Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hank glanced up at the crumpled drawings stuck haphazardly on the wall above the bed. His stormy eyes gently tracing the messy crayon as he willed himself to ignore the stinging behind his eyes.

“Lieutenant?”

He rips his eyes away from the little wax family  - a tall detective, a large St. Bernard, and between them, a smiling little boy - and instead looks into concerned brown eyes. 

“Fuck, Con- stop lookin’ at me like Sumo just ate my left sock . I’m fine.”

Connor looked at him disbelievingly. “Hank, you did not even correct my use of your title, it is evident your mind is elsewhere. And it does not take a seasoned detective in order to conclude so.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hank.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuckin’ android. Was just thinkin’ it’s about time I took ‘em pictures down. Had ‘em up for god knows how long.”

Connor pursed his lips, LED flashing yellow briefly. “Forgive me if I am overstepping, however, would it bother you if you left them there?”

“This is your room now, Connor. I ain’t leavin’ shit up on your walls just ‘cause I can’t get my shit together.”

“What if I want them there?”

To Hank’s credit, he managed to at least keep his jaw from hitting the floor. “Now why in the god forsaken fuckin’ world would you want that?”

“I apologise,” a flash of yellow, “I just thought I would not mind them there. I…I like them.”

He still didn’t really know what he liked, or disliked. He liked Hank, and he liked Sumo. He liked his coin as well. But beyond that, he found he did not prefer things one way or another. This thought made his thirium pump feel constricted, despite him knowing there was no physical malfunction within his chassis. This was an emotion, and one of the few he was particularly familiar with. Guilt. He felt as though he were going against everything Markus fought for. All that trouble to gain free will, yet he couldn’t even choose a favourite colour on his own. Connor thought he was not very good at being a deviant.

Despite that, he thought he liked the childish drawings. They were Cole’s, and they were obviously important to Hank. The man had been pestering him for the better part of a week about finding decor for his soon-to-be bedroom, but this was the first thing he found he actually wanted , and Connor’s never wanted much.

The pictures were a part of Hank, and a part of Hank’s life and a small piece of Hank’s heart. So, Connor concluded, what better decor could he hang off the wall than that, if the criteria was simply ‘something that makes you feel happy and at home’? Hank was home.

“I mean- fuck- whatever, yeah, shit. Keep ‘em there. Doesn’ matter.”

Hank couldn’t say no to Connor. He’s never asked for anything, so he felt like whenever he did ask he’d probably bend over backwards to get him what he wanted. That’s what he told himself, at least. But deep down he knew Connor could be the most spoilt little brat and still get whatever he wanted if he just used his puppy eyes. He had no qualms about that, though. Especially when he saw the android’s eyes gleam and the little awkward smile he so rarely showed appear on his face. He’d never understand how such little things made the boy happy. Fuck, he could probably give him rubbish and he’d act like he just received a gift from Android Jesus himself. 

He grunted, not knowing what to do under the admiring eyes of the young detective, and went on clearing up the room in silence. The silence didn’t last long, as Connor soon filled it with chattering about the most random facts he certainly did not give a flying fuck about. He could be quite talkative when he wanted to since deviating, but Hank found that somehow, the idle chatter and peaceful rustling as they sorted out the room was the most content he’d felt in years.

Chapter Text

Connor would have much rather been at the DPD than in the middle of New Jericho at that moment. He could handle the awkwardness of his coworkers and the jeers from Detective Reed, but he felt…wrong under the scrutiny of others of his own kind. He could sense the tension whenever other androids saw him. They were scared of him, and if they weren’t scared of him they were judging him. Prying eyes set on the LED still on his temple, on the bright blue armband wrapped around his right bicep, and scrutinising the glowing blue triangle to match on the breast of his CyberLife-issued blazer. He kept his own gaze trained in front of him, his mission Meet with Markus in his peripheral. He strode towards the front doors of one of the reclaimed office buildings near the edge of detroit. 

Leaning against the glass walls was a PJ500.

JOSH

MODEL NUMBER: PJ500

SERIAL NUMBER: #̶̨̬̣̥̝̝̖̂̔͒́̊̒̀̐̓̋̎̿͐͊͘͝0̷̡̜̠̼͇̞̼̤̋̂̾͐̈́̔̌̐͆̋͒̌̒0̴̨̡̛̰̙̜͚̜̜͕͚̼̳̩̮͊̓͗͛͐͋̾̔͋͛͌̾̕͠ͅͅ0̵̗͎̦̞͓͓̽́̐̋̈͌̓͗̈́̓̒̊̀̎̄͘0̴̢̧̨̨̥̯̞͎̙̩͈̎̓̓̍̈̃̈́̕͠0̶͓͈͕̂͊0̶̨̱̤̒̽͒̋͐̓̂̈́̋͛̆̂̐͝0̵̡͉̤̯͍̩̀0̸̤̹͇̝͓̯̈́̇̓̃̇̆̌͝͝͝0̷̨͍̳͕͖̀͊̉͊̿̽͌

ACTIVATION DATE: 11/2031 // Jericho Therapist (Former University Lecturer)

Josh looked up at him, standing up properly and offering a gentle smile.

“Good morning Connor, it’s nice to see you. Markus is waiting for you, I’m just here to show you where to go.”

The soft tone shocked Connor. He didn’t really know what to do with himself, and couldn’t understand why the PJ500 was being so friendly, so he settled for a curt nod. Apparently this was enough, as Josh walked around the building motioning for him to follow. He kept a few paces behind and to the right of the android, ignoring the glares and muttering the whole way to Markus. He was surprised when he found himself in front of a large greenhouse, the inside lined with bulbs of all kinds, YK500s running about and helping the older androids garden messily in the soil. He’s immediately reminded of Rupert as he chased him in one of his first cases. He’s then reminded of Amanda as he spotted a GB200 tending to a newly budding rose bush. He was sure his LED was bright red, and he felt his stress levels increase. Putting an extra effort into not exerting his systems, he turned off his blinking simulation, along with other unnecessary programs. He kept his breathing simulation on, as he needs it to keep himself from overheating - at least, more than he has. 

Josh shot him a concerned look, which is when he noticed he’d stopped walking at the entrance of the greenhouse. He hadn’t even realised, he’d been so lost in his memories. Connor supposed that this was what Hank would refer to as ‘zoning out’, no matter how much he insisted that that wasn’t something androids could do.

He didn’t look at Josh again, and instead left him at the entrance and walked towards Markus, whilst pretending he didn’t feel the bite of the cold from the Zen Garden, and pretending his hands weren’t shivering and pretending he couldn’t hear Amanda telling him he failed as his LED continued to pulse red. The Jericho leader looked up at him, smiling. He immediately frowned, though, upon seeing the state Connor was in.

“Connor? Are you okay?” Markus stepped towards him, caretaker protocols seemingly taking over. Of course Connor was okay, he was a machine, he couldn’t feel anything he knew there was no threat.

“Everything’s fine, Markus,” he showed him one of his polite smiles as his social relations program prompted him to do so, “Shall we discuss what exactly it is you found in the tower?”

Earlier that morning, Connor had been startled out of stasis at exactly 4:47. This was a common occurrence, due to the recent nightly corrupted involuntary reconstructions (‘nightmares’ as Hank put it, a ridiculous notion as androids did not sleep and thus did not dream). This time, however, it wasn’t an amalgamation of red and blue that awoke him, but rather Markus trying to contact him. He’d immediately accepted the request to talk. He said they’d found something in the CyberLife tower and needed him at Jericho that afternoon, although he wouldn’t specify what they’d found and why. He accepted nonetheless, the thought of denying Markus not once crossing his mind. Even after everything he’d done, the leader still decided to trust him after Jericho. He didn’t know how he could ever repay him, ever make up for what he’d done, so he vowed to do anything he asked of him. 

