Chapter Text
December 19, 2040- 8:37 p.m.
Lieutenant Hank Anderson idly watched the basketball game in Jimmy’s bar, halfway through his second glass of whiskey. His phone buzzed in his pocket but he didn’t pull it out, figuring it was Connor asking if he would need a ride home.
“Want me to top you off, Hank?” Jim asked as he cleaned off the counter.
“No thanks, Jim,” Hank responded. “I should be heading out soon.”
“Man, you’ve really cut back, haven’t ya? I barely see you in here anymore.”
Hank gave a half smile. “Makes the kid happy.”
“Wonders of technology, I suppose.” Hank chuckled at the other man’s statement. He knew Jim didn’t have any ill intentions by it; the bartender had talked to Connor enough times to view him as a man rather than a machine. It was hard to believe it had already been two years since the androids had succeeded in their revolution. Come February it would be the second anniversary of androids being made legal citizens in America.
Hank’s phone buzzed a second time to remind him of the text he’d gotten. The Lieutenant took another swig of his whiskey and pulled his phone out. He frowned at the unknown number, but it wasn’t obscure enough to be a scam. He opened the message, prepared to tell whoever the schmuck was that texted him that they had the wrong person.
But what he read brought him a new, stronger wave of confusion, and the back of his throat seemed to dry up and tighten.
-Hey there, Andy.
Hank must have stared at the message for a full minute, debating if he should feign ignorance. But only one person had ever called him “Andy,” and he wouldn’t be fooled by a response of “who is this” or “sorry, I think you have the wrong number.” Instead, with hands that were shaking ever so slightly, Hank typed:
-victor?
A reply came back seconds after Hank hit send.
-It’s been too long, my friend, too long.
-i thought you were serving time?
-Time served, Andy. Although I was let out a tad bit early with a few favors I called in and all that ruckus those robots were causing.
Once again, Hank was overwhelmed with confusion. Victor was out of prison? Had been out? Hank stood, throwing some money on the counter and abandoning the remainder of his drink. He grunted as Jim wished him a merry Christmas, then started to make his way to his car. Questions raced through his mind, but he finally settled on writing:
-what do you want? why are you contacting me now?
-Never one to beat around the bush, were you, Andy? Not that I mind; it’s what I like about you. Figured I’d set up a little reunion. You, me, and Jeff.
Hank swallowed. Once upon a time, he had called this man his friend, but now Victor was just another memory he would rather forget about. The Lieutenant got into his car and steeled himself.
-i don't want to see your ugly mug ever again
-Temper, Andy. Don’t you go sideways on me, now.
-i’ll go sideways on whoever I damn well please, now fuck off
When no reply came in the next minute, Hank sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. Willing himself not to go straight back into Jimmy’s bar after that encounter, however brief, Hank started up the engine. He was about to pull away when his phone dinged once again. Hank shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, sighing. He pulled out his phone, and a quick check revealed that same unknown number. He thought about ignoring it, but Hank knew that Victor wouldn’t back off so easily, so he opened the message.
-Your android played a big part in that ruckus, didn’t it? What was its name? Conrad or something? It suits you. Real shiny.
Hank felt his breath hitch.
-I can invite it to our reunion too, if you’d like.
-leave connor out of this
-I’m afraid you’re the one who brought it into this, Andy.
Hank swore loudly. As he stepped on the gas and pulled out into the street, he brought up Connor in his contacts. The call went to voicemail and Hank swore again. He knew that Connor should have gotten home from work by now, and that the most he could be doing was reading.
“Damn it, Connor, pick up your brain phone!” Hank yelled into the receiver as he drove through a stop sign. “I’m coming to your apartment. Shut off the lights and don’t open the door for anyone but me!”
He hung up the phone and tossed it into the passenger’s seat. Breaking more than a few traffic laws, he managed to get to the apartment complex Connor lived at in two minutes. Hank didn’t process the people he shoved out of the way or the exertion of racing up the stairs to the fourth floor, but he did try to sell himself excuses as to why the android hadn’t answered the phone directly linked to his head. Maybe Connor was in rest mode, or he had Markus over for company. Skidding to a halt outside Connor’s door, however, the Lieutenant realised that neither of those scenarios were the case.
A simple push at the door’s handle had it swinging open easily, and Hank’s heart sank as he wandered into the apartment. Connor didn’t have much furniture in his one-room apartment, but he did have a simple dining room table. On it sat a small, gift-wrapped box and a folded note that had “To Andy” scribbled on the front. Feeling as though he were watching someone else move his limbs, Hank took the note and opened it, reading the cursive handwriting inside.
Dear Andy,
Don’t you just love the Christmas season? A time for giving to those we love. And this year, I’ll be giving you a piece of the android you love every day until the holiday is over. Now I know you’re a bit impatient and would rather have the whole gift now instead of bit by bit (and I’m sure that’s what your robot would prefer, too), so maybe you’ll be able to put those police skills to work in order to speed the process along. You have until 11:59 p.m. on December 25 to find it, or it’ll be permanently irreparable. Happy holidays, Andy!
Your old friend,
Victor
That constricting feeling in Hank’s throat came back halfway into reading the note. He tried his best to swallow and tossed the note back onto the table. With hands that were once again shaking, he picked up the tiny box and opened it. His eyes watered as he took out the LED inside it, its ring turned gray from disconnection. But the LED wasn’t the important part. Hank recalled a conversation he had had with Connor after the DPD was up and running again.
“How does that whole brain phone thing work, anyway?” he had asked.
“It’s not a ‘brain phone,’ Lieutenant, it’s an advanced means of communication—”
“You can call people with your mind; it’s a brain phone. How does it work?”
Connor rolled his eyes, a trait he picked up a few weeks after becoming deviant. He tapped his LED twice. “There’s a small chip behind an android’s LED that allows them to receive and make calls, as well as send thoughts to other androids in the area.”
“Huh. Nifty.”