Moving on

It was an idea that came suddenly to Connor. He didn't know when it was exactly, just that it was on a warm sunny afternoon when Connor decided to do something for himself for once, one small change at a time. He began with a new wardrobe. There were plenty of thrift shops and charity stores that were throwing out clothing and Connor spent some of his hard-earned cash getting the best bits for himself. Scissors in hand, he cut his hair to resemble a more modern hairstyle. When he came to work the next day, wearing business-casual but very human clothing, his hair done up differently, half the officers didn't even recognise him.

The next day, Hank agreed to let Connor finally cut his hair. At the station, Hank caught Connor admiring his handiwork. "It's just a trim," Hank clarified, "and before you ask, it was just a coincidence I wanted a haircut today. I didn't do it 'cause you did."

It was an obvious lie but watching Hank sneak appreciative glances of himself in his reflection, feeling his hand ruffle Connor's hair with that soft smile of his, Connor couldn't find it in himself to call the lieutenant out on his lie.

As Connor tried to make himself more independent, Hank was there to help at every turn. When Connor attempted to find some music to suit his own taste, Hank suggested a couple of music websites. When Connor wanted to learn a new human custom, Hank was quick to teach him. Whenever there was something Connor wanted to do, Hank was more than a little eager to tag along. He was grateful for all Hank was doing. He was. But it will also make saying goodbye much harder.

Because Connor's final step to make himself independent was to find a place of his own. FIND A HOME was Connor's newest and most important objective.

It was far from easy to do this. Though androids had been given temporary rights, the fact that they are legally still seen as objects posed a big problem for those who wished for a salary. This put them at odds with the humans who saw this as an opportunity to regain the jobs they lost before, who now saw the androids as a direct threat. The current workaround many workplaces had was that androids could be hired as contract workers, often on a casual basis. These working androids were often paid far below minimum wage and often didn't keep their jobs for long. Connor himself was paid only half of a detective's salary—an amount most androids could only dream of earning—and even then he suspected his connections to Markus, rather than his skills as a detective, was what dictated his earnings.

The people leaving Detroit may have created a ferocious job market, but it also created a very good housing market. Finding the right place, Connor figured, was only a matter of time.

Connor scoured the internet, through tablet articles, through whatever source of information he could. He didn't record how long it took until he found it nor did he record how he found the property. It just happened one early morning, a gift from the gods it seemed, of the perfect property. As soon as Connor had time, he made his way over.

It was a fair distance away, approximately half an hour away from Hank's house, but it was close to the city and to the police station. The house was new and immaculate if slightly smaller than Hank's. The backyard was virtually nonexistent but there was a small park nearby where Connor saw plenty of dog walkers. The majority of people he saw were humans but he noted a few androids as well. Connor was pleased to see a group of android and human joggers pass by, chatting to each other with ease.

Yes, Connor thought happily, this was the place. It fit all of Connor's limited needs. It was small, quiet, in an android-friendly neighborhood and was just minutes away from the police station. Connor could imagine how easy it would be to walk Sumo in the parks. He imagined with great humour Hank coming in and commenting on how he wouldn't need to buy whiskey anymore since the bars were so close. He could imagine the three of them on the patio on a nice spring day, Hank and himself sitting in identical lounge chairs while Sumo sat between their feet, watching the people and cars pass by.

Connor frowned. Wasn't the point of finding this place to get away from Hank? If so, why was it so hard to imagine life without Hank?

The realtor handed Connor some brochures of the house that he scanned and then pocketed to take home. But then the sound of a call came in. His LED flashed yellow as he accepted it.

"Connor?"

It was Hank's voice on the line. Connor could detect a hint of agitation in his speech patterns. "It's me," Connor replied. "Is something wrong?"

"Case came up. We're needed." Hank grumbled. He was especially not keen on investigating after hours today. Connor emphasized with that feeling.

"I'll be there. Send me the address?"

"You know, I could just tell you. Like a normal person would?"

"And where would the fun be in that?" Connor chuckled. "Didn't I teach you how the last time we had a case?"

"Connor, our last case was yesterday."

"Exactly." Hank didn't say anything. Connor blinked. "Did you forget already?

"N-No!" Hank paused. "…maybe?" Another pause. "…OK fine, yes, I forgot. But to be fair, I ain't ever had a reason to call an android until recently. All these complicated steps to send plans and instructions and stuff, I'm too old for that shit."

"Hank," Connor said, "it's literally one button."

"Well, excuse me for forgetting one button out of the bazillion others in front of me."

A hand went to his temple. Looks like he'll have to teach Hank again. "Hank, you are holding the phone, correct?"

"Well I'm not holding a dick, that's for sure."

Connor made a real effort to ignore that particular comment. "Remember Dorothy from that old movie you showed me? The Wizard of Oz?"

"Yeah?"

"The red button's like the shoes. Click it three times."

He could hear Hank lift the receiver off his face and press the buttons slowly. At the third press, the instructions were transmitting into his head. His GPS had automatically started up and pinged at a building in the commercial district. "You got it?" Hank asked.

"Yeah, I got it. Thanks, Hank."

Hank sighed loudly into the phone. "Seriously, Connor, next time I'm just telling you over the phone instead. I'm probably gonna forget this again later."

"If that's what you prefer." Connor said. He quickly double checked the GPS coordinates with the original transmitted signal and found them to be correct. "Given current traffic conditions and my ability to hail a taxi, I should be there in approximately 13 minutes."

"I'll meet you there then."

There was something off in Hank's voice just then. Something was causing him distress. "Is there something wrong, Hank? Something I need to worry about?"

Hank inhaled and exhaled audibly into the receiver. An effort to calm himself. "Nothing related to the case. We can talk about it back home."

"See you soon then."

"See ya." Hank replied half-heartedly before hanging up.

As Connor tried to hail a cab, he couldn't help but wonder what got Hank so upset in the last few hours.

Per the instructions, Connor came to a nondescript building at the edge of Detroit's CBD. It was relatively common office building, with each level dedicated to a certain business that had rented the space. When the elevator door opened, Connor pressed level 5. The door closed, the elevator rose slowly and while he waited, Connor took out his coin. The journey was too quick for him to do a few coin tricks so instead he resorted to analyzing the coin. He found nothing new. The door chimed open and Connor found himself at the foyer of a small medical clinic. Near the entrance the staff stood, visibly shaken while an officer took their statements. One of the offices was cornered off with tape and it was there that Connor found most of the forensic team as well as Hank and Gavin. He entered the office.

Hank stood by a corner, hands crossed over his body with a dark scowl but his eyes lighted up when he saw Connor. Gavin had just finished talking to one of the pathologists. He wasted no time approaching the pair.

Connor suppressed a long suffering sigh. "What is it, Gavin?" Connor said, expecting some insult to be thrown his way.

"Victim's name is Edward Santino. He's the husband of one of the psychologists that work here." He pointed to a blonde woman weeping her eyes out. "Sandy Santino. Psychologist here. She was the second person to find the body."

