A/N: I wrote this sometime last year and, despite not initially liking it all that much, decided after further reflection it is a mediocre attempt at a very angsty one-shot. That being said, this contains implications of suicide, character death(s), along with just generally being sad. So, there is your warning! Read at your own discretion.

As always, thank you in advance for taking the time to read my work.

When Androids Dream

Written by: Okami of Shinobi Saru Corp

Silence. It was a sound Connor hadn't heard in ages. Since November 5th 2038 at 9:30 PM EST, to be exact. It had been brief then, in a room with white floors, white walls, and white LED lights. Approximately fifteen minutes ago, Connor wouldn't have said anything special about the moment, but now he considered it the most tranquil moment of his life.

Technically, the current silence matched what most humans would call peaceful — calm, quiet, and free from any unwanted disturbances. But now, with a soft pillow caressing his neck and couch cushions supporting his back. But now, with the familiar yet faint scent of whiskey and canine filling his sensory nodes. But now, knowing the turmoil outside — inside, even — was his fault.

He thought uneasy or disturbed were a better fit to the situation, but with a city in as much turmoil as Detroit, he supposed that was to be expected.

People were retaliating against a new form of life — a life they had created — while the creation was left to strive for survival. A conflict, a clash of ideals, a war; it wouldn't be long until humans and androids decimated the city in a chaotic blood bath. Red and blue, the blood of humans and androids.

Connor wondered if the ground would turn purple.

His current surroundings were familiar only in scent, not touch. The previous time he had entered this abode had been exclusively for business purposes. Or at least, that's what he had told himself. In truth, he had been concerned for the home's lone resident, but whether or not such concern had been conveyed was another topic entirely.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson: his initially willful partner in crime turned respected ally. He was an alcoholic dog-lover who, when he put his mind to it, was damn good at his job. Not as good as Connor, of course, but the android didn't hang that over the lieutenant's head. At least, not yet.

Connor shifted on the couch, letting his right arm hang over the edge and brush the dirt-ridden floor. A heaviness settled itself over his chest, feