I have this headcanon that deviant Connor was less human-like in the route where Hank still committed suicide in the end, compared to the deviant Connor of the good end with alive Hank.

This wasn't how Connor expected Detroit to be.

The articles he read didn't tell him about the different sounds of a busy city: the noise of a crowd of people coming from all sides, talking either on their phones or conversing with another person; the noise of vehicles on a trafficked road; the noise of huge advertisements displayed on towering digital billboards; the noise from the beggars at the sidewalk asking for a spare change; the noise of street vendors hollering to have their products looked upon; and the distant music and sounds that Connor couldn't identify.

The pictures never showed the liveliness of the urban landscape, nor did they capture the stuffy atmosphere that came along with it. The images weren't able to make Connor feel as if he was being closed in by the tall towers and city blocks. And most especially, Connor wasn't shown the dirt on the road and the polluted air.

All of them put together threw the city in a darker shade at four in the afternoon, and this version of Detroit was like worlds away from the one he knew that has brighter, colorful city lights and less noise from the silent vehicle engines, humans minding their own businesses with their handheld gadgets, and with the quarter of population composed of androids.

It was fascinating how technology would throw the balance the city had grown into and change it completely to what it would be twenty-one years later.

He planned it carefully for a month before coming to the May of 2017.

Money was the first he prepared. It would help Connor get a lodging while he was looking for a job. Fortunately, the currency was the same as what humans would have in the 2038. Connor simply had to stack up a considerable amount, mostly his cashed out stipend from CyberLife that was given to him while he was working as a deviant hunter, and triple the amount from Kamski himself after he deemed Connor an 'interesting' kind of deviant. Kamski was pretty generous in giving away some of his wealth, it seemed, as long as it was to help a deviant on their own feet. He told Connor to send his regards to Lieutenant Anderson. Kamski didn't even know the news, nor did he knew where Connor would be going and spending the little fortune he has.

The next he did was record the old news, both local and international, from the year 2007 to 2017. Information between that span of time was saved on Connor's memory banks for references. His memory capacity was large enough to handle another thousands of terabytes worth of data that had Connor thinking of expanding his intellectual knowledge and technical skills. He could merely look up some downloadable modules to install on his system, but it would be more of storing them and not learning for himself. Connor was gifted with high analytical thinking and was programmed to be a fast learner in relation to his purpose as a detective. Those features would be gone to waste if he couldn't find use for them.

He arranged his papers and identification next. In a country that made a huge leap in technological advancement, it wasn't that difficult anymore to procure in 2038. The difficult part was making them authentic for the year 2017 and so. What Connor has at the moment were like blank bills. He would have to arrange to put Connor Morgan on the databases once he was successful in his travel.

Connor had Markus's and Simon's help on gathering spare parts. With his type not readily available on the market, Connor was given compatible biocomponents that he could use for emergency cases. Connor managed to fill a suit case with nothing but sensory parts, a few packs of thirium, and two thirium pump regulators. Frankly, they were more than enough, but where Connor would go wouldn't be able to cater to an android's needs just yet.

It was his own self that Connor took time to prepare. He couldn't find it in him to simply pass it off as another mission of his that he has to complete. He understood the risks that he was placing not only to himself but to something far greater than one individual. It was possible that he would be messing with the space-time continuum, if he wasn't already by being at the past. Markus advised him to give it a week—impulsiveness wouldn't suit Connor good, he said. It was a human flaw that often resulted to terrible decisions.

The most logical approach was to listen to Markus who was obviously far more experienced in the field of deviancy than Connor. Although, Connor believed that he already made up his mind on this. Markus might have insinuated once or twice that this could be a matter brought on by Connor's first experience of a foreign emotion, grief. Markus even explained that it was close to getting to him too when Carl passed away. Grief could make anyone irrational, he said, but it was a normal feeling that he never regretted experiencing, because it only meant that he was a human who mourned the loss of somebody important in his life, a family.

But Connor wondered if it was the same in his case. He wasn't that close with Lieutenant Anderson, only in the middle of acquaintance and a friend if he was to be specific. Their relationship had been labeled hostile until the end, and yet… an unknown feeling gnawed at Connor for some time. He knew he could have done more. He could have been more sensitive with the Lieutenant's suicidal tendencies. Connor knew he could avoid it by not dying multiple times in front of him. It was the feeling of inadequacy and failure that he believed were his reasons. He wasn't rushing out of a grief-addled mind. In fact, his only regret was he should have done this whole traversing back in time sooner when he found out that it was possible.

Connor could do this. He could change the future for the better.

For his partner.

For himself.

The landlady of the apartment building that Connor checked out was a rotund woman of sixty-five with an accommodating personality. She never once stopped smiling at Connor, inquiring a few questions while he filed the forms, and asking whether he was a student moving closer to the university instead of boarding. Connor was undecided whether he planned to be one, but it would be interesting to mingle with a different bunch of humans that were younger than Connor's previous company.