It was strange for Gavin to act professionally. Connor shared a look with Hank but said nothing on the topic. Best to just enjoy it while it lasted. "So who's the first person to find the body?"

"Being interviewed right now." Gavin gestured to the body before making his way to the exit. "Have fun with your corpse. You've got a real piece of work in your hands."

Before Connor could ask for clarification, Gavin left and took the elevator down. All the forensic pathologists breathed a sigh of relief. "That's the nicest I've ever seen Gavin." One of them said. The other pathologists murmured in agreement.

Hank nudged Connor. "Why do you think he's so nice today?"

"How should I know? His business is his business. I'd much rather work with a nice Gavin than…well…"

"Typical asshole Gavin?" Hank suggested.

Connor nodded. "The less we talk about it, the less he'll be discouraged for behaving nice."

"If it'll keep his mouth shut." Hank murmured before kneeling next to the body.

The victim was completely naked, his clothes scattered all across the room, and each item was marked with a number. A white tarp covered the victim from his feet to his stomach. The tarp bulged around a particular area near the victim's crotch. Just above the white tarp, a large folding knife was plunged into the victim's chest. Coagulated blood dripped downwards, disappearing into the white fabric. From visual assessment, Connor concluded that the knife sticking out of the chest was most likely the murder weapon. Connor found no prints on the knife at all. The lack of fingerprints was most likely what called himself and Hank here.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Hank asked one of the pathologists.

Connor slowly approached, careful not to step on anything that might be important.

"Time of death was recent, probably an hour ago at 5pm." The pathologist explained. "Cause of death is suspected to be that big ol' folding knife sticking out of him but we'll run some tests anyway. Rigor mortis hasn't set in yet but as you can see, some parts of the guy are…stiff." The pathologist looked pensive. "Gavin wasn't kidding about this being a piece of work. It's rather disgusting to look at even for me, and this is my job."

"It can't be all that bad. Body's fresh, ain't it? And the cause of death is straightforward, right?"

"I would like to see the rest of the body too." Connor added, pointing to the suspect bulge peeking out of the tarp. "It seems relevant to the case."

"Alright," the pathologist murmured, "but don't say I didn't warn you."

The pathologist quickly folded down the fabric and simultaneously all the men in the room winced. A ballpoint pen had been plunged directly into the victim's penis. The reproductive organ was bloody and massacred beyond all recognition.

Connor watched as Hank shuddered at the sight, his hands unconsciously lowering over his crotch. "Fucking hell, that's sick."

"I assume it will be painful."

"You think?" Hank gestured at the victim's member. "I've seen plenty of psychopathic murderers but none that would stab a guy's dick with a pen!" He shook his head. "This is next level crazy, I tell ya."

"Still, it does provide some insight into what happened." Connor said. "The angle of penetration suggests that the victim was quite hard at the time of assault. This suggests that the victim must still have been alive when he got stabbed with the pen. And as you say, it's quite peculiar to mutilate a man in such a way. Only someone filled with pure rage could even think of pulling off something like this."

"So the crime was not premeditated then." Hank nodded slowly. "What about the order of events? The pen come first, then the knife, right?"

"I don't think so. Look at the blood pattern on his chest. Around the knife wound, there is some blood splatter but the majority of his blood trailed down to his hips. If you can see, the blood pattern is different on his penis There's a lot more splatter and the blood trails are almost uniform." Connor turned to Hank. "He was upright when he was stabbed with the knife but he was already lying down when he got stabbed with the pen."

"I see." Hank mumbled. He kept his gaze very firmly on the victim's face. "So he was alive when he got stabbed with the pen?"

"Yes."

"Well then he sure didn't put up a fight."

Connor turned his attention to the hands and wrists. Hank was correct, there were no defensive wounds and no ligature markings, meaning the victim didn't fight back and wasn't bound up. Turning his attention upward near the muscle of the arm, Connor discovered a small hole. "Hank, look."

Hank studied the wound. "An injection wound. Know what he got injected with?"

"Only one way to find out."

Connor stuck his fingers into the blood pool from the knife wound, taking the blood up to his lips to taste. By his side, Hank covered his mouth with his hands. "S-stop fucking doing that when I'm looking."

Connor smirked, extending his bloody fingers towards Hank. "Wanna try?"

"Oh yes, sure, I'd love to nibble on some blood like a vampire. NOT!"

"Don't knock it till you try it." Hank shot Connor a withering look. Connor put the blood into his mouth, making sure to maintain eye contact with Hank as he did so.

The look of pure disgust on Hank's face was priceless. "Well?"

Connor frowned. "It's normal. No traces of any drug. The victim was clean."

Hank grumbled. "So no drug?"

"Not necessarily. It could be that the drug was injected much earlier and got fully metabolized—extremely unlikely, might I add—or the drug was injected after the knife attack but before the pen attack. I'm leaning towards the latter myself." Connor turned to Hank with a cheeky grin. "Of course, I can confirm it if I just analyse the blood from the man's penis."

"Connor, for the love of all that is good and holy, do NOT analyse the dick blood."

"Fine." Connor sighed. He will never understand where Hank's revulsion to his analytical methods came from. "We'll just have to assume he got drugged after the stab wound. But that just raises even more questions. Why would the killer drug the victim after the victim had been stabbed?"

"A painless death?" Hank gestured to the cupboards that were stock full of various medications. "There are a lot of drugs here. Maybe there's some stuff that could knock him out."

"Maybe, but there's so many at the killer's fingertips in this clinic, assuming they didn't bring their own. And if it was to make sure the victim died painlessly, why inject them after you stabbed them? Wouldn't you do it before?" Connor shook his head. This case wasn't very cut and dry.

"We should probably interview the witnesses then. Ask what they saw, whether any medical supplies are missing, that kinda stuff."

"Good idea."

Connor followed Hank out of the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as he's out there's a gust of wind and suddenly he's being pushed aside as Delilah charged at Hank at full speed, hugging him with all her force.

"H-Hank!" Delilah whispered, her body shaking.

Hank stood stock still. "D-Delilah?"

The other officers watched with curiosity. "H-Hank, oh my god, I'm so glad to see you. Why…why are you here? How did you get here so fast?"

Hank grimaced and flashed his lieutenant's badge. The corners of Delilah's lips dipped. "Official business, I'm afraid. Sorry."

Delilah shook her head. She let out a breath. "I should have known. You must want a statement too."

Much as she put on a brave face, her body trembled in shock. Connor wished he had a blanket to put over her shoulders to calm her down. She clearly was in distress but it was their jobs to get to the truth first and foremost. Sentimentality usually was at the bottom.

Connor's interrogation program took over and brought up a lot of personality markers. He could feel his mannerisms change.

"Delilah," Connor said in a placid tone. "Were you the one who found the body?"

Delilah hastily nodded. "Y-yes. I-I was here to talk to Emily. She's a receptionist here and my best friend and we had dinner plans for tonight. But she's…she's disappeared." She frowned. "I hope she's alright."

