Chapter Text
Connor had options. He had choices. Even when he was no more than CyberLife’s puppet, he was aware of these options and choices. He could have left Hank dangling from that building with a safe eighty-nine percent chance that he would be fine, or he could have chased the deviant — it would have been inefficient to have to go through formalities with a new partner or have the lieutenant dislike him, would it not? So it had been logical to rescue the lieutenant. There would be more deviants, and Connor could prove himself then. He could have shot the two Traci androids, or he could have spared them — there was no benefit from killing them; on the contrary if he spared them he may find them again and interrogate them then. Amanda, however, saw the situation differently. She always did.
Whatever would ensure his mission’s success, that’s what was expected of him. What he had to do. That was what he believed, until given the choice to shoot Chloe or spare her by Kamski.
And rather than get more information that could save his investigation, Connor had chosen to spare the Chloe android.
It was the first time that Connor realized he didn’t always make choices based off of his mission. He had made decisions that had the possibility of an undesirable outcome for his mission, but the choice he faced with Chloe stood out for Connor. For the first time, he was aware that he was jeopardizing his mission. It was a… difficult realization for him. He had assumed - no, he had feared - that Hank would chastise and berate him for his final decision. He knew Amanda would. Why would Hank be any different?
Except Hank hadn’t. In fact, the Lieutenant had seemed
happy that he had chose not to shoot Chloe. It — didn’t make any sense — had caused Connor great confusion at the time. Yet, he didn’t say anything as he followed the Lieutenant back to his car.
It was quiet in the car. Strange, Connor had thought, considering his partner’s taste in music. The music was more background noise than its usual overwhelming loud. Though Connor’s LED was not visible to Hank as they currently sat, Connor knew the man could still see the reflection of the light in the passenger window. It was yellow, and blinking at what probably seemed like random. It hadn’t been blue since Kamski had put the gun in the android’s hand.
Hank was going to ask about it. Connor knew he would. It was in his very nature, his ever so human behaviors. Even if Connor viewed himself as nothing more than a replaceable machine, Hank, for reasons that Connor could not comprehend, saw him as something more. Something that the Lieutenant thought he had to make sure was okay. Before Hank could say anything out of his already open mouth, Connor turned up the music in the car. Hank blinked in surprise, eyes darting over to his companion beside him. But Connor, who had never before made any move to touch anything in the policeman’s car, lest he upset his partner, had already turned his head towards the window, watching the blinding snow.
The next time Connor would face such a daunting choice would be when he was in an abandoned ship, with someone asking him if he’d ever thought he was something more than just a machine, if he had doubted their creators.
And if Connor was being honest with himself, he hadn’t liked having to question himself then either.
It was several hours later that Connor found himself walking the desolate streets of Detroit. It was early morning, the sun just beginning to show itself over the horizon, showering the city in a pale blue hue. Snowflakes made their way to the ground, drifting along to their destination just as the RK800 was.
Hank had told Connor to meet him outside of the Chicken Feed when everything — Connor had to assume the lieutenant was referring to the protests, and not the fight for android rights, because that was a battle that would not be over for a considerable amount of time — was over. Markus insisted that he stay for a while longer, among his people. Perhaps even go to live with them at a new Jericho. Connor had to admit, he longed to accept the offer — could he, an android, really long to do something? It wasn’t in his programming, to want things, this was all so confusing — but in the end declined. Not only because Hank was waiting for him, and not only because he could tell that the other androids were uncomfortable with his presence.
Connor didn’t trust himself to be around too many others at the moment. Least of all Markus. Connor figured most people- not that he was really a person, just a machine - wouldn’t be comfortable around people that you had nearly shot twice in one night. Certainly not when it was a person you liked and admired.
The only reason he was going to ChickenFeed was one: Connor had promised Hank that he would meet him there, and he didn’t plan to so easily break promises now that he had free will; and two, because if anything, if CyberLife were to… take control again, he is less likely to hurt Hank Anderson, a human, than any android. At least, that’s what Connor — assumes — hopes is the case.
Connor feels as though he’s been walking for ages — even though logically he knows it’s only been seventeen minutes and thirty-one seconds — when the Chicken Feed comes into view. He sees a single figure standing in front of the stand, right in front of the barren food truck. The figure’s arms are crossed, and Connor assumes it’s because he’s is getting cold — which is a logical conclusion, because it is currently twenty-nine degree Fahrenheit (or negative one-point-six-six degree Celsius) which is over all too cold for the average human.
