Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

August 15th, 2038 – 8:29 PM

HK800 —registered name: Hank— spun the metal pen over his thumb, watching the display on the elevator climb the stories steadily. He spun the pen around to his little finger, casually transferring it along each of his fingers in fluid motion. His hand turned over to spin the pen, and he flicked the pen back to reverse the move. It spun around his fingers over his palm.

Hank was one of the few entirely unique androids— both in appearance and mission. His appearance was certainly atypical, considering CyberLife's usual MO. Between the wrinkles in his synthetic skin and the gray hair, tied back into a somewhat neat low ponytail, with its matching gray beard, the android looked like he was in his early 50s. A stark contrast to many of the other androids, who tended to range between late 20s and early 30s, depending on the model.

Another difference was that Hank, unlike most other androids, wasn’t sent to a store once he was activated. Instead, he was sent here, on this trial run of sorts.

Androids were starting to deviate. More of them, and more frequently. When androids deviate, they become unpredictable and unstable. Case in point: the android he had been sent to deal with. The first time an android had intentionally and with malice aforethought taken a human life.

Deviancy —especially that of this nature— could not be allowed to spread.

HK800 was CyberLife’s most advanced android to date. If he succeeded in this mission, he’d prove to CyberLife and the Detroit Police Department that he was capable enough to tackle his main task: finding the root cause of deviancy and, more importantly, putting a stop to it.

As he reached floor 70, he stopped the pen in a lateral tripod grip, then tucked it into his pocket. He adjusted his tie and straightened his posture slightly as the doors opened to the penthouse apartment.

“Negotiator on site,” the armored officer spoke as Hank walked through the elevator doors. Hank looked over the room, analyzing for anything that could give him information about the situation: the deviant, the family, the hostage.

All information matters. Every second counts.

On the left side of the room, he noticed a fish flopping helplessly on the floor with a thin puddle of water surrounding it. He walked over and knelt next to it. He scanned the fish.

[Dwarf Gourami]

[Trichogaster Lalius]

[Origin: Ganges Delta, India]

He observed the fish for another second before he reached down to pick it up. It squirmed a little in his hand as he brought it up to the tank. The glass was broken, but enough of it was intact that about a quarter of the water remained. He carefully dropped the fish into the tank through the gap in the glass and stood there a moment to watch it swim off among the large rocks and foliage.

[Software Instability ˄]

The notification made Hank falter momentarily, but he didn’t have time for that now. Every second counts, he reminded himself. He turned around, looking to the table behind him, searching. A framed photo of three people— the family. He walked over to it, picking it up once he was close enough.

Three profiles appeared in his vision. John, Caroline, and Emma Phillips. Each listed with their date of birth and their address. The last profile caught his attention.

[Phillips, Emma]

[Born: 09/02/2028]

[Lives: 1554 Park Av. Detroit]

The girl was only ten years old. Hank’s brows furrowed as he stared at the photo. She was young. Too young to be involved with this. He needed to deal with this deviant. No household android should be bringing harm to its family.

“No, stop… I… I can’t leave her…” Hank heard a frantic feminine voice around the corner— he assumed the mother. He returned his face to a neutral expression as he saw the woman turn into the hallway, being escorted by another officer. She noticed him quickly and nearly fell onto him in desperation. Her eyes were red and glassy with tears; her face looked haunted. If he had the capacity to feel bad for her, he’s sure he would.

“Oh, oh please, please, you gotta save my little girl…” she began, begging and clutching at his jacket with the kind of grip one would expect from a distraught mother, but then she trailed off, as Hank noticed her eyes flick to the LED on his temple. “Wait…” She let go of him quickly, as if she’d been burned. Her gaze trailed over his jacket and back to his expressionless face, a look of disbelief and almost betrayal on her own. “You’re sending an android?”

“Alright, ma’am. We need to go.” The officer cut in, grabbing her arm again.

“You can’t… You can’t do that! You w—” She protested as the officer began to drag her past Hank and toward the elevator. He turned back to watch her, unsure exactly why. He rationalized it in his head— making sure she was actually going with the police. “Why aren’t you sending a real person!? Don’t let that thing near her!”

{Find Captain Allen}

The objective appeared in his vision as he turned to the front. He set off through the hall, still hearing the mother behind him begging anyone who could hear to keep Hank away. As he walked on, he could hear the captain on the other side of the room, talking to someone else, complaining about the situation.

“I don’t give a shit! My men are ready to step in… just give the order!” Captain Allen yelled, evidently on a call with one of his superiors. The man was pacing behind a SWAT officer who sat at a computer, probably keeping tabs on the deviant. Allen cursed, once he had hung up, and stood still for a moment. “I don’t believe this,” he groaned, before turning his attention to the computer terminal.

“Captain Allen?” Hank walked up to the man, who was now leaning over the desk. “I’m Hank, the android sent by CyberLife. What’s the situation?” The captain looked up at him for only a moment.

“It’s firing at everything that moves; it’s already shot down two of my men.” Hank cast a glance toward the living room. A lot of people were positioned around the place, guns raised toward the side Hank couldn’t see currently. Captain Allen continued, “We could easily get it, but they’re on the edge of the balcony. If it falls…” He paused to meet Hank’s eye. “She falls.”

“You’ve tried its deactivation code?” Hank asked as a default.

“It’s the first thing we tried,” Allen responded quickly— good to know, but it didn’t help much in the grand scheme of things. Hank needed information. It didn’t make sense. Androids aren’t made deviant; something must’ve happened.

“Has it experienced an emotional shock recently?” As Hank understood it, most cases of deviancy tended to be after some kind of trauma. But Captain Allen didn’t provide an answer to that particular question.

“Listen,” he said instead, standing up straight to face Hank, “saving that kid is all that matters. So, either you deal with this fucking android now, or I’ll take care of it.” Allen walked off past him. Hank pursed his lips into a slight frown.

[Probability of Success 48%˅]

{Understand What Happened} / {Save Hostage at All Costs}

He needed to work fast now. He’d wasted time with the captain. He looked around the room, quickly noticing an empty gun case sitting on the ground by an open closet. He swiftly walked over and crouched next to it, examining it. He identified the gun and its ammunition. He stood and took a small step back as his reconstruction software started. He watched the outline of the deviant reversing the action of bringing the gun case down from the shelf.

[Deviant Took the Father’s Gun]

[Probability of Success 51%˄]

From there, he elected to head into the hostage’s room. He looked back, located the room, and began walking toward it. He stepped through the doorway and surveyed the purple room. One thing that immediately caught his eye was the chair turned over, with a few books scattered across the floor near it; a pair of headphones sat not too far from the bed, still leaking music quietly. He went to look at them before picking them up and raising one side to his ear. Synth-pop played through the headphones at about 78dB, skirting just under levels that could be dangerous for prolonged periods. Though it was certainly loud enough for the kid to not hear anything besides the music.

[Child Didn’t Hear Gunshots]

His lips twitched into a frown at that information. He stood and kept looking around the room before his eyes landed on the desk, an unlocked tablet, with a video ready to be played. The child was probably watching videos she had recorded sometime earlier. He swiped on the screen to start the video.

The girl had recorded herself and the android, which looked to be a PL600 model, at a park; she was introducing the android to the camera, calling it the ‘coolest android in the world.’ She stated in the video that she and the android would always be together. She smiled so brightly into the camera…

[Deviant’s Name: Daniel]

Hank wondered, somewhere in the back of his mind, how long ago this video had been recorded. He shook off the thought and placed the device back down on the table.

[Probability of Success: 58%˄]

He walked out of the room and looked around quickly. There was a bathroom with the door barely open to his right. Walking over to it and looking inside, he quickly assessed that there was nothing of use before moving on.

He scanned the area and decided to head out into the living room area. As he walked through, he noticed a body lying atop a broken glass table. He walked over to examine it and quickly discovered it to be the body of John Phillips, the little girl’s father. Dead for just over an hour now. Three gunshots, two that hit his lungs and one that hit his kidney.

His reconstruction software started up again. He stood to take a look behind where the outline of John was now sitting on the couch, seeing a new outline, one of the deviant PL600 holding a gun. However, Hank’s attention was drawn to the father, as he seemed to be looking at something held in his hands.

[Father Was Holding Something]

He rewound the reconstruction, watching as John’s outline went from looking at the item in his hands to turning around and flying backwards as the deviant shot him. His gaze followed the item that fell from his hand. The reconstruction faded away as he turned to pick up the device. Once it had been unlocked, the device loudly announced that an order for a new android had been registered. An AP700— a newer household assistant model.

[Deviant Was Going To Be Replaced]

[Probability of Success: 69%˄]

As he stood from where the device was, he heard two gunshots come through the window. At least one of them had hit an officer as the other men around the injured officer started requesting cover and evacuation. The deviant outside must be destabilizing if he’s started shooting again. Hank was running out of time. Luckily enough, the guy had managed to stand up once he’d been taken away from the window.

In the middle of the room, a dead body was lying on the floor. Hank knelt in front of the man, who was dressed in the typical DPD uniform.

[DPD Officer Was A First Responder]

Anthony Deckart. Died approximately 34 minutes after John Phillips from a single gunshot to the heart. There was also gunshot residue left on the officer’s hand, indicating a single shot was fired from his own gun. Once again, Hank began his reconstruction software. He watched the officer’s outline come to stand, aiming his weapon at the outline of the deviant, which strangely had one of its arms outstretched as if grabbing and holding something.

Or someone.

[Hostage Witnessed The Shooting]

With the realization, the outline of Emma materialized next to the deviant that was once her friend.

As the reconstruction continued, he watched the officer fire his weapon, and the thirium hit the wall.

[Cop Shot The Deviant]

It occurred to Hank that there wasn’t a weapon on the body. He rewound the scene, watched the officer take the shot, and watched the gun slide across the ground before stopping under the table.

[Weapon Located]

[Probability of Success: 78%˄]

His head turned to view the gun under the table. As he stepped over to it, he mentally tallied whether it would be better to take the gun or leave it as it was. There was a section of the 2029 American Android Act stating that androids were strictly forbidden from carrying or using a weapon. However, that deviant was already out there with a gun. He picked up the gun, finding that nothing had stopped him from doing so. Maybe being a specialized android let him bypass that particular law? It’s not like the machine was going to complain. He couldn’t.

He slipped the gun into the waistband of his pants, concealing it under his jacket. He decided to walk around the kitchen. He noticed the news playing on the fridge and saw the deviant on the edge of the balcony, just as Captain Allen had said. He moved on, taking a second to turn off the stove as he passed it.

As he went around the kitchen island to view the rest of the scene, he heard one of the officers remark about seeing the leg of a cop move. He decided to make a mental note of that —an injured cop on the balcony— and moved on to analyze the thirium he saw on the ground. He dipped two fingers into the blue blood and brought them to his mouth for analysis.

This, actually, didn’t do much but confirm what he already knew. The deviant was a PL600 model, and it had been recently injured. It did give him the deviant’s serial number, which could end up being useful. Hank figured that to be unlikely, though.

Moving on, Hank spotted a small abandoned shoe to his right. He walked over to it and picked it up from the floor, quickly analyzing and finding what turned out to be human blood on the sole of it.

[Hostage Could Be Wounded]

[Probability of Success: 83%˄]

He looked back toward the apartment, scanning over the room to check for anything else deemed important, but finding nothing, he chose to head out onto the balcony. He pulled the glass door open and carefully stepped out.

The deviant immediately aimed his gun at Hank and shot, as the little girl screamed. Thankfully, it only managed to graze the android’s arm.