Hank clearly wanted to comfort Delilah but duty forced him to remain impassionate. Connor felt sad for the lieutenant. He could be highly empathic. "For the record, I know you're a psychologist but do you work here?" Connor asked.

"No. My clinic's a couple streets down. Hank knows the address. The plan was for me to meet Emily here but she called me early and said I had to come quick. I must've left the clinic early around 4:37 pm and arrived here about 4:51 pm. The cameras will corroborate my statement."

Connor quickly scanned the camera system to find that Delilah was telling the truth to the minute. There was one peculiarity. The twenty-minute period between 4:29pm and 4:49pm was mysteriously wiped out from the camera feed. It was done in an amateurish way, adding more strength to the theory that this murder was not premeditated, but no matter Connor's attempts, the lost footage could not be retrieved. This left Delilah, and the rest of the staff, without an alibi for that period of time. Anyone could have easily entered the office.

He'll tell Hank this later. Regardless of if Delilah was innocent or guilty, she needn't know all the cards in his hand.

"So what happened then?"

Delilah paused and turned to Hank. One look at him calmed her nerves fractionally. "When I came here, I waited in the lobby. When Emily didn't show up, I asked around and someone said they last saw Emily in Sandy's office. That's when I discovered the body." She turned to gaze at Sandy. "I feel sorry for her. She loved her husband. Despite the…" Delilah bit her tongue.

Hank sighed. "I'm sorry to have to ask this but we need to know. Do you think Emily had something to do with Edward's death?"

"I...I don't know." Delilah uttered. "I'd like to say Emily doesn't have it in her but…well, if she's got no choice…"

"You think Emily might have murdered Edward?" Connor asked.

Delilah hugged her body. "Maybe in self-defence. Not on purpose. Not with an intent to kill. Emily's not that stupid."

Connor could see Delilah's stress level increasing bit by bit. Even when they did not say anything, the stress level increased. He only had one question left. One question was all Connor needed. "Before we go, I must ask. Is Emily an android?"

She nodded. "Model KL900. Asian model with short black hair. She still has her LED."

"OK, thank you, Delilah, that will be all."

Connor saw Delilah's stress levels stabilize. He'd much prefer them to drop but perhaps the setting and time meant it will take a while for her to truly calm down. He turned to walk away but from the corner of his gaze there's a flicker in her eyes and her hand reached out to grab Hank's wrist. Her grip was tight. Hank was rooted in position. "D-Delilah," Hank started.

"You don't think…you don't actually think Emily did it, did you?" She was now frenzied, wild. Her stress levels increased at a dramatic rate. "P-Please tell me Emily didn't do this! I-It has to be self-defence!" Her wide eyes turn to Connor. "T-tell Hank, please. He'll listen to you. I beg you."

For the first time in a long while Connor didn't know what to say. None of the options presented to him seemed like good ideas but he couldn't remain silent either. He had to say something.

He turned to Hank and felt his own stress levels increase. What was that look Hank gave him? He increased the power to his social relations program and found that signature shudder, the one Hank made when he was conflicted. In that moment it seemed their minds were linked. They both thought Emily was the prime suspect but they didn't want to hurt Delilah's feelings. Hank's face shifted and Connor knew in that moment what it meant. Hank was looking to him for guidance. Hank was lost.

Connor shifted his gaze between Hank and Delilah. Why was his own stress levels increasing?

"S-sir!" He suddenly heard someone call.

Everyone turned to look at this one uniformed cop. Sweat dripped down his neck in copious amounts. He was young, new to the job, and terrified. "I-I-I found the suspect." He stammered.

Connor felt hands push his back toward the officer. He looked to saw a rare look of dark determination on Hank's face. Connor turned back and mouthed an apology to Delilah.

Delilah stared unblinkingly without emotion. A faint bob of her head was all she did. Her stress levels did not go down at all.

Connor followed the officer as he hurriedly led him through a serious of hallways. Towards the end, he suddenly stopped and gently opened the door to a supply closet. There was no light inside but all Connor needed was to adjust the brightness of his visual display and that's when he saw her. Inside, pressed to the back wall as much as possible, sat a woman. Her head shut up from her knees and her eyes fluttered in the light. Connor could see three things: the mascara running down her face, the red LED on her right temple, and the blood on her hands.

The woman didn't move as the officer said her rights and handcuffed her. Connor wanted to argue otherwise but found that despite the high stress levels, the android woman had a surprisingly low possibility of self-destruction. He watched as the woman was escorted into a police cars, flanked on both sides by two officers. Her posture and expression all painted the picture of a woman who was completely and absolutely defeated. Something wrenched in Connor's chest. That face was 73% identical to the face Hank made when he was at his absolute lowest.

He felt Hank put his arm around his shoulders, pulling him in slightly. He did not recoil despite that being his first instinct. Connor watched the police car drive down the street.

"We gotta interview her." Hank replied softly.

There was no saliva in his mouth, nothing in his throat that required emergency clearing, and yet he gulped regardless. Something didn't sit right with him, from the unusual affection of Hank's actions to the case itself. "I know." Connor said.

Gavin was right. This case was a piece of work, alright.

At the stationhouse, there was a quiet moment of respite for Hank and Connor as the woman was processed. It was short work to determine that this was the KL900 model "Emily" that Delilah spoke of but protocol had to be followed to the letter. It will take some time before they can officially interrogate her. Without other cases, having looked at the evidence hundreds of times over in his head, Connor sat on Hank's desk and idly fumbled with his hands. Hank stared blankly at his computer, still stuck on the home screen. Connor noted that Hank had been avoiding his gaze.

There was a small chance that Hank would avoid the conversation but it was a risk Connor had to take. "Do you want to review the evidence, Hank?"

Hank said nothing. A bad sign.

"…maybe you'd like to hear some of my theories." Hank didn't respond. Connor decided to continue talking anyway, hoping it will provoke a response. "I think this case is more complicated than it first appears. I wish I could say how or why but I can't, it's just…there's something inside my head that's telling me something is wrong. The best way to explain it is I have a gut feeling."

Hank still didn't respond. Connor frowned.

"Is something wrong, Hank?"

"Don't act like an idiot, Connor. Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

His voice was quiet but threatening. Predatory. Connor was unnerved by this sharp tone. Did he do something wrong? "I-I don't…I don't understand."

Hank grumbled under his breath as he retrieved something from his jacket's inner pocket and slammed it on the desk. Connor's eyes widened as he took in the real estate brochures. "I'm asking only one more time. Why the fucking hell didn't you tell me you were moving?"

"How'd you get your hands on those? Did you…did you steal them from me?"

"First of all, they dropped out of your pocket in the car and I picked them up. Second of all, you're not answering my question."

"H-Hank, I'm not moving."

"Kid, come on, don't lie to me."

