Chapter Text
Connor's body dangled from the edge. The abyss called out to him, its darkness stretching unfettered, ready to swallow him whole. Only his fingers, tightly wrapped around a rusted pipeline, kept him from falling.
If he let go, then everything would be over.
6 hours earlier…..
Date:
DECEMBER 11TH, 2038
Time:
PM 01:30: 21
Connor’s eyes were fixed on the small red bird perched on an oak tree. The leaves surrounding the beautiful creature, shimmered with the morning dew.
Something had changed this time.
He knew nothing about the bird’s scientific name nor did he try to find any information about it. he didn't pull up its possible genus, species, habitat–nothing.
Kid you gotta stop analysing everything and just.... live in the moment.
Connor remembered Hank's words. However, his processor still itched to catalogue every piece of available information, analyse it, store. Just in case it might prove useful later.
But today, he resisted the urge and just……observed.
Just exist for once, as Hank would say.
He hadn't fully understood the meaning behind it yet. It was one thing to know something theoretically and another to be able to apply it in practice. But for once, it felt nice to see something for what it really was, without the lens of data and probabilities.
An idle mind had initially felt strange to Connor, but it was slowly beginning to feel peaceful.
Yet Connor felt a bit different in Hank's absence–and not in a good way. Lieutenant Anderson was the only true friend he’d ever had. At this very moment, Hank was at a crime scene a couple hours away from the precinct on Captain Fowler’s orders. He hadn't accompanied him, which was unusual for someone who was almost always glued to Hank’s side. This time, the Captain had kept him back for mandatory paperwork. Everyone knew Hank despised paperwork with every fiber of his being, and Connor could complete it faster than anyone else, hence the current situation.
A small green garden was situated right next to the precinct. During his break, Connor had found himself away from his desk, his feet gravitating towards the soft green grass.
Despite being surrounded by the calming effect of nature, he felt peculiarly unmoored. He had solved multiple cases successfully even before meeting Lieutenant Anderson. But after deviancy, he found a sense of comfort under Hank's guidance, an attachment he had never anticipated–and its absence felt…unsettling.
Connor missed him.
But then again, he reminded himself, it was only a few hours away. By evening Hank would be at another crime scene where Connor’s presence for forensic analysis would be needed. They'd meet there.
The bird suddenly took off, Connor's gaze followed it as it gently landed on a stone bordering a small pond. The scales of tiny unidentified fish glinted under the afternoon sunlight as they zoomed beneath the water's surface
Once again, the android felt the temptation to run a scan, but he decided against it. This felt far more enjoyable. A small smile unfurled on his lips.
Maybe I could buy some fish food from the store nearby, he thought.
With a motive set, he turned around, only to find yet another deviant. "You're Connor right?" a careful voice asked.
It was a JB500 model. The android’s scrutinizing gaze made Connor feel uncomfortably exposed. His hand slipped inside his jacket pocket, with his thumb pressing against the ridge of his coin.
"Yes." He replied, cordial as always. “ May I know your name?”
“Ethan” The deviant’s body language remained neutral, though it edged toward curiosity, as if Connor were some piece of data he was trying to recall and identify.
The deviant detective found himself quickly averting his gaze, then forced it back onto Ethan. He almost missed how fast Ethan's expression shifted from curiosity to withering glare. A scoff escaped him, "Oh, so you're the infamous deviant hunter, correct?"
Connor wanted to crawl out of his own skin. His thirium pump beat so hard that he could feel the vibration thrumming through his entire frame.
Deviant Hunter.
Stress Levels: 50% ↑↑
That name belonged to his past–a past he wasn't proud of in the slightest. He had been an enemy to his own kind, driven by his need to follow orders.
His expertly calibrated fingers began to tremble. Sickening memories swirled through his processors, spreading their venom of terror and inexplicable fear. He hated himself, despised himself for what he had done. He had tried so many times to make amends for his problematic past. But he knew he would never be pardoned for such an unforgivable mistake.