For some reason, Connor was not fully expecting the lieutenant to actually be here. He had half expected to get there and find the place abandoned, with Hank having forgotten about their promise. But no, there he is, Lieutenant Hank Anderson in all of his greasy haired, irascible glory. Connor hadn’t noticed that his legs had started carrying himself faster towards his partner until he was right there, no more than ten feet away.
It was then that Connor wondered if he was doing the right thing — even though nothing could be considered the right thing anymore, he had turned on his creators, Amanda had trusted him and he betrayed that. He knew it wasn’t a bother to the lieutenant, who had, after all, come up with the idea of meeting after things had died down. But somehow it felt — when was it that he had started feeling? — as though he were in the wrong. At the same time, the android thought that, if he hadn’t come here, he wouldn’t have known what to do with himself. He couldn’t have stayed with the other androids, and there wasn’t a chance he could go back to CyberLife.
In a way, his friendship with Hank Anderson was all he had left. And Connor realized that that terrified him, not having any objective or meaning. Why was he even still standing, he didn’t belong here or anywhere.
But then Hank turned around. He smiled, and looked happy to see the RK800. Somehow for Connor, that made everything a little better. Connor may not have had much, no CyberLife and no androids that actually one hundred percent trusted him. Yet it seemed as that at least Hank was on his side, so to speak. Connor returned Hank’s smile. The android realized he liked how smiling felt, the somehow warm feeling that emitted from his core. It occurred to him that that must be what happiness felt — but he was an android he wasn’t supposed to feel he couldn’t feel this was wrong — like.
He was learning all sorts of new things about himself today. Before Connor could say anything, to thank his friend or at the very least say some sort of greeting, Hank approached him. The man was right in front of him, and Connor only had a moment to look up at him before Hank reached out to him.
Connor would later be ashamed to admit that his first instinct was to stiffen at the touch. Hank would reply that his reaction made sense, considering most of the RK800’s physical interactions were violent up until that point. But currently, with Hank’s hand wrapped around the back of Connor’s neck to bring him closer, Connor did not know how to react. How he was supposed to react. He especially didn’t know how to react when Hank brought his head down so that it was resting on the other man’s shoulder. Hank’s arms moved so that they were wrapped around him. A hug, Connor registered. Hank was hugging him. Connor also then registered that he had never been hugged before. He came to the conclusion that he quite liked the sensation. He sensors didn’t feel touch in the same way as a human would, but he did appreciate the warmth Hank emitted — the appropriate temperature of a fifty-three year old male in cold weather — and the firm pressure of the embrace. It was not an unbearable pressure — no pressure Hank could exert could be unbearable for him, realistically — but enough to assure Connor. Of what, he wasn’t quite sure.
With great hesitation, Connor raised his own arms. He hadn’t realized he was shaking — it couldn’t be because he was cold, his model was meant to withstand this kind of cold, but why else would he be shaking? — until then. With great hesitation, he wrapped them around Hank, trying his best to mimic the hug.
The embrace was over all too soon, in Connor’s opinion. Not that he was about to voice that thought. Hank didn’t quite let go of him, creating space between the two while still keeping his hands on the android’s shoulders. Hank observed him for a moment, looked him up and down. Connor wasn’t sure what else to do with Hank looking at him like that, so he scanned the older man.
Initiating Facial Scan…
Scan Complete
Results:
Police Lieutenant Hank Anderson
Age: 53 (DOB: 09/06/1985)
Initiating Condition Scan…
Scan Complete
Results:
Currently running on low sleep.
Recent consumption of alcohol.
“Are you staying with the other androids?” Hank asked, voice filled with something Connor couldn’t place. “Do you need a ride there?”
Connor tried to form words, tried to find a good way to explain the situation to Hank. It… felt embarrassing to admit to Hank that he really didn’t have anywhere to go.
“I…” Connor began. He was still trying to choose the best prompt to get his points across. Hank did not appear to mind, allowing Connor to take his time. “I am not staying with the other androids, no. I do not… They don’t. They don’t entirely trust me, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
Hank’s lipped tightened into a firm line. Connor was almost afraid that Hank was cross with him, before discarding this as another illogical thought. Hank let go of Connor’s shoulders, and turned around to face the same direction as Connor. The lieutenant slung his right arm around Connor’s shoulder’s once more.
