Work Text:
November 7th, 2038
05:31:04 PM
Azure Apartments, Corktown
The lobby hummed with soft, lazy jazz.
Connor stood perfectly in front of the residents’ directory, head tilted up slightly as he scanned the names and floors. His LED ticked blue, steady, while he calculated the fastest route to Block A, Level 5, Unit 5.
[Anna — A505]
Scanning— confirmed.
He’d just come from the precinct, checking whether the “liquor girl” had filed an assault report on him.
She hadn’t.
But the need to clarify, to correct, to fix the lingering error of their encounter—it pushed him here anyway. He cross-checked her data. Found her address. Logged the justification as behavioral correction.
“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing? You got a pass, tin can?!” an elderly woman barked as he stepped into the elevator.
“I’m here for a police business, ma’am,” Connor replied, a default customer-service smile engaged.
“Your kind is destroying this world! My son got fired because of you people! Job stealer!” She clutched her grocery bags like he might bite.
Connor simply blinked once, expression unchanged.
The security guard—surprisingly a human—jogged over. “Is there a problem here?”
“I’m not sharing an elevator with this—abomination!” The old woman snapped, kicking Connor’s shin. It didn’t hurt him, but the insult landed all the same.
“Hey— that’s enough, Maria,” the security guard sighed, like she was a repeat offender on his personal list. “You know the rules. If you damage it, you’re paying for it.”
Then, with a gentleness reserved only for people dealing with very expensive hardware daily, he guided Connor out by the elbow.
“Look, pal… why don’t you take the stairs? You don’t get tired anyway, right?”
He pointed at the fire escape door.
“Yes. I can do that. Thank you for your assistance,” Connor said with a respectful nod, face perfectly calm.
.
The fire door creaked loudly as he pushed it open.
Harsh posters instantly glared back at him from the walls:
ANDROID FREE ZONE
BAN ANDROID EMPLOYMENT!
Fuck CyberLife scribbled in angry red.
Another note clawed into the plaster with pencil: 31% unemployment. When will it stop? Am I going to be jobless forever?
Connor just catalogued them silently, and continued climbing at a deliberate pace. Getting to the fifth-floor practically took him zero effort.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Three precise taps. 0.3 seconds apart from each other.
“Coming!”
Anna opened the door in paint-splattered denim overalls, a half-eaten croissant paused mid-bite. Her eyes widened at the sight of him—alone, no Hank in sight.
“Oh my gosh… um.” She craned her neck down the hallway like a SWAT team might be hiding behind the potted Ficus. “What are you doing here?”
Connor’s hands were clasped behind his back so tightly they would have been white-knuckled on a human.
“Hello, Miss Anna Hofstadter. My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife—to assist the DPD.”
She just stared, waiting for something. A summons? A warning? A bill?
Her brain rapidly cycled through every petty crime she’d ever committed:
—That mural she absolutely did not have the permit for.
—That one time she intentionally parked outside the box because the SUV in front deserved it.
—Stealing napkins from the bakery. Daily offense.
Connor continued, because the silence stretched too long.
“I obtained your address because Lieutenant Anderson pulled your file,” he lied smoothly, one breath, like ripping off a bandage.
“I informed him I needed your address to deliver a formal apology letter. For my inappropriate physical contact last time we met.”
Anna blinked
Croissant still hovering dramatically.
“I’m sorry—what?”
Connor reached into his jacket with the slow, deliberate care of a bomb technician and produced a crisp white envelope stamped with the DPD emblem. He didn’t open it yet—inside was a two‑page “handwritten” apology, though of course he didn’t have a handwriting of his own. It contained the incident report, a behavioral justification, a sincere promise, and a containment protocol outlining how he would prevent further inappropriate contact.
He prepared to present it formally…but Anna spoke first.
“What—stop, stop. You’re coming here…” She sputtered, somewhere between incredulous and irritation. “You—you stalk me or something?”
