Chapter Text
Day 0.
October 15, 2036
7:57 PM
Hank hated the office. The walls were painted a neutral beige, the floor was solid wood, the smell had a distinct tang of lemongrass. There was only a desk and a chair in front of it. A set of filing cabinets in the far left corner was present only by pure necessity. It couldn’t have been a worse place to be.
“Look, Hank, I’m really at the end of my rope here. You need to work with me so that I can work with you.” Fowler leaned forwards, his expression sinking into a tired scowl. One hand was white knuckled around a yellow paper notepad, the other was clenched so tightly that spiderweb cracks were beginning to spread along the pencil.
Hank fixed the man with a glare. “Fuck off, Jeffrey. I’ve been trying, okay? So get off my ass about it.”
Jeffrey Fowler leaned back in his chair, pushing his glasses up with a pointer finger. He inhaled deeply in an obvious attempt to compose himself. “Look, Hank, I’m trying to be professional. But as your therapist, and as your friend, I really need you to think about what you’re doing. You haven’t been trying at all. You’ve been drinking too much, skipping work, and God knows what else. Do you get where I’m coming from?”
The lieutenant wasn’t moved. “Not really, no. Just stay out of my fucking business. I don’t need another nosy ass getting onto me about my habits. Got it?” His tone was sharp but still low, a warning for the therapist to stop pushing the issue.
Fowler put the pad aside and reached into a drawer from his desk. There was a loud thump as he yanked out a thick manilla folder and dropped it in front of Hank. He opened it, shoving a file in front of the other man’s face. “You see this? Disciplinary reports from work, tickets for drunk driving, complaints, this binder is so thick it could be a novel! You have got to stop.”
Hank’s response was a growl. “Listen close now. I. Don’t. Care. Disciplinary reports are worthless. They aren’t gonna fire me, nobody’s actually gonna do anything because they feel bad for me! They pity me. And you know what? That’s fine with me. They turn a blind eye to me doing my own shit, and I go about my business.”
The other seemed to actually consider this response. His face softened ever so slightly. “And how does that make you feel, Hank?”
“Like punching something. Or, even better, somebody.”
“You know why they feel bad for you?”
“I think I have a vague idea.”
“Because you act like a piece of shit.”
“Thanks, Jeffrey. Really feeling the love and support.”
“I’m serious.” The black man leveled Hank with an intense gaze. It made Hank feel distinctly uncomfortable, a faint chill creeping up his back. He hated therapists. Jeffrey continued. “They’re sorry for you because you’re a wreck. And don’t get me wrong, anybody in your situation would be a wreck, but you need to at least be somewhat proactive. It’s already been a year, Hank. A year since the accident. You have to get something in your life to start a new chapter, get all those bad memories out of your head. It’s like a festering wound up there.” He pointed to his forehead for emphasis. “I’m not saying you should move on, but you need some type of closure or some type of distraction. Something needs to change.”
Hank was quiet. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock behind his head. Pale orange sunlight coated the office, and Hank focused on the floating dust particles. “What do you have in mind?”
Jeffrey radiated nervousness. It was unusual, and it made Hank tense.
“Look, there’s this technique that somebody developed that I think could really help you. It’s really quite ingenious.” The therapist’s voice still carried the normal note of sterness, but some other, softer emotion had leaked in. It was almost gentle sounding. Hank hated it. “It’s for parents who lost their child.”
Jeffrey slid a flyer across the desk towards Hank.
The poster was brightly lit on the techpad, full of color and stylized words. The face of a smiling girl was featured in the center, with long brown hair and a large smile. It was an advertisement for the YK series, android children. It could replicate emotions. It could simulate childhood illnesses like fever and cold. It could feel pain, it could get sore and tired. It could get hungry. But of course, all of its needs could be deactivated for convenience. The perfect child.
As Hank took in the poster, Jeffrey seized the opportunity to explain. “It would be no charge. The office can cover any costs. I’m just asking for you to try, Hank, I think it could be a good opportunity for you to adjust--”
That was it.