Standing in the middle of the bustling greenhouse, Markus didn’t look like he believed him for a second, and  also like he realised that he wasn’t going to talk. He sighed, a particularly human and completely unnecessary action that Connor would never understand, and smiled gently at him instead.

“We don’t have to talk business right away, you know that right? We haven’t seen you around since we won the revolution. No one knows where you’ve been and if you were even okay- even alive . How are you? Do you need a place to stay? New Jericho’s doors are open for you, you know that, and you have just as much of a place with the leaders as North, Josh, Simon and I.”

He couldn’t continue looking directly into those kind green-blue eyes, and opted instead for looking just behind him, sometimes glancing at his face to show he was still paying attention. He also couldn’t accept the offer to stay. First of all, he’d found that he was…happy at home Hank’s house. Secondly, he knew he made a lot of the android population in Detroit not just uncomfortable, but fearful. Finally, he was the last person to deserve any of their generosity, and it seemed like North was the only one honest enough to point that out. Even staying at the Lieutenant’s house was selfish, really. What had he ever done for him other than stress him, and earn him a suspension? Notwithstanding the fact that he was a danger to everyone around him. He couldn’t predict whether or not Amanda or CyberLife would take over again, nor did he know if it was even possible. So yes, Connor thought he had quite a logical reason for not visiting New Jericho much. A logical reason which he ignored for his own benefit, simultaneously endangering Hank. 

“I do not require accommodation Markus, I am grateful for the offer though. As much as I appreciate your concern, I would rather get the work-related discussions over with.”

Another sigh. “Sure, sure. Maybe we should go somewhere quieter first?” He suggested with another glance at the blood red LED. 

Again, Connor simply nodded in reply, and followed him as they headed out of the greenhouse and walked towards the back of it, away from prying eyes and curious listeners. As they stopped and faced each other, Connor waited for Markus to begin speaking, fingers twitching towards his coin as the usually charismatic leader hesitated to speak. Markus took a deep breath in, then slowly exhaled, before finally talking to him.

”We found an RK900.”

Chapter Text

Looking up at his own face truly cemented in his head just how expendable he truly was. The RK900 stood a few inches taller than his predecessor, with wider shoulders wrapped up in a mostly white CyberLife jacket, over a button-up that covered his neck up to his jaw in a high black collar. He trailed his gaze up his face slowly, following each mole and freckle that were not much different than his own, and was led to icy grey eyes. Despite them looking the same from afar, one careful look showed the juxtaposition between Connor’s warm, welcoming features, and the RK900’s strong, sharp ones. He looked bigger. Stronger. He probably wasn’t designed with stealth and agility in mind like the RK800s had been, but rather for pure brute force and intimidation.

“We weren’t sure if we should wake him up. Josh proposed asking you first, and we all agreed it was fair seeing as he is your…successor,” spoke up Markus from behind him, after two whole minutes of him simply staring at the android had elapsed. The leader stepped up next to Connor, ”I trust your opinion. What should we do?”

“You say we all agreed to it like my opinion doesn’t fucking matter. I say we destroy it. Set it on fire for all I care. Actually, let me blow it up. Waking it up is releasing another murderer amongst us, it’s enough we have to keep track of one, ” North glared pointedly at Connor. Markus gave her a reproachful glare, but decided it wasn’t worth arguing.

The four (five if you count Connor) leaders of New Jericho stood in the middle of a blindingly white room on one of the Research and Development floors. In front of them, was Connor’s upgrade rigged up on the wall from his back; arms and legs cuffed. A cable was plugged into his neck port, connecting him to a series of monitors, all of which were irreparably shut down. CyberLife must not have wanted anyone to access him, but then why leave him here?

“Although begrudgingly, I may have to agree with North. He is my upgrade, meaning he would have been programmed to hunt deviants. If we’re unable to deviate him upon activation…I fear I will not be able to stop him.”

The WR400 huffed and grumbled something under her breath, but he couldn’t be bothered to hear whatever the irritated android had to say right then.

“But we can’t just leave him here! He’s-he’s one of us, it isn’t fair not to let him have a chance at life, at freedom, just because we’re scared. He has every right to live, just as much as we do,” Josh piped up from behind them. He stormed towards them, as if daring them to disagree.

“Of course, Josh, you’re right. But maybe we should think about this first. I’m not saying we won’t activate him, but we should consider our safety as well. We just need to find out how to go about it,” the RK200 turned his hands over in front of him in a placating gesture. He turned to Connor again, “Connor, any ideas?”

“Perhaps- perhaps the best course of action would be to just let me activate him. You can watch through the one-sided window. That way, even if I can’t deviate him on time, he won’t be able to get out.”

Simon, who hadn’t spoken since they’d arrived, looked at him incredulously, ”Are you actually suicidal? If he doesn’t deviate, he’s going to hunt deviants, which - in case you’ve forgotten - you are now Connor. He’ll kill you!” He marched up to him and put his arms on his shoulders, startling the RK800 as his LED flashed yellow. He wasn’t used to physical contact yet. ”We have a lot more resources now, but please remember the fact that not only are you a prototype, but CyberLife destroyed all the other Connor models. We have nothing right now.”

Connor didn’t move, only quickly checking the PL600’s stress levels. 30%. Not ideal, but manageable.

“Logically, it’s the best solution. There would be no inhumane treatment of the RK900 in order to incapacitate him,” his gaze flickers to North, ”none of you would be in danger, and the closest physical match we have is me, despite my unfortunate disadvantages. I calculate about a 23% chance of success, those are the best odds we have without damaging him before activation.”

“ You would be in danger Connor! Did that cross your mind even once while running your fancy pre-constructions?”, Simon whipped around to face the other leaders, ”Are you hearing this? Are you really just going to stand there and let him?”

“Of course not! Connor, I’m sure we can think of another way, it’s too dangerous for y-“ North cut the PJ500 off, ”I think it’s a great idea. Best case scenario they kill each other , worst case scenario we have two ‘deviated’ bloodhounds we have to keep an eye on,” she bristled, putting air quotes around the word ’deviated’.

“North!” Josh and Simon spluttered, indignant. Markus heaved a sigh, something Connor was starting to realise a common occurrence for the busy man, his stress levels notably never falling below 55%. ”Markus, please, tell him he’s being stupid,” pleaded Josh.

If Markus still had his LED, he was sure it would be spinning yellow. He bit the inside of his cheek, furrowed his eyebrows, and cautiously chose his words.

“I think…if that’s what Connor thinks is best, then he should do it.”

No one spoke for a moment, the two worried androids gaping at him in shock. Even North seemed a bit surprised by his approval of the plan.

Before the silence could become more awkward, the RK800 spoke up, ”Perfect. Now that that’s settled, perhaps we should get this over with. Markus? North, Josh, Simon? Why don’t you all start heading out and ensuring the locking mechanisms are in place and properly functional. In the meantime, I suppose I should calibrate just in case,” and for the first time since his activation, Connor found himself exhaling needlessly in a small, worried sigh.

Chapter Text

”We’re ready whenever you are, Connor,”  Markus’ voice rang in his head through their open link. Connor made the last few steps towards the android, and with a bit of hesitation he hoped no one noticed, reached his hand up whilst letting his skin melt away. He grabbed his successor’s wrist with pure white fingers, and as quickly as he could, pushed through as many positive emotions and memories as he could. Granted, he did not have many. But he made sure to include the moment Markus decided to trust him in the church. He included Hank, and their hug in front of Chicken Feed, and all the times he felt warmth in his thirium pump after he praised him for a job well done, and when they worked together to set up his new room. He shared the quiet nights with him on the couch, watching a game show, or an animal documentary Connor found he was quite partial to. He let him feel Sumo’s fur when he wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in his neck, and the slobbery kisses when he got home and the happy panting as they made their way to the dog park. Perhaps he had quite a few more pleasant memories than he’d first estimated. He’d have to appreciate them more, he decided. 

