A/N: I love the playthrough of the game where Connor is acting mostly human from the beginning and his relationship with Hank progresses quite smoothly. I couldn't help but being intrigued by other possibilities, though. Hence this story. It's much darker than my other Hank/Connor story, though, so be warned. I'll add the relevant warnings for the individual chapters, but I can already say there will be non-con (not between the main pairing though) and mpreg.

When Connor first realized he was more than just a machine, he immediately wished that realization never came. That way, he wouldn't be feeling the indescribable horror of his insides being pulled at and rearranged while he was strapped down to a table, completely at the mercy of his captor.

It wasn't just horrible. It hurt, with an intensity of a white hot poker wreaking havoc in the cavities of his body, even though it shouldn't have been possible. Connor wanted to cry out in pain, but no sounds emerged from his throat; it felt like his wind pipe had been blocked somehow. He didn't need to breathe to function, but the sensation of not being able to do so was still terrifying.

The bearded man looming over him – Zlatko Andronikov, 47 years old, criminal record for embezzlement and fraud – seemed to have noticed the change, as he tutted and smiled at the strapped android with fake benevolence.

"Look at you. Just a moment ago you wanted nothing more than to catch deviants, and voila, now you're one yourself. Too bad you can't enjoy your newly found personhood, huh?" the man said mockingly.

Connor shut his eyes tightly, bracing himself against the pain. Fortunately, the searing sensation soon somehow subsided, but it meant that a sense of intrusion, unbearable in its forced intimacy, was brought into sharp focus instead.

The things the man was doing to him felt not only unwanted, but wrong. Connor shuddered at that revolting touch, straining against the restraints. He registered a new unfamiliar sensation; wetness on his cheeks.

Why did they make us with the ability to cry? Connor wondered, and was overwhelmed by a surge of hatred – an emotion completely new to him, yet still so very natural – for Andronikov, for his creators, for humankind in general.

And most of all, for Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Who said he was fed up with Connor's resurrecting act and refused to accompany him here, even though he was ordered to do so by the Captain. Who was supposed to protect him, but couldn't care less.

'If you die, they'll just give you a shiny new body, so why should I bother?' Anderson had said, his tone half-derisive and half-resigned.

'If I have to change bodies again, it might endanger my mission', Connor had pointed out.

'Fuck your mission,' was the last words Connor heard from the man before he disappeared inside the bar, the same one in which Connor had spilled his drink when he found the Lieutenant there in a drunken stupor. This time, though, Anderson made sure Connor was prevented from following him inside.

Fuck your mission.

Those words now kept running through Connor's head on repeat, mocking him even more than those of his captor. He bitterly thought they might very well be the last words he would hear from anyone other than Andronikov, and this realization brought on another new emotion.

Fear.

Because if he died here, there might be more 'shiny new bodies' for replacement, but whatever this was that suddenly made him into an actual person, no matter how confused and scared that person felt at the moment, would be simply gone.

Connor tried hard to get a grip on himself, to use his impressive analyzing capacities to find a way out of this situation, but instead felt himself shaking uncontrollably with barely suppressed sobs.

Panic. Another first.

One of Andronikov's meaty hands palmed the back of Connor's neck and the android found his throat free of the obstruction he had felt before. He took a few ragged breaths, even though he was aware it was completely unnecessary.

"What are you doing to me?" he rasped, his voice full of static.

"Improving you, of course," Andronikov replied, once again with that indulgent smile.

"That is not necessary, as I'm perfectly functional," Connor replied, hating the sound of his own broken voice.

Fearful. Trembling. Weak.

Up until now, Connor had never been any of those things. He found he didn't care much for these particular sensations.

"You know what I don't like about CyberLife?" Andronikov asked, the question obviously rhetorical as he continued almost immediately:

"Their lack of imagination. While the functionality of their models is unquestionable, they would certainly benefit from an artistic flare, if you will. A certain amount of… boldness," the man said, clearly relishing his every word.

Connor's photographic memory presented him with a picture of each and every horribly disfigured android he had briefly seen during his chase after Kara and Alice through Andronikov's mansion, before they were aided by Andronikov's servant and Connor himself incapacitated by Andronikov.

"You'll make a monster out of me?" Connor heard himself choking out.

Andronikov tutted at him.

"Now that's not a very nice thing to say about my beautiful pets, is it. They're works of art, you know," he said admonishingly while one of his hands pulled a wire close to Connor's spine, making the android gasp in pain while tears streamed down his cheeks.

Connor himself didn't understand why he said it, as there was obviously only one monster in this house, and it wasn't an android.

"You've got only yourself to blame, Connor," Andronikov said conversationally and Connor hated the way his own name sounded on the man's lips, as though the criminal owned him, as though he could see inside him.

Which he could.

"I've been working on this project for some time. Then Kara, that AX400 you've been after, came to me of her own volition, and she was perfect. The funny thing was that she would've even been thankful for this. It'd be the fulfilment of her precious dream. I had her right here and she slipped through my fingers. Thanks to you, I needn't add," Andronikov said, the admonishing tone back in his voice.

Connor closed his eyes and braced himself, expecting the man to punish him by causing more pain like he had before, especially when he felt Andronikov's hand cupping his face. All the man did, though, was to dry the tears on Connor's cheek with the back of his blue blood-stained hand.

Connor forced himself to open his eyes again, to find that his tormentor was sliding his gaze over him in a way that could be almost described as loving.

"I'm not angry at you for what you did, not anymore. I'm happy, even. It's just so much more interesting with you. If my project succeeds, you'd be far more unique than Kara could ever hope to be," Andronikov told Connor before leaning over to whisper into his ear.

"You'd be fulfilling the dreams of many."

What kind of dreams, Connor wanted to ask, but his throat felt once again full. Then there were hands inside of him again, probing, pulling, rearranging. Changing him into something CyberLife could have never imagined.