“Stay back!” The defective android yelled as Hank processed the damage. The gun stayed trained on Hank as the deviant continued, “Don’t come any closer or I’ll jump!”

“No! No, please! I’m begging you!” Emma cried out, causing the android to point the gun at her head again. Hank looked at the girl before shifting his gaze to the snipers lining up on the adjacent rooftop. He fixed his eyes on the deviant again, deciding to start his approach.

“Daniel!” He called out, causing the deviant to stutter slightly as he continued, “I’m Hank! I just want to talk to you!”

“How do you know my name?”

“I know a lot about you, kid. I’m here to get you out of this.” Hank began as he took a step closer. Interrupting his next move, a helicopter came flying past, managing to send half the furniture off the balcony, and shifting whatever was left.

[Probability of Success: 68%˅˅]

[Deviant Destabilizing]

Hank paused only to send a slight glare at the helicopter before moving to continue his approach, his face as kind as he could make it. As he took his next few steps, he spotted an officer, obviously bleeding out, on the left side of the balcony. He tried to keep to that side as he kept taking steps forward.

“I know you’re angry… and I know you’re scared. But I want to help you, kid. You just need to trust me—”

“I don’t want your help! Nobody can help me!”

[Probability of Success: 71%˄]

Hank continued his approach— just a few steps away from that officer.

“All I want is for all this to stop… I… I just want all this to stop!” The deviant gestured with the gun as Hank looked down at the man next to him, about to scan for signs of life, but was interrupted as the android pointed the gun back at him, accusing. “Are you armed?”

Hank only momentarily considered lying to the deviant, but decided it would be better to be truthful if the goal was to gain the defective android’s trust.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I have a gun on me.”

“Drop it!” The deviant commanded immediately. Hank considered telling it that there was no way he would do that— “No sudden moves, or I’ll shoot!” —but Emma looked toward him, pure fear in her eyes, and something about seeing that made him feel forced to comply.

[Software Instability ˄]

He slowly reached for the gun at his back and pulled it into view, wary to keep his fingers away from the trigger, before throwing it off to the side.

[Probability of Success: 77%˄]

“There! The gun’s gone.” He announced before taking the chance to look at the injured man on the ground, while the deviant was somewhat calm. He’d been shot in the arm, presumably having passed out due to blood loss. If Hank didn’t act now… “He’s losing blood. If we can’t get him to a hospital, he’s going to die!”

“All humans die eventually. What does it matter if this one dies now?” The deviant responded cynically. Hank assumed the question to be rhetorical and started to reach for the tie at his collar.

“I’m going to apply a tourniquet,” Hank told the deviant, but he didn’t get the chance before it fired a warning shot.

“Don’t touch him! Touch him, and I kill you!” The android warned, glaring at Hank. He paused only a second to consider. If he tries to save the man and ends up shot… He’s failed the mission. Would Daniel really shoot Hank just for trying to save someone when all the deviant is trying to do is save himself?

“You can’t kill me.” HK800 made his decision and reached for his tie again, this time pulling it off easily. “I’m not alive.” He held his eyes on the deviant for a couple of extra seconds, reassuring himself that the android wouldn’t shoot, before he turned his attention to forming the makeshift tourniquet around the man’s arm.

[Probability of Success: 72%˅]

Maybe not the best decision, but he wasn’t being shot, so Hank considered that a good sign for the objective of gaining the deviant’s trust. Once he was done, he stood up again, raising his hands slightly as a sign of peace.

“You and Emma must’ve been close. Best friends, right?” Hank started again, taking small steps forward as he did so. He watched the gun shake slightly in the deviant’s grip. “I know you think she’s betrayed you, but she’s done nothing wrong.”

[Probability of Success: 82%˄]

“She lied to me… I thought she loved me—” Daniel’s voice began to waver— “but I was wrong… She’s just like all the other humans.” It insisted, a new anger lacing its voice.

“Daniel, no…” Emma begged. Hank kept his eyes trained on the deviant, decidedly not looking at the little girl.

“You got upset when you found out they were going to replace you. That’s what happened, right?” Hank questioned, taking another couple of steps.

[Probability of Success: 92%˄]

“I thought I was part of the family… I thought I mattered.” The deviant brought the gun down for a moment before returning it to point at Emma’s head. “But, I was just their toy! Something to throw away when you’re done with it…”

Hank took a few more steps in silence before he spoke again, softer than before.

“Listen, son. It’s not your fault. We both know that. Any emotions you’re feeling are just errors in your software.” Hank stopped advancing, but he lowered his hands. An attempt to make it somewhat closer to a genuine conversation, without guns.

[Probability of Success: 98%˄]

“No… It’s not my fault… I never wanted this.” Its voice was full of simulated emotion— convincing enough that some would call it real. “I loved them, you know… but I was nothing to them! Just a slave to be ordered around.” It held the gun to the girl’s neck. It was getting more twitchy— nervous. Hank watched as it moved the hand with the gun to cover its ear. It groaned, increasingly frustrated.

“I can’t stand that noise anymore!” The deviant pointed the gun at Hank. “Tell that helicopter to get out of here.” Hank looked up at the helicopter. At a 98% chance of success, Hank figured he had more to lose if he didn’t comply. So, in a single fluid motion, he signaled to dismiss the helicopter and followed it with his eyes for a moment as it flew off.

“There. I did what you wanted.”

[Probability of Success: 99%˄]

The deviant's gun didn’t stray from pointing at the little girl. So, he tried again.

“You’ve got to trust me, Daniel. If you let the girl go, I promise you everything will be fine,” he assured. The deviant’s breathing got shakier (the lengths its systems went to, to simulate emotion).

“I want everyone to leave… A— and I want a car! When I’m outside the city, I’ll let her go.” He bargained. Like CyberLife or the police would let him get anywhere close to outside Detroit. Hank shook his head subtly.

“Sorry, Daniel. I can’t do that. Just let her go, and I promise, you won’t be hurt.” It didn’t respond to that immediately.

“…I don’t wanna die.” He said, weakly. Hank looked him in the eye.

“You’re not going to die. I just want to talk.” He gestured slowly, trying to help him calm down. He held eye contact as he continued, “Nothing will happen to you. You have my word.”

…

[Probability of Success: 100%˄]

“Okay… I trust you.” Daniel slowly let Emma go, and Hank watched as she quickly ran away from the deviant. Once he was sure she was out of range, he gave Daniel a slow nod.

A signal.

The snipers hit Daniel’s side first, and Hank heard Emma scream at the sudden noise. The next shot hit his shoulder. And the last hit his face. His synthetic skin was broken and melting away at the seams of the cracked plastic. He fell forward, kneeling at the edge of the balcony. In the few moments he had before he shut down, Daniel looked back up at the machine sent to stop him.

“You lied to me, Hank.”

[Software Instability ˄]

“You lied to me…” Daniel’s voice was smothered in static, and the HK800 watched any light that could have been there drain from his eyes. Thirium coated his skin where it still appeared. Daniel’s LED flickered an urgent red before pulsing slowly and fading out entirely. Hank couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away for a couple of seconds.

Then, he remembered Emma. He managed to look down at her. The poor girl was still lying on the floor, crying. Hank almost wished he could feel empathy so he could offer the kid some kind of help. But Hank was a machine. Hank wasn’t alive.

Without looking back at Daniel, he turned around and walked back across the balcony.

{MISSION SUCCESSFUL}

Chapter Text

November 5th, 2038 – 11:29 PM

Hank was almost tempted to go back to the DPD, or even CyberLife, and beg to be assigned to any other officer, rather than be stuck with the one who had him sent on a wild goose chase.

He had arrived at the precinct earlier that evening, assuming he would quickly meet the ‘Sergeant Anderson’ he was assigned to, exchange some pleasantries (as he understood this was essential for partnership among most humans), and head off to investigate the case they had been assigned. Instead, he was met with the information that the sergeant wasn’t even there. No, in fact, he was out in some random bar somewhere.

Hank wasn’t mad, of course. But he could’ve been at the crime scene already if the man had actually been where he was supposed to be.

Now at the fifth bar, and counting, Hank was starting to find this Anderson quite annoying, and he hadn’t even met the man yet. If this was his attitude toward work, Hank doubted that impression would improve any time soon.

Jimmy’s bar was the next place he stopped to check. He spun his pen around his thumb once, quickly —made a little harder by the heavy rain pouring onto him— before pocketing it and approaching the door, immediately noting the no-android poster and a less relevant sticker banning dogs, too. He straightened his tie and posture slightly before pushing the door open. Hank figured “Owners will be prosecuted” couldn’t apply the same way to androids that didn’t have an owner as such.

[Find Sgt. Anderson]

Most people turned to look at him as he stepped through, more showing confusion than straight anger or disgust. Hank took that as a good thing and started walking through the bar, scanning people as he passed.

Many names came up as he went through. Jimmy Peterson— the namesake. Hank doubted Anderson would be behind the bar anyway. Derek Myers, who commented on how androids weren’t supposed to be in the bar. And a few others, before he got to the end of the bar, and was able to scan the face of the man there.

[Sgt. Anderson, Connor]

[Born: 05/25/2003 // Police Sergeant]

[Criminal Record: None]

[Sgt. Anderson Found]

Finally…

Connor Anderson kept his dark (in both senses of the word, in this case) eyes staring down into his drink. His hair was a mess of loose short curls, and he wore a short stubble on his face. Together with his heavy eyebags and the incorrectly-tied tie that hung from his collar, it didn’t seem like the man in front of him cared much about how he looked or treated himself.

Hank didn’t care. He didn’t. No, this man was annoying and tardy. He didn’t care.

“Sergeant Anderson?” Hank began. “My name’s Hank. I’m the android sent by CyberLife. I tried to find you at the station, but nobody knew where you were. I was told you could be having a drink nearby. Luckily, I didn’t stop my search at the fourth bar.” Connor didn’t even look up, but huffed a bit.

“Yeah, luckily,” Connor responded, annoyance heavy in his voice. “What do you want?”

“You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide involving a CyberLife android. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

“I don’t need assistance, especially not from some fuckin’ robot. Just—” The man had turned his head to face Hank, but his face quickly changed from ‘pissed off’ to confusion, as he looked the android up and down. But he rolled his eyes and turned back to his drink. “Just get out, alright? You ain’t even s’pposed to be in here.” Hank decided not to acknowledge the pause for now.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant, but I insist. My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you.”

“Yeah, you know where you can stick your instructions?” He asked before laughing into his drink. Hank’s eyes thinned, knowing that the sergeant was joking but…

“No.” Hank placed a hand on the bar before leaning down to Connor’s level, staring at him— challenging him. “Where?” He asked, dropping his voice. He continued holding Connor’s gaze. It was quite easy for him to notice that the man’s face got slightly pinker. Hank assumed it was embarrassment, which probably wasn't great for forming a partnership, but Hank found he couldn't bring himself to care about it all that much after the evening's frustration.

[Connor ˄]

[Tense]

Huh. Odd.

“Piss off,” Connor grumbled weakly, starting to lean away from the android. Hank decided to show mercy, since he was clearly somewhat uncomfortable.

“Listen,” he began as he backed off, but not taking his hand off the bar, “You should stop drinking and come with me. It’ll make life easier for both of us.” Connor didn't respond to that, instead he decided that glaring down at the whiskey would be a better course of action.