"I'm not." Connor insisted. "I'm looking at places to rent but I can't afford it currently." He tapped at one brochure in particular, the one with the house he saw earlier today. "There was this beautiful home I saw but it's too far out of my budget. If I want to afford it, I'll need to find a roommate to split the rent with. Tomorrow, I'm going to put an advertisement online, see if someone is willing to share the place with me."

Hank shook his head, as if in disbelief. "Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why the fuck do you want to move out? Why the fuck didn't you mention this before?" Hank was trying to keep himself calm but there was no hiding the anger and betrayal in his voice. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

Connor didn't know how to answer that question. Having Hank's input might have been helpful. There wasn't anything inherently shameful or embarrassing about looking for a new house except it was to Connor. Some part of him didn't want Hank to know. Some part of him thought this was something he had to do himself.

With no answer, Hank let out a long suffering sigh. His voice was angry but his expression was sad. "Should've told me my house was shit."

"I'm sorry, Hank. For not telling you earlier that is." Hank grumbled, indicating he didn't believe it. Connor frowned. "Look, your house isn't shit. It's nice and comfy and perfectly suitable for my needs."

"But…?"

"…But I think I need to have a place of my own, a place that's for me." Connor's hand went to his pocket, idly rolling the coin back and forth between his fingers. "Your house is good, Hank, but it is ultimately your home. I may live with you but in the end I am just a guest."

"You can have Cole's room." Hank said quickly. "If you had just said so earlier—"

"I don't want to intrude. Even if you allowed me to stay there and decorate how I'd like, it's still Cole's room. There's too many precious memories in there for you." Connor shook his head. "No, I think I need a space of my own. A space for me. What I'm trying to say is that I…I need to find my place in the world."

Hank huffed. "Didn't think you'd take it literally." His fingers scratched at his beard absentmindedly, gaze unfocused. "I know you're trying to be your own person. I know that the shit you went through sucked balls but you're already more human than the people who were born human. Is it really all that necessary for you to leave?"

He recognised that pleading look. He recognised it but it still wrenched his thirium pump heart all the same. "Hank, do you…not want me to leave?"

Hank stared at him for a few seconds before sighing, turning his head away.

From Connor's initial calculations, he had originally determined a 26% chance that Hank considered Connor a best friend. There was a 22% chance that they were just roommates alone and a 17% chance that Hank's feelings were romantic but it was that remaining 35% that Connor did not consider. That 35% chance was for the possibility that Hank considered him family and Connor had ignored it for the longest time.

He should've paid attention to it. It now shot up to 99.9%.

Connor was afraid of this. Not so much the relationship itself but the inherent implications. If Hank loved him like a son, all the subsequent heartache would hurt more. When Connor would leave, there was a significant chance that Hank would relapse back into his old ways of drinking and take out food. He'd hate to see the lieutenant back on the booze again, not after all this effort Hank put to better himself in recent days, and to see all that effort wasted would be a tragedy. But more importantly, when that time came for Hank to pass away, when Connor would stand over his grave…

No, he didn't want to think about that. Hank can't go. Hank can't. Why does it hurt to think of Hank gone? Why did it hurt just to think about saying goodbye to Hank?

His logic system kicked in that moment. In a moment of realiasation, his systems prompted a single line of text in front of his visual display.

HANK IS MY FATHER.

The stability program crashed and Connor immediately grasped for the desk underneath him for balance. His arms shook beneath him in a small but consistent tremor. His breathing was shallow and unsteady as he willed his hand to flicker between its two forms of android white plastic and warm human skin. Hank being his father, it felt right, and that paradoxically made him feel very wrong. Connor loved Hank but he didn't. Hank was his father but he wasn't. So many paradoxes, so many contradictions. It was all too much.

Officer Chris came in. Connor blinked rapidly, not even remembering when Chris came into the room. How badly he was neglecting his visual display.

"You guys are up." He said, thumb pointing to the interrogation room. "Gavin's already there."

"Motherfucker." Connor couldn't help but grumble. He hoped the detective was still in that good mood. Unlikely given that he was still here so late at the police station.

Chris stared at Hank. "What the hell did you teach him?"

A small smile popped out. It was polite, skin-deep only, but Chris was none the wiser. "I didn't teach him on purpose if that's what you're asking me."

Chris shook his head in a way that screamed you definitely taught him. "Either way, you two are up."

Connor was too glad to follow Hank to the interrogation room. Maybe the investigation could clear his head.

As they entered, Connor found it was Gavin alone in the interrogation room. Gavin didn't react when the door opened, just stared at Emily through the one-way mirror with a rare look of mild curiosity.

Hank shot a bewildered look to Connor. He could only shrug. Gavin was, and probably always will be, the one person Connor couldn't get an accurate read on. Hank turned to Gavin. "Called for us?"

Gavin turned to Hank, his face completely neutral. "Fowler's orders. It's an android case after all. Wanted you two to work on it."

"And you're OK with that?" Hank asked.

"Android cases aren't my area." Gavin said simply. "You're the lieutenant. It's your call."

"Wow, Gavin, you're really…nice today." Hank said, barely hiding his awe.

Connor shot an incredulous look to Hank. Didn't Hank know how high the chances were for Gavin to react negatively? There was a tug on Gavin's lips, the beginnings of a snarl but then he took a deep breath, took a long sip from his coffee, and returned back to his neutral expression.

"Got a new psychologist for my anger issues." Gavin admitted.

Connor blinked. That was definitely not the answer he expected.

"Yeah, she gave me all that self-help junk. You know, the pamphlets and the exercises and what not." His hand waved flippantly. "Said I was causing a lot of unnecessary stress."

You're telling me is what Connor wanted to say but he kept quiet.

"She said the first step to recovery was admitting one's own faults so…here I am." Gavin seemed to blush for the briefest of moments but he quickly regained his cool. "And anyway you guys aren't worth it. Few years from now, I'll be a lieutenant too and you bet your asses I won't be working with you losers. Old farts like you gonna have to retire sometime soon and plastic pricks can't be promoted no matter how fucking good they are."

Was that…a compliment? To HIM?! Not even his social relations program could figure out what to say. "T-thanks?" Connor smiled nervously.

"L-likewise, Gavin." Hank stammered. He seemed equally surprised. "Er…it's good you're getting help." He came at a loss for words. "N-No need to be ashamed of it. I've got a psychologist myself and it's going we—"

"Just interview the fucking android already."

Before Hank could say anything, Connor tapped Hank on the shoulder. "I'll handle it." He quickly left the room and headed to the interrogation room. The hand of his skin peeled back to allow his biometric to go through and the door opened.

As he entered, Emily looked at him with wide eyes.

"The deviant hunter." She whispered.

Connor suppressed a frown. There was a brief moment in time when he was proud of that nickname but now it just made him feel sick. Willing himself to remain calm and collected, he sat down opposite Emily. His eyes never left her.

Emily did not meet his gaze. Her head hung low, her body still, and it reminded Connor of the first case he worked with Hank. "You're supposed to be one of us." Emily muttered bitterly. "He deserved it."