Hank stood abruptly, slamming his hands on the desk, cracking the techpad. The screen fizzled out. The resounding boom echoed briefly in the small room. A cup of pens fell, the writing utensils clattering on the hardwood floor. Hank opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of any words to say that would appropriately summarize his feelings of rage and horror. Instead, he spun around, stalking towards the door.
“Hank, I thought--”
“I don’t know what you were fucking thinking, but I’m not having some little plastic shit in my house to replace--” Hank’s voice choked abruptly. He coughed to clear it. “That’s so fucked up, Jeffrey! Seriously!?”
Jeffrey sighed, rising from his desk. “Look, I know it may sound absurd, but it would help you. It would only be for a little, just enough to shock you out of this slump you’re in. You need somebody to take care of you, and you need somebody to take care of. This android could do it for you! You just need to give it a chance. It’s not just a machine.”
“Then what is it?”
As if on cue, the door to the office swung open. A well-dressed android stepped in, the main desk worker of the place. Her, no, its immaculate features and perfect clothes drove Hank insane. Humans weren’t perfect, and this thing seemed to defy all expectations. It made him shudder just looking at it.
“Pardon me, but the timer is up for this session.” Its voice was lilting and polite, so human-like and yet so unnatural. There was no emotion, no feeling, no room for anything but whatever was in that programming.
Jeffrey cleared his throat. “Thank you, Claire.” It was an obvious dismissal, and the android turned to leave.
Hank cut it off, thrusting out his arm to prevent its departure. He jabbed a finger towards it, poking her roughly on the shoulder. He watched in satisfaction as the LED spun into yellow for a brief moment before returning to a blinking blue.
“A machine, Jeffrey. You said it’s not a machine. The fucking poster said it could simulate emotions. Pretend to be a human. A machine programmed to be human. Yeah right. I’m not fucking delusional, I don’t need a pet robot in my house to pretend to be somebody who’s dead! You’re insane!” He glared at Claire. “Look at them! Plastic buckets of nuts and bolts with a side of fake blood.”
Jeffrey raised his hands appeasingly, as one would do with a spooked wild animal. “Two months.”
“You aren’t bargaining with me on this one. There’s no more compromising, no more bribing, no more of your bullshit. I’m not taking a kid robot.”
“This isn’t a request.”
“What’s that supposed to fucking mean?”
Jeffrey sighed, deigning not to elaborate. “Goodbye, Hank. I’ll see you again in two weeks.”
Claire escorted Hank out. If her pace was faster than it usually was, if her tone was a bit brusquer than it usually was, if her heels clicked a little more loudly than they usually did, then Hank didn’t notice.
Day 1.
October 16, 2036
10:00 AM
Sumo was barking at the door. He always got riled up by doorbells. Hank blinked open his eyes, squinting against the bright sun pouring in from his kitchen window. He had the most horrible stiffness in his neck and back, credit to falling asleep passed out on the hard tile floor. His head felt heavy and a jackhammer cheerfully drilled into his skull as the hangover made itself known.
His whiskey had spilled on his shirt. It reeked, and his nose crinkled involuntarily. “Shit,” he muttered, trying to stretch out the kinks. There was only a vague memory of what had happened last night. His gun wasn’t on the floor, still in his nightstand drawer, so it must’ve not been too bad.
Sumo was still barking. Hank was about to shout for the dog to shut up and stop causing his hangover to grind into his head when the doorbell rang again. The shrill beep sent Hank’s headache reeling, but he fought through it. He should be used to it by now.
He stalked to the door, shoving the dog aside, not bothering to see who it was. Most likely a delivery guy or something. He opened the door, unconcerned about his ragged appearance.
Hank had to do a double take.
A young boy stood in front of him. Hank couldn’t stop his investigative observations from filtering into his head. He looked to be around nine or ten years old. Pale skin with dark, short brown hair. Brown eyes peered up at Hank curiously. He was dressed in a ridiculously small suit, complete with a grey tie. Hell, he was even wearing dress shoes. The thing that stood out the most was the blue LED on the boy’s temple. So, not a boy, but a machine.