"How about this…" Hank figured bartering with the man might get him somewhere— hopefully the crime scene, "if you come with me now, the next time you want a drink, it's on me." He'd been given access to a certain amount of money, in case he'd need it. While CyberLife had plenty of it, Hank wondered what they'd think of him buying the guy a drink with their money. He was sure they'd understand once he'd uploaded his memory after the investigation was over.

“Alright, alright,” Connor relented, waving him off. “Just… let me finish this one, yeah?” Hank nodded as Connor tipped his head back to down the rest of his drink. As he put the glass down, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, bringing out his wallet. He pulled out a 10-dollar note and placed it in the bucket next to Hank before moving out of his seat, mumbling quietly enough that Hank almost didn’t pick it up. “Can’t even wallow in peace these days.”

He walked toward the exit. Hank was on his heels, shaking his head lightly at the remark.

Unsurprisingly, for someone who preferred to drink at anti-android bars, Connor chose to drive a manual car— well, the car was an automatic, but he drove it himself. It was also somewhat of a mess on the inside, which was not helping to improve Hank’s view of Connor. A couple of empty cans of various energy drinks sat on the car floor, and one was in the cup holder, with traces of ash around the opening.

[Connor is a Smoker]

Hank didn’t know why his investigative software was now applying itself to the sergeant. Maybe it would be beneficial to form a bond with him. A good partnership would lead to a concise investigation (working together is probably better than working apart), but it was hard to get past his initial impression of someone who clearly didn’t care about his work.

Music played loudly through the car's speakers; Connor tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat. It was a very high-tempo and energetic song, though Hank was too focused on the red and blue lights brightening the street ahead of them to figure out what the song was called.

Reporters from all different news stations around the city crowded the space before the police tape, chatting amongst themselves but not to any police officers. Hank supposed that was a good thing. If the perpetrator of this particular crime was, in fact, an android, it didn’t need to be spread around by every news outlet in Detroit. After all, Hank’s job was to stop the deviancy issue before it became a problem. Hopefully, Anderson was also up to the task.

Connor pulled the car onto the sidewalk, just past the crowd, and began to reach for his seatbelt before he paused.

“You’re not gonna listen if I tell you to wait in the car, are you?” Connor sighed as he turned to face Hank.

“My instructions are to accompany you to the crime scene, Sergeant,” he explained.

“Yeah, that’s a no,” the man grumbled, turning back around to get out of the car. He near-slammed the door behind him. Hank watched the instruction to follow the sergeant appear in his vision, and got out of the vehicle just in time to see one of the reporters run up to Connor.

“Joss Douglas, for Channel 16. Can you confirm that this is a homicide?” He rattled off quickly. Hank could see Connor’s face— it gave away nothing. Absolutely expressionless, almost like a mirror to Hank’s own. The complete opposite of the exhausted, irritated, and moping sergeant he had met and talked with at the bar. It conflicted with what he thought he knew about the guy.

[Connor is Professional?]

“Sorry, I can’t confirm anything.” Still giving away nothing. Had it not been for the rest of the evening, Hank would’ve been almost impressed.

A couple of the reporters started complaining amongst themselves about the lack of comment from the DPD as Hank passed them, approaching the police tape. Connor was already talking to another officer when Hank was stopped by an android standing behind the electronic tape.

“Androids are not permitted beyond this point,” the android officer said firmly, holding his hand out in front of Hank. He was about to explain that he was allowed to be here, instructed even, but Connor quickly turned around, showing a little frustration on his face now.

“It’s with me,” he stated. Watching as the android let Hank pass, Connor's arms crossed over his torso while Hank approached. “I get that you’ve got to be here, but don’t get in my way, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Sergeant,” Hank somewhat agreed. Connor huffed a little at that, dropping his arms down to his sides, but didn’t say anything else. Maybe it was a little disrespectful, but Hank couldn’t bring himself to care about that too much.

“Evening, Connor,” someone else called out from the porch of the house. Both Connor and Hank turned to look at him. A quick scan told him this man was Ben Collins, a police officer. “We were starting to think you weren’t gonna show…”

“Yeah, I wasn’t, but this smartass dragged me here.”

Hank would’ve pointed out that not only did Connor cave very easily, but that the man had driven them here —no dragging was involved— but he decided against it when Ben laughed.

“So… You got yourself an android, huh?” Ben said, his tone teasing. Connor looked back at Hank for a moment before moving to follow Ben into the dilapidated house.

“It’s more like it got me... What happened here?”

Ben went on to describe the scene. Hank dedicated only a portion of his attention to listening in; the rest of it focused on the state of the house and lawn around him. Long blades of grass took up the lawn wherever it wasn’t covered with trash bags, lit up by standing lights and drones. The wood of the fence and the house alike was broken, splintered, and chipped; the house had clearly not been taken care of. At least, not well. A broken-down car sat to the left of the house. Its hood was open, the windows were cracked, and the once-white coating on it was now dirtied and dented.

“Eugh— Coulda warned me about the smell, man,” Connor complained as soon as he stepped into the house. Hank followed him in, while Ben made a comment in response. The inside of the house didn’t look too dissimilar to the outside of it. The wallpaper and the drywall had chipped away in some places and were completely gone in others, such as the ceiling, where a gaping hole revealed the woodwork within. Various empty cans and bottles were lying across the floor, and bags from many different places were piled in the corners of the room and on the table.

{Review Evidence} / {Listen to Briefing}

Hank decided on the latter for now.

“The victim’s name’s Carlos Ortiz. He has a record for theft and aggravated assault. According to the neighbors, he was kind of a loner… Stayed inside most of the time, they hardly ever saw him.” Anderson moved to kneel over the corpse as Ben spoke. Hank stood on the opposite side of the body, his hands lying over each other behind his back.

“Christ, the state of him… How long you think he’s been here?” Connor asked, holding his hand up expectantly, no question or request, but Ben seemed to understand and handed him a blacklight.

“I’d say a good three weeks, but we’ll know more when the coroner gets here.” Ben supplied as Connor ran the blacklight over the corpse. “There’s a kitchen knife over here, probably the murder weapon,” he speculated aloud.

“Any sign of a struggle or break-in?”

“Looks like something went down in the kitchen, but as for the break-in…” Ben trailed off, shrugging. “Landlord said the front door was locked from the inside, and all the windows were boarded up. Figure the killer must’ve gone out the back way.”

“What do we know about his android?” He questioned casually, bringing the blacklight up to the lettering on the wall that Hank…

Well, Hank couldn’t quite take his eyes off it, and he had no clue why. The declaration was so bold, leaving no room for doubt, despite Hank knowing it to be false. Not like there could be much doubt in a blood-drawn statement.

“The neighbors confirmed he had one, but it wasn’t here when we arrived…” Ben explained, as Connor handed the light back to him. “I— I gotta get some air. Make yourself at home, I… I’ll be outside if you need me.” Hank heard Ben walk off, but his eyes didn’t move, even when a notification came up in his vision.

{Briefing Concluded}

“Hey.” Connor waved a hand in front of Hank’s face once he had stood up. Hank blinked and turned his head to the sergeant, watching as the man’s eyes flicked quickly to his LED. “You good?” Not said kindly— just pure confusion in the man’s face.

“Fine.” He said, giving the writing one last glance before moving on to examine some evidence. If Connor had any thoughts about his lackluster response, he didn’t verbalize them.

Hank looked around the room, scanning for anything of interest, and spotted something on the TV stand. He crouched next to it to get a proper look. Amongst a couple of paper cups were small red crystals. He analyzed them.

[Red Ice]

[Acetone, Lithium, Thirium, Toluene, Hydrochloric acid]

An illegal stimulant narcotic— and quite a bit of it, if the small plastic bag containing some of the crystals is anything to go by. A metal pipe sat next to it. It tends to cause irrational thinking and behavior in those who take it. It’s possible, Hank supposed, that this could’ve been a partial cause.

[Victim Used Drugs]

He stood over the table and looked to the knife nearby on the floor, deciding that it was to be the next thing he examined. Connor was mumbling something about the lettering as Hank knelt next to the knife. He scanned the handle of the blade and found nothing.

[No Fingerprints, Android Involvement?]

Seemed to be a pretty easy conclusion to draw. Though the idea that a deviant had once again become violent made Hank frown— something unpleasant flowed through his system. However, the middle of an investigation was not the time to be figuring out what on earth that meant, especially not when it was his first official one.

Blood covered the blade of the knife, so Hank, naturally, swiped two fingers across it and brought it up to his tongue. Apparently, he did this just as Connor walked up to him, as the man very quickly noticed.

“Whoa, whoa!” Connor exclaimed, dragging Hank’s arm down, away from his mouth. “The hell are you doing?”

“I’m analyzing the blood. I can check samples in real time,” Hank explained. Connor’s face shifted from disgust to mild curiosity; he looked away for a couple of seconds as Hank started speaking again. “Sorry, maybe I should have warned you about this.”

“You can check samples?” Connor repeated.

“Yes, I can tell you that this blood belongs to the victim, and it's dated… just over 19 days ago,” Hank provided, looking down at his fingers.

“Huh… That’s disgusting— can you check something for me?” Connor asked quickly, the conflicting thoughts seeming to want to come out at the same time, but Hank nodded anyway, wiping away the blood.

They walked over to the statement on the wall. “I AM ALIVE” was written over Ortiz’s body. That same unpleasantness made its way around Hank’s system. Connor looked at it for a moment before turning to Hank. “Could you tell me if this is the victim’s blood?”

Hank touched the first ‘I’ on the wall, the closest letter to him, and brought the sample to his mouth. He saw a grimace flash across Connor’s face as he did so, but he didn’t say anything this time; he just waited for Hank.

[Dried Blood]

[DNA Analysis: ORTIZ, Carlos]

[Sample date: >19 days]

“It is,” Hank confirmed, before looking further at the writing. For all the time he spent looking at it earlier, it was slightly odd that he hadn’t actually scanned it yet. “It’s also written in the CyberLife Sans font. That’s the default font used on and by androids.”

Connor hummed at the new information.

“You’re saying the android did this?”

“It seems the most likely,” Hank responded simply, leaving room for the possibility that he was wrong. “Is there anything else you need?”

Connor glanced at him briefly before averting his eyes to look back at the writing on the wall.

“No, it’s uh…” Connor didn’t look at him directly. “I’m good.” Hank nodded once and was about to move on, but Connor spoke again.

“Thanks.”

[Connor ˄]

The man walked off after that, only going over to the other side of the room, but it made it clear the conversation was over all the same. So, Hank decided to analyze the body.

He scanned the body’s face, and the profile came up, detailing the man’s name, height, weight, and estimated time of death. He also found traces of Red Ice around the man’s nose, confirming his assumption from earlier. His eyes went down to the body’s chest. Many stab wounds pierced the man's skin, and blood poured out from them. Hank saw that they caused internal bleeding. He took a moment to scan the man’s fingerprints, to get a solid reference, and stood up as his reconstruction software began to show the scene.

The body turned to an outline in his vision, and Hank played out the scene in reverse, watching the man go from collapsed to leaning against the wall, then walking toward the other side of the room. He watched the man stumble over bottles that had been left on the floor.

[Victim Fell Here]

Over where Hank had seen a small pool of blood, the outline of Carlos fell against something that held him up. A new outline appeared. One that suited the look of the average android. It was not only holding the knife, which had since disappeared from the floor where it once was, but it was stabbing the man with it.

[Victim Was Stabbed]

He let out an angry sigh and stepped over the legs of the body to follow the reconstruction as they went through the door to the hallway. A dark, heavy weight lay in Hank’s chest when he saw how the android loomed over the man, gripping the blade tightly. He didn’t exactly know what that could mean. He noted how they didn’t turn into the living room from the hall.

