Author's Note: This has probably been done a million times already, but I wanted to provide my own take on Hank's point of view of the peaceful android revolution + Connor slowly becoming a deviant.

Note: This story follows the canon timeline and events, so it will have lines and scenes from the game. However, there will also be new content, such as added dialogue and extra/extended scenes that build on established in-game moments. Some of those canon moments may play out a little differently as a result, but the plot itself will still be the same.

Also, considering that this is Hank, there will be a LOT of swearing, even in his narration. You have been warned! ;)

Enjoy!

The first thing that Hank learned about androids was that they could be assholes.

It didn't take advanced social programming for androids to know that 1) they didn't go where they weren't wanted, and 2) they didn't refuse to follow their orders. But this one was a special breed—walking into a humans-only bar like it owned the place, singling Hank out to pursue a homicide case when he just wanted to drink and watch the game in peace, and ignoring his polite suggestion to fuck off.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I must insist," the android stated. Its voice was more nuanced and not as monotone as other androids he'd heard, but it was still too matter-of-fact and with the slightest mechanical tint, so Hank had already guessed it wasn't human before it had the chance to utter two words. "My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you."

Saying it was sorry about insisting was a joke. This thing wasn't sorry at all.

Luckily, neither was Hank, who knew exactly how to respond. "You know where you can stick your instructions?"

"No," it replied. "Where?"

God damn it.

Hank turned to glare at the android, only to find that it was a model he'd never seen before. In fact, it must have been one of the new ones CyberLife was touting to be more 'natural' than its perfect peers, as its features were less polished, with lines and freckles and other flaws that could easily be seen on any human. But all it took was that first glance before the rest gave it away: the ring of light on its temple, the suit and tie with all the android fixings, proper posture. It stuck out like a sore thumb against the background of the bar and its customers, and its voice certainly wasn't helping, either.

When it looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer to its question, Hank muttered, "Never mind," glancing back down at his drink.

He had better things to do than investigate a homicide involving androids. He hoped that if he ignored this android long enough, it would get the message and leave.

It didn't. Instead, it decided to piss him off some more by unexpectedly reaching over and plucking the glass out of his grip.

Hank froze.

Did it really just—

Wondering if he was fucking dreaming, he watched as the android unceremoniously spilled his drink onto the floor beside him, then set the empty glass upside down on the counter.

It tilted its head contentedly when it met his gaze. "I think we can go now."

Hank had to be imagining the smug look he saw on this android's face, but it still made him see red. He practically fell off the barstool to snatch it by the front of its uniform and lift it off its feet, fully prepared to kick its scrawny ass. It seemed almost willing to let him, as it made no effort to resist, hanging loosely in his grasp.

"You little prick," he spat. "I don't know what's stopping me from knocking you out!"

"Your sense of duty, Lieutenant, and the cost of repairs if you damage me," the android stated, completely unaffected by his rage. "For your information, I'm worth a small fortune."

Hank clenched his jaw, convinced that this was worth the dent in his savings, until weighing his options proved that it wasn't. He bitterly dropped it back to its feet and turned to face Jimmy, who looked way too amused at the scene.

"Wonders of technology," he huffed. "They can even program assholes these days."

This asshole in particular obviously wasn't going to leave, and Hank didn't doubt that it would just keep trying to ruin his night until he left with it, so he shuffled back over to the bar, fishing for his wallet.

"Gotta go." He threw his cash onto the counter. "Duty calls."

He made sure to shoot the android a glare as he turned to leave. He could have sworn it looked pleased with itself, but he knew better than to believe it had the capability.

He stormed over to the exit, only to halt in the doorway at the sight of pouring rain. Swearing under his breath, he grudgingly forced himself into it, wishing he'd taken an umbrella.

This night just kept getting better and better. First a plastic asshole invaded his space and spilled his well-earned drink, then he had to go with said android to a crime scene in the freezing rain... The only possible bright side to this so far was that homicide cases were at least interesting to figure out—or they used to be, before every other case somehow involved Red Ice. Those were interesting, too, he supposed, but they were mostly predictable.

Also predictable: The android at his heels once again finding a way to annoy him. The second he arrived at the car and opened the driver's seat door, he heard its footsteps on the wet pavement stop just behind him.