“Are you lost?” Hank asked before he could stop himself. Androids didn’t get lost. Didn’t they have little GPS thingies built into their head or whatever?
The faint hum of a taxi made Hank look past the boy. The taxi that had delivered the boy was driving off on the automated road. So, not lost.
The android’s reply was prompt. “No. My name is Connor, I’m the android sent by CyberLife. I was purchased by Jeffrey Fowler and gifted to Hank Anderson.” Connor didn’t smile, but it looked very pleased with the current events.
Hank closed the door in its face. Locked it. Went back into the kitchen and downed the rest of the bottle. He wasn’t drunk enough for this shit. Then he called his therapist.
Claire, the secretary, picked up. “Hello, this is--”
“I need to speak to Fowler.”
“Mr. Anderson? How may I be of service?” The voice was clipped. Could androids even hold grudges? Hank shoved the thought away.
“A small plastic shit just showed up on my porch. Said Fowler had sent him. I need to have, words, with the man.”
“Of course. I am redirecting you now.”
Three polite knocks on the door. Sumo had settled down in front of the door, ears twitching every time a new sound emerged.
“Hank, before you say anything, it’s only for two months.”
The lieutenant felt like ripping his own hair out. “That’s not how that works, Jeffrey! I’m not adopting some random ass android that shows up on my doorstep without my permission!” he shouted into the receiver, trying to get his point across.
“You don’t have a choice. Deal with it, and get your act together.”
Hank ranted for a solid minute before realizing that the man had already hung up. “Fuck,” he grunted, carelessly tossing the phone onto the table. He didn’t want to deal with the android issue, so he decided to go to work.
He suited up, ate a piece of toast, and braced himself to open the front door again and face the kid. The lieutenant nudged his dog out of the way before exiting.
The kid-- Connor?-- was still on the porch. It was standing the exact way it had been left, straight and precise. It was almost like a military salute. The one difference was a quarter, clutched in one hand. Connor looked like it had been caught in some type of act, and pocketed the coin quickly. “Mr. Anderson, I get the impression that you were unaware of my arrival. If my presence inconveniences you, then I deeply apologize.”
“Yes, it fucking inconveniences me. What type of nine year old even uses words like those? I thought you were supposed to pretend to be like a human child.” Hank was very creeped out by the child android. It was like something out of a horror movie, those wide brown eyes and extensive vocabulary. Connor was so stiff and uptight, it was practically a business man in a small body. He wondered what exactly his programmers had thought in designing the machine. It didn’t seem very human-like to him.
Connor didn’t hesitate in its reply. “My previous handler believed in precision of language.”
“Handler?” It made the android sound like some type of military agent or weapon, hell, like some type of dog.
“Yes.” Connor didn’t explain, seemingly satisfied with its vague answer.
He glared at the machine. “And what’s with the suit? Makes you look like a miniature asshole.”
Connor paused to actually think. “My appearance was specifically crafted to ensure easy integration into a family.”
Hank scowled at him. “Well, they fucked up.”
He sighed, and brushed past the strange and unwanted android. “I want you off my porch and off my property by the time I come back, got it?”
Connor’s LED spun yellow, processing the order. “Okay, Mr. Anderson.”
“And don’t call me that. It makes me sound old.”
“Okay, Hank.”
“Or that. You don’t get that right. That’s only for friends.”
“Okay, Lieutenant.”
Hank sighed, walking over to his car. He opened the door, glancing once more at the child android on his porch. He shook his head, and got in. For once in about six months, Hank Anderson was going to be on time for work.
Day 1.
October 16, 2036
4:27 PM
Hank fucking hated work. The one day he had decided to arrive on time, all of a sudden it was a miracle and doomsday was coming. He was so tired of being stared at by his coworkers, being judged, having to deal with their bullshit. Damned if you do, damned it you don’t. Arrive to work on time, arrive to work late. Potato potato.
He sighed, leaning back as the heavy rock metal assaulted his ears. It successfully drowned out the pouring rain. His old car clanked cheerfully down the road, the window wipers working frantically against the onslaught. It was so dark it might as well have been night, thick clouds covering the sky. The man drove up to his house, slowing into his driveway.