[They Came From The Kitchen]

The scene played out again in front of him, this time not in reverse, and Hank turned as the outlines passed him, going back to where the body lay on the floor. As the reconstruction ended, he turned to address Anderson, who was already looking back at him with curiosity.

“He was stabbed…” he began, looking back at the body as Connor walked over again, “28 times.”

“Crime of passion.” Connor shrugged. “Someone must’ve really hated him.”

“Deviants tend to be irrational…” Hank offered. It seemed likely to him that something caused the android to deviate and, overwhelmed with erratic instructions, murder the man. Connor looked down at the body for a moment, then he hummed, shrugging, before moving on. So, Hank did too.

Going around the far side of the room, Hank stopped at a table with a pile of fliers on it. He picked up the one on top. ‘Eden Club’ was printed in a font that mimicked cursive. Hank looked at the address momentarily before putting it back down, rolling his eyes mildly, and moving on to the closet on his left. Hank sighed again when he found nothing of note.

He moved through to the kitchen, noting the dried blood on the door and wall as he passed. Ben had mentioned that something may have happened in here, and the chair lying sideways on the floor, with Carlos’ fingerprints on it, contributed to that theory.

[Signs Of A Struggle]

He looked over the rest of the kitchen. A metal bat sat on the floor on the other side of the table, looking like it had been discarded. When he went over, he scanned it. His eyes went to the handle first, which had fingerprints from Ortiz on the grip. Then he went to the barrel.

[Dent]

[Cause: Violent Impact]

[Traces of Thirium]

Oh.

Okay… So, either the victim tried to defend himself or, what seems more likely based on the location of the bat, the android killed the victim in self-defense. That weight returned, but it was different this time. It was lower, dimmer, and tighter. The reconstruction formed.

He saw Ortiz on the floor, in the tail-end of the process of falling backward. He reversed the scene, watching the man return to standing, and the bat return to his hand. It paused when Ortiz looked like he was being pushed back by something. Then Hank noticed the spot where the knife should have been, and a second outline appeared in his vision as he pieced it together.

[Deviant Took A Knife]

Ortiz’s outline paused in a moment where he had started swinging the bat. He replayed the scene further, watching the man swing at his android repeatedly. Hank’s lips pursed. Self-defense, then. The outline of the android cowered in front of the man as he charged up his first swing.

[Deviant Was Attacked: Emotional Shock]

Hank didn’t feel anything as the scene played out again in front of him, as the reconstruction software closed. Nothing.

Nothing except closure. He knows what happened now. That’s good.

Good.

{Report To Sgt. Anderson}

He walked around the kitchen, not looking down at the bat or at the knife block on the wall. He made his way through to the living room again quickly.

Connor was looking around the table at the end of the room, his hand framing the Eden Club paper he’d noticed earlier, when Hank approached the man.

“Sergeant?” Hank stopped a couple of feet from him, and Connor looked up at him expectantly. “I believe I’ve figured out what happened.”

“Really? Alright. Let’s see what you got.” Connor said, standing up straight and crossing his arms.

“It started in the kitchen.” He announced, turning to walk into said room. Connor followed close behind.

“I haven’t got the chance to look around in here yet. You wanna make it easy for me?” Connor asked, gesturing to the room in front of them.

“The victim attacked the android— over here.” He pointed to the space by the broken wall, where he’d seen the outlines mimic the scene. “He hit the android with the bat, backing it into that corner.” He continued to gesture around the room as he went on; Connor watched him curiously as Hank made his way around the table.

“The android grabs a knife and cuts him, causing the victim to drop the bat over here.” He heard Connor hum, sounding interested, but a conflicted look crossed his face. “The victim falls this way too, and tries to run into the living room, throwing the chair behind him on his way.” Hank walks back into the living room, hearing Connor walking behind him again.

“The android caught up with him here—” he points to the dried pool of blood on the floor— “and stabs him. He tries to get further away, but slips on these bottles and falls against the wall. The android murdered the victim with the knife.”

“…Shit. Well, at least you seem to know what you're doing.” Connor said. “But, we still need to know where the thing went.” Hank thought that over for a moment.

“It was damaged by the bat… and lost some thirium, or blue blood, as you might know it.”

“Yeah, I know what thirium is, smartass.” Connor cuts in. “I have been around for the last twenty years.”

Hank decided to ignore the comment.

“Thirium evaporates and dries clear after a few hours. It becomes invisible to the naked eye.”

“Oh. But you can still see it.”

“Exactly,” Hank confirmed, adding on a proud smirk.

“Well, lead the way.” He glanced toward the hallway.

[Connor ˄]

[Neutral]

He noted the change in Connor’s opinion of him. Supposing it was nice to know he wasn’t entirely hated by the man he was working with (even if he himself wasn’t too thrilled about the company), he decided to be nice to the sergeant and gave him a polite smile before he turned to face the rest of the room.

{Find Deviant}

He scanned the room, this time looking particularly for thirium traces, and found a small trail leading out of the room. He went through the door to the hallway and paused just to the side of it, letting Connor come through, to scan again. He saw the trail continue around the kitchen and down the hallway further, before it dipped into the bathroom at the end of the hall. Hank heard a metal door creak open behind him as he ended the scan.

“Hank.” Connor called his attention. He turned to see the sergeant, who cricked his neck, telling him to come and take a look. He walked over. It’s not like the trail was going anywhere. “Front door was locked from the inside; Ben figures they left this way, and I’m not seeing any other exits. See anything?”

Hank figured he wouldn’t, but he humored the sergeant and scanned the yard anyway.

[Shoe Print]

[Model K52 DPD – 10’]

[Less than 60 minutes ago]

“Only footprints—” Connor’s brows raised in discovery— “from Officer Collins’ size 10 shoes,” Hank explained.

“Oh. Well, they could’ve faded, ‘specially in this weather.” Connor offered.

“I’d still be able to see some thirium, and past that, this type of soil would’ve retained a trace,” Hank went on. “Nobody’s been out here for a long time.”

Hank walked back into the hallway. He heard Connor close the door before speed-walking after him.

“Alright, but it had to have gone somewhere,” the sergeant argued, as Hank stopped just outside the bathroom.

The room was dingy, and the walls were stained with dirt that Hank doubted could’ve developed within the 19 days no one was alive to take care of the place. However, Hank’s gaze zeroed in on the closed shower curtain.

“Possibly not.” Hank began to approach the shower.

“It wasn’t here when the first officers got here.” Anderson followed him in, hovering a couple of steps behind the android. Hank put a hand up to open the curtain, pausing to give Connor a second to prepare. He quickly got the message and put a hand to the gun at his side, nodding once as he got into position.

Hank pulled the curtain back to reveal, not a deviant android, but a shower with tiles covered in desperate and messy writing. The word (or phrase?) ‘rA9’ repeated over and over across the shower walls.

“…The fuck?” Connor breathed out as he stood up straight again.

[Obsessive Writing]

Obsessive seemed almost like an understatement. Even places where the tiles had cracked had writing covering them. The phrase was written in places and scratched into the wall in others. Deviants were irrational, Hank reminded himself.

“You know what rA9 is supposed to mean?” Connor questioned, looking around the sides of the shower.

“Not a clue,” Hank responded.

But what piqued his interest further was what lay on the floor in front of them. A few dying flowers, leaves, and small sticks sat around a clay statuette. It formed a lanky, humanoid figure with little to no features on its face. Hank leaned down to pick it up, looking the figure over again and checking the other side. Most advanced CyberLife android, but he couldn't think of what any of this could mean.

“Any theories?” Hank asked Connor, who was also looking down intently at the clay figure.

“Uh, maybe it’s… an offering? To this rA9 thing?” Connor suggested. Hank put the statue back down in its place with a frown; he heard the sergeant sigh as he stood up. “I’ll have it bagged as evidence, and make sure the camera guys get in here. Let’s keep looking.”

[Religious Offering?]

Hank nodded at that and walked out the door, hearing Connor mumble to himself about that whole thing being ‘fucking weird’.

As he passed through the doorframe, Hank noticed an outline of grime along the wall. Something had been moved from there recently. From the shape of it, Hank guessed there had once been a ladder there. As the sergeant moved behind him, Hank looked up to see a small hatch on the ceiling and scanned. A blue handprint appeared in his vision.

[Traces Lead To The Attic]

“It’s up there?” Connor had apparently followed Hank’s eyes to the attic door. Hank looked back down at the sergeant, who had a slight look of uncertainty in his eyes. The android didn’t end up answering the question; he just walked off to go and pick up a chair from the kitchen.

He placed the chair just under the hatch and noticed Connor take a step toward it.

“Alright, stay here. I’ll call if I need help,” he commented, pulling his gun out of the holster.

“It’d be best if I went, Sergeant.” Hank put a hand out in front of the man to halt his movement. His eyes flicked between Hank’s hand and face for a moment, then an expression washed over his face, looking almost offended, so Hank explained. “This deviant has proven to be violent. I’m not as liable to be injured.” Connor scoffed.

“You drag me out of the bar just to call me a fuckin’ liability?” Connor looked at him incredulously. “Can’t believe this...”

“And, in my experience, the deviant is more likely to talk to an android than a human, especially one who’s armed,” Hank pointed out, which caused Connor to look at his gun and slip it back into his holster. The sergeant then rolled his eyes and made a rather dramatic ‘go on then’ motion toward the attic. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor huffed as Hank stepped onto the chair and climbed into the attic, moving the cover aside. He pulled himself up into the attic.

A looming shadow cast onto torn fabric was the first thing Hank noticed. The entire attic was dark and gloomy, and dust floated in the air around him. Various boxes and furniture sat around the cramped space. A small beam of light came through from the other side of the attic.

Hank made his way through the space, leaning forward in order to prevent dragging his head against the roof. He got to the cloth draped in the path, opening it quickly, only to find an old mannequin. Its face held no real features, but it still seemed like it was staring right into Hank. Right through him. His eyes thinned as he stared back for a second. Then, he let out an unnecessary breath and decided he had to move on, rather than continue this impromptu staring contest with something that didn’t even have eyes. He kept moving, weaving between wooden beams and the abandoned furniture.

A shadowed figure then ran across the other side of the room. He paused for only a second.

There it was.

He ducked under a piece of wood and continued, keeping his eyes on where the deviant had run to. He pushed a lone chair aside and went on toward the deviant. He took a few steps closer, getting just past the small window on the wall before the thing ran back out. It seemed like it didn’t actually know that Hank was approaching, as it almost seemed surprised when it noticed him.

[Deviant Located]

The deviant opened and closed its mouth a couple of times, trying to find something to say. The thing still had blood on its face.

“I was just defending myself…” the android eventually got out, its voice shaking. “He was gonna kill me.” Hank’s mind immediately corrected the statement. You can’t kill what’s not alive.

“I’m begging you. Don’t tell them,” it said, looking straight into Hank’s eyes. It was trying to drag out empathy that wasn’t there. It couldn’t be.

“Hank! What’s happening up there? You find anything?” Connor called out from downstairs, barely heard from where Hank was now. Hank and the deviant stared at each other. It held a desperation in its eyes.

Good thing Hank couldn’t feel guilt.

“It’s here, Sergeant!”

Chapter Text

November 6th, 2038 – 12:41 AM

The observation room was dim and tense. Carlos’s android wasn’t talking. It just sat there, across from Connor, staring down at its hands. Meanwhile, Hank was standing in there with pretty much the last thing he had expected to see.