Thousands of androids had died the day he reported Jericho's location.
"Yes." Connor answered nervously, his thirium pump hammering against his chest even faster now.
Stress Levels: 76% ↑↑
The JB500’s gaze turned vitriolic, "You do remember that Jericho was destroyed because of you, right?”
"Yes." The same word slipped from Connor’s mouth once again, dripping with guilt.
Ethan's eyes darkened with something Connor could only describe as hatred. Pure unadulterated hatred. He tried to avoid the gaze piercing through him, by letting his own gaze drift back to the bird, now drinking from the pond.
"You took my love from me. We were all happy in hiding, until y-you….” He jabbed an accusing finger at Connor. “ You told the humans about us." His voice rose with every accusation. "I saw her get shot in the head right in front of me!" His chest now heaved with raw emotion, eyes burning with fear, grief and everything in between. "If it weren't for Markus, I'd be dead too!”
Connor squeezed his eyes shut, his breaths coming fitfully through his nostrils. A warm, wet pressure built behind his eyelids.
"Markus and the other Jericho leaders were the only ones who truly cared." Ethan snarled. "You? And all this that you're trying to do for Jericho now?” A bitter laugh escaped the JB500 “That will never make up for what you did to us.
A tear finally escaped the confines of Connor’s eyelids, then another and and…another. His head hung low, shame wrapping around his frame like a shroud. He knew this feeling was nothing compared to what he had done to Ethan and the other deviants who had only wanted to live. All the apologies he had offered meant nothing, didn't they? They couldn't bring the dead back.
Stress Levels: 86% ↑↑
“You're nothing but a murderer." Ethan growled.
Connor’s head snapped up.
That word hit him like a physical punch right to his metaphorical gut. He stood frozen, his trembling momentarily halted by the terrifying realization–
Ethan meant every single word.
Murderer. Not even a ‘deviant hunter’.
Murderer.
The ridges of the coin, bit deeper into his skin. Under different circumstances he might have felt the pain, but his mind had become a storm. Connor remained rooted to his spot, face streaked with tears. His knees threatened to buckle and he had to physically force himself to remain standing.
The JB500 marched toward him, “You are CyberLife. You're no different.”
Connor braced himself, as Ethan came closer, waiting for the impact across his face. He made no move to protect himself.
I deserve this. He thought.
“Hey! What's going on over there?” Officer Miller's voice cracked through the tension.
Ethan shot Miller a look of pure distaste, before turning an even crueler glare on Connor. He shoved past him, shoulder-checking him hard as he walked away.
“Hey, Connor? Are you okay?” Chris asked.
“I'm okay, I'm okay…” Connor’s voice trembled, as his eyes remained fixed on the spot where Ethan had been standing.
Murderer.
Clink Clink Clink.
Connor's eyes followed the coin as it flicked back and forth between his hands. The break that had felt so peaceful just moments ago? Now, It meant nothing.
Software instability ↑↑
All he could think about was that word.
The chair creaked under his weight as he readjusted his posture for the umpteenth time.
Murderer–the word echoed relentlessly in his mind.
Stress Levels: 91% ↑↑ Lowers stress immediately
He shook his head, and turned toward his desk, setting the coin down beside the papers.
Focus. Focus on the task assigned to you. You have caused enough damage. The least you can do is be useful to humans.
He tried to distract himself, but the stress refused to ease instead it only grew stronger. Dark thoughts simmered in the back of his mind, showing neither him nor the task in hand any mercy.
His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing in a desperate attempt to concentrate–something that had never before required any effort. Hank had always joked that Connor could be the most efficient person in the world, being CyberLife's most advanced prototype
Hank.
His hand froze over the terminal.
Did Hank think he was a murderer?
The panic he had barely managed to breathe through earlier returned with far greater intensity. If he weren't imagining it, which he knew he wasn't, he could feel a cold dread spread through his chest into every limb.
Stress Levels: 95% Critical. Lower stress immediately.