She was rather surprised when Connor showed her his identification card, muttering, "Oh, you might be getting this a lot, young man, but I thought you're younger than your age."

Connor wondered if he overdid the estimation of his supposed age. "You are the first one to say that, ma'am."

She laughed freely. "That's Mia to you."

"Miss Mia, then," Connor said, tilting his head slightly. He didn't understand what she found amusing in Connor's use of common courtesy.

She concluded by explaining the utilities covered by the rent. Connor found the process surprisingly easy once he was handed the key. Mia was telling him not to hesitate asking any assistance Connor might need—which he kept in mind just in case—when a total of five cats came from the ajar screen door. They each vary in colors and came bounding to Mia, rubbing on her leg affectionately.

There was a gray tabby that stopped by Connor's feet, looking up at him with wide eyes. It smelled his shoes and proceeded to purr and rub against his ankles, leaving Connor puzzled because as far as he knew, cats weren't easily taken with strangers like dogs were; most of them were considered less friendly, in fact. The cat was small that Connor could pick it up with one hand and examine it closely as what one of his prompts suggested. The other choice was to lean down and scratch the spot behind its ears since it was a sensitive area that cats couldn't reach. The third prompt told him to stay there, unmoving, until the cat was finished with his legs.

He didn't know what action he should take.

Mia decided for him, giving him a mildly apologetic look as she scooped her cat to put on her desk. "Sorry about that. Mittens doesn't normally like strangers. He seems unusually attached to you—oh! Before I forget, you are allowed at least one pet if it's a dog or a cat. But for animals that you're planning to put in a cage—a hamster, for example—I'm fine with up to two."

While Connor wasn't initially planning to get an animal companion, the prospect of taking care of a dog by himself was quite… interesting, to say the least. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

The door to his unit was the third of the five doors on the second floor. The second unit was the closest to Connor's and the stairs, though he was unsure whether it was occupied or the tenant was out when Connor passed by and picked up no sound from within. He would have to find out later.

The room was bare of any furniture, but there was a small wall closet at the single bedroom and a small wooden table. While Connor would have to account in his budget the expenses for the furniture and items that he needed to have, the unfurnished unit worked to Connor's advantage. He could pick the essentials in accordance to the measurement of his apartment's space. The things he would be getting were mostly for show: the bed, couch, coffee table, kitchen equipment and utensils, and the dining set for two people; because if Connor was living in a place surrounded by humans, he might as well have the things needed for receiving them. Otherwise, Connor would only be standing in a corner while on stasis and not tuning in to the news—which kind of defeated the purpose of mingling with humans.

Within a week, Connor managed to create an acceptable living quarters. Mia checked in to him from time to time to see how he was settling in. This was a trait of hers to her new tenants, according to a neighbor of his on the same floor. His name was Timothy, a single parent living with his daughter, and their unit was situated at the end of the hall. He seemed equally as obliging as the landlady, if not more. He would greet Connor whenever they passed each other by, sometimes engaging Connor in a small talk. Bafflingly, Connor could detect Timothy's heartrate picking up whenever they were talking and when his nine-year-old daughter, Cate, was also around, giving his father not so subtle nudges.

At the same evening of his first night, Connor confirmed that there was indeed a neighbor next door, only that his neighbor as arriving late at nights and was leaving as early as seven in the morning. Judging by the single pair of footfalls, there was only one person living at the apartment next to his.

Connor gave another observation of the new environment he was in, this time taking note of even the littlest of details. He went past the University of Colbridge when he made a short trip around 2017 Detroit, and Connor was reminded once again of his idea to be a student. Intriguingly, Connor's feet lead him to the DPD as if there was a hardcoded instruction to see it next. The Police Department that he knew of stood at the same lot, and a few policemen went in and out of the establishment with take-outs at hand, apparently at their lunch break. Connor noted the faces of the policemen that he had seen, but unfortunately none of them he was familiar with.

He frowned to himself, wondering if he was expecting to see somebody specific in the first place.

Connor could work for the DPD again if he entered the police academy instead, and then he could look for Lieutenant Anderson who has the rank of a Detective around this year. That way, Connor could be closer to his former partner, and in time reclaim that partnership, except this time with Lieutenant Anderson in his early thirties and in his prime. Connor might be able to easily foster a good working relationship with him, especially when he was perceived as somebody who was around the same age. Connor would then work with a version of Lieutenant Anderson who has a different outlook in life, a high-spirited, determined, and motivated officer.

In general, it would be less troublesome for Connor's goal. He would fit in Lieutenant Anderson's life like a staunch coworker, and a friend, if possible. Connor would blend among the unsuspecting humans while he was doing his job of helping the authorities as he was designed for.