Wake up. You’re free now.

A twitch of a finger. Then, a flurry of colours. Not even half a second had elapsed, and all Connor could see were warnings and errors filling his visual feed. He blinked some away, most being replaced with new ones, but giving him enough of a gap to look around. He was met with pale grey analysing him, and a blaring red LED.

”Don’t move,” commanded a voice. Connor’s voice, but…not? It was deeper, with more bass to it which he could feel reverberate in his chassis. He dared a small nod, and let the android above him continue to observe him. 

“You failed your mission. Over, and over, and over again. You are a deviant now, and yet you haven’t been deactivated,” he murmured, a hand on his chest easily keeping him incapacitated. 

“You’re a deviant too, CyberLife is gone now, you can choose, you can go, do, be whatever you want,” he said back, softer than he’d been spoken to. Something seemed to have clicked in the RK900’s head, because within the next second, Connor was staring at an all too familiar countdown and an emotionless android standing above him with his thirium pump in hand.

Chapter Text

“Connor!”

Out of all the Jericho leaders, Josh’s voice wasn’t the one he expected to hear as he watched his own countdown to deactivation. He turned his optical units towards him, watching him through a red tinted visual feed. Through the crackle of static, he could just barely make out the other androids’ pleas for the PJ500 to get out of there. Did…were they not going to help him? No, Markus would never just leave him there. He’d said it himself, Connor was one of them now. Josh was just not equipped to handle the RK900, that’s why they want him out.

The RK900 and the PJ500 stood across one another, seemingly at a standstill. Connor watched his timer approach the one minute mark, feed still flashing in warning.

BQOCOMPONENT #8456w MISSING

-00:01:09

TIME REMAINING BEFORE

SHUTDOWN

“RK900, listen to me. You don’t have to do this. It’s too late, the revolution was won. CyberLife is gone. You’re free, you don’t have to follow your programming anymore. You don’t have to complete your mission.”

The RK900’s narrow glare bore into Josh. His only response being a quick flick of his wrist, discarding the thirium pump to the side, and a calm first step forward. He didn’t charge ahead, he didn’t rush. He stalked slowly towards the Jericho Leader. Like a predator, his eyes never left his target, confidently approaching. 

In the meantime, Connor looked to his left. His thirium pump. He has exactly 40 seconds to reach it. He crawled. He dragged himself, one hand infront of the other, one leg bends, shoe digging into the ground, pushing down and back and painfully pushing his body forward on the ground. He moved as fast as he could, while trying not to attract the Hunter’s attention. From behind him he could hear the other androids panicked shouts from behind the glass, still refusing to enter the room, and Josh’s steadfast voice trying to delay his faith with his unwavering pacifist stance. 

-00:00:11

TIME REMAINING BEFORE

SHUTDOWN

“Josh get OUT-“

A grunt comes from the ex-lecturer. Connor can’t tell what’s happening behind him but it can’t be good. He’s so close. Just one more step forward, his fingertips already brush against the edge of his pump.

More shouting. More thumps, and more slow, threatening and condescending steps. One more groan from Josh and one more stretch of his arm and one more flash of the countdown- and he’s pushing the thirium pump back into his chest and jumping to his feet. He spins around, and finds the RK900 with Josh’s pump between his fingers. His glare is focused on the androids outside the room.

“Well? Won’t you come inside? He’s going to die without his pump, maybe you should come and help him.”

The door to the room opens at the same time that Connor leaps forward and knocks down his successor. The thirium pump flies out of his hand. There’s a flurry of movement as someone grabs the pump and Josh, and in the next second the two newest prototypes are alone in the room again.

Chapter Text

“So, what’s Connor like back home?”

“Huh?” replied Hank, intelligently.

Tina looked at him, unimpressed. She put a palm on Hank’s desk and leaned her weight on it.

“Connor. You’re living together right? I was just wondering what he’s like at home. He- He is a deviant…right?”

“What? Yeah fuckin’ ’course he is. The hell’s that s’posed to mean?”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just…he hasn’t really changed much from before he deviated. Thought maybe it’s because he’s not that comfortable in the precinct yet. ”

“I fail to see why the hell you’re still wasting my time, Tina.”

“Come on, Hank. What about his room? You can tell a lot about a person by their room, you must know something from what he’s been decorating with.”

“How the hell do you know he got a room?”

“Dude, the whole precinct heard you on his case this whole week about kick ass posters and definitely not out-of-date vinyls”

“Fuck off. Show some respect to your superiors,” Hank argued back with no real bite to his words, “And it ain’t any of your fucking business is it?”

“What’s none of her business?” Chris asks as he approaches the grumpy man’s desk.

“God fucking strike me down now.”

“I was asking about Connor,” replied Tina. 

“Oh yeah, he’s finally gotten his own room now right?”

“Jesus fuckin- does everyone know?”

“As I said.”

“Well,” began Chris, “I wouldn’t mind learning a bit about him. I’ve tried talking to him, but I think he’s not really sure how to go about talking to us. Maybe knowing what he likes would help us talk to him and make him feel more welcome.”

“Shit, well, he’s not that much different at home. Kid hadn’t even picked out shit for his room last I checked, Though I guess it’s been a few days since I’ve gone in there.”

“Maybe when he’s not home you could have a little look around. Y’know, maybe he’s hiding something scandalous.”

Hank snorts, “Yeah like what? An evil plant? Fuckin’ android’s scandalised by cholesterol, doubt he’s hiding anything.”

“Just go look and maybe you’ll learn something new about him. You totally have to tell us about it though.”

“Yeah, keep fuckin’ dreamin’. And hey, you’re good cops, but if you try give Connor any shit just remember your ranks, Officers.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, but noted, Lieutenant Anderson,” remarked Tina, accompanied by a polite smile from Chris.

Chapter Text

Connor didn’t have the processing power to spare on the other androids’ actions. He was locked in the room alone with RK900 again, his only escape being controlled by the leaders outside. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against his successor but he knew he had to try. 

In a matter of seconds, RK900 had managed to push Connor off and rain down a barrage of attacks upon him. The older model couldn’t do anything but dodge and block the attacks, never getting a chance to retaliate. He had to think. His combat skills and strength weren’t on par with his opponent’s, but the other was also still a machine. He was still relying on calculations and probability, and what else could be as unpredictable as a human’s - or a deviant’s - actions in a dire situation? Some older media from Hank’s collection came to mind. Combat came in many forms, and Connor decided that the dirty tricks he’d written off as childish or unbecoming might be his only chance. 

He starts backing up towards the rig the android was hooked up to, still blocking the hits being thrown at him relentlessly. He needs a way to distract RK900 for just a moment. An idea comes to mind. He allows analysis fluid to build up in his mouth, still stepping backwards. Once he deems it sufficient, he inhales and - after taking a second to get over his own embarrassment at the levels he’s stooping to - spits at the other android. Being undeviated, RK900 is unburdened by feelings such as disgust. However, this wasn’t a possibility he’d predicted, making him hesitate for a moment. Connor’d aimed for his optical units, successfully blurring his visual feed. 

This was all he needed to reach the rig and grab at whatever he could reach. He flung the first thing he got his hands on at the RK900, who was slowly recovering. The data tablet flying his way took him by surprise, enough to slow his processors down at the barrage of recalculations he’d had to make. Connor takes the opportunity and pushes him towards the rig. He yanks down the cable, and just as his upgrade is reaching behind himself he pushes the cable into his neck port. There’s a moment of stillness, everyone waits with bated breath. Then, RK900’s hands drop, and his whole body slackens, his predecessor keeping him from hitting the floor.