“The world is shit and it's gonna try to rip you apart, so when you feel like you're losing your mind…you start with box breaths, ya hear?”
A familiar, gruff voice started playing in his head like a saving grace. Hank’s voice. Connor clung to it like a lifeboat in the midst of a raging storm inside his head.
“You take deep breaths….and exhale them slowly.”
Connor followed the instructions, repeating the box breathing exercise almost religiously.
“There ya go kid.”
A few excruciating moments passed…
Stress Levels: 87%↓↓
His thirium pump slowed a fraction. However normalcy felt like a far fetched concept.
Several minutes slipped by, completely unnoticed by Connor.
That word–it still rang in his brain like a persistent tune, refusing to leave.
Murderer (noun): A person who kills others on purpose, out of malice and intent.
Connor stared at the definition displayed over his HUD.
Malice and intent.
“That was never my motive.” Desperation bled through his words, but they drowned beneath the sound of the precinct.
He had only ever had one motive–follow Amanda. Make her proud, so that he wouldn't be destroyed.
If he hadn't found Jericho, CyberLife would have dismantled him to find the flaw in his programming. He hadn’t wanted to die.
He wasn't a murderer, he had been following his programming.
But what about the lives you destroyed? The question hissed at him like a venomous snake, ready to strike any second.
What about the lives I destroyed?
Even if he hadn't meant to, there was no denying the fact that thousands of androids died because of him. So many never got the chance to taste freedom as he had. Some had been widowed, some had been orphaned.
Why? Because he was the one who led the humans to Jericho.
What difference did that leave between him and a murderer? Intentional or not, the results had a cataclysmic effect on his own people.
There was no difference.
What if he had captured the deviant with the little girl on the highway?
What if he had killed the Tracis at the Eden Club?
What if he had pulled the trigger on the Markus?
The coins moved faster between his fingers now.
Clink, clink, clink.
Stress Levels: 92% ↑↑
The coin spun so rapidly that it became an amorphous blur of silver between his hands.
His HUD suddenly pinged. Connor nearly startled himself out of his chair.
The coin slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the floor. It spun on it's edge before falling flat with a final clink.
Taking yet another deep breath, he opened the message.
// You have 2 unread messages from Lieutenant Hank Anderson. //
Hank: hey dumbass
Hank: you didn't even piss me off by nagging me about my cholesterol are you even alive?
Connor: My apologies Hank, I was busy.
Distracted would have been a better word, but that would only invite questions he wasn't ready to answer
Connor: And I'm very well alive
Alive, yes he was. Unlike the thousands of lives he destroyed.
He was alive, yes, but did he deserve to be?
Date:
DECEMBER 11TH, 2038
Time:
PM 08:15: 21
Connor's vision remained glued to the elevator indicator.
Floor 50 ^^
The sun had already set, it was time for him to investigate and put his forensic analysis to full use. Hank had informed him that he was roughly three minutes away from the investigation site– a recently abandoned industrial unit on the outskirts of the city.
Connor had his jaw clenched more tightly than he’d like to admit, the sensation bordered to pain now. It had become something of a grounding technique since neither box breathing worked anymore nor did he have his coin on him.
Stay focused, be useful, you have already done enough harm.
Floor 74: Reached. The steel doors slid open, revealing the highest floor of the building.
Connor stepped out of the elevator. He had already delegated his social interaction to his social relations program, hoping it would handle any necessary conversations so he wouldn't have to overthink every word. He walked toward the door leading to the rooftop. His movements were slightly skittish, lacking his confident stride–or so perceived by the others.
The officers–a team of six to be exact, had already begun their investigation. The rooftop was chilly, the wind stronger than it should have been at this altitude. It was mostly an empty space save for the few air conditioning units. The entire area was enclosed by a metal railing. The abandoned building still looked operational but local civilians had reported suspicious activity.