"Lieutenant?"

"What," he grunted.

"It wouldn't be wise for you to drive. Ingesting alcohol can impair your ability to do so, even in small amounts."

"Hey, you were the one that thought picking me up at a bar was a good idea. If you didn't want me to drive, you should've thought about that."

"I assumed that you would let me drive, or that we would be taking a taxi due to your impairment."

You're an android, Hank thought sourly. You shouldn't be assuming anything.

"I'm not impaired," was what he said instead. "I'm not even buzzed."

The android hesitated, so Hank ignored its friendly suggestion and plopped into the driver's seat, shutting the door in its face. He then rolled down the window just enough for it to hear him as it continued to stand there in the rain like an idiot.

"I'm sober enough to know that I didn't let you come with me so you could lecture me," he added. "So you can either get in the car, or you can walk there for all I care."

"The crime scene is a few miles away. That would take me a while."

"Then get in the car."

Finally, the android listened.

"Jesus, I can't believe this," Hank murmured as it went around to the other side and gently opened the door.

Whose bright idea was it to give him an android? Everyone and their mother knew he hated working with the damn things. Mindless drones with legs who followed their owners around, silently doing the jobs that humans were too lazy to do themselves...

Well, maybe not silently, at least not in this android's case. This one couldn't seem to shut the hell up.

The android sat in the passenger seat and moved to close the door. That door was always stubborn, so it had to pull at it a few times before it shut completely.

"All right... Where are we going? Um." Hank faltered when he couldn't remember what to call this thing. "What was your name again?"

"Connor," said the android. "Here is the address."

The drive there was quiet. Mostly quiet, that is, until Hank realized he knew next to nothing about this homicide that Connor mentioned. He didn't have to know everything about a case before getting briefed at the scene, but he still liked to know at least the basics of what he was getting himself into... or, rather, was getting himself dragged into.

Knowing he would regret it, he broke the silence. "What do we know about this case?"

He hoped that Connor would keep its answer short and sweet. His head was already starting to pound.

"Not very much," it admitted. "Just that it was a homicide involving a CyberLife android."

"The android is the suspect?"

"Potentially."

Wonderful.

Stopping at a red light, Hank glanced over at the robot beside him to find it already staring back at him.

"So, why did CyberLife randomly decide to send over an android to help with investigations?" he asked. "Didn't think humans were doing a good enough job?"

"The decision wasn't random, and it wasn't in response to the police department's efforts. CyberLife simply believes that with the increased rates of criminal activity involving androids as of late, a helping hand would be beneficial to investigators in need of assistance."

"Beneficial," Hank echoed under his breath. "Well, thanks, but I think I can handle it on my own."

"Okay."

"So you can be a 'helping hand' by staying in the background and not doing anything. All right? This is my domain."

"Sure, Lieutenant."

Hank wondered if androids were capable of sarcasm. This one certainly seemed to be—or at the very least, it had already decided that his opinion was bullshit.

He figured that talking to it any more was too much effort, so he decisively turned the volume of his music up. Connor didn't move or startle like a human would have at the sudden roar of heavy metal, but it tilted its head like a curious dog, then looked over at Hank, who pretended not to notice.

It started to speak again, but the music drowned out its words. Hank hoped it would take that as a hint to shut its trap, but it only continued, a little louder.

Hank huffed and turned the music all the way down. "What?"

"You shouldn't take your hands off the wheel while driving. Next time you want to turn on some music, you can ask me to do it for you."

"I'll keep that in mind." Hank reached over to turn the music back up anyway.

Connor said nothing, slowly sitting back in its seat.

After being stuck in the car with this android for what felt like forever, Hank finally arrived at the crime scene: a broken-down house surrounded by police lights and a sea of people, onlookers and officers alike.

Great. More people to talk to.

He parked just outside the gathered crowd and looked pointedly at Connor. "You wait here. I won't be long."

"My instructions are to accompany you to the crime scene, Lieutenant."

This android was determined, he'd give it that.

"Listen... I don't give a fuck about your instructions," he hissed. "I told you to wait here, so you shut the fuck up, and you wait here."

And then, of course, it didn't.