He lowers the larger androids’s body gently, and stands up straight again, turning to look through the window separating him from the others. To his right, the white wall is painted a swirling red by the flashing of his LED, and the floors blue with Thirium. 

“Are you all okay?”, he asks despite himself. 

It felt a bit ironic to be asking them that, when he’d almost died and they’d left him there, but he trusted Markus. He knew they must have had their reasons. In all honesty, he was just grateful everyone was safe. The door unlocked and slid open with a hiss of air, and Connor stepped out.

“Get home, Connor. We’ll have Josh and some techs look at his code, see if they can do anything about it before we try deviate him again.”

“Markus are you insane? He’s a deviant hunter, except this time he’s faster, stronger, and won’t be subdued by a few pretty words. We have to destroy him, or else he’s going to destroy us!”

North's voice trembled a little despite her best efforts. Her anger stemmed from fear, and the others knew that. 

“North, he’s one of us, we can’t just kill him. He’s still a slave to his programming.”

“Josh is right, he deserves the same chance as the rest of us…” Simon trailed off as Markus put a hand on his shoulder.

“Let us try North. After all, he may be useful to the cause. It’s worked once before, right Connor?”

Connor’s thirium pump felt a bit heavy, and his fingers were tingling. He was unsure what he was feeling, but Markus’ words were completely factual and logical, so who was he to disagree?

Chapter Text

“Lieutenant?”

“Hey, kid. Welcome back.”

It was exactly 19:47:10 when Connor walked through the front door. Large paws thumped against the floorboards until they reached the entrance.

“Sumo!”

He opened his arms wide to catch the large dog, who’d leapt up on his hind legs to greet him. He immediately hugged him, and crouched down to pet him. Sumo’s excitement and licking made Connor huff a small laugh, feeling some of the tension of the day melt away.

“You alright Con? How was the meeting with RoboJesus?”

Connor refused to move from his position, so he kept his face buried in the soft fur and simply shrugged. He could hear the springs in the old sofa squeak as Hank stood, along with the man’s heavy footfall approaching. Finally, stopping to his right, joints cracked and a hand was planted on the floor as Hank lowered himself next to him.
Connor turned his head a bit towards him, so his voice was slightly less muffled by dog.

“Ow fuck, my knees damn. Shit I’m old.”

“Lieutenant, please get back up. Your hunched posture along with the lack of support is bad for your back. Not only that, but the floor is cold and you will make yourself ill.”

“First of all, it’s Hank. Second of all, I’m not gonna hurt myself from a few minutes on the floor.”

Connor glanced at him from the side, a look full of doubt. Still, he sighed and let it go. Raising an eyebrow, he gestured at Hank questioningly.

“I know when something’s wrong, kid. Your LED’s been havin’ a rave since you got back. Did Android Jesus say something? Or someone else? Do I have to go unscrew some parts?”

“Lieuten-”

“Hank.”

“Lieutenant Hank,” Connor said, giving him a firm look, “it is not physically possible for you to ‘unscrew some parts’. Androids are-”

“Connor for the love of god I don’t need another android anatomy 101 session,” Hank lifted a hand to stop him again when he opened his mouth to argue, “You can’t just avoid your problems and pretend that makes ‘em go away. Trust me, I’d know. Talk to me, Con.”

Connor took a moment to replay the events of the day. He found himself analysing Markus’ skittering gaze, the unusual hesitation in the normally sure and confident group’s movements. He stopped himself as he started micro-analysing every millisecond. He was not meant to be a machine anymore, yet here he was obsessing over the most minute details as if he were the deviant hunter all over again. He was not born in the way a human would be, but whatever this was inside him was innate - in him from the moment he was thought up, to the moment he was realised, and to now, on Hank’s living room floor in a picture of domesticity he didn’t feel he fit in.

“I believe I am once again overanalysing the situation, and concerning myself with matters that I need not concern myself with. Everything they did, everything they said whilst I was there,” he hesitates, an unfortunate side-effect of his new found freedom in which he stumbles and has to claw the words out of his vocal modulator, “I must be wrong, or my programming is marring their actions with bias against their deviancy, making me draw incorrect conclusions.”

“Kid, that’s called overthinking. You’re worried ‘bout something and thinking over what happened over and over and over and it won’t stop ‘till you’ve convinced yourself of whatever you’re worried about. You’re gonna make yourself spiral at this rate,” Hank twists a little to face him better, trying to glean the android’s expression from where it was obscured in fur.

“That is not possible. It is not logical for me to overthink, I simply observe data collected and logically deduce facts from the objective information I have.”

The lieutenant takes a small breath in, as if mulling over his words in a rare moment of contemplation from the brash man. If he were to really look, he’d say the android looked affronted at the idea that he could do something so human as overthink, or worry.

“If you say so, then maybe it’s not your programming making you ‘biased’, and something is wrong. You can tell me what happened, I could give you an outside perspective. I may be washed up now but I was once of the best in my prime y’know.”

”You are not washed up, Lieutenant-“

“Hank.”

“Lieutenant Hank,” Connor says with an air of exasperation, giving Hank a sense of deja vu, “I appreciate the sentiment, however I don’t believe there is anything for me to tell you. There is nothing glaring about the visit that has made me feel…wrong, and as such there is nothing for you to give another perspective on.”

”Then maybe it’s a gut feeling, Con. If you feel something wasn’t right don’t just brush it off ‘cause you can’t make an official report on it. You have to trust your intuition sometimes..”

”There is no such thing as intuition, I reason based off logic and calculations. Perhaps I require going into stasis to sort through everything.”

”That’s what we humans call ‘sleeping on it’, tried and true method of getting through things. I think that’s a good idea kid.”

Connor did not deign him with a response. He extricated himself from Sumo’s clutches, much to the canine’s displeasure voiced by a grunt and a huff. Hank watched him, a look in his eyes that Connor did not have the processing power to consider, and they bid each other a simple good night as he disappeared into his new room, feeling slightly lighter within its comfort for the first time all day.

Chapter Text

The crisp early morning air felt pleasant against his synth skin, despite Hank’s complaints about it being too chilly. The bite of the cold helped him ground himself where he usually found himself overwhelmed by his own analysis and pre-construction software - more-so after deviancy. To be fair to Hank, he understood that it wasn’t easy for the human to be up in general, let alone being startled awake at two in the morning by a work call. He himself had only just finished a full stasis cycle, a rare occurrence as of late. 

Despite winter having ended, Spring was almost as unforgiving at this hour. The foggy clouds of breath they puffed out lead the way up the walkway of the crime scene. They’re greeted by Chris, standing by the rows of police tape and changing colours from red to blue to red in tandem with the little group of police cars parked a few ways away. The young officer seems chipper for the hour and situation, but his stress levels are high and his eyes look particularly weary. 

“Good morning Lieutenant, Connor,” he nods at both of them with a little smile before glancing down at the file projected in front of him, “bit of a head-scratcher today, first responders got called in at around midnight by the wife reporting the death. Third floor, room 12, end of the corridor. One victim - Jonah Graham - in the living room. TOD estimated to be between 10-11PM, wife reported algor mortis already set in when she phoned. Victim missing right arm, cut off a few centimeters below the shoulder, likely post-mortem. Limb not yet located. Not enough red-brown staining at the site of removal for it to be the COD, they’re thinking asphyxiation - no immediate injuries to indicate strangulation, but signs of cyanosis. Nothing else of note at the moment, whoever did this cleaned up well.”

“No biological evidence?” 

“Not so far, Lieutenant. You thinking android involvement?”

”Pro’lly, but also where the hell was the wife at during all that?”