“Alright,” Hank said, “How about you stay with me then?”
“Lieutenant, I couldn’t-“
“Bullshit, you can’t. It’s my house and I’m offering it to you. You need a place to recharge and all of that crap, right? My place is as good as any,” Hank reasoned. “Plus Sumo already likes you, which means you’re more than welcome at my house.”
Connor was silent, looking down at his shoes. He… almost did not want to accept the offer. He was still dangerous, could still turn on anyone at any time. Except… he’d gotten rid of Amanda, hadn’t he? Connor had used Kamski’s back door to get out, so he was truly free now… right? It wasn’t like she could still come back and take control of him… probably. Another thought occurred to Connor. If Connor showed any signs of returning to his programming, signs of hurting anyone, he could ask Hank to, in tame terms, “put him down.” The idea reassured him. He would have to discuss it further with Hank.
Connor turned his head towards the lieutenant’s. “Okay,” he said, “It would be… I would like to stay with you, if you’ll have me.”
Hank grinned at him, and walked with Connor towards his car with his arm still around the android’s shoulders. “I sure as shit will, kid.”
It had only been two days. Two days — though technically it hadn’t even been two days, more accurately it had been forty-six hours, thirty-two minutes, and seven seconds; not that this solves any predicaments— since the Android Uprising, as the media was calling it, and Connor didn’t know what to do with himself. He had never not had a mission to complete, no purpose. Though the man was unlikely to ever admit it, Hank didn’t seem sure what to do with himself, either. The police lieutenant wasn’t allowed back at the precinct, what with having almost broken an FBI agent’s nose. Connor felt a little guilty, considering Hank had done so to buy Connor time in the evidence room.
According to Hank, however, Captain Fowler was attempting to pull some strings and get the lieutenant back under the guise of being short on hand. Which Connor could suppose would be true — it was a logical assumption to assume that a good handful or two of the officers had left the city during the evacuations, and made further sense if he also assumed that the android officers had either been let go or left themselves. This wasn’t the case with Connor. Because it had only been two days since the Uprising, androids still could not have jobs, much less be paid for them. Hank promised that if the captain wasn’t already trying to get Connor back, with promised pay under the table, Hank would make him. Connor didn’t like the sounds of Hank trying anything that would add another few pages to his disciplinary folder, but appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. Even still, Connor was uncertain with what he should be doing. He had never before considered what he would do if he ever had proper free time, and now he was met with hours, if not days, of it.
He had cleaned most of the house already, though he didn’t touch Hank’s room — it was the lieutenant’s personal space, and he had no right to intrude upon it — and did not want to upset Hank by turning his home into a spotless, clean palace without the man’s explicit permission. Though Connor hadn’t sensed any anger or frustration on Hank’s face when the man had told him the android didn’t have to go around cleaning and cooking, Connor did not want to upset the man that was kind enough to give him shelter.
This was how Connor found himself sitting in silence on Hank Anderson’s sofa, watching reruns of old TV shows, the television muted and subtitles on so as to not wake the police lieutenant. Though the shows were old, and some may have even considered them “bad,” Connor found himself entranced. TV shows were not things CyberLife deemed necessary for his mission, so the android had never seen or heard of any of these sitcoms. He would have to ask Hank what he thought of this “Brooklyn Nine-Nine;” it seemed rather inaccurate, but then again, Connor had only worked at a police station for a week.
Connor had been pondering if the DPD had their own “Halloween Heists” when Hank’s phone began to ring. Not a home phone — obviously, those had gone out of fashion entirely by the 2020’s — but Hank had been tired last night, and had forgotten to take his cell phone with him to bed. Connor stared at it for a moment, uncertain with what to do. He was not sure how long the phone would ring, if he could wake the lieutenant up in time to answer the call. It could be important, after all. Connor got up from his spot on the couch, and walked over to the side table where the cell phone laid.
Incoming Call: Captain Butthead
It did not take a state of the art android prototype to figure out that Captain Fowler of the Detroit Police Department must be calling. Connor glanced up in the direction of Hank’s room, loud snores still audible from the living room. There was no way Hank would wake up to answer, and if the Captain were calling, it might actually be important. Deciding that Hank likely would not mind if he answered for him and relayed the message, Connor picked up the phone. It was odd to have to physically hold a phone, instead of calling wirelessly, but Connor hit “Answer,” and brought the phone to his ear anyways.
