A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm so excited to have a little more Connor in all of our lives. I have this Connor x OC story planned out and will be updating regularly. It takes place shortly after the androids' successful peaceful civil rights movement version of the storyline, where all survive and Hank and Connor remain friends. I realized FFnet has some auto-formatting stuff in place, so it removed a lot of the code formatting I had used for Connor's narrative. Ah well, it was more for visuals, anyway.

This was just a quick and fun prologue to get us started, and Chapter 1 will follow shortly to set up the story and fill in all the gaps. Note that this is going to be more of a slow burn to allow for better character development, starting with the next Chapter 1. This is a T story, but Hank's character is generous with his potty-mouth just like in the game... please let me know if I need to adjust my rating to M just for Hank's language and I shall do so. Please leave a review and follow so I know that it's a story worth continuing!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fanfic and my OCs!

Prologue: The Mission

December 11, 2038. 1:04pm.

"With all due respect, sir, you can go fuck your hat."

/ / / / … Searching… / / / /

Colloquialism not found.

While Connor could not definitively conclude why it would be of any use for a human to have sexual relations with a hat (or why suggesting such a thing could be considered respectful), he had a feeling that his partner was not speaking literally. A quick scan revealed increased temperatures and tense body language in both Lieutenant Anderson and Captain Fowler, and even as an android he could detect the fury in their expressions. While it was unlikely that a fist fight would break out between a captain and his lieutenant (current readings listed it as a 38% chance), Connor still calculated the most effective way to intervene, should it come to that. He had learned very quickly that his readings of Hank were wildly inaccurate compared to the rest of his features; when it came to Hank, the best way to operate was to prepare for the unexpected.

"Fine, Hank," said Fowler, shaking his head. He appeared to be unfazed by Hank's rather explicit suggestion, if a bit exasperated. "I'll go fuck my hat, and while I do that, you can do your goddamn job."

"What's a precinct doing accepting bodyguard assignments, anyhow, huh?" refuted Hank, leaning forward in his seat. "That's not my job. That's not any cop's job, let alone mine or Connor's."

Connor was certain that he detected a minor flinch from the Captain, whose regular speech pattern hesitated for 2.04 seconds before he answered.

"That's none of your concern," Fowler said firmly. "What does concern you is that I've been ordered to assign this mission, and I am assigning it to you."

Mission acquired.

/ / / / …Generating sub-objectives… / / / /

"Ah, shit, you just had to use that word, didn't you?" Connor caught Hank staring at the LED on his temple, its change in colour likely giving away that he was already processing the information. Hank stood up from his chair so abruptly that it fell over, its wheels left spinning awkwardly in the air. He braced his hands on Fowler's desk, the anger in his expression subsiding in favour of begrudging defeat.

"Seriously, Jeffrey. Why me? How the hell am I physically fit enough for this job, let alone actually qualified–"

"I should have made you turn in your badge the you the second you punched Perkins in the nose," Captain Fowler said, and Hank groaned, burying his head into his hands. "Hell, I should have made you turn in your badge years ago when you first developed this shitty attitude. But I didn't, Hank. This is the least you could do for me."

"You're seriously going to punish me for that? The guy was a prick! If anything, punching him in the nose made him look better."

"In any case," Fowler carried on, sitting up straighter in his seat. "It'll be an easy job; maybe even boring. I think you both could use a little bit of boring after last month. Your job is to be security detail for Jeremy Morrow and his daughter, Ariel. Morrow is one of the diplomats serving as a liaison between President Warren and the androids in the peace negotiations. Connor, I shouldn't have to say this, but this is a mission you can't talk about with other androids. Okay?"

/ / / / …Processing… / / / /

Conflict of interest identified: Mission details secured. Exception(s): Hank Anderson; Jeffrey Fowler; Jeremy Morrow; Ariel Morrow.

680,000 search results for Jeremy Morrow, Diplomat. 369,000 search results for Ariel Morrow, daughter of Diplomat.

More details needed to narrow search.

Connor's LED flickered yellow once again as Fowler continued: "They've kept this news hush from the media, so his involvement is going to be rather unknown. The androids have demonstrated nothing but a desire for peace between us so far, which should make it nice and simple for you. All you gotta do is make sure that they don't die while the negotiations are still happening. Okay? His daughter isn't involved politically, but just in case, they want security detail for her too."

Hank shook his head but remained quiet, which was the most subservient action he had performed all afternoon. Connor took this opportunity to contribute constructively to the conversation, now that their mission had been decided. While Hank had knocked his chair over and was now pacing the perimeter of Fowler's office, Connor was seated politely across from him in his own still in-tact chair.

"Do you have a file, Captain?" he asked. "A briefing, perhaps, of the Morrows?"

"I normally would, but Mr. Morrow has asked to meet you both in person first. Tomorrow evening, they're expecting you at their house. They've assured me they'll inform you of everything you need to know."

"It's very unusual to walk into an assignment without being prepared first," Connor commented, concern evident in his tone.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you're used to 'unusual' by now, Connor." Fowler grabbed a pen and a post-it note off his desk, hastily scribbling down an address in northern Detroit. "Just go to this address tomorrow. Dinner is at 6pm. Dress well – Mr. Morrow has told me that it's a dinner party."

Hank's eyes widened and he kicked the chair so hard it skid across the floor, clanging loudly against the metal filing cabinet in the corner.

"A dinner party?! For fuck's sake–"