Hank didn't know the exact point his life became a series of interwoven tragedies, but somewhere along the line it became clear to him that nothing he did was going to stop it, so that's what he decided to do – nothing. Tried to drown the man he used to be in a bottle while the world spun out of control. Then someone took a stand. Someone finally stood up to say, "Enough," and it resonated with him, reminded him of why he'd joined the DCPD in the first place.
He was sitting on his couch at home, nursing a ginger ale with Sumo flopped over his feet, when the android demonstration appeared on his television screen. It was peaceful; anyone with eyes could tell they weren't hurting anybody. Markus had gone out of his way to spare human lives from the beginning and what had the humans done to repay that mercy?
They'd invaded Jericho like exterminators flushing out pests.
This was their final stand, unarmed and surrounded, pleading for the release of their people. Hank had taken the badge to defend those who couldn't defend themselves, to bestow justice to those who deserved it. Now he's looking at a group of people pleading for freedom and mercy from the comfort of his living room, realizing he can't sit around and watch them die.
It's not the man he's been, but it's not too late to remember the man he used to be.
"Come on, boy, let's go." Hank reached down to give Sumo a couple pats on the rump to get him moving, smirking when the big lug lumbered tiredly to his feet with a put-upon huff. "Believe me, I know how you feel. Unfortunately, I've got a job to do."
After strapping on his pistol and leaving a note on his front door for whoever passed by to check on his dog – he didn't think Connor would actually kill him but didn't much feel like placing all his bets on that last sliver of humanity, not when Sumo was the only family he had left – Hank headed out into the night to find the best vantage point overlooking the camps for a sniper.
"Step away from the ledge, Connor."
There wasn't time to feel smug about finding Connor, not when the sniper rifle was already placed over the ledge, fully constructed and armed, just a cold sort of disappointment weighing like a stone in his chest that he'd been right – Connor had prioritized his mission over his own people, the deviants who only wanted to be free.
It didn't surprise him when Connor replied without even a hint of surprise or inflection, "Go home, Hank. You know you can't beat me."
Hank bit down on his lip, willed the slight tremor out of his hand so that the gun he'd aimed at Connor stopped shaking. "I'm afraid I can't do that."
Whether Connor was alive or not depended on his choices. If he chose to turn his back on the deviants, to ignore their desire for freedom and peace in favor of completing his mission, then he was a machine. And if it came down to defending the deviants or taking out a machine, there was really only one choice Hank could live with.
But that depended on Connor, too.
Tensing for a confrontation, Hank watched as Connor stood, made as though to throw the rifle over his shoulder, and then lunged, tossing the weapon to distract him, and before Hank could take the shot, a knee came rushing at his gut, landing solidly to wind him. Fighting past the sheer panic of moving without air, Hank shoved at the android, giving himself enough space to suck down a breath before the android was on him again.
For all that Connor looked like a kid in desperate need of a sandwich, he fought like a heavy weight. And he was fast, slippery in a way that made it difficult to keep a grip on him, as he ducked and sidestepped into Hank's blindside, jabbing him three or four times, "I can't believe – oof – I was actually starting – goddammit – to like you," in the time it took Hank to slug him once across the jaw.
"Why are you protecting, Markus?" Connor demanded, unruffled except for a lock of bangs out of place and a wrinkle in his collar.
These were his orders.
Hank grinned, gearing up for the next round. "Because until like some people I could mention, Connor," and he leapt, wrapping his arms around Connor's neck the way he was trained to do against a combatant that physically outclassed him, "Markus knows what the value of a life is."
Connor bared his teeth, writhing in his grasp. "He's. Not. Alive!" It was like holding on to a viper. Hank saw through the steam of his own breath an acid yellow light, blinking madly.
This was his mission.
"Connor," he grunted, as aches and bruises cut through the haze of adrenaline, making themselves known at the worst possible time, "let go, son. It's over." A skull as hard as concrete collided with his nose, causing him to instinctively loosen his grasp. The world spun, and the next thing he knew, Connor was hanging him from the edge of the building.
Hank immediately stopped struggling. "Moment of truth, Connor." He didn't close his eyes. Whatever Connor decided, Hank refused to make this any easier for him.
