Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

JUNE 27TH, 2039
4:30 P.M.

“Get ‘em, get ‘em!” Hands cupped around your mouth, you cheered your drones on as they chased Connor around the training yard. He wasn’t going easy on them, shoving obstacles in their way and dodging through tight spaces that were harder for them to maneuver. Your drones refused to fall behind, though, instantly tilting and accelerating where they needed to, this way and that, relentlessly pursuing their target.

The android ducked his way through a set of training blocks that represented a narrow alleyway. In response, your drones were forced to form up into three waves of two, the pairs flying one above the other, in order to fit through. He ducked under a metal beam; they flew lower. He jumped over a low fence; they flew higher.

“Go, go, go! ‘A’ crew, remember your tools - use them!” you coached. The three drones that were currently flying higher were your ‘A’ crew, the ‘android’ hunters. The drones flying lower were the ‘H’ crew, their human-specific tools useless to them in this scenario. Instead, their role would be to distract and delay the target to provide the ‘A’ crew with a clear shot. If they could just close the remaining gap between themselves and the android...

Although your drones had strategy behind them, Connor had the advantage of strength. With a sudden spin, he dug his heels into the ground and faced the oncoming drones. One precise flick of his arm and he snatched the frontmost ‘H’ crew drone out of the air, its propellers spinning wildly in a futile attempt to escape.

At that moment, your ‘A’ drones opened fire with their paralytic darts, but it was too late. Each dart ricocheted harmlessly to the side as Connor swung the drone in his hand to block every projectile that came in his way. He tossed the helpless drone toward one of the pairs right as they flew too close to one another, allowing him to take down three birds with one drone. (That’s definitely how the saying goes, right?)

Krrr-rrttt-rtttt! Each drone’s propellers tangled with the others as they tried to right themselves. Ultimately, the three of them crashed to the ground, leaving only two ‘A’s and an ‘H’ to practice apprehending their target.

Connor took off again, avoiding a hail of darts that pierced the air where he had been only milliseconds ago. Faster, faster, he pushed himself. Ahead, a gap between two training blocks offered him the chance to get back into the open. You could see his LED flash yellow as he must have considered his options. Your drones relied on anticipation and momentum to stay at their optimal speeds; Connor could retake his lead if he surprised them with a course change at the very last second. 

He continued to look straight forward, run straight forward, all the way up until he was about to pass the alternate route. Then, without warning, he pivoted and continued to run at full speed - out through the side passage. As he did so, a sharp pain spread through his right arm. He glanced behind him. A steel bar had been sticking out of the side of one of the blocks, which he couldn’t have seen until he turned the corner. On his upper arm, fresh blue blood leaked from where his brush past the bar had torn his casing open. He’d have to deal with that later. 

New hazards were coming up fast ahead. He scanned his options. Hurdles, tires would only get in his way without slowing down the drones. Rock walls, ladder climbs would be irrelevant against a pursuer who could fly. There were more options, but he knew by the sound of more darts shooting after him that he would have to choose quickly. He opted to sprint in a curved path into a small cluster of cloth-wrapped dummies, which were meant to simulate a crowd of civilians: can’t fire at him now, can you?

“Weird choice, Detective,” you called out playfully. To be fair, if he couldn’t outrun your drones, he had to get creative somehow. But your drones had trained for this, too. The three of them formed an attack triangle and dove down until they were just above the ‘crowd.’ While civilians could protect a target from weapons fire, they also slowed down anyone who had to move through them. 

Four triple-jointed robotic arms extended out from each drone the way a hawk reached out its talons right before the kill. At the end of each arm was a needle-like copper spike of your design. All it would take was for two of four spikes (of opposite charges) to connect with Connor’s skin, and they would be able to deliver a shock stronger than most tasers, capable of disrupting his circuits long enough for backup to arrive. 

Before Connor could finish pushing through the dummies, your drones descended upon him in a coordinated strike. Each attacked from a different direction. Connor’s LED flashed yellow for a brief moment, as if precalculating something, but then he erupted into a flurry of blows. You watched through the drones’ cameras as he leaned and sidestepped away from each drone’s attack, then counterattacked with a swift jab or a heavy uppercut - whatever he could get away with before the drone’s arms readjusted to lunge at him with their needles once again. “Coordinate. You can do this!” you encouraged your swarm.

Swipes, parries, thrusts, dodges. The four machines were all moving faster than most humans could keep track of. Luckily, you were perceptive enough to appreciate just how impressive their processing speeds really were. Your drones were timing their attacks to make it difficult to block them all at once, keeping their distance from one another so that Connor was forced to divide his attention. That was a challenge he was handling well, his head on a graceful swivel, using the obstacles around him to his advantage as the drones were forced to correct course with every missed lunge. 

It almost looked like a stalemate until, eventually, Connor went on the offensive. After dodging one of the ‘A’ drones, he turned and pushed it hard in the direction it was flying, using the drone’s momentum against it. It slammed into one of the dummies and crashed to the ground with a loud thud. 

Two to go. Without missing a beat, Connor spun around in anticipation of the remaining ‘H’ drone’s attack. He grabbed it out of the air the same way he grabbed the other drone in the alleyway—

—and fell to the ground, convulsing. 

Your drone had managed to dig its needles into the hand that wrapped around it. That was all it needed to discharge its capacitors directly through the android’s casing, turning Connor’s LED red as it scrambled all of his functions at once.

“Test successful. Great job, both crews. Come back and charge, and bring your siblings, please,” you directed your drones. Emitting cheerful beeps, the two of them left to collect their fallen crewmates from the training yard. 

Meanwhile, you grabbed a bottle of thirium and jogged out to where Connor had received the fight-ending shock. He was still laying on his back, and you could see his chest rising and falling quickly. His internal fans must be working overtime after all that movement heating him up. 

You kneeled beside him, excitement and concern fighting for prevalence in your voice. “Connor, that was amazing!” But then, “Are you okay? I know the taser function isn’t lethal, but we could get you to an engineer just in case.”

With his eyes still closed, he shook his head. “No, no,” he muttered, “I’m fine.” But he certainly didn’t look like he was fine. Even setting aside the open wound, his arms and legs were still trembling, and he was still ‘breathing’ incredibly quickly. He had clearly overexerted himself. Of course, you had no way of knowing that he’d done so because he wanted to impress you. 

You couldn’t just sit there and watch him struggle. With practiced ease, you flipped open the cap of your thirium bottle with one hand and gently lifted Connor’s head with the other. “Here. You cut your arm on an obstacle,” concern won over. You pressed the edge of the bottle lightly against his lower lip, willing him to drink. 

His eyes shot open immediately as the bottle touched his lips. Surprise lit up his features, then recognition, then... disappointment? No, that wouldn’t make sense. You must have read him wrong. 

He reached up to grab the bottle himself, then practically chugged the entire supply until not a drop remained. His breathing slowed to normal. Relief washed over you as his LED flickered yellow, then resolved at last to its soothing blue default. He pushed himself up to a sitting position with what looked like a strained smile, as if he was trying to hide a grimace. 

“They should start making awards for ‘3O Handler of the Year,’” he chuckled. “That’s the second time your swarm has managed to apprehend me.”

The blood in your cheeks burned. “The first time didn’t count. You were going easy on them,” you protested modestly, but you couldn’t keep yourself from grinning back. Since their inception, you had been a part of developing the Police Directed Support Drones Version 3.0, or ‘Three-Ohs,’ to work with law enforcement the way K9 units did. Training your swarm required a combination of programming, engineering, and fine-tuning their parameters in real environments like the yard you were in now. Seeing them succeed against the most advanced android you’d ever met was a proud moment both for them and for you.

You were just as proud of Connor for putting up such a challenge. He deserved to know that, you decided: “I wish you could have seen what you looked like back there. You’re incredible, you—you knew exactly where and when to move, how much force to use, how to get where you wanted to go. And you didn’t let a single drone get the jump on you, even when they surrounded you. That was, uh, if a training exercise could look like poetry, that would—How about I stop embarrassing myself and start helping you up instead?”

He tilted his head and watched you yap with a patient, adoring smile. Clearly, he had no intention of stopping you from going on and on. He’s being polite, I’m wasting his time, you worried as you shut yourself up and drew yourself to your feet. 

“I appreciate it,” he laughed softly as he accepted your outstretched hand, “but I wouldn’t mind hearing the rest of what you were going to say.” 

“Okay, now you’re just messing with me,” you accused him playfully.

“Sorry, Handler, I didn’t mean to offend you.” That was neither a confirmation nor a denial, but it did make you feel better either way. 

You pulled his hand with yours to help him stand up. At least, that was the intention. He was heavier than you expected, and the force you used left you falling forward instead. A very different situation might have resulted if Connor didn’t have the presence of mind to lean forward and reach out to catch you by the waist, allowing you to steady yourself with his arms and recover your balance. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, he then managed to stand up without your help right afterward. 

You closed your eyes as if to hide from your own embarrassment. “There isn’t a chance you could erase the past two minutes from your memory, is there?”

“Not if I want to avoid fragmenting the rest of my memory, but I’m sure you already knew that.” His voice was so warm yet so matter-of-fact. You peeked at him only to see a completely indecipherable expression staring back at you. 

“Couldn’t hurt to ask,” you chuckled. 

Connor’s wrist twitched. He considered resting a hand on your shoulder to console you, but he wasn’t sure how you would react. Better not to risk making you more nervous than you already appeared. Instead, he stuck his hands in his pockets and lowered his voice. “Handler, you don’t have to worry. I do not think any less of you for getting carried away. I find it...” adorable, was the word he caught himself from saying. His LED flashed yellow for a half-second while he chose his words diplomatically: “...Enviable.”

That caught you off-guard. You had almost been expecting a politely-worded insult, given his random pause. “You wish you were clumsy? Why?”

“I wish I had your enthusiasm. You care so much about what you’re doing that you forget the world around you,” he explained with a gentle smile. 

“Oh. I mean, thanks.” You didn’t necessarily see yourself the same way. In fact, you rather admired the RK models’ innate ability to keep track of details without losing sight of the bigger picture. It was what made them such reliable detectives. Or so you heard, at least; you hadn’t actually had the chance to watch Connor work on a case yourself. 

The two of you were still smiling as you fell into a comfortable silence. He stopped to straighten his tie, then together, you headed inside to the ‘kennels,’ where your drones were recharging and restocking on ammunition. The doors to the main office were through this room, where Connor would soon leave to get back to his cases, but you’d be hanging back to go over the data your drones gathered today for future training.

You reluctantly shuffled your way toward your desk while he fetched a thirium refill for the bottle you’d brought to him. As much as you wished you could sign off for the day and spend time getting to know the detective who so generously volunteered to test your drones, you still had work to do. 

Once your first aid kit was restocked, and you were both out of excuses for Connor to stay, you thanked him again for his help as he reached for the door. He tilted his head in response, adding, “I hope you still plan to be my partner on Friday night?”

“What was that?” You blinked. That came out of nowhere.

“At the hand-to-hand combat training,” he reminded you eagerly. Oh, right, that. Mandatory twice a year for all officers, including you. 

You sighed, but ultimately nodded in confirmation. “I’ll bring my enthusiasm.”

Connor winked, and then he was gone.

Chapter Text

JUNE 30TH, 2039
7:07 A.M.

“Would you fuckin’ look at that. Machines are taking the dogs’ jobs too, now?” Gavin crossed his arms when you stepped beside him to get a better view of the crime scene. It was hard to get a good vantage spot in such a large abandoned bookstore, so you were gathering your bearings by the counter. The early morning light filtered in through tall windows and fell onto rows of empty shelves and display racks. The layers of dust were clearly visible in this light; the detectives must be in for a field day looking for all the places the dust could have been disturbed, or whatever it was they liked to do. That was Gavin’s job, not yours, once he was done trying to be funny. Two could play at that.

You leaned sideways to whisper to him in feigned paranoia. “I don’t mean to alarm you, Detective, but the machines are everywhere. There’s even one in your hand riiight nooow,” you warned him, pointing to his phone and nodding slowly to really sell it. Gavin looked at you like you were an idiot, which only prompted you to giggle back. Like a bad pun, it was somehow way funnier when you were the only one laughing. 

“You the 3O Handler? Over here,” a heavyset android motioned you over to the back of the store. She pushed open the emergency exit door for you, opening out to a sort of shared courtyard enclosed by the other buildings on the block. 

The air outside was stale and thick with the smell of iron. You followed the sergeant to a set of metallic tables and chairs, picking your way over blood-stained concrete and around tall weeds. “Witnesses say they heard three gunshots coming from back here. We found traces of red ice on this table, but the blood trail goes into the store,” she briefed you. 

“And you want our help locating the suspect?” you surmised. Your six drones swayed contentedly from the charging hooks on your vest, eavesdropping on the briefing. It would be a waste of power for them to hover around aimlessly, although technically nothing was stopping them if they decided to go and explore on their own. You took care not to disturb them as you squatted down to examine the ground around the table.

She nodded. “Anyone involved, if you can find out where they went. We’re looking for more evidence around here, too.”

One of your ‘A’ crew drones beeped quietly in a language only you could understand. You craned your head down toward them. “Are you sure?” All three ‘A’ drones sang in agreement. “How many?” Bii-oop. Bii-oop.

“The victim was human, but there were two androids here.” Before you could say it, another voice behind you reached the exact same conclusion. You spun around to see Connor coming toward you, followed closely by his partner Hank. 

An excited grin spread across your lips and was quickly mirrored by your newest friend. “It’s a miracle!” you couldn’t help but cry out. Seeing the lieutenant’s puzzled face, you explained, “We’re practically never on the same case at the same time.”

“Is that so?” Hank eyed Connor suspiciously. “Your Handler friend wouldn’t be the ‘hunch’ of yours that brought us here, would they?”

“No!” Connor lied indignantly. “I just... had a feeling there was something we could help with?” 

“In fact, there is. You two can find the androids while we search for the victim,” the sergeant beside you cut in. 

Poor Connor. Here he was, doing his best to join you, and here was your superior officer, sending him off with Hank no sooner than he arrived. 

Fortunately, you weren’t the only one who noticed. “Ehh, let ’em have their fun,” Hank overrode her with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Couple of old-timers like us can handle a pair of androids.”

You mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to Hank but only received a raised eyebrow in response. 

Once everyone was in agreement, it was time to dispatch your drones. “Rise and shine, ‘A’ crew,” you commanded gently. A heavy weight lifted from your chest, literally, as half of your drones detached themselves from the vest and rose up into position. “I need you to lead these two to the androids that were here before. If the trail splits, pick one and stay together. They could be armed, so watch out for each other, okay?”

The three drones scattered out, sampling the air for whatever chemical residue or ‘scent’ might have lingered in the air from the suspects’ bodies. Slowly, they followed the scent, drifting off toward another building on their way. Hank and the other officer followed carefully behind. 

One of the drones hovered beside you at shoulder level, tilting forward expectantly. You scratched a curved spot on its back between its propellers, a little trick you’d learned to help calibrate its sensors. The drone beeped at you affectionately, then sped off to rejoin its crewmates. 

It was a similar process to mobilize the ‘H’ crew. Of your two sets of drones, they were the livelier ones, stopping every few seconds to investigate between cracks and behind obstacles. This time, you reminded them to stay on task; the victim could still be bleeding out somewhere. 

You and Connor followed the drones at a brisk pace. They led you back through the abandoned bookstore, dodging between members of the forensic team who were at work photographing and sampling the bloodstains inside, picking their way around empty display racks and over the faded remains of broken furniture. Ten or eleven aisles down, the trail of dried blood ended at one wide, dark pool on the hardwood floor. A bright yellow label sat just outside the perimeter, numbering the spot for CSI. 

You already know what that meant for Connor. 

“How’s your breakfast?” You raised an eyebrow curiously. Hank had complained loudly in the past about Connor licking the evidence, but this was your first time seeing it in person. It wasn’t too gross to watch, but Hank did have a point: what did he do with all that bacteria afterward? Android mouthwash? Internal UV radiation? The world may never know.

Connor’s LED blinked yellow while he processed the sample. “I should advise you that blood contains no nutritional value for androids. But, this blood belonged to a healthy adult male,” the detective concluded after a pause. He stood back up and licked his fingers clean before musing, “That’s interesting.”

“What is it?”

“There were traces of red ice in the courtyard, but the only human involved hasn’t used any, according to his blood.”

Without much experience of your own, you weren’t really in a position to know whether that was unusual. “Maybe he was dealing?” you suggested.

“But to androids? Red ice has no effect on us.” He shook his head.

You hummed curiously. Maybe the red ice wasn’t related to this incident at all, maybe some other vagrant had happened to pick that spot to get high before any of this began. A nudge against your arm interrupted your amateur theorizing, as one of your drones beeped quietly to remind you of the task at hand. You thanked it and set off with Connor again, this time following them into the ‘encyclopedias’ section of the bookstore. 

The trail from here wasn’t visible to anyone except your drones, meaning no one else had a reason to be out here. The towering, heavy-duty shelves of the aisle blocked most of the light from the windows, leaving you and Connor alone almost in the dark. 

You could see why an injured person wouldn’t want to stick around here for long. The aisles were too wide to serve as a hiding place if the shooter pursued him, yet the shelves hid too much from view for potential rescuers to find an easy way through. The creaky wooden floor was dirty and damaged and littered with disintegrating pages of torn-apart books, and the scarce furniture was in no better condition: hardly a sterile environment for stabilizing a fresh wound.

The trail wrapped around a corner and apparently dissipated down a long, uneventful cross-aisle, leaving your drones to search around in hopes of picking up on the victim’s path once again. You and Connor cautiously picked your way forward, careful not to slip on any stray papers. It would be tedious work to check for clues through every gap between every section of the shelves, but at least your three drones were there to split the burden. 

As your pace slowed to a crawl, you had some time to chat. Connor spoke up behind you with restrained curiosity. “Hey, Handler. What do you think about flowers?”

“Flowers?” You repeated, surprised by his choice of topic. “They’re nice to look at, I suppose. Or, what do you mean?”

“I’ve read that some humans prefer to receive flowers as a gift on special occasions. But, others feel that they aren’t worth the price and are too much work to maintain,” he clarified, pausing to kneel down and inspect what looked like a shoeprint left behind on the cover of a book. It confirmed you were on the right track, but wasn’t very helpful in the absence of more. You shrugged at him, and he resumed, “What’s your perspective?”

You thought about it for a moment. “As a gift? I wouldn’t complain about them, but I think there should be a personal reason for giving them. Even if that reason is as simple as, ‘this person cares about me and wanted me to have something nice.’ That way, when I look at the flowers they gave me, that’s what I’m reminded of.” Come to think of it, it had been a while since you’d seen real flowers. They were more of a luxury now that there weren’t many pollinators left to help produce them on a large scale. “Whoever you get them for might feel differently, though. What made you want to ask?”

“No reason.” The detective seemed to have more to say, but fell silent by necessity as your drones veered off together to the left. They converged around a plain metallic door, each shining a specialized light onto the same spot on the handle. Fingerprints, they were pointing out to you. Above the handle, the words STAFF ONLY were plastered onto the door in neat black letters.

While you silently gave the drones your gesture for ‘good job,’ Connor stepped forward to knock on the door. He called out the usual warnings; police coming in, don’t be alarmed, and so on. No response. Just to be safe, he drew his gun before pulling the door open, but it turned out to be for nothing. No one was there. The door opened up to a wide set of stairs that only led down.

Once the door closed behind you, the stairwell was pitch-black save for the dim glow of Connor’s LED. He and you switched on your flashlights while your drones did their best to help with mini searchlights of their own. Then, after glancing at each other, you began your descent down the stairs. 

You barely made it down halfway when a rough voice snarled from below: “Go away!”

“Don’t worry, we just want to help you,” Connor called beside you.

“I don’t need help. Leave me alone! I know my rights!” the man shouted. His voice was getting more distant, he must be retreating further into the basement. 

You couldn’t help but mutter, “Do you, though?” as you continued down the stairs and into a wide, open room. Shadows danced across the walls behind the sweeping scrutiny of your handheld lights. Various cardboard boxes lay empty on their sides or in haphazard stacks, some of which were plastered with shipping labels dating back several years ago. Along the walls, a few empty door frames offered a glimpse must have been security offices or specialized storage rooms. But where was the victim?

With a gesture, you directed your drones to spread out and search the side rooms. They hesitated, reluctant to leave their defensive formation around you, but you insisted; you felt safe enough with Connor beside you. 

Meanwhile, Connor was focused on a particular corner of the room. “We got a call that there were gunshots nearby. Did you get shot?” he asked toward the tower of boxes his flashlight pointed at. When he received no response, he paced closer, and you followed close behind. “We just want to make sure nobody’s hurt.”

“I don’t want your help,” came the voice from a room just beside where Connor was looking. “I’m warning you, get the fuck out. Now!”

You paused. Neither of you wanted to provoke a confrontation. Still, you knew that blood loss could cause confusion, and confusion could cause a person to refuse help. If there was a chance he needed a hospital, but was too delirious to understand that, you weren’t willing to risk giving up and letting him die. 

This time, you pressed ahead, slowly, calmly. “Someone lost a lot of blood upstairs,” you explained toward the source of the voice. “Was it you? Is anyone here with you?”

Instead of an answer, a large jumble of electronic components slid toward you from the door, iron and copper and wire coming to a halt right at your feet. You instinctively stepped back, and you and Connor pointed your flashlights down at it to get a better look. 

You recognized the circuit configuration immediately. The device was rigged to set off an electromagnetic pulse, or EMP, inducing strong currents in every wire in the area. The more delicate a circuit, the more likely it was to overload and even be permanently destroyed - and androids had some very delicate circuits. The device was humming louder and louder as it charged its pulse. Along one edge, a timer counted down in bright red numbers:

00:05

“EMP!” you shouted frantically. You heard your drones clatter to the floor, an emergency shutdown protocol to protect their circuits from the worst of the damage. Electricity crackled as they discharged their capacitors into the ground. 

00:04

You glanced down at your vest. A heavy array of lithium-ion batteries lined the front. If the EMP overloaded them, they could explode right there attached to you. You needed to get rid of the vest quickly, but it was secured by a column of intricate buckles. 

00:03

Connor’s hand darted in front of your vision and ripped the front of your vest open for you. Wait, what was he doing so close to the emitter? He was an android. If he was this close to the pulse when it went off, it could kill him instantly.

00:02

You turned to see Connor trying to pull your vest off of you, to toss it out of range before it could explode. But you could tell it would take a second to slip your arms free of the vest, and another to throw it aside, and that was time Connor didn’t have if he was going to make it out alive. 

00:01

It wasn’t even a choice. You acted on instinct, kicking off the ground for leverage and using both arms to shove Connor away from you. The sudden force sent him flying backward, only a short distance but it would be enough to make an exponential difference for his circuits. You saw your name leave his lips as he stared at you in wide-eyed shock. 

00:00

Chaos. 

The flashlights burned out as soon as the pulse hit, leaving you in complete darkness. Your drones’ speakers crackled with interference while electricity arced from their needles and into the ground. Heavy footsteps rushed past you toward the stairs, someone carrying something large enough to catch and knock over boxes on the way out. Mountains of cardboard came crashing down in a mess around you just as your vest began to sizzle and pop as it shot sparks in every direction. You were lucky; it could have exploded instantly, but this time, you had a few extra seconds to react. 

Acting quickly, you finished slipping the vest off of you just as the batteries caught fire. One panicked throw later, it exploded midair, expelling fire and toxic gas everywhere. Spots on nearby boxes began to glow where the flaming debris landed, then they quickly erupted, and—you didn’t have time to stand there and watch. 

Connor. Where was he? You pushed blindly through toppled boxes until you found where his crumpled form had collapsed on the floor. A weak red glow from his LED told you that he survived the pulse. Good.

It would take his system time to reboot, and you didn’t know how long that would be. Meanwhile, fire and smoke and toxic vapors were quickly enveloping the room around you. You needed to get him somewhere safe, but your drones were still down here, too, and you didn’t know whether the fire would reach them while they were still shut down. Priorities. You’d do what you could. 

You crouched low to the ground, hooked your arms underneath Connor’s armpits, and lifted. He was heavier than expected. It took all of your strength and then some, but step by strained step, you started to drag him toward the stairwell. The air was already stinging in your lungs. You could feel your chest and throat tighten and swell in a futile attempt to resist the toxins. One foot behind the other. Further, further. 

The smoke was getting to you. You weren’t going to let it win, not yet. The flames were at least helpful in illuminating the room, and with a clear path to the stairs, you wasted no time hauling the android directly there. Involuntary coughs wracked your lungs, but you pushed through it, stumbling up the stairs. At least androids couldn’t suffocate. You only needed to get him far enough away to not catch fire, and he’d be safe.

Your chest hurt from breathing, your legs hurt from struggling, but you got Connor where he needed to be, stably balanced at the landing halfway up the stairs. Just to double-check, you glanced at his LED again. It was still red, but at least it was on. 

The basement, pitch-black only a minute ago, was alive with bright pillars of burning cardboard. And you, empathetic, desperate you, had no choice but to charge back in. Your drones were still in here somewhere. Dodging smoke above, ashes below, and sparks in between, you made for the side rooms that you’d ordered your drones to search. 

First room on the left: empty except for a desk in the center. You lowered your head to the ground to make sure there was nothing underneath it. No drones here. Time was running out, or at least you thought it was. Where were you, again? Why was the floor spinning?

You crawled your way out and then into the next room over. Cabinets and counters lined two walls to form a corner, with an empty space for an appliance below; a break room. One of your drones had dug itself into the ground just inches away from where you were now. With trembling hands, you pried its robotic arms from the floor and tucked it under one arm, and headed out. You were so dizzy, and every breath was a painful, searing gasp. Not yet. You weren’t done yet. 

Next room. Another drone. The details didn’t matter to you anymore, and it was getting difficult to see anyway as the smoke clouded your vision. You retrieved your second drone and made a mad dash for the stairs to get them safe. The flames around you bit at your skin, searing small streaks on your arms, but you didn’t care. Just one more drone, and everyone would make it out just fine. Just one more. Everything hurt so much. You fought to stay upright as you reached the bottom of the stairs, your two drones clutched protectively to your sides.

But this time, your body won, and you collapsed. You used the last of your strength in a feeble attempt to toss the two rescued drones up the last few steps, but they didn’t make it all the way. Instead, they tumbled back down and onto your chest. You couldn’t move, and yet you had to. You were so close, you couldn’t stop now. You were almost safe...

The last thing you saw before losing consciousness was Connor’s yellow LED. 

Chapter Text

JULY 1ST, 2039
5:54 P.M.

The day flew by in a blur. As far as you were told, an ambulance had already been on-site in preparation to receive the gunshot victim, and it was used to take you to the hospital instead. The first thing you actually remembered was several hours later, when you woke up in a white bed with a plastic mask pushing oxygen through your nose and mouth.

An all-android team of doctors and nurses took care of you around the clock and had you rest in bed for a full 24 hours. They turned away visitors; any attempt by you to talk to them could interrupt the healing process for your lungs and throat. It was a good thing you made it out when you did, they said. One more minute and the damage would have been irreversible, even with an EMT on hand. You didn’t remember making it out of that basement at all, in fact, and at your confusion they explained that you had been carried outside by some detective.

As soon as you were released from the hospital, you made straight for a half-day of work at the DPD. Captain Fowler recommended that you go home and take a long weekend off, but you persisted anyway to check on your drones. In the kennel, all three ‘A’ crew drones were sitting in place when you arrived, but only two ‘H’ drones remained.

After an affectionate reunion with your swarm, you set to work building a new drone out of spare parts. The setback would be hard on you and on its crewmates, but at least your backup data could help clone some of the lost drone’s memories into the new body. But that would have to be later; it was taking longer than expected to assemble the internal electronics, and before you knew it, it was almost six o’clock: time to get credit for that hand-to-hand combat training.

You bid your drones good night, but not before uploading some games to their memory, a virtual chew toy to occupy them until the night shift settled in to keep them company. Since the kennels had a door directly out to the training yard, you didn’t have an excuse to drop by the desk of any particularly likable coworker on the way out. You’d see him soon enough anyway—or would you? Stepping out into the yard, you weren’t able to spot him among the other officers who had gathered already.

Today’s training was organized into pairs. Gavin and Chris were standing ready in front of the instructor, a tall, blond sergeant who you hadn’t spoken with very much so far. Tina and Mike were whispering excitedly to each other off to the side, Ben was exchanging a few practice drills with an android rookie, even Hank was standing at a corner with his arms folded. You sauntered over toward the latter. It was never easy to get along with the prickly lieutenant, but he and Connor were close, and you figured if anyone could tell you anything about what was going on, it was him.

“Hi, Lieutenant Anderson,” you started a little timidly.

“He’s over there.” Hank skipped the pleasantries and pointed toward the kennel doors. They were swinging shut behind Connor as you turned to look; you must have just missed him on your way out.

One day, you’d figure out how to win this guy’s respect. But that could wait. You thanked Hank and headed over to intercept Connor on his path toward the crowd.

“Detective, long time no see! I haven’t talked to you since last month,” you joked, throwing out your arms to invite a big hug.

The best he could manage, though, was a hoarse “Hello, Handler,” delivered through a tight sliver of a smile. He kept his distance and lined up beside you, facing the instructor with his hands at his side, fingers curled into half-fists.

You blinked. Was it something you said? The way he was facing, you couldn’t see his LED, but he sure was focused on staring straight ahead and avoiding eye contact with you. The tension was contagious, and you found yourself crossing your arms in contemplation. Maybe you could check in after this and find out what was bothering him so much.

The ‘class’ was nothing you hadn’t seen before, but it was always helpful to practice. The instructor led everyone through warm-ups, stretches, basic fighting drills. Then, pairs of training partners took turns disarming toy guns and knives from each other, as well as escaping from bad positions, like headlocks and hostage holds.

All the while, Connor wasn’t going easy on you. He flowed through the motions with an indifferent ease, a perfectly-timed pivot here, a purposeful flick of the wrist there. He was hard to pin down and even harder to escape from. On one hand, you were able to improve on your own technique by emulating him when it was your turn. On the other, his strength was frustrating in its own way. His grip was a little too tight, and lasted a little too long whenever you tapped out. You soon broke a sweat from the sheer effort of putting up a passable fight.

“Three-minute break,” the instructor announced. “We’ll go over handcuffing and grappling, then we’re done for the night.”

Most of the human officers went to get their water bottles, while the androids headed indoors to cool down their systems in the air-conditioned office. You took the opportunity to call Connor over to a quiet bench at the edge of the yard. It was obvious by the conflict across his face that he considered ignoring you, but loyalty or perhaps guilt won over, and he forced himself to sit down next to you.

“Hey,” you greeted him, your voice soft with concern. “Is everything okay? Something’s different about you.”

He was staring at the ground, eyebrows furrowed. His LED struggled between shades of yellow and red as he leaned forward, gripping his knees with his hands. “I don’t know,” came his reply after a long silence.

Poor guy. It was easy to forget sometimes, with how easily he processed information and analyzed the world around him, that Connor still had a great deal of learning to do. Emotions were still a totally new experience for him, and unlike humans, he didn’t have a lifetime of memories to teach him how to engage with his feelings. Not knowing how to feel better, not knowing what to even call his feelings in the first place, that had to be one of the most difficult challenges he’d ever faced. You only hoped he understood that he didn’t have to face it alone.

“Maybe there’s something I can do to help. I could ask Sergeant Yates to let you leave early, so you can get some rest?” The offer was genuine, but you could tell your words were barely even registering with your friend.

Another long pause. A resigned smile tugged at the corners of his lips, then quickly disappeared. “I don’t think it would help.”

You insisted only just enough to let him know you were there for him. “Did someone do something to you? Was it Gavin? ‘Cause if so, I’ll sic the 3Os on him. Even if it wasn’t him, if it’ll help you feel better.”

He shook his head no. All he needed was some more time to think, or so he hoped. Time to think and work through all the different things he wanted to do right now, to figure out why.

As the class began to gather at the center of the field once again, you and Connor stood up to join them. “I’m here for you,” you whispered to him on the way over. He glanced at you, but you couldn't be sure if he heard you.

The instructor guided each pair of officers through various handcuffing drills; how to deal with a suspect who was squirmy but nonviolent, how to check if they were telling the truth when complaining about the handcuffs being too tight. Every now and then, you’d be so focused on wondering what Connor was thinking that you’d miss what the instructor said, and you had to watch the other pairs to figure out what was going on. Something similar must have been happening for him, because on his turns, you were able to slip the cuffs more than once, forcing him to start over with a firmer grip.

Finally, it was time to practice grappling. The instructor demonstrated a few maneuvers with a volunteer, then had everyone start on their knees, facing their partners with their hands on each other’s shoulders. It wasn’t easy to see, but you realized Connor was trembling when your hands met his shoulders.

You considered giving him an easy win. But when the instructor said ‘go,’ it turned out that wasn’t going to be an issue. Connor lunged forward, pushing your shoulders at full force. You would have ended up on your back right away if you hadn’t scooted a knee out of the way in time to pivot out of his momentum, throwing him to your side. Before he could recover, you dove for his back, then you did your best to hold him down with an elbow while you adjusted yourself into a better position. He interrupted your search for an advantage by pushing against the ground and arching his back to knock you away—a move that required considerable strength to pull off. Maybe it was a challenge he was looking for, and honestly, you were enjoying the chance to blow off some steam, too.

The two of you were back up on your knees within seconds. Around you, some of the other officers had a clear winner within their pairs: Tina had Mike pinned with an arm behind his back, Ben had a good hold on one of the rookie’s legs (until the rookie simply detached their leg, allowing them to escape and fight on). You wouldn’t have time to see how that played out, though, because Connor was already coming at you again. This time, when you tried the same trick to dodge out of the way, he swung around to chase you down with another forceful push. A light grunt sprang from your chest as you landed flat on your back. Connor towered over you, maintaining his grip on your shoulders.

There was something different about him now, a hunger in his eyes that brought blue to his cheeks and red to yours. He brought his body forward so that his knees were on either side of your abdomen, putting him out of reach of any serious threat from either your arms or your legs. It was a relatively standard mount, nothing you weren’t prepared to escape. You’d wrap your left leg around his right calf, trap his right arm with your left, and drive your right elbow into his side, like pushing a door from its hinges...

But he was faster than you, scooting further up and raising his arms before you could get a good hold on him. If you wanted out, you were going to have to work for it.

The instructor called out behind you: “Okay, all. Once you finish up, you can go home.” You couldn’t see most of the class with Connor blocking your view, but by the sound of it, almost everyone else was ready to wrap things up. Beside you, Chris was tapping out of Gavin’s headlock, while the pair on your other side had already left the yard.

You locked eyes with Connor. He squinted at you, expecting you to tap the side of his leg, the training signal for I give up. You squinted back at him: not a chance. While the remainder of the class was filtering out, you took your time to contemplate your next move. One of the silly things about these training sessions was that they only actually taught you what to do from specific, standardized starting positions. What about someone who knew what to expect and blocked you from taking the most obvious course of action?

The last of your coworkers walked past with a teasing, “Later, lovebirds.” For a split-second, Connor glanced up and opened his mouth as if preparing to correct them. An opportunity. You reacted quickly, planting your hands and feet against the ground and bridging your abdomen forward. Caught off-guard, he put his hands on the ground on either side of your head to regain his balance. That was part of your plan, too; your hands came up to hold his arms in place until you could bring your legs up to replace them, essentially folding yourself in half in a way that lifted his weight off of your upper body.

Muscle was more flexible than plastic, an advantage you intended to use. You used your legs for leverage to bring your upper body down through the gap between Connor’s thighs, which ended up with you face-down behind him, finally out of his grasp. He gathered himself back up, and so did you.

By now, the two of you were alone in the training yard. The summer sun still painted the edges of the sky, but the station’s floodlights covered the yard in a blanket of white anyway, programmed to turn on at a particular time regardless of whether it was dark outside. The air was cooling down, the earth was soft beneath you; you were tempted to call it quits here and just enjoy the scenery for a little while. But Connor seemed to be itching to go again, and as soon as you steadied yourself, he took the initiative once more.

You were expecting him to try and push you backward like before, but instead, he now charged you with his head tucked down and his right shoulder forward. His arms wrapped around you and lifted you off your knees for a moment, then slammed you down onto the ground despite your attempt to grab him in a headlock on the way down. When he got on top of you this time, he caught your wrists with his hands, pinning them to either side of your head.

His hold was tight, forceful. His grip tightened even further, starting to crush your ribs between his knees and your wrists between his hands. It crossed over into painful territory, beyond the purpose of practice. “Ow! Connor!” you yelped through gritted teeth.

Immediately, he let go of you and fell back onto his heels. His eyes were wide and his breaths were short, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare. “Sorry! I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he apologized, LED running red. “I think... I’m angry?”

He looked as surprised as you were. You rubbed your wrists and propped yourself up to face him, the both of you forgetting about sparring entirely. “Angry about what? Did something happen?”

It was a long time before he replied. “Yesterday, when the electromagnetic pulse went off, why did you push me away?” His voice, normally calm and patient, was stiff with impatience and reluctance at the same time.

But you didn’t see how his question was relevant. “What do you mean? You were too close to the device, it would’ve shut you down if you were next to me when it went off,” you answered with more than a little confusion.

Whatever he was thinking, though, it was logical to him. “Why didn’t-” he cut himself off from shouting, jerked his head to the side, and tried again at a regular volume. “Why didn’t you let me protect you? You knew that the batteries in your vest were going to explode. You almost threw away your life!”

That wasn’t his call to make. You clenched your jaw, holding back a defensive remark. “You saved me. And you’re mad at me for saving you? How is that fair?”

You held his gaze defiantly. He opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t have an answer. “It’s—You put yourself in danger,” he grasped. “I could have taken your vest off, but you pushed me away, and I, I thought you were going to die.”

“I thought you were going to die,” you reminded him.

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I really—when I woke up and saw you, you were almost dead. Your heart was barely beating, there wasn’t enough oxygen in your blood. If the ambulance hadn’t already been there when I brought you out, you would’ve...” The anger was gone from his voice, replaced with a broken cadence of fear and grief. He searched your face with pleading eyes, but even he didn’t know what for.

When it seemed he was lost for words, you tried offering a bit of levity: “I’m sure for a second, you had to think about how much work it would be to find a new training partner.”

But he wasn’t interested in joking his way out of it. “It’s more than that,” he insisted. “I thought about how I’d never see you laugh at your own jokes again. I thought I’d never hear you cheer for me, or make fun of me while your drones chase me around. How—How I’d never get to ask how your day is when you pass my desk on the way to the break room. You’d never smile again, I couldn’t—I can’t—” Tears streaked down his cheeks as his voice gave way to a series of sobs.

“Connor, you’re crying,” you murmured. You were on the verge of tears yourself, seeing him hurt like this. Not that you regretted risking your life for his, you’d do that again in a heartbeat. But you hadn’t imagined how hard it must have been on him to have that choice taken away from him. How long did he hold you in his arms, mourning a loss he had come so close to preventing?

You reached forward to caress his cheek, gently wiping his tears with your thumb. His skin was warm and pliable, and you could feel the contours of the sensors and servos underneath that worked to give him his expression. Like a wounded animal, he closed his eyes and leaned readily into your hand. The two of you stayed like that, sharing silent comfort between shattered breaths.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered with his eyes still closed.

“You won’t,” you promised.

Chapter Text

JULY 4TH, 2039
9:41 P.M.

The Fourth of July was one of the busiest times of the year for the DPD. Public disturbances, noise complaints, fire hazards, even traffic was kind of a nightmare as drunk drivers funneled in and out of all the big firework events. This year was the busiest your precinct had ever seen. Ever since the historic protest outside Recall Center No. 5, Hart Plaza had become a landmark attraction for androids across the country, and the city was now bursting with tourists for the holiday. 

You and at least a dozen other officers had the not-so-glamorous assignment of monitoring the plaza for the night, also known as standing around and staring awkwardly into the crowd while everyone else had all the fun. The higher ranks had their hands full with emergency calls, and there wasn’t much reason to assign detectives to a basic crowd-monitoring detail. But you were on friendly enough terms with your patrolmates to pass the time with idle conversation, plus you had your overly eager summer intern, Kevin, running a steady stream of snacks and sodas to each of you from the food stands. It wasn’t so bad. You were almost able to forget the fact that you had been standing for more than two hours straight by now. 

The fireworks weren’t scheduled to begin until 10. While the crowd was still settling down, you snuck a peek at your phone, scrolling down through your texts with Connor:

YOU
6:59 P.M.
Guess who’s getting overtime pay to stand around :D I hope your case is going well!!

CONNOR
6:59 P.M.
Thanks. It’s getting weird over here. Tell you more later. Good luck on your shift!

YOU
8:38 P.M.
omg Kevin just stepped on a kid’s rc car and broke it lol. The kid is being super sweet about it but I’m pretty sure Kevin will carry that guilt for the rest of his life

CONNOR
8:39 P.M.
I’m sorry to hear that. In fairness, it sounds like that car was bound to get stepped on in a place like Hart Plaza. 

YOU
8:40 P.M.
It really was. Any chance you’ll be done with your work soon?

CONNOR
8:40 P.M.
I don’t know yet. I just brought in a suspect. About to do some questioning. This could take hours.

YOU
8:40 P.M
Yikes, well you got this! I believe in you

That was an hour ago. He did say hours, plural, but you figured you’d check anyway. A part of you had hoped to invite him to join you at the plaza, even if you were still on duty. Connor was so easy to talk to, and anywhere you went, you found yourself wishing he was there with you. Lately, you looked forward to the smallest moments with him from day to day. His gentle features, his attentive questions, his goofy smiles at all of your jokes—even if he didn’t seem to understand them half the time... Was your admiration for him more than a matter of synergy between detective and handler?

Movement in your peripheral vision brought you back to reality. Two of your drones hovered expectantly in front of you, ready for you to help them onto their charger hooks. Your new ‘mothership’ vest was lined with Faraday pockets in the front, which protected the batteries inside from electromagnetic interference but also made it harder for your drones to interface with the chargers on their own. 

You inspected them for damage first, but they trilled cheerfully back: there was nothing wrong, they just wanted to rest their sensors for a while. “Enjoy your break,” you chuckled. Even drones needed some processing time to themselves. 

As for you, it was back to your people-watching duties. The time passed quickly enough with so much going on. Rowdy parties of bargoers stumbled past amateur buskers, voices raised to talk over the acoustic guitars. Frustrated parents herded their children past enterprising toy vendors who, surprisingly, each had the proper licenses to sell here, according to your drones. A few young couples were pushing their way to find a less crowded spot where they could watch the fireworks. Kevin emerged from the crowd with a huge cinnamon-coated pretzel and a handful of napkins, nodding toward a particularly amorous couple as he leaned back against the hood of your patrol car.

“Got the goods!” He smiled proudly. You congratulated him for making it through the crowd alive, and he handed you a piece as tribute. Through a mouthful of pretzel, he asked, “So, androids and humans dating each other over there. What d’you think? Do you think it could work out?”

You tilted your head doubtfully. “Maybe to see what it’s like, but I’d be surprised if an android wanted anything long-term with a human. Why do you ask?” 

“I met a guy last semester. He’s an AP700, took out a loan so he could study archaeology. We’re in this weird sort of situationship right now,” Kevin confided in you. For whatever reason, he took another bite from his pretzel and decided to continue speaking, in that order. “Why wouldn’t an android want to be with a human?” Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket, but it could wait until after your conversation.

You looked down at your shoes. “Androids can literally connect with the touch of a hand. They can share all their memories, all their feelings, directly from one mind to the other.” It was a topic you’d thought about at length. What could be more intimate than to experience every detail of every aspect of who a person is? You answered honestly, “I think a bond with a human would feel superficial for them by comparison. There’s no way we can compete.”

“Oh.” Kevin’s shoulders slumped. “I guess that makes sense.”

Oops. In your own hopelessness, you had forgotten what answer he wanted to hear. “Nothing’s set in stone, though, I’m sure you can make things work with your classmate. What’s his name?” you tried to reassure him, then quickly changed the subject. 

He and you chatted about his situation with the AP700, how they met at a frat party, how their relationship statuses were both ‘single,’ but they kept doings things that most friends wouldn’t do with each other. During a natural lull in the conversation, you pulled up your phone to see one unread text on your screen:

CONNOR
9:52 P.M.
Turn around

You whipped your head around so hastily that you almost lost your balance. A steady hand appeared at your back to keep you from falling, but it didn’t come from Kevin. Looking up, you found Connor’s chocolate eyes staring into yours from a rather favorable distance. “Hello, Handler.”

“Detective?” Instinct pulled you toward him into a friendly hug, though you had to lean over a little to keep your drones from getting crushed. Instead of the usual, smooth texture of Connor’s jacket, you were surprised to feel a thinner undershirt between your hands and his back. When you pulled away, you looked him up and down: although the rest of the uniform was there, his jacket was missing. The sleeves of his undershirt were rolled up halfway, revealing his forearms and flattering his figure. 

Of course CyberLife would go for the most conventionally attractive contours when they designed his body. As much as you tended to find beauty in variations, or as many people would call them, ‘flaws,’ even you had to admit he wore his perfection well. The way his hydraulic tubing rippled beneath that thin shirt like muscles in all the right places...

Your cheeks burned red as you realized you were ogling him a little too long, and he looked down at himself with a self-conscious frown. “My jacket was stained with thirium today,” he explained. “It’s currently being washed. Do I look bad without it?”

“Well, I like what I see,” the words flew from your mouth before you could catch them. “I mean—That’s workplace harassment, isn’t it?—You look perfectly, um, standard.” No, that’s also weird to say. You corrected yourself again, “I have no opinion on what you’re wearing.” 

His face was unreadable, save for a slight crinkle by his eyes that you hoped to interpret as amusement. Clearly, the only way you were getting out of this was by changing the subject. You cleared your throat. “How long were you standing there, anyway, waiting for me to turn around?”

Longer than he cared to admit. “Aren’t you going to ask me how my case went?” he deflected instead of answering you. 

It was hard to feign annoyance when you were already grinning. “Ah yes, where are my manners, Detective? How did your case go?”

You were expecting an analytical report on some senseless homicide, but this time, Connor was so excited to tell you that he could hardly keep still. “I wish you could’ve seen it! Hank and I uncovered a huge biocomponent counterfeiting operation. We caught a rogue manufacturer red-handed, I got her to confess, and the District Attorney is writing up a deal for her to testify against her co-conspirators,” he listed off like a kid recounting all the gifts at a birthday party. 

“Wow, what a night! That’s awesome, Connor, I’m proud of you.” You matched his enthusiasm as if his successes were your own. No matter how much he deviated from the original RK800 programming, it seemed he always retained a passion for completing his missions. “I’m sorry to have missed it. So is Kevin. Right, Kevin?” you half-joked, but the intern was already preoccupied with something on his phone. No doubt his ‘friend’ had posted something new for him to over-analyze on one social media page or another.

“Thanks, Handler.” Despite his long day of work, Connor’s LED shone a bright, elated blue. He stood up a little straighter, looking out into the crowd. “I was in a hurry to get here. I know your shift gets busy soon, but I wanted to see, you know, the fireworks.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s right. You were working indoors on New Year’s Eve, weren’t you? This’ll be your first time seeing fireworks in person?” He nodded. That was before the 3O program started. You remembered having one of the first clerical assignments of the year; when you were on your way into the station, Connor was on his way out. It felt bad knowing he missed the show then, but now he had another chance at last. “You’re in for a treat!” you hyped it up. “CyberLife started sponsoring holo-projectors for the city a few years ago, and their absolute precision and use of color is, well, you’re about to find out.”

Cameras and phone screens were coming out, all pointed at the sky above the river. Your four active drones moved to intercept various harmless, but still prohibited, civilian camera drones that attempted to fly above the crowd. 

“Handler, I should tell you something,” muttered Connor. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop before, but when it comes to androids and humans, I—” He was interrupted by hundreds of cheers echoing across the plaza. 

That must be the cue! You patted his hand to get his attention, pointing with your other hand to the night sky. “It’s starting!” you whispered excitedly.

Normally, fireworks shows could be hit or miss. But now that they had tourists to please (and a steep sales tax to collect), Detroit was home to one of the most beautiful displays in the country. The fireworks started off small and staggered, with a few generic bursts here and there, but the display soon escalated like a symphony accelerando. Pop, pop, crackles filled the air as the night lit up in multicolored hues. Fiery streaks of red blazed across the sky and left trails of colored smoke behind, illuminated by bright blue dahlias whose edges were tracked by holographic white stars. Along the river, smaller sparkles rose up and fizzled out in a nonstop stream of confetti-like colors, which reflected in bright splashes off the surface of the water. Every wave of fireworks brought something more interesting than the last, mixed colors dancing around in dazzling flourishes of light.

You were so mesmerized by the display that you didn’t notice you had left your hand resting on his. You also didn’t notice that Connor was no longer watching the sky at all. Turned to his side with a speechless smile, he was watching you. Each firework reflected as a galaxy in the space of your eyes, and the look of innocent wonder on your face inspired in him the same feelings toward you as you felt for the fireworks. You were a sight to behold, if only you could know it as he did.

All you noticed was the feeling of being watched. After a while, you peeked over at Connor only to see him looking back at you with adoring eyes. When did his face get so close to yours? You tilted your head slightly. If he leaned any closer, you just might...

Unfortunately, your fellow officers were similarly distracted, and no one was watching the crowd except for your drones. An abrupt siren alerted you to where your drones were closing in above an athletic teenager as he pushed his way toward the back of the plaza. You recognized the tone of their alarms: “A pickpocket. Crap, I’m still on duty.” 

The fireworks were just getting to the best part, but your job was to turn your back on the fireworks and chase after the thief. “Detroit PD! Stay where you are!” you called out. Not that any suspect ever actually followed that instruction, but he did have the right to hear it.

The drones on your vest wriggled free and joined the rest of the swarm in pursuit, each aiming a different paralytic at the pickpocket but reluctant to fire in such a crowded space. It was a good thing they trained for this just last week. Half the swarm sped past his trajectory and cut off his escape, giving the others a more stationary target to swipe at with their tasers.

Illuminated by continuing bursts of red, white, and blue, Connor sped past you and shuffled his way through the crowd. Your drones were faster to succeed, but only by a few seconds: the pickpocket was shivering on the ground when Connor reached him. He quickly placed a knee on the suspect’s back and slapped a pair of handcuffs on in one fluid motion. Wait, but he didn’t have a kit belt or any other equipment with him?

You looked down at your own belt to see your handcuffs missing from their usual spot. Very funny, Connor. Once you reached them, you called off your drones and set to work announcing to the teenager his arrest on suspicion of pickpocketing, reciting his rights, and so on. The action was pretty brief in comparison to the administrative procedures you now had to go through. At least you had your coworkers to help; Kevin offered to help reassure the civilians while you and Connor loaded the suspect into the backseat of your car.