He stepped forward—but precisely one meter from her doorframe. Any closer might intimidate. Any farther would be interpreted as emotionally withdrawn.
Anna’s free hand twitched toward the doorknob like she was one neuron away from slamming the door in his face.
“I… did not follow the accusation,” Connor corrected quickly. His LED flickered from yellow to amber. “I obtained your address through official channels. Data indicates you reside here and return from work by four. My presence is for the sole purpose of responsibility.”
Anna raised one perfectly plucked brow. She snorted, croissant forgotten entirely.
“Really? That’s… actually terrifying. And kind of unsettling? Do all police androids do this?” Then, under her breath, “I don’t like it.”
Connor’s fingers tightened around the envelope—barely visible, but real. A tremor. Shame? Or something new he didn’t have a word for.
He redirected immediately, producing a second item from his jacket—a clear plastic sleeve.
“I noticed I accidentally caused your tablet protector to crack,” he announced. “So I brought a replacement. A CyberLife tempered‑glass model.”
“I hate Cyberlife.” She grimaced, recoiling.
Connor’s LED snapped to a warning blink. Oh. He had miscalculated. Badly.
He’d fucked up, hadn’t he?
But then Anna folded her arms awkwardly with the croissant smashed. She squinted at the package. “Does it have… other functions?” she asked cautiously.
“No. It is simply a military‑grade protector. Designed to prevent damage to electronic devices.”
She chewed her lip, resigning herself. “…Okay. I’ll accept it.”
“Would you like me to install it for you?” Connor offered politely—too eager for a robot too. If Hank had been present, he would’ve yelled bullshit before the sentence finished.
Anna stared at him. Really stared. Confused. Narrow‑eyed. Evaluating this android who acted half like a cop, half like a Victorian suitor.
.
“Well… okay. But wait here. I’ll get my tablet.”
She stepped back and shut the door.
Locked it.
Hey—android or not, a man’s still a suspicious man.
She came back one minute and fifty‑six seconds later, croissant gone, overalls still tragic.
“Here.” She put her work tablet on the little shoe rack by the door. Connor nodded and stepped forward, half in the apartment, half still obediently in the hallway like a very polite vampire waiting for permission to enter.
As he worked, he dared himself to speak.
“May I ask what business you had yesterday at the Eden Club?”
Anna’s eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”
Connor attempted a smile—small, stiff, almost apologetic.
“For a woman with a stated anti‑android stance, your presence inside a sex‑droid establishment might… raises questions.”
Anna scoffed, arms crossing. “I wasn’t there for pleasure if that’s what you’re accusing me of.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I work as the menu artist,” she blurted, cheeks warming. “A side gig. That’s all.”
Connor paused, finishing the final press of the protector with clinical precision.
“I see,” he said as he straightened.
“This protector comes with a warranty. Three months for minor scratches. Cyberlife will provide a replacement.”
“Mm.” That was all she gave him.
But then—
“May I ask another personal question?”
Anna made a face that could only be described as emotional constipation, but to his shock, she nodded. “…Sure.”
“Do you hate androids because of the employment issue?”
Anna blinked. That… was not the question she expected.
“Well partly, yes,” she said, and it came out blunt, honest, like the truth had yanked itself free.
“But I don’t wanna bully androids. Like others did in protest. That’s fuckin' pointless. The ones who should be held accountable are the humans who made them. Not… you.”
That was…a profound perspective. Connor’s LED flickered, a soft hesitant whirl of color. He stared—too intently, too long.
Anna shifted, uncomfortable, because being looked at like that by an android with a perfect face was weirdly intense. She hated how it made her stomach flutter.
“Well…” she mumbled, tugging her overall strap. “Consider yourself forgiven.”
“I haven’t read you my letter yet.”
He opened the envelope like it was a sacred ritual—but she snatched it immediately.
“I have eyes. I can read it myself just fine. You’re forgiven, you may go.”