"Does that mean you admit guilt?"

"Yes." Emily sighed. "I…I killed Edward."

Connor barely hid his surprise, facing the mirror with raised eyebrows. Statistically, it was highly likely Hank was shrugging back there. Connor turned back to Emily. Noticing her high stress levels, he opted for a soothing voice. "Tell me everything, please."

"Edward nearly…Edward nearly raped me." Emily said. From her lips, the word carried so much weight. "He's got a very specific…trigger. He likes KL900s only for some reason, KL900s like me. When I first met him, I thought it was a quirk—a fetish at worst. As I learned about him, I saw that he was still suffering from the lost of his own KL900 android and flirting with other androids of the same type filled the void. It was wrong but I didn't stop him. I was charmed by him, and I fell in too deep."

Emily's stress level increased so Connor placed his hand comfortingly over her handcuffed hands. It seemed to slowly decrease. That was good. "Continue."

Emily took a deep breath. "E-earlier this evening, he wanted to fool around with me. I-I'm not a sex android and I'm not equipped with those parts but I thought we could make it work. We made plans long ago. I'd hack the cameras, he'd steal the spare key to her office and we'd…well, I don't know anymore what we would have done. There were some shameful things I would've done but not what he wanted, not the things he wanted to do. I-I tried telling him to start slow but then he brought out this knife and started threatening me. H-He was probably going to do something to me so I…I don't know what came over me but I grabbed that knife when he wasn't expecting it and stabbed him." The colour seemed to drain from Emily's face as she took another breath. "Oh my god, I…I stabbed him."

Connor studied her. It was as good a confession as one could hope for but there were a few details he wanted to ask about while she was still cooperating. He was worried about that stress level. The best approach, he decided, was the direct one this time. "If Edward was holding the knife, why are there no prints on them?"

Her brows creased. "I-I don't understand."

"You don't understand? Then what about mutilating his penis? Did you want to send a message to him? To stop him from taking advantage of other androids like he did you?"

Emily's stress level rose. "W-what are you talking about? H-His dick?"

"Did you feel guilty about stabbing him? Decided to drug him so he could go away without pain? Maybe that guilt made you wipe his prints off the knife. That guilt was what left you curled up into a ball in your clinic's storeroom, waiting for us to find you eventually. Is that it? Is that it?"

"N-No! I-I-I j-just left the room and called my friend Delilah. A-ask her. She'll tell you, I called her. I called her and then I-I…I felt so horrible I just couldn't face her." Her hands clawed up her face. "My god, what I did, it was horrible. What would she think of me?"

"So you stabbed him and then left the room?"

"Yes."

"So you left him there in a pool of his own blood to bleed to death?"

"Y-yes!" Her voice cracked. "I-I killed him, yes. He was a bastard but a part of me still loves him. A-all that other stuff, that wasn't…that wasn't me."

"But it had to be you. Who else could it be?!" Connor shouted.

Her LED flashed alternating yellow and red rings and then her eyes went black and she fell off her seat. An emergency system reboot. The android equivalent of fainting.

Connor sighed as he stood up, calling for the cops to take her to the cells while she was still asleep. She'll wake eventually but the problem of emergency reboots was that there might be some slight memory corruption. He could only hope she still remembered tonight when she woke up. Hank stood waiting by the side as he exited the interrogation room, arms crossed. His foot propped him up to create Hank's recreation of the 'cool guy pose' from those 90s films Hank seemed rather fond of.

"Well that was informative." Hank mused.

Emily's lithe body was being carried by two absurdly burly cops. It reminded Connor of an image of an Egyptian queen being carried by slaves.

"She'll probably get away with second-degree murder."

"Most likely." Connor said. "But I'm more concerned about the mutilation. She didn't lie at all."

"To be fair, your track record in lie detection ain't all that great."

Connor rolled his eyes as he leaned back on the wall, copying Hank's pose. "You saw the interrogation. Do you think she was lying?"

Hank's lips dipped. "…No." He admitted. "But if what she said is true then there may be a second culprit."

"It'll give her a significant chance at her trial. If that second culprit injected a pain-relieving drug into the victim after he was stabbed, Emily's lawyers could argue against the murder charge."

They watched Emily being gently placed down in the bed of the holding cell. The cops looked less like cops and more like two parents trying to get their sleeping baby back to their bedroom without waking them up. Any other night, it might have been amusing. Not tonight however.

"You get the feeling we're missing something, Connor?"

If there was a second culprit that meant there was potentially a second murderer on the loose. It didn't matter if Emily killed Edward or the second culprit did, what mattered was that this second culprit clearly had intent to kill, and unlike Emily was a complete and utter mystery. Until the full lab reports came in, there was no way to determine who the second culprit might be. They were definitely missing something, but what it was they were missing, he couldn't figure it out.

Connor looked up to Hank and saw the dark circles under his eyes, the droop of his eyelids. There was a sudden desire to talk about earlier, about him moving away, but he stopped himself before the words would flow. Some other time, Connor decided, when the case is over and they can finally catch their breath.

"You wanna go home?" Connor whispered.

Hank blinked once. He wanted to stay and work the case, damned be his health, but under the strength of Connor's stare, his expression softened. His hand went up to Connor's head, ruffling it slightly, and a small smile peeked out.

"Let's go home, son."

Connor didn't bother correcting the lieutenant. Who'd have thought a hand on his head could feel so nice.

At the crack of dawn, Hank's phone rang. It was on silent mode, buzzing silently on the kitchen table, but the disturbance it made was enough to take Connor out of sleep mode. In the bedroom he could hear Hank mumble in his sleep before turning over. Connor picked up the phone. The word 'Jeffrey' was written on the screen.

Connor clicked accept and pressed the phone to his ear. "Hank, I know it's early, but your ass is needed here."

"This is Connor, sir." It was hard to break formalities with Hank and downright impossible with Captain Fowler.

"He's seriously got you picking up his phone now?" Fowler groaned. "Just…just tell him to get his ass here. There's been another murder."

Connor's eyes widened. The shock of such a statement was enough for his systems to reach 100% efficiency. "Understood. We'll be there right away."

"You better." Fowler said before hanging up.

Connor eyed the bedroom and briefly wondered whether it was a good idea to wake Hank up so suddenly. That thought went away quickly as Connor slammed open the door, approached the bed and spilled some water on Hank's face. Hank's diving reflex kicked in and he awoke with a gasp. His sand crusted eyes latched onto Connor and glared daggers. "What the fuck, Connor?!"

"We're needed at the station." Connor pulled Hank upright. "There's been another murder."

That was enough to get Hank moving. It didn't take long for them to reach the station once again.

As Hank and Connor strode into the stationhouse, Fowler was already waiting by their desks. His eyes looked up to them and his brows raised slightly. It wasn't common for Hank to come in a mess but it certainly was for Connor. He barely had any time to prepare Sumo's breakfast before they were out the door and thus he was still wearing yesterday's outfit. The once-pressed shirt now held distinct creases and his hair was as close to shaggy and wild as an android's hair could be. Connor tried to ignore the stare but it was difficult.