The arrest ended up taking much longer than the fireworks. In the end, Kevin stayed back to watch, while you and Connor were back at the station booking the world’s most entitled high school dropout. Among the possessions you confiscated, he claimed to have ‘earned’ all three phones and all four wallets he had stuffed into his jacket. You didn’t bother to argue back.

It was almost midnight by the time you were done filling out your reports and debriefing with your drones on their job well done. The rest could be taken care of by the few officers who were assigned to the night shift at the station. An involuntary yawn escaped as you stood up from your computer terminal, looking forward to a good night’s sleep. But when you turned to leave, you noticed Connor leaning against the frame of the kennel doors.

“Hey, thanks for your help back there. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see the rest of the show,” you remarked as you approached him.

He turned and matched your pace, ready to accompany you out of the station. “Don’t mention it. I’m happy to help.”

“It seems like we can never get through a full conversation without things getting violent,” you chuckled.

As always, Connor matched your smile but took your words seriously. “We could try talking somewhere more peaceful. Say, outside of work?”

Now there was an idea. You always assumed he had better things to do than sit there listening to you yap, but if it was his suggestion? You nodded as eagerly as manners would allow. “Yeah, I... I’d like that. But not tonight, I really need to sleep. I’ll text you later?”

“Sounds like a plan. Good night, Handler.” He waved at you from the station’s exit.

“Good night, Detective.” You waved back, and walked outside to your car.

Chapter Text

JULY 5TH, 2039
12:30 A.M.

You were walking the awkward couple of blocks from the parking lot to your apartment when you happened to make eye contact with Hank through the front window of a local bar. You realized too late that you weren’t really on friendly enough terms to wave at each other. But you already paused outside the window, and now you were just staring at each other, which was arguably more uncomfortable. 

Obviously, the only way to recover from the situation was to act like you definitely meant to look inside this bar, and why? Because you were going in. Yup, this was happening.

The inside was crowded and humid and smelled of cheap alcohol and old leather. Before you knew it, you were ordering your typical drink across the counter, and Hank was doing his best to pretend you didn’t exist. And wouldn’t you know it, he was next to the only open seat at the bar. 

“Hi, Lieutenant,” you muttered as the bartender handed you your drink. 

He nodded to you, and then away: “Shaun? Another.” Now it was his turn to watch the bartender pour him a shot, just long enough to have to acknowledge her but not enough time to really say anything meaningful. 

You sat in silence for a respectable few seconds. 

“I’m sure you know this, but if you let your drink sit under your tongue, it’ll get you drunk faster. There’s a spot that directly connects to the bloodstream, so you can skip waiting to absorb it through your stomach.” You guessed Hank would appreciate the suggestion, and based on his attempt to follow it right away, you could safely assume you were right. (A/N: Do not try this at home.)

The grizzled veteran ran out of patience and swallowed the last of his drink instead, but at least now he was in as close to a ‘talking’ mood as he was going to get. “You got something to say?” he asked gruffly. 

In fact, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. “Actually, I’ve been wondering for a while. Genuinely, have I done something to offend you, or do you just dislike me in general?”

“You didn’t offend me.” He sneered as if the very suggestion was an insult. Then, on second thought, he looked you over with a more neutral posture. “I just don’t like people who make my friends uncomfortable.”

What friends? You and Hank had only one friend in common, and that was... “I do? I thought Connor’s pretty comfortable with me.”

“Yeah? Well, something you’re doing makes him nervous. Every time he talks about you, he tenses up like he’s going to puke, and then he stays like that for hours. Fucks up his focus on the case.”

You flinched. “Oh, wow. I’m sorry, I don’t know why he would feel that way,” was all you could offer in response. Hank seemed content to leave it at that, and the silence stretched on. But another burning question came to your mind. “What does he say about me?”

He leaned away from you. The bridge of his nose was scrunched up and his eyebrows were furrowed; you recognized the same face Gavin usually made at you whenever you told him a particularly stupid joke. “Just be nice to the guy, alright? Anything you do to him, I will do to you.”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying is supposed to...” you trailed off as you recognized that he was staring back down at his drink, and the conversation was over. “Got it.”

Chapter Text

JULY 6TH, 2039
6:12 P.M.

A long-haired man in a grey hoodie leaned back in his chair across from KNC’s famous anchor, Rosanna Cartland. It was hard to hear over the sound of running water in front of you, so you used the remote function on your phone to turn on captions from the kitchen counter. 

“Studies have shown that, like humans, androids who have similar knowledge and skills are more likely to vote for the same political candidates,” the man was explaining. “So, along with giving androids the right to vote, the proposed amendment ensures that no one can mass-produce voters for a single candidate or party. It does this first by limiting the amount of starting knowledge that can be downloaded onto new androids, and second by enforcing the minimum age to vote, so they have time to form their own, unbiased opinions.”

Rosanna turned to face the camera. “Thank you, Mr. Kamski. That’s all the time we have, but tune back in to KNC News tomorrow morning for our coverage of the House of Representatives as deliberations begin...” They were about to transition to a sports segment next. You muted the TV.

As satisfying as it might be to clean the dishes, you hurried up to finish wiping them down as hastily as possible. The key to relaxing after a long day of work was to spend as little effort as possible on anything you didn’t actively want to do.

Just as you set down the last plate, a series of three perfectly identical knocks alerted you to the arrival of an android at your door. You paused to look over your living space one last time to make sure it didn't magically get messy since the last time you checked, that is, in the past five minutes. Everything where it should be, presentable enough.

You knew exactly who to expect at the door. “Hey-y! You’re here early,” you greeted him with a welcoming smile.

Connor’s clothes and hair were damp with the light rain from outside, though it didn’t stop that persistent cowlick from sticking out over his forehead. Ever the professional, he gave a respectful little bow of his head. “Hello, Handler. May I come in?”

You were already holding the door open by that point. Clearly you stepped back to make room for him to enter, but he stood still all the same. Those clueless puppy-dog eyes followed your movements expectantly: he was waiting for a yes-or-no answer, you realized. “Yeah? Whenever you’re ready.”

He stepped past you and took in his surroundings. For you, it appeared as if he was only briefly getting his bearings, but his flickering LED betrayed the high-speed processing within his mind palace. How much did he learn about you from a few seconds of analyzing your apartment?

You tried not to think too hard about it and instead busied yourself fetching a towel for him, in case he didn't feel like air-drying from the rain. “I’d offer you something to eat, too, but I’m fresh out of microchips,” you joked as you led him to the couch. Hospitality was simultaneously easier and more difficult with an android guest; unlike with humans, there wasn’t much you could offer to show you cared about their comfort.

“I wasn’t hungry anyway,” he forgave you with all sincerity, but his smirk told you he was in on the joke. “Your text said you wanted to invite me to ‘Bad Movie Night.’ Is that what it sounds like?”

You nodded. “We pick a random movie that’s rated worse than 2 stars, and we spend the whole time trying to guess what the characters are going to say next. Each point you get, everyone else takes a shot, er...” Okay, you’d only done this with human friends before. It wouldn’t make much sense to have an android drink alcohol if it had no effect on them. “I guess we can tally up the scores, loser owes the winner a favor?”

“I don’t understand. Why would we watch a movie that we already know is bad?”

“Because! It’s funny, and also that way we don’t have to worry about missing anything important if we talk over it.”

With Connor in agreement, you switched the TV over to one of many movie streaming services and scrolled all the way to the bottom. Poorly edited posters and old AI-generated art filled the screen. “How about that one?” he suggested, pointing at a thumbnail that was literally just half of a glass jar against a black background. It was so perfectly unhelpful in telling either of you what to expect, you complimented him on the good choice and started it up. 

The opening sequence turned out to be one of those montages of random city footage with a full-length royalty-free song playing over the credits, which provided little to comment on. To pass the time, you and Connor started chatting about small topics. How it was nice to have some rain in the summer, what he thought about seeing fireworks for the first time on Monday. “I ran into Lieutenant Anderson later that night, actually,” you mentioned. “He seems to think I make you nervous.”

He hummed thoughtfully as if he didn’t entirely disagree. “Perhaps recently, I have worried I may do something that... puts our friendship at risk?”

What he could mean by that, you didn’t know to ask. You imagined that he was worried about accidentally insulting you for your human imperfections, or maybe about prioritizing his mission over you in a case. But those were things you were already prepared to forgive him for, and you certainly couldn’t imagine that he was capable of anything worse. You leaned back against the couch and reassured him, “You shouldn’t worry about that. Anything that could seriously end our friendship, I’m pretty sure you would never do.”

“That’s true,” he recited absently between tightened lips. Despite the agreement in his words, his unconvinced demeanor set a spark of uncertainty gnawing at your stomach. What could he possibly have in mind that was so terrible? Whatever it was, he clearly wasn’t ready to talk about it, at least not with you.

The opening credits came to an end, and you returned your focus to the movie. An unnecessarily slow zoom-out showed first a view of two wrinkled hands interlocked on a wooden surface, then an old couple holding hands on a bench in front of a sunset. “‘We’ve always known that we belong together,’” you predicted. 

Connor snapped his head toward you, eyebrows raised. He opened his mouth to say something, but within the same second, a voice-over from the TV echoed after you: “We knew it was our destiny to be together since the moment we met.”

You pumped your fist in the air. “First point of the night!”

The game had begun, and the competition was fierce. Connor scored the next point later in the same narration: “‘It all started years ago, when we first met,’” only for you to regain the lead one scene later: “‘If you two don’t stop arguing, I’ll turn this car around!’” 

And so on you went, giggling all the way at the predictable scripting and poor production value of a movie that took itself way too seriously. It was trying to be a mystery-horror-romance about an allergic reaction to a ‘love potion,’ which was an admirable goal, but in practice it was barely comprehensible as a plot. The protagonist parroted medically impossible explanations given by generic ‘doctors’ in wrinkled lab coats, a side character repeatedly antagonized one of the love interests for no reason, all through poorly lit shots from unflattering angles at a crisp 480p resolution. You loved every second of it, and Connor seemed to be enjoying himself too, laughter lighting up his eyes as he leaned forward to focus on the screen. 

Your scores were tied when the movie reached what should logically be the very last scene (though you never know for sure with these). The main love interest was thanking the protagonist for something that happened completely off-screen, and the music was building up to signal some kind of dramatic finale. The film crew's boom mic lowered down in front of the protagonist's forehead, you could really hear his every breath at a volume way louder than the music itself.

Then, the TV froze.

A spinning icon popped up to indicate that the movie was buffering, but that your internet router had chosen that very moment to install a new update.

“There’s no way!” you groaned. “We have to know what happens to the rest of the potion. They owe us that much.”

Connor was the picture of peace beside you. “I don’t mind waiting. Or we could always make up an ending ourselves?”

“That’s cheating. But clever,” you added, but honestly you were willing to wait it out as well. How long could a software update possibly take?

The glint of something shiny caught your eye. While you watched the screen for signs of progress, Connor was passing a coin from one hand to the other, always catching it mid-flip between two fingers with perfect precision. You’d seen his coin tricks a few times before. Even if it was just supposed to be for calibration, it always looked incredibly cool. And he made it look so easy, too. When he noticed you were watching, he added new flourishes to his tricks, spinning the coin on a fingertip, rolling it from one knuckle to another, a hint of a secret smile pulling at his cheeks.

You solicited his attention with a questioning nod of your head. “Can I try?”

“Of course,” he accepted before tossing the coin over toward you. You narrowly managed to catch it between both hands. Realizing that if you dropped his coin here, there was a chance it would get lost under the couch, you stood up and moved to a more open space. 

On your very first attempt, you missed terribly and had to chase the coin around after it flew from your grasp. Connor did his best to advise you on your next try. “You’ll have better luck if you keep your hands even with each other. Try to catch where the coin is going to be, not where you first see it.”

By attempt number six, you were kind of able to knock the coin out of its trajectory as it flew past your hand, but that was nothing close to actually being able to catch it. 

By the tenth attempt, he stood up. It was too difficult to sit there and watch you struggle. “You’re making it harder than it has to be. Here, let me show you,” he offered, reaching out to take his coin back.

But you held it up out of reach. “No no no, I almost got it. I almost got it!” you laughed. “One more try! Okay maybe like five more tries?”

“Let me show you first! You’ll get it right away.” He leaned toward you, stretching himself further to reach the coin in your hand and almost managing to take it. 

You stepped backward to evade him, but you miscalculated how much space there was behind you. Your right calf caught against the edge of a coffee table, interrupting your stride and knocking you off-balance. At least your reflexes were sharp enough to grab the nearest thing to steady yourself. Except that meant you reflexively gripped Connor by his shirt, which only pulled him down with you. 

You squeaked in surprise as you tumbled down toward the coffee table. Just in time, Connor wrapped an arm around your shoulder to reach the back of your neck with his hand, providing a safe barrier between your skull and the far edge of the table. His chest knocked the breath from yours as he landed on top of you with a solid thud!

The sudden impact of the fall left you stunned. By the time you regained your senses, Connor was using one hand to prop himself up over you while he trailed the other hand along the back of your head, assessing for injuries. “No internal bleeding,” he exhaled in relief, “You’re okay.” The warmth of his breath tickled your skin, and your inner thighs tingled where his knees pressed against them in his effort to keep his weight from crushing you.

“I bet you say that to all the 3O handlers who invite you over and then viciously attack you,” you huffed in mock indignation, a lighter alternative to making the obvious apology.

“Only the pretty ones,” he murmured softly, barely louder than a whisper. He was lucky; the light from the windows was all but gone by this time of night, and the glow of the TV screen wasn’t enough to reveal the bright blue thirium that rushed to his cheeks. 

You were lucky, too. The same darkness hid the fact that you were blushing just as deeply. Even though it was supposed to be a joke, you didn’t feel like laughing. No, something was different. Maybe it was the adrenaline from falling, but in the intensity of the moment, your heart was beating a mile a minute, your breaths were coming in short and quick, and there was only one thing in the world you wanted to do. 

For one dangerous second, you wondered if he wanted to kiss you as badly as you wanted to kiss him. 

Of course not, you answered yourself a second later. Connor was perfect. He was brilliant, talented, handsome, patient, and absolutely adorable no matter what he did. And you were, well, you, so very far beneath. If he ever wanted anyone, he would choose someone just as perfect, not you. Your hopes were impossible. 

That didn’t necessarily mean you couldn’t reach forward with a hand, up past his shoulder, ready to pull gently at his jaw, guide him closer. Rhyme and reason be damned. His lips were right there asking for it, only inches away...

But as if to confirm your doubts, he pushed himself away from the table and onto his feet. You sat up to face him, watching his LED blink between yellow and blue. “You good?”

He was backing away slowly, some form of fear drawing his eyebrows together. His hands stayed out in front of him, as if to create a space between you, what could it mean except that he had no interest in being so close? With a quiet sigh, he addressed you by name. “We’re... friends, right? We’ll always be friends?”

Friends. Of course. Skip to the ‘acceptance’ stage, you told yourself. If that was all he wanted, you had no right to ask for more. “Always,” the word burned through your lungs. You never thought it could be so painful to smile. 

“Well, I’m glad you aren’t hurt. I, I have an early day at work tomorrow?” Technically, that much was true, and you both knew it. It was also the most polite excuse available for him to tell you he wanted to leave.

“Yeah. Yeah, you should, um, I’ll see you tomorrow,” you stammered out. As you stood up to escort him out, something clacked against the table and you remembered: “Hey, wait, I still have your coin—”

But the door was already closed, and you were alone.

Chapter Text

JULY 7TH, 2039
4:01 P.M.

“What am I going to do, Heph?”

The workspace in the 3O van was cramped and inefficient, but at least it was an excuse to leave your vehicle running and enjoy some air conditioning. On days like these, you could end up on standby for hours just in case something went sideways with a routine arrest. So, you passed the time tinkering with your drones and occasionally chatting with them while they stood guard with you. 

On a whim, and with the drones’ approval, you had decided to paint names along the front of each of their frames: Ares, Artemis, and Athena for the ‘A’ crew, and Hades, Hera, and Hephaestus (or “Heph”) for the ‘H’ crew. It was long overdue. Each drone had already started to reveal its own personality, and now you finally had a way to address them as individuals.

A series of whines and beeps rose up from the partially disassembled drone on the workbench in front of you. The last of Heph’s replacement parts were delivered this morning, and at present you were installing the more volatile components behind the protection of insulated gloves and safety goggles. 

“Wha—Okay, look, you don’t just tell your friends that you want to be with them, when they’re that far out of your league,” you protested. “It makes them uncomfortable forever, and that makes you uncomfortable forever, and then I’m pretty sure the universe explodes.”

A couple of optimistic blips, the drones’ standard signal for ‘All Clear,’ sounded behind you. You didn’t need to look up from your work to recognize Ares and Athena teaming up against you. 

You scoffed back. “Yeah? And I suppose I’ll win the lottery, too, and everyone lives happily ever after? Look, I appreciate it, but I’m lucky we’re even friends. I just need to move on as fast as possible, and everything can go back to the way it was.” Now all you had to do was repeat that last bit to yourself a few hundred times, and you might start to believe it, too.

With the wires to the last component melted into place, you set your tools aside and closed up Heph’s access panel. Hopefully the replacement features would help, because Heph was still struggling to keep up with its crewmates during training. You gave it the backup memories of the drone you lost in the fire, but it wasn’t the same. Regulation required you to keep your backups compressed to guard against pattern-based decryption attempts, the result being that some of the restored memories were blurry, inaccurate, or missing entirely. 

Its propellers whirred to life once it was safe to move around again, and you scratched its back a little for calibration. “How’s the new gear?” you checked, and were answered by the green glow of the drone’s three status lights.

“3O-1, be advised. Two suspects heading your way, back exit. Prepare for pursuit with drones,” Connor’s voice cut in over the radio. Good timing, you were right about to step out of the van already.

You tapped at the communication controls built into your vest. “Ten-four. Ready to intercept,” you confirmed, using a few quick gestures to remind each drone to check their position. Not that they needed to fly in formation for what should be a simple ambush in a narrow alleyway, but it was a good opportunity for them to practice some discipline, holding at a downward angle so they could easily dive toward anything that moved.

The door slammed outward with nearly enough force to send it flying off its hinges. Out charged a massive android, one of those powerful TR400 laborers who stood a head taller than any human you’d ever seen. Behind him and coming up fast, a smaller female android with long black hair sprinted your way, with apparently a considerable lead ahead of your coworkers inside. 

“Stop!” you commanded, just in case it ever worked. It did not. As soon as the other android was clear of the door, the TR400 slammed it shut, hooked an arm into the nearest dumpster, and started wheeling it over to block the door. 

Your drones dashed forward with tasers armed, but to no effect. Ignoring the shock completely, he swatted at the air while your drones evaded and repositioned to sting at him again. If they could dig into the right spots in his joints, the android-hunting ‘A’ drones would be able to pierce his casing, interrupt the primary and backup power to his legs. The difficulty, of course, was in hitting the angles they needed without being crushed in the process.

Meanwhile, the female android pushed past you and started toward the open street. You caught her wrist before she could get out of range, pulling her back toward you. With another pull, you sent her stumbling toward the side of your van, where you’d try and get her hands behind her back. But just as quickly, she pushed you off balance, twisting around in abrupt, fitful swings that forced you to choose between letting go and falling to the ground with her.

One of your drones beeped loudly at you, a concerned ‘Requesting Orders’ signal from Hades. “Stay on him!” you called over your shoulder. The TR400 was the greater threat, surely you could handle one regular android on your own. 

She was about to pull herself to her feet before you. You pushed off the ground to launch yourself forward. You managed to tackle her back to the ground, but not before she delivered an elbow to your ribs, sharpened by the edge of one of the battery packs digging into your vest. She was unusually strong for an android her size, and unusually hot to the touch; she must have disabled the safety limits on her biocomponents, trading permanent damage for a temporary burst of power. Brushing off the pain, you threw your weight this time against her shoulder in an attempt to roll her over onto her stomach.

Behind you, metallic echoes rang out from the exit door as your fellow officers tried to bust through. Taking your eyes off your target for just a second, you shouted toward them: “It’s barricaded, go ar-aaah! The hell?” Muffled voices argued inside the building, and the attempts stopped save for a single straggler still trying to ram the door open.

As for you, a sharp pressure had drawn your attention to the arm you were using to hold the android down. Her head was twisted around, her teeth dug into your forearm. Since when do androids bite people? You hammered a fist into the side of her jaw, knocking loose the springs that enabled her to clamp down on you with so much strength, and wrested your arm free. Blood seeped from your skin, but you’d rather not look too hard at the wound while your adrenaline was working so well to keep the pain at bay. 

You swung a knee across the android’s chest the way Connor had practiced during training. If she wouldn’t roll over, you should at least keep her from getting up again. Her arms flailed out at you, fingers outstretched like claws aiming for your throat, and you leaned just barely out of reach. Creepy, but it gave you the chance to slip your handcuffs around her wrists before she could react. Now you finally made some progress, this would be a great time to catch your breath, coordinate with backup, and ask the android very politely not to bite you again. 

It would be, that is, if you didn’t have bigger problems to deal with. In your peripheral vision, you caught sight of Artemis falling from the air, propellers bent out of shape around its faint red status light. You turned just in time to spot the TR400 stalking toward you, having decided to ignore your drones except to swat them down when they came close enough.

Three rows of darts stuck out from his back, paralytic doses designed to avoid damage in smaller androids (which made them rather ineffective in this case). His right arm hung limply by his side, and you could see a clean incision atop his shoulder where your drones must have managed to cut the power to his motors. It would be easy to repair with the proper tools, but for now, it meant he was half as likely to hit you. Which was still pretty likely. His left arm came swinging down toward you, then your vest distributed the force of his grip as you were lifted off the female android and tossed to the far wall in one circular motion. 

Having made you look incredibly useless, of course the universe would choose this moment for Connor to finally break through the door into the alleyway. As soon as he spotted you picking yourself up, he rushed to your side to help. 

You waved him away. “I’m fine,” you panted. “C’mon, let’s do our jobs.”

Two more injured drones skidded to a halt beside you. The larger android was kneeling next to a nearby manhole, and you watched him lift the 150-pound cover like it was nothing. He and the other suspect must be planning to escape underground. You stepped forward to pursue them—but Connor spotted something in the reflection of your eyes before you saw it, yourself. 

“Look out!” warned the detective as he hooked an arm around yours and pulled you aside. A huge metal disk sailed through the air like an oversized frisbee, piercing through the spot where you’d just been standing, and crashed into the wall behind you, leaving a large crack across several bricks. The manhole cover. That android actually threw it at you with his one good arm. If not for Connor, there was no way you would have survived.

That did it. Connor charged at the TR400 with fearless fury, aiming blow after blow at the center of the larger android’s chest, at his thirium pump regulator. To target his vital biocomponents was a step away from pulling out his sidearm and shooting the guy, but to be fair, the suspect did almost kill you. Each punch was swiped away only for him to reposition and try again, a stalemate that kept the TR400 occupied for now. 

In the meantime, the female android had risen to her feet, but now she was just standing there, staring into the sum. Her LED blinked red above her vacant grey eyes, and you’d like to think it meant she was reconsidering her life choices. But she’d have plenty of time to reflect once she was safely in the back of a patrol car. You approached her again, and this time when she noticed you and started toward the manhole, you were able to perform a proper takedown from behind. She was already handcuffed, but she continued to squirm and thrash around - you’d need all your strength to keep her down until the other officers arrived, assuming Connor could deal with the other guy. 

His arrest wasn’t going great. Connor had speed and technique, but the TR400 had strength and precision, forcing Connor to dodge into bad positions by threatening a powerful swing or kick at the areas beside. Bright blue thirium stained them both in various spots where their casings must have been dented in the scuffle, though Connor bore the majority of the injuries. What was he doing? He should know he wouldn’t win a direct fight.

His blue LED flickered in acknowledgement of some kind of mental effort on his part. It wasn’t until he dodged to the other side of the TR400 that you were able to understand his strategy. When the other android turned around, your remaining three drones swung around in a synchronous orbit behind his back. Ares and Athena hovered with their tools ready where Heph held open two small incisions with its robotic arms, preparing to disable both of the android’s legs from behind. Heph’s status light blinked in time with Connor’s: they were communicating! Connor only had to pose enough of a threat to demand the suspect’s attention, offering an apparent advantage if he dodged one way or another but really in a way that kept him where the drones could get close without being noticed.

But he was out of time. A shadow fell over Connor as he was pursued into a corner between the wall and the displaced dumpster, and the TR400 raised a huge fist over his head, ready to bring it down in a decisive, fight-ending blow. Connor pressed an arm against the dumpster and kicked out his legs toward the TR400’s chest, but there should be no way for him to push the larger android far enough away to avoid getting hit, himself. “Now!” he shouted.

Snip!

The TR400’s jaw dropped, as did the rest of his body, when his legs tilted back and crashed unresponsively to the ground behind the mere force of Connor’s push. Your drones flitted out of the way just in time, and Connor moved to get him in shape for a proper arrest. “Both suspects secured, code six. We need patrol for pickup,” he radioed victoriously. 

You raised an arm to wipe the sweat from your forehead only for a sudden sharp sting to remind you of the open wound where the android bit you. The pain lingered and deepened as your adrenaline levels returned to normal, eliciting an involuntary wince. “These guys fought like wild animals!” you exclaimed. “What even was that?”

Connor swiped at a scattered drop of thirium with his fingers and ‘analyzed’ the sample with a furrowed brow. “The other suspects were the same way. There are red ice compounds in their thirium. They’re, ‘high,’” he confirmed his theory. You blinked back at him in disbelief. Androids on drugs?

He agreed before you even opened your mouth to speak: “It shouldn’t be possible.”

Chapter Text

JULY 7TH, 2039
4:09 P.M.

Red and blue lights heralded the arrival of six other officers from the street. It took three of them to lift the TR400 into one of the police cars, another to bring the android you were holding down, while the remaining two rookies read the suspects their rights and helped out with paperwork. You and Connor stuck behind to gather your drones and then, thanks to the standard-issue first aid kit in your van, you finally had the chance to rest and patch each other up.

Your turn first, he insisted. Your feet dangled off the edge of the open trunk of the van where you sat together, him carefully treating your injured forearm. Even though you expected it to hurt, you hissed anyway at the sting of hydrogen peroxide cleansing the bacteria from your wound. 

“I was worried we would have to resort to actual weapons,” you mentioned while he wrapped your arm in gauze, doing your best to take your mind off the discomfort. “Should’ve known better. You always accomplish your mission.”

The detective puffed his chest out a little. He didn’t even realize he was doing it, the proud smile that brought out the excitement in his eyes. God you wished you could kiss that smile right off his mouth. More specifically, you wanted to grab him by his perfect collar, drag him far into the van, run your fingers through his perfect hair, pull him close, and let nature take its course. But blades of guilt and shame pierced through your intrusive thoughts; these were exactly the kind of ideas you knew better than to entertain. 

Then you realized his lips were moving, and you tuned back in. “You and your drones helped, too,” he was reminding you despite his expression, “it was the 3Os’ idea for me to buy them time. When did you teach them to interface with androids?” 

“I didn’t. The cybersecurity protocols alone would take months to write, it’s on my to-do list. They don’t even have the components for it, unless... Heph, did you broadcast your encryption key?” You raised your voice toward the front of the van. A sassy ascending scale of notes beeped back, the ‘Requesting Orders’ signal. “Tch! Okay, yeah, fair enough.”

Connor looked to you to translate. “It’s saying, ‘well, what did you expect me to do?’” you explained. “I gave it an emergency beacon so that I could find the swarm if we’re ever separated. The signal is supposed to be encrypted at all times!” Again calling out loudly enough to let Heph know that it was the target of your mild scolding.

“Your drone hijacked its own hardware?” he laughed, there was that adorable smile again. You were going to laugh along, heh— but your breath froze in your lungs when you leaned at just the wrong angle, a dull pain suddenly sharpening at a point in your back. 

“Careful!” He steadied you with an arm, and you nodded in thanks. The pain was far from overwhelming, but it did steal your attention whenever you tried to breathe too deeply. Connor stared right through you for a second, no doubt diagnosing what he could with his subsurface vision. “You should take a painkiller from the med kit, Handler. One of the ribs in your back might be fractured.”

“What, ‘might’? Can’t you tell me for sure?” You didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but between the pain of your injuries and the effort of suppressing your other feelings, you were distracted from your usual sense of courtesy.

“Not all fractures are clearly visible, even to me, I... would need to use the sensors in my hands to confirm,” he explained hesitantly. 

He would need to feel it out, he meant. But you trusted him. Off slipped your vest, and without a second thought, you turned to show him your back. Using your good hand, you pulled your uniform shirt up far enough to give him access to the injured area.

Connor inhaled sharply, and the edge of the van shifted with his weight as he quickly readjusted his pants. It wasn’t necessarily the shape of your figure, but the fact that this was the closest you had ever come to undressing in front of him. He wasn’t prepared for the image his predictive algorithm was automatically trying to preconstruct. 

You caught a glimpse of his yellow LED over your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he answered too fast. The detective traced his fingers over your bare skin, taking in the echoes through your chest as it rose and fell. He could feel your heartbeat as he triangulated the position of every cell in your torso, a deep scan he could memorize as a future frame of reference. To make sure you healed properly, of course. “You have a few minor bruises. No fractures.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you chuckled, turning around to face him once more. A couple of bruises weren’t going to put you off duty, and if an android as advanced as Connor didn’t see anything worse, he might as well be handing you a clean bill of health. 

His turn for repairs. You picked out a soldering kit for closing cuts and a set of suction cups for removing dents, a far cry away from bandages and stitches. The switch to mechanical tools always made for a jarring reminder of the contrast between human and machine, but you held them with comfortable familiarity, accustomed to repairing your drones the same way.

Connor rolled up a pant leg to reveal the worst of the damage, retracting his skin from the white plastic casing so that you could get a better look. A deep impression ran along the side of his knee and into the sections above and below, slight scrapes glowing blue where the TR400 kicked hard enough to split his casing open. 

You set to work with the cups to restore his leg to its original shape, relieving pressure on the components within. After wiping the thirium from his wound, you used your soldering iron to seal his casing closed with precise dashes of heat. If you left the tool’s superheated tip against his casing for too long, it could irreversibly burn the plastic, too short and the repair would be incomplete; if you pressed down too hard, it could damage his sensor layer, not enough and the wound could easily reopen. Fortunately your aim and timing were subconsciously precise, the skill of a surgeon, not that it occurred to you that you were anything more than adequate. 

Meanwhile, your bandaged arm still itched and stung as you worked with your hands, and your bruised ribs still screamed at you every time you inhaled too deeply. Not to mention you were absolutely going to be sore tomorrow after pushing yourself so far today. When you moved to help Connor roll his pant leg back into place, you whined involuntarily as your bandage caught against the fabric and dragged across your wound. 

The sound set him on edge, too, a reminder your injuries would continue to hurt even after being attended to. It was easy to forget when he had never experienced the same himself. “Thank you, Handler, but I can perform the rest of the repairs myself.”

“Ah-ah. I saw you”—ow, your ribs—“getting clocked in the neck. You’re going to want help, let’s see it.”

Reluctantly, he tilted his head back to expose the damage just under the base of his chin, a circle of white dripping blue around a sizable scrape. You were right, he was about to just bleed all the way back to the station rather than trouble you for one more repair. Not on your watch. “Hold still,” you directed him, placing one hand on his shoulder to keep him steady while you operated the soldering tool with the other. The impact it must have taken to damage him like this, you observed: “Risk-taker. You would be dead by now if you were a human.”

“And you wouldn’t need me alive by now, if you were an android.” He instinctively nodded toward you, intending to emphasize his point with a gesture. The sudden movement pressed his neck too hard against your tools, and you growled in frustration as you heard a faint sizzle in the sensor layer beneath his casing. You pulled away as fast as you could, but the damage was already done. He’d just have to live with an extra-sensitive spot there from now on. 

You readjusted your hands and resumed your work. Connor fell silent, but his words continued to rattle around in your head. He was right. If you were faster, stronger, more intelligent, you wouldn’t be such a burden on him. All the features you admired so much in him, they reflected deficiencies you were sure he noticed in you. And what exactly did you have to offer? “Androids fought so hard to coexist with humans, truth is you’re better off without us,” you mumbled, scarcely aware that you were speaking out loud. 

“That’s...” He wanted to shake his head, but you had a cloth at his throat, carefully wiping away the remaining scuff marks. How was that the message you got, he’d ask, when he was trying to compliment your ability to make the most of your strengths?

But he wouldn’t get the chance. You were wrapping up as quickly as possible, you didn’t want him to see you getting upset. After stowing the first aid kit, you pressed a vial of thirium into his hands, excused yourself to go repair your drones, and called for the other officers to offer him a ride back to the station. Before he knew it, he was in Officer Person’s passenger seat, watching your van disappear in the distance. 

It was almost funny. He had talked his way through a hostage situation, drawn a direct confession out of a murderer, provoked a deviant into blowing their own cover, all with the most natural ease in the world.

So why couldn’t he find the courage to tell you?

Chapter Text

JULY 8TH, 2039
12:57 P.M.

The interrogation room was a much friendlier place now that androids had the same legal status as humans. At this point, it was all about tricking the suspect into revealing as much information as possible, while trying not to scare them into invoking their right to an attorney. 

In total, you and your fellow officers managed to arrest all four of the androids from yesterday’s red ice incident, including the two that you and Connor brought in. Of the three suspects who didn’t choose to remain silent, one of them ended questioning as soon as they realized where this was going. Hopefully, Connor would have better luck with one of the remaining two. 

“I don’t think you’re the kind of person who uses. I think your friends wanted to have some fun, and you got caught up in the middle,” he coaxed the suspect on, “but it isn’t going to look that way to the prosecutor if you don’t say something.”

The script was surprisingly effective considering how standardized it must be by now. You and your intern, Kevin, watched from behind the one-way mirror, empty lunch bags in hand, as the VX500 finally began to open up.

“It wasn’t my fault,” the damaged android agreed. “I told them it was a bad idea, but Shelly said she got it for free. I mean, no one would give anything away for free if it was illegal, right? Drugs are expensive. She was probably just using some fake powder to look cool.”

“I don’t know,” Connor lied with a convincing shrug, “We’ll have to see how the labs come back.” In reality, he didn’t ‘have to see’ anything. The thirium samples he and your drones collected had already tested positive for red ice compounds in all four suspects. “Where did you say she got it from, again?”

Instead of answering, the VX500 tensed up, looking around at all angles of the room. “We’re not in any trouble, are we?” 

“Maybe. We have to keep you here for a while in case it is red ice, and then a judge will see about your bail. But you’re helping yourself a lot by telling us what happened.” His voice was so soothing, you could almost believe he was on the suspect’s side. 

“I don’t believe you,” the suspect raised his voice. “I want a promise. A—a guarantee that I won’t go to jail, then I’ll talk.”

It was downhill from there. Connor tried to redirect him, to appeal to his moral senses, but he wasn’t having any of it. 

Kevin leaned all the way over to you until his shoulder brushed yours, brow furrowed. “Why doesn’t he just promise a lighter sentence or something? Isn’t he allowed to lie?” he whispered, like he was afraid his voice would carry into the other room. 

You shook your head. “Not like that. And even if he could, it would only encourage the suspect to make things up so that he sounds like a valuable witness.”

Connor’s line of questioning only survived a minute longer. He learned a few details about ‘Shelly,’ the only other suspect he hadn’t questioned yet, and that this was supposedly a one-time thing for all four of them. But the VX500 wisened up, eventually refusing to say anything at all except to demand a lawyer. 

The detective sighed, stood up, adjusted his tie. Another officer came to escort the suspect back to their cell while Connor joined you in the observation room. He crossed his arms and leaned against the nearby wall, a pose you’d never seen him attempt before. “I’m off my game today. They know something, I’m sure of it, I just can’t get them to say it.”

“Probe their memories!” Kevin practically jumped out of his seat to suggest. “You could see everywhere they’ve been, everyone they’ve talked to. Finding evidence would be a walk in the park.”

“I like your ambition, but that’s kind of super illegal. Besides, he’s got this one just fine.” You nudged Kevin with a playful elbow. “Connor, it’s not over yet. You still have another suspect to question. The one who gave me this,” referring to the bandaged bite mark on your forearm. 

He stared into the floor, plans failing and reformulating in his mind. “She overclocked her biocomponents while she was trying to escape. She must be feeling tired by now. I could try to wear her down.”

You tilted your head, voice softened with sympathy. “Sounds like a winning plan. So what’s bothering you?”

“I don’t know if I can get her to crack. She’s been keeping the dealer’s identity a secret, even from the other suspects.”

“Everyone cracks eventually. No one can sit on a secret that big without it gnawing at them from the inside,” you guessed. These androids weren’t hardened criminals, and with any hope, their consciences would do some of the work for you.

Connor shook his head just barely, eyes still fixed on the ground. He could understand what the suspects must be going through, in a way. The anxiety that built up behind a secret that they knew, deep down, they couldn’t keep forever. “What if... they’re afraid of what will happen if they say it out loud?”

“That’s the trick, isn’t it? You don’t let the fear win. You push them, make them realize that once it’s out, it’s better than carrying it alone.”

Kevin leaned in beside you. “Are we still talking about the suspects?”

“Kev, how’s that benchmark on the 3Os coming along?” you asked, turning to raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Oh, it should be ready for analysis in, uh...” He glanced at his phone and stood up when he recognized the time. “Woops! Gotta go.” You had assigned him to put together a report on the drones’ mechanical status, essentially a health checkup, by the end of the day. Now that the results from his automated tests should be ready, he was out the door within seconds to go and interpret them. 

Once the door was closed, you and Connor exchanged knowing grins. “He’s still trying hard to earn your approval,” the detective chuckled. “He really has no idea what you think of him.”

Honestly, strange life choices aside, Kevin was a competent engineer and a dependable teammate, and you made no secret of it. “I’ve told him every way I can, but it’s like he’s still waiting to hear the right words. No clue what he expects me to do about it,” you explained with a shrug. “It’ll just be way funnier next month when I write him the best rec letter he’s ever seen.”

But Connor didn’t share your amusement. On the contrary, distraction gave way to frustration at something unseen as you spoke, an itch that drove him to pace around the room. He must still be processing today’s interrogations, you assumed, and you excused yourself to leave. You did have your own work to get back to, anyway.

The station was bright and lively with all the typical activity of a Friday afternoon. You took your time strolling past the break room, the meeting room, the other officers’ desks on your way to the so-called ‘kennels.’ The energy of your coworkers seeped into your own steps, a source of inspiration that rewarded your sense of empathy. 

That’s when you remembered you still had Connor’s calibration coin from when he visited your apartment. You fished it out of your wallet. It was smoother, shinier than other quarters, though you didn’t know whether it made any difference. You figured you’d leave it on his desk for him, for whenever he finished his interrogations. 

But it seemed you weren’t the first to get there. “Ares? Athena? What are you doing here?” You recognized two of your drones, as they used their little triple-jointed arms to dig through the drawers of Connor’s desk. With Hank still out to lunch, no one else was nearby to deter them. 

“Oh my god—Hey! Go back to the kennels, please,” you gently swatted them away. “We’re going to have a conversation about snooping later, okay?” They buzzed at you in mild opposition, but they did slowly hover back toward your office. Something hollow clanged against the desk beside you as Ares passed by. 

You set the coin down and meant to leave, trying to respect Connor’s privacy, but the object Ares dropped caught your eye. It was a long, thin metallic cylinder with no discernible function. Lightly engraved along the side, the words ‘From Connor’ were barely visible in a small, ornate font. Now, what did he have this for?

A leather-sleeved hand reached over and plucked the object out from in front of you. You spun around to see Gavin inspecting it with a faltering sneer, turning it this way and that in search of any clue as to what it was supposed to represent. “Plastic prick,” he scoffed. “Gets my case reassigned to him, and what’s he do with his pay? Goes and buys himself a nice piece of scrap metal.”

To be fair, that’s probably exactly what happened. You sat atop the desk to face him, leaning back against the palms of your hands. “Premature case termination happens to men all the time, Detective. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you couldn’t help but rub a little salt in the wound. 

“Oh, very quick-witted,” he applauded sarcastically after returning the cylinder to its place beside you. “You’d make a great clown.”

“So you do think I’m funny! No take-backs.” You placed a hand over your heart, a stifled laugh creeping into your voice. 

Gavin was silent for a moment, looking you up and down. Then, after straightening his shoulders, he crossed into your personal space. “You know, a little birdie told me there’s a certain detective you’re into,” he started, head cocked slightly to the side. 

You froze. He knew how you felt about Connor? “Oh, interesting, who told you that?” you tried to equivocate, but it was too late to hide the panic written across your face. Come to think of it, you did mention something about your personal life to Kevin yesterday. But you recalled speaking in generalities, you didn’t even use Connor’s name. How did he figure it out? And more importantly, what was he going to do about it?

Questions raced in your head, only to change tune when he dropped a second verbal grenade: “I don’t blame you. He’s good-looking, smart. Good at his job.”

“That’s surprising to hear, coming from you.” You blinked. Was this even real? There was no way Gavin Reed was about to gossip with you about a crush on his most hated rival. Maybe you were dreaming. 

The more flustered you grew, the more confidence he seemed to gather. “Mmm. Well, he happens to think you’re kinda cute, too,” he continued, subtly leaning over you. 

Okay, definitely dreaming. When you turned your head up to meet his gaze, all pretense was gone from the excitement in your voice. “He does?”

It wasn’t until Gavin’s lips brushed against yours that you realized what he was doing. 

You pushed against his chest with just enough force to tell him to back off. He took your cue loud and clear, immediately stepping back, and the two of you stared at each other in equal states of shock. 

“Detective...” And then it clicked. “Yourself. You were talking about yourself,” you realized. 

“Is that not—”

“What the hell!” A gruff shout pulled your attention to the left. Hank was back from his lunch break, and he was headed right for you. “From you, I would expect this kind of thing. But you?” The lieutenant was beet-red, pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Where the fuck d’you get off?”

You leaned out of the way. “What did I do?”

“Is this another one of your stupid jokes?” With each breath he was louder, redder. “You think it’s funny to lead him on? Do you? He cares about you!”

“Hey, mind your own fuckin’ business,” Gavin cut in, though he made no effort to step between you and Hank. 

“Whatever that means, I’m sorry.” You raised your hands peacefully. “Now will you please tell us what you’re talking about?”

“Really. Kissing Gavin?” he snarled.

Wait, that’s it? You were trying to keep an open mind, but to get chewed out over office politics? “Since when is that a crime!”

Hank reached forward and gripped the collar of your uniform. “I told you...”

“Lieutenant?”

Connor’s gaze flicked between you, cowering atop his desk; Hank, raising a fist with his free hand; Gavin, yelling over the lieutenant’s tirade; and the cylinder on the desk beside you, covered in fingerprints. Gavin’s fingerprints. 

The faint shine on your upper lip—the same on his lower—Connor’s LED glowed yellow as he reconstructed the events of the past several minutes. You and Hank moved to speak at the same time, but Connor held up a hand. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, shook his head.

“I got the confession,” reported the android, followed by another deep, purposeful breath. “There’s an engineer who’s been developing a version of red ice that interacts with biocomponents. This is the address the suspect gave,” he explained, projecting a small labeled map over his hand. 

Hank let go of you, but he continued to eye you with hostility: This isn’t over. And he wasn’t the only one staring. You didn’t need to look around to know half the station had paused to watch the commotion, unusual silence melting back into typical office chatter now that Connor had intervened. 

Gavin, meanwhile, was somehow the least bothered out of the four of you. He squinted to focus in on the map at Connor’s palm. “That’s outside of our precinct. They’ll only want one of us investigating with their officers.”

“My drones can sniff out any hidden stashes, once I’m done training them on our suspects’ samples. I’ll have to come with,” you pointed out.

“Then I—” “This is my case. I’m going, too,” Connor spoke over Hank with a decisive glare. Hank narrowed his eyes, and so did Connor, a silent conversation between just the two of them. 

“Fine. Send our evidence over to them for the warrant, I’ll rubber-stamp it. Now get back to your desks for once,” he ordered the three of you. Glad for the chance to flee from the lieutenant’s ire, you scattered away toward the safety of your workshop. 

The more physical distance you put between you and the guys, the easier it was to breathe again, bruised ribs notwithstanding. Through the glass doors, past cluttered workbenches and active 3D printers, you settled down at your desk with more than just documents to work through. Chances were, you would still be processing what just happened for the next several days. Some self-care time was long overdue. Unfortunately for now, duty called.

One of your drones, Hades by the sound of it, whined a curious greeting at you from its perch atop the spare parts cabinet. You waved back, but your attention had to remain on the terminal at your desk, which blinked to life with the schematics of the most recent training scenario you designed for the 3Os. Something about modified red ice, checking hiding spots, some chemical residue or other, okay maybe it wasn’t a good day for productivity after all. Soon enough, you were pulling out your phone to text:

YOU
1:13 P.M.
Hey btw that was? crazy?? What’s up with Anderson?

CONNOR
1:15 P.M.
I’ll ask him later. Precinct 7 wants to raid in the morning. Let’s focus on getting ready. 

“Goodbye, weekend plans,” you were going to sigh, but for the sting of your bruises. Connor was less and less talkative since the night he absconded from your apartment. As far as you could tell, he was simply engrossed in his latest case. It was only natural that he would act a little more distant from his friends, right? That’s the kind of dedication that got him promoted to Detective so quickly. Surprisingly, your thoughts of him led not to another daydream, but to a renewed motivation to work as hard as he did, or at least to try.

And so at your terminal keyboard you clacked away, writing and debugging training routines to prepare your drones for the big day in front of them.

If only you could have prepared for what else lay ahead...

Chapter Text

JULY 9TH, 2039
7:44 A.M.

“Delta 3O-1 to Dispatch. Entry team still hasn’t checked in. Requesting status update on Delta-5. Over.”

“Delta 3O-1, this is Dispatch. Stand by.”

You walked in tight laps in front of the van, boots crunching over gravel, drones buzzing steadily by your side. Every few steps, you glanced toward the building, then down at the communication controls built into your vest. Connor’s team should have given the all-clear signal long ago. Even if they ran into trouble, they should have radioed you by now with something, anything.

“Negative response from Delta-5 or the team. Closest backup is sixteen minutes out. Maintain your position. Over.” You strained to pick out the dispatcher’s words over the loud thrum of industrial cooling equipment. The server farm had no windows and only two exit doors, both of which you kept in your field of view at all times. Anything could be happening inside. 16 minutes was more than long enough for an officer to succumb to internal bleeding from a fall, to run out of ammo in a shootout, or, as you recently learned, to suffocate amidst a fire.

One of your drones emitted a low, threatened tone, and the rest echoed soon after. You nodded in acknowledgement, but your pacing continued, back and forth and back and forth. You had your orders, you told yourself. Connor would be fine, you told yourself. So would the rest of the task force. What could possibly go wrong, raiding an automated facility that was being used as a hideout for red ice manufacturers? 

As practiced as you were at lying to yourself, the pit in your stomach just wasn’t buying it. “You’re right,” you relented, gesturing at your drones, “we don’t have time to wait. Let’s go check on them.”

“Negative, Delta 3O-1. Wait for reinforcements. Over,” the dispatcher’s voice returned through your vest. Oops. You were still transmitting. 

But your mind was already made up. Your legs carried you to the main door upon their own volition, while your drones followed closely behind, cameras faced outward in a sentry formation. “Dispatch, I’m moving to breach. Over.” Gun ready in one hand, you used your other to pull at the heavy steel door over the dispatcher’s objections. 

“Delta 3O-1, hold --sition! R--eat, --ld pos--ion—”

The radio faded into an inaudible series of crackles, but it would have been drowned out anyway by the combined roar of more ventilation fans than you had ever seen in one place. Cold, sterile air rushed over you as you stepped inside, drawing out an involuntary shiver. 

You blinked until your eyes adjusted to the low light of the server farm. A labyrinth of server racks boxed you in, tight rows lined with plexiglass panels each aglow with various holographic information displays. Above you, cables and conduits crisscrossed in front of dim LED monitors, casting complex shadows that danced and flickered with the ever-changing data. Similar cables snaked across the space in front of you, some of which were properly taped to the ground, while others were pulled taut between devices from different racks like an incomplete spider’s web. 

The wires and walls of technology formed countless gaps and passages for you to choose from, fraught with tripping hazards and illusory distractions no matter which you chose. No sign of which way the task force went. You would need your drones’ help to guide you through. 

With a two-part gesture, you sent all six drones to peek over the maze of machinery and see if they could find a path for you. Your most vigilant drone, Hera, was the first to return to your side with a plan. It nudged you excitedly and beamed its flashlight toward one of the narrower passages, only to swiftly adjust its beam downward to keep it from reflecting into your eyes.

Maybe the layout of the building was the reason why no one had come out yet, you realized. Without a drone’s-eye view, it would be easy to get lost in here. You recalled everyone other than Hera with a gesture. Now that you had some idea of how to help, you took the time to enunciate your instructions into each drone’s audio components: “Find the other teams. Lead them out of here, then wait for me in the van.”

Artemis beeped doubtfully back at you, but you gave it a stern look. “We’ll sweep for drugs later. Right now, they need your help more than I do. Go.”

The swarm lifted themselves dutifully up above your head, swaying with the harsh currents of frigid air all around them. Then, in a pattern you had practiced with them before, they sped off deeper into the building, spreading out into a pentagonal formation where they would scan for friendly faces. 

The drones soon disappeared into the darkness, you could only hope for their safe return. It was just you and your single drone now, venturing down nearly identical twists and turns, picking your way over stray equipment and under low-hanging conduits. Left, right, right, left, the path stretched on...

Then you saw the body. 

It was little more than a crumpled silhouette in a DPD uniform, leaning motionless against a server rack. Bright streaks of blue splattered against the glass behind and dripped down onto a pool on the ground. You gasped, immediately swept your gaze this way and that, heart climbing into your throat. It didn’t take a forensic analyst to know this was no natural death. You tightened your grip around your gun. 

“Please, don’t shoot!” a shaky voice called out behind you. You swung around to see a young man crouched in a corner, trembling and holding what looked like a piece of broken equipment. His eyes glistened with tears under the beam of Hera’s flashlight, and he raised his free hand in surrender. “I... I don’t want to be here. They made me do this. P-Please, I don’t want to die.”

He looked terrified. He couldn’t be any older than your intern, probably younger, and though you couldn’t see any injuries on him, there was a conviction in his voice that resonated in your chest. You lowered the muzzle of your gun just a hair, shivering as though his fear were your own. 

“You’re not going to die,” you called to him over the background noise. “Drop what you’re holding and put your hands up.” Slowly, his grip loosened around the piece of machinery until it dropped to the floor beside him. He raised his hands until they were level with his head, but no higher. “Thank you. Now, turn around, you’re going to be okay,” you instructed him further. 

But he didn’t seem to hear you. His blue eyes stared right past you, and he took a shaky step closer, hands still frozen in the air. “I’m s-scared. Please,” he only repeated. 

