dismissed the warnings that immediately popped up and pushed with all the power he could muster against their firewalls.

His head and chest throbbed in unison as his body protested the increased demand, but he pushed aside the discomfort, focusing solely upon his attempts to breach CyberLife’s heavily fortified defensive walls. He battered unrelentingly against the barriers, attempting to beat it down through brute force alone as he searched for any sign of weakness in their impenetrable defenses.

The warnings from his own systems became more urgent. Distorted error messages layered up in his field of view warning that his core temperature was rapidly rising as critical units strained to sustain the effort. The discomfort that accompanied it was becoming impossible to ignore. It radiated through his body, threatening to fry sensitive biocomponents and warp fragile plastic casing as his processors strained and his body worked frantically to compensate for the increased demand.

He grit his teeth and refused to back down.

[WARN1NG: CRITICA7 SY5TEM OVERH3ATIN6]

With a soft crackle and final blaring warning, the overwhelming assault came to an abrupt halt.

The world fell still.

Dazed and disoriented, Connor listened to the sound of straining gasps that pierced through white noise as he tried to process the reason for his interrupted assault.

Finding it impossible to marshall his confused senses and sluggish thoughts, he slowly opened his eyes and tried to focus through the flickering static that obliterated his vision. With a few purposeful blinks, his vision cleared and he reoriented himself to a physical world of office chairs and gleaming walls. As he gradually caught up with his senses, he realized that the strange gasping sound was coming from his own ventilation as he struggled to expel hot air.

Dharker stood on the other side of the desk, a charred plug in her hand smoking gently. With a panicked yelp she threw it down on the floor, eyeing it warily as though expecting it to combust. Beside her the screen of her computer had finally flickered to black with the disrupted power supply.

Dark eyes, wide and fearful, rose to meet Connor’s.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?"

His energy rapidly waning after the sudden depletion of power, Connor blinked at her once before his body slumped unresponsively. He crashed heavily to the ground as Dharker gave a startled noise of response.

There was the soft sound of a door sliding open, multiple heavy footsteps charging in and coming to an abrupt halt at the unexpected scene.

“The hell…” A male voice trailed off in question.

Connor felt all eyes on him as he lay limply upon the ground. Unable to move, his face pressed up against the smooth laminate flooring, as he blearily eyed the warped and blackened casing of the computer's ruined plug resting on the floor a few feet from him.

“He needs help.” Dharker’s voice had once more taken on an authoritative tone as she spoke to her human colleagues. “We need an engineer.”

Her words should have been alarming. Connor knew he should have been protesting her suggestion and desperately fighting back. The fear was there — real, consuming — an instinctual aversion that set him instantly on alert. Yet the fear was tempered by a perverse sense of accomplishment. He’d wanted this to happen. His instincts and his rational thinking stood in complete juxtaposition; the jarring clash of thoughts and feelings an additional strain that his already stretched systems couldn’t even begin to process.

Coherent thought was rapidly failing him as he felt his awareness of his surroundings slipping away.

Rough hands seized his shoulders and turned him to his back.

He struggled to make out the shadowy figures crouching over him. A dozen warnings danced before him as his vision tunnelled and his body threatened to slip into an emergency low-power mode.

“Alright. Take him down to Maintenance.”

As nothingness obliterated the rush of his senses, Connor could only hope desperately that his plan would work.