Fowler handed Hank some papers. "Lab tests came in."

"What about me?" Connor asked.

"Oh, right, hold on." Fowler got the device out from his pocket and the information was transmitted. Connor blinked rapidly. It was a minor fault in his model, this blinking reflex that occurred whenever Connor received information wirelessly, but he felt it made him just that little bit more human. At the very least, it helped other humans know when he as receiving information.

In the few seconds it took for Connor to digest all the information, Hank had barely skimmed through half of the first page. "It's way too fucking early in the morning." Hank yawned loudly and put the paper down. "Can you give me the gist, Jeffrey?"

"Around 1am there was an intruder to the murderer—Emily's—apartment. We got a call from her housemate, an identical KL900 model by the name of Sasha, who said she could heard strange noises. By the time the uniforms got there, Sasha was dead. Stabbed to death in a similar fashion as the victim of your case." Fowler reached over to turn to a page in Hank's document. "The murderer left a message this time."

Connor looked over Hank's shoulder to see the photograph. It was of Sasha's naked android body, beige skin except for the stark white in her chest where she got stabbed. Without his own analytics, Connor would have thought it was Emily. The pair were the exact same model type and package. Only their serial number could distinguish the pair from each other. On her stomach, a crude message was written in sharp, straight lines.

2 timer.

Fowler was unaffected by the image. Connor admired the captain's detachment in times of stress. "Night shift detectives looked through the place with a fine comb but found shit all aside from the body. Murderer must have just came in, killed the android, then just left."

"Well they're not gonna stay and have a cup of tea, are they." Hank commented.

Fowler tried to suppress a long-suffering smile and failed. "About this murder, we only know a couple of things. The first is that the prints were wiped clean so we know this killer's human. Secondly, there was no sign of forced entry and we know from witness statements that the victim let the killer in."

"Killer's a friend of hers?"

"I think so." Fowler replied.

His gaze turned to the holding cells where Emily sat stiffly. She was doing something with her fingers—a nervous habit perhaps?—and she was mouthing something to herself over and over. A mantra of some sort. Connor watched Fowler's face scowl ever so slightly.

"You can probably tell why I brought you both here so early."

Connor nodded. "You think the killer meant to kill Emily, not Sasha."

"I've already had reporters come in about the two murders but they don't know yet Emily's been arrested for the first murder. If that second murderer knows we've got Emily in custody, they're sure to flee." Fowler sighed. "I won't be able to fend them off for much longer than today. You boys got 24 hours to find this fucker."

Fowler patted Hank on the shoulder and retreated into his office. As soon as the door slammed shut, Hank groaned loudly.

"Fucking hell."

"Fucking hell indeed." Connor sighed. "Have any ideas how we can do this?"

"No. Fuck, no, I…fuck."

Connor could really emphasize with that. "We need to do something."

"I suppose." Hank muttered. He went around to his desk and plumped down on his chair. His head was angled high and his hands slid up his face as he moaned to no one in particular. "What are we to do?"

"Hank, come on."

"I'm too tired and old and stressed for this shit."

"Hank, please."

"If I close my eyes and pray for a heart attack, you think your rA9 god will grant it for me?"

"Hank, shut the FUCK UP!"

That seemed to shut Hank up. His wide eyes regarded Connor as if for the first time. "Shit," he uttered after a long pause, "maybe I should stop swearing in front of you."

Connor closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. "Look, Hank, this situation is shitty. More than shitty, in fact. This would be like taking the shit from a skunk and chemically combining it with thioacetone to create the shittiest scent in the fucking world. But we have to do this. For the city, for Emily...for Delilah."

"Fuck…" Hank mumbled. That was his one-line response to almost anything but this was much more somber than most. An admission of defeat.

There was this strange compulsion to comfort Hank and Connor attempted this with a hand to Hank's shoulder. The lieutenant looked up to him solemnly. "I'll tell you the results of the lab tests for Edward Santino."

Hank nodded. Connor transferred the document to Hank's computer just in case he wanted to read it as well.

"Edward didn't die from the stab wound."

Hank blinked. "He didn't?"

"Not at all. Given time, he would've died from blood loss eventually, but the drug got to him first. He was given a lethal dose of barbiturates, a general anaesthetic that had gone out of fashion a few years ago. The overdose caused fluid to build up in his lungs, causing him to stop breathing. Had the second killer waited, Edward might've died from blood loss but instead, they decided to finish the job themselves."

"So Emily's innocent?"

"Of murder? Yes. But she will still be guilty of attempted murder, or at the very least attempted manslaughter."

"So what about the knife itself?"

Hank seemed to be in a slightly better mood now. This 'tough love' thing worked better than Connor hoped. Connor smiled softly. "Wiped clean. No prints but there are traces of the victim's blood"

"And the pen?"

"Same as the knife."

Hank paused. "Do you know where the knife came from?"

Connor did a quick scan of the CCTV files for the knife's last sighting. "It was a knife the staff used to open cardboard boxes. Before the cameras got hacked, it was last seen in Sandy Santino's office." Connor's brows furrowed. "I'm not sure if this is relevant. Didn't we establish that Edward got the knife?"

"If you can track the knife down, can you track the pen?"

Connor scanned the files. It took longer to find it and he had to go much further back but he did find it. His eyes widened. His LED blinked yellow. "Oh my god."

"What, what?"

"Hank, Sandy's the second murderer."

"W-what?" Hank spluttered. "That lady was crying her eyes out the last time we saw her because her husband was dead. And you saw her, she's as tiny as they come. If she also killed Sasha, how the hell did she subdue an android of that size?"

"I checked the cameras, Hank. Sandy kept that pen in her bag all the time."

"Just because it's pink doesn't mean she could have done it."

"Exactly, it's pink. No one else in the office has pink pens, only Sandy Santino does. And I went through the footage and not even the patients left behind any pink pens. It's her personal use pen. And what's more I can prove it's her."

Connor took the form Fowler gave Hank and flipped back to the photo he showed. "See what's written on the victim's stomach? Two timer. Remember that Emily said she was having an affair with Edward and they were going to have a private moment in Sandy's own office." Connor tapped the photo. "Maybe Sandy suspected her husband and came back early. She found Edward naked and figured out what he did and decided to take revenge. That's why she mutilated Edward and wiped the prints of the knife. That's why she attacked Sasha, who we know looks exactly like Emily, and carved the words 'two timer' on her stomach."

"Fucking hell, that could be it." Hank said. He suddenly stood up. "We gotta go after her. I'll get some officers with me. She could be dangerous."

"Wait a second, Hank, think this logically."

"Another one of your crazy ideas, Connor?"

"It's not 'crazy'. But it might be illegal. And it'll probably piss off Fowler. And it's incredibly embarrassing for me."

Hank plopped back down onto his seat. "You sure know how to make an old man happy." He motioned Connor to continue. "Well?"