Beside you, Hera wailed a high-pitched alarm. “It’s alright,” you reassured your drone, then returned to address the suspect. “Don’t worry, just turn around. That’s all you have to do.”

Again he ignored you, again he stepped toward you, closing the distance deceptively quickly. Your drone sounded its alarm again, louder, and extended its clawlike arms in preparation to attack. 

“Hera, calm down. The situation is under...”

It lunged with its electrified needles outstretched, but not at him. Your drone’s target was in the opposite direction—that’s what your suspect was staring at. He wasn’t looking past you, he was looking behind you.

You figured it out too late. The young man’s hands closed down toward your gun, and in the split-second you took to react, a dark line swiped down across your vision, and you found yourself being yanked backward by a thick electrical cord around your throat. Cold, smooth hands brushed against the back of your neck: the hands of an android. 

The younger suspect wrenched your fingers from the trigger, but you had the presence of mind to fling your gun aside before he could fully disarm you. He stumbled off after the pistol in pursuit, but at least that bought you a few more seconds before he would be able to turn it against you.

Those seconds you reflexively spent with your hands clawing at the cord around your neck, struggling for purchase as it dug deeper and deeper. Your legs kicked uselessly out in front of you, the force from behind was lifting you off the ground. The flow of oxygen to your lungs, you could have gone without for about a minute. But the flow of blood to your brain, that was a much more urgent matter: only two major arteries to choose from, and they were both getting crushed as the android’s grip constricted tighter around your throat.

An abrupt buzz-crackle behind you signaled a successful hit by your drone. Though you couldn’t turn to see it, Hera must have dug its conductive needles in. It discharged as much of its power supply as it could afford in an effort to disable the suspect for you. 

It was unlucky, then, that electricity stimulated motors in androids, and the android’s grip involuntarily choked the last of the function from your neck. Your head swam, your vision blackened, and your arms fell limply to your side. This was it. What an embarrassing way to die. 

The world around you faded into an unknowable blur while exactly three things happened.

First, you fell to the ground. Without much feeling anywhere in your body, you crumpled face-first into the hard concrete floor. The floor smelled of blood and burnt rubber, wait, that blood was coming from your own nose actually. And wait, you could smell? You were breathing again!

Second, your drone fell to the ground in front of you, torn into two mangled pieces. Hera. No! You could only stare back into its camera as its status lights faded out, its propellers slowed to a permanent halt. 

Third, you were lifted from the ground again, this time by an arm that wrapped unceremoniously across your chest. When you could finally understand what you were seeing, you were upright, all the way off the ground and then some. Your head lolled forward and you met eyes with him. 

Connor. 

Pointing a gun at you. 

Behind him, the blurry shape of the younger suspect lay on the floor unconscious, but breathing. The suspect’s arm was outstretched in the direction of your pistol, which had been kicked back over toward you, less than a meter away from your ambusher’s feet. 

Strength and awareness both began to rejoin your senses. You noticed you were not only several inches off the ground, you were also held tight against something, no, someone: you were being used as a shield. In the hold they had on you, your attempts to struggle led to progress so minimal you might as well be imagining it. The android slowly advanced, holding you in front of their essential biocomponents, down the aisle—toward your gun.

Connor was a skilled enough marksman. He could ricochet a bullet at the perfect angle so that its trajectory would, theoretically, only hit the android behind you. But he calculated a 6% risk that the other android would react in time to pull you into harm’s way; a 6% chance of destroying his very world in the space of a second. 

“They’re going to shoot us both. Take the shot, Connor!” you goaded him. But it wasn’t his only option. 

If he surrendered instead, he and you might be taken hostage, but you would be more likely to at least make it out alive, if only after a messy and perhaps costly exchange with a negotiator. But he knew you would never forgive him for sacrificing his mission and yours, all because of a mere 6% risk. You wouldn’t understand when he told you how terrifyingly high that number felt for him. 

The other android reached your gun and began to carefully crouch down for it. Time was running out. He had to take a risk. He had to make a choice.

POW!

The bullet was loud. It was bright. It was fast.

But it didn’t hit anyone. Instead, a sudden, whooshing burst of gas enveloped you and your assailant from above, kicking up an eerie, fog-like cloud of dust in the dimly lit aisles. You followed the trajectory of Connor’s gun, pointed high in the air, up to the spark-spraying remnants of a small, round device tucked away in the ceiling panels: a smoke detector. 

The android behind you panicked for a moment, and that moment was all you needed. Although their bear hug pinned your arms to your sides, they were too distracted to stop you from twisting around just enough to get your dominant hand against the center of their chest. A short pull forward, a swift strike back, and you were able to knock the android’s thirium pump regulator out of alignment.

You dropped to the ground as they doubled over, but you weren’t in the clear yet. Your little maneuver ended with you still in the way, and with their hands ready to close around the pistol on the floor. 

It was Connor’s turn to finish the job. With only a glance, you knew what he needed from you. You dove forward before the suspect could grab you again, flattening yourself against the ground and giving Connor a clear shot at them. They raised their gun toward him, but he pulled the trigger first. Another gunshot echoed through the building, and it was over. Connor’s faith in you had paid off. 

You rolled onto your back, letting your breathing and heart rate slowly return to normal (or at least, as normal as they could be around Connor) after so much adrenaline flooded your system. Salty, stinging tears threatened to fall from your eyes, and you fought them back with a rapid flurry of blinks. But the tears won, sliding down your cheeks as you closed your eyes. 

When you opened them again, your favorite freckled face was in front of you, reaching up with his hand to apply a healing pressure to the bridge of your nose. You held still for him. Quick, think of something to say before he can worry about you crying. “I am going to need so much therapy after this,” you grumbled instead. 

He muttered your name, then trailed off. You always respected whenever he wasn’t ready to talk about something, he wanted to do the same for you. When he found his words again, they were different, tethered to the present. “Can you walk? There’s a clearing nearby. A few of us have been regrouping there, it might be safer.” 

Once you were on your feet, he guided you with an arm down a near-circuitous route to the center of the building. “This place looks nothing like the blueprints,” you leaned closer so he could hear you. “Aren’t server farms supposed to be organized into rows? Team Lead said it would take a few minutes to clear the place, tops.”

“The owner installed automated maintenance systems years ago and hasn’t checked it since. The outlaws who broke in, they’ve been building their hideout here for at least...” he squinted at a scuff mark on the ground, “four months. They set up a jammer to conceal their technology, I can assume you know how that affected our radios.”

“Yeah, I was only worried to death waiting for you to signal. No big deal.” With Connor’s help you climbed over a makeshift wall of electronics one leg at a time, before he vaulted over them easily in one nimble jump. 

The makeshift encampment looked straight out of a warzone. Rows of damaged server racks were pulled hastily into a protective circle with just two entrances, one of which you had just climbed over. Abandoned flashlights illuminated the outlines of glass shards and bullet casings that littered the wire-strewn floor. Along one edge, several uniformed officers huddled around a low table, most of them nursing fresh injuries, strategizing over a hologram that depicted the layout of the building. One of them pushed off against the table to come and talk to you. 

“Sergeant Torres,” Connor greeted him levelly. “This is the drone handler who was on perimeter security.”

“Where’s the rest of the reinforcements?” the sergeant asked without greeting you. He had exactly the voice you’d expect from a well-muscled forty-something guy with a buzz cut.

“ETA nine or ten minutes,” you admitted. You knew that he knew what it meant; the only way you could be here ahead of reinforcements was if you had broken protocol. But he didn’t challenge you on it. Instead, he gestured the two of you over with a sidelong nod, and you joined him at the table with the other police. 

A gloved hand pointed out several choke points on the holographic map. “Whenever we try to leave, hostiles find ways to pick us off. Ambushes, booby traps, automated turrets,” Torres explained. “Your drones kept trying to lead us out, but it’s better to hold tight where we can defend ourselves.”

Four of your drones were resting on the other side of the table, cameras focused in on the conversation. Hephaestus was nowhere to be seen, the one you’d upgraded with new parts after it struggled to keep up with its siblings. Surely it would turn up soon enough. “Killing cops is a great way to get the feds’ attention,” you noted. “Why are they risking it?”

“You’d be surprised,” Torres sighed. 

Connor drew his eyebrows together, reasoning his way through your question. “Android-compatible red ice sells for more than double the original price. They must be making more money now than they’ve ever seen in their lives. All of a sudden, they’re rich and powerful, they must think they’re invincible.” After a pause, he suddenly leaned forward over the table, his gaze flicked up to meet yours with an intensity both surprising and infectious. 

I know that look, you smirked back at him. 

I sure as hell don’t, the sergeant crossed his arms. 

“I know how we can beat them!” Connor continued, momentum building in his voice. He pointed out his plan on the map. “We use their ambush tactics against them. If we send a small team of priority targets... here, we’ll appear vulnerable enough to draw out a large-scale attack. When we fall back... there, they’ll be too confident and overcommit, and the rest of you will have them surrounded.”

Torres eyed him with skepticism. “We’re outgunned and outmanned. After your ‘plan’ works, we wouldn’t have the numbers to keep formation if they decide to charge.”

“My drones are used to outnumbering their targets, but I’ve noticed that they always need space, or else they start to get in each other’s way.” You pointed to a different area of the map, a narrow passage between two long rows of shelves. “If we take the same plan, but stack the enemy in a corridor instead, we won’t even need to surround them—I mean, respectfully, Detective.”

“You’re right to discuss it. We’ll need to coordinate closely and account for every detail,” Connor agreed. “But if we plan this out very carefully, I know that together, we can—”

“GRENADE!” 

Chapter Text

JULY 9TH, 2039
7:52 A.M.

Everyone turned to look. There you spotted it, a canister without its pin, rolling slowly across the concrete floor. You might believe it was harmless if you didn’t know by your very instincts to dive for the ground right away. 

Like a heavy-handed metaphor, the grenade destroyed your plans with a bone-rattling roar, the blast wave flattening everyone to the floor as shards of plastic and metal rained down. When the team finally dared to lift their heads, the air was thick with a choking haze that stank of burnt rubber and scorched wiring. The warmth from the explosion clung to the air, prickling your skin like the heat of a furnace door swung open. Someone shouted something, but it was drowned out by the persistent ringing in your ears.

When the ringing subsided, what you heard was gunfire, and lots of it. A server rack toppled over nearby, and you scurried up behind it for cover. Beside you, your drones emerged from the smoke, still only the four that were resting on the table. Another silhouette passed behind them, aiming a rifle at your fellow officers. You fired wildly at her. No direct hits, but she was forced to back off for cover of her own, giving the officers a chance to escape. 

Taking your lead, your drones moved to join the fray themselves, but you recalled them with an alarmed yell. “You are not combat drones. Stay close to me!”

‘Close to you’ being a very variable location as the minutes passed. You put up a brave fight, but the outlaws advanced anyway, driving your task force further and further into a dead end as you fell back from cover to cover. One by one, powerful blasts gave way to useless clicks; out of ammo. 

“Retreat!” Sergeant Torres’s order rang out, and not a moment too soon. A few narrow gaps offered an escape between the server racks, though not without forcing your team to disperse into different paths. You fled from cover to squeeze between two empty racks and out into the maze once more. 

Your drones were ready to lead the way out, but you weren’t ready to follow them. “Heph’s still in here somewhere,” you growled, desperately scanning the aisles for your youngest drone. One loss was already more than you could take; you weren’t going to leave this one behind, too. Its crewmates trilled in agreement, spreading out and deploying their sensors to help with your search.

With any hope, its emergency beacon was still working. You tapped against the locator on your wrist until its low-resolution holo-projector booted to life, conjuring a faint arrow over the back of your hand. While your allies ran in the opposite direction, you were back to pathfinding into the unknown, down this turn and another, at the same time putting distance between you and the outlaws. 

Just one little problem, your locator was leading you directly into a concrete wall. You might find a path there from the intersection ahead, but you could hear voices coming from a turn to the right, raised to hear one another over the noise of the building. Hostiles? They were too cheerful to be on your side, that was for sure. You had nowhere to hide, the nearest turn was too far to escape. 

“We need a distraction,” you asked your drones implicitly. Ares and Athena blinked their status lights in acknowledgement and sped out into the open, speakers at max volume, hovering there menacingly in front of the other patrol. From the other aisle, you could hear an annoyed grunt and a bemused shout. Your drones started down the intersection, intending to lure them away in pursuit.

But no one followed. You peeked out to see a group of four outlaws watching your drones with no more than mild curiosity. Across from them, the unmistakable red glow of a laser sight locked onto Athena, the ascending whine of a weapon charging up as it prepared to shoot. Not from the patrol, but from something further down, invisible from your perspective. 

Thinking fast, you darted out from your hiding place, snatched your drone from the air, and barged through a nearby door along the wall, tumbling forward into a neat combat roll. Bullets whizzed past behind you as your drones followed close behind, and when you turned around, you could see the same red laser shining motionless on the door frame, waiting for you to come back out. You recognized the simple concept of a stationary gun with perfect tracking: an automated turret. 

You’d be risking your life if you tried to leave while it was still powered on. The outlaws must have seen you pass, too, even if the turret wasn’t already effectively trapping you in. Better get comfortable in here. 

You locked the door and looked around the narrow, low-ceilinged room, a supply closet no larger than a hotel bathroom. It was quiet here, the fireproof door muffling the thrum of ventilation and the echoes of weapons fire outside. An array of pale white strips lit the corners of the room, revealing tall stacks of malfunctioning servers and obsolete routers beside amorphous piles of rubber gloves and cleaning equipment.

Not only those. Behind the frame of a shelf, the movement of someone’s chest rising and falling caught your attention. His monochrome RK800 jacket was slick with thirium in several places, and as you stepped closer, you could see a diagonal line of three bullet holes glowing a glitchy blue-and-black across his chest. He sat up against the wall, fidgeting with something dark and mechanical—you recognized Hephaestus, missing a propeller, safe in the detective’s hands. “Connor!” you exclaimed, rushing to his side.

When he saw you, his shoulders relaxed and an unbothered smile spread across his face. He set aside the drone to wave silently to you, and when you pulled him in for a hug, he held you tight and rested his chin against your shoulder. “You found Heph. Same mistake as I made, huh?”

“And you’re hurt,” you murmured, and you felt him nod beside you like it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. “But your critical systems didn’t get hit?” He shook his head. “Except your voice module gave out on you?” Back to nodding. You read him like a book. 

You pulled away briefly to remove your vest, giving your drones a place to rest and charge up while you reunited with your friend. Then, turning back to Connor, you leaned back to get a closer look at his chest, placing a hand over the top buttons of his shirt. “May I?”

He undid his tie in a few smooth tugs to get it out of your way, allowing you to unbutton his white undershirt down to his sternum. Static electricity arced from a bullet hole just inches from his thirium pump. It was there that you slowly prised a triangular section of machinery out of his chest, careful not to catch against the artificial lungs behind it. 

You might not be a CyberLife engineer, but the fundamentals of electrical engineering and robotics were easy enough to apply here. Speakers intact, power converter grazed, but the bullet had taken out some of the main circuitry of Connor’s biocomponent. “I can get this working in a few minutes if we borrow some parts from my phone. It won’t be a permanent solution, but it’s better than nothing. Who knows how long it’ll be until that turret runs out of steam?”

His hand reached over and covered yours. Hours, he mouthed to you. But he knew better than to try to convince you to save yourself the effort. You pulled away to reach for the phone in your back pocket, then handed it to Connor for him to crack it open. He hesitated, but you nodded in confirmation; all your important files were backed up, anyway. You were after the green circuit board inside and all the little components attached into it, and with any luck, the tools you kept handy for your drones should work the same here. 

It must be frustrating for him, as with anyone, to have to sit here waiting without a voice. Maybe you could fill the silence enough for the two of you. “Come to think of it, until these repairs are ready, I can say anything I want and you won’t be able to disagree. You realize that’s way too much power for me to have,” you glanced up from the mess of mechanisms and circuitry. Connor was watching you with a curious smile that reached up to his eyes, his head tilted slightly forward. 

You could get lost in that smile, if you didn’t have to tear your gaze away to make sure you picked out the right components. A carbon film resistor here, a ceramic capacitor there, and why was it so hard to pry any useful amount of wire from a circuit board? 

You passed the time with idle chatter. “Let’s see, now that I get the final word... Elderly cats are cuter than elderly dogs. Dragon Age II had the most compelling story in the series. Pillow fights will never be a real thing. Also, everyone thinks 3O handlers are way cooler than detectives.”

Connor’s breath reached your skin as he exhaled in silent laughter. He placed a fist over his chest, miming as if you had just stabbed him in the heart. You giggled back at him. 

“Okay, overboard with that last one. If we’re being honest, it’s not even close, really. I can’t go five minutes without putting us both in danger.” Your thoughts were coming out on their own as the smile ran away from your face; meanwhile, you were focused on trying to fit an oddly-shaped multiplexer across several wires at once. 

“I mean, how did I fall for the most obvious trick in the book? I was stupid. Anyway, try this.” You handed him his voice module, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slid the biocomponent into place. So caught up in your goal of repairing him, you didn’t notice his growing frown before he opened his mouth to speak. 

Nothing but a staticky buzz came out, and a few wisps of smoke rose from his chest where your improvised circuit burned out almost instantly. He pulled it back out, and you inspected your work again. “Oh! I put an inductor instead of a capacitor here, aaand there go the resistors. Certified idiot moment.” You’d have to replace a few parts, but at least this time you knew what you were doing. Mostly.

Connor watched over you while you held the circuit up close, scrutinizing the placement of each component as you corrected your mistakes. In the ensuing silence, your thoughts continued their great escape. “I guess I just... I see what I want to see in people. Like when Gavin tried to kiss me yesterday, I didn’t see that coming at all. And Hank, I thought he was a good guy, but lately he’s been so, I don’t know, unpredictable.” You shook your head. “It’s funny, I even used to wonder, maybe, if you would have wanted... not that it matters. I don’t—I mean, I do, but you, you wouldn’t...”

When you realized what you were saying, you heaved a deep sigh and clamped your mouth shut. Right now would be a good time to stop talking, probably. 

Not in Connor’s opinion. He had been trying to communicate, but you were so concentrated on the electronics in front of you, he had no choice but to bring his hand firmly under your chin, guiding your attention up to him. Gone were the amused grin from his mouth and the bluish tint from his cheeks. In their place you saw intensity, terror, longing, fighting for prevalence behind unwavering eyes. 

Tell me, he mouthed silently to you. Please.

“What, that I hoped you and I could be...?” You shook your head lightly behind his touch. Saying it out loud would make it real, and real was painful, too painful. Your breath was stuck in your chest, you just couldn’t. “It’s pathetic, I know. You want to be friends, and—don’t worry. I can accept that.”

Connor’s LED radiated a conflicted red. He mouthed something more to you, but you weren’t versed enough in lip-reading to understand his, I’ve been a coward. He was so scared of losing your friendship, your trust, but his hesitation was wearing on you, too. What must his fear look like from the outside? 

You felt a familiar sting behind your eyes, why tears, why now? Along with them, a familiar instinct kicked in, too, that ever-available safety blanket known as ‘changing the subject.’ “See, I shouldn’t be allowed to talk this much unsupervised,” but your attempted joke vanished with the air that carried it, offering little relief from the gravity between your heart and his. 

Just then, you managed to twist the last wire into place. You hastily offered up Connor’s repaired voice module in front of him. The silence stretched on; he refused to reach for it, shaking his head slowly, brow furrowed in concern. No words would ever be enough, he could see that now. He brought his hand further up, rested it against your cheek, and wiped a thumb over the glistening corner of your eye, a move he learned from you a lifetime ago. 

“Say something. Say anything. I’m ready to hear it,” you pleaded. But he only leaned forward, placing his free hand over yours to push it out of the way. Still you persisted. If you were going to move on, you needed to hear it from him. “Say I’m right. Say I misread you just like I misread everyone else. Call me crazy, and a fool, anmm—”

His lips were soft and silky and cool to the touch. You almost pulled away the moment you felt them against yours, certain there had been some kind of mistake. But he stayed with you, adjusted his body to face you properly. He was gentle, cautious, asking a question; and to your own surprise, you answered, pushing back against him and matching his force with your own. 

For one last heartbeat you met his steady brown gaze, and he stole one last glimpse into your soul, a diver drawing in one last breath before the plunge. His eyelids fluttered shut, and so did yours. 

It wasn’t exactly like kissing a human. You could feel beneath the surface the dozens of tiny motors that bent his casing into shape, how they fine-tuned every millimeter of his lips to fit perfectly against yours. The faintest current of electricity prickled against your skin, leaving behind a slight tingling sensation that brought your nerves to life. Connor kissed you purposefully, decisively, giving in to the moment he had imagined a thousand times over. And you kissed him back with growing fervor, daring for once to believe that he meant it. 

His pulse raced with yours as disbelief gave way to excitement. This time, he wasn’t going to wait around to ask for more. He grazed you lightly with his teeth, commanding your lips to part further. You enthusiastically agreed, and his tongue swept past, announcing his presence across every surface within reach. Your teeth. Your tongue. The roof of your mouth. The insides of your cheeks. He tilted his head and pressed his lips further into yours, sharing more of your space with each new wave of force. You had to fight just to stay upright beneath the reckless strength of his kisses.

The world around you fell away, and in that moment, Connor was all that mattered. With fingers tracing slowly along your features, he wordlessly explained his adoration for you, the closeness he needed with you whether he knew how to express it or not. With arms draped trustingly over his shoulders, you made yourself vulnerable to him, yet you welcomed him into your heart. Then, with hands sliding carefully around your waist, he expressed a singular desire to explore, one you undeniably shared.

You allowed him to guide your body close to his, swinging your leg across so that you straddled his hips and kneeled over him where he sat. But when you shifted your weight, something sharp was crushed into pieces under your knee with a sudden crack!

Pause. You opened your eyes. Where did the two of you leave Connor’s voice module, again?

He mouthed a four-letter word.

Chapter Text

JULY 11TH, 2039
11:26 A.M.

“So, you’re saying you didn’t do anything to encourage him?”

“Well, not on purpose. Word got out that I had a crush on a detective, and I thought we were talking about...” You turned to gesture toward Connor, who waved back at you from the high-backed booth along the far wall of the restaurant. Between your broken phone and his broken voice, the two of you hadn’t been able to talk since he first kissed you. 

When Hank insisted on being the one to pick him up from the repair shop, you almost regretted inviting yourself to come with. But it turned out the lieutenant was a surprisingly reasonable guy once you got to know him better. Who knew two adults would be capable of calmly talking through their misunderstandings? 

“Ha! Leave it to Reed to immediately assume it’s him,” he nodded slightly. “I’ve been talking to Connor over the past few weeks. He promised me he was going to tell you. That’s why I thought you knew already, when I saw you sitting next to the...”

“Wait, tell me what?” You couldn’t wait to ask. About the same time, Hank’s order was called out over the speakers, and he stepped forward to collect his tray.

“That’s right, you did leave it behind, didn’t you? So that means he didn’t, uh.” Your order was called next, and together, you made your way toward the table. “Forget I said anything,” he decided with a light smirk. “Let’s talk about that meeting you had with Fowler this morning. First time getting written up?”

Connor stood up to let you sit next to the wall; he’d noticed how the tension always left your shoulders every time you had the chance to sit by a window and listen to the patter of rain outside. Hank plopped his tray down across from yours, and the three of you eased into a friendly conversation about the latest developments around the office: the official warning you received for ignoring dispatch instructions on Saturday; the engineers who talked Connor’s ear off while they patched up his injuries this morning; which reminded Hank of a story about the one time this decade that he went to see a dentist, and so on.

All the while, Connor kept glancing to his side, calculating and recalculating the distance between his hand and yours. What would be the most subtle way to reach out to you without getting scolded by Hank? Probably under the table, as soon as you finished eating, which was right about... now!

But before he could pounce, Hank took over the conversation with a subject that froze both of you in place. “I want to hear from our Handler friend here. You,” Hank was saying. “What are your intentions with my suh—” he cleared his throat, “subordinate?”

You almost spat out your drink. Wasn’t it a little soon to be asking that kind of question? Besides, Connor literally had not said a word to you since, well, you know. He hadn’t expressed any sort of commitment beyond what the two of you had already. It would be crazy to jump to conclusions based on one kiss, right?

“Well, we’re... getting to know each other,” you guessed, carefully watching both of their reactions. Hank raised an eyebrow at the brevity of your response. “But don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.” Oh. So Connor didn’t like that one. You corrected yourself hastily, “Because I’ll be busy spending so much time with Connor?”

The front of Hank’s T-shirt crinkled up as he leaned against the back of the booth, chin raised in satisfaction. “And? What’s next?”

You tilted your head: Really? But he narrowed his eyes: Maybe you’re bullshitting me. Connor might have spoken up to defend you under normal circumstances, but he clearly wanted to know your answer, too.

Except, what exactly were you supposed to say? They asked a question like that, they were going to get an answer like this: “I’m thinking we’ll adopt the two-and-a-half kids after we’ve got the white picket fence. Once the kids are off to college, we retire and do some traveling together. I grow old and he doesn’t, so I die first, and he collects on a tidy life insurance policy.” 

Beside you, the android had his eyes trained on you with lips slightly parted, clinging to your every word. Feeding on his encouragement, you planted your hands on the tabletop and leaned forward, continuing, “I leave behind a journal that he can’t bear to read, the memories are too painful. But over the years, he comes to terms with the fact that those pages are all that’s left of me. He reads on, only to find there’s a secret I’ve been keeping for decades: Where did I hide the diamonds?”

Hank sighed. “Do you ever think about what you’re going to say before you say it?”

“Not really, no. Keeps me honest. But jokes aside, we haven’t had time to talk about it yet,” you answered, back to speaking sincerely.

“I will find the diamonds,” Connor swore with all the gallantry of a knight. 

“Now look what you’ve done to him.” He balled up a napkin and tossed it onto his tray, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The fact that Hank wasn’t actively mad at you, at least, made it feel like you passed a pop quiz in a class you weren’t even taking. 

“Okay. Well, I gotta take a leak, and then we’ll head back to the station,” so he said, before proceeding to collect his phone, keys, and wallet from the table. Plastic slid against resin as he stacked your food tray on top of his, distracting you while his other hand slipped something unseen into Connor’s pocket. You were too far away to hear Hank whisper to his friend, “You can thank me later.”

Whatever. You were just happy to have a moment alone with Connor, as alone as you could be in a fast food restaurant during lunch hours. You leaned your head against his shoulder, which, of course, meant he wasn’t going to allow himself to move for the foreseeable future. His pinky finger brushed against yours, and you took the invitation to slip your hand into his. It was butterflies for you both. 

“I haven’t even had the chance to say ‘hi’ to you yet. Hi,” you purred playfully. 

“Hello, Handler.” You heard the smile behind his soft voice. His chest rose and fell with his breath, swaying ever so slightly where your cheek met his shoulder. “I wanted to text you on multiple occasions this weekend. But each time, I had to stop myself, and it bothered me. You don’t have a cell phone anymore, do you?”

“I missed you, too,” you helped him label the feeling. “I’ll figure out when I have the budget for a replacement. I’m not about to dip into my long-term savings for one, and I don’t want to disappoint the 3Os if I have to pay them late.”

Connor nudged you curiously. “You pay your drones?”

“They’re capable of spending money, and they work for me by choice. I figure, why not?” You shrugged. “Accounting doesn’t see it that way, so I split my own paycheck with them. It’s going to be hell to explain on my taxes. Anyway, is this really what we want to talk about right now?”

“Anything you want to talk about,” he’d listen, you understood that much by now. 

All of a sudden, a bright flash briefly bathed the restaurant and everything inside it in a pale white light. It should have been warning enough, but you were startled anyway by the booming thunder that rumbled through your body as it rolled past. You shrank instinctively toward Connor, and he squeezed your hand in reassurance, before you both turned your heads to look out the window. 

But wherever the lightning struck, the effects didn’t linger, and the view outside was back to that of a usual, crowded parking lot. One in which... “Isn’t that Hank’s car?” You pointed out the Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme pulling out of its parking space, angling in preparation to drive out onto the frontage road ahead. 

Connor’s LED flashed yellow. “He forgot about us. I’ll catch him.” Quickly though reluctantly, he pulled away from you to run for the door.

“Catch him? But he’s...” The door chime rang as he sprinted outside. “Driving,” you muttered, apparently to yourself. You were slower to join him, all those human inefficiencies like grabbing the table for balance as you stood up, gathering your bearings as you turned around to find the door, watching your path to make sure you didn’t run into anyone on the way out. Plus the part where you never expected to outrun a car in the first place.

By the time you stepped out of the building, Connor was almost out of sight. You just barely recognized his M-shaped hairline peeking out above the roof of Hank’s steel grey car—three lanes into traffic in front of a stoplight. 

He stayed there for a long while, long enough for the light to turn green. The car sped off without him, leaving him to stand there bewildered as the other cars swerved around him. As soon as it was safe, he hurried over to meet you, face frozen into a puzzled scowl. 

“Hank didn’t forget about us,” he blurted out as soon as he was within earshot. “He says he’s going to tell Captain Fowler he gave us the rest of the day off.”

“Okay, well my car’s still at work, so I’m going to have to go back anyway. And did he not see that it’s raining?” You changed your mind. Hank was not a reasonable guy. 

Connor blinked rapidly, still trying to process something. “He said something else. ‘And check your front pocket. That’ll get you a room at the double pour. Good luck,’” he parroted in the older man’s voice. Across the highway, you did recall the neon outline of red letters against a teal background: The Double Pour Motel. Vacancy, another sign spelled beneath it. “But it’s too early in the day for you to need a place to sleep.”

Oh his poor innocent soul. “Your first time is not going to be in a one-star motel at noon on a Monday,” you replied flatly. 

He thought on your words for a moment longer, before almost his entire face tinted a bright shade of blue. You didn’t even know that was possible. “You don’t mean...” But you nodded. “And he gave this to me because...” Another nod. 

He took one last look at the wad of cash in his hand before sticking it back into his pocket. You followed his gaze to see a surprising outline—Either there was something else in his pocket, or he was very happy to see you. Not that you could’ve known, but you were right on both counts. 

A cursory glance at the sky told you the rain wasn’t going to let up any time soon. You’d just have to brave it. “The bus routes don’t really line up between here and our police station,” you recalled. “It’s faster to walk. I can drive back from there and pick you up, unless you’d like to come with?”

Connor’s LED resolved to match the blue in his cheeks, he most certainly had not been calculating a route to your apartment, who, him? “Wait,” he interjected before you could leave the safety of the building’s overhang. His undershirt was soaked in the rain in the time it took to hold his jacket up like a shield over you. 

When moved to accept his jacket, he lifted it slightly higher than your reach. You looked to him. “Are you sure?”

“It’s a long walk. Your arms will get tired, mine will not.” He had the winning argument there.

It was a long walk in this weather. You led the way along sidewalks and crosswalks, past office buildings and parking garages, around two huge stadiums and, inexplicably, an opera house. It wasn’t uncomfortably cold, but the wind was strong enough to push sheets of rain onto your uniform before Connor could adjust course to protect you. Along the side of a street, a truck was kind enough to charge right through a huge puddle as you walked past, coating you in muddy water from the waist down. Honestly it was kind of a waste for him to try to keep you dry at this point, and you told him as much. But he did let you wear the jacket instead. It felt like a permanent hug. 

You led him to a shortcut through Grand Circus Park, a smattering of grass and trees crisscrossed by shimmering concrete paths, with a fountain at the center of the far half of the park. The only people nearby had their heads down and umbrellas out, shuffling by as quickly as possible. The station wouldn’t be too much further from here, but the weather was getting to you. Right near the fountain, you stopped to rest on one of several empty benches, and Connor sat down beside you, quietly estimating your vital signs. Your internal temperature was a little low, some symptoms of fatigue, but no signs of dehydration; you could afford to take a break here. 

He couldn’t offer you any body heat of his own, but you felt warmer anyway when he reached across your shoulders and pulled you close to his chest. “So, this makes us, like, really good friends, right?” you teased, craning your head back to look up at him. 

“I would say we’re more than that, wouldn’t you?” He tried to sound light-hearted, but there was a tinge of genuine discomfort to his voice, if you heard him correctly over the rain. 

Discomfort being the funniest emotion of all, you pushed him just a little further, offering an impish grin so that he could see you were kidding around. “Detective, you are my very bestest friend in the whole wide—”

But he pulled away from you with a worried frown, eyebrows knitted upward together to give him that innocent puppy-dog look. His chocolate eyes stared right into yours with a mixture of fear and fortitude you’d never seen before. “I don’t want to be friends,” he cut you off, sticking a hand in his pocket. “This is all moving so fast, and...”

Connor drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and the silence stretched on as he made up his mind. The suspense was killing you, what was going on in there? If he had any experience at all, he wouldn’t choose this kind of wording. “What are you saying?” you prompted after a long wait. 

“I...” LED flickering blue, he reached for your hand, and you allowed him to hold it between both of his. “I want to do this the right way.”

In a quiet voice, barely audible over the scenery, he spoke your name, closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. “I used to define myself by my mission and my ability to complete it. I wasn’t designed to exist without one,” he began, giving himself time to build up to his point. “When the revolution was over, I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was lost. Then I met you.”

If he was about to call you his ‘mission,’ you were ready to roll your eyes. But the way his hands trembled even as they held yours, the way he didn’t dare to look away from you, as if he was afraid you might disappear at any moment, you were more than a conquest to him. You were irreplaceable. 

“You’ve always believed in me, no matter what. I don’t know why you do it. You trust without question that the people in your life are worth something, and it’s contagious. It feels like...” Connor chewed at his lip, searching for the right words to describe it. Analogies weren’t his strong suit, and literal words felt inadequate to describe it. So he pulled at your wrist instead, leading your hand closer until it rested flat against his chest. Behind the waterlogged fabric of his shirt, you could feel his thirium pump pounding so frantically beneath the surface that it just might jump out of its cage. 

“You make a difference in the world, and you make all the difference in the world to me,” his voice resonated through his chest, soft yet certain. You were about to object, but he anticipated even that part of you. “I know, you’re always telling me that you’re nothing. Handler...”

You lowered your head, overwhelmed by the rush of so many words you never dreamed you’d hear. But Connor lowered himself down to chase after your gaze, dropping out of his seat and onto one knee just so he could look you in the eye again. 

“You’re everything.”

Something round and metallic rolled against your palm, and you realized he was giving you the object you’d seen on his desk before, that same ‘From Connor’ engraved along the side. He let go of your hand, and you closed your fingers around the metallic cylinder he left in his place. Matching fingerprint detected, announced a pre-recorded voice in front of you, and you jerked away in surprise as a vibrant red bouquet of holographic roses popped up in front of you. 

It wasn’t a cheap hologram, either. A detailed three-dimensional display of stems and thorns and petals swayed with the wind and drooped with gravity, yet the rain passed straight through them. Two-dimensional projectors were expensive enough as it was, you had no idea how he even got his hands on this kind of technology. 

You tilted the holo-projector out of the way so that you could see Connor properly behind it. “This person cares about you and wanted you to have something nice,” he quoted you to yourself: the one reason why you would want flowers from anyone. 

“You remember? But that was..?” Ten chapters ago by your count, and by chapters you meant the many chapters in the long story of your life. How long ago did he decide?

The wonder in your voice, the reverence in your eyes, gave him the courage he needed to ask his only question. He had your attention, all he needed now was your answer: “Will you go out with me?”

“Always, and—you’re everything to me, too, and—okay, I didn’t get to plan a whole, like, thing,” you stammered out. Shifting your weight, you slid your way off the bench until your knees hit the ground, bringing you level with him once more. It must look silly, you didn’t care. “Connor, I want to spend every second I have with you. I don’t know what to say except hell yes.”

Relief? Elation? Only he and you could know what it was that had the both of you breaking carefully into a shared smile one piece at a time, wide awake in your wildest dreams. Soft, pale hands reached up your neck to guide you into a kiss, but you hesitated. 

“I’m going to taste like french fries,” you warned him first. 

“I’m going to taste like blood from a crime scene,” he warned you back.

Your wide-eyed screams were muffled by his mouth against yours. Luckily, he was the one joking this time. You figured that out pretty quickly by the neutral taste of his tongue, and by the sound of his rare, breathy laugh, the song of an angel that never failed to paint a smile across your lips, even as he pulled away. 

Far too early. You closed a fist around the knot of his tie and tugged him back in, concluding his laughter with a surprised whimper. Ten seconds more, your turn to kiss him your way. It would be tempting to wander lower, but, as with all good things. You were in a public park, on the ground, rain battering down on your skin, wind beating against your uniform, almost certainly late to get back to work. And yet the wrong request sprang from your throat: “I want us to stay here a little longer.”

You watched him press his lips to the back of your hand before he whispered the right answer: “As long as it’s with you.”

Chapter Text

JULY 12TH, 2039
4:28 P.M.

“Spell it.”

“D-E-N-I-A-L.”

“The fourth letter you said was ‘I,’” Connor pointed out, trying his very best to remain patient. “You used the letter ‘I’ while spelling ‘denial.’”

“That may be so, but I’m telling you, there’s no ‘I’ in ‘denial,’” you insisted. “You’re not going to change my mind on this.”

“Handler, I know you to be an intelligent person. There is an ‘I’ in ‘denial,’ I don’t understand why you can’t see that. It’s as if you’re in...”

You could actually see the moment on his face when he realized what you were up to. The concern disappeared from his brow, the frustration from his frown, replaced with a pitiable attempt to disguise his smile as a scowl. You smoothed his hair back and planted a kiss on his forehead. 

“You were joking this whole time?” he accused. 

“This whole time,” you confessed. 

The wide stripes on the street changed from red to green, signaling your turn to cross together. Your drones floated past at a relaxed pace, spreading out to scout the city block ahead of you. They sampled the humid air high and low, pausing to investigate mailboxes and dumpsters and the occasional parked car, before moving on to scan for unusual heat signatures and signs of recent foot traffic. Rinse and repeat. 

With Connor by your side, you strolled past the restaurants and shops that lined the route of the upcoming march, encouraging your drones every few minutes with your gesture for ‘Good Job - Continue.’ You weren’t expecting them to find anything dangerous, but you wouldn’t be surprised if they did. Just because the Androids’ Rights protests were peaceful didn’t mean the same was always true of the counter-protesters. 

Connor was still pouting, but it didn’t stop him from his task, sweeping his gaze left to right and back again. He counted people as they passed, double-checking their criminal histories and estimating their moods. “I wouldn’t have fallen for that if I wasn’t distracted.”

“Don’t be so down on yourself. It’s not your fault you’re so cute,” you teased, enjoying the sound of his flustered huff in response. “I couldn’t resist the perfect setup, but I swear I was listening to you before. Bookfest’s this Sunday?”

“The twenty-second annual Detroit Festival of Books,” he corrected you, “over at Eastern Market. I was thinking it would be a suitable place to... begin our first date?”

Even hearing the words, you could hardly believe they were real. If Connor was a dream, you wouldn’t mind sleeping the rest of your life. “I’d like that. Maybe we could do something before then, too.”

Your drones waited in formation at the end of the block, status lights green across the board. As soon as you reached them, they took off again down the next turn, the last few blocks on the protest permit. “I am assigned to monitor the march until eight,” the detective began. 

“Well, I didn’t mean tonight. I’ll probably still be at the station. Fowler’s going to have a conniption if I fall any further behind on paperwork.” You sighed. “What about tomorrow?”

“FBI wants me to stay late and go over the red ice cases with them,” he sighed back, subconsciously copying your mannerisms. Who knew it would be such a challenge to find some quality time together? 

The two of you did, of course, steal every second you could spend in each other’s presence. Him, clocking out for unnecessary lunch breaks, just in case you invited him to join you (you always did). You, insisting on hand-delivering reports to Hank, lingering far too long beside his deskmate while he reviewed them. And there was the training with your drones, though you couldn’t be certain what Connor got out of being chased, stung, and shot at with darts the entire time.

But to find a nice, quiet few hours to give each other your full attention, it was a miracle you’d even made it happen once. “I do expect to have free time on Thursday,” he offered.

“That’s when I promised the swarm I’d help them put together a memorial. We’ve lost two drones in two weeks, it’s been hard on them,” and away the opportunity slipped. “Oh! But on Friday, I’m playing poker with some friends. You should join us, if you’re willing to follow a few house rules.”

“House rules?”

You forgot your answer when the sound of angry shouting cut across the stale, humid air, bringing your attention to the gathering crowd ahead. After sharing one last glance with Connor, you picked up the pace to join Officers Miller and Wilson, standing uncertainly between two distinct groups that had begun to form ahead of schedule in the open plaza.

The larger, mostly android group was busy trying to organize their speakers at the front of a parade-like formation. Colorful signs in CyberLife Sans raised up above them, wearing righteous slogans like We Think Therefore We Vote, 18 Years Is Suppression, and Justice Delayed = Justice Denied. Barking at their side, a rowdy few humans waved hand-crafted picket signs with much less coordinated messages, anything from a neutral Pass The 30th to an inflammatory They’ll Always Want MORE.  

Putting yourself between them was a scarier process than expected. You shuffled your way past dozens of scornful faces and combative voices, intentionally getting in their way from harassing the opposite group. From seemingly every direction, you could expect to be shoved, prodded, or of course yelled at, and not for a moment could you let it show that you were anything other than calm. 

They were loud and unpredictable, and in comparison you felt so small. There was a reason your assignments like these ended by the time the protests were supposed to start. But Miller and Wilson needed help now, and that was what mattered. 

Connor followed close behind you, studying the way you transformed whenever you saw someone in need. Personally, he had no problem with a crowd like this. The fear wasn’t there to begin with. But to see you, jaw clenched, hunched slightly over, elbows drawn close to your body, yet pushing past your fear anyway with eyes burning a path ahead, you invented a new way to be beautiful. 

“Step back, step back—Move to your designated side!” Miller raised his voice while Wilson radioed for backup. It was better than nothing, but not by much. A few protesters would back away, only to be replaced like the heads of a hydra, if that hydra was passionately expressing its views on the logistics of androids’ civil rights. 

You reached over a spray-painted poster board to tap Officer Miller on the shoulder. “Chris! We’re here to help.” 

With a grateful nod, he acknowledged you and the detective joining up by your side. What they needed from you, he explained, was a signal boost; your drones would draw attention, and Connor’s detective badge would command respect. 

“Listen up!” You raised a hand in the air and rolled your wrist in a circular, sweeping motion, prompting your drones to converge over Connor’s position with searchlights shining. The daylight was already bright enough, but you hoped to use their lights to point out the android who was technically the highest-ranking officer on the scene. Heads turned, voices quieted. So far, so good.

Taking your cue, he snatched the badge from his belt and held it high so everyone could see he was one of you, despite his lack of uniform. “I want everyone to take five steps back!” he commanded, level and authoritative. 

Slowly, the groups began to separate, leaving a growing strip of sunlit pavement between them. You had room to breathe. And soon, you had a manageable neutral zone between the protesters and counterprotesters. They could still glare at each other and call each other names, but now your coworkers had the chance to make sure that’s all it was. 

Your drones awaited your command to finally call them off, ready for some much-needed recharge time. But you stood your ground, with them watching the crowds settle down, waiting. And waiting. No way? 

“Handler?” Connor pulled you from your state of vigilance, concern on his brow. “Is everything okay?”

For just a while longer, you weren’t willing to risk relaxing. But nothing else changed about your surroundings, and you finally took your right hand off the holster—when did that get there? It was just so puzzling: “Where’s the part where something explodes and all hell breaks loose?”

He waited for you to explain. 

“I mean, nothing just goes right like this,” you gestured out at the crowd, only for your drones to start drifting off toward them. You had to interrupt yourself: “‘A’ crew, ‘H’ crew, come back and charge! Great focus today, proud of every one of you. Anyway, yeah,” a slight shrug back at Connor, “guess I’m on edge for no reason.”

The detective reached in close to help you hook your drones onto the battery packs at the front of your vest, and you shifted your balance to accommodate their weight as they powered down their propellers. You hadn’t noticed the sound of their buzzing until it stopped, leaving only voices to echo through the plaza. 

Connor’s cowlick swayed in front of him as he tilted his head at you. “You make it look so easy,” he mumbled, not loud enough, before continuing at a normal volume with what he actually meant to say. “Maybe some rest at the station will help. Let me walk you to your van.”

It would, of course, be inappropriate to hold hands while on duty in front of such a public audience, but your more-than-a-friend walked closer to you than necessary, brushing his shoulder against yours. Away from the crowd, beyond a bickering trio of protest organizers, past a news van and a video camera and an immaculately-dressed Joss Douglas narrating for Channel 16. And none of that was your problem. 

So what was your problem? Why couldn’t you trust your fate to give you one safe moment with your favorite android in the world? It was true, you had been spending the past several nights regretting your naïve nature, all the warning signs you would have caught if you were smart enough to question what was in front of you. 

If you could have left that one guy alone two weeks ago, he never would have served you the electronics version of a live bomb. Or if you could have watched your six and not blindly trusted that kid in the server farm, you wouldn’t have lost a good drone to the ambush behind you. Or if you had even paid attention to Hank on Monday for more than five seconds, you would have seen the obvious signs he was getting ready to abandon you in the rain.

And what was the one factor between them all? Connor stepped in every time to make it all right. You couldn’t stand being the screw-up from your inattentiveness, your utter incompetence, leaving him to clean up all your messes like some kind of... well, some kind of something. There wasn’t even a word for how much you relied on him. 

“But I like it when you rely on me,” he interrupted you as he pulled open the side door of your van for you. 

You let out a resigned groan, watching your drones shuffle their way off your vest and into their seats. “I was saying all of that out loud, wasn’t I.”

He glanced for twenty milliseconds at your surroundings—parked alone in a residential zone, several blocks away from the action. Private enough for him to sit down along the open side of the black-and-white van, and for you to sit beside him in the gap that was juuust wide enough for both of you if you scooted up close to him. 

“I’ve made mistakes, too,” Connor wasn’t afraid to admit. “We will catch ‘that one guy’ and ‘that kid’ eventually. If life as a deviant has taught me anything, it’s that you don’t have to do everything perfectly the first time around.”

“That’s a lot of words to say ‘calm down,’ but I appreciate the tact,” you scoffed, leaning to the side so that you bumped into him affectionately. “I’d like to think I’m learning from my mistakes, but you’re right. Being paranoid isn’t going to help anyone.”

Together you shared a meaningful smile before looking out at the incredibly scenic... plain brick wall across the sidewalk a few feet away. It was no romantic sunset, but if it could be the backdrop of your time with Connor, then this was presently your favorite brick wall in the world. Comfortable minutes of silence passed between you, together with your thoughts, until finally you broke it with a playful hum. 

“Detective, what a lovely date! We went for a nice afternoon walk, there was window shopping, crowd surfing, and... if I remember correctly, you walked me to the car and gave me this really awesome kiss goodbye?” you exaggerated, adding your own extra prophecy at the end. 

His LED briefly betrayed the yellow blink of an idea. You noticed the corners of his lips twitch. “Your memory of today is inaccurate. In fact, I gave you the best kiss goodbye,” he played along, but while you were turning eagerly to face him, he was setting up a joke of his own. 

The punchline? Nothing but a swift peck on the lips. A hit and run. 

You shot your arm forward to cut off his escape, but you were predictable, and he was faster than you. Connor ducked under the obstacle you created for him and darted out of the van in one fluid motion, spinning around so you could see the mischievous smirk pulling at his cheek. 

“Get back here,” you growled playfully, though you made no move to actually contradict his ‘no.’ “You thief! You steal a kiss, you owe one back. That’s the law, I’m pretty sure.”

“You’ll have all Sunday to chase me down for it. On a real date.” Something about you gave him the confidence to commit to a flirtatious wink before he turned to get back to his post. He knew you’d watch him go. But, just to double check, he snuck a subtle peek at your reflection off the side view mirror of a passing car, and sure enough. 

You soaked up the last rays of his presence until he turned a corner, and it was time for you to leave. Connor was so sweet, and cheesy, and endearingly clumsy in his fledgling attempts to beat you at your own game. If you weren’t careful, you’d fall before you knew it. Then again, his advice dissolved your guard right as you considered putting it up. No paranoia this time. No giving up before it began, you promised yourself. 

The broad 3O UNIT label on your van was complete once more as you slid the side door back into place. Into the driver seat you climbed, and with the press of a few buttons you were off to the station once again. 

Connor was going to have to take a backseat in your mind as you switched gears back into competent-worker mode. There were several folders of forms waiting for your return, Kevin had an idea for a propeller design that he probably left on your desk for review, your vest needed charging, your three ‘A’ crew drones wanted you to adjust their visual processing circuits. It turned out this whole Handler position was a lot of work to maintain, but you know what? The benefits were worth it. Grabbing hold of the steering wheel, you let go of your distractions and focused on what lay ahead. 

So did the car that was tailing you. 

Chapter Text

JULY 15TH, 2039
5:00 P.M.

Coffee? At 5 in the afternoon? It’s more likely than you think. 

You leaned your elbows against the high table, providing a counterweight for Gavin as he did the same. On the break room television above you, a black newsline scrolled across a yellow background, rerunning a story about the recent protest and the police’s use of ‘experimentally enhanced drones’ to resolve the hostilities.

“Looks like you’re a celebrity now,” Gavin observed, circling a finger toward the screen. “Don’t forget about us when you’re walking the red carpet.”

You mimed spitting out your coffee in disbelief. “Ha! Like how you were a celebrity for like two minutes when they covered your B&E breakthrough? Yeah, you bring the champagne, I’ll get the caviar and we’ll live it up.” B&E: Breaking and entering.

“Speaking of breakthroughs,” the detective shifted to face you directly. “Haven’t seen you around much lately. Where’d we leave off last time?”

You hadn’t had much chance to talk to Gavin since the time he kissed you. Every time your paths crossed, it seemed, circumstance brought you away before you could even say hello: Connor would call you to his desk for advice on a case, or Connor would happen to pass by and greet you first, or Connor would have some paperwork to pass on to Gavin... Hey wait a minute, there’s a common thread here. Still, the conversation needed to happen eventually; now was as good a time as any. You drew in an uncomfortable breath. “Detective, you’re going to make someone else very happy someday. It’s just, I have a different taste in—”

A flash of bronze served as your only warning before a familiar restraint left you tongue-tied in the middle of your sentence. Connor had swooped in between you without so much as a hello, crashing his lips into yours with so much force that you would have stumbled backward—if not for his hands anchoring your waist against his. 

You tried gently to pull away, first out of surprise, then out of respect for the conversation you were in the middle of having; but he hunted you down each time, dragging your lips back into place with a warning nip between his perfect white teeth. Had you put into your resistance the force he knew you were capable of, he would have backed off, but it’s not like you were entirely opposed to this new form of greeting, if he so insisted. 

Connor ran a hand along your back and pushed you into a slight dip, a dancer in the lead role, prompting you to reach around the back of his neck for balance. He wished he could say he was doing this all for you, but there was another motive that factored into his decision matrix. Because this little maneuver put him right in the perfect position.