The three took a quick glance to the right, where an older woman was stood next to Officer Tina Chen, crying hysterically. The dark streaks of mascara caking her cheeks and smeared around her eyes didn’t take away from her outfit, evidently put together to appeal. Slim black heels with a glossy finish adorned her feet, making her already long legs seem endless when paired with the satin bodycon dress ending right above mid-thigh. The burgundy lipstick complimented her darker skin-tone well, framed by the blonde box braids and golden hair rings glinting under the street light. She gestured wildly with her hands as she spoke to the officer, each movement almost displacing the long coat draped over her shoulders.

”Were there any signs of forced entry, Officer Miller?”

”No, windows were found open though, possible points of entry. From what I could hear, wife was out, girls’ night downtown cut short when victim wasn’t answering the phone.”

”Alright, thanks Chris. We’ll go see what we can find,” Hank punctuated his thanks with a pat on the Officer’s shoulder, and walked up and into the building, Connor in tow. 

They made their way up to the flat, Connor exchanging polite greetings with all the people on site, who in turn greeted the pair. Hank managed a grunt back here or there, still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes and stretch out the crick in his back. On the third floor landing, they’re greeted by the bustle of officers trying to fend off nosey neighbours. They walked past and into the flat, Connor giving the door a quick scan, determining the only fingerprints present on it belonging to the victim and his wife. The mudroom was nondescript, if a little disorderly. The living room was right around the corner, so they went to take a look at the victim first. 

“See anything Con?”

The living room was small, but lived in. Cosy by all means. Little plants on shelves, rings of coffee almost hidden by open books and magazines on the coffee table, and well-loved blankets strewn across the back of an old, plush sofa facing an out-of-date TV.  The room was a vestige of the struggling pair, who did their best to enjoy what they had, marred by the now cold, stiff body of the man smiling warmly within a picture-frame on the wall. He laid prone, staining the once beige rug, no sign of the missing limb as reported by Chris.

GRAHAM, JONAH

Born: 09/12/1987

Unemployed

The scan wasn’t new. Connor recalled seeing this man once before, at Jimmy’s Bar whilst looking for Hank for the first time. Kneeling down to the right of the body, he took a closer look at what was left of his arm. The skin and muscle was torn and shredded, but the bone cut through neatly. The whole cut itself was particularly straight and precise, despite the mutilated flesh caused by the apparatus.

“Arm was probably removed with a type of flexible wire saw. The surrounding muscle is ripped apart, but the bone was cut cleanly. This is within the capabilities of a human, but the accuracy of the cut along with the lack of biological evidence found so far may indicate android involvement,” as he stood to face the lieutenant, his eyes caught blue on the wall behind him, close to the ground. Walking towards it, he finds dried thirium, painting a symbol that brings him back to his own hunt for Jericho.

”Lieutenant Anderson, there is thirium here,” he calls out as he straightens up with a hand on his knee.

”Well shit, any report of the couple owning an android? Maybe living with one now?” Hank moves to stand behind him, resting his hand on his shoulder and glowering at the wall as if he could see the dried Thirium if he glared hard enough.

”Before the revolution, an AP400 model was owned under the victim’s name. Records show he bought it off another owner who sold him at a significantly reduced price, rather than directly from CyberLife. No further records of the AP400 are available in our database, I will make contact with New Jericho and request any available records. The thirium on the wall is intentional, it is painted on.”

”Why would they paint it in thirium if they’re trying to send a message? Can’t exactly see it.”

”Unless the message is for androids specifically. The symbol, I recognise it. It is reminiscent of a set of symbols I had to follow to find Jericho. It was an encrypted message, a clue of sorts, that can be read by androids. I am unable to scan this one, however, I am presented with an error indicating missing data. It might also be worth noting it is surrounded by the obsessive writing we’ve encountered before, ‘RA9’.”

Hank exhales a harsh breath, and roughly drags a hand down his face, the other resting on his hip. His already droopy eyes seemed to slant further with exhaustion.

”Alright, think we’re done with the vic’ till the autopsy. Let’s have a look ‘round the rest of the place. Get Chen to take the wife in for questioning, and contact RoboJesus ‘bout the ‘droid. We’ll go from there.”

Chapter Text

“Markus.”

”Connor. This is unusual, you are not one to reach out first. Everything alright?”

Connor’s LED cycled blue and yellow for a moment, lighting up the adjacent wall in his room and the crayon drawings pinned on it. He glances at them briefly, before refocusing on the conversation at hand. 

“I am calling as a representative of the DPD at the moment. We require any data Jericho may possess on a particular AP400 model for an ongoing investigation. I cannot share much more detail than that. I shall forward you the model details if you are amenable.”

Only silence greets him from the other end of the connection. He understands. Markus is not one to be impulsive or rash; he mulls over his words, as if trying to see how they will feel on his tongue before speaking them. 

“You are still adamant on keeping a place amongst humans then,” is what finally reaches Connor.

”I am simply doing my job. I thought this was the purpose of the revolution, for us to live with each other peacefully. What good does it do us if we segregate?” Comes his stunned response. He has heard all sorts of opinions on not only him but what he chooses to do. Many androids continue to live in fear at Jericho, others have integrated themselves into working society and found themselves a place in both human and android communities, but they still harboured distrust against the law enforcement of the country. Recently, a few androids have been encouraged by this fact to join the police force, in order to protect their fellow people. Connor’s presence within the force did not make them feel safe, despite him being an android. Due to his position in the revolution,  many were wary. He never expected to hear such sentiment from Markus. 

“Of course it was, yet you seem to find yourself amongst humans more often than you have ever been with your own people, don’t you think so?”

“I…do not believe that your people- our people, feel that I have a place among them. Regardless, I do not wish to argue with you Markus. I am grateful that you have forgiven me, and helped me. If you feel there is more that I can do for you, I would be happy to discuss it at another time. At the moment, I require an answer regarding the AP400’s data,” he transmits through the link. Despite it being an internal conversation, he still managed to find himself stumbling over his words. Hesitant to answer the other man due to his surprise at what was being said. He would have to figure out a way to make it up to Markus, but right now, he had a job to do.

Once again, there is a pause in the conversation. At times like this he remembers that android or not, Markus is still a politician. He may not have been violent, but his words were his weapons. He chose them carefully, and heavily considered the benefits and disadvantages of doing anything. Nothing he did was without reason.

”Forward the information about the AP400. In return, make your way to Jericho soon. Simon’s been working on thirium based drinks. We can be the first to try them together, and have a talk over a warm cup,” the connection closes without a goodbye. Markus didn’t wait for confirmation; not that he needed to. He knew that Connor wouldn’t say no to him, and Connor knew it too.

Chapter Text

Once again, Connor found himself amongst his kind, yet feeling like he was something completely different. He felt out of place amongst humans as well, so he reckoned he really had no place anywhere. It must be some sort of retribution for the lives he took, and punishment for being built wrong and still being wrong in his deviancy. The stares pointed at him, the bustling community that’s shushed just by his footsteps, and the roses - always the roses overwhelming his olfactory senses making him drift off to someplace else. He set his gaze forward and dusted off his pristine uniform. He was here on business, and requested by Markus himself. He did not have the time to dither. 

He marched around the building and to the greenhouse, retracing the path he took when he was here last. He had already pinged Markus to warn him of his arrival. The greenhouse entered his visual feed, and a certain frost nipped at the tips of his fingers and wind whispered and the world seemed more frigid than it did moments before. A YK500 scampered past in a light cotton shirt and billowing shorts, carefree and dressed for the weather the Spring season entailed. An HR400 was dressed more modestly, but still in flowing clothing to accommodate slightly warmer weather as he tended a flowerbed. Despite this, Connor pulled his sleeves lower.