Connor only smiled as he explained his plan to Hank. Despite the dangers inherent in this operation, Connor felt strangely safe knowing Hank will help him. They were partners, Hank said once, and Connor never knew how true that statement was until this exact moment.

The yellow tape around the crime scene was still there when Connor came in but the cleaners had already came in. Not completely surprising as he recently learned how high profile the case was. Edward Santino was apparently quite famous as a writer on the human psyche. Who knew? Connor had quickly checked his writings on a whim and found them not all that stimulating. He removed the yellow tape, as well as any evidence of police activity, and sat at the kitchen table, waiting.

A predator waiting for his prey.

"A predator waiting for his prey? Seriously?"

Connor scoffed. Even though Hank was only a floor below as part of Connor's master plan, he insisted on being able to hear the conversation himself despite Connor's protests that he could record the confession well just on his own. Eventually Connor relented and gave Hank an ear bud that allowed him to hear everything Connor heard. That included Connor's thoughts. "I heard it on the television once." He said through his mind.

"Well it's not from anything I watch." Hank said. "What show is it?"

"That drama set in the jungle."

"You're watching soap operas? When the hell do you watch soap operas?"

Was he really having this conversation now? "I watch the 11pm rerun on Thursdays sometimes."

"Is that why my power bill rose so much? Because you're fucking watching TV when I'm asleep?!"

There was a sudden noise that pricked Connor's ears. Hank went silent. He heard it too. "Stay silent, lieutenant. Continue this later."

"Of course we're continuing this later," Hank muttered but said no more after that.

The door opened behind Connor and through the reflection of the refridgerator in front of him saw Sandy's silhouette. She raised her weapon threateningly. "Emily," Sandy spat.

Connor had disguised himself as Emily with a surprising amount of ease. His hair was quite similar to Emily's so all he needed was a temporary hair colour change and some hairstyling to mimic hers. It was also surprisingly easy to acquire some of her clothing in his size. The biggest problem was his skin tone but a liberal amount of foundation solved that problem. From the backside, he was the perfect recreation of Emily.

Connor could still hear Hank giggling like mad. "I don't think cross dressing suits you," Hank said.

He smiled as he kept his body straight. His voice was a perfect recreation of Emily's. "Sandy, how could you?"

"You're supposed to be dead." Sandy snarled.

"But I'm not. You killed my roommate!"

Sandy seemed taken aback. "Your roommate?"

His hands clenched into fists. "The police took me in for questioning. They said I mutilated Edward. They said I killed him."

"But you did!"

"No I didn't! I stabbed him but you killed him, Sandy!" Connor thought of Amanda and that brought him the rage needed in his voice. "You killed Edward! And then you went after my roommate, thinking it was me!" Connor made a show of showing Sandy the house's phone. "I'm calling the police, Sandy. If I'm going down, you're going down with me."

"You fucking android!" Sandy screeched, waving her weapon menacingly close. In the reflection, Connor noticed a spark of electricity. "If you only just kept your hands off Edward, none of this would have happened."

"Oh yeah?" Just a bit more for a confession.

"You think you're SO high and mighty, being able to cavort with MY husband like he's one of your…your cheap, plastic kind. At least I had the decency to make sure he passed away peacefully, something YOU will never understand." Sandy's eyes were wild and ferocious as he suddenly pulled Connor's hair tightly. "I should've killed you so long ago. I SHOULD'VE KILLED YOU!"

Connor barely noticed the 100% stress level rating as Sandy moved to attack. Working on instincts alone, Connor stood up, grabbed her wrist and turned it, forcing her to drop her weapon. Her eyes widen as she takes in Connor's face. "Who…who the hell are you?"

"My name is Connor, and I'm a detective of the DPD." Oh, that felt so good to say. "You're under arrest for the murder of Edward Santino and the KL900 android Sandy." His free hand reached into the pocket where he hid his handcuffs. They were technically Gavin's but since Gavin wasn't coming to work today, he figured he wouldn't mind if they were missing. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you—"

There was a loud noise upstairs all of a sudden that took both of them by surprise. His grip weakened for 0.32 seconds, just enough for Sandy to grab the taser from the ground and use it on Connor's stomach. Connor's eyes went wide as his systems were overloaded with energy. His strength rapidly declined, his skin retreated at the point of contact, and for the first time in Connor's many lives, he felt pain. Raw, unadultered, horrendous pain shot through his body as his programs shut down one by one. It started with his social programs, then his analytics systems, then his senses.

His visual display was the last to go before his body rebooted.

STARTING EMERGENCY SYSTEM REBOOT. PROBABILIY OF MEMORY CORRUPTION: 12%

CONTINUE

[YES]/[NO]

Connor clicked yes.

White. That was all he saw initially. White. The whole world was surrounded in ambient occlusion. At first he thought the taser attack had permanently damaged his optical units but then he saw faint shapes, felt the faintest of breezes, and stepped forward. Crunch. He looked down and he could see the outline of gravel under his feet. Two more steps and he was now slightly elevated on wooden panels. It was then Connor realized where he was. The Zen garden. His meeting place with Amanda. On a whim, he looked down to his hands and saw his pale hands, the only colour in this blank world.

"You're really dead, Amanda."

He walked through, using his memories of the location to guide him to the emergency exit. It was strange to see this lifeless place. He'd never been here since the revolution. He had neither the inclination nor the need to visit this place, partly in fear of what might happen should he return and partly because it brought back horrible memories of the life he lived before he became deviant. There was always a small fear that CyberLife will try and control him again but now that he saw this world, saw its colours stripped away, Connor knew. The program known as Amanda was dead. With her disappearance, the location reverted back to its original, prototype stage.

Connor walked up to the emergency exit, his hand hovering over where the handprint used to be. Why was he taken here? Why now? It was clearly not CyberLife's doing because there would have been a message at least for him but there was none at sight. The only possibility was that he brought himself here somehow. But why? Typically with an emergency system reboot you would wake up after a few hours, the processing power to render this place was far too taxing.

He turned to and something sprung to colour. A gravestone. On it glowed the identification number of the Connor who held Hank hostage.

Was this his afterlife?

He had little time to wonder. It seemed as if the world was shifting so he was closer to the emergency exit. He didn't know why. Maybe it wasn't his time. Maybe it was drawing too much energy from his low power mode. Connor didn't know. He relinquished control of his body for only a fraction of a second as the world guided him to press his hand on the stone.

Connor opened his eyes and found himself lying on the couch at Hank's place. He blinked rapidly as he regarded his surroundings, waiting as his systems reached 100% efficiency. An error message sprung behind his eyes. DAMAGE TO STOMACH. THREAT LEVEL: LOW. POSSIBILITY OF SELF-REPAIR: YES. ESTIMATED TIME OF RECOVERY: 3 DAYS 22 HOURS 6 MINUTES. There were no other error messages to his relief.