He stepped out, fumbling with his keys. The man was already soaked, and he had been out in the rain for what, a millisecond? Hank hated rain jackets though. They crinkled when he walked. Before he could continue his thought process, he spotted something that made his heart sink.
On the sidewalk a little ways off to the side stood a small figure. It stood under a lamppost, the rain so thick that the light barely made it to the ground. Hank stood on his porch, peering out. He had a bad feeling. Hank seized an umbrella from his house, walking out to the android.
The LED shone a steady yellow as Connor stood stiffly, its posture interrupted by its constant shivers. Hank distinctly remembered reading that the kid androids could simulate all childhood pains and afflictions. That included the cold.
“What are you doing here, kid?” Hank asked, having to shout over the torrent of water to be heard.
Thunder rumbled, drowning out whatever response there was to be had. Connor’s mouth barely moved, and Hank wasn’t a lip reader.
“What?”
The boy looked up. Its voice was shaky but strong when it replied. “I was waiting for you to get home while simultaneously not being on your property. I found that your property lines end right here.” He pointed a trembling finger to an invisible line in front of him. Connor glanced at Hank, biting its lower lip. It was almost as if it was seeking approval.
“That was fucking stupid of you. I meant that you should just leave, not loiter around like an idiot!”
Connor’s reply was prompt. “That order counteracts my primary directive.”
“Oh my god.” Hank was stuck with an android that wouldn’t go away. He was at a loss at what to do. To make matters worse, the wind was so strong that the rain was falling at an angle. The umbrella was practically useless. He turned on his heel sharply, really about done with this machine. It wasn’t his problem, it wasn’t his issue. It didn’t matter what Jeffrey said or what was “good for him.”
A small hand snagged Hank’s jacket. “Wait, Lieutenant.” Its voice was small.
He turned and glared down at Connor. “What do you want?”
“Can I at least come in?” There was an unspoken plea in the question. It pulled at the frayed ends of Hank’s heartstrings. And goddamn if Connor didn’t look like somebody else. Somebody else that Hank did not fucking want to think about right now.
Thunder boomed at the same time lightning struck. They both watched the bolt of light streak across the sky, the difference being that Connor flinched and Hank remained impassive. The boy, now that it had realized that Hank wouldn’t shove it away, was huddling close under the umbrella. It shivered, honestly a sorry mess. Weren’t androids supposed to be perfect? Hank had some questions, but filed them away under “questions to be asked with a higher BAC.”
He released a heavy sigh. “Fine. Come on.”
Hank was many things, but completely heartless and a ruthless bastard was not among them.
Once inside, the first order of business was to find the android new clothes. Just because Hank could walk around dripping wet didn’t mean that the machine could. It was his house, after all.
“Stand there and don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
“There” happened to be right on the inside welcome mat. Connor stood stock still, still vaguely shaking from the cold. Sumo trotted up to it, snuffling enthusiastically. Connor glanced at Hank, as if asking for his okay.
“His name is Sumo,” Hank grumbled, walking away to the hallway.
He stood in front of his son’s room, trying to summon the courage to open the door.
He couldn’t.
He had never been able to.
It was impossible.
The memories burned into his brain like a poker, jabbing at a still open wound.
The man turned away and entered his own room, pulling out old clothes that he had outgrown. Even then, it would look ridiculous on a kid. Whatever.
Hank walked out to a strange sight. Connor hadn’t moved from his spot on the mat, and was standing there awkwardly. Sumo had settled down over Connor’s feet, the heavy and fat dog quite happy with the new arrival. That made one of them.
He dumped the clothes on the couch, motioning for Connor to come. “Leave your shoes by the door.”
Connor looked down at Sumo helplessly. “Is it okay for me to disturb him?”
The man nodded. “He’s a fat useless lug, he’ll move if you move.”
Despite Hank’s reassurances, Connor still managed to gently slip his feet out from under the St. Bernard, depositing his shoes by the door. He walked over.
Hank looked away as Connor undressed. It felt awkward. He did his best not to think about it, not to think about anything.
