NOVEMBER 6, 2038

4:32 A.M.

The concept of safety always seemed so out of reach, regarding you as a hitchhiker in need of a ride but never willing to pick you up and bring you to town. Every night, the car would pass by, taking with it what dignity and comfort you had left to spare until your tank ran empty.

But now, you see with a fresh pair of eyes. The unwillingness to let go of the traumas that plagued you night after night. Your inability to realize that your father held a sickness within him that unconditional love simply could not cure.

The safety that swaths you in fresh linens and sings you age-old lullabies since Sylvia killed him.

Your outfit, a t-shirt and cotton shorts and a simple pair of sneakers, fails to protect your figure from the downpour, and it isn't long before you begin to shiver. Before Officer Miller ushered you outside, you snagged your wallet, phone, and a thin jacket, unable to foresee the dramatic turn of tonight's events. But even with your pot of luck drained dry, a fire has been lit anew inside your chest, your standoff with Connor fanning the embers of confidence that you lost hope of finding years ago.

You glance at the time on your cell and sigh. 4:32 am. The incident must have happened later than you thought, as it only took half an hour for the police to arrive before Officer Miller escorted you to the precinct. And you had just recently left.

A horn honks at you, startling you into action, which results in a dropped phone against the pavement.

"What the fuck are you doing, kid?" You recognize the voice belonging to Lieutenant Anderson, which only causes you to glance around to see who else he might be talking to. The horn blares again. "Get off the goddamn sidewalk before you freeze to death."

"I have nowhere to go," you explain, voice straining from having to scream over the rain. "The nearest motel is a mile away, and I won't be able to make it that far."

The only noise for a long minute comes from the sputtering of his car, and then he groans.

"God-fucking-damn it. See, this is why I don't ever stop on my way home. This fucking shit right here. 'Cause every time I do, I always end up with an empty tank of gas and an ungrateful little prick stealing my wallet." As he rants to himself, furiously sifting through radio stations, you wonder how many times that situation truly happened to him. "Get the fuck in, kid." When you don't move, he honks his horn yetagain."Before I change my mind. Any day now!"

You sprint around the front of his car, water sloshing all the way up to your thighs, and hop into the passenger seat. The warm air that hits your face makes you sigh in relief.

"You didn't have to do this, but thank you. I don't know how to repay you."

"Oh, I know." You freeze at his words, immediately reaching for the doorknob, before he points at a dinky bar. "We're gonna go in there, and you're gonna buy me a shot… or ten. How's that sound?"Much better than what you expected."After all, I just got off one android case before the entire third floor ofyourapartment called with noise complaints. And what does Connor find out? We got another fucking deviant on our hands." He shakes his head and pulls into a parking space right off the street.

To be frank, Lieutenant Anderson terrifies you. His voice rings too loudly in your ears and the frequency of his cussing makes him seem soangry.

You aren't a fan of angry men.

Even so, you follow him inside the bar and lay down a twenty onto the counter to satisfy him while you use the bathroom and collect your thoughts, jumbled as they are. Now, you only have eighty bucks to your name, are effectively homeless for the time being, and have only the clothes on your back to keep you warm. As you wash your hands, you idly thinkwell, this night couldn't get any worse.

You join the Lieutenant at the bar, hopping onto a well-worn stool and trying but failing to ignore the way the bartender glowers at you.

"Hank, what the fuck are you doing bringing kids in here?"

"I'm twenty-three, actually," you reply, noting the slightly amused grin on Hank's face. "I have I.D. if you need it."

The bartender snorts and passes you a glass. "No need. You drink?"

As politely as one can manage, you scrunch up your face at the offer and say, "I'm more of a smoker."

He hums, surveying your face for a moment before reaching under the counter and handing you a cigarette.

"You sure?" you ask, pausing as you reach for it.

"Eh, you look like you've had one hell of a night." He points to his forehead, and you shrink under the connotation. "It's on the house."

"Thank fuck," you groan, pulling a lighter from the pocket of your jacket. "I was about to go crazy. You, my friend, are a saint."

He laughs at the comment, throws the dish towel in his hand over his shoulder. "I like her, Hank. You should bring her here more often."

You glow at the praise, returning his smile for the first genuine time within the past twelve hours.

That is, until Hank speaks.