“Hello, Captain,” Connor answered, but before he could ask for the purpose of the call, the captain was yelling.
“Hank!” Fowler hollered. He didn’t sound particularly angry — though, Connor did not have the facial cues to be certain on this — and Connor wondered if the captain was just in a constant state of yelling. “Get your lazy ass up and- Hey. Wait.” It seemed that the captain had finally processed the greeting, and knew Hank was not on the phone. “You’re that CyberLife android… Kyle or something?”
Though still being associated with CyberLife stung, Connor replied, “My name is Connor, sir. The lieutenant is currently asleep, but I can give him your message.”
“Right…” Fowler answered. Perhaps he was uncomfortable because he had never spoken one on one with the android before. Or maybe he was trying to figure out why Connor was answering Hank’s phone. “Listen, Conrad-“
“Connor.”
“Okay, Connor,” the man on the other end sighed. “Just. Could you get Hank up for me? Tell him I need him at the station. The FBI is still on our asses, but I managed to get them to agree to let me get Hank back in here. We’re short on hand, as you can imagine.”
Connor could. He could also register how tired the captain sounded. None of this could be easy on the other man, or the entire department, really.
“Of course, Captain,” Connor replied. “If you would like, I could come-“
“Caleb, I would, but…” Fowler seemed to be trying to find his words. Connor did not interrupt to correct him on calling him Caleb. “Some of the officers… they aren’t real pleased with any androids right now.” Connor thought of Detective Gavin Reed. He understood. He did not want to upset any of the officers, or make Captain Fowler have an even harder time than he already was… Not to mention the fact that he was a danger himself; Connor wasn’t entirely sure he trusted himself around others, either, so he shouldn’t have even asked-
“I just don’t think it’d be safe for you to come in as it is. Some of these guys are real frustrated right now, and I don’t want them taking it out on you. When things die down a bit, I’ll try to get you back, alright?”
Oh. The captain was… concerned? That the officers may try to harm him? But why-
“I understand, sir,” Connor answered, not wanting to keep the captain waiting while the android tried to understand the other man’s motives. “I look forward to being able to come back. I will wake the lieutenant and send him to the precinct.”
“Alright, thanks.” Connor was about the hang up when the captain spoke up once again. “And Connor? Thanks for looking out for Hank. God knows he needs it.”
With that, Captain Jeffery Fowler hung up, and Connor was left standing in the living room, still holding the cell phone to his ear.
Connor stood in front of Hank’s door. It would be rude to just enter the room, yet he also knew that — rather, there was a ninety-seven-point-four percent chance — it was unlikely that Hank wouldn’t wake up with Connor simply knocking on the door. He decided he would knock on the door regardless; he wouldn’t have to lie to Hank and say he tried knocking if he actually did so. When Hank, predictably, did not answer, Connor entered the room.
The first thing he noticed was Sumo sitting up and staring at him, wagging his tail. The Saint Bernard had slept with Connor — while Connor was in standby mode, which wasn’t really sleep. Machines did not require actual sleep, but standby was an excellent way to make sure his systems were up to date and could function at full capacity — on his first night at the house, but had decided last night to sleep at the foot of Hank’s bed. Hank had laughed at Connor’s pout when the dog followed the lieutenant to bed that night.
The next thing Connor noticed was Hank’s deafening snores. Connor only registered it second because one, the man had been snoring ever since he fell asleep, and it had become a background noise at this point, and two, dog. Dog was sufficient enough of an explanation in Connor’s mind. Connor had been surprised when he had first heard Hank snore, and had half thought that there was an intruder his first night at the house. The man hadn’t snored when he had drunk himself into an alcoholic mini-coma. Then again, that made sense; if he was drunk enough to knock himself out, he was drunk enough to not snore.
Connor approached the bed. This excited Sumo, who Connor figured was expecting to be pet. And when Sumo gets excited, Connor learned, Sumo got jumpy. Sumo bolted himself upright, and began running in circles around the bed, very excited that someone was awake, and thus might give him belly rubs or food or a walk.
Now, Hank Anderson owns a full queen-sized bed, a perfect size for a single man. However, Hank Anderson also owns a very full size saint Bernard. When the saint Bernard in question becomes excited, these two things do not mix well.
Sumo, in his ever excited circles, ended up running onto Hank’s legs. And his stomach. Several times.
Connor is not a sound expert, but he is certain that Hank’s screams were on par with his snoring. At least he was awake now.
