Disclaimer: This story extends the timeline of the game to span across half a month rather than six days, and begins on the night of The Nest.

As of May 3rd, 2020, this chapter's been edited to clean up formatting issues.

November 5, 2038

Connor had not been a sympathetic partner.

Up until a week ago, he'd been in the field alone. He dealt with various government agents and officers, of course, but they were all passing faces. Whether they liked him or not, and they often didn't, they were a temporary resource to aid him in completing his missions.

Hank Anderson was different. He was cantankerous, unmotivated, and on most days, drunk. He was difficult to work with, and even more difficult to understand. He didn't take to aggression: Connor had gone as far as spilling the Lieutenant's drink to convince him to go to a crime scene, which resulted only in threats and reluctant cooperation. He also didn't accept placation: any attempt at apology or nicety was met with a hard stare and a mutter.

Connor was getting there, though.

Just that morning, they'd been chasing a deviant around the middle of Detroit. Rather, Connor had been chasing the deviant - Hank made some quick calculations and cut the android off on a nearby rooftop. By the time Connor arrived to the scene, the android had bolted for the next building and pushed the lieutenant over the ledge.

Every part of his programming told Connor that catching the deviant was his priority. CyberLife designed him for that. Hank would have either held on until help could arrive, or he would have pulled himself up to safety. The deviant was what mattered.

The deviant could also be caught later, but Hank needed help then. Connor pulled him up to his feet, and in the process let the deviant escape. Hank told him it didn't matter. He tried to thank him, but it had already been discovered that he was not a very open person.

Now they sat in his driveway. It'd been an awkward ride. Connor was reporting into CyberLife, and Hank was left to his own convoluted thoughts of who his partner was and why he did what he did.

"We'll just be a minute."

Connor nodded, seeing Hank exit the car through the reflection of the passenger's window. He followed suit, and looked up at the small, one-story home as Hank moved toward the steps of the front door. Something was amiss.

The stove light is on.

Connor turned his stare toward the side of the house, where grass had been trampled down into a narrow, almost unnoticeable path. Tire treads around the house. A motorcycle.

"Were you expecting company, Lieutenant?" He asked.

Hank furrowed his brows. "What?" He looked in the direction of Connor's attention, quickly spotting the same clues as the android detective. He went still, and alert. "No, I wasn't."

Stepping forward, he pushed Connor behind him and began to walk toward the house. He reached for his firearm, whispering, "Stay behind me."

Connor would follow the order as he scanned the house for further signs of a break-in. They ascended the steps to the front door, and Connor took note of the stain on the knob and the scratches on the lock. Lock picked. Blood on the knob. Human. They're injured. Trying to hide in a random home?

He looked to the window as Hank turned the key and began to push the door open. He thought back to a conversation they had at the station - Hank had a pet. Lieutenant's dog isn't barking. Knows assailant, or was incapacitated.

Hank took a slow step inside the home. He waited to hear a footstep or a scuffle, but found nothing other than silence. The dog was absent from the living room, and Connor could find no trace of a fight. Probability of random encounter low. More likely they know the lieutenant.

In the kitchen, a hand peeked out from behind the dinner table, tossing aside a red beanie. Hank stopped in his tracks, but only for a moment. Someone had broken into the house, and appeared to be on the floor of his kitchen.

They approached quietly, Hank raising his arms to aim his firearm ahead. They reached the tile of the kitchen floor, and closed in on the prowler.

Behind the table sat a young woman. Connor estimated her to be 5'9", though the long, rectangular face and lean frame no doubt made her appear taller to the human eye. She wore a black motor jacket and gray hoodie over a white top. The wrinkled ends indicated it was normally knotted at the waist, however that night it'd been undone and pushed up closer to her chest so she could clean and stitch a wound in her side.

She looked up upon noticing their movement. Once she saw them, she rather stiffly greeted, "Hey, Hank."

The second he spotted her, he lowered his gun and leaned back with shock on his face. "Jesus! I could have shot you!" He exclaimed before putting the safety back on. He put the gun down on the table with a loud thud. "What the fuck, Andy?"

Andy. Nickname. Familiar with one another. Connor looked down to her injury, which had a string of thread connecting it to a needle in her hands. Abdominal bleeding. Stab wound. Was attempting to apply stitches herself.