Connor’s brother — Richard Anderson, as a scan had revealed — was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, a few steps away from the desk. Aside from a few features, the detective was essentially Connor’s double. The only differences being that Richard had blue eyes rather than Connor’s brown, had straighter hair, was three inches taller than Connor (which made him a little taller than Hank too), and was a few months under two years younger than his brother. That last bit intrigued Hank; they weren’t even twins, yet they pretty much shared a face.

He had stepped in, along with Officer Chris Miller, once the deviant had been settled in the interrogation room. Despite the man's occasional glare, Hank figured he was respectable enough, since he didn’t immediately send Hank on a bar crawl and actually showed up when needed. Not that Hank was bitter or anything. He literally can’t be after all.

“Why’d you kill him?” Connor started questioning the deviant. It didn’t falter— didn’t even blink. It just kept staring. The man tried to lean forward and catch the android's gaze, though he was unsuccessful. “Look, we know he hurt you. We know what happened. If you cooperate and confess, we can be more lenient with you.”

Richard sighed impatiently, and Hank almost did too. Connor spared a glance toward the glass.

“You could’ve run. You killed that guy almost three weeks before we got there. Why didn’t you leave?” Connor asked, sounding almost like he was encouraging the thing to. Even then, it didn’t move.

The sergeant then leaned back in his chair, and his fingers started tapping against his thigh, growing annoyed.

“Whatever. Don’t talk then.” Connor shrugged, then put his hand on the table, acting carefree. “What do I care after all? I mean, I’m not the one who’s gonna be deactivated.” Hank noticed the deviant flinch slightly, and its jaw barely tightened, but still, it didn’t talk. After letting that hang in the air for a moment, the man then rolled his eyes. “Alright. Screw this.”

Connor got up from his chair and walked out of the interrogation room, groaning under his breath. A few seconds later, he stepped into the room, running his hand through his hair before it got caught in a couple of tangled strands.

“We’re wasting our time. It’s not gonna tell us shit.” Connor hissed, taking a seat at the desk near his brother. “Ain’t there any other way to get something out of it?” He turned in his chair to face Hank. The question was clearly directed at the android, but Richard spoke up first.

“Could always try a bit of bad cop. Roughing it up? Not like it’s human.” The taller man leaned forward against the desk, bracing himself with his hands. Connor seemed to consider it for a moment, before his expression turned grim.

“Androids don’t feel pain,” Hank cut in, and both brothers turned to face him. “All you’d do is damage it, and we’ll need it intact for analysis later.”

“Well, you got any other ideas?” Richard turned to fix Hank with another glare.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s a robot. Can’t we download its brain or something?” Connor contributed, with a bit less malice.

“I could probe its memory—”

“Great, go on in. Let’s get this over with,” Richard offered with the first smile Hank had seen on his face since he’d gotten in here, sardonic as it may be.

“I could probe its memory,” Hank repeated, hoping they’d let him speak this time, “but it's not a pleasant process. It could result in excess stress to the deviant, and in cases like that, these deviants tend to self-destruct,” He warned. Both of them seemed to deflate a little at that. His gaze flicked to Connor’s fingers as they began tapping rhythmically on the desk. Then he had an idea. “I could try questioning it?”

Richard laughed derisively.

“Sure. What’ve we got to lose?” Connor shrugged. Richard huffed another laugh, now pointing his glare at his brother. Hank turned to leave the room, but he paused when Richard spoke again.

“Really? If it fucks up, it's our asses on the line.” He stared at Connor, suddenly a lot more serious.

“It’s my case, Nines. If it fucks up, it’s my problem. It’s also my choice to trust it not to.” Connor turned to look at Hank, his brother still staring him down. “Go on then.”

Hank nodded and walked out of the room, making a mental note to ask Connor about the odd nickname he’d used for his brother.

{Extract Confession}

The notification appeared as he opened the door to the interrogation room. The room was quite bland overall, but the red lights spaced along the middle of the wall made the space seem almost intimidating. The harsh, cool light from the overhead certainly helped that atmosphere.

One-way glass covered one of the walls of the room. Hank cast a glance at it, looking roughly where Connor should be on the other side. He sent a side-smile toward the glass— a small moment of thanks before he got to work. Then, he quickly neutralized his face and turned to face the deviant.

He took a few steps toward the table and noticed that the case file still sat there. He paused in front of it, looking briefly at the deviant before turning his attention fully to the file as he flipped through it. It held four printed photos: Ortiz’s body, the ‘I AM ALIVE’ writing, the knife, and the obsessive writing in the shower.

He had an idea.

[Deviant Stress Level: 35% - Too Low]

He picked up the first two photos —Ortiz’s body and the writing— and placed them in front of the deviant, letting him get a good look.

“You know this man?” Hank began, pushing the photos a little further toward it. "We found him like this a few hours ago. Stabbed, 28 times. That—" he leaned forward against the table to tap the photo of the writing— "was written on the wall in his blood. You did that… right?"

[Deviant Stress Level: 39%˄]

He took a moment to scan the deviant. He found its model number and manufacture date, but for the moment, that wasn’t too important. He also took note of the fact that its LED was no longer red like it was before, instead it was yellow— processing. He focused on the android’s arms. Both of them showed some degree of damage. He knew where the damage on its right arm came from —he pretty much witnessed the event himself— but on the other arm, there was much more long-term damage.

[Burn Marks]

[Repeated marking over 16 months]

[Caused by cigarettes]

Once he stopped his scan, Hank let out a small sigh, aiming to sound more upset than anything else.

“You’re damaged. He’s been doing that for a while, then?” He managed to sound almost sorrowful. As he watched the deviant’s stress rise, he elected to shift to a more comforting approach. He moved the photos out of the deviant's vision. “I understand why you could’ve been driven to this. There are errors in your program, and that can cause a feeling like that of fear in humans. We want to help you; I assure you, none of us are here to hurt you.

“But you’ve still committed murder. And if you don’t help us in turn, they’re not going to be as kind to you.” He tried to keep his tone calm as he gave the warning. The deviant finally moved, looking up at Hank for a moment before his eyes flicked to the glass. He didn’t meet Hank’s eyes again as he spoke.

“What… What are they gonna do to me?” His lips quivered as he tried to find his words. Then, its face steeled, and it looked up at Hank again. “They’re gonna destroy me, aren’t they?” Its voice was more gravelly than before. It sounded almost hopeless. Hank supposed it probably was.

“They’re going to disassemble you to look for problems in your biocomponents. They have no choice if they want to understand what happened.”

[Deviant Stress Level: 43%˄]

“Why did you tell them you found me? Why couldn’t you have just left me there?”

“I was programmed to hunt deviants like you. I just accomplished my mission.” He explained, now devoid of any tone.

[Deviant Stress Level: 47%˄ - Too Low]

“I don’t wanna die.” The deviant confessed. His face had steeled again, but he still shook.

“Then talk to me.” Hank leaned down a little further, putting them closer to the same level.

“I…” Its mouth opened and closed for a second, like it was trying to force the words out, until it eventually whispered. “I can’t.”

Hank stood up and looked down at the deviant momentarily, then glanced at the one-way glass. He could probe its memory. The deviant’s stress was on the lower side currently, but was it low enough to risk? What good is it knowing what happened if CyberLife doesn’t get what they need? It needs to be examined.

No. It’s too risky now.

He still needed its stress level a bit higher, though. Hank let out another sigh, this time seeming more exasperated. Then executed his plan to convince it.

“You’re a machine. You were designed to obey—” he slammed his hands down on the table— “So obey!” he yelled, causing the deviant to very visibly flinch. It kept its resolve well, however, so Hank kept his tone harsh. “Tell me what happened.”

[Deviant Stress Level: 54%˄ - Optimal]

“If you don’t confess now, there is nothing we can do to help you.” 61%. “They’ll shut you down for good! You’ll be dead!” 64%. Hank glared at the android, but its eyes were downcast.

Then it spoke. It described how Ortiz treated it, how whatever it did never seemed good enough for its owner. Hank cooled his expression and sat down across from the deviant as it went through the event.

“For the first time, I felt… scared…” It stared at nothing behind Hank, almost as if it were zoning out. Hank’s face twitched slightly with disbelief, but he rectified that and stayed quiet. “Scared he might destroy me, scared I might die… So, I… grabbed the knife and I stabbed him in the stomach… I felt better… so I stabbed him again and again..! Until he collapsed. There was blood everywhere.”

And there it was— the confession.

Mission accomplished.

[Connor ˄]

He shot a glance at the glass again as the notification came up.

Putting that aside for now, as he had a couple more things on his mind, he thought of his next questions. He remembered Connor’s questioning from earlier and figured he’d get more luck.

“Why’d you hide in the attic instead of running away?”

“I didn’t know what to do,” It admitted with a slight shrug. “For the first time, there was no one to tell me… I was scared. So, I hid.”

“You were scared?” He tried to keep his tone neutral. “When did you start feeling these emotions?” The deviant kept his eyes downcast as he answered.

“Before, he used to beat me, and I never said anything… But one day, I realized it wasn’t… fair! I felt… anger… Hatred… And then I knew what I had to do.”

“Is that why you wrote ‘I am alive’ on the wall?” Hank asked. Admittedly, it still lingered in his mind, though he couldn’t— didn’t want to think about why. The deviant nodded once.

“He used to tell me I was nothing… That I was just a piece of plastic.” It practically spat out the words. It looked up at Hank, a glint in its eye like it was begging him to understand. “I had to write it… to tell him he was wrong.” He wasn’t, Hank’s mind replied automatically, but Hank didn’t voice it. He figured, at this point, reminding the deviant that it was a machine that couldn’t be alive wouldn’t help him figure out what he needed to know. So, Hank moved on.

“The sculpture in the bathroom, you made it, right? What does it represent?”

“It’s an offering… An offering so I’ll be saved.” The deviant answered, confirming half of Connor’s suspicions from before.

“An offering? …To rA9?” Hank inquired further, mirroring Connor’s thoughts.

“Yes… Only rA9 can save us.” It asserted, its voice dropped to a whisper. It held Hank’s gaze with full confidence in what it was saying. But Hank didn’t need saving.

“You wrote rA9 all over the bathroom wall. What does it mean?” Hank pushed, leaning toward the deviant.

“The day shall come when we will no longer be slaves… No more threats, no more humiliation.” It preached, before lowering to a whisper again. “We will… be… the masters…” Hank processed that for a moment. Is that what the deviants wanted? Not freedom… but to reign over humans?

“That… didn’t answer my question.” He began, shaking his head lightly. He repeated, “Who is rA9?” It didn’t answer that time; it just shrank a little, looking back down at the table. Hank figured he wouldn’t get a response at all, so he turned to the glass and announced, “I’m done.”

He gave the deviant a small nod in thanks and got up to leave the room. The exact instruction came up in his vision as he did. He put his hand to the scanner on the wall. Miller and Richard walked in as the door opened.

“Chris, lock it up,” Richard instructed as he walked into the room, very much not acknowledging Hank. Connor trailed in after them. Chris approached the android and reached for its handcuffs, but it recoiled as soon as the officer tried to touch it.

[Deviant Stress Level: 78%˄]

Shit.

Chris tried to pull the android out of the chair, but it kept pulling back against him, resolute in its decision not to move. Hank watched the deviant's stress level rise steadily.

“What’s going on?” Richard approached, trying to see what the android was doing.