“Sumo!” Hank yelled, still in the midst of being trampled by the dog, “off! That’s right, get off you big dork.” Sumo slunk off the bed, sitting at Connor’s feet. The android leaned down and pet the saint Bernard behind his ears. Now freed from his doggie-tormentor, Hank looked at Connor with bleary eyes. Before Hank can ask why the hell he’s awake before ten AM, Connor explains.
“Sorry, lieutenant. You left your phone in the living room, and it began to ring, so I answered, because you were sleeping, and-“
“Connor, love that you want to explain yourself and shit, but I haven’t had coffee,” Hank says, still groggy, “Can I have the short, to the point version?”
“Captain Fowler just called. You’re wanted at the station. As soon as possible.”
The older man grumbled some obscenities as he got up quicker than Connor had ever seen him. Well, excluding the time at CyberLife Tower. And perhaps that time when they were chasing the deviant - Rupert, rather, and Hank managed to catch up to them at some point. But other than those two times.
“I’ll go make you some coffee, then,” Connor said, still rather lost in his thoughts. He was already half way to the kitchen when Hank rushed across the hall, somehow already dressed, to the bathroom.
“Make sure you’re ready to go in five!” Hank yelled after him. Connor stopped and glanced at the now closed bathroom door. He clenched his jaw — which didn’t make sense, there was no reason to do so, so why — and continued on his way to the kitchen. He could explain that he couldn’t go when he gave Hank his coffee.
In a very short amount of time, not long enough for Hank to properly brush his teeth, Connor noted, Hank was in the kitchen. The lieutenant was still in a state of rush when he entered, but he stopped when he saw Connor. Connor, who wasn’t wearing his shoes — it would be rude to wear dirty shoes in someone’s home — and, with the utmost calm, was trying to hand Hank a banana and a travel mug of coffee.
“Well, c’mon, get your shoes!” Hank said, accepting the fruit and drink. “We gotta go!”
“I will not be accompanying you, lieutenant,” Connor said. “The captain… recommends that I do not enter the station until things, as he said, “die down.””
Connor, while trying to cover it, was surprised at how his voice sounded. He sounded… disappointed. Yes, that had to be it. Connor was disappointed that he could not go with Hank to the station. Part of him thought this made sense, because he… liked the station, and solving mysteries and crimes. Yet, another part of him was unsettled that he was feeling something, and even more unsettled when he realized that Hank likely also heard the change in his tone.
This was proven to be true when Connor registered first the anger in Hank’s facial features, followed a more… worried look. It was quickly overtaken with anger again, however.
“What the fuck does he mean, “die down?!”” Hank demanded. “I need my partner, damn it.”
While Connor was honored that Hank held him in such high regard as his partner, he also knew that for Hank’s career as a police lieutenant to continue, he would need to be at the police station. Right now.
Connor was sure to keep his voice devoid of any… emotion… in his response. “Some of the officers are currently frustrated with the, to put it lightly, “android situation” the city is facing. Captain Fowler expressed concern that some of these officers may try to do me harm. While I am certainly more than capable of defending myself, as you know, I agree with the captain, as I would hate to cause any unnecessary problems.” Hank looked as though he was trying to find something to argue in what Connor had said, but Connor continued. “The captain has assured me that he will let me know when he thinks it is safe enough for me to return.”
Now Hank was at a true loss for words, and Connor watched as Hank tried to come to terms with this. He could imagine that while on one hand, Hank knew that Captain Fowler was right, but on the other hand, Connor imagined that Hank didn’t particularly want to go back to the precinct without his partner.
In turn, Hank watched him. It made Connor… uneasy, to be held under his gaze. It reminded him of Amanda, in a way. How she watched him constantly. Always. Was she still watching? Did CyberLife still observe what their prized prototype was doing? The thought made Connor feel… feel something. And he hated that it did. The only thing that he could possibly hate more was the fact that he didn’t know what exactly he was feeling. Just that it made want to curl up into a ball and hope everything else would go away.
Getting to have his own choices was nice at times, but this whole feeling thing of deviating was, in the only way Connor could put it, bullshit. Hank was clearly rubbing off on the android.
“…Alright,” Hank said, snapping the android out of his thoughts, “But I’m not happy about this.” Connor accompanied Hank to the door to see the lieutenant off. Neither of the two knew what exactly Hank would be doing at the station, whether he’d be reduced to desk duty, or if the police were desperate enough to throw him back into the fray of things. Either way, it was likely that Hank would not be home until late in the day.