"Not gonna happen, Jimmy." He leans back in his chair and sniffs. "You know a cheap motel anywhere close? One that preferablydoesn'thave bed bugs?"

Jimmy glares incredulously between the two of you before he shakes his head. "You sure you can even get it up at this rate?"

You hop down from your seat and head for the exit, heartbeat heavy and painful in your ears. A person can only take so much in one day, and you've just hit your limit. The snide comments and overbearing personalities and fear that hammers your ribcage inward.

You need Sylvia.Shewould protect you.

Welcome to the real world, bitch. Not what you thought it'd be, huh?

You growl at the mocking voice inside your head, no matter how correct she is about your current predicament.

"Hey! Will you wait just a damn minute?"

"Leave me alone!"

You turn back to gauge how far Hank trails behind you, only to run into something hard that knocks you completely off your feet.

"Oh, goddamn it, Connor, really?" the man exasperates, coming up behind you.

"I received an urgent message from Cyberlife to detain her." The android nods in your direction, posture stiff and facial expression blank.

"You know what the plan was. Ihadit."

You quickly rise to your feet, ignoring Hank's comment as all the blood drains from your face. "Detain me?! You can't do that!"

He turns to look at you, neon store lights reflecting in deep brown eyes. "You aided a deviant and are at a now seventy percent risk in aiding their cause. I apologize, but my instructions were clear."

"Jesus Christ, Connor, are you serious?" Hank jumps to your rescue and pushes the android back a few steps, unknowingly giving you enough room to breathe.

You step underneath an overhang, where the rain doesn't trickle down the back of your neck. Exhaustion weighs down your eyelids, makes your body feel heavy and numb. Though the latter could be attributed to you being unable to process the last twenty-four hours.

Then you realize they're discussing you, and the discomfort makes you wilt underneath the severity of their conversation.

"Don't you care that the girl is clearly traumatized to the fucking moon and back?" When Connor simply tilts his head to the side, eyes wide in what could be read as confusion, Hank sighs and turns to face you. "Come on, let's get you outta this rain."

"I can't let you do that, Lieutenant—"

"Please," you interject, stepping around the older man and wringing your hands despite their shaking, "just for tonight. I really need some sleep."

Hank scoffs and grumbles, "We all do."

Connor's LED flashes yellow for a moment before he regards you with a furrowed brow and clasped hands. "Cyberlife insists that you don't stay alone. They fear an escape attempt."

Goddamn it.

"She ain't coming to my house," Hank comments, kicking a stray rock into the street. "Don't need any more weird looks from my neighbors. I get enough of those as is."

The brunet turns to you, analyzing your expression, if the flicker of his LED is anything to go by. "I will watch over you tonight, and we will report to the precinct at ten this morning. I expect you to come willingly."

You reach up and tangle cold fingers into your hair, pulling at the strands with a huff. "Don't you have more important things to do than look after me like I'm a toddler? More dangerous deviants to catch?"

"Are you suggesting thatyourdeviant is not dangerous?" The corners of his lips stretch outward in a genuine but failed attempt at friendly communication, and it reminds you of the first time Sylvia had smiled. How unnatural it looked.

Hank darts between you two and grabs him by the arm. "Alright, Connor. If you're done being a smart-ass, get in the damn car."

Half an hour later, after the Lieutenant pays for a room and leaves you to deal with his android, you conclude that Connor was not exaggerating when he said he would watch over you. He sits on the other bed, feet planted flat on the floor, facing you as you watch a late-night cartoon on the aged television.

Instead of simply allowing him to stare at you like the average creep, you turn to him with a nagging question.

"What did Lieutenant Anderson mean when he said 'you know what the plan was'?"

"Captain Fowler became angry that I let you leave, and tasked the Lieutenant with tracking you. He was to bring you back to the precinct."

A brick of betrayal lands hard in your gut. Hank wasn't trying to help you after all.You should have known.

The laugh that escapes your throat drips bitter and weary. "It was stupid to think someone might've cared about me for once in my life."

Connor comes to sit next to you on the bed, LED blinking as he surveys your face.

"If it is any consolation, I find you quite valuable to my investigation." At the fierce glower you give him, he awkwardly returns to his seat on the other bed before glancing around the room. "There is a convenience store around the corner if you would like something to eat."