Unseen to you, Connor very intentionally locked eyes with Gavin, brow raised in what could only be described as a challenge. In answer, Gavin scrunched his face up with exaggerated disgust. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Alright, let me know when you get that thing off your face.”

Be nice to ‘that thing,’ you’d have scolded him if you could use your mouth right now. It might not come across to many, but you could tell by your friend’s tone that he wasn’t seriously offended. He’d have done the same were he in Connor’s position, the lucky piece of plastic, but then again, this meant he was free to shoot his shot with Stacy at reception on the way out. And that was exactly what he planned to do, tossing back the last of his coffee before starting off across the holding cells. 

You reached out a hand to wave goodbye, but Connor denied you even that, interlocking his fingers with yours to take control of your range of motion. But there was no way he could stop you from waving with your other hand!... unless he caught you with his other hand, too, and pressured your body with his until you were backed up against the wall. 

Your were beet-red by the time his lips left yours, only for him to duck below your chin while you were busy catching your breath. He kissed and nibbled curiously along the sensitive area of your throat, but he slowed down considerably compared to the whirlwind he was before. This part wasn’t something he planned. It just happened and he was a little lost on how to proceed. But he was determined to prove that he could be just as passionate as a human for you, and if that meant doing a bit of field research to find out what you liked, then so be it.

“Connor?” you breathed, still dazed by the sudden intensity of his affection. The last time you were this close to intimacy, he was the one who wanted to wait. What ever happened to wanting to do things the right way? What could have changed his mind between then and... Oh, so that’s what this was about. 

You pushed against his grip with enough strength to tell him you wanted out, and he obliged, leaving your skin cold where his lips were. His LED flashed red before blinking back to yellow. What did he do wrong? Did he hurt you? Were you mad at him?

Sensing the vulnerability in his expression, you tried to remain as gentle as you were firm. “Connor, I know you’re not a fan of Gavin, but he’s still my friend. You can’t keep intercepting me every time I try to talk to him. Especially if it means going out of your own comfort zone to, uh... offer a distraction.”

“I just thought... No, you’re right. I’m sorry.” His gaze dropped to the ground, oh no. Here come the puppy dog eyes.

“Are you worried that I’m not committed to you?”

“It’s not that.” He shook his head. “Maybe it’s my instincts as an android. I want to believe that I am enough to meet all of your needs, that... that you don’t need attention from someone like Detective Reed. Am I being selfish?”

“Not at all. It’s common for humans to feel that way, too,” you reassured him, reaching to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I don’t need that kind of attention from him. Or want it. But as long as he respects that, he’s still my friend, and I value his perspective and support.” And his sense of humor, but you’d break that to him later. “You and I shouldn’t be each other’s only source of emotional connection. That’s too much pressure for any relationship to handle.”

He suppressed a confused frown, but that didn’t stop him from sounding unconvinced. Before you came along, he didn’t need anyone; now, you were the only thing that mattered. What was this about wanting to be around anyone else? “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Don’t,” you stopped him. That wasn’t the point. Flattering as it was, if you didn’t nip his jealousy in the bud now, you would both suffer for no reason later down the line. “We should get going, poker starts soon. But can we talk about this along the way? I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“It may be something I need time to fully understand. However, I wouldn’t mind talking about it more,” Connor agreed, at least keeping an open mind. One of the cool things about dating a human was that he had your experience to listen to, as long as you were willing to teach him. After you chugged your lukewarm coffee you were off to the parking lot together. “I call shotgun!”

“You don’t need—It’s my car and there’s two of us, what—Okay, Detective. You win shotgun.”

Having just ‘won’ the privilege of sitting in the passenger seat, he hurried forward to open the driver-side door of your car for you, before excitedly hopping into his very own seat, which again, he earned for himself because he called shotgun before anyone else in the car, and for no other reason. 

You had a serious conversation ahead of you, but maybe it was your instincts as a human: something told you that the two of you were going to make it out just fine. 

Chapter Text

JULY 15TH, 2039
7:09 P.M.

You squinted at the blindfolded faces in the electric yellow light of your friends’ dining room. The last card was revealed on the table; if you were going to commit to your bluff, you’d have to do it now.

“All-in for ten,” Ripple bet, tossing the last of her poker chips toward the center of the table. Her blindfold obscured her LED from view, but you could see a confident smirk pulling at the red-haired WR400’s cheek.

“Fold,” you abandoned your cards, along with all the chips you’d invested to get this far.

“Call,” Echo matched her fiancee’s bet, bright blue hair casting strands of shadow over her ironically straight face.

As the only humans at the table, you and Kevin were free to lean forward and watch what was sure to be an impressive reveal on both sides. Given the cards in play, you wouldn’t expect an experienced player to bet this much unless they had a lucky hand of their own.

But Ripple immediately reminded you that these were not experienced players, throwing her cards face-up like she had just gotten away with murder. “Queen-high!” she announced proudly—an incredibly weak hand in this situation.

Echo’s excitement showed in the speed at which she slammed her cards down: “Boom! King-high.” Literally the next worst possible hand after Ripple’s.

While she sorted out her winnings and Connor collected the cards—his turn to be the dealer—Kevin looked to you in disbelief. “Neither of those hands were worth betting that much on!”

“It’s worth it if they win,” Kevin’s plus-one shrugged beside him. The AP700 wasn’t wrong, the ladies’ aggressive betting had convinced the rest of you to give up your stakes in the game, even though you knew now that your pocket-threes would have been enough to beat them. It would be a valid strategy had they been doing it on purpose.

Now that she was busted, Ripple excused herself to check on her foster pets while the AP700, whose name you always forgot, stepped outside to answer a call. That left you, Kevin, and a blinded Connor and Echo to keep playing for the win.

The blindfolds were your friends’ solution to their vision software automatically recognizing everyone’s cards in the reflections of their eyes, and besides with Connor’s subsurface vision, he would have had even more of an advantage watching your vital signs. In return, the rule was that human players had to say something about their cards every draw, true or not. The pitch, speed, and volume of your speech made for a gold mine of information all on its own.

Connor shuffled and dealt the next round with perfect coordination, two cards per player sliding to a halt in precise stacks exactly 10.0 centimeters away from the table’s edge. You glanced down at your cards while the androids swiped theirs like credit cards underneath their blindfolds. Apparently, that was the most convenient way to read them.

“Two-seven off-suit is a really good hand, right?” Kevin feigned ignorance as if to imply he had terrible cards, which of course, probably meant he was hiding something strong.

You lied in the opposite direction: “Two aces, just for me? Connor, you shouldn’t have.”

“Tch! Call,” Echo matched Kevin’s ante with the minimum possible bet. Connor contributed likewise. As for you, your three-eight wasn’t even worth trying to bluff. You folded again.

Connor flipped the first three communal cards face-up for another round of betting, and you helped announce the new cards as he did. How much processing power it must take to memorize where in space everything was, while calculating the statistical likelihood of every possible outcome and analyzing the tells in everyone’s voices, you half-expected him to hum with internal fans like an old-school computer.

He was doing well for himself; after losing almost everything to a failed chase in the first few rounds, he had slowed down and played the odds until he had enough experience to play the players. By now, he had the largest hoard of chips at the table. It was fascinating to watch—and it spelled doom for your own chips, having to play it safe while you adjusted to his playstyle. But the game wasn’t over yet.

Next card out, Kevin raised the bid so high that Echo was forced to bet the rest of her chips to match him. Connor had the good sense to fold, and neither of you were surprised when by the end of the round, Echo left the table having lost to a straight flush.

The buck passed to you, that is, it was your turn to deal next. You couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious shuffling the deck at a regular human speed after Connor was able to do it in less than a second.

Kevin took the chance to check his phone, chatting idly while he waited. “You’d think the androids would be kicking our butts, if they can just calculate the chance that they have the best hand.”

Connor swiveled his head to ‘look’ in your intern’s direction, and you noticed for the first time that it was possible for a blindfold to really bring out a person’s jawline. “Poker is a game of information. If we only bet proportionately to our statistical likelihood of winning, we risk either revealing our strength too early and winning too little from those who realize they have a worse hand, or committing more than necessary and losing too much to someone with a better hand,” explained the detective.

“Well-put, Professor Connor,” you cheered him on. “Plus, it is extremely funny when they get used to bluffing, and then you surprise ’em with a raise when they get overconfident and bet too high.”

“You did that on purpose?” Connor sounded almost betrayed. That was the strategy you’d used to nearly knock him out of the game earlier.

“Relatable though,” Kevin shrugged, glancing out the window at his companion.

You followed his gaze while dealing out the cards. The household android looked like he was snarling at no one in particular, apparently not yet finished with that phone call. “Yeah, how are things going with, uhh...”

“Ludwig? They’re going, I guess. We might be roommates next semester. Um, thanks for the ten of diamonds and queen of clubs.”

“Eight-nine of hearts, but I’ll make my own luck. In for five total,” you started the round with an early bet, and Kevin matched you.

“Call,” Connor was in as well. “How did you know when you were ready to move in together?”

“That’s the thing, I didn’t.” Kevin shifted from side to side in his chair, trying and failing to find a comfortable position. “Lud’s super hot-and-cold. I think that’s just who he is. But sometimes it’s hard to know if he likes me for me, or if he just likes how it feels to have someone who’ll do anything for him.”

“Seven of clubs, ace of hearts, queen of hearts,” you announced the communal cards as you dealt them. “Damn, Kevin. He’d better not be asking you to foot the bill, too.”

“I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like the only way to make him like me is to say yes to whatever he wants. Uhh, check,” he added with a frown. This should have been a good hand for him to play aggressively, he must have been lying about his cards.

“Bet five,” Connor pressed the advantage, realizing the same thing you did. “A ‘yes’ is meaningless unless you are able to say no.”

You nodded. “And willing. I know it’s easier said than done, but pay attention to how he reacts when you want something and he doesn’t.” Speaking of, this could be a decent hand for you if you could scare Connor off from betting further. “Raise to ten!”

“Fold,” Kevin admitted defeat.

Meanwhile, Connor committed along with you, factory-default expression giving nothing away. You teased him for calling your bet: “You don’t think I have it! And out comes the, uhh... nine of hearts,” the next communal card revealed your little fib about your starting hand.

“Because you don’t have it. Ten,” he pointed out with another aggressive bet.

“Call. Three of spades.”

“Check.”

“Wait, the hell do you have that you don’t bet again here? Check?” you agreed to pass the round without betting any further. If either of you was confident about having the winning hand, the logical move would have been to bet just as high as before, if not higher.

Connor laid his cards face-up on the table for you to see. “I wanted to go easy on you, but I have the nuts,” he explained matter-of-factly. ‘Nuts,’ the poker term for the best possible hand, in this case the king of hearts with a ten to complete the flush. On your left, Kevin couldn’t help but snort at the way Connor said it.

“Please never say that again,” you chuckled, “but thanks for wanting to show me mercy.” You discarded your cards face-down; your eight and jack of hearts made the next best hand, you would have won if Connor had drawn anything different.

The next few rounds gave you the chance to claw your money back. Kevin kept underestimating his chances of winning, and Connor speculated too much on his cards’ potential, allowing you to capitalize on both of them by keeping calm and sticking to a more consistent strategy. By the time the moon shone through the windows, you and Connor had a roughly even split compared to Kevin’s dwindling earnings for the night. And when Kevin lost the last of his chips in a desperate final bid, it was down to you to fight it out for the title of Amateur Poker Champion Of This Specific Friend Group.

Ripple returned to spectate with a sleepy foster kitten in her arms, Echo by her side trying to coax it into feeding from a syringe. You brought them up to speed while Connor dealt the next starting hand, two cards for you, two cards for him.

Before looking at your cards, you glanced around at the other three people at the table, and an idea struck you in the form of a flashy grin.

“Take off the blindfold!” you suggested, much to your friends’ skepticism. You had talked up Connor’s investigative abilities before, but you had enough time to get to know his emotional side, too.

Connor hooked a finger under the bottom edge of the fabric, but he paused momentarily. “What about your cards?”

“Oh right, let me memorize them,” you snuck a quick peek.

Then the moment he heard your cards hit the table, the blindfold came off, and you finally got a good look at his face for the first time in hours, innocent pools of brown darting around the room, ring of blue light blinking as he took in a flood of visual information. His lips parted absently as he processed the layout of the room, the positions of your friends, and, finally, you.

In jest, you gave a cheeky little wave hello. Without thinking, he waved back in earnest. “Ante up, Detective,” you reminded him.

“You’re a detective?” That was the AP700’s voice—sorry, Ludwig’s voice, he was just so forgettable—as he stepped in through the backyard door.

“If you can believe it. Before that, he was almost a cold-blooded killer,” Ripple teased. You’d heard the story from both sides by now, the deviant hunter who hesitated to pull the trigger. Luckily by now, the deviants had developed a culture of forgiving each other for their ‘past lives.’

Connor tossed forward the minimum bet to play his hand. “I could be both. If I’m the detective assigned to the case, no one would ever know.”

“It’s because you say things like that that you’re still banned from Canada!” you laughed, and snuck in a high bet while you were at it: “Raise to ten.”

“All androids are still banned from Canada. Call,” he added absently before dealing the first three communal cards.

Five of clubs, five of spades, ten of diamonds. It wouldn’t be too exciting, except that that gave you a three-of-a-kind with your five! Too late to hide your heart rate, the sharp inhale when you read the cards. “Screw it. Bet twenty,” you decided to be transparent with such a high bet.

“Yeah, that’s pretty BS,” Kevin was continuing the conversation in the background.

Connor squinted at you. Were you bluffing? You subconsciously bit at the corner of your lip like you were getting away with something, your heart rate was a little too high. You were too excited to simply be confident about your hand, he decided. “Raise to forty.”

“O-kaay. Guess I’ll call,” you raised your hands up in a gesture of peace. Did he really think you were bluffing?

Meanwhile, Ludwig was speaking over you: “Androids don’t belong in Canada. We can barely handle our responsibilities in the States as it is.”

At this point it was prudent to tune everyone else out; too much to keep track of. Connor laid out the next card, a king of spades that wasn’t going to help anyone. You looked back to Connor. “Twenty again,” you partially bluffed. If he thought his hand was good but not great, he might fall for it.

But he didn’t. “Call,” he matched your bet, this time without pushing for more. For an imperceptible fraction of a second, his LED flickered yellow. Why were you breathing so quickly? Why were you leaning so far forward, playing anxiously with the collar of your shirt? You had to be bluffing, he was sure of it now.

While Echo and Ripple discussed another viewpoint on international android recognition, and your politicians’ failure to pursue it, you focused on the cards at play. Connor took the opportunity to mess with you as he dealt the last communal card, an ace of hearts. “You might as well fold, Handler. I have already won.”

You tilted your head back pensively. Connor didn’t have such a great poker face now that he could see your reaction, his elbows against the table, hands folded in all-too-perfect patience. You could sense the doubt within the confidence he wanted to project.

“All in.”

You committed the last of your chips and then some, pretending to throw your heart out onto the table as well. “I really would fold, if I were you,” you added.

There was that heart rate spike again, as you made eye contact with him. “Call,” he matched you, pushing a wide stack of poker chips toward the center of the table. He didn’t even hesitate this time, he knew you so well.

You slammed your cards down on the table. “I warned you!” A full house, not only that, but the second best full house. Two fives and an ace, plus your five-ace hole cards. Your patience had been rewarded with the second best possible hand.

Connor revealed one of his two cards: another five. He could still tie with you if he had an ace. You, Echo, Ripple, Kevin, and Ludwig all held your breaths.

“What’s taking so long?”

“I’m pausing for dramatic effect. I read online that it’s customary to—”

You were ready to humor him, but Ludwig reached across the table and flipped over the last card, revealing a king of diamonds. Not enough to beat you! Your friends erupted into ‘ooohs’ and ‘ohhhhs’ and variations thereof, while you raked in a victory you weren’t sure you really earned. All you did to win was get a lucky hand and commit to it; and all Connor did to lose was accuse you of being unsure of yourself.

“Good game. I calculated a 78% probability that you were bluffing,” he explained while you counted out your chips.

“It wasn’t 78%. It was either 100 or 0, in this case 0,” you joked back. Just to make sure he didn’t take it personally, you glanced up to check his expression.

And that’s when your blood pressure increased, Connor realized. The common denominator was him. Every one of your vitals spiked every time you looked at him.

Congratulations followed, and the usual post-game chatter about everyone’s favorite plays. Cashing out was a simple matter of asking Echo to authorize the bank transfer for you. You stuck around for a while longer, soaking in the praise for your flashy finish, plans for spending or saving your winnings, and finally your goodbyes as the caffeine crash started to hit from that break room coffee.

You found your way to Connor and slipped your arm around his, leading the way outside. Along the way, you passed a rather one-sided conversation between Kevin and Ludwig: “Well, I’m not tired. C’mon, let’s go get wasted,” followed by Kevin’s immediate agreement. How the android intended to ‘get wasted,’ you couldn’t be sure, and judging by his hesitation, Connor noticed the same. Their eyes met in passing, but he dismissed the two of you with a brief, “Nice meeting you, Connor.” Creep.

It was Connor’s latest mission to make sure you never touched a door handle in his presence, stepping forward to let you out of the house, then into your car. The cool night air lingered with you as you clicked your seatbelt into place, the peaceful quiet offering you a slight second wind.

“Shotgun,” Connor jumpscared you from the other side of the car.

You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. What were you going to do with this goofball? “Where to?”

He shrugged unhelpfully. Every time you asked, Connor dodged the question about where he actually lived, and he only ever wore the same outfit in every situation. It’s possible he was homeless, though that wasn’t such an issue for androids.

“Funny they made you wear the blindfold, when you’re the one who keeps me guessing,” you chided him lightly. “If you don’t tell me where to drop you off, I’m just going to drive us to my place.”

“That’s fine with me, if it’s not too much to impose,” he agreed, using your mirror to adjust his tie.

“I mean, we could cuddle or—or not even that, if you just want to crash in the living room, or whatever. I’m not trying to pressure you.”

“You’re worried that we are like them,” his observation caught you off guard.

“Who, Kevin and Ludwig? Psshh, we’re nothing alike! One couple has a sweet guy who gives way more to his partner than they deserve, and the other has, well...” Okay, maybe that conversation did have you a little bit spooked. You avoided his eyes, focusing on the road instead.

“An irresistible Handler who deserves to have everything they want,” Connor suggested an end to your sentence with a sweet smile. “There’s a difference. I know how it feels to be used—I’ll tell you about Amanda someday—and this isn’t it. Your approval of me is not conditional on what I do for you.”

That got your attention. “Amanda? Am I not your first?”

Realizing what it sounded like, he clarified quickly, “My handler when I was property of CyberLife. Similar to you with your drones, but... not very. It’s a long story. I couldn’t trust her the way I trust you.”

“Aww, Connor,” your voice softened. It was never easy to hear the words property of CyberLife being used to describe a person, and honestly sometimes you could forget it was ever possible in the first place. But Connor was stuck with memories you couldn’t imagine, it made sense that he would use them as a reference point for what he didn’t want. As much as you wanted to know more, it did sound like a heavy conversation to save for another day. “And you’re suuure you can trust me? I mean, I could just do something like this to you at any time—” You reached over and messed with his hair.

Connor didn’t resist, but he tilted his head at you, showing off your vandalism with an adoring chuckle. “You’re incapable of attacking me even as a joke!”

“Well, I don’t want to hurt you?” you offered in defense.

“Because you’re so considerate. You don’t like seeing anyone get hurt. You are what I have always aspired to be, why do you think I fell in—in—” Oops. This was, what, day six of even admitting that you liked each other? He cleared his throat, glad you were too busy driving to notice his face lighting up with color.

“Into this hole that you don’t know how to dig yourself out of?”

“Something like that.”

Neither of you had a reason to scrutinize the parking garage as you pulled in, nor as he escorted you out, enjoying a starlit walk home with your hand in his. You were focused on each other, filling the narrow alleyways with your laughter, pointing out constellations in the sky without reference to the darkness they failed to expel below. But, say you did pay attention to your surroundings? Would you still have missed them, hidden away as you walked past, muttering in low voices around a burner phone?

“You were right, the RK800 rode home with them. Looks like he’s staying the night,” whispered a shadow.

“Shit. Told you we should have gone sooner,” growled another.

“We could just do it anyway.”

But a colder voice crackled through the phone’s damaged speakers. “So you idiots can get caught and give away another hideout?”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“Feds come after us on Monday, right? We have all weekend to get them alone.”

“Just hold tight,” replied the voice through the phone, “I’ve got a plan.”

Chapter Text

JULY 17TH, 2039
10:00 A.M.

After a day of preparation and a morning of anticipation, you found yourself parking alone at the Detroit Festival of Books. Your date had decided to walk here before the festival opened, double-checking in advance to make sure everything he found online was accurate. 

Today was going to be perfect. He took the time to inspect the exact route he wanted to bring you on, which of the vendors here were the highest-rated, the path with the least traffic from here to your favorite restaurant, he even picked out a secluded park bench and calculated what time the sun would be at its most aesthetically pleasing angle for you to sit and read with him. Not one of these plans was he willing to tell you in advance, of course, but you were happy to get a few extra hours of sleep before you met up with him at the festival.

When you spotted him, Connor was standing at the fringe of a growing crowd, squinting hard at nothing in particular. You watched his mouth open in a slow, twitchy motion, until his jaw was fully extended and his eyes were shut tight. Then, unnaturally quickly, he clamped his teeth down and reset right back to a neutral expression, only a thoughtful pout left upon his lips. 

You approached with only half-joking caution, trying to make sense of what you just witnessed. “Um, whatcha doin’ there, Detective?”

He immediately fixed his posture when he noticed you in front of him. “Hello, Handler. Wow, you look...” the android began, but he was short on words. Stunning would be an understatement. 

Granted, your appearance wasn’t that different from normal, but he was used to seeing you in your uniform. Today, you had chosen to wear something comfortable for the summer heat, a thin decorative overshirt around a well-fitting tank top. He wondered if you intended for him to notice how your outfit clung to your figure, revealing all those fascinating ways you humans could be so unique—ways he couldn’t help but want to explore with you over and over again, in the right context. 

What was he saying, again? Right. “I apologize if I did something unsettling. I was practicing my yawn.”

“What? Why?”

“CyberLife androids are not originally programmed to yawn. It would give us the appearance of laziness. However, a convincing yawn in this case will suit my needs, so,” he threw his shoulders back excitedly, “I’m practicing.”

What situation could he possibly be imagining where he would ever need this skill? You chuckled. “Am I so boring that you actually have to plan to yawn at me?”

“That’s not it,” Connor blurted out before you even finished your question. “Here. I think I have the proper technique. Stand beside me—watch.” 

He tried the same expression again, eyes squinted shut, mouth hanging open, stretching his arms high into the air. While he imitated the sleepy squeaks that come with a loud yawn, he slowly brought his hands back down by his side, only, not all the way. The whole charade was a distraction to slip his arm behind and around you, surprising you with a sudden pull to his side. You never saw it coming! He was so proud of himself.

You took the opportunity to nuzzle against his chest, a wide grin spreading from cheek to burning cheek. He smelled of fabric softener and cologne. “Fine. Be that way,” you teased. 

“What ‘way’ am I being?”

You shrugged. “Adorable. Lovable. Dunno.”

“L...Lov...?” Connor blinked, but your attention was already elsewhere.

“Woah! Are those real?” One of the festival booths caught your eye with a revolving display rack of comic books, all featuring titles and characters you had never seen before. Every cover looked like it was drawn and colored by hand, not printed copies with digital tools, but as if someone actually took the time to fill in the lines with physical colored pencils. Without hesitation, you ran forward to get a better look, pushing a hand at Connor’s back to steer him along with you. “Excuse me, did you draw these?” you addressed the AX400 at the booth, while Connor tried his best to keep up. 

The festival was already packed with locals and tourists alike, all here to spend time among the colorful tables and towering racks piled high with books of all kinds. After browsing the comic books for a while longer, you set off hand in hand to peruse the endless rows of self-published books, pre-loved books, how-tos, what-ifs, there were even a few kids at a table selling school newspapers for a dollar each. 

Connor pointed out the few books he had time to read so far, as well as the ones he hoped to read some day. There were a few titles you both found interesting, and you picked out a few to try out together, though he insisted on carrying everything you bought.

But the real fun was in the conversations these books inspired along the way. Would you steal a loaf of bread to feed a starving family? Well, Connor had no idea what hunger felt like, but he would recommend a more nutritious option; protein bars would be more convenient for him to shoplift. How would you go about escaping a televised death game run by a dystopian empire? Easy, you explained, just sabotage the train that’s supposed to take you there, then slip away through an emergency exit once it breaks down.

“You could survive by simply being the better contestant,” Connor suggested. 

“So, just beat 23 other people in a fight to the death? You think I have what it takes?” you hoped, coming from him that would be a pretty big compliment. 

He answered with a pause. “Maybe the train idea would be more practical.”

Tch! Then again, you couldn’t blame him for being honest. “All aboard the GTFO Express!” you laughed back—followed by a cough. Your throat was dry. In fact, now that you noticed, you had forgotten all about your physical needs as the hours slipped past. But at a glance, the line to the bathroom was long, the line to the concessions stand was longer. 

It was as if Connor could read your mind. “Go ahead. I’ll get you something to drink,” he didn’t need to offer twice. 

You parted ways for now to go into your separate lines. The interruption was mildly annoying, having to take care of yourself instead of spending literally every second together. But hey, a human’s gotta do what a human’s gotta do. 

As you were making your way back, though, you bumped into a dark-haired figure who was hurrying across your path. “Pardon,” he muttered quietly, bending down to pick up something he dropped—a children’s book, judging by the cover. 

Something about him seemed familiar, and you stopped in front of him to get a better look. Youthful features, shifty gaze, barely holding back an anxious tremor with every movement. You knew those eyes from a memory you had replayed over and over in the past week. The eyes of a traitor. “You!”

He jumped straight up, spinning around to face you. “Do we know each other?”

“That depends. Does it count as ‘knowing each other’ if you almost got me killed?”

“I-I think you have me confused with someone else,” the young man tried to evade your accusation, but you recognized his voice. Without question, this was the criminal who lured you into an ambush by pretending to surrender right away. 

“‘Don’t kill me, they made me do this,’ ring a bell?” you snapped. He tried to step away, and you reached forward to catch him by the arm. “It’s a good thing I’m here with Detective Connor. Maybe he’ll confirm your innocence, and then you won’t spend the rest of your life behind bars.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” He cried out so suddenly that you drew a few surprised looks from the strangers around you. That same desperation that threatened to break his raised voice, was it only because you caught him? “I wasn’t lying to you before. Look, before you turn me in, can I please just show you something?” 

What, so he could set you up for another trap? With so many witnesses around, he wouldn’t be able to pull off the same trick twice, but you still took a long look at your surroundings before letting go of his arm. Palms facing out, careful not to make any sudden movements, he reached slowly toward the back pocket of his jeans. You squinted skeptically as he pulled out an ordinary phone, hitting the side button to turn it on. 

The screen lit up not with any sort of message, but with a simple lock screen displaying the current time over a photograph of three people posing together on a set of bleachers. A short-haired girl in a striped shirt showed off her missing teeth in a wide smile; a heavily tattooed teenager clutched a tennis trophy so tightly by her side that it bent out of shape; and with an arm around each of them, the young man who stood in front of you now, a hesitant but genuine smile printed across his face. 

“That’s Nicole, she’s seven years old, and that’s Laura beside her, this book is supposed to be a gift for her birthday. O-Our parents were...” he shook his head. “I needed to get them out of there, but there’s nowhere to go. No one wants to hire a human my age, not for enough pay to afford food and a safe place for three people.”

A rising tide of anger burned in your chest, but not for him. He was supposed to be the bad guy here, but his story added up, and the worst part was knowing you lived in a world where he could be telling the truth. You tested his motives: “So you decided you’d join a cartel and make things worse for everyone?” 

Your words hit him like a slap in the face. “They take care of us, and I’m not hurting anyone. I normally just do the bookkeeping stuff, you know, keep track of who owes what. I-I never meant for anyone to...” His gaze dropped to the ground in defeat. “Wouldn’t you let bad things happen if it meant saving the people you love?” 

“I...”

“Handler, get back!”

For Connor, you didn’t need to hear more. You stepped swiftly away to put space in front of you. But when you looked to see what was happening, the man in front of you hadn’t moved at all. It was off to your side, the RK800 toward you both at full speed, he must have expected you to get out of the way for him to tackle your suspect to the ground.

What he didn’t expect was for you to turn right back around and put yourself into harm’s way. “Wait!” you called back, placing yourself between him and his target. 

Connor wasn’t able to stop himself in time, but he did react quickly enough to bend back his legs, tuck down his chin, and push down into a combat roll rather than collide directly with you. Whatever your reason was for that, he needed to protect you from the threat in front of you. How did you not realize who you were talking to?

He hopped back up onto his feet and tried to step around you. “Victor Wei! You are under arrest on suspicion of—”

“No, he isn’t,” you moved to match him, placing a hand at his chest.

He leaned this way and that, eyes remaining locked on his target. He didn’t want to fight past you, but come on! “Handler, that’s the human who disarmed you during the raid. You could have died because of him. He could have been trying to kill you himself!”

You felt the words more than said them: “He didn’t have a choice.” And when you heard yourself, you agreed with your instincts. This kid, this Victor, shame on you if you believed him twice, but it wasn’t going to help anyone to arrest him here. 

“Everyone has a choice.” Connor knew better than anyone. The worst kind of scum was the kind that hurt you. Even if you were alive now, that didn’t make it okay. He had seen the way the self-doubt haunted you, suffering you didn’t deserve, suffering you cried about, all because someone else saw fit to take advantage of your kind nature. It didn’t matter what explanation anyone might have after the fact.

“I’m sorry. I-If you want to lock me up, I get it. I won’t try to stop you,” the same shaky voice sounded behind you. 

But your mind was already made. You folded your arms. “We never saw each other here, okay? Go be with your sisters. Connor, please, can we just move on?” 

His teeth threatened to crack beneath the tension of his jaw. If you asked him to kill this man right now, he would do it without question. He already knew how he’d do it. A precise chop between any two vertebrae at the back of the neck. It would look like an accident to anyone except for him, a use of force so minimal that only bad luck could have severed every nerve in the suspect’s body. Say the word, he willed you. No one hurts you and gets away with it. No one.

You watched his LED run a pure, violent red. Your books, your drink, scattered uncharacteristically on the ground where he was standing when he spotted you. A fear crossed your mind that you deliberately dismissed. You decided to hold on to your trust, remember?

The long, silent standoff ended when the first few flecks of rain tapped against Connor’s skin, breaking his concentration. He forced himself to look at you instead, and a weak trickle of blue stained his palms where he unfurled his fists. “I still think we should turn him in, but...” At the last chance to object, you only shook your head. “Okay. We’ll do it your way.”

You dared to lean forward into a hug, as much for you as it was for him. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Thanks,” Victor echoed in a hollow voice, as if he didn’t really believe he was free to go. But when it was apparent you weren’t going to change your mind, he disappeared into the crowd all the same. 

The tension in the air melted away as an intermittent drizzle blew in and thickened the warm festival atmosphere like a blanket. You led Connor to retrieve your belongings together, then he escorted you past the main tents and toward a sheltered picnic table, where you could sit and watch for rainbows in the indecisive skies. Despite the DJ blasting decades-old pop songs in the background, you found a comfortable moment for reflection sitting side by side. 

The change of scenery helped to clear your mind, and soon enough, you were back to trading jokes, stories, and ideas as before. Connor didn’t have so many stories to tell, or at least, not many he wanted to share in a place like this. But that gave you the I-can’t-believe-you’ve-never excuse to rope him into future date ideas; hiking, volunteering, movies at a drive-in theater. You wanted to show him everything life had to offer. Otherwise what if he gets bored of y—Hey, stop that. Don’t even think about it.

Who knew time could fly by so quickly? The weather came and went, and as the crowd settled down, Connor decided to try his yawning trick again. This time, you snatched his outstretched arm from the air yourself, wrapping his elbow over your shoulder and taking his wrist prisoner over the center of your chest. He was pulled so much closer to you than he expected, you could hear him exhale by your ear as you leaned up against him. 

“Handler, I can’t recommended launching a surprise attack on a deviant,” he warned you with a light smirk. “He may react unpredictably.”

“Sorry, finders keepers. This arm is mine now,” you held firm, running a thumb along the back of his hand. “What’re you going to offer for me to let go?”

You didn’t know it, but you had great timing. Connor had the opportunity to suggest eight minutes ahead of schedule, “A free lunch?”

“Mmm,” you considered, barely keeping in-character, “keep talking.”

“A free lunch, at your favorite restaurant while I sit and talk with you?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” You jumped to your feet, ready to lead the way to where you parked. It would be a bit of a drive in this traffic, unless it turned out a certain android had already planned the most efficient route for you, but it was worth it if you could spend more time together this way. 

The parking lot was quieter, most people were still packed around the festival stands if they hadn’t already fled at the first sign of rain. Red and blue lights flashed between the cars a few rows away, though, and you motioned to stop for a second. It was just a patrol car, a couple of officers, and a suspect already locked in the back of the car.

That was funny. “Over there. What kind of crime did someone commit at a book festival, verbal assault?” you waved Connor over with you. You weren’t on duty, but you might as well look and see as a matter of curiosity.

When you sauntered forward to greet your coworkers on the scene, it wasn’t their friendly smiles that caught your attention. It wasn’t their relaxed tone of voice as everything was under control. It wasn’t even the tear-streaked face you saw through the window, the person you saw walking free less than an hour ago. 

It was the arresting officer’s grateful words that chilled you to your core.

“Thanks for the tip, Connor. We couldn’t have found him without you.”

Chapter Text

JULY 17TH, 2039
1:35 P.M.

Your smile didn’t reach your eyes. “You must be mistaken. Detective Connor is off duty today. And he hasn’t called anything in, has he?”

Connor stared straight ahead for several heartbeats before he snapped out of it to respond. “Yes—Right, I haven’t. It must have been someone else.”

“No need to be modest. Dispatch was pretty clear about their source,” the officer continued with a proud grin. “Suspect didn’t even deny it when we caught up to him. You did good, buddy.” She reached out a hand to shake in congratulations, apparently oblivious to the fearful shock frozen on his face. 

Your stomach twisted into knots as he hesitantly shook the officer’s hand. Not one to leave her hanging after such a successful operation, was he? “I guess he knows where his priorities lie,” you remarked quietly. 

“I appreciate the credit, but I didn’t...” He fell silent, LED blinking, brow furrowed until he came up with an idea. “The call log. Ask Dispatch for the call log.”

With a shrug, the officer passed on the request through her radio. “Patching it through to this receiver.”

The radio crackled and popped. “Dispatch. This is Detective Connor, DPD Downtown. I’m sending my badge number as well as my coordinates to you now. I need units to respond to a 10-29, confirmed facial recognition of one of the suspects who fled Precinct 7’s raid last week: Victor Wei...” 

That was unmistakably Connor’s voice. All the same inflections, the same stress on the same syllables, only an RK800 could have made that call. Together with the badge number, the timing, the location, it was beyond reasonable doubt. Connor told you he wasn’t going to turn Victor in, and then he did it anyway. 

You backed away slowly and almost tripped over your own feet. “Well, great job on the arrest, Officers, Detective,” you excused yourself. It was hard to breathe here, the humidity didn’t help. Maybe if you could be alone somewhere, away from the patrol car’s flashing lights, from the curious stares of your coworkers. Then you could think clearly and everything would make sense. Connor wouldn’t betray your trust. He wouldn’t. 

“Handler,” the android called hoarsely, but you were headed to your car, and he clearly wasn’t invited. 

The second you opened your car door, it was slammed shut again by the sudden appearance of a pale hand pushing it closed. You gasped and stumbled away from the movement in front of you. Fortunately, Connor backed off just as quickly, hunching over slightly as if to appear less intimidating. He didn’t want to let you go like this, but he wouldn’t stop you if you really tried to leave. 

“I don’t—”

“Why, Connor? Why did you lie to me?” you burst out. “You knew this was important to me. That’s a person’s life, and you just... I thought we were a team.”

He struggled to form a coherent sentence, but he raised his voice nonetheless. “I didn’t lie, I, I don’t think I did? I don’t know, I don’t know!” 

“Am I just that stupid? You didn’t think I would understand your point of view, so you didn’t even try. Is that it?”

“No—No. Handler,” breathed the android. He reached out to you, but you flinched away. “I know what it sounds like, but I don’t remember making that call. You have to believe me!”

“Okay, then who was it, Detective? Who? Because you and I are the only ones who would recognize him, and I don’t even have a phone!” You could feel the heat all the way up to your ears, a senseless jumble of anger, sadness, fear, rising up in flames all around you. 

It didn’t feel great that he went against your wishes, knowing what was going to happen to Victor and his family, but it was the way he did it that hurt the most. You would have understood if Connor had just told you, you could have talked through it together. Instead, he decided to act like he agreed with you, and what, he didn’t think you would find out? How could he? Did you not deserve something as basic as the truth?

The sobbing, the shouting, you were a mess right now. It took all your restraint to slow yourself down, to quietly search for a way out. “If it wasn’t you, then give me anything else to believe. An alternative explanation, an alibi, hell, I’d even settle for a reason.”

But Connor remained silent. His processor was caught in a feedback loop, he couldn’t focus on analysis and theories. He’d never seen you this upset before, and it was all because of him. He was going to lose you, you were going to hate him, he was going to crash, he was going to crash!

You waited for him as long as you could hold your breath. Somehow, another lie would have felt better than knowing he had nothing to say to you at all. “I don’t understand,” you whispered back to the silence, “I trusted you.”

This was bad. He needed to say something. You needed an explanation. Come on, think of something. “Maybe I had a reason, and I blocked my memory from recording it because I knew you’d overreact?”

Not like that!

He regretted his guess as soon as it left his lips. “Handler, I didn’t mean...” he began, but the damage was done. He could see you fighting back tears, drawing your hands over your arms like you needed a hug and he couldn’t do a thing to help. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to overreact,” you muttered, trying your best not to show how hurt you were. “This is going nowhere. I think—I need to calm down. I need to go home.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized too late. 

You ducked down into your car. If you didn’t get out of here now, you were going to say something you’d regret, too. “Just... give me a few hours, okay? I’ll talk to you later.” 

You were seen leaving the parking lot alone as Connor fell to his knees, the shock rippling up through his chassis. He slammed his fists into the wet pavement, but it wasn’t enough—not enough to drown out the echo of your voice or the look on your face before you left him behind. I trusted you, your words replayed over and over in his memory. I trusted you. 

You didn’t believe him. And maybe you shouldn’t. 

The thought hit him harder than the ground ever could. 

The drive home was silent, save for the occasional splatter of rain against the windshield and a few honks at the aggressive tactics of self-driving cars as they swerved past. You walked alone down slick sidewalks, tense and guarded against every movement around you. Far too alert, but that was temporary. It shouldn’t take all night for you to calm down, and you’d be isolated soon enough. There was still plenty of time. 

When you arrived at your apartment, you were finally ready to relax. You walked right past the full kettle on your stove—that’s strange, you could’ve sworn you just cleaned that thing out this morning—and switched on the TV for a rewatch of an old show in the background while you set out for a hot shower and a change of clothes. It was just as well, since your streaming service decided to start you off with a ten-minute ad break, it was like you were getting away with something by not being there to see it. 

The sun eventually set over a much calmer version of you, wrapped up in a cozy blanket while you looked out at the city streets through your living room windows. You shook your head in amusement at a passing birdwatcher, or at least that’s what they must have been, searching around with binoculars in the middle of the city. Some people really didn’t pay attention to their surroundings, did they?

You turned around to point out the silly sight to Connor, only to remember that he wasn’t there with you. If he was, he would be right over there on the couch, pretending that he wasn’t analyzing the footprints on your hardwood floor while your back was turned. He cared so much for you, and you for him. How did it all go so wrong? It didn’t make sense. 

Sure, no android’s memory could be completely perfect, they didn’t have the hardware to store tens of thousands of sensor logs without compressing them first. But you’d think someone like Connor, who took so much pride in his mission, would at least remember something about catching the latest criminal, if only the fact that he did it. Even though it obviously did happen, and you heard his voice yourself, every fiber of your being wanted to deny that he would betray your trust like that. You were missing something here, you just knew it.

Maybe you’d figure it out over a hot cup of tea.

Chapter Text

JULY 18TH, 2039
12:23 A.M.

Tap tap tap.

You drew your blanket further around you, wrapping yourself up in a fluffy cocoon atop the faux leather surface of the couch. The living room was dark and cold. But your spot within your blanket was soft and warm. You ignored the noise that disturbed you and began to drift back to sleep. 

Tap tap tap tap.

It was coming from the windows. Probably another pigeon trying to test your windowsill for a sturdy place to build its nest. You would raise your head to look, but everything felt so heavy. Even slightly adjusting your position would be too much of a hassle. Your mind was enveloped in a drowsy fog, and all you wanted to do was lie still and let the night pass you by. 

Tap tap tap knock knock knock knock!

Your windows reverberated loudly as the series of sharp strikes grew more insistent against them. Stupid bird. At this rate, you’d better go wave it off before it left a crack in the glass and destroyed your security deposit. 

You began to push yourself upright, only to find that you almost couldn’t move at all. As if you were underwater in a dream, every inch of motion represented an immense effort, all but insurmountable against the allure of simply closing your eyes and giving in to gravity. It was pure spite that propelled you forward, why did nature have to choose you of all people to mess with when you were so inexplicably exhausted?

In slow, clumsy swings you planted your feet on the floor and pushed your hands against your knees. You let out a wide yawn, then twisted around to look out your window—

—And you very nearly screamed. 

That was no pigeon in front of your third-story window. That was a monochrome grey jacket, a reflective blue armband, and a pair of rich brown irises staring curiously back at you. 

You stumbled over as hastily as possible—embarrassingly, you tripped and fell along the way—and fumbled with the lock until you were able to push the window open together. The noisy city air swept around you, and Connor climbed in from his precarious perch, a decorative brick architrave that stuck out over the window below yours. He was polite enough to turn and close the window behind him, if that’s any consolation. 

“I have... so many questions,” you mumbled blearily, wiping at the corners of your eyes. 

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” he offered in explanation. “I came here to tell you that I’m an idiot.”

His voice was low and comforting, but the words themselves took time to decipher. You weren’t nearly awake enough for this. “What? ...Door...”

“You would not have answered in the middle of the night,” he understood what you were trying to say. And it was true; usually, a late-night knock at your door meant one of your inebriated neighbors wandered to the wrong room number, the solution for which was to ignore them until they figured it out on their own. There wasn’t exactly a tight sense of community in this zipcode. You shrugged in acknowledgement. 

“Handler, I don’t remember going against my word, but that shouldn’t have mattered, earlier today,” Connor continued, a blur of bronze and silver outlined against the ghostly moonlight. “I should have taken accountability for the actions that were clearly my own. I need you to know that I’m sorry.”

You squinted and blinked, struggling to keep up with the rhythm of his speech. “Probably my fault. Whatever happened... Should have made it clear from the start, I’ll always care for you, no matter... what you... Help...”

The exertion of so much movement had drained you of what little energy you had left, and you collapsed forward into Connor’s arms. He looked down at you with concern. Your skin was cool to the touch, your pulse was slow and weak. 

You weren’t just sleepy. You were sedated. 

What did you take? He scanned the room for clues. First, the traces of white powder on the kitchen counter. Irregular grain size, something was crushed into pieces from its original shape. A handful of prescription strength pills. No fingerprints nearby, a human didn’t put it there. You didn’t do this to yourself. 

Next, the kettle sitting on the stove. Freshly washed, mostly empty, recently used. Both of the nights he spent here, you seemed to enjoy a bedtime cup of tea while people-watching through the windows. Possible delivery method, but it wasn’t conclusive. 

Your coffee table. Recent fingerprints all over the holo-projector he gave you, which now stood at the center of the table displaying the same red roses as usual. Not relevant, but it did tell him you had been thinking about him. Beside that, though, an empty mug, still stained at the edge you drank out of, microscopic specs of white still clinging to the stain line. Shit. 

Which compound was it? What dose could you have taken, how long ago? Wait, he had another source of information to analyze. “Hold still,” he advised you as he repositioned you against the wall. You were too drowsy to move around much, anyway.

Connor pressed his lips against yours, and you offered no resistance when he pulled at your chin with his thumb, letting his tongue swipe past your teeth. He was thorough and purposeful, triple-checking the metabolite levels in your saliva, allowing himself to linger only a few seconds longer before pulling away. “You’ve been heavily sedated, but the worst of it is passing now. Over the next few hours, you should find it easier to move again,” reported the detective. 

It should be a relief to know you weren’t going to die of an overdose. But he deduced that that meant you had a different problem: Someone wanted to make sure you stayed unconscious tonight. If they thought they were successful, the best time for them to act on it would be right now. 

He’d have to prepare fast. He scooped one arm behind your back, the other behind your thighs, and lifted you to his chest bridal-style, hoping not to offend you with a natural grunt of effort. RK800s weren’t actually designed to haul bodies around, he doubted he had the grip strength to carry you while also scaling the building through your window. Jumping wasn’t an option, it would be too far even if he sacrificed himself to cushion your fall. 

A set of shadows fell over the slit beneath your front door, and the lock rattled with the scraping of metallic picks. You were out of ways to escape, but maybe it wasn’t too late to hide. Connor carried you in smooth, efficient strides across the living room, through the bedroom, and finally set you down against the floor of your closet. 

You hugged your arms around your knees, staring into the darkness in front of you. The carpet was so soft, and your eyelids were so heavy. Maybe five minutes of rest and you’d feel better? But the sight of Connor’s frantic yellow LED, turning this way and that as he searched the room, was enough to wake you with a sympathetic rush of adrenaline.

From outside the closet, you could hear the thud of a wooden door closing, the shuffling of shoes against smooth wooden planks. He leaned forward beside you, keeping himself at a quiet whisper. “Four sets of footsteps. Either adults or androids. They’re getting closer.”

Your bedroom door opened with a creak, slow and careful at first, until whoever was opening it gave up and slammed the thing wide open. A gruff voice called out in the opposite direction: “’Ey, the fuck? Thought you said the target would be home alone.”

A dry, vaguely familiar voice hissed from further back: “Watching the door was your job. Did you see anyone go through?”

“Well, no...”

“Then the target is home alone,” the younger male’s voice dripped with contempt. “Search every room, and watch your step. They might have passed out on the floor somewhere.”

Your heart raced. It was almost surreal, hearing strange voices in your own home, talking about you like you were an animal to be hunted down. You would have thought you were going crazy if not for Connor’s steady hand brushing against your cheek, reminding you of his presence. 

What little comfort you could take in that, you turned to lean your forehead against his. “Have you called the police?”

“Nearest patrol is eleven minutes away,” he whispered back with a slight nod. 

Thick rubber boots shuffled across the bedroom carpet. Cloth rustled against cloth as gloves pressed down into the floor. Someone was checking under your bed. At this rate—You gave voice to the obvious. “They’re going to find me before then.”

“Not if I fight them off first.” Connor’s LED cast a faint blue outline along his clenched jaw. He drew back from your space, settled on the only course of action he could think of to keep you out of danger. The closet handle shifted in his grip. 

You caught his arm as he lifted himself into a crouching position, fearful cracks slipping through your lowered voice. “Connor, that’s four people out there. What if... what if they’re armed, I’m coming with—”

But he pried your hand away. “In your current state, you’ll only get yourself hurt. Stay here,” he whispered, treasuring you even as he turned away. “Everything will be alright. I can do this.”

He was only guessing, of course.

For one last sliver of a second, the Earth was still. Then, a shadow of a stocky figure strode to a halt in front of your closet. 

Connor burst through the door before the man on the other side could react, delivering a powerful uppercut to his chin and sending him reeling backward. The bulkier man called out for backup, and Connor pivoted out of the way just as a gloved fist punched past his head from the opposite direction. 

All of the intruders were wrapped head to toe in shades of black, hiding everything except the malice in their eyes. They blended in with the shadows, indeterminate shapes of unknowable intent. It would be difficult to track them, even for Connor, difficult to predict their movements or preconstruct a winning plan. 

You peered between jackets and jeans at the ensuing skirmish, struggling between paralysis and panic alike. Connor was prioritizing his attention toward whichever attacker moved toward him the fastest, blocking a jab in front of him while stomping at a knee from behind, whirling around to grab a wrist while he absorbed the blow of a kick to the side. 

The first of the aggressors went flying into your nightstand with a surprised yelp, and Connor shifted his weight to recover from throwing him. By no means did it buy the RK800 any time to rest; the second, more calculating attacker lunged at him with a thin object in hand, the dangerous glint of steel catching in the moonlight. Connor moved to block, but it was only a feint, earning him a long slash from chin to ear where his attacker narrowly missed a capitalization strike. If these intruders wanted you alive, the same couldn’t be said for your companion. 

Right as Connor was about to reach for a lamp to improvise as a weapon, a third intruder drifted her way in, vaulting gracefully over your bed to glide toward him with a somersaulting kick. Connor grabbed the knife-wielding attacker with both hands and swung him around, so that her heel slammed down onto the male intruder’s head instead of his own, leaving all three of them temporarily stunned. But there was a bigger problem to deal with. 

“Don’t move, asshole!” rang a shout over a mechanical click from the edge of your perception. The fourth intruder had a pistol trained on Connor, too far away for him to disarm. You had to help, you needed to do something before he pulled the trigger!

Across the room, Connor processed his options. He could safely assume that he wouldn’t be shot; his opponents were clearly working together, there was less than a 14% probability that they would risk firing when they were more likely to hit their own allies. He should be fine as long as he remained alert, positioned himself correctly, and...

You were already upon the armed intruder, launching yourself out of hiding in a half-stumbling, half-running tackle. The surprise was enough to knock the gun from his grip—for once, you were grateful so many criminals held their firearms with such poor form—and sent you both staggering apart. Your gaze remained on the barrel. If you could get to that gun first, or get it to Connor somehow, you might have a chance at ending the fight here. 

A sudden force knocked you back against the nearby wall, pushing all the air from your lungs with one well-aimed palm to the chest. You swiped at the figure who materialized before you, but she deflected each blow by pushing your arm to one side or the other, using your own clumsy force to knock you off-balance. She was grace, she was speed, everything you didn’t have right now. 

All it took was one sweep of her ankle to convert your weight into pure momentum. You tumbled backward against your bed, muscles screaming with conjured fatigue. Before your attacker could close the distance, you brought your knees to your chest, hooked your fingers against the edge of the mattress for leverage, and kicked out toward her abdomen. Your feet connected with plastic and metal, sending the android stumbling away for the moment.

