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Connor wasn’t made for this.
A big, furry dog snoozes in his lap; trashy television flickers on a worn, outdated television; his closest friend snores beside him, head resting on Connor’s firm shoulder.
CyberLife never could have predicted their most advanced prototype would come to extract such immense joy from ordinary, human moments. He would have been shut down and replaced for merely entertaining such thoughts.
Amanda would have curled her lip at him and cut him with bitter words, surgically dismantling his will to seek out the rush of raw emotion each software instability brought.
Sometimes, the could-haves and would-haves pollute his thoughts, filling his mind with phantoms of the past until there’s no room for anything else.
What of the innocent deviants whose blood his hands are stained with?
What if he had blindly obeyed Amanda? Where would he be here now? Where would Hank be?
Sometimes, he makes the mistake of believing he’s above Amanda’s influence now that she’s gone, but the thought of roses makes his skin crawl. Their tendrils wind around his thirium pump and any courage he thought he had is bled dry.
When he’s at his lowest, he wishes he never had emotions. Life was simpler that way.
The android runs trembling fingers through Sumo’s thick fur. The dog sighs in his contentment, Hank grumbles in his sleep, and the television drones on in the background. Connor’s vision blurs, tears silently tracking down his cheeks.
He wishes he were stronger.