She shrugged a single shoulder on her intact side. "I didn't have anywhere else to go, so uh...," Looking down at the mess around her, which consisted of some bloody napkins, a bottle of alcohol, and a white rag tinted pink, she added, "Sorry about the dish rag."

"Sorry about the-" Hank couldn't believe what he was hearing. He shook his head, stepping closer to tower over her. He held up an arm and waved it toward the door, wherever he assumed the nearest medical center was in the city. "There's a hospital nine blocks away!"

She wasn't fazed by his yelling, and in fact, she offered a small grin. "Then you should be flattered I chose your marvelous bedside manner over professional care," She replied.

Bedside manner not marvelous. Sarcasm. Very familiar with one another.

With a heavy sigh, Hank took off his jacket and threw it at a chair by the table. He lowered to his knees beside her, and peeled her jacket back to get a better look at her abdomen. "Jesus, kid, what did you get into now?"

Connor took a cautious step forward, deciding to finally speak. "Her injury isn't serious, Lieutenant, but you should let her continue with treatment before we distract her with questioning."

Hank snapped his head up, Connor's words only exasperating his mood. "Isn't serious? She's got a hole in her side!"

"The blood on the knob has dried and she's almost completed her stitches. If it was serious, she wouldn't be conscious now," Connor explained with the same tone he'd used at previous crime scenes. Nodding toward her, he finished, "Additionally, the bleeding has stopped and it looks to be in a non fatal area."

They stared at him a moment. If he were human, he'd daresay he started to feel nervous under the attention.

Andy spoke first. "Who's Robo-Doc?" She asked, tilting her chin up to point it at him.

Quick nickname or not, it was inaccurate. "I'm not a doctor. I work with the lieutenant," Connor corrected.

Her lips stretched into another grin, and both her shoulders moved this time from a small, amused huff. A cringe immediately followed it, and she looked down at her side to ensure everything looked in order.

A laugh. Amusement from my response. That I work with Lieutenant Anderson or that I'm not a doctor?

Hank reached forward and took the needle from her grasp. He slapped her hands away, saying, "Let me handle this, all right? Hands off."

She held them up in a mock surrender, but kept watch over his movement near her stomach. "Aye aye."

As Hank finished her stitching job, Connor moved down the hall. This was the first time he'd been in the lieutenant's home, and he wanted to take the opportunity to explore.

The bedroom door was cracked open, and he could see the tail of a large Saint Bernard resting on the bed. Whether he belonged in that room or not, Connor assumed Andy had led him in there as a matter of convenience. For now, he would leave that room be.

The bathroom was its own treasure. On the mirror above the sink were a handful of sticky notes. Some were pleasantries that he couldn't imagine Hank ever saying - things like 'keep smiling,' and 'today will be fabulous.' Others were far more aligned to his personality; 'I'm not grumpy, I just don't like you,' was particularly in the spirit of the Hank Anderson he knew.

Connor looked down to the sink, which had spots of blood and a rim of pink around the drain. He reached in, dabbing the substance on the tip of his middle finger. A quick scan across his tongue told him just enough about the woman in the next room.

Blood type A. Andrea Hope. Twenty-nine, detective at the Detroit Police Department, Special Investigations Division. Last known case was with the Red Ice Task Force. Confirmed ties to Hank.

In the kitchen, Andy watched Connor walk down the hall before turning back toward Hank. "I heard you were workin' with AI, but I thought they were just trying to mess with me."

"Eh, shut up," He muttered back. He took a moment to pause his work and look up at her with accusing eyes. "And who's they anyway? You aren't talking to anyone on the force, are you?" If she was endangering herself just to talk to coworkers, he was fairly certain he would lose his mind. He knew she'd be the death of him eventually.

She was quick to defend herself under his skepticism. "It's just Richards," She whined, annoyed, "I'm following orders, don't worry."

He scoffed, returning to his task. "I don't think breaking into my house was an order."

"They've got eyes in the hospital," She replied, "I show up there, they pull my insurance information, and I'm either dead or in witness protection."

He pulls the thread through one last time, and straightens his back to glare at her. "You've been stabbed, Andy. Maybe you need it," He argued.

She removed a hand from her shirt to wave him off. "This was just some junkie."

"They're all junkies!"

"I'm not compromised," She said, looking him in the eyes. The firm tone was enough to reassure him, but he doubted he would ever stop worrying.

Connor quietly reappeared from around the corner. Hank was tying the thread at the end of Andy's stitches when her voice turned chipper, "I also have some information that might help you out if you're nice about it."