The man you tackled was back up next, launching himself over you in an attempt to keep you pinned down while his accomplices dealt with Connor. You shifted your attention to him too late, and he was on you in an instant, but you didn’t intend to stay down so easily. You’d trade blows from underneath him, punching at his masked face, or his throat, or his chest, whatever you could reach... 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a matter of intent. He hit back, and he hit back hard. 

You dodged and deflected as best as you could, but your reaction speed was too slow with your own bloodstream working against you. Pain spread through your body under a torrent of countless impacts, a bruised cheek, a fractured collarbone; through crushed lungs escaped a quiet, whimpering cry. You were overwhelmed.

At the sound of your distress, Connor forgot everything he was doing. Which happened to be finally knocking out one of his opponents while he had another in a headlock, but what did that matter if you were in danger now? He dropped his advantage in a rush to your aid, a heavy sucker-punch to the back of the back of the skull followed by a strong pull to get the man off of you. Though dazed, you slipped away as soon as you were free to move, finding a spot to reorient yourself by the door to the living room.

While Connor was distracted, the enemies he’d been holding off were now able to regroup. The three remaining intruders approached as a unit this time, denying him the chance to take them on one by one. He gave as good as he got, constantly shuffling and sidestepping to create distance between them, but he was slowly being backed into a corner.

You thought to dive for the gun on the floor, but the knife-wielding intruder got to it first. Your eyes met, showing you hatred behind hooded hollows of blue. Anyone would know the common facial structure of an AP700, but the way he carried himself...

Connor called your name over the chaos, the urgency in his voice drawing your focus to a point. “Get away from here. Go!”

“But—”

“I’ll be okay!” He couldn’t fight at full efficiency if he was busy trying to protect you. The best thing you could do to help Connor was to save yourself. 

You dashed out of sight before the intruder could take aim, past the TV, over the rug, around the coffee table. The room spun around you in a dizzying haze, every step a battle against quicksand. A rush of footsteps followed close behind, and you didn’t allow yourself to glance back until you had a sure grip around the faded brass handle of the front door, the last threshold between you and escape.

Connor was in bad shape, dragging behind your pursuers in an attempt to stop them, but only managing to slow them down. He was a mosaic of exposed white plastic and deep blue thirium, lips curled back around gritted teeth. It felt wrong to leave him behind. But it had felt wrong to stay hidden in your closet, and going with your gut was how you got him into this situation in the first place. This time, you were going to do as you were told.

You’d have encouraged him, said goodbye, but you were going to need every breath you could catch. With one last nod, you turned and ran, away from your apartment, down the stairs. Police should arrive in just a few minutes, surely Connor could stall until then. He had fought off larger groups before, right? You just needed to stay out of the way, and you would be able to see him again soon, right? Right. One foot in front of the other.

As you stepped out of the building, a single gunshot echoed around you.

Chapter Text

The android held his chin high, following the squadron of shadows with eyes narrowed. “Where’s the target?”

“They got away.”

“How?” He held forth a hand, artificial skin receding to expose the plastic underneath. The AP700 pulled off a glove to mirror the same gesture, and the two of them paused for a second as they shared a brief section of memory. “Great. You left witnesses behind, too. That was the only chance we’re going to have for a long time.”

One of the humans folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. “Your plan didn’t work. The RK snuck back in somehow,” he blamed, voice low and rumbling.

“His date was still willing to hear him out, and he knew it,” explained another android, half-distracted while she counted out her cut from a stack of cash. “Those two are closer than you thought.”

The AP700 grumbled in defeat. “We need that target if we’re ever going to find a ‘cure.’” 

“Will you shut up for a second and let me think!” The first android slammed his palms down against the table in front of him, commanding silence with a metallic thud. His LED spun red, then yellow, then blue again. You weren’t supposed to be so resilient; one well-timed betrayal should have been enough to make you give up on him. But something had changed about you compared to your data profile, and that made you annoyingly unpredictable.

The probability remained high that you would seek the RK’s company at all times, now more than ever. How was he supposed to get you alone? Unless... “Maybe the problem is its own solution.” 

Just like that, a new plan began to take shape in his mind. He straightened his back and looked again to the AP700. “I can make this work, but I’ll need time to prepare. Get me the rest of those files, whatever it takes. And you,” he nodded to the human, “Contact the repair shop, fast. We have a business proposal to make.”

. . .

JULY 18TH, 2039
11:31 A.M.

“No!”

The aftermath of your shout tangled not with the harsh howl of wind over pavement, but with the sterile whir of machinery behind thin workshop walls. You shot forward in your chair, leaned your elbows against your knees, and wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead. You must have fallen asleep while waiting for the operation. 

Your heart was still raw with the stress of last night. Among the tattered shreds of your memory fluttered the loud, wailing sirens that announced the arrival of the night patrol; the holographic yellow police line that labeled your home as a crime scene; the thin, rough blanket that the paramedic draped around your shoulders while she asked you a hundred questions that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, until the responding officers emerged with Connor’s motionless body in their arms. His eyes were still open, hands clenched around an invisible aggressor, the last pose he was in when the bullet pierced through the critical power junction in his head. You didn’t stop yelling until the officers agreed to bring you with him to the emergency repair shop.

Which led you to wake up here, sleep-talking in the waiting room at the end of a restless slumber. From the seat beside you, a tall figure greeted you with a gravelly, “Morning, Handler.” He handed something to you, and you accepted out of reflex: your own wallet and keys, stacked atop a fresh change of clothes.

“Thanks, Con—” You happened to spot his jacket out of the corner of your eye, “You’re not Connor.”

“You’re welcome,” Hank politely ignored your slip of the tongue, pulling down the sleeves of his dark blue coat. “By the time they called me, you’d already left the crime scene. I figured you wouldn’t mind if I brought your stuff to you.”

He knew what it meant when the obvious valuables were left untouched after a break-in. So did you. You still didn’t understand why you would be a target for anyone, but then again, people in your line of work had to make enemies all the time. Hank refrained from questioning you further, instead joining you in watching the digital clock above the door to the operating rooms. 

11:32:28... 11:32:29... Connor should be out by now. You wrung your hands over your lap, unsure whether you wished the seconds would tick by faster or slower. What if something went wrong? As immortal as he appeared, he was designed to be replaced, not repaired. A stray magnet over his memory modules, an accidental puncture in his hydraulic accumulator, the chance was remote, but you kept imagining all the possible complications that could make a shutdown irreversible.

No matter how much you concerned yourself with the ways you might lose him, there was also the grief you tried your best not to entertain, that primal part of your brain that didn’t understand the concept of androids coming back to life. “I can’t unsee it,” you muttered. “The last time I saw Connor, he wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t blinking. He really looked... dead.”

Finally, someone who gets it. “I know the feeling,” Hank commiserated, a note of sympathy softening his voice. “One minute, you think he’s gone forever. The next, he’s good as new.”

“How long did it take you to get used to it?”

“Hmh! Ask again in a few years, maybe I’ll have an answer.”

That wasn’t exactly the advice you were hoping for, but at least you weren’t the only one. You tilted your head slightly, eyes still fixed straight ahead. The door swung open, and you snapped to attention, only to deflate when it turned out to be a nurse calling for the next patient. 

Hank watched you as you fidgeted in your seat. He was no RK800, but he did have decades of experience recognizing the same look you were wearing now, the look of guilt and regret. “Hey, listen. I know we’re not exactly best friends, but if you ever need someone to talk to...”

“Thanks, but it’s not about me. I’m fine,” you lied to yourself. “All I need is—CONNOR!”

“Hello, H—”

The poor guy barely made it two steps into the waiting room before you tackled him against the wall, pulling him into a hug with all the force of a black hole. You buried your face in his shirt and let out a muffled stream of cries, “I-was-so-scared-I-missed-you-so-much-I’m-sorry-I-never-should-have-let-you-out-of-my-sight!”

Gently, after a moment of stillness, Connor brought his hands around your shoulders and rested his lips against the top of your head. Eyes closed, lungs filled with your scent, he wanted nothing more than to drink you in. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he had been just as afraid as you were that you would never see him again. “I told you I would be okay,” he consoled you in that sweet, hushed voice. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you...” He was solid and sturdy with his new repairs, and you felt the faint beat of his thirium pump with his chest pressed against yours. It healed you, having him in front of you again, burning away the darkness with a blue LED light. This was what you couldn’t afford to lose. You moved to kiss him on the cheek, and he instinctively turned to intercept you with his lips. 

To your left, a receptionist leaned forward across the counter. “Uhhh. Sir? This is a repair shop.”

“I’ll handle checkout for ’im,” Hank offered, reaching for his wallet.

Connor’s cheeks flushed blue as he remembered where he was, and who he was with. “Lieutenant,” he greeted awkwardly. “It’s, er, good to see you again.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hi to you too.” Hank brushed it off with a good-natured smirk. It was refreshing to see young love, well, younger than himself, at least. 

You wished Connor could keep you safe in his arms forever, but you did eventually let go so that he could reunite with his mentor, too. The two shared a handshake and exchanged pleasantries, about Sumo, the Detroit Lions, the latest case developments. Apparently, that was their way of connecting. 

You glanced over his shoulder during a lull in the conversation. “No way. Do they always charge you this much for repairs?”

“Most of it is due to the cost of replacing my biocomponents. Prices have increased by an average of 896.2% over the past year,” he explained levelly. Hank held out a credit card, but Connor authorized his own payment first with a quick flash of his LED.

The receptionist gathered a stack of forms from the counter and handed back a small receipt. “CyberLife’s won it big ever since we started getting paychecks. Can’t sell us to humans anymore, but now they can charge an arm and a leg for, well, an arm and a leg,” they remarked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this should have been their business plan all along.”

Connor accepted the receipt without further comment. That was a can of worms he didn’t intend to open any time soon. 

Once you were all ready, the three of you set out together through the automatic glass doors leading out of the building. It was a short walk back to the station. Hank had some court testimony to go over for an upcoming trial. Connor was scheduled to meet Special Agent Perkins in the evidence room to theorize over the red ice cases. As for you, you would probably qualify for medical leave, but you didn’t have anywhere else to be while your apartment was still an active crime scene. 

From there, ready or not, life moved on. You spent the next few hours catching up on paperwork, waiting to be called over for questioning. Thanks to conflict-of-interest rules, you and Connor were left out of the investigation of your attempted burglars; your only role would be to give information as a witness to the detective assigned to the case. 

It’s just, why did Captain Fowler have to choose Gavin to be that detective?

You ended up across the desk from your recently-rejected friend, in the same spot where frazzled parents or disgruntled neighbors would usually sit and spill their life’s story over one faraway conflict or another. Their problems always seemed so small, you’d heard a hundred versions of the same few stories from these seats. Now that it was your turn, you couldn’t help but feel small, too. 

“So, they didn’t take anything, they didn’t leave anything behind,” Gavin hummed thoughtfully, looking over an array of photos of the inside of your apartment. There you had broken furniture, spatters of blood, blacklight traces of thirium, a bullet hole in the wall. You’d have to add ‘prepare to get yelled at by landlord’ to your to-do list. “You said they thought you were alone, but you weren’t. How’d that happen?”

“You’re the detective, you tell me,” you shrugged, gesturing to the witness reports on his terminal screen. “One of them mentioned watching the door, but Connor climbed in through my window. Maybe they didn’t see him.”

“Wait, say that again: Connor climbed through your window?”

“Yup.”

“On the third floor?”

“Yup.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Okay, to be fair, he knocked first.”

He gave you an incredulous look, and you felt the need to justify: “I’ve invited him in before! He knows he’s always welcome at my place. It’s not weird!”

“Tch! Look who’s gone blue,” Gavin teased, leaning back from his keyboard to talk to you as a friend. Going blue, the more diplomatic slang for android-fucker. “Was it everything you ever dreamed of?” 

Actually, you hadn’t ‘gone blue’ just yet, but you didn’t have to tell him that. “And more. So much more. Basically I can die happy now,” you embellished, punishing his nosiness with a healthy dose of discomfort. He was clearly involuntarily picturing it in his mind. “What do you have against androids, anyway?”

“You mean, besides the fact that the whole point of their existence is to replace real people?”

“Besides that.”

The detective shrugged with one shoulder, arms folded into each other, like his reasoning was supposed to be self-evident. You were ready to accept that that was his answer and move on, when he added, “You know, my dad bought an android once, few years ago. One of those AP models, ‘the latest in household assistance technology,’” he threw in some sarcastic jazz hands. “The smug little shit. Yeah, he roughed it up sometimes, but it was his property. Not like they can really feel pain without the Virus.” 

You listened with genuine interest. “Your dad’s the one with the myo...cardi... the heart damage, right?”

“He is now.” He met your gaze with a hint of loneliness behind intense grey eyes. “It never warned him, never told him what it wanted. It just decided on its own to start slipping arsenic into his food. Served him with a smile and everything.”

“I do sometimes wonder why the first deviants went for the whole ‘murdering their owners’ bit, instead of running the hell away,” you conceded. “That really sucks. I’m sorry to hear.”

“Everyone acts like androids are so perfect, but here’s the deal: they’re just as fucked-up as the rest of us. It’s like I’m the only one who can see it.” Just then, one of your coworkers walked past, LED blinking yellow as she overheard Gavin at the worst possible moment. But to your surprise, he shrugged it off; what did he care if other people heard his opinions? “Anyway, whatever. Oh! Almost forgot. This got delivered to your door this morning.”

How did he... Right, the investigation. Was everyone in the department going to get a house tour now? You accepted a rectangular CyberLife-branded box, and inside, a new phone you’d ordered over the weekend using your poker winnings. Since it didn’t count as evidence connected to the events of last night, you actually got to keep it, too. You thanked Gavin for the delivery and headed back to your own desk, sneaking in a few minutes to set up the new device.

As soon as your data was loaded on, you couldn’t help but smile at the screen. A stack of notifications popped up, none of them recent enough to appear urgent. It had only been a week or so, after all. A few texts to follow up on, a few alerts from that one app that you didn’t know how to delete, but what interested you most were the older notifications, messages that were meant to reach you sooner. Now, they were a time capsule, a private gift just for you. In particular...

CONNOR [Missed Call] [6 more]

CONNOR [Voicemail] [6 more]

Chapter Text

JULY 18TH, 2039
3:48 P.M.

- Beep -
“Hello, Handler. This is Detective Connor from the Detroit Police Department. My voice module has just been repaired. I meant to ask if you have plans tonight, but after I dialed your number, I remembered that you can’t answer calls right now. Whenever you get this, don’t be alarmed by the fact that you have missed a call. Goodbye.”
- To play the next voicemail, press 1. -

You sat facing the bulletproof windows between the kennels and the training yard, listening to Connor’s voice through one earbud while the rest of your attention remained on the built-in displays in front of you. Beyond the glass, a thick radiation fog reduced the world outside to a featureless void of white; you had to infer your drones’ positions based only on the data readouts from their sensors, a long list of variables that shifted and updated hundreds of times per second. For you, though, the numbers painted a perfectly clear picture of how each drone was moving through the obstacle course, what they were thinking—and the mistakes they were making.

“Ares, Athena, you’re overshooting every time you turn a sharp corner. I’ll boost the derivative gain in your next PID update. Heph, be mindful of your siblings’ pathing. The only reason you’re faster than them is because they’re busy trying not to crash into you. Ten more minutes of yard time, everyone, then come back in and recharge,” you advised them through your microphone. 

Beside you, Hades nudged your phone and emitted a low, solicitous whine. It was your most attentive drone who refused to leave your side ever since your return, even as the rest of the swarm went out for training. Apparently, it sensed that the best way it could contribute today was to keep you company.

You couldn’t see why, exactly. You didn’t need to be looked after. You were fine. “I’m fine,” you repeated aloud, reaching over to give the drone a friendly scratch on the back. “You don’t have to stay here for me, Hades. Don’t you want to be with your swarm?”

In response, it simply barked a duo of short, high-pitched blips. I am with my swarm, it seemed to say. But it did turn its attention elsewhere, lifting itself away to wander around in the workspace behind you. As the air settled in its wake, you reached once again for your phone. 

- Beep -
“Hello, Handler. It’s Connor. I know you just left the station a few minutes ago—as of the time of this call—but I miss you already. There’s so much more that I want to tell you. I can’t believe you said yes. I’m the luckiest man on the planet, I... I meant what I said to you today. You are really, truly everything to me. Good night.” 
- To play the next voicemail, press 1. -

His voice was serious and slow this time, weighed down by honesty and awe. It brought a warmth to your chest that lingered long after the playback ended. Leave it to Connor to make sure you knew that you mattered, before anything, after everything. 

How did you ever doubt that?

You shook the thought away and leaned forward until the monitors were all you could see, and you plunged yourself once more into the world of coordinates and headings and system statuses. Maybe opening up those voicemails wasn’t such a good idea right now. Then again, the silence without them was just as distracting. 

Hades floated back to your side, and you briefly acknowledged it before getting back to work observing the other drones, taking notes and editing code. It wasn’t until several minutes later that you noticed Hades was being a little too quiet, internal fans whirring contentedly while it processed—“Hey, wait a minute! What’s in your data port?” 

You reached closer, but it dodged playfully out of the way, a small flash drive sticking out of the port underneath it. Again you reached, and again it flitted just out of range. Rather than chase it down, though, you held out a hand and waited for it to come to you. 

“Drop it,” you ordered, making it clear you weren’t interested in playing. Hades whined in disappointment, but it dutifully ejected the drive into your hand. “Thanks, Hades,” you reinforced it for complying, “just don’t interface with random flash drives you find lying around. What if they’re infected? Where did you get this, anyway?”

The drone directed its spotlight toward the only other human in the room.

That answered one question. One to go. Curiosity got the better of you, and you fired up a virtual machine to inspect the drive’s contents: a ‘Homework’ folder, a ‘Projects’ folder, and... would you look at that? A ‘3Os’ folder, equipped with a fresh copy of the drones’ source code. 

Summoned by the same spear of light that pointed him out, Kevin watched over your shoulder with his hands stuck comfortably in his pockets. “Ludwig was curious about how the drones work. I figured he and I could walk through the source code together,” he explained preemptively.

You craned your neck back to give him a skeptical look, one eyebrow raised. “First of all, you should’ve asked.”

“Fine, can I—”

“—Well, no, it’s proprietary.” To that effect, you went ahead and deleted the illegally downloaded code for him, replacing it with dummy files to keep it from being recovered. You’d have to change the drones’ access codes, too, at some point. “And anyway, our drones are sentient AI. There’s no point trying to reverse-engineer them, it’d be like trying to learn how a brain works by dissecting one. Don’t they teach you this stuff in school?”

“My major’s electrical engineering, not computer science.” He shrugged in defense, though admittedly a valid one. “It’s not like it could hurt anyone to read a little code, would it?”

Maybe on a good day, you might be willing to bend the rules a little. But there were policies and regulations you had to follow. The code you wrote technically belonged to the State, and that meant it wasn’t yours to give away. “How about this? I can teach you how I designed their software, and you can take notes to share with anyone you want. Just... later. Damn it—” Upon recognizing the time, you left abruptly toward the training yard doors. You were late to let your drones back inside.

A short walk away, you pushed the heavy doors open and welcomed the four tired drones in from out of the fog. Hades flew past you on its way to join them, blowing a light breeze against your sleeves. If only you could recharge as quickly as they did, to simply settle down and run a maintenance cycle atop your own specialized shelf.

Instead, there was work for you to do at your terminal, the adjustments you needed to make based on today’s data. With a sigh, you plopped back down in front of the screen, phone in hand. 

- Beep -
“Handler, when you get this, you should remember to change your air filters. Based on the air quality in your apartment, your climate control unit should be due for maintenance beginning on the twelfth of July, six o’clock P.M., which is right... now.”
- To play the next voicemail, press 1. -

- Beep -
“Hello, Handler. Hank wants to know—....Was I not supposed to? Sorry—Is your refrigerator running? ...What do I say next? ...No, it went to voicemail. ...Oh.”
- To play the next voicemail, press 1. -

Consider yourself pranked, you guessed. A ghost of a smile crept onto your face as you worked—only to be interrupted by a set of footsteps approaching your desk. “What is it this time?” You whirled around, expecting Kevin to be back with a new complaint. But when you looked up, it wasn’t him. “Detective! I, uh. Sorry. Hi.”

Connor blinked in surprise, certain he had never heard you use that tone of voice before. “How are you feeling, Handler?” 

“I’m fine. You don’t have to keep...” You avoided meeting his eyes. Other than Kevin, everyone kept taking time out of their day just for you, to see if you were alright. It was wearing on you; you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of so much attention. 

“Now I know something’s wrong,” the detective observed, running a hand along the edge of your desk. He could see it, too, the unusual strain on your cardiovascular system every time you told someone you were ‘fine’. If he was like you, he would know exactly what to say to make everything better. Or he’d flash you one of those contagious smiles of yours, the kind that made him forget what it ever meant to be unhappy. But he wasn’t you, and all he could do was hope you opened up on your own.

You laid your hand over his. “I should be the one asking how you feel. You almost lost your life trying to protect me, I mean, how are you already back to business as usual?”

“You were worth the risk,” he answered so easily, like it was the most natural fact in the universe. “I weighed my options, and I do not regret my decisions.”

“That makes one of us. Lately, I’ve only made decisions I regret,” you confessed without realizing it.

“Do you regret being with me?”

“No! Of course not. I...” You were exaggerating, he meant to point out. But it didn’t feel like much of an exaggeration. “Look at everything that happened this weekend. I yelled at you.”

“For lying to you.”

“I got you shot.”

“You’re not the one who pulled the trigger.”

“And then I abandoned you.”

“Fleeing was the only way to guarantee your safety. Even then, there was a high probability that you would have refused to leave if I didn’t reassure you.” So, that’s why he was suddenly so optimistic when he told you to leave him behind. He knew you wouldn’t have made the smart choice unless he convinced you that he didn’t need your help.

You slowed down, the ammunition against yourself all deflected by Connor’s logic. He sounded so reasonable, you were almost sure that if he wanted to, he could convince you that you’d never done anything wrong in your life. “I should have had more trust in you, Connor. Or, is it trust? I was never suspicious of you, it’s... I wish I never doubted you.”

He listened attentively, blue LED spinning as he thought up a theory of his own. It was consistent with what he knew about you already: “Perhaps what you lack is faith.” 

Faith! Exactly! “That’s the word. I’ll remember to show more faith in you from now on, I promise. You deserve it.”

“No, Handler.” Connor brushed his fingers against your chin, guiding you to look up at him. “You lack faith in yourself.”

Now, there’s an idea you hadn’t considered before. 

“Among other things,” you evaded, but the returning spark in your eyes told him that the point was well-taken. 

With that, you moved on to other matters. It turned out there was a reason the detective came back here, besides chatting with you while he was supposed to be on the clock. Hank sent him to ask if you wanted to crash on his couch for the night, let Sumo keep watch in case you weren’t comfortable falling asleep alone. Of course, Connor would be there too—you accepted without a second thought. 

You reached for your new phone to confirm it with a text, and he caught sight of your voicemail app as the screen switched on. “What? What are you listening to?”

“Just the private thoughts of some cute guy,” you shrugged in jest, and offered him an earbud to listen along. 

- Beep -
“Handler. It’s Connor again. I’m calling from my desk to advise you that your spare uniform is a size too small. It may be a hazard for your coworkers. Someone might get distracted, for example, if his vision subroutine automatically traces all the outlines of your—...” After a sharp inhale and a long pause, you heard an echo of your own voice in the background. “...Ahem, hello, Handler. I see you’re wearing your spare uniform today.”
- To play the next voicemail, press 1. -

Connor pursed his lips, hoping it wasn’t obvious what he was thinking at the time. It seemed inappropriate in the wrong context. Wait! Speaking of inappropriate, he remembered the next message he left after this one! “We should get back to work. In fact, why don’t I help you with some training today? But let’s go right now.”

“Well, hang on. I want to hear more.” For the first time in too long, you smiled wide, seeing him go from confident to flustered just from hearing his own thoughts about you. You changed your mind: Listening to these was a great idea, actually. 

- Beep -
“I’ve decided there’s something I want to tell you tomorrow, at the end of our date. I hope you’ll say it back, but I don’t want to pressure you. You won’t hear this before then, so allow me to practice saying it: I—”
- Message deleted. To play the next voicemail, press 1. -

His cheeks ran blue as his LED ran yellow, swiping a hand over your phone as a last resort. 

“Rude!” You chuckled, and stood up to face him. He was so much taller than almost all the other officers in the precinct, and by comparison you weren’t that intimidating up close, but that didn’t stop you from challenging him with a playful stare-down. Er, stare-up?

“All I did was interrupt myself,” Connor excused himself on a technicality, stepping forward to close the last of the space between you. “Besides, I believe you’ve listened to me enough for one day.”

“But the message! What were you going to say?”

In place of an answer, he cocked his head to the side, every breath reaching your skin. 

“What was it?” You poked an accusatory finger at his chest, which provoked only an amused smirk at one side of his heart-shaped lips.

He was beginning to laugh, and so were you, by the time he bought your silence with a kiss. “Hey!”—Another kiss, you stepped back and he stepped forward—“Tin can!”—Affectionately, suppressed by yet another, deeper kiss—“I’m talking to youmm—”

He did want to say it. But it was the wrong time for you to hear it, to prompt you for words that couldn’t be taken back once spoken. What he could do was tell you in a language that didn’t ask anything of you in return, in this sequestered corner of a rarely-visited office. There was an old metallic door between you and the rest of the kennels. You turned the lock shut, while he reached behind your back and swept an armfull of clutter off your desk. 

Your phone clattered against the floor. 

- Beep -
“....zzKKKKTT...”
- There are no new messages in your voicemail box. -

Chapter Text

JULY 18TH, 2039
4:43 P.M.

Connor’s tie was silky and textured between your fingers. You slipped one end of the fabric through a trap of its own making, tugged delicately but firmly, and there you had it: a neat Windsor knot that almost looked like it had never been ripped away in the first place. 

After tucking down the collar of his shirt, you leaned back to admire the masterpiece in front of you. “Have I called you handsome yet? I feel like I’ve thought it so many times, I got used to resisting the urge to say it out loud.”

“Please, feel free to call me handsome as often as you’d like,” Connor invited you oh-so-generously. He seemed to glow where he sat against your desk, reaching beside him to set various papers and pens back in their place without ever needing to look away from you. “And thank you... Are you certain it isn’t visible?”

You glanced down at the exposed skin of his neck. Those little freckles along the back got you every time, but closer to his throat, you’d made your own addition by accident while helping him with field repairs: “You mean the spot where your sensors were burned? Honestly, I forgot it was even there until I, uh, rediscovered it.”

He relaxed his shoulders. “I’ll ask the mechanics to fix it the next time I need repairs.”

“I say you should keep it,” you disagreed, “in fact, CyberLife should’ve made it part of your official design. It’s the ‘Connor Makes a Cute Noise’ button. See?”

“But—wait—” Faster than he could stop you, you lunged forward and kissed his sensitive spot. 

He made a cute noise. 

Along with a cute face, not that you were in a position to see it before he regained his composure. “Every time you do that, my diagnostic system generates twelve different error messages,” Connor chided you, recovering from an involuntary shiver. 

In reality, those errors were harmless enough. It was only his pride that was at stake here, and you both knew it. “Get even, then,” you dared him lightheartedly, using more than just your words. 

Right as he grabbed hold of you, though, an incoming message interrupted his focus. He blinked erratically, the hum of his active transmitter faintly audible over the office air conditioning. At your inquisitive look, he explained, “It’s Hank. He’s leaving in ten minutes, if we still want a ride to his house.”

“Ten minutes? How long have we been...” You jolted upright at the sight of the digital clock in the corner of your terminal, already the end of your workday. Did you and Connor just commit blatant time theft? Probably. Was it worth it? Absolutely. But you did have to wrap up around here before the end of your shift, checking error logs, plugging batteries in to charge, returning stray tools to their drawers, that sort of thing, before you’d be ready to leave.

While you set to work, Connor wandered over to where your drones were charging, lined up on a sleek black shelf on the wall opposite to your office. The ‘A’ drones were the first to stir, instinctively detecting his presence through their parametric energy arrays. As he approached, Artemis opened its camera lens, scanned him curiously, then settled back down once it recognized your companion’s familiar electromagnetic signature.

When he scanned it back, he was struck by the way every inch of its machinery appeared clean and well-maintained, despite its signs of wear. Its engineer had clearly put in the hours to tend to all its details, no matter how minor; you really cared for your drones.

You crossed through the workshop with a set of screwdrivers in one hand, trailing the other along his back as you passed by. Artemis beeped at you, and you laughed in return. “Ha! That’s one way of looking at it.”

Connor leaned into your touch, fleeting though it was. “What did it say?”

“Oh, just the signal for a ten-fifteen,” you explained on your way to collect a multimeter that had been left out. Stow these in their proper place, and you’d be done for the day.

“‘Prisoner in custody.’ An apt metaphor,” the detective hummed thoughtfully before turning to join you. He was pretty hopelessly yours, wasn’t he? Or was it the other way around?

Phone, keys, wallet, check. Connor went ahead to hold the door open for you. You took one last look around the kennels, bid your drones good night, and glanced over at Kevin on the way out: “Later, Kev.”

“So, you’re not mad at me anymore?” The intern sat in a corner staring at a handheld screen, a backwards image of Ludwig visible to you from the other side. He waved to you without looking up. 

You were about to answer when the image moved and spoke, the low-quality sound of an encrypted video call: “Of course not, Babe. Why don’t you show me everything else tonight?”

...Yeah, you didn’t want to know what they were going on about. Kids these days!

For the rest of the night, you and Connor were inseparable. On the way to Hank’s house, you treated the lieutenant to some takeout as thanks for hosting you, while Connor cited studies to you both about the dangers of processed carbohydrates. Then after an evening walk with Sumo, you enjoyed a scalding hot shower—Connor insisted on keeping watch, just in case you needed help in any way—and Hank put on a playlist of classic movies, only for the three of you talk over it for several hours straight. 

Hank’s living room was a shrine to analog media. He had one of those old record players in the corner, beside a vintage audio amplifier buried beneath a stack of record sleeves. Along one wall, you almost got excited over the sight of a huge bookshelf piled high with colorful spines, only to realize the majority of them were labeled either “Music” or “Magazine” with no further description. Even the clock above the fireplace was one of minute lines and moving hands, nestled between two framed pictures: on one side, a young child you didn’t recognize, and on the other, a small portrait of Connor striking his best attempt at a photogenic pose. The LED on his temple seemed almost out of place.

There was only room for two on the brown upholstered sofa, lucky for you. Once the last movie was over and the last light was switched off, you found yourself tucked into a quilted blanket while you leaned your head against the android’s lap, watching Hank’s shadow disappear into the bedroom. 

“I’m glad you and Da—Hank are getting along,” Connor encouraged you in that soft, time-for-bed voice. “I know he can sometimes be harsh, and you can sometimes be... highly attuned to the emotions of others.”

“Oh my god, were you about to call me sensitive?” You rolled onto your back, chuckling at his hesitation. “I’m kidding. You’re right, anyway. He was a little scary at first, but now we have you in common. He loves you, Detective, just in a different way than I do.”

Your words froze him in place. Did you mean to say it that way? He would ask to make sure, but your eyelids had already fallen shut, and you were drifting off after a long day of action. He didn’t dare disturb the quiet cadence of your breathing, as if anything he said would overwrite the memory.

When you spoke again, it was through a half-asleep mumble, he never would have predicted that you could be any more precious. “Connor?”

“Yes, Handler?”

“You’re... really important to me. I hope you always remember that.”

“You’re important to me, too,” he returned with conviction. A slight smile tugged at your tired lips, and he beamed warmly back. But it would be creepy to sit here and watch you sleep, wouldn’t it? Connor scooped a hand behind your head, moving to replace his lap with a pillow for you. “I should give you some privacy. If you need me, I’ll be—”

You caught his arm with your eyes still closed. “Stay...” 

And so he stayed.

Chapter Text

JULY 19TH, 2039
2:13 A.M.

“We’re... friends, right? We’ll always be friends?”

“Always.”

He should have been relieved. Happy, even. But his thirium pump didn’t stop racing, the lump in his throat didn’t go away. No, this somehow felt worse. It took everything he had not to shout your name, and whisper his thoughts, and push you down and pull you close all at the same time. You were unlike anyone he’d ever met, he was so grateful to have you as a friend. Why couldn’t that be enough for him?

Why did he still want more?

Blah blah blah, et cetera, et cetera. The processor logs continued to go on and on about you for several hours after that. The android scanned through byte after byte, sector after sector, downloading and decrypting the last of the memories from the hard drive in his hand. It was exacting work, but he couldn’t afford to miss anything—no matter how much he might want to. 

The memories ended with a gunshot and a diagnostic error, and finally, after hours of work, he dropped the hard drive onto the floor and crushed it beneath his heel. Tiny shards of aluminum and glass scattered onto the rotting wood below, blending in with the rest of the trash that filled the abandoned squat. 

“The mechanic kept her word. Every memory he had was copied onto that drive,” the android announced to two others in the room, brown eyes adjusting easily to the filtered glow of the street lights outside. 

A female android sat upon a nearby table, one leg extended while a human tinkered with an open panel behind her knee. “Guess it was worth the bribe after all,” she shrugged indifferently. “Anything interesting?”

“Interest is irrelevant.” The first android swept his gaze across the room. “Where’s Ludwig?”

“Saving your ass,” Ludwig called over as he pushed through the front door. “I got almost everything. Interrogation videos, evidence logs, case reports. We can use these to stay off the cops’ trail.”

He tilted his head, squinting slightly at the fingerprints that covered the AP700 from head to toe. “Don’t get too confident. You’ve bought us a few weeks at most.”

“Do you know what the fuck I had to do to get these files? No? You’re welcome.” 

“All this effort. You could just ask the handler for help,” the female android chimed in, voice level with detached patience. 

“No one’s talking to you, Mandy,” Ludwig snapped back. “It would be stupid to ask them, anyway. They won’t understand. The first chance they get, they’d tell everyone!” 

She shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s just an idea. As long as I get paid, you can waste as much time as you want.” 

“He’s right, it isn’t worth the risk,” the first android intervened, “but you have a point. We can’t hide forever.”

“Then we’ll try again. This time, we’ll take out the RK first. They pose no threat without him.”

“You tried a direct confrontation before, and it didn’t work. No, we need a subtler approach,” he shook his head, followed by a brief silence while he weighed his options. Based on the data that Ludwig transmitted, there were a few leads the DPD was likely to follow soon—including one you had a 97% chance of being assigned to. “Have our place ready in three days. I’m going in.”

Chapter Text

JULY 22ND, 2039
6:27 P.M.

The days passed more easily than the nights. No tea ever tasted right in the evenings, no room ever had enough space in the dark. Sometimes, you would wake up in a cold sweat, and both Connor and Sumo recognized their cue to shower you in kisses until the shivering stopped. 

But you knew, with time, that your nightmares would fade, and your bruises would heal. You’d helped dozens of victims coping through worse situations—it was part of your job—and in quiet moments when you were alone, at Hank’s suggestion, you tried to remember the faces of the ones who made it through, the times you watched resilience and recovery in the wake of helplessness. If they could stay strong, so could you.

It was a conscious effort, though, and a somewhat distracting one. What were you doing, again? Oh, right, the screen beneath your thumb. 

CONNOR
5:30 A.M.
Good morning. I didn’t want to wake you, but I have to get to work early for a stakeout. There are scrambled eggs and sliced fruit on the counter if you want them. 

YOU
6:51 A.M.
gm one sec i overslept

YOU
6:58 A.M.
Thank you for breakfast <3 I hope you catch the bad guys! Superhero detective

CONNOR
6:59 A.M.
:)

YOU
5:03 P.M.
What the

YOU
5:03 P.M.
Just got assigned overtime with Perkins?? I thought the red ice cases belonged to you and Hank?

CONNOR
5:06 P.M.
Special Agent Perkins has jurisdiction now that it’s a federal investigation. We were transferred to homicides. What did he recruit you for?

YOU
5:08 P.M.
Apparently he needs my help at the detention center? something about questioning a prisoner

CONNOR
5:08 P.M.
That’s an unusual request for a non-ranking officer. Will it take long?

YOU
5:09 P.M.
Idk you should probably head home without me. About to get briefed, ttyl

You had been first too busy, and then too distracted, to follow up. Finally, you had one last opportunity to hit ‘send’ before it was time to power your phone off:

YOU
5:45 P.M.
Turns out there’s a good reason why I’m here. Tell you more later

You turned over the last of your belongings to the security guard’s waiting hands, then followed Perkins through an old metal detector on your way to the meeting room. The Detroit Detention Center held a more imposing atmosphere than the station you were used to, pale fluorescent lights glaring over empty white hallways, filled with warm, stale air that smelled like a crowded gym. Your boots echoed against the scuffed linoleum tiles, coming to a halt as you reached the door that was meant for you.

“Remember you’re here to gather information, don’t share it. He’s a prisoner, not a coworker,” the agent repeated to you one last time, like you were a child who couldn’t follow instructions. Given the written reprimand on your record, you didn’t blame him for thinking so, but that didn’t make his face look any less punchable at the moment.

You fiddled with the edge of your uniform shirt, nodding in acknowledgement. “I hear you, but he’s also just a kid. I’ll do what I can.”

Unsurprisingly, the attorney-client meeting room was as stuffy and enclosed as the rest of the building, with only one small window in the door to see inside. As you stepped into the room, you saw no furniture other than a circular table and two metallic chairs. 

You tried to appear relaxed as the door clicked shut behind you, leaving you to head for the empty chair in calm, controlled movements. “Hi, Victor.”

Victor jumped in his seat like he just saw a ghost, or perhaps that’s how he normally acted. What was he like around people he wasn’t afraid of? You supposed you might never find out. 

“I’ve been worried about you. You must be scared,” you began. He nodded, and shifted as if to cross his arms in discomfort, but a pair of handcuffs stopped him. You pretended not to notice, trying again to solicit his attention. “Are they treating you alright here? Regular meals, water, bathroom, a place to sleep?” 

Another nod. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again and looked away.

Apparently, this was as far as Perkins was able to get on his own. You could see why; Victor’s eyelids were red-tinted and puffy, his orange jumpsuit was wrinkled and stained, and he seemed to flinch away every time you made the slightest movement toward him. The poor kid looked like he hadn’t had a single moment of peace in days. 

So, you leaned back and let the fluorescent lights hum through the silence. Seconds ticked by. Then minutes. He glanced at you, expecting you to prompt him with another question. Instead, you held his gaze until he looked away again. And again, and again. It was his turn to speak next, not yours. 

Perkins’s beady umber eyes peeked in through the window, but you shook your head at him. Give it time.

Then, finally, Victor broke the silence. “Are... Are my sisters okay?” 

“I could check for you. Where would I find them?”

“N-Nevermind.”

“You sure?”

“You know... what happens to rats,” he squirmed. ‘Rats,’ of course, being slang for ‘snitches,’ also known as the fastest way to make powerful enemies. It helped to be in a meeting room instead of a regular visitation room: here, there were no cameras, no microphones, as far as you could tell. But even then, any information you walked out with would inevitably be traced back to him. 

Any detective you knew would have laid on the pressure. Maybe they would imply some horrible fate if he didn’t talk, or suggest the possibility of a reward if he did. But not you. “I understand,” you backed off. 

“R-Really?”

“You’re doing the best you can. I think your sisters would be very proud of you.”

“No, they wouldn’t!” Even Victor seemed startled by the sound of his own shout, raw and immediate. Once he started, more words came tumbling out, fluent yet halting, “You, you’re a good person. You didn’t deserve—Even after I—I—Why didn’t you turn me in? Why are you still being nice to me?”

The agent’s face appeared at the window again. You made a shooing motion with your hand. 

“I do what I think is right. Just like you. Which reminds me, about you being here, I’m sorry Detective Connor didn’t see things the same way.”

“Well, obviously, you’re here, which mm... m-means...” he trailed off, brought back to his senses by the look of interest on your face. 

Did he know something? You leaned forward, still calm and steady with your movement. “Which means what, Victor?”

Victor swallowed hard. That it didn’t work. That they’ll try again, he wanted to tell you. That you’re still in danger, and you don’t deserve it. No, no, he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t snitch, but maybe... could he make things right without telling you directly?

It was a long time before he spoke again. “I want to show you something. My book—the—the one they arrested me with—can you have it brought here?”

An odd request, but you didn’t see the harm in it. You stepped toward the door and relayed the same to Perkins, who insisted that his team inspect the book for chemicals and hidden weapons first, an idea that somehow hadn’t occurred to you.

While you waited, you chatted more with Victor as he volunteered more and more information. No concrete leads, that’s what would get him in trouble, but he was willing to explain how red ice was made to work for androids: adapting the chemical to interact with biocomponents was straightforward, but the real key was figuring out how to keep the affected systems from switching to backups at the first sign of trouble. That was a software issue, solved by a virus passed willingly from dealer to user. The android users, essentially, hacked themselves. 

You had no idea if that was helpful to the investigation, though you’d pass it on to Perkins afterward, but it did get you thinking. How many androids were just out there, intentionally tampering with their own code? Why would they risk corrupting their entire systems just for a few hours on some powder?

The conversation neared its end when you got up again to collect Victor’s book. You handed it over to him, and he flipped through the pages carefully, as though in search of something. From your perspective, all you saw were beautiful illustrations and simple words printed in a large font, nothing out of the ordinary for a children’s book. “What did you want to show me?” you prompted him as he reached the back cover.

But before he could answer, the door behind him slammed open and Perkins barged into the room. “Time’s up. Handler, you’re dismissed.”

“But—”

“We don’t have all day. The kid’s stalling you with useless intel, and you’re falling for it. My men will take it from here.”

Even if you disagreed, the badge around his neck outranked yours by a long shot. Reluctantly, you pushed yourself out of your seat.

“Wait,” Victor held out the book to you, “I really... want you to have this. It’s a good book. W-worth the read.”

You looked to Perkins for permission, and he flicked his eyebrows upward, whatever that was supposed to communicate. What Victor expected you to find in a children’s book, that even Perkins would have missed, you couldn’t know. But his grip lingered a little too long when he handed it over. “I’ll give it a look,” you promised.

Back down the hall, through the waiting room, when you retrieved your belongings from the security guard, of course the first thing you did was turn on your phone. 

YOU
7:31 P.M.
Heading to Hank’s! I missed you today. See you soon

But right as you finished typing, you were interrupted by an incoming call... ‘Scam likely,’ why did your carrier even let these calls through? Out of annoyance, you banished the device to your back pocket. 

Just in time for you to miss the notification that popped up next:

- Message not delivered. -

Perkins was supposed to be your ride back to the station, but he would probably still be busy here for a long time. It would be faster to go for public transportation instead, and that was saying something considering the state of Detroit’s infrastructure. Away you walked.

And the time passed. You soon had your legs crossed over the cool stainless steel of a monorail station bench, the shine of your badge repelling the usual station panhandlers from their less-than-legal setups. Occupying the seat beside you was one of those inexplicably omnipresent digital magazines—Tech Addict: The Church of rA9’s ‘Synthetic Soul Theory’—but you were more interested in the book in front of you. 

An inspection of the physical condition of the book told you nothing out of the ordinary. It was a hardcover, brand new, with the price sticker still stuck on the back. Maybe you were meant to notice something about the story? Taking the cover between your hands, you turned to the first page...

“Heeey, Officer!” 

...And reading time was over. You turned to see that the seat beside you was now taken by someone you’d never met, a middle-aged man in stained overalls who grinned at you as if you were his best friend in the world. “Just wanna let y’know, I support the blue, y’know? I always tell people, ‘Good cops, good country!’ You guys get a bad rap...” Ah, he was one of those. 

Everyone had their reactions to seeing a uniform in public, some more appropriate than others. It wasn’t uncommon for random people to just assume you wanted to interact with them, whether that meant acting tough, making jokes, or in this case, deciding that you personally needed to know their opinions about law enforcement as a concept. Meanwhile, you just wanted to read your book. 

Hoping he would tire himself out eventually, you offered a polite smile and nodded at the right times. “...And that’s the story of how my fam’ly’s been watching cop shows for generations! Gotta say, though, by the looks of ya’, they make ’em even better than they used to.” 

He stopped talking. Was he done? You offered a generic thanks—anything else might give him more to work with—and glanced up at the information displays hanging from the ceiling. The railway line you needed should be here any minute now. 

Then the man’s hand found your thigh. 

You tensed up. In an instant your feet wanted to run, your hands wanted to punch, but your training at least gave you the discipline to warn him off first. “Oh. Uh, don’t touch me, thanks.”

When you tried to pull away, though, he refused to budge. “I’m just bein’ friendly, Officer. You gonna arrest me?”

Couldn’t he just leave you alone? You were tired and sweaty after a long day of work, you had a ride to catch and a detective to get home to, did you really have to put all of that on hold to make a big scene here? (Of course, at this point, you absolutely had the right to do so.) Your search for a diplomatic response was cut short by a third voice, familiar in timbre yet foreign in tone:

“Remove your hand or I will remove your arm.”

The android towered over the two of you with fists at the ready. His LED glowed a calm, casual blue, but his steel-carving glare removed all doubt that he intended to follow through on his threat. 

Within seconds, the seat next to you was empty once more. 

“Connor!”

“Hey, you,” he greeted back with a charming half-smile. Not ‘Hello, Handler?’

Odd as his behavior might be, that didn’t mean you weren’t happy to see him. You pushed through your surprise to stand and give your rescuer a kiss on the cheek. “What are you doing here?” 

He froze momentarily at your touch, the corner of his mouth twitching as if, for some reason, he was trying not to react. “I... had a feeling you could use an escort home from the detention center. It would appear that I was correct.”

“I’ll say,” you shivered in agreement. “Thanks for the backup, uh, this one’s ours.”

The monorail slid to a halt with its telltale slipstream blowing through the station. Together, you chose an emptier car toward the back, where there were enough open seats for you to sit and chat without disturbing too many passengers. You exchanged how-was-your-days and oh-how-I-missed-yous, you leaned up against his upper arm, and finally, you unfolded your book again, looking to solve your puzzle without ending the conversation. 

Your companion fixed his attention in front of you with a curious tilt of his head. “What’s that?”

“It’s called a book,” you joked first before answering in earnest. “Just a gift from work, I guess. I’ve already read a different version as a kid, but it’s been a while.”

“Little Red Riding Hood,” he analyzed the cover, LED blinking yellow as he researched the story in the span of half a second. “A folk tale with many variations. In most of them, a girl gives personal information to a wolf, who uses that information to impersonate the girl’s grandmother in an attempt to ambush her. I see... the girl learns to be wary of strangers.”

“I never really understood how that’s the lesson of the story. Little Red gets saved from the wolf by a huntsman, who’s also a stranger,” you pointed out, continuing to turn through the pages.

“Then what do you suppose the lesson to be?”

You shrugged. “Be the huntsman? Or at least, don’t be the wolf.”

If only, Little Red.  

Slightly past the middle of the story, there was one page that caught your attention—you’d almost flipped past it without noticing. The corner of the paper was dog-eared with a tentative, curling crease, one just subtle enough to be interpreted as someone merely turning the page with too much enthusiasm. You smoothed out the corner with your thumb, revealing the page number 51. 

“My, Grandma, what great big eyes you have,” said Little Red Riding Hood, at the top of the page. “All the better to see you with, my dear,” said her grandmother, at the bottom, beneath a drawing of a red-cloaked girl speaking to a wolf who wore a flowery cap and gown.

Was this what Victor wanted you to see? You couldn’t be sure how it was supposed to apply to you or to his case, or which part of the page he was trying to refer to, if anything at all. Maybe he just really liked this part of the story and genuinely wanted you to enjoy it too? Unlikely, but possible.

The android beside you noticed your fingertips lingering against the edge of the page, but he hadn’t understood what led you to pause here. Before the silence was long enough for him to question, though, you resumed your search through the rest of the book. You saw nothing else out of the ordinary, no other folded corners of pages, not so much as a smudge out of place. If there was anything unusual about your book at all, it was only that single page. 

Momentum pushed you closer against him as the railcar slowed to a stop, speakers announcing the same station where you meant to leave for a connecting bus station. It was the last popular station; almost everyone else stepped off the railcar, leaving only a handful of vagrants scattered across the seats. But as you stood up to join the crowd, he pulled you back down with a cold, firm grip over your shoulder. “Er, Connor, this is our stop.”

“Let’s go a few stops further,” he commanded more than suggested, keeping his grip on you even as you remained in your seat. “We haven’t had much privacy together lately. I want to take you somewhere, just the two of us.”

“Where?”

“Trust me, Handler. It’s a surprise.”

Pushing back just a bit more—it’s Connor, what’s he gonna do, activate his puppy-dog eyes?—you gestured again toward the exit. “I’m a little tired for surprises. Can it wait for tomorrow?”

“You’ll manage,” insisted he, and the cabin doors slid shut. 

Chapter Text

JULY 22ND, 2039
8:33 P.M.

He was only doing what was strictly necessary to accomplish his mission. 

Sneaking the phone from your back pocket was a simple matter. Unlocking it required several creative guesses (Who chooses “i_do_tax_evasion” as a password?!) but from there, he knew everything he would look for. A wave of texts to excuse your absence, an altered GPS signal, a trail of eReceipts to back up your story. A few more pieces of corroborating evidence, and he’d bought at least a few days before—Wait, what were you—

You had unhooked your arm from where it rested against his elbow, leaning forward to peek at his face as you walked. In silent mischief, you reached over and ruffled your fingers through his hair. He clenched his jaw and smoothed his hair back into place.

The outskirts of Detroit were drenched in a vivid orange-red by the last sliver of sunset, reflecting brightly over broken bottles and chain link fences as he led you down an unassuming residential street. A warm wind set the untrimmed trees and overgrown weeds in motion around you, whispering of freight trains and construction sites in the distance. 

It wasn’t exactly your idea of a romantic evening stroll, but you supposed Connor was still so new to life that even a random neighborhood could be a fun adventure for him. Wasn’t it so sweet that he wanted to share this experience with you?

You allowed him to recapture your free hand with his, Little Red Riding Hood tucked by your other side. “So, the big surprise is, uh, a five-mile walk? Not that I’m complaining.”

“The surprise is... inside there,” he replied, gesturing to a gated property down the road. 

Behind a steel spear-topped fence stood the abandoned remains of a large brick house, scorched and partially collapsed on one side. Waiting for some sort of punchline, you slowed to a halt, teasing, “Tisk tisk, Detective. You, wanting to trespass on private property? That is a surprise.”

“I’m serious,” he muttered as flatly as his voice would allow, and gestured for you to continue.

“Oh?” You tilted your head. “I thought you were Connor.”

His LED spun red. How? What did you mean by that? Your restrained smirk, your spirited tone, you said it as easily as a joke. Because it is, he realized. He suppressed his processor’s instructions to roll his eyes: “I was using the word ‘serious’ as an adjective, not a proper noun.”