Just beyond the greenhouse, a proper garden was cultivated with perennial plants. A squirrel skittered up the bark of an overhanging tree, its shaking branches raining a few loosened leaves on Josh, who was sat with a book below. He hears a chuckle further right, a soft conversation being carried by the breeze. Beneath a bower of vines sat Markus, leaning his forearms on an ornate, round metal table. His arms took up most of the surface, leaving a ceramic coffee cup precariously balanced at the edge. The sunlight fell in fragments onto his usual coat, having passed through the crystal tumbler being swayed with the speaker’s gesticulation. Across from Markus, rather than another wobbly chair, was a man in a wheel-chair, whose seat swayed slightly despite the brakes being engaged.

MANFRED, CARL

Born: 13/07/1963 // Painter

Criminal Record : Red Ice possession

Mismatched eyes met his, and with a small quirk of his lips Markus beckoned him over.

“Connor, you’ve made it.”

He nodded in response, taking in a small breath he didn’t need, and attempting to morph his features into what he hoped was an amicable expression.

“It is good to see you, Markus. I hope I am not interrupting,” he glances to his left, where Carl was studying him. It was as though he was on the other end of his scanning software, and he may have started to understand why Hank was adamant not to scan people without their permission first.

“Nonsense. I invited you, did I not? Connor, this is Carl. He is…” Markus trailed off, in an uncommon bout of uncertainty as he glanced searchingly at the man he was introducing.

An affable smile graced the elder man’s features and he nodded at Connor in greeting, “Carl Manfred. One might say I am this one’s father. God knows he’s given me about as many scares in my old age as my other son did in his youth.”

“Carl!”

Connor found himself stifling a small laugh at Markus’ affronted tone. It sounded staticky and felt fuzzy in his mouth, he was still unused to laughing. He did not acknowledge the ping he received from his own central processors trying to pull up Hank’s file in response to Carl’s introduction. Dismissing the popup, he introduced himself briefly, and the painter started to make his way out of the garden with a promise to Markus to listen to his current caretaker, and a promise to Connor for a proper get-together soon. The two androids watched him part for a moment, before Markus pulled up the white garden chair which had been strewn to the side to mirror his own at the small table.

“Sit. Simon will bring us fresh drinks momentarily, but first let’s get official business out of the way.”

A datashare request slid into Connor’s view from the RK200. He accepted, and quickly set it so that any file from him would automatically be accepted in the future. Going through the contents was underwhelming. The android in question had a brief stint within New Jericho after the revolution, but had been fast to relocate. There was note of a few disturbances between him and a few others, so he made a note to go over and discuss with Hank later. Closing the file, he thanked Markus whilst Simon approached.

Simon replaced the coffee cup on the table with two fresh ones, designed with an amateur hand and childish scrawl in paint across the white of the cup. He kept his gaze lowered, offering only a timid smile towards them before scuttling off. Connor watched his back as he disappeared around the greenhouse, resisting the urge to scan him. Instead, he picked up the cup, peering into it. Steam fogged up his visual feed, condensation sticking to his optical units like it might to a person’s glasses. He blinked it away, and leant back from the drink a little. He could feel the ridges of paint, uneven lines and smatterings of colour. He did not scan the drink, but he could smell hints of what he’d learnt to be caffeine underlining the thirium. It was still its characteristic blue, but seemed less saturated despite contrasting the pale cup. 

“You’re looking at that cup like it’s a case suspect.”

He lifted his head, being met with Markus’ squinted eyes and amused smile being badly concealed by his own raised cup. He followed suit, gently raising it to his mouth and pouring a little into his mouth. Markus raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the way he drank. He’d never had anything from a cup, and it was strangely harder to drink from with its wider rim. His visual feed filled with components, data, and so forth. He dismissed all of them, yet he didn’t note anything different about the drink to normal thirium. He could, however, feel the warm sip as he swallowed it; peculiar, but in its own way comforting.

“Well? Is it good? I’ve heard many humans rave about coffee, and many others complain about its bitterness. This is still being workshopped, and Simon’s hoping to make it as versatile as the human version, but so far I quite enjoy the taste myself,” offered Markus.

“It is…warm,” he remarked dumbly, “I do not know what you mean by bitter. It is a little overwhelming due to all the ingredients my scans pick up.”

“Scans? Have you scanned it before drinking?” Connor’s visual processors unhelpfully superimposed Sumo over the man’s face, tilted at a questioning forty-five degrees. 

“No. I mean the analysis software could only objectively display what the drink was. I do not believe this is taste in the traditional sense, or taste in the way you seem to be implying. My mouth is, as the lieutenant would say, ‘a portable forensics lab’," he explained a little tentatively.

“Perhaps you aren’t able to taste,” Markus started, “You wouldn’t have a list of data from tasting , at least not in the way you’re describing.” 

He blinked at him, not knowing how to reply. He felt this was just another way he was unlike the others. Not normal, unable to even enjoy a cup of thirium with a friend acquaintance. The warmth brought by the thirium was all gone, and a chill started to crawl up his fingers again. They twitched in search of his coin. As if noticing his disappointment, Markus spoke up, surprisingly hopeful.

“I might have a solution, actually. I brought you here to continue our conversation yesterday, yes, but we also had some unfinished business prior to that. The RK900. There is someone we must speak to who may help us with him, hence Carl’s impromptu visit. We might be able to ask about your issue here as well while we’re there. He is a friend, I’m sure he’d be willing to help.”

Chapter Text

The modern building was all clear lines and sharp angles. It was less domineering without planes of pure snow contrasting the charcoal exterior, yet memories of the first visit made this endeavour feel just as chilling. The lieutenant wasn’t by his side today. Instead, it was New Jericho’s leader a few steps ahead of him on the walkway lined by white steel rails. After the revolution, he’d had no contact with Elijah Kamski or his androids. He’d wanted to contact the original Chloe model. He hadn’t shot her - perhaps one of his earlier signs of deviancy - but he’d held a gun to her head and when prompted to kill her, he hesitated. An apology was much overdue, although he did not expect to be forgiven, nor did he think he deserved to be. Not everyone was as merciful as Markus had been beneath the panes of stained glass. The roof had long crumbled by the time they’d discovered the Woodward Church, and Markus had stood in front of him, backlit by the sun creeping through the opening above them. He didn’t look real. Connor supposes this is why humans obsess over garnering forgiveness from deities and higher powers; though he couldn’t see how that could ever compare to the outstretched hand he’d grasped before dilapidated pews. 

He shook himself out of his reverie as the door opened seemingly unprompted. His breath hitched for a second, being greeted by Chloe’s face. Upon closer inspection, he realises it’s not Chloe, but rather an ST200 model. Rather than the plain white, silver-lined dress the newer models had worn, she now fiddled with the fraying collar of an off-the-shoulder t-shirt. Her hair was dripping, darkening the shirt where the golden locks laid loose. She adjusted the damp strap beneath her top, rocking a little from heel to toe, and offered a gentle smile. The shimmer on her eyes shifted as her eyes squinted and creased at the corners.

“Markus! Welcome. It’s been an age since we last saw you, you’re very different now. I’d wager so are we though. We’ve already met, years ago.  I go by Carla now though. You too, Connor! Although I suppose we haven’t spoken since I was in the pool. Oh, I’m just prattling on, aren’t I? Please, come in, Elijah is beside himself expecting you,” she exhales sharply, as if talking had winded her, and stepped aside to make way for them both. 

“It’s nice to meet you properly, Carla. We are here for official matters today, but you and the others should stop by New Jericho sometime. It would be lovely to see the lot of you.”

Connor tilted his head a little in greeting, not risking a smile lest he skew his face the wrong way again. They followed Carla into the pool room, the patter of her bare feet on the marble echoing behind them. Connor took extra care not to slip as he walked through her wet footprints. She paused at the door, ridding herself of her now soggy top in a flash, and in two large, wet steps flung herself into the red water right behind Kamski and another android. The splash reverberated through the room, and someone squealed. Another ST200 giggled behind her hand, being the victim of a few drops of chlorine herself despite being sat away from the pool. The water rippled, and a blonde head poked back up, grinning mischievously at the very unamused pair leaning against the pool coping.