Hank put on his coat, and looked to Connor again. He was giving Connor that look again. The one that made Connor feel like he wasn’t living up to expectations, that he was doing something wrong. The look that made him feel watched and small. “Are you sure you’ll be alright by yourself?” the lieutenant asked.
Connor scoffed. He hadn’t been aware he could scoff. An entirely human reaction, but he wasn’t human. “Lieutenant, I am a state of the art prototype that could very well cost more than this house,” Connor jabbed, “I think I can handle myself for the day.”
Yet Hank still gave him that look. Connor knew the man hated it when he did it, but he analyzed the Lieutenant’s face. It gave him a better understanding of the situation, and what Hank might be thinking. Most importantly, it might give him a clue to what that look meant, and why it made him feel like this.
Initiating Facial Scan…
Scan Complete
Results:
Police Lieutenant Hank Anderson
Age: 53 (DOB: 09/06/1985)
Scanning Face For: Emotion
Scan - Complete
Results:
40% - Concern
45% - Worry
10% - Pity
5% - Frustrated
Conclusions From Scan:
Hank Anderson is worried about me.
The results didn’t particularly surprise him. He knew that, for whatever reason, Hank cared about him, so it made sense that he would worry about leaving him on his own. But none of this explained why Connor felt the way he did. Did he not want Hank to worry about him? If so, why?
“If you’re sure, I guess,” Hank grumbled, zipping up his coat. The weather was currently twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit, negative three-point-nine degrees Celsius. Hank turned to leave before Connor could recommend that he also wear a hat, or at the very least a pair of gloves. Hank had his hand wrapped around the doorknob when he added, “If you like, I don’t know, need something to do today, you can walk Sumo, or-or clean more, if you really fuckin’ want to. Just…Just stay out of trouble, y’hear?”
With that, the lieutenant left. And Connor now had possible tasks to do.
Tasks (Optional(?))
-
Feed Sumo
- Morning
- Evening
-
Walk Sumo
- Possible To Repeat Task, If Needed
-
Continue Cleaning House
- Sort Kitchen Drawers
- Clean Fridge
- Vacuum Living Room (Again)
Connor went over the mental list of things he could do today. This would definitely keep him occupied for a good portion of the day, at least. He looked down towards Sumo, who appeared to be waiting to see what Connor would do. Hank did not get the chance to refill Sumo’s food and water bowls before he left, so perhaps it would be best if Connor started with that. Connor moved towards the kitchen, and Sumo followed behind.
One of the things Connor had done in the past few days, to fill time, was research the care of saint Bernard dogs. He found that, at seven years old, Sumo could be considered an “old dog” by some. He discovered that unless Sumo had dietary problems (he did not appear to), Sumo could be fed the same as any adult saint Bernard. Connor was pleased to find that Hank had apparently done his own research on caring for his dog, and was already feeding Sumo twice a day as suggested, and Hank was also known to spoil the dog with treats. It wasn’t that this knowledge surprised Connor, in fact he expected Hank to know how to care for his own dog, and had simply wanted to confirm that Sumo was being cared for correctly. However, the mental image Connor had of Hank Anderson, office grump, sitting at his kitchen table and researching saint Bernard care (complete with a pad of paper with messy notes, and a lot of grumbling), was amusing, to say the least.
Sumo began running around in big, sloppy circles as Connor neared the top of the fridge, where the massive dog’s food was kept. Hank had mentioned that he used to keep the food in one of the cabinets, but Sumo had managed to open the cabinet and… it hadn’t ended well. Connor grabbed the container with the dog food. The actual bag of dog food was left in the garage, and a smaller portion was kept in the plastic container Connor now held. Connor supposed the actual bag would be too heavy to put up on the top of the fridge twice every day.
Connor made his way towards the food bowl. Really, he should have expected this. He was an intelligent android, and should have known better. With Sumo being excited and energetic about being fed, and more so as Connor approached his food dish. If he had pre-constructed, or done any sort of calculation at all, he would have known there was a ninety-one percent chance that Sumo would knock him over to get to his food. One moment Connor was trying to bend over and get the food into the bowl, and the next a one-hundred-seventy pound — seventy-seven kilograms — furry blob was barreling into him.