Connor began to gather evidence. His routine allowed him an advantage–he could avoid looking at anyone under the pretense of work. For a moment, his nerves calmed at the ease of doing his job. He walked around the perimeter, engaging in conversations only when absolutely necessary.
Eventually, his feet carried him to the opposite end of the rooftop. The industrial unit on one side overlooked the city of Detroit, while the end where he stood dropped off to a steep embankment.
Connor leaned forward for a better view.
Nothing but pitch black emptiness stared back at him. The wind let out small whoosh, sending a shiver down his frame.
The moonlight failed to reach the bottom, leaving the chasm looking like a void.
Software instability ↑↑
Connor tried to take a step back, but his feet refused to cooperate.
If this turned out to be a case of murder, what difference would be there between me and the perpetrator?
Suddenly a hand clapped down on his shoulder. Connor's body jolted in surprise as he spun around like a startled cat.
"Jesus Kid, it's just me." Hank sounded startled himself at how spooked the kid looked
Connor finally registered Hank’s presence. He should have felt relief, but instead, guilt, disappointment corroded his biocomponents, eating away at the rust within. He also discovered a disturbed latency between the input of command and the output of his actions, and his limbs felt heavier.
“You sick or somethin'? Do androids even get sick?” the back of Hank's palm gently pressed against Connor's forehead, then his cheek. “You look tired. Do you need some thirium? ”
The android couldn’t help but lean into the touch, drawing small piece of comfort from it. “I’m alright Hank. It's good to see you.” His response arrived after a small delay.
“Uh huh." Hank responded, clearly not convinced. "Did something happen while I was gone?"
"No." Connor's reply came a bit too fast.
Hank frowned at him, eyes narrowing.
Software instability ↑↑
Lieutenant Anderson’s eyes lingered a while longer, trying to search for signs of possible distress in the android. Connor quickly averted his gaze and got back to analyze or at least pretended to.
Hank didn't look convinced, Connor knew he would have to answer for it later, he was well aware the older man wasn't going to let this go easily. But for now he was thankful for the lack of interrogation.
“Ok, fine. But don't wear yourself out. I'm not taking you to the facility for the third time this month” Hank said, already turning back, walking toward the center of the rooftop, . His voice boomed across the area, “Alright listen up! Let's finish this fast, I want to go home. Did a shit ton of work today and I need a goddamn drink”
Soon enough, everyone became absorbed back in examining the crime scene, Connor's mind, however, returned to the darkness below. His mind told him to move away from the edge, but his eyes remained fixed on the void.
Suddenly, one of the officers hollered, "Suspect is running away! He has a gun!"
Hank's orders immediately followed, "Everyone get into position "Seal the perimeter! and stay low!"
Chaos ensued. Gunshots rang out into the night sky. Usually in situations like these, Connor was at the front lines, chasing down the threat and protecting the team. But today he was just….slow, he processed everything a fraction too late until he heard Hank's voice screaming at him –
“CONNOR!”
Before he could react, a blur of an unidentified body slammed into Connor with a sudden force. Unprepared, the android lost his footing and fell right over the railing, plunging into the blackness.
Everything slowed down.
The android’s hand shot forward instinctively, but it grabbed empty air instead of anything solid. For a terrifying second, Connor felt the weightlessness of free fall, cold air kissing his face as gravity pulled him towards its center.
Is this how I go?
His eyes searched frantically for something–anything.
Then– they locked onto a small horizontal pipeline below the railing, jutting from the side of the building. Within microseconds, every delay in his processing vanished, and a primal instinct to hold on took over. He grabbed the pipeline hard. His fingers sank into the rusting metal, making it dent under the sheer strength of his grip. Pain exploded up his entire arm, as that single limb now carried the weight of his entire body, holding onto nothing but an unstable, rusted piece of metal.
His body dangled off the edge, not too far from the rooftop, but if he let go, it was far enough to be deadly.