Anna was suddenly hyper‑aware he’d been in her doorway way too long.
Connor froze. Not dramatically. He simply stilled, perfectly motionless, as if someone had hit a cosmic PAUSE button. His LED flicked blue, once.
Then he nodded.
“...Thank you.”
Silence.
An awful, long, socially illegal silence.
Anna waited for a goodbye.
Connor waited for… a prompt? The next protocol? Anything?
Nothing arrived.
So he blinked once, recalibrating.
“I will… leave you to your routine.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave.
Didn’t even turn smoothly—just pivoted like a Roomba trying its best.
“Have a pleasant day, Anna Hofstadter.”
He walked down the hallway stiffly to the fire escape, like dignity was a fragile thing he have.
Anna closed the door… and sagged against it, face buried in her hands.
“Oh my god,” she muttered. “That robot is so weird.”
Meanwhile—
Connor didn’t stop thinking about her.
He had no official reason to see her again.
No operational directive.
And she’d forgiven him, meaning logically, further contact was unnecessary.
Yet still—
He found himself analyzing them more than he should.
Hofstadter, Anna G.
Born: 11/26/2013
Occupation: Graphic designer / Artist
Criminal record…calculating—
very long bullet points found. Lots of vandalism, trespassing, four parking violations.
November 8th, 2038
04:06:55 PM
Zen Garden
Amanda’s mental evaluation began as usual. This time, she’d chosen a scenic route—rowing across the glass lake—an almost deceptive peace wrapping around Connor.
She sat gracefully, hands holding an ornate paper parasol. While Connor handled the oars with precise, mechanical grace along their journey.
Beautiful lotus blooms lined the shore, accompanied by its leaves.
“I hope you know nothing matters more than your investigation, Connor. What’s happening is too important.”
“Don’t let Anderson—or anyone else—get in your way,” she said, voice clipped. Her eyes razor-sharp, searching his face for cracks.
Connor’s expression didn’t flicker.
“Yes, Amanda.”
The oars dipped in and out of the water in perfect ripple.
Exactly the same every time.
“You seem… lost, Connor.” She tilted her head, the fake-motherly tone sliding into place. “Lost and perturbed.”
Maternal.
It wasn’t real.
He hesitated a fraction—one frame, no more. But his LED stayed a serene, obedient blue.
“I’m just frustrated with my lack of progress,” he replied, a half truth. “But I’m determined to accomplish my mission.” The other half was currently screaming in a hidden partition— one of them already labeled Hofstadter.
Amanda wasn’t convinced. She studied him more carefully, gaze probing deeper than the surface.
“I saw your report.” Her tone honeyed. “You had your gun trained on those deviants at the Eden Club. Why didn’t you shoot?”
Connor didn’t miss a beat. “We need the deviants intact for analysis,” he said. “Shooting them wouldn’t have taught us anything.”
A textbook answer.
Smooth enough to mask the tremor that would have been there if he were human.
Amanda’s eyes flicked to the water. The pickerel weed rustled faintly, almost as if the plants themselves were eavesdropping. Connor’s rowing never faltered.
“Hm.” A pause. “If your investigation doesn’t make progress soon,” she continued, almost gently, “I may have to replace you, Connor.”
A warning disguised as concern.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, calm, cold, perfect. “I know I will succeed. All I need is time.”
“Hurry, Connor. Time is running out.”
Amanda raised her face to the sky—now dimming, clouds gathering like bruises.
.
Markus’s revolution had just begun— shaking the Cyberlife foundation.
November 9th, 2038
11:17:04 AM
Elijah Kamski’s villa, outskirts of Detroit
Humanity’s greatest achievement— threatens to be its downfall.
Hah. Isn’t that ironic?
Elijah Kamski — CyberLife founder, resigned in 2028.
The inventor of Thirium and the bio-component architecture that became the spine of every high-end android walking in this country.