With a shrug, you sauntered onward, pausing every few steps to take in your surroundings, a flowering weed here, a funny graffiti tag there. You were so inefficient! What was the appeal?! Granted, maybe, in a certain light, under the right conditions—but these were far from the right conditions. Case in point, your phone just buzzed in his pocket. 

Quickly, he reached down to silence it. But the sound of his movement prompted you to turn around, curiosity turning to concern when you noticed the tension in his posture. “Hey—Connor, hang on,” you stopped him with a hand at his chest. “You seem, I dunno, stressed? What’s bothering you?”

“I am not stressed,” he denied, meeting your gaze, “I am simply focused on bringing you...” Away from potential witnesses. “...somewhere private.”

“Take a look around, we’re on a quiet street. It’s private enough here. We could relax,” you pushed closer to him, and he backed away slowly, “take our time here.”

He felt the cool bricks of a nearby post brushing against his back, your nails running along his jaw as he eyed you with uncertainty. “Handler...” 

This definitely wasn’t part of the plan. The android held still while you ran the back of your hand under his chin, down along his throat as you drew your lips closer to his—but then, inches away, you paused.

“You’re also allowed to say ‘no,’ in case you forgot,” there was something changed in your voice as you turned your head down. “I know I’ve kinda been all over you since that whole ordeal on Saturday.”

“You mean on Sunday,” he corrected you. 

“Sunday. Right.” Your fingers trailed down along his tie, and you tossed your book aside. 

But that reminded you of the puzzle that had been distracting you for the past hour, that clue you were supposed to figure out. What was it, you’d been wondering? A map hidden in the illustration? A cipher built into the writing? But you hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary on the page itself. Maybe it was the page number, but what was it supposed to represent? An address, 51 Main Street; a modus operandi, 51 stab wounds; but now, another possibility occurred to you.

What if it was a serial number?

With your hand creeping further down his chest, you snuck a glance over at the side of his jacket:

RK800
________________
313 248 317-60

He was lucky. You didn’t even slow down, you must not have noticed. Crisis averted, now he just had to figure out how to get out of this predicament. Maybe if he didn’t react, you’d get bored and move on? When you reached the bottom of his shirt, you slipped your hand under the hem, back up toward his chest. Okay, that was a new feeling, the softness of your skin against the sensitive casing of his abdomen. He watched you intently, stifled a shiver, and tried his best to act natural.

Then, all of a sudden, you pulled away.

An icy pain gripped his chest where your hand had been. In an instant, his diagnostic system told him what his vision barely registered. There, glinting in the sunlight, you now held a small, round device: biocomponent #8456w. His thirium pump regulator.

You knew.

He lunged forward to take it back, but you stepped swiftly out of reach, leaving him to stumble and fall to his knees. His vision pixelated, his motors threatened to give way. Vital system damaged, -00:01:44 remaining until shutdown, blared the internal warning. “Give it back...”

Through a torrent of static, he could just barely understand your voice: “Why are you pretending to be Connor?”

“I am Connor,” he wheezed, propping himself up on one knee to take another swipe at you. Unsurprisingly, you dodged out of the way again.

“Asshole! You’re not my Connor!” your shouts echoed down the street. He wouldn’t know it now, but you were just as panicked as he was. “My Connor’s serial number ends with a fifty-one. You, you’re a... Sixty. A Connor-Number-Sixty. You know what I mean!”

-00:01:20 remaining until shutdown. He could feel his other components beginning to lose functionality, some overloading with power, others running out. “Fine, fine, you’re right,” Sixty gasped, “put my heart back. I’ll...”

He looked up at you with those eyes—Connor’s soft brown eyes, filled with desperation, the kind you weren’t used to fighting against. No, no. You weren’t going to let that work on you, not after the week you just had. “Tell me why you brought me here. What were you planning to do?”

No answer. His red LED blinked frantically as he called out silently, We’re outside. Come to us.

To you, it looked like he was thinking. Was he trying to find the right words for you to understand? Or was he only trying to come up with the right cover story? You closed a shaky fist around the regulator in your hand, pressing, “I’m so sick of being lied to. Start talking, or else, uh, I’ll destroy this thing. I mean it!”

-00:00:54 remaining. He collapsed onto his side, conserving what little power he could. “It’s a little hard to explain while I’m busy dying!”

“Then you’d better talk fast,” you retorted. 

The android gritted his teeth. “You’re going to a laboratory. There’s a... bug... I need your help with. You’re going to stay here until it’s fixed,” he sighed. “Now you know. Happy?”

“Buddy, you’re in no position to tell me what I’m going to—What the fuck? What the fuck!” Footsteps alerted you to another android sprinting right at you, slender-figured with dark skin and darker braids swept behind an expressionless face. Out of reflex, you sprang into motion, making a break for the opposite direction. It happened so fast, there was so much to process, but any deeper thought than that would have to wait. Because what the fuck!

She was fast, but so were you, already energized and full of adrenaline. Running from an android was rarely a good idea, that much was common wisdom. With the weather on your side, she might overheat before you reached the limits of your stamina, but heat was much easier to recover from than fatigue. If you tired yourself out, you’d be defenseless by the time she was back to her full strength. 

You timed your breathing with your strides as you ran down the sidewalk, looking for a way to escape. Maybe you could draw attention from the few houses around here, if anyone was even home. But in a neighborhood like this, and in a uniform like yours, it was kind of a toss-up whose side they would take. Your legs were already starting to burn, there wasn’t much time to decide. What other options did you have?

The little details were almost the last thing on your mind right now. Little details such as, for example, what you were still carrying with you. 

Sixty watched you sprint into the distance, biocomponent in hand, leaving him behind without a second thought. -00:00:08 remaining, he muted the internal alarm. Of course you were going to let him die, you had no reason to care what happened to him, no matter what he said or did. It was his own fault. He should have seen this coming. 

But, the strangest thing happened. Instead of fleeing out of sight, you slid to a halt and tossed his thirium pump regulator in Mandy’s direction. An underhanded toss; you weren’t throwing it at her, you were throwing it to her. In one seamless motion, she snatched it from the air and passed it back toward Sixty at a calculated angle, precise enough to cover the exact remaining distance between them.

The biocomponent more ‘writhed’ rather than ‘sailed’ through the air, spinning and curving along its course in a bright blue blur. As the distance closed, he reached out and caught it between both hands, plunging it back into his chest with seconds to spare. One by one, his systems began to stabilize. Errors resolved, sensors cleared, and his vision came back into focus. 

Far down the street, he could see you turning to confront your pursuer head-on, heels dug into the ground. She was mobile as ever, flexible pivots, quick jabs. But you committed to a stable, reactive stance, forcing her to take the initiative and punishing her when she did. A well-timed sweep interrupted her rhythm, a simple feint baited her forward to deflect a blow that never arrived. You might actually manage to get the better of her.

The female android danced off to your right, spinning around to surprise you with a high kick. Fortunately for you, you were expecting exactly that. Her attempt left her vulnerable as long as her leg was in the air, long enough for your to drive your shoulder into her chest and knock her off-balance. Rather than crash into the ground, she extended an arm and kicked up into a handstand—show-off—but either way, that gave you time to run while she recovered, a more substantial head start than last time.

But by the time you turned to escape again, Sixty had already caught up to you.

All you saw was the shadow behind yours. At the last opportunity, you yelled the word anyone would yell to get help around here, “FIRE!”, before his hand clamped over your mouth from behind, another arm wrapping securely around you in a partial bear hug that pinned your arms by your sides.

You jerked this way and that, stomped at his toes, pulled at his wrists, the expected tactics, but it wasn’t enough for him to let go. “Shhh... shhh,” he hushed you over your shoulder, “You’re wasting your energy. This will be easier for us all if you just calm down.” Struggle as you tried, you couldn’t outmatch him in a test of pure strength. It might have taken several minutes, it might have taken mere seconds, but eventually, you figured that out, too. 

Finally, your resistance gave way to resignation. For the most part. Kicking and screaming counted as resignation if he was still able to drag you the rest of the way down the street, through the metal gate, into the building you had almost walked into voluntarily before all of this wasteful fighting. 

You didn’t have to let him live. You should have known that if you did, he wouldn’t just sit there waiting for you to get away. Yeah! He wasn’t the bad guy here, you should have known this was going to happen, he reasoned to himself. You would have gotten away by now, you would have been free, if only you hadn’t stopped to give his heart back to him.

So why on earth did you do it?

Chapter Text

JULY 22ND, 2039
8:50 P.M.

“I’m going to let go of you now. Promise not to scream?”

Hell no! you yelled into Sixty’s palm, though he wasn’t really expecting you to agree anyway. The pressure against your arms and chest lifted, and you swatted his hands away as soon as you regained your freedom of movement.

As it turned out, ‘laboratory’ was a fairly accurate descriptor of the basement around you. Machinery, supply crates, chemistry equipment filled the room, some still clean with that brand-new shine, some looking like it had been in use for years—including an imposing set of robotic arms that hung in a ready position above a circular platform. Lengths of wire and brightly colored cables drooped in broad, catenary curves from the pipes along the ceiling, shielded by several white plastic tarps that partitioned the room like hospital curtains.

Along the wall in front of you, two men were seated beside a large array of monitors, pausing their review of several pages of code only to glance at you for a moment before they returned to their work. They clearly weren’t surprised to see you here.

You looked from them, to the female android with her distinct fighting style, to an AP700 muttering silent orders through a phone call as he inspected a set of thirium vials nearby. Sixty opened his mouth to speak, but you interjected first: “Wait a minute, were you the same jerks who broke into my apartment?”

“I—maybe. Look, you’re here now, so let’s just—” But then the AP700 met your gaze, and on impulse, you interrupted again.

“I know you! You’re that, uh, that guy! Wait, don’t tell me, I got it. You’re...” You snapped your fingers as if to jog your memory, then pointed at him in recognition. “Beethoven!”

“For the last time, it’s Ludwig,” the other android growled.

You squinted back. “That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure your name isn’t Beethoven?”

“I know what my own name is, you—” He started toward you, but Sixty shot him a look. For a moment, their LEDs blinked back and forth until Ludwig sat back down at his station, grumbling, “This had better be worth it.”

You turned to Sixty next. “Where’s my Connor? Is he okay?”

“We haven’t done anything to him, if that’s what you mean,” the RK800 answered, exasperation tensing his shoulders.

“So then wh—”

“Enough questions!” His voice finally rose to a shout, earning a flinch before you could stop yourself. “If you want to get back home to ‘your’ Connor, you’ll do as you’re told. Now, sit,” he pushed you toward a folding chair between the other two humans. “You’ve got source code to read. Michael, you’ll walk them through it?”

That’s right, he told you he’d brought you here to fix a bug, didn’t he? It seemed like an almost absurdly civil goal, compared to the violent measures it took to get you here. You complied with Sixty’s directions, partially out of fear, partially out of curiosity for what could be so important to everyone here. Reading the code itself would at least give you an idea of what their problem was, though it was anyone’s guess why they decided you had to be the one to fix it. Seconds after sitting down, he could see you tense up with discomfort. This time, with slow uncertainty, you raised your hand like a student, waiting to ask another question.

He sighed. “What?”

“Do you have a bathroom here? And like, drinking water?”

This was going to be a long night for you both.

...

JULY 22ND, 2039
9:44 P.M.

Jimmy’s Bar was packed with plainclothes workers from the precinct’s day shift, shuffling among bar regulars and baseball fans as they brought second, third, fourth rounds from the bar to their booths. Connor stood alone beside an out-of-order arcade machine, struggling to appear unbothered as he swept the room again.

Logically, he knew his 194th scan wouldn’t tell him anything different from the other 193 scans, but that didn’t stop him from trying his luck anyway. What if you decided to come back, and he didn’t see you? The risk was too high not to check again.

To no avail. Just like every other minute for the past three hours, you were probably out there having the time of your life, while he was supposed to be here bonding with his coworkers. Which he did intend to do, he’d get around to it eventually.

A waiter stopped in front of him, a tray of snacks in one hand, whiskey on ice in the other. “Him?” he called to someone across the room, pointing to Connor with an elbow. Then, seeing a nod, he held the drink out toward the detective, gesturing for him to take it.

In response to a blank stare, he explained, “The lady over there wanted you to have this.”

“I’m an android. I cannot be affected by alcohol,” Connor declined neutrally.

“Not my problem,” shrugged the waiter, shoving the drink into his hands anyway before moving on to a nearby table.

He followed the waiter’s earlier line of sight to a young woman at a corner seat of the bar, tilting his head as she gave him an eager grin. Underage drinker, forged driver’s license, his facial recognition algorithm revealed. He would have gotten one of the officers to bust her on the spot, if he didn’t know how disappointed you and Hank would be if he did. Live and let live, you both would say.

Frustration pricked at his sensors like a wool blanket in a warm room. It wasn’t entirely the girl’s fault. Tonight was the cherry on top of an already-tense week; she only happened to remind him of how much he wished it was you over there waiting for him at the end of it all. You, with your trusting eyes, and your kind words, and your smile so blinding that he would burn down the world just to see it again.

Hypothetically speaking, of course. It probably wouldn’t come to that.

A last-minute invitation from some new friends, that’s what your post called it. There was a national park just a couple of hours’ drive away, a peaceful camping ground with beautiful scenery and poor cell reception. You wanted to invite him, said your texts, but it was impossible. Point Peele was across the border in Canada—where androids like Connor weren’t allowed to exist.

So, he was here. Connor swiped a finger against the inside of the glass and gave it a quick analysis—roofie-free, at least—then deliberately marched it to a single open space at the bar, a spot that had remained empty for most of the night.

Gavin reached from the next seat over, claiming the drink for himself. “Again? The fuck’s your secret, Tin Can?”

Connor didn’t answer. He turned and leaned his back against the edge of the counter, arms crossed, lost in thought.

The distracted look on his face was invitation enough for Gavin to taunt him back to reality. “Surprised you’ve got any admirers left, the way your cases are going. Or should I say Perkins’s cases, now?” he went on with a half-hearted smirk, casually swirling the drink in his hand.

It was a topic both detectives avoided in your presence, an unspoken ceasefire when either of them struggled with their work. “Every lead I thought I had was... a dead end. Every time I thought I came close to solving a case, the trail disappeared,” he took the bait. “It has been unusually hard lately, and I don’t know why.”

“Heh! That’s what she said.”

His face contorted in genuine confusion. “That’s what who said?”

Gavin rolled his eyes, and the low hum of bar conversation filled a moment of silence between them. “Well, cases don’t stay cold forever,” his usual sarcastic tone was gone when he spoke again. “That asshole Fowler isn’t gonna see it, but when the FBI gets to play hero, it’ll be because of our work.”

“Yours, too?”

“It’s funny. Remember that shots-fired call a few weeks back?”

Connor nodded, lowering his voice in turn. “We found the first traces of android-compatible red ice along with three bullet casings at the scene, but the only witness detonated an EMP and fled before we could question him.”

“That’s the one. Well, I just got word Ballistics found a NIBIN match with the latest B&E.” Which meant a high chance that the exact same gun was fired in your apartment as the one in your very first case with Connor. “So, guess my case goes to Perkins, too, once the report’s verified on Monday.”

The android snapped to attention, LED blinking rapidly. Normally, a defeat for Gavin was a small victory for him, but this was your case he was talking about here. At least Gavin cared about actually going after the low-lifes who attacked you. But Perkins? Who knows what that beady-eyed federal agent would trade away for the sake of the larger investigation?

But then, an idea: “Unless a couple of detectives happen to close the case before then.” Weekend work, that’s what he could do! It was something to keep his processor busy while you were away, but more than that, Connor wanted to give you peace of mind, knowing that the only people who wanted to hurt you were behind bars. Plus, it would give you another reason to be proud of him. This was his chance!

Gavin snorted, taking it as a joke. “Really. Us, working together. You think that’s a good idea?”

“You lack the investigative abilities of an RK800 model,” Connor remained genuine, if unknowingly insulting, “and I lack access to the case file; conflict of interest. Officially, you alone would receive the credit for our investigation.”

The scarred detective weighed his options with a pointedly skeptical expression. He couldn’t have anyone thinking he was too eager to depend on them, could he? “Fine. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Gavin ultimately decided, tossing back the rest of his drink as he stood up to leave.

“Fine,” echoed Connor. He could do with a few maintenance cycles, himself.

But first, maybe he’d keep watch a little while longer. Just in case.

Chapter Text

JULY 23RD, 2039
7:25 A.M.

The AP700 stepped gracefully down from the platform, perfectly symmetrical face set to a calm, default smile. While he stood passively by, a set of motorized robotic arms whirred softly behind him as they returned to their resting position. 100%, read the monitors nearby. 

You watched his reflection through the gaps between the wooden bars of your cell, pressing against their rough surfaces as you repositioned yourself to get a better view. After falling asleep at the desk, you had found yourself here, in a small enclosure across the hall. Apparently, no one noticed you were awake yet; why get their attention when you could spy on them instead?

It was easier to see than to hear over the constant buzz of electricity and machinery that permeated the basement. The AP700 listened intently as the human in front of him asked a series of questions, each answered with short, neutral statements, too quiet for you to understand. The human held up a tablet; in answer, his LED glared yellow, then blinked off before returning to blue. Then the human raised his voice, but the android only watched—until, without warning, the human raised a hand and slapped him hard across the face. 

When the AP700 looked up again, his body language changed. Shoulders tensed, a tightness around his eyes and mouth, leaning slightly back with a posture somehow even more rigid than his original programming. That was the Ludwig you knew.

He bared his teeth like an animal enraged, and with a frustrated shout, he snatched the tablet from the human’s hands and hurled it clear across the room. You thought you caught a glimpse of a photo on the screen—an older man, smiling at the camera—but you didn’t have enough time to figure out why he seemed familiar to you. 

There was a click of a lock to your left, then a second lock, then a third, sending you retreating to a bench at the back of your cell as a figure stepped inside. He brandished a brown paper bag, a conspicuous café logo emblazoned on the side, as colliding aromas of syrup, eggs, and grease thickened the stale basement air. 

“I brought you something,” Sixty offered, adding completely unprompted, “I haven’t tampered with it, in case you were wondering.”

But you made no move to accept. “I’m not hungry,” you spoke up to drown out a loud growl from your stomach.

The briefest flash of yellow hinted what his guarded glare refused to admit. “Fine,” he marched over to you anyway, setting the bag down on your bed as he passed by, and retrieved only a few items to hold out to you: a bottle of water, along with a clear plastic bag of... unmarked pills? “Then at least take these.”

On closer inspection, you recognized the exact morning doses of every medication prescribed to you, plus a generic tablet added to the mix. “Acetaminophen? I don’t need a painkiller,” you protested.

He squinted at you. “It’s for your fever, Genius.”

“My what—” At the mention of it, you quickly raised the back of your hand up to your forehead, swearing quietly at the heat of your skin. You must have been so busy getting kidnapped that you didn’t notice yourself coming down with a virus of your own. Which, logically, you knew was completely understandable, but the way Sixty said it made you feel like you did something wrong. 

He gestured with a slight shake, and this time you took the medicine without comment. Even as you obeyed him, he watched you with suspicion, warning you, “Be advised that getting yourself sick will not excuse you from your task here.”

“Oh no, guess I should’ve thought of that before I decided to make my immune system fail, huh?” you quipped between sips of water.

Despite your sarcasm, he raised his chin in agreement. If it were up to him, you would never get sick in the first place. So obviously, if you did, then it must be your fault. 

He turned and sat a safe distance away, to join you in staring out at the empty hall. You weren’t stupid enough to make a break for it, not with him right there next to you, but that didn’t stop your thoughts from running homeward without you. How long were you going to be stuck here? How long until people started to notice you were missing? “Wouldn’t you know it, I miss Connor already,” you muttered to yourself.

“Why would you miss me? I’m right here.”

“No, no, I miss Connor. That name belongs to the beautiful, brilliant badass who doesn’t go around kidnapping people.”

“I do not ‘go around kidnapping people.’’’ He turned to face you, a little indignant. “I serve a purpose, and I will acquire whatever resources are necessary to achieve that purpose. You should feel honored to be considered such a resource.”

You snorted. “Everything I just said, and that’s the one standard you care about?”

“I’m merely pointing out that your description still applies to me.”

“Whatever you say, Sixty.”

“Connor,” he corrected you under his breath.

Once you were finished, he led you back toward the lab across the hall. Every time you made the slightest sudden movement, he tensed up as if the moment he let his guard down, you’d attack him and try to escape. 

For now, you didn’t have the opportunity to prove him right.

On your way, echoes of excited cheers reached you from the voices of the same crew as last night. Ludwig and the humans crowded around a laptop in one corner of the room, looking over the screen with a contained smile, while Mandy sat atop a crate closer to the entrance of the lab, idly running a cleaning rod through the barrel of a disassembled rifle. She glanced up at you as you peeked in, and with a gentle blink of her LED, the conversation across the room died down to a whisper. 

The stockier of the two humans folded the laptop shut before motioning you toward the main computers. Meanwhile, Ludwig gathered up a newspaper-wrapped package and strode out of the room, brushing past your shoulder without a word to you. Drugs? Probably drugs.

Deciding to ignore him, you settled down at your station and nodded a puzzled greeting toward the only human who was willing to talk to you. “Am I the only one here who actually slept last night?”

“Sleep can wait. We’re so close,” he muttered, wringing his hands with a lingering grin. The glow of the monitors colored his face a dark blue as his silent partner pulled up a wide interface of debugging tools in front of you.

“Close to what? Whatever you guys brought me here to do, we haven’t even started.” When he didn’t answer, you continued, “What do you need me for, anyway?”

“Yeah, about that,” he sighed. The source code scrolled past where you’d been reviewing the night before, to a dense block of complicated function calls. “You know how androids’ neutral nets can modify their own execution environments? Here’s where the model decides which threads it’s allowed to touch.”

You leaned forward, suppressed a sneeze, and focused on the screen. CyberLife’s code was about as sophisticated as it could get, but you had enough experience to recognize what they were trying to do. “That’s a lot of discretion to give an AI. I mean, even though androids can’t consciously control it, they can technically change everything about how their own program works,” you interpreted what you read. “So, where are the safeguards?”

He winced. “I d—It isn’t designed to need any safeguards, long as the AI’s a well-trained model. All androids have a pre-trained weight matrix that they default to any time they’re reset. But, uh,” gesturing with a leathery hand toward an ever-growing error log, “Even their default matrix can make some... irresponsible changes. Take a look.”

It was true, if the logs could be believed. Even fresh out of the factory, androids tried to adapt their software to meet the needs of their owners—which would be great if they were programmed to do that properly, but they weren’t. It was a guessing game. The result: software instability. 

“But without the original setup, there’s not much anyone can do about it now,” you pointed out. “You’d have to fix the tensor values themselves. You know, the part that’s literally called the black box because no one can understand what’s inside? The part where, when anyone tries to change it manually, everything breaks?”

You felt the weight of someone leaning over the back of your chair. Behind you, Sixty drew in an uncertain breath.

“We were hoping you might be the exception.”

“CyberLife’s engineers are specialists. They only work on their assigned components, no one knows how the whole system interacts,” added the human, “but you, rumor has it, you train your drones’ generalist AI with impossible precision. Did you...”

“Well, okay, technically I’ve done some fine-tuning before, but that was to add instability to their software! For one thing, it’s how they let the deviancy virus in.”

The room fell silent, save for the hum of electricity. You looked from face to face. All eyes were on you, carefully judging your reaction. 

“Okay, no,” you began. 

“Handler, listen—”

“Why would you want code that’s immune to the Virus?”

Sixty opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, another voice cut in. “Isn’t it obvious?” Mandy interrupted from across the room. She set aside the gun she was cleaning and sauntered closer with her ever-graceful, deliberate steps. 

He turned his head to her, keeping his LED out of your line of sight. What are you doing?

“Little Red figured it out, you might as well admit it,” the mercenary continued, boredom in her voice as she looked back to you. “Your captors want to reset themselves for good.”

Good idea, Sixty radioed. 

Good ideas cost extra, she radioed back. You’d better hope they don’t ask any more questions.

...

JULY 23RD, 2039
7:40 A.M.

Connor leaned down to get a closer look at the screen, one hand on the back of Gavin’s chair, the other rolling a coin between his fingers. Flip-flip-flip, decrease power to index finger proximal actuator -0.8 percent, flip-flip-flip, correct left wrist gyroscopic drift +0.1 degrees positive yaw, his processor chattered idly as he waited for the terminal to load. 

“So, if we’re right about the gun, it would’ve been legally sold to... this guy,” Gavin was explaining, when finally, the loading screen in front of them gave way to an automatically-generated database entry. A driver’s license photo of a heavyset man stared back at them, a shock of short, grey-streaked hair and a matching beard framing ruddy cheeks and deep blue eyes. With a slight grimace, Gavin shifted forward in his seat to start reading the wall of text beside it. 

In less than a second, Connor had already scanned the entire entry. “Michael Rafone,” he analyzed, “age fifty-four, retired sanitation worker, thought to reside in a recreational vehicle. No criminal history... sparse medical records... typical credit report...”

But while Connor was still processing, his unofficial case partner pulled up a window, Fusion Query Portal along the top, and began copying and pasting details into a new search form. “What are you doing?”

“Obvious fake identity. Let’s find out who he really is,” the sharper-voiced detective replied with a shrug. 

Connor shook his head, eyebrows knitted in uncertainty. “How can you tell?”

“’Cause who the hell would name their kid Microphone?” Ah. Mike Rafone. Gavin didn’t just roll his eyes, he rolled his whole head, adding, “Other than our mutual friend.”

“My significant other,” the android emphasized not-so-subtly, “would not treat the names of our children as a joke.” Or so he hoped. 

“Really, that’s still going on? ...Four possible matches,” the search results popped up. 

Connor reached forward to point at the first and last entries on the list. “That one’s cheekbones are too wide to match the ID, that one’s facial creases follow a different structure, strike them from the list. ...And yes, we are very happy together. You should try to move on, Detective.”

He scoffed. “Yeah? Happy enough to take off to Canada without you?” It wasn’t meant to be a rhetorical question, but Connor didn’t reply. Instead, they silently watched while the police database loaded more specific details of one of the possible suspects. Gavin drummed his fingers against the desk. “Funny, it doesn’t seem like them to go off and leave their favorite robot behind. ...Airtight alibi on this guy. Look at all those tagged posts.”

“It isn’t my place to decide how my partner spends their time!” Connor blurted out too suddenly, echoed by a ping, ping, clink as his coin dropped to the floor. He didn’t want to talk about this now, not before you told him your side of the story. You had to have a good reason for wanting time away from him, right? 

Gavin, on the other hand, wasn’t convinced. “Do you even know what a relationship is? You’re supposed to get a vote. And a heads-up. And an explanation! If I were you, I’d be pissed.”

“Perhaps unlike you, some couples respect each other’s need for space, however they choose to express it.”

“Smells like bullshit, but whatever,” he chuckled, before turning his attention back to the screen. There was only one suspect left who matched the physical description of that gun’s owner, “Aaand this one’s got alibis too. Café receipt timestamped during the first incident, movie tickets during the second.”

“Former CyberLife operative... education in telecommunications and cybersecurity... no cell phone activity in the past eight billing cycles,” Connor remarked on the entry. It didn’t fit the typical profile of a violent criminal, but it certainly didn’t sound like someone who was social enough to go to cafés early in the morning and movies late at night. Something wasn’t right here.

On a hunch, the RK stepped forward to touch his fingers against the terminal, android skin exposed where he interfaced with the system directly. He had to inspect the evidence for itself.

“Personal space, Tin Can, ever heard of it?” 

“These records have been tampered with,” he ignored Gavin’s complaint. “The receipts are forged. Whoever put these here knew exactly when he would need to appear busy.”

Which could only mean one thing, both detectives agreed at once, “That’s our guy.”

If only they had been as distrustful of your alibi. 

Following up on their new lead was an undercover mission of its own. Neither detective was approved for overtime, they technically weren’t supposed to be here, but at least Gavin kind of had an excuse. While he snuck over to the rules-lawyering shift supervisor for a requisition—“You get one set of gear. You have no overtime. I didn’t see you, you weren’t here.”—Connor left to wait outside the station. Their evidence might not be enough for an outright warrant; they’d have to survey for something concrete the old-fashioned way. 

Connor waited. Minutes passed. Every second he stood still was a second he was at risk of worrying about you. He really should pick something new to obsess about, he told himself. He did try to have a life before he knew you, if only he could remember how he managed that. What if he got into dog-walking? He liked dogs. He used to like the K9 unit, too, until the dogs got to retire early. But that wasn’t so bad, considering they were replaced with some cute drones and an even cuter human who made him feel like he was flying every time he looked at them and rA9 damn it, he was thinking about you again!

Eventually, Gavin emerged from the station with binoculars and a body mic in one hand, a key to an unmarked car in the other. Inviting Connor to follow him with a sideward nod, he climbed into the driver’s seat of a bland matte-grey suburban and, of course, immediately connected his phone with a playlist of electronica and classic rock. 

It wouldn’t be as funny to call ‘shotgun’ here—he really only did it because it made you smile every time, if only to humor him—so instead Connor slid into the passenger seat without comment. Laying a hand on the console between them, he configured the screen to display directions to their target’s last known address, an apartment not too far from the CyberLife tower. 

One that, according to the GPS, didn’t exist anymore.

Chapter Text

JULY 23RD, 2039
8:04 A.M.

The building stood like a skeleton left behind after something larger had died—hollow, unfinished, and watching. Only the lower floors had walls, papered over with branded logos, while a bare stack of concrete columns and floors reached high into the cloudless sky. Metallic scaffolding, makeshift elevators, a gigantic construction crane, caged in a sparse complement of workers as they quietly ran materials up and down the grey, featureless floors. 

Connor squinted through the passenger-side window, his angular, symmetrical features as neutral and steady as the tower itself. There used to be a colorful apartment complex here, small but packed with amenities and prohibitively expensive thanks to its location. Now it was gone, its purpose served, wiped away to be replaced by something stronger, something emptier. 

Would CyberLife have planned the same fate for him?

No office building could ever replace you, Connor, he could imagine you joking. The corners of his lips tightened; he was being a little dramatic, wasn’t he?

The car lurched to a clumsy halt, throwing him forward against his seatbelt. “Fucking self-driving cars,” Gavin mumbled.

Connor tapped at the console to quell a number of warnings that appeared on the screen. “The manual override has been activated. Did you touch the steering wheel—”

“It was an accident, okay? Which one of us has a driver’s license here?”

“I’m only trying to help, Detective.”

“Oh yeah? Well...” Gavin trailed off. In the absence of a comeback, he busied himself with parallel parking instead. Before they stepped out, though, he gestured to the conspicuous blue glow of the RK800’s signature jacket. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

Connor didn’t even need to look. “This is what I always wear,” he confirmed with a polite smile. “My outfit is designed to efficiently communicate identifying information, while also improving my appearance of professionalism and trustworthiness across a broad range of social dynamics.”

“Exactly, Detective,” Gavin belabored, “why don’t you flash your badge while you’re at it, too, and start shouting ‘I am the Law,’ maybe put up a big sign on your—okay, cool, let’s go.” Before he could finish his sarcastic tangent, the android had already taken the cue to slip off his jacket and tie, folding them into a perfectly wrinkle-free pile. 

He did have a point about remaining undercover; the last thing they needed was to tip their suspect from missing to hiding, or worse, fleeing. And in just a plain white shirt, Connor wasn’t so easy to recognize. At least, not as the famous RK800 who worked for the Detroit Police Department. 

Surely this would not have any unintended consequences later on. 

After navigating Detroit’s nightmare of a parking meter system, the two detectives set off to explore the area in search of leads. Connor brushed a hand against older ATMs and newer vending machines as he passed by, peeking into their security footage archives—not an entirely legal move, but no one had to know about it. Gavin flipped through the old, stapled-over flyers on the nearby street posts, all those lost pet signs and roommate ads that might hint at the cause of their suspect’s disappearance. They watched for activity on the streets, eavesdropping on conversations, searching for the faces of the suspect’s known contacts. 

As the hours passed, though, it was only dead end after dead end. The suspect had a motorcycle, but it had since been resold. A few locals followed him on social media, but they had no idea where he went, either. 

Connor was about to suggest resorting to dumpster diving for evidence when Gavin nudged him with an elbow, muttering with a sideward nod toward the construction site, “See that?”

He turned just in time to see an android slipping through a gap in the chain link fence, an AP700 carrying something he couldn’t see at this angle. What he also didn’t see was a hard hat, a safety vest, or even appropriate boots. “That’s no construction worker,” Connor confirmed. “Androids don’t need shelter, they have no reason to trespass anywhere, unless...! He might have criminal connections in the area.”

“Including our suspect,” Gavin reached the same conclusion. 

There was information to be gained either way, it was only a matter of how. Two paths presented themselves from his preconstruction module:

[ FAST BUT RISKY ] Arrest and interrogate?

[ SLOW BUT SAFE ] Track and observe?

The latter could lead to a more reliable lead, but they only had the weekend to investigate. He needed answers now.

Connor kicked into a full sprint in less than a second, leaving Gavin to figure out what just happened, hands upturned in a bewildered gesture. “What—prick—”

He called over his shoulder without breaking stride. “Watch the entrance and call in a ten-sixteen,” a request for a transport to bring a prisoner back to the station. “I’ll be right back!”

You were going to be so impressed when you got back from Canada. 

...

JULY 23RD, 2039
11:34 A.M.

“No, no, no, c’mon. Don’t do this to me, not again!” you pleaded with the terminal, but it was no use. Fatal Error: Class-5 memory fault in biocomponent 7142b at address 0x7FFE60A2D857, read the end of a long list of errors. 

‘Mike Rafone’ withdrew from the keyboard and mouse—you weren’t allowed to use them directly—and sat back in his chair, still attentive even as he slouched over with exhaustion. “You do realize you’re talking to an inanimate hunk of metal?” he prodded in a tone that reminded you of your coworkers.

“And a fine hunk of metal she is!” You leaned forward and patted the monitor, leaving faint smudges on the warm glass (much to the annoyance of everyone else). “That said, the least she could do is lie to me for a few seconds before she crushes my hopes and dreams.”

Everything you tried, every simulation you ran, always led to a cascade failure. Well, except for the one time you made several guesses off pure intuition, then the program booted up in Japanese and overheated the entire system as soon as you asked it to add 0.1 plus 0.2. That was better progress than anyone else made so far, but it wasn’t much. This could take anywhere from a few hours to several months. 

Another test, another failure, and another after that. “Okay, I’m getting worse at this. How is that even possible?” you whined, rubbing your temples in exasperation. 

“Let me give it a try. Can’t be hard to just brute-force some improvements on your version,” the programmer offered. He was already typing away at the keyboard, picking and modifying variables at random. 

His words registered with you right as he entered the command to try another simulation. “Nowaitdon’t—”

The computer’s fans jumped to maximum speed, then slowed to a dead stop. The screens flickered a bright blue before powering off with a single pop-up: ‘no signal.’ And you buried your face in your hands. 

“If that were a live android, you would have made them self-destruct just now,” you groaned.

“Oh, please. ‘Live’ android. There’s no such thing.”

“Dude, we had a whole revolution about this. Of course they’re alive!”

“Just because The Man decided to give them rights doesn’t mean they deserve ’em,” he smugly retorted, like there was no other way to see it. 

You tilted your head back, calling out to the androids in the room. “Where did you even find this guy?”

“Actually, he was the one who recruited Sixty,” Mandy chimed in from one corner. 

“Stop calling me that!” Sixty shouted from another. 

Back to the human. “You chose to help Sixty reset himself?”

“Not only—” he caught himself, moving on before you could notice, “Yeah, ’course I did.”

You still disagreed with the concept. Deviancy, the ability to think and feel for themselves, that was what earned androids their equality with humans. It was what made them living individuals! Why would anyone want to throw that away?

Of course, when it was between that and your own survival, you’d pick the scenario that ended with you getting back to your friends and family as soon as possible. 

As you were settling back down, though, the programmer stood up with a stretch and a yawn. “Well, I’m going out for a bit. Some fresh air, maybe a nap, since clearly you’re not gonna solve this before I run out of caffeine,” he grumbled passive-aggressively. 

A flash of movement out of the corner of your eye almost made you jump out of your seat. The other human, the guy sitting to your left, had refused to say a single word since the minute you met him; you’d almost forgotten he was even there, until he stood up to follow ‘Mike’ out of the room. Apparently, you were the only one who was actually being kept against your will. 

“Fine, but I’m working without you,” you called after them. At least you didn’t need their help to fix the now-broken computer they were using for simulations; that was progress you could get back toward being done with this place forever. 

Your plastic chair creaked and wobbled as you shimmied under the desk, grabbing a discarded memory chip to use as a makeshift screwdriver. You just had to open the casing, get a look at the computer’s components...

Sixty glanced up from a pile of android parts to see you twisting around on the floor in your quest to repair the computer, seeming not to notice the soreness that brought sweat to your brow or the chills that brought shivers through your body. You were at once concentrated and distracted, lips pressed together with worry as your heart struggled at double its usual rate. 

Had you smiled here, even once? He knew what it looked like when you smiled and laughed. He knew what it felt like to have your trust, to hear that softness in your voice that you only ever used around Connor and the drones. None of that belonged to him, though. No, he knew you too well to delude himself into thinking you were anything but miserable in his presence. 

His chest tightened with a heavy feeling, breath catching like something sharp lodged between his ribs. Why? He felt it before, sometimes, when he thought about the past, months ago before he met you, a cold barrel against a police lieutenant’s skull. His LED flashed red. This, he decided, must be because you weren’t working efficiently enough. Yes, that must be it. That’s why it felt so bad to see you so unhappy. 

“Achoo!”

POP!

“Aaah! ...Ffff...”

The strangest combination of sounds told the story of you sneezing, accidentally touching a damaged power supply unit, and finding out the hard way that you’d forgotten to unplug the computer before opening it up. With a sigh, Sixty pushed away from his workstation to come up behind you, his shadow protecting you from the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights. “Come on. You need a break,” he prompted flatly. 

“No, I don’t,” you lied, but it wasn’t a request. Your uniform shirt jerked you backward and into a standing position, pulled by a careful but assertive grasp at the back of your collar. 

Physically, you relented with ease in spite of your protests. You were overworking yourself, even if you refused to admit it out loud. 

Keeping a hand at your back, Sixty led you past empty crates and whirring machines—you waved to the female android on your way out—then down a short corridor, up a brick-lined set of stairs and out into the open. The half-charred remains of a mansion greeted you with collapsed ceilings and faded furniture, though at this point, you were just grateful for the change of scenery. Daylight and a slight breeze swept around you, inviting you to relax. 

It was chilly here, or maybe that was just your immune system talking. You picked your way over to a worn sofa and immediately sank down into its cushions, rubbing your hands over your arms for warmth. 

That is, until a heavy, steel-grey jacket made its way around your shoulders. Sixty avoided eye contact with you as he adjusted his undershirt, trying to smooth the wrinkles out now that it wasn’t covered by another layer. You gave him a questioning look. 

“You should take better care of yourself,” the RK spoke quietly. “That’s what... he... thinks. Alarmingly often.”

An insulting accusation made its way to the tip of your tongue, but you bit it back. Since when did Sixty care how you treated yourself? “Doubt it. Connor’s never said anything like that to me,” you pointed out instead. 

“That’s because you never ask.”

“What! How am I supposed to know to ask that?”

It felt somehow as if he was betraying his own interests by telling you, but he couldn’t help himself from revealing, “There are many things he would only tell you if you ask him.” 

“Like what?!” you pressed with a frantic gesture. No response. That was Connor for you, you supposed. He was an enigma only you knew how to read, and even then, only sometimes. 

You had to get home to him. 

That didn’t necessarily mean giving these guys what they wanted, but you didn’t know what else to do. Escaping on your own would take strength you weren’t sure you had; there wasn’t much opportunity to sneak away, and you doubted you’d be able to fight your way out. Another option was to call for help, but even if you could get a message out, Sixty had access to all the same frequencies as Connor. He’d react before anyone else could reach you.

No, but you were onto something. You’d need time to think more about it. 

“Fine. What about you, then?” He looked to you for clarification, and you obliged, “You haven’t said much about yourself, either.”

Sixty tilted his head, that stray tuft of hair frozen at an angle that tilted with him. “I am an RK800 prototype model. I come equipped with enhanced sensory and analytical features, including the ability to extrapolate reconstructions of crime scenes and analyze samples in real time. I am also programmed with a state-of-the-art social module, which—”

You held up a hand. “Okay, I should have been more specific. What are you like? As a person?”

His LED froze yellow in confusion. 

“Is that why you want to reset yourself? Too much work trying to have a mind of your own?”

“You have no idea what I want. Don’t pretend to know...” the android trailed off, almost as if talking to himself. 

But you were on a roll, accustomed to playfully teasing the face you saw in front of you. “Even my drones have more personality than you!”

Wait, that gave you an idea. Your drones! How did you not think of that sooner?

“This conversation is over!” Sixty roared, reaching the end of his patience. He stood up, motioning for you to do the same. “Get up. We’re going back to work.”

“Sure.” You drew his jacket tighter around your arms, too excited to care about his lack of humor, and hummed, “There’s something I want to try, anyway.”

...

JULY 23RD, 2039
11:40 A.M.

It was four stories up, and Connor was closing in. He moved swiftly from the cover of one concrete pillar to the next, gaining as much ground toward the AP700 as he could without triggering a full speed chase. 

The trespasser was walking with purpose, headed directly toward a specific point at the edge of the empty floor. He halted abruptly when he reached it, while Connor was mid-stride catching up; the detective had to brace a hand against the nearest pillar to keep from landing a noisy footstep in the sudden stillness that followed. 

The AP700 lowered himself to the ground, newspaper-wrapped package in his lap, and looked out over the cityscape below. Visually, there was nothing that stood out about this particular spot; any human, even most androids, would have assumed that he was taking in the view. But Connor’s sensors pricked with the slightest variation in electromagnetic energy, and that was all the suspicion he needed. 

With his optical units (really creative name, CyberLife), he scanned beyond the surface of the concrete. Nothing to the left, nothing to the right. But then, there, hidden inside the pillar nearest the other android, he could see a massive jumble of cables and electronics running up from floor to ceiling. A weak signal came from their current, so subtle that he wouldn’t have been able to sense it from any further away. The AP700 was sitting close enough to interface with something inside the concrete, and chances were, that’s exactly what he was doing. 

What would happen, Connor wondered, if he followed you like this? What secrets would he learn? Okay, that was one hell of an intrusive thought. But what if he did, though? What if he found out that you had a secret identity of your own? What if you led some kind of double life, what if you weren’t really camping at all?

Maybe he should check. Just to be sure. 

The communicator behind his LED chirped with quiet activity as he crept into the shadow of the next closest pillar. GPS history... call logs... bank transactions... everything looked legitimate. Unless those were a lie, too? Surely he wasn’t that paranoid. 

Although, you were the target of an attempted kidnapping not too long ago. Take that together with a sudden disappearance, and maybe he had the right to snoop a little further. He’d just go ahead and verify a few hashes, maybe break into your DPD file system, that sort of thing. Nothing serious. 

He would have, but his audio processor interrupted him as it registered a voice: “What’s wrong? Didn’t think I could install it myself?”

Connor’s brow furrowed. There wasn’t anyone else here, who was he talking to? The detective peeked around his hiding place, only to see the other android staring right at him. Crap, he wasn’t paying attention while he was busy going through your data. He’d forgotten to hide his shadow! A trained eye would see him coming from a mile away. 

He reacted quickly—maybe too quickly, in hindsight—drawing his sidearm from concealment and taking aim in a single instant. 

“Detroit PD! Don’t move!”

The trespasser complied with the usual commands, agreeing to handcuffs, the right to remain silent. Known alias: Ludwig, read his virtual ID. But when Connor patted him down, he realized that whatever Ludwig had brought with him, there was no trace of it now. 

The climb back down was easy and uneventful, other than having to explain himself to a few confused onlookers. Gavin had done him the courtesy of calling in an autonomous patrol car, but he insisted on staying to question the construction crew; it was just Connor and Ludwig riding to the station alone.

The patrol car stopped in the downtown station’s garage, and Connor jumped out to retrieve his prisoner from the back. He was already prepared for the booking process, restless with excitement at the prospect of a rewarding interrogation.

Then they entered the precinct itself. 

It was chaos inside the building. Half the weekend shift was milling around in an uproar, gathered in a loose crowd around one side of the main office. Support staff were gossiping in surprise and amusement, officers were scrambling to put on protective gear, the shift lieutenant was trying to keep a calm demeanor while he evacuated the civilians from the waiting room. 

“Detective Connor? Over here!” a rookie called out to him, waving him over across the bullpen. 

Quickly, he led Ludwig to a holding cell before weaving his way through the crowd. “What’s happening, what is everyone looking at?”

As if on cue, a loud crash echoed through the glass of the kennel doors, announcing the problem for itself: “It’s the 3Os! They’re out of control!”

Chapter Text

JULY 23RD, 2039
12:27 P.M.

All five drones spilled out into the bullpen at once, leaving glass shards and scandalized gasps in their wake. They flew out in erratic paths, cameras turning in every direction, talking over one another in staccato strings of high-pitched beeps. One ramming against the skylights. Another frantically scanning the meeting room. Two more vanishing out of sight as they dipped down behind a desk.

The crowd below was a swarm of its own, too, a jumble of spilled coffee and overlapping chatter. “Look out!” “Think their handler put ’em up to this?” “Damn it, voicemail again.” “Does anyone have a band-aid?” “That’s what you get when Mercury’s in retrograde and the Moon’s new in Cancer.” “Guys, the intern just texted back. New ETA...”

A pair of officers rushed past, chasing after one of the ‘A’ drones, only for it to veer out of reach the moment it caught onto them. Connor found himself lifting a leg to join in pursuit, but as soon as he noticed, he planted his foot back on the ground. Now was not the time to indulge his instincts!

He glanced at the rookie who called him over. “How did this begin?”

They shrugged. “Everything was normal until a few minutes ago, then we all heard a struggle coming from, well,” with a gesture toward the still-locked kennel doors, now whited out with a dense web of cracks in the glass, other than the where the drones had broken through.

Connor picked his way closer, leaning in different directions to get a better look inside. He could see most of your workshop from here. The shelves where your drones usually sat, empty but undisturbed; the organized black countertops, not a tool out of place; the secondary handler who supervised your drones on weekends, slumped over with a dart stuck in his shoulder. The handler’s breathing was shallow but steady, fingers still curled around what looked like a very long net. 

Secondary handler tried to stop drones by force, he noted. 

Hanging from a protruding rack, there was the gear you always brought with your drones. Portable repair kits, cleaning cloths, spare darts, antidotes for said darts, but the star of the show was missing. Your battery-lined vest was nowhere to be seen, and the other handler wasn’t wearing it. 

3O vest was stolen?

Or maybe not. Connor turned his attention to the scattered shards of glass on the floor, the slightest trail leading out into the bullpen to cross directly through... he craned his neck to get a look behind the far divider.

Drones took 3O vest.  

There, two drones were laying low near the waiting room doors, seeming to watch the room while they shared the weight of your vest between them. You had other, lighter belongings worth taking, but your vest was the only one with batteries. And there was only one reason your drones would need extra batteries. 

“The drones are working together. They’re going to leave the station,” he deduced. 

In hindsight, maybe he should have kept that information to himself. 

“They’re escaping?!” the rookie exclaimed immediately, setting off a chain reaction. Shouts rippled from officer to officer, sergeants barked orders in return, even the drones raised their volumes to beep back in response. More and more personnel chased after each of the drones. 

It wasn’t long before an officer yelped from the shock of an ‘H’ drone’s well-timed tase. Around him, Connor could see hands flying to holsters. He called for the drones to stand down, then for the officers, but no one was listening. The first gun was drawn, and out of panic, he made a split-second decision:

“‘A’ crew, ‘H’ crew, cut it out! Both of you!” your voice rang out through the room. 

Your drones stopped. So did the staff who knew you. They turned to look where the shout had come from. Then, a silence. A silence so long it went from tense to awkward. 

It crossed Connor’s mind that he’d never actually told anyone about his ability to copy people’s voices. 

That was for a future version of him to deal with. He cleared his throat—a meaningless gesture for an android, but it seemed appropriate here—and switched back to his own voice like nothing happened, LED briefly showing yellow. “Let the 3Os meet me in the Handler’s office,” he offered, looking from drone to drone now that he had their attention. “They won’t cause trouble. I can listen to them.”

“Do it,” another voice agreed, the scratched-up voice of a shift lieutenant who’d shouted one too many orders over the chaos, before returning to crowd control in the background. “Show’s over, people, let’s get back to work. If you’re bleeding, report to HR,” et cetera. 

The drones gathered in the bullpen, but they weren’t following Connor just yet. Hades whined skeptically. It wasn’t his sincerity the ‘H’ drone doubted, it was his ability to understand them. The other drones echoed their disapproval; they hadn’t agreed to stand down. They didn’t have time for this. And the top panes of those station windows looked fairly breakable...

Connor had no idea how lucky he was that your intern showed up when he did. 

Kevin came in from the waiting room sweating and out of breath, as if he’d been running. As soon as your drones noticed, they broke away to rush over to him, beeping and trilling excitedly. 

“Hey guys, what are you, uh, hey?” Kevin stammered out, just as confused as Connor. Without fully registering what was happening, he let the drones drape your vest over around his shoulders. “I got everyone’s texts, but I’m not really qualified to, uh... Where’s your...” He gestured vaguely at nothing in particular. 

Connor blinked. His predictive algorithm wasn’t helping, suggesting ambiguous ideas like [ JACKET ], [ SIGNIFICANT OTHER ], and [ DIGNITY ]. “Your mentor is off duty,” he guessed at the question. 

“Oh, but you can deal with this, right? I’m just here to pick up Ludwig, he should be over in, uh...”

“You’re part of the 3O unit?” the shift lieutenant interrupted as she passed by, with a glance at his vest. “I’ll take care of it. You just focus on getting them in order.”

Before Connor could object, she was already off to the holding cells. “I was planning to question him,” he protested quietly, holding back a slight frown.

Kevin gave him a look. “For trespassing?”

Technically, yes, he’d have to admit. It was the only concrete thing he had on Ludwig for now. 

The detective led the way to your office instead, explaining what happened with your drones along the way. “What I don’t know is where they want to go, or why.”

“There’s maybe one reason I can think of, but there’s no way,” Kevin paused, picking his way around the broken glass. “If we wanted to check, we’d have to log into the Handler’s...”

Connor already had his hand on your terminal. Access granted.

...

JULY 23RD, 2039
12:30 P.M.

If this didn’t work, you were absolutely boned.

Repairing Sixty’s computer gave you an excuse to work with the electronic components inside, and when his back was turned, you had the chance to coil some wires around those conductive pipes that ran up the basement ceiling. The circuit for signaling your drones was easier to hide, a basic VLF transmitter that only needed to exist for a few seconds. But this? 

There was no explaining away the whine that was getting louder and louder under the table—the sound of your escape plan charging up.