When he heard the android guarding the police line tell another android that it wasn't allowed there, Hank knew immediately who it was talking to without having to look. The plastic asshole had disregarded the "no androids allowed" rule at the bar, so he didn't doubt it would also be bold enough to attempt to cross a crime scene without being ordered to.

God. He was never gonna shake this thing, was he?

"It's with me," he called begrudgingly.

Connor walked over, looking at him with total innocence, as if it didn't just blatantly ignore his orders instead of obeying like androids were supposed to do.

"What part of 'stay in the car' didn't you understand?" Hank asked coolly.

"Your order contradicted my instructions, Lieutenant."

Its instructions again. Wasn't it supposed to follow his instructions at this point? Wasn't it assigned to him for this case? He hoped it was just for this case, anyway.

He figured there was no getting rid of it for now, so he conceded. "You don't talk, you don't touch anything, and you stay out of my way. Got it?"

"Got it."

The scene was a much fouler one than he'd expected, even before going into the house. The stench of a dead body reeked through the open door, seeping into the rainy air outside. Hank had to breathe through his mouth while getting briefed, with Connor trailing just behind him, oddly unaffected, even though he was pretty sure androids had some sense of smell, too.

Carlos Ortiz, they said. Had to be dead for at least a couple of weeks, judging from the smell alone. He wasn't sure he wanted to see just how bad the guy looked at this stage, so he braced himself as he went inside.

The body was slumped against the wall, with flies and maggots and bloody stabs in every inch of his chest and stomach. The words I AM ALIVE were written in what was probably his own blood just above his head. Despite the crude choice of ink, the lettering was perfect.

I am alive. Carlos certainly wasn't, and no human would ever say something like that in this case. It was clear that an android had written it, but it wasn't clear why, considering how very not-alive it actually was.

"What do we know about his android?" Hank asked.

"Not much," said Ben into his clipboard. "The neighbors confirmed he had one, but it wasn't here when we arrived."

So, the android potentially stabbed this guy and ran away after writing the message. Why, if that really was the case? What made it malfunction so terribly that its first course of action was to stab its owner 20-something times?

He started to have an idea when he discovered a bag of Red Ice nearby.

Ah. "Seems our friend Carlos liked to party."

Fucking Red Ice. It was everywhere in spite of his best efforts, and it caused too many problems. Most people that took it got high as a kite, not caring about anything or anyone, letting disasters slip through their fingers. Others, for whatever reason, got belligerent and violent, making the disasters happen. Maybe Carlos here was one of those special few.

He decided to save his assumptions for later, stepping away from the drug-covered table to follow along a trail of bloody marks on the floor, where the murder weapon lay halfway through the path to the kitchen. There was what appeared to be a struggle of some sort leading into—or, rather, from—the kitchen, with knocked over chairs, bloody handprints on the walls and furniture, and a fallen baseball bat with a dent in it.

He had already begun to piece together the puzzle of the scene when Connor wordlessly brushed past him, breaking him out of his thoughts. He eyed it as it stooped down to examine the knife on the floor, doing exactly what he told it not to do: getting in his way and messing with the evidence.

Did this android listen to any of the orders it was given? Or did it just not give a shit? Maybe it was defective or something.

He was just about to shoo it away from the scene when he noticed it dipping its fingers into the blood on the knife, looking at it thoughtfully, and then—

What the fuck?

"Ugh, Jesus!" Hank recoiled at the sight. "What the hell are you doing?"

This thing was eating the blood like it was frosting on a goddamn cake.

"I'm analyzing the blood. I can check samples in real time," said Connor simply. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you."

Christ, why did CyberLife have to make it analyze the blood like that? Were they just fucking with humans at this point? They had to be.

"Okay, just... don't... put anymore evidence in your mouth. You got it?"

Connor pointed its bloodied fingers in his direction, almost like a finger gun. "Got it."

Hank shook his head as he walked away. "Fucking hell, I can't believe this shit."

As bizarre as this android was, though, he did have to admit that it was efficient. When it came to him a few minutes later, claiming that it knew what happened, he wasn't expecting much. Androids were never an active part of investigations for a reason. Sure, they had the logic to determine what evidence was in front of them, but they didn't have the imagination to present any picture of how it could have happened, or the emotional capacity to figure out the suspects' motives. All they did was the dirty work behind the scenes—collecting the evidence, running tests, filing reports—because that was what they were good at.