And now, he stood barefoot in front of Connor and Hank, smirking like he’d been waiting for this conversation since breakfast.
“Something in the deviants’ program seems to emulate emotion,” Connor began smoothly. “We thought you might know something about how that occurs.”
“All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics…” Elijah shrugged, lounging in his bathrobe.
“Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?”
His expression serene, voice dripping with scholar self-amusement.
Hank, on the other hand, had absolutely no patience left.
“Listen, I didn’t come here to talk philosophy. The machines you created may be planning a revolution.” His tone was flat, exhausted.
“Either you can tell us something that'll be helpful, or we’ll be on our way, sir.” A tight, polite smile.
Elijah’s attention drifted—inevitably—to Connor. “What about you, Connor?” He asked, stepping closer. “Whose side are you on?”
“It’s not about me, Mr. Kamski. All I want is to solve this case.”
Elijah laughed softly at that, pointing playfully at Connor. “Well, that’s what you’re programmed to say. But you…”
Another step forward, closing the space between them to barely two feet.
“What do you really want?”
It was like…standing in front of a god. A god who built you. Who could also unmake you.
Connor’s LED spun, but stayed in the calm blue range.
Neutral, he answered, “I don’t want anything. I am a machine.”
Just a machine, huh?
“Chloe,” Kamski called.
His AI assistant arrived instantly, obedient and silent.
“You know what interest me most?” Elijah said, guiding her forward with a gentle touch.
“Whether machines are capable of empathy.”
His hand started to graze Chloe's perfect jawline. “Magnificent, isn’t it? One of the first intelligent models developed by Cyberlife.”
Chloe remained unreadable. Default.
“Young. And beautiful forever. A flower that will never wilt.”
Elijah lowered his hand, the faintest sigh slipping from him. “But what is it really? A piece of plastic imitating a human…?”
He drifted away, turning toward a sleek cabinet behind him. “Or a living being… with a soul?”
When he turned back, a Glock rested in his hands.
He didn’t brandish it—he simply held it, palms open, eyebrows lifted as if to tell Hank and Connor relax, I’m not a threat… yet.
The metallic click echoed across the indoor pool—crisp, cold, impossible to ignore.
Elijah barely brushed Chloe’s shoulder. That was all it took. She sank gracefully to her knees, eyes still forward, posture obedient. A lamb being posed for the slaughter.
“Today, it’s up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor,” Elijah murmured as he approached.
He didn’t shove the gun roughly into Connor’s palm—instead, he guided Connor’s hand with eerie familiarity, fingers adjusting Connor’s grip, raising the barrel toward Chloe as though helping a child hold a violin bow.
“Destroy this machine, and I’ll tell you all I know.” Elijah’s tone was light, teasing—almost bored. “Or spare it—if you feel it’s alive. But you’ll leave here without having learnt, anything from me.”
“Okay, I think we’re done here.” Hank cut in sharply, brows pulled tight. “Come on, Connor. Let’s go. Sorry to get you out of your pool earlier, sir—”
Elijah leaned in, cutting him off with a whisper at Connor’s left side, serpent-smooth.
“What’s more important to you, Connor? Your investigation… or the life of this android?”
“Decide who you are,” he murmured. “An obedient machine… or a living being endowed with free will?”
“That’s enough. Connor, we’re leaving!” Hank snapped, voice raised, but he didn’t touch Connor.
Elijah did.
“Pull the trigger,” Elijah coaxed, smiling. “And I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Connor, don’t.” Hank’s voice cracked in a fatherly warning.
Connor’s LED pulsed—yellow, frantic, impossible to hide.
Shoot or spare.
Shoot or spare.
Calculating.
.
Don’t shoot.
“Tch.” He jerked the gun away in two controlled, fractured motions, returning it safely to Elijah.
Elijah stared at him like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “Fascinating.” He accepted the gun, satisfied.
“CyberLife's last chance to save humanity… is itself a deviant.”
