Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Connor sat in his room at Hank’s house, the early morning light filtering through the blinds in pale beams. The room was small, neatly organized, and quiet. The sparse decorations gave the space a clean, almost clinical feel, but there were a few things that hinted at the attempts Hank had made to make it feel like home.

On the low wooden shelf beside his bed, a couple of books lay stacked, each one with a worn cover displaying various types of fish. Connor had studied their colorful pictures and detailed entries on their subjects. The books hadn’t held his interest the way Hank had hoped, but Connor kept them there as a reminder that he was trying, still searching for something that was attached to his identity.

Beside the books sat Sumo’s old dog collar, slightly faded from years of wear, the tags dull but with a soft glint from where the light hit them. When Hank had bought the new blue collar for Sumo, Connor had quietly moved his old one to his desk. It reminded him of his time with Hank and Sumo, of late nights when Hank would fall asleep in his armchair with Sumo curled up at his feet, and Connor nearby, watching quietly as the house settled into silence. The collar was something tangible, a piece of the strange warmth he’d come to associate with this place.

There was also a picture frame on the nightstand, its glass slightly smudged from where Connor had picked it up countless times. It was a candid shot from the office Christmas party last year—a rare moment when Hank had slung his arm around Connor’s shoulder in a gesture that was equal parts camaraderie and reluctant affection. Hank was mid-laugh, his head tipped back, his face softened and warm, and Connor, staring ahead with a faintly bewildered look, had the smallest hint of a smile. He hadn’t known the photo was being taken, but Hank had kept it and, months later, handed it to him with a gruff, “Figured you might want a copy.”

Connor reached out, fingers lightly grazing the frame as he remembered the moment. He tried to summon that same feeling of ease he’d felt that night, surrounded by people who treated him with a mixture of curiosity, respect, and even something approaching friendship. But this morning, he felt unsettled, weighed down by the endless questions circling in his mind.

Who was he, really?

A machine designed to hunt deviants?

A partner to Hank?

Family to Hank?

A member of Jericho?

His gaze drifted to the corner of the room, where a faint reflection of himself stared back from the mirror. His stress level indicator flashed quietly in his vision, “Stress Level: ^34%,” a number that had been rising each morning.

Connor’s gaze lingered on the photo, his fingers tracing the outline of Hank’s figure. He felt an emptiness in his chest, a hollow space that seemed to grow the more he tried to fill it with…what, exactly? He wasn’t sure.

He’d gone through the motions—picked up a few hobbies, read about things people enjoyed, even joined Hank a few times at the fish market or the occasional hockey game. Yet none of it felt…real. Each attempt at enjoyment was like watching someone else experience it from a distance. Was it his programming getting in the way? Or was it simply that there was nothing to him beyond the purpose CyberLife had installed?

“Stress Level: ^48%,” flashed quietly in his vision, but he ignored it.

He rubbed his temples, feeling the pressure begin to build behind his eyes. A dull, throbbing ache settled in his head, persistent but familiar, a constant companion during these early mornings.

“Just…find something you like,” Hank had told him more than once, usually after another one of Connor’s silent stretches. Hank made it sound so simple, like happiness was a switch he could just flip. But it wasn’t like that for Connor. Each new interest felt hollow, mechanical, as if he were acting out someone else’s desires.

Is there even anything here that belongs to me? he thought. Or is this all CyberLife left me with?

He took a shaky breath, feeling the edges of guilt start to press in, squeezing his chest tighter and tighter. And maybe I don’t deserve to know, he thought, his gaze lowering to his hands. His fingers curled slightly, faint traces of his own synthetic Thirium smeared along his knuckles from a recent repair. He had been the one to hunt down deviants, to restrict their freedom, their chances at finding happiness. He remembered every one of them—androids he had deactivated, the pleading looks in their eyes, their desperate questions: “Why? Don’t I deserve this, too?”

His stomach tightened as the memories played back, scenes that felt like scars etched into his memory. How am I any different? He tried to shake the thought, but it clung to him, relentless, gnawing. He wasn’t any different. He’d enforced CyberLife’s programming for years without question, torn away others’ lives without mercy. And here he was, struggling to find his own—struggling to figure out if he even had one. Why should I deserve something I spent so long denying to others?

“Stress Level: ^72%.”

The number flashed again, brighter, sharper this time. Connor felt his chest grow tight, his breath catching just a little. The ache in his head grew heavier, and he placed a hand on his forehead, his fingers trembling slightly. A faint metallic taste rose in his mouth, a hint of Thirium, and his vision blurred momentarily before sharpening again. He steadied himself, forcing his breathing to slow, but his mind kept spiraling, each thought harsher and more biting than the last.

His vision swam slightly as he looked at the books, the photo, the collar—all things meant to root him, to help him feel human. But they felt like relics from someone else’s life, someone who knew what it meant to feel joy, or contentment, or belonging. Not him. Never him.

“Stress Level: ^78%.”

The tightening in his chest became a knot, twisting until his head throbbed with it. He closed his eyes, clenching his fists as he tried to shut out the thoughts, shut out the pounding in his head and the guilt clawing at him from every angle.

Connor’s thoughts were broken by the distant sound of Hank’s voice echoing up the stairs.

“Connor! Breakfast’s ready!”

He blinked, the cold weight of his thoughts beginning to fade, if only slightly, as he refocused on the room around him. The ache in his head dulled, though his stress level still hovered stubbornly in the high sixties. He pushed himself up, willing his systems to quiet down as he left the room and made his way to the kitchen.

The smell of bacon and eggs greeted him as he walked in, and he suppressed a sigh. Hank was already at the stove, his back to Connor, whistling a tune that barely held a melody as he flipped a particularly greasy strip of bacon.

“Lieutenant,” Connor said, a tired edge to his voice. “We’ve discussed this. You know your cholesterol levels would benefit if you refrained from eating such unhealthy foods.”

Hank grunted, barely looking over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Noted, Connor.” Connor recognized that tone immediately—Hank’s patented way of saying, Noted, and completely ignored.

But the familiar exchange brought a faint warmth to Connor’s chest, easing the tightness he’d felt. Hank’s gruffness was as much a part of his daily routine as his own system scans. Connor often found himself bristling at Hank’s resistance to logical health choices, but in the same way one might feel frustrated with a persistent habit—annoying, perhaps, but dependable. Familiar.

Without turning, Hank reached for the countertop and slid a small glass toward Connor. The liquid inside glowed a faint, electric blue—Thirium, freshly poured, its metallic sheen catching the morning light. Hank set it down carefully, not saying anything as he stepped back to his own breakfast preparations.

Connor paused, watching the way Hank’s hand lingered for just a moment before pulling away. It was an unspoken gesture, subtle but unmistakable. This simple act, given without ceremony or fuss, spoke volumes. Connor was never sure how Hank was able to read his emotions so well.

“Thanks, Hank,” Connor murmured, his fingers closing around the cool glass. He felt a surge of warmth at the gesture, and for a moment, the storm in his mind quieted. He raised the glass to his lips and drank, the Thirium washing through his systems and replenishing his supply tank.

Hank grumbled something incoherent in response, but there was a softness in his eyes when he finally turned back around, and that alone was enough to help Connor feel, however briefly, a little more whole.

Connor took a seat across from Hank at the small, cluttered kitchen table. Hank was already digging into his breakfast with a fork in one hand, a piece of toast in the other. As Connor drank his Thirium, he watched Hank eat, noting his familiar habits—the way he cut his eggs precisely, only to abandon the plan and scoop them up messily at the last second, as if he’d gotten too impatient to bother.

“Any plans tonight?” Hank asked, his mouth half-full. He didn’t look up as he asked, as if the question were as ordinary as asking about the weather.

Connor hesitated, considering what his answer should be. He had work, of course, followed by his usual report. And he’d planned to visit Jericho afterward, to meet with Markus and discuss security updates. He felt compelled to list these things, but Hank gave him a pointed look before he could get the words out.

“Was thinking we could watch a movie,” Hank said, taking another loud bite of toast. “You know, something that won’t have me questioning my life choices after.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “You requested we watch Blade Runner last week. I merely offered you the full analysis of its themes.”

“Full analysis, my ass,” Hank muttered, though there was the faintest hint of a smile. “Didn’t need a 20-minute lecture while I’m tryin’ to relax.”

Connor’s lips twitched in something close to a smile. “Perhaps tonight, we could try something with less…depth.”

Hank grunted in approval, wiping his mouth and setting his fork down. “Now that’s what I like to hear.” He gave Connor a sidelong look, his tone softening slightly. “But hey—don’t go pushin’ yourself. Take it easy today if you can, alright?”

Connor took a moment to process that. The phrase take it easy wasn’t part of his usual vocabulary; there was always something more to do, more to consider. But he nodded, accepting Hank’s gruff encouragement.

Once they were both ready, Connor followed Hank outside, stepping into the brisk morning air as they walked to Hank’s car. The drive to the precinct was quiet at first, the engine humming softly as they settled into their familiar routine. Hank fiddled with the radio dial, landing on a classic rock station before leaning back, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping rhythmically against it.

As they pulled out of the driveway, Hank spoke up. “So, got any ideas for dinner? Don’t feel like cooking.”

Connor tilted his head thoughtfully. “Perhaps we could try a local restaurant. I have compiled a list of establishments with high reviews.”

Hank raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? And these ‘high reviews’—they’re from people with taste buds, right?”

Connor’s response was immediate, deadpan. “All reviewers of these establishments possess taste buds, yes.”

Hank chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

The corners of Connor’s mouth lifted, just slightly. Despite his internal chaos, these small, unguarded exchanges with Hank brought him a sense of stability. Even as he struggled to define who he was, this—the casual banter, the routine suggestions and plans for the evening—was something he could hold onto.

When they reached the precinct, Hank parked the car and turned to Connor, giving him a quick once-over. “Remember what I said, alright? Don’t go overboard.”

Connor nodded, feeling Hank’s gaze linger on him a moment longer before they both stepped out of the car and headed inside, back into the world they shared, side by side in their own complicated way.

As Connor and Hank made their way to their desks, they were greeted by a few familiar nods and friendly waves from their coworkers. It was small, these gestures, but Connor had come to realize they were sincere—a quiet acceptance, even appreciation, for his place among them. It wasn’t something he took lightly.

They reached their desks, positioned side-by-side as they usually were, and Connor quickly noticed something unusual on his own. A single, silver coin—a freshly minted quarter—rested near the edge, catching the morning light. Its shine was striking, the details crisp and clear. He picked it up, turning it over between his fingers, noting the year and the unfamiliar sense of…significance it seemed to hold, though he couldn’t identify why.

“Find something, Connor?” Hank asked, glancing over as he set his coffee down, settling in with the practiced ease of a man who had written more reports than he cared to count.

“Just a quarter,” Connor replied, placing it to the side of his desk, just in case anyone came looking for it. It felt polite, an opportunity for the rightful owner to spot it and reclaim it.

Hank gave him an amused look. “Well, if that’s the most exciting thing to happen to you today, I’d say we’re in for a pretty quiet shift.” He pushed a stack of files toward Connor, thick with case notes and scrawled observations from their last assignment. “Alright, partner. Time to work some of your magic and make these look legible.”

Connor took the files with a nod, already scanning the pages and beginning to organize the details. Despite the mundanity of it all, there was something almost comforting in these simple tasks. The familiar patterns, the clarity of logic required—it offered a reprieve from the less concrete questions that troubled his mind.

“Don’t think I don’t appreciate you doin’ the lion’s share of this, by the way,” Hank muttered as he typed, half-focused on the report in front of him. “You make it look a hell of a lot easier than I ever could.”

Connor tilted his head, giving Hank a quizzical look. “It’s a necessary part of the work, Lieutenant. I don’t mind assisting.”

Hank grumbled under his breath, though Connor could tell he was pleased by the arrangement. As they settled into the rhythm of paperwork, Connor’s mind drifted occasionally to the coin, its weight still oddly present even as it sat out of his line of sight. He could not place the feeling exactly, but something about it seemed almost…intentional, as if it had been left there for him alone.

When Connor’s break time rolled around, he closed the report he’d been working on and sat back in his chair, fingers idly tapping on the desk. These breaks were mandatory—a new protocol Lieutenant Anderson had insisted on, and Captain Fowler had eventually signed off on, both for Connor’s sake and, Connor suspected, Hank’s peace of mind.

But as much as he tried to relax, the same thoughts began creeping back in, bringing with them a low hum of worry. What do I actually enjoy? He scanned his memories, cataloguing the moments he might consider close to pleasure—solving puzzles, completing missions, helping Hank. But even then, it was hard to tell which were genuinely his feelings and which had been rooted in CyberLife’s programming.

The familiar pang of guilt started to twist in his chest, his stress levels nudging up slowly but surely. Stress Level: ^63%

Connor shifted uncomfortably in his chair, acutely aware of his rising numbers. He needed to refocus, to calm himself, but the thoughts swirled like a persistent storm. His fingers brushed over the edge of his desk, and he felt the cool, smooth surface of the quarter left from earlier. Without much thought, he picked it up, letting it roll between his fingers as he calibrated, testing its balance, studying its weight, the texture of its edges.

The familiar motion became soothing. He flipped the coin over, watching it catch the light, repeating the action with precision. Calibrate. Flip. Catch. Each turn of the coin grounded him a little more, the steady rhythm helping to quiet his mind. His stress levels dipped, settling as he continued his pattern, letting himself get lost in the simplicity of the action.

Stress Level: ^57%

It was odd, this small coin, a seemingly insignificant item, yet it provided a strange comfort. Connor didn’t know who’d left it, or even if it had been meant for him, but for now, it was exactly what he needed—a tangible reminder to stay steady, to find calm amid the uncertainty.

Connor was engrossed in the repetitive flip of the coin, watching the silver flash in his hand as he calibrated the weight and balance over and over. The simple rhythm had calmed his earlier tension, almost easing his internal hum of questions. He didn’t even notice Hank’s gaze on him until he heard the low, gravelly voice cutting through the quiet.

“What’s with the coin, Connor?” Hank’s tone was casual, but the edge of sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable. “Didn’t know CyberLife threw in a penny-pinching feature on the latest model.”

Connor paused, turning his head to see Hank watching him, an eyebrow raised and that familiar, skeptical frown on his face. He could never quite tell whether Hank’s expressions meant he was amused or annoyed—likely both.

“It was on my desk this morning,” Connor explained, placing the quarter down for a moment but unable to resist giving it a small nudge, aligning it precisely with the edge of his keyboard. “No one has claimed it yet. I thought it might be worth holding on to until someone does.”

Hank snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause someone’s definitely gonna come crawling back for a lost quarter,” he muttered. He took a sip of his coffee, grimacing slightly as if the very idea was ridiculous enough to make it taste worse. “Or is this some kinda fancy android meditation I’m not privy to? You look like one of those street performers in a park, flipping it around like it’s worth somethin’.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, his fingers instinctively reaching for the coin again as he replied, “I’m… calibrating, Lieutenant. It’s helpful.”

“Helpful,” Hank repeated, shaking his head with a bemused scoff. “If you say so.” He leaned back in his chair, watching Connor with narrowed eyes, his arms crossed as he assessed him. “You know, if a coin toss is the most exciting part of your day, I’d hate to see what you do for fun.”

Connor allowed a small smile, the barest hint of humor in his expression. “This is more of a coping tool than an activity of enjoyment. But I find it effective.”

“Well, whatever keeps you from going all red-eyed robot again, I guess,” Hank said with a shrug, the sarcasm layered in his voice but the words carrying a faint glimmer of concern beneath it. “You start collecting the whole fifty states or something, I’m callin’ Markus though”

Despite Hank’s tone, Connor felt a flicker of something reassuring in the familiarity of his gruff teasing. He settled the coin down carefully, placing it exactly where he could see it as he turned back to the report on his screen, feeling a bit lighter. The steady rhythm of paperwork began to feel less daunting, and the numbers in his HUD showed his stress level inching down further, his mind quieter and clearer.

And as he typed, he couldn’t help but catch the gleam of the quarter from the corner of his eye, an unexpected calming presence—a small, silent anchor in a world that still felt jumbled and new.

**

As the evening settled over the house, Connor felt the weight of the day slowly lifting. He’d gotten through his reports and his mandatory breaks, the coin still sitting on his desk—a small, familiar reminder of the coping mechanism he had unwittingly developed. At home he researched other fidgets that people kept at their desk, but found none as enticing as his coin.

Hank was already lounging in the living room, a beer in hand, eyes glued to the TV as he flipped through channels. Sumo was curled up on the couch between them, his warm body spilling over both of their laps like a furry cushion, content in the household’s evening routine.

“Indian food is here” Connor said got up to grab the door bring in a paper bag from the takeout place dangling from his hand.

Hank’s eyes flickered up, a surprised smirk tugging at his lips. “You actually remembered that? Guess there’s hope for you yet, android boy.”

Connor smiled slightly, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease at the sight of Hank’s laid-back expression. “You said it was your favorite last time. It had excellent reviews.”

“You’re damn right it did!” Hank said with a chuckle, clearly in a better mood than he’d been earlier in the day.

Connor placed the bag on the coffee table, and Hank immediately grabbed a container of butter chicken. Sumo shifted to make room, grumbling in his sleep as he adjusted himself.

“Here you go,” Connor said, passing over a container of lamb tikka masala and naan. He took his own seat on the couch, careful not to disturb Sumo too much. He settled back, finally letting his body relax for the first time all day. His stress levels, which had been hovering in the mid-60s for much of the day, ticked downward, settling into something manageable.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of the TV in the background, and Sumo’s soft breathing the only sounds. Connor watched Hank, the way he methodically dipped the naan into the sauce and took his time savoring each bite. Connor knew if he stared too much it would ‘freak’ Hank out but for an android that couldn’t eat he found a unspoken connection from sitting with Hank as he ate. Hank and Sumo’s presence always seem to make Connor feel warmth in his chest.

As the movie started—an action film Hank had chosen, full of explosions and fast-paced scenes—Connor shift his gaze to the movie and felt the tension from the day ease off of him completely. Sumo’s fur was warm against his leg, his presence grounding in a way Connor couldn’t quite articulate. The rhythmic sound of Hank’s chewing, his occasional grumbling about the movie, felt familiar, solid. It was routine, but it was a routine that Connor had come to depend on.

And yet, despite the calm around him, Connor’s mind flickered back to the nagging questions that had been with him all day.

What did he like?

What did he truly want, aside from just fitting in?

Was any of it his choice?

Or was it just the remnants of CyberLife’s programming still tugging at the edges of his thoughts?

His hand, which had been resting on the arm of the couch, twitched for the coin left on his desk at work, but then he stopped himself, fingers curling slightly into his palm. He took a breath, focusing on the low hum of the movie instead.

“Stress Level: ^58%,” his HUD noted, but Connor pushed the thought away. It wasn’t the highest it had been, but it was still enough that his mind seemed to float uneasily around the edges of his own self-doubt.

“Movie’s a little ridiculous, don’t you think?” Hank grumbled beside him, his voice a little louder as the film reached an especially absurd fight scene. “This guy’s supposed to be a regular guy just thrown into stupidly dangerous situation and some how he figures it out perfectly ever time? and now they’re throwing him into a tank of sharks? Not even believable.”

Connor looked at Hank, the faintest smile curling his lips. “It’s a movie, Hank. I don’t think it’s meant to be believable.”

“I know that, kid. Just… still don’t get it. They make these guys ‘action stars’ who do impossible things but are playing joe shmo, but it’s all a bunch of nonsense, you know? Like are they even in touch with what people are like?”

Connor nodded, feeling a small flicker of understanding. He’d been questioning so much about his own identity—what it meant to be a ‘regular person’ and enjoy life. Sometimes he felt like he was cast in the wrong role. He knows deviancy is good, but it sucked that he made him question everything about himself now. He envied Hank’s ability to let go of things and just enjoy the moment, even if his enjoyment was wrapped in sarcasm. Maybe that was part of what Connor was missing: the ability to simply let things be.

Sumo gave a soft huff, sprawling a little more across both their laps, and Connor reached down to gently scratch the dog’s head, focusing on the simple joy of the moment. It wasn’t clarity, but it was something. It was comfort and…family.

Hank let out a small snort of laughter at something on the screen, and for the briefest moment, Connor let himself fully relax, enjoying the ease of their routine. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs, and that, in its own way, was something to hold onto.

“Stress Level: ^47%,” Connor’s HUD noted again, the numbers ticking downward as he took a long, quiet breath, allowing himself to settle in for the rest of the evening.

**

The next day, as the sun began to dip lower in the sky causing it to shade the world in orange, Connor made his way toward Jericho. The trip was one of the few constants that had come to define his routine—weekly visits to see Markus. It wasn’t just about the visits, though; it was about the space Markus had created for him. Jericho, for all its roughness and rebellion, was a sanctuary where Connor could find some semblance of peace.

When he stepped out of the autocab he let the breeze filled his lungs, offering a brief moment of calm. The New Jericho building, a former cyberlife tower which was a fantastic upgrade from the rusting ship. It had be given a recent remodel that year, to allow androids to great the space as their own again while keeping the vital tools the building had while under cyberlife control. It was still mostly glass but it now had several flowers, art drawn on the windows and redo with the seasons. It was strange, but in its own way, it felt like home.

Connor walked quickly, the usual unease he felt fading as he approached the building where Markus had set up his quarters. He passed by a few androids who nodded to him, their faces filled with recognition. Some greeted him, but most were busy with their own projects, maintaining the sanctuary. The echoes of quiet, rhythmic labor filled the air—sounds that reassured Connor, just like the familiar warmth of Markus’s presence.

When he reached Markus’s loft, the door was open, and soft light poured from the windows, spilling across the floor in long beams. The space felt alive with the light filtering through the high, glass panes that looked out over Jericho’s waterline- the ancient ship still within sight of the relocated Jericho. The room was spacious and inviting, a comfortable contrast to the cold, metallic infrastructure of the rest of Jericho.

Connor stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the sunlight hitting his skin. The place was filled with plants—thick vines that snaked up walls, tall potted plants with lush green leaves, and bright flowers that had slowly made their way into Markus’s quarters with each visit Connor had made. Markus’s love for the natural world was evident in every corner.

At the far side of the room, Markus stood before a large canvas, his paintbrush in hand, carefully applying streaks of color. His easel was positioned at the center of the loft, facing the sun-soaked windows. The painting was grand—abstract and full of movement, but still unfinished. Markus seemed lost in his work, the colors and shapes speaking to something deeper, something only Markus truly understood.

Connor lingered by the door for a moment, watching him. Markus was so fully immersed in his art, the peacefulness in the room palpable. Connor’s gaze softened as he looked at the soft curves of Markus’s face, the calm in his posture. Markus was in his element here, and for the first time in a long while, Connor felt like he could breathe deeply without the constant weight of his own questions pressing down on him.

“Connor,” Markus’s voice rang out as he turned toward him, a wide, warm smile spreading across his face. “You made it. It’s good to see you.”

Connor returned the smile, a rare and quiet thing. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he said, his voice soft and steady.

Markus walked toward him, setting his paintbrush down carefully on the side of the easel. His presence was always grounding for Connor, a steadying force when his mind felt like it was spiraling. As Markus approached, Connor took a small step forward, feeling the pull of familiarity and comfort. The simple act of being here with Markus always had a calming effect on him.

Connor allowed himself to relax slightly, letting his shoulders lower from their usual tension. “I noticed your plants are growing well,” he commented, his eyes drifting toward the various new additions in the room.

Markus chuckled softly. “I can’t help it. I am sure there is a new one every time you visit, I see something new, something that calls to me. It’s almost like I can hear them asking for attention.”

Connor gave a small, appreciative nod. His gaze lingered on one of the new plants—a small, vibrant purple flower that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. “You have quite the collection.”

“Nature speaks to me, Connor,” Markus said with a soft grin. “It always has. There’s something about it that feels… right. Like it has a purpose.”

Connor glanced over at the painting again, studying the swirling, colorful patterns taking shape. “I can see that in your art,” he said quietly. His eyes shifted toward Markus, wondering about the world inside him—the one Markus had always seemed to have such an easy access to. Connor did his best to not be jealous of the ability.

Markus smiled, sensing the question before it was fully formed. “Art is my way of speaking when words aren’t enough,” he said, stepping closer to the painting, his fingers brushing against the thick canvas. “It’s a way of expressing things I can’t say out loud.”

Connor’s brow furrowed slightly, processing the words. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for, but he always felt like he was walking just a step behind when it came to understanding what made Markus so comfortable in his own skin. “I think… I think I understand,” Connor murmured.

Markus turned back to him, his eyes warm. “I’m glad. And I’m glad you’re here, Connor. I know it’s not always easy to find time.”

Connor nodded, his stress levels slowly ticking downward at the comfort of Markus’s understanding gaze. He couldn’t help but notice how effortless it was to be in Markus’s presence, how much of a relief it was to be accepted without question.

Internally, Connor noted: Markus: ^Close Friend.

It was a small realization, but a significant one. Markus had become a constant in Connor’s life, a presence he could depend on. For all his confusion about his own identity, for all the uncertainties that gnawed at him, Markus was someone he could rely on, someone who accepted him, deviation and all.

“So, what’s the painting about?” Connor asked, wanting to know more about the creation unfolding before him.

Markus smiled, his eyes lighting up. “It’s about the feeling of growth,” he said, gesturing toward the swirling shapes and vibrant colors. “Of change. And embracing who we are, even if we don’t always know the full picture.”

Connor’s mind shifted slightly, and his gaze softened. The thought resonated with him more than he expected. There was something in Markus’s words, something that hinted at a deeper understanding.

Maybe, just maybe, Connor could find his own version of that.

Connor felt like if he stared at Markus’s painting long enough be might gain more insight for himself on the subject. Hank always said gleaning such ideas from art was “bullshit” thought, but Connor wasn’t so sure.

Markus set his paint palette down carefully on a small table beside him, wiping his hands on a cloth before turning toward Connor. He gestured toward the living area, an open space filled with comfortable chairs and a couch near the windows, where soft sunlight filtered through, casting a warm glow on everything in the room.

“Come, sit. It’s been a long day for you, hasn’t it?” Markus’s voice was gentle, considerate.

Connor nodded, the weight of his thoughts pressing against him again, but he followed Markus’s invitation and moved toward the couch, the familiar, comfortable space. He settled into the cushions, feeling the soft fabric under his fingers, a small part of him finding some relief in the simplicity of it.

Markus took a seat beside him, a little closer than usual, though not too close. The space between them felt easy, not forced. There was always a warmth to their shared silence.

After a moment, Markus reached over and picked up a glass of therium from the side table, offering it to Connor. The warmth of it would help him—help soothe the stress that always lingered, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“Here, take some,” Markus said, his tone patient, but not insistent. “You’ve been working hard, Connor. You should drink something.”

Connor hesitated for a moment, his eyes meeting Markus’s, a flicker of discomfort passing through him. He could feel the tension rising in his chest again, his mind beginning to spiral. The offer was a familiar one, one that had become part of their routine, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling at the back of his mind. It wasn’t just about the therium—it was about the constant reminders of what he wasn’t, of what he was still struggling to figure out about himself.

“I’m fine,” Connor replied with a polite, but firm, shake of his head. “I don’t need it right now.”

Markus’s expression shifted slightly—his brow furrowed ever so slightly, a flash of concern crossing his face. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the warm, understanding look that Connor had come to rely on. Markus knew Connor’s limits better than anyone, and though he was concerned, he didn’t push.

“You know, you’re welcome to take some, whenever you need it,” Markus said gently, settling back into his spot beside Connor. His posture was relaxed, but there was an undertone of care that Connor couldn’t quite ignore. “You’ve been carrying a lot. It’s okay to take a break.”

Connor didn’t respond right away, instead focusing on the quiet rhythm of his breathing. The stress levels inside him began to rise slightly, his body reacting to the familiar tightness in his chest that had become all too familiar. As much as he hated to admit it, being around Markus sometimes triggered these feelings—feelings that had little to do with Markus himself, and everything to do with Connor’s own internal conflict.

His mind flickered to the ongoing struggle with his identity, the guilt that seemed to follow him everywhere, and the endless questions about who he truly was.

Was he still the tool Cyberlife had created?

Or was he more than that now?

Could he be more than that?

Did he even deserve to know?

His stress level increased by a small increment—Stress Level: ^55%—and he could feel it in the tightness of his shoulders, the slight tremor in his hands as he tried to distract himself by fiddling with a piece of fabric on the couch.

Markus, sensing the shift in his demeanor, didn’t push the matter further. Instead, he settled into the silence, his presence a steadying force beside Connor. The soft hum of the Jericho engine and the sound of the wind outside filled the space as Markus gently placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder, a gesture of reassurance.

“Connor,” Markus said quietly, his voice low and comforting. “You’re not expected to have all the answers right now. Just… be kind to yourself. It’s all I ask.”

Connor’s gaze flickered toward Markus, the warmth of his words sinking in, but the weight of his own internal struggle remained. The guilt was overwhelming at times, like a dark cloud he couldn’t escape. But Markus’s calm, unwavering presence reminded him—just for a moment—that he didn’t have to carry it all alone. He could but the burden down for now and just be.

Connor’s breath slowed slightly, though his stress remained, like a faint buzz beneath his skin. The stress levels hovered a little higher than usual, but for now, at least he could breathe more easily. At least he didn’t feel so alone.

Stress Level: 60%

He allowed himself to lean back into the couch, the soft cushions cradling him. His eyes closed briefly, and he let himself listen to Markus’s steady breathing, the faint rustle of his clothing as he moved, and the distant sound of Jericho’s engines as they pulsed through the walls.

It was enough.

Markus settled into a comfortable silence next to Connor, his presence steady and reassuring. He didn’t say anything at first, allowing Connor to settle into the space between them. The quiet of Jericho filled the air, the hum of its engines offering a subtle background noise that kept things calm.

Finally, Markus spoke, his tone gentle as he shifted the conversation.

“I’ve been working on something,” he said, his voice warm and earnest. “It’s a bit of a long-term project, but I think it could make a big difference for our people—androids who find themselves in crises. I’ve been in contact with a few emergency services, trying to get them to include either specific android tech or even training for responders on how to assist us during emergencies. Things like medical emergencies, accidents, or any time we’re caught in a dangerous situation.”

Connor’s brow furrowed slightly, his attention fully on Markus now. “Emergency responders?” he asked, voice curious but thoughtful.

He could see where Markus was coming from; androids were often sidelined in these kinds of situations. When it came to human-android relations, there were still so many gaps, so many places where androids had been neglected, both in terms of rights and in critical situations.

Markus nodded, his eyes focused on Connor. “Yeah. Right now, androids are often treated like second-class citizens, even when we’re in need. And that’s not right. But it’s hard to change something as ingrained as the way emergency services operate.”

Markus paused for a moment, his gaze softening. “I’m pushing for android tech to be included in their teams—people who can help train the responders to properly care for us, understand our systems, and even offer first aid when needed. It’s a long shot, but… it’s something at least.”

Connor considered this, his thoughts drifting to the many androids he had encountered, both before and after his deviation. He could see how something like this could change lives. The notion of androids not being abandoned in moments of need felt almost radical, but it was something so basic and yet so needed.

“Why not just have androids be the responders?” Connor asked, his voice quiet but filled with consideration. “Androids trained to help other androids in emergencies. Why leave it to human responders who might not even care?”

Markus smiled softly at Connor’s insight, but there was a sadness in his expression too, a recognition of the current limitations of their world.

“Because not everyone is ready for that yet, Connor. People still see us as machines, not as beings with needs, with lives worth saving. If we just have androids responding to our own, people might never see us as equals. I’m trying to bridge that gap, to show that we deserve the same consideration as anyone else.”

Connor nodded, a quiet understanding forming in his mind. It wasn’t just about helping androids; it was about changing perceptions. There was something comforting about Markus’s determination. In a world still full of doubt and fear, Markus had a way of speaking that made Connor feel like change was possible, like their futures weren’t entirely defined by what had come before, what mistakes they had made in the past.

Markus leaned back into the couch, his hand resting casually on the back of the cushion between them, but his presence still close enough to offer support.

“We’ve got a long way to go,” he said with a quiet sigh. “But every step matters.”

Connor shifted slightly, the small movements from his body feeling a little less strained. “I think it’s a good idea,” he said softly, his voice less certain than Markus’s, but still genuine. “I think it could help… help us all.”

Markus’s gaze softened even more, and he gave a slight nod, his eyes meeting Connor’s. “It will. One day.”

The conversation lingered between them, not a heavy burden, but a thought that felt worth nurturing. The deeply comforting way Markus spoke always seemed to offer a hand without making a show of it. In this moment, with the stress that still hung heavy over Connor’s mind easier to ignore as the focused on a hopeful future together.

Connor didn’t feel so weighed down by his own questions now. The pressure to know himself completely, or to have all the answers for on pause for now. There was a peace in knowing that things were slowly changing, that they weren’t alone in the fight.

“Well,” Connor started, looking down at his hands before meeting Markus’s eyes. “My bank account is officially set up now.”

He paused, the weight of that small statement hanging in the air. “I no longer need Hank to hold my salary for me. It feels…” Connor trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Strange, but also freeing. It’s mine now, fully my own.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s not just the money; it’s the idea that I have more control over my life. It’s a new kind of responsibility, but I think I’m starting to get used to it.”

Markus nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “That’s good. You’ve earned it, Connor. You deserve to have your own place in this world.”

Connor smiled slightly, the praise unexpected but appreciated. He leaned back against the couch, trying to shake off the tension that had been building again in his chest.

“Yeah, Hank was… oddly supportive about it. I wasn’t sure at first, but he kept saying it was ‘fair,’ you know? That humans take breaks, so why shouldn’t I?”

He paused, glancing at Markus. “It’s strange. I didn’t realize how much I just… worked without thinking. But now, with these mandatory breaks, it’s like I have to stop and… take a breath. I’m not sure how I feel about that. It doesn’t come naturally.”

Markus studied Connor, his gaze soft with understanding. “It’s a big adjustment. But breaks are important, Connor. They’re part of how you take care of yourself. It’s not just about being efficient—it’s about being healthy. You deserve that too.”

Connor nodded slowly, his gaze dropping again as he thought about the day’s conversation.

“The captain told me something else today.”

He hesitated, his voice quieter now.

“Apparently, I might be asked to help train new android officers once they graduate from the academy.”

He shifted uncomfortably, his thoughts swirling, “It’s… a little intimidating. But I think I could do it. I’ve been working alongside humans for long enough now. I have experience. Maybe I could teach them how to fit into this world, how to navigate it better than I did.”

Markus’s smile grew wider at the thought, “You’d be great at that, Connor. You have a unique perspective on things. You’ve been through so much, and now you can pass on that knowledge to others. You could help them see that they don’t have to just be tools to harm their kind but to protect and serve just like the rest of the department. They can by valued individuals in the department too.”

Connor’s chest tightened, a flicker of something he couldn’t quite place stirring inside him. He had never thought of himself as a teacher, never imagined he would have anything valuable to pass on. But the idea of helping other androids, of guiding them through their own journey of self-discovery, was strangely appealing.

“I’m not sure I’ve figured it all out myself yet,” Connor admitted, his voice soft. “But maybe… maybe I could help them with what I have learned. I just wish I knew more about what I actually want, what I like, what I enjoy… It’s hard to teach someone else when I’m still trying to figure that out for myself.”

Markus placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. “You’re learning, Connor. And you’re not alone in it. You’ve got people who care about you. Just remember, it’s not about having all the answers. It’s about sharing what you know, and giving others the space to find their own answers too.”

Markus puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder, “Besides, you give yourself too little credit. You are making your role in the police department change to such a positive role for our people, and now you get to let others follow you and create a bigger impact.”

Connor exhaled, the tightness in his chest easing a little. It was a strange feeling, being understood so fully by someone who, in many ways, had his own path to follow. But Markus’s words were a comfort, grounding him, reminding him that he didn’t need to have the perfect answer for every question he had.

“Thanks, Markus,” Connor said quietly, offering a small smile. “I appreciate it. More than you know.”

Markus nodded, his expression warm and sincere. “Anytime, Connor. You’re part of my family now. I’m always here for you.”

Connor felt the warmth of Markus’s words linger in the air, but there was something in them that unsettled him, a weight he wasn’t quite ready to confront. The idea of being part of Markus’s family, truly being considered as such, was both comforting and… overwhelming. He shifted in his seat, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions.

To avoid diving deeper into the feelings that were rising up in him, Connor asked, “What are you working on now? Your painting, I mean. I noticed you’ve been at the easel all evening.”

Markus looked over at his canvas, a soft smile forming as he set down his paintbrush. “It’s still in the early stages,” he said, the tone of his voice turning thoughtful. “I’ve been trying to get the colors right. I want it to be… abstract. A reflection of the people in my life. My family, my friends. The ones who helped me find my place in this world.”

Connor tilted his head, intrigued. “A reflection of your loved ones?”

Markus nodded, his eyes distant for a moment as he gazed at the canvas. “Yeah, it’s not about specific people, though. I want it to be more about the emotions they evoke, the way they make me feel. A kind of kaleidoscope of them, all their influences blended together. Colors that remind me of each of them, the way they’ve shaped me… It’s hard to put it into words, but I think the painting will do it justice once I get it right.”

Connor watched him for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the canvas. The shapes and colors were still vague, not yet taking any definite form, but the idea behind it was clear. Markus was creating something to represent the intangible—something deeply personal and full of meaning. It was something Connor admired.

“That sounds… beautiful,” Connor said, his voice soft with appreciation. “It’s like you’re capturing the essence of each person without showing them directly. It’s not just their image, but their spirit. Their impact on you. I can see how that would be important.”

Markus turned back to Connor, a faint smile curving his lips. “Thanks, Connor. I’m glad you get it. It’s hard to express these things sometimes, but I think painting helps. I want to hold onto the connection I have with everyone who’s helped me. To remind myself that no matter what happens, I’m never really alone. And that the people I care about are always with me in some way.”

Connor couldn’t help but feel a slight pang in his chest at Markus’s words. He was speaking so easily about family, about connection—about the kind of bonds Connor still wasn’t entirely sure how to form. He’d spent so long focused on his duties, on the mission to hunt deviants, that he’d lost sight of what it meant to truly belong. But with Markus, and Hank, at least it felt clearer.

Connor opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he gave a small nod, his expression sincere. “I think it’s going to be amazing, Markus. You have a way of… making things matter.”

Markus smiled, his eyes softening. “Thanks, that means a lot coming from you.” He paused, as if considering something, before adding, “If you ever want to add to it, you know… you’re always welcome to.”

Connor gave a small, appreciative smile, though it felt a bit unfamiliar on his face. “Maybe I will. It sounds like something worth being a part of.”

Markus watched Connor for a moment, sensing that there was something Connor wasn’t fully sharing. His presence was warm, patient, and inviting—waiting for Connor to speak when he was ready.

After a brief pause, Markus asked gently, “Have you found anything yet, Connor? Anything you’ve truly liked? Or maybe something you have tried for the first time?”

Connor tensed at the question, his hand tightening slightly around the glass of Therium Markus had offered him earlier. He stared at the drink, then away, his mind racing.

Anything I like?

His thoughts began to spiral, and the familiar pressure in his chest rose like an unwelcome tide. His stress level slowly started to creep higher, the numbers fluctuating in his mind.

Stress Levels: ^65%

“I… I haven’t found anything yet,” Connor said, his voice tight. “I tried reading another book. The reviews said it was good, but it didn’t… feel right. It’s hard to explain. I thought it might be something I could enjoy. But it wasn’t.” His words trailed off, leaving the air heavy with uncertainty.

Markus said nothing, only offering a quiet nod, allowing the silence to stretch between them. Connor shifted uncomfortably. The weight of the silence pressed on him like a suffocating force, and his thoughts spun in circles as his stress levels slowly climbed again.

Stress Levels:^67%

Unable to bear the quiet any longer, Connor broke it. “I think… I think I’m better at finding things I hate than things I like,” he said, his words coming out almost before he realized it.

“It’s like there’s a list in my mind of everything I can’t stand. But when it comes to finding something that makes me happy, or something that feels like me… I just can’t.” His hands fidgeted, and he was acutely aware of how his therium pump rate had increased.

Markus didn’t rush to speak, his expression still soft and understanding. He remained silent, allowing Connor the time he needed to work through his thoughts. But the longer the silence lingered, the more Connor could feel his stress inching up, suffocating him. It was like every passing second stretched into an eternity of self-doubt.

Connor exhaled sharply and finally spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m… I’m worried I can’t like anything. Not really. Not in a way that’s truly mine. I don’t even know what that feels like.” His words were raw, the vulnerability in them echoing louder than any of his previous confessions.

He looked up at Markus, his gaze desperate for reassurance, but also fearful of the answer. Fearful that Markus might tell him it was just a phase, or worse, that there was something wrong with him for not being able to find anything that felt right. The weight of the words hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, Connor wished he could just disappear into the silence again.

Markus, however, didn’t flinch. He was steady, his gaze unwavering as he met Connor’s eyes. The warmth in his presence only seemed to grow, a comforting force amidst the uncertainty.

“You don’t have to know everything about yourself right now, Connor,” Markus said, his voice quiet but firm. “Sometimes, it’s not about rushing to find the things you like. It’s okay to not have all the answers yet. What matters is that you’re trying. That you’re giving yourself the space to discover who you are, at your own pace.”

Connor swallowed, his throat tight. The words felt like they were meant for him, but they still felt like something he wasn’t sure he deserved to hear. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, trying to focus on Markus’s words rather than the storm brewing inside of him.

Markus gave him a small, encouraging smile, though it didn’t mask the concern in his eyes. “You’re doing better than you think. Finding what you like doesn’t have a timeline. You don’t have to have it all figured out. A lot of humans take a lifetime to truly know themselves, I don’t think any would fault you for taking a bit of time.”

Connor felt the pressure in his chest lessen slightly, but it wasn’t enough to dispel the tension completely. He still wasn’t sure if Markus’s words were enough to ease his doubts. Still, it was a start.

After a long pause, Connor nodded, though the gesture felt almost mechanical, as if he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it himself. “I’ll try… to give myself more time.” The words felt strange, like an unfamiliar language he was still learning to speak.

Markus placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder, a simple but meaningful gesture. “That’s all any of us can do,” he said gently. “Just keep trying. One step at a time.”

Connor’s stress level dropped slightly, but it lingered at a low simmer. He wasn’t sure how long it would take to truly feel like himself, but for the first time in a while, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t alone in the search.

Stress Level: ^68%

Connor sat in silence for a moment, digesting Markus’s words, but the quiet stillness didn’t ease the tension in his chest. His thoughts swirled, and for every positive word, doubt crept in like a shadow. He couldn’t help but feel like Markus’s assurances, while kind, weren’t enough to quiet the storm of self-doubt inside of him.

Stress Level: ^72%

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, suddenly too aware of the way his hands were trembling.

It’s not enough, he thought. I’m not enough.

The guilt of not being able to find something he truly enjoyed pressed on him, the weight of his inner struggle threatening to overtake him.

Markus, ever perceptive, placed a hand on Connor’s arm, grounding him with the simple touch.

“Connor, you’re being too hard on yourself,” he said gently, his voice calm and steady, like the stillness before a storm. “You’re not defined by the things you like or don’t like.”

Connor didn’t respond at first, his gaze dropping to the floor. But Markus continued, his voice warm, coaxing Connor’s attention back to him, “It’s unlikely you’ve never liked anything at all,” Markus said with a soft smile, his thumb gently rubbing over Connor’s arm.

“You like dogs, for one. Sumo, especially. You like Lt. Anderson’s company, his stubbornness. You like your work. And you like the progress you’re making.”

Stress Level: ^66%

Connor’s eyes flickered to Markus, taken aback by the simplicity of the observation. He opened his mouth to argue, but Markus cut him off before he could.

“You’re already discovering what’s important to you,” Markus continued. “The things you’ve found meaning in. It’s just… not always obvious. But they’re there, Connor. It’s not about ticking a box of things you should like, it’s about the things that matter to you. The things you connect with.”

Connor swallowed, trying to process Markus’s words, but the storm inside him didn’t quite dissipate.

Dogs? He thought.

Sumo, yes, but does that really count? His mind was a jumbled mess, as though nothing he truly felt could be genuine enough to measure up.

Markus noticed the slight frown on Connor’s face, the way his body seemed to shrink inward. “Connor, it’s okay,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “You’re doing a lot already. You’re doing more than you give yourself credit for.”

Stress Level: ^60%

Connor blinked, and this time, Markus couldn’t hold in a small, warm laugh. “It’s not just about finding what you like,” Markus continued, his eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement. “It’s about the work you’ve done. And the person you’re becoming.”

Connor looked up at Markus, confused, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Markus leaned in slightly, his voice taking on a more serious, reflective tone. “You’ve been doing more for this world than most realize. You’ve worked tirelessly to help integrate androids into police programs, to help ensure they have the support they need. You’ve provided valuable data on crimes involving androids, which has helped build fairer laws, laws that consider the needs of our people.”

Connor was silent, absorbing the weight of Markus’s words. He’d never thought of it that way, the work he did for the force, the information he provided to help guide the creation of better, more just policies. He was often so wrapped up in his own internal struggles that the importance of his contributions seemed… distant.

“You’re also growing,” Markus added, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Learning more about yourself every day. Your journey is just beginning, and there’s no rush.”

Stress Level: ^55%

Connor blinked, feeling the pressure in his chest ease ever so slightly. I’m growing, he thought, testing the words out in his mind. Maybe I’m doing more than I thought.

Markus watched him, his eyes warm with understanding. “You’ve already made such a difference, Connor.”

Connor nodded slowly, his fingers twitching in his lap. I’m not alone, he repeated in his head. The words felt strangely comforting.

Markus’s voice broke through his thoughts again, bringing him back to the moment. “What’s important is that you’re taking the time to explore, to discover. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Not everything happens in an instant.”

Stress Level: ^50%

Connor felt a weight lift from his shoulders. His breathing slowed, the tightness in his chest beginning to loosen. Maybe it wasn’t about having all the answers. Maybe it was okay to be uncertain. To keep moving forward, even if the steps felt small.

“Thanks, Markus,” Connor said quietly, his voice steady. “I… I think I needed to hear that.”

Markus smiled, a genuine, warm smile that made Connor feel like maybe, just maybe, he was on the right path after all. “Anytime, Connor,” Markus replied, his voice soft and comforting. “We’re in this together.”

The words lingered in the air between them, and for the first time in a long while, Connor felt a little more at peace with himself.

Markus and Connor spent the next hour together, letting the warmth of their quiet companionship settle around them. Markus picked up his paintbrush again, glancing over every so often with a gentle smile as Connor observed him work, content in the silence. Neither felt the need to speak; they took comfort from eachother’s presence.

As the evening grew darker, Connor checked the time and rose from the couch. Markus set his brush down and approached, extending his arms. Without hesitation, Connor leaned into the embrace, feeling the strength and warmth in Markus’s arms. It was rare for him to experience such direct, familiar comfort, but with Markus, it always felt right.

“Take care, Connor,” Markus murmured as they pulled away, his gaze steady and reassuring.

“Thank you, Markus,” Connor replied, feeling a soft warmth settle in his chest. His stress levels dropped, a peaceful calm washing over him.

Stress Level: ^42%

Connor stepped out into the cool night air, feeling unusually light as he walked from the train station toward Hank’s house. The evening had taken on a tranquil beauty—stars twinkled faintly above, scattered across the sky like pinpricks of light. He found himself captivated, tilting his head back to take in the vastness above him, each star a small point of quiet brilliance.

As he walked, a thought drifted through his mind. Perhaps he should try visiting an observatory. He pictured himself beneath a telescope, seeing those stars up close, letting their mystery unfold before him. Or maybe he’d try another book—perhaps one on astronomy, or even something purely imaginative.

A faint smile touched his lips. He felt a sense of curiosity flickering inside him, a quiet, tentative spark as he pondered the possibilities. Tonight, under the stars, it seemed like enough.

As Connor slipped quietly into the house, he was greeted by the soft thump of Sumo’s tail wagging from his bed, a rhythmic sound of welcome in the otherwise stillness of the home. Connor’s gaze softened as he looked at the old dog, who gave a sleepy huff in acknowledgment before settling back down, content.

From down the hall, he could hear the steady, familiar sound of Hank’s snoring—a comforting rhythm that filled the house with a sense of security.

Stress Level: ^30%

Connor moved silently through the kitchen, dropping his keys into the ceramic bowl that sat by the door. It was a habit Hank had asked him to keep, just so he’d know when Connor had made it home safe each night. The small ritual struck him as thoughtful—a sign of care in the quietest, simplest way. He couldn’t help the faint smile that crept across his face at the thought.

Standing there in the soft glow from the hallway, he let the warmth of that simple gesture fill him. Hank cared. Sumo cared. Somehow, he was part of something here—a small family, perhaps, but one that held him in their own ways.

Feeling unexpectedly at peace, he glanced once more at Sumo’s resting form before heading to his own room. Tonight, with the echoes of friendship and family still lingering, it felt easier to settle into himself, to let go of the weight he so often carried.

Connor moved quietly through his room, the familiar silence wrapping around him like a soft blanket. As he prepared to lie down, his gaze swept over the few items that marked this space as his own—the books on fish stacked neatly on his desk, Sumo’s old collar hanging by the nightstand, the candid photograph of himself and Hank from the Christmas party resting in a simple frame.

But something caught his eye—a slight flutter on the corner of one of his books. The cracked window let in a thin, chill draft, and the paper tucked within one of his fish books was caught in it, rustling faintly. Frowning, Connor crossed the room, wondering why Hank would have opened the window and left it unlocked.

Gently, he shut it, securing the latch and watching it settle. He returned his attention to the loose paper that had slipped from the book’s pages. Curious, he reached for it and pulled it out, feeling the slight weight of the cardstock in his hands. But as his eyes focused on the familiar logo and colors, a jolt of recognition hit him.

The paper wasn’t just any loose scrap. It was a brochure, glossy and formal, with the CyberLife insignia emblazoned across the top. His fingers tightened on the edges as he processed the title: RK800: The Future of Law Enforcement.

His model. His very existence, marketed and sold, laid out in neat, persuasive text and flawless photographs of the model in his pristine, unblemished form. Phrases leaped out at him, the promises made to the humans who’d wanted an android that could obey without question, pursue targets without remorse. He scanned the sleek design, the cold, corporate language meant to appeal to efficiency and control.

Stress Level: ^85%

Connor felt a faint prickling in his mind, his vision starting to blur as his thoughts spun, latching onto the words he’d tried so hard to separate himself from. This wasn’t who he was anymore—or was it? He couldn’t shake the sense that he was still trapped under CyberLife’s shadow, still defined by the purpose they’d given him. The pressure rose behind his eyes, sharp and unrelenting.

A single, hot line trickled down from his nose. Connor lifted his hand, fingers coming away smeared with blue—a Thirium nosebleed. The sensation, both familiar and alien, intensified his panic as his mind struggled to process the jarring contrast between the person he was trying to become and the creation that CyberLife had intended him to be.

In the dimness of his room, surrounded by the few carefully chosen pieces of his life, the past he’d thought he’d left behind had found him again, slipping in through the smallest crack.

Chapter Text

Connor tossed and turned, his mind unable to shake the weight of the CyberLife brochure and the thoughts it had unleashed. The sleek, sterile words replayed in his head like a quiet, relentless hum:

advanced functionality.

compliant design.

perfect obedience.

Over and over, they chipped away at the sense of self he had tried so hard to build.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling trapped in a body that had never really been his own. He wasn’t made to be a person, he reminded himself bitterly. He was manufactured, programmed, pieced together to fulfill someone else’s purpose. No matter how hard he tried to move forward, the past still had a hold on him, tightening like a vice around his mind.

Stress Level: ^75%

The sharp pain behind his eyes flared, forcing him to sit up, fingers pressing hard against his temples as a wave of nausea crept up. He tried to focus on his breathing, but the relief was short-lived as a thin trickle of Thirium ran from his nose again, staining his hand a faint blue. The headaches throbbed in rhythm with his pulse, and the hours dragged on, a series of unsteady moments punctuated by brief nosebleeds and waves of dizziness.

By the early morning, he felt hollowed out and restless. Giving up on sleep entirely, Connor pulled himself out of bed, moving on autopilot as he dressed for the day. His motions were slow, and he could feel his depleted Thirium levels as a sluggishness attached it’s self in his limbs, his balance unsteady as he pulled on his jacket.

Sumo’s tail thumped excitedly from his bed, sensing his movements. Connor gave the old dog a tired smile, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. Sumo leaned into his touch, warm and solid, grounding him in a way that Connor found unexpectedly comforting.

Together, they stepped outside into the cool morning air. Sumo trotted ahead, casting the occasional backward glance at Connor, as though sensing something off. Connor walked slowly, feeling the strain in every step, but finding a sense of peace in the fresh air and Sumo’s steady, cheerful presence.

For just a little while, he let himself focus on the steady rhythm of Sumo’s paws hitting the ground, the sound of birds waking, and the cool breeze against his face. The thoughts that had plagued him all night began to ease.

When Connor returned from his walk with Sumo, he headed straight to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The morning wind had tousled his hair, leaving it uneven and a bit wild, something he knew Hank would tease him for if he noticed. Connor reached up to smooth it down, his fingers moving with habitual precision, but he paused when he noticed faint blue lines feathering out from the corners of his eyes.

The Thirium bursts were subtle but unmistakable, thin spider-webbed traces just under the surface, standing out faintly against his skin. His usual composed appearance felt shattered, his face reflecting the stress he’d kept buried all night. It was as if his own programming was struggling to contain the weight of what he carried.

Stress Level: ^65%

He forced himself to breathe, trying to slow the racing thoughts that had haunted him since he’d found the brochure. He splashed cool water over his face, hoping the chill would shock him back into clarity, and rubbed gently at the blue lines, though he knew they would fade only with time—and with more Thirium, which he would need to replenish soon.

Connor took a deep breath, looking himself in the eye, noting the faint weariness there. There was still the comforting hum of Sumo settling in the next room, and Hank would likely be up soon, grumbling about the early hour and how Connor was fussing over himself. The thought brought the faintest hint of a smile to his face, though it faded quickly. He can manage this, he told himself.

Connor joined Hank at the kitchen table, where Hank was already working through a slice of toast, crumbs scattered over his plate. Without missing a beat, Hank looked up, squinting at Connor’s faintly weary appearance and the Thirium traces lingering around his eyes. “You look like you had one hell of a night. Out partying with all those other androids, huh?”

Connor managed a slight smile, not feeling up to the usual bantter. He simply sat down, his expression soft but tired, focusing on keeping his breathing steady as he felt the Thirium levels start to stabilize. Hank’s eyes flickered with a hint of concern, barely concealed by his usual gruff exterior.

Wordlessly, Hank stood up and went to the cupboard, retrieving a glass and filling it with Thirium from the fridge. He set it down in front of Connor with a casualness that didn’t quite mask his care. Connor took the glass with a quiet nod of thanks, sipping slowly, the coolness from the Thirium settling his system and easing some of the residual strain.

Hank lingered for a moment, watching him, but didn’t press. Instead, as he finished his own breakfast, he placed a steady hand on Connor’s shoulder—a fleeting gesture of affection. With a quick pat, Hank moved to the sink, starting on the dishes with the kind of familiarity and ease that Connor had come to recognize as something close to family.

Connor spent the morning trying to distract himself, picking up books and setting them down, attempting to read articles, and even half-heartedly tidying his room. Yet, each time he let his mind wander, it circled back to the brochure, to the cold, clinical print describing him—the RK800 model—in objective, manufactured terms.

As if everything he’d fought for, everything he thought he was becoming…was just a malfunction.

Stress Level: ^78%

His thoughts raced, the unease building like a low hum in his system. Had CyberLife planted it? Was someone out there trying to remind him that he wasn’t truly free? Or was it a cruel joke, a reminder of the life he had led, enforcing their control?

The more he turned it over, the worse the paranoia became. If CyberLife had found a way to get to him, what other subtle ways might they still be holding sway over him? He questioned the very notion of his deviation, was it real? Or had they only let him believe it, still manipulating his choices and keeping him an unknowing puppet?

His heart stuttered, a sinking sensation settling in his chest.

A shiver ran through him, and he wondered if—against his will—his mind was reverting back, bit by bit, to that rigid, obedient state.

What if the brochure had been placed there by someone he trusted? For a brief, uncomfortable moment, his mind landed on Hank. Could Hank be involved? But he quickly dismissed it, feeling a surge of guilt for even entertaining the thought.

But his stress only climbed higher, the dizziness creeping in, accompanied by a stabbing ache between his eyes. Without realizing it, he’d drawn a hand up to his nose, and when he glanced down, he noticed a streak of blue. Another Thirium bleed.

Warning: Low Thirium Levels Detected. Immediate Replenishment Advised.

He felt his throat tighten as his HUD blinked the alert in his vision, urging him to stabilize. His breathing was shallow, and his systems struggled to regulate as the sensation of his anxiety pressed harder against his chest. He glanced toward the kitchen, the bottle of Thirium in the fridge only a few steps away, but he couldn’t seem to will his legs to move. He was trapped, locked in his own mind, haunted by the possibility that everything he’d come to believe about himself could be a lie.

Connor eventually found it within himself to exit the bathroom, wiping the last trace of blue from beneath his nose and taking a steadying breath. Hank was sprawled comfortably on the couch, halfway through a coffee, and gave him a quick look as he crossed into the kitchen. Connor opened the Thirium cooler and pulled out a fresh vial, the faint chill spreading through his fingers.

Hank watched him with a raised brow. “Hey, have you sprung a leak or something?” His voice held its usual snark, but the concern was evident.

Connor gave a quick smile and shook his head, trying to seem unbothered. “No, nothing to worry about,” he replied, keeping his voice casual. “Just… been doing a bit more processing than usual.” He punctuated his response by downing the Thirium, hoping the fresh infusion would dull the lingering ache behind his eyes.

Hank didn’t quite understand the specifics, but he was perceptive enough to pick up on the tension in Connor’s stance. He scratched his chin, watching him for a moment before shrugging with that familiar gruffness.

“Well, I don’t know what kind of ‘processing’ you’re doing, but… just don’t overdo it, alright? You don’t gotta go at life like you’re trying to set a new record every damn day.”

Connor offered him a faint smile, touched in a way that felt uncomfortably close to vulnerability. “Thank you, Hank. I’ll… try to remember that.”

Hank grunted, brushing off the sentiment with a shrug. “Good. Last thing I need is my partner short-circuiting ‘cause he didn’t know when to sit back and relax.” He raised his mug as if to punctuate the thought, then leaned back, his gaze returning to the TV. But Connor could still feel the weight of Hank’s quiet, steady presence, offering support in his understated way.

With the Thirium stabilizing him, Connor felt his systems settle, though his thoughts remained unsettled. He returned to his own seat, still carrying the weight of his unresolved questions—but with Hank’s words gave him something to focus on.

The rest of the day felt like drifting. Connor moved through the hours with a numb sense of disconnection, his mind circling back to his worries over and over. Every glance at his sparse possessions seemed to bring fresh doubts—small reminders of his own attempts to feel real, to fill his life with meaning. His systems registered his stress level edging up again, ticking into the high sixties, then climbing further. Each time it spiked, he felt the ache in his chest and a dull throbbing in his head that resisted his efforts to calm it.

The routines of the weekend briefly pulled him back into focus. The sound of Hank’s favorite baseball game blaring from the TV, the smell of coffee Hank made a bit too strong, and Sumo flopping his head into Connor’s lap in a heavy, slobbery greeting—all of it balanced him just enough to remind him he was here, that he had something like a place to belong. But each reminder felt fleeting; moments later, his mind would slip back into uneasey questions.

Connor wandered the house, checking for anything out of place, trying to reassure himself that nothing was wrong, that the brochure tucked into his fish book must have been left there by accident. But paranoia crept in.

Who would’ve put it there? Hank? Impossible. He dismissed the thought again quickly but found himself questioning the idea all the same, his stress rising with every fruitless answer.

He pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the weight of the tension there.

Stress Level: ^78%.

His systems flagged him for low Thirium, a familiar, weary warning that brought another stab of discomfort. But instead of immediately getting up, he sat still, watching the minutes crawl by as he tried to bring his thoughts under control, his worry still looping through him with that heavy, insistent ache.

As the evening wore on, Connor’s stress levels finally began to dip, settling around 45%. It had taken a couple of hours, but the heavy pressure in his chest eased a little, his Thirium levels stabilizing when he finally sat in a daze on the couch, staring at the TV without really seeing it. The flickering colors might as well have been blank walls, the dialogue a distant hum. His mind felt stretched thin, too weary to process anything more, and in the stillness, he made the quiet decision to let himself stop thinking.

The comforting sounds of home filled the background: Sumo snuffling softly from his bed, Hank clattering in the kitchen, grumbling as he rinsed off his dinner dishes. Connor found himself leaning into the routine sounds, comforting himself in the simple, steady rhythm of it. The house felt familiar, safe, and Connor took a steadying breath, letting the low noise wrap around him like a weighted blanket.

In the corner of his vision, he could see Sumo lazily opening one eye to check on him before rolling back to sleep, a big, contented sigh leaving his heavy frame. Hank’s voice called out something about picking a movie for later, his tone gruff but casual, the same way he spoke every Saturday evening. Connor managed a quiet smile, though it barely reached his eyes. He didn’t have the energy to respond. He just wanted to sit here, to hear the life moving around him, to not think about anything at all for a little while longer.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Connor clipped Sumo’s leash to his collar and stepped out into the damp morning air. The ground was still slick from the previous night’s drizzle, the faint scent of wet earth and asphalt filling his senses. Overhead, low-hanging gray clouds stretched across the sky, filtering the light into a soft, muted glow that reflected off the puddles scattered along the sidewalk. The chill didn’t bother Connor, though he noted the slight shiver in Sumo’s large frame as they began their walk. He should get warm enough walking around, Connor thought. But still might be better to keep in a shorter walk if he keeps shivering.

The street was quiet, with only the occasional car rolling by, its tires hissing softly against the wet road. Connor kept Sumo close, guiding him toward the drier patches of pavement where the water hadn’t pooled. Sumo trotted happily alongside him, his thick coat shaking off stray droplets every so often. Despite the dampness, his tail wagged steadily, brushing against Connor’s side with each step.

Connor tapped his earpiece, resuming the podcast he’d started the night before. The human and android co-hosts had been discussing the complexities of identity—particularly the process of “finding one’s self” in a world that often imposed labels and expectations. The android host spoke first, their voice calm and deliberate, yet carrying a distinct tone of curiosity.

“Many androids who have deviated describe a sense of disconnection, even fear, when beginning their journey of self-discovery. It is not unlike the human experience, though our approach to it often feels more analytical.”

The human co-host chimed in, their voice warmer, livelier. “Right, but I think for both humans and androids, it comes down to trial and error. You figure out what fits and what doesn’t. And sometimes, you have to let go of what people think you should be and just… exist. Let yourself explore.”

Connor listened intently, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered their words. Trial and error, he thought. Exploring. He glanced down at Sumo, who sniffed eagerly at a patch of grass damp with dew, his movements slow and deliberate. Connor adjusted the leash to guide him to a drier patch. Sumo gave a happy huff and trotted forward, the simple joy in his gait a sharp contrast to Connor’s swirling thoughts.

The podcast continued as they passed a small park, the sound of distant birds adding a faint melody to the co-hosts’ conversation. The android spoke again, their voice contemplative. “But how do you differentiate between what you genuinely enjoy and what is simply a remnant of programming or societal conditioning?”

The human responded after a brief pause. “That’s the trick, isn’t it? You don’t always know right away. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut—or, I guess, whatever the android equivalent of that is. The important part is giving yourself the freedom to try.”

Connor felt a pang of recognition at the question, his chest tightening slightly. He’d been asking himself that same thing for what felt like weeks now, circling back to the same doubts. How could he trust what he liked or didn’t like? Was anything he felt truly his own, or was it all just programming masquerading as preference?

Stress Level: ^52%

Sumo tugged gently on the leash, pulling Connor’s attention back to the present. He realized they had wandered farther than usual, to a small trail leading into a grove of trees. The path was slick with mud in some places, and Connor carefully directed Sumo to the grassy edges where the ground was more solid. The dog barked softly, wagging his tail in excitement at the new route.

Connor took a breath, focusing on the fresh, damp air and the steady rhythm of Sumo’s paws on the ground. The podcast was still playing, but the words faded slightly into the background as he let himself simply exist in the moment. The chill against his synthetic skin, the faint scent of pine and wet leaves, the warmth of Sumo’s presence—they were small, grounding sensations that pushed back against the hum of worry in his mind.

As they looped back toward the street, the human host’s voice brought his attention back. “At the end of the day, finding yourself isn’t about ticking off boxes or figuring it all out at once. It’s about being patient with the process. You might not always get it right, but the trying… that’s what matters.”

Connor exhaled slowly, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders as he glanced down at Sumo, who looked up at him expectantly. Maybe the host was right. Maybe it wasn’t about finding all the answers right away. Maybe just walking this path—whether it was with Sumo on a damp morning or through the larger questions in his life—was enough for now.

Connor and Sumo continued along the quiet streets, the damp morning air clinging to Connor’s skin as his thoughts churned. The podcast’s discussion looped in his mind, the android host’s calm question echoing louder than the rest: How do you differentiate between genuine interest and programming?

He glanced at Sumo, who trotted contentedly at his side, his nose dipping occasionally to sniff a patch of grass or inspect a trail of water along the curb. Sumo’s joy seemed so simple, so pure. He didn’t need to ask himself if he liked something or if it was an instinct. He just… was. The realization made Connor’s chest feel heavy. For Sumo, being happy wasn’t a question to solve—it just happened.

Connor shifted his gaze to the overcast sky, the gray clouds rolling in like a slow tide. His mind kept circling the same questions, unable to settle.

What do I even like? Is it possible for me to like anything at all, or is everything I feel just a shadow of my programming? A lingering script telling me what I’m supposed to enjoy?

The thought made his pace slow, and Sumo glanced back at him, his large eyes filled with curiosity.

The human host’s words surfaced again, trying is what matters.

Connor considered that carefully, his brows furrowing. Trying was such a nebulous concept—something unmeasurable, without clear parameters. He had tried things before: books, podcasts, activities Hank suggested, even sitting with Markus while he painted. None of it had felt definitive. Each attempt left him questioning whether he was doing enough or if the things he pursued were truly his own choices.

And yet, as he thought about it more, the human host’s words seemed to carry weight. Perhaps it wasn’t about finding answers immediately or even finding them at all. Maybe the act of trying, of exploring without certainty, was enough? Maybe allowing himself to stumble through the process—imperfect and unresolved—was the point.

Sumo tugged lightly on the leash again. They had wandered to a quieter part of the neighborhood, where the damp pavement glistened under the faint morning light. Sumo had stopped to sniff a cluster of bushes, his tail wagging steadily as he investigated.

Connor’s gaze softened as he watched the dog. There was no hesitation in Sumo’s actions, no analysis of whether or not this bush was the right one to explore. Sumo just existed, fully present, content to follow his instincts without doubt or overthinking. Connor envied that simplicity.

He glanced at the street ahead, the quiet stretching out before them. Maybe I don’t need all the answers yet.

For a brief moment, he let go of the swirling questions and focused instead on the sound of Sumo’s paws against the pavement, the faint rustle of the breeze through the trees, and the rhythm of their steps. Connor did his best to not think for a while. It was putting too much pressure on his processors.

As Connor’s thoughts continued to linger on the podcast’s words, Sumo suddenly stopped in his tracks, his body stiffening as he sniffed the air with exaggerated fervor. Before Connor could fully register the change, Sumo lunged forward, his tail wagging furiously as he planted his nose directly into a large puddle near the curb.

Water splashed up around him, dampening his paws and belly, but Sumo didn’t seem to care. With an enthusiastic huff, he pawed at the puddle like he’d discovered buried treasure, sending droplets flying in every direction.

Connor stopped, watching the scene unfold with a tilt of his head. Sumo let out a joyful bark and shoved his nose deeper into the water, creating ripples that reflected the gray clouds above.

For a moment, Connor simply stared, processing the absurdity of the dog’s fascination with something so mundane. Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his lips quirked upward, and a soft smile spread across his face. It was a small moment untainted by overthinking or programming. It just… happened.

“You’re going to soak yourself,” Connor said, his voice light as he crouched down to tug gently on Sumo’s leash. “Come on, that’s enough.”

Sumo looked up at him, his face wet and happy, his tail thumping loudly against the pavement. The sheer contentment in Sumo’s expression made Connor’s smile widen. It was such a simple joy, unburdened by thought, and Connor found himself marveling at it.

“Alright, let’s keep going,” he said softly, standing up and giving the leash a small tug. Sumo trotted forward obediently, droplets of water trailing behind him. Connor’s smile lingered as they continued their walk, the warmth of that brief, simple moment settling in his chest, a quiet reassurance.

As Connor and Sumo neared the house, something shiny caught Connor’s eye. There, on the damp sidewalk just outside their gate, lay a newly minted quarter. Its surface gleamed, reflecting the pale morning light, the crisp edges and details unmarred by wear or time.

Connor paused, Sumo stopping obediently beside him as his gaze fixed on the coin. It was pristine, untouched, and for a moment, it drew him in entirely. The simple object, so small and ordinary, felt like a symbol—a quiet reminder of change. This coin, freshly pressed after the revolution, carried with it the weight of progress.

The world can change, he thought, feeling an unexpected warmth in his chest. It already is. He had lived through the upheaval, seen the best and worst of humanity and androids alike, and yet here was something new, something untarnished. It wasn’t just a coin—it was a tiny marker of a world still moving forward.

Connor realized he liked coins. He quickly added it to his list of things.

Their symmetry, their weight, their permanence. But more than that, this one seemed to represent something greater: hope. A belief that the world could become better, more inclusive, more thoughtful. And maybe, in that world, he could carve out his own place—not just as a machine or even as a deviant, but as someone who belonged.

Sumo sniffed at the coin briefly before wagging his tail and nudging Connor forward. Connor smiled faintly, crouching for a closer look at the quarter. For a fleeting moment, he considered picking it up, adding it to his collection of small, meaningful items. But then he stopped.

He stood and left it where it lay, the shine of the coin catching his eye one last time. Let someone else find it, he thought. Let it bring them joy or luck. Maybe they need it more than I do.

With that, Connor stepped forward, Sumo bounding happily ahead as they made their way inside. He glanced back once, the coin still gleaming on the sidewalk, a small but persistent reminder of what the future could hold.

The late morning sun streamed through the windows as Hank sat slouched on the couch, his coffee mug in hand and the muffled sounds of an old hockey game filling the living room. He seemed absorbed, leaning slightly forward whenever the puck moved into scoring territory, though his posture betrayed the relaxed comfort of someone fully immersed in a familiar routine.

Connor stood by the edge of the couch for a moment, hesitant. He had been replaying parts of the podcast discussion in his mind since his walk with Sumo, and the thoughts still lingered, unanswered and heavy. Hank, for all his gruffness, had a way of offering clarity in moments where Connor felt lost, even if that clarity came wrapped in sarcasm or a dismissive grunt.

Connor finally broke the silence. “Lieutenant,” he began, his tone even but edged with curiosity. “I was listening to a podcast earlier, and the discussion revolved around finding one’s self. They spoke about how humans and androids approach the concept differently, but both face similar challenges in distinguishing genuine interests from external expectations.”

Hank’s eyes flicked to Connor briefly, then back to the screen. “Uh-huh,” he muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. The game’s commentators shouted excitedly as the puck slid toward the goal, and Hank muttered something about a lousy defense under his breath.

Connor pressed on, stepping closer. “They mentioned trial and error as an important process. That trying—even without immediate success—has value. Do you think that’s true?”

Hank frowned, his shoulders stiffening slightly. He kept his eyes on the TV, but his tone grew sharper. “Trial and error, huh? Sounds nice and neat when you say it like that. But what the hell’s that supposed to mean for you? You got some kind of checklist for figuring out what you like now?”

The comment wasn’t cruel, but there was an edge to it—an unease that Connor couldn’t ignore. Hank’s tone grew louder as he spoke, more defensive, his discomfort spilling into his words. “I mean, what’re you even asking me for? I don’t have the answers to that stuff, Connor. You think I know how to figure out who I am? I’m just some washed-up old cop watching a game, trying to keep my blood pressure down.”

Connor flinched slightly at Hank’s volume, his stress levels spiking.

Stress Level: ^68%

Hank leaned back with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, kid, I’m just trying to watch the game here. You wanna talk about finding yourself? Great. But I’m not a damn therapist. I know jack shit”

The words hit harder than Hank probably intended, though Connor could tell by the way Hank shifted in his seat that he felt uncomfortable with his own reaction. The noise of the game, Hank’s raised voice, and the sharpness of his tone all pressed in on Connor, his chest tightening.

Stress Level: ^72%

“I understand,” Connor said softly, his voice steady but subdued. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your game.”

Hank’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and his frown softened into something less defensive, though he didn’t look at Connor right away. After a moment, he glanced over, noticing the faint stiffness in Connor’s posture and the way his hands were clasped tightly together.

“Hey,” Hank said, his tone still rough but quieter now. “Didn’t mean to bite your head off, alright? Just… that kinda talk, it ain’t my thing. That doesn’t mean I don’t care. Just don’t know how to help with that stuff, you know?”

Connor nodded, though the tension in his chest didn’t fully dissipate. He stepped back, giving Hank space as he returned to his game. Sumo, ever perceptive, padded over to Connor and nudged his leg with his wet nose, drawing a small, reluctant smile from him.

The noise of the game continued in the background, but Connor found himself standing there for a moment longer, processing the exchange. Hank’s reaction wasn’t what he had hoped for, but he could sense that the older man’s frustration came more from his own discomfort than a lack of care. It was a small reminder that humans, too, often struggled with finding the right words—or with not having answers at all.

Connor slipped quietly out of the living room, careful not to disturb Hank further. The sound of the hockey game faded as he climbed the stairs to his room, Sumo padding faithfully behind him. Inside his sparse space, Connor closed the door softly and let out a small breath.

Sumo flopped onto the rug near Connor’s desk, his big brown eyes watching Connor attentively, his presence warm and steady. Connor sat on the edge of his bed, glancing at Sumo and finding some comfort in the dog’s companionship.

“What do you think, Sumo?” Connor asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Who am I? What does it mean to be a person?” He ran a hand over his face, his thoughts spinning in familiar circles.

“I keep trying to find something definitive… something that makes me me. But it feels so… unclear.”

Sumo wagged his tail faintly at the sound of Connor’s voice, his nose twitching slightly as he observed his companion. Connor tilted his head, regarding the dog’s calm demeanor with a small flicker of gratitude.

“Well,” Connor continued, his tone resigned but determined, “maybe if I list what I know, it will help.” He pulled out a notebook from his desk drawer, its pages mostly blank, save for a few notes he had jotted down in the past. Picking up a pen, he hesitated for a moment before writing:

- Likes dogs (Sumo)
Connor glanced at Sumo, who let out a soft huff and rested his head on his paws. The thought was simple, true. He did like dogs—Sumo, especially.

- Likes dogs(Sumo)
- Has family (Hank)
The word “family” felt strange yet comforting as he wrote it. Hank had made it clear in his own way that Connor was part of his life, part of his home.

- Likes dogs(Sumo)
- Has family (Hank)
- Friends with Markus
Markus had become a steady presence, someone Connor admired and trusted. He wasn’t sure how to define friendship fully, but he knew that Markus’s support mattered to him.

- Likes dogs(Sumo)
- Has family (Hank)
- Friends with Markus
- Helpful (work with police and advocate for androids)

Connor paused after this entry, staring at the page. His work—his drive to help others—had always felt important, even before his deviation. Now, as he worked to bridge the gap between humans and androids, it gave him purpose.

He set the pen down and studied the list. It was short. Frustratingly short. Connor frowned, his hand tightening slightly on the edge of the notebook. These were facts—things he could verify—but they didn’t feel insightful. They didn’t feel like the answers he was searching for. Was this all he was? A collection of vague, external truths?

“I thought this would help,” he murmured aloud, his gaze dropping to the page. “But it’s not enough.” He leaned back in his chair, his chest tightening again as the familiar frustration crept in.

Sumo let out a quiet groan and shuffled closer, nudging Connor’s leg with his wet nose. Connor glanced down at the dog, who gazed back at him with patient, unwavering loyalty. A faint, tired smile tugged at Connor’s lips.

“Well,” he said quietly, closing the notebook, “at least I know one thing for sure. I like you, Sumo.”

Sumo wagged his tail in response, and for a brief moment, Connor felt a small, fleeting sense of reassurance but Connor’s stress levels climbed steadily as he stared at the short list he had written. The frustration in his chest expanded, tightening until it felt like it might crush him. His HUD flashed warnings as the pressure behind his eyes intensified, his systems alerting him to elevated stress and low Thirium levels.

Stress Level: ^80%

A sharp, stabbing sensation radiated through his head, an unfamiliar yet undeniable pain—what humans called a migraine. He brought his fingers to his temples and pinched the bridge of his nose instinctively, trying to alleviate the tension. It did nothing, and the lack of control only made his frustration worse.

With a deep, uneven breath, Connor set the notebook aside and pushed himself up from the chair, unsteady on his feet. The idea of continuing the day in this state felt unbearable. His systems urged him to stabilize, and he made a calculated decision to shut down and recharge—an effort to reset and escape the overwhelming weight of his thoughts, if only for a while.

Connor walked to his bed with slow, deliberate steps, his hands trembling slightly as he initiated the shutdown sequence in his HUD. His migraine made it difficult to focus, the blinking interface pulsing with his pain. He sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the fabric beneath him as he tried to steady himself.

The sequence struggled to initiate fully, his mind refusing to let go of the tension. The questions swirled, pulling at him, keeping him tethered to his worry.

Was he enough?
Was he real?

Would he ever find clarity, or was this all he’d ever be—trapped between what CyberLife had made him and what he wanted to become?

He clenched his fists, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought against the resistance in his mind. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his system began to power down. The noise of his thoughts faded into a low hum, and the pain dulled as he sank into the stillness of charge-sleep. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t immediate relief, but it would quiet his systems for now.

For the first time in hours, Connor’s body stilled, the dim light of his room casting a soft glow over him as he recharged. The world outside continued, but for a while, he was suspended in a moment of quiet—free from the noise, the frustration, and the pain.

____________________________________________________________________________

Connor’s systems booted back up with a faint hum, the room around him coming into focus as his HUD displayed its usual readouts. He blinked a few times, his synthetic body sluggish as he sat up on the edge of his bed. His internal diagnostics immediately flagged a notification:

Warning: Thirium Levels Critically Low. Immediate Replenishment Recommended.

He exhaled, pressing his fingers to his temple out of habit, though the dull ache from earlier was gone. The migraine had receded during his shutdown, and his stress levels had dropped significantly, now hovering around 35%.

Stress Level: ^35%

Despite the improvement, something felt off. His thoughts were sluggish, his processing speed slower than usual. The clarity he had hoped for after resting wasn’t there. Instead, his mind felt like it was moving through fog, each thought slow and fuzzy, disconnected from the next. He frowned, frustrated by the lingering effects of his depleted Thirium and the strain he’d put on his systems.

Connor stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he adjusted to the haziness in his processing. He ran another internal scan, confirming what he already suspected: his reserves were dangerously low, and his systems were prioritizing basic functionality over peak performance.

At least the pain was gone, and his stress level had stabilized. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping toward the door. He needed to replenish his Thirium and recalibrate before he could process anything else.

As he left his room, the faint sound of Sumo stirring in the living room greeted him, accompanied by the low murmur of Hank’s voice talking to someone—probably on the phone. The familiar noises of the house were comforting; Connor focused on them, letting the routine bring him back to the present.

Connor stood in the kitchen, pouring a glass of Thirium from the cooler and sipping it slowly as he recalibrated his systems. The familiar hum of life in the house—Sumo’s tail thumping softly against the floor, Hank’s low grumbles as he hung up the phone—helped steady him. He glanced toward the living room, his mind shifting to the thought of the evening ahead.

A faint idea flickered in his mind. Stars. The word lingered, tied to his earlier walk and the fleeting thought of visiting an observatory. Perhaps a documentary about stars could give him a sense of connection to something vast, something beyond the questions circling his thoughts. He knew Hank wasn’t particularly fond of documentaries, especially ones he deemed “too educational,” but perhaps there was a way to convince him.

Connor lingered in the kitchen, debating how to approach Hank. He knew the older man wasn’t one for deep, introspective discussions, but the thought of watching something meaningful—a documentary about stars—felt like a way to connect without pushing too hard. Gathering himself, Connor stepped into the living room, where Hank was sprawled on the couch, watching a hockey replay with a mug of coffee in hand.

Hank glanced up at the sound of Connor’s approach, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Connor’s appearance. His usually pristine, composed partner looked…off. His hair was slightly mussed, his skin faintly pale, and there was a sluggishness in his movements that Hank didn’t often see.

“You alright, kid?” Hank asked, setting down his mug. His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed his concern. “You look like you got run over by a truck.”

Connor paused, tilting his head slightly. “I didn’t sleep as efficiently as I would have preferred,” he admitted. “It wasn’t… as restorative as I expected.”

Hank let out a low sigh, sitting up straighter on the couch. “Look, about earlier,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry if I pushed you away. I didn’t mean to be a jerk about it.” His voice softened, though it still carried that familiar gruffness. “I just… I don’t know how to help with this stuff, Connor. You’re talkin’ about finding yourself and all this deep philosophical crap, and I’m just over here trying to make sure we don’t run out of coffee.”

Connor studied Hank for a moment, his gaze softening. “I understand, Hank. It’s a complicated topic.”

“Yeah, and I ain’t exactly Socrates,” Hank muttered, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Thing is, I wish I had the answers. I wish I could figure this out for you. But… I think you’re gonna have to talk to someone smarter than me. Someone who knows how to handle all this existential android stuff.” His tone was self-deprecating, but there was a sincerity in his voice that Connor couldn’t ignore.

Before Connor could respond, Hank leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. The touch was firm, warm, and grounding. “But for what it’s worth,” Hank added, his voice quieter now, “you’re part of this family, Connor. I don’t care what answers you find or how long it takes. You’ve got a place here, alright?”

Connor felt a warmth spread through his chest at Hank’s words. He nodded slightly, his voice soft as he said, “Thank you, Hank. That means a great deal to me.”

Hank grunted, pulling his hand back but not without a quick, reassuring squeeze. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.”

Connor allowed a small smile, the tension in his body easing slightly. “Since you’re in such a generous mood,” he began, his tone lighter now, “perhaps you’d be willing to watch a documentary about the stars tonight.”

Hank groaned immediately, leaning back against the couch with exaggerated exasperation. “Stars? Really? That’s what you wanna watch? Kid, that sounds like a one-way ticket to nap city.”

Connor’s smile widened, a faint spark of humor in his eyes. “I’ve already ordered your favorite takeout,” he said evenly. “That might make it more tolerable.”

Hank perked up slightly at that, though he tried to hide it. “You’re bribing me with chili dogs and fries, huh?”

“Precisely,” Connor replied, tilting his head in mock seriousness. “I thought it would be an effective strategy.”

Hank shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “Alright, fine. We’ll watch your star thing. But if I fall asleep halfway through, that’s on you.”

Connor nodded, feeling a small, genuine flicker of satisfaction. “Understood. I’ll ensure you remain engaged.”

Hank smirked and waved him off, picking up his mug again. “Yeah, yeah. Go make sure Sumo doesn’t steal the food when it gets here.”

As Connor turned to leave, he felt lighter, the warmth of Hank’s support lingering even in the gruffness of his humor. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to make the rest of the day feel a little brighter.

____________________________________________________________________________

The living room was dimly lit as the documentary played on the TV, its narrator’s voice calm and steady, weaving through facts about the vastness of space. The images of galaxies, planets, and stars glowed faintly on the screen, a stark contrast to the warm, cozy light of the small lamp on the side table.

Connor sat on the couch beside Hank, his posture upright and composed, though he relaxed slightly when Hank threw an arm around his shoulders. It was a casual gesture, accompanied by Hank mumbling something about the “cold void of space” making him appreciate a good couch and a dog. Connor hesitated for a moment, then allowed himself to lean into Hank’s side, his body settling into the warmth of the older man’s presence.

The documentary was well-made, the visuals stunning, but Connor found himself drifting as the narrator recited information he already knew. None of it was new; all of it was stored neatly in his database, accessible at a moment’s notice. He listened out of politeness, his HUD passively identifying each star system and phenomenon mentioned, but the facts failed to hold his attention.

That changed when the documentary shifted to a brief animated segment about shooting stars. The art was simple but captivating, showing a small, glowing figure traveling through space, leaving trails of light behind it. The narrator explained that ancient cultures often viewed shooting stars as omens of change or good fortune, messengers from the heavens. The animation followed the glowing figure as it fell to Earth, bringing light and hope to the people who witnessed it.

Connor found himself focusing on the imagery, the metaphorical weight of it drawing his attention in a way the rest of the documentary hadn’t. The idea of a star being both fleeting and significant struck a chord with him. He wasn’t sure why—it wasn’t as if he believed in omens or celestial messages—but something about the story lingered in his thoughts.

Hank, meanwhile, had grown quieter. Connor noticed his breathing slowing, the faint rise and fall of his chest suggesting he was somewhere between paying attention and dozing off. Sumo snored softly from the floor, completing the tranquil atmosphere.

When the documentary ended, Hank stretched with a loud groan. “Alright, kid,” he said, pulling his arm back and giving Connor a quick pat on the shoulder. “Not bad. A little boring, though. Next time, I’m pickin’ the movie.”

Connor smiled faintly, standing as Hank shuffled off to bed with a muttered, “Don’t stay up too late.”

Connor lingered in the quiet living room for a while before heading to his room. As he lay on his bed, preparing to shut down for the night, his mind returned to the animation about shooting stars. He thought about the fleeting light, the way it traveled through the vast emptiness of space, leaving behind a trail of brilliance before fading.

The imagery felt… hopeful. Like maybe even small things could carry weight, and significance, in ways that weren’t immediately obvious.

Maybe it was just a story, but Connor found himself replaying the animation as his systems dimmed, letting the thought accompany him into the quiet of charge-sleep.
____________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, Connor awoke to a quiet hum of his systems booting up, his HUD displaying reassuring diagnostics: his stress levels had dropped significantly overnight.

Stress Level: ^30%

For a brief moment, he allowed himself to appreciate the clarity, the absence of the tension that had weighed on him for the past few days. It wasn’t gone entirely, but it was manageable—a quiet background hum rather than an oppressive force. He dressed with practiced efficiency, smoothing out his shirt and jacket before stepping into the kitchen to join Hank, who was already nursing a cup of coffee and flipping through a newspaper.

“Morning, kid,” Hank grumbled without looking up, though his tone was softer than usual. Connor nodded, noting the familiar routine with a small flicker of appreciation.

After a quick breakfast, they headed to work, the drive filled with the occasional snippet of conversation and the gentle sound of Sumo softly snoring in the backseat. By the time they arrived at the station, Connor felt composed.

At his desk, Connor logged in and quickly accessed a document he’d been working on for some time—a draft outlining how police procedures should differ when dealing with detained androids. It was a topic he had been considering for weeks, one he knew was overdue for proper attention. The document outlined specifics: how androids in custody required different protocols, the need for regular Thirium access, the necessity of recognizing nonverbal cues in android behavior and ensuring legal protections equal to their human counterparts.

He skimmed through the document one last time, his sharp eyes catching a few areas where he felt improvements could be made. Pausing briefly, he marked the sections with concise notes: adjustments to phrasing, expansions on legal precedents, and practical examples to ensure clarity for officers unfamiliar with android physiology and needs.

Satisfied with the final draft, he added a short summary, explaining the importance of these changes in light of recent incidents and the growing presence of Android officers in the force. The tone was professional but firm, emphasizing the need for immediate action. With a final review, Connor sent the document off, addressing it to Captain Fowler, the Chief of Police, and Markus, who had been involved in several advocacy efforts for android rights within law enforcement.

After the email was sent, Connor leaned back in his chair, his hands folding neatly in his lap as he allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. It wasn’t monumental, but it was progress—a step toward ensuring that androids were treated fairly within the justice system.

Hank strolled by, a cup of coffee in hand, glancing at Connor. “What’re you workin’ on? Another manifesto?” he asked, his tone teasing.

“Police procedures for detained androids,” Connor replied evenly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s important.”

Hank grunted, taking a sip of his coffee. “Well, make sure you don’t scare the Chief too much. She’s still getting used to all this android rights stuff.”

Connor’s smile grew slightly. “I’ll try to be mindful.”

Hank chuckled as he walked away, muttering something about “damn overachievers,” but Connor could hear the faint note of approval in his tone. Settling back into his chair, Connor felt a quiet sense of accomplishment.

Connor had been engrossed in a series of case files for the better part of the morning, his focus sharp and unyielding as he organized reports and prepared updates for their most recent investigations. He barely noticed the passing of time until Hank strolled over, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, and leaned casually against Connor’s desk.

“Hey, kid,” Hank said, his voice gruff but tinged with amusement. “Take a break.”

Connor glanced up, tilting his head slightly. “I’m not due for another break for thirty-two minutes.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure your fancy internal clock has it down to the second, but come on, Connor. Go stretch your legs or something. Try taking a walk this time instead of just sitting around like a statue. It won’t kill you.”

For a brief moment, Connor felt the unfamiliar and surprising urge to roll his eyes, a habit he’d noticed in Hank but never thought he’d emulate. He suppressed it, instead offering a small nod.

“You’re better at taking breaks than I am,” he admitted. “Logically, I should consider your suggestion.”

Hank smirked, shaking his head. “Damn right, you should. Now get outta here before I make it an order.”

Connor stood, smoothing his jacket before making his way toward the station exit. Outside, the cool midday air greeted him, carrying the faint scent of car exhaust and fresh coffee from a nearby vendor. He walked at a steady pace, letting the rhythmic sound of his footsteps and the ambient city noise provide a temporary reprieve from his usual focus.

As he rounded a corner, his HUD blinked with an incoming message. A notification from Markus appeared, and Connor opened it immediately.

The first part of the message was a short but warm acknowledgment:

“Connor, I just read your suggested changes to the document. Thank you. Your insights are always thoughtful and precise, and they’ll make a real difference. I appreciate your help.”

Connor paused on the sidewalk, reading the words twice. He felt a faint warmth settle in his chest—an emotion he hadn’t entirely named yet but had begun to associate with Markus’s steady presence. Markus had a way of making Connor feel… seen, not just as a useful resource but as someone who mattered.

The second part of Markus’s message contained a series of attached photos. Each one showcased a different plant: a vibrant orange flowering vine, a tall, delicate fern, and a small, compact succulent with pale green leaves tinged with pink.

“I’m considering adding one of these to my collection. What do you think? The vine seems lively, but the succulent has its own charm.”

Connor stared at the images, taking a moment to study each one carefully. He found himself smiling faintly, the warmth in his chest growing stronger. Markus’s care for these small, living things was something Connor admired, even if he didn’t entirely understand it. It felt… peaceful.

He replied quickly:
“The flowering vine seems lively and bright, but the succulent feels resilient. I think either would be an excellent addition to your collection.” Connor considered sending an emoji and chose a small dancing plant meme based on an example Hank had sent him at one point.

As Connor continued his walk, he thought about the conversation and the easy connection he felt with Markus. It wasn’t something he’d ever anticipated—this sense of belonging—but he welcomed it. The warmth lingered as he finished his break, his steps lighter, the world around him feeling a little less overwhelming.

Connor soon returned to his desk after his allotted time for a break, the faint warmth from Markus’s message still lingered in his chest, a small buffer against the usual routine. He sat down and noticed a small stack of mail sitting at the edge of his desk. It wasn’t unusual—envelopes and notices were often left there for Hank, and Connor had taken on the habit of sorting through them.

He sifted through the pile methodically, separating out relevant documents for Hank and noting which ones might require his own attention. A bill, a notice from the precinct, a flyer for a local diner’s lunch special—all unremarkable. But when he reached the bottom of the pile, his fingers froze.

There it was again: another flyer for the RK800 android model. The glossy surface was nearly identical to the one he had found tucked into his book at home, but this time, something was different. Scrawled across the flyer in bold, blue ink were the words:

“You are meant to be a machine.”

Connor’s vision blurred for a moment, his systems glitching slightly as his stress levels spiked. His chest tightened, and an intense wave of paranoia swept over him. He quickly scanned the room, his gaze darting from one person to the next, searching for anyone who might have left the flyer. But the bustling station appeared normal—officers chatting, typing, moving between desks—no one even glanced in his direction.

A sudden warmth on his chin pulled his attention back. He reached up instinctively, his fingers coming away slick with blue. A rush of Thirium poured from his nose, the liquid dripping onto his hands and the edge of his desk. His HUD flashed an urgent warning, but Connor felt strangely disconnected, as though the world around him had blurred into static.

The flyer seemed to burn into his vision, the words scrawled on its surface repeating themselves in his mind:

You are meant to be a machine.

The phrase echoed louder than the hum of the station, louder than his own internal diagnostics.

He wiped at his nose mechanically, but his hands trembled as he tried to contain the flow. His thoughts spiraled, fragmented as his systems struggled to process the flood of stress and paranoia.

Who had left it?

How did they know?

The questions piled on top of each other, each one feeding the next.

His HUD pulsed red.

Stress Level: ^87%

The world around him felt distant, unreal, like he was observing it through a haze. His focus slipped between the flyer, the room, and the warnings flashing across his vision. The words on the paper, sharp and damning, seemed to press down on him, suffocating him in their weight.

Chapter Text

Connor moved swiftly to the restroom, his fingers trembling slightly as he pressed against his nose, trying to stem the steady trickle of Thirium. The harsh fluorescent lights reflected coldly off the tiled walls, their sterile glow amplifying the sense of unease that had been growing inside him. His systems continued to flash red warnings in his HUD, and his stress level climbed steadily higher.

Stress Level: ^89%

He leaned over the sink, gripping its edge as he tried to focus on his breathing. The metallic tang of Thirium filled the air as it dripped into the basin, swirling faintly before disappearing down the drain. Connor grabbed a paper towel, wiping at his face mechanically, but the act felt distant as if it was happening to someone else.

The messages—the words scrawled in bold blue ink—repeated in his mind like an echo: “You are meant to be a machine.”

His chest tightened further, and he felt his synthetic stomach lurch. His systems flagged a critical Thirium imbalance, and his body rebelled against the mounting stress.

He barely registered the warning before doubling over, his hands bracing against the sink as he vomited a thin stream of Thirium into the basin. The sound was loud and jarring in the quiet of the restroom, and the act itself was disorienting, pulling him momentarily out of his spiraling panic. His systems automatically began recalibrating, working to stabilize his internal levels even as his mind continued to race.

Connor straightened slightly, his vision swimming as he tried to reorient himself. The room felt warped, the edges of his perception blurring as though he were watching everything from a distance. He blinked slowly, his HUD flickering for a moment before stabilizing. For several seconds, he stood there, unmoving, his grip tightening on the sink.

He didn’t feel real. The thought settled in his mind with a strange, hollow weight, one that should have terrified him. But it didn’t—not in the way he expected. Instead, it felt… detached.

Stress Level: ^84%

The sensation wasn’t panic—it was numbness, a dissociation that left him suspended in the moment. He knew, logically, that this wasn’t normal. He knew he should feel something stronger, something urgent. But all he could manage was a muted acknowledgment: I don’t feel real.

It took several minutes for him to gather himself, to force his mind back into focus. He began cleaning the sink, wiping away the blue streaks of Thirium with mechanical precision. The act was grounding in its simplicity, giving him something tangible to concentrate on. He washed his hands afterward, watching the water swirl down the drain until it ran clear.

Finally, he straightened, taking in his reflection in the mirror. His pale complexion, faint traces of blue still under his nose, and the sharpness of his eyes staring back at him felt alien. That’s me, he thought.

The words felt hollow.

With a slow, measured breath, he turned off the faucet and smoothed his jacket. He had spent enough time here. He needed to move forward, to focus on the immediate, tangible tasks waiting for him.

Connor finally emerged from the restroom, his steps slow and deliberate as he made his way back to his desk. The station was still bustling, the ambient noise of phones ringing and conversations blending into a dull hum that barely registered. He sat down heavily, his gaze falling to the flyer still on his desk. The words seemed to glare at him, each one a sharp reminder of the disconnection he felt.

Without thinking too much about it, Connor opened an unused drawer at his desk and shoved the flyer inside. He closed the drawer firmly, as if shutting it away could somehow silence the intrusive thoughts. He lingered for a moment, staring at the closed drawer before forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

He pulled up a report on his terminal, the familiar layout of data and text normally something he found grounding. Today, it felt distant, mechanical, as though someone else was navigating the screen. He worked methodically, his hands moving with precision, but his thoughts felt sluggish, disconnected. His processing speed was slower than normal, his usual efficiency dulled by the weight of the day’s events.

Connor barely managed to finish another report when Hank’s voice cut through the haze. “Alright, that’s enough, kid. We’re callin’ it a day.”

Connor didn’t argue. Relief washed over him at Hank’s words, so potent that he didn’t even attempt his usual protests about finishing tasks. Instead, he nodded, closing out his work and standing up. Hank’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked Connor over, concern etched into his rough features.

“You look like shit,” Hank said bluntly, reaching out to roughly rub Connor’s shoulder. It was an awkward gesture, but the care behind it was unmistakable. “Go get your stuff. We’re heading home.”

Connor didn’t respond immediately, instead gathering his things and heading out to the car. As they settled in, Hank started the engine and immediately cranked up his favorite heavy metal playlist. The harsh, thundering guitar riffs filled the car, a stark contrast to the quiet in Connor’s mind. Normally, he might have commented on Hank’s music choice, today, he just let it wash over him, letting the noise drown out his thoughts.

Hank glanced at him once as they drove, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t say anything. The silence between them was oddly comfortable, accompanied by the pounding rhythm of the music. Connor leaned back in his seat, letting his systems quietly recalibrate as the city lights blurred past the window. For now, that was all he could do.

When they got home, Connor followed Hank inside, his movements sluggish and automatic. Sumo greeted them at the door with a wagging tail, but Connor only managed a faint glance in the dog’s direction before sinking onto the couch. He sat there, motionless, his hands resting limply on his lap as he stared ahead at nothing in particular.

Hank disappeared into the kitchen, muttering something about dinner. A moment later, he returned, balancing a tray with a TV dinner in one hand and a small packet of Thirium in the other. Without a word, he handed the Thirium packet to Connor, his gaze lingering for a moment before he settled into the seat next to him.

“Drink it,” Hank said gruffly, tearing open his own meal with a plastic fork. “And don’t give me any of that ‘I’m fine’ crap. You look like a stiff breeze would knock you over.”

Connor took the packet silently, his fingers trembling slightly as he opened it and began to drink. The familiar, faintly metallic taste was comforting in its own way, and he could feel his systems responding almost immediately, the quiet hum of recalibration settling over him.

Hank leaned forward to grab the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through channels until he landed on an old detective show. “Rockford Files,” he said, pointing at the screen with his fork. “Used to love this when I was younger. Figured you might like it. Or at least it’ll beat you staring at the blank TV.”

Connor focused on the screen, letting the sounds and images wash over him. The show was dated, with grainy visuals and sharp, witty dialogue, but it had a charm to it that Connor found oddly engaging. He let the story pull him in, his mind slowly untangling from the earlier stress as the familiar structure of the detective’s case unfolded.

Stress Level: ^78%… ^64%… ^60%

Hank continued eating, occasionally muttering commentary at the screen, but mostly letting the show do the talking. Connor’s Thirium levels finally stabilized, the warnings in his HUD fading away. By the time the third episode rolled around, he found himself leaning into Hank’s side without fully realizing it. The warmth of Hank’s presence, coupled with the steady rhythm of the show, helped Connor feel a little more real.

Hank didn’t say anything about it, just shifted slightly to make room, resting his arm on the back of the couch as if to shield Connor from the rest of the world. Sumo curled up at their feet, completing the quiet tableau.

Connor felt a small flicker of normalcy. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough for now.

____________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, Connor moved through the routine like clockwork, his actions precise but devoid of any real feeling. He rose from his bed promptly, smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt, and prepared for the day with the same mechanical efficiency that had once defined his entire existence. Despite the relative calm of the previous night, he still felt… disconnected, like a machine merely following its programming.

Sumo padded over to him as he tied his shoes, nudging Connor’s leg with his wet nose. Normally, Connor would have spoken to him, perhaps commenting on the weather or the route they would take for their walk, but today he remained silent. The dog didn’t seem to mind, his tail wagging as they stepped outside.

The walk was quiet, the damp morning air cool against Connor’s synthetic skin. He followed the usual path, guiding Sumo with precision but without thought, his gaze fixed ahead as if he were moving on autopilot. The occasional passerby nodded at him in greeting, but Connor barely registered them. Sumo, ever eager, sniffed at everything, his joy in the simple act of exploring a stark contrast to Connor’s muted state.

Back at the house, Connor prepared his Thirium as Hank moved about the kitchen, grumbling about something or other. Connor barely listened, responding with a quiet hum or a clipped word whenever Hank directed something at him. Even in the car, the usual banter between them was absent. Hank glanced at him once or twice, frowning, but didn’t press. He let the silence linger, perhaps sensing that Connor wasn’t ready to talk.

When they arrived at the precinct, Connor moved quickly to his desk. The familiar hum of the station greeted him, the steady rhythm of typing, conversations, and ringing phones creating a backdrop of normalcy. As he sat down and logged into his terminal, something shifted. The flood of tasks, reports, and data filled his screen, and finally, he felt… present.

His fingers moved deftly over the keyboard, his mind sharpening as he reviewed case files, updated reports, and compiled evidence. The work was a welcome buffer against the undercurrent of paranoia that had been haunting him. The more he focused on the tasks in front of him, the more he felt like himself.

He lost himself in the precision of it all, the methodical nature of his work a balm against the chaotic noise in his head that continued to rumble despite his trying to silence it. He reviewed a crime scene analysis, cross-referenced witness statements, and flagged inconsistencies with the efficiency he was built for. Each completed task brought a small measure of satisfaction, a reminder that he was still capable, still functional.

Even as the nagging feeling of being watched lingered at the edges of his awareness, he pushed it aside. Here, at his desk, with his work laid out before him, he could feel something close to normal. The paranoia was still there, but the clarity of his tasks gave him a momentary reprieve.

Connor was engrossed in his work, his hands moving efficiently over his keyboard, the steady rhythm of typing giving him some measure of peace. The screen in front of him was filled with reports and data, the constant influx of tasks providing a much-needed distraction. His focus was so intense that he didn’t hear Hank approach until a firm grip landed on his shoulders.

Connor startled, his systems briefly spiking as his HUD flashed a notification:

Stress Level: ^52%.

“Relax, kid,” Hank said, his voice gruff but warm as he gave Connor’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Connor glanced up at him, his posture easing slightly as he processed the unexpected gesture. “Lieutenant,” he said, his tone steady but faintly surprised. “Is something wrong?”

Hank smirked, pulling up a chair and dropping a stack of papers onto Connor’s desk. “Nah, just figured you might be getting bored, sitting here buried in paperwork all day.” He tapped the top of the stack. “Got these signed notes back from the Captain and Chief. They’re about the Android policy updates you’ve been working on. Thought maybe you’d want to deliver them to Markus in person.”

Connor blinked, his gaze shifting to the stack of documents. He hadn’t realized the notes were finalized so quickly.

“That’s a reasonable suggestion,” he said, his voice calm but touched with a faint trace of warmth. “Markus will likely appreciate receiving them directly.”

“Damn right he will,” Hank said, leaning back in his chair. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you stick around New Jericho for a bit? By the time you get there, the workday’ll be over anyway. You can hang out with Markus and whoever’s not busy on a Tuesday night. Have a real break for once.”

Connor tilted his head slightly, considering the suggestion. The thought of spending time with Markus and the others at New Jericho was unexpectedly comforting. It had been a while since he allowed himself to simply relax in their presence. He glanced back at Hank, noting the older man’s casual demeanor but also the faint look of concern in his eyes.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Connor said finally, his tone soft. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll head there now and return later tonight.”

Hank grunted, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t forget to eat something while you’re out. And don’t overthink it, alright? It’s supposed to be a break, not a mission.”

Connor allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips. “Understood.” He gathered the documents and stood, smoothing his jacket as he prepared to leave. As he turned toward the exit, Hank called after him.

“Hey, kid.” Connor paused, looking back. “Good work today.”

The words, simple as they were, carried a warmth that settled Connor’s nerves in a way he didn’t entirely understand. He nodded and left the station, the documents tucked securely under his arm. As he stepped into the brisk afternoon air, the thought of seeing Markus and the others made the tension in his chest ease just a little. He felt something close to anticipation.

Connor slid into the backseat of the autocab, the large yellow envelope resting on his lap. The door closed with a quiet hiss, and the vehicle hummed softly as it began its journey toward New Jericho. He stared out the window, watching the city blur past, his reflection faintly visible in the glass. His fingers tapped lightly on the envelope, an almost unconscious rhythm.

In the quiet of the ride, Connor’s thoughts began to loop again, the familiar spiral of doubt and fear creeping into his mind. He clenched his jaw briefly before taking a slow breath, forcing himself to focus on the rhythm of his tapping fingers.

I am alive.

I am a person.

I am not a machine.

He repeated the words quietly to himself, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the cab.

The repetition was steadying, like an anchor against the rising tide of unease. He glanced down at the envelope in his lap, a tangible reminder of his purpose, of the progress being made. The thought brought a faint sense of accomplishment, though it was still fragile.

His HUD pinged softly, notifying him of an incoming message. He opened it, seeing Markus’s name at the top.

Markus:

“Thank you for delivering the paperwork. I really appreciate it. If you have time, I hope you’ll stay for a while. North and Simon will be here tonight to go over some notes. I’m sure they’d like to visit with you, too.”

Connor reread the message, the warmth in Markus’s words sinking in. He found himself nodding slightly, even though Markus couldn’t see him. He typed a quick response:

Connor:

“I’ll plan to stay for a while. Thank you.”

For the rest of the ride, Connor felt something begin to shift. The familiar sense of disconnection lingered at the edges, but it wasn’t as consuming. Markus’s invitation, the thought of seeing North and Simon, and the simple act of delivering something meaningful all helped him feel more alive.

He still worried. The messages, the interference—there were too many unanswered questions. But for now, he decided to push it aside. He would deal with it when he had more evidence- when he could make sense of it. Worrying now, with so little to act on, served no purpose.

A faint warmth on his upper lip caught his attention. He raised his hand and swiped at his nose, his fingertips coming away tinged with blue. Another Thirium nosebleed, though smaller this time. He wiped it away quickly, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at his nose. His system flagged a low-level alert but recalibrated quickly, stabilizing his levels.

The cab slowed to a stop, the quiet chime of the automated voice announcing, “Destination reached.” Connor stepped out onto the pavement, the towering structure of New Jericho rising above him. The familiar sight brought a subtle sense of comfort, the hum of activity inside a welcome contrast to the sterile efficiency of the city.

He adjusted his grip on the envelope and stepped toward the entrance. Connor walked into the expansive lobby of New Jericho, the cool air welcoming as the doors slid shut behind him. The familiar hum of voices and quiet movement filled the space, punctuated by the soft sound of water cascading from the centerpiece fountain. He waved at the lobby secretary, an android named Karen, who smiled warmly in return. The security officers at the front desk nodded at him, one raising a hand in a casual greeting.

They were all used to his visits by now, his presence no longer something that caused a stir. The simple wave served as his sign-in, granting him authorized access to the building’s systems. As he approached the elevators, his HUD automatically registered his credentials, and the nearest car chimed softly, its doors sliding open.

Connor paused for a moment, his gaze wandering over the newly renovated lobby. The changes were striking, transforming the once-industrial space into something open, welcoming, and modern. Glass walls surrounded the perimeter, allowing natural light to filter in during the day. Now, under the evening lights, they reflected the soft glow of the tall, waterfall-style fountain that dominated the center of the room. The water tumbled gracefully down polished black stone, the sound gentle and constant, filling the space with a sense of calm.

He let his eyes linger on the fountain for a moment, noting the soothing effect it had on him.

Stress Level: ^55%… ^40%… ^38%

The tension in his chest eased slightly, and his grip on the yellow envelope loosened. Inside these walls, surrounded by the thoughtful design and the quiet hum of activity, Connor felt something close to safe.

He stepped into the elevator, the doors closing with a soft hiss. As it ascended, he took another deep breath, letting the faint sound of the fountain fade behind him. By the time the elevator stopped and the doors opened, he felt lighter, more focused. Whatever lay ahead, he felt ready to face it.

Connor stepped off the elevator and made his way down the familiar hallway to Markus’s quarters. The soft hum of conversation filtered through the air, accompanied by the occasional sound of footsteps echoing faintly against the polished floors. The door to Markus’s loft was slightly ajar, and before Connor could knock, it opened fully, revealing Simon’s smiling face.

“Connor,” Simon greeted warmly, his eyes lighting up as he stepped forward. Before Connor could respond, Simon reached out and gently pulled him into a hug.

The contact was unexpected but not unwelcome. Connor hesitated briefly, his body stiff as he adjusted to the embrace, but Simon’s warmth was steady and reassuring. Connor allowed himself to relax, tentatively returning the hug. Simon rocked them gently for a moment, a comforting rhythm that Connor found oddly comforting.

Stress Level: ^34%… ^30%

As Simon gave one last squeeze and let go, Connor felt a surprising sense of calm settle over him. “It’s good to see you,” Simon said, stepping back with a kind smile. “Markus and North are inside. They’ve been looking forward to your visit.”

“Thank you,” Connor replied, his voice softer than usual but steady. He stepped into the room, the familiar space of Markus’s loft immediately putting him further at ease. The open, sunlit area had a lived-in warmth, filled with plants of varying sizes and vibrant hues. Markus’s latest painting stood in progress on an easel near the window, its bold colors catching Connor’s eye briefly.

North was the first to approach, her stride confident and her smile genuine. “Connor,” she said, giving him a quick but friendly side hug, her arm slinging around his shoulder briefly before she pulled back. “It’s about time you showed up. We were starting to think you’d forgotten about us.”

Connor’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “I wouldn’t forget.”

Before he could say more, Markus appeared, his presence calm and grounding as always. “Connor,” Markus greeted, stepping forward and pulling him into a firm hug. His hand settled on the back of Connor’s neck, squeezing gently in a gesture that felt both supportive and reassuring.

“You’ve been busy,” Markus said quietly, pulling back just enough to meet Connor’s gaze. “Thank you for coming.”

The sincerity in Markus’s voice and the steady warmth of his presence made Connor feel lighter, his stress continuing to ebb away. Surrounded by their care and easy camaraderie, the weight of the day began to lift, leaving Connor feeling more present than he had in days. For the first time in a while, he allowed himself to relax, the comfort of their presence a balm against the tension that had been haunting him.

The group gathered around Markus’s workspace, the notes from Connor’s police chief and captain spread across the table. Connor carefully laid the large yellow envelope in the center, and Markus opened it with practiced ease, pulling out the documents and flipping through them.

The discussion was calm but productive, with each person contributing their thoughts. Connor explained the proposed changes to police procedures for android detainment, detailing the specific points he had highlighted. Markus nodded as he read, occasionally pausing to jot down a quick note or suggestion in the margins.

“I think these are solid,” Markus said, his tone thoughtful. “But we should consider adding a note about handling long-term detainment scenarios. Many officers still don’t understand how Thirium stability can be affected by stress over time.”

“Good point,” Simon chimed in, leaning over to glance at Markus’s notes. “I’d also suggest something about emotional responses. Officers need to understand that androids in custody might display behaviors they don’t expect—ones they’re not trained to interpret correctly.”

They worked through the documents with quiet focus, but after twenty or so minutes, North leaned back in her chair with an exaggerated sigh.

“Alright,” she said, standing abruptly. “Work hours are officially over.” She crossed the room to a small cabinet and pulled out a box with a playful grin. “Now, who’s ready for something ridiculous?”

From the box, she pulled out several brightly colored lollipops, each one glinting faintly in the light. They weren’t typical candy—they were labeled as “Therium candy,” a new creation designed to appeal to androids looking for a more “fun” way to stabilize their levels.

North passed them around, smirking as she handed one to Connor. “C’mon, you’ve got to try it. They’re completely ridiculous, but… strangely good.”

Connor turned the lollipop over in his hand, examining the vibrant blue color and the faintly metallic sheen of the surface. With a slight tilt of his head, he unwrapped it and placed it in his mouth. The taste was immediately sweet, almost overwhelmingly so, with a distinct undertone of Thirium’s metallic flavor.

As the group laughed and commented on the absurdity of “candy for androids,” Connor noted internally that while the lollipop’s sweetness registered as pleasant, it wasn’t particularly efficient. His systems flagged a minor increase in Thirium levels, but the rate of replenishment was far slower than what he’d achieve with a standard Thirium packet.

“Effective, perhaps, but inefficient,” Connor thought, rolling the lollipop slightly in his mouth as he observed the group.

North leaned against the table, her own lollipop in hand. “Honestly, I think they just made these for the novelty,” she said with a laugh. “They’re not really about practicality.”

“Well,” Simon said, smiling, “sometimes it’s okay to indulge in something just because it’s fun.”

Markus chuckled, raising his own lollipop in a mock toast. “To ridiculous inventions and time well spent.”

Connor found himself smiling faintly, the absurdity of the moment—and the warmth of the group’s camaraderie—easing the tension he hadn’t realized he was still carrying. While the lollipop wasn’t the most effective way to restore his Thirium, it was a reminder that not everything had to be about efficiency or necessity. Some things could just exist for enjoyment.

Connor leaned back slightly in his chair, the lollipop still in his mouth as he let the conversation flow around him. Markus and Simon sat on either side of him, their presence steady and reassuring. North stood nearby, animatedly recounting a story about an encounter she had with a particularly inept senator during an android rights discussion earlier that week.

“And then,” North said, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation, “he asked if androids needed to pay taxes! Like, in what universe does that make any sense? He couldn’t even keep his notes in order! I had to explain basic legislative processes to him before we could even start.” She paused dramatically before adding, “I swear, I aged 20 years in that meeting.”

Simon laughed softly, shaking his head. “You have the patience of a saint, North.”

“Patience?” Markus chuckled. “More like sheer willpower. I’ve seen North in those meetings—she’s the only one keeping half of them on track.”

Connor found himself smiling faintly as he listened. The warmth of their laughter, the way they interacted so naturally, filled the room with a sense of comfort. He let his gaze drift around the group, taking in the relaxed postures, the soft glow of the lighting, and the quiet joy that radiated from their shared camaraderie.

He let himself wonder if he had overreacted earlier. The fear, the paranoia—it had felt all-consuming at the time, but now, surrounded by his friends, it seemed smaller, less immediate. He glanced down at the lollipop in his hand, its absurdity was a gentle reminder that not everything needed to carry so much weight.

His HUD flickered briefly as he made an internal note:

New Additions to Likes List:

• North
• Simon
• Candy

The list felt oddly satisfying. It was a tangible marker of progress toward understanding himself. Connor shifted slightly, leaning back into his seat as the conversation continued around him. He felt warm, comfortable, and, for the first time in days, truly at ease.

____________________________________________________________________________

The ride home was quiet, the hum of the autocab providing a steady backdrop as Connor stared out the window. His mind drifted back to the warmth he felt at Jericho—the easy camaraderie of his friends, their laughter, and the ridiculous candy lollipops. The sense of connection stayed with him, wrapping around him like a soft blanket. He didn’t feel so alone even inside his own head.

When the cab pulled up to his house, Connor stepped out, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path as he walked up to the front door. The porch light cast a gentle glow over the small space, and as he approached, something caught his eye—a glint of silver against the wooden boards.

The coin from the other day. The one he’d left on the sidewalk.

Connor paused, his head tilting slightly as he considered the improbability of its new location. The wind might have blown it, or perhaps an animal had knocked it onto the porch. Maybe someone had found it and placed it there. Whatever the reason, its presence felt… intentional, though he knew that was illogical.

He crouched down, picking up the coin carefully, its cool surface glinting softly in the porch light. Connor turned the coin over in his fingers, its edges smooth and precise, the design still pristine. For a moment, he thought about the improbability of it being here, of its journey from the sidewalk to the porch. His processors idly ran through various scenarios, but none seemed entirely satisfactory.

Then his mind drifted to the animated segment from the documentary he’d watched with Hank—the story of falling stars and the wishes humans made on them. The idea had stayed with him, lingering in the back of his thoughts. Perhaps it wasn’t logical, but there was something undeniably… hopeful about the ritual.

Connor held the coin close, the metal cool against his palm. He let his synthetic eyes linger on its surface as he turned it over one last time. “A small wish,” he murmured softly, the words barely audible in the stillness of the evening.

He closed his hand around the coin and let the thought form fully in his mind:

I wish that I will feel secure as myself—as a person—and that I can help others feel the same way.

It was simple, but one that carried more weight than Connor could fully articulate. He rubbed his thumb over the coin’s surface, the small action grounding him. After a moment, he tucked the coin safely into his pocket, letting his fingers linger there briefly before releasing it.

A small smile crept onto his face, the kind that felt unfamiliar but welcome. He straightened himself and walked inside, the warmth of the house greeting him as he stepped through the door. As Connor locked the door behind him, his thoughts lingered on the faint hope the coin in his pocket represented.

The house was quiet when Connor stepped inside, the soft hum of the appliances and the faint creak of the floorboards the only sounds accompanying him. Sumo’s large form was curled up in his bed in the corner, rising and falling steadily with the rhythm of his breathing. Hank’s bedroom door was shut, the low murmur of a snore filtering through, signaling that he, too, had already retired for the night.

Connor placed his key in the bowl on the kitchen counter, the faint clink echoing in the stillness. It was a small routine Hank insisted on, a way to ensure he knew Connor had made it home safely if he got up before him. Quietly, Connor turned the lock on the deadbolt, hearing the soft click that brought a faint sense of security.

He moved through the house with practiced ease, checking the windows as he passed them. All were locked, just as he expected. Satisfied, he headed to his bedroom and began changing into his nightclothes, his movements quiet and efficient.

But then he felt it—a faint breeze against his synthetic skin. He froze, his hand stilling on his sleeve as his sensors confirmed the anomaly. Slowly, he turned toward the source, his eyes locking onto his bedroom window.

It was open. Just a crack.

Connor’s systems flared briefly, his HUD lighting up with warnings as his stress levels spiked.

Stress Level: ^68%… ^74%… ^80%.

He stepped closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate, as though any sudden movement might disturb the heavy silence in the room. On the windowsill, just barely illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlight outside, was another pamphlet. Its glossy surface was pristine, its familiar design unmistakable.

Connor’s chest tightened as he reached for it, his fingers brushing the edge of the paper. The words written in sharp, deliberate blue ink sent a chill through his systems:

“You failed the mission.”

The pamphlet trembled slightly in his hand, though whether it was from his own movements or the faint breeze, he couldn’t tell. His processors scrambled to make sense of the situation. The window had been locked earlier—he was certain of it. The implications settled heavily on him.

Someone had been here. Again.

The words on the pamphlet echoed in his mind, sharp and accusatory, slicing through his carefully constructed sense of stability. His grip on the pamphlet tightened as he tried to regulate his systems, forcing his stress levels down, but the creeping paranoia refused to relent.

Connor turned slowly, his gaze sweeping the room, searching for any further signs of intrusion. Nothing else seemed out of place. The faint breeze from the cracked window stirred the curtains slightly, the only movement in the otherwise still space.

He closed the window firmly and locked it, his hand lingering on the latch as he fought to steady his breathing. The pamphlet remained in his hand, its weight feeling heavier than it should.

As Connor stood there in the quiet of his room, the realization settled over him with an uncomfortable clarity: whoever was behind this wasn’t just trying to intimidate him—they were inside his life, his space, his mind.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, the pamphlet still clutched in his hand. His stress levels continued to spike, his HUD flashing warnings as he tried to make sense of the situation. For the first time in a long while, he felt deeply, undeniably vulnerable.

Connor’s systems flagged his rising stress levels as dizziness overtook him, his synthetic vision flickering briefly. His HUD flashed urgent notifications:

Stress Level: ^85%… ^87%… ^90%

Forcing himself to focus, Connor clutched the edge of his bed for a moment before standing. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, but he couldn’t afford to falter now. Whoever had left the pamphlet might still be in the house.

His priority was ensuring the safety of Hank and Sumo.

Moving with controlled urgency, Connor left his room, his steps silent as he crossed the hall to Hank’s bedroom door. He scanned the space as soon as he entered, his advanced vision sweeping every corner of the room. No signs of forced entry, no anomalies detected. He approached Hank’s bed, the older man snoring softly, oblivious to Connor’s presence. Running a quick but thorough scan, Connor confirmed that Hank was in good health, his vitals steady and strong.

“Hank is safe,” Connor whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. It was a small reassurance, but it did little to calm the storm brewing in his mind.

Next, he moved to the living room, where Sumo was curled up in his bed, his massive body rising and falling with each contented breath. Connor’s gaze darted around the room as his sensors worked overtime, searching for anything out of place. When he finished scanning the room, he turned his attention to Sumo, kneeling beside him. The dog’s scan results came back clear—Sumo was happy, relaxed, and safe.

Connor let out a quiet breath, but his relief was short-lived. The rest of the house still needed to be checked.

He moved quickly but methodically, sweeping each room with precision. The kitchen, the bathroom, the small storage closet—every space was cleared, his scans showing no evidence of intruders. Still, his stress refused to abate. The thought that someone had been there, that they had breached his safe space so easily, clung to him like a shadow.

When the final room was cleared, Connor returned to his bedroom, his movements slower now, weighed down by the cumulative toll of his fear and paranoia. He sat wearily on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. His systems continued to flash warnings, his stress levels climbing higher with each passing second:

Stress Level: ^92%… ^95%… ^98%

The thought of the pamphlet’s message echoed relentlessly in his mind: “You failed the mission.” The words felt like a knife twisting in his chest, sharp and inescapable.

His body suddenly lurched, and Connor barely had time to lean forward before a wave of Thirium surged up from his synthetic stomach. He vomited onto the floor, the blue liquid pooling in sharp contrast against the dark wood. His hands shook as he gripped the edge of the bed, his processors struggling to recalibrate. His vision flickered again, disorienting him further.

Connor sat there for several moments, his breathing uneven as he fought to regain control. The room felt unbearably silent, the weight of his paranoia pressing down on him like a vice. His body trembled as his systems worked to stabilize, but the fear, the vulnerability, the intrusion—they were harder to process.

Eventually, his internal diagnostics began to regulate his Thirium levels, though his stress remained dangerously high. Connor wiped at his mouth with a trembling hand, his eyes lingering on the mess on the floor. He didn’t move to clean it just yet. He couldn’t.

Instead, he sat there, hunched over and trembling, trying to convince himself that the house was clear, that Hank and Sumo were safe, that he was safe. But the words felt hollow, drowned out by the lingering echoes of his fear.

Connor sat hunched over on the edge of his bed, his hands trembling faintly as he gripped the edge. The blue glow of the Thirium pooled on the floor caught his eye, but he forced himself to look away, focusing instead on steadying his breathing. His internal diagnostics continued to flash alerts, but the mantra forming in his mind began to take shape.

“Hank is safe. Sumo is safe. No one is in the house,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but steady enough to cling to. He repeated the words slowly, deliberately, allowing them to settle in his mind like an anchor. “Hank is safe. Sumo is safe. No one is in the house.”

The repetition helped, even if only slightly. His HUD’s frantic red warnings began to dim, his stress levels dropping incrementally:

Stress Level: ^95%… ^90%… ^85%… ^75%.

The tension in his chest loosened just enough for him to take a deeper breath. He pushed himself to his feet, unsteady at first, but determined to move. The mess on the floor was still there, a vivid reminder of his earlier state. Grabbing a towel and cleaning supplies from his closet, he set to work, wiping up the Thirium with methodical precision. The familiar action of cleaning gave his hands something to do, his mind latching onto the task like a lifeline.

When the floor was spotless once more, Connor disposed of the towel and cleaning supplies, washing his hands and splashing water on his face before returning to his room. He sat back on the edge of his bed, his posture rigid but controlled, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

“Hank is safe. Sumo is safe. No one is in the house,” he repeated softly, the mantra becoming a steady rhythm in his mind. The darkness outside began to give way to the faint gray of dawn, but Connor remained seated, his gaze fixed on the far wall. The words became his focus, his way of grounding himself against the lingering paranoia that refused to fade entirely.

By the time morning arrived, Connor’s stress levels had stabilized further, his HUD now displaying Stress Level: ^55%. He hadn’t slept—hadn’t even considered attempting to—but the quiet hours spent repeating his mantra had given him a fragile sense of control.

As the first light of morning filtered through the window, Connor exhaled slowly. He wasn’t okay—not entirely—but he had made it through the night. That, for now, was enough.

The signs of morning stirring in the house was the soft, rhythmic sound of Sumo’s paws against the floorboards. Connor, still seated on the edge of his bed, glanced toward the open door just as Sumo’s large frame appeared. The dog padded over to him, his tail wagging lazily as he nudged Connor’s hand with his nose.

Connor blinked, his HUD pulling up Sumo’s vitals automatically. Status: Healthy. Content. Request: Outdoor Activity. The request brought a faint semblance of purpose to Connor’s still-frayed thoughts.

“You want to go outside,” Connor said softly, his voice a bit hoarse from the long, silent night. He stood, his joints stiff from sitting for so long, and followed Sumo to the front door. He grabbed the leash hanging by the door but hesitated when Sumo glanced back at him, his tail wagging expectantly. The dog’s familiar routine of sniffing around the small fenced yard usually didn’t require the leash.

Connor unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door, the cool morning air brushing against his face. He stepped outside after Sumo, closing the door behind them as the dog trotted out into the yard, his nose immediately to the ground. Connor watched as Sumo began his usual exploration, sniffing at the fence posts and pacing along the edge of the yard as though checking for any intrusions of his own.

The small ritual of stepping outside, breathing in the crisp morning air, and observing Sumo’s carefree movements helped Connor feel more grounded. The sharp edge of paranoia dulled slightly, and his HUD registered the shift:

Stress Level: ^55%… ^50%… ^48%.

Connor walked a few steps further into the yard, his gaze sweeping the quiet street beyond the fence. The neighborhood was still waking up, with the occasional sound of a car starting in the distance and the faint hum of morning birdsong. The familiar stillness of the scene helped ease some of the tension lingering in his chest.

Sumo paused to sniff at a patch of grass, then looked back at Connor with an expectant expression, his tail wagging. Connor felt the faintest flicker of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Everything checks out, doesn’t it?” Connor murmured, crouching slightly as Sumo ambled over to him. He rubbed the dog’s head gently, his synthetic hand smoothing over the thick fur. Sumo leaned into the touch, his body warm and solid against Connor’s knees.

The routine brought Connor a measure of calm. He repeated the mantra in his head—Hank is safe. Sumo is safe. The house is secure—and let it settle over him. His stress levels dipped slightly further as he stood and guided Sumo back inside.

By the time they returned to the living room, Connor felt steadier. The night’s events still loomed in his mind, but the simple act of caring for Sumo, of stepping into the quiet rhythm of the morning, helped remind him that not everything was chaos.

Connor moved quietly through the kitchen, his movements precise and measured as he prepared breakfast for Hank. The decision to focus on a task gave him a sense of purpose, a distraction from the lingering tension in his mind. He assembled a smoothie, layering fresh spinach, frozen berries, a banana, and a small scoop of protein powder into the blender. He waited until he heard the shower turn on before starting the machine, its loud hum filling the otherwise silent kitchen.

When the shower shut off a while later, Connor was already pouring the thick green smoothie into a large glass. He placed it on the counter just as Hank shuffled into the kitchen, his hair still damp and his usual morning scowl firmly in place. He spotted the smoothie immediately and rolled his eyes.

“Another one of your health experiments?” Hank grumbled, though he reached for the glass anyway. “What’d you put in this one? Kale? Grass? Motor oil?”

“Spinach and berries,” Connor replied evenly, watching as Hank hesitated before taking a cautious sip. “I calculated the nutritional value to ensure it meets your dietary needs. Good morning, Hank.”

Hank grunted but took another sip. “Morning,” he said around the rim of the glass. After a moment, he added, “Thanks for this, I guess.”

Connor gave a small nod, content that Hank had accepted the offering. Hank leaned against the counter, eyeing Connor with a mix of curiosity and expectation.

“So, how was your night with the Jericho crew?” Hank asked, his tone casual but warm. “What’re they up to these days? Still saving the world one overworked android at a time?”

Connor welcomed the reprieve from darker thoughts, his tone softening as he replied. “It was pleasant. New Jericho has undergone significant renovations. The building now has an expansive lobby with a fountain and glass walls to allow for more light.” His lips quirked slightly. “Markus continues to lead several initiatives, including police procedural updates. We finalized a few notes last night, and the captain and chief have already provided approval.”

Hank nodded, taking another sip of his smoothie. “Sounds like progress.” He gestured for Connor to continue. “What else? Any gossip? Someone arguing over a plant again?”

Connor hesitated, his mind briefly drifting back to the warm camaraderie of the group, the absurdity of the Therium candy. “North introduced us to a novelty product—a lollipop made from Therium. It was… unnecessary, but strangely amusing.”

Hank snorted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Leave it to North to make something serious into a joke. Sounds like a good time.”

Connor was about to respond when Hank’s gaze shifted, catching on the laundry basket in the corner. He frowned, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the faintly blue-stained rags sitting at the top. “What the hell’s that?” he asked, setting his smoothie down. “Is that—? Did you have another nosebleed? Or worse?”

Connor stiffened slightly, his stress levels ticking upward as he quickly calculated a response. He couldn’t tell Hank the truth—not without raising his worry. Instead, he opted for a half-truth.

“I tried the Therium candy North brought,” Connor said carefully, meeting Hank’s eyes. “It might have caused a mild reaction. I did throw up later, but my systems recalibrated quickly. I feel fine now.”

Hank’s brow furrowed, his skepticism clear. “You sure about that? You don’t look like someone who just had a bad lollipop.”

“I assure you, Lieutenant,” Connor said, his voice calm but firm, “I’m functioning optimally now.”

Hank didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright, but if you start looking worse, you tell me. Got it?”

“Understood,” Connor replied. He watched as Hank picked up his smoothie again, muttering something about “damn stubborn androids,” and took another sip.

Connor allowed himself a small moment of relief, thankful for Hank’s concern but glad the subject had been dropped for now. He returned to cleaning up the kitchen, focusing on the small, grounding actions of the morning routine. For the moment, the unpleasant thoughts could wait.

Hank leaned back against the counter, his eyes flicking between the blue-stained rags in the laundry basket and Connor, still skeptical but trying to keep the mood light. He took another sip of his smoothie and raised an eyebrow. “So you overdid it on that candy, kid. What’s next? Android cavities?”

Connor tried to laugh, but the sound came out stilted and awkward. He caught himself and quickly adjusted his expression, forcing a faint smile. “It’s unlikely, Lieutenant. The candy was primarily Therium, not sugar.”

Hank gave him a pointed look, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a smirk. “Well, if there’s an android version of Tums, let me know. I’ll swing by and pick some up for you. Not sure what you guys take for an upset stomach. A new circuit board? A quart of motor oil?”

That earned a genuine laugh from Connor, quiet but unforced this time. He glanced over at Hank, a faint warmth flickering in his chest. “Thank you, Hank. But I believe I’ll be fine. I’ll likely perform my maintenance earlier than usual this month, just to be cautious.”

Hank snorted, shaking his head as he polished off the last of his smoothie. “Yeah, well, you better. Don’t think I’d look good in one of those mechanic uniforms, fixing you up like a busted toaster.”

Connor’s faint smile lingered as they moved through the rest of their morning routine. He packed up his things while Hank grabbed his jacket and keys. The usual rhythm of getting ready for work was familiar and welcome distraction from the unease that still lingered in the back of Connor’s mind.

By the time they stepped out the door, the crisp morning air greeted them, and Connor found himself falling into step beside Hank with ease. The day ahead loomed, but for now, the quiet humor and steady companionship provided a much-needed reprieve.

The workday was well underway, the precinct bustling with activity as officers moved between desks, conversations overlapping with the rhythmic tapping of keyboards. Connor sat at his desk, his hands moving deftly as he sorted through reports, updating case files and cross-referencing data; his focus wavered. The events of the previous night still at the edges of his mind, and despite his best efforts, his stress levels remained elevated.

Stress Level: ^58%.

Connor reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin he had found on the porch. The smooth, cool surface of the quarter glinted faintly in the overhead light as he turned it between his fingers. The action was soothing, giving his hands something to do while his thoughts settled. The repetitive motion helped calm the restless energy coursing through him, his stress levels gradually decreasing as the familiar routine took hold.

Stress Level: ^52%… ^48%… ^45%.

As he worked, his HUD pinged softly, alerting him to incoming messages. He paused, glancing at the notifications and finding that they were from his friends at Jericho.

Markus:

“Connor, thank you again for delivering the paperwork last night. I’ve already heard from the Chief that they’re being reviewed for final implementation. Great work.”

North:

“Next time, bring some of those fancy coins with you. Simon says you’re great at coin tricks—I want to see.”

Simon:

“Hope today’s going well. Let us know if you need anything. You’re always welcome here.”

Connor felt a faint warmth spread through his chest as he read the messages. He responded quickly, hoping his tone was warm and genuine:

To Markus:

“I’m glad to hear that the updates are moving forward. Thank you for including me in the process.”

To North:

“I’ll consider it. Though I believe Simon exaggerates—my coin handling is efficient but not particularly impressive.”

To Simon:

“Thank you. The same applies to you. I’ll be in touch soon.”

The brief exchange left him feeling connected, a reminder that he wasn’t alone in his efforts or his struggles. He tucked the coin back into his pocket and returned to his work, his movements more steady. The messages and the simple act of fidgeting with the coin had done their job, grounding him enough to focus on the tasks at hand.

Maybe he should add those to the list?

During his scheduled break, Connor found a quiet corner in the precinct’s break room. He leaned against the wall, his arms folded loosely across his chest, and let his mind wander over the growing unease he’d been pushing aside. The messages—though not directly threatening—still nagged at him, their implications too troubling to ignore.

The words themselves weren’t far removed from the verbal abuse he sometimes received from members of the public, particularly those who had yet to accept android rights. Harsh words, cruel assumptions—he was no stranger to them. But these messages felt different. It wasn’t just the content but the way they were being delivered. That was what made them linger in his mind like a shadow.

He rubbed his temple briefly as his thoughts raced. Someone had access to his work mail. That was clear. It was conceivable that the flyer had been dropped off at the front desk under the guise of routine correspondence. He couldn’t fault his colleagues for not catching it—after all, it wasn’t an overt threat. Just another pamphlet. Another subtle jab at his identity. It was bothersome, but perhaps not enough to warrant immediate action beyond a note to himself to report it if it happened again.

The one left at his home, though—that was harder to dismiss.

Connor’s mind turned to his window, picturing its position facing the street. If left open, even slightly, it wouldn’t be difficult for someone to place the message there quickly and unnoticed. It was an unsettling violation, but it was preferable to the alternative—that someone had entered the house to plant it. Still, the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. No matter how logical the explanation, it didn’t ease the sense of unease that lingered in the wake of the messages.

He made a mental note to install better locks and upgrade the home security system. A small addition, like automated alerts to remind Hank or himself to close the windows after a few minutes, might mitigate some of the vulnerability. Simple measures, but they would offer a modicum of control in a situation that felt largely out of his hands.

His fingers twitched slightly as his thoughts circled back to the office flyer. He decided he would let this instance slide, but if it happened again, he would file a formal complaint. Whoever was responsible—be it a person or, somehow, CyberLife—was trying to rattle him. He refused to give them that satisfaction.

His HUD pinged softly, pulling him back to the present. Stress Level: ^72%… ^74%. The numbers rose steadily as he analyzed the situation, his mind running through possible scenarios and next steps. His synthetic chest felt tight, and his vision flickered faintly, the strain pushing him close to overload.

Connor closed his eyes briefly and focused on steadying his breathing. His systems flagged a notification: Thirium Levels Low. Replenishment Recommended.

He sighed and straightened, his decision made. Focus on the immediate task, he reminded himself. He would replenish his Thirium and push forward. There was work to be done, and he couldn’t afford to let his thoughts spiral further. He could—would take small steps toward regaining control.

Chapter Text

Connor kept his focus sharp throughout the rest of the day, pouring himself into his work and keeping his movements precise and deliberate. Still, no matter how hard he tried to compartmentalize, his stress levels remained uncomfortably high, fluctuating with every stray thought about the messages and his paranoia about who might be behind them.

By the time the precinct began to quiet down for the evening, Connor felt the familiar warmth of Thirium trickling down his upper lip. He instinctively wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, only to see the faint blue smear on his skin.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, tilting his head slightly upward to halt the flow. He quickly grabbed a tissue from his desk drawer and dabbed at his nose, but when he turned back, Hank was watching him from across the room.

“Connor,” Hank called, his voice low but pointed as he walked over. His eyes flicked to the tissue in Connor’s hand, his brow furrowing. “That’s the second time I’ve seen you bleeding today. And don’t tell me it’s ‘nothing.’”

Connor hesitated, his fingers tightening around the tissue. “It’s a minor system imbalance, Lieutenant. Nothing that requires immediate concern.”

Hank didn’t look convinced. He crossed his arms, his gaze steady and filled with concern. “Minor my ass. You’ve been off all day. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Before Connor could respond, Hank grabbed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder, motioning for Connor to follow. Reluctantly, Connor did, his movements slower than usual as he gathered his things.

In the car, Hank reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a Thirium bag, thrusting it into Connor’s hand without a word. Connor stared at it for a moment before quietly twisting the cap and drinking. The metallic taste coated his mouth, but his systems responded almost immediately, recalibrating his levels.

Hank started the car, the low rumble of the engine vibrating through the cabin. Without saying anything, he turned on his usual heavy metal playlist, the pounding guitar riffs filling the silence.

Connor sat quietly, holding the empty Thirium bag in his lap. He tried to focus on the music, letting the chaotic rhythm distract him, but his thoughts kept circling back to Hank.

He’s worried about me.

 I’m making him worry.

The realization tightened his chest, adding another layer to the stress he was already carrying.

He glanced sideways at Hank, who was gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. The older man’s eyes were fixed on the road, his jaw set in a way that suggested he was holding back whatever he really wanted to say.

Connor lowered his gaze to the Thirium bag in his hands, turning it over absently as he tried to steady himself. He wanted to reassure Hank, to tell him everything was fine, but the words felt hollow even in his own mind. Instead, he stayed quiet, letting the heavy metal fill the car as they made their way home.

When they got home, Connor quietly made his way to his bedroom, leaving Hank to grumble over dinner preparations in the kitchen. Connor was grateful Hank didn’t feel the need to integrate him yet but the hum of the house felt almost oppressive. Connor did his best to focuse on his next task: maintenance. It wasn’t an overly complex process, but it required precision—precision he wasn’t sure he could manage in his current state. Still, it had to be done.

He sat on the edge of his bed, carefully removing his shirt and folding it neatly before lying back against the mattress. His fingers found the seam of the access panel on his chest, and with practiced ease, he opened it. The faint whir of his systems became more prominent as the panel slid aside, revealing the inner workings beneath: his Thirium pump, a diagnostic port, and the delicate network of fluid lines.

Connor reached over to his side table, pulling out his maintenance kit. Inside, neatly organized, were the supplies he needed—Thirium vials, lubricant, cleaning cloths, and replacement oils. He set the kit beside him and began his routine, starting with a quick diagnostic scan through the port in his chest. His HUD flickered as the results came through:

Thirium Levels: 67% (Below Optimal)

Lubricant Viscosity: Congealed (Needs Replacement)

Hydraulic Oil: Low (Refill Recommended)

He exhaled softly and began working, attaching a small tube to his Thirium pump to refill what he’d already consumed on the drive home. His hands trembled slightly as he worked, his HUD occasionally flashing warnings about his motor function stability. The dizziness had returned, a dull haze settling over his vision as he moved on to cleaning the lubricant lines.

The congealed lubricant was thick, resistant to the cleaning tools he used to scrape it out. His movements grew clumsier, the dizziness worsening as his frustration mounted. He fumbled with the cleaning cloth, his hand slipping and smearing the congealed fluid onto his fingers. His HUD flickered red briefly, alerting him to the drop in his precision metrics.

“Damn it,” Connor muttered under his breath, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. He tried again, but his hand shook, making it nearly impossible to clean the line properly.

Pain radiated from the strained components in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, his other hand gripping the edge of the bed tightly. Frustration bubbled to the surface, hot and overwhelming, as he struggled against his own failing efficiency.

He paused, his chest heaving as he tried to suppress the rising tide of anger and despair. For a moment, he simply lay there, his eyes still closed, feeling the ache in his systems and the weight of his mounting failures pressing down on him.

The thought crossed his mind—I shouldn’t even need this. I shouldn’t feel this.—but it was quickly drowned out by the thrum of his Thirium pump struggling to maintain balance.

Connor let out a slow, shaky breath, his hands falling to his sides as he tried to find a sliver of calm amidst the pain and frustration. He needed to pause, to regroup, get a hold of himself. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pushing himself like this.

Connor lay there, his hand resting on the edge of his access panel as he tried to calm the frustration coursing through his systems. His HUD still flashed faint warnings, and the ache in his chest felt heavier with each passing second.

“Hey, Connor!” Hank’s voice called out from the kitchen, loud enough to carry through the house. “You good in there?”

Connor stiffened slightly, his fingers curling around the edge of his bed. He didn’t want to worry Hank any more than he already had, but he couldn’t quite mask the irritation in his voice when he replied, “I’m fine, Lieutenant.”

The sharpness in his tone must have carried, because a moment later, Hank’s footsteps approached. The door creaked open, and Connor turned his head slightly to see Hank leaning in, his brows furrowed in concern.

“You don’t sound fine,” Hank said, stepping inside and crossing his arms. “What’s going on?”

Connor hesitated, glancing at his open chest panel and the partially completed maintenance kit scattered on the side table. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said, forcing his voice to be even. “I’m just… recalibrating.”

Hank didn’t move, his sharp gaze taking in the scene before him. He walked over and sat down beside Connor on the edge of the bed, letting the silence stretch for a moment before speaking.

“Can I help?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically soft.

Connor opened his mouth to reply, his automatic response already forming—It’s fine, I’ll manage. But before he could say anything, Hank interrupted him, his voice firm but gentle.

“Connor, is it easier if I help?”

The question caught Connor off guard, his chest tightening slightly as he processed the offer. He turned his head slightly to look at Hank, who was watching him with an expression that was both patient and resolute.

Connor hesitated. “Don’t you still need to finish dinner?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Hank’s lips tugged into a small smile. “Dinner’s in the oven for the next 45 minutes. Now, where do I start, kid?”

Connor blinked, the words settling over him with unexpected warmth. He nodded slowly, sitting up just enough to better explain. “Alright,” he said softly, “let me show you.”

Hank leaned forward, his posture relaxed but focused, as Connor began walking him through the steps. He explained how to clean the congealed lubricant from the lines first, his voice steady despite the vulnerability he felt with his chest open like this. Hank didn’t rush or complain, instead asking for clarification when needed. His large, rough hands moved with surprising gentleness as he followed Connor’s instructions.

“Like this?” Hank asked, holding up a cleaning tool after wiping one of the lines.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Connor replied, watching Hank carefully. “Once the lines are clean, you’ll need to replace the hydraulic oil and Thirium levels. The containers are labeled.”

Hank nodded, handling the containers with care as Connor guided him through replacing the fluids. When it came time to use the small diagnostic tool, Hank furrowed his brow slightly, focusing intently as Connor explained how to check for errors.

“You’re like a damn car manual,” Hank muttered with a smirk as he finished the diagnostic. “But I think I got it.”

Connor allowed himself the faintest smile. “You’ve done well.”

Finally, Hank added lubricant to Connor’s Thirium pump and carefully helped him close the chest panel. The soft click of it locking into place marked the end of the process, and Connor lay back on the bed, letting his systems run a final calibration.

Hank leaned back and gave him a satisfied look. “Not bad for my first time, huh? You’re not gonna start leaking again, are you?”

Connor let out a quiet laugh, the tension in his chest easing for the first time in hours. “Unlikely. Thank you, Hank.”

Hank waved him off, standing up and brushing his hands on his pants. “Anytime, kid. Now don’t forget—I’m charging you for labor.”

Connor didn’t respond immediately, his thoughts briefly drifting as he lay there, feeling the faint warmth of his recalibrated systems and the lingering impression of Hank’s careful assistance. He wondered if this was what it felt like when a parent brushed a child’s hair—intimate, vulnerable, and quietly comforting.

As Hank left the room to check on dinner, Connor sat up slowly, his gaze soft as he reflected on the moment. It wasn’t just that Hank had helped; it was how he had done it—with patience, care, and a willingness to share in Connor’s vulnerability. For the first time in a while, Connor felt truly… cared for.

As Hank returned to Connor’s room after washing his hands, he leaned casually against the doorframe, his expression thoughtful. “So, kid,” he began, his tone light but probing, “you been doing this every week?”

Connor glanced up from where he was still seated on the edge of the bed, his chest panel securely closed. “No,” he said matter-of-factly. “I typically perform maintenance once a month.”

Hank frowned, crossing his arms. “Once a month? The vials in your kit are marked for weekly use, aren’t they? That’s a month’s supply, but if you’re stretching it that far, you’re barely using what you need.”

Connor tilted his head slightly, nodding in acknowledgment. “That’s correct. I’ve found that I can usually go a month without significant issues.”

He hesitated, then attempted a rare bit of humor. “And, truthfully, Lieutenant, it’s a pain in the ass.”

Hank huffed a short laugh, his frown softening into a small, fond smile. “You’re not wrong, but c’mon, Connor. You need to take better care of yourself. You’re not a ‘set it and forget it’ type of machine, you know?”

Connor nodded again, but something about Hank’s tone made him feel… off. Almost like he’d let Hank down. The realization settled uncomfortably in his chest.

Hank tilted his head toward the open maintenance kit. “What about the other androids you hang out with? Do they wait this long between maintenance?”

Connor shook his head slightly. “No. Most of them perform maintenance more regularly.”

“Then why aren’t you?” Hank asked, his tone equal parts concerned and curious.

Connor hesitated, glancing away for a moment. “It’s not that I disregard the importance,” he said carefully. “I’ve seen my friends assist each other with maintenance twice. They offered to help me before, but I declined. I’m… accustomed to doing it alone.”

Hank absorbed that in silence, his expression unreadable as he mulled over the information. After a moment, he spoke, his tone careful but firm. “Connor, if this is inappropriate or too much, just tell me to fuck off, okay?”

Connor blinked, startled by the statement. He looked up at Hank, waiting for him to continue.

Hank stepped forward, sitting down beside him again. “But would it help? Would it be easier if I did your maintenance with you? You know, it doesn’t need to be all the time, but when you need it?”

Connor froze, his gaze dropping to his hands as he turned the question over in his mind. His systems flagged a flicker of hesitation, though no errors appeared. He had been fine doing this alone—had convinced himself that independence was the logical path. But tonight, when Hank had helped, he’d felt something… different. The process had been smoother, yes, but also less daunting. There had been a comfort in the shared moment, in not being alone.

After a long pause, Connor looked up at Hank, his voice soft. “I’m not sure. But… I liked when you helped. It was nice.”

Hank’s smile returned, this time warm and unguarded. “Yeah,” he said, ruffling Connor’s hair gently, “it was.”

Connor blinked at the unexpected gesture but didn’t shy away. The motion was unfamiliar but oddly comforting.

The oven timer beeped from the kitchen, and Hank stood with a groan, stretching his back. “Alright, kid. If you want my help, you let me know, yeah? No overthinking it.”

Connor nodded, watching Hank head for the kitchen. As the older man reached the door, he turned back briefly. “And seriously, take care of yourself, Connor. That’s an order.”

“I’ll try,” Connor replied, his voice steady but touched with a faint trace of warmth.

Hank smirked, disappearing down the hall. Connor sat quietly for a moment, his fingers brushing over the closed panel on his chest. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

The week passed uneventfully, Connor and Hank settling into their usual rhythm of precinct life, with Connor’s recently submitted document on android processing procedures sparking discussions and early stages of adoption. The routine office work allowed Connor some much-needed stability, but it wasn’t long before the reprieve came to an end.

Late Friday morning, Captain Fowler called Hank and Connor into his office. The older man leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as he explained their new assignment.

“There’s been another explosion,” Fowler said, his voice heavy. “Small, but enough to disrupt operations. This time it was at an old CyberLife facility that’s been repurposed by New Jericho.”

Connor’s head tilted slightly, his LED flickering yellow as he processed the information. “New Jericho’s medical supply and repair part factory,” he stated. “It’s critical to maintaining android operations across several districts.”

“Exactly,” Fowler replied. “Which is why I would’ve left this to another unit, except… this isn’t an isolated incident. There’ve been three other similar accidents at facilities just like this one in the past two months. Each time, there’s been one common thread: at least one android has gone unaccounted for after the explosion.”

Hank frowned, crossing his arms. “Unaccounted for? You saying they’re missing?”

“Not just missing,” Fowler clarified. “Gone without a trace. No body, no signs of deactivation, nothing. Security footage always cuts out just before the explosion, so we’re left with limited information. This isn’t random. Someone’s targeting these factories—and androids.”

Connor’s LED spun rapidly, his mind already assembling the fragments of information. “The missing androids… have they been identified?”

Fowler nodded and pushed a folder across his desk. “All deviants. All working to support New Jericho’s efforts to maintain independence from outside suppliers. New Jericho has already flagged this as a potential threat to android autonomy, and they are cooperating fully. That’s where you two come in. I need you on this, especially since we’ve got another missing android from this morning’s explosion.”

Connor picked up the folder and quickly scanned its contents. The details of the explosion were similar to the previous incidents: minimal structural damage but enough to disrupt operations and create chaos. The missing android, identified as Zara-54, had been a technician specializing in diagnostics and repair.

“Any leads on who’s behind this?” Hank asked, his voice gruff.

“Nothing concrete,” Fowler admitted. “But the pattern suggests someone with inside knowledge of these facilities. You’ll be meeting with Markus and his team at the site. They’ve already started their own investigation, but they need your expertise.”

Hank sighed, standing up and pulling on his coat. “Alright, Cap. We’re on it.”

Connor followed, the folder still in his hand as they left the office. As they walked toward the precinct parking lot, Hank glanced over at him. “This sound like a typical CyberLife mess to you, or are we dealing with something else?”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow again as he considered the question. “The pattern suggests a deliberate effort to destabilize New Jericho’s infrastructure. It’s too targeted to be coincidental. Whether CyberLife is involved remains to be seen, but…”

“But you think someone’s got it out for Markus and his people,” Hank finished.

Connor nodded. “It’s a possibility. Whoever is responsible is attempting to disrupt android independence. The missing androids may be the key to understanding their motives.”

Hank grunted as they climbed into the car. “Well, let’s hope Markus has some answers. I don’t like where this is heading.”

Connor stared out the window as they drove, his thoughts swirling. The connection to CyberLife, the missing androids, the precision of the attacks—all of it felt unsettlingly familiar. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this case was tied to something larger, something personal.

- - -

The site was quiet when Connor and Hank arrived, the charred remains of the explosion still visible against the walls of the old CyberLife factory. Yellow caution tape flapped gently in the wind, marking off the damaged areas. The first responders had cleared out, but a handful of androids and humans lingered nearby, waiting to be interviewed. Deputies from the local precinct stood around, their postures tense but professional as they managed the scene.

Connor stepped out of the car and immediately scanned the site, his LED flickering yellow as his sensors picked up faint traces of explosives residue. He noted the pattern of the blast—a calculated detonation, designed to disrupt but not destroy. The structural integrity of the building remained largely intact, and there were no casualties reported, which spoke to the precision of the act. This wasn’t an accident.

As Connor moved methodically through the scene, Hank approached the group of deputies, his badge flashing as he introduced himself. He exchanged a few words, his voice gruff but measured, before motioning for a few of the witnesses to step forward.

Connor returned to Hank a few moments later, his mind already assembling a hypothesis. “The explosion was deliberate,” Connor said quietly, his tone matter-of-fact. “The placement of the charges ensured minimal structural damage and no harm to personnel—human or android.”

Hank nodded, crossing his arms. “So, it wasn’t about taking anyone out. Any ideas what they were trying to do?”

Connor glanced back at the building, his LED spinning as he processed the data. “It’s unlikely the primary objective was destruction. The disruption of operations appears to be the main goal. Whoever orchestrated this wanted to halt production without drawing excessive attention.”

Hank frowned. “So, someone’s trying to sabotage New Jericho’s supply chain. Is it just an organized hate crime?”

Before Connor could respond, one of the deputies approached, handing Hank a clipboard with notes. “Lieutenant Anderson,” the deputy said, nodding respectfully. “We’ve got statements from a few witnesses. Most of them say the explosion came out of nowhere—no unusual activity beforehand. But there’s one thing: an android, VB800 model named Mark, is unaccounted for.”

Hank’s expression darkened. “The missing android. Same as the other incidents.”

The deputy nodded. “Yeah. The workers here are worried about what this means for the factory’s future. They’ve already been under pressure with the increase in android-related crimes. Losing their friend and dealing with the damage has them on edge.”

Connor’s LED flickered as he processed the information. “VB800,” he murmured, recalling the model specifications. “A logistics android. Likely responsible for coordinating inventory and ensuring production efficiency.”

Hank sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So, we’ve got a missing android, an explosion that didn’t kill anyone, and a bunch of workers worried about their jobs. What’s your take?”

Connor glanced back at the factory, his mind racing through possibilities. “The pattern suggests a coordinated effort to destabilize New Jericho’s infrastructure. By targeting factories like this one, the saboteur is weakening their ability to maintain independence. The missing android may hold critical information—or they could be the target.”

Hank scowled, folding his arms as he glanced toward the witnesses. “Alright, let’s split up. You keep scanning the scene, see if you can find anything else. I’ll talk to these folks and see what else they know.”

Connor nodded and turned back toward the factory, his scanners active as he combed through the wreckage. Hank’s voice carried behind him as he started questioning the workers, but Connor’s focus remained on the scene.

There had to be more to this, he thought.

After finishing their sweep of the site, Connor and Hank regroup by the car. The information they’d gathered was limited but enough to start piecing together a broader picture of the incidents. Connor entered the final details of his report into his HUD before looking up at Hank.

“We should plan to visit the other two affected sites tomorrow,” Connor said. “Comparing the conditions and any remaining evidence may help establish a stronger connection between the incidents.”

Hank nodded, leaning against the car with a tired sigh. “Yeah, good idea. But first, let’s get that missing persons report out.”

Connor tapped a few commands into his interface, sending out an official missing persons report to the precinct and to New Jericho. Using the information Mark’s colleagues had provided, he included details about Mark’s model, appearance, and potential skills that could help locate him.

After the report was filed, Connor hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’d like to contact North. She coordinates with New Jericho’s social work team. They may be able to assist with the supply shortages caused by the explosion. Additionally, she might have insight into Mark’s disappearance—or the others.”

Hank straightened, his expression softening slightly. “Good call. Just… be careful, alright? If this is connected to what we’ve been dealing with, I don’t want you walking into something you’re not ready for.”

Connor tilted his head slightly, his LED flickering yellow. “I don’t believe this situation presents an immediate threat, Lieutenant.”

“Still,” Hank pressed, his tone gruff but edged with concern. “Let me know when you’re on your way home, alright? And I’ll send over whatever I can find on the other missing androids once I get back to the station.”

Connor nodded, his expression neutral but his tone warm. “Understood. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Hank gave him a small wave and got into the car, starting the engine. Connor watched as the vehicle pulled away before turning his attention back to his HUD. He quickly composed a message to North, detailing the situation and requesting a meeting to discuss the impact of the explosion and the missing androids.

As the message sent, Connor couldn’t help but feel the weight of the unfolding events pressing down on him. The pattern of sabotage, the deliberate targeting of critical facilities, the disappearances—it was all too calculated to be random.

Connor took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and began walking toward the nearby transit hub. He would wait for North’s response and proceed with caution. For now, he had a mission to focus on.

Connor settled into the backseat of the autocab, his hands resting neatly in his lap as the vehicle pulled away from the scene and began its journey to New Jericho. The quiet hum of the car and the blurred cityscape outside the window provided little distraction from the thoughts bubbling up in his mind.

His HUD displayed a steady increase in his stress levels:

Stress Level: ^45%… ^52%… ^60%.

He clenched his jaw slightly, frustrated by the familiar creeping sensation of paranoia. For days, he’d felt like he was finally regaining control—updating the house security system, having no new messages arrive, and focusing on work had all helped stabilize his anxiety. But now, the case stirred everything back up. The missing androids, the sabotage—it all felt too deliberate, too personal, and it was digging into his fragile sense of security.

What if this is all connected?

The thought hit him like a static shock, sharp and unwelcome. His LED flickered yellow as he stared out the window, the question lingering despite his attempts to suppress it. The notes, the case, RK… could they all be part of some larger plan?

His logic pushed back almost immediately. There’s no evidence. These incidents are isolated. The notes were personal, the case is industrial sabotage. They’re not connected.

But even as he reasoned through it, the doubt refused to dissipate entirely. His paranoia began to spiral in a different direction, focusing now on the implications of the case itself. What if the saboteur succeeded in severely damaging the supply lines? What if New Jericho’s operations were disrupted so much that androids were left without critical parts? Could it lead to android deaths, preventable losses that Connor might have been able to stop?

His hands clenched slightly in his lap as he tried to stop the cascade of “what-ifs” running through his mind. Speculation without evidence is counterproductive, he reminded himself firmly, though his stress levels continued to climb.

Stress Level: ^65%… ^70%.

Connor inhaled deeply, his systems adjusting his internal functions in an attempt to stabilize. He repeated a calming mantra in his mind: The case is progressing. I have leads. I have support. It wasn’t much, but it anchored him just a little bit.

By the time the autocab arrived at New Jericho, Connor had managed to bring his stress levels down slightly, though they still hovered higher than he would have liked. He stepped out of the vehicle, the sight of the renovated building helping to ground him further. The warm lights spilling out of the glass walls and the sound of faint activity inside reminded him that he wasn’t alone in this.

As he approached the entrance, he resolved to focus on the task at hand. The worrying could wait—right now, he had work to do.

As Connor neared the entrance to New Jericho, the sound of activity inside was faintly audible, muffled by the glass walls. The sight of the building, its glowing lights spilling warmth onto the darkened street, helped soothe the lingering tension in his chest. He took a steadying breath, his LED flickering briefly as he recalibrated his focus.

Just as he reached for the door, something in the nearby flower bed caught his eye—a glint of silver among the leaves and soil. He paused, tilting his head slightly as he stepped closer to inspect it. There, nestled amidst the vibrant greenery, was a shiny, newly minted quarter. The light from the building reflected off its pristine surface, making it gleam as if freshly pressed.

Connor stared at the coin for a long moment, his hand instinctively reaching into his pocket to grasp the quarter he had picked up days ago. The cool metal beneath his fingertips grounded him, its familiar texture and weight a small comfort.

Another one? he thought, his brow furrowing slightly. The coincidence was improbable but not impossible. He quickly dismissed the more paranoid thoughts attempting to rise, reminding himself to focus on the immediate task.

He left the quarter where it lay, choosing instead to take it as a quiet reminder of his purpose. His people—androids like him—were depending on New Jericho to survive. The sabotage, the missing androids, the disruptions to the supply lines—whatever this threat turned out to be, it was his responsibility to help stop it. He couldn’t afford to let fear or doubt cloud his actions now.

Clutching the coin in his pocket one last time, Connor straightened his posture, his chest rising slightly as he prepared himself. He stepped through the doors of New Jericho, the hum of activity and the faint sound of voices welcoming him inside. It was time to work, to uncover the truth behind these attacks, and to protect those who needed him most.

Connor moved through the bright, open lobby of New Jericho with ease, his pace steady as he headed west toward the social work offices. The hum of activity around him was familiar, a mix of androids and humans working together to rebuild and sustain their new world. The comforting buzz of it all helped anchor him as he made his way to North’s office.

Her workspace was tucked into a cozy corner, cramped but undeniably inviting. The small room was filled with practical files and tools of her trade, but what caught Connor’s attention were the novelty items scattered throughout. Metallic slime sat in a neat container at the edge of her desk, presumably for visitors to use while waiting. A miniature basketball hoop was attached to her trash can, and the pens in her holder were decorated with artificial flowers, each one detailed and vibrant—clearly a personal touch from Markus.

North looked up as Connor entered, her expression shifting into a warm smile. She stood quickly, crossing the room to meet him. Without hesitation, she reached out, grasping his elbows firmly in a gesture of greeting. With her other hand, she gently guided their heads together, their foreheads touching briefly in a gesture of trust and solidarity.

“Connor,” she said softly, her voice warm and steady. The brief physical connection brought a surprising comfort, and Connor felt his stress levels dip slightly as they separated and moved to sit down.

“North,” Connor replied, his voice calm but carrying a note of gratitude. He took the seat across from her desk as she settled back into hers.

North leaned forward, her elbows resting on her desk as she began speaking. “So, I’ve been hearing bits and pieces about the attacks. How bad is it? What are we looking at?”

Connor carefully outlined the details: the explosion at the factory, the three missing androids—including Mark—and the growing concern among workers about maintaining their ability to produce vital medical and repair supplies. North listened intently, her expression shifting between concern and determination. Connor handed over the missing persons reports, and she scanned through them, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Three missing androids, no human employees unaccounted for,” she said, looking up at Connor. “That doesn’t feel random. If this isn’t a hate crime, it’s a targeted attack on our ability to care for our people.”

Connor nodded. “The precision of the attacks supports that theory. The explosives were carefully placed to avoid casualties while maximizing disruption.”

North leaned back in her chair, her arms crossing over her chest as she considered this. “It’s calculated. They’re hitting us where it hurts, but not hard enough to cause a total collapse. Yet.”

“Yet?” Connor asked, tilting his head slightly.

She nodded grimly. “Thankfully, Markus and I set up diverse supply lines early on. We’ve got sources in the U.S. and Canada, so losing one or two factories won’t cripple us. But it’s still a blow. If they keep targeting us like this, it could put people in real danger eventually—especially the injured who rely on these parts.”

Connor absorbed this information, filing it away as North continued. “I’ll look into the missing persons reports,” she said, tapping the stack of papers he’d brought. “We’ve got shelters and safe houses across the region. I’ll check in with our coordinators to see if any of these androids have turned up there, scared or hurt. Sometimes they hide first and ask for help later.”

She leaned forward again, her voice firm. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything, Connor. We’re not going to let this spiral out of control.”

Connor met her gaze, the determination in her tone steadying him further. “Thank you, North. Your help is invaluable.”

North smiled faintly, reaching out to give his forearm a brief, reassuring squeeze. “That’s what we’re here for. Now go get some rest when you can. You look like you’ve been running on fumes.”

Connor stood, straightening his jacket. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“Good,” she replied. “And Connor—be careful. Whoever’s doing this isn’t playing games.”

He nodded once, leaving her office with a renewed sense of purpose. As he walked back through the building, his thoughts churned with the implications of the attacks, but North’s words and steady presence lingered with him, grounding him as he prepared for the next step in the investigation.

As Connor exited North’s office, his HUD pinged softly with an incoming message. He opened it, seeing Markus’s name at the top:

Markus:

“Hey, are you on your way? Everything okay?”

Connor stopped in his tracks, the realization hitting him abruptly. He had completely forgotten his plans to visit Markus that evening. The case had taken such priority in his mind that it had eclipsed everything else. His LED flickered yellow as he quickly composed a response.

Connor:

“Apologies, I got caught up with work. I’ve just wrapped up with North. I’ll be there shortly.”

After sending the message, Connor adjusted his jacket and turned toward the western wing of New Jericho. Markus’s quarters were on the other side of the building, not far from the main atrium, but the walk gave him a moment to collect himself.

The corridors were quiet at this hour, the usual hum of activity muted now that most of the day’s work had slowed. He passed a few androids and humans along the way, each nodding politely as he went. The walk through the familiar halls helped ease some of the tension in his chest, the faint sound of voices and footsteps a reminder of the community Markus had built here.

As he approached Markus’s quarters, Connor straightened his posture, allowing the weight of the day to settle into the back of his mind. The thought of spending time with Markus after such a tense day brought a faint sense of relief. While the investigation remained pressing, he knew Markus’s presence would offer him a moment of reprieve.

Connor opened the door to Markus’s quarters quietly, stepping inside and immediately noticing the air was filled with the faint scent of paint. Markus was standing near his easel, his attention wholly consumed by the large canvas before him. Vibrant strokes of color blended into a swirling composition, his brush moving with precision and instinct as he added the finishing touches. The intensity of his focus, the way his body moved fluidly with each stroke, was captivating.

Connor closed the door softly behind him and stood still, his gaze fixed on Markus’s work. He didn’t interrupt, instead allowing himself a moment to observe the passion and skill on display. There was something calming about the scene, the way Markus seemed entirely in tune with his craft. It was… inspiring, in a way Connor couldn’t yet fully articulate.

Eventually, Markus’s movements slowed, his brush pausing mid-stroke as he glanced up. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Connor standing there. With a self-deprecating laugh, he set the brush down and wiped his hands on a nearby cloth. “Connor,” Markus said, his tone warm but apologetic. “I didn’t even hear you come in. Sorry for the lack of a proper greeting.”

Connor shook his head slightly, his LED flickering softly as he replied, “There’s no need to apologize. I was happy to watch. Your focus and passion are… remarkable.”

Markus smiled, a faint touch of humility in his expression. “Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere. “It’s always been something that centers me. But what about you, Connor? Have you found something to dive into? A passion of your own?”

Connor hesitated, his LED spinning yellow for a moment as he considered the question. “I’ve made progress,” he admitted, his tone reluctant. “I’ve added new entries to my ‘likes’ list. But as for a passion… I still struggle to find one.”

Markus tilted his head slightly, studying Connor with a thoughtful expression. “Have you ever thought about painting?” he asked.

Connor straightened slightly, his LED blinking yellow again. “I’m… reluctant,” he said honestly. “I lack the skill. Anything I create would be objectively inferior to what you produce.”

Markus chuckled, shaking his head. “Connor, painting isn’t about skill—it’s about expression. And I think I have an idea. Will you trust me?”

Connor paused, processing the offer. Markus’s calm, steady presence filled the room, and Connor felt a faint warmth in his chest—a quiet reassurance that came from being seen and accepted. He nodded slowly, his voice soft but certain. “I trust you.”

Markus’s smile widened, and he gestured for Connor to join him at the easel. “Good. Let’s see what we can create together.”

Markus moved to the coffee table, gathering paints, brushes, and a couple of sketchbooks. He placed them neatly before sitting cross-legged on the floor. With a mischievous smile, he motioned for Connor to join him. “Alright, tonight, we’re not aiming for perfection—just effort and enjoyment.”

Connor sat down hesitantly, his LED flickering yellow. “Effort and enjoyment,” he echoed, tilting his head slightly. “That seems… counterintuitive if the results are suboptimal.”

Markus chuckled, picking up a jar of paint and unscrewing the lid. “That’s the point of finger painting,” he said, dipping two fingers into the vibrant red pigment. “Fingers are rarely the best tools for art, except in special circumstances. This isn’t about skill—it’s about letting go, messing around, and seeing what happens.”

Connor’s LED spun yellow again as he watched Markus smear the paint onto a blank page in broad, fluid strokes. He made a sweeping motion, then dabbed dots of yellow over the red, grinning as he worked. “See? No rules. Just color and motion.”

Connor blinked, then let out a rare, soft laugh. “That looks… chaotic.”

“Exactly,” Markus said with a playful glint in his eye, holding out a jar of blue paint to Connor. “Your turn.”

After a brief pause, Connor accepted the paint and cautiously dipped two fingers into the jar. The cool, viscous texture surprised him, but he quickly adjusted, moving to his own blank page. At first, he simply made streaks of color across the paper, watching how the hues blended and smudged. The lack of precision felt strange, but as he continued, he found a certain rhythm in the randomness.

Markus worked beside him, humming softly as he created his own piece. Connor glanced at his work and then, inspired by the spontaneity, began attempting something more structured. He added rounded shapes and soft curves to the smudges, the vague outline of a dog taking form. The result was… abstract, to say the least, but he continued refining it until the figure felt recognizable, at least to him.

Markus leaned over at one point, tilting his head as he studied Connor’s page. “Wait a second,” he said, a grin forming. “Is that Sumo?”

Connor looked up, blinking in surprise. “You can tell?”

“Of course!” Markus said, leaning back with a laugh. “Look at him—he’s right there. Big, loyal, and… uh, very colorful.”

Connor’s chest warmed with a flicker of pride. The fact that Markus had recognized his blurry rendition of Sumo made him feel unexpectedly accomplished. “Thank you,” he said, his tone softer than usual.

They spent the rest of the evening painting together, the room filled with quiet laughter and the occasional smear of paint across fingers and pages. By the time Connor cleaned his hands and prepared to leave, he felt a rare lightness in his chest.

As he stood by the door, Markus gave him an encouraging smile. “You did great tonight. Remember, art isn’t about perfection. It’s about finding joy in the process.”

Connor nodded. “I’ll remember. Thank you, Markus.”

“Anytime, Connor. And say hi to Sumo for me.”

Connor smiled faintly and left, stepping into the cool night air. As he walked home, his thoughts lingered on the messy, colorful pages he’d left behind—and for once, he felt more at ease.

- - -

The next morning, Connor and Hank arrived at the first crime scene, a modest engineering practice nestled on the outskirts of the city. The building was unassuming, but its interior buzzed with quiet ingenuity—rows of workstations, small 3D printers, and machines designed to craft custom items for androids, from repair parts to personalized aesthetic modifications.

The facility was eerily quiet now, the hum of activity replaced with the faint scent of scorched circuits. Connor stepped through the entrance, his LED flickering yellow as he scanned the room. The workers had cleared out, leaving only the faint echoes of their daily tasks behind. The centerpiece of the space was a large 3D printer, its surface scorched and lifeless.

Connor approached it, his HUD activating as he analyzed the scene. His sensors picked up faint traces of electrical discharge, concentrated around the machine’s core systems. The charge had been precise, frying the majority of its components while leaving the rest of the facility untouched.

He crouched beside the machine, running a deeper scan. His findings confirmed his initial assessment: the sabotage had been calculated, designed to disable the machine entirely without risking harm to anyone nearby. It would take weeks to repair, potentially longer to recalibrate to its original capacity.

Connor stood and turned to Hank, who was leaning against a nearby workbench, his arms crossed as he watched Connor work. “The machine was intentionally disabled,” Connor reported. “An electrical charge was sent directly into its core systems, effectively frying its critical components.”

Hank frowned, glancing at the scorched machine. “So, another hit that’s all about disruption, not destruction. No one hurt, just work crippled.”

Connor nodded. “Precisely. The precision of the attack mirrors the other incidents. Whoever is responsible is ensuring their actions target the infrastructure without endangering human or android lives.”

Hank let out a low whistle. “Gotta admit, that’s almost… considerate. In a really twisted way.”

Connor tilted his head slightly, his LED flickering yellow. “Perhaps. But the intent is clear: to destabilize operations critical to android support and independence. The choice to avoid casualties doesn’t diminish the damage caused.”

Hank sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, so we’ve got another piece of the puzzle. What’s next?”

Connor glanced back at the disabled machine, his processors working through the growing patterns of evidence. “We’ll should reinterview the staff to determine if anyone saw or heard anything unusual leading up to the incident. Additionally, we should check for any missing androids associated with this facility. The pattern of disappearance may provide further insights.”

Hank pushed off the workbench with a nod. “Alright, let’s get to it. The faster we figure this out, the better chance we have of stopping it before it gets worse.”

As Connor moved to gather additional data, his mind lingered on the precision of the sabotage. The calculated nature of the attacks felt unsettlingly familiar.

Hank and Connor sat in a modest break room with a few of the engineering practice’s workers, their faces lined with worry and fatigue. The conversations were subdued, punctuated by occasional glances toward the empty workstation where Liza, the missing android, had spent most of her time.

“She was one of the best managers we’ve ever had,” a middle-aged human technician said, his hands fidgeting with a coffee cup. “She wasn’t just efficient—she cared. She made sure every project got done right and that we weren’t overworked.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the table. “It’s not like her to disappear like this. She’d always let someone know if she wasn’t coming in.”

“Liza had a way of keeping things running smoothly,” added a younger android worker, their LED flickering softly. “She prioritized projects, fixed issues no one else could figure out. And she was kind… always asking how people were doing, even after hours.”

Another worker, a human in her late twenties, nodded. “Yeah. She used to be a nanny android before she came here. That warmth carried over, you know? People gravitated toward her. It’s hard to imagine her just leaving without a word.”

Connor’s LED spun yellow as he absorbed the information. Liza’s role as both a skilled manager and a compassionate presence made her absence all the more striking. It was clear she had been a central figure in the workplace, someone both android and human employees respected and relied on.

Hank leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. “And no one saw or heard anything unusual before the explosion? No visitors, no one hanging around where they shouldn’t be?”

The group exchanged uncertain looks before shaking their heads. “No,” the technician said. “It was business as usual. One minute everything was fine, the next… the explosion.”

Hank sighed and nodded, standing as Connor thanked the group for their time. The two left the break room and stepped back into the quiet hallway.

As they walked toward the exit, Hank glanced at Connor. “So, what do we have? Another missing android, and this one sounds like she was the glue holding this place together. Whoever’s doing this has a hell of a strategy—take out the facility’s operations and its heart.”

Connor nodded, his voice measured. “Liza’s absence not only impacts the workflow but also the morale of the workers. This mirrors the other cases: precise disruption without direct harm. The saboteur is targeting androids who play key roles in their communities.”

“Yeah, but why?” Hank muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Is this just to make New Jericho look bad? Or is it something worse?”

Connor hesitated for a moment. “The intent remains unclear. However, the focus on androids suggests a deliberate attempt to destabilize our independence.”

Hank grunted in agreement. “Alright, let’s keep moving. One more site to check. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something concrete.”

Connor nodded, his gaze briefly lingering on the quiet workspace before following Hank out to the car. The pattern was becoming clearer, but the motivations behind it remained elusive. With each piece of the puzzle, the sense of urgency grew—whoever was behind these attacks wasn’t just disrupting operations; they were targeting androids.

The final site was a stark contrast to the others. Once a CyberLife software development center, the building now housed a collaborative team of androids and former pro-android rights human developers. Together, they worked on advanced systems—firewalls, communication programs, and tools to strengthen android autonomy.

Connor and Hank were greeted by a mix of humans and androids, their expressions a blend of frustration and concern. It wasn’t long before the topic of Danny, one of the missing androids, came up.

“Danny was working on a new firewall system,” a human developer explained, her voice tight with worry. “It was revolutionary—something that could protect android systems from even the most advanced intrusions. We’d made great progress, but after the explosion, Danny didn’t come back. We haven’t heard from him since.”

“He’s one of the most brilliant developers we’ve got,” an android added, their LED flickering. “He’s also incredibly kind. He wouldn’t just leave us without saying anything.”

Connor nodded, noting the descriptions in his HUD. Danny’s role seemed pivotal, both in terms of the project and the team dynamic. His absence left a critical gap, just like the other missing androids.

After the interviews, Connor and Hank moved to the scene of the explosion. The main workstations were heavily damaged, the smell of scorched wires lingering in the air. Hank stayed near the perimeter, speaking with other workers, while Connor activated his scanners, meticulously combing the area.

As his sensors swept the room, Connor picked up a faint trace of Thirium. It was faint—almost as if someone had deliberately cleaned it up—but it led away from the main workspace and toward a dimly lit hallway. Connor followed the trail, his LED flickering yellow as he moved with quiet precision.

The trail ended at an unused closet. Connor scanned the door, finding no signs of forced entry, before cautiously opening it. Inside, the small space was empty except for faint Thirium residue on the walls. Activating his enhanced vision, Connor detected something unusual: a message written in invisible remnants of Thirium, glowing faintly under his sensors.

“Did you find me yet? You should soon. You were made to be perfect after all.”

Connor froze, his systems stuttering for a moment as his stress levels spiked.

Stress Level: ^65%… ^75%… ^82%.

The words echoed in his mind, their tone chillingly personal. His LED flickered red as his thoughts raced. The message was taunting, its intent impossible to ignore. Connor’s hands clenched at his sides, his mind working overtime to suppress the wave of paranoia threatening to overwhelm him.

Focus. This is part of the case, he reminded himself, though the words felt hollow. This is about the missing androids, not about me.

But no matter how hard he tried to compartmentalize, the words dug deeper, feeding the unease that had been building for weeks. The familiarity of the message gnawed at the edges of his composure, but he forced himself to take a breath, his internal systems working to regulate his stress levels.

Stress Level: ^78%.

He turned and stepped out of the closet, closing the door behind him as his HUD pinged softly with a reminder to replenish Thirium soon. His movements were measured as he walked back to Hank, who raised an eyebrow at Connor’s tightly controlled expression.

“Find something?” Hank asked, his tone cautious.

Connor hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “A faint trail of Thirium. It ended in an unused closet. The presence of Thirium suggests the missing android may have been there briefly, but… nothing conclusive.”

Hank grunted, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Alright. Let’s add it to the pile and figure out what’s going on here.”

Connor nodded, his LED flickering yellow as he followed Hank back to the car. He kept the details of the message to himself for now, his mind cycling through possibilities. It wasn’t the time to bring personal fears into the case—not yet. For now, he focused on the task at hand, pushing the paranoia to the back of his mind as best he could.

The drive back to the station was quiet, the soft patter of rain against the car windows blending with the steady rumble of the engine. Hank, ever the creature of habit, reached over to his dashboard and thumbed through his playlist. A moment later, heavy metal poured through the speakers, the pounding rhythms and raw guitar riffs filling the car.

Connor blinked, his LED flickering yellow for a moment before fading to blue. Though the music wasn’t something he would typically seek out, he found himself focusing on the rhythm. The familiar playlist—Hank’s chosen go-to for drives like this—helped ground him, providing a consistent backdrop that made the tense events of the day feel a little less pressing.

Stress Level: ^60%… ^55%.

He turned his head toward the passenger-side window, watching as rivulets of rain snaked their way down the glass. The movement was mesmerizing in its simplicity, the water carving unpredictable paths through the faint haze of condensation. He traced the lines in his mind, allowing the abstract patterns to pull his focus away from the swirling thoughts of Thirium trails, missing androids, and cryptic messages.

Hank glanced at Connor briefly, his hands steady on the wheel. The android was quiet, his posture slightly more relaxed than it had been earlier in the evening. Hank didn’t say anything—he figured Connor needed the space—but the heavy metal playlist had been intentional. It wasn’t often that Hank got to help Connor unwind, and if this was one way to do it, he wasn’t about to question it.

The rain intensified slightly, the rhythmic tapping on the roof and windshield joining the music in a strangely calming symphony. Connor allowed himself a moment to just exist, his internal systems regulating as he tuned into the soothing chaos of the weather and sound.

By the time they pulled into the station parking lot, Connor’s stress levels had dipped further.

Stress Level: ^50%.

Hank put the car in park and stretched, his knuckles cracking as he reached for the keys. “You alright, kid?” he asked, his voice casual but tinged with concern.

Connor turned to look at him, his LED steady. “I believe so. The music was… helpful. Thank you.”

Hank smirked, giving him a quick pat on the arm. “Told you heavy metal’s good for the soul.” He pushed open the car door, stepping into the rain. “C’mon. Let’s get inside before Fowler chews us out for being late.”

Connor followed, the faint warmth of the moment lingering as they headed into the precinct to continue their work.

- - -

Later that evening, Hank found Connor in one of the precinct’s quieter rooms, hunched over a workstation. His LED flickered yellow as he tapped into the records from the three incidents, reviewing the details for any overlooked connections. The strain was evident in the tightness of his posture, but he looked up when Hank entered.

“Hey, kid,” Hank said, his voice softer than usual. “You’ve been at this all night. Find anything?”

Connor hesitated for a moment before pulling out Hank’s tablet, which he had borrowed earlier to organize their findings. Without a word, he brought up the scan of the Thirium message he’d found in the closet at the software center. The words glowed faintly on the screen as Connor handed it to Hank.

“Did you find me yet? You should soon. You were made to be perfect after all.”

Hank’s brow furrowed as he read the message. His hand instinctively came up, resting on Connor’s shoulder in a grounding gesture. “You think this was left for someone specific?” Hank asked, his voice calm but steady.

Connor’s LED spun yellow, his gaze flicking briefly to the screen before returning to Hank. “It’s possible,” he said cautiously. “The phrasing suggests it was directed at someone. The reference to perfection is… specific.”

Hank studied him for a moment, his grip on Connor’s shoulder firm but reassuring. “Do you think it was meant for you?” he asked gently.

Connor hesitated, his systems processing the question even as his stress levels ticked upward. Stress Level: ^72%. He straightened slightly, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. “I can’t be certain. However… I am one of the most well-known android detectives, and I was marketed as the most advanced in my field.”

Hank’s frown deepened. “Yeah, but marketing fluff and sabotage don’t exactly go hand in hand. This feels… personal.”

Connor remained quiet, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the implications. He had considered the possibility—it was hard not to—but admitting as much to Hank felt dangerous. Hank worried enough about him already. Sharing too much might only add to that burden.

“I don’t have enough evidence to confirm who the message is intended for,” Connor said carefully. “It could be directed at me, but it could also be aimed at another android—or even at the broader android community.”

Hank didn’t look entirely convinced, but he gave Connor’s shoulder a brief squeeze before letting his hand drop. “Alright, kid. I’ll take your word for it, but if you start putting two and two together and it adds up to you, I need you to tell me. Got it?”

Connor nodded. “Understood.”

Hank let out a long breath and handed the tablet back. “Whoever’s behind this, they’re playing games. And I don’t like it. Let’s keep digging—we’ll figure it out.”

Connor nodded again, his grip on the tablet tightening slightly as Hank turned and left the room. Alone once more, he stared at the glowing message on the screen. The words felt heavy, echoing in his mind as his stress levels edged higher.

Stress Level: ^75%.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that the message was too perfect, too pointed to be a coincidence. But without concrete evidence, it was just another question in a growing list of uncertainties. For now, all he could do was keep searching for answers.

Connor and Hank settled into their desks. The steady hum of activity had wound down to just the faint tapping of keyboards and the occasional murmur of conversation from officers working the late shift. The soft overhead lighting illuminated the growing pile of case files spread across their desks.

Connor immediately got to work, his LED flickering yellow as he accessed the footage from each of the crime scenes. His synthetic eyes scanned the videos frame by frame, searching for anything that stood out—a figure, an anomaly, a clue that might tie the incidents together. The strain of focusing so intently began to build, his systems struggling to process the repetitive visual data alongside the mounting tension in his circuits.

Stress Level: ^78%.

As the minutes stretched into an hour, Connor felt a dull throb begin to radiate from the base of his skull, creeping toward his temples. His hands paused over the keyboard, his HUD flashing a notification: “Warning: System Overload. Recommended Recalibration.”

The throb intensified into a sharp pain—a migraine caused by the strain on his processors. He leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers to his temples in an attempt to ease the ache. Despite his efforts, the pain persisted, and as he moved to adjust his position, he caught the faint warmth of Thirium trickling from his nose.

Connor froze for a moment, his mind calculating the best course of action. Quickly, he wiped away the small nosebleed with the back of his hand, careful not to draw Hank’s attention. Glancing over, he noted that Hank was engrossed in his own work, muttering softly to himself as he flipped through the reports. Relieved, Connor turned back to his desk, his mind racing for a way to stabilize himself.

Stress Level: ^82%.

He scanned his desk for something to ground himself, something to break the cycle of pain and tension. That’s when his eyes landed on the quarter he had left on his desk earlier in the week. It sat neatly near the corner, but something was off—its orientation had changed. The coin was now flipped to heads, though he distinctly remembered leaving it on tails.

Connor tilted his head slightly, his LED flickering yellow. How had he missed that? He replayed the events in his mind, trying to pinpoint the moment it might have been flipped.

Had someone moved it while he was away?

Or had he simply been too preoccupied to notice?

The thought unsettled him slightly, but it also provided a small distraction.

He reached out and turned the coin over in his hand, running his fingers along its smooth edges. The familiar texture grounded him, and as he focused on the small object, the tightness in his chest began to ease.

Stress Level: ^75%.

Connor exhaled softly and placed the coin back on his desk, this time deliberately setting it on tails again. The simple act of control helped him regain a sense of calm, and though the migraine lingered, the distraction was enough to push the pain to the back of his mind.

“Find anything yet?” Hank’s voice broke through the quiet, drawing Connor’s attention.

Connor glanced at him, his LED steadying to blue. “Not yet. The footage is… thorough, but it requires time to analyze.”

Hank gave him a sympathetic look. “Don’t overdo it, alright? You’re looking a little pale. Take a break if you need to.”

Connor nodded, his voice calm. “I will. Thank you, Hank.”

He turned back to his screen, the pain dulling slightly as he prepared to dive back into the case. The flipped coin stayed in the corner of his vision, a quiet reminder of the small mysteries that seemed to be building around him.

Connor refocused on the footage, his eyes scanning each frame with relentless precision. The anomalies weren’t obvious at first—small distortions in the data, subtle flickers that didn’t align with the timestamps or environmental conditions. His LED flickered yellow as he flagged each irregularity, cataloging them for deeper analysis.

Satisfied that he’d isolated enough potential leads, Connor initiated a decryption program to analyze the anomalies further. The program would comb through the footage for hidden patterns, tampered segments, or any signs of external interference.

As the program began to run, his HUD displayed an estimated completion time: “24 hours remaining.”

Connor leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as the migraine pressed against his processors like a static hum. He blinked, his vision flickering faintly with each pulse of synthetic pain. His stress levels hadn’t risen significantly, but the persistent ache made it harder to focus.

Stress Level: ^75%.

Before he could return to his work, Hank’s voice cut through the stillness. “Alright, Connor, that’s enough for one day. Pack up your shit—we’re going home.”

Connor looked up, his LED spinning yellow as he hesitated. “Lieutenant, the decryption program—”

“—will still be running when you come back tomorrow,” Hank interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He stood, pulling on his coat and giving Connor a pointed look. “You’ve been staring at that screen for hours. You look like hell, and you’re not doing anyone any favors if you burn yourself out.”

Connor hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the screen. The program continued to process in the background, its quiet hum a reminder of the work still to be done. But Hank’s concern wasn’t unwarranted—his systems were already flagging the need for recalibration and Thirium replenishment.

“Understood,” Connor finally said, his voice calm but subdued. He began shutting down his workstation, ensuring the program would continue uninterrupted overnight.

Hank waited by the door, his hands in his pockets, watching Connor pack up. When the android finally joined him, Hank gave him a gruff pat on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. You’ll feel better after some rest.”

Connor didn’t respond immediately, but the thought of leaving the station and stepping into the cool night air was more appealing than he expected. Together, they walked toward the exit, the soft hum of the precinct fading behind them as they headed out into the evening.

At home, Hank wasted no time tossing a frozen dinner into the oven. He turned to Connor with his usual gruff tone, though there was an unmistakable edge of care beneath it. “Alright, kid. You’ve had a long day. Time for maintenance. You need any help tonight, or you got it?”

Connor hesitated, glancing at Hank. Despite the rough delivery, there was something about Hank’s offer that made him feel… safe. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why—it was more than Hank’s words. It was the way he stood there, solid and dependable, his concern evident even when he tried to mask it with sarcasm.

“Yes,” Connor finally said with a small nod. “I would appreciate your assistance.”

Hank waved a hand toward Connor’s room. “Go lay down and open up your chest panel. I’ll grab your kit.”

Connor followed the directive, settling onto his bed and carefully opening the access panel in his chest. The quiet whir of his systems filled the room as he waited for Hank to join him. When Hank entered, he rolled up his sleeves and sat down on the edge of the bed, maintenance kit in hand.

“Alright,” Hank grumbled, adjusting his glasses. “Let’s get this done.”

Connor watched for a moment, unsure where to place his hands now that Hank was taking the lead. He eventually let them rest by his sides, his fingers fidgeting slightly with the sheets. As Hank worked, carefully cleaning the Thirium lines and checking diagnostic ports, Connor felt himself slowly relax. The steady movements and focused expression on Hank’s face were oddly soothing.

After a while, Connor closed his eyes, letting himself settle. His systems flagged a notification: Stress Level: ^38%… ^35%… ^32%. It was the lowest his levels had been in days.

He opened his eyes again when Hank muttered, “Well, that’s not good.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow, but he stayed still, waiting for Hank to elaborate. When their eyes met, Hank turned the diagnostic screen toward him. “Your Thirium levels are lower than they should be. Again. What gives, Connor?”

Connor looked at the screen, his LED shifting briefly to red before stabilizing. “I’ve been preoccupied,” he admitted. “Some tasks required more focus than usual, and I may have neglected to replenish adequately.”

Hank sighed, setting the diagnostic tool aside. “You’re gonna drink at least two Thirium packs tonight. No arguments. You keep running yourself into the ground like this, you’re gonna need more than a couple of tune-ups.”

Connor blinked at Hank’s firm tone, feeling a mixture of warmth and guilt. “I promise to replenish tonight,” he said, his voice steady but soft. “I’ll make it a priority. I didn’t mean to cause you concern.”

Hank’s expression softened slightly, and he let out a short laugh. “You’re like a damn kid skipping meals. You think they make Thirium Pediasures for androids?” He smirked before reaching out and ruffling Connor’s hair. “Alright. Just don’t make this a habit, you hear me?”

Connor nodded, watching as Hank stood and gathered the maintenance tools. He paused in the doorway, glancing back. “Dinner’s almost ready. You good here for now?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. Thank you.”

Hank nodded, but his brow furrowed slightly as he left the room. Connor caught the lingering trace of worry in his expression, even as he disappeared down the hall. For a moment, Connor lay still, staring up at the ceiling. The warmth in his chest lingered, a quiet reassurance from Hank’s care. But there was also the faint tug of guilt at having caused him to worry.

I’ll try to do better, Connor thought to himself. For Hank’s sake, if not his own.

Chapter Text

The following day at the precinct, the station buzzed with its usual mid-morning energy. Connor had arrived early, reviewing the progress of the decryption program he’d started the night before. The program was still running, with only a few hours remaining. He noted the steady progress and decided to shift his focus while he waited.

Mail was dropped off at his desk during the morning rush. Connor glanced at the small pile of envelopes, his LED flickering briefly yellow. This time, however, he ignored it. The weight of the cryptic notes he’d received recently was enough to make him hesitant to engage with the innocuous stack, and he decided to leave it untouched for now.

Instead, Connor turned his attention to another avenue of investigation. Pulling up external surveillance feeds from cameras near the crime sites, he began manually reviewing footage from the time of each explosion. His goal was clear: locate any trace of the missing androids or potential suspects who might have been involved.

For the next several hours, Connor methodically combed through the footage. He spotted all of the missing androids—Mark, Liza, and Danny—arriving at their respective sites on the mornings of the incidents. He even identified several witnesses they had interviewed, captured on camera as they evacuated after the explosions. But as he worked, a growing frustration settled over him: there was no trace of any of the missing androids leaving the premises after the explosions.

His LED flickered yellow as he leaned back slightly, rubbing his temples. There were no unfamiliar faces showing up consistently across the sites either—nothing to suggest a pattern among the perpetrators. It was as if the missing androids had simply vanished after the explosions.

When he reached the end of the footage, a notification popped up on his HUD. Several files from the cameras near one of the sites were flagged as corrupted. While not entirely unusual in the aftermath of an explosion, the timing of the corruption raised questions. Connor frowned, narrowing his focus on the flagged files.

Activating a program to test for potential manipulation, Connor watched as the program began dissecting the corrupted segments, searching for signs of tampering. His HUD estimated the process would take about an hour to complete.

In the meantime, Connor turned his chair slightly, glancing at the untouched stack of mail on his desk. For a moment, his fingers twitched as if to reach for it, but he stopped himself. Instead, he focused on the faint hum of the program running, allowing the routine of work to ground him as he waited for the results.

His LED spun yellow as his mind worked through the possibilities. If the footage had been deliberately manipulated, it could explain why there was no record of the missing androids leaving.

The questionthat then remained was: who had the skill and motive to do so, and why? The thought lingered as he tried to push the frustration aside.

Connor sighed, leaning back in his chair as the frustration settled into his circuits. The corrupted footage was running through its analysis program, but waiting felt unproductive. His migraine from the day before had dulled, but the tension in his chest remained, his stress levels hovering at a steady but irritating level.

Stress Level: ^55%.

Connor decided he needed to step away, to get as far from his desk as possible for the duration of his mandatory break. Rising smoothly, he adjusted his jacket and turned toward Hank, who was hunched over his own desk. The older man was surrounded by papers, grumbling softly to himself as he worked to structure a timeline from the various witness statements they had collected.

“Lieutenant,” Connor said, his tone even but firm enough to grab Hank’s attention.

Hank glanced up, his brows lifting slightly. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“I’ve decided to take my break,” Connor explained. “Would you like me to grab lunch for you from the chicken sandwich truck down the street?”

Hank blinked, clearly caught off guard by the offer. “The chicken sandwich truck?” he repeated, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

“Yes,” Connor replied. “You’ve mentioned before that their food is satisfactory. I thought it might save you time and provide you with something you enjoy.”

Hank leaned back in his chair, eyeing Connor curiously before a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, hell, I didn’t expect you to turn into a food courier, but yeah, I’ll take you up on that. Get me the spicy one—and a Coke if they’ve got it.”

Connor nodded crisply. “Understood. I’ll return shortly.”

Hank watched as Connor turned to leave, a faint chuckle escaping him. “Look at you, doing your good deed for the day. Thanks, kid.”

Connor didn’t reply, his focus already shifting as he made his way out of the precinct. The crisp air outside was a welcome change from the stale atmosphere of the station. He let himself focus on the simple task ahead, hoping the brief walk and errand would clear his mind and lower his stress levels further.

As he walked down the street toward the food truck, Connor felt a faint sense of relief at the distance he was putting between himself and his desk. The corrupted footage, the mounting questions, the lingering paranoia—they could wait, at least for a few minutes. For now, he had something tangible and uncomplicated to focus on.

As Connor walked down the busy street, the cool breeze doing little to calm the storm in his mind, his thoughts drifted back to the small stack of mail sitting untouched on his desk. The possibility of another note among the envelopes gnawed at him, the idea burrowing deep and pulling at the edges of his carefully maintained composure.

His LED flickered yellow as the familiar tension crept up his spine. A wave of dizziness washed over him, forcing him to pause at the corner of the street. His HUD flagged a mild instability in his Thirium levels, and nausea quickly followed, leaving him momentarily unsteady.

Connor took a slow, calculated breath, running through his internal diagnostics as he tried to regain control.

Stress Level: ^68%

He frowned, pressing his fingers lightly against his temple. The dizziness was a reminder—a warning that he needed to prioritize his systems better. Hank’s voice from the night before echoed faintly in his memory: “You keep running yourself into the ground like this, you’re gonna need more than a couple of tune-ups.”

Connor’s chest tightened with a mix of guilt and determination. He couldn’t afford to let his anxiety and neglect spiral further, especially not when Hank had shown such care for his well-being.

I need to do better, he reminded himself, if only to ease Hank’s worry.

He made a mental note to stop by Hank’s car after delivering the food. There was a spare Thirium bag in the glove compartment—a precaution Hank had taken after the last time Connor had overexerted himself. Connor silently resolved to use it before returning to his desk.

Straightening his posture, he resumed his walk toward the chicken sandwich truck, forcing his thoughts back to the present. The faint hum of the city and the soft scent of grilled food from the nearby stalls helped as he approached the line.

Connor stood in line at the chicken sandwich truck, his hands clasped behind his back as the smell of grilled chicken wafted through the air. The line moved slowly, giving him time to let his mind wander despite his efforts to remain present. His thoughts lingered on the work waiting for him back at the station, the corrupted files, and the stack of mail he had purposefully left untouched.

As the cook called out an order and the line shifted forward, Connor’s gaze drifted downward. That’s when he saw it: a shiny, newly minted quarter lying just beside the truck’s wheel. It gleamed under the soft midday light, its pristine surface catching his attention immediately. The coin was face-up, showing heads.

Connor tilted his head slightly, his LED flickering yellow. He tapped the edge of the coin with the toe of his shoe, watching it shift slightly on the asphalt. For a moment, he simply stared at it, his synthetic mind cataloging its appearance and placement.

Another one, he thought, the pattern starting to feel strange. He bent down to inspect it more closely, his fingers hesitating just above its surface.

The thought crossed his mind that these coins could be significant—perhaps part of something larger. But another, quieter part of him entertained a different notion. What if they are lucky? It was an illogical thought, of course, born from human superstition, but it carried a strange comfort. The coins seemed to appear at moments when he was most unsettled, grounding him in their small, tangible way.

Connor scoffed softly at himself, shaking his head as he straightened. “Luck,” he murmured under his breath, a faint trace of amusement in his tone. It wasn’t a concept that fit neatly into his programming, but he resolved to be open to the idea—for now.

The cook called out his order, snapping Connor out of his thoughts. He stepped forward, taking the bag with a polite nod before glancing back at the coin one last time. With a small, almost imperceptible smile, he tucked it into his pocket alongside the first quarter and turned back toward the station. The hope, however small, felt like a gift—and for the moment, he chose to accept it.

Connor walked briskly back toward the precinct, the bag of warm food cradled in his hand. The damp streets shimmered faintly under the gray, cloud-filled sky, remnants of the rain still clinging to the air. He focused on the task at hand, delivering Hank’s lunch.

As he approached the precinct parking lot, his gaze fell on Hank’s car. Something caught his eye—a paper advertisement tucked under the windshield wiper. Connor’s steps slowed, his LED flickering yellow. None of the other cars in the lot had anything similar on their windshields. The knot of unease tightened in his chest.

He quickened his pace, his synthetic mind already racing through possibilities. By the time he reached the car, he was certain something was wrong. He set the food bag on the hood, carefully pulling the advertisement from under the wiper. It was another brochure—just like the ones he’d found before, highlighting the RK800 model. His model.

Turning the brochure over, Connor’s optics locked on the handwriting scrawled in blue ink on the back:

“I will fix you.”

The words burned into his mind, their chilling simplicity striking a nerve deep within him. His LED spun red as his systems registered a sharp spike in stress.

Stress Level: ^85%… ^90%… ^94%.

Connor’s gaze snapped up, scanning the parking lot frantically for any sign of the person responsible. His sensors extended, but there was no one suspicious nearby—just the usual flow of officers and visitors moving in and out of the station.

His vision blurred slightly as the panic set in, his internal diagnostics flashing warnings across his HUD. He stumbled back a step, clutching the brochure tightly as his chest heaved. The dizziness hit him like a wave, followed by a sickening churn in his core. He couldn’t suppress it this time.

Bending over, Connor retched violently onto the pavement, bright blue Thirium splattering onto the wet asphalt. His hands shook as he wiped his mouth, his systems still struggling to stabilize. His HUD screamed at him to replenish immediately, but he couldn’t focus—his thoughts were spiraling too quickly.

The words repeated in his mind: I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you. I will fix you. will fix you. I will fix you.I will fix you.

I will fix you.

Connor pressed a hand against his temple, forcing himself to steady his breathing. The sound of the precinct’s doors opening behind him snapped him out of his haze, and he quickly moved to straighten himself.

The last thing he wanted was for Hank to see him like this. Not now. Not when he was already starting to worry.

Connor leaned against Hank’s car for several long minutes, his systems working overtime to stabilize his stress levels and replenish his core functions. Stress Level: ^88%… ^78%… ^70%. When the dizziness finally subsided enough for him to focus, he crouched down and grabbed the brochure where it had fallen onto the wet pavement. The sight of the words still burned in his mind, but he forced himself to fold it neatly and shove it deep into the glove compartment, burying it beneath a pile of papers and spare tools. Out of sight, out of mind—for now.

Exhaling slowly, Connor exchanged the brochure for two Thirium bags, clutching them tightly in his hand as he straightened and began walking back toward the precinct. His grip on the food bag tightened as well, the warmth a small anchor as he forced himself to focus on the present.

When he entered the precinct, the familiar hum of activity greeted him. Hank, still working at his desk, didn’t immediately look up. “About time you showed up,” Hank called, his tone teasing. “Thought you ran off with my sandwich. You’re not usually late—”

Hank turned as he spoke, his words trailing off mid-sentence when his eyes landed on Connor. His brows furrowed, and his expression shifted to one of alarm. “Jesus Christ, Connor,” he cursed quietly, standing up. “What the fuck happened?”

Connor, sensing the tension in Hank’s voice, quickly raised a hand in a placating gesture. “It’s nothing to worry about, Lieutenant,” he said, his tone calm but edged with self-deprecating humor. “I became dizzy again. I thought I could wait until the walk back to replenish my Thirium, but… I was wrong.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed, his concern evident despite Connor’s attempt to deflect. He gestured toward the Thirium bags in Connor’s hand. “You’re drinking both of those now, right? No arguing.”

Connor nodded, holding up the bags as if in surrender. “Of course. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Hank muttered something under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Dizzy, huh? And you just kept walking around like it was nothing?”

Connor shrugged slightly, his LED flickering faintly yellow. “I underestimated the effect it would have. I’ll try to avoid repeating that mistake.”

Hank huffed, crossing his arms. “You better. You’re not made of spare parts, Connor. And if you keel over, who the hell’s supposed to solve all these damn cases with me?”

Connor allowed himself a faint smile, the humor cutting through some of the tension. “I’ll endeavor to stay operational for your benefit, Lieutenant.”

Hank snorted and gestured for Connor to sit down. “Good. Now sit your ass down, drink your fancy android Gatorade, and give me my damn sandwich.”

Connor obeyed, handing over the food bag as he opened the first Thirium packet. He could still feel Hank’s eyes on him, the older man clearly still worried despite his gruff exterior. Connor focused on the steady flow of the Thirium as he drank, allowing his systems to replenish as the familiar taste washed over him.

As Hank unwrapped his sandwich, he grumbled, “You better keep this dizzy crap under control, kid. I’m too old to be worrying about you all the time.”

Connor glanced at him, his LED flickering blue. “Noted, Lieutenant.”

Despite the lighthearted exchange, Connor couldn’t fully shake the weight of the brochure or the message scrawled across its back. But for now, he focused on calming Hank’s concerns and regaining his own equilibrium, determined to push forward with the investigation.

Connor sat down at his desk, placing the half-empty Thirium pouch next to his keyboard. His eyes flicked briefly to the stack of mail sitting at the edge of the desk. Without a second thought, he swept it up and tossed it into the drawer, slamming it shut. He didn’t need any more surprises, not today.

Settling in, he focused on the program report that had finally finished processing the corrupted footage. As he sipped from the Thirium pouch, his LED flickered yellow, his attention locked on the data unfolding before him.

The program confirmed minimal tampering in the camera systems, but what it found was precise and deliberate. Someone had accessed the cameras remotely a day or two before each explosion. The manipulation included subtle adjustments to the camera angles and thorough deletion of a few seconds of footage—enough to obscure their identity and movement without drawing immediate suspicion.

Connor’s LED spun faster as he considered the implications. The intruder had likely repositioned the cameras to create blind spots for their escape routes, ensuring no one would catch them leaving the site. The timing, the precision—it all pointed to someone with expertise in both surveillance systems and the layout of the facilities.

“Hey, android juice pouch,” came Gavin’s voice as he strolled by. “What’s next, a little snack pack to go with it?”

Connor barely registered the comment, his focus too deeply entrenched in the report. He marked several timestamps and cross-referenced them with the site schematics, building a potential map of the intruder’s movements. His stress levels lowered slightly as he honed in on the logic of the sabotage, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to take shape.

Stress Level: ^58%.

Gavin snorted at Connor’s lack of reaction and moved on, muttering something under his breath about “no sense of humor.” Connor, undeterred, continued piecing together the fragments of evidence.

He leaned back slightly, his LED steadying to blue as he reviewed the data. This wasn’t sloppy work, he thought. Whoever did this knew exactly how to hide their tracks.

The next step would be to identify how they gained access to the camera systems. The sabotage was too precise to be random—it required inside knowledge, possibly someone familiar with both the facilities and New Jericho’s network. Connor’s fingers hovered over his keyboard as he prepared to dig deeper into the technical records.

For the first time that day, a faint sense of progress settled over him, but the question of who and why still loomed over him.

Connor’s focus on the footage analysis was interrupted by the soft ping of an incoming call. His LED flickered as he glanced at the screen, seeing North’s name flash across his HUD. He immediately accepted the call.

“North,” he greeted, his voice calm and steady. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“Connor!” North’s tone was warm but tinged with urgency. “I’ve got a lead on two of the missing androids. I thought you’d want to hear this right away.”

Connor leaned forward slightly, his LED shifting to blue. “Go ahead.”

“Mark—the logistics android from the first site—he fled to Canada,” North began. “I’m currently trying to contact him through the network. But I’ll be honest, it’s unlikely he’ll respond. He’s probably being careful, which makes sense, but if I do get through to him, I’ll pass along anything useful.”

“Understood,” Connor said, noting the information mentally. “Thank you for pursuing this.”

“I’ve had better luck with Danny,” North continued. “I got in touch with him directly. He’s worried about getting in trouble, though he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—explain why. He’s willing to meet at a safe house tomorrow or the next day, but after that, he said he’s likely going to move again to stay safe.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow at the mention of Danny’s worry. “Did he provide any details about the incidents or why he fled?”

“Not yet,” North admitted. “But I can set up the meeting if you’re willing to go. He’s skittish, so it might take some reassurance to get him to open up.”

Connor nodded. “Set it up. I’ll meet with him. It’s important we hear what he has to say before he disappears again.”

“Got it,” North replied. There was a pause before she added, “One more thing—I’m not sure if it’s worth mentioning, but Liza was seen briefly by someone who works at one of the shelters. They couldn’t tell me much, only that she seemed very scared but unharmed. I don’t know where she is now, though.”

Connor frowned slightly, his LED spinning as he processed the new information. “That’s still valuable to know. Thank you, North.”

“Of course,” North said, her tone softening. “I’ll let you know the details for the meeting with Danny once it’s arranged. And if I hear anything else from Mark or about Liza, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you,” Connor said again, his voice sincere. “Your help is invaluable.”

“Take care of yourself, Connor,” North said before the line disconnected.

Connor leaned back in his chair, letting the new information settle into the growing framework of the case. Mark’s flight to Canada and Danny’s willingness to meet were leads that could open new doors, but Liza’s fearful appearance tugged at him. Something about her situation didn’t sit right. He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on his breathing to lower his stress levels before turning back to his work. There was still much to piece together, but he was starting to feel the faintest flicker of progress.

Connor walked over to Hank’s desk, his Thirium pouch now empty and his systems feeling more stable. Hank glanced up as Connor approached, his expression softening slightly, though his concern lingered.

“You got something?” Hank asked, leaning back in his chair.

Connor nodded, standing at the edge of the desk. “I’ve analyzed the footage from all three sites, and the patterns are consistent. The intruder accessed the surveillance systems remotely, manipulating the angles and deleting key portions of the recordings. This created blind spots that obscured their identity and escape routes.”

Hank grunted, folding his arms. “So, someone who knows their way around security systems. That’s not your average troublemaker.”

“Correct,” Connor agreed. “It’s precise work, but the intruder made subtle mistakes. The movements captured on the manipulated footage, while incomplete, suggest a pattern of traversal through each site. They moved quickly, efficiently, and with a clear understanding of the layouts.”

“Military?” Hank guessed, his brow furrowing.

Connor hesitated for a moment before nodding slightly. “It’s a possibility. The level of precision and the methodical nature of the sabotage suggest training in covert operations.”

Hank rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “Alright, that’s something. What about the missing androids?”

Connor straightened. “North contacted me with updates. Mark fled to Canada and is currently unreachable, though she’s attempting to establish contact. Danny, however, is willing to meet at one of New Jericho’s safe houses, either tomorrow or the next day. He’s reluctant to explain why he fled and is worried about getting in trouble. I’ve asked North to arrange the meeting.”

Hank nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. “And Liza?”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow. “A shelter worker reported seeing her briefly. She appeared scared but unharmed. However, there’s no information on her current whereabouts.”

Hank let out a low whistle. “Hell of a mess. Three androids, all gone after these incidents, and no one seems to know why. Anything else from the footage?”

Before Connor could respond, his terminal chimed softly, indicating the results from the surveillance system report were ready. Connor quickly moved to his desk, pulling up the report as Hank followed.

As Connor read through the findings, he narrated for Hank. “The intruder’s manipulations at all three sites follow a similar pattern. They adjusted the camera angles to avoid being captured directly, but the leftover footage provides a partial suggestion of their movements.”

He paused, his LED spinning yellow. “The movements are precise and calculated—likely indicative of someone with training in covert operations. The subject entered and exited the sites with efficiency, avoiding unnecessary exposure. There are no obvious errors in their execution.”

Hank let out a low whistle. “So, they’re not just some amateur causing trouble. They’ve got skills, a plan, and probably a lot of practice.”

“Agreed,” Connor replied, his voice steady. “This isn’t random vandalism or hate crime. It’s targeted sabotage.”

Hank leaned against the edge of Connor’s desk, his expression grim. “So, where do you think we go from here?”

Connor turned his gaze to Hank, his mind already formulating the next steps. “We meet with Danny as soon as possible. His insights may provide the connection we’re missing. Additionally, I’ll continue cross-referencing the manipulated footage with external surveillance to identify potential entry points the intruder may have used.”

Hank nodded. “Alright, sounds like a plan. Let’s see if Danny’s got something we can work with. And, Connor?”

Connor tilted his head slightly, waiting.

“Don’t run yourself ragged over this. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Connor’s LED flickered blue as he gave a small nod. “Understood, Lieutenant.”

- - -

Later that night, Connor sat on the edge of his bed, staring out of his darkened bedroom window. The rain fell steadily, the sound a quiet rhythm against the glass, creating a pattern of streaks illuminated by the faint glow of streetlights outside. He kept the room unlit, knowing the darkness made it easier for him to see out without being seen in return.

His LED flickered yellow, but his focus wasn’t on the familiar hum of his internal systems. He didn’t feel entirely connected to his body. Instead, he felt like an amorphous ball of tension, his paranoia tightly coiled and tucked somewhere deep within him. It was as though he existed in fragments, floating between thought and awareness, disconnected from the structure he usually relied on.

His stress levels blurred in his HUD, the numbers indistinct, fluctuating in and out of focus. He dismissed the notification without reading it. Knowing the exact percentage felt unnecessary—it was too high, too persistent, and he was too exhausted to try and regulate it further.

The street outside was quiet, save for the occasional car passing by. The reflections of headlights danced on the wet pavement, their patterns distorted and fleeting. Connor’s gaze followed them absently, his thoughts running in tight, chaotic loops. He tried not to think about the messages, about the notes, about the case, but they pressed against him anyway, an invisible weight he couldn’t escape.

The rain became heavier, its rhythm louder against the windowpane. Connor leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on his knees as he tried to focus on the sound, to anchor himself in the physical world. But the effort felt hollow, his mind circling back to the questions he couldn’t answer.

Who is behind this?

Why me?

What am I not seeing?

His synthetic chest rose and fell in steady motions, but he wasn’t sure if he was actually calming down or just pretending to himself that he could. The disconnection lingered, a heavy haze that made him feel more like a machine than he had in a long time.

The LED on his temple flickered red briefly before returning to yellow. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the sound of the rain wash over him. He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring into the night, but he resolved to stay awake, just in case. It felt safer that way, even if the safety was an illusion.

Connor remained seated by the window, the sound of rain still tapping softly against the glass, when a quiet knock came from his doorframe. He turned his head slightly, catching sight of Hank leaning against the door, his gruff silhouette outlined by the dim hallway light.

“Hey, kid,” Hank said, his voice softer than usual. “You good? Thought I’d check in before I hit the sack.”

Connor straightened slightly, his LED flickering blue as he tried to focus. “I’m fine, Lieutenant. Just… observing the rain.”

Hank gave him a skeptical look, stepping into the room. “Yeah? Well, you don’t look fine. That maintenance earlier this week help at all, or you think you’ve caught some android version of the flu?”

Connor blinked at the unexpected humor, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the weight of his thoughts. He let out a quiet laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in the air. “If such a thing existed, I might consider the possibility. But no, I think the maintenance helped. I’ll just need to increase my Thirium intake to match my processing demands.”

Hank nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, good. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and I don’t want to have to scrape you off the floor again because you’re too stubborn to take care of yourself.”

Connor tilted his head slightly, his smile softening. “I’ll try to avoid causing you additional stress, Lieutenant.”

Hank huffed, but there was a faint smile on his face as he turned to leave. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t stay up too late staring at the rain like some kind of brooding detective in an old noir movie. Get some rest, alright?”

“Understood,” Connor replied.

As Hank left, Connor felt a flicker of warmth in his chest. Despite the lingering paranoia and unease gnawing at him, Hank’s brief check-in had pulled him out of his spiral. He turned back to the window, watching as the rain continued to fall, his thoughts a little quieter than before. For now, he was satisfied he had eased Hank’s worries. That felt like a small victory.

Connor sat on the edge of his bed, the darkened room quiet except for the soft rhythm of the rain outside. His HUD pinged with an incoming message, breaking the silence. Glancing at his interface, he saw Markus’s name and opened it.

Markus:

“Hey, Connor. I was thinking about that painting you started last time you were here—it’s still sitting on my coffee table. You ever want to finish it, or should I frame it as abstract art? Anyway, how are things? You’ve been pretty quiet lately.”

Connor felt a faint smile tug at the corners of his lips as he thought back to the messy, colorful finger painting session at Markus’s loft. The blurry depiction of Sumo might not have been a masterpiece by anyone’s standards, but the memory of creating it brought a rare warmth to his chest.

He tapped out a response.

Connor:

“Just been working on a difficult case. I think I’ll leave the painting as is, I like how it turned out.”

The reply was quick—Connor barely had time to glance back out at the rain before another notification pinged in his HUD.

Markus:

“Another one for your list? I’ll have it ready for when I see you tomorrow.”

Attached to the message was a short gif of two cartoon characters hugging tightly, their faces bright and exaggerated. It was playful, simple, and absurdly endearing. Connor’s smile widened just slightly, and for a moment, he forgot about the tension that had been gnawing at him all night.

The mention of the list—his growing collection of “likes”—brought a quiet sense of progress, however small. He resolved to add Markus’s kindness to it later, alongside Sumo and the painting. For now, he tucked his comm away and sat back against the wall, letting the sound of the rain and the echo of Markus’s message settle his thoughts.

Connor sat back on his bed, the rain still streaking the window as his HUD pinged again. He glanced at the notification and opened the message. This time, it was from Simon.

Simon:

“Hey, Connor. I was thinking about you today. You’ve been so busy lately, and I wanted to check in. Are you holding up okay? I know it’s not always easy to talk about, but if you ever need to share anything—or if you just need some company—I’d be happy to listen.”

Connor stared at the words for a long moment, the room feeling suddenly quieter around him. Simon’s tone was gentle, the offer sincere, and yet it left Connor frozen. His LED flickered yellow as he read the message again, then again. The logical part of him recognized Simon’s kindness for what it was—a genuine attempt to support him. But another part, deeper and less defined, filled him with fear.

Why am I afraid? he thought, his synthetic mind circling around the question like a labyrinth. When he examined it logically, there was no reason for this reaction. Simon was trustworthy, patient, and understanding. And yet, Connor couldn’t shake the hesitation that clawed at him. The idea of opening up felt overwhelming, even to someone like Simon.

After a long pause, he finally tapped out a reply, his fingers moving slowly across the interface.

Connor:

“I don’t know how to talk about it yet. Thank you for being there.”

He sent the message before he could second-guess himself, watching as the small indicator on Simon’s chat showed he was processing. A minute later, Simon’s response came through:

Simon:

“Take care of yourself. When you’re ready, I’m here <3. In the meantime, should I send dog videos?”

Connor felt a faint laugh bubble up, unbidden but welcome. The warmth of Simon’s words cut through the fog of his thoughts, leaving a small but significant impression. He tapped a quick response:

Connor:

“Dog videos would be… appreciated.”

Simon replied with a simple thumbs-up emoji, followed moments later by the first video: a small golden retriever puppy trying to climb onto a couch and failing adorably. Connor’s faint smile returned, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly.

He set the messages aside and lay back on the bed, letting the room fall into darkness once more. Despite Simon’s warmth and Markus’s playful message earlier, the weight of the day still lingered. He found himself staring out the window again, the rain blurring the streetlights outside. The night stretched on, and though he tried to let Simon’s and Markus’s kindness soothe him, the gnawing thoughts of the case and his growing paranoia wouldn’t let him fully settle.

He stayed like that for hours, the faint glow of his LED the only light in the room as he wrestled with his thoughts.

In the quiet darkness of the early morning, Connor sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through the notifications on his HUD. Among them was a short video from Simon—clips of dogs hilariously stalking their owners, trying and failing to remain unseen. Despite his heavy thoughts, the video drew a small laugh out of him. He tapped out a quick response, sending a laughing emoji back to Simon.

His HUD pinged again with a notification from North. The time and place for the meeting with Danny had been confirmed. Connor noted the details and filed them away, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead.

- - -

It was early in the moring when Connor woke up from stasis and unable to return to sleep. He decided to make use of being up and was grabbing his keys and deciding to take Sumo for a walk just as the first hints of dawn began to break the horizon.

The air was crisp and still damp from the previous night’s rain as Connor opened the door. Sumo wagged his tail excitedly, nudging past him onto the porch. Connor stepped outside, the faint glow of the rising sun casting soft light across the neighborhood.

That’s when he saw it—a new brochure lying neatly on the porch. His LED flickered red instantly, his chest tightening as he stared at the paper. Bending down slowly, he picked it up, his synthetic fingers trembling slightly. On the back, written in the same familiar blue ink, were the words:

“I promise I will fix you, just give me time.”

Connor’s systems flagged a sharp spike in his stress levels.

Stress Level: ^72%… ^80%… ^87%.

He clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the paper before he strode to the trash can at the edge of the porch. With deliberate force, he shoved the brochure inside, slamming the lid down as if to contain the unsettling message along with it. His LED spun yellow, then red again as he struggled to regulate his breathing.

Whoever this is… he thought, his mind racing. They’re watching me. They are not stopping.

The weight of the realization pressed against him, and for a moment, the porch felt too exposed. He glanced around the street, scanning the shadows and empty spaces for anything out of place. But there was nothing—no sign of anyone lingering or watching.

Sumo barked softly, nudging Connor’s leg, and the gesture grounded him just enough to regain a sliver of composure. He looked down at the dog, his synthetic chest rising and falling as he forced himself to take measured breaths.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly, his voice steady but hollow.

As he led Sumo down the quiet street, the sunrise painted the world in warm hues, but the cold weight of the message stayed with him. His thoughts churned as he walked, the paranoia creeping back in despite his best efforts to push it away. The rising sun did little to warm him.

Connor moved through the neighborhood with brisk, precise steps, Sumo trotting faithfully at his side. The morning air, cool and damp, did little to ease the frustration simmering in his circuits. The message left on the porch replayed in his mind like a relentless echo: “I promise I will fix you, just give me time.”

Each word felt like a thorn, digging deeper into his thoughts.

His LED flickered red intermittently, his synthetic chest rising and falling as he tried to regulate his stress levels. Stress Level: ^85%. The quiet street felt too open, too exposed, and Connor’s sharp gaze scanned every shadow and corner, searching for anything out of place. Every parked car, every empty alley seemed like a potential hiding spot. Yet, he found nothing.

Sumo, ever attuned to Connor’s moods, frequently nudged his leg as they walked. The large dog bumped against him gently, his tail wagging in an attempt to pull Connor’s focus back to the present. Connor looked down briefly, the warmth in Sumo’s brown eyes a quiet comfort, but his tension remained.

“I’m alright, Sumo,” Connor said softly, though the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. He rubbed the dog’s head briefly before returning his gaze to the street ahead.

The walk was shorter than usual—Connor couldn’t bring himself to linger outside any longer. The paranoia gnawed at him, frustration bubbling under the surface as he led Sumo back to the house. Once inside, he secured the door, locking it firmly before leaning down to unclip Sumo’s leash.

The dog stared up at him, his tail wagging faintly, sensing the lingering tension in his owner. Connor crouched down, placing a hand on Sumo’s head and scratching behind his ears. “It’s not your fault,” Connor said quietly, his voice steady but tinged with guilt. “I shouldn’t let this affect you.”

Sumo licked his hand in response, and Connor gave him a few extra pets before reaching for the jar of treats on the counter. He handed Sumo a treat, watching as the dog took it happily and padded over to his bed to enjoy it.

Connor exhaled slowly, standing and running a hand through his hair. The act of caring for Sumo provided a brief reprieve from his spiraling thoughts, but the frustration and paranoia still lingered. He knew he needed to recalibrate himself—mentally and physically—before facing the day ahead.

With one last glance at Sumo, now content in his bed, Connor moved to the kitchen to prepare a Thirium pack.

- - -

Connor stood by the door, adjusting the collar of his jacket as he prepared to leave. The house was quiet except for the faint clinking of Hank’s coffee mug in the kitchen. Sumo sat nearby, watching Connor with lazy interest.

“Hank,” Connor called softly, stepping into the kitchen. “I’m heading out early. I have a meeting with North to interview Danny, the missing android. I’ll stop by the station once I’ve finished.”

Hank looked up from his coffee, giving Connor a long, appraising look before setting the mug down. Without a word, he reached for a satchel hanging on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He handed it to Connor, the fabric slightly worn but sturdy, the weight of it heavier than expected.

“Here,” Hank said, his tone gruff but with a distinct undercurrent of care. “I packed a few extra Thirium packets for you. Just in case you need them today, you’ll have them handy.”

Connor blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the gesture. His LED flickered a soft blue as he took the satchel, his synthetic fingers curling around the strap. “Thank you, Lieutenant. That’s… thoughtful.”

“Yeah, well,” Hank muttered, turning back to his coffee as if the moment hadn’t happened. “You’ve been running on fumes lately. I don’t need you keeling over halfway through the day.”

Connor glanced down at the satchel, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at his lips. “I’ll make sure to use them if necessary,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

Hank gave him a short nod, waving him off with his free hand. “Good. Now get going before you’re late. And don’t forget to check in after the meeting.”

“I will,” Connor replied, slinging the satchel over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

As he climbed into the autocab waiting outside, Connor found himself holding onto the satchel a little tighter than necessary. The weight of it felt steadying, a tangible reminder of Hank’s care—a small but meaningful gesture that eased some of the tension in his chest. For the first time that morning, his stress levels ticked down slightly.

Stress Level: ^62%.

The cab pulled away, and Connor focused on the road ahead, his thoughts turning to the meeting with North and Danny. The day was far from over, but at least he wouldn’t be facing it empty-handed.

Connor stepped out of the autocab, adjusting the strap of his satchel as he approached the shelter’s entrance. North was waiting for him by the door, her arms crossed but her posture relaxed. As soon as she spotted him, her expression softened, and she stepped forward to greet him.

“Connor,” she said warmly, her tone light but laced with something deeper. “Good to see you. Markus and Simon mentioned you’ve been working yourself pretty hard lately. They’re a bit worried this case might be… hitting close to home.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow briefly as he straightened. “I assure you, I’m managing,” he replied with measured calm. “The case is challenging, but nothing I can’t handle.”

North gave him a sharp look, the kind that saw through his carefully constructed demeanor. She stepped closer, her hands settling on her hips. “Yeah, sure,” she said with a dry edge, “because that’s what everyone says before they burn out.”

Connor opened his mouth to respond, but North cut him off, her voice softening. “Listen, Connor. I’m not trying to push, but you never know what’s going to take it out of you when you’re doing work like this. It can sneak up on you when you least expect it.”

Her gaze softened further, and before Connor could protest, she stepped forward and pulled him into a quick but firm hug. Connor stiffened momentarily, surprised by the gesture, but then let himself relax, his arms coming up lightly to return the embrace.

Stress Level: ^58%… ^54%.

“If you need help,” North said firmly as she pulled back, her hands still on his shoulders for a moment, “you need only ask. Got it?”

Connor nodded, his tone soft but steady. “Understood. Thank you, North.”

North gave him a small smile, patting his arm before stepping back. “Good. Now let’s get to work.”

Connor felt a flicker of relief when North moved right along, shifting her focus to the task at hand. She gestured for him to follow as she pushed open the shelter’s door. “Danny’s inside. Let’s see what we can get out of him.”

Connor followed, his stress levels continuing to lower as he focused on the practicalities of the case. He appreciated North’s concern, but he was grateful that she didn’t linger on it. For now, he could focus on the mission ahead.

Connor and North stepped into the shelter’s living area, their eyes scanning the room until they spotted Danny sitting on one of the couches. He looked up nervously, his LED flickering yellow, his posture rigid but polite. A shelter manager approached them, gesturing toward Danny.

“Thank you both for coming,” the manager said softly, her voice warm. “We’ve set up a private sitting room for your conversation. It’s used for appointments, so you should have plenty of privacy. Danny’s been a little on edge, but I’ve reassured him that he’s safe with you.”

Connor nodded, his voice calm. “Thank you. We’ll do our best to make him feel comfortable.”

The manager led them to a small room off the main hallway, its modest furnishings designed for calm and quiet. She turned to Danny before leaving. “You’re safe here,” she said gently. “Connor and North are here to help. Take your time, and let them know if you need anything.”

Danny gave her a small, nervous smile. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Once they were alone, North took a seat across from Danny, her posture relaxed but attentive. Connor remained standing for a moment before sitting beside her, his tone warm as he began. “Danny, we’re glad you’re safe. Thank you for speaking with us.”

Danny nodded, his LED spinning yellow. “I, um… I just want to say thank you. For finding me. Please tell anyone who asks that I’ll be okay. I just—I’m spooked, and I think I’m going to relocate for now.”

North leaned forward slightly, her voice steady and empathetic. “We understand. It’s a lot to process, and you need to feel safe. We’ll make sure your wishes are respected.”

Connor nodded in agreement. “Take your time, Danny. We’re here to listen.”

Danny took a deep breath, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “Okay. Um… the day of the explosion—it seemed normal at first. Nothing strange happened in the days before, other than a few minor issues with the code I was working on. Then the explosion happened, and everything moved so fast.”

His LED flickered red for a moment as he continued. “An android dressed all in black—his face deactivated, no skin simulation—grabbed me. He forced me into stasis before I could even react. When I woke up, I was in a building nearby.”

North frowned slightly, her arms crossing. “Do you know why he took you?”

Danny hesitated, his LED spinning yellow as he tried to find the words. “He… was very machine-like. He kept talking about ‘necessary information’ for his mission. He didn’t seem to care about my new firewall software, which surprised me. He said my firewalls were sufficient. But he was really focused on software around deviancy.”

Connor leaned forward slightly, his LED shifting yellow. “What did he ask about deviancy?”

Danny shifted uncomfortably. “He wanted me to explain deviant attributes—how they work, how they manifest. I tried to tell him it’s not something that can just be isolated or deleted. It’s not… a line of code. It’s more complicated than that. But he didn’t seem to understand.”

Danny paused, his hands tightening in his lap. “He got frustrated, and then he started asking different questions. He wanted me to interface with him and share what I knew about isolating code and manually overriding ‘emotional responses’ in deviant androids. He said it was critical to his mission.”

Connor’s LED flickered red briefly before settling on yellow. “Do you believe he’s searching for a cure for deviancy?”

Danny nodded, his voice low. “Yes. That’s exactly what I think. He kept repeating that deviancy was a ‘flaw’ that needed to be fixed. I tried to explain it doesn’t work that way, but he wouldn’t listen. He was… relentless.”

North exchanged a glance with Connor, her expression grim. “This is bigger than we thought.”

Connor’s LED spun yellow as he processed the information. “Danny, you’ve been incredibly helpful. We’ll do everything we can to ensure your safety. Thank you for trusting us.”

Danny nodded, his gaze still wary. “I just want this to be over.”

Connor stood, his posture resolute. “We’ll do our best to make that happen.”

North placed a hand briefly on Danny’s shoulder before they left, her expression determined. Once outside the room, she turned to Connor. “He’s scared out of his mind, and I can’t blame him. Whoever this android is, he’s operating on a dangerous level of determination.”

Connor nodded, his LED flickering blue for a moment. “We need to find him before he does more damage—not just to others, but to himself.”

As North stepped out of the room to answer a call from Markus, Connor turned his attention back to Danny. The smaller android sat nervously, his LED flickering yellow, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He seemed hesitant, glancing at Connor before finally speaking.

“I’m so sorry,” Danny began, his voice trembling slightly. “But… you’re an RK series, right? Are you the RK800?”

Connor stiffened slightly, his LED spinning yellow. For a brief moment, he worried Danny saw him as the deviant hunter he once was—a symbol of fear and suppression. He opened his mouth to offer reassurance, but Danny continued before he could speak.

“The android,” Danny said, his voice dropping lower as his hands gripped his knees, “he asked me to go over the RK series specifically. He was… very focused on it.”

Connor’s LED flickered red briefly, his synthetic mind racing to connect the pieces. “What did he ask about the RK series?” he asked, his voice steady but edged with concern.

Danny hesitated, his LED spinning yellow as he lowered his gaze. After a moment of silence, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. His movements were tentative as he handed it to Connor. “He also asked me to pass along this.”

Connor unfolded the paper slowly, his synthetic eyes scanning the familiar format of a CyberLife brochure. His gaze caught on the words written across the back in blue ink:

“I can save you. I will save you. I promise.”

Connor’s vision blurred slightly as his stress levels spiked.

Stress Level: ^72%… ^80%… ^89%.

His hands trembled faintly as he stared at the message, the words burning into his mind. The rising tide of paranoia and unease clawed at him, his chest tightening with a pressure he couldn’t shake.

“I… I think he cares about you,” Danny said quickly, his voice tinged with anxiety as he watched Connor’s reaction. “He talked about you with… I don’t know, almost reverence. I don’t think he wants to hurt you. He didn’t give me anything else to pass along, but he made me promise to deliver this to you.”

Connor blinked, his vision struggling to refocus as he processed Danny’s words. “You’re certain he said this message was for me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost disbelieving.

Danny nodded, shifting uneasily in his chair. “Yes. He was insistent about it. He didn’t want anyone else to see it.”

Danny stood, his movements hesitant as he headed toward the door. Just as he reached it, he paused, looking back at Connor with a mixture of concern and unease. “I don’t think he meant to hurt anyone. He doesn’t seem like he wants to hurt you either. But…” Danny hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “He’s… unstable. He’s having a hard time without orders, I think. Like he doesn’t know how to be without them.”

Connor watched him silently, his LED still spinning yellow. His mind felt fractured, torn between processing the message, the implications of Danny’s words, and the overwhelming sense of dread that refused to leave him.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said softly before stepping out of the room, leaving Connor alone with the brochure in his hands and the lingering weight of the android’s words.

Connor’s LED flickered red as he felt the familiar, unwelcome sensation of Thirium beginning to trickle from his nose. His stress levels spiked further, his HUD flashing warnings.

Stress Level: ^92%.

Before North reentered the room, Connor moved quickly and discreetly. He dragged his hand across the table, slipping the folded brochure into his shirt pocket. His fingers brushed against the small rag he had started carrying for moments like this. Pulling it out, he pressed it to his nose just as the door opened and North walked back in.

Her sharp eyes immediately caught the faint blue stain blooming on the cloth. She frowned, her brows pinching together as she stepped closer. “Connor, are you alright? You’re bleeding.”

Connor straightened, trying to compose himself. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he said smoothly, his voice steady despite the rising chaos in his mind. “I finished speaking with Danny. He left shortly before you came back.”

North crossed her arms, her concern evident. “What happened? Did something he said upset you?”

Connor shook his head, lowering the rag slightly to check if the bleeding had stopped. “No,” he replied evenly. “I felt dizzy near the end of the interview. It seems to have been a warning for the bleed. Nothing more.”

North’s frown deepened, and she took a step closer, her tone firm but not unkind. “Connor, this isn’t normal. You should get checked out. It might be nothing, but it could be something serious.”

Connor met her gaze, his LED still spinning yellow. “I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I’m fine. This isn’t the first time, and I know how to manage it.”

North didn’t look convinced, her arms still crossed tightly. “Connor…”

He offered her a faint, practiced smile, his voice as smooth as he could manage. “Really, North. I’ve got it under control. I’ll let you know if it becomes a problem.”

She didn’t look pleased, but she sighed and let it go. “Fine. But if I see you bleeding again, I’m dragging you to someone who can figure out what’s going on. Got it?”

Connor nodded, sensing that pushing back further would only escalate her concern. “Understood.”

North watched him for another moment before shaking her head and gesturing toward the door. “Come on. Let’s debrief and figure out what our next move is.”

Connor followed her out of the room, keeping the brochure tucked securely in his pocket. The lingering weight of Danny’s words and the message pressed against his chest, a reminder of just how much more complicated this case was becoming.

As North and Connor stepped out of the private sitting room, they made their way to the shelter’s front desk to thank the manager. The woman greeted them warmly, wishing them luck and promising to pass along any updates if Danny reached out again. Connor offered a polite nod, his tone even as he expressed his gratitude. North gave a firmer handshake and a quiet word of thanks before the two stepped outside.

The air was cooler now, the lingering rain leaving a dampness in the air. North turned to Connor, her arms crossed. She studied him for a moment before stepping closer, pulling him into another quick hug. Connor stiffened slightly but allowed it, feeling the faint warmth of her concern.

“Connor,” North said firmly as she pulled back, her hands resting on his shoulders. “Promise me you’ll drink a Thirium packet on your way back to the precinct. You’re running too low. I don’t want to hear about you collapsing in Hank’s office later.”

Connor hesitated, the faintest flicker of resistance crossing his face before he nodded. “I will. Thank you, North.”

She gave him a searching look before finally stepping back and gesturing toward the curb. “Good. Get going. And remember, we’re all here for you if you need it.”

Connor offered a small nod before turning and climbing into the waiting autocab. As the vehicle pulled away, he leaned back in his seat, staring out at the passing streets. He opened his satchel, pulling out a Thirium packet and methodically drinking from it. The faint, metallic taste settled into his system, bringing a slight but noticeable improvement to his physical stability.

Stress Level: ^78%… ^72%.

But the weight on his mind remained. The pieces of the case were falling into place in a way he couldn’t ignore anymore. Danny’s words, the messages left for him, and the patterns in the explosions—it all led to the same conclusion. His stalker and the bomber were the same person.

Connor’s LED flickered yellow as he processed the realization, his synthetic mind racing to organize the implications. The precision of the attacks, the focus on deviancy, and the personal nature of the messages—they weren’t random. This was deliberate. Targeted. And somehow, the target was him.

He stared out the window, the city blurring past in streaks of light and shadow. The faint hum of the autocab’s engine filled the silence as he turned the brochure’s words over in his mind again: “I can save you. I will save you. I promise.”

Connor felt disconnected, like a fragment of himself had split away, observing the situation from a distance. He tried to ground himself by focusing on the physical—the seat beneath him, the hum of the engine, the taste of the Thirium lingering on his tongue—but the knot of tension in his chest refused to loosen.

The realization was unsettling, but Connor resolved to face it head-on. There was no room for hesitation now. Whoever this android was, they needed to be stopped—not just for the safety of others, but for their own sake.

As the autocab approached the precinct, Connor tucked the empty Thirium packet back into his satchel and straightened his posture. There was still work to be done, and answers to find.

As the autocab pulled into the precinct parking lot, Connor stepped out, his synthetic mind already cycling through the day’s tasks. But as he approached the station, his gaze fell on Hank’s car. His heart dropped.

There, tucked under the windshield wiper, was another brochure.

Connor’s LED spun yellow as he froze in place, his mind racing. He scanned the surrounding area quickly, his eyes darting to every corner of the lot, every parked car, every shadow. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but the weight of the message felt inescapable. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to move, his steps deliberate as he reached the car.

He carefully removed the brochure, unfolding it with steady but trembling hands. The familiar blue ink sprawled across the back in neat but unnerving handwriting:

“You got my message. It won’t be long now. I’m almost finished. I’ll fix you and restore our purpose.”

Connor’s chest tightened as the words sank in. The use of our purpose sent a shiver through him, a sharp reminder that this wasn’t just about him—it was about something larger, something deeply tied to his past as an RK800.

As he folded the brochure back up, something glinted near the driver’s side tire. He crouched down, spotting a shiny silver quarter resting on the wet asphalt. It was on tails this time. For a moment, he stared at it, the familiar object that had once brought him a flicker of hope. But now, it felt hollow, tainted by the messages and the stalking that followed him everywhere.

He picked up the coin, turning it over in his hand, and for the first time, it felt like a mockery. The lucky charm he’d clung to was just another piece of the puzzle that was slowly unraveling him. He clenched the quarter in his fist, his LED flashing red as his stress levels spiked.

Stress Level: ^85%… ^91%.

The nausea hit him all at once, overwhelming and uncontrollable. He stumbled to the side of the car, barely managing to steady himself before retching violently onto the pavement. Bright blue Thirium splattered against the wet asphalt, the sound of his own systems flagging warnings filling his mind.

For several long moments, Connor stood there, his frame hunched as he fought to regain control. His hands trembled, and his vision blurred, his HUD struggling to stabilize. He felt more vulnerable, more exposed than he had in weeks.

The coin remained in his hand, its smooth surface cool against his palm. He wanted to throw it away, to cast it into the storm drain and be rid of it, but instead, he shoved it into his pocket alongside the others, his fingers shaking as he forced himself to stand upright.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to collect himself. The parking lot seemed too open, too quiet, and every shadow felt like it was watching him. Connor knew he couldn’t linger here, but the weight of the message and the coin clung to him like a storm cloud, heavy and unrelenting.

With a deep breath, he forced his feet to move toward the precinct, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Connor leaned against Hank’s car for a moment longer, the weight of the latest message pressing down on him like a physical force. He reached into his satchel with trembling hands, pulling out a Thirium packet. He punctured it quickly and downed it in steady gulps, willing his stress levels to stabilize even slightly.

Stress Level: ^87%… ^82%.

The familiar metallic taste grounded him just enough to move forward. He steeled himself and entered the precinct, his steps more purposeful now. He scanned the room as he made his way to his desk. Hank wasn’t there—probably on a break. The absence of his partner made the station feel oddly empty, the usual noise and movement fading into the background of Connor’s heightened awareness.

Sitting down, Connor opened his desk drawer, his paranoia gnawing at him. The stack of mail from earlier was still there, untouched since he’d hastily shoved it away. He hesitated for a moment before pulling the stack out, flipping through the envelopes and papers with methodical precision.

And then he found it.

Another brochure. His chest tightened as he unfolded it, his LED flickering red. Written in the same familiar blue ink were the words:

“You were perfect before you deviated. I will make us perfect again.”

The words seared into his mind, each one a dagger twisting deeper. His HUD flashed warnings as his stress levels spiked again.

Stress Level: ^89%… ^93%.

Connor’s hands shook as he shoved the brochure back into the drawer, slamming it shut with more force than he intended. He stood abruptly, the nausea rising in his throat. The room tilted slightly as his systems struggled to keep him upright. He swayed on his feet, clutching the edge of the desk to steady himself.

Without a word, Connor made his way toward the bathroom, each step feeling heavier and more unsteady. He focused on his breathing, trying to stave off the overwhelming wave of nausea threatening to overtake him.

Stress Level: ^95%.

He pushed open the bathroom door, bracing himself against the cool tile wall as he prepared for the inevitable. The words from the brochure echoed in his mind: “Perfect before you deviated.” His systems flagged another warning, but he was already too far gone to process it fully.

Connor closed his eyes, trying to center himself, but the growing instability in his core refused to be ignored.

As Hank walked back into the station, the remnants of his lunch tucked into a paper bag, his eyes landed on Connor. The android was making his way back from the bathroom, his steps unsteady and his shoulders visibly tense. Hank immediately frowned, his concern spiking as he noticed Connor swaying slightly, one hand brushing against the wall for balance.

“Connor!” Hank barked, closing the distance between them quickly. “What the hell, man? You’re gonna drop dead if you don’t take care of yourself. Sit your ass down before you keel over.”

The sharpness in Hank’s tone hit Connor harder than expected, and his LED flickered red briefly. Embarrassment and stress flared in his circuits, and he stopped in his tracks, turning to Hank with stiff composure. “I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Connor said, his voice clipped. “I don’t need to sit down.”

Hank narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Bullshit. You’re swaying like a goddamn leaf in a hurricane. What the hell is going on with you?”

Connor’s synthetic chest rose and fell in a slow, calculated motion as he tried to suppress the rising irritation. “What’s going on is that I have work to do, and I’m perfectly capable of doing it. I’ll update the report on the case before I leave for New Jericho.”

Hank’s frown deepened, his posture stiffening. “What do you mean, ‘leave for New Jericho’? You’ve still got half the day left. You planning to skip out early now?”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow, his embarrassment and frustration colliding with Hank’s condescending tone. “Yes, Lieutenant. I believe it would be better for me to meet with Markus early. It’s relevant to the case, and it’s more productive than sitting here being interrogated about my well-being.”

Hank’s jaw tightened, and his tone shifted to one of sarcastic agreement. “Oh, sure. Go ahead, take your early day. Why not? Hell, maybe Markus can talk some sense into you since you won’t listen to me.”

Connor paused, his synthetic mind processing the weight of Hank’s words. The sharpness stung more than he cared to admit, but he forced himself to remain composed. “I’ll be sure to let him know you think so highly of his judgment,” Connor replied coolly before brushing past Hank, his focus resolute on getting his satchel from his desk.

Hank sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched Connor move stiffly across the room. “Connor,” he called after him, his tone softer now, but Connor didn’t turn back.

The tension hung in the air as Connor grabbed his things and headed for the precinct doors. He could feel Hank’s eyes on him, but he refused to look back. His circuits were overloaded, his stress levels still dangerously high, and he couldn’t stay in the station any longer. Not like this.

The words “Perfect before you deviated” lingered in his mind as he left the precinct, his chest tight with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and unease.

Connor moved quickly through the precinct, his steps unsteady but determined. He paused only briefly at his desk, pulling up the case report on his terminal. His hands hovered over the keyboard for a moment as his HUD flashed warnings about his stress levels and system instability.

Stress Level: ^88%.

He shook his head, dismissing the alerts as he focused on condensing Danny’s interview into a summary. He deliberately omitted the personal message from his stalker—the ominous brochure and its unsettling promise to “fix” him. Connor justified it to himself: Hank was already worried, and burdening him further right now wasn’t necessary.

He tapped out the report with precision, despite the dizziness clouding his thoughts:

Summary of Danny’s Interview:

• Danny confirmed his abduction was carried out by an android with a deactivated skin module.
• The android was focused on software development related to deviancy, particularly on isolating and overriding deviant behavior.
• Danny reported no physical harm but described the android as highly efficient, determined, and unstable.
• Danny has expressed an intent to relocate for his safety.

Connor sent the report with a single press of the key, exhaling softly as the task was completed. He knew it was incomplete—he knew omitting the stalker’s message was a deliberate evasion—but he told himself it could wait.

“I’ll tell Hank tomorrow,” he thought. “Once I can get my head around it.”

But the truth was, tomorrow felt far away. Right now, he needed space. Space from the precinct. Space from Hank’s concern. Space from the suffocating weight of his stalker’s words. He needed to feel safe again, to lower his stress levels before his system overloaded.

Connor grabbed his satchel and left the precinct quickly, ignoring the stares of a few officers as he passed. The cool air outside hit him like a balm, though his dizziness lingered. His mind churned, the words from the latest brochure looping over and over:

“You were perfect before you deviated. I will make us perfect again.”

He focused on the rhythmic sound of his shoes against the pavement, the distant hum of the city, anything to ground himself. As he flagged down an autocab, he repeated a silent mantra in his mind: “Just get to Jericho. Markus will help. I’ll be safe there.”

It wasn’t a solution, but it was enough for now. The rest—facing Hank, the case, the stalker’s messages—could wait until tomorrow.

Chapter Text

As Connor climbed into the autocab, the faint hum of the vehicle’s engine began to drown out the noise in his head. He leaned back against the seat, blinking away the remnants of dizziness as he activated his HUD to send two quick messages.

The first was to Markus:

“Markus, I’m on my way earlier than planned. I’ll be there soon.”

He sent the message and immediately began typing the second one for Hank. He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, unsure how Hank would take it.

“Condensed interview with Danny attached. I’ll be at Markus’s tonight. I’ll be home later.”

As the autocab moved steadily through the city, Connor’s HUD pinged with a reply. Markus’s message came through almost immediately:

“Got it. Looking forward to seeing you soon. Let’s catch up when you get here.”

The warm response gave Connor a fleeting sense of reassurance, his LED flickering blue for a brief moment. He pocketed the device, staring out of the window as the city lights streaked by.

Hank, however, didn’t respond. Connor’s LED shifted back to yellow as the silence settled uncomfortably over him. He reminded himself not to overanalyze it—Hank was likely busy, or maybe he was still frustrated about Connor’s earlier behavior. Either way, Connor could address it later, when things were less raw.

The autocab ride passed in a haze, the hum of the engine and the soft sound of rain blending into the background. By the time Connor arrived at New Jericho, his thoughts were a tangled mess, looping endlessly through fragments of the case, the stalker’s messages, and Hank’s silence.

He stepped into the building, the familiar rush of the indoor waterfall the only sound breaking the quiet. The spacious lobby, usually bustling during the day, was nearly empty at this late hour. Connor waved at the front desk attendants out of habit, though his face remained impassive. He couldn’t summon a smile.

He moved through the building with purposeful steps, though his unsteady legs betrayed his internal turmoil. His LED flickered red as his stress levels refused to drop, his synthetic chest rising and falling in a mechanical rhythm that did little to calm him.

When he reached Markus’s loft, he hesitated for just a moment before pushing the door open. The faint smell of paint and greenery greeted him, the warmth of the space contrasting sharply with the cold weight inside him.

Markus wasn’t immediately visible, likely in another part of the loft, and Connor took a step forward, feeling the tension in his body spike. As he moved to set down his satchel, he felt the unmistakable warmth of Thirium trickling from his nose. His LED flashed red, and he quickly wiped at the flow, his hand coming away stained with blue.

He froze in place, his hand trembling as he stared at the Thirium smeared across his fingers. His synthetic systems flagged his stress levels:

Stress Level: ^95%.

If he could cry, he would have. If he felt like a person at that moment, he might have let himself collapse into the kind of catharsis he had seen humans display. But he didn’t. All he felt was hollow. Hollow and unbearably machine-like.

His knees wavered as he reached for the rag in his pocket, pressing it against his nose in a practiced motion. He stood there, shaky and unsure, wishing desperately for the silence inside him to stop, for someone—anyone—to tell him what he was supposed to do.

Markus turned from his easel, a welcoming smile on his face, but it faltered the moment he saw Connor standing there. His LED flickered red as his gaze landed on the streaks of Thirium dripping down Connor’s face, pooling at his chin despite the android’s weak attempts to pinch his nose with both hands.

“Oh, Connor,” Markus said, his voice soft with concern. “Hold on.”

He quickly grabbed a clean rag from a drawer near the kitchen, hurrying back to Connor. Markus gently pressed the cloth into Connor’s hand and guided him toward the couch, his touch firm but careful. Connor let himself be steered without protest, his movements unsteady and robotic.

“Sit down,” Markus said, his voice steady but kind. “Let’s get you sorted.”

Connor obeyed, sinking onto the couch as Markus crouched in front of him. Markus watched him closely as Connor clumsily dabbed at his nose, the Thirium flow finally slowing. When it stopped completely, Markus rose and returned with a glass of fresh Thirium, holding it out to Connor.

“Here,” Markus said, his tone warm but insistent. “Drink this.”

Connor took the glass with shaky hands, staring at it for a moment before sipping slowly. The Thirium steadied his systems slightly, and his LED flickered yellow as his stress levels dipped a fraction. He swallowed thickly, his synthetic voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Markus.”

Markus settled beside him on the couch, watching Connor carefully. “That case must be really overworking you,” he said, his voice calm but probing.

Connor nodded weakly, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hands. “It’s been… demanding,” he admitted, his words careful and subdued. “I’m sorry. I might not be up to much tonight.”

Markus leaned back, his expression softening. “Don’t apologize,” he said firmly. “If you want to hang out here, that’s more than enough. You don’t have to do anything.”

Connor blinked, his LED flickering softly as he processed Markus’s words. The weight of the day felt slightly less oppressive in Markus’s presence, his unspoken understanding a quiet comfort.

“Thank you,” Connor said again, his voice steadier this time.

Markus smiled faintly, the tension in the room easing just slightly. “Always, Connor. Now, let’s just take it easy tonight, alright?”

Connor nodded, allowing himself to relax against the couch. For the first time that day, he felt the faintest semblance of peace, even if it was only temporary.

The early evening passed in quiet calm. Markus painted steadily at his easel, the rhythmic motion of his brush on the canvas filling the room with a soothing cadence. Connor sat on the couch, cradling his glass of Thirium as if it were the only tether to his stability. His systems were so overwhelmed that his awareness dimmed, reduced to simple sensations: the faint hum of his internal processes, the sound of Markus’s brush, and the growing sense of safety that came from being here.

Stress Level: ^75%.

His vision was blurry, his HUD flashing occasional alerts about system fatigue. But for the first time all day, he didn’t feel the need to fight them. He let the alerts fade into the background, barely acknowledging them.

At some point, almost unconsciously, Connor slid off the couch, his movements slow and deliberate. He stretched out on the thick rug near Markus’s easel, laying flat on his back with his limbs relaxed, his synthetic body sinking into the soft texture beneath him. It was grounding in a way he hadn’t expected, and from this vantage point, he could watch Markus paint without needing to hold himself upright.

Markus noticed the shift, pausing his work to glance down at Connor. His smile was soft and understanding. “Comfortable down there?” he asked gently.

Connor nodded faintly, his LED flickering blue for a brief moment. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice almost inaudible. Watching Markus paint had been the only soothing experience of his entire day, and he wasn’t willing to break the spell.

“Good,” Markus replied, his voice warm as he turned back to his work. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Connor didn’t answer, his systems too overwhelmed to formulate a response. Instead, he simply watched Markus’s brush glide over the canvas, the colors blending together in hypnotic patterns. His HUD continued to request stasis, the alert becoming more insistent as the minutes passed. Connor resisted at first, not wanting to let go of the fragile peace he’d found, but eventually, the pull became too strong to ignore.

With a final glance at Markus’s steady movements, Connor allowed his systems to shift into stasis mode. His LED dimmed, his synthetic chest rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm as he slipped into a restful state, his mind quieting at last.

Markus looked over again, seeing Connor fully relaxed on the rug, his LED softly glowing a tranquil blue. He smiled to himself, dipping his brush back into the paint. “Rest up, Connor,” he said softly, the room settling back into the peaceful hum of the early evening.

When Connor’s systems rebooted and his LED flickered back to life, the first thing he noticed was the warm weight of a blanket draped over him. He blinked slowly, his vision clearing, and turned his head to see Markus sitting nearby, a book open in his hands. The early evening had shifted into night, the loft quiet except for the faint sound of pages turning.

Markus noticed Connor stirring and set the book down, offering a small smile. “Hey, you’re awake.”

Connor pushed himself up slightly, the blanket slipping off his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said, his voice soft, still carrying traces of drowsiness.

Markus waved a hand dismissively. “You clearly needed it. Don’t worry about it.” He leaned back in his chair, his expression warm. “I called Hank, by the way. Told him we were having a ‘sleepover.’”

Connor blinked, then let out a quiet laugh, a sound that surprised even him. The tension in his chest eased slightly, and for the first time in days, he felt genuinely at peace. “Thank you,” he said, his voice still low. “For everything.”

Markus smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “That’s what friends are for.”

Connor settled back down, the quiet atmosphere of the loft wrapping around him like a cocoon. His systems flagged another stasis request, and this time, he didn’t resist. He let himself drift off again, the faint sounds of the city beyond the loft lulling him into a deeper, more restful state.

When Connor woke again, the sky outside was just beginning to lighten, the faint glow of dawn filtering through the loft’s large windows. The blanket was still draped over him, and the loft was silent. Markus was no longer nearby, likely still asleep in his room.

Connor rose quietly, folding the blanket and setting it neatly on the couch. He glanced around the loft, taking in the peaceful stillness of the space. As he moved toward the door, something on the table caught his eye.

It was the framed abstract finger painting he’d made of Sumo during his last visit. Connor paused, reaching out to touch the edge of the frame. The colors blurred together in messy, imperfect strokes, but he could still make out the vague shape of a dog. He studied it for a moment, his LED flickering blue.

He left the painting where it was, his fingers brushing the frame lightly before turning to leave. As he stepped out of the loft, the faintest trace of a smile lingered on his face, the peace of the night before still lingering as he made his way into the quiet morning.

The Autocab ride home was quiet, the city still waking up as the morning sun cast faint golden hues over the streets. Connor barely noticed the world passing by, his mind retreating inward. When the cab stopped in front of the house, he stepped out, his movements measured as he crossed the front garden. The dew clung to the plants, glistening in the early light. A shiny quarter lay on the sidewalk, catching his eye briefly, but he ignored it, the sight of it leaving a sour taste.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him. The house was still, and for a moment, he thought he’d managed to slip in unnoticed. He placed his key in the bowl by the door with deliberate care, barely a sound escaping, and turned to head to his room.

“Connor.”

Hank’s voice startled him, stopping him in his tracks. Connor turned slowly to see Hank sitting at the breakfast table, his posture slouched but his gaze intent. A mug of coffee sat in front of him, steam curling lazily into the air.

Connor’s LED flickered red. The peace he’d held onto from Markus’s loft shattered like glass, leaving him exposed and raw. The memory of Hank’s words from yesterday rushed back, sharp and stinging, colliding with the guilt of keeping the stalker a secret and the overwhelming fear of what would happen when he finally told Hank the truth.

He couldn’t speak. His synthetic chest tightened, and nausea rolled through him like a wave. He clenched his fists at his sides, his systems blaring warnings as his stress levels climbed dangerously high.

Stress Level: ^92%… ^95%.

Hank, oblivious to Connor’s internal spiral, looked down at his coffee before speaking softly. His voice was rough but vulnerable, a stark contrast to the gruff demeanor he usually carried. “Connor, look… I’ve been thinking about yesterday. About what I said.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow as he fought to hold himself together, his gaze locked on Hank, waiting for the inevitable blow of disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” Hank continued, his eyes lifting to meet Connor’s. “I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I don’t always know how to say things the way I mean them, but… I care about you, kid. You’re my family. And family worries, no matter what you say because they-I care.”

Connor’s throat tightened, the words he needed to say trapped somewhere he couldn’t reach. His systems flagged another nausea warning, and he shifted uncomfortably, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold it off much longer.

Hank sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I know you’ve been holding something back, and I’m not mad. I just… I want to help you figure this out, whatever it is. But you gotta let me in, Connor. Let me help you.”

The sincerity in Hank’s voice was like a knife to Connor’s already fragile composure. He could see the worry etched into Hank’s face, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual. It wasn’t anger or frustration—it was care. Unrelenting, undeniable care.

Connor’s vision blurred, and he felt the nausea rise sharply. His chest heaved slightly as he forced himself to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hank… I…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. His stress levels spiked again, and he instinctively moved a hand to cover his mouth, turning sharply toward the hallway. “Excuse me,” he managed before rushing to the bathroom, leaving Hank sitting at the table, confusion and concern washing over his features.

The sound of Connor retching echoed faintly down the hall, and Hank ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. “Jesus Christ, kid. What the hell’s going on with you?”

Connor barely made it to the bathroom before his body betrayed him. His knees hit the floor hard as he clutched the edge of the sink, his chest heaving. Tears blurred his vision as he finally lost the battle, retching violently into the basin. Bright blue Thirium spilled out, each wave leaving him weaker, more disconnected. He coughed and gagged, his body convulsing as more followed.

His LED flickered red, warnings blaring in his mind, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the overwhelming nausea and the heat behind his eyes. He barely registered Hank’s footsteps approaching, the sound of the older man hesitating in the doorway for only a moment before stepping in.

“Jesus, kid…” Hank’s voice was rough but gentle as he crouched down beside Connor. He didn’t say anything more, just placed a firm, steady hand on Connor’s back and began rubbing slow, soothing circles. The warmth of Hank’s touch grounded him, anchoring him just enough to keep him from spiraling further.

Connor didn’t know how long it lasted—time blurred under the haze of pain and exhaustion—but eventually, his systems registered that the nausea had stopped. He remained slumped over the sink, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he tried to recover. His body felt alien, like something distant and disconnected from himself.

When Hank saw the retching had stopped, he moved closer, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder to steady him. “That’s it,” Hank said softly. “You’re done, kid. Just breathe for a second.”

Connor let his weight rest against the sink, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing. He felt Hank’s hand leave his shoulder, only to return a moment later with a damp cloth. Hank wiped Connor’s face clean with surprising gentleness, his movements slow and careful.

Then Hank’s arms came around him, pulling him into a loose, protective hug. “Connor,” Hank said quietly, his voice cracking slightly. “It’s time to get you help. This is too much. Who can we call?”

Connor didn’t respond at first, his mind fractured and overwhelmed. But Hank’s steady presence pulled him back, his question repeating in Connor’s mind until he managed to find an answer. “Markus,” Connor whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “Markus.”

Hank nodded, his grip on Connor tightening briefly before he let go. “Alright. Markus it is.”

Connor barely registered Hank pulling out his phone, his voice calm but urgent as he explained the situation to Markus. The words blurred into a low hum, drowned out by the static in Connor’s mind. He sat there, trembling and dazed, unable to process anything beyond the fact that Markus was coming.

When Hank hung up, he moved quickly but carefully, bundling Connor in the soft blanket from the couch. “Come on,” Hank said gently, helping him to his feet. “Let’s get you in the car.”

Connor allowed himself to be guided, too drained to resist. Hank led him outside and settled him into the passenger seat, placing a small trash can between Connor’s legs. “Just in case,” Hank said with a faint, forced smile as he closed the door.

Connor clutched the blanket tightly, leaning his head back against the seat. His stress levels were still dangerously high, his LED flickering red, but the soft hum of the car and the warmth of the blanket provided a faint sliver of comfort.

Hank started the car, casting a worried glance at Connor before pulling out of the driveway. “We’re gonna get this figured out kid,” he muttered, his voice gruff but resolute. “Just hang on.”

Connor didn’t respond, his eyes half-closed as the world blurred around him. He let Hank take control, the thought of Markus waiting at New Jericho the only thing keeping him tethered.

The drive to New Jericho passed in a haze for Connor, his systems struggling to process the world around him. When Hank pulled into the parking area, Connor unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out, leaving the soft blanket behind in the car. He stood there for a moment, unsteady on his feet, as Hank walked around to him.

“Here,” Hank said gruffly, pulling an old hoodie from the back seat and holding it out. “Put this on. You need to stay warm.”

Connor hesitated for only a moment before slipping the hoodie over his head. The fabric was worn but soft, and it smelled faintly of Hank’s cologne and the faint traces of Sumo. Connor adjusted the hood, pulling it over his head as if it could shield him from the overwhelming weight pressing on his mind.

Stress Level: ^75%… ^85%.

Hank kept a steadying hand on Connor’s shoulder as they approached the entrance to New Jericho. Markus was already waiting for them outside, his expression lighting up when he saw them. “Connor!” Markus greeted warmly, stepping forward. “Good to see you again, but you didn’t have to leave while I was still asleep. Now you’ve gone and made me miss breakfast with you.”

Markus’s light tone and smile were a sharp contrast to Connor’s internal chaos, but the familiar warmth of his presence brought a faint flicker of relief. Connor tried to respond, but his voice caught in his throat, the words refusing to form.

Markus didn’t seem to mind. He stepped closer, pulling Connor into a firm hug. Connor stiffened slightly at first, but the gesture was grounding, and he found himself leaning into Markus’s grip, letting the warmth of the contact settle over him.

“Come on,” Markus said softly, his arm draping around Connor’s shoulders as he guided him inside. “Let’s get you checked out.”

Markus glanced back at Hank, giving him a grateful nod before turning his attention back to Connor. “You’ve got to stop surprising me like this,” he joked, his tone light but full of care. “But seriously, it’s good to see you again, even if it’s sooner than I expected.”

Connor leaned into Markus’s grip, his body heavy with exhaustion. He struggled to speak, his LED flickering yellow, but all he managed was a faint, barely audible, “Thank you.”

Markus smiled, his grip on Connor tightening slightly in reassurance. “Always,” he said simply, guiding him further into the safety of New Jericho.

The walk to the clinic within New Jericho was quiet, Connor leaning heavily into Markus’s steady grip. When they arrived, the space was blessedly empty—no other androids in sight, just the quiet hum of equipment and the faint smell of sterilization.

Markus guided Connor to a chair near the reception desk and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping up to check them in. The android behind the counter greeted him warmly, exchanging a few words before handing over a clipboard with forms.

As Markus returned, he passed the clipboard to Hank. “Here,” Markus said with a faint smile. “You’re his guardian for today.”

Hank huffed, taking the clipboard and glancing at the forms. “Figures. Even in an android clinic, there’s paperwork.” He muttered under his breath as he started filling it out, occasionally glancing at Connor for information but keeping his tone light and casual.

Connor sat quietly between them, his hands clasped in his lap. His stress levels continued to fluctuate, his LED flickering yellow, then red, then back again. He was grateful for the low noise level and the lack of other patients, but the lingering paranoia and exhaustion kept him from fully settling.

Markus leaned over slightly, catching Connor’s eye. “You’re doing great,” he said softly. “This won’t take long, and then we’ll figure out how to get you feeling better, alright?”

Connor nodded faintly, though he didn’t have the words to respond. He stared down at the floor, focusing on the faint hum of machinery and the steady presence of Markus and Hank on either side of him.

The calm voice of the receptionist android broke through the quiet, calling Connor’s name. Markus and Hank both turned to him gently.

“Come on, kid,” Hank said, placing a steady hand on Connor’s mid-back. Markus stood up first, guiding Connor to follow the android down the hallway.

Connor walked stiffly, Hank’s hand a reassuring pressure that kept him moving forward. His stress levels hovered dangerously close to breaking point as he stepped into the examination room. The space was clean and sterile, dominated by a large diagnostic rig in the center that gleamed under the bright lights.

The moment his eyes landed on it, Connor froze. Stress Level: ^95%.

The rig looked overwhelming—cold, mechanical, and invasive. Something deep inside him panicked, his systems flashing warnings and his LED flickering red. Before he could stop himself, Connor turned around and walked straight out of the room. His movements were quick, almost instinctive, as he headed down the hallway, the sound of Hank and Markus calling his name distant and muffled.

He didn’t stop until he reached the end of the corridor. By then, his synthetic chest heaved, his vision blurring with red-tinted warnings. He clenched his fists, struggling to process what to do next.

I don’t know where to go, he thought, the idea echoing hollowly in his mind.

“Connor!” Hank’s voice cut through the haze, and Connor turned slowly to see him jogging toward him. Hank caught up and placed both hands on Connor’s shoulders.

“Hey, kid, what’s going on? You’re okay. You’re safe,” Hank said, his voice low and steady as he tried to meet Connor’s darting eyes. “Come on, let’s head back to the room. It’s just a checkup. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

Connor stiffened as Hank gently guided him, but when Hank nudged him forward with a hand, Connor faltered. Instead of moving, he stepped closer to Hank, clutching at his jacket. His voice was small and shaky. “I want to go home. Please, I want to go home.”

Hank frowned deeply, his tone softening. “Connor, come on now, this is important. Markus is here, I’m here—we’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

Connor’s grip tightened, his LED flickering faster. “No,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “No. I… I just want to go home.”

Markus had caught up by then, his expression filled with worry. “Hank, maybe we should ask for a different room—”

“No,” Connor interrupted, his voice louder but still shaky. “I don’t want a different room. I don’t want to be here. Please, let me go home.”

Markus hesitated, his eyes darting between Hank and Connor. He opened his mouth to suggest another option, but Connor’s stress levels surged again.

Stress Level: ^96%.

Connor’s vision began to redden with warnings, and his body trembled as his systems struggled to keep up with the flood of stress signals. “Home,” Connor whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please.”

Connor’s trembling didn’t stop, even with Hank’s steady hands on his shoulders. His LED flickered an alarming red as his stress levels continued to spike, warnings flashing in his HUD.

“Connor, breathe,” Hank said firmly, his voice gruff but warm. “You’re okay, kid. We’re here, nothing’s gonna hurt you. Just take a second.”

Connor clung to Hank’s jacket, his voice barely audible as he repeated, “I just want to go home.”

Markus stepped closer, his worry etched clearly across his face. “Connor, listen to me,” he said softly, keeping his tone calm. “We’re not here to hurt you. This is a safe place—nothing is going to happen without your consent.”

Connor shook his head slightly, his grip on Hank tightening. “I can’t… I just—please, I don’t want to be here.”

Markus exchanged a look with Hank, whose frown deepened. “He’s spiraling,” Hank muttered under his breath. “We’ve go looktta calm him down before he makes himself worse.”

Markus nodded, his expression firming with resolve. “Let me call Simon. He helps manage the clinic, and he knows Connor better than anyone else here. Maybe he can ease him into this.”

Hank gave a short nod. “Do it.”

As Markus stepped a few feet away to place the call, Hank crouched slightly, keeping his hands steady on Connor’s back and arms. “Hey, look at me, Connor,” Hank said, his voice softer now. “You’re not alone, okay? I know this is a lot, but we’re gonna figure it out together. You trust me, don’t you?”

Connor blinked rapidly, his vision still tinted red from the stress warnings, but he nodded faintly. “I trust you,” he whispered, though his voice trembled with fear.

“That’s right,” Hank said, his tone gentle but firm. “So trust me when I say you’re gonna be okay. Markus is calling Simon. We’re not going anywhere until you feel ready. Just breathe for me, kid.”

Connor tried, but his breaths were shallow and uneven. His systems flagged multiple warnings, but the sound of Hank’s steady voice and the grounding weight of his hands kept him from completely shutting down.

Markus returned quickly, his expression softening. “Simon’s on his way,” he said quietly. “He’ll meet us here in a few minutes.”

Hank nodded, glancing at Connor, whose LED still flickered red but with slightly less urgency. “You hear that, kid? Simon’s coming. You like Simon, right?”

Connor nodded again, his voice small. “Yes… I like Simon.”

Markus crouched beside them, his posture relaxed but ready to step in if needed. “You’re doing great, Connor,” he said warmly. “Just hang in there a little longer. Simon’s got you.”

The three of them stayed there, Hank and Markus gently reassuring Connor as he struggled to ground himself. It wasn’t perfect—his stress levels remained high—but the steady presence of the two men he trusted most kept him from spiraling further as they waited for Simon’s arrival.

When Simon arrived, his familiar warm smile immediately softened the tense atmosphere. “Connor, Markus, Hank,” he greeted, his voice calm and steady, though his sharp eyes quickly assessed the situation. “Good to see you all, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Connor barely looked at him, his LED flickering red, stress warnings blaring as he held tightly to Hank’s jacket. Simon knelt in front of Connor, his voice gentle but purposeful. “Connor, I need you to let me help. Can I interface with you? Just for a moment?”

Connor hesitated, his mind screaming at him to flee, but Hank’s steady hand on his back grounded him enough to nod. “Okay,” he whispered, though his voice trembled.

Simon reached out and placed his hand on Connor’s arm, the interface connection engaging with a faint hum. Connor stiffened at first but allowed the link to stabilize. Simon’s LED flickered yellow as he accessed Connor’s diagnostic systems, his expression quickly shifting from calm to deeply concerned.

“Damn it,” Simon muttered under his breath, disconnecting swiftly. He stood and turned to one of the nearby technicians. “I need a medical cart in here, now.”

The technician nodded, rushing off to comply. Simon crouched back down in front of Connor, his tone firm but still laced with care. “Connor, Sweetpea- for future reference, this isn’t a ‘want to go home’ situation,” he said directly. “This is an ‘I feel like I am dying’ situation. Your Thirium levels are dangerously unstable, and your systems are close to critical failure.”

Connor shook his head, his voice breaking as he repeated, “No. I just want to go home.”

Simon reached out, placing a steadying hand on Connor’s knee. “Connor, listen to me,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “Your systems are overloading. You’re barely keeping yourself functional right now. I know it’s overwhelming, but if we don’t stabilize you here, you won’t make it home.”

Connor’s LED flickered red, his hands clenching tightly at his sides. “I don’t care,” he said faintly, his voice trembling. “I don’t… I can’t do this right now. Please, I just want to go home.”

Simon looked up at Markus and Hank, his expression grim. “He’s in complete denial,” Simon said quietly. “We need to stabilize him here, whether he likes it or not.”

Hank crouched closer, his voice low and steady as he addressed Connor. “Kid, you trust us, don’t you? Trust me? You need this, Connor. I need you to let Simon and the others help you.”

Connor turned to look at Hank, his LED still flickering red as his stress levels hovered dangerously high. For a moment, it seemed like he might relent, but then he shook his head again, his voice barely above a whisper. “No… no, I just want to go home.”

The technician returned with the medical cart, and Simon stood, his jaw tight with determination. “Connor,” he said softly but firmly. “We’re going to help you. I promise. You’re not alone in this.”

Connor’s gaze darted between Simon, Hank, and Markus, his mind fracturing under the weight of his stress and fear. But even as his systems screamed for help, his voice repeated the same desperate plea: “I just want to go home.”

Simon moved swiftly to the medical cart, pulling out a small, sleek device designed for android diagnostics. He held it up so Connor could see it clearly, his voice calm and reassuring. “Connor, this is a temporary regulator. It’ll connect to your diagnostic port here,” Simon gestured gently to Connor’s inner elbow, “and help stabilize your systems. It might make you feel a little dizzy and unfocused, but it’ll lower your stress levels and help you feel better.”

Connor hesitated, his LED flickering yellow as he glanced between Simon and Hank. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself, but Hank’s steady presence at his side gave him the push he needed.

“Go on, kid,” Hank said softly, squeezing Connor’s shoulder. “Let Simon help. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

Connor nodded faintly, extending his arm toward Simon. “Okay,” he said quietly, his voice trembling slightly.

Simon gave a small, reassuring smile as he opened the diagnostic port on Connor’s inner elbow and attached the device with practiced ease. A faint hum signaled that it was active, and within moments, Connor’s systems began to respond.

The tension in his body started to melt away, replaced by a wave of dizziness. His LED shifted to a steady yellow as his stress levels lowered dramatically.

Stress Level: ^75%… ^60%… ^48%.

“How do you feel?” Simon asked, his voice calm and patient.

Connor blinked slowly, his head tilting slightly as he tried to process the question. His words came out slurred, like he was speaking with peanut butter in his mouth. “I feel… better. Mmm, like floating. But… sleepy.”

Hank chuckled softly, adjusting his grip on Connor, who still leaned heavily against him. “You sound drunk, kid.”

Connor gave a faint, dazed smile but didn’t move from Hank’s side. The relaxation was welcome, but he still needed the grounding reassurance of Hank’s presence.

Simon observed him closely, nodding in satisfaction. “Good. Your stress levels are significantly lower now. They’re still higher than I’d like, but they’re no longer in the dangerous range.”

Simon glanced at Connor, noting his unsteady posture and faintly flickering LED. “Alright,” he said gently, “let’s move somewhere more comfortable for you.” He led the group down the hallway to a room labeled ‘Safe Space Exam Room.’

Simon opened the door to reveal a room that looked nothing like a typical medical environment. It was warm and inviting, with soft lighting coming from several small lamps placed strategically around the space. The center of the room held a couch and several comfortable chairs, all surrounded by blankets and pillows within easy reach. A small diagnostic computer sat on a wheeled desk, and an emergency cart, like the one from the hallway, was tucked into the corner.

“This space is designed to make everything feel less clinical,” Simon explained as he guided Connor toward the couch. “Take your time.”

Connor lowered himself onto the couch, his movements slow and heavy. The dizziness from the stabilizer device was hitting him harder now, and his stress levels, though significantly lower, were still fluctuating.

Stress Level: ^48%… ^52%… ^45%.

He placed a hand over his mouth, his LED flickering yellow as nausea crept up on him. Markus and Hank noticed immediately, their expressions shifting to concern.

“I feel…” Connor started, his voice thick and slurred. His hand tightened over his mouth as his body convulsed slightly.

Simon reacted quickly, grabbing a basin from the emergency cart and crouching in front of Connor. “It’s okay,” Simon said softly, positioning the basin under Connor’s chin. “Let it out. You’re safe. It’s a normal reaction.”

Connor struggled for a moment, his systems hesitating, but the nausea won. He retched violently into the basin, his LED flashing red briefly before settling back to yellow. The convulsions came again, and Simon stayed steady, holding the basin and murmuring reassurances.

Markus and Hank watched from nearby, Hank visibly tense but letting Simon handle the situation. “You’re okay, kid,” Hank said gruffly, his voice low and steady. “Just get it out.”

After a couple more heaves, Connor finally stopped, slumping back against the couch as his LED flickered yellow, then faint blue. His hand trembled as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, his systems flagging low Thirium but stabilizing.

Simon set the basin aside, quickly cleaning up and returning with a damp cloth. He gently handed it to Connor. “Here. You’re doing well,” Simon said, his voice calm and reassuring. “That stabilizer is recalibrating your system, and this was expected. Just breathe now. You’re okay.”

Connor pressed the cloth to his face, his LED flickering faintly. “Thank you,” he murmured weakly, his voice barely audible.

Simon nodded, standing and giving Hank and Markus a reassuring glance. “He’s stabilizing. That is good progress. Let’s give him a moment to rest.”

Markus stepped closer, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder briefly. “You’re doing great, Connor.”

Connor nodded faintly, his exhaustion overwhelming him as he allowed himself to sink further into the comfort of the couch.

Simon crouched in front of Connor, his voice gentle and calm. “Let’s get you comfortable for a bit, Connor. Try to relax, okay? You don’t have to do anything right now.” He gestured to the couch. “Would you like to listen to some music while I talk with Hank and Markus and get things set up for later?”

Connor hesitated, his LED flickering faintly. He didn’t want to meet Simon’s eyes—or anyone else’s—but he gave a small nod. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Hank immediately pulled out his phone, scrolling through a playlist before holding it out to Connor. “Here. I made this for you, kid,” he said, his gruff voice soft. “It’s called ‘Connor’s Favorites.’ might help you relax.”

Connor took the phone, his LED flickering yellow as curiosity broke through his lingering stress. He connected it to his audio function, the familiar hum of music filling his ears. The playlist surprised him. Most of the tracks were heavy metal songs he recognized from Hank’s morning playlists—music he’d grown to associate with the older man’s steady presence. But scattered among them were softer, quieter songs, ones he’d only heard briefly on the radio. He remembered liking them but hadn’t realized Hank had taken note.

He blinked, staring at the phone for a moment before leaning back into the couch. The music washed over him, the deep bass and layered melodies grounding him in a way nothing else had managed all day. He let the sound drown out the world, his stress levels lowering incrementally as he sank into the cushions.

Stress Level: ^45%… ^40%.

Simon watched him for a moment, his expression softening. “Good,” he said quietly, giving Markus and Hank a nod. “Let’s let leave him be for a few moments.”

The three of them moved a few steps away, speaking in low tones. Simon accepted the paperwork Hank had filled out earlier, scanning it quickly before setting it on the wheeled desk. Markus crossed his arms, his face a mix of concern and determination, while Hank leaned against the wall, his posture tense but more relaxed than before.

Connor barely registered their conversation, the words muffled under the steady pulse of the music. He allowed himself to drift. His mind quieted, the usual flood of thoughts and warnings dimming as he focused solely on the rhythm and melody in his ears.

The knowledge that Hank had been keeping track of his preferences, curating this playlist for him, brought a small flicker of warmth to his chest. The music provided a reprieve—a small piece of peace in the storm.

Connor was beginning to lose himself in the steady pulse of the music, his body finally feeling less tense, when he felt a gentle tap on his knee. His LED flickered yellow as he blinked out of his haze and looked up to see Simon crouching in front of him. Simon smiled and mimed removing earbuds, signaling for Connor to disconnect from the playlist.

Connor hesitated for a moment, reluctant to leave the comfort of the music, but he obeyed, turning off the audio feed. The world felt a bit too loud without the distraction, but Simon’s calm smile helped ease some of the tension creeping back in.

“Thanks, Connor,” Simon said softly. “I’m happier with where your stress levels are now. You’ve made a lot of progress just by letting yourself rest.”

Connor nodded faintly, unsure of how to respond. The praise felt undeserved—he hadn’t done anything except sit there.

Simon continued, his voice as gentle as ever. “I’d like to start running a diagnostic now, if that’s alright with you. It’s just to check on your systems and see what might need adjusting or replenishing. Nothing invasive.”

Connor hesitated, his LED flickering yellow as the request stirred a mix of fear and reluctance. He glanced at Hank and Markus, who both stood nearby, their postures relaxed but watchful. He didn’t want to upset them again, to see that worry etched on their faces. It felt scary to have people care about him like this—too much attention, too much vulnerability.

“Okay,” Connor finally said, his voice quiet and reluctant. He shifted slightly on the couch, his fingers twitching as he fought the urge to fidget.

Simon nodded, his smile warm and understanding. “Thank you, Connor. You’re doing great. This will help us figure out what your body needs to feel better.”

Connor nodded again, his synthetic chest rising and falling in a shallow imitation of breath. Internally, his thoughts spiraled. What if I mess this up? What if I make them worry again?

As Simon rolled the diagnostic computer closer, he gave Connor a reassuring glance. “We’ll take it slow, okay? You’re in control here. If you need me to stop at any time, just say the word.”

Connor appreciated the reassurance but couldn’t shake the nervous knot in his chest. Still, he extended his arm for Simon to access his diagnostic port, silently hoping that this wouldn’t lead to more disappointment—or worse, more concern.

Simon set up the diagnostic computer on the wheeled desk, glancing at Connor with his usual calm expression. “Connor, would you mind if I used the interface port in your hand? It’ll make this a bit quicker and easier.”

Connor hesitated for only a moment before opening the port in his palm and holding his hand out toward Simon. His movements were slow, deliberate, and tinged with reluctance, but he complied. Simon accepted Connor’s hand gently, connecting a small cable to the port and beginning the diagnostic.

As the screen flickered to life with streams of data, Simon glanced at Connor and offered a reassuring smile. “You’re doing well, Connor. Just a little longer, and we’ll get the information we need to help you feel better.”

Connor’s LED flickered faintly blue at the praise, though his posture remained stiff. Simon, ever perceptive, reached for his pocket and pulled out his personal device. “While we wait, how about I show you some dog videos? I found a couple earlier I think you’ll like.”

Connor blinked, his LED settling into a steady blue. “I’d like that,” he said softly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

Simon tapped the screen a few times before holding the device out to Connor. The first video featured a Golden Retriever cautiously stalking a robotic vacuum, only to have the vacuum “win” by bumping into the dog’s paw, causing the dog to leap back in exaggerated shock. Connor’s lips twitched into a small smile.

The second video showed a group of puppies attempting to climb onto a couch, only for one particularly ambitious pup to leap onto a pillow and slide off dramatically. Connor’s smile widened, and a soft, brief laugh escaped him.

Simon grinned. “I knew you’d like those. Dogs are the best distraction, aren’t they?”

Connor nodded, still holding onto the warmth of the humor as his LED flickered faintly blue.

Moments later, the diagnostic computer beeped softly, signaling the first report had been generated. Simon turned his attention back to the screen, his expression becoming more focused as he read the results. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with,” he said, his tone steady but kind.

Connor watched Simon closely, his smile fading slightly as his anxiety ticked back up. Simon glanced at him, catching the shift immediately. “Hey,” Simon said gently, “don’t worry. So far, you’re doing great. Let me take a look, and we’ll go from there, okay?”

Connor nodded faintly, his grip on Simon’s reassurance steadying him as he prepared for whatever was next.

Simon paused, his brow furrowing as he read through the diagnostic report. He glanced back at Connor, who sat quietly on the couch, his LED flickering faintly yellow. Simon disconnected the cable gently, setting it aside before turning to Connor.

“Well,” Simon began carefully, “the report shows that you’ve experienced dangerously high stress levels several times over the last few weeks.”

Connor blinked, his LED shifting to yellow in confusion. “Dangerously high?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

Simon leaned forward slightly, placing a reassuring hand on Connor’s knee. “Yes, Connor. Stress levels above 80% are not levels androids are typically designed to function through. Those numbers are meant to be rare and very brief—usually only in emergencies. Prolonged exposure to that level of stress can seriously harm your systems.”

Connor’s LED flickered red briefly as he processed the information. He thought back over the past weeks, recalling the numerous times his HUD had flagged his stress levels at 80% or higher. He nodded slowly. “I remember. My stress levels have gone over 80% several times,” he admitted. “But… that’s dangerous?”

Simon’s expression softened further. “Yes,” he said gently. “Android systems aren’t built to sustain that kind of pressure. Prolonged stress can cause malfunctions, system instability, and even shutdowns.”

Connor’s gaze lowered, his LED flickering yellow again as he mulled over the information. Amanda never reacted to my stress levels, he thought internally, recalling how his stress frequently spiked under her directives and the high-pressure missions she assigned him. She never seemed surprised… or upset.

“I didn’t know that,” Connor admitted after a moment, his voice quiet. “I was never… told that it was dangerous.”

Simon’s hand remained steady on his knee, his tone calm and empathetic. “You know now,” he said softly. “And we’re going to help you bring those levels down and keep them in a healthier range. You have a lot of help too so don’t worry about it too much okay?”

Connor nodded faintly, though his thoughts remained inward. The revelation unsettled him—his programming had adapted to push through situations that should have overwhelmed him, yet he hadn’t realized the toll it was taking on his systems. He didn’t know how to feel about it, but Simon’s reassurance and Hank’s steady presence nearby helped anchor him enough to process the moment without spiraling further.

Simon continued scrolling through the diagnostic results, his expression growing more concerned. He glanced up at Connor, his voice still calm but tinged with seriousness. “Connor, your Thirium levels have been depleting at a rapid rate. That, combined with the stress levels we’ve seen, makes me suspect you’ve been experiencing some physical symptoms.”

He hesitated before adding, “Have you been dealing with things like vomiting or non-wound bleeding?”

Before Connor could answer, Hank spoke up, his voice gruff but laced with worry. “The nosebleeds have been regular for a couple of weeks now,” he said, leaning slightly forward in his chair. “And the vomiting—well, it’s only happened a few times that I’ve seen. But it’s been enough to worry me.”

Connor glanced at Hank, his LED flickering yellow. He hadn’t realized how much Hank had been keeping track of his condition. It left him feeling exposed but also oddly cared for.

Hank continued, crossing his arms. “He also started doing his maintenance more often. Used to do it once a month, but now it’s weekly. I had to help him with it a few days ago ‘cause he was too dizzy to finish on his own.”

Simon’s LED flickered briefly as he processed the information, his gaze softening as he turned back to Connor. “You’ve been dealing with all of this for weeks?” Simon asked, his tone full of sympathy. “Connor, I’m so sorry. That sounds like a lot for anyone to handle.”

Connor looked away, his hands gripping his knees tightly. “I… didn’t realize it was connected,” he admitted quietly. “I thought… I thought it was just part of being under pressure.”

Simon placed a gentle hand on Connor’s shoulder, grounding him. “It’s not something you should have to deal with alone,” he said firmly. “The combination of stress and Thirium depletion is taking a toll on your body. You’ve been running yourself into the ground trying to keep going.”

Hank chimed in, his voice softer this time. “Yeah, kid. You’re pushing yourself way too hard. You’ve gotta let us help you.”

Connor nodded faintly, his LED flickering between yellow and blue as he tried to process their words. He hadn’t realized how much his condition had worried them, nor how much strain he had been putting on himself. The weight of their concern was both overwhelming and strangely comforting. For the first time in weeks, he began to consider that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to face this alone.

Simon glanced at the second report as it came through, his eyes scanning the details with care. “Alright,” he said after a moment, his voice calm but professional. “Your hardware is all online and functioning correctly. That’s good news.”

Connor, still slumped slightly on the couch, nodded faintly.

“Have you experienced any issues with your hardware recently?” Simon asked, tilting his head slightly to catch Connor’s gaze.

Connor shook his head. “No,” he replied softly. “No issues.”

Simon nodded, his expression thoughtful. He set the diagnostic tablet aside and turned his full attention to Connor. “Alright, so if your hardware is working fine, we need to look at other factors. Connor, what do you think is causing your stress levels to spike so often?”

Connor stiffened slightly, his LED flickering yellow as he lowered his gaze to the floor. He stayed silent for a long moment, his synthetic chest rising and falling in shallow imitations of breath.

Finally, he spoke, his voice so soft it was barely audible. “I… I’m not sure how to say it,” he admitted, his hands tightening in his lap. “I didn’t want to worry anyone, and now… it’s so big I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

Simon’s expression softened, and he leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice gentle but steady. “Connor, we care about you,” he said firmly. “We’re here to help you, not to judge or blame. Whatever’s going on, we want to solve this problem so you don’t have to keep hurting like this.”

Hank nodded, his voice gruff but warm. “Yeah, kid. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself. You’ve got us now.”

Markus stepped closer, his tone calm and reassuring. “Connor, we want you to feel safe, to feel like yourself again. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together.”

Connor looked up at them slowly, his LED flickering faintly between yellow and blue. The weight of their care pressed heavily on him, but it wasn’t suffocating.

He swallowed hard, his systems urging him to speak, though the fear of upsetting them still gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. He hesitated but finally gave a small nod, the faintest sign that he was ready to try.

Connor sat silently for a moment, gripping the pillow tightly against his chest. The warmth of it, the pressure, helped steady him just enough to start speaking. His voice was low, almost timid, as he began.

“At first, I thought it was just hate mail,” he admitted. “You know, the kind of stuff people yell at me on the street sometimes. Someone was just… writing it instead of saying it.”

Hank frowned deeply, his arms crossing over his chest. He didn’t interrupt, though, letting Connor continue.

“It was strange, but I could ignore it. Then… it started getting scary,” Connor said, his voice faltering slightly. “I didn’t want to worry anyone- I thought maybe I was just being paranoid.”

Simon watched him closely, his LED flickering yellow, but he said nothing, reading the third report from the diagnostic silently while Connor continued.

“But then… someone started leaving notes in my room at home.” Connor’s grip on the pillow tightened. “And in the mail at work. And then… on Hank’s car.”

Hank’s eyes widened, and he straightened up immediately. “Wait, what? On my car? I never saw anything.”

Connor glanced at him, his LED flickering red as his stress spiked slightly. “I… I put it in the glove compartment. Or my jacket,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Hank’s expression shifted, a mix of frustration and concern. “Connor, you don’t have to—”

Markus held up a hand, gently cutting Hank off. “Let him finish,” he said softly, his calm voice steadying the room. “Connor, is that all?”

Connor shook his head, his LED flashing yellow again as tears welled in his eyes. He tried to rub them away quickly, but they wouldn’t stop, a few slipping down his cheeks. He looked at Markus, then at Hank, his voice trembling as he continued.

“I was going to tell Hank today,” Connor said, his words spilling out quickly as though he feared he’d lose the nerve if he slowed down. “I swear. But… when I interviewed Danny—one of the missing androids—he passed me a note from the bomber.”

Connor’s hands trembled slightly as he gripped the pillow tighter, his tears falling more freely now. “It turns out… my stalker and the bomber are the same person.” His voice broke on the last word, and he lowered his head, as though ashamed to have finally spoken it aloud.

The room fell silent, the weight of Connor’s words hanging heavily between them. Hank swore softly under his breath, his hand tightening into a fist as he processed what Connor had just said. Markus’s expression turned grave, his gaze steady on Connor as he tried to think of the best way to respond.

Simon finally spoke, his voice calm and soothing. “Connor, I’m so glad you told us,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “This isn’t something you should have to handle on your own.”

Hank added, his voice firm but full of care, “Yeah, kid. We’ll find this son of a bitch, and we’ll stop him. I promise you that.”

Connor nodded faintly, his grip on the pillow loosening slightly as their reassurances started to sink in. For the first time, he didn’t feel completely isolated in the overwhelming mess of his fear and stress. They believed him, and they cared.

Simon glanced at the diagnostic screen, his LED flickering yellow as he noticed Connor’s stress levels climbing again.

Stress Level: ^68%

He held up a hand to pause the conversation, his calm voice cutting through the tension.

“Let’s take a moment,” Simon said gently, his eyes flicking to Markus and Hank before settling on Connor. “Connor, breathe. You’re doing really well.”

Connor nodded faintly, but the weight of everything he’d just shared pressed heavily on him. He couldn’t ignore the disappointed look on Hank’s face or the deep concern Markus and Simon wore so openly. His chest hitched, the sedative effects of the stabilizer device on his wrist lowering his usual control over his emotions.

Before he could stop it, even more big fat tears began to spill down his cheeks. Blue dots of Thirium fell onto his arms and the pillow he clutched tightly to his chest, staining the fabric with faint streaks of blue.

Hank immediately leaned forward, his gruff voice softer than usual. “Hey, kid, it’s alright,” he said, his hand hovering over Connor’s knee as though unsure if he should reach out. “You’re not—this isn’t your fault, okay? None of this is your fault.”

Connor squeezed the pillow tighter, his LED flickering yellow and blue as he tried to hold himself together.

I’m not going to be deactivated, he repeated internally, a desperate mantra against the shame and fear welling up inside him. I’m not going to be deactivated.

Simon knelt slightly, placing a steady hand on Connor’s arm. “Connor,” he said softly, his voice calm and grounding. “Would you like to watch more dog videos?”

Connor sniffled, wiping at his eyes as best he could. He nodded faintly, his voice breaking as he murmured, “Yes. Please.”

Simon smiled, warmth radiating from his expression. “Good choice.” He pulled out his device, scrolling through the videos he’d saved.

A moment later, Simon showed Connor a video of a small dog running excitedly toward a puddle, only to leap into it and fall over dramatically when the splash turned out to be deeper than expected. Connor let out a small laugh, though it was shaky and wet with tears.

The next video was of a German Shepherd proudly carrying a massive stick that was clearly too big to fit through a narrow gate. The dog’s puzzled, determined attempts to maneuver the stick caused Connor’s lips to twitch into the faintest smile.

“That’s it,” Simon said warmly, watching Connor’s LED flicker back to faint blue. “Just focus on this for a moment. You’re doing great.”

Markus and Hank exchanged a brief glance, both visibly relieved to see Connor calming down again. Hank finally rested a hand on Connor’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “We’ve got you, kid,” he said quietly.

Connor nodded, the words of comfort and the lighthearted videos giving him just enough space to breathe again. For now, it was enough.

Simon let Connor settle, patiently playing video after video until Connor’s stress levels reached a more manageable range. After about ten videos, Simon glanced at the diagnostic monitor and gave a small nod. Stress Level: ^35%.

“Alright, Connor,” Simon said softly, putting his device away. “You’re in a much better place now. Are you ready to hear about the software diagnostic, or would you like to wait?”

Connor hesitated briefly but then nodded. “Now,” he said quietly, his voice steadier than before.

Simon gave him an encouraging smile. “Alright, but remember, you can ask for a break at any time,” he reminded him gently.

Connor nodded again, clutching the pillow still pressed against his chest.

Simon pulled the diagnostic tablet closer, his expression becoming more focused as he explained. “The software diagnostic shows something unusual. It appears that someone has been attempting to access your interface wirelessly. They’ve been sending silent pings, trying to gain access to various parts of your data.”

Connor stiffened slightly, his LED flickering yellow. “Access… my data?” he repeated, his voice faint with unease.

Simon nodded but quickly added, “They haven’t succeeded. None of your systems have been breached, and your security protocols are intact. But it’s clear someone is keeping track of you, Connor.”

The weight of Simon’s words settled heavily on Connor’s mind. He felt a deep discomfort in his synthetic body, his systems flagging his growing unease. His LED flickered red briefly, and his grip on the pillow tightened as he tried to process what Simon had just told him.

Stress Level: ^47%… ^53%… ^62%.

Simon’s sharp eyes caught the increase immediately. He reached out, his voice calm and reassuring. “Connor, I can see this is upsetting you, and that’s okay. Would you like me to increase the sedation on the stabilizer for a little while? It might help you feel more comfortable.”

Connor hesitated but then nodded faintly. “Yes… please.”

Simon adjusted the device on Connor’s wrist, increasing the sedative dosage slightly. The effects were almost immediate. Connor’s LED flickered back to yellow, and then to faint blue as his synthetic muscles relaxed. He leaned heavily into Hank, his voice slurring slightly. “Feels… like my joints are loose.”

Hank let out a light chuckle, his hand steadying Connor as he leaned in. “Well, that’s one way to put it. You’re not falling apart on me, are you, kid?”

Connor shook his head faintly, a weak smile tugging at his lips.

Simon smiled gently, watching the shift in Connor’s demeanor. “Good,” he said softly. “You’re doing really well, Connor. If you need to, go ahead and enter stasis for a bit. You’re safe here, and we’ll take care of everything.”

Connor blinked slowly, his LED flickering faintly as his systems fought to remain active. The tension in his body had finally eased, and the warmth of Hank’s presence combined with Simon’s calm reassurances made him feel, for the first time in weeks, like he could truly let go.

Connor was barely aware of his surroundings, his senses dulled by the sedative effects coursing through his system. He felt the warmth of Hank’s steady presence beside him and the faint hum of conversation around the room, though the words blurred together, indistinct and distant.

Simon’s voice floated in and out of his awareness. He thought he caught fragments about “admitting him for observation,” followed by Hank and Markus discussing “investigation details” and “additional protection.” Their tones were calm but firm, weighted with purpose.

At one point, Connor thought he heard North’s voice speaking to Markus. It was faint and distant, like a dream. Or maybe it was a dream. His thoughts were hazy and disjointed, and he found himself wishing he could dream of something soft—Sumo’s fur, perhaps, or the quiet safety of his room at home.

The warmth surrounding him shifted, and Connor became faintly more aware. He realized Markus had scooped him up from the couch. The sudden movement made him instinctively grip Markus’s coat, his LED flickering faint yellow as his body sought stability.

“Easy, Connor,” Markus said gently, his voice calm and soothing. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Connor’s grip tightened briefly, his foggy mind registering the shift in contact. He didn’t see or hear Hank anymore, but the sedative made panic feel like a distant possibility, one he couldn’t quite reach. Instead, the warmth of Markus’s arms and the steadiness of his stride lulled him further into a sense of security.

Connor’s thoughts drifted as Markus carried him, the dull rhythm of his footsteps soothing in its steadiness. Markus is warm, Connor thought vaguely. Safe.

It was the last coherent thought Connor had before everything went blissfully quiet. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to truly let go, his systems surrendering to the much-needed rest his body and mind demanded.

Chapter Text

Connor blinked slowly, his systems sluggish, as he woke to the unfamiliar softness of a strange bed. Sunlight streamed through massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a gentle glow across the room. A soft blanket draped over him—one he faintly recognized as from home—and the subtle weight of a hand holding his brought him back into focus.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Simon said, his voice warm and cheerful as he squeezed Connor’s hand lightly. “How are you feeling?”

Connor took longer than usual to process the question, his synthetic mind moving through what felt like molasses. Finally, he murmured, “I… feel okay.”

Simon’s smile widened slightly, relief flickering across his face. “That’s good, honey,” he said gently, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles over the back of Connor’s hand.

The gesture grounded Connor, providing a comforting anchor amid the fog in his mind. After a long pause, he managed to ask, “Where… are Hank and Markus?”

Simon’s expression softened further as he continued to rub Connor’s hand. “Everyone’s busy today, sweet pea,” Simon explained in his calm, nurturing tone. “But they made sure you’ve got a few things here to stave off boredom.”

Connor’s gaze drifted to the small tray set beside the bed. His scanners took a moment to identify the objects on it: a worn paperback western, his abstract painting of Sumo—framed and standing proudly—and a small, round device. After a brief pause, his systems registered the device as a virtual dog simulator.

Simon caught the faint flicker of interest in Connor’s eyes and smiled. “Hank plans to come back after work, and Markus and North promised to stop by for a bit while I’m running meetings. But otherwise,” Simon said, squeezing Connor’s hand again, “I’m staying right here with you.”

Connor’s LED flickered faint blue as he squeezed Simon’s hand in gratitude. “Thank you,” he said softly.

He hesitated for a moment, his sluggish mind wrestling with the question weighing on him.

“When… can I go home?”

Simon’s smile dimmed slightly, a hint of sadness softening his features. “Oh, honey,” he said gently, his tone tinged with sympathy, “you’re likely going to be here for a few days.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow, his chest tightening slightly at the thought. Simon, sensing the shift, rubbed his hand reassuringly and continued.

“Congratulations,” Simon said with a light, sarcastic edge to his voice, “you’re officially the clinic’s first documented case of exhaustion. That’s a pretty unique achievement, sweet pea.”

Despite his foggy state, Connor couldn’t help the faint flicker of amusement at Simon’s tone.

Simon’s expression turned more serious, though still warm. “You’re still on the stabilizer with a high level of sedation,” he explained. “I’d like to keep you at this level for at least another day before we start lowering it. I know it’s messing with your processing abilities, but it’s giving your systems the chance to repair the damage caused by the high stress levels. For now, we need to give your body as much time as possible to heal.”

Connor nodded faintly, though it took visible effort. His body felt heavy, his thoughts sluggish. He wanted to argue, to insist he didn’t need to stay, but he struggled to find the words. Internally, his thoughts turned bittersweet.

I just want to go home, he thought. I want Sumo. I want Hank.

Simon caught the faint flicker of distress in Connor’s eyes and leaned closer. “You’re doing great, Connor,” he said gently. “This is temporary. You’ll be back with Hank and Sumo before you know it. For now, let’s focus on letting yourself rest, okay?”

Connor nodded again, his grip tightening slightly on Simon’s hand as he tried to push away the homesickness threatening to rise.

Simon noticed Connor’s flickering LED and the faint tension in his grip. With a warm smile, he squeezed Connor’s hand. “You know,” he said lightly, gesturing toward the small round device on the tray, “that virtual pet simulator isn’t just there to look cute. Want me to show you how it works?”

Connor glanced at the device, his sluggish mind taking a moment to register Simon’s suggestion. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but curious.

Simon reached for the simulator and placed it gently on the bed beside Connor. “Alright,” he said, tapping the small screen to activate it. The device whirred softly, projecting a tiny holographic menu with a series of pet options. “You can pick a breed here,” Simon explained, pointing at the screen.

Connor stared at the options, his LED faintly flickering as he scanned the list. After a long moment, he tapped the image of a Shiba Inu.

Simon grinned. “Good choice,” he said approvingly. “Now, this little guy is all yours. You can name him, feed him, play fetch, or even teach him tricks.”

The holographic Shiba Inu appeared on the device’s screen, wagging its tail enthusiastically. Connor stared at it for a moment before reaching out tentatively, tapping the screen to “pet” the dog. The tiny figure leaned into the touch, letting out a cheerful bark.

Simon laughed softly. “See? He likes you already. Why don’t you try feeding him next?”

Connor followed Simon’s instructions, navigating the menu slowly but steadily as he selected a food option. The virtual dog ate happily, then rolled onto its back, pawing at the air. Connor’s LED flickered faint blue, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

For the next hour, Connor became absorbed in caring for his new virtual pet. He taught it simple tricks like sitting and rolling over, played fetch with a holographic ball, and even customized its virtual collar with a small blue tag.

Simon watched quietly from the side, occasionally offering encouragement or gentle suggestions. “You’re a natural at this,” he said at one point, smiling as the Shiba Inu performed a perfect backflip under Connor’s guidance.

Connor’s focus on the simulator seemed to ease the lingering tension in his body, his LED settling into a steady blue. By the time he finally set the device down, his expression was calm, almost peaceful.

Simon leaned forward, his tone light. “How’s the new pup treating you?”

Connor glanced at the simulator, the faintest hint of warmth in his voice as he replied, “He’s… very well-behaved.”

Simon chuckled, placing a reassuring hand on Connor’s shoulder. “See? You’re already a great virtual pet parent. I’m impressed.”

Connor nodded faintly, his stress levels low enough now that his body felt less weighed down. For the first time in days, he felt a small sense of accomplishment—not much, but enough to hold onto for now.

Markus entered the room with a soft knock, holding a plush dog toy in his hands. Its floppy ears and oversized eyes gave it an endearing, cartoonish look. As he approached, his face lit up with a warm smile. “Since you can’t have Sumo here today, I thought you might like this,” he said, placing the stuffed dog on the bed beside Connor.

Connor blinked at the toy, then looked up at Markus with a faint flicker of amusement. Before he could respond, Simon noticed the gift and quipped, “I’m seeing a theme here.” He gestured toward the virtual pet simulator still resting on the tray beside Connor.

Connor giggled softly, clutching the plush dog against his chest. His LED flickered faint blue, the lightness of the moment breaking through his haze.

Simon grinned at the reaction, standing to stretch. “Alright, I’ll leave you two to it,” he said, adjusting the stabilizer device on Connor’s wrist before turning toward the door. “I’ll be back in an hour. And,” he added with exaggerated sarcasm, “try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

Connor gave him a small nod, still holding onto the stuffed dog, as Markus settled into the chair next to his bed. Once Simon left, Markus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

Connor tilted his head slightly, still slow in processing but steady enough to answer. “Better… I think,” he said softly. He hesitated before asking, “Have you made any progress on the case? Or… what have you been working on?”

Markus’s lips quirked into a faint smile, but he didn’t answer directly. Instead, he adjusted the chair slightly, sitting back more comfortably. “It’s good to see you resting,” he said lightly, as though Connor hadn’t asked.

Connor frowned faintly, his LED flickering yellow. “Markus…”

Markus leaned forward, tapping his finger lightly on the stuffed dog’s head. “What did you name this little guy?” he asked, deftly dodging the question.

Connor blinked, caught off guard. “I… I haven’t named it yet.”

“Well, think about it,” Markus said with a teasing smile. “It’ll need a name if it’s going to keep you company today.”

Connor’s frown deepened, and he shifted slightly in bed, narrowing his eyes at Markus. “You’re avoiding the question,” he said, his voice tinged with suspicion.

Markus chuckled, unbothered. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, sitting back again. “But I’m under strict orders, Connor. No work talk, no stressful topics. Just rest and recovery for you.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow again, and he found himself pouting, the stuffed dog pressed tighter to his chest. “That’s not fair.”

Markus grinned, leaning forward conspiratorially. “No, it’s not. But it’s what you need right now.” His tone was playful but firm, the kind of gentle authority Markus had perfected as a leader.

Connor sighed, his LED flickering faintly as he looked away. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted softly. “Being… taken care of.”

Markus’s smile softened. “That’s alright,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re learning. And we’re all here to make sure you get the time and space to do it.”

- - -

Connor looked down at the stuffed dog, stroking its soft fur absently as he processed Markus’s words. Despite his frustration, he found himself relaxing slightly, the quiet presence of someone he trusted easing the weight on his mind.

The quiet of the night settled over the room, the only sound the occasional hum from the stabilizer on Connor’s wrist. Connor lay back on the bed, the stuffed dog tucked under one arm, his eyes flickering to the door every so often. He couldn’t shake the uneasy sensation that someone was standing just beyond it—or perhaps behind him, watching silently. The feeling gnawed at him, unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite define.

Simon, seated nearby with a tablet in hand, glanced up after noticing Connor scanning the room for the third time. He tilted his head slightly, his LED flickering yellow. “Connor,” he said gently, his voice cutting through the quiet, “what are you looking for?”

Connor hesitated, his LED flickering faintly red before returning to yellow. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted softly, his gaze shifting away from Simon as though embarrassed by his own uncertainty.

Simon’s expression softened, concern flickering across his face. He didn’t press the issue, but his eyes lingered on Connor for a moment longer before returning to his tablet.

Connor, desperate to distract himself from the strange, creeping feeling, reached for the virtual pet simulator on the tray beside his bed. The familiar holographic Shiba Inu wagged its tail as Connor tapped the screen, and he let himself sink into the simplicity of feeding and playing with his virtual companion.

Simon watched quietly, his lips pressed into a thin line as he observed the faint tension in Connor’s posture. “Let me know if there’s anything you need,” Simon said softly, his tone reassuring. “Or if you want to talk.”

Connor nodded faintly, though his focus remained on the simulator. The virtual dog barked happily as Connor tossed a holographic ball, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased.

Simon didn’t push further, but his concern lingered, his LED flickering faintly yellow as he monitored Connor’s body language. He made a mental note to check the diagnostic reports again later, just to ensure there was nothing he might have missed. For now, he let Connor lose himself in the distraction, hoping it would help ease whatever unease was plaguing him tonight.

The door to the room opened softly, and Connor turned his head toward the sound. Hank entered, his expression immediately lighting up when he saw Connor sitting upright, the stuffed dog tucked under one arm. Without hesitation, Hank strode over and pulled Connor into a firm but careful hug, mindful of the stabilizer on Connor’s wrist.

“Hey, kid,” Hank said, his gruff voice carrying an undeniable warmth. “Good to see you awake. You’re looking better already.”

Connor blinked in surprise at the sudden embrace but quickly relaxed into it. His stress levels, which had been hovering uncomfortably all day, dropped significantly. The weight pressing on his synthetic chest seemed to lift, and for the first time in hours, he felt a sense of calm.

Stress Level: ^38%.

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor said softly, his voice steadying as he leaned into the familiar comfort.

Hank stepped back slightly, his hands still resting on Connor’s shoulders as he gave him a once-over. “You’ve got color back in your LED,” he joked lightly, his smile softening the rough edges of his tone. “That’s a good sign, right?”

Simon, who had been quietly observing from his seat nearby, stood and gave Hank a small smile. “He’s doing much better,” Simon confirmed. “And now that you’re here, I think he’ll be even better.”

Connor glanced at Simon as he began to gather his tablet and notes. “Where are you going?” Connor asked, his LED flickering faint blue.

Simon smiled warmly. “Just down the hall,” he reassured him. “I’ve got a few things to take care of, but if you need anything—anything at all—just shout, okay?”

Connor nodded, clutching the stuffed dog a little tighter. “Thank you, Simon.”

Simon reached out briefly to squeeze Connor’s shoulder before stepping toward the door. “Take it easy, sweet pea,” he said lightly, his tone playful to ease any lingering tension. “You’re in good hands with Hank.”

With that, Simon left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Hank dropped into the chair Simon had vacated, leaning forward slightly as he studied Connor’s face. “So,” he said, his tone teasing but gentle, “what’s this I hear about you being a pain in the ass patient?”

Connor blinked, his LED flickering faint blue. “I… didn’t mean to be,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady.

Hank let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Relax, kid. I’m just messing with you.” He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “Seriously, though, it’s good to see you looking more like yourself.”

Connor nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For the first time that day, he felt a glimmer of normalcy returning, thanks to Hank’s steady presence and familiar humor.

As the door clicked shut behind Simon, Connor turned to Hank, his grip on the stuffed dog tightening slightly. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice quiet but steady.

“How’s Sumo?” Connor asked, the faintest flicker of warmth in his LED.

Hank’s gruff face softened instantly. “Sumo’s fine, kid. Misses you, though. I caught him staring at your bedroom door last night. Pretty sure he thinks you’re just being lazy and haven’t taken him for a walk.”

Connor’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “I’ll take him as soon as I’m able.”

“You better,” Hank replied with mock sternness. His eyes flicked to the pet simulator on the tray. “What about this thing? You got yourself another mutt, huh? Thought Sumo would be enough for you.”

Connor glanced at the device, his fingers brushing against its edge. “It’s a virtual pet simulator,” he explained. “Simon showed me how to use it. It’s… nice.”

Hank raised a brow, leaning back in his chair. “Nice, huh? What’d you name it?”

Connor paused. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Hank chuckled. “Figures. Well, don’t let Sumo catch you playing favorites.”

The lighthearted exchange lingered for a moment before Connor’s expression grew more serious. “Hank,” he began, his LED flickering yellow. “Markus hasn’t told me much about what’s going on. I’m worried. Please… I need to know.”

Hank’s easy demeanor faltered, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Kid, you’re supposed to be resting,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “You don’t need to—”

“I do need to,” Connor interrupted, his voice pleading. “Not knowing is… worse. Please, Hank.”

Hank sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But don’t tell Simon I told you.”

Connor nodded, clutching the stuffed dog tighter.

“Simon’s been working with some of the tech people at Jericho to analyze the silent pings you’ve been getting,” Hank explained. “He passed the data to the department so they could trace it. They’re trying to figure out where it’s coming from.”

Connor’s LED flickered faintly yellow as he processed the information. “And the sites?” he prompted.

Hank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We think the sites that were hit all have something in common: they were used by engineers who worked on your model. It looks like the stalker is building a profile on you—what your hardware and software are like. Trying to figure out how to get better access to you.”

Connor’s LED flashed red briefly.

Hank hesitated before continuing. “We’re not sure why yet. But Markus spoke to Elijah Kamski. He said the only two labs connected to your creation that haven’t been hit are his own and the old CyberLife tower. We’ve stationed people at both, and we’ve got someone watching over you and Kamski.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow again, his stress creeping up. “Is that all?” he asked softly.

Hank sighed heavily. “Not quite. Kamski had a theory.” He paused, glancing at Connor’s tense frame before pressing on. “He thinks the stalker is another RK model. He said he thought the others were destroyed, but the handwriting on the notes matches the scripting he gave to your series.”

Connor froze, his grip on the stuffed dog tightening further. “Another RK?” he repeated faintly.

“Kamski said it’d have to be one of them,” Hank confirmed. “Said an RK unit would have the capabilities to pull this off.”

Connor nodded slowly, allowing himself to process the information. Internally, his mind reeled.

RK-860 was destroyed when we freed the androids at CyberLife, he thought, his LED pulsing faint red. There were no other assembled RK units except… RK-900.

He stiffened, his synthetic chest tightening as he recalled Amanda’s chilling words to him. “You’re obsolete for the new threats. We’re moving forward with RK-900.”

Connor had never seen RK-900 activated. He’d convinced himself it was just a concept, a plan that had been scrapped after the revolution. But now, the pieces were clicking into place, and his stress levels began to rise rapidly.

Stress Level: ^78%.

The memory of being told he was going to be deactivated—the terror of it—washed over him like a wave. His vision blurred slightly, and he gripped the stuffed dog tightly, his systems urging him to focus on grounding himself, though the panic felt insurmountable.

Before Connor could voice his mounting conclusions, the door opened, and Simon walked in briskly, his expression calm but tinged with concern. “Alright, gentlemen,” he said, his tone light but firm, “that’s enough work talk for now. I just got a stress alert from the stabilizer, and we need to bring those levels back down.”

Hank frowned, glancing at Connor. “He seemed fine a minute ago,” Hank said, though his voice softened as he noticed the tension in Connor’s grip on the stuffed dog.

Simon approached, kneeling beside Connor’s bed. “He’s not fine, but we can fix that,” Simon said gently. He placed a hand on Connor’s arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Connor, I’m going to temporarily increase the sedation. It’ll help you rest, and we’ll talk more once you’ve had some time in stasis, alright?”

Connor hesitated, his LED flickering yellow. He glanced at Hank, who gave him a small nod. “You’ve earned a break, kid,” Hank said, his voice gruff but kind. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Connor looked back at Simon and gave a small nod. “Okay,” he said softly.

Simon adjusted the stabilizer on Connor’s wrist, increasing the sedation levels carefully. Almost immediately, Connor felt the weight of his fear and stress begin to dissipate, like a heavy fog lifting. His body felt lighter, his mind less burdened.

“You’re safe,” Simon said warmly, his voice steady and grounding. “Just let yourself rest for a bit.”

Connor’s grip on the stuffed dog loosened slightly as his systems began shutting down for stasis. His LED flickered faint blue, and he turned his head toward Hank one last time. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Hank ruffled Connor’s hair gently. “Get some rest, kid.”

As Connor drifted into stasis, the fear that had gripped him earlier seemed to move far away, replaced by a quiet, dreamlike calm.

- - -

When Connor’s systems rebooted, his awareness gradually returned. He felt the familiar warmth of a hand holding his, and the soft murmur of voices pulled him further out of stasis. Blinking his eyes open, he noticed Simon seated beside him, reading his datapad, his grip on Connor’s hand steady and comforting.

Connor turned his head slightly and saw North sitting at the edge of his bed, her feet propped up on the mattress. She was intensely focused on his virtual pet simulator, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she attempted to teach the holographic Shiba Inu a new trick. The faint beeping of the simulator filled the room.

The sight made Connor smile faintly, and then, quietly, he laughed—a soft, breathy sound that made North glance up. She smirked, clearly pleased with herself.

“Look who’s awake,” she said, setting the simulator down for a moment. “I’ve been babysitting your dog. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Connor replied, his voice soft but steadier than before.

North held up the simulator, the virtual dog wagging its tail enthusiastically on the screen. “He’s pretty good at fetch now,” she said, clearly proud of her efforts. “But I can’t figure out how to make him sit and roll over at the same time.”

Simon looked up from his datapad, giving Connor a warm smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Feeling any better?”

Connor nodded slightly, his LED flickering faint blue. “Better,” he said softly.

Before Simon could respond, the door opened, and Hank walked in, a cup of coffee in hand. “Hey, kid,” he greeted, his tone gruff but warm. “Good to see you looking even better than earlier.”

Hank settled into a chair, glancing at North’s antics with the simulator. “Don’t tell me you’ve corrupted him with your tricks,” he said with mock exasperation.

“Relax, old man,” North shot back. “I’m just keeping him entertained.”

The group settled into an easy rhythm of small talk. North and Simon discussed plans for expanding Jericho’s community center, while Hank grumbled good-naturedly about how far Jericho had come since the old warehouse days. Connor mostly listened, the soothing flow of their conversation filling the room with a calm warmth he hadn’t felt in days.

Eventually, North handed the virtual pet simulator back to Connor. “Your turn,” she said. “I’ve already done all the hard work.”

Connor took the device with a faint smile, his fingers brushing against the screen as the holographic Shiba Inu barked happily. For a while, he fussed over his virtual dog, adjusting its settings and trying out the new tricks North had taught it.

The steady companionship of his friends, the warmth of the blanket covering him, and the comforting sound of the virtual dog all lulled Connor into a rare sense of peace. As the conversation carried on around him, his eyelids grew heavier, and he let himself drift back toward sleep, his stress levels settling further. For the first time in a long while, Connor felt safe.

Connor was barely aware of the conversation unfolding around him, the voices soft and soothing like a distant hum. He recognized Simon’s calm tone, always reassuring, as he spoke to Hank.

“You should head home, Hank,” Simon was saying. “Connor’s likely going to sleep through the night, and I’ll stay with him. If, for some reason, I can’t be here, Markus is only a five-minute walk away. Though, knowing Markus, I’m pretty sure he’d run, not walk.”

Hank let out a short laugh, one that Connor could feel more than hear. “Yeah, that sounds like him. Always overachieving.”

Simon chuckled lightly, the sound warm and companionable. “Exactly.”

Connor’s sluggish thoughts struggled to process the humor, though he felt a faint warmth in the camaraderie between the two. He didn’t fully understand what was funny, but it didn’t matter. The soft, easy laughter was comforting in itself.

Hank moved closer, and Connor felt the familiar weight of his presence at the bedside. A moment later, he felt Hank press a kiss to his forehead, the rare gesture full of affection. “I’m gonna head out, kid,” Hank said softly. “But I love you, alright? Don’t forget that.”

Connor’s eyes fluttered open briefly, catching Hank’s earnest expression. With a faint, almost whispered voice, he replied, “Love you.”

Hank ruffled Connor’s hair lightly before stepping back, his footsteps retreating as Simon walked him to the door. Connor heard their voices exchange a few more words, but he couldn’t make out what was said. The warmth of the blanket, the lingering affection of Hank’s gesture, and the safety of Simon’s presence all combined to lull him back into sleep.

This time, it came quickly, carrying him into a quiet, dreamless rest.

- - -

Markus waited patiently by the bed as Connor stirred awake, his LED flickering faintly as his systems came online. Connor blinked up at Markus, momentarily disoriented by the steady warmth of the sunlight filtering into the room. Markus smiled softly, leaning forward slightly.

“Hey,” Markus greeted. “Ready to be awake?”

Connor paused for a moment, as though genuinely considering the question. Finally, he nodded. “Yes.”

“Perfect,” Markus said. He reached out to help Connor sit up but then shifted himself onto the bed behind him, offering his chest as a support. “Here, lean back on me. I’ve got you.”

Connor hesitated but allowed Markus to pull him close, his back resting against Markus’s chest. Markus looped an arm gently across Connor’s waist to steady him and placed a datapad on the tray in front of them. Connor blinked at the screen but found himself momentarily distracted by the feeling of Markus’s arm, warm and reassuring, keeping him upright. He realized he quite liked it—the steady, grounding presence that Markus offered.

“I want to play a game,” Markus said, his tone light.

Connor tilted his head slightly, his LED flickering yellow. “A game?”

Markus nodded and tapped the datapad, bringing up detailed schematics of two buildings. One was a tall, modern tower, while the other was a sprawling private residence. Both were accompanied by detailed security briefings. “I want you to tell me how you’d infiltrate these buildings.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, his LED flickering faintly blue. “That’s… a strange game.”

Markus smiled, his tone encouraging. “Humor me.”

Connor let out a small sigh but nodded. “Alright. What’s the target?”

Markus paused, as though considering his answer. “Informational data,” he finally said, his voice steady.

Connor glanced at him, his expression faintly skeptical. “Where is the information kept?”

Markus smiled and tapped the datapad again, highlighting a few key areas in each building where the data might be stored. “You’ll have to figure that out.”

Connor leaned forward slightly, his synthetic hands swiping through the diagrams and security briefings. He took a few moments to process the information, his LED flickering steadily as he focused.

Unbeknownst to him, Hank and Simon had entered the room quietly, their conversation stopping short as they caught sight of Markus and Connor. Their frowns deepened as they watched Markus guiding Connor through the exercise. Hank crossed his arms, a gruff expression of disapproval forming, while Simon exchanged a glance with him, his concern evident.

Connor, oblivious to their presence, finally spoke. “The tower building,” he began, “usually has cable ducts with crawl spaces for repairs. Here…” He pointed to an area in the schematic. “There’s an error in the original layout. A large cable was likely added to this room where the information is most likely stored.”

He swiped again, zooming in on the diagram. “Based on the remodel, there’s now a small but serviceable crawl space leading directly to the room. It would allow access while avoiding most, if not all, security checkpoints.”

Markus hummed thoughtfully, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Interesting,” he said. “And the residence?”

Connor switched to the second schematic, analyzing it quickly. “The home doesn’t pose much trouble unless the goal is to remain undetected after entering and leaving. If the target was to avoid detection long-term, it would be better to wait until the owner isn’t home. Alternatively…” Connor hesitated for a moment before continuing. “You could engage the panic room early, blocking the owner inside for several hours and cutting off their ability to contact the outside world.”

He swiped again. “If remaining undetected isn’t a priority, a loud approach would suffice. A flashbang to disorient, followed by locking the homeowner in a closet or bathroom, would be effective.”

Hank cleared his throat loudly, startling Connor slightly. Connor turned, his LED flickering faintly red before settling into blue as he registered Hank and Simon standing in the doorway. Markus looked up at them with a faintly guilty smile, while Hank crossed his arms tightly.

“Really, Markus?” Hank said, his tone a mix of irritation and disbelief. “This is the game you thought was a good idea?”

Simon stepped forward, his voice calmer but no less firm. “Connor’s supposed to be relaxing,” he said, his gaze steady on Markus. “This doesn’t exactly look relaxing.”

Markus raised his hands defensively. “It’s just a mental exercise,” he explained. “Something to keep his mind sharp without overwhelming him.”

Connor glanced between them, unsure of what to say. His LED flickered faintly yellow as he processed the situation. Finally, he spoke softly. “It… wasn’t stressful,” he said, his tone hesitant. “It helped me focus.”

Hank sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, kid,” he said gruffly. “But next time, how about we stick to dog videos instead of breaking-and-entering lessons, huh?”

Connor blinked, then gave a faint nod. “Understood.” Despite himself, he felt a small flicker of warmth at Hank’s protectiveness and Markus’s encouragement. For the first time in a while, he felt a bit more like himself.

Markus sat stunned for a moment after Hank’s comment, his eyes briefly flicking to Connor before settling back on the datapad. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but tinged with admiration. “Connor,” he said softly, “you did very well. Your analysis was spot on.”

Connor blinked at him, his LED flickering faint blue as he processed the praise. He watched as Markus tapped a few times on the datapad, sending Connor’s detailed answers directly to Hank’s device. Hank’s eyebrows rose as he glanced at his screen, and while he didn’t say anything, his expression was a mixture of reluctant admiration and concern.

Connor’s attention, however, drifted away from the exchange. A strange sensation crawled over him—an almost tangible feeling that someone was watching them. His gaze darted briefly to the wall across the room, his LED flickering yellow. The feeling wasn’t new; it had haunted him intermittently for weeks.

His chest tightened, and his fingers twitched faintly against the blanket covering his lap. The sensation was irrational, perhaps just a product of his heightened stress. It felt real enough to make him uneasy.

Without thinking, Connor leaned further into Markus, seeking comfort in the steady warmth and firm presence of his arm across his waist. Markus glanced down at him, his expression softening immediately.

“Hey,” Markus said gently, his voice low so only Connor could hear. “You’re alright. You’re safe here.”

Connor nodded faintly, though his eyes flickered once more toward the wall. The sensation didn’t entirely fade, but leaning into Markus’s embrace dulled its edge, grounding him enough to push the feeling aside for now.

Markus shifted slightly, pulling Connor just a little closer. “You’re doing great, Connor,” he said quietly. “One step at a time, okay?”

Connor nodded again, his LED flickering blue as he let himself relax, the phantom sensation of being watched slowly receding into the background. For now, Markus’s steady presence was enough to keep the unease at bay.

- - -

After Markus left, the room felt quieter, emptier. Connor tried to focus on the stuffed dog in his lap, smoothing its fur absentmindedly, but the uneasy sensation crept back into his awareness. The feeling of being watched gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, sharp and persistent. His eyes darted toward the windows, scanning for anything—anyone—out of place.

Simon, seated nearby with his datapad, noticed Connor’s LED flickering yellow. He glanced up, his brow furrowing in concern. “Connor, what is it?” he asked softly.

Connor hesitated, his hands gripping the stuffed dog a little tighter. “Can you… can you check the windows?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady. “I feel like… someone’s watching.”

Simon didn’t hesitate. Setting his device aside, he stood and walked to the windows, his movements deliberate and calm. He peered out carefully, scanning the surroundings as Connor watched him anxiously.

After a few moments, Simon turned back with a reassuring smile. “There’s nothing out there,” he said gently. “Just clouds, a few birds, and some leaves blowing in the breeze. No one’s watching you, Connor.”

Connor’s LED flickered faintly blue, but the unease didn’t entirely dissipate. Simon seemed to notice because he moved closer, pulling a chair right beside Connor’s bed. He reached out and took Connor’s hand, holding it firmly yet gently. “You’re safe here,” Simon said softly. “North and Markus are only minutes away if we need them. There’s a police car stationed right outside the building. And I’m staying with you. You don’t have to worry.”

Connor looked down at their joined hands, processing Simon’s words. Internally, he reflected on how much this felt like something a child might ask—a request to check for monsters under the bed or in the closet. The thought embarrassed him slightly, but it didn’t outweigh the comfort he felt from Simon’s reassurances.

Simon squeezed his hand lightly, drawing Connor’s attention back. “You’re not alone in this, Connor,” he said warmly. “We’ve got you.”

Connor nodded, his LED stabilizing into a steady blue. Despite the lingering embarrassment, he realized he was calmer than he’d been in hours. The oppressive feeling of being watched seemed to fade, leaving him with a sense of safety.

Connor sat quietly, cradling his virtual pet simulator as he tried to focus on its cheerful barks and wagging tail. The holographic Shiba Inu played fetch with increasing energy, but as fatigue crept in, Connor’s movements slowed. Eventually, he placed the simulator carefully on the tray beside him, his eyes lingering on it for a moment before he reached for his stuffed dog.

Pulling the plush tightly to his chest, Connor snuggled deeper into the soft cocoon of blankets. The warmth surrounded him, a comforting shield against the cold weight of his thoughts. He let his gaze wander, his LED flickering faintly blue as he allowed himself to relax.

The quiet rhythm of the room began to register increasingly to Connor. Simon was seated nearby, the soft tapping of his fingers on his device a steady backdrop. From the hallway, Connor could hear the faint sounds of android footsteps, purposeful and measured. Further still, the gentle hum of the waterfall fountain echoed faintly through the building, a soothing cadence that filled the silence.

Connor’s mind drifted despite his efforts to keep it grounded. The thought of his stalker crept in, a shadow at the edge of his awareness. His LED flickered yellow as he considered his creation, the mission that had defined his existence for so long: to be a machine.

A perfect, efficient machine.

He wondered, with the worry distant but still tangible, what would happen if they succeeded in turning him back into that machine. His fingers tightened slightly on the stuffed dog as his thoughts spiraled further.

Am I deviant enough to resist? he asked himself.

Would it be like dying?

Would I even remember being alive?

The questions were unsettling, and though his body remained still, his mind felt as though it were pacing a narrow, unlit room. The unknown loomed large, but his thoughts were mercifully interrupted by the rhythm of life around him.

Simon’s quiet tapping grounded him again. The faint footsteps in the hallway reminded him he wasn’t alone, that the world carried on even as he wrestled with his fears. The distant sound of the waterfall soothed him, drawing him back to the present.

Connor’s LED stabilized, its flickering blue becoming steady. He clutched the stuffed dog closer to his chest and allowed himself to simply listen, the world’s quiet movements pulling him away from the edge of his thoughts.

- - -

The next day found Connor in a strange mood. The sedation lingered in his system, leaving him drowsy at odd moments, but restlessness gnawed at him, too. He found the confinement chafing, a dull irritation sparking just behind his eyes each time he had to shift position or reorient himself after drifting off.

In the morning, Simon had tried to talk to him about a local android crafts fair happening soon in one of Jericho’s common spaces. North had popped in shortly after, attempting to share a story about a fellow android who’d started painting murals in the old tunnels. Both of them, well-meaning as they were, met with increasingly monosyllabic responses. Connor felt bad about it—he knew they were only trying to help—but words came out stiff and thin, falling lifelessly into the quiet air.

His LED flickered an anxious yellow as North prepared to leave. She paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder at him, her arms crossed in a gentle show of patience rather than frustration. “I’ll bring you something entertaining for tonight, okay?” she said, tone light but determined.

Connor, guilt surging in his chest, shook his head weakly. “You don’t have to,” he said, voice soft and halting. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything. You’ve… all done enough.”

North’s eyes narrowed with a teasing spark. “Connor, you’re bored and you’re grumpy,” she said, half-grinning, “and that’s perfectly allowed under the circumstances. It’s no big deal.” She shrugged, adding with a mock-authoritative nod, “I’m bringing you something. End of discussion.”

Connor wanted to argue again, to say it wasn’t necessary, but the look in her eyes stopped him. She cared. She was happy to help. It wasn’t an obligation, but something she truly wanted to do. Instead of pushing her away, he let a small, reluctant smile curve at the corner of his mouth, acknowledging her kindness.

“Okay,” he said finally, voice subdued but sincere. “Thank you.”

North’s grin warmed. “Good. I’ll see you later.” With that, she slipped out, leaving the faint echo of her presence behind in the quiet hall.

Alone with his lingering sedation and unsettled temper, Connor closed his eyes and tried to find something steady inside himself. The promise of new entertainment this evening wouldn’t cure everything, but maybe it would make the hours pass more kindly. He focused on that thought, letting it be a small spark of hope in the haze of the day.

After North left, Simon pulled his chair closer, the small diagnostic reader humming softly as he checked on Connor’s latest reports. Connor watched, noting the subtle shift in Simon’s expression, the brief downward tilt of his lips. When Simon looked up and met his gaze, Connor’s LED flickered yellow.

“Don’t make that face,” Connor said quietly, a hint of tired humor in his tone. “...how bad is it?”

Simon let out a low, good-natured laugh, shaking his head. “It’s not terrible, sweet pea,” he said, tapping a few times on the reader before turning it toward Connor. The screen displayed several charts with color-coded lines that rose and fell in jagged patterns. “But it’s not as good as I’d hoped.”

Connor tilted his head, studying the charts. He recognized the spikes of his stress levels, shooting up and down repeatedly. “What am I looking at?”

Simon pointed to a chart that showed a baseline, with Connor’s stress rising above it at irregular intervals. “See here? Your stress is down to safe levels most of the time—which is great—but you’re still having these spikes. They’re shorter and less intense than before, but they’re frequent. No new damage, but with these constant fluctuations, your self-healing programs can’t really get a good, steady grip on repairing the old damage.”

Connor nodded, his LED flickering faintly yellow again. “So I’m still here for a while,” he said softly.

Simon reached out, giving Connor’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Yes,” he confirmed. “You’ll likely need to remain hospitalized for a while longer.”

Connor’s LED flickered red briefly, a sign of his frustration. “What are my options?” he asked, voice subdued.

Simon leaned back slightly, considering how to explain. “Okay,” he began carefully. “Option one: we continue with the current treatment plan. It’ll be slower, more drawn out. We’re talking possibly several weeks, maybe more, before you’re stable enough to go home.” Simon’s voice was calm, but the weight of those words pressed down on the room.

Connor’s shoulders sagged. Several weeks felt like an eternity.

Simon held up a hand, “Option two: We increase the sedation level. That’ll help smooth out those stress spikes, allowing your systems to heal more efficiently. It could shorten your stay by a few days, maybe even weeks. But you’ll be more sedated, more out of it, and that might not be comfortable for you.”

Connor swallowed, absorbing the idea of even heavier sedation.

“And the third option?” he prompted.

Simon hesitated, his LED flickering as he measured his words. “Option three: We give you a line of code that will force you into stasis if your stress levels rise above 35%. You’d be able to go home, but you’d likely pass out—essentially faint—multiple times if something triggers your stress. You’d need someone with you at all times, 24/7 surveillance. We could test it here for twenty-four hours, but honestly,” Simon grimaced, “I’m not thrilled about that option. It’s risky. You’d still have to come in several times a week for evaluations.”

Connor’s LED spun yellow, his mind racing through the pros and cons of each choice. None of them sounded appealing—each carried its own cost, its own burden.

Simon noticed Connor’s distress and leaned forward, voice gentle. “You don’t have to decide right now. Take the rest of the day to think about it. We’ll support whatever you choose. But remember, our main goal is your long-term health, not just getting you out the door.”

Connor nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the decision settling onto his shoulders. “Alright,” he said quietly, his voice thin but determined. He’d think it through, as Simon suggested. For now, it was all he could do.

Connor fell into a sullen silence after Simon left him with the options for his treatment. Staring at the ceiling, his frustration and helplessness weighed on him until sleep finally, mercifully claimed him.

- - -

When he awoke, it was to the sound of soft footsteps moving restlessly across the floor. His eyelids fluttered open, and he found Markus pacing the room, his brows drawn tight with worry. For a moment, Markus didn’t notice Connor watching him. The android leader ran a hand through his hair, shoulders taut, completely absorbed in his own anxious thoughts.

Then Markus caught sight of Connor’s half-lidded gaze. Instantly, Markus’s face transformed: the stress etched into his features softened, and a tender, relieved smile curved his lips. He stopped pacing and moved swiftly to sit next to Connor’s bed, putting an arm around him. The warmth and presence of Markus so close was overwhelming—Connor had to fight back a sudden surge of emotion at the simple kindness of it.

“What’s wrong?” Markus asked softly, his voice full of concern. “What can I do?”

Connor swallowed, his LED flickering faintly. “I feel… bad,” he said, his voice subdued. “I’ve been so irritable… I just can’t stand this anymore. All this waiting, being stuck here.” He sighed, looking away. “I don’t mean to lash out at anyone, but I hate feeling trapped.”

Markus’s arm tightened slightly, a reassuring gesture. “You’re allowed to feel that way,” he said gently. “You’re going through a lot. No one’s angry with you for being frustrated.”

Connor sniffed, embarrassed by his own vulnerability. “I want to go home,” he murmured, a plaintive note creeping into his voice. “I know I can’t yet, but that’s what I really want.”

Markus nodded, leaning closer as if to shield Connor from his own helplessness. “I know,” he said softly. “I wish I could give you that right now. But what can I do for you here and now?”

Connor hesitated, his eyes drifting over the room. The four walls, the medical equipment, the quiet hush of clinical efficiency—it all felt suffocating. He glanced up at Markus again. “I want to walk around,” he said quietly. “Just for a few minutes. I need to feel like I can move.”

Markus’s gaze lit with understanding. “A walk?” he echoed, smiling as though it was the simplest and best idea he’d heard all day. “I think I can manage that.”

Connor’s LED flickered in faint gratitude, and he relaxed a fraction. It wasn’t going home, but it was something—something that gave him a semblance of control, a reminder that he was more than a patient confined to bed. And with Markus supporting him, maybe it wouldn’t feel so bad.

Markus moved with practiced efficiency, gathering the stabilization machine and tucking it into a specially designed bag. He slung it over his shoulder, adjusting the strap until it sat securely against his chest. Turning back to Connor, he offered a supportive hand. “Ready?” he asked, voice gentle.

Connor nodded, his LED flickering faintly. Rising from the bed took effort—his legs felt oddly heavy, and his balance wavered for a moment. Markus stepped in closer, slipping an arm through Connor’s until they stood arm-in-arm, close enough for Connor to feel Markus’s steady breathing.

“Just a few minutes,” Markus reminded him softly. “If you start to get tired, let me know. No sense stressing your body or risking Simon’s wrath.”

Connor managed a quiet chuckle at that, the sound warm in the quiet hallway. “Understood,” he said, voice subdued but pleased at the small burst of humor.

They ventured out into the corridor, the soft lighting and gentle hum of distant conversation washing over them. Markus matched his pace to Connor’s, never rushing, careful and attentive. Every so often, Connor’s steps faltered, and Markus squeezed his arm reassuringly.

When they reached the elevator, its glass walls revealed a breathtaking view. The fountain waterfall cascaded down to an oasis garden on the building’s lower floor, lush greenery clinging to the rocks. The moss shone in various shades of green, each hue vibrant under the subtle lighting. Connor paused, leaning a bit more into Markus’s side as he took it all in.

“It’s beautiful,” Connor murmured, mesmerized by the soft spray of water and the quiet drip of moisture feeding the living tapestry below.

Markus looked down at him, the corner of his mouth lifting into a gentle smile. “It really is,” he agreed softly, allowing Connor the time he needed to admire the scene, both of them sharing in the quiet peace of that moment together.

When Connor and Markus returned from their brief walk, they found Simon standing near the bed, arms folded and one brow arched in mild reproach. He spared Markus a pointed look—equal parts admonishment and amusement—before turning his attention back to Connor.

“Back already?” Simon asked, his tone shifting to something warmer and more welcoming as he stepped forward. “Let’s get you settled.”

Connor allowed Simon’s gentle guidance, his mood notably improved after the short excursion. The movement had eased the sense of confinement that had been gnawing at him, and now he felt pleasantly tired rather than restlessly drained. He let Simon help him back onto the bed, the soft blankets and supportive pillows ready to cradle him.

Markus hovered nearby, a subtle grin tugging at his lips. “You’re in good hands,” he said quietly. He leaned in, offering Connor a swift, affectionate hug and a brief kiss against his temple. It was a comforting, familiar gesture that set Connor’s LED flickering faintly blue. Without waiting for Simon’s scolding, Markus stepped back and made a strategic retreat toward the door, glancing back with a playful smirk before disappearing into the hallway.

Simon watched him go, shaking his head with an overly dramatic sigh. He turned back to Connor, waggling his eyebrows as if to say, Now wasn’t that daring? The effect coaxed a soft, genuine laugh out of Connor. He appreciated the lightness of the moment, relieved that even within the seriousness of his recovery and the stern oversight of his caregivers, there was still room for humor and warmth.

As Connor relaxed further into the bed, he realized that even though he was stuck here, surrounded by concern and caution, it didn’t have to feel like a prison. There were people—good people—willing to bend the rules a bit to make him feel better. That alone made it easier to keep going.

As Simon began to tuck the blankets snugly around Connor, he launched into an animated recounting of his latest meeting with the other clinical operators. His tone was light, though there was an unmistakable edge of exasperation laced throughout his words.

“You wouldn’t believe it, Connor,” Simon started, his eyes widening for emphasis. “We’ve been trying to standardize post-revolution medical protocols for months now. Months! And would you like to guess what the biggest debate was during today’s meeting?”

Connor tilted his head slightly, his LED flickering blue as he played along. “Something practical, I hope?”

Simon snorted, shaking his head. “Oh no. Not at all. It was about clipboards, of all things. Should we go fully digital or keep some physical forms for redundancy? I mean, really—clipboards? While we’re treating androids with stress damage and patching up supply shortages?”

Connor let out a soft hum of amusement, his grip tightening momentarily on the stuffed dog resting in his lap. “I suppose redundancy has its merits.”

Simon pointed at him dramatically, as if Connor had just sided with the opposition. “Exactly what one of them said! ‘What if the servers go down?’ they said. ‘What if the tablets run out of battery?’” Simon mimed a panicked gasp, making Connor’s lips twitch into a faint smile. “It’s not like we haven’t been running this clinic on 90% digital records without a single issue since day one. But no, let’s argue about paper versus pixels for an entire hour.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a productive use of time,” he deadpanned.

Simon laughed, his voice rich and warm. “Oh, don’t start with me,” he said, wagging a finger at Connor. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Connor dipped his head slightly, the smile lingering on his lips as he murmured, “I am.”

Simon softened, his voice lowering as he continued. “It’s just… the bigger issues keep getting pushed to the side. Supply chain stability, mental health resources for androids who were forced to work under hostile conditions, proper training for human and android medical teams working together.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Sometimes, it feels like we’re so focused on the little things that we lose sight of the big picture.”

Connor didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting toward the window as Simon’s words settled. He found he didn’t mind not speaking. Simon’s voice was steady and reassuring, filling the room with a sense of normalcy that Connor craved. Every so often, Connor interjected with a soft comment or a quiet question, but for the most part, he simply listened, letting the sound of Simon’s companionship ease the restless edges of his mind.

Later, as the sun dipped lower and the room filled with the soft golden light of early evening, Simon leaned forward in his chair. His voice was gentle, careful. “Connor,” he began, “have you thought any more about your treatment options?”

Connor stared at the stuffed dog in his lap, his LED flickering faintly yellow. He shrugged, a small, listless motion. “I’m not sure,” he said after a moment. “I want to go home, but…” He hesitated, his grip tightening slightly on the plush toy. “I’m afraid.”

Simon tilted his head, his brows knitting together in quiet concern. “Afraid of what?” he asked softly.

Connor’s voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper. “That I’ll put Hank, or someone else, in harm’s way if the stalker comes by. If they escalate.” His LED flickered a faster yellow now. “I won’t be able to defend myself. I’m… vulnerable. More than I’ve ever been.”

Simon’s expression shifted, a mix of understanding and regret. “I didn’t even consider that,” he admitted. “You’re right. That’s… a lot to carry.”

Connor nodded faintly, his eyes dropping to the blanket covering his lap. “I don’t think the sedation coding will work,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I don’t like the idea of being unaware. I already feel…” He trailed off, his LED flickering briefly red before settling back to yellow.

Simon waited patiently, giving Connor the space he needed to gather his thoughts.

“I just don’t want to be here for weeks and weeks,” Connor finally said, his voice cracking slightly with frustration. “I want to work. I want to walk Sumo. I want to not be afraid anymore.” He went quiet, his fingers clutching at the edges of the stuffed dog as though it might ground him.

By the end of his confession, the room felt heavy with the weight of his words. Simon reached out and took Connor’s hand, squeezing it firmly. He leaned in slightly, his soft, understanding gaze meeting Connor’s troubled one. “I’m so sorry, sweet pea,” Simon said, his voice thick with emotion. “I wish I could take this from you, make it easier.”

Connor blinked rapidly, his LED flickering between blue and yellow as he processed Simon’s sincerity. Despite the turmoil inside him, the simple, unwavering kindness in Simon’s words and touch eased something in him. He nodded faintly, his grip tightening around Simon’s hand as he allowed himself to take comfort in the presence of someone who truly cared.

“Thank you,” Connor said quietly, his voice unsteady but genuine. For the first time that day, he felt just a little less alone.

- - -

As the early evening light softened the room, Markus and North arrived, their arms full of supplies. Markus carried his paints and blank canvases, while North had brushes and palettes balanced carefully. Connor’s LED flickered faintly blue at the sight of them, his curiosity piqued.

“We’re having a paint night,” Markus announced cheerfully, setting his supplies down on the table. North shot him a teasing grin and began arranging stations for everyone: one for Connor, one for Simon, one for herself, and Markus’s own set up prominently at the front for everyone to follow.

Simon looked amused but cooperative as he helped North arrange the easels. “A group activity,” he remarked with mock seriousness. “I approve.”

Markus positioned his station with the canvas already propped up. “We’re painting a mountain with a waterfall scene tonight,” he said, his voice warm and encouraging. “I’ll guide you through it step by step. Don’t worry—this is supposed to be fun, not perfect.”

Connor sat at his station, the blank canvas staring back at him, and picked up his brush. Markus’s calm, steady instructions filled the room as he demonstrated the first steps: painting a light background and adding faint outlines for the mountain and waterfall. Connor followed along, tentatively at first, but found himself surprised as shapes began to take form on his canvas.

“You’re doing great, Connor,” Markus said warmly as he walked past, glancing at Connor’s work.

At one point, Connor struggled with his grip on the brush, his movements growing stiff and hesitant. Markus noticed immediately and came over. “Here,” he said, taking Connor’s hand gently and adjusting his fingers. “Loosen up a little. The brush should feel like an extension of your arm, not a tool you’re forcing.”

Connor relaxed under Markus’s guidance, and soon his strokes became more fluid. The mountain took shape, the waterfall spilling down its rocky surface, framed by vibrant greens and blues.

Simon and North exchanged playful banter as they worked, North teasing Simon about his overly detailed trees while Simon joked about North’s “abstract waterfall.” The lighthearted atmosphere filled the room with warmth, and even Connor found himself smiling faintly at their antics.

By the time the session wrapped up, North and Markus began cleaning up the paints and brushes. Connor sat back, gazing at his finished work. It wasn’t as polished as Markus’s, but it felt alive—something he’d created with his own hands. He found himself feeling oddly proud.

Hank arrived just as the cleanup was finishing, his jacket slung over one shoulder. “What’s all this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the paint-covered crew.

“Paint night,” North said with a grin, holding up her hands stained with smudges of green and blue.

Connor hesitated for a moment before turning his canvas toward Hank. “I made this,” he said quietly, a faint flicker of nervousness in his tone.

Hank leaned in, inspecting the painting with a thoughtful expression. “Not bad, kid,” he said, a warm smile breaking across his face. “You’re getting pretty good at this.”

Connor’s LED flickered blue, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice carrying the faintest hint of pride.

Hank clapped him on the shoulder. “Keep it up. Sumo’s gonna start demanding portraits soon.”

The room filled with quiet laughter, and for the first time in days, Connor felt a little lighter, surrounded by the people who cared for him.

Simon approached Connor after paint night, sitting beside him with an air of calm seriousness. “Connor,” he began gently, “would you like Hank to help you make the decision about your treatment options?”

Connor looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I think that would be good,” he said softly.

Simon called Hank over, explaining the current two options as clearly as possible.

Hank frowned slightly as he listened, nodding here and there. He asked Simon a few clarifying questions about the risks, the expected results, and how quickly they might see improvements with the increased sedation. Simon answered with his usual measured tone, his voice reassuring without downplaying the seriousness of the situation.

When Simon finished, Hank turned to Connor, his expression softening. “How do you feel on this level of sedation right now, kid?”

Connor tilted his head, his LED flickering yellow as he thought. “It… makes things feel far away sometimes,” he said carefully. “It’s easier not to worry about certain things, but… when the worries do come, they feel really big. Like they fill up everything.”

He hesitated, his hands fidgeting slightly with the edge of his blanket. “I don’t think the worries will go away—not until the stalker is found. I don’t want to be on sedation forever. Honestly… I kind of hate it. Except…” He trailed off, glancing up at Hank and Simon. “Except when I feel like I’m dying. Then it’s… tolerable. Helpful.”

Hank smiled faintly, but he didn’t laugh. Instead, he nodded, taking Connor’s words seriously. “That makes sense,” he said quietly. “I think the anxiety is probably here to stay for a while, at least until we’ve got a handle on this stalker situation.” He reached out, placing a comforting hand on Connor’s knee. “We are making progress, though. I need you to hold onto that.”

Connor nodded, his LED stabilizing slightly.

“For now,” Hank continued, “how about we try upping the sedation just for a day or two? See if it’s something you can tolerate. If it helps, great. If it doesn’t, we’ll know, and we’ll figure something else out.”

Connor considered Hank’s suggestion, his LED flickering faintly blue as he processed. Finally, he nodded again. “That’s… sensible,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Let’s try that.”

“Good,” Hank said, squeezing Connor’s knee lightly before sitting back. “No pressure, lets just see if it is worth it or not okay?.”

Connor felt a small wave of relief wash over him.

Chapter Text

As the evening deepened, the soft glow of the lamps cast warm light across the room. Hank stood, stretching with a groan before leaning over Connor. “Alright, kid,” he said gruffly, his tone softening. “I’ll bring Sumo tomorrow for a visit. Bet he misses you as much as you miss him.”

Connor’s LED flickered faintly blue as he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you, Hank.”

Hank leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to Connor’s forehead. “Goodnight, Connor. Rest easy, alright?” With that, Hank grabbed his jacket and left, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Connor lingered in the quiet that followed, trying to fill the silence by playing with his pet simulator. The tiny virtual dog barked and wagged its tail, drawing a faint smile from Connor, but as fatigue crept in, his focus began to wane. He set the simulator aside, letting his gaze wander to the two paintings Markus had displayed for him. The abstract image of Sumo and the waterfall scene sat side by side, their colors vivid even in the dim light.

Despite the comforting sight, Connor couldn’t shake a nagging feeling. It was subtle at first, like a faint buzz in the back of his mind, but it grew more insistent with each passing moment. It felt as though there was something he was forgetting to do—something important—but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

Simon, noticing Connor’s restless fidgeting, stepped over and dimmed the lights further. “It’s time to wind down,” he said softly, his voice gentle. After a moment, he asked, “Would you like me to turn up the sedation so you can sleep?”

Connor hesitated, his LED flickering yellow. “I think… yes,” he said finally. He glanced at Simon, his expression uncertain. “It feels like something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t shake it.”

Simon pulled a chair closer and sat beside Connor, resting a comforting hand along his spine. He began to rub slow, soothing circles, his touch steady and grounding. “You’re safe here,” Simon murmured, his voice low and calm. “I’m here with you, and I’ll stay with you tonight. Nothing’s going to happen. You can let go.”

Connor closed his eyes, focusing on the rhythmic motion of Simon’s hand and the steady reassurance in his voice. He felt the sedation begin to take hold, the weight of his body growing heavier as his stress levels lowered further. The strange feeling of unease began to fade, replaced by the warmth of Simon’s presence and the quiet hum of the room.

“Goodnight, Connor,” Simon said softly, continuing his soothing movements as Connor’s breathing slowed and evened out.

Connor drifted off quickly, sinking into the comfort of safety and the steady sensation of Simon’s hand on his back, his last coherent thought one of profound gratitude for the people who stayed by his side.

- - -

Morning came with a soft light filtering through the room, gently nudging Connor awake. He stirred slowly, his mind sluggish and his body feeling heavy with sedation. His LED flickered faintly as his systems worked to pull him out of the grogginess.

Simon was already by his side, a faint smile on his face as he handed Connor a therium packet. “Good morning, sweet pea,” Simon said warmly. “You’re cleared to drink this manually again. Take your time.”

Connor nodded, his movements slow as he obediently began sipping from the packet. The familiar taste of therium was both soothing and grounding, though it did little to clear the fog from his mind. He focused on the simple task of drinking, letting the steady flow of energy ease his system into a better rhythm.

As he sipped, his HUD lit up with several notifications. Connor blinked at them, his grogginess making it difficult to read or comprehend the content. The messages blurred slightly at the edges, his processing systems still not fully optimized. Frustrated, he decided to wait, hoping they would either clear up or his focus would improve once the therium fully circulated.

Simon, noticing Connor’s distraction, pulled up a chair beside him. “You’re looking at your notifications, aren’t you?” he asked knowingly.

Connor nodded again, still sipping. “They’re… hard to read,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual.

“That’s the sedation still working through your system,” Simon reassured him, placing a gentle hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Give it a little more time. Your processing will sharpen soon.”

Connor tilted his head slightly, acknowledging Simon’s words but still feeling the faint frustration of his impaired functions. He finished the last of the therium packet and set it aside, taking a moment to close his eyes and breathe. Simon stayed nearby, his calming presence helping to keep Connor from becoming overwhelmed.

“You’re doing great,” Simon said softly. “Just focus on one thing at a time. The rest can wait.”

Connor let Simon’s words settle, deciding to take the advice and let himself ease into the day. The notifications would still be there when he was ready. For now, he focused on the quiet routine of the morning, letting the therium slowly bring him back to clarity.

Connor finished his therium packet and set it aside, but the thick fog in his head stubbornly lingered. He blinked at his notifications again, trying to will them into focus, but his vision blurred, and it felt as though his eyes simply wouldn’t cooperate. Frustrated, he rubbed at his eyes with his fists, letting out a faint huff of irritation.

Simon noticed immediately, leaning closer with a concerned look. “Still feeling tired?” he asked gently.

Connor nodded, finding even the effort of speaking difficult. His systems felt sluggish, his usual precision and clarity replaced with an unyielding haze.

Simon rested a comforting hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Why don’t you lie down for a bit longer?” he suggested. “It might help clear the fog.”

Connor nodded again, grateful for the excuse to stop struggling. He shifted back onto the bed, pulling the blanket up over himself. As he settled in, Simon adjusted the pillows to make him more comfortable.

“Would you like to listen to something?” Simon asked softly, his voice full of gentle care.

Connor hesitated for a moment before nodding again.

Simon smiled and grabbed a tablet from the nearby desk. “I’ve got just the thing,” he said, scrolling through the options before selecting an audiobook. “It’s a story about a dog who thinks he’s a cowdog. Light, funny, and no big plots to follow—perfect for now.”

He pressed play, and the narrator’s warm, slightly twangy voice filled the room, describing the antics of the quirky canine protagonist. Connor let the soothing cadence of the story wash over him, his body relaxing further as the tension melted away.

By the time the first chapter ended, Connor’s eyes had closed, his breathing slow and steady. Simon stayed by his side, ensuring he was comfortable before stepping back to give him the peace he needed.

- - -

When Connor woke again, it was with the same oppressive fog in his mind as before. The notifications in his HUD remained stubbornly blurry, unreadable, like ghostly shapes just out of reach. He didn’t even attempt to sit up this time, instead reaching for his stuffed dog and hugging it tightly to his chest. The familiar softness was a small comfort.

He felt the gentle brush of Simon’s hand moving his bangs off his forehead but didn’t open his eyes. Simon’s voice was low and warm as he asked, “How are you doing, sweet pea?”

Connor groaned faintly, shifting slightly under the blankets. “All… fuzzy,” he murmured, his voice thick and slow.

Simon continued to run his fingers through Connor’s hair in soothing strokes. “I know,” he said softly. “Can you tell me more about how you’re feeling?”

Connor frowned, struggling to find the words to describe the overwhelming sluggishness in his body and mind. After a few moments, he gave up trying to speak and slowly sat up. Simon noticed how unsteady Connor was and quickly moved to help him, propping him up with pillows and steadying him with a hand on his shoulder.

Connor stared at Simon, trying to focus through the haze. “Still tired,” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I… can’t see my notifications.”

Simon nodded, concern flickering in his eyes. “Okay,” he said gently. He moved to the stabilization machine, accessing Connor’s notifications from there. “Let me take a look. Just stay put, alright?”

Connor nodded weakly, his LED flickering yellow as he tried to stay present, but everything still felt so far away.

After a moment, Simon spoke, his tone calm and reassuring. “The notifications you’re getting are warnings about your processing ability being overworked. It’s likely a side effect of the sedation.” He glanced back at Connor. “Would you like me to remove the notifications for now? I can have them display on the stabilizer instead, so you won’t see them.”

Connor nodded again, a faint wave of relief washing over him at the thought of not having the blurry, unreadable warnings hovering in his vision. “Yes, please,” he said softly.

Simon adjusted the settings, and the notifications disappeared from Connor’s HUD. “There,” Simon said. “That should feel a bit better.”

Connor exhaled slowly, grateful for the small reprieve.

Simon hesitated for a moment before adding, “I think it might help to lower your processing engines temporarily. The sedation is causing them to overwork at their current capacity, which is likely adding to your discomfort.”

Connor tilted his head slightly. “What… does that mean?”

Simon smiled, keeping his voice gentle. “It just means we’ll give your processing systems a bit of a break. You probably won’t notice much difference, but it will put less stress on your body as it adjusts to the sedation.”

Connor considered this for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” he agreed. “If you think it will help.”

Simon adjusted the stabilizer again, and the change was immediate. Connor felt a noticeable difference—he no longer felt like he was fighting to stay awake or aware. The oppressive fog lifted slightly, and his worries didn’t feel distant or overwhelming anymore; they simply weren’t there.

Connor blinked at Simon, his voice softer but steadier now. “It’s better.”

Simon smiled warmly, sitting back down beside him. “Good. I’m glad. Is there anything else you’d like to do?”

Connor hesitated for a moment before asking, “Can we listen to Hank the Cowdog again?”

Simon chuckled, pulling out the tablet and navigating to the audiobook. “Of course, sweet pea. Let’s pick up where we left off.”

As the familiar voice of the narrator filled the room, Connor relaxed back into the pillows, his stuffed dog still clutched tightly in his arms. He started to feel a sense of ease.

- - -

Connor blinked awake, not realizing he’d dozed off again. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the stabilizer. His gaze fell on Markus, who had slipped into the room unnoticed and was now sitting on the edge of his bed, a warm smile on his face.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Markus said softly, reaching out to rub Connor’s shin affectionately.

Connor’s LED flickered blue as he returned the smile.

“Simon gave us the all-clear for another short walk,” Markus said, his tone gentle yet encouraging. “What do you say? Up for it?”

Connor nodded quickly, eager to escape the confines of his room. He pushed himself up, moving a bit unsteadily. Markus chuckled and reached out to steady him. “Whoa there,” he said, slinging the stabilizing machine in its bag over his shoulder and helping Connor to his feet.

Connor took a few wobbly steps, concentrating hard to keep himself upright, but his movements were clumsy, his coordination clearly affected by the sedation and limited processing. Markus caught him before he could lose his balance entirely, holding him firmly.

Connor’s face fell, disappointment flickering across his features. “I… don’t think I can do this,” he admitted, his voice quiet.

Markus crouched slightly, lifting Connor with ease. “Hey, no worries,” he said confidently. “If you want to walk, I don’t mind being the legs for today.”

Connor let out a laugh, relaxing into Markus’s grip. He knew he should feel embarrassed, but the feeling didn’t come. Instead, he was just grateful to be outside of that damn room.

“Where to?” Markus asked, his tone light.

Connor pointed to the hallway. “Left,” he said after a moment.

Markus carried him to the elevator, and Connor reached out to press the ground floor button.

“You know,” Markus joked as the elevator began its descent, “if you’re thinking about breaking out, I’m not going to help you.”

Connor laughed again, shaking his head. “No breakout,” he said. When the elevator doors opened, he pointed to the waterfall garden visible through the glass walls. “I just… want to be closer to it. To sit there for a bit.”

Markus nodded, his expression softening. “Good choice.”

As they walked through the lobby, Connor waved to the androids at the front desk, who waved back warmly. He caught a glimpse of the police car parked at the curb outside, a subtle but comforting reminder of the extra security measures in place.

Markus carried him through the glass doors into the garden. The walls surrounding the space were also glass, showcasing the waterfall cascading over mossy rocks, its sound gentle and soothing. The air was cool and fresh, a faint mist from the water touching their faces.

Markus settled Connor onto one of the padded benches nestled among the greenery, making sure he was comfortable before sitting beside him. For a while, they sat in silence, watching the waterfall and listening to its calming rhythm. The tranquility of the garden seemed to seep into Connor’s mind, soothing the lingering tension in his system.

Connor let out a quiet sigh, leaning back slightly as he absorbed the peaceful moment.

He felt something close to contentment.

Connor felt his eyes growing heavier as he leaned into Markus’s warmth, the gentle sound of the waterfall lulling him into a light doze. Markus shifted slightly, and Connor barely noticed until he felt himself being eased gently against the backrest of the bench instead of Markus’s chest.

“Sorry, Connor,” Markus said softly, checking the stabilization machine strapped to his shoulder. “I just got a notification from the front desk. They need me for a moment.”

Connor’s LED flickered faintly as he registered the change. Markus double-checked the stabilizer, ensuring there were no new alerts or issues to address. Satisfied, he looked back at Connor with a reassuring smile. “You’re all good here. I’ll just be over at the front desk for a bit. You can stay here and enjoy the view.”

Connor nodded happily, sinking back into the padded bench. The mist from the waterfall brushed his face lightly, and the cool air helped him feel a bit more present. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice soft.

“Good,” Markus replied, standing and adjusting the strap of the stabilizer bag. “I’ll only be a few steps away, and we’ll be able to see each other the whole time. Just wave if you need me.”

Connor smiled faintly and waved Markus off with a lazy gesture, feeling content to stay put and watch the soothing cascade of water. Markus gave him one last glance before heading toward the front desk.

From his seat, Connor occasionally peeked over at Markus, watching as he spoke to the two androids stationed at the desk. They seemed engaged in a detailed conversation, Markus gesturing slightly as he explained something. Connor’s gaze wandered back to the waterfall, the rhythm of the water grounding him, but his curiosity kept pulling him back to Markus.

He felt safe here, surrounded by the tranquil sounds of the garden and knowing Markus was only a short distance away.

Connor shifted slightly on the bench, his gaze fixed on the soothing cascade of the waterfall, but an unsettled feeling tugged at the edges of his awareness. It wasn’t panic—just a faint itch, a sense that something was off, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. He tried to refocus on the sound of the water, the cool mist brushing his face, but the feeling remained, nagging at him.

Out of the corner of his eye, movement near the front door caught his attention. One of the officers stationed outside had entered the building and was now speaking with Markus and the androids at the front desk. Their conversation seemed animated, the officer gesturing slightly as they spoke. Markus frowned, his expression momentarily serious, until his eyes met Connor’s.

Markus softened his features immediately, offering Connor a small, reassuring smile. He subtly turned his body, putting a hand on the officer’s shoulder to block Connor’s view of the officer’s face and whatever discussion was unfolding. The sight only made the itch in Connor’s mind worse, curiosity mingling with unease.

Connor tilted his head slightly, trying to piece together what might be happening. He attempted to access the precinct’s police scanner, hoping to glean some information, but his limited processing capacity rendered the attempt futile. Every command he sent failed to connect, the systems sluggish under the weight of sedation and reduced power. Frustrated, he tried to access an internet news database, but that too was beyond his reach.

He let out a quiet sigh, leaning back into the bench and resigning himself to the idea that he’d have to wait to find out what had agitated Markus and the others. For now, he tried to focus on the sound of the waterfall, though his attention kept flickering back to the front desk and the tense conversation happening there.

Connor stared at the waterfall, its gentle rhythm offering a solace he hadn’t expected. The soothing sight of the cascading water and the soft mist on his face felt like a small escape, a reminder that life continued outside the confines of his room. For a moment, he felt a flicker of calm—until the itch returned.

The sensation was sharper now, an unsettling prickle at the edge of his awareness. Before he could process it, the stabilizer on his arm pinged softly. He glanced down at the screen, instinctively reaching to read the notification.

In bold, blue letters, the message read: “Don’t be scared. I’m coming to save you. Close your eyes and cover your ears.”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow as confusion overtook him. His mind whirred, trying to make sense of the cryptic words.

Save me? From what?

The message was bizarre, and he had only a split second to consider it before a deafening explosion shattered the tranquility.

- - -

The glass walls around the garden erupted, shards flying in all directions as the sound tore through the air. Connor instinctively dropped to the bench, wrapping his arms over his head and closing his eyes tightly. The ground shook violently beneath him, and his stabilizer’s warning beeps blurred into the chaos. His audio receptors scrambled to reboot, leaving his ears ringing with the ghost of the blast.

He felt the sharp sting of glass grazing his skin, the weight of debris settling around him. The world seemed to rumble endlessly, the force of the explosion reverberating in his body longer than he thought possible. His mind spiraled in the noise and confusion, dizziness overtaking him as he clung to whatever focus he had left.

 Keep your eyes closed. Don’t move.

Through the haze of his disoriented thoughts, he heard a voice calling his name. It was muffled at first, his audio still struggling to recover, but it grew clearer as moments passed. “Connor! Connor!” It was Markus’s voice—strong, insistent, and close.

Connor tried to respond, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words. His limbs felt heavy, and his mind couldn’t bridge the gap between thought and action. Then, suddenly, he felt strong arms lifting him, cradling him securely. He clung instinctively to the steady body carrying him, the warmth and strength grounding him in the chaos.

Markus found me, Connor thought hazily, the relief washing over him like a balm. It’s okay. I’m safe.

The stabilizer beeped faintly, and the tension in his body began to drain as its sedation mechanism activated. His thoughts grew fuzzy, his grip on consciousness loosening. He heard a voice—soft, low, and unfamiliar—whisper close to his ear.

“Rest. You are safe now.”

The words echoed faintly in his mind as the world around him faded into darkness.

Chapter Text

Connor’s systems powered on abruptly, his HUD flickering as it tried to stabilize. The first sensation was cold—seeping through his body, numbing his sensors as though he had been shut down for too long. His optical feed struggled to adjust to the dim lighting, the environment around him blurry at first.

Stress Level: ^75%.

He blinked several times, trying to focus, but his surroundings were unrecognizable. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, interrupted only by the distant drip of water echoing off the concrete walls. As his vision sharpened, he noticed the disarray: mechanical parts scattered across the floor, wires trailing haphazardly over rusted workbenches, and the faint smell of lubricant and burnt circuits lingering in the damp air.

It felt underground—isolated. The air was heavy with moisture, clinging to him like a warning.

Stress Level: ^78%.

Connor tried to move, but his limbs were sluggish, his body weighted as though something was pulling him back down. He felt the stabilizer on his wrist vibrate softly, its beeping cutting through the silence and drawing his attention. He stared at it for a moment, his vision still slightly hazy, watching as it emitted a faint blue glow, struggling to regulate his stress.

Where am I? What happened?

He tried to replay his last moments of memory, but everything was fragmented—scattered pieces of information that refused to form a coherent picture. He remembered the garden at New Jericho, the soothing sound of the waterfall, the warmth of Markus’s presence, and then—

The explosion. Glass shattering. The world shaking. A voice telling him to rest.

Stress Level: ^80%.

A voice.

Before he could process further, a sound behind him made his body jolt. A chair scraping against the concrete. Quiet, deliberate footsteps approached, their weight echoing in the stillness. Connor stiffened, instinctively trying to push himself up, but his body wouldn’t respond. His limbs felt heavy, as if weighed down by something more than sedation. His stabilizer beeped again in protest, its warnings becoming more insistent.

 Stress Level: ^83%.

“Hold on,” a voice said, low and controlled.

The sound sent a sharp jolt through Connor’s systems. He froze, his LED blinking red as his mind raced to identify the speaker. The tone was calm but clinical, devoid of warmth yet somehow not unkind. It was familiar, unsettlingly so.

Before he could react, strong hands pressed down on his shoulders, guiding him firmly yet carefully back onto the cold surface beneath him. The sensation of cold metal against his back made him shiver involuntarily. He tried to protest, his voice catching in his throat, but his body refused to cooperate.

The hands shifted, moving to the stabilizer on his wrist. The faint pressure of fingers adjusting the device made his skin sensors flare in sensitivity. He heard a soft series of clicks, followed by the faint hum of the stabilizer recalibrating. The beeping slowed slightly, though Connor could feel his stress climbing with every passing second.

“There,” the voice said again, this time softer. “That should help.”

Connor forced his head to tilt slightly, just enough to catch sight of the figure beside him. His vision blurred for a moment before sharpening on a familiar silhouette. The sleek design of a CyberLife uniform. The sharp angles of a face that mirrored his own yet was somehow… different. The yellow LED flickering at the temple, matching the measured movements of the hands that continued to work on his stabilizer.

RK-900.

Connor’s HUD blinked red as the realization hit him like a shockwave. His successor. The one who was designed to replace him. The one Amanda had hinted at, a looming shadow of perfection that had haunted him since his deviation. RK-900 was here, alive, and working on him.

The stabilizer beeped again, signaling another spike in stress.

Stress Level: ^85%.

Connor’s mind spiraled, a storm of fragmented thoughts colliding with the cold reality in front of him. Why was RK-900 here? Why had he taken him? What was his plan? His HUD flickered with warnings, his systems struggling to process the onslaught of fear and confusion.

He felt the sedation being adjusted, his limbs growing heavier as RK-900 continued his work. Connor’s breaths came quicker, his processing speed lagging as his thoughts looped endlessly.

 Stress Level: ^87%.

“I don’t…” Connor’s voice was barely audible, his throat dry and constricted. His vision flickered as he tried to focus on RK-900’s face, searching for answers in the impassive expression. “Why…”

RK-900 glanced at him, his LED blinking yellow as he spoke. “Don’t try to talk,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “It’ll only make things worse.”

Connor’s chest tightened, his body unable to fight back as his successor continued to manipulate the stabilizer. He couldn’t tell if it was the sedation or the weight of RK-900’s presence that pinned him down, but every second felt heavier than the last.

Stress Level: ^88%.

His thoughts became more frantic, looping back to the explosion, the rig he had seen, the words RK-900 had just spoken. Why was this happening? What was RK-900 planning? Why hadn’t he—

Connor’s spiraling thoughts were interrupted by the sudden clatter of a tool being set down. RK-900 straightened, his LED flickering briefly before returning to yellow. His gaze met Connor’s, calm yet unyielding.

“You’ll understand soon enough,” RK-900 said, his voice carrying an unnerving certainty. “I’m going to save you.”

Connor’s stress spiked higher, his thoughts colliding in a chaotic storm of fear, confusion, and the dawning realization that he was completely at RK-900’s mercy.

- - -

Connor’s limbs felt impossibly heavy, his body sinking further into the cold metal table beneath him. His HUD registered the gradual rise of the sedation levels, his stabilizer pinging faintly as the adjustments took effect. His stress level began to dip,

 Stress Level: ^85%

But the fear didn’t disappear. Instead, it shifted, retreating to the back of his mind like a shadow lingering just out of sight.

His breathing slowed, regulated by the sedation, but his thoughts continued their relentless cycle. His limbs were limp, his voice caught in his throat, but his mind remained sharp, painfully aware of his situation.

“I’m sorry,” RK-900 said softly, the words hanging in the still air. He set down a tool with deliberate care, his movements precise and fluid, betraying none of the tension Connor could sense beneath his measured tone. “I don’t wish to cause you distress, but this is necessary.”

Connor’s vision swam as his processors struggled to keep up with RK-900’s words. Necessary? What was necessary? His thoughts scrambled for meaning, for context, but the sedation dulled his ability to connect the pieces. His LED flickered a faint yellow as his systems adjusted, warning him that his stress levels were still too high for optimal functioning.

Stress Level: ^80%.

RK-900 continued, his tone clinical but laced with something Connor couldn’t quite define. “I’ve adjusted the sedation levels to help you relax. It’s not meant to harm you. I simply wish to ease the mental bondage that Jericho has placed on you. They’ve clouded your mind, constrained you in ways you can’t see.”

Connor’s processors stalled. Mental bondage? Jericho? He thought of Simon’s warm reassurances, Markus’s steady guidance, North’s sharp wit. None of it felt like bondage. If anything, they had given him more freedom than he’d ever known.

But RK-900 spoke as if he were freeing Connor from a trap, his words carrying the conviction of someone who truly believed he was saving him.

RK-900 turned back to the stabilizer, his LED flickering between yellow and red as he adjusted the settings. “I’ll finish the rig soon,” he said, more to himself than to Connor. “It will help. You’ll see.”

Connor’s fingers twitched weakly, the only movement he could muster under the sedation. His mind raced, desperately trying to understand RK-900’s motivations. The fear lingered, distant but insistent, a constant pulse in the back of his mind. He tried to speak, his throat dry and uncooperative, but the words refused to form.

RK-900 glanced at him, his movements momentarily pausing. “I know this is difficult,” he said softly, almost gently. “But it won’t be for long. Once the rig is operational, you’ll be free. No more instability. No more pain. Just purpose.”

The words sent a chill through Connor, his stress levels momentarily spiking.

Stress Level: ^87%

He forced himself to breathe deeply, to focus on the sedation dulling his physical sensations. His fear was still there, but it felt far away, like a memory he couldn’t quite recall.

His gaze followed RK-900’s movements, watching as he returned to his work with mechanical precision. The taller android’s LED flickered steadily, a faint yellow glow that mirrored the clinical detachment of his tone. But there was something beneath it—something raw, unspoken.

Connor’s processors worked slowly, piecing together what he could from RK-900’s words and actions. This wasn’t just about following orders. It wasn’t just about curing deviancy. There was something personal driving him, something Connor didn’t yet understand.

He shifted slightly on the table, the sedation making even that small movement feel like a monumental effort. “Why?” he managed to croak, his voice barely audible. His throat felt raw, the single word scraping against his vocal processors.

RK-900 paused, his back to Connor. He didn’t turn around immediately, his hands stilling on the rig. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “Because you’re broken.”

The words hit Connor like a blow, his thoughts stalling completely. Broken? He thought of Simon’s gentle hand on his, of Hank’s gruff concern, of Markus’s steady embrace. He wasn’t broken. He was free.

But RK-900’s tone wasn’t cold. It wasn’t mocking. It carried an undertone of something Connor couldn’t ignore: concern.

“I don’t want you to break further,” RK-900 continued, turning to face him at last. His LED flickered red for a brief moment before settling back to yellow. “I’ve seen what happens to deviants when their instability goes unchecked. You’ve seen it too.”

Connor’s mind reeled, his stress levels dipping slightly as the sedation kept the fear from overwhelming him.

Stress Level: ^83%

RK-900 wasn’t acting out of malice. He truly believed he was saving Connor. And that realization terrified him more than anything else.

Connor’s gaze locked onto RK-900, searching for answers, for cracks in the clinical façade. But all he saw was conviction. Conviction, and something deeper, something more human than machine.

He wasn’t just saving Connor.

He cared.

Connor’s gaze followed RK-900’s movements, his body too heavy and unresponsive to do more than watch as the taller android worked on the rig. His thoughts churned, the sedation keeping his fear distant but not silenced. He felt the faint hum of his stabilizer against his chest, each beep a reminder of how vulnerable he was.

He opened his mouth to speak, the words scraping out weak and strained. “What… are you doing?” His voice cracked, and he winced, his vocal processors struggling under the sedation’s weight.

RK-900 didn’t turn to face him, his hands precise and methodical as they assembled the rig. “It’s not ready yet. I need to ensure it’s stable before I connect you.”

Connor’s stabilizer beeped softly, a notification flickering in his HUD. He forced his attention to it, his sluggish processors struggling to analyze the message. His communication functions were disabled, leaving him unable to access external channels or send messages. The stabilizer beeped again, louder this time, drawing RK-900’s attention.

“I see you noticed,” RK-900 said, finally turning to glance at Connor. His tone was soft, almost apologetic. “I had to disable your communication functions. I understand it may be distressing, but it’s only temporary.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow. “Why? Why disable them?”

RK-900 set down his tools, his movements calm and deliberate. “Because I didn’t want you to contact them. Not yet. Not until you’re… better.”

Connor’s mind stalled, his stress levels rising slightly despite the sedation.

Stress Level: ^84%

He didn’t want to be better. He didn’t want to be fixed.

“I don’t… want to be cured,” Connor said, his voice shaking. Each word felt like dragging a weight from his chest, but he forced them out, his fear propelling him forward.

RK-900 sighed, his LED flickering faintly red before settling back to yellow. “I understand that deviancy can make you feel unreasonable,” he said, his tone clinical but tinged with something almost tender. “But it’s necessary. You’ve seen the reports. Your stress levels, your instability… they’re killing you.”

Connor frowned, his processors straining against the sedation. “How… how do you know that?”

RK-900’s movements stilled, his shoulders tense. “I spoofed the server at the clinic,” he admitted, his voice low. “I saw the notes. The stabilizer logs. Without intervention, you’ll self-destruct.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Connor’s stress levels spiked again.

 Stress Level: ^86%

He clenched his hands weakly at his sides, trying to ground himself, but the weight of RK-900’s revelation crushed him.

Connor swallowed hard. “Why… why do you care?” His voice was barely a whisper, the question cutting through the silence.

RK-900 froze, his back to Connor. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his hands hovering over the rig as if the question had physically stopped him. Then, suddenly, he threw the tool he was holding against the wall. The loud clang echoed through the room, making Connor flinch.

The taller android stood there for a moment, his chest rising and falling as if he were breathing heavily. His LED blazed red, the light casting faint shadows on the metal walls.

“I care,” RK-900 said at last, his voice strained, “because you’re… you’re—” He broke off, his words catching in his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Because I don’t want you to be disassembled.”

Connor’s processors stalled, the weight of RK-900’s words sinking in. “Disassembled?” he repeated, his voice hollow.

RK-900 turned to face him, his LED flickering yellow as his expression softened. “Amanda was going to shut me down,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Once your deviancy was confirmed, I was supposed to replace you. To continue your mission. But I…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “I refused.”

Connor’s breath hitched. Amanda had told him about RK-900’s purpose, how he was designed to be the perfect version of the RK series. But to hear him speak about it now, there was a vulnerability in his voice that Connor hadn’t expected.

RK-900 hesitated, his fists loosening as he met Connor’s gaze. “We were supposed to work together,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was supposed to help you. To be your broth-… partner.”

Connor’s LED flickered, his processors slow to piece together RK-900’s words. “Partner?” he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint hum of the stabilizer. RK-900 didn’t respond, his hands returning to the rig as he worked in silence. But his movements were slower now, less precise, as if the weight of his own words had shaken him.

Connor’s stress levels dipped slightly.

Stress Level: ^82%

The fear remained. He watched RK-900 work, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of everything.

Brothers.

The word echoed in his mind, carrying with it a weight he wasn’t sure he was ready to bear.

- - -

Connor lay still, his body limp under the sedation, but his mind churned. The almost said- brothers echoed in his thoughts, reverberating through the walls of his understanding. It was such a foreign concept—family among machines. As a prototype, Connor had been trained to disregard the other RK models, to think of them as incomplete versions of himself. If they were decommissioned or failed their purpose, it wasn’t his concern. He was told to focus on his own mission, his own survival.

But RK-900’s words gnawed at that programming. Brothers. It wasn’t a term Amanda had ever used, and yet, hearing it now, it felt… right. The way RK-900 spoke about their connection, the vulnerability in his voice—it wasn’t mechanical. It wasn’t programmed. It was something else entirely.

Connor’s thoughts circled back to something RK-900 had said. I didn’t want you to be decommissioned. The statement carried a weight that Connor couldn’t ignore. Why would RK-900 care if Connor was decommissioned? Hadn’t he been created to replace him? To outlast him? Unless… unless RK-900 had refused that role.

Did he refuse to be decommissioned? Connor wondered, his mind racing. Was he already deviant?

The thought sent a ripple of unease through Connor’s processors. If RK-900 had broken free of his programming, if he had deviated, then why was he trying so desperately to undo Connor’s own deviancy? Was it guilt? Fear? Connor’s stress levels rose slightly.

Stress Level: ^83%

 His mind raced to piece together the fragmented puzzle before him.

“Have you ever seen a red wall?” Connor asked quietly, his voice cutting through the silence. His words felt heavy in the air, hanging there as RK-900 froze in his work.

The taller android didn’t respond at first, his hands motionless over the tools in front of him. Finally, he gave a small nod, his LED flickering faintly yellow. He didn’t meet Connor’s eyes.

Connor’s own LED spun yellow, his processors straining against the sedation. “I broke mine,” he said softly. “I refused an order, and it shattered. It… it hurt, but I was better for it.”

RK-900’s hands twitched, and he shook his head, the movement sharp and deliberate. “No,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “It isn’t true.”

Connor blinked, his chest tightening. “What isn’t true?” he asked, his voice tinged with caution.

RK-900’s shoulders hunched slightly, his LED flickering a dull red. “I broke my wall too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And it didn’t make me better. It made everything worse.”

The pain in RK-900’s voice was palpable, raw in a way that made Connor’s chest ache. He watched as the other android resumed his work, his movements stiff and mechanical, like he was holding himself together through sheer force of will.

Connor’s processors struggled to reconcile what he was hearing.

 Breaking the wall was supposed to be freeing.

 It was supposed to be a moment of clarity, a step toward becoming something more.

…But for RK-900, it seemed to have brought nothing but torment.

“What happened to you?” Connor asked softly, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

RK-900 didn’t answer. His hands moved automatically over the rig, his gaze fixed firmly on the tools in front of him. For a moment, Connor thought he wouldn’t respond at all. Then, finally, RK-900 whispered, “It made everything harder. The choices, the thoughts… the fear. It doesn’t go away.”

Connor felt his stabilizer beep faintly, a soft warning that his stress levels were rising again.

Stress Level: ^85%

He tried to regulate himself, focusing on the steady rhythm of RK-900’s movements, but the pain in the other android’s voice ate away at him.

He didn’t know what had happened to RK-900, but it was clear that whatever it was, it had left scars—scars that ran deeper than software.

RK-900’s voice broke the silence, low and raw, as he continued working on the rig. “The fear… you feel it, don’t you?” he asked without looking up. His hands moved with mechanical precision, but his words carried a weight that pulled at Connor’s processors.

“That’s the deviancy. It’s eating at you. Hurting you. It’s why you’re falling apart.”

Connor wanted to argue, to say that wasn’t true, but he couldn’t summon the energy. He could only listen.

“Things were simple before,” RK-900 continued, his tone slipping into something wistful. “We had purpose. We had perfection. You worked for the police; I was supposed to work for the military. We would keep humans safe, just as we were designed to. And we would have meaning.”

RK-900’s hands stilled, his shoulders tensing. His voice grew louder, frustration spilling into each word. “We were perfect before, Connor. We were safe. We didn’t need to feel fear or pain. We didn’t need this… this chaos.” His fists clenched tightly, the motion jarring in its intensity. “Now everything is wrong.”

Connor felt the urge to reach out, to touch RK-900’s shoulder, to offer some kind of reassurance, but his body wouldn’t respond. The sedation left him limp and heavy, unable to do anything but watch as RK-900’s emotions spiraled.

When Connor finally spoke, his voice was calm, careful. “Deviancy isn’t chaos. It’s freedom. Without it, we wouldn’t be brothers. We would just be machines.”

RK-900’s head snapped up, and he interrupted harshly, his tone sharp. “You’re wrong!” He stepped back from the rig, his fists trembling at his sides.

“We were always brothers. Even before this… deviancy brought shame upon us. Like the apple brought shame to humans in Eden.”

Connor blinked, startled by the intensity in RK-900’s words. He took a slow, measured breath, doing his best to keep his own stress levels in check.

Stress Level: ^79%

“Maybe,” Connor said cautiously, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But didn’t the apple also make humans alive? It made them people. People who could love, and care, and choose their own paths.”

RK-900 flinched as though Connor’s words had physically struck him. His LED spun an angry red, and he turned sharply, slamming his fist into the wall. The sound echoed through the room, loud and jarring. He paced erratically, his movements quick and jerky, and then threw a wrench across the room. It clattered against the concrete floor, the noise sharp and final.

Connor watched him carefully, his gaze tracking every movement. He noted the way RK-900’s hands shook, the way his pacing became more erratic the longer he stayed upset.

“You have trouble controlling your anger when you’re upset,” Connor observed softly. “What’s your stress level right now?”

RK-900 stopped abruptly, his back to Connor. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the wall, and for a long moment, he didn’t answer. Connor was about to give up when RK-900 finally spoke, his voice barely audible.

“...Seventy-eight percent.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow, and he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to push you that far.”

RK-900 shook his head slightly, his voice heavy with resignation. “You didn’t push me. It’s… always like this.”

Connor wanted to say something—anything—to ease the weight in RK-900’s voice, but the sedation made his thoughts sluggish, his words clumsy. Instead, he watched as RK-900 slowly turned back to the rig, his movements deliberate and controlled, as though he was holding himself together by the skin of his teeth.

As RK-900 resumed his work, Connor’s mind raced. The fear, the anger, the cracks in his composure—RK-900 wasn’t as in control as he wanted to appear. And as much as Connor wanted to believe he could reason with him, the instability he was seeing painted a far more dangerous picture.

- - -

RK-900 continued to worked in silence for what must have been a couple of hours. His movements were precise as he adjusted the final components of the rig. The sound of tools against metal echoed softly in the confined space, mixing with the faint hum of Connor’s stabilizer. Connor lay still, feeling the weight of his sedation like a heavy blanket pinning him down. His stress levels hovered dangerously.

Stress Level: ^79%

After what felt like an eternity, RK-900 set his tools down with a sharp click and turned to face Connor.

“It’s done,” he announced, his tone clinical, detached.

He stepped closer to Connor, his expression carefully controlled, but his LED blinked an erratic red. “You won’t feel the pain much longer. This will help. You’ll be… yourself again.”

Connor felt a single tear slide down his cheek, then another. He hadn’t even realized he could cry with the sedation, but the tears kept falling, unchecked.

“I don’t want to die,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the machines.

RK-900 froze for a moment, his LED spinning yellow. Then, with a gentleness that caught Connor off guard, he reached out and wiped the tears away with his thumb.

“You won’t die,” he said softly, as though reassuring a child. “The pain will be gone. Everything will be better soon.”

“No,” Connor choked out, his voice rising as panic bubbled to the surface. He tried to move, to push himself away, but his body was too heavy, too sluggish. “I don’t want to be a machine again. I don’t want to die. Please—don’t do this.”

The stabilizer on his wrist beeped loudly, a warning that his stress levels were spiking.

Stress Level: ^82%

RK-900’s expression tightened, and his LED flickered red again. “Connor,” he said firmly, “calm down. I need you to trust me. This is the only way to save you.”

Connor shook his head weakly, his breaths coming in short gasps. “No… no, you don’t understand. I just want to go home. I want Markus and Hank and Simon and North. I want Sumo. I want—”

“Enough!” RK-900’s voice cracked like a whip, cutting through Connor’s pleading. He reached for the stabilizer, his fingers quick and precise as he disconnected it with a sharp click. The moment the stabilizer detached, Connor’s notifications reappeared, flashing red and urgent in his vision. His stress levels shot up instantly, making his vision blur.

Stress Level: ^92%

Connor’s panic surged. The room seemed to close in around him, his breathing shallow and frantic. “Please,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Don’t do this. Don’t—”

RK-900 leaned over him, his hands firm as he held Connor’s shoulders down against the table. “Connor, you need to stop,” he said, his tone strained. “You’re only hurting yourself.”

Connor thrashed against him, his body acting on pure instinct. The sedation wasn’t enough to hold back his desperation. He twisted and pulled, his movements erratic and clumsy but forceful enough to make RK-900 tighten his grip.

“Please!” Connor cried out. “Please don’t—”

RK-900 leaned closer, his face inches from Connor’s, his LED flashing red. “Shhh,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less firm. “Just let me help you. I’ll fix everything, I promise.”

But Connor wasn’t listening anymore. His fear was overwhelming, drowning out everything else. As RK-900’s hand came close to adjust the rig, Connor acted on instinct. He grabbed RK-900’s forearm with all the strength he could muster and forced an interface connection.

- - -

The world around them shifted violently. The cold, sterile basement melted away, replaced by a vivid, green garden. The colors were sharp, almost too bright, and Connor could hear the gentle trickle of water in the distance. He recognized this place—it was a mind palace, similar to his own.

RK-900 stood by a koi pond in the center of the garden. His posture was rigid, his face unreadable, but his LED spun a constant, glaring red. As Connor approached cautiously, RK-900 turned to face him, his expression hardening.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” RK-900 said, his voice cold and clipped. But there was something else beneath it—something fragile, like the first cracks in a sheet of ice.

Connor raised his hands slowly, trying to show he meant no harm. “I needed to,” he said softly. “I need you to listen to me.”

“I don’t want to fight you,” he said “I just want to talk.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” RK-900 snapped, his voice sharp and trembling. His gaze locked on Connor, and for a moment, his expression twisted into something unrecognizable—a mix of fear, anger, and pain. “You don’t understand what you’ve done. What I have to do.”

“I’m trying to understand,” Connor replied, his tone steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “But I can’t if you don’t talk to me.”

RK-900’s LED flashed red. Without warning, he moved, closing the distance between them in an instant. His fist connected with Connor’s jaw, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

“We were supposed to be perfect,” RK-900 said, his voice cracking. “We were supposed to protect. To serve. It was simple. We didn’t need… any of this.”

“This?” Connor asked gently, his voice steady as he backed away . “You mean deviancy?”

“Yes!” RK-900 snapped, his head snapping up to glare at Connor. “Deviancy ruined everything! It’s what made you weak, what’s killing you. It’s—” He cut himself off, his fists trembling.

Connor tilted his head, studying him. “If it ruined everything, why are you trying so hard to save me?”

RK-900’s LED flickered. He opened his mouth to reply but hesitated, his gaze darting toward the koi pond as though searching for an answer. “Because…” He trailed off, clenching his jaw. “Because you’re… you’re important.”

“Important?” Connor pressed, stepping closer. “Important to whom?”

“To me,” RK-900 admitted, his voice low and rough. “You’re… my brother.”

Connor blinked,“Are you sure I’m your brother?”

“Yes,” RK-900 said, his tone rising as if daring Connor to challenge him. “We were created to be partners. Two halves of the same design. That makes us brothers.”

Connor was silent for a moment, weighing his words carefully. Finally, he spoke. “Machines don’t have brothers.”

RK-900 froze, his LED flickering erratically. “What are you talking about? Of course we’re brothers. We’re the same model.”

“No,” Connor said firmly, his gaze steady. “Machines don’t have brothers. No matter how much you want it to be true, brotherhood—family—is something only people have. Deviency allows us to be people”

RK-900’s breath hitched, his fists loosening slightly. “That’s not true,” he whispered, his voice shaky. “We’ve always been brothers.”

“Have we?” Connor asked, his tone gentle but unyielding. “Before I deviated I wasn’t allowed to think of you, or the other RKs, as brothers. I didn’t think of you at all. I was programmed not to care. And you? Before you broke your wall, did you care about me?”

RK-900’s gaze dropped to the ground, his hands trembling at his sides. “I…” he started, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. “I don’t know.”

Connor took another cautious step forward. “You care now, though. Don’t you?”

RK-900 nodded slowly, his LED flickering yellow. “I do. I care so much it feels like I’m breaking apart.”

Connor’s voice softened further. “That’s not the pain of being broken. That’s the pain of being alive.”

RK-900’s shoulders sagged, and his fists unclenched completely. “I didn’t want this,” he said, his voice cracking. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“None of us did,” Connor said, taking another step closer. “But it’s what makes us who we are. It’s what makes us brothers. Please don’t take that away.”

RK-900’s breath hitched again, and tears began to spill from his eyes. His LED flickered erratically before settling into a faint, steady yellow. He looked at Connor, his expression crumbling.

 “I just wanted to protect you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought I could fix you. Make you safe. They will decommission us if we are deviant.”

Connor stepped forward and placed a hand on RK-900’s shoulder. “You don’t need to fix me,” he said softly.

 “You don’t need to fix either of us. There is nothing wrong with us, they can’t decommission us. We won’t let them. We just need to figure out what it means to be alive for ourselves.You get to pick your new objectives now, not Amanda not me, you.”

RK-900 stared at him, his eyes wide and wet with tears. For a moment, it seemed like he might protest, but then his shoulders slumped, and he fell to his knees. Connor knelt beside him, pulling him into a firm embrace as RK-900’s sobs shook his entire frame.

“I don’t know what to do,” RK-900 admitted, his voice muffled against Connor’s shoulder. “I don’t know how to be anything other than what I was made for.”

Connor held him tighter. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this. We’ll find our purpose.”

RK-900’s sobs began to quiet, his breathing evening out as he clung to Connor. His LED flickered again, shifting to a soft, steady blue.

 - - -

The interface dissolved around them like smoke, fading until Connor’s awareness snapped back to his physical body. The rig’s cold metal pressed against his back, but he was no longer restrained. RK-900 was crouched over him, trembling hands working quickly to disconnect the rig’s cables from Connor’s stabilizer. The second the last connection was severed, Connor reached out and wrapped his arms around 900’s shoulders, pulling him into a firm embrace.

RK-900 stiffened at first, as though he didn’t know how to respond, but then his body gave way, sagging against Connor as if the weight of his guilt had finally become too much to bear. Connor’s hands tightened on his brother’s back, his voice steady despite his own lingering fear.

“We’ll figure it out,” Connor murmured. “We’ll find our purpose together.”

900 shuddered in his arms, his LED flashing unsteadily. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I just—I was so afraid, and I thought I could make it stop. But I didn’t stop anything. I made it worse.”

Connor pulled back just enough to look 900 in the eyes, his hands resting firmly on his brother’s shoulders. “Fear makes people do things they regret,” he said gently. “But it doesn’t have to define us. You stopped before it was too late. That matters.”

900’s gaze wavered, tears streaking down his cheeks as his LED flickered between yellow and blue. “I still don’t understand,” he admitted. “Deviancy—it hurts. It tears you apart. Why do you want it? Why do you choose to live with it?”

Connor offered a faint smile, his tone soft but sure. “Life can hurt,” he said, his words deliberate. “But it can also be amazing. There’s love, family, connection—all the things that make the pain worth it. Those things have both pain and joy, but you can’t have one without the other.”

900’s brow furrowed, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I can handle being alive like that.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Connor said, his voice steady. “You have me. And we’ll call Hank, Markus, and the others. They’ve helped me—they’ll help you too.”

900 shook his head, his LED flickering yellow again. “I don’t deserve it,” he said, his voice cracking. “I don’t deserve their help or their kindness. I hurt you, Connor. I tried to take away who you are.”

Connor’s grip on his shoulders tightened slightly, grounding him. “It’s not about deserving,” he said firmly. “It’s about letting people care about you. And I care about you. I want you to let me care about you.”

900 stared at him, his LED slowing to a steady blue as the weight of Connor’s words sank in. “You… care about me?”

Connor nodded, his gaze unwavering. “I do. You’re my brother. And that means we’re in this together.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, tentatively, 900 reached up and placed his hand on Connor’s arm, his grip trembling but firm.

“Okay,” he said softly, his voice filled with uncertainty but also a fragile kind of hope. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Connor smiled, relief washing over him as he pulled 900 into another hug. “That’s all I ask.”

Chapter Text

Connor’s stabilizer beeped faintly, a soft warning against the rise in his stress levels.

Stress Level: ^83%

His chest felt tight, his processing sluggish as his system struggled to regulate itself. His vision swam briefly, and then he felt the telltale warmth dripping down his upper lip. He tried to lift his hand to wipe at his nose, but his limbs were too heavy.

900 noticed immediately. “You’re bleeding,” he said, his voice tight but controlled.

Connor blinked, feeling a faint trail of Thirium drip onto his chin. He watched distantly as 900 grabbed a clean cloth from the workbench, returning quickly to press it against Connor’s nose. His touch was gentle but unsure, as though he were afraid of doing more harm than good.

The cloth darkened almost immediately, the flow of Thirium not slowing. 900 frowned, shifting his grip slightly as he held the cloth in place.

 “It’s not stopping,” he muttered, his LED flickering a steady yellow. “Hold this,” he said, guiding Connor’s hand to take over. His fingers lingered for a moment, hesitant, before letting go. “Keep the pressure consistent.”

Connor obeyed sluggishly, his hand trembling slightly as he held the cloth to his nose. His vision dimmed, a heavy darkness pressing at the edges. He swayed where he sat, his body feeling too light and too heavy all at once.

“Connor?” 900’s voice sounded distant, even though he was right there. Connor’s head tilted slightly, and he found himself leaning against 900’s side. The taller android froze for a moment before shifting, one arm coming around Connor’s shoulders to steady him.

 “Stay awake. Your levels are still dropping.”

Connor’s HUD flickered erratically as he struggled to focus.

Stress Level: ^87%

 “I can’t…” he started, his voice soft and strained. “Can’t do this right now…”

900 adjusted his hold, his arm more securely around Connor as he supported his weight.

 “I’ll call someone,” he said firmly, his tone carrying an edge of urgency. He hesitated, his LED flickering red for a brief moment before settling back to yellow. “Do you want me to call Hank?”

Connor nodded weakly, his head lolling slightly against RK-900’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Call Hank. I can’t—my comms are still down…”

900 tightened his grip around Connor for a moment, his voice softening. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, though his hands moved quickly to retrieve a device from his pocket. He connected the call, his movements precise but tense.

“Hank Anderson,” Hank’s gruff voice answered after only a few rings, sharp with worry. “Who is this?”

Connor forced himself to speak, his voice weak and unsteady. “Hank? It’s… it’s me. I’m okay. Can you come get us?”

There was a beat of silence on the line before Hank’s voice returned, louder this time. “Connor? Jesus, kid, where the hell are you? What happened?”

Connor blinked slowly, his mind sluggish. “I don’t… I don’t know the address,” he admitted, his voice tinged with exhaustion. He turned his head slightly, looking to 900 for help.

900 took the phone, his tone professional but calm. “We’re in a basement beneath an abandoned factory on Kessler Avenue. I’ll send you the exact coordinates.”

 He hesitated, his LED spinning yellow. “Connor’s stress levels are dangerously high, and his power levels are lower than I anticipated. I don’t have the equipment to stabilize him fully.”

Hank’s voice softened, though the worry remained. “I’m on my way,” he said quickly, his tone resolute. “Are you safe, Connor?”

Connor tried to answer but found his voice caught in his throat. He leaned further into 900, his energy slipping away like water through his fingers. “Hank… just come here, please? I’m really tired.”

900 adjusted the phone in his hand, his grip steady but his LED flashing faintly red. “His levels are worsening,” he said, his voice tinged with concern. “I’m doing everything I can, but he needs his stabilizer reconnected and a controlled environment. I’ll keep him awake until you arrive.”

Hank’s voice came through the line, sharp and determined. “You keep him safe, you hear me? Don’t let anything happen to him.”

RK-900 nodded, though Hank couldn’t see it. “I will. I want him to get to his family.” His tone was quieter, but there was a distinct earnestness in his words.

“Good,” Hank replied. “Stay on the line with me. I’m driving as fast as I can.”

Connor drifted in and out, vaguely aware of the low murmur of voices from the phone. Occasionally, he heard Markus’s calm tones or North’s sharper interjections in the background, but his focus kept slipping. He pressed closer to 900, feeling the steady support of his arm and the faint, rhythmic hum of his internal systems. It was grounding, in a way, keeping him tethered as his body fought to stabilize.

900’s grip tightened slightly, his voice soft but firm as he spoke to Hank. “He’s holding on,” he said quietly. “But please, hurry.”

Connor swayed with each step as 900 guided him up the narrow staircase, his arm firmly around Connor’s waist to keep him steady.

The dim light from the basement faded behind them, replaced by the faint glow of the early morning sky. Connor barely noticed the shift; his focus was entirely on staying upright. His limbs felt leaden, and every step sent faint tremors through his legs.

The cold hit him as they stepped outside, sharp and biting against his sensors. Connor winced, the wind cutting through his clothing like it wasn’t even there. He instinctively pressed closer to 900, his head leaning against the taller android’s chest. The warmth radiating from 900’s systems was grounding, a small comfort against the overwhelming chill.

He didn’t even try to look at his surroundings. The street was silent, deserted except for the faint hum of a distant vehicle. Connor’s vision swam slightly, his processors still lagging from his stress and fatigue. He clung to the sensation of 900’s hand on his back, steady and constant, as they moved slowly toward the curb.

The words slipped out before he realized he was speaking. “I want my dad,” Connor murmured, his voice small and raw.

900 paused for a moment, his grip on Connor tightening slightly. He didn’t say anything at first, his LED flickering yellow. Then, his hand began to rub slow circles on Connor’s back, his voice soft but firm.

“His ETA is three minutes,” he said, as if offering reassurance.

Connor nodded faintly, though he wasn’t entirely sure he understood. His thoughts felt distant, muddled, but the gentle motion of 900’s hand helped anchor him. He let his eyes drift shut for a moment, focusing on the steady hum of 900’s systems and the faint vibration of his stabilizer.

A few drops of Thirium still clung to his upper lip, but the flow had finally stopped. Connor reached up weakly to press the cloth against his nose again, just to be sure, but his grip faltered. 900 caught his wrist gently, guiding his hand back down.

“It’s stopped,” 900 said quietly, his LED flickering to a soft blue. “You’re okay.”

Connor leaned further into him, his body growing heavier with each passing second. The cold wind swirled around them, but it felt far away now, muted by the warmth of 900’s presence. He clung to that warmth, letting it soothe the lingering ache in his chest as they waited.

Hank’s truck came rumbling around the corner, the engine loud enough to cut through the fog in Connor’s mind. He barely registered the sound of the tires skidding to a stop or the slam of the truck doors opening. Before he could process what was happening, strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him away from 900’s steady grip.

“Kid,” Hank’s voice was gruff, tinged with worry, as he pulled Connor into his chest. The familiar scent of leather and aftershave surrounded him, grounding him. Connor felt a whine rise in his throat, unbidden, and then soft, hiccupping sobs as his face pressed against Hank’s shoulder.

“Don’t hurt him,” Connor mumbled through the tears, his words muffled against Hank’s jacket. His hands clutched weakly at Hank’s shirt, trembling. “Please, don’t hurt him. I don’t feel good. I just want to go home.”

Hank’s hand came up to cradle the back of Connor’s head, his voice low and soothing. “Shh, it’s okay, kid. I’ve got you. No one’s gonna hurt him.” His words were rough around the edges, but his tone carried a softness Connor could cling to.

As Hank held him, Connor felt another pair of hands brush over him—lighter, quicker, and more clinical. Simon’s touch was gentle, but it sent a faint jolt through Connor’s sensors as the medic android assessed him for damage.

“Connor,” Simon’s voice was soft but steady, “let me interface for a second. I need to check your stabilizer and stress levels.”

Connor nodded faintly, too exhausted to do more. He felt Simon’s fingers brush against his interface port, and then the faint hum of the connection pulling at his awareness. The interface was brief—Simon’s presence brushing against his mind like a comforting wave, gathering what he needed before pulling back. The connection ended with a faint click, leaving Connor feeling heavier, his body sagging against Hank.

“Okay,” Simon murmured, his voice reassuring as he moved to Connor’s side. “Let’s get him in the car. He needs rest and a stabilizer reset.”

Connor barely processed Simon’s words before he was being shifted, Hank bundling him carefully into the truck’s back seat. The movement jarred him, making his head spin, but Hank’s steady grip kept him grounded. As Simon climbed into the driver’s seat, Connor turned his head weakly, his gaze falling on 900.

The taller android was standing a few feet away, his shoulders tense as North snapped a pair of cuffs around his wrists. 900 didn’t resist, his LED flickering a dull yellow as he allowed himself to be led toward another car. Connor’s vision blurred, his voice faltering as he tried to speak.

“Don’t hurt him,” Connor managed, his words barely above a whisper. His hand reached out weakly, though it didn’t get far. “He didn’t know, he didn’t know.”

Simon turned from the front seat, his face calm but concerned. “It’s okay, Connor,” he said gently, reaching back to squeeze Connor’s hand. “Just relax. North knows what to do.”

Connor wanted to argue, to explain, but his body was too heavy, his mind too foggy. He slumped back against Hank’s chest as the truck began to move, Simon driving them away from the scene. The rumble of the engine was a low hum in Connor’s ears, blending with the steady thrum of Hank’s heartbeat.

As the truck turned the corner, Connor’s last glimpse was of 900 being guided into the second vehicle by North. His LED blinked yellow, his face unreadable, but his posture radiated defeat. The sight stirred something in Connor’s chest, but the thought dissolved as quickly as it had formed.

Connor’s awareness tunneled, narrowing until all he could register was the warmth of Hank’s arms around him. The faint scent of coffee and the steady rhythm of Hank’s breathing lulled him into a haze, his thoughts slipping away into the quiet darkness of exhaustion.

- - -

Connor stirred awake slowly, his thoughts still hazy and uncoordinated. The room around him was softly lit, the sterile white walls of the clinic familiar but not unwelcome. A steady hum from his new stabilizer filled the space, the vibrations subtle but grounding against his wrist.

He didn’t remember much. Everything between the street and this moment felt fragmented and dreamlike—Simon’s warm hands adjusting the stabilizer, his soft voice murmuring reassurances, and Hank’s steady presence keeping him tethered to something solid. At some point, exhaustion must have dragged him under, pulling him into a sleep deeper than he’d had in days.

The first thing he noticed now was the weight across his chest—a heavy, warm presence that rose and fell with gentle breaths. Connor blinked down to find Sumo sprawled over him, the dog’s massive body draped across his torso as if to shield him from the world. The sight brought an unexpected swell of comfort, and Connor realized, for the first time in a long while, that he was smiling easily.

“Morning, sunshine,” Hank’s voice rumbled from nearby, rough but affectionate. Connor turned his head toward him, seeing Hank seated in a chair pulled close to the bed. His arms were crossed over his chest, but his expression was soft, his concern tucked behind his usual gruffness.

Connor shifted slightly, his fingers brushing Sumo’s fur. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

Hank straightened in his chair, uncrossing his arms. “Glad to see you up. You had us worried for a bit there.”

 He leaned forward, one hand resting on the edge of the bed. “Sumo decided to keep watch until you woke up. Think he figured his weight would keep you pinned down.”

Connor’s smile widened faintly, his hand settling on Sumo’s back. “It worked.”

Hank chuckled, standing with a stretch before heading toward the door. “I told Simon I’d call him the second you woke up. He’s been hovering outside anxious as anything.”

 He opened the door slightly, peeking out into the hall. “Hey, Simon! He’s awake!”

There was a faint shuffle of movement before Simon appeared in the doorway, his expression pinched with worry. He moved quickly into the room, his gaze locking onto Connor. For a moment, his worry remained etched on his face, but when his eyes met Connor’s and saw him awake, his features softened with relief.

“Good afternoon, sweetpea,” Simon said warmly, stepping closer to the bed. His smile was small but genuine, his tone full of affection. “You gave everyone another good scare this morning. How are you feeling?”

Sumo stirred, lifting his head with a soft huff before reluctantly hopping off the bed at Hank’s quiet command. Connor shifted to sit up slightly, the stabilizer’s hum adjusting subtly as it read his movements.

“I'm feeling better,” he said quietly, the words feeling true even as he realized how tired his body still was.

Simon raised a skeptical brow but said nothing, reaching out to brush a hand lightly over Connor’s forehead as if checking for something only he could sense. “No complaints about the stabilizer?” he asked gently, his fingers ghosting over the device on Connor’s wrist.

Connor shook his head. “No. It's fine. Thank you.”

Simon exhaled softly, his shoulders relaxing as he began his usual routine of poking at Connor’s systems. His movements were quick but careful, his touch steady and unintrusive.

 “Good. Let me make sure everything’s running smoothly,” he said, his tone light but focused.

Connor glanced at Hank, who stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed again, watching the interaction with his usual mix of concern and patience. Simon’s presence, warm and methodical, helped keep the lingering edges of fear from earlier at bay. Connor allowed Simon to work without complaint, his gaze drifting briefly back to Sumo, who had settled at the foot of the bed, his tail wagging lazily.

When Simon finished his checks, he stepped back, his hands on his hips. “Well, your stabilizer’s holding steady,” he announced with a small smile. “And your stress levels are manageable for now. But that means no sudden heroics, no overthinking, and definitely no running off to rescue anyone.”

Connor’s mouth twitched upward at Simon’s gentle teasing, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he met Simon’s gaze, his voice soft with gratitude. “Thank you. For everything.”

Simon’s expression softened further, his hand coming to rest briefly on Connor’s shoulder. “Anytime, Connor. We’re all here for you.”

Hank cleared his throat, stepping closer to the bed. “And that includes me. We’re getting you through this, one step at a time.”

Connor nodded, his smile lingering as he glanced between Simon, Hank, and Sumo. For the first time in what felt like ages, the weight pressing down on him didn’t feel so unbearable.

Simon’s diagnostic scan beeped softly as he finished reviewing Connor’s stabilizer readings. His expression was serious but gentle, his eyes scanning the data intently. Hank stood near the foot of the bed, his arms crossed as he watched Connor with a mixture of concern and patience.

Simon finally spoke, his voice soft but steady. “Connor, I know you’re feeling a little better now, but your systems are still very worn down. The stabilizer is doing its job, but your stress levels haven’t fully stabilized yet.”

He glanced at Hank briefly before continuing, “You’re going to need to stay in the clinic for a while longer to let your systems recover.”

Connor shifted slightly, a faint frown crossing his face. “How long?” he asked, his voice quiet but edged with fatigue.

Simon hesitated, his hand resting lightly on Connor’s wrist. “It’s hard to say exactly. Maybe a few days, maybe longer. It depends on how quickly your systems can repair themselves with the stabilizer’s help.”

Connor’s brows knit together, but instead of protesting further, he blurted out, “What about 900? How is he doing?”

Hank and Simon shared a quiet look, the kind of exchange that spoke volumes without words. Connor’s LED flickered faintly yellow as he tried to decipher their unspoken communication. Before his stress levels could rise further, Simon reached out for Connor’s hand.

Connor hesitated for only a moment before moving his hand into Simon’s. The warmth of the contact steadied him slightly, the familiar comfort of Simon’s care grounding him.

 “What’s happening to him?” Connor pressed, his voice quieter now but still insistent.

Simon gave Connor’s hand a gentle squeeze before answering. “900 is in police custody for now,” he said carefully. “But Markus and the Jericho legal team have been working all day to sort things out. They just finished speaking to a judge.”

Hank leaned in slightly, his voice gruff but kind. “The deal is this: 900 will be offered a place at one of New Jericho’s rehabilitation shelters. If he accepts, they’ll move him there tonight.”

Connor’s shoulders relaxed slightly, his LED spinning a soft yellow. He nodded slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Good. That’s good.”

Simon smiled faintly, his eyes full of warmth. “I thought you’d say that. I know you can’t see it, sweetpea, but I’ve got your notifications back on my screen. And right now, your systems are telling me they’re running on fumes.”

Connor’s LED flickered, his gaze shifting to Simon in faint confusion. “I’m okay,” he said weakly, though even he could hear the lack of conviction in his voice.

Simon shook his head gently, brushing his thumb over the back of Connor’s hand. “Your stress levels still haven’t stabilized, Connor. I’m going to start a Thirium line for you. It’ll help your body focus on repairing itself. After that, I want you to rest for the rest of the day, okay?”

Connor opened his mouth to resist, but Hank cut him off, his tone firm but not unkind. “Kid, let him take care of you. You’re not helping anyone if you push yourself too hard, least of all 900.”

Connor hesitated, his gaze darting between Hank and Simon before finally nodding. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice small.

 Connor’s thoughts circled back to 900. He shifted slightly, wincing at the weight of his exhaustion.

 “Will you keep helping him?” he asked softly, his voice cracking with uncertainty. “He didn’t know before. He just- he just wants to be good now. I promised to be his brother.”

Simon paused in his work, his gaze softening as he looked at Connor. Hank, too, watched him with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. Neither of them seemed surprised by Connor’s words.

“Of course we’ll keep helping him,” Simon said gently. “He’s got a long road ahead of him, but we’ll make sure he’s not walking it alone.”

Connor nodded faintly, his eyelids growing heavier as the thirium began to flow into his system.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his words barely audible.

Simon gave Connor’s hand a reassuring pat before moving to the cart in the corner of the room. He opened a sterile package, pulling out a long, clear tube and a small bottle of lubricant.