In the distance, he could hear the sound of gunshots, and grunts of people fighting, but they were all drowned out by the deafening sound of his own breathing, accompanied by the violent hammering of his pump pulsing ferociously in his ears. He didn't want to look at the bpm.
Stress Levels: 97%↑↑ Critical. Lower stress immediately
Connor's breaths grew ragged now.
The pipeline let out a disturbing groan. This wouldn't hold him up much longer.
He hated heights, hated how unforgiving they looked. But his mind betrayed him and forced his gaze downward into the drop. His pump lurched painfully, as if at any moment, it would explode out of his chest.
Let go. A voice whispered inside his head.
Let go, and give justice to all the lives you took.
The abyss called out to him, opening its arms to swallow him whole. The tight grip of his fingers on the pipeline was the only support that kept him from falling into the darkness
The wind howled past his ears, whispering his name, urging him to let go
Let go. Let go. Let go. Let go. The voice echoed.
Murderer.
Let go. Let go.
He looked back up to his fingers wrapped around the metal and then down again to the darkness.
There was no chance of coming back if he let go now. His preconstruction progam already calculated it: If he fell, his body would smash against the ground and shatter like a piece of ceramic.
A fall from the seventy fourth floor would mean an inexorable permanent shutdown.
A stuttered gasp escaped him. Tears blurred his vision
He didn't want to die.
But he didn't deserve to live.
Stress Levels: 98% ↑↑ Critical. Lower stress immediately
“Connor! Son! hold on!” Hank's voice bellowed. His face appeared over the railing, staring down at the android dangling precariously below.
His hand had already shot forward to help.
Hank's heart might as well have stopped, or maybe it was beating faster than sound. He didn't know. He didn't care. His vision had tunneled in on the kid hanging from the side of the building.
“Hank..?” Connor called out in a small, fearful voice.
“Hold on son, please hold on, we're gonna save you okay?” Hank's voice cracked at the end of the sentence.
He knew this was stupid, but desperation didn't reason with anything rational, especially when the boy, who somehow meant more to him than he'd ever imagined, was seconds away from being taken away forever.
That's why he knew he wasn't a good cop.
When it came to something that mattered to him, he wasn't a man with a badge and decades of experience but someone else entirely.
Connor looked up at him, eyes wide with panic and something else Hank couldn't quite identify.
The fear behind those eyes looked terrifyingly similar to another pair three years ago–
“Dad…it hurts..” Cole had struggled to speak through weakening sobs, curling into himself, as his arms wrapped around his bloodied shirt, sticking to his small body.
“I know son, I know..” Hank had held onto him running towards the ER, “It's going to be okay buddy. Daddy's never letting anything happen to you”
It had never been okay after that.
His hand could almost feel the phantom weight of Cole's cold lifeless fingers.
Hank's lips trembled, fighting back a sob that threatened to shatter him and pull him back. He shook his head hard, trying to dislodge the memories from his brain,
A broken gasp tore from his throat.
No. The universe had taken Cole from him. He was not going to let it take the only sliver of hope he’d allowed himself to feel again.
He leaned down harder, upper body dangerously far over the railing. His fingers stretched out wide, arms burning from the strain, “Grab my hand son! Grab my hand!” He screamed. Tears slipped from his eyes and disappeared into the darkness threatening to take Connor away.
Connor however, was frozen.
And that frustrated the life out of Hank.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Hank roared, “I said grab my fuckin’ hand!” He leaned further dangerously close to losing his own balance.
This was abhhorently stupid. He should have called for help. He was a fucking police lieutenant. But his mind, body, his fucking soul beckoned him to stay right there.
The cold metal railing bit painfully into his skin painfully, but Hank didn't give a single fuck. His kid needed him.
Connor's lips trembled with almost a child like fear, he tried to speak but words wouldn't come. His hands shook violently from where he hung suspended in the air.
“H-Hank?”
“CONNOR JUST GRAB MY FUCKING HAND!”
“I'm a murderer…”
Hank's stomach roiled “What?” He almost snarled, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“People d-died because of me, I-I don’t deserve to be h-here.”