This caught Connor's attention. Information from someone in SID had to be helpful to his case, and it was a big win considering the loss they had earlier on the roof.

Hank reached for the scissors beside her and cut the remaining thread. Resting his elbow on his knee, he quirked a brow. "How about I don't kick you out for getting blood all over my floor?" He offered, motioning to the splatters on the tile around her.

She looked down at the mess, then pursed her lips. Patting his shoulder, she grabbed hold of a nearby drawer and started pushing herself up to her feet. She grabbed her beanie to take with her, and shoved it over dark brown hair. "We can negotiate on terms later. I need to pee."

As she left to the bathroom, she nodded to Connor in passing. He watched Hank gather up the napkins and wipe the blood away with the rag. If Hank's response was anything to go by, he wasn't interested in receiving help from the detective.

Yet again, Connor found himself trying to persuade his partner. He would start slow this time, nice but casual. He'd work his way up to the point. "She seems... interesting."

"One way of puttin' it," Hank grumbled, cursing under his breath as he stood and moved to toss the napkins in the trash.

"I take it the detective is undercover," Connor continued.

Hank paused. It'd been a long day for them, and as much as he was starting to rethink his current partner, he was still suspicious of the android. "No, no, don't do that," He warned, pointing at Connor, "Don't look up her file. I'm serious, Connor, you stick to your case."

Connor's eyes narrowed a little. Why couldn't Hank just see the opportunity in front of them? It was like he was trying to- No. Connor was not frustrated. He couldn't be. "If she has information that could be valuable to us, she is my case," He explained, trying to remain calm.

"Well don't I feel special?" With a startle, Connor turned to the left and found Andy standing beside him. She watched him with big eyes and a smile, and for a moment, he was caught off guard. She leaned back against the wall and looked toward Hank. "Ready to negotiate?"

The man sighed. "What do you want?" He asked her warily.

Her smile fell, a serious mood falling over her. "I want in on the deviancy cases."

"Hell no."

The response was instantaneous, but so was Connor's: "Offer accepted."

Surprise flashed across Andy's face, and she reeled her head back. Pointing at him, she turned to Hank and asked, "Can he do that?"

Hank's stare was drilling into the side of Connor's head. Even for an android, he could feel it. "No, he can't."

Connor was not giving up this fight, however. "The department has given CyberLife enough authority on this case to agree to these terms," He explained.

Slashing a hand through the air, Hank said, "I don't give a damn what CyberLife has - she's not on the case."

"Come on! I have contacts you don't," Andy argued with a pout, "Red ice has skyrocketed these past few weeks. You know why?"

"Deviants."

She nodded, confirming Connor's guess. "They're looking for help and instead they're finding manufacturers. I can get you information on who and where, but I can't do that without direct access to you, Hank."

No matter how good it all sounded, Hank didn't want to hear it. It wasn't a matter of her performance on the job. This went much deeper than that. "You can tell it to Richards and he can pass it along-"

"Richards doesn't give a shit about what happens to the androids," She interrupted with a scoff. Connor made a note of this comment. It implied sympathy for androids, which was the first display he'd seen of such an attitude from a human.

Hank picked up on it, as well. He pointed at her as if finding his 'ah-ha' moment. "And that's why I'm not letting you on the case. You do." Glancing down at the rag still in his hand, he tossed it into the kitchen sink before continuing. "We're not doing this to protect some robots, Andy. We're hunting them down, do you get that?" He pressed.

If his words stung, she didn't let it show, saying, "I rather it be you than the dealers."

"Lieutenant." Hank turned his attention to Connor, who was pretty sure that threats, at least, would be successful against the man. "If you refuse to let her on the case, I'll bring her on as a CyberLife consultant."

"Hear that? Bet consultants don't get badges and security clearance," Andy teased, excited by Connor siding with her.

Hank stared. They returned it with ones of their own, like children on Christmas Eve. They'd known each other twenty minutes and already they were partners in crime. "Son of a..." He ran an arm over his forehead, turning away from them. "I can't believe I'm getting tag-teamed by a bratty kid and a fuckin' android."

"Then you know we make a good team," She stressed, slapping a hand against Connor's arm, "Hank, you know I'm good for it."

After a few more seconds of contemplation, Hank nodded. "Yeah. I do. I'll talk to Fowler and Richards in the morning, see what we can work out."