You stand and shuffle right up to him, toes almost touching his. "Are you gonnafollowme again?"

He smiles at your attempt to intimidate him and rises to his feet, meeting your eyes with an amused tilt of his head. "Naturally."

You quickly back away, gooseflesh rising on your arms at the uncomfortable feel of the android's breath tickling your face. It was your fault anyway, challenging a ruthless machine that would snap you in half and not even bat an eye.

As you follow Connor to the convenience store, you idly compare him and Sylvia. Accidentally, of course, but the differences between the two androids strike you as both confusing and intriguing. How they look so fuckinghuman, yet Syl expressed actual feelings and empathy, while Connor only focuses on hismission, damn everything else. What he doesn't seem to understand, ironically, is thathe'sthe one mimicking human behavior. Not the deviants he tries to detain.

You step into the convenience store, the cashier immediately rolling her eyes at Connor's presence, which sticks to you like super glue. You fetch a protein bar and a bottle of water and check out, the android questioning your choices.

"A salad would be better for you, and would sate your hunger more efficiently."

You plop your items on the counter and wave him away. "Fine. If it worries you that much, go get me a salad."

He returns a moment later and passes the plastic container gently to the employee. She gives you your items and regards Connor with a scowl.

"Don't leave that thing here."

You pause at the exit, white-knuckling the handles of your bag. Anger radiates hot and insistent from your skin. "His name is Connor." Then you step outside, huffing as fresh rain immediately soaks into your clothes, the cold refreshing against heated skin.

Connor stares at you, LED a solid yellow, as both of you walk back to the hotel. You glance over, almost running into a pole from lack of concentration on an unfamiliar street, but wait until he speaks before mentioning anything.

"Why did you defend me?"

There it is.

"Because, even though you're a pain in the ass, nobody should be calling you athing."

"But Iama thing."

His confidence in that statement, the belief in his voice, feels like a cold bucket of water was poured onto your head. It's sad, how insignificant he believes himself to be. Sylvia used to comment about how replaceable she was, thousands of identical androids sitting in a warehouse at the ready in case anything ever happened to her. But nobody isreplaceable, android or otherwise, which is something Cyberlife—and most of humanity—refuses to understand. We all possess memories and thoughts and personalities and imperfections for a reason, and to think that those things can be perfectly replicated is insulting.

You frown. "Is that what Cyberlife told you? Because I can tell you with one-hundred percent certainty that they're fucking wrong."

He says nothing, just allows you to lead the way back to the motel room.

You absentmindedly eat while watching boring infomercials, noting the circular ring on the hosts' temples. After spending so much time with Sylvia, you've become hyper-aware of androids' existence and the suffering that comes with it.

"You should rest. We have to leave in three hours and twenty-two minutes."

With a sigh, you finish your meal and shuffle under the covers, stealing a glance at Connor who reclines back on the bed and looks at—but doesn't really watch—the program playing on t.v., somehow looking even more awkward than before. While you ate, he had slightly loosened his tie and hung his jacket up on the rack next to the door without you noticing, and you suddenly become hyper-aware of just how drenched through your clothes are at seeing him dry and comfortable.

"Tomorrow, I'll need to stop and get an outfit."

He looks over his shoulder at you then says, in the monotonous voice that he uses when relaying facts, "Seeing as you're a suspected accomplice, I can't allow you inside of your apartment."

"Well," you raise up onto an elbow, "can you go insideforme? I can't keep walking around in this, and you know that."

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye before quickly looking away, blinking rapidly. "I will contact Cyberlife and explain the situation."

You sigh in relief, plop your head onto the too-hard pillow, and mutter, "Thank you."

The good thing about an android's presence (or Connor's presence, rather) is the lack of wariness you otherwise have to exert in a human's company. Connor is remarkably predictable, mental state shown to the world by the LED flashing on his temple like a traffic light. Exactly like a traffic light, actually.

That, and he doesn't exude a predatory energy. He simply is what Cyberlife designed him to be, a set of code packaged inside life-like skin, and the thought of how much hisinvestigationkeeps him from experiencing upsets you.

"Get some rest," he states softly, rousing you from a dozing state and confusing thoughts. "We now leave in two hours and forty-six minutes."