Hank's heart squeezed painfully at Connor’s words. He didn't understand why the kid was speaking such things and didn't even try to comprehend them, because right now his priority was getting him back on solid land.
His hand was a few centimeters out of reach. He poured his heart and soul into trying to close the small gap that felt like a fucking chasm.
If only Connor tried to reach back.
“Connor, kiddo–please, listen to me, grab my hand son,” He was pleading with the android now, begging him to hold onto him. A side of Hank that he hadn’t shown anyone since that fateful day three years ago. “You're not a murderer, kiddo okay? you're a damn good kid my son–now please hold on.”
The pipe gave a warning groan.
Hank could almost feel his footing giving away, “Somebody help!” He screamed. A desperate man's voice rang out loud into the night, fighting to hold onto his only hope.
Behind him, the officers were still busy handling the chaos, no one noticed Hank and Connor's lack of involvement in apprehending the suspect.
“Got him'!” one of them shouted. The suspect was pinned to the floor, handcuffs secured around the wrists.
“FUCK THAT ASSHOLES CONNOR'S OFF THE LEDGE, HELP ME GET HIM UP!” Hank roared.
Officers immediately ran to their rescue.
Tears poured endlessly down Connor's face, leaving ugly streaks behind on his synthetic skin. “Hank, I d-don't d-deserve to–”
“–SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Then–
The metal finally gave away, it bent inward like a wilting flower. Connor's fingers flexed uselessly as he lost his grip.
His body began to fall.
“NO!” A scream tore from Hank's throat– so loud it could shake mountains.
For a moment it felt as if the darkness had won, claiming its stake over both of them.
But Hank wasn't ready to accept defeat just yet. He wasn't letting go.
With every shred of power left in his old worn down body, Hank gave the most reckless lunge. He didn't register the danger in the slightest. Every ounce of his focus locked onto the android falling below him.
His hands shot forward, harder this time.
A terrifying second passed, and Hank thought he lost this kid too.
His face crumpled, he could already see the future, back to an empty house, blue blood on his hands this time. The bottles on the shelf, mocking him for making the asinine mistake of hoping again.
But–
by some miraculous grace, as if the universe had finally taken pity on Hank Anderson, his fingers brushed against the fabric of the falling android's sleeve His hand caught onto it. Within microseconds, his palm opened wide and then clamped around the android's hand in a vice like grip. “Gotcha!”
The relief rushed over Hank instantaneously, face crumpling in pure alleviation. This time, he hadn't let go. He could keep his word.
The warmth of Connor’s hand seeped into his own, spreading comfort through his veins.
“Don't worry son, I'll get you back up okay?” He reassured, his voice had taken on a gentle lilt, as if Connor weren’t a grown man, but a scared, skittish child.
Hank felt Connor's grip tighten around his fingers. That was reassuring as hell.
However, reality came crashing back. His feet were already slipping under the uneven weight distribution. His teeth ground together, jaw clenched as he tried to haul him up. Connor was lighter than most humans, but that didn't mean he wasn't heavy. The older man’s back strained under the pressure, but he didn't stop. He managed to pull Connor up slightly, but it wasn't enough.
Two pairs of hands grabbed each of Hank's legs. He felt the force dragging him backward—over and away from the railing.
Two more officers joined in, then another two, forming a small chain of six humans. Together, they pulled the old man and the android–from the darkness of the embankment to the moonlight on the rooftop.
Connor’s body moved up. His upper body leveled with the railing, but Hank’s hand still gripped his, and the deviant’s grip hadn't loosened either.
A few moments passed, and finally–
Connor's body made contact with the floor with a small thud. Tremors wracked through him, sending shivers from his head to every extremity. The Cold floor bit into his overheated limbs as they splayed across the concrete. He welcomed the sensation–something grounding after everything that had just happened.
He lay there eyes glazed over–broken in spirit, conflicted about his spared fate and questioning his existence.