“Lieutenant, the clothes are too big.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Hank turned back around and winced. Connor looked like a floppy ragdoll. The large clothes emphasized his small stature. “Okay. Well, it’s still better than wet clothes.” Speaking of which, Connor’s outfit had been neatly folded into a nice, sopping wet pile of clothes on the table.
There was a long moment of silence between them. Hank didn’t know what to do. This was the reason he didn’t want Connor in his house. It was just plain weird and unnatural.
“I like dogs,” Connor suddenly blurted.
“What?”
“Sumo. I like Sumo. He’s nice. How old is he?”
“Uh, I forget.”
“Oh. I estimate that he’s about five.”
“Great.”
“Can I pet him?”
“I guess so.”
“Did you name him?”
“Yeah.”
Hank hated the semblance of normalcy. He hated the fact that Connor’s face lit up when he was excited. There was this childlike innocence in his speech that sounded just a little too real. It felt like talking to a real human child, full of questions and passion.
Connor had walked over during the course of the conversation and was now down on his knees, petting the dog. Of course, Sumo had no complaints. Hank found himself wondering whether it was different to be petted by an android. It reminded him of all the kids that flocked to Sumo whenever he went to the dog park.
It reminded him.
When had he started calling the android a “he?”
When had that started?
As soon as he had been reminded of Cole. Connor reminded Hank of Cole. And that made Hank mad.
Hank stalked over, seizing Sumo’s collar and pulling the dog up and away. Sumo followed obediently. Connor looked up at Hank curiously, a new fake emotion filtering into those fake eyes.
“Listen kid, you’re just in here because you would be fucking swept away if you stayed out there. That doesn’t make you anything more to me. It doesn’t mean you can just treat this house like your own.”
Connor’s LED spun into a blinking yellow.
Hank continued his rant. “If you think you can replace my own kid, then you’ve got another thing coming. I know you have your mission to fix me or whatever, but I’m not broken. You’re shitting yourself if you think otherwise.” He glared at Connor.
“Okay,” Connor whispered. He seemed to shrink into himself, burying himself under the clothes several sizes too large for him. “I understand, Lieutenant.”
And Hank had a feeling that yes, the android did understand. This satisfied his roiling rage, and he felt it recede as quickly as it had come, leaving a cold hardness behind. “Then get out of my house. Oh, and don’t touch Sumo again.”
Connor narrowed his eyes. With what could be called a vindictive tone, Connor let his retort fly. “You say you don’t need fixing, Lieutenant. But I say otherwise. You have personal issues that get in the way of daily life. I would recommend that you see a therapist, but you already do, to no avail. You have an excessive drinking problem and many anger issues that make social interaction a challenge. You refuse to take antidepressants or any type of drug to try and help your hormone imbalance. My job is to assist you in breaking your destructive habits.”
Hank couldn’t fathom where the insults were coming from. He noticed Connor looking longingly at Sumo, before turning an angry eye up to Hank. A rebellious gaze. Connor must have really liked Sumo. That was really too bad.
“Fuck you. What do you know? You’re just a robot. An unfeeling machine.” He drawled the last word, elongating the syllables while tapping his temple for emphasis. “Everything you do is just an illusion. You’re not a kid.”
“You’re right. I’m a YK800, model #313 248 317 - 51. I’m a prototype that specializes in self-destructive parents who have lost their child. I have unique features that allow me to adapt to any circumstance that might arise in my mission.”
“A prototype?”
“That’s right.”
Hank was going to have words with Jeffrey again. But that was for a later time. He narrowed his eyes. “Get out of my house.”
Connor had to stand on his toes to reach the top lock, but he managed. Hank watched coldly as the android opened the door to the howling rain. He could care less if the android went and stood under that street light again or decided to sit on the porch. Either way, as long as he was out of sight and out of mind, Hank didn’t care.
As soon as the front door swung shut, the man practically dove towards his liquor. He needed something to drown out what had just happened, and what better solution than a drink? He would answer that question himself.
Hank popped the cap off with practiced ease, and tilted the bottle back.