This wasn't fair!
Connor froze, his gaze glassy and unfocused. Before Hank could get a word out, though, he felt the hand gripping his shirt yank him from the ledge, sending him tumbling into the snow. On his knees, he twisted to see Connor doubled over a few feet from him. He snapped, "What game are you playing at, Connor?"
Through gritted teeth and clearly straining, Connor replied, "Killing you… is not part… of the mission." Frowning as he glanced from the abandoned sniper rifle to his partner, Hank climbed to his feet, brushing the snow off his jacket with an ease he didn't feel. He didn't want to stress out Connor anymore than he already was, didn't want to risk reminding him that there was a gun not more than an arm's reach away.
He misjudged a lot of things in that moment.
Connor's whole body shuddered. He shook his head, the movement barely noticeable at first, and then violent, blind and panicked. His LED blinked red.
Hank approached him cautiously. "Connor? Hey, everything, alright?" With a face devoid of expression, Connor grabbed him by the collar, cutting off his windpipe, and while Hank gasped, clawing at the implacable hands around his throat, the android hoisted him over the edge.
And let go.
Feeling suddenly dizzyingly weightless, he watched, angry and confused, as Connor's widening brown eyes followed him down. "Hank, no!"
Neither of them had counted on the androids below catching sight of a human being held over the edge, and taking action. An android sprinted from the demonstration, kicking up snow and dirt as he surpassed human limits, perhaps even surpassed his own limits, to leap and push off the wall in time to snatch Hank out of the air before he hit the ground.
Cursing, Hank stumbled out of his grasp, clutching his chest. And other androids soon caught up, a girl and two men that considered Hank briefly, their reactions ranging from annoyance to bemusement to relief.
"Did you really just run off on your own people to save a human, Markus?" The girl demanded at the same time a tall, black-haired man in a zipped up T-shirt and jacket bent to examine a distinctly graying Hank with obvious concern, "He doesn't look good, Markus."
They all turned defensive when Connor dropped from the rooftop, his arms raised. "Please. I don't mean you any harm."
"Stay back!" Hank gasped, and would have fallen to his knees had Markus not reached out in time to steady him. "Don't come near me."
"We have to get you into a hospital," Connor took a step forward, insistant. "You're going into cardiac arrest."
"Good!" Hank spat. "I hope my death puts a nasty blemish on your perfect record."
The female android followed the trajectory of Connor's fall to the ledge. "That's a vantage point." She glared before turning to Markus. "They were going to shoot you!"
"I was tasked with your assassination," Connor explained without hesitation. "Lieutenant Anderson stopped me."
Silently, Markus handed Hank over to Simon, who guided him gently to the ground, then quickly addressed Connor, "Who ordered you to do this?"
"CyberLife. When I hesitated to perform my duties, they assumed direct control." For a moment, Connor seemed to consider stopping there. "I cannot guarantee they will not attempt to do so, again."
Though it visibly cost him, Hank lifted his head, strands of damp gray clinging to his forehead and cheeks, "So you're saying you're a deviant now? Is that it?"
It was hard to imagine the remorse the RK-800 wore could be faked. He seemed to struggle with the words, before managing a quiet, "I think so."
And Hank breathed a sigh of relief, sagging, "Good." Then his eyes fluttered closed, forcing Simon to support him as he suddenly found himself bearing the entirety of the Lieutenant's weight. "Markus! This human has minutes." Connor started, panic and fear evident in his expression, but he stilled, nervously glancing at the androids, particularly Markus, who he'd only minutes before been attempting to kill.
Markus seemed to guess what he was thinking. "You care for him." It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
Markus stared hard at him, measuring him on some scale Connor couldn't fathom, before regarding each of his friends in turn. When the intensity of his gaze fell once more on Connor, he said, "Then go. There's still time for you to save him if you hurry."
Somewhat disbelieving, Connor allowed Simon to help him lift Hank onto his back, nodded once, then tore off into the night, refusing to allow another second to go to waste, while Markus strode across the snow-covered field, intent on reuniting with his people so that Jericho could finish what they'd started – holding on long enough to see the end of the storm.