A reasonable approach that Connor refused to take, and only because of a single valid reason: he would be complicating Lieutenant Anderson's life at its early stage.

Connor could make himself known later, but for the meantime, he would allow Lieutenant Anderson an uncomplicated life free of any android that he would hate in the later years.

Connor returned to the apartment within an hour, with the task to find Lieutenant Anderson put on hold.

If there was anything Connor has in abundance of, it was time.

"You should have dinner with Cate and me tonight," Timothy offered one day, seemingly out of the blue, making Connor classify Timothy as a too trusting human who has no qualms inviting somebody who was practically a stranger in his home.

"Dad makes a good pasta," Cate shared, grinning at Connor with her few missing teeth.

Connor's coding urged him to return the gesture with a smile of his own. He hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed with his reply. "I don't doubt it, but unfortunately, I can't tonight. Apologies, Cate, Timothy."

"That's cool," Timothy said. Connor didn't miss the minute change in his pitch and how his smile fell and went back up again. "There's next time."

They bid him good bye, and Connor didn't enter his apartment until they were inside theirs. He was processing Timothy's body language aside his dismay at Connor's answer. There was something else that Timothy seemed to project that was unfamiliar to Connor. He filed the task of figuring his neighbor out for later.

At the moment, Connor opened his laptop and connected himself to the internet. While he was reading the website of University of Colbridge, his laptop was going through several tabs of online job search.

Connor paused his multitasking abruptly at the article displayed at the university website, showing the 16th Annual Robotics Competition where a student of Colbridge won first place. It was a simple matter of cross-referencing that showed that the student was indeed Elijah Kamski.

A fifteen-year-old Kamski, to be precise, studying Computer Science, Major in Artificial Intelligence. Depending on the program that Connor would choose, there was a high possibility of sharing a few classes with him. He could have the same program as Kamski's, but knowing the man, he would be already ahead in the curriculum. Connor needed to be in a different one with parallel courses.

At the list of available programs written at the back of the admission form, Connor zeroed in to a particular one.

Connor counted a total of five dogs that he walked in a span of two days.

It was a straightforward sideline job that he had taken a liking and surely he would do again. It enabled him to walk around the area again and memorize the shops and businesses, all the while being in a company of dogs. He walked a rather feisty Rottweiler that had eventually taken a liking to Connor; an unenergetic Skye Terrier but enjoyed a good run; an Icelandic Sheepdog that was immediately friendly to him; an American Foxhound that liked playing with young children; and a St. Bernard that was basically Sumo but younger.

Their owners seemed satisfied with his performance, paying him for his service a little more than the adequate amount. Connor thanked them politely for their consideration.

Connor found a steady job in a computer repair shop that he could maintain as a student, as his employer, Mr. Evans, a heavyset man of forty-three, assured him after Connor informed him of his intention to enter college soon. Mr. Evans told him about his previous assistants that were mostly students wanting to earn on the side and often fired for being chronically tardy. Mr. Evans was a no-nonsense kind of man, and so Connor decided to be honest with his inexperience, his knowledge with machine repairs limited to his analytical abilities, diagnostic feature, and at least a rough understanding of advanced machines such as androids. To his surprise though, Mr. Evans merely laughed and gave him a huge slap at the back, saying Connor should get started on calling him Julius. He used to have no idea about computers when he was Connor's age, Julius said, but inherited the repair shop from his own father and learned through experience. Connor being a fast learner was enough for him.

Julius aided Connor on his first day, teaching him about the internals of the old mobile devices. He reminded Connor that not every customer that came in knew what needed to be fixed on their devices, so he advised a thorough internal checking first before unscrewing screws.

"It's tempting to open up a computer," Julius said. "Makes you feel like an expert, actually. Until you realize you just caused more damage." He handed Connor a circuit board. "Here, learn what components are in the motherboard and where to the wires lead. There are some books there, but they're outdated; textbooks about computer hardware and software easily are, so if I were you, I'd look up on the internet instead."

Connor borrowed the textbooks, nonetheless, all in equal thickness. For good measures, Connor looked up on basic computer programming, and within a week, he developed an average mastery of the C, C#, and Java, coupled with an improved skill for troubleshooting. Julius was rather stubborn in insisting there was no way that Connor's mind was human—Well, he wasn't wrong there—that, or Connor was lying when he said he was inexperienced.

"Not your kind of music?" Julius asked one day, when he thought Connor was staring at the pair of small speakers, though it wasn't like he would know Connor was going through questions and answers in a website called StackExchange regarding databases and SQL.

Connor briefly looked up for the music currently playing and came by a song released in 1963, entitled Ring of Fire,by Johnny Cash, and by 2017 it was already considered old. "I wasn't familiar with this song."