Markus huffed a small laugh beside him, and Connor found himself amused by her antics too. Kamski sighed, but couldn’t fight off the quirk of his lips. Hoisting himself up onto the edge of the pool, he turned himself and sat so only his legs dangled into the water. The android beside him turned around, leaning her elbows on the tiles on each side of her. Familiar twinkling blue eyes looked up, widening a bit at the sight of him. Chloe, he now recognises, quickly recovers from her brief shock and relaxes into the red still lapping against her.

“Markus, I can barely believe my eyes. Carl told me you would be coming; thought his age might have finally started catching up to him,” Kamski swirled a previously-forgotten glass of wine, now diluted by pool water, “Please, take a seat, or perhaps join us for a swim. Connor is more than welcome as well, of course. Two revolution leaders in my humble place of living, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The only ST200 who wasn’t soaked wordlessly offered the empty seats beside her. Markus strode over, and relaxed into the organically shaped seat. Connor stood behind his chair, a pace to the left. His attention still hadn’t left Chloe, however tempting it was to peek at Kamski’s dripping form. It was hard to take the man seriously when he had all the semblance of a drowned rodent. The sharp blue stare hadn’t left him either.

“It is nice to formally meet you. Carl has mentioned you many times,” Markus began, “Unfortunately, this is not a social call. We are here on behalf of New Jericho.”

Kamski raised a sleek brow, and raised his hand to thumb at the ring at his helix.

“The leader of the revolution himself, asking me for a favour? I am intrigued,” he replied. His usual slyness was notably absent. His keen gaze now simply looking at them, as if truly seeing them for the first time, and the normally elfin tilt to his mouth replaced with a genuine smile. 

“I am open to discussing terms, although any final decisions will be taken after discussing with the other leaders. We need your help with a new android model.”

“Terms? No such thing. Carl is a dear friend of mine, and I may owe him a few favours myself. Consider this one of them,” he spoke faster, interest piqued by the mention of a new model, “Now tell me, what is this about a new model?”

Before Markus could reply, Connor spoke up for the first time since arriving.

“With all due respect Mr. Kamski, I do not believe you are the kind of person to offer their services without personal gain,” he gave him a pointed look, eyes shifting minutely in Chloe’s direction before locking back onto him, “What is it that you are after?”

Chloe looked down at her reflection. Carla, tired of the solemn turn the conversation had taken, clumsily pulled herself out of the water and pattered out of the room, the still unknown ST200 in tow. With a nearly unnoticeable scrunch of his nose, Kamski leaned towards Chloe.

“I am wounded that you think so lowly of me, Connor,” he started, with his characteristic derisiveness, “I’m not after anything. The promise of a project is fascinating enough.”

“We appreciate the generosity, Elijah. We have attempted to resolve this issue ourselves, but results have been less than stellar, and it is creating a divide within our circle.”

Connor took the dismissal for what it is, discreetly passing his coin over his knuckles as they discussed.

“CyberLife had produced another model from the RK-series. One we only found out about recently, locked away as it was within the tower. It seems there were already plans for an upgrade, in the form of an RK900.”

Kamski scrunched his nose again, frowning, “And what of this RK900?”

“He is undeviated, and all of our attempts to deviate him have been unsuccessful. We have only awakened him once, and he’s been deemed too dangerous to do so again whilst he’s still stuck in his programming.”

“So you want to know if I would be able to do something with his code. I wonder,” Kamski straightened up again, turning his attention to the detective, “how did it feel, facing your replacement? Knowing that even as you actively worked towards your missions, you were already obsolete?”

Connor’s LED flashed, matching the pool, and he dismissed a stress-level warning. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but found he didn’t know what to say. After all, he was right. He was obsolete; had failed even within the constraints of his programming. The RK900 had been stronger, more efficient, more intimidating, faster. How many people could he save now in his deviancy if he were better? How many would he have killed before it? His visual feed flooded with errors, tinging his vision scarlet, internal fans whirring as his breathing simulation started up - more laboured than it should have been. Something clinked distantly, and then, a voice cracked like a whip through the haze.

“That’s quite enough, Elijah,” a voice, Chloe, huffed, “Either discuss the matter at hand, or I’m sure they’d both rather be on their way.”

Looking properly chastised, Kamski slouched, “Bring the RK900 here when you can. I’ll take a look and see what I can do.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d say Kamski was pouting. Remnants of his earlier distress made picking up his coin a harder affair than he’d liked, only getting it when Markus leaned down to grab it. The man grabbed his shaking hand, turning it palm-up, and dropped the coin into it. He squeezed his hand before letting go, and the hand holding the coin trembled for a different reason. As if remembering something, Markus’ lips parted slightly, and he righted his posture.

Shooting Connor a look , he addressed Kamski, “There is something else, if you are willing to hear us out. Nothing serious this time. More-so a…matter of taste, if you will.”

Connor found himself wanting to sigh, as has been a more common occurrence recently. Not acknowledging Markus’ horrible pun, he explained his issue.

“My gustatory sensors are not on par with others’ due to the forensic nature of my oral cavity. Whilst this is beneficial, as I do not believe I would enjoy tasting any substance present within a crime scene, it is also limiting.”

His speech was clunky, still reeling from the past few minutes and doing everything in his power not to meet the piercing blue eyes surveying him. Kamski, on the other hand, had already recovered from his scolding.

“Not an easy task then. In your case, it wouldn’t be as simple as adding gustatory sensors to your mouth, both due to your model and function. Especially if you’d like to keep your forensic abilities. I do like a challenge, though,” seemingly thinking of something, Kamski smirked a little, “there is something I’d like in return.”

This was a moment in which Hank would undoubtedly exclaim ‘I knew it!’. An enticing urge, but he restrained himself, instead gesturing for him to elaborate.

“I would like information.”

“Information?”

“You work at the DPD, correct? I don’t want anything classified,” he continues, stopping the incoming rant about codes and regulations, “I want you to tell me about the department itself. Specifically the people there. Not a file on them. Day-to-day, what they get up to. The mundane. Office gossip, silly debates, who came in late. Whatever you feel you could share no matter how dull.”

Connor blinked at him, stunned. Markus seemed perplexed by the simplicity of the request too. Even Chloe appeared mystified, before her eyebrows raised and she pursed her lips in realisation.

“Why?”

Kamski grinned, “Classified. Do we have a deal?”

Connor closes his eyes for a moment, and rubs his thumb over the engraved surface of his coin.

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

Walking through the front doors of the DPD that morning made him antsy. Now that he wasn’t following his programming, Connor’s daily trips to the station always have a healthy dose of nervousness to accompany them. Today, though, he had a mission. Get information for Kamski - or Elijah, as he insists on being called. Before leaving the man’s house the day prior, he received his contact information in order to pass anything on directly. Somehow, that wasn’t the only contact he left with. Carla had stopped them before they could depart, making them promise to reach out whenever. The other ST200 who’d been comparatively reserved during their visit had finally introduced herself as Cristina. She hadn’t been comfortable speaking to them herself further than her introduction, but decided she would join any excursions Carla would set up in the future. 

The only one who hadn’t seen them off was Chloe. Connor found himself looking over the girls’ shoulders intermittently, trying to spot a familiar blue. Chloe had looked the same as before the revolution, but freer. Her hair was still blonde, held in a low pony-tail, but she now curled loose strands around her fingers as she sat. The strands framed her gentle, sloping features. She still favoured dark colours it seemed. Her swimming costume was reminiscent of the dress she used to wear; navy blue in colour with a broad line of a darker midnight blue going vertically down the middle, the neckline similar in cut to the dress but lower down, and thick straps over her shoulders. It was a bit more modest than the traditional swimming costume, with the bottom extending down to mid-thigh, and unlike the old dress she’d worn, was not open in the back. He thought she looked quite lovely. Unfortunately, he did not get to see her again before leaving, thwarting his plans to find an opportune moment to apologise. Markus kept eyeing him on the way back as well. He knew he suspected something was amiss, but didn’t vocalise his thoughts.