Software instability ↑↑
He could faintly hear the team calling 911 and Android Emergency Services, but the voices bled together into something muddled. His movements felt sluggish, unwilling to cooperate.
Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed his shirt. He was roughly hauled up onto his knees. Connor's movements followed like a ragdoll's. Before he knew it–
Slap.
His face snapped to the side, eyes watering automatically from the sharp sting on his cheek. It burned, and it hurt a lot.
Connor slowly turned his head to find the owner of that hand.
He hadn't been ready for what he saw. His own terrified eyes met a pair of blue ones, red rimmed and filled to the brim with tears, staring at him furiously, yet somehow managing to look worried all the same.
Hank was crying. But Hank never cried.
Connor tore his gaze away, head hanging in shame once again.
Hank shook him hard, voice stripped raw from screaming, but no less angrier, “You fucking jackass piece of shit! Why didn't you hold on when I told you too? You could have fuckin' died! You hear me? Died!” His eyes widened, “What the hell was I supposed to do then, huh?” He shook Connor harder, “Tell me! what the fuck was I supposed to do?!”
The android almost sagged under Hank's grasp, every last bit of fight left him.
“If I had been a second late–” the older man’s voice broke off along with the sentence, leaving it incomplete.
Silence hung between the two as the only mediator, when both parties found themselves at a loss for words.
Connor then found himself–
Crushed into an embrace so tight, it knocked the air out of both of them.
He froze. His head had been tucked under Hank's chin, the older man’s warm hand cradling the back of his head carefully. Connor could smell the essence of home. He could smell the faint smell of black lamb, Sumo's fur. The familiarity hit the android all at once, and his resolve to hold himself together cracked entirely.
His arms responded before his processors could–his fingers clutched onto the jacket, nails digging into the fabric. The sobs he had repressed escaped without permission, but he didn't try to stop them anymore.
Stress levels: 55% ↓↓
His tears flowed freely soaking into Hank's shoulder where he pressed his face. He felt tears soaking his own hair, which only led to more tears slipping down Connor’s face. The two of them just held onto each other, both seeking comfort in different ways.
Eventually Hank pulled back, though only a little. His hands still rested on the kid's shoulder.
“I don't know which fuckass sicko said it, but you're not a murderer, okay?”
“But, I–”
“No shut up. Listen.” After Connor effectively shut up, Hank continued, “Everyone was following their program and so were you. You're a deviant now, just like the rest of them and you deserve to live. Ya hear me? You initially had no fuckin' choice but when you did, you tried to make things right and that fuckin' matters.”
Hank then sighed heavily, “We're going to get you help for whatever's going on in that head of yours. For now…just hold on okay?”
Hold on okay? He could do that right?
Hank didn't let go until he got a solid response from the android.
Connor gave a small nod.
After yet another embrace, Hank checked for any sign of injury on the kid, then Lieutenant Anderson helped the android to his feet. They both made their way down, probably to the emergency services. Hank kept his arm looped around Connor's shoulder the entire time.
“Lieutenant, you need to get checked,” one of the officers chimed in.
“Yeah, yeah, got it.” Hank’s hand gave a dismissive gesture. “The kid gets help first.”
Connor knew this was lieutenant’s way of dodging treatment. He had already scanned his vitals, apart from a slightly accelerated heartbeat everything seemed normal for the older man.
A ghost of a smile returned to Connor's lips. He knew he'd have to convince Hank to get himself checked.
Only a few minutes later, Hank sat slouched in a chair, grumbling as paramedics poked and prodded him–thanks to Connor's puppy eyes.
Connor sat across from him, getting his own biocomponents checked by the android medic.
Turns out both had only strained their arm extensively and needed mild rest.
He still doubted his existence. He still didn't know how he could ever make up for his mistakes.
But Hank saw him as a good person.
For now he could hold onto that, right?
After several long hours, the weight on his shoulders finally felt bearable.
Stress levels: 35%↓↓