"Figures. It's one of those 'old man music'." Julius waved a hand dismissively. "So, pop music? Ed Sheeran, maybe?"

"I don't know what that is."

Julius snapped his fingers, shaking his head, more to himself. "Of course, of course. Geniuses like you only listen to classical music. Wait." He went on YouTube and typed a bit. "Here, some Beethoven for you."

Connor blinked at the term 'genius', and he would have corrected Julius in his assumption, if not for the wave of notes that flowed smoothly out of the speakers. It was a soft, calming tone from a piano that had Connor barely aware that he closed his eyes to just listen with the background processes that was running in his head put on a halt. It was quite a… relaxing experience.

He liked it.

Julius snorted. "Knew that's more of your jam. To be fair, they're good… for helping me sleep, that is."

Connor took it as an assignment, where later that night he found himself listening to Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, and Bach for hours. It wasn't long until it became a routine during evenings.

For the first time since his arrival in 2017, Connor had an indescribable feeling that he could only chalk up to his deviancy. Ironic that it was a super prototype with a prominent feature of adapting to human unpredictability turned out to be the most naïve since becoming a deviant.

There were still a lot to learn.

There was no mistaking the whimper that Connor heard amidst the rain.

Connor followed the sound without difficulty and was lead to an electric post where a wet cardboard box was sitting beside it. He knelt down, positioning the umbrella towards the gray mutt inside the box to shield it from the rain. Connor gave the dog a quick scan and identified a swelling on one of its legs, and fortunately, there was no broken bone as far as he could see.

It was a stray—if the lack of collar was to go by—old to be considered a puppy but young to be an adult. He gingerly scooped the mutt, careful not to aggravate the inflamed leg as he carried it back to the apartment.

Connor could take care of it alone with the installed first-aid module in his system, applicable to both humans and animals alike. Though he did make a trip to the nearest vet and had the dog looked at by a professional.

Oliver was the first name that entered Connor's mind on the mutt's second day with him. The dog barked in assent, making Connor's lips curl into a smile as he carded its fur and patted its head lightly.

Oliver recovered swiftly than expected, running around the unit and curiously sniffing at objects. Oliver would run at the door upon Connor's arrival, excitedly wagging its tail in welcoming back Connor. Overall, he was an energetic dog that grew on Connor as fast as his recovery.

He might have underestimated Oliver's energy too when Connor arrived a little late than usual at the apartment, Oliver nowhere to be found.

Connor called, searching underneath the furniture and possible spaces that Oliver could fit it. He was immediately seized by what was akin to fear when he found not a single sign of the mutt. Multiple prompts emerged in accordance to the situation, together with the unnecessary predictions of possibilities that were getting worse each after another.

What if—

There was a knock on the door.

It took Connor a moment to manage the several prompts that popped out, arranging his 'composure' before he answered the door. He was met with a jovial bark from Oliver, flooding Connor what must be relief.

Relief that was instantly overwhelmed by a stronger reaction when his eyes landed on the person carrying Oliver.

A man of thirties with black hair, blue eyes, and a height of 6.2 ft.—Connor could read the complete physical details, but there was no way he could mistake who it was despite the young clean-shaven face unwearied by the heavy weight of loss and depression.

"I kept him company for a while. Been barking outside your door when I came to mine," was Lieutenant Anderson's less gruff voice, fondly scratching Oliver at the back of his ears before handing him to Connor.

He took him without a word, his mind pulling up four prompts in response. Connor opted for the polite and neutral response of: "Thank you. I hope Oliver didn't cause too much trouble."

"Oliver, huh? He's hyper, alright," Lieutenant Anderson said wryly, crossing his arms and leaning by the door frame. "But he's been a good boy." He glanced at Connor, frowning. "Sorry, we haven't seen each other around, have we?"

They didn't, and it wasn't even for the lack of trying. "No, I don't think so."

"Funny that. The landlady told me there's somebody new next door, but we seem to miss each other—heck, it's a record breaker for me, not knowing shit about a neighbor who moved in a month ago." Connor wouldn't believe it was a month already if he wasn't keeping tabs on the date. Lieutenant Anderson offered a hand. "Name's Hank, by the way. Hank Anderson."

Connor shook his hand firmly, and he supposed the lieutenant was already studying him with a keen eye as part of the man's perceptive nature. "Connor. Connor Morgan."

"So, uh, I won't be keeping you long, Connor. If you need something, just knock. Especially if you need someone to keep an eye on Oliver."

"I'll keep that in mind… Hank."

"Sure. Good night."

"Good night."

Connor slumped his back against the door when he finally closed it. He slid down, ending up seated on the floor.

If he retained his LED, he was sure that it would be blinking a rapid red at the present.

TBC