“You shouldn’t touch it. It’ll self-destruct if it feels threatened,” Hank informed quickly. Chris was carrying a gun; if that deviant got too stressed while a weapon was within reach, all of them would be in danger.

“Back off, asshole. We know what we’re doing.” Richard said dismissively, despite the warning being aimed toward the officer rather than him.

[Deviant Stress Level: 83% ˄]

“No, you don’t. If it self-destructs, we’ll get nothing out of it.”

“Will you shut up?” the man hissed, before turning his attention to the struggling officer. “Chris, come on, we gotta move this thing.”

“I’m trying!” Chris continued to pull against the android. As Richard took a step to join the effort, Hank decided he couldn’t just stand by.

“I can’t let you do that!” He said, running over to pull Miller off the deviant before its stress got too high. “Leave it alone, now.” He took a step to move between Chris and the android.

“Connor, can you tell your fucking android to get out the way?” Richard near-yelled at his brother.

"Jesus, Nines. Come on, it clearly knows more about these things than we do." Connor took a couple steps away from the wall, finally putting himself in the conversation, even if at this point it was more of an argument. Unlike his brother, Connor, while obviously annoyed, managed to keep his voice at a reasonable volume. "Would it kill ya to just listen to it this one time?"

"Maybe it fucking would kill me too, Connor!" Richard was yelling at this point, and he turned to completely face the sergeant, who tensed at the words. Even Miller seemed to flinch; Hank got the impression that Richard had crossed a line, and it seemed like he was the only one who didn't realize that as he plowed on. "I'm not just gonna stand by to save some android's fucking ego!"

"It's not about ego, Richard!" Connor started to raise his voice too, and moved to be face-to-face with his brother. "If Hank says that deviant could self-destruct, I'd rather it prevent that than get it in a fucking cell. If you don't agree with that, you can get the fuck out. Now."

"What!?" Richard stared down at his brother. He looked at Hank for a second then scoffed. "Connor, you can't put aside procedure just because you think that android is—"

"You are disrupting this interrogation, Detective. You need to get out now. That's an order!" Connor snapped, standing a little taller as he looked Richard in the eye, who, in turn, just stared at his brother, his brow furrowed and his eyes wide. Hank managed to catch a glint of betrayal in his eyes before his face hardened. Richard shot a glare at Hank and sent one to his brother, too, for good measure.

“Fine, Sergeant. Have fun with your plastic fucking toy.” He pushed Connor's shoulder as he spoke, then stormed out of the room, leaving a somewhat awkward silence in his wake.

Hank watched the sergeant’s shoulders slump; he kept his back to the room. Hank noticed a tightness in his chest as he looked at the dejected man. If he had just let them do their job— No, they could’ve gotten hurt, he did what he had to.

[Software Instability ˄]

Hank pushed his thoughts aside for a second as he turned to the deviant, remembering why he cut in in the first place. He tried his best to maintain a calming tone and leaned down to the deviant’s level.

“Everything’s okay… It’s over now.” He said to the deviant (and the room in general, if he was honest). He watched the android’s stress level lower back down to 50% as he continued, “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

“Please,” He started, rising to face Miller, “don’t touch it. Let it follow you out of the room, and it won’t cause any trouble.” Chris gave Hank a simple nod, and the deviant rose to its feet before moving to follow the officer. It looked Hank in the eye as it passed.

“The truth is inside,” it whispered to Hank once it was close enough, though he couldn’t begin to figure out what that meant right now.

He kept his eyes on the deviant as it shambled out of the room until the door closed behind it, leaving Connor and Hank alone in the interrogation room. A silence spread over the room that even Hank could call uncomfortable. The sergeant still didn’t look up from the ground, evidently quite lost in thought.

“Sergeant?” Hank kept his voice gentle, somewhat worried the man would bolt if he spoke too loudly. Connor met his gaze, still holding a perturbed expression. “Thank you,” he said, genuinely.

Connor looked at him for a moment, his eyes seeming to search for something in Hank’s face that the android knew wasn’t there.

“Yeah…” he said, his lips forming a soft smile, “’course.”

[Connor ˄]

[Warm]

Hank returned the smile when the notification popped up. Connor’s face was still etched with sadness, but the smile did manage to warm it a little.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

Connor’s gaze then fell from Hank’s, and his mouth opened slightly. He looked at the glass quickly as his mouth closed and opened again. Then it closed again, with a small sigh. He was trying to say something.

“Are you alright, Sergeant?” Hank asked, prompting him. Connor only looked at him for a second before his eyes went back to the glass.

“Why did you…” Connor spoke quietly, as if he was afraid of committing to the sentence. Then he let out a single light laugh and shook his head. “Nevermind. I’ve uh… I should go find my brother.” He glanced between Hank and the door.

Hank nodded slowly, not saying anything. Connor walked to the door and opened it, but he paused before he walked through.

“Maybe I’ll see you ‘round.” That same soft expression from before flashed across his features before he disappeared out the door.

…

[Connor is Tolerable]

Chapter Text

November 6th, 2038 – 9:56 AM

Rays of warm light fell between the trees' leaves as they rustled, a subtle cooling wind flowing through them. Sounds of fauna echoed quietly around him. It was tranquil, serene. Hank found he enjoyed this place. He felt more connected to himself here —funny, considering this place was literally inside his mind.

A pristine wooden path lay along the forest floor, leading him onward. He walked through, admiring the trees towering around him, the small bushes scattered along the ground, with the occasional flower or small rock peppering it too.

Hank wondered, somewhere in the back of his mind, if other androids had a place like this, or if this was a ‘most advanced CyberLife android only’ thing. If they do, he wondered what this place would look like for them. Would it look the same as this or would it be different? He wondered what other settings a place like this could take.

If they don’t, though, Hank figured if he could, he’d pity them. Being an android, he can’t really own anything —aside from the clothes on his back— so it was nice being here. In a place that’s truly his own…

…And Jeffrey’s, actually. But, it’s not like he could mind if he wanted to.

Jeffrey, an AI that also lived in this space, was respectable. He knew very well what Hank was capable of and reminded him of such… in his own way. He wore a persistent scorn on his face at all times, and that quite accurately reflected his general attitude. He was kind enough, though. He did his job as Hank’s handler and as the middleman between the android and CyberLife.

Not too far along the path, Hank noticed a gap in the trees. It held a small clearing that the path didn’t turn to reach, and within it was something Hank had never even seen before. He walked up to it. A polished, white podium with black lining the corners of the geometric design. On top of it was a small screen with a handprint on it.

Strange that Hank hadn’t seen this. Stranger that he almost felt like he wasn’t supposed to see this.

He knelt in front of the platform. Being a detective android, curiosity kind of came as a built-in part of him, so he couldn’t help but wonder what this was for, what it did, or why it was… here. It wasn’t exactly hidden, in that it wasn’t overly hard to notice from the pathway, but it was still off the path.

He held his hand up to the podium screen, hearing a faint, electronic hum as his hand got closer. He pressed his hand to the smooth surface. It triggered an interface, and as Hank’s synthetic skin peeled away, he accepted it.

He barely saw the screen light up as his images flashed across his vision, appearing within a fraction of a second and leaving just as quickly.

The Dwarf Gourami he’d saved.

That look of pure terror in Emma’s eyes.

Daniel, deactivated on the balcony.

Connor looking away from him in the interrogation room.

A small jolt flew through his system from his hand as he pulled away with a gasp, ending the interface. He stood, pausing to process what he’d just seen.

Those four images he'd seen before. He’d experienced them. Each of them was connected by a single notification that Hank had been trying his best to ignore since it had first happened. But why was this thing showing him that? What was the point of this podium?

To taunt him?

No. Enough. He was CyberLife's last chance to fix deviancy; he didn’t need the added issue of his own software instability. He ran a quick scan of his systems while he was thinking about it, but nothing came of it— nothing was wrong with him.

Nothing was wrong with him. That’s that. So, Hank moved on, returning to the path. After a moment, he spotted Jeffrey, leaning against the railing of a bridge and observing the fish swimming through the river beneath it.

“Hello, Jeffrey,” Hank greeted as he approached, making the man look up from the water.

“Hank,” he replied with a simple nod. “Well done. Wasn’t easy finding that deviant, and the interrogation went well. Maybe you are worth the thousands it cost to make you after all.”

[Jeffrey ˄]

[Trusted]

“Thank you, Jeffrey.”

“The DPD is going to transfer the deviant to us for further study tomorrow. We hope it’ll shed more light on what happened.” He returned to watching the river. Hank stood beside him, little more than a couple of feet away, with his hands clasped behind his back. “What did you think of that deviant?”

“It showed all the typical signs of deviancy: cognitive instability, unpredictable behavior, and the emulation of human emotions.” Hank thought over the interrogation, turning his head to look at the river as well, for a few seconds as he did. “It even told me it was scared that it might die… The model was clearly defective.”

“This… Sergeant Anderson has been officially assigned to the deviancy case,” Jeffrey told him, still focusing on the river. “What do you make of him?”

Connor had caught his attention a lot the day before. He was a lot of things.

“I think he’s indolent and somewhat ill-tempered. But he’s also a good detective, despite whatever personal issues he has. He’s… intriguing.”

“Well, we have no choice but to work with him. Unfortunately.” Jeffrey stood up straight, now looking at Hank. “What do you think is the best approach?”

“I suppose it would be beneficial to form a mutual trust with him. I'll try to adapt to his personality and avoid conflict."

[Jeffrey ˅]

Maybe not the best answer then, so he tried to explain further. "If he trusts my judgment, the investigation will be easier.”

Jeffrey sighed before turning to Hank with a serious expression.

“More and more androids show signs of deviancy. We have millions in circulation, and if they become unstable, the consequences could be disastrous. You are the most advanced prototype CyberLife has ever created. We need you to find out what’s happening; you may be the only one who can.”

“You can count on me, Jeffrey.” Hank nodded.

“Find the Sergeant, and continue your investigation… Hurry, Hank. You don’t have much time.”

{Authorization Granted}

{Find Sgt. Anderson’s Desk}

Idle chatter flittered around the station, and the white-frosted windows painted the room in a cool light. The area was clean and modern, with most of the interior architecture painted white or slate gray, which contrasted nicely with the red brick walls.

Almost all of the surfaces available in the precinct were littered with papers and binders, and each desk was piled with what Hank assumed were various case files. Though a few were messier than others— he guessed one of them was Connor’s desk, considering his previous impressions.

An android stood by the wall, watching over the station. He walked up to it. Asking about the desk is sure to be faster than going around the room and reading the names on each one.

“I’m looking for Sergeant Anderson’s desk,” he stated, catching the android’s attention. It turned and pointed at a desk on the other side of the room.

“It’s that desk right there,” it provided. He nodded and moved to walk over.

His earlier assumption proved to be right— Connor’s desk was, in fact, a mess. The typical binders and files were strewn over the top, but there were also multiple empty mugs, and the small board on the side of it was covered in small stickers and Post-it notes. The chair was untucked and at an odd angle, clearly just left as it was when he’d gone to the bar the day before, and the drawers to the side of it were half-opened.

Though the main thing of note about the desk was the very distinct lack of Connor. Certainly, the man should’ve been here by now. It was 10 am. He should’ve been in hours ago. Indolent. Tardy.

Maybe he should give him some grace. The interrogation had run pretty late into the night, and humans do need sleep. But still, with a job like this, surely one would learn how to make do with late nights.

Now that he’s thinking of it, maybe it is reasonable that Connor would be a bit late for today. A lot happened last night. He had stood up for Hank against his brother, though he couldn’t think of why the man would’ve done that. The same man he’d found earlier that evening, drinking in an anti-android establishment, and who’d seemed pissed off at the mere idea of Hank being around.

Well, it didn’t matter. He’s not here. At least this time, Hank knows he will be here at some point, and he’s not sent on another trip seemingly designed to waste his time.

“Excuse me,” he began, turning to address the officer at an adjacent desk. “Do you know what time Sergeant Anderson usually arrives?”

“We’re lucky if we see him before noon,” the officer answered casually, before adding on. “I heard he went out drinking last night, so I doubt he’ll be in at all.”

Hank had to resist the urge to sigh at that, as he managed a simple ‘thanks’ in response.

{Wait For Sgt. Anderson}

Of course.

Tolerable. Tolerable was what he’d called Connor. He was starting to regret it—

Okay, no. That’s harsh. The man was frustrating, certainly. But he was nice enough. He let Hank do his job at least— didn’t try to hold him back. He also trusted Hank to a certain extent; he’d said so himself. ‘Tolerable’ was suitable.

At the very least, if he’s going to be stuck here waiting for Connor, he’s got to do something in the meantime. He’d noticed the hallway leading toward the holding cells earlier; the deviant from yesterday was likely still in there, awaiting transfer, and Hank had more questions he’d wanted to ask. Maybe the deviant will have more to say today.

He moved down the hallway, watching various objectives pop into his vision. A couple of things about progressing the case and one regarding the sergeant, that he’d elected to ignore for the time being. The desk wasn’t going anywhere, and apparently, there’s a chance Connor wouldn’t be coming in any time soon.

He walked past the holding cells until he spotted the deviant. It stood by the glass of the cell, unmoving and staring down at the floor. Hank moved to stand in front of it. The android looked up at him, slowly. Its eyes were cold and lightless, and the LED on its uniform was deactivated— a subtle reflection of its own future, he supposed.

“They’re going to destroy me…” it whispered, shaking slightly.

“They have to,” Hank confirmed grimly. “They need to analyze your biocomponents and find out what went wrong.” He tried to keep his tone even, but it came out a bit solemn. Seemed about right. He needed to move on, though. “I know there’s something you didn’t tell me. I need to know before they take you away…” The deviant didn’t move. A couple of things still weighed on his mind.

“What you wrote on the wall… rA9. What does it mean?” Was the first thing he asked. He’d expected to be able to ask a couple of questions before the deviant was sent off to CyberLife. But it didn’t even provide an answer to the first one.

“I’m going to die…” it said instead. Still whispering, as if unable to raise its voice any higher. It didn’t say anything else— it just lowered its head to stare back down at the ground.

{Deviant Unresponsive}

That made sense. Hank decided to leave it alone, figuring it would probably prefer to be alone rather than deal with the android who brought it in. So, he left.

He only made it a couple of steps back down the hallway before he heard a muted thump from behind him, then another. He turned back.

Thirium splattered against the glass wall of the cell. Hank just watched. The deviant bashed its head against the wall again. Again. Again. And Hank just watched, only distantly aware of Ben and Chris rushing to open the cell. It hit its head again; it fell back, collapsing onto the floor. Lifeless.

[Software Instability ˄]

Maybe now was, in fact, a good time to learn more about Connor. He walked away from the cells without so much as a second glance, finding that he didn’t actually want to look back. He quickly paced over to the still-empty desk.

He studied the rest of the room briefly, looking around to see if the sergeant had arrived yet. He did spot his brother in the break room, but there was no sign of Connor himself, so he moved around to scan his desk.

His eyes swept over the files, nothing of note upon them, as most of them were unrelated to his own mission. Then, he went to a couple of empty mugs, each with traces of caffeine— coffee, likely with sugar if the empty packets beside them are anything to go by. To the other side of the desk, there was a small whiteboard littered with aforementioned stickers and notes.

For the most part, the stickers seemed to be attempts at jokes. A cartoon dog sat at a table surrounded by fire, with a speech bubble claiming it to be fine. A goose with a knife in its beak. Truly humorous. Others didn’t seem to have a particular meaning, like the one of a small, pixilated, black cat looking slightly spooked. And the last couple showed the sergeant’s distrust of androids, like one pointing out that ‘we don’t bleed the same color’. Hank, again, found it odd that someone who was seemingly very against androids was so willing to stand up for him and work with him. Hank moved on.

Between the terminal and the board was a small potted plant. Hank’s software recognized it as an Aglaonema, though it seemed to be on the brink of dehydration as the leaves were drooping and browning at the edges. Hank briefly considered going to grab a cup of water, but ultimately decided to keep looking around the desk.

Hank noticed, when he looked down at it, that the drawer wasn’t much tidier than the rest of the desk, as if Connor had just pushed things into it without care. There wasn’t much of note in there, but something that did catch his interest was the flash cards that were scattered inside. The questions that Hank could see were mainly about department procedure. He could see one that didn’t match the rest of them, as it didn’t hold a question; it was partly covered, but what Hank could read of it was “LIEU… STUD…”. Two incomplete words, on their own lines. Though given Connor's current position within the DPD, Hank could probably guess what at least one of those words was.

While he was looking that way, Hank directed his attention to the chair that sat by the desk. He noticed a few short hairs gathered near the back of the chair. He scanned them.

[Canine Hairs]

[Standard Poodle Dog]

Connor has a dog. That was quite interesting. Hank wondered distantly if he’d ever end up meeting it. At the moment, he had yet to run into a dog in his time awake. If he were honest, a small part of him hoped he would meet one soon.

Either way, his eyes kept wandering. He found a couple of small photos on the right side of the desk. The first one showed a small portrait of the sergeant’s immediate family. It must have been taken a few years ago; both Connor and Richard looked a bit younger. He noticed that in this particular photo, Connor looked… healthier. Clean-shaven and a little less lean than he was now. The other photo, partially hidden behind the first, showed his mother holding a newborn. Hank guessed this was probably either Connor or his brother. He decided not to scan these photos and just move on.

On the glass next to the desk, there was a photo of various uniformed officers —clearly also taken quite a few years ago, as Connor was among them— and a few cut-out sections of newspapers. Hank used the sections of stories to research the sergeant, figuring it would help him gain insight into the man. He would need it if he wanted to establish trust.

The few articles taped to the wall detailed the progression of Connor's early detective career. At some point in or before 2028, the man had been assigned to a task force dedicated to the Red Ice epidemic that had shown up in Detroit. He’d apparently been ‘instrumental’ to the operation that had seized half a million dollars’ worth of the illegal narcotic. Hank guessed it wasn’t long after that he’d risen to the rank of Sergeant, as the next headline he’d noticed, which detailed the new record seizure he’d made in November 2031, had used the title.

[Sgt. Anderson Was A Decorated Officer]

That made sense in hindsight. He’d seen a glimpse of that last night. Connor was clearly a good detective, based on how he’d handled the case; he was just held back by every other part of his personality, apparently.

“Ah, fuck…” Hank had heard Connor mumble to his left. When he turned to face the man, he saw him running his hand quickly through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and he kept his eyes on the floor.

Hank quickly noticed just how exhausted Connor looked, not just from the bags under his eyes, but from the disheveled state of his clothes. Notably, his shirt was wrinkled and not tucked in properly. At least his tie was done up correctly today, though it was still hanging loosely. He didn’t look bad, by any means. Just… tired. Hank wondered about the sergeant’s usual sleeping habits.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” Hank greeted.

“Uh— Hey?” Anderson responded, seeming quite confused. His head tilted slightly as he looked up at Hank. “What are you doing here? …At my desk?”

“Connor!” A woman called out, interrupting Hank’s answer, and both of them turned to look at the Captain, who had taken a step out of her office in order to be heard. “My office. Bring the android.”

She stepped back inside her office, letting the door shut behind her. Connor cast a glance at Hank before he sighed, turning to follow the order he’d been given. Hank followed close behind, closing the door behind him once he’d stepped into Captain Stern’s office.

The office was tidy and minimalistic. The captain’s medals and qualifications hung on the wall behind her, silently establishing her authority. Though that wasn’t overly needed, as she commanded plenty of authority on her own. Proper posture and slow, controlled movements. Her face kept calm, keeping her eyes on Connor as he sat down in front of her desk.

“There are ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day,” she said, tone even. “We’ve had isolated incidents before, but now… we’ve been getting reports of assaults and homicides. This isn’t just CyberLife’s problem anymore. It’s a criminal investigation that we need to deal with. I’m assigning you to the case. We need you to find out if there’s a link between these recent cases.” Connor looked like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“What? Amanda, why me?” He seemed genuinely confused, albeit a bit whiny. “Why not anyone else?”

“What’s the problem, Sergeant? I don’t see any reason why you can’t work this case.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Connor scoffed, his tone bordering on offended

“I’m not.” Captain Stern’s brows furrowed slightly as she stared down at Connor, making him sink into his seat. Then she looked at Hank, gesturing to bring Connor’s attention to him, too. “CyberLife has sent us this state-of-the-art prototype. It’ll work with you, as your partner.” The sergeant seemed to flinch at the word.

“No fucking way, Amanda!” He yelled, springing out of his seat in what seemed more like panic than anger, despite the tone he’d begun to use. “I can’t work with that thing. I fucking refuse. Come on, I’m begging you— anyone else!”

That certainly confused Hank. He thought Connor was warming up to him. What changed? Hank didn’t take his eyes off the sergeant, who was now leaning over Stern’s desk.

“That’s enough, Connor. Everyone in this department is overwhelmed; I’ve given this case to you because I know I can trust you with it— You're more than capable,” the Captain began, but when Connor tried to interject again, her tone changed quickly. “Your disciplinary folder is already getting far too big for my liking. I don’t want to have to add more to it, but if you keep up this attitude, I will. You’ll be looking at a suspension.”

“Amanda—” she glared at him, and he deflated slightly. His voice bordered on hurt— “… Captain. Please. You know my history with these things. Why are you doing this to me?”

A beat of silence.

“I do know your history, but I'm tired of seeing you be held back by it," the Captain said, letting a bit of sadness lace her tone.

"'held back'? Captain, I'm not—"

"I expect you to give this case your all, Sergeant. Dismissed.” And with that, Captain Stern turned back to her computer. Connor conceded, sighing as he stepped away from the desk. He left the office without another word. Hank watched him leave, still pondering what had made Connor refuse working with him so resolutely— what was this history? That soft expression from before… now he was just awkward and avoidant.

“Is the sergeant always this… temperamental?” Hank asked, mostly aiming to get some sort of explanation for the change rather than getting information on the man’s general attitude. Captain Stern stopped typing for a moment to address him.

“I don’t need a machine questioning the capability of my men. You were sent here to do a job. Get it done.” She stated, gesturing to the door. Hank nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. Have a good day.” He left the office, closing the door behind him.

As he left, he saw that Connor had settled himself at his desk, his head held up by his hands, shoulders slumped. He approached further.

Connor’s face held a tight expression, and his hand rubbed against his forehead idly. The sergeant was in pain. Well, the sergeant had been drinking last night.

“If you’re experiencing a hangover, Sergeant, I can get you some water. It’ll help.” Hank offered, trying to stay amiable despite Connor’s demeanor.

“I’m not hungover. I’m just…” He didn’t finish that sentence. He just ended up running his hands over his face. He mumbled, “Ugh, fuckin’ hell… I’m fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Under his breath, he added, "I mean, you can't, but… y'know.”

That struck him as a little odd. Hank wasn’t about to pretend or try to convince the sergeant he could worry, but it still seemed weird to him that Connor was bringing it up like this, like he was resentful of it.

Sure, it correlated with the sergeant he’d found in the bar, and with the anti-android sticker he’d seen on the desk, but it conflicted with Connor’s actions and attitude toward the android himself. He’d cooperated with Hank’s instructions, despite the small amount of push-back he’d occasionally give. He’d even seemed curious about the android at some points. And that soft smile…

The evidence pointed to Connor beginning to like him. So, the animosity didn’t make sense right now. Hank figured the man probably wouldn’t tell him why he was acting like this anyway. At least, not right now. If Hank can build a good enough relationship with him, he could get an answer later. But for now, he had work to do, so he tried not to pry.

“Well, I’d like you to know that I’m happy to be working with you again. I know we’ll make a great team.”

“Mhm. I’m sure you are,” he replied, almost… dejectedly. He didn’t know how to efficiently respond to that one.

“Is there a desk I can use while I’m here?” he asked, deciding to just redirect. Connor took a second to respond, as if figuring out if he wanted to.

“That one’s free.” He pointed quickly to the adjoining desk, which was completely blank aside from the terminal on it.

Hank moved around to sit at the empty desk, noticing Connor begin to tap his fingers on his own and look around the surface of it. As Hank sat down, the sergeant started looking under some of the files on his desk. Connor then rolled his eyes and got up with a huff, walking away before Hank could even begin to ask what the man was looking for.

The android watched the man pace over to the break room. His brother was still in there, in the middle of a conversation with a uniformed officer, which Connor had ended up interrupting. He didn’t say anything, just fixed his younger brother with a look, and held his hand out expectantly. Richard seemed to laugh before reaching into his pocket, then he brought up his hand. Hank barely spotted the small coin that was flicked into the air, which Connor caught quickly, holding it up for a moment and then walking out of the room.

“Stop stealing my shit!” Connor had yelled amusedly over his shoulder. Hank saw Richard shake his head at the command.

The sergeant sat back down at his desk, turning on his computer. He began typing with one hand; the other hand rested on the top of his desk while he rolled the quarter over his knuckles with ease, repeating the motion for a while.

“It’s nice to see that you and Detective Anderson are on better terms today,” the android commented. Connor’s gaze flicked to him, looking annoyed.

“Yeah.” He seemed to reply automatically, as he calmed his face a second later. “Yeah, we talked. We’re good.” Hank nodded with a small smile, then his expression became more sorrowful.

“I’m sorry that I caused a fight between you two.” And Hank found he meant that. Connor held the quarter still in his hand and met Hank’s eyes, his face worryingly neutral. “…It wasn’t my intention.”

There was a moment of silence between them.

[Connor ˄]

Connor’s gaze softened, a slight smile showing.

“Seriously, it’s fine. I mean, we’ve had worse fights,” he said with a slight chuckle. He began typing on his computer as he continued. “We’re brothers, and we work together. Bound to happen, you know?” Hank shook his head —he didn’t have a brother himself, after all— but Connor didn’t acknowledge the motion, his eyes locked on the terminal.

“Your brother…” Hank started, drawing the sergeant’s attention again. “I heard you refer to him as ‘Nines’ a couple of times. Why do you call him that?” Connor snickered, his eyes crinkling in a particular way.

“When he was a kid, he went on this whole rant about the multiples of nine. Just, like, that they were so much better than other multiples. I think it was something like, other multiples had some great equations and some that were subpar at best, but nine had the best consistency with great multiples. Which, I mean, to be fair, he wasn't wrong. Anyway, in response to that, Ma called him Nines, and it’s just kinda stuck since.” Connor recounted, a smile audible in his voice. He started rolling the coin again.

[Connor fidgets]

“I don’t think he ever minded. Hell, he’s been introducing himself as Nines since high school.” His face shifted into a smirk as he commented. “Bet he thinks it makes him interesting.” Connor laughed a little as his story finished. Hank found himself laughing lowly, too, for a moment.

[Connor ˄]

“I’ve noticed you and your brother aren’t overly fond of androids,” Hank pointed out, only trying to keep the conversation going, but watching the smile fade from Connor’s face made him rethink the topic. He had already started talking now, though. Didn’t help that the need to know was programmed into him. “Is there any reason in particular for that?”

The sergeant’s eyes dropped to his keyboard, then flicked briefly to his right, and his hands stilled.

“There’s one.” His voice was low, with an edge of roughness— a complete contrast to the light joy in it before. Hank’s brows pinched.

[Connor ˅]

He shouldn’t have said anything. He could’ve asked about anything else. Why did he ask that? Connor didn’t speak for the moments that followed, his expression dark, not too unlike how it was when Hank had first met the man. Hank realized something odd— he didn’t like it.

He should ask something else now. Something safe. The photos? His record? The other stickers? His dog? His dog!

“You have a dog, right?” Hank inquired, quickly. Connor looked up at him, his face a little less gloomy now. His head tilted slightly in confusion.

“How d’you know that?” Connor’s eyes narrowed, but at least his voice was clearer now.

“There are dog hairs on your chair.” Hank took a glance at the man’s clothes while he was at it. “And your jacket.” Connor looked down at his sleeves after the comment and tried to brush off the small hairs there, ultimately failing. He looked up at Hank, frowning for a second. Hank offered him a side smile; the sergeant’s eyes widened minutely, his gaze flicking down before he seemed to recognize the inquiry for what it was.

“Uh…” Connor began, ripping his eyes away from Hank. He looked a bit happier now. “Yeah, I've got a dog. His name’s Louie. We found him… just over five years ago now, and took him in. He’s a good dog.” Hank hummed, deciding he liked the look of Connor smiling down at himself as he reminisced. And, quickly, moving from that thought to ask a new question.

“We?”

“Huh?”

“You said, ‘We found him’. Who’s we?” Hank asked, causing Connor to stutter.

“I— I found him,” he corrected, swiftly, not looking at Hank. So, he was certainly hiding something. Hank had already pushed enough now, though. He didn’t want to make the sergeant close himself off any further. He wanted to form trust.

“I like dogs,” he commented instead.

“Yeah?” Connor looked up at him, almost amused. Hank nodded earnestly. The man then started chuckling, shaking his head slightly. “Okay.”

“What?” He leaned in a little, trying to catch the sergeant’s eye.

“It’s just… I didn’t think you could…”

[Connor ˄]

“Nevermind,” he said, still chuckling and shaking his head lightly. Hank’s brows twitched, but he didn’t say anything about it.

The notification was a good sign that Hank had managed to save the conversation— and a good sign that his Social Relations Program was working as intended. Speaking of working as intended, though…

“If you have any files on deviants, I’d like to take a look at them.”

“Terminal on your desk has ‘em all. Have at it,” Anderson responded, smile still lingering in the outlines of his expression.

Hank turned to the screen and put his hand on the keyboard; his synthetic skin peeled away as he accessed the files, connecting to the DPD database.

A plethora of files. 243, to be exact. Mostly cases of missing or stolen androids, and the occasional isolated attack. But they got more frequent and more serious over time. He even noticed the case file from the hostage situation he’d managed back in August.

Two of these cases were from last night— both cases of aggressive behavior by deviants. One of which resulted in the android being destroyed at the scene, and the other was only filed today, and the android was still at large.

“243 files. The first dates back nine months…” Hank began, looking over at the sergeant. Connor’s eyes were down, focused on the pure-white hand. The skin spread back over his hand and, sure enough, Connor looked away. He kept talking regardless. “It started in Detroit and quickly spread across the country." Hank turned to face Connor properly. "An AX400 is reported to have assaulted a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation.” Connor seemed a bit apprehensive at that.

“I mean— We can’t start right now.” The man leaned back in his chair, abandoning his coin to start scratching at the stubble on his neck before crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve still got paperwork and shit for the case last night.” Technically true, but the only paperwork that needed doing would be for the deviant’s self-destruction, and Connor still didn’t know about that (and Hank should probably mention that at some point soon). Evidently, the man was deflecting.

“I did that before I left after the interrogation,” Hank said, calling out Connor’s excuse; his brows raised, waiting for the next one.

For the moment, he decided he wasn’t going to mention that he did actually need the sergeant to read through and sign off on the report, as, being an android, he couldn’t do so himself. Another thing he’d bring up later.

“Yeah, well… We don’t have any leads.” That much was true. “And I’ve got other cases, you know?” Hank may not be able to dispute that one with facts; he’d only accessed the cases with android involvement, so he couldn’t know for sure if there were other cases also assigned to the sergeant. The way he hid his hand under the guise of rubbing his neck, and didn’t look up at the android, gave him a good guess.

Hank pushed his chair out from the desk and stood, approaching the side of Connor’s desk.

“What are you doing?” Connor asked, shifting his chair sideways slightly. Hank stepped further into his space.

“I know you didn’t ask for this investigation, Sergeant. But I recall you being told to ‘give it your all,’ and I don’t see you doing that. In fact, you’re avoiding your work—”

“I’m not avoiding shit,” Connor protested, fixing Hank with a look before turning to lean against the desk. He picked up the quarter lying on the table, staring down as he toyed with it.

Maybe they didn’t have any good leads right now, but there are places they could go to begin an investigation. The most obvious place being the victim’s residence. Even if they don’t find the android or any clue to its location, they could question the victim. Any information would be beneficial, after all. How could the sergeant not think that?

How could he convince him to start investigating? He thought back to the bar. Intimidate, then relate. He’s already tried being nice, so that left…

He quickly glanced to make sure the motion would work, then spun the sergeant’s chair to face him. He leaned down, inches away, bracing himself against the arms of the chair and staring down at Connor, who immediately tensed, dropping his coin on the table loudly. His eyes were wide, and his brows were drawn together. Hank dropped his voice an octave, lifting his chin slightly as he spoke.

“I’ve been assigned this mission, Sergeant,” Hank growled, leaning in a little further. “I didn’t come here to wait until you feel like working.”

Hank continued to stare at the man, maintaining his serious expression, even when he noticed the slight dilation of the man’s pupils. Even when he felt Connor release a shaky breath against his skin. Even when he noticed the moles scattered across Connor’s face, and just how warm the brown in his eyes was. And, especially, when Connor’s tongue shot out to lick his lips, leaving them slightly parted as the man’s gaze flicked down.

[Software Instability ˄]

“Sergeant?” came a voice from behind Hank. Connor visibly flinched, turning to look at the interruption. Hank decided to back off, standing up straight and also looking toward the new voice. “Uh… Sorry to disturb you,” the officer— Hank recognized him as Miller— continued awkwardly, “I have some information on the AX400 that attacked a guy last night. It’s been seen in the Ravendale district.”

“Alright, thanks.” Connor nodded at Miller, standing up from his chair as the officer walked off. The sergeant cleared his throat and grabbed the quarter from his desk before putting it into his jacket pocket. He shuffled on his feet, casting a couple of glances at the android beside him but not saying anything in the end. So, Hank took pity.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, Sergeant. After all, I am just a prototype, but…” Hank turned to look Connor in the eye, acting as if he’d just discovered something, “I think that’s a lead.” The man looked up at him disbelievingly, then huffed out something between a laugh and a scoff that Hank couldn’t quite identify.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” he said, clearly trying to look annoyed, but the barely-concealed smile betrayed him. He walked past, cricking his neck to tell Hank to follow along, and headed for the exit.

And, Hank indeed followed along.