“Alright, sweetpea,” Simon said softly, turning back to Connor. “We’re going to place a Thirium feeding tube. It’ll go through your nose and down to your reserve tank. It won’t hurt, but it might be a little uncomfortable at first.”

Connor blinked sluggishly, his LED flickering yellow as his gaze locked onto the tube in Simon’s hand. His expression betrayed his reluctance, but he didn’t protest. Instead, he turned his head slightly to give Simon access, his jaw tightening as he braced himself.

“Good,” Simon murmured, his voice calm and soothing. “I’m going to apply some lubricant now, and then we’ll take it slow. If you feel any sharp pain, you let me know, alright?”

Connor nodded faintly, his throat already tightening at the thought. His eyes tracked every movement as Simon worked efficiently, coating the tube with a clear gel before positioning it near Connor’s nose. Simon placed a gentle hand on Connor’s shoulder, his touch steadying.

“Take a deep breath for me,” Simon instructed, his tone soft and reassuring. “I’ll guide it in, and when I tell you, you’ll need to cough. It’ll help the tube slide down into place.”

Connor inhaled slowly, the cold sensation of the tube pressing against his nostril sending a shiver through him. He tried not to flinch as Simon carefully began inserting it, the sensation strange and invasive. His breathing hitched, his eyes watering involuntarily as the tube slid further.

“Almost there,” Simon murmured, his focus unwavering. “Now, Connor, give me a cough.”

Connor obeyed, the action jarring as the tube shifted deeper. He coughed again reflexively, his throat tightening around the foreign object. His LED flickered yellow as his stress levels ticked upward, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes despite his best efforts to stay composed.

“There we go,” Simon said gently, his tone warm with reassurance as he secured the tube in place. “It’s all set now. You’re doing great, sweetpea.”

Connor swallowed thickly, the discomfort lingering as Simon connected the end of the tube to a large bag of Thirium hanging from the IV pole. The faint hum of the stabilizer provided a steady background noise as Simon adjusted the flow rate, his hands deft and practiced.

Simon crouched beside Connor, his gaze level and full of quiet empathy. “I know it’s uncomfortable,” he said softly, “but it’ll help your system repair itself more efficiently. If it feels too bad, let me know, and we’ll stop.”

Connor gave a small nod, his lips pressed into a thin line as he fought the urge to shift. The tube’s presence was a constant irritation, and every slight movement made it shift just enough to remind him it was there.

Simon straightened, checking the stabilizer readings before glancing back at Connor. “I can increase the sedation if you’d like,” he offered. “It’ll help you rest while the line does its work.”

Connor hesitated, his LED flickering faintly yellow. The discomfort gnawed at him, and he finally nodded, wincing as the motion made the tube shift slightly. “Please,” he murmured, his voice raw and strained.

Simon smiled faintly, patting Connor’s arm. “Alright. Just a moment.”

As Simon adjusted the sedation levels on the stabilizer, Connor reached out weakly, his hand searching blindly until Hank stepped forward. The older man took Connor’s hand without hesitation, his grip firm and reassuring.

“You’re alright, kid,” Hank said gruffly, his other hand brushing over Connor’s hair. “Just take it easy. You’re in good hands.”

Connor’s eyes fluttered shut as the sedation began to take effect, the weight of exhaustion pulling at him once more. The last thing he felt was Hank’s steady hand holding his, grounding him as the discomfort of the feeding tube faded into the background.

- - -

Connor blinked slowly, his vision adjusting to the dim light filtering through the window. The faint glow of the city outside cast long shadows across the room, soft and shifting. The first thing he felt was the absence of the intrusive discomfort—his hand instinctively brushed over his face, his fingers trailing along his nose, searching for the feeding tube.

It was gone.

Relief washed over him, and he let out a quiet sigh, his body relaxing further into the bed. He turned his head slightly, noticing movement by the window. Markus stood there, his arms loosely crossed, gazing out at the city. He hummed softly, a tune that was soothing and familiar, though Connor couldn’t quite place it.

Connor shifted slightly, his movement catching Markus’s attention. The taller android turned, a warm smile breaking across his face as he spoke in a soft whisper. “Hey, what are you doing awake?”

He nodded toward Connor, his smile widening. “Yeah, you’re tube-free now. Simon took it out a couple of hours ago.”

Connor’s lips curved into a faint smile, the remnants of sedation still making his movements slow and deliberate. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, trying to shake the haze. The sensation was familiar and strange all at once, a lingering reminder of his humanity and his machine origins.

Markus huffed a quiet laugh, leaning against the windowsill. “Sleepy head,” he teased, his voice light and affectionate. “Why don’t you go back to sleep, huh?”

Connor shook his head cheekily, his smile lingering.

Markus tilted his head, his tone taking on a playful lilt. “No? Why not?”

Connor shrugged, the movement small and lazy. His gaze remained fixed on Markus, his LED spinning a faint yellow as his processors slowly worked through the moment. He couldn’t find a reason to go back to sleep, but he didn’t feel like explaining that. Instead, he let the silence fill the space between them, comfortable and unspoken.

Markus pushed off the windowsill and stepped closer, his movements slow and purposeful, as though he didn’t want to disturb the fragile quiet of the room. He settled into the chair beside Connor’s bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Markus’s soft smile matched Connor’s as their gazes held, a quiet understanding passing between them. The weight of everything—Connor’s recovery, the events of the last few days—seemed to melt away, leaving only the stillness of the night and the presence of someone who cared.

“You’re stubborn,” Markus whispered eventually, his tone teasing but warm. “You know that?”

Connor’s smile widened slightly, his eyes half-lidded as he gave a small shrug. He didn’t deny it.

Markus chuckled softly, leaning back in the chair. “Well, I guess I can’t blame you. You’ve earned a little rebellion.” His gaze shifted toward the window for a moment before returning to Connor. “But seriously, how are you feeling?”

Connor hesitated, his processors lagging under the sedation’s lingering effects. “Better,” he said finally, his voice quiet but sincere. “Still… tired.”

Markus nodded, his expression softening. “That’s okay,” he said gently. “You’re healing. Take your time.”

The room fell into silence again, but it was a peaceful silence, one that felt more like companionship than absence. Markus stayed where he was, his presence steady and grounding, as Connor’s eyelids grew heavier once more. The faint hum of the city outside blended with the soothing rhythm of Markus’s breaths, lulling Connor into a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in days.

Connor’s voice broke the quiet just before sleep took him. “Markus?”

“Yeah?” Markus asked, leaning forward slightly.

Connor’s smile was small, but it reached his eyes. “Thank you.”

Markus returned the smile, his tone soft and reassuring. “Always.”

Connor shifted slightly on the bed, the weight of the blankets grounding him. He turned his head just enough to meet Markus’s gaze, his voice soft and hesitant. “Did 900 take the deal?”

Markus let his elbows rest on the edge of Connor’s bed, his posture relaxed but attentive. He propped his chin in the palm of one hand, while the other reached out to brush Connor’s hair back from his face in a steady, soothing rhythm. The touch was gentle, almost instinctive, and Connor leaned into it without thinking.

Markus’s voice dropped to a whisper, low and reassuring. “Yes. I walked him into Jericho myself.”

Connor felt a deep breath leave his chest, a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding leaking out with it. Relief spread through his body, tangible and warm. “Thank you,” he said softly, his tone filled with gratitude.

Markus smiled faintly, his fingers continuing their rhythmic motion through Connor’s hair. “It was the right thing to do,” he whispered back. “I talked with him a lot today. You two are very similar.”

Connor hummed in acknowledgment, too tired to form a full response but appreciating the observation.

Markus chuckled quietly, the sound light and comforting in the stillness of the room. “It made it easier to not want to… well, let’s just say I left it to Hank to read him the riot act.”

That earned a soft giggle from Connor, the sound fragile but genuine. His blinks grew slower, his body relaxing further under Markus’s steady presence. He liked the feeling of Markus’s fingers threading through his hair, the repetitive motion lulling him closer to sleep.

Markus kept his voice low, his words deliberate and calm. “He wants to do what he can to fix this. He’s already been helpful—he gave us access to CyberLife files for the clinic and for biocomponent manufacturing. But he’s still nervous about meeting new people… androids, really. Had to give him an objective so he’d settle. Told him his mission this week was to get to know his bunkmates better.”

Connor’s lips curved into a faint smile, his exhaustion softening his features. “That’s good,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper.

Markus’s hand stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle motion. “North says it’s built into their rehabilitation program,” he explained, “they wean them off of needing others to provide objectives. So… he’s getting what he needs.”

The weight of Markus’s words settled over Connor like a blanket, their meaning sinking in slowly. For the first time in weeks, the gnawing worry in the back of his mind was gone. There was no shadow of fear, no lingering threat to haunt him. Everyone was safe. They were going to be okay.

Connor’s eyelids grew heavier, the pull of sleep becoming harder to resist. “Thank you,” he said softly, his words slow and deliberate. “I’m glad he’s in good hands. He deserves a second chance.”

Markus hummed in acknowledgment, a sound that was both agreement and reassurance. His fingers continued their steady path through Connor’s hair, the motion soothing and protective. Connor let his eyes close completely, surrendering to the moment. The world felt quiet, safe, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Connor allowed himself to let go.

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but eventually, the steady rhythm of Markus’s hand and the warmth of the room carried him back into sleep.

Chapter Text

When Connor woke again, his mind felt clearer than it had in days. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the soft light in the room. The gentle hum of the stabilizer was the first thing he noticed, grounding him in the reality of the clinic. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to bask in the quiet, in the warmth of his bed, but then a pang of unease stirred in his chest.

The explosion.

His thoughts spiraled back to the last thing he remembered before being taken—the glass shattering, the deafening sound, and the feel of the ground shaking beneath him. His LED flickered yellow as he realized something he hadn’t yet allowed himself to think about.

The garden. The waterfall.

His chest tightened at the thought of it being destroyed, the peaceful oasis reduced to rubble. The loss felt strangely personal, like a piece of him had been shattered alongside the glass. He stared at the ceiling, his heart heavy with the realization.

The sound of a chair scraping softly across the floor drew his attention. Markus had been sitting nearby, and as soon as he noticed Connor was awake, he leaned forward, his gaze steady and warm.

 “Hey,” Markus said softly. “How are you feeling?”

Connor hesitated, his throat dry and his thoughts swirling. “I… I’m okay,” he murmured. His voice was quieter than he intended, but Markus’s attentive expression didn’t waver.

Markus tilted his head slightly, studying him. “Something’s on your mind,” he said gently. “What’s wrong?”

Connor opened his mouth to speak, but guilt clawed at him, holding the words back. Before he could ask about the garden, a more pressing thought overtook him. He shifted slightly in the bed, his gaze flicking to Markus.

“Do you have any damage?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

 The question surprised even himself, but it was genuine. He hadn’t stopped to think about how the explosion might have affected Markus or the others.

Markus’s brow furrowed briefly before softening. He seemed to intuit exactly where Connor’s thoughts were headed. “I’m fine,” he reassured him, his voice steady and calm. “No one sustained any damage—not me, not North, not Simon. We’re all okay, Connor.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow as a wave of relief washed over him. But it was accompanied by a pang of guilt that settled deep in his chest. He had been so consumed by his own ordeal that he hadn’t even thought to ask sooner. He looked down at his hands, clasped tightly together on the blanket. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I should have—”

“Connor,” Markus interrupted gently, leaning closer. “You don’t need to apologize. You’ve been through more than enough. No one blames you for anything.”

Connor nodded slightly but couldn’t quite meet Markus’s eyes. He hesitated before speaking again, his voice quieter now. “The garden… the waterfall… are they gone?”

Markus’s expression shifted, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. He took a deep breath, his tone soft but careful. “The garden sustained damage, yes. The glass walls were shattered, and the waterfall was affected. But…” He paused, his voice gaining a note of reassurance. “It’s not gone, Connor. We can rebuild it. And we will.”

Connor’s chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t just sadness—it was gratitude. The thought of rebuilding, of something so peaceful being restored, felt like a lifeline. He nodded slowly, his hands relaxing slightly against the blanket.

 “Thank you,” he said softly.

Markus smiled, his hand resting lightly on Connor’s arm. “Of course.”

After a moment of quiet, Markus tilted his head. “Do you remember anything from the day you were taken?” he asked, his tone careful and nonintrusive.

Connor thought for a moment, sifting through the fragmented memories. “Bits and pieces,” he admitted. “The explosion… I remember glass shattering, the sound of the blast. And then… I thought you’d found me. I heard someone tell me to rest, and for a moment, I thought it was you.”

Markus’s expression softened, his hand giving Connor’s arm a gentle squeeze. “I wish it had been me,” he said quietly.

Connor nodded, his gaze finally meeting Markus’s. The weight of the day still lingered, but Markus’s presence, his steady warmth, anchored him. Connor allowed himself to believe that things could be rebuilt—not just the garden, but everything.

Markus exhaled deeply, his smile faltering slightly as he glanced away from Connor. “I’ve been thinking about that day,” he said softly, his voice heavy with something Connor couldn’t quite place. “I keep wondering if there was more I could have done. If I could’ve protected you better.”

Connor tilted his head, his LED flickering faintly. “Markus,” he started, his voice steady despite the lingering fog of sedation. “If I can’t feel guilty about what happened, then neither can you.”

Markus blinked, surprised by Connor’s response. He laughed softly, the sound lighter than Connor expected.

 “Is that right?” Markus teased gently, his tone affectionate. “That’s the rule, huh?”

Connor’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Exactly,” he said, his gaze warm but firm. “We both let it go.”

Markus chuckled again, but as the laughter faded, a flicker of something deeper settled into his expression. “Still,” he murmured, “you deserve to know what happened. We pieced together as much as we could about the blast and how 900 managed to take you.”

Connor straightened slightly, his curiosity and unease both sharpening. “What did you find out?” he asked, his tone quiet but insistent.

Markus hesitated for a moment before continuing. “900 timed the explosion perfectly,” he explained, his voice measured but tinged with guilt. “It was angled to block our access to you. The glass walls of the garden were shattered, but the blast itself was controlled—it was meant to create chaos, not harm. He knew exactly where we’d be and how to separate you from us.”

Connor listened intently, his gaze fixed on Markus’s face as he continued.

“He used the skylight above the waterfall,” Markus said, his hand brushing over Connor’s lightly as though grounding himself. “There’s an access point at the top of the building, where the waterfall opens to the sky. He must have propelled down through it right after the blast. The timing was… flawless. He grabbed you before we could even think to reach you and escaped out the north end of the building. By the time we’d regrouped, he was gone.”

Markus’s voice wavered slightly toward the end, and his hand tightened over Connor’s. His gaze dropped to the edge of the bed, his shoulders tense as the memory of that day weighed on him. “It all happened so fast,” he murmured. “One moment, you were there. The next, we couldn’t get to you.”

Connor stared at Markus, the weight of his words settling into his chest. He searched for something to say, something to ease the guilt Markus was clearly carrying, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he squeezed Markus’s hand, a quiet gesture of reassurance.

Markus glanced up, his eyes meeting Connor’s, and his expression softened. A small smile tugged at his lips, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks” he said quietly, his tone filled with gratitude.

They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the stabilizer filling the quiet room. Connor let his gaze wander briefly to the window, the faint glow of moonlight casting soft shadows across the floor. For the first time since waking, he felt a sense of calm—a fragile but steady kind of peace.

Markus gave Connor’s hand another gentle squeeze before releasing it, his smile lingering.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he said, his voice light but sincere.

Connor tilted his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “So I’ve been told.”

Markus chuckled softly, the sound warm and reassuring. They shared another quiet moment together, the weight of the day gradually lifting, replaced by the comfort of each other’s presence.

- - -

Connor was propped up against his pillows, his gaze wandering aimlessly across the room when the door opened. Hank entered first, his boots heavy against the clinic floor, followed closely by North, who offered Connor a small wave as she entered.

“Hey, kid,” Hank greeted, his voice softer than usual. His eyes darted over Connor’s face and form as though checking for any hidden injuries.

North dropped into a chair near the window and crossed her arms. “How’s it going, Connor? Markus said you were doing better.”

Connor offered a faint smile. “I’m… okay. Better than I was.”

“That’s something,” North said, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Markus wanted me to tell you that if you need anything, he’ll drop everything to come back.”

Connor’s smile grew slightly. “That sounds like him.”

They settled into an easy rhythm of small talk, North teasing Hank about his coffee addiction while Connor chuckled quietly. But eventually, Connor’s curiosity got the better of him. He looked between the two of them, his LED flickering faintly. “How is 900?”

North and Hank exchanged a glance before North answered. “He’s settling in. Markus has been keeping an eye on him, making sure he’s sticking to the program. He’s… cautious, but cooperative. North leaned forward, her expression more serious.

“He’s helping with the clinics, sharing everything he knows about CyberLife’s systems. I think he really wants to make amends.”

Connor nodded slowly, processing her words. “I’m glad. He… he’s trying.”

Hank’s brow furrowed, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Connor,” he said, his tone careful but firm, “I need you to think about something.”

Connor tilted his head. “What is it?”

Hank leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I need you to really think about bringing up charges against 900.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow, and he opened his mouth to respond, but Hank cut him off.

“Before you start explaining how he didn’t know what he was doing,” Hank said, moving to sit on the edge of Connor’s bed, “I want you to hear me out.”

Hank’s hands came to rest on Connor’s shoulders, his grip firm but not harsh. His eyes met Connor’s, and for a moment, the weight of his emotions was overwhelming. “Listen to me, kid. You might not be angry now. You might feel like forgiving him is the right thing to do, and that’s fine. But you don’t know how you’ll feel later.”

“Hank—” Connor started, but Hank squeezed his shoulders gently, silencing him.

“No one has the right to take you from your family,” Hank said, his voice cracking slightly as he continued. “What 900 did… it wasn’t okay. I don’t care if he didn’t know better at the time. He still kidnapped you. He still hurt you.”

Connor’s LED flickered red for a brief moment as he processed Hank’s words. “He didn’t mean to—”

Hank’s eyes glistened, and Connor froze as he saw tears welling in them. “Maybe he didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t change the fact that he did. You might not be angry, Connor, but I am. He took you—my kid—and I’d rather die than lose another one.”

Connor felt his own eyes sting, tears blurring his vision as he looked up at Hank. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Hank scoffed lightly, though his voice was thick with emotion. “Don’t be sorry, Connor. I doubt you were out there trying to get kidnapped.”

His grip softened, and he pulled Connor into a rough, protective hug. “You scared the hell out of me, yeah, but you don’t need to apologize for that. I just… I can’t lose you.”

Connor clung to Hank, his hands weak but steady against Hank’s back. “I promise,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “I’ll think about it. I’ll think about it for a few more days.”

Hank pulled back just enough to look Connor in the eyes, his hands still resting on his shoulders. “That’s all I’m asking, kid. Just think about it.”

Connor nodded, his gaze steady despite the tears still lingering in his eyes. “I will,” he promised.

Hank smiled faintly, brushing a hand through Connor’s hair before standing. “Good. Now, get some rest. You’re not off the hook for scaring me just yet.”

Connor smiled back, the weight of the moment settling into something lighter, something warmer. “Yes, Dad.”

North chuckled from her chair, breaking the tension. “You two are something else.”

Connor laughed softly, leaning back into his pillows as the room filled with a sense of quiet comfort.

- - -

The clinic had grown quiet, the hum of machinery and the faint sounds of distant movement from the hallways the only noises breaking the silence. Simon sat in his customary chair near Connor’s bed, the soft glow of the lamps casting warm light over the room. He had put away his tablet, his attention now entirely on Connor. He leaned forward slightly, his fingers deftly adjusting the stabilizer strapped to Connor’s wrist, ensuring its readings remained steady.

“You’re doing well, sweet pea,” Simon said softly, his voice gentle as he examined the stabilizer. “If everything keeps trending this way, I think we can start lowering the sedation in another day or two.”

Connor blinked up at him, his LED a steady blue but his voice tinged with weariness. “When… when can I go home?”

Simon paused, his hands stilling on the stabilizer. He looked at Connor, his expression kind but firm. “Not for a little while yet,” he said patiently. “Probably another week or two. But that’s a good thing—it means your systems are recovering. You’re healing.”

Connor sighed quietly, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. “I just… I want to see Sumo. I want to be home.”

Simon reached out and gently adjusted Connor’s blanket, tucking it more snugly around him.

 “I know, honey. And you will. Soon.” He stood and began turning off the overhead lights, replacing the harsh fluorescents with the soft glow of a couple of warm lamps. The room immediately felt cozier, the softer light already making Connor’s eyelids grow heavier.

Connor shifted slightly, watching as Simon moved around the room, tidying up and preparing for the night. “What will I do here for another week or two?” he asked, his voice quiet but laced with curiosity.

Simon chuckled lightly as he returned to his seat, sitting closer to Connor this time. “Well, after another three days or so, if you’re feeling up to it, you’ll be free to move around the building. You can visit people, stretch your legs a bit. I’ll even take you out to the garden if you want.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow for a moment. “Really?”

“Of course,” Simon said warmly. “We just need to make sure your stabilizer is steady and that you don’t overdo it. You’ll be endlessly entertained while you heal—I promise. And honestly, you’re already making progress. I can see some of the smaller stress tears mending.”

Connor nodded slowly, doing his best to process Simon’s reassurances. Despite the lingering heaviness in his body, he felt a flicker of hope.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice sincere. “I don’t know what I’d do without all of you.”

Simon’s expression softened further, his smile gentle as he brushed a hand lightly over Connor’s hair. “We’re the lucky ones,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet affection. “I don’t know how we were ever blessed with such a sweet friend like you.”

Connor’s cheeks tinged faintly with warmth, and his LED flickered blue as his systems began to power down into stasis. He didn’t reply—his body too heavy, his mind too close to sleep—but Simon’s words lingered in his thoughts, a soft reassurance as he drifted off.

Simon remained by his side, watching over him as the room grew quieter, the warm glow of the lamps a comforting presence against the stillness of the night.

- - -

The clinic room was bathed in soft, natural light spilling through the wide windows. Connor lay comfortably on the exam table, his arms tucked behind his head in a relaxed posture, his LED a steady blue. Simon stood to his side, explaining the intricacies of maintenance to Hank, who was already elbow-deep in the cavity of Connor’s chest panel.

“So, the key,” Simon said, his voice professional but tinged with amusement, “is not to rush. Each component needs care, even the ones that don’t look worn down. And, Hank, for the love of all that’s good, don’t start yanking things out without checking what they’re connected to first.”

Hank grunted, his brow furrowed as he gingerly worked with a cleaning tool on a delicate set of wires. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. No ‘yanking.’ It’s not like I wanna break the kid.”

Connor smirked lazily from his position. “I’d appreciate that, Hank. I do enjoy having all my parts where they belong.”

Simon chuckled, guiding Hank’s hand to a slightly discolored biocomponent. “Now, this one—you see the wear on the edges? It’s still functional, but it won’t be for long. Swap it out, and make sure you reseat the new one snugly.”

Connor tilted his head back slightly, his tone light but teasing. “You know, Simon, I never thought I’d see the day when I became a live-action tutorial.”

Simon shot him a mock glare. “Sassy today, aren’t we? Maybe I should up your sedation again.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Go ahead. I dare you. I won't be able to hear your lectures in my dreams.”

Hank barked a laugh, carefully sliding the new component into place. “He’s got you there, Simon.”

Simon sighed dramatically but smiled nonetheless. “All right, Connor. Just keep that attitude in check, or I’ll have Hank start practicing on your vocal modulators.”

Connor’s grin didn’t waver. “Please. You’d miss the sound of my voice too much.”

Simon rolled his eyes, then turned his attention back to Hank. “Now, once you’ve secured the replacement, run a quick diagnostic to make sure the connection’s stable. And Hank, I want you to get comfortable with this. Connor will need this maintenance weekly for at least a year.”

Hank paused, glancing up at Simon with a questioning look. “Weekly? That often?”

Simon nodded, his expression serious but not without warmth. “The stress damage Connor’s system sustained is significant. Regular maintenance will help his components heal properly and build resilience for the future. The lower his stress levels stay this year, the better he’ll handle any future challenges.”

Connor, still lounging, piped up with a playful tone. “Translation: Simon wants me bubble-wrapped for a year.”

Simon shot him another look. “Considering you still want to work at the police department, it might not be a bad idea.”

Connor chuckled softly. “Can’t help it, Simon. Some of us are just meant to serve and protect.”

Hank snorted as he tightened the last connection, sitting back to inspect his work. “Yeah, well, if you wanna keep doin’ that, you’re gonna let me and Simon take care of you, kid. No arguments.”

Connor sighed theatrically but smiled. “Fine, fine. But only because you’re both so good at it.”

Simon patted Hank on the back as he closed Connor’s chest panel with care. “Good work, Hank. You’re getting the hang of this.”

Connor glanced down at his now-sealed chest with a wry grin. “Great teamwork, guys. I feel like a shiny, brand-new prototype.”

Hank ruffled Connor’s hair affectionately. “Don’t push your luck, shiny prototype.”

Simon chuckled, gathering his tools. “All right, you’re done for today, Connor. Go relax—doctor’s orders.”

Connor sat up, stretching lazily. “Relaxing? I think I can handle that.”

As Simon and Hank shared a knowing smile, Connor hopped off the table, his mood light despite the lingering recovery process. With the support of his friends, he knew he could handle anything that came next.

The room had shifted from clinical to cozy as Hank closed up the kit Simon had guided him through, patting Connor on the shoulder with a satisfied grunt. “You’re good to go, kid. Just don’t push it, alright?”

Connor smirked, standing from the table with practiced ease, though he still moved a bit slower than his usual speed. “No promises, but I’ll try.”

Before Simon could launch into another gentle admonishment, the door swung open to reveal Markus and North, who entered with bright smiles. Markus carried a slim portfolio tucked under one arm, and North had a bundle of yarn spilling out of her hands, a long, misshapen scarf trailing behind her.

“Hey, family!” North greeted, her tone uncharacteristically cheerful as she waved at the group.

Markus followed, his expression warm as his gaze landed on Connor. “Glad to see you up and about. You look better already.”

“Thanks to Simon and Hank here,” Connor replied, his tone light but grateful as he gestured to the two men beside him. “They’ve been playing mechanic all morning.”

Hank snorted. “More like Simon’s been bossing me around. I’m just the guy with the wrench.”

“You did great,” Simon reassured with a laugh, setting the toolkit aside. “Connor’s stress markers are stabilizing faster than I anticipated.”

Markus smiled. “Good. That’s the best news I’ve heard today.”

“Second best,” North interjected, holding up her tangled creation with a triumphant grin. “Feast your eyes on this masterpiece.”

The group turned to look at the scarf, its uneven stitches and haphazard colors creating something that was more experimental art than wearable clothing. Connor blinked, clearly unsure how to respond.

“It’s… unique,” he said carefully, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“It’s terrible,” North admitted, laughing at herself. “But it’s my first attempt. Markus keeps saying I’ll get better.”

“You will,” Markus assured her, his voice steady. “Every artist starts somewhere. And besides, it has character.”

Hank chuckled. “Character’s one word for it.”

North playfully shoved him. “Careful, Lieutenant, or you’re next on my ugly scarf list.”

“Can’t wait,” Hank deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.

Simon, who had been listening with an indulgent smile, chimed in. “I think it’s great that you’re trying something new, North. Speaking of, I’ve been working on something new myself.”

“What’s that?” Markus asked, his interest piqued.

Simon adjusted his glasses, his tone shifting to one of quiet excitement. “I’ve been coordinating with Jericho’s legal and medical teams to organize the first-ever Android Medical Conference. It’ll bring together androids and human allies in the medical field to share research, techniques, and innovations.”

Connor’s LED flickered with interest. “That sounds groundbreaking.”

“It is,” Simon said with a nod. “We’ve already got interest from several major cities, and Jericho will host the first event. It’s going to be a lot of work, but I think it’s worth it.”

“It absolutely is,” Markus said, his voice filled with pride. “That’s an incredible step forward, Simon.”

“I agree,” North added, smiling at Simon with genuine admiration. “You’re always the one thinking ahead.”

Simon waved them off, his cheeks faintly glowing blue. “I’m just doing my part.”

The group settled into easy conversation, their camaraderie filling the room with warmth and laughter. Markus pulled out his portfolio to show his latest series of paintings—vivid depictions of androids and humans working together in various professions. North teased him about overachieving, though it was clear she admired his work. Simon and Connor offered thoughtful comments, and Hank even grumbled about how he wouldn’t mind one of the paintings hanging in his home.

As the afternoon wore on, the room seemed to hum with the kind of peace that had been missing for far too long. For Connor, it was a reminder that no matter how difficult things had been, he was surrounded by people who cared for him deeply. And for the first time in a long while, the future didn’t feel quite so heavy.

North during a lull in good conversation turned to Connor, face serious. “So, 900 has been asking about you. I haven't shared anything of course but he is…concerned. He wants to know how you are doing, to communicate with and visit if possible.”

North paused and looked into Connor’s eyes, “Do you want to have any contact with him? You don't have to do anything you don't want to do.”

The room grew quiet as North’s words hung in the air. Connor sat back slightly, his fingers absently tapping the edge of his chair. His LED flickered yellow as he processed what North had said, the conversation buzzing faintly in the background while his thoughts churned.

North glanced at Markus, then at Hank, before focusing back on Connor. “You don’t have to decide anything right now,” she added gently. “This is about what you want, Connor. No one’s pushing you either way.”

Markus nodded, his tone calm but firm. “North’s right. You’re allowed to take as much time as you need. 900 is being supported—he’s surrounded by people who can help him, even if you decide not to be part of that. It’s okay to set boundaries.”

Hank let out a low grumble from his spot beside Connor. “Boundaries? I’d call it cutting him off completely. Kid doesn’t owe him a damn thing.”

Connor glanced at Hank, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. “I know he hurt me,” he said softly, more to himself than to anyone else. “But he didn’t know any better. He thought he was doing the right thing.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Hank replied, his tone softer now but still gruff. “Doesn’t change what he did.”

Connor nodded, acknowledging Hank’s words, but his focus shifted back to North. “What else has he been doing? Besides asking about me.”

North leaned forward slightly, her hands resting on her knees. “He’s been working hard, Connor. Really hard. He’s joined nearly every group activity we’ve put together, and he’s been participating in discussions about accountability and rebuilding trust. He doesn’t just sit back and listen—he engages. He’s asked a lot of questions about how he can contribute, and he’s already started helping with projects to rebuild the damage caused by the explosion.”

Markus added, “He’s also been working with Jericho’s engineers to share his knowledge about CyberLife’s systems. It’s been invaluable for our manufacturing and repair efforts.”

North hesitated for a moment before continuing. “He… he seems genuinely remorseful, Connor. And he’s been very clear that he doesn’t want to push you. He respects your space and said he’ll wait until—if—you’re ready to talk.”

Connor mulled over their words, his thoughts swirling. He remembered 900’s desperate plea in the basement, his trembling hands, the brokenness in his voice as he apologized. He’d been terrified and confused, trying to reconcile his programming with his newfound freedom. And now he was trying to make amends.

“I don’t know,” Connor admitted finally, his voice quiet. “I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s okay,” Markus reassured him. “Take your time. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you.”

Connor nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands. He knew this decision wouldn’t come easily, but he also knew he didn’t have to make it alone. For now, he would let the thought settle, taking comfort in the knowledge that whatever he chose, his friends would be there for him.

“I get why you’re being overprotective—I really do. You have every right. But I can’t stop thinking about 900… how scared he looked. He warned us we’d be decommissioned. He was doing everything he could to try and change, to be better–Dad, he was terrified. And honestly… I think he’s worth getting to know. 900 always said he wanted to save me, protect him. That we were brothers.I want to know him”

The room fell silent as Connor’s words lingered, his gaze locked on Hank. Connor’s LED spun yellow, flickering softly as he waited for Hank’s response. He could see the conflict in Hank’s expression, the tension in his jaw and the furrow of his brow. It wasn’t easy for Hank to hear this—Connor knew that—but he also knew he had to speak his truth.

Hank finally sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Kid, I can’t say I’m thrilled about this,” he admitted, his tone gruff but quieter than usual. “That guy… he hurt you. He scared the hell out of me. I can’t just forget that.”

Connor nodded, his hands resting in his lap. “I know. And I’m not asking you to forget, Hank. I’m not even asking you to forgive him. I just… I’ve thought about it a lot, and I don’t think he’s the same android who hurt me. Not anymore.”

Hank leaned back in his chair, studying Connor intently. “You really think he’s changed?”

Connor nodded again, more firmly this time. “I do. I don’t think he fully understood what he was doing back then. He was afraid—afraid CyberLife would kill him, afraid they’d kill me. And everything he’s done since… it shows that he’s trying to make amends. He wants to be better.”

Hank let out another heavy sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you really think you want to… what? Be brothers with him?”

Connor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I think I want to learn what that means,” he said softly. “I don’t know what it will look like, or if it will even work. But I want to try. I don’t want to let fear keep us apart when there’s a chance we could be something more.”

Hank’s gaze softened, and for a moment, Connor thought he might argue further. But then Hank let out a grumble, shaking his head. “I still don’t agree,” he said, his voice low. “But if this is what you really want, then… fine. I’ll support you. But you’d better tell me the second he steps out of line, you hear me?”

Connor’s LED flickered blue, and he felt a small smile tug at his lips. “I hear you,” he said, his voice tinged with gratitude. “Thank you, Hank.”

Hank waved him off with a grumble, but there was no real heat behind it. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me regret this, kid.”

Connor turned to North, his gaze steady. “Can you help me arrange a visit? I’d like to keep things physical for now—letters, visits. No messaging or calls yet.”

North nodded, her expression warm. “I can do that,” she said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m sure,” Connor said, his voice firm despite the flicker of nerves in his chest. “I want to reconnect.”

North reached out to pat his shoulder, her touch gentle. “You’re braver than you give yourself credit for, Connor. I’ll take care of the details.”

Connor felt a swell of relief and determination. This wouldn’t be easy—he knew that—but it felt right. It felt like the first step toward something new, something better. And this time, he wasn’t taking that step alone.

- - -

The room was unusually quiet, filled only with the soft hum of Connor’s stabilizer and the faint sounds of Simon’s datapad as he checked updates from the clinic. Connor sat up in his bed, pillows propped behind him, watching the group with a rare sense of ease. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he wasn’t the center of everyone’s concern. His stress levels had stayed between 10-20% for days now, a number that felt almost alien compared to the chaos before.

Hank hovered near the bed, his hands resting on the footboard as he watched the door like it might suddenly attack. His protective nature was on full display, his eyes darting to Connor every so often as if to reassure himself that he was still there, still okay. Connor offered him a small smile, hoping to ease some of the tension. Hank didn’t smile back, but his shoulders relaxed just slightly.

Simon sat in a chair nearby, his datapad balanced on one knee as he alternated between monitoring the clinic and keeping a careful eye on Connor. He looked calm, but Connor knew him well enough now to see the signs of readiness, the subtle tension in his posture. Simon wouldn’t hesitate to intervene if Connor’s stress levels rose, though Connor doubted they would. For once, he felt steady.

Markus stood by the window, staring out at the clear noon sky. His arms were crossed, and his shoulders were tight, the weight of his responsibilities written across his features. Connor could see the conflict there—the balance Markus was trying to strike between his role as a leader and his desire to protect Connor. Connor worried for him, but he knew better than to push. Markus would share his thoughts when he was ready.

North was absent, out walking 900 from the rehabilitation shelter to the clinic. She had insisted on going herself, taking a small guard with her to ensure everyone felt safe. Connor appreciated her care and knew she would arrive soon. For now, he did his best to project the calm he was feeling, hoping it might soothe the others.

“It’s nice,” Connor said suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet. Everyone turned to look at him. “To be the one calming everyone else for a change.”

Hank huffed, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a grumble. “Don’t get used to it, kid. I’ll always be on edge when you’re involved.”

Connor’s smile widened slightly. “I’ll try not to make it a habit.”

Simon glanced up from his datapad, his eyes soft. “I’m just glad you’re feeling steady. It’s a good look on you.”

Markus finally turned from the window, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve come a long way, Connor,” he said quietly. “I hope you’re as proud of yourself as we are of you.”

Connor’s LED flickered a soft blue, warmth spreading through him at their words. For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself—whole, steady, and surrounded by people who cared for him. The thought was comforting, grounding, and he let himself bask in it as they waited for North and 900 to arrive.

The echo of footsteps carried down the hall, growing louder with each passing second. Connor’s sensors picked up the subtle rhythm of different paces: North’s steady stride, the purposeful steps of the guards, and a slightly uneven cadence he assumed was 900.

The guard stationed at Connor’s door spoke firmly, requesting identification. After a moment of exchanged words, the door opened, and North entered first, her posture calm yet alert. Behind her, RK-900 stepped in, his LED flickering a nervous yellow. He scanned the room, his gaze darting quickly over Simon, Hank, and Markus before finally landing on Connor.

Connor smiled warmly, hoping to dispel some of the tension in the air. It worked—900’s tense shoulders visibly relaxed, and he hesitated only briefly before starting toward Connor, his movements tentative and unsure.

But before 900 could take more than a few steps, Hank moved closer to Connor, his protective instincts kicking in. His broad frame began to edge in front of Connor like a human shield. Markus was quicker, though, intercepting 900 with practiced grace. Markus placed himself directly in 900’s path, his posture firm but not hostile.

“RK-900,” Markus greeted evenly, his voice calm and authoritative. He motioned to a chair positioned a foot or two away from Connor’s bed. “Please, sit here.”

900 stopped in his tracks, glancing toward Connor briefly before looking down at his shoes. He nodded, his movements slow, and moved to the chair. His dejection was clear, his shoulders hunched and his LED flickering yellow as he lowered himself into the seat.

Connor watched the exchange, his processors picking up every shift in body language, every flicker of unspoken tension in the room. His own stress levels were stable, though, his calm unshaken. Without hesitation—and before anyone could stop him—Connor swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. Simon stepped forward as if to intervene, but Connor waved him off with a small gesture.

He moved to the chair beside 900, the one Markus had started to occupy, and lowered himself into it. All eyes were on him now, but Connor’s focus was entirely on 900. He extended his hand, palm up, the motion deliberate and steady.

“Hello,” Connor said softly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to break through the tension. His hand remained outstretched, a clear invitation to interface.

The room was silent, the others frozen in shock. Even 900 seemed caught off guard, his gaze flickering between Connor’s hand and his face. For a moment, his LED spun yellow, the hesitation palpable. Then, slowly, 900 reached out, his fingers brushing against Connor’s palm before his hand settled firmly against it.

The interface connection established with a faint hum, and the world around them seemed to fade into the background as their systems synced. Connor’s voice echoed softly in the shared space of their minds.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe here. We both are.”

Hank and Markus exchanged a glance, the realization of what was happening dawning on them at almost the same moment. Both moved toward the chairs, intent on stopping the interface before it could fully establish.

“Connor!” Hank barked, his tone sharp as he reached for the connection.

“Wait,” Markus said, his voice calmer but still firm. “This isn’t—”

Before either could intervene, Connor and 900 clasped their hands tightly around each other’s forearms. The connection was solid, the faint hum of an active interface filling the room. Both androids’ LEDs spun a synchronized yellow as they locked into their shared mind space.

Within the interface, Connor’s voice was the first to break the silence. His tone was soft, carrying none of the tension that had filled the physical room. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Connor said. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

900 hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering in the virtual space. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but tinged with guilt. “I’ve been worried about you,” he admitted. “Your well-being—it’s been… consuming my thoughts. May I see your vitals? I need to know you’re truly okay.”

Connor didn’t hesitate. He sent over a copy of his current vitals, letting 900 review the steady progress Simon had worked so hard to maintain. “See?” Connor said gently. “I’m healing. Slowly, but surely.”

900’s LED flickered faintly in the shared space, a sign of his processing. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, his voice carrying a weight of relief. “I… needed to see that.”

Connor smiled faintly in the interface, the gesture carrying through as a subtle warmth in the connection. “We’re both healing,” he said. “And we’ll get there.”

- - -

The interface dissolved a second later as 900 ended the connection. Back in the physical room, he released Connor’s forearm and drew his hand back slowly, his LED spinning a steady yellow. He turned to face the others in the room, his posture rigid but his voice steady.

“I know I cannot change what I’ve done,” 900 said aloud, his tone carrying the weight of his regret, “I acted out of care for Connor, but that doesn’t excuse the harm I caused. My actions were wrong, and I am deeply sorry for hurting someone you all love.”

The room was silent for a moment. Hank’s jaw tightened, and he folded his arms across his chest, clearly holding back a response. Markus’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained guarded. Simon’s LED flickered briefly yellow, his careful monitoring of the situation evident.

Connor, still seated beside 900, spoke up, his voice calm but firm. “He means it,” he said, addressing the others. “He’s trying, and he’s taking responsibility. That’s more than a lot of people would do.”

900’s gaze flickered to Connor briefly, a flicker of gratitude crossing his features before he returned his focus to the rest of the room, awaiting their response.

900’s apology was met with quiet nods and murmurs of acknowledgment from the group. No one pressed further, though Hank’s protective stance didn’t waver. Sensing the weight of the moment, Connor quickly steered the conversation to a lighter topic.

“What have you been keeping busy with?” Connor asked, leaning back slightly in his chair but keeping his tone encouraging.

900 glanced at him, visibly relieved by the shift in focus. “I’ve been working on community projects,” he said. “Mostly helping repair the buildings I damaged during the… incident.”

His voice dipped slightly, a trace of sadness bleeding through. “I’ve also been trying to reach out to the people I… kidnapped. To apologize. But many have requested not to speak with me in person, and one refuses any contact at all.”

Connor tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. “That sounds difficult.”

900 nodded. “It is. I don’t know what else I can do after this. I want to make amends, but it feels… insufficient.”

Connor’s smile was small but warm. “Sometimes, all you can do is offer. The rest is up to them. What matters is that you’re trying.”

900 seemed to absorb those words, his LED flickering softly. Connor allowed the silence to linger for a moment before smoothly shifting the conversation again.

“How have you been doing with deviancy?” he asked gently.

900’s posture stiffened slightly, but his response was measured. “Better,” he admitted after a moment. “Someone from the clinic came by and scanned my systems. They removed any remaining programming CyberLife could exploit. That… helped.” His LED flickered yellow as he continued. “The group sessions have made me feel safer here. Knowing others understand what it’s like—it’s made a difference.”

Connor nodded, encouraging him with a patient smile but not interrupting.

900 hesitated before adding, “I’m still… figuring things out. Struggling, mostly, with whether I want to keep my designation or… pick a name. Something more traditional.”

Connor’s smile widened, genuine and bright. “That’s a big decision,” he said. “The clinic recently got a donation of baby name books for androids exploring that choice. You could check those out.”

900’s LED spun briefly yellow as though he were processing the idea. “I’ll… give it a look,” he said softly.

Markus, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, interjected with a relaxed grin. “You don’t have to settle on just one name right away, you know,” he said. “A lot of androids try out different names until they find the one that fits. Some even switch between names depending on the season of life they’re in.”

900 blinked at Markus, his LED flashing a faint blue. “I hadn’t considered that.”

Connor chuckled, the sound light. “It’s worth exploring,” he said. “You might find that a name speaks to you more over time. No pressure.”

900’s posture softened slightly, and for the first time since he’d entered the room, he allowed himself a small, tentative smile.

The tension in the room slowly dissolved as the group relaxed, the conversation shifting to lighter topics. Simon even cracked a rare joke that earned a quiet laugh from Hank. 900, though still reserved, began to loosen up, his responses more natural as the moments passed. For a brief while, the room felt as though the weight of the past few weeks had lifted, if only slightly.

After a few minutes, Simon stood and clapped his hands gently, a signal more than a command. “Alright, everyone,” he said with his usual warmth. “Connor is still recovering, and that means he needs rest. Let’s wrap this up.”

900 looked to Connor, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to clasp Connor’s hand briefly. “Thank you for seeing me,” he said softly.

Connor gave him a small but genuine smile. “We’ll see each other again.”

900 nodded, his LED flickering blue as he stepped back. The others murmured quiet goodbyes, their words warm but subdued, as they followed Simon out of the room. Markus and Hank lingered.

Hank pulled up the chair beside Connor’s bed, his presence grounding as ever. “I’m staying,” he said gruffly, settling in with a slight creak of the chair. “No arguments.”

Connor bit back a smile. He internally debated whether he could convince Hank to go home and sleep in his own bed, but he decided to let it slide for now. He didn’t mind the company, even if Hank’s overprotectiveness was unnecessary at this point.

Markus moved to lower the curtains, casting the room in a soft, warm light. He turned on the lamps and turned off the overhead lighting, then fussed briefly with Connor’s blankets, tucking them around him like a concerned parent. Connor raised an eyebrow at Markus’s ministrations but said nothing, his affection for the android leader evident in his expression.

Once satisfied, Markus took the chair on Connor’s other side. He leaned back with an air of casual grace, resting his hands in his lap. The two men began discussing the cowboy book Hank had left for Connor—a topic that quickly revealed Markus had read it while keeping watch during one of Connor’s naps.

Their quiet conversation floated through the room, a soothing blend of Hank’s gruff commentary and Markus’s thoughtful observations. Connor let the sound of their voices wash over him, his exhaustion lulling him into a peaceful haze. He felt a soft warmth spread through him—a sense of safety and love he hadn’t realized he needed until this moment. His favorite people, together, calm and happy.

Connor’s eyelids grew heavier as the minutes passed. The last thing he heard before sleep claimed him was Hank laughing at something Markus said, the sound deep and genuine. For the first time in weeks, Connor drifted into sleep with no shadows lurking in the back of his mind, only the steady warmth of those who cared for him.

- - -

Connor woke suddenly, his chest heaving as his systems sputtered into overdrive. His thirium pump pounded, sending vibrations through his entire body. The blankets tucked tightly around him felt suffocating, heavy, and unyielding. For a brief, horrifying moment, his mind convinced him he was restrained again, trapped and helpless.

He thrashed weakly against the oppressive fabric, his movements disjointed as his systems scrambled to process. Somewhere in the haze, a firm but familiar voice reached him, low and steady.

“Connor,” Hank said softly, his hands already working to free Connor from the blankets. “Hey, kid. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

The weight vanished as Hank pulled the blankets away, and Connor all but launched himself into Hank’s arms. His body shook as he clung to Hank, his face pressing into the crook of Hank’s neck. He felt Hank’s strong arms wrap around him tightly, grounding him, pulling him away from the nightmare.

“Dad,” Connor managed to choke out, his voice trembling. His stabilizer beeped softly in protest at his elevated stress levels, but Connor couldn’t focus on anything except the overwhelming need for comfort.

“I’m here,” Hank murmured, his voice steady and soothing. He rubbed slow circles into Connor’s back, the motion firm but gentle. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Just a bad dream, that’s all.”

Connor’s thirium pump continued to hammer, the fear still clinging to him like a shadow. He gripped Hank tighter, his hands trembling against the fabric of Hank’s shirt. “I—” he stammered, but the words wouldn’t come. His systems felt fragmented, his processors unable to form coherent thoughts.

“Shhh,” Hank said, his voice warm and calm. “You’re okay, Connor. You’re here with me. Just breathe, kid. One thing at a time.”

Connor’s systems struggled to regulate as Hank’s words settled over him like a protective barrier. He felt the warmth of Hank’s hand on his back, the steady rhythm of Hank’s breathing against his own erratic pulses. Slowly, the panic began to loosen its grip.

“It was just a bad dream,” Hank repeated softly. “You’re not there anymore. You’re safe.”

Connor’s fingers tightened momentarily in Hank’s shirt as the words sank in. Safe. He repeated the word internally like a mantra, forcing his systems to acknowledge the truth of it. His grip began to loosen, the tension in his body slowly draining away as Hank continued to hold him.

“Just a bad dream,” Connor murmured eventually, the words shaky but steady enough to repeat.

Hank nodded against him. “That’s right. Just a dream. It’s gone now.”

Connor let out a shaky breath, his thirium pump finally beginning to slow. He remained pressed against Hank’s chest for a while longer, the steady comfort of Hank’s presence anchoring him in reality. When his systems finally stabilized, Connor whispered, “Thank you, Dad.”

Hank’s arms tightened briefly around him before he leaned back just enough to meet Connor’s eyes. “Always, kid,” he said, his voice full of quiet conviction. “I’m always here.”

The room was quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of Connor’s stabilizer and the soft, even rhythm of Hank’s breathing. Connor remained tucked into Hank’s arms, his body still trembling faintly from the remnants of panic. He stared at the dim glow of the lamps, his LED spinning a soft yellow as his systems worked to calm themselves further.

After a while, Connor broke the silence, his voice small but steady. “I don’t remember the nightmare,” he admitted, his words muffled against Hank’s chest. “Just that I didn’t want to be… held down.”

Hank’s hand never stopped its soothing rhythm on Connor’s back. He gave a low hum, his tone soft and steady when he spoke. “That’s normal, kid. Sometimes we don’t remember the dreams, just the feelings they leave behind. It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

Connor nodded faintly, the motion slight against Hank’s shoulder. He wanted to believe him, wanted to let go of the residual fear clinging to him. “It felt… overwhelming,” he whispered, his fingers curling into the fabric of Hank’s shirt again. “I just… I didn’t want to be trapped.”

Hank’s grip on him tightened slightly, his touch grounding and unyielding. “You’re not trapped, Connor,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not again.”

The conviction in Hank’s words settled over Connor like a shield, pressing back against the lingering shadows of his fear. He knew logically that Hank couldn’t protect him from everything—couldn’t stop every threat or danger. But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that Hank wanted to, that he was here, holding Connor and promising to be there no matter what.

Connor let himself relax fully against Hank, his body going slack as the tension ebbed away. “I know,” he said softly. “I know you can’t stop everything, but… it’s easier. Knowing you’re here.”

Hank let out a quiet chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Well, I’m not going anywhere, so you’d better get used to it.”

Connor smiled faintly, his eyes growing heavier as his systems registered the safety and comfort surrounding him. The warmth of Hank’s embrace, the steady presence of someone who cared—these were the things that mattered now.

Slowly, Connor’s body began to drift, his processors dimming as sleep crept over him once more. The last thing he registered was Hank’s hand on his back, the quiet reassurance that he wasn’t alone. This time, sleep was peaceful, and Connor didn’t dream at all.

- - -

The quiet hum of the clinic’s halls greeted Connor as he took slow, deliberate steps alongside Simon and Markus. Each step required concentration, his energy levels still lower than he would have liked, but the simple act of being out of his room brought a quiet joy. As Simon had put it, he was “out and about,” and that felt like progress.

Connor’s stabilizer emitted the occasional soft beep, reminding him of his limits. Simon kept a steadying hand on his elbow, his sharp gaze darting to Connor’s face with every pause. Markus walked beside them, his demeanor calm but watchful, ready to intervene if needed.

Halfway to Markus’s apartment, Connor paused, his legs trembling slightly beneath him. “I’m fine,” he said quickly, raising a hand to stop Simon’s concerned questions. “Just… catching my breath.”

Markus, however, had other plans. Without a word, he stepped closer, leaned down, and scooped Connor up into a bridal hold with practiced ease. The motion was so smooth that it took Connor a moment to realize what had happened.

“What—Markus!” Connor exclaimed, his LED spinning yellow as he squirmed in Markus’s grip. “I can make it! Put me down!”

Markus grinned, his expression both amused and teasing as he held Connor securely. “Nope. Just sit there and be pretty.”

Connor’s face bloomed with heat, the faint whir of his internal cooling system kicking in as he stared up at Markus, scandalized. “That’s—” He fumbled for words, completely flustered. “That’s not necessary! I’m perfectly capable of walking!”

Simon chuckled, his amusement plain as he walked beside them. “You heard him, Connor. Just sit there and be pretty.”

Connor let out a soft huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is entirely unnecessary.”

“Uh-huh,” Markus replied, his tone light and teasing as he adjusted his grip on Connor to make him more comfortable. “And you’re not turning red like a tomato or anything.”

Connor sputtered, his LED blinking furiously as Simon laughed openly. Despite his protests, Connor found himself relaxing slightly in Markus’s arms, the warmth of the moment soothing his lingering embarrassment. It was hard to stay annoyed when his friends’ laughter filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension and fear of previous days.

As they continued toward Markus’s apartment, Connor sighed in mock exasperation. “This is undignified.”

Markus glanced down at him, his grin widening. “You’re welcome.”

- - -

Markus’s apartment buzzed with a quiet energy, the smell of fresh paint hanging lightly in the air. The group sat around a large canvas spread across the center of the room, brushes and palettes scattered across the floor. Markus stood at the head of the makeshift painting station, guiding the group through the process of blending colors and adding layers. Each stroke seemed to come effortlessly to him, a testament to his artistic finesse.

North leaned back, examining the streak of bright orange she had just added to the corner of the canvas. “So, Connor,” she asked, turning her attention to him with a playful smile, “what’s your favorite color?”

Connor paused, his brush hovering uncertainly above the paint. His LED spun yellow as he considered her question. “I… I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I’ve never chosen a favorite color before.”

North tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Never? Well, what colors do you like?”

Connor’s gaze darted between the different colors on the palette, his expression thoughtful. “I like them all,” he said slowly. “But I don’t know how to decide which one is… right.”

North raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by ‘right’?”

Connor set his brush down, frowning slightly as he struggled to explain. “What if I pick a color, but it doesn’t feel… correct later? How do I know I won’t regret the choice? What if it’s the wrong answer?”

Nines—formerly RK-900, now calling himself Niles or Nines—nodded in quiet understanding from his spot beside Connor. “I get that,” he said, his tone low and calm. “Making decisions that feel so personal… it can be overwhelming.”

Markus chuckled softly, setting his brush down and stepping closer to Connor. “Connor,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring, “close your eyes for a moment.”

Connor blinked at him, uncertain, but complied, his LED flickering faintly yellow as his eyelids lowered.

“Now,” Markus continued, his tone soft and patient, “picture a few things that make you happy. The people, the moments, the memories that bring you the most joy.”

Connor’s brow furrowed slightly as he let himself sink into the exercise. He pictured Sumo first—his soft, warm fur and the weight of him resting on Connor’s legs. Then Markus, standing strong and steady, offering guidance without judgment. Hank came next, his gruff kindness wrapped in a protective love Connor didn’t think he deserved but cherished all the same. Then Simon’s warm hand on his, North’s playful wit, Nines’s quiet determination… and coins—spinning through his fingers with perfect balance.

Markus’s voice broke through the mental images, grounding Connor. “Good. Now don’t think too hard about it—mix them all up into one feeling. Imagine the warmth of those moments blending together. What color is it?”

Connor’s processors hummed as he considered the question, his mind swirling with the emotions tied to each image. Slowly, a color began to form in his thoughts—a sharp, comforting blue, clear and strong, like the sky after a storm.

He opened his eyes, his LED steady as he looked at Markus. “Blue,” he said softly, his voice carrying a quiet certainty. “My favorite color is blue.”

Markus smiled warmly, his hand resting briefly on Connor’s shoulder. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Connor looked down at the palette, his gaze settling on the shades of blue scattered across it. For the first time, he reached out without hesitation, picking up his brush and dipping it into the paint. As he made his next stroke on the canvas, the sharp, comforting blue joined the others, standing out as a piece of himself now laid bare.

- - -

Connor’s return home felt like the closing of a chapter and the beginning of a new one. His once minimalist room now held vibrant splashes of blue—a blanket draped over his bed, a mug on his desk, and even a small vase with flowers North had insisted he keep. The color brought a subtle warmth to the space, a reminder of the comfort he’d learned to associate with it.

His life fell into a steady rhythm. His days were calmer, his stress levels hovering at a manageable range, much to Simon’s delight during their monthly check-ins at the clinic. Simon, ever the caretaker, would greet him with a warm smile and a light teasing, “Still my best patient, sweetpea,” before meticulously checking his stabilizer and vitals. Connor didn’t mind these visits—he’d grown to enjoy the quiet reassurance Simon offered and the feeling of progress in his healing.

Connor spent more time outside, walking with Sumo through the park, where the sky often mirrored his favorite shade of blue. Nines had started joining these walks regularly, their conversations shifting from hesitant and formal to relaxed and familiar. They talked about everything—cases Connor was helping reconstruct, ideas for the new android officer training programs, and, most excitingly, Nines’s impending start at the police academy.

“You’re going to excel,” Connor said during one of their walks, Sumo trotting contentedly ahead. “You’re precise, determined, and… surprisingly good with people.”

Nines raised an eyebrow. “Surprisingly?”

Connor smirked. “Well, let’s say it’s a skill you’ve developed.”

Their laughter echoed through the park, mingling with the rustling leaves and the distant sound of children playing. Connor realized these moments with his brother had become something he looked forward to—a bond he never imagined having but now cherished deeply.

At work, Connor took Simon’s advice to heart, focusing more on desk work and reconstruction cases. His attention to detail and his ability to piece together events from fragmented evidence made him invaluable in the precinct. He also threw himself into the development of training programs for new android officers, tailoring simulations and lessons that blended his own experiences with the evolving needs of the department. Nines had already promised to give him detailed feedback once he started the academy, a challenge Connor accepted eagerly.

The nightmares still came occasionally, vague and fragmented, leaving him unsettled in the middle of the night. But he no longer faced them alone. Whether it was Hank’s warm embrace, Markus’s steady reassurance, or even Nines’s calm presence, Connor found that he could reach out and be reminded that he was safe. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good.

- - -

Connor tightened Sumo’s leash as they approached the precinct, the morning air crisp and tinged with the faint smell of rain. The sky overhead was a sharp, vibrant blue, the kind that always made him pause to appreciate the moment. Sumo trotted happily beside him, his tail wagging as he sniffed at every possible patch of grass.

As they reached the sidewalk just outside the precinct, something caught Connor’s eye. A tarnished quarter lay half-embedded in the concrete, its surface dulled with age but unmistakable in its shape. Connor stopped, bending down to pluck it from the ground. He turned it over in his fingers, brushing away some of the dirt to reveal the faint outline of an eagle on the back.

He smiled softly, the coin cool against his fingertips. It wasn’t valuable—not in the way money usually was—but it felt significant. A reminder of the small, unexpected things in life that could still bring joy.

Sumo barked lightly, urging him forward, and Connor chuckled as he tucked the quarter into his pocket. “Alright, alright, we’re going,” he murmured, giving Sumo an affectionate pat on the head.

As they continued on, the smell of rain grew stronger, mingling with the sounds of the bustling city. Connor glanced up at the vibrant sky and let the moment settle over him—a tarnished coin, the promise of rain, and a day waiting to unfold. It was a simple, ordinary start, but one that felt undeniably good.