Something cracked inside Connor — or maybe the crack that existed already finally split open under his creator’s gaze.
“I’m— I’m not a deviant!” he stammered. The words tasted like a verdict— a death sentence for an RK800.
“You preferred to spare a machine rather than accomplish your mission,” Elijah said mildly while helping Chloe to her feet. “You saw a living being in this android,” he explained, as calmly as a professor outlining a theorem. “You showed empathy.” His smile thinned, gleamed.
Then Elijah sent the woman droid away with a gentle off you go, sweetheart.
He turned back to Connor, all curiosity sharpened to a point.
“A war is coming. Sooner or later, you’ll have to choose your side. Tell me, Connor—will you betray your own people… or stand up against your creators?”
Connor’s expression locked down, blank and rigid again—
a boy dragged before the principal, terrified to say the wrong thing now.
He couldn’t answer.
“Hey— what could be worse than choosing between two evils, right?” Elijah whispered—almost gleeful. As if he already knew.
As if he’d counted on the androids to rise.
As if he’d built the very mechanism meant to correct humanity’s failures.
As if he’d just turned the world into the biggest science fair project.
“Let’s get outta here.” Hank finally clamped a hand on Connor’s shoulder and pulled him away, not granting Elijah a single parting glance.
"By the way..." Kamski called out, "I always leave an emergency exit in my programs...you never know."
...
The snow blitzed heavily as they finally exited Elijah Kamski’s villa.
Connor gritted his perfect teeth and strode forward, his processor scrambling, code threatening to crash.
Hank lagged a few steps behind, observing quietly. “Hm,” he hummed, making Connor stop mid-step.
“...Why didn’t you shoot?” His tone wasn’t angry— just curious, almost like a parent asking why his kid didn’t do their homework.
Connor’s body tensed, his perfect composure fracturing. “I… I just saw that girl’s eyes—”
He turned fully toward Hank. “And I couldn’t. That’s all.” His hands lifted in a small, helpless gesture, like he was defending himself in court.
“But you're always saying you would do anything to accomplish your mission. That was our chance to learn something—and you let it go,” Hank replied flatly, his voice carrying that subtle detective authority.
Connor didn’t even pause. His voice rose, desperate and tense, almost like a tantrum.
“Yeah—I know what I should have done! I told you I couldn’t!”
He stepped closer, hands gesturing, eyes locked on Hank.
“I’m sorry, okay??”
His face screamed what more do you want from me?
Hank arched his brows, almost proudly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, maybe you did the right thing.” He brushed past Connor toward the car, leaving the snow swirling around their boots.
Connor’s LED flickered, a subtle pulse betraying the storm inside him. He stood there a moment longer, reeling — but… relieved.
Thud. The passenger door shut behind him as he climbed in.
Hank turned the key. “Nice girl… that assistant back there…” he said, voice easy now to melt the tension.
“Yeah… she’s really pretty…” Connor answered automatically, the rattled edge fading from his voice. He stared straight ahead, hands folded perfectly in his lap.
Hank flicked his eyes toward him, clocking something. He began driving. “Mm. What model was it again?”
“I believed Mr. Kamski mentioned she was the first android to pass the Turing test,” Connor recited on autopilot. “That made her an RT600.”
Hank nodded slowly. “Hm. Blonde… pretty…”
Connor turned his head, brows pinched in genuine confusion.
“I don’t follow.”
Hank let the silence stretch just long enough to be cruel — then dropped it:
“I’m just sayin’, she reminded me of the liquor girl.”
Connor’s LED detonated into a hard crimson flash, a glitchy stutter of red-blue-red before settling into embarrassed red.
Hank saw it. Hank loved it.
Satisfied he’d rattled the unflappable RK800, Hank grinned to himself, one corner of his mouth pulling up like he’d just landed a bullseye. Without another word, he reached out, flicked the radio on, and the dial was cranked straight to his classic heavy metal station — guitars screaming, drums pounding.