She jumped a little, clapping her hands together in victory. "All right," She laughed a little, and then gestured to the fridge behind Hank. "So you want to get me a beer, or what?"

Andy and Connor sat across from one another at the dinner table. He watched her as she leaned back in her chair, and tapped her index finger on the table's surface. She ignored his attention on her, instead waiting for Hank to open and hand her a bottle of beer.

"Thanks," She murmured, taking it from him as he lowered into his own seat.

She lifted the bottle to her lips, when Connor held out a hand to stop her. "Have you taken any sort of medication in the last few hours for that injury?" He questioned.

Lowering the bottle, she looked between him and Hank. "Is he serious?" She asked the man, tilting the bottle toward him.

Hank stumbled through an attempt at an explanation for his partner before sighing. He had no energy to fight Connor now - sometimes it was best to just play along. "Have you?"

"Oh for...," She trailed off and plopped her beer onto the table. Sliding it toward Hank, she peered across the table at the android. "Fine. Happy?"

Connor couldn't feel happiness, but if he were capable, he would have. He gave a simple nod. Beside him, Hank tried to push the conversation along. "Just give us this info you got."

Straightening her back, Andy rested her elbows on the table and leaned toward them. She slipped into work mode like it was nothing, asking, "You remember Spades?"

Hank nodded. "'Course I do. What about him?"

At Connor's inquisitive gaze, she shifted her focus to him and explained. "After that big bust seven years ago, not many big dealers were left in Detroit. Mostly all small fish; they work a couple blocks and that's it. Which reminds me-" Snapping her fingers, she informed Hank, "That guy on the news yesterday, with the deviant housekeeper? You know he's a dealer, right? He's about as much of a jackass as he is useless."

She was referring to Todd Williams, an unemployed junkie who claimed to have his housekeeping android turn on him before running away. He was on their ever growing list of deviant cases.

"We haven't had a chance to talk to him yet, but I'm not surprised. His neighborhood practically screams red ice," Hank commented.

Now it was Connor's turn to push things forward. "You were saying about Spades?" He asked Andy.

"Spades was the only big dealer left. A lot of interstate connections, couple of guys down in Mexico. We never found him or his people, but there were a lot of buyers throwing his AKA around," She told him.

Nodding, Hank glanced to Connor, saying, "We started to think he was a red herring just meant to throw us off the real guys."

Andy turned almost smug. She straightened a little more in her seat, and with a small smirk, she said, "Well, he wasn't."

This was new information for Hank, who finally took the bait she'd been dangling in front of him all night. Curiously, he asked, "No shit?"

She nodded, saying, "Real as us. Name's Nick Weaver, and I've been working with him since last Christmas."

Last Christmas? That was huge. This Nick Weaver was the one guy they could never find. He may not have been a part of the task force anymore, but you'd think someone at the precinct would have filled Hank in every once in a while. "Why the hell didn't Richards tell me any of this?"

With a scoff, Andy asked, "Do I look like Richards to you?" She didn't give him a chance to continue, instead adding, "Anyway, I've been trying to get his list of contacts, but it hasn't been easy. He's only got about three people he trusts with that sort of thing."

"Then how'd you get in?" Connor inquired.

Another shift of her mood had Andy grinning at him. She cocked her head, winked, and mused, "My good looks and infectious personality."

Connor reeled back, taken aback by the response. A wink. A positive gesture. Pleasant. His LED cycled through a faint yellow before going back to blue, and he struggled to make sense of the woman in front of him. Could nothing around Hank be simple?

Hank watched him a moment with a confused scowl. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the android detective was being bashful. "Stop flustering the robot and get on with the story, Andy."

Back into work mode she went. "One of his people started supplying a lot more than usual a couple weeks ago, right around the time all this really blew up. Not just red ice, either. The guy sold Weaver a couple of barely activated androids."

A supplier had to get his inventory from somewhere. No warehouses or holding facilities had been broken into recently, which meant they were all taken from the street. Maybe not every case they were investigating were about deviants, but rather about theft. "Were they deviant?" Connor asked.

She shrugged, saying, "Didn't look it to me, but I didn't exactly get a chance to have a chat with them before Weaver sent them off as payment to some friends he owed." The smug expression came back to her as she went on, "But I did some digging, and I have a name."

"Well, great," Hank pressed, "What is it?"

"Andronikov."

Photo by Ron Smith on Unsplash.