Connor stared at the ceiling as Sumo ate the food he had dropped in his fall. Connor blinked a few times in order to get his bearings. He sighed — he didn’t need to, so why did he? He wasn’t overheating, so there wasn’t any need to exhale hot air — and sat up. He was met with Sumo trudging over to him and plopping himself onto Connor’s lap. Sumo bumped his head against Connor’s chest. Ah. A dog’s way of apology. Connor patted the dog’s head, which then turned into scratching behind his ears.
“I really do need to get up, you know,” Connor said, even as he continued to pet the dog, “I have to clean up your mess.”
Connor somehow managed to get the giant dog off of him , and got up. Brushing any dog hairs off of himself, he looked around for the dog food container. Empty, he found. Sumo must have eaten all of the food. Connor supposed he should refill it now rather than later. Grabbing the container, Connor made his way through the small house towards the garage, Sumo following faithfully behind him. Getting more dog food really didn’t take that long, and in a very short amount of time Connor was back in the kitchen, now with a filled to the top plastic container of dog food. Sumo seemed to think that this meant he was getting fed again. What a greedy dog. Connor patted the saint Bernard’s head again.
Crossing off one of his (optional?) tasks from his mental list, Connor made his way over to return the container to the top of the fridge. The refrigerator was just barely taller than he was, but he still had to reach up and slide the dog food onto the fridge. What he wasn’t expecting was for the container to hit something up there. Connor’s face scrunched in confusion. There shouldn’t be anything up there, except maybe a thick layer of dust. Moving the dog food container to a nearby counter, Connor brushed his hand around the top of the fridge again. He had to stand a little more on the top of his toes to reach farther back.
There, his hand connected with something. Something metal. Connor grabbed it and brought it back down from the refrigerator.
In his hands, Connor held a point-three-five-seven revolver. Connor had seen it before, the night he and Hank had went to the Eden Club on the deviancy case. This was the gun Hank usually played Russian Roulette with. Thinking back on it, Connor hadn’t seen it since moving in. Hank must have shoved it up there in a hurry, so Connor wouldn’t see it. In the back of his mind, Connor thought it was a little silly that Hank felt the need to hide the gun; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen what Hank was doing with it before.
Another part of him, though, caused him to stare at the gun. This could kill him. This gun could kill him. And he wouldn’t come back, because CyberLife was currently out of business, and was likely discontinuing the RK800 line even if they weren’t. The idea was terrifying. The idea was alarming. The idea was-
Calming.
Yes, it was calming, Connor thought. Calming to know that he could be gone within an instant. If he were gone, dead and never to return, he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting anyone anymore. Connor wouldn’t have to worry about CyberLife taking control of him again, about not having any purpose, about Hank-
Oh god. Hank. What would Hank do, if Connor died? Would the man mourn him? Hank certainly seemed to care enough to mourn. Could Hank handle that? Connor didn’t think they had a father-son relationship, but he also knew that they both cared greatly about each other, and when people cared about each other, they mourned. It occurred to Connor that he had never discussed with Hank the possibility of CyberLife taking him over, never asked if Hank would put him down. Looking back, it was stupid to ever even consider that Hank would do so. Hank… Hank cared about Connor — why would anyone care about a defective android with no purpose — even if Connor couldn’t understand why. Connor couldn’t count on Hank being the one to put him down if needed.
If — when — the time came, Connor would have to do it himself.
Sumo nudged Connor’s leg and whined. For the first time since picking it up, Connor looked away from the gun, and turned his gaze towards the Saint Bernard. The dog looked at him with big, sad eyes. He’d probably seen Hank with this gun as he drank himself into a stupor. He wouldn’t do that. Well, the playing with the gun part; he obviously couldn’t do the alcohol part. Connor put the gun back on top of the fridge where he’d found it, and then put the dog food in front of it. He wouldn’t shoot himself. That was ridiculous. Hank would… would be beside himself with grief. Right? Because they were partners, Hank had said so before. Who would tell Hank he needed to eat healthier, and who would be Hank’s partner, who would walk Sumo-
No, Connor wouldn’t shoot himself. The android made his way towards the front door, and grabbed Sumo’s leash. The dog bound towards him, giving a cheerful “boof!” Connor didn’t want to be in the house right now. A walk would do both him and Sumo some good. If he’s not in the house, it’ll be harder to consider the gun, and he won’t be as likely to think about firing it and anyone — including himself. Because Connor wouldn’t shoot himself.
“I won’t,” he said under his breath.
But it was nice knowing the option was there.