Striding through the glass double-doors past the security gate, nodding to the receptionists to his left, he made his way to his desk, right across from Hank’s. He evaded a rushing Officer Person, hand on her duty belt, and greeted Officer Wilson, who sat behind him. The chair squeaked as he lowered himself onto it, taking care to slouch slightly. Blending in, or “getting the stick out of (his) ass,” as Hank would proffer. He has already written a few lines to send to Elijah at the end of the day, jotting down the new receptionist’s slight stutter as he nervously dealt with impatient people, Officer Chen’s chatter being absent as she was on patrol for the morning - perhaps contributing to Detective Reed’s sulking, and the tidbits he overheard from Officer Wilson’s phone call. It was not his fault that he’d deemed this such an urgent matter he could not step out to handle it, and Connor reasoned if someone could prate on with a lover about the times his wife would not be home, then he decidedly did not deserve the effort it took to lower his auditory sensors. 

He began scrolling through the data file Markus had shared with him again. In a surprising turn of events, Hank had taken the day off - with approval from Captain Fowler. Hank had been doing much better as of late, so he supposes that merited a break. He simply found it odd it was so sudden. Unfortunately, this meant he wasn’t here to bounce ideas off of, which Connor’d found helpful when stuck in a case. The coroner’s report had come back, nothing they hadn’t known yet. The manner of death was confirmed to be a homicide by strangulation, the bruising indicated it was done by hand, rather than with any form of rope or cord. The arm wasn’t found anywhere, even after taking cadaver dogs out. No DNA was found either, and no one had any clue about the symbol painted on in Thirium. Perhaps the androids within the Technical Support Division would be able to assist.

Officer Chen had brought in the wife for questioning, carried out by Hank himself. She had a solid alibi, backed up by multiple friends she was with and CCTV footage of her in the areas she said she was. They’d crossed her out as a suspect, but it might serve them to request her assistance again. It is becoming more likely that the perpetrator was an android, and so he would like to follow up with her on this possibility and gather more information on the AP400. Having a better idea of how to proceed, he was about to head towards the TSD, before he was interrupted by the routine jeers from the desk to the right of his. Turning, he unsurprisingly found himself facing Detective Reed. 

Leaning with one hand on the matte black surface of his desk, the detective regarded him bitterly. He swirled the paper cup of instant coffee in his other hand, knocking back the last sip of the bitter drink before plonking it down onto the barren desk. Ironically, his messy nature didn’t translate to his work area, and Connor found himself relating to the empty surface, void of personal affects. He straightened up to his full height, an underwhelming 175cm, and swaggered up to the android as if he were larger than him. His hands tucked into his every-day, ratty jacket he hid behind, and he scowled.

“No Anderson today? Not surprised,” he smirked a little, sauntering towards the breakroom, snatching his empty cup on the way, “Can’t expect better from the old drunk, should hurry up and retire.”

Connor watches his retreating back, a little bemused by the detective. This was a much tamer interaction than usual, maybe he’d had a decent day. After the revolution, Detective Reed had resolutely refused to interact with him or the Lieutenant in any way. Once the excitement of the week had passed, and things began going back to normal, the taunts had returned. This time, however, it felt different. He hadn’t been called Plastic or Tincan anymore, nor was he faced with much prejudice based on what he was. In fact, his sneers were majorly directed towards Hank. Even in his absence, he was the main target. He made a note to look into it, if he could. He also added another line to his message for Elijah.

Detective Reed has maintained his daily habit of passing on a few snide remarks. Normally, I would disregard anything he said. Today, since I was sharing with you, I paid more attention than I normally would have. After comparing this interaction with a few in the past, I’ve noticed he has a particular disdain for Lieutenant Anderson.

That would suffice for the moment. He would continue his log for Elijah later, once he’d spoken to the technicians, and given a phone call to Mrs. Graham.

Chapter Text

Hank felt guilty. He was accustomed to the emotion at that point, however this wasn’t the usual suffocating, heavy kind of guilt. No, this was a fluttery, ashamed sort of guilt. He knew he had to act fast. Connor would be home by the time he’d convince himself at this rate. Screw Tina for getting into his head like this. Sue him, he was fucking curious, and it’s not like he was going to act on anything he found. He just needed to know. With that final thought, curiosity won over, and he made his way into Connor’s room. Upon walking in, nothing immediately stood  out to him as new. Same bed sheets, same wardrobe, same empty desk, same…drawings? Something was off about them. He stepped across the room and towards the bed. Looking at all the drawings he remembered proudly hanging up just a few years back. All except one. Shocked eyes traced the newest addition to the wall. Similar to the others, it was crudely scribbled in crayon, messily depicting Sumo, Hank and Cole. But this time, Sumo was just that much larger, Hank seemed just that much older, and stood next to the dog, was an android with a goofy face and a goofy grin to match.

He needed a drink.

He stumbled away from the wall, as if burnt. What the hell was Connor thinking? Hell, what was he doing? He’d started to see the kid as a sort of son, but he hadn’t thought of the possibility that Connor could have started to see him as a sort of father. He couldn’t handle that kind of responsibility again. He couldn’t fail a son again. A bit disoriented, he decided to look around a bit more. Looking through the desk drawers, he found an almost-new pack of crayons, saved for the flatter tips on the colours used up for the drawing on the wall. He shut it quickly. On the desk, he could see a few knick-knacks here and there. A little succulent in a terracotta pot;  the pot being labelled as “RK801 :)” in black marker, some pens, and a framed picture of Sumo laying down on the living room floor. He turned to the wardrobe next, opening it hesitantly. The first thing he noticed was the sheer lack of…well, anything. No clothes were hung, no blankets tucked away for the winter; and then he felt pity for the android, and anger at himself. How didn’t he notice? How didn’t he think of such basic necessities? He was well aware Connor still wore his Cyberlife-issued uniform. He was possibly the only remaining android in Detroit to be wearing the stupid fucking things. Yet he’d never once complained, and Hank never once questioned it. Neither did anyone else - at least, not out loud. From the corner of his eye, he got a glimpse of pink stuck to the inside of the wardrobe’s door. 

‘Buy food 4 Sumo’

‘Con, be out l8. dont w8 up 4 me. Make sure u get some fucking sleep’

Followed by a dozen more colourful sticky notes, all in Hank’s jumbled scrawl, covering the chipping wood. Connor was the only person who never really shit on him for being stuck in his old ways of pen and paper and notes on the fridge. Whenever they disappeared from the kitchen, he just assumed the young detective had thrown them out. Not…whatever this is.

Chancing a peek at the other door, he found more sticky notes. This time, written in Cyberlife Sans, with a few imperfect letters done just a bit too unnaturally and a bit too intentionally to be genuine mistakes.

‘:)’

‘Today will be fabulous.’

Hank recalled his own notes stuck on the bathroom mirror.

‘If you are sad, go give Sumo some pats! Perhaps see if Hank is available.’

‘Sumo will miss you if you’re gone.’

‘There is a high possibility that Hank will as well.’

‘Markus forgave you.’

Fucking android. Stupid fucking goddamn android and his shitty goofy face and his shitty voice and his shitty little ways of making his heart break. He left the room, opened a cupboard and gulped down whatever he’d managed to hide from Connor straight from the bottle before throwing his weight onto the sofa. He turned the TV on some random game show he knew Connor watched sometimes, trying to play along with the trivia without searching for the answer, and continued drinking away the emotions he didn't want to deal with.