But this one seemed to be good at other things. It stayed at the forefront instead of the background, actively examining evidence (in whatever weird-ass ways it deemed sufficient) and presenting theories as if they were facts... and Hank, who had suspicions of his own about the scene, wasn't entirely against those facts.

It all started in the kitchen, it told him. The victim attacked the android with the bat. The android defended itself with the knife, and it went too far.

The idea that the android was only defending itself seemed more believable than the idea of it seeking out to murder its owner unprompted, Hank supposed. Most cases involving androids that he'd seen usually ended up that way, with the androids acting out of self-preservation rather than being driven by anger or malice. Saving their programs so they wouldn't face the Blue Screen of Death, or whatever.

"Okay, so your theory's not totally ridiculous," he said. "But it doesn't tell us where the android went."

So Connor, in all its skinny little android determination, went looking, eventually following an unseen trail into the hallway. It must have found something there, as not a minute later, it returned, silently stealing a chair from the kitchen and walking away with it in tow.

Hank didn't know what it was trying to accomplish, but an android grabbing something without being told to wasn't exactly comforting at a crime scene like this, so he quickly intervened to stop it in its tracks. "Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing with that chair?"

Connor casually lifted the chair in its grip to show him, as if that explained anything. "I'm going to check something."

With a chair?

"Huh." Hank hesitantly stepped aside, allowing it to trek past him without another word. He turned around, catching Chris' eye in passing. "Gonna check something."

Connor's idea of checking something was evidently more like an agonizingly slow examination of something, as it was taking forever, and Hank was tired of waiting around for it. With a sigh, he ventured into the hallway to see where it went, only to find the chair it had borrowed stuck directly underneath an opening into the attic. He briefly propped himself up and peered into it, squinting when all he saw was darkness.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash of something falling, followed by footsteps scurrying across the attic floor. Hank jolted at the unexpected noise, quickly stepping back down. What was that thing doing now?

"Connor, what the fuck is going on up there?" he called.

If it was hoping to find something in the attic, it was wasting its time. Searching for any more signs of the murderer was a lost cause. This happened weeks ago... The android had to be gone by now—

"It's here, Lieutenant!" Connor shouted.

Holy shit.

The android in question appeared noticeably battered when it stepped down onto the chair from the entrance to the attic. There were burn marks, scratches, and indentations on its arms, where the damage was so bad that its synthetic skin had somehow gotten removed in some areas. Tiny dents dotted its plastic face, which, along with its clothing, was covered in splatters of the victim's blood.

But it wasn't the damage or the blood that surprised Hank; it was the fact that the android looked visibly terrified. Eyes wide and fearful. Jaw clenched, lips trembling as if it was holding back from crying.

It had to be faking this to get sympathy, to make the humans forget what it had done. Right? That was the only possible explanation Hank could think of, seeing that androids didn't actually feel any of the emotions this one was trying to present...

Right?

Connor was close behind, hopping down from the attic just as the suspect stood before Hank, its arms reluctantly held out together to be cuffed. It didn't look him in the eye, gazing down at its shoes like a child who had just been caught misbehaving.

"It had been hiding in the attic this whole time," said Connor.

Hank said nothing, unsure of what to make of this development. He pulled out his handcuffs to get to work.

The suspect lifted its head to stare not at the humans detaining him, but at Connor as the latter moved to stand obediently behind Hank.

"Why did you tell them?" it whispered, its voice strangely shaky.

Connor didn't respond, staring back impassively. The circle of light on its head was blinking, as if processing its answer, but it never gave one.

"You didn't have to," the deviant continued.

"All right, come on." Hank lightly pulled it away before it could get any more radical ideas. "Let's go."

"You don't have to do what they tell you..."

"Let's go."

The android, defeated, finally obeyed.

Hank glanced at Connor in passing to find that it was unaffected by the deviant's words. It simply watched it leave, then followed Hank out the door, content in a job well done.

That night, Hank learned that androids could be assholes to their own kind, too.