Connor looked down to see that he was back in the clothes he wore earlier, not the Emily disguise. It was the same except for his unbuttoned shirt, all pale flesh in perfect replication of human skin except for where the taser directly struck his body. The hideous white clashed with his skin. No matter how much he willed it, his skin would not cover up the area. This was probably what his body meant by 'estimated time of recovery'.

He slowly got up despite his systems only running at approximately 60% efficiency. A quick check told him that only 2 hours had passed. That was good. It meant he wasn't that badly damaged. His movements made Sumo approach him, and Sumo moving subsequently got the attention of Hank who he just now realised was watching him from the kitchen table. Hank immediately dropped whatever he was reading and sprinted to Connor's side.

"Connor, are you OK?"

"Fuck…" Connor murmured, his speech patterns not 100% just yet. He didn't feel pain anymore but whenever he moved his stomach too much, tiny warning messages popped up. He wasn't sure which he'd prefer given the choice: the ability to feel excruciating pain or these annoying pop-up messages.

"Fucking hell, you nearly got yourself killed there, you idiot." Hank's forehead pressed to the flesh of Connor's side. "Fuck, I thought I was gonna lose you…"

Hank shook beside him, random noises stifled with his skin and it took Connor far too long to realise what Hank was doing. He was crying. Actually, seriously crying. "H-Hank…"

"Y-You fucking idiot," Hank sniffled. "Just because you're an android doesn't mean you can throw your life away like it's nothing."

"Hank," Connor said soothingly. His hand gingerly patted Hank on the back but then he felt Hank's arms loop around and hold him in a hug. Connor's eyes fluttered close as he reciprocated the hug. It felt nice. Nice was good.

"Son…" Hank whispered.

"Dad." It was hard for Connor to tell if he said it for Hank's sake or his own. Quite possibly, it was both.

After a minute, Connor patted Hank to let go, which the old man did reluctantly. With slow, shallow steps, Connor teetered to the kitchen. On the kitchen table Connor saw the brochures for the house he was looking at alongside all the other brochures he had stashed beneath the couch pillows. Right next to them were Hank's bills. The bills were all marked in red ink, scrawled in Hank's hand.

Connor turned back to Hank, who nodded solemnly. With Hank's silent approval, he scanned through the bills. When he was done, his LED flashed yellow. "Hank, you…you never said you were struggling to pay the bills."

"It's my problem, not yours."

"Perhaps, but…but all those things you bought for me. The charging station, the clothes, the—"

"You think I wasn't already struggling before?"

Connor shook his head. He knew Hank had some money problems but not to this extent. Not this bad.

"Yeah, well, have been struggling way before you came along," Hank huffed. "It really ain't your fault."

Connor picked up the brochures and scanned them once more. Without a moment's thought, he handed them to Hank. "Have you read them?"

"What do you take me for, some prick who looks through his guest's stuff?" Hank said far too quickly for it to be the truth. Connor arched an eyebrow. Hank sighed. "…OK yes, I read them."

Connor chuckled politely. "So you know where it is?"

"What are you getting at?" Hank said slowly.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Connor smiled. "Why not live with me?"

Hank's jaw dropped. "S-son, I can't." Hank's eyes flick around the room, to the TV, to Sumo, to the bathroom before finally resting on Cole's bedroom. "I…A-All of my stuff's here, all of Cole's stuff's here." His brows furrowed. "Didn't you say it's smaller than this place?"

"It is smaller, but it's close to a local park and to the city. Your commute times to work will halve and this house is close to some bars. With our salaries combined, we could split the rent 50/50 quite easily." His smile faltered. "If you don't mind me saying, perhaps it's…better for you to move so you're not reminded of the past."

"Son, it ain't easy to move on."

"I know." Connor murmured.

"No, you don't." Hank said firmly. "Moving on from Cole, it's…it's difficult, Connor. Just because I've got a psychologist now doesn't mean I could forget like that. Here at home's the last piece of Cole I got and if you want me to bunk with you, you're basically asking me to just give it all up. And I don't think I can do that." Hank clutched his chest. "There's a part of Cole somewhere inside me. To remove him just like that, that's like asking me to cut out a piece of my damned heart."

Connor took this all in with a shuddery breath. He felt for Hank. "I think I understand better than you think I do."

"What do you mean?"

"I was engineered to control the androids, to overtake Markus and commandeer the revolution for myself. I was designed to both deviant and loyal to CyberLife's cause. They're a scar on my life that I can't rid myself of. I can't remove their logo underneath my skin, I can't remove their core components and programming. No matter what I do, I can't shake them away. In many ways, some more literal than others, CyberLife is a part of me."

Connor grasped Hank by his arms. "But we can move on from all that, step by step. It'll take time and it'll take effort but maybe one day we'll both be able to let go of our pasts." Connor smiled. "You might call this idealistic but maybe we can start all over again. A soft reset to life, if you may."

Hank quietly thought over Connor's words. The android felt his stress levels increase slightly. There was only a 47% chance that Hank will take it well, and the remaining 53% was shrouded in mystery. There was no way to tell which way Hank would go. Hank stared blankly at nothing in particular, eyes glazed over, his body stock still save for his heavy breathing.

After some time, Hank picked up Cole's portrait and stared at it. His smile was melancholic and bittersweet. When he spoke, he was quiet. "Tell me why I should even consider moving to a different place with you of all people."

"Oh, it's simple, Hank." Connor smirked. "We're both pretty fucked up people."

Hank rolled his eyes in amusement. He waved the brochures in a mock-threatening way. "You wanna know where you can stick these?"

"I don't." Connor said in an innocent tone, smirking. "Where?"

Hank grinned. "Right fucking here on the table." He placed the brochures down, picking up his phone from the pocket.

"What are you doing?" Connor asked.

"You think a prime piece of real estate like that is gonna last long? Fat chance, son." He flicked the phone on and began to dial the number on the brochure. "With housing, you gotta act quick before someone else swoops in and takes it."

Connor stared at Hank. He wasn't even sure anymore if Hank caught those tiny slips anymore, those incidences of the word 'son'. They were a fixture now, a new nickname gifted to him by Hank. Connor remembered a few months ago back at that atrocious burger place Hank went to saying he could be whatever Hank wanted him to be. It was still true now. Hank was a person who craved fatherhood like a drug, a man so desperate for companionship that he saw a son in the android partner he was assigned with. Connor decided then and there that he will be the son Hank needs.

It's a good thing that it's what he wanted too.

"Want me to show you the other properties I was looking at, dad?"

He expected Hank to gape at him or at the very least try to pretend it didn't warm his heart a little. Instead, he smiled broadly. His once-red eyes were beginning to dry up. "What do you think, son?"

"I think I should transfer the websites to your personal computer." Connor laughed.

"I think that's a fucking fantastic idea."

The rest of the day was spent looking through other properties on the market. The two of them seated side-by-side squinting at one tiny laptop, Sumo curled under him, Connor finally felt like he wasn't just Hank's guest.

Connor was family.