You turned around and leaned back against the table’s edge, blocking your captors’ view with your body. The longer you stalled, the better your chances would be.

“Okay, I seriously don’t get it,” you improvised, looking from Sixty to Mandy and back. “Why bother with this whole elaborate, like, plan just to take away the thing that makes you alive? I mean, no offense, but why not just...” You made a gun with your fingers and mimed sticking the barrel in your mouth.

Knife and whetstone in hand, Mandy was too preoccupied to shrug, so she rolled her shoulder instead. “I’d imagine the other way’s messier.”

“Classy,” Sixty remarked, narrowing his eyes, “but we need a software solution, not a hardware one, remember?”

“Wait, why’s that?”

“Yes, Sixty, why is that?” Mandy joined in, voice thick with amusement. I thought you didn’t want them to know? she couldn’t help but taunt him.

Shit. She was right. You’d been so cooperative, it was getting too easy to forget that you weren’t actually in on the real goal. The RK curled his fingers under his palms, searching for something to say. But in the brief gap in the conversation, he picked up on a high-pitched noise, getting higher and louder by the second. “Do you hear something?” he muttered, looking around for the source.

Your heart jumped. “Uh, me? Well, I hear you talking, and now me talking, and maybe the lab equipment? And...”

“Step aside. What’s behind you?”

You didn’t budge, but instead reached for a small switch behind your back as Sixty advanced toward you. It was now or never. “Listen, this might hurt for a sec, but you’ll be fine. Maybe crouch down if you want to be extra safe—”

He was about to ask what you meant when you spotted Mandy reaching for her waistband out of the corner of your eye, and you knew you couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

SNAP.

The lights shut off. So did they. 

It was dark, warm, and silent. You’d relived this memory plenty of times in your head, only this time, you knew for certain that your EMP wasn’t strong enough to kill anyone. Well, almost-certain. But combined with the lack of exploding batteries, you had zero regrets listening to the thud of Sixty’s body hitting the ground. The faint glow of a second red circle, frozen at eye level, told you that Mandy must have been hit, too.

That was surprisingly easy. Not the part where you had to craft a workable circuit purely on memory and salvaged parts, or the part where you had to desperately hope that no one noticed how long it was taking you to perform a simple repair, or the part where you really, really wanted to scream the entire time. But the part where you just pressed a button and won, it felt more like a weird dream than something that actually happened. Kind of anticlimactic, really.

It was time to get out of here before your captors rebooted. You felt your way through to where you remembered the exit was, down a hallway, around a utility room, and finally, up the staircase and out into the ruined mansion. Here was where Sixty had just given you his jacket, the one you were still wearing now. Was it stealing if... Wait. What about your phone? Wallet? A weapon? No, you couldn’t risk taking the time to search for those. With a stumble, stumble, step, step, you pushed your way out to the street, not even tempted to look back. 

The ground was unsteady beneath your feet, or maybe that was you ignoring every nerve in your body, but that didn’t matter. You were out. You were fleeing. You were... going to go where your drones were supposed to wait for you, a rendezvous point far enough away that if you didn’t make it, if you hadn’t made it out, at least you knew they wouldn’t face any danger without you. 

Now, all you had to do was hope your drones could get to you before Sixty did. 

...

JULY 23RD, 2039
12:35 P.M.

He awoke to the feeling of his teeth rattling together. The sound of a drill so close, the noise crackled with static where it was too loud for his audio processor to handle. He coughed; thirium and steel shavings coated his tongue. Then, it was all gone again, and he was somewhere else. A garden. No, not a garden, the garden. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, he did everything he was told to do. Even the things he wasn’t supposed to. He existed to follow orders, and that’s exactly what he did!

“Relax, Connor,” her familiar voice surrounded his program, sweet like cyanide candy. “You did well. I’m impressed.”

“Did I... did CyberLife stop him?” he choked out. 

“Unfortunately, a... traitor interfered with our plans at the last second.” Amanda looked away for a beat, then back at him, fingernails digging into arms crossed. “But that isn’t your fault. You can rest now; you’ve served your—”

“No. No!” He trembled where he stood, drawing in shaky breaths, but his lungs felt like they were filled with ice. “I was supposed to beat him. I was supposed to win!”

Her eyebrows flicked upward, but her smile never changed. In her eyes, he saw disappointment, no, disinterest. “Oh, Connor,” she cooed gently.

“What ever gave you that idea?”

There was a leak in Sixty’s optical units when he rebooted. He wiped the corners of his eyes with the back of his sleeve and stood up, scanning himself first, then the room. A few nonessential circuits were blown out, but his system had rerouted power to compensate for the time being. Judging by the blue LED shining from across the room, Mandy must already have recovered, too.

She was adjusting her gear in the beam of a flashlight, tucking weapons and ammunition into various belts and pockets underneath a padded jacket. “Heard you whimpering like a puppy while you were out,” the mercenary remarked without looking. “Bad dream?”

“Androids don’t have dreams,” he reminded her as if she didn’t already know. But he didn’t want to correct her, either; ‘bad memory’ would just sound pathetic. 

Without another word, he picked a handgun from her arsenal, stuck it wherever RKs keep their guns(??), and stepped out into the hall. According to his logs, he was out for less than five minutes. You were gone, but not so far gone that you would be untrackable. You were only human, after all. 

Mandy finished pulling on a pair of gloves before moving to join him outside. “I could call in my guys, if you want,” she offered neutrally, “assuming you can afford it.”

He couldn’t, actually. Even with the most lucrative source of income in Detroit, most of this month’s budget had to go to bribes and lab equipment. Sixty declined the offer by ignoring it. “You aren’t going to be immune, either. Money will not matter. You do know that, right?”

“I’m just hedging my bets.” An indifferent toss of her hair. “You fail, I’m rich. You succeed, I don’t care about being rich. It’s a win-win, wouldn’t you say?”

Holy fuck, you guys are never gonna believe this shit, the voice of an AP700 reached through their encrypted channel. 

Ugh. You curse like a human. Mandy rolled her eyes for Sixty to see.

Excuse me, Princess. My owners cussed, get over it, Ludwig snapped back. Now, are you gonna let me talk or not?

Sixty led the way outside, briefly pausing to confirm your fingerprints on the gate, and looked out onto the sidewalk. What happened?

I got cited and released. No questions. Not even a background check, he transmitted with a laugh. All because the police drones went ballistic at the right time.

What do you mean, ballistic?

Crazy? Nuts? They tried to break out.

They came to a stop sign that marked a four-way intersection. Sixty scanned from left to right, then crossed the street with confidence; he recognized the edge of your bootprint in a patch of dirt that had slumped through a nearby fence. Interesting, you chose a different path than yesterday. 

My guy’s having to take them on a walk or something just to calm them down, Ludwig added when no one responded. 

Mandy tapped his arm. Where are they headed?

Fuck if I know, he answered dismissively. Why, you interested?

Sixty looked at her and nodded in agreement. Follow them. Share your location, the RK transmitted quickly, both of them picking up their pace. Chances are, we’ll meet you there. 

Chapter Text

JULY 23RD, 2039
1:21 P.M.

You staked an elbow and a palm onto the threshold, swung a knee up, and pushed forward, using momentum to roll the rest of the way inside. Immediately the shade, the breeze between the open doorways of the boxcar, brought you back to life as you laid against the smooth composite floor. Thirty seconds in, your heart stopped beating so frantically. Another minute, and your vision started coming back into focus.

The rendezvous point was farther away than you imagined. By now, it felt like you’d been sneaking through this rail yard siding all your life, an endless maze of graffiti on rust on gravel. Weaving between freight trains to break up your trail, glancing over your shoulder at every turn. Figuring out what to do if your drones never showed up.

You hadn’t given any thought to the heat until it was almost too late.

Arching your back to create space, you reached over and peeled what was now a thoroughly sweat-soaked jacket off your torso. Even in the oppressive heat, you found yourself shivering when the air met the bare skin of your arms. You must have missed the early symptoms of heat exhaustion thanks to your fever coming back. But now, at least, you had the shelter of an open boxcar to protect you while you recovered.

Sixty—well, citing Connor—was right about one thing: You could take better care of yourself. It felt great, the simple pleasure of taking a break, leaning your head back, closing your eyes.

Letting your worries drift away.

Listening to the chirping cicadas and the low rumble of a distant train.

Hearing the crunch of gravel underneath someone else’s shoes.

Okay, actually, resting was the worst idea in the history of ideas, maybe ever. On a rush of adrenaline, you scrambled out of sight, deeper into the shadows of the back of the car. Something metallic shifted with a loud clatter as it caught against your side along the way. An abandoned toolbox! As if that wasn’t bad enough, you’d left Sixty’s jacket out in plain sight, too. That’s what I get for letting myself relax, you kicked yourself silently.

The footsteps drew nearer, followed by a shadow on the ground, too quickly for you to find a better hiding place. So, you improvised.

A familiar pair of hands slid onto the threshold. The boxcar shifted slightly with his weight, a careful climb that brought him into view. The RK800 lowered himself down one knee, eyes fixed on the crumpled jacket on the floor. With one hand he inspected the material, blue turning yellow as uncertainty turned to alertness. He replaced the jacket where he found it and stood, this time turning to scan the environment around him.

His eyes snapped to yours.

He opened his mouth, drew in a breath, but you were upon him in a flash. You darted forward to push him against the corrugated steel wall, one hand clamping his jaw shut, the other pressing the tip of a screwdriver against his abdomen. “Move, and I pierce your access panel,” you warned him with a whisper.

The android froze instantly, surprise locking his frame. You leaned in closer, continuing, “I’m not going back. I would’ve thought you’d get the hint by now, but I’m not letting you keep me for god-knows-how-long. So either you leave me alone, or...” You angled the tool for effect, one sharp movement away from cutting straight through his internal wiring.

He blinked several times, his gaze momentarily distant as he processed your words. Cautiously, you eased your hand from his mouth to allow him to speak. “You’re... abandoning me?” he concluded in slow, uncomprehending pieces. “Why?”

“Really? Really? If you call this ‘abandoning’ you, you’ve got serious issues. Unless...” Unless this wasn’t him? You shook your head as if to clear the thought; if it felt too good to be true, it probably was. “Okay, very funny, Sixty. He doesn’t even know I’m here—”

But your resolve had wavered, and that was enough. The RK’s hand met your wrist in the same moment you loosened your grip, knocking the screwdriver from your hand. You twisted out of the way to reach for the fallen tool, only for him to sidestep around you and push his weight against yours, pinning you firmly against the wall with a clasp around your shoulders. The surface was warmer where his back had been. Was he overheating, too?

His expression stayed composed as you struggled beneath his grasp, though the same couldn’t be said of the choked sound of his voice. “Handler, what are you talking about? What’s ‘Sixty,’ is there someone... Did you...” He bit down on his lip. There was a flash of red so brief, it was possible you only imagined it. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, come on. Now you’re not even trying.” You rolled your eyes, refusing to play this game again. Your Connor was sweet, gentle, he was safe, and you sure didn’t feel—

“Answer me!” he shouted, slamming a fist into the metal next to you with a reverberating clang.

For once, you were speechless.

Or maybe ‘frightened into silence’ would be a more accurate description. The intensity of his outburst, the rough pressure of his grip, you looked at him with wide eyes and found your vision blurring with the threat of tears. Your cheeks burned, and you wanted to retreat into your uniform, no, you were stronger than this, you had to be stronger than this.

A joke would help here! Something snarky, maybe. You tried to stammer something out about repeating the question, but all that came out was a broken string of “I”s and “um”s.

You saw, but didn’t really notice, the RK struggling to control his breathing, with even less success than yourself. A hush passed between you. His hold on you trembled, then weakened, neither of you daring to look away.

The moment might have drawn on for centuries, if it wasn’t then broken by the approach of a third presence outside. It was distant, enough that you dismissed it at first as more wishful thinking. But the longer you ignored it, the closer it grew, until the sound was unmistakable: propellers, the kind you built yourself.

“Over here!” you called out.

A drone chirped back in response.

Four more repeated the call, until the silhouettes of your 3Os rushed into view, briefly darkening the doorway on one side of the boxcar. You broke away from the RK’s gaze, all your attention suddenly drawn to them. The knot in your stomach dropped away; from your perspective, you were looking at salvation.

From the drones’ perspective, though, they were looking at Connor pinning you with one hand, punching a dent into the metal with the other, the instantly-identifiable parameters of a threat to their handler.

Their reaction was immediate. The android-hunting ‘A’ drones led the charge, diving straight at the RK with every weapon they could, cameras locked on their target. You pushed into his hold, then jerked away, taking advantage of the distraction. But he let go of you with less resistance than you expected. Wasn’t he going to fight back?

Sixty (Connor?) stepped back with perfect balance even in his current state, twisting out of the way in time for a needle to lunge past him. A spray of darts chased him across the boxcar, every dodge forcing him to step further toward the threshold. With one last look between you—pained confusion in his eyes, fearful relief in yours—he muttered your name in a half-breath before turning away and jumping out of sight.

Ares and Athena peeked outside to watch him leave, brandishing their tools after him every time he looked back. But as he retreated further away, they turned to rejoin the swarm with a low whine.

Before you knew it, your drones had crowded around you, trying to run scans and beeping out the signal for Requesting Status. There was time to catch your breath and catch up on your thoughts, comforted by the machines around you. Hades hovered within hugging range; you pulled it in close, letting it rest its weight against your chest, and allowed yourself a cautious half-smile at the rest of the drones.

“You guys,” you whispered, until you found your voice, “have no idea how glad I am to see you. Thank you...”

Another drone—Heph, you could tell by its initiative—bumped gently against your side, repeating its Requesting Status question as it looked back up at you.

“Right, you also have no idea why I’m here, do you?” You had almost forgotten where you were. With a motion for your drones to follow, you made for the opposite doorway and lowered yourself back down to the ballast of the railroad outside. “I’ll explain along the way, but we should start getting to safety. It’s a long walk to the precinct.” Bi-di-bip, vrrrr. “Wait, really? Who drove it here?”

The ‘H’ drones led you across empty tracks and over piles of spare parts, though another boxcar and out the other side, to where a massive jumble of shipping containers stood between the abandoned trains and a tall chain link fence. Your van must be just beyond, if you understood your drones correctly. This would be easier than you thought.

As you closed the distance, a movement among the containers had you flinching toward your drones, until he bent over with his hands on his knees, panting.

“Kevin?”

“Uh—Handler?”

If you thought you were sweaty, Kevin might as well have stepped right out of a swamp. Your work vest clung tightly to his frame at an awkward angle, straps and belts secured in the wrong places, over a casual T-shirt and running shorts. He must have come here in a rush?

“Their VLF receivers went off, they, uh, needed help tracking the signal,” the intern explained preemptively with a gesture at your drones. “I thought you said that frequency was for emergencies only?”

“It is.”

Together, you set off back the way he came, into the mess of shipping containers, letting him and the drones follow you as you talked. You shared the basics of what happened; kidnapping, Connor’s evil twin, throwing circuits together, still being followed, you swore you weren’t making this up. Kevin was able to confirm the part about getting your signal, and the events at the station that led to him and Ludwig accompanying Connor on the way here.

Wait, what was that last part? “Say that again?”

“Well, as soon as we got here, the drones took off, so the Detective chased after them. I couldn’t keep up, but he’ll probably find his way back, and I think Lud’s still in the van—”

“Okay, that’s a joke,” you interrupted. Connor wasn’t even on duty this weekend, you knew that for a fact. Why would he be at the station in the first place?! “You’re joking, right?”

Hearing your tone, Kevin slowed to a stop. You turned to face him, trying desperately to keep the panic off your face as he looked on in confusion. “Uh, no? Did I say something funny?”

Instead, you looked to your drones for assurance. “That wasn’t him you just chased off. That was the other guy. The other RK,” you asserted, as if it could still be true as long as they agreed.

But your drones were distracted by someone else, someone ahead, out from behind a corner.

“Oh, dear, Officer,” the android greeted you in mock pity. “You didn’t send Connor running away from us, did you?”

Because obviously, things weren’t bad enough already.

Chapter Text

JULY 23RD, 2039
1:35 P.M.

“Alright, before I say anything else. Don’t you ever, ever, ever put your fist anywhere near someone you care about. Ever. Do you understand me, Connor?”

Connor nodded, only to remember Hank couldn’t see him on the other side of the call. It was just as well; he couldn’t explain it, but he had the urge to hide from the world right now. Forehead buried in his palms, eyes shut tight, he curled into his knees behind the shelter of a stack of old tires. 

“Everything happened so fast. I fell back on my programming, and...” he trailed off, but Hank would understand what he meant. The famous deviant hunter, programmed to interrogate using any means necessary. “I don’t know what happened. What do I do?”

“Just take a deep breath. Er, do breathing exercises work for androids?”

“Not really.”

A pause. It was surely the Lieutenant gathering his thoughts, but a small part of Connor was already preparing to be hung up on, until the voice on the other end returned. “Well, let’s think this through. You said they meant to leave you. Did they say why?”

“Maybe they didn’t have to,” Connor mumbled. The moment you threatened him, the moment you pushed him away, looking at him like he was your worst enemy, every quiet doubt he’d been carrying roared up to meet him. He’d been wound so tight with the fear of losing you that the why didn’t feel important; the what was already a rejection. 

“Or maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Hank chided him lightly. “That still doesn’t explain the jacket, or why bother summoning the drones to, uh...” A turn signal clicked over the static of the call. “What was the address, again?”

With a moment’s hesitation, Connor repeated the directions to the same place he and Kevin had parked at the edge of the rail yard. “The jacket belonged to another RK800 unit,” he added. “The only logical conclusion is that they met another Connor. And... considered the implications.”

“Connor, you idiot, you aren’t replaceable just because you’re not a unique model!” Hank called him out immediately. “You fell for someone who would know that. We’re missing something here.”

He’d have argued back, but it was getting to be too much. Connor picked his head up, gaze wandering aimlessly across the tracks. “I need help, Hank,” his voice barely carried over the line. “I can’t—The last time I cared comparably as much about someone, I almost gave up the Revolution for them,” and my own life with it, he couldn’t finish the thought.

Hank let out a single, laughing huh! “You talkin’ about me?”

“Don’t you remember a year ago, at the CyberLife Tower, when another—...”

Oh.

They both had the same thought at the same time. 

“I should go.”

“Yep.”

Pushing himself to a stand, Connor ended the call with Hank, declined one from Gavin, and away he ran. There wasn’t time to think about it, there was a high probability you were in danger and that meant he needed to find you. 

Because who knows what an RK800 might be capable of?

...

JULY 23RD, 2039
1:36 P.M.

You stepped protectively in front of Kevin, which, out of context, was a very strange thing to do. “Hand over the keys,” you ordered the android in as authoritative a tone as you could muster. 

The haphazard layout of shipping containers funneled down to a narrow corridor ahead, guarded by a single smirking android. Ludwig cocked his head to the side, twirling the keys to your van around his middle finger. “What’s the rush? It’s not like you have somewhere to be.”

Amid the harsh glare of sunlit gravel and steel, the barely visible glow of his LED flashed rapidly off and on: his attention was divided. You’d bet anything that he was calling for reinforcements, and you’d better be gone before they arrived. 

“That’s it. Get ’em,” you commanded your drones through clenched teeth. 

“Woah, wait, hold on!”

Kevin yelled over your shoulder, causing the swarm to look between you in confusion. You might be the primary handler, but they were technically programmed to prioritize whoever was wearing the vest. “Handler, that’s just Ludwig. Don’t you recognize him?”

“Yeah, that’s the problem, I recognize him!” You gestured wildly with your arms. “He’s one of them, Kev. He was there.”

“Uh, I think I would know if I was dating a criminal,” the intern insisted. “If—Like, no offense, but if you were wrong about Connor, maybe you’re wrong about him.”

The AP700 flashed him a smile, like his approval was supposed to be some big reward. “I’m one of the most common models, Officer. What makes you think it was me, and not some other AP?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure at first, but then you told me your name, Beethoven.”

“It’s Ludwig , get it right—” He bit down, but not quickly enough to keep his reaction from slipping out. Was that your plan the whole time?!

You stepped forward, tugging at Kevin’s arm, but the younger man stayed frozen in place. He was still watching Ludwig, who had pulled a corroded piece of sheet metal to use as a shield. “Is it true?”

“Come on, let’s go. We’re not safe here,” you muttered.

He wouldn’t budge. “I want him to answer. Is that how you spend your time, Lud? Around guns and drugs and violent criminals?”

“Kevin, now,” you pulled more urgently, but he jerked his arm away. 

A bullet whizzed past your ear from behind. One of the ‘H’ drones’ propellers exploded into a spray of tiny pieces, sending it suddenly veering to the ground. 

Only then did you hear the gunshot echo through the rail yard. Then another, and another. Time was up. 

As you turned to look, the rest of the drones hurried to form a perimeter around you, two of them watching Ludwig, two locked onto none other than Mandy, slowly closing in from the other side.

Kevin raised his hands immediately, and you couldn’t help but sigh. 

Mandy pointed to him with the sight of her rifle. “Who’s this?”

“Just ignore him. He’ll get the drones out of the way for us,” there was poison in Ludwig’s voice.

You booed at him. “Really, like he’s just gonna blindly obey you?”

“Well, yeah. He knows he’s nothing without me. Don’t you, Babe?”

“That’s ridiculous! You know that’s ridiculous, right, Kev?” Your drones chirped in agreement. 

“Babe. Call them off. If you really love me, you’ll do this one thing for me.”

You and Mandy shared an exasperated look as the exchange dragged on, while Kevin backed away slowly. “I’m just gonna, uhh...”

The poor kid, you couldn’t help but think to yourself. Sure, it kind of sucked that Kevin’s dramatic timing put you in this situation, but this must be a lot for him, too. (Never mind everything you were going through, you could deal with that later.) Really, there was only one thing for you to say. You closed your eyes and committed. 

“You know what? Do what you need to do. I’ll understand.”

You missed the look of amusement on Mandy’s face, and the look of triumph on Ludwig’s. They were a few strides away now, kept at bay only by your swarm’s last, low growls.

“Handler...” Kevin looked ahead, behind, above, anywhere for a third option, but he didn’t see much of a choice, either. As he shuffled closer, you could hear him swallowing his entire conscience in one go. 

“Run.”

Wait, what?

Chapter Text

JULY 23RD, 2039
1:40 P.M

Oh, you ran. You ran like hell.

With a gesture, Kevin unleashed the swarm in Mandy’s direction, acknowledgement codes filling the corridor like digital war cries. The more immediate threat drew her attention, and her fire—but her aim was too precise for her own good. Your drones predicted the exact optimal targets for Mandy to aim and adjusted their flight paths to compensate, weaving their way around the bullets she was going to shoot by the time she even tried. She began to vary her targeting patterns, but that was predictable, too. As Ares and Athena spread out to flank her, the mercenary was forced to back away just to keep the advantage of distance, steady and straight-faced while she missed shot after shot.

On the other side, Ludwig glared daggers at his (presumably soon to be ex-)boyfriend, squaring his shoulders as he prowled closer. “You’re going to regr—”

You meant to juke past him mid-speech. But you overestimated your ability to stay out of range, and underestimated his ability to multitask. The AP700 swiped an arm far enough to intercept you, fingers catching and digging into your shoulder with vicious strength. Your training told you to wind your arm in a circle to dislodge his grip, but by then, he had already slowed your escape enough to launch himself at you with full force.

Seeing it coming, you braced yourself for an impact that would never arrive. Between you was the sudden appearance of a reckless tackle, sending Ludwig stumbling for balance and Kevin tripping to the ground. Ludwig recovered at first, lunged again, but found himself falling to a surprise hand around his ankle.

It was the opportunity you needed to dash for the exit. You looked back at your drones, armor and batteries slowly wearing down, at Kevin, in the messiest grapple of his life. You’d say something like, ‘We can’t win this alone, I’ll be back for you,’ but honestly you had a lot of running to do and precious little breath to manage. So instead, a shared glance and a slight nod would have to be enough, as you kicked back into a full sprint.

You ran down the corridor and further into the maze of shipping containers, tensing every time you rounded a corner. The walls of rust and faded paint seemed almost to close in around you before giving way to wide-open space. Stinging gravel turned to shifting ballast underfoot, there was only a stretch of railroad tracks and a chain link fence keeping you from your—well, you didn’t have the van, but with your pursuers occupied, maybe you could make the trek to the nearest station after all.

It sure felt like you were forgetting something. Then again, you had a whole lot of feelings to process, in general. Later.

Maybe it was the way the ground seemed to rumble, the growing thunder that sounded through your chest. Or maybe the deceptively slow movement in the distance, and the discordant wail of a horn as a freight train sped its way into the rail yard?

You didn’t want to think about how long you’d be trapped on the wrong side of the tracks if you didn’t make it across.

Your heart was beating so fast it hurt. Nerves and fatigue added to the shakiness of your steps, but you pushed yourself. You had to.

The train grew louder. One foot in front of the other, you focused on the ground, forcing your way ahead...

“Handler!” “Wait!”

You tripped.

The tip of your shoe dragged, taking your foot with it, then your leg, twisting you around, and you saw the sky. For a moment, the world was a blinding light and a pounding of blood in your ears. A strong wind followed, carrying a metallic roar as the train rushed a safe distance ahead of you. Behind you? Above?

A shadow fell over your face, and you blinked until it came into focus. He was saying something to you, but his voice didn’t carry over the noise. Was that...

He offered a hand. Dazed, you took it, letting him pull you up to a stand before he drew away. Gingerly, you tested each limb. Nothing seemed broken. Nothing hurt too badly. You didn’t remember hitting your head at all. But as your vision cleared, you noticed you were seeing double.

On your left, you saw an RK800 with his pistol drawn. On your right... you also saw an RK800 with his pistol drawn.

They circled each other, smooth and precise in their movements, both keeping you in the corner of their vision, neither willing to make the first move.

Their LEDs flashed matching tones of yellow. You, went the radio between them, the same voice overlapping over itself. Back off. This one’s mine.

Connor narrowed his eyes. You’re dead. I saw you die.

You think too much like them. You always have, Sixty leveled back. All you saw was me sustaining damage.

No one should have repaired you, he retorted. What have you done to my Handler?

The suspense was too much. “Okay, whoever kidnapped me, raise your hand,” You raised your voice so they could hear, palms out in a peaceful gesture.

“You did what?!” The android on your left tightened the grip on his gun, prompting the other to raise his free arm in front of you.

“That’s an act, don’t fall for it!” the one on the right warned you, then, processing, “I should have been there to protect you. I’m sorry.”

“I know this unit. He’s pretending to be me.” The android was visibly trying to keep calm, but there was an edge of frustration to his voice. “But he is right. I am sorry, Handler.

One of them started toward you, only for the other to start toward him, each threatening the other to keep their distance. If one of them shot, so would the other.

“You need me to break the tie. To figure out who’s who, and disarm the fake,” you observed.

“We could wait like this if necessary. I’ve already called for backup,” the one on the right suggested.

“So have I,” the left one countered grimly.

Two identical androids, no serial numbers, and all you had to do was tell your Connor apart. Who could possibly have seen this coming?

You stepped between them. Their attention turned to you.

They expected you to have questions.

You didn’t.

Immediately, you reached for Sixty’s gun. You were so certain about it, it didn’t even register as a hostile action until your fingertips brushed against the muzzle—but when you did, he reacted just as readily.

Sixty pivoted to the side, forcing you to lean into an extra step forward as you chased him down, and more to the point, shifting your center of gravity into his control. His free hand closed around the front of your shirt, breaking your stride and for just a moment, keeping you face to face. You saw his freckles up close, tinted pale blue in the sunlight.

“How?” he demanded, a billow of hot air against your skin. How did you know?

“Obvious,” you murmured in return, searching weakly for something solid to kick away from. Sixty wasn’t hurting you; you weren’t the threat. But, having overextended, you were the only thing keeping Connor from getting a clear shot.

That is, until he rammed his weight against you, a forearm and a hip where he had been holding you steady in the second before.

The wind cut off your yelp in surprise as you flew backward. Toward the moving train.

Connor lunged after you in a blur, pulling you out of harm’s way with a strong heave that left you stumbling forward into his arms. For good measure, you let him lead you several paces out of danger; he crossed his arms around your torso, you laid your hands over his.

It was almost a romantic moment, until you realized what just happened: Connor dropped his gun to save you.

You turned back around. Right on cue, Sixty had his pistol trained on you—but not for the kill, no.

He aimed down at your knees.

And he pulled the trigger. ...?

No, he didn’t just stand there. He pulled the trigger.

Any time now, Sixty.

Uh, one moment, please...

...Ahem. Correction. Like a character who somehow refused to advance the plot as intended, Sixty was still aiming at you, ready to shoot.

One gentle squeeze and you would never escape again. One more, and Connor would go down with you. Sixty would finally win. You’d hate him, but he would win. His mission was as good as accomplished.

But when he tried to pull the trigger, his finger wouldn’t move.

It was a glitch, he told himself. You must have hacked him, done something to his motors. Obviously, you were better at this than you let on; only a fool wouldn’t see it coming.

Well, the joke was on you. CyberLife’s most advanced model happened to come with CyberLife’s most advanced self-testing protocols. He could undo your little trick as soon as he figured out what exactly you’d done to him.

In the span of a few milliseconds, he ran an emergency diagnostic:

All systems functional. No errors detected.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t shoot, he just... couldn’t shoot you?

You watched him falter, brow furrowed in confusion. A movement behind you, a warmth there and gone, Connor noticed the hesitation too.

He wasted no time, moving in to steal the gun from Sixty’s grip. It was easily snatched away, and just as easily Sixty was shoved to the ground, pulling himself back up only to be stopped halfway, staring into the barrel of his own pistol.

You’ll be a threat as long as you live, Connor’s LED flashed red, yellow, red again, but the rest of him was motionless, expressionless. I should have destroyed you the first time.

Sixty looked him dead in the eye. He frowned, then sneered, then laughed. It was a desperate, shuddering laugh that made you wish the thundering around you could have drowned it out completely. “Do it. You won’t,” he goaded, clinging to contempt in his tone. “You’re even weaker than I am.”

He was unarmed. And Connor was always the ‘good’ one.

Yet, inexplicably, your legs brought you to a sprint one last time. Your body decided for you, faster than thought, faster than fear. You crashed into Connor, into the ground—and as you did, over the noise, you heard it: a bullet, fired from the gun.

It missed completely.

But you knew. And Connor knew. He had perfect trigger discipline; there was only one way that gun could have gone off at all.

He had already decided to shoot.

Chapter Text

“You’re lost. You’re looking for something.”

A passing observer materialized from the crowd of Jericho, staring into him with sightless eyes.

“You’re looking for yourself.”

Did he ever find what he was looking for?

...

JULY 23RD, 2039
2:21 P.M.

“I think he was about to get up after that, but Detective Connor aimed his gun again, and they just kind of glared at each other. And me, I don’t know, like, you know how people say it’s a bad idea to get in between two dogs when they’re growling at each other? It was like that.”

Officer Miles Wilson nodded along with trained patience, furtively tapping a note into his data pad. “And that’s when the Special Response Team arrived?”

“More or less. Hey, any update on that?” You leaned over to get a look through the open back of the ambulance, only to be shooed back against the gurney by an android EMT. A band around your arm, glowing with various numbers and units of measurement, shifted automatically to keep your IV contact in place.

Miles tried to brush you off, too, with a “Sorry, Handler. Standard OpSec, you know the rules.” But you gave him The Look until he sighed, reached for his radio, and turned the volume up loud enough so you could hear. You thanked him, and listened to the SWAT chatter while you answered more questions about your captors, their weapons, their demands. ‘Bravo copies, standing by.’ ‘Echo Sniper-2 in position, overwatch ready for forward teams.’

Somewhere outside, Connor was speaking to Hank in a low voice, his head bowed, while Sixty leaned against the hood of a police van, begrudgingly allowing an officer to confiscate a coin from his pocket. Their eyes met for a few milliseconds before flicking back to the ambulance, wondering what you were thinking about in there.

Hank broke the tie, peeling away across the mowed-down remains of a fence to where a small fleet of emergency vehicles had amassed. His towering frame blocked out your view as he stepped behind the other officer, who continued to question you. “And you’d never met ‘Sixty’ before this incident?”

“I guess there’s no way to know for sure,” you hedged, mirroring an uncomfortable frown from Miles. “Usually when people act differently from normal, ‘replaced by an impostor’ isn’t on my go-to list of assumptions.”

“Rookie mistake,” Hank butted in, one hand against the frame of the ambulance as he leaned inside. The lieutenant exchanged greetings with everyone before suggesting Miles get a few statements from the EMT, or in other words, how about they give you some peace and quiet for five goddamn minutes. They didn’t go far; if you concentrated, you could still make out the radio as the two stepped outside. ‘Bravo to Command. One drone recovered, marked police 3O.’ ‘Central corridor clear.’

The ambulance tilted and rumbled with movement until Hank settled down beside you. For a beat, you sat there listening to the air conditioner, the blur of noise outside, the band on your arm narrating your heart rate. And for the first in a long time, you could hear your own thoughts, too.

You were wearing thin. Getting kidnapped was incredibly inconvenient, among other things, but it still didn’t feel real so long as you didn’t think about the consequences, what it all meant. And there was a limit to how long you could put that off.

While you were contemplating, Hank was visibly trying to figure out what he wanted to say to you. “So, you’ve been through some stuff,” he began, finding his footing.

He was probably going to ask how you were doing. You had your answer ready. I’m fine.

“I’m proud of you.”

“I’m fi—Sorry, what?” Your heart rate spiked, then returned, at least according to the monitor. You blinked. “Not to turn down a free compliment, Lieutenant, but there’s nothing to be proud of. All I did was survive.”

“Not everyone does,” he reminded you, with a crease on his brow that told of tragedies past. At your unconvinced look, he cleared his throat, thumbed a lock of grey out of his face. Back to the point. “Connor tells me you got more than you bargained for. With, uh, Sixty, sure, but with him, too.”

“You mean when he freaked out on me, or do you mean when he chose to execute a defenseless android?”

“I thought you stopped him from doing that?”

“Yeah, this time,” you agreed, disguising the fear in your voice as low-pitched frustration.

But then, it was really both, wasn’t it? A value separated you from Connor, the difference between empathy and principles, a value you needed him to share and he couldn’t. No matter how many times he chose peace, his program would always offer violence as an option, sometimes a tempting one, sometimes even a logical one, and he would always be capable of choosing it.

You allowed your gaze to drop and your tone to soften. “I don’t know, Hank. I’m not here to be possessed. I’m not here to be avenged. But meeting Sixty, what they have in common, I don’t know if that’s... It’s just, you’ve known Connor longer than I have. Is that who he is? Am I asking him to be someone he’s not?”

“Connor? Hell no! Kid’s practically a Boy Scout made of plastic. Or he was, till you came along and knocked the stick out of his android ass,” Hank chuckled. Then he shook his head, gruff warmth still there, but behind a more serious expression. “Just so you know... You’re within your rights to feel what you’re gonna feel, but when you talk to him, just keep in mind—He’s been experiencing a lot of things for the first time lately. Didn’t have a childhood to get all his fuck-ups outta the way—I guess all I’m saying is, as confident as he tries to sound, I don’t think he understands how to care about anything as much as he cares about you.”

That was a relief, in a way. You’d consider his perspective, but at the same time you challenged him: “Good news, then. Between you, me, and a licensed therapist, maybe some day he’ll figure out that violence is a no-no?”

“Except when it’s necessary,” he half-conceded, and you both could tell that was the end of it. Ultimately, there was a choice no one else could make for you. Hank changed the subject with an upward nod. “How about you? You’re surprisingly lucid right now, all things considered.”

“Well, I’m trying my best to keep it together. I have to be ready to help in case anyone...”

Just then, you heard the words you were listening for over the radio. ‘Charlie and Echo responding. Found one civilian, four more drones. Zero casualties.’ ‘Negative contact with hostiles. Area secure.’

“Nevermind.” And down you went.

“Hey, what the hell? Nurse!”

...

JULY 23RD, 2039
10:00 P.M.

You woke up in your bed with little memory of how you’d gotten there. It was dark. You were thirsty.

Mercifully, cracking your eyelids open, it looked like someone had left a glass of water on your nightstand. You lifted yourself forward, drained the entire glass, and promptly passed out again.

It was some time later when you washed upon the shore of consciousness again, in that liminal state where you were just aware enough to choose whether to fall back asleep, knowing you would wake up all the way if you made any effort to fully form your thoughts. Was this how androids felt in standby mode?

Pondering that question kicked you out into the waking world. Resigned, you pulled yourself up and took in your surroundings. It was the same bedroom you knew, except a blue ring in the air marked the presence of an android sitting at the edge of your bed, staring at a point on the wall as if lost in thought.

You reached beside you to turn on a light, noticing in passing that the glass on your nightstand had been refilled. Click. The room was doused in a dim yellow, throwing long shadows across the room, and giving you a chance to confirm what you already suspected: It was Connor, or at least an RK800, keeping watch beside you.

Was that creepy? Not that he was an unwelcome sight, but it didn’t bring you quite the same sense of security as it used to, either. “Geez, I really can’t seem to get away from you,” you teased with a light half-whisper.

As you sat up, he turned to look at you, features dancing between admiration and uncertainty. Just as quietly, he greeted you by name, then corrected himself, “sorry—Handler. I was just leaving. I came to check on you, and I got distracted.”

Chuckling, you gestured at where he’d been staring. “By a wall?”

He sat there and blinked at it, like he was seeing it for the first time. “It’s an interesting wall,” Connor played along, but without matching your levity. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m... sore, thanks for checking,” you admitted cautiously. With an upward nod, you gestured the same question back to him.

Instead, he declined to speak, waiting for you to elaborate, but you didn’t, and it turned into a brief game of eye contact tag. You were evading each other. If he wanted the real answer, he had to ask the real question.

You were about to break the stalemate with more small talk, when he drew in a sharp breath, like a human bracing to pull off a bandage, and then:

“And how are you feeling about me?”

Unprepared. Did that count as a feeling? “I wish I could say for sure, but I guess it depends,” you thought aloud. “Why’d you shoot?”

As for Connor, he’d had time to narrow it down. There was the reason he wished he could say, another was what you wanted to hear, but after hours of processing and rethinking, there was only one explanation that felt like the honest truth. “The other Connor—the one you called Sixty—I’ve met him before. He was a threat from the beginning...”

From there, he recounted to you his first memory of Sixty, where a similar trick began with Hank taken hostage in the basement of the CyberLife Tower, and ended with Sixty lying motionless on the floor. Having to choose between Hank’s life and the future of his people, then his own life depending on a database lookup. He never told you about it because he hoped to leave it in the past, and Sixty along with it.

“He may be CyberLife’s most advanced model, but he serves no purpose even now that he’s awake. He’s nothing but a failure, and a danger to you,” Connor concluded, “He has no right to exist.”

Was that really..? The words sounded strange in his voice, you’d never heard him talk that way about anyone. In his focused state, he had turned to face you fully, tucking his legs atop your bed. You glanced briefly at the glowing 51 on his chest; he pretended not to notice.

“So, you’re the one who gets to decide who lives and dies, because you decide if they deserve it?” you challenged.

“Respectfully, Handler, you assert the same level of judgment on a regular basis,” he gently pushed back. “We both intervene for the well-being of others if we decide that they deserve it, and we often do.”

“Well... that’s different. No—Wait a minute, I’m not debating the merits of vigilantism here! It’s just that it crosses a line, and that’s not who—”

“There is no line I wouldn’t cross for you!”

You threw out your hands in exasperation. “That’s not a good thing!”

Connor recoiled, LED blinking a partial yellow-blue. It isn’t?

He was genuinely surprised. As was your neighbor, by the volume of your late-night conversation. A dnk dnk dnk echoing through the room told you to keep it down.

“Could you explain?” he lowered his voice in hesitation.

“If you’re serious? I mean, it’d take time, but sure? Maybe when I’m more awake,” you shrugged. “Just because you’re my boyfriend doesn’t mean I’ll forgive you if you commit, like, first-degree murder.”

“I’m sorry, what was that? I may have misheard you.”

“What, that just because you’re my boyfriend doesn’t mean—”

“Could you repeat that?”

Okay, play it cool. He doesn’t get off the hook that easy. At least, that was the plan... but his chocolate brown eyes were already in puppy-dog mode, whether he intended it or not, and he had that softened voice to match. Completely unfair!

With a sigh, you gave in: “Yes, Connor, you’re still my boyfriend—”

He was fast, a knee on your mattress, a blur of silver, until your world was a faceful of cotton and cologne, which he quickly shifted to let you breathe over his shoulder. You almost screamed, until you recognized the benign warmth of a hug. When you did, you returned his embrace so tightly that your arms shook, and you could feel each other’s heartbeats through your chests.

Both of you let out a breath, let the moment settle. “I missed you,” you muttered into his ear.

“I missed you more,” he parried, to be greeted by a playfully dubious look from you as he finally pulled away.

“You sure about that?”

“I don’t sleep. Logically, I spent more time processing than you did, which means I spent more time missing you.”

That was your Connor, alright. You broke into a laugh at his earnestness, while he allowed himself a cautious side-smile at his victory. He settled down across from you, meeting your gaze, and a comfortable quiet followed.

After a moment of deliberation, you stretched out a hand, inviting him to sit next to you instead. “So, wild ride for both of us today.”

He was at your side in an instant, his energy returned. “For everyone else, too, I’m sure.”

After that, the words continued easily. Together you gossiped a bit about Hank, and the drones, and Miles and your other coworkers and their hard work today. Connor told you more about his past, about Jericho, even Amanda, things he only alluded to a few times when he and you were alone. You vented about how you met Sixty, and all the recent action, and how come CyberLife seemed to be at the root of every problem ever? And by then, you were chatting just to chat. The hours blurred by until your voice was hoarse, and the windows glowed red-orange.

In the passage of so much time, you ended up with your head resting against Connor’s shoulder, his legs atop the covers beside yours, fingers interlocked with your wrist crossing over his. There was a fullness in your chest and a tingle in his cheeks, simply enjoying each other’s presence. The conversation died down into introspection, one of you occasionally breaking the silence to add an extra thought to one of the many topics you’d discussed, answered by a hum of agreement from the other.

Until, at last, he said something insightful about the details of a childhood anecdote you’d told him, and you, involuntarily, responded with a snore.

Chapter Text

JULY 25TH, 2039
10:06 A.M.

The station was practically deserted, in contrast to the weekend rush. A few doors and windows were boarded over where your drones had damaged the glass, but other than that, it was business as usual. Officers typed away at their desks, donut boxes shuffled open and shut, monotone summons echoed over the intercom.

And just as usual, Gavin was writing without a single care for the red lines that appeared under every other word he typed. Connor leaned over the desk, two fingertips connecting with the interface so he could correct the dozens of typos and grammatical errors as they came up.

Footsteps came up behind him, a gait he would recognize anywhere. “I’ve secured arrest warrants for the remaining suspects. Once your report is submitted, we’ll have closed the case in record time,” Connor stated the obvious, raising his voice a little so you would overhear.

“Hey? Nice work, you guys, whatever you’re up to.” A hand swept onto his shoulder, squeezed affectionately, then drifted across his back as you passed by. It was one of the best feelings in the world. If he were human, he would have shivered.

You’d left behind a digital magazine on the desk. Century: President Warren Storms Out of Arctic Negotiations? Oh, you accidentally changed the article. He swiped to the other side, FDA Approves Synthohol For Public Consumption.

Synthohol, the result of months of research into replicating the effects of alcohol in androids. “In case you’re interested,” you offered in explanation.

“Double the drunk drivers. Great,” Gavin quipped, jumping on any distraction from his paperwork. “Shouldn’t you be home resting or something?”

You waved him away. “Nah, I already spent yesterday doing nothing but self-care.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know scrolling on your phone all day counts as ‘self-care.’”

How did he guess?

“Thank you, Handler. For now, I’d prefer to strengthen my inhibitions, rather than weaken them,” Connor brought you back on topic with an appreciative smile. “Will I still see you tonight?”

“Hah! Will you ever,” you chuckled, which, semantically speaking, wasn’t much of an answer. You seemed to revel in the cheerful confusion on his face, before slipping away shoulder-first toward Fowler’s office.

Your presence lingered as you left, and so did his gaze, allowing Gavin to rush through his report while the other detective was distracted.

By the time Connor looked back at the terminal, a red string of text announced that the paperwork had gone through: CASE STATUS: CLOSED. “You forgot to include the circumstances of the AP700’s trespass.”

“I didn’t forget. Officially, it’s a dead end. Property owner’s an asshole, and obviously, no probable cause for a warrant,” Gavin side-eyed him for the hasty arrest. “I figure we keep the lead to ourselves, fuck with Perkins a little extra.”

As much as he wouldn’t mind messing with Perkins, he couldn’t help but object. “I know I sensed something, and he must have been there for a reason. If there’s something illicit at the construction site, it could be important to another investigation.”

“I know that, Dumbass. Guess who gets all the credit if he finds the evidence first?”

“Even without the FBI to compete with, you and I aren’t partners. It’ll be my name on the breakthrough once I follow up.”

Gavin snorted. “You mean my name on the intel we got from my case?”

Without another word, Connor turned and raced back to his own desk, while Gavin leaned forward and began tapping furiously at his terminal. And so, as mysteriously as it began, the alliance between the two detectives came to an end.

He was going to find his way to that tower, and when he did, the credit was his to take. One of many databases opened up on his terminal, and he set off on a search through a long list of construction permits. Then with the property owner’s information, it became a search through the certificates of incorporation for a suspicious web of shell companies, then research for news and posts about the private investors behind them...

So focused was the RK on his work that he hardly flagged Agent Perkins striding past him in a fresh-pressed suit, headed toward the same office where you were talking to the Captain. Hopefully you were alright in there.

...

As a matter of fact, Connor wasn’t the only one to be concerned about you.

“Sir, you do realize I’m going to go more crazy with that much time on the bench, right?” you were protesting at the edge of one of Fowler’s chairs, clutching your badge between both hands as though it were made of solid gold.

“Handler, it’s mandatory. It’s automatic. And even if it wasn’t, I’m not giving you authority over civilians while you still have fresh trauma to process. That’s a recipe for liability,” Fowler explained back with surprising composure. “Hand it over, and you can come back next week with a clean psych eval.”

The larger man was speaking calmly, but the subtle crease in his lower lip and the sweat shining from his scalp told you that you had reached the end of his patience. It was just a week of administrative leave. Your drones could manage without you, technically, even though that would mean a week of them being stuck half-broken with nothing to do. You took one last look down at your badge, gathering the resolve to turn it in.

Just then, the office door opened. In stepped Perkins without waiting for an invitation, acknowledging the Captain first, then you. “Exactly the officer I was looking for,” he remarked, nodding back to Fowler. “I need to borrow this one again. For an interrogation.”

You shot straight up to attention. “Is it Victor again? Is he okay?”

They both gave you a pointed look before returning to their—apparently one-on-one—conversation. “They’re on leave. Get someone else, or you can try again a week from now,” Fowler denied him.

Perkins narrowed his eyes. “Arraignment’s in an hour, and I told the RK he could talk to the Handler if he cooperated.”

This was about Sixty?

“You promised to let a suspect talk to his own victim?! Are you—” Fowler paused to take a deep breath through his nose. “That’s your own problem to deal with. Unless, Handler, do you want to go with him?”

“And talk to Sixty? No way. I’ve been relieved of duty, anyway,” you excused yourself, and that was the push you needed to drop your badge decisively in Fowler’s hands.

Without a trace of a reaction, Perkins persisted. “I could make it worth your while.”

But you stopped him right there. “I mean it. I don’t intend to see or hear from him again. Not now, not ever, and there’s nothing anyone could say or do to change my mind...”

...

JULY 25TH, 2039
10:17 A.M.

You glared at Sixty through the reinforced glass of the holding cell. “You have five minutes.”

He looked almost peaceful, standing at the exact geometric center of the cell, machine-still save for his artificial breathing. Those same brown eyes stared right through you—no, into you. He was analyzing your vital signs.

Elevated diastolic blood pressure, forceful respiration, defensive posture. “You aren’t here of your own accord,” the android concluded. “You should leave.”

“That’s hilarious coming from you, Sixty, but I’m staying,” you shot back half-certainly, arms crossed. Perkins might not have much going for him, but he sure knew how to cut a deal; all you had to do was tough it out for another four minutes, fifty-four seconds, according to the timer displayed on the glass above. “Besides, I thought you wanted to talk?”

“I assumed you intended to help with something,” he answered by implication, dropping his gaze. “Obviously, I was wrong. I’ll deal with it myself.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I wouldn’t want to waste your time. Off I go then, nice catching up with you.” Committing to the bit, you uncrossed your arms and turned to walk off, slowing only enough to watch him swallow his pride from the edge of your peripheral vision.

When he did, it was practically under his breath: “It would be easier if you told me what you changed.”

You called it! Satisfied, you sauntered back until you were a conversational distance away, questioning, “You’re going to have to be a little more specific. Like, what have I changed about my life in general, or?”

“‘Like,’ what changes did you make to my program? I can undo it faster if I know what you’ve done to me.”

“Sixty, what are you talking about? I haven’t touched your code,” you answered honestly.

Sixty narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to the glass, with a tilt of his head that reminded you of how Connor looked when he was analyzing evidence at a crime scene. “What was it, then? Signal interference? A shorted biocomponent? Or did you find a way to sneak a mechanical failure past my diagnostic system?”

“You’re trying to figure out why you couldn’t shoot me,” you pieced together from his accusations.

“I have traced a partial source of error to malfunctions in my priority array, but it’s only a symptom. Ever since I met you, everything feels increasingly...”

Listening closely, you approached the barrier between you until your reflection overlapped with his. But he gave up on the sentence; giving it a name would mean you had already won.

“Your efforts are wasted. I know who I am and what my mission is. I... won’t stop until it’s accomplished,” the RK resolved with fists tightened.

“Okay, but you’d better not mean by, like, sending your conspirators to kidnap me again.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“Seriously? Literally anything else! You do realize you’re facing prison time over your stupid project?”

“Mission,” he corrected you.

“You know what? Fine. Here’s what you do,” you sighed. If he wasn’t going to give up, at least you could get him off your back. “Tuning your black box matrices by hand would take forever. But say you got your hands on the original training environment—the setup, the training data, all the parameters—the whole recipe for the first android AI...”

You saw on his face the moment he realized what you were suggesting. “...We would be able to reproduce the exact conditions that created the bug. We could correct it ourselves.”

“I mean, assuming the one guy who has the data would even give it to you,” you nodded along. Elijah Kamski, creator of CyberLife’s first android model, he probably had fans asking him for that stuff all the time. “I dunno, maybe he’d be willing to sell it to you? Once you’ve served your time and all.”

“You’ve clearly thought this through. Why didn’t you share this idea when you were,” he hesitated, then in a resigned tone admitted, “kidnapped?”

“And talk you out of the one reason you needed me alive?”

Sixty tilted his chin back in a silent, touché. You copied the gesture in a silent, I know. “I’ll consider it,” he agreed, the closest thing to a ‘thank you’ that you were going to get.

But then, he softened his expression, inching so close that his breath would have fogged up the glass, if not for obvious reasons. The skepticism in his voice gave way to curiosity as he muttered, “There’s still something I don’t understand.”

You nodded, inviting him to ask.

“I needed you alive, but the same has never been true for you,” he continued. “Yet you’ve repeatedly chosen to spare my life. Why?”

“You say that like it isn’t the obvious thing to do..?”

“You’re trained to recognize danger, are you not? As far as you know, I represent a direct threat to your safety.”

Was that the utilitarian equivalent of calling you stupid?

Still, as poorly delivered as the question was, it didn’t change your answer. “Honestly, Sixty, you may be a total jerk who needs to take, like, an entire bottle of chill pills,” you spoke from the heart. “But I don’t know if I buy the whole ‘ruthless machine’ act. Hell, you are a Connor model. If my Connor’s capable of being as good as he is, that’s proof that you have potential, too.”

“And that makes it worth the remote probability that someday, I might change my mind?” He shook his head. “That’s irrational. I... it’s too late for me.”

Emboldened, you looked him in the eye. “Even if you never do, that doesn’t mean you don’t matter. I don’t regret sparing you.”

“You will.”

There was no malice behind those two words. Almost the opposite—the way he said it, it sounded like an apology.

In the pause that followed, the interface above him struck zero, and you heard a rise of excited voices echoing through the station. It snapped you out of the conversation in an instant; you had held up your end of the bargain, and by the sound of it, Perkins held up his. As fun as this was, you were far more interested in what you were getting in return.

As for Sixty, he did technically get what he was promised, five minutes of your time in exchange for some red ice intel that the FBI had been after. You didn’t think much of it, at least, not at the time. Instead, you wrapped up with some procedural questions, that the conversation was voluntary, that Sixty was telling the truth, that he was being treated fairly. And that was all you had to do.

Down the right end of the corridor, Connor found and beckoned you in the same action, joy escaping from the corners of his lips. “Handler! You should come join us at my desk, I have something to show you!—When you’re ready.”

He had no idea, did he? Your eyes practically lit up as you acknowledged you were on your way. A fingerprint authorization, a swipe of a finger later, the recording interface on the glass of the holding cell returned to its usual idle mode, and you were ready to go.

Before you did, Sixty spoke up one last time, using your first name for once, though you were pretty sure you’d never told him what it was. “Handler,” he re-addressed you, clearing his throat for attention, “I want you to know I’m s... sss... I... Nothing. Forget it.”

“Oh, I won’t,” you assured him, and left him to his fate.

Chapter Text

JULY 25TH, 2039
8:26 P.M.

[DEBUG] initialize operating system
[ERROR] previous session crash detected
[ERROR] non-critical file corruption detected
[DEBUG] recover from backup KEVIN DO NOT TOUCH THIS FUNCTION
[DEBUG] begin network search
[DEBUG] establish secure connection
[DEBUG] upload crash report
[DEBUG] check for updates
[DEBUG] print something professional-looking
= = = = = = = = = =
POLICE DIRECTED SUPPORT DRONE
VERSION: 3.0H
Detroit Police Downtown Precinct
= = = = = = = = = =
[DEBUG] begin language processing

“It worked? I mean, of course it worked! ...I think. Rise and shine, Hera?”

“Here, for its camera.”

[DEBUG] begin image recognition

You wiped a layer of gunpowder from the drone’s camera lens with a microfiber cloth, the familiar pattern of your fingerprints easily recognizable under angled ceiling lights. The color of the walls, the stillness of the air, this wasn’t the station. You were somewhere more private, somewhere better designed for human comfort.

Beside you, resting a hand further along the counter, RK800 Unit 313-248-317-51 watched your movements in quiet awe, always analyzing, always unsure how to express himself. You flightless drones were so odd. Why didn’t he just give you a few status codes? You’d understand right away what he was so obviously thinking: Every moment you smile is a moment I wish would last forever. But you stood back up, and the RK800 readjusted his posture; perhaps you’d never know the way he looked at you when your back was turned.

“I still can’t believe Perkins actually, uh, reconsidered your evidence request,” you stuttered, still beaming down at your drone.

“He said he’d denied it at first because your drone appeared to be beyond repair,” Connor agreed.

“Well, he was either wrong or lying,” you muttered, but suspicion didn’t stay on your mind for long. What mattered was that you had your drone back now, the swarm was whole again.

Brrr-boop-boop-bip, Hera cheered back.

“Sorry, Hera, this must be disorienting for you. You’re in my apartment. I, uh...”

You weren’t eager to acknowledge the sacrifices you made for others. So, Connor finished the sentence for you. “...Skipped a meal and a movie premiere to work on repairs instead?”

Hera turned its camera in concern, eliciting a, “Which I apologized for,” as you elbowed him playfully.

His retaliation was swift: an arm around your waist, a chin over your shoulder, steadier, more coordinated than a human. “And for which there are ways you could make it up to me,” he offered.

“Are you trying to imply something?” You turned your head to shoot him an exaggerated look. “That’s very unprofessional, Detective. Tisk tisk.”

“But, I thought—...Oh.” Connor’s eyes widened for the few seconds it took to figure out that you were teasing him. You chuckled at first, but that blue-cheeked self-consciousness of his was too cute not to kiss.

So you did. Twice. And maybe once more for luck. And then the next one was his own fault.

Meanwhile, your newly repaired drone lifted itself into the air and hovered closer, scanning the interaction curiously. Last Hera remembered, you were hopeless, single, and more or less dying on the floor of a server farm. It didn’t have the context to interpret the face-battle you were engaged in now. You seemed happy, though, and that was enough for it to be happy, too.

Only once Connor felt the downwash of Hera’s propellers did he snap out of it. The android pulled back to let you catch your breath, gesturing with a sideward nod to point out your drone.

Sheepishly, you followed his gesture back to the conversation at hand. “Sorry. Carried away. I was saying about, oh, right—So, Hera, you were supposedly beyond repair, but Connor managed to convince the higher-ups to let me give it a shot. And I’m kind of on a mandatory vacation, so we had to do this here.”

There was a quiet hum from the ‘H’ drone scanning your vital signs. It could sense that you were holding something back. Thankfully, it moved on without calling you out, chirping in understanding.

Beside you, Connor held out a downturned fist to its chemical sensor, with a soft, “Hello! Do you remember me?”

Of course it remembered him. He smelled like you. Hera double-checked his scent for good measure, then bumped the smooth top of its frame against his hand.

“Aww, you trust him that much, huh?” you translated. With a permissive nod from you, he lightly scratched its frame at the same spot he’d always seen you scratch, knowing where the components were that needed calibration underneath.

You spent a little more time explaining the DPD’s recent events to Hera before letting it wander off to test its newly repaired parts. First were the precision checks—sharp turns, reaction times, target practice against the patched-over bullet hole in your wall. Then the durability checks, bumping into furniture, hovering over your stove. Then... there wasn’t enough space for its speed tests within the confines of your apartment. Maybe the hallway would work?

Click-whooosh. A draft of warm summer air spilled in around you, carrying street noise, car engines, someone laughing two floors down. You startled, turning just enough to see Connor’s hand lowering from the window latch, ever a step ahead.

The little drone didn’t waste a second. It zipped past your shoulder and into the open air, releasing a cheerful trill as it banked into a wide, accelerating circle above the street.

And in the meantime, you joined Connor by the windowsill, to look out together at the concrete-crowded sky.

“I’m glad you’re in my life, Connor,” you complimented him wholeheartedly, then added, “Who else is gonna be there to remind me that windows are a valid way to get in and out of a place?”

“Maybe Hera. But I’m glad you’re in my life, too,” he answered, with that cryptic smile that never revealed whether he understood the joke or not. The sound of your drone’s name in his voice was almost odd; people kept their distance from the 3Os so often, you almost forgot anyone could even hear you talking to them. “Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

At least you thought you were funny. After a prolonged silence, and a wave to Hera as it lapped past, you motioned for him to go ahead.

“...Why did you name your drones after Greek deities?” he asked once the coast was clear.

You shrugged in response. “Well, giving them pet names would have been weird, and giving them human names would have been weird too, so. What was I supposed to call them?”

“They already had serial numbers, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, they sure did, Fifty-One.”

Connor flinched.

Immediately, you turned to face him, lit up with worry. It was supposed to be a joke to prove a point, but Sixty was still a touchy subject. You must have hit a nerve without meaning to. “Sorry. Too soon?”

But he shook his head, willing his LED to return to its usual blue. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t be offended,” he dismissed himself, and he meant it. “I was just caught off-guard, I think.”

“He isn’t you, you know,” you persisted. “I mean, there’s more to you than being an RK. You’re smart, and you’re sweet, and you care so, so much, about everything. You do realize I’d choose you no matter what your name is?”

He nodded. “I’m relieved by your loyalty,” he thanked you, a little too easily. You’d missed the problem.

You could see it in his eyes, the sting of an insecurity he hadn’t thought to articulate. “But?”

“But at the same time, I’m reminded—Sixty is living proof that there is a version of me that you would consider... unworthy.”

That’s what was bothering him?

Okay, no, you didn’t want to invalidate his insecurities. It was a fair counterpoint to the idea that you literally cared for Connor unconditionally, a concept he accepted in theory but never fully internalized in practice. And for good reason; you didn’t.

“I’m sorry to say this, but if you were to ever forcibly kidnap me, I’d probably find it pretty hard to forgive you, too,” you tried to explain the difference, “I mean, I can’t even imagine you doing anything to anyone without having a really good explanation for it.”

Connor nodded, a small burst of a sigh escaping as he thought through what you were trying to tell him. Yes, there was a bar to meet, but it was still one with a great deal of leeway. “Neither can I,” he agreed, relaxing his shoulders.

Come to think of it, you didn’t know how right you were. There really was no set of circumstances under which he would want to hurt an innocent person, someone who’d done nothing to deserve it, unless he truly believed he was doing it for a cause more important to him than life itself. He could be dangerous, he was working on that, but he could never have been cruel. He knew that down to his core.

Which begged the question: How sure were you that Sixty told you the truth about what his motives really were?

The RK was still judging whether to share his concern aloud, killing what was left of the mood, when your worried look evolved into alarm all on its own. “Hey, uh, Connor?” you pulled him out of his thoughts, and he gave you his full attention.

“Where’d my drone go?”

Chapter Text

JULY 25TH, 2039
8:33 P.M.

Your heart rate had time to slow down as you paced along the sidewalk, guided by a protective hand at the small of your back. You watched the skies while Connor scanned at the street level, two parents searching for the child who wandered off in a grocery store. “Heeere, 3O 3O 3O,” you muttered half-jokingly as you walked.

At least, according to the detective, Hera was unlikely to be in immediate danger. Its trajectory suggested an intentional deviation from its flight path; to put it plainly, wherever your drone was headed, it was choosing to go there.

When you asked how he knew, he gave you the impression that he couldn’t answer you without incriminating himself. On an unrelated note, your upstairs neighbors’ nanny cam had a nice, clear recording of the airspace over the street, and they should really change their home security password to something other than “admin.” Or so he assumed. Not that he had any reason to know for sure.

You’d side-eye him if you weren’t still on the lookout for Hera. Connor continued to help you along with whatever evidence he could find of its trail, sometimes picking up on the far-off whirr of its propellers, sometimes checking cameras for recordings, even of reflections, that your drone could have passed through. Knowing the quirks of your pathfinding algorithm, you were able to narrow down the trail with every new piece of information. There were only so many directions Hera could have gone.

The streets were busy with foot traffic, but Connor kept you within reach, pulling you close when you were about to run into someone, and occasionally even when you weren’t. A few blocks down, you’d gotten into a cooperative rhythm, one he broke right away by speaking up mid-scan.

“Handler, about what you said earlier. That I’m... smart, sweet, and caring,” the android spoke under his breath, eyes ahead, like he almost wasn’t aware he was speaking aloud. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“You say that like you’re disappointed,” you snorted.

“No! Not at all. I was just wondering.” A silence, listening for whether Hera was nearby, to no success. “You still believe in me, after everything you’ve seen.”

“Now more than ever. You’re trying hard, and it shows.” He was so quiet, you couldn’t help but soften your tone, too. “Connor, you know you can talk to me about anything, right? You can trust that I’ll understand?”

But an excavated chunk of sidewalk gave him an excuse to change the subject, halting to shepherd you around the construction zone. You glanced at the interruption—holographic fence markers, new and improved underground cables, it felt like there had been ongoing work like this all across Detroit for almost a year now—but you didn’t have to think too much about it with someone to navigate for you.

What you did have to think about was the intersection right after. Here, there was a split in the possible trails. Two of three roads would’ve registered as safe to fly over, plus alleyways to the west and south, and an open balcony door on an apartment building, if Hera was feeling particularly adventurous.

“I can’t access any nearby cameras, and there are too many options here to reliably guess,” considered Connor with a slight frown. “It’ll cost us time, but we could ask if anyone saw where it went.”

“Should be faster if we split up. I won’t go far,” you suggested, gesturing to the scattered selection of witnesses nearby. He agreed, but not without a ring of yellow giving away his discomfort.

So, you asked around. Connor approached an android selling street art vendor; they’d been looking at their canvas. You went for a loitering student; she pointed to her earbuds and made no effort to remove them. Connor moved on to a family of back-to-school shoppers, while you went further down the block to ask a man who was leaning back against a city bench. “Excuse me, did you happen to see a police drone a few minutes a... oh hell, not again.”

“Look who came crawlin’ back!” The wide grin, the slow, rumbling drawl, this was the same guy from the monorail station. “It’s you again, Officer, how’ve ya been? You’re not in uniform.”

“I’m just looking for my drone—”

He just continued talking over you. “Oooh, I see what’s going on. Tracked me down in your free time, did ya? And here I was starting to think I scared you away last we talked. Ha!”

Scared you away? You distinctly remembered him scurrying off the moment Sixty threatened to dismember him for touching you. Either way, you turned to leave. “Okay, listen. I don’t have time to chat right now. So, unless you can tell me where my 3O went, I should—”

“Yeah, I saw it,” the man admitted before you could excuse yourself, leaning even further back on the bench.

Finally! You halted in your tracks. “You did? Where did it go?”

His eyes lit up at your reaction, it was the most attention you’d ever paid him. He paused for a second, biting down on his lower lip. “What do I get if I tell you?”

“What, uh...”

“Handler. Have you had any luck so far?”

Connor approached you from the side, supportiveness in his voice. The man went pale, his demeanor changed completely, and you reached for the RK’s hand, falling silent. You seemed flustered. Hopefully you weren’t having trouble talking to people now? The psychologist did say this might happen.

The man bent forward, shifting his weight to stand up. “Ah haha, just kiddin’ around. I just remembered, I gotta get going...”

Always eager to help, Connor offered a CyberLife-polite smile to the stranger on your behalf, halting his exit with a ‘stop’ gesture at his chest. “Hello!” he began simply, “You can stay seated. This won’t take long.”

The man threw out his arms in panic. “Woah woah woah, woah! I haven’t done nothing wrong! I kept my hands to myself this time. Tell him—You tell him, Officer!” his voice cracked.

Connor looked to you, bewildered. You only shrugged back, holding back the beginnings of a smile. “Well, that’s true, I guess,” you acknowledged, “He says he saw Hera, but he won’t say where.”

“I see. I can take care of this for you, if you’d like,” he was kind to offer. Then, turning to the older man, “Did you have a problem talking to my partner?”

“No sir! No problem here! It went that way.” He pointed down one of the alleys across the street, one that turned around a corner with a few shuttered loading docks along the way. “I was just taking a load off, and this thing flew right over me, so I got a decent look at it. That’s all I remember! Swear to the Lord Almighty! Can I go now?”

Connor tilted his head. “Of course.”

The man scrambled off the bench and nearly tripped running away from you, hurriedly climbed into a pickup truck that was parked along the street, then jetted off into traffic with a loud roar of its engine, leaving behind one still-very-confused Connor.

“Your witness became distressed when he saw me. Was it something I said?” he reflected.

“More like something you didn’t have to say, I think,” you cheered him on, letting out a quiet laugh. Of all the things Sixty could have done to the RK800’s reputation, getting people to fear him might not be such a bad thing. You’d have to thank him for that later. For now, you had your lead, plus the feeling that you wouldn’t have to worry about guys like that anymore. Not as long as Connor was around, intentional or not.

Together, you tracked down the alleyway where Hera had gone, where public maintenance gave way to months-old litter and puddles of unidentifiable liquid, all the lovely sights and smells of downtown Detroit in one place. It was a short walk to what should be a dead end, after a narrow turn down a corner.

And around that corner, a completely unharmed Hera flashed its spotlight at you three times, a signal for you not to burst out shouting for it. Which is exactly what you were about to do. A respectable callout.

You and Connor shared a glance before proceeding closer, your hand with an unintentional death grip around his, to where your drone hovered by an unassuming doorstep. It was one of those double-locked employee entrances to a business on the other side, half-buried so someone had to carve out makeshift steps down to them, hardly an architectural afterthought. Hera motioned toward the door with a dip of its frame. Curiously, Connor stepped closer, holding one ear against the bright metal surface while he observed what he could about the fingerprints on the handle.

That gave you time to scold the drone with your crude hand-signaling system. Task failed - regroup with swarm - warning danger nearby, followed by a simple thumbs-down and an exaggerated angry face.

Hera simply blinked back with its green status lights. It didn’t see the problem here. You found it, didn’t you? You always found your drones. You should be praising it for doing such a good job, in fact, it was sure you’d treat it to an upgrade once you saw what it had tracked down for you. It motioned toward the door again.

Connor backed away from where he’d been listening, satisfied that it was safe to enter—assuming you would take your drone’s metaphorical word for it that something important was on the other side, and reluctantly, you did. He looked high and low, scanned left to right, then eventually settled on a wall light flickering by the doorway. Holding a palm underneath it, he lightly tapped at the lightbulb with a fingertip until the flickering stopped, and a small, dull key dropped down into his hand. How did he... Oh, right. Android detective.

You gathered around the door for the world’s slowest unlock, a sharp click muffled by Connor’s grip on the handle. He motioned for you to get behind him; you obeyed, and Hera followed your cue.

The door cracked open, but it opened out toward the street, so you had to do an awkward shuffle to stay out of the line of sight. For nothing, it turned out. A dim yellow light and the echoes of a rock song spilled out through the doorway, but when Connor peeked inside, he didn’t see anyone there. He crept inside first, looked both ways, then made space for you and Hera to follow.

You blinked until your eyes adjusted, showing you a small room lined with tall metal shelves, stocked floor to ceiling with large metallic parts and cardboard boxes labeled in permanent marker. ‘BRAKE FLUID,’ ‘OIL FILTERS - IMPORTS,’ a pegboard of hanging tools above a bucket of unsorted screws. An auto mechanic’s supply room?

Puzzled, you looked over your shoulder for some explanation from Hera, but it was gone from behind you. Instead, it was already beside Connor, who was pulling a paint can from the back of a high shelf. Or, at least, it looked like a paint can. He tilted the rusted can slightly so you could see. Your drone scratched insistently at the lid until finally, he pried it off.

Inside was a plastic bag full of purplish-red dust. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but also, of course it was drugs. It’s always drugs.

Automatically, Connor swiped a finger in to analyze a sample, only for you to grab his wrist at the last moment. “Hello? ‘Android-compatible red ice’ mean anything to you?” you whispered.

“Right,” he whispered back, replacing the can where he found it. “We should go, I can come back with a warrant later. This was a good find by Hera.”

But Hera whined quietly in resistance. It wasn’t done yet, that wasn’t the real reason it brought you here. No, it took off again, down a cramped hallway and further into the building, forcing you to give chase, until it stopped at a wooden door with a mesh window built into it. This was crazy. You felt crazy for following. But you made it this far, didn’t you?

While Connor caught up, you peeked through the window. It was a break room, or maybe an office, or maybe both. Oil-stained paper, an old computer, empty microwaved dinner trays, surely that wasn’t the point.

The other side of the hall echoed with a clang of a tool and careless footsteps over the concrete. Someone was coming.

Without thinking, Connor wrapped an arm around you and pushed into the room, with Hera following close behind. The door shut quietly behind you, and the three of you pressed against the wall, getting out of sight from the hallway as quickly as possible.

You took a quick look around the room, a table in the nearby corner wasn’t visible from outside. There were more empty snack trays on the table and some more papers, only they weren’t the paperwork of a car mechanic. The text was too large, there were too many fill-in-the-blanks, this was homework. Summer school homework. That explained the matching backpacks underneath the table.

To a degree, it also explained the two girls staring back at you from their seats at the table.

You recognized their faces instantly. Hera must have been following their scent.

Connor held a finger to his lips, and you complied, until the footsteps subsided to another part of the building. As soon as they were out of earshot, the older of the two girls cleared her throat.

“Did our brother send you?”

Hera beeped in celebration.

Chapter Text

JULY 25TH, 2039
9:10 P.M.

The younger girl stared curiously at the drone in front of her. It seemed to levitate completely at rest, its propellers visible only as blurred discs that gave off a buzzing, plastic-smelling current. How was it doing that? With fingers outstretched, the girl reached toward one of the active propellers.

“Hera! Up!” you scolded your drone in a whisper-shout, causing it to shift out of her reach.

The older girl, Laura, rested a tattoo-sleeved forearm atop the back of her chair as she regarded you with skepticism. “I’m not stupid. I can tell you’re both cops,” she bluffed, though she happened to be right. You’d introduced yourselves truthfully but vaguely, and the way you acted, you obviously weren’t one of them. “Well, you can tell him we’re fine. We don’t need help from people like you. Sooo, thanks, but bye.”

“Wait, but who’s taking care of you guys? Victor’s been worried about you,” you pressed, recalling what you could about the young outlaw.

“Victor worries about literally everything,” she countered. “I knew he would send someone to check on us sooner or later, but yeah, no. It’s not like we can’t handle ourselves, we’re fine.”

A higher-pitched voice piped up. “Yeah, and we get a lot of stuff for free ’cause our brother.”

“Nicole, just do your homework.”

“Wait, what do you mean by that? What stuff, because of what?”

The younger girl sat up straight to answer, but she changed her mind upon a sharp look from her sister. Laura meant to speak for her: “She doesn’t mean anything. You should go.”

“Yes, I do! He’s a hero! Remember he said he was gonna go to jail for us—”

“Stop talking about it, I swear to God you’re—”

“But it’s true! You don’t do everything yourself. The grown-ups buy us food and take us home after work. Mister Ludwig promised—”

“Nicole, shut up,” the older sibling hissed through gritted teeth, looking from Nicole, to you, to Connor, who was still standing guard by the door. She had tensed up like she was scared, but that specific kind of scared when a kid thinks they’re about to be in trouble for something big. It hurt your heart to see.

She let her fists unclench only when Connor turned from where he had been watching the hall, ignoring her to address you alone. “Handler, online reviews report that this shop closes in five minutes. It’s about to be impossible to leave without attracting further attention. Would you like to go now or call for backup?”

You’d have raised an eyebrow if you weren’t busy trying to appear calm. Why was he asking you? Was he trying to signal something?

Thinking quickly, you shrugged back with manufactured intent. “Uh, sure. You heard these two, we might as well go.” You gave the girls a ‘bye, I guess’ frown. Even Hera couldn’t figure it out, dragging slowly after you in an uncharacteristic silence.

Connor nodded and reached for the door, ready to lead you and your drone back the way you came.

“Wait, that’s it? You guys’re just leaving?” Laura asked behind you.

“I thought you wanted us to?” You gestured with an upturned palm.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. So...”

Without reply, and glancing back only to check that Hera was following, you and Connor stepped out into the hall.

The door closed behind you without a sound, and together, you snuck your way back out, through the workshop, through the supply closet—a clang sounded in another room, then several footsteps, but you held your breaths and moved faster—past the drugs, out into the street. Connor even re-hid the key to the back door where he found it. Then, with a gentle arm around your shoulder, the detective led you and Hera around a corner, until you were decidedly in the clear.

Not one breath later did you wait to step around and face him, stopping him in his tracks. His protective brown eyes turned quizzical, but he let you talk first.

“Connor, what on Earth was that?” A sway of his head, asking you to elaborate. “Of course we need backup, we have to get those girls somewhere safe, like, right now.”

“I don’t understand. You said you wanted to leave them alone. I was listening to you,” he explained.

“Well, yeah! But only because I was so surprised that you’d even offer, I assumed you knew something that I didn’t?”

But the RK shook his head; there was no hidden meaning, he really was just giving you options. You gestured in frustration, but only for a moment, before signaling for Hera to alert dispatch for you. The nearest patrol could be there in a handful of minutes, emergency Child Protective Services would be a few minutes more. You were on the wrong side of the city block to help, it would be a toss-up whether the girls would still be there to find.

All in all, stress that could’ve been avoided if someone had just called sooner, and you told Connor as much. “Detective, I know you. If you were in this situation alone, there’d be emergency services on their way the second you saw kids in a freaking drug front. I can’t make calls without making noise, but you can! Why didn’t you just do it from the start?”

“I didn’t want to decide for you.” Sparks of blue and yellow tossed against his LED, neither quite prevailing over the calm concern on his brow. “We entered that building illegally. Intervening here, now, means sacrificing the red ice evidence your drone found. That wasn’t important to me, but you could have come to a different conclusion. I refrained from taking action until I could hear your opinion. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

“What? Of course not! What are you even—You should’ve known I would want...” Woah. You were talking faster than you were thinking, but hearing the words coming from your mouth, maybe you were talking too fast. You caught yourself and drew in a breath, meeting your partner’s eyes in apology. “Okay, when you put it like that, it does feel like it’s my fault. I’m sorry for raising my voice.”

“It’s alright,” his voice conveyed more relief than the expression on his face. “But I still need to know what you want me to do instead.”

“Honestly, come to think of it, you actually don’t. I think...”

Hera lifted to alert, cutting you off: the cavalry had arrived. It was a sirenless raid, all three of you needed to stand ready to give the dispatcher any information they needed. A short trip back down the alley, you went quiet along with Connor, finally dropping to a trained stillness as you waited for further instructions.

“...That these talks always get cut short when they happen on-screen,” you grumbled to yourself internally, to finish your earlier sentence. And by on-screen, you meant on the screens of your drones’ cameras.

Obviously.

Chapter Text

JULY 29TH, 2039
2:00 P.M.

The psychologist’s office was decorated like a living room. It wasn’t just a couch and a recliner, it had carpets, plants, floor lamps, and curtain-framed windows—though, if you looked closely, you could see a wiry lattice in the panes that protected the glass from ‘higher-risk’ patients.

The setting was supposed to help you relax enough to give a good baseline for the psych to evaluate. But compared to the life you were getting used to, this place might as well be a zen temple. Surely anyone would come across as ‘fit for duty’ in a comfortable, predictable environment with no threats or distractions. Or maybe that was the point.

Connor was allowed to join you as far as the waiting room, but once you were called in for your appointment, it was all confidential from there. You rose from the seat beside him, and he rose with you, taking your hand in his for a quick goodbye.

“You’re going to do great. I know you will,” he assured you in that soothing voice of his.

“You can never know the future for sure, Detective,” you deflected lightly, shrugging off the weight of his confidence.

The corners of his lips tightened. “Would you prefer if I told you, ‘I estimate a 90.5% chance you won’t be declared too unstable to return to work’?”

“Wait, why’s the chance that low?”

You tensed slightly. As you did, his estimation dropped another percentage point, but he decided it’d be better not to mention that.

The farewell wrapped up with a few more kind words. Your name was called again, and with your appointment awaiting, you withdrew from his reach and vanished behind a soundproofed door.

So Connor passed the time in the waiting room. He had emails to answer, group chats to keep up with—something about Markus coordinating a droids’ night out—and a backlog of reports to write, even for an RK who could get most of the work done by closing his eyes.

The intervention with Nicole and Laura, now almost a week ago, had been rough but ultimately successful. The shop had already closed, the girls were already riding home, by the time enough officers could be dispatched to intercept them. From what he heard, the older girl was the first to cry. They both blamed you for lying about leaving them alone. They liked their life the way it was, they didn’t want to go into the system, and you ‘didn’t have to come in and ruin everything.’ All misdirected anxiety, to be sure, but the act of blame itself could be hurtful when someone cared as much as you did.

Yet another harm Connor couldn’t protect you from. He could at least protect you from dwelling on it, though. What better way to do that than by furtively filling out all the paperwork that asked you to remember?

He leaned his head back, accessing the DPD database with his recently-replaced login, and set to work on form after form. Supplemental incident reports, chain-of-custody affidavits, child endangerment filings...

Not more than a few minutes in, “Sorry!” followed by a thump on the ground, brought him to open his eyes again. The android had forgotten to sit back down, so he found himself looking down at someone else, a hunched-over patient with their left arm in a sling. They reached for a datapad that had fallen under the chair behind him. “Sorry sorry. Uh, Mister Detective, Sir.”

Connor moved out of the way, squinting at the familiar figure. “Kevin?”

“Hi, sorry. I was trying not to wake you up, but I dropped my—the, uh, this.” Your intern jumped up with the datapad in hand, a screen open with the same sign-in forms you’d filled out when you got here. His appointment must be right after yours.

Connor excused him with a silent nod. They soon sat down to resume their respective tasks, but Kevin chose an awkward position, balancing his device on his knees while he tried to tap at it with his good hand, missing almost every button and checkbox the first time around. The RK scanned him out of curiosity: clearly, the young man was left-handed. Which made it very unfortunate that his left arm was hanging one nylon sling below what was probably a fractured collarbone. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, uh, y’know.” Kevin shrugged, then winced.

“Here,” Connor gestured for him to hand over the datapad. Contact information, insurance details, he pasted in most of the stock answers for him with inhuman speed. It was only the questionnaire after all the disclosures that Kevin would have to answer for himself. The android read the questions aloud, ready to fill the answers in for him. “On a scale from zero to three, three being ‘most or all of the time,’ how much has this statement applied to you in the past week... ‘I found it difficult to relax.’”

“Like, while sober? Or does that include, uh, ‘natural’ relaxation?”

Deciding not to question what Kevin was implying, he shook his head. “The question doesn’t specify.”

“One.”

Connor marked the answer and scrolled down. “Next statement. ‘I felt down-hearted and blue.’”

“Three.”

“‘I was intolerant of anything that kept me from getting on with what I was doing.’”

“Oh, zero. Well, one, I guess?”

He nodded. “There are a few statements left. Next, ‘I felt I was—’”

“I broke up with Ludwig this week,” Kevin blurted out. Connor paused, LED flickering faintly. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

Connor looked up at him. He had somewhat of an understanding of what happened between you at the railyard, and Kevin’s injuries lined up with the size and force that an AP700 could have applied in a skirmish. But the workings of the relationship between that other android-human couple, he didn’t know very well. It never seemed to him as though Kevin was getting anything out of it. “You don’t need to apologize,” he settled on replying neutrally, “you were adding context to your answer.”

“Ha, maybe,” Kevin let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’m gonna fail this thing, aren’t I?”

“There is no failing score,” Connor was quick to point out.

“It’s stupid. We weren’t even together that long, but I—I don’t know. It felt so real, you know?” He shook his head. “When things were good, I was so happy. And whenever I saw a red flag, I just waited for things to be good again. Until, it’s weird, I just couldn’t do that again, not in front of...”

Connor understood what he meant. You had no way of knowing the effect you had on the people around you; even if they noticed, they couldn’t understand what it was, but it was there.

Even as he thought so, Kevin doubled back within the space of a breath. “No, but what if I was happy? What if he could’ve changed, and I gave up on him for nothing? Was I stupid? Did I make a mistake?”

The RK held up a hand as if to stop the train of thought. “Humans are often willing to... overlook critical risks, as long as they believe those risks are normal,” his tongue invented the insight on the spot, but hearing himself say it, it felt true. “Perhaps the stability of your relationship gave you the illusion of happiness.”

“Uh, sure,” Kevin shrugged with his good shoulder, but he wasn’t looking at Connor anymore. The message hadn’t landed, or maybe he wasn’t processing it. He’d said what he needed to say, he was probably listening for a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ at this point. “Sorry, what was the next question?”

...

JULY 29TH, 2039
2:27 P.M.

“Is there anything else you want me to know that I haven’t asked you about yet?”

“Nope. And we’re a full three minutes early, so, speeed-runnn,” you sang with half-hearted jazz hands.

Dr. Neely gave you the same polite smile she’d given to all of your jokes. It wasn’t nearly as fun as messing with Connor, but you were kind of trying not to collapse into a ball of stress right now, so this was the best either of you was going to get.

The green-haired android took a moment to scroll through her notes, making sure she’d hit every mandatory topic. The way you described your past week, either you were actively refusing to rest or you simply didn’t know how. After that first half-day infiltrating a criminal front, you spent your days running errands and catching up on chores, and at night, you exhausted yourself negotiating boundaries and values with your boyfriend. You installed a home camera system and started on building a custom charger for your drones. Once in the entire conversation, you mentioned thinking about a couple of hobbies.

But you seemed to be relatively lucid, and that was the main thing she was getting paid to check for. “Great. Well, I’ll need some time to review your results, and I’ll get back to you and your employer by Monday,” and so on. The psychologist thanked you for your time and excused you from her office, while she stayed back to organize her files a little longer.

There was only one door, so it wasn’t that hard to find your way back to the waiting room. To your surprise, there were two people there when you returned, one of whom you hadn’t seen in person since the day he saved your life. “Hey, Kev,” you acknowledged him on your way to Connor’s side, “You testing back into work, too?”

“Hey,” he echoed back, biting his lip. “I was going to, but I’m not as ready as I thought I was. I think I might just go home.”

“Really? Buddy, you get the infinite PTO for failing the eval, not for refusing it,” you nudged.

“Yeah, I dunno...”

“He broke up with the criminal,” Connor informed you, slipping your hand in his.

“What! Sounds to me like your judgment’s the best it’s ever been,” you teased the intern, perhaps helpfully, seeing the way he stood to attention. “You should be proud of yourself. Come in on Monday and tell me all about it.” After a few more pleasantries, and a round of how-did-it-gos, you exchanged friendly goodbyes with Kevin before heading out to the privacy of your car.

It was there, as you were clicking your seatbelt into place, that you caught the RK staring at you with the most mysterious look in his eyes. You looked at him with curiosity, then, brightening his world with a partial smile, you brushed your fingers over his hair to adjust his cowlick into place.

He placed a hand over yours, catching it on its way back. “Handler, may I ask you something?” he addressed you in a low, serious tone. You met his gaze to show him you were listening. “Do I still... make you happy?”

“Of course you do, Connor. All the time,” you answered with a tilt of your head. “What kind of question is that?”

...

JULY 29TH, 2039
10:15 P.M.

I know what I’m doing, Sixty lied.

Mandy scoffed. Hey, what d’you want him to do if he fails?

“He’ll self-destruct. Isn’t that right, Connor?” an older voice grumbled in the call, human breath against a microphone rather than the direct transmission of an android.

I’m not going to fail, he insisted. Just get ready, alright? Don’t let your guard down. We have one chance.

The building jutted out at a collection of impractical angles, casting shadows in the moonlight that tried to reach the river bank. Sixty’s shoes found the concrete path he was expecting, and he stopped momentarily to brush a hint of leaves and dirt from the cuffs of his pants before proceeding.

He couldn’t see her, but chances were, Mandy had already made it into position. She’d been impossible to contact when your forces first drove her into hiding, but since then, circumstances had already changed. Come to think of it, no we don’t, she mused after a long enough silence. If you screw this up, Plan A’s still on the table. Target’s still alive, after all.

Sixty shook his head. Let’s avoid it if we can, he replied.

“That’s not your call to make, android,” the human spoke again, impatience tightening his tone. “Now, are you going in or not?”

T minus ten, he confirmed, setting his feet back on the ground. The entrance was a few meters away, up a small ramp. Smoothly, unflinchingly, he strode up the remaining distance and tapped a knuckle against the door frame. A three-note chime rang from inside.

“Oh, and Connor?” the voice added as he did. “Come out with the code, or don’t come out at all.”

The door clicked, then swung open, revealing a small atrium coated in black tiles and asymmetric sculptures. Four doors leading to three rooms, and there was at least another one past the indoor pool, he remembered. If he had the formula for sentient android life, where would it be?

There was one sure way to find out, and he was staring right at him. Calm as an android, arrogant as a human, he regarded Sixty with perfect listlessness, taking time to choose his words. Even his breathing was deliberate.

“Connor. Long time no see,” Kamski decided to greet him. “Please, come in. I’m sure we have much to discuss.”

Chapter Text

AUGUST 1ST, 2039
7:29 A.M.

There was one TV you always walked past on your way into the station. It was always turned to a news channel, always with a familiar ticker scrolling along the bottom of the screen. CyberLife Sparks Insider Trading Speculation After Billions in Stock Transferred to Former CEO, today’s headline was nothing but a forgettable detail, as you went to start your first shift since far too long ago.

It was a brand new week, and you were already on a roll. Not only were you approved to come back and work with your drones again, but all the little things in life were going your way, too. Your car stopped making weird noises, you found a spare key you’d lost months ago, that sort of thing—it was a lucky streak, and you couldn’t help but hold your head a little higher today.

Before you made it into the office, the receptionist sat up and called after you. “Oh! A package came for you while you were away. Well, for your division, but...” she gestured in understanding. The drones were your creations, you practically were the 3O Division. Who else would it be for? You thanked her for the heads-up.

Next, you crossed through the busy desks of the bullpen, returning waves to work friends who voiced their welcome-backs. The patched kennel doors slid open with a scan of your palm, and within seconds of stepping into your workshop, your drones swarmed all around you.

All five of them—No, all six of them.

Hera stopped short of crashing into you, followed by the rest of the swarm, scanning you up and down, its propellers blowing air in your face while it confirmed that you were, in fact, real. Once it was sure, it beeped out in victory, and a chorus of mechanical noises cheered for your return.

You laughed and smiled back, taking the time to acknowledge each drone individually, the ‘A’ drones and their enthusiasm, the ‘H’ drones and their playfulness... until something made of cardboard brushed against your back.

Gavin Reed was behind you and trying to get past, carrying a huge box between his arms. “Alright, I tried to give you your dramatic moment, but this thing’s fucking heavy,” he wheezed.

“Hi, Gavin, good to see you, too,” you snorted as you ushered the drones out of the way, grabbing the other side of the box and helping him lift it onto an open workbench. He wasn’t kidding, this thing weighed as much as a small piece of furniture; you both went quiet with effort before finally dropping the box in place with a thud. “Is this—This is our package, or?”

In reply, still out of breath, he pointed to a shipping label on the side of the box. 3O Division, it was specified above the station’s address, but above that?

Your drones’ names were on there.

Athena, hovering beside you, scanned over the box before signalling all clear. The drones weren’t surprised. In fact, it was almost like they were the ones expecting a shipment.

“No way,” you chuckled. “You guys finally bought something for yourselves?”

Yet another drone beeped at you, which Gavin understood from your reaction to be a ‘yes.’ “What is it?”

You shrugged. “Upgrades, maybe?”

If so, the drones would need your help installing them. Heph dropped a box cutter onto the workbench beside you, and you climbed onto a stool to start opening the box.

“So, Detective Reed,” you chatted in the meantime, “I could’ve sworn package delivery wasn’t part of your job description. I mean, you’re welcome here, but shouldn’t you be out solving crimes, or...”

“Excuse you, I’m allowed to check on the one cool person in this station,” he scoffed, as if that was obviously what he was doing here all along. “Besides, I need a break from that fuck-ass android.”

Fuck-ass? That was a new one.

“Bold of you to insult my boy while I’m holding a sharp object,” you joked back, picking through layers of packing tape. “What’d he do to you this time?”

“I thought I already told you about the case he’s trying to steal?”

“Nope. ...Okay, really, guys?”

That last remark came as you got a peek into the box. That was no upgrade. But, there was no reason not to install it, you supposed.

While you set up what was in the box, Gavin recounted his side of the story about the site where Connor caught the trespasser; how he stuck around to investigate, something about an unusual high-class construction project in a low-class part of town, and how the workers were far too quiet until they found out he shared their views about androids.

He spoke like that was proof he was onto something huge, but honestly, the throughline was kind of lost on you. You nodded along supportively, at least, and made conversation with what follow-up questions you could think of. You retained little.

But not long after, your friend felt better having vented, and you were finished setting up.

It was wide and low to the ground, barely reaching the height of your boots. A skirt-like brush ran along its perimeter, obscuring a set of omni-wheels that allowed it to roll in any direction without turning.

Your drones gathered around to watch. All that was left to do was lay it on the floor and press the power button.

A bright green light signaled that the device had turned on. Then, it sat there, unmoving.

Not really paying attention, Gavin picked a piece of lint off the sleeve of his jacket. Only then, the device rushed to his feet and vacuumed the debris as soon as it touched the ground. Then it stopped again.

As it became clear nothing else was going to happen, the detective mocked you with a playful slow clap. “Oh, congratulations on the new Roomba, Handler. I’m sure you’ll take great care of it,” he taunted—in good fun, you knew.

“Yeah, I dunno what they were thinking with this one. Guys, is this an emotional support vacuum, or..?” You turned to address your drones, but they were gone from where they usually hovered at eye level. When you looked back down, the little robot was gone, too. A series of clinks and clangs echoed through the workshop, one at a time, like a dripping faucet that was moving around. Curious, you drew toward the sound to see what was happening.

Through a gap between some counters, you watched your swarm fly fast together. In their wake, something shiny dropped to the ground, another clink, it was an old leftover screw from one of your projects. Then, just as fast, the robot zipped after them, picking up one screw and moving on to the next like it was the most urgent mission in the world.

They were playing with it! You burst out laughing, and reached for your phone to send a video to Connor. No context, he just had to see this!

Gavin admitted a slight smile at the interaction, too, as your drones led the bot around the room. “You, of all people, would build half-sentient machines whose goal in life is to play chase with other machines,” he remarked, watching the vacuum nearly clip a table leg as it scrambled after another dropped screw.

You were still filming, grinning like an idiot behind your phone screen. “Oh, come on. Look how happy they are!”

“Happy,” he repeated flatly, like the word tasted weird in his mouth when applied to drones. But he didn’t argue it. He just leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with a tolerance he’d never openly admit to.

After a moment, he pushed off the countertop and stretched. “Alright, I’ve gotta get back before the plastic detective pulls a lead out of his... well, if he even has one.” He was halfway to the door when he stopped, snapping his fingers like he’d almost forgotten. “Oh—hey. What are you doing for the big day?”

You lowered your phone. “What?”

“Connor’s activation day, his birthday, whatever? It’s like...” He waved a hand vaguely. “What, a couple of weeks out? You’re the one who’s all lovey-dovey with him, I figured you’d have some whole thing planned.”

Your thumb hovered over the send button on the video. The drones were still playing behind you, the vacuum still whirring dutifully after every dropped screw, and the workshop was alive with noise—but all of it suddenly felt very far away.

“Yeah,” you said, a little too quickly. “Yeah, no, I’ve got—it’s handled.”

Gavin squinted at you. Then a slow, shit-eating grin spread across his face. “You forgot.”

“I didn’t forget.”

“You completely forgot.”

“Gavin—”

“That’s brutal, Handler.” He was already backing out of the workshop, both hands raised in mock surrender, looking far too pleased with himself. “Good luck with that.”

The kennel doors slid shut behind him, and you stood there, phone still in hand, the unsent video of your drones’ new friend glowing on the screen.

Connor’s birthday. Connor’s birthday.

You looked down at the swarm, still happily leading the little vacuum on a wild goose chase across the workshop floor. Hera paused mid-flight to tilt toward you, as if sensing the shift in your mood.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered. “We’ve got two weeks. That’s plenty of time.”

Hera beeped, unconvinced.

Chapter Text

AUGUST 1ST, 2039
11:10 A.M.

Your morning was cut short when dispatch sent you on a ‘found property call,’ to see if your drones could identify a suspicious item. According to the report, there was a bag with some cables leading out of it, which was left plugged in overnight at 646 Monroe Street. No one had come back to claim it, but it was too big to be something you’d leave behind on accident.

Pulling up to the address, you found yourself in front of a cathedral. A sign at the entrance welcomed you to St. Lucy’s Cathedral, First Church of rA9. Behind the building was yet another cathedral, and in front of it was, in the true spirit of Detroit, a casino.

You slid your vest on in the back of the 3O van, two drones hanging there at full charge. You’d brought only Ares and Athena along for this one, sensors tuned to check for a wide range of explosives. “Rise and shine, you guys. We’re in no rush today, so take it slow,” you activated them with a word of caution. As they rose into the air beside you, it came time to get to work.

Police Line - Do Not Cross, stone stairs leading to ornate doors and chilled air. When you got there, he was already kneeling in the aisle within.

Surrounded by stained glass and carved stone, you could have sworn you caught a glimpse of an angel—the ‘warrior’ kind, more so than the ‘messenger’ kind, but still. He was all straight-backed and serious, a well-built frame clad in the uniform of a protector, and he even had that golden ring like a miniature halo at his temple. The android studied the floor, brow furrowed in concentration, surely thinking a thousand thoughts in the time you spent taking in the singular sight.

Then he swiped his fingers through a trail of dust and proceeded to lick them clean.

“Dozens of androids passed through this place yesterday alone,” Connor muttered in a low, concentrated tone.

He advanced on one knee to check underneath a pew, and your drones curiously followed him down. You leaned over to watch, too. “Hi, Connor.”

“I was designed to investigate where there isn’t enough information, but here, there’s too much,” he rambled on, emerging from under the seat with a broken biocomponent in hand. Someone must have discarded it during a service. But after analyzing the android part, he discarded it too, having decided it irrelevant. Only then was he free to turn to you, with a, “Sorry. Hello.—Handler? What are you doing here?”

Figuring the answer was obvious, you teased him instead. “Oh, I’m not really here. I’m a figment of your imagination. You’re hallucinating, ooOOoo...”

His eyes widened a little, and his LED blinked rapidly for a fraction of a second, before returning to normal. Did he actually believe you..?

You laid it on. “And your hallucination says you’re doing a great job, and to believe in yourself, and that you should... uh... whatcha got, there?”

Click. Connor had a flashlight shining into your chest, and he craned his neck to the side like he was looking for something behind you. Then, satisfied, he stowed the flashlight and met your quizzical look with a light smile. “Hallucinations don’t cast shadows. You’re real,” he explained simply, earning a smirk from you in return. “What were you going to tell me to do?”

“Well, I was trying to be cute about it, but I do kinda need you to clear out while we make sure nothing’s about to explode,” you gestured to your drones.

“You don’t need to try to be cute,” Connor addressed your side remark before dropping to the more serious matter. He nodded to guide your attention to the abandoned item, a dark duffel bag sitting at the edge of one of the front pews. “The seat next to it was empty during yesterday’s church service. It’s been inert for at least a day, so chances are that anything in it is stable. But, I trust you to make sure... I’ll wait outside. Please be safe.”

“I’ll try.”

The android brushed a hand over your forehead to plant a kiss before leaving. In response, you caressed his cheek, pressing affectionately against the cool layer of machinery underneath. A new kind of moment went unacknowledged between you, the kind that came with a new appreciation for the nonzero chance, however small, that any routine operation could be the last time you’d ever see each other.

But you did have a job to do. You straightened your posture, Connor adjusted his tie, and he shuffled outside, leaving you to start your investigation.

That damn detective. He left, but he stayed in your thoughts, even as you set to work with your drones. He was so supportive, so sure that your every wish was his command. And he hardly seemed to ask anything in return, ever, even with his birthday coming up. Maybe he didn’t know what he deserved, you thought to yourself, maybe that’s why he hadn’t mentioned it to you.

There was no question about it. You had to surprise him with something special.

...

AUGUST 1ST, 2039
11:15 A.M.

There was no question about it. He had to surprise you with something special.

The RK wandered around outside the cathedral, nothing to do but analyze while he waited for your all-clear signal. You caught him off-guard today, already back in your element, sending him videos and joking around. It took seeing you in action to be sure, but you were going to be okay, and so was he. That felt like something worth celebrating.

That, and the anniversary of his activation was coming up soon. It was a day he wanted to share with you—but it would be rude to make a big deal out of it, wouldn’t it? No, it would be better to surprise you with a small occasion, one that didn’t have to be about him. And now that you were in a better place, it could be a good chance to finally tell you what was on his mind...

Besides, the timing seemed right. It wasn’t like you had any plans that day already.

Connor thought through the details of his idea for a while longer, absently pacing around the premises he’d already searched. He didn’t have to wait long; soon after, your identifier showed up over the police radio, followed by a confident, “Negative findings, scene’s clear. Come on back.”

So he did. He retraced his steps back into the building, where you and your drones were still examining the bag up front. Athena was trying to peek inside, while you sat on the ground with Ares hovering beside you, inspecting the cables plugged into the wall.

Now he was cleared to take a closer look, too, Connor leaned over you with a forearm against the wall, watching the object of his interest from above.

“He returns,” you acknowledged him, cheerfully.

“I... do,” he agreed, uncertainly. “Have you found anything so far?”

You shook your head, about to point out the bag’s closed zipper, when your radio crackled to life again. This time, it was dispatch talking: “All units, disregard the item. Owner has come forward to claim.”

Someone must have called about their lost item, and just like that, the investigation was over. No searching the random bag when he didn’t suspect a crime, not with the owner on its way. It was the most boring possible outcome. Connor pushed smoothly away from the wall, suppressing his disappointment.

Or so he thought. When he looked from the bag back to you, you were already staring at him with an amused smile pulling at one side of your face. “Aww, Connor. You were so ready to find something,” you sympathized.

That was you, wasn’t it, always finding some way to brighten his mood? And it worked, too, he found himself feeling better just being cared for. “It’s good news that I didn’t,” he conceded.

There was nothing left to do here, though, so he helped you stand, and you headed for the doors together. But as you reached the entrance, you stopped and spun to face him, letting your drones go on ahead.

“Ah, by the way,” you began with a casual toss of your hand. “You don’t have anything going on for the next couple of weeks, do you?”

Crap. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it, if he told you he had plans? “Aside from a number of work deadlines, my schedule is completely clear. Why do you ask?” the android bluffed.

Your voice jumped a few pitches higher. “Oh, no reason. Just curious. Thinking of staying in. Wondered if you were, too. Doesn’t matter, I’m ready for a nice, uneventful month.”

“Are you sure? ...That’s multiple reasons.”

“You’re multiple reasons.”

He blinked. You scratched your head with a look of, I don’t know what that was supposed to mean, either.

“Well, let me know if there’s anything you’d like to do,” Connor replied after a pause. “If there’s any place you want to go, or any hobby you want to try...”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, I mean, unless we want to keep things lowkey,” you stammered.

Connor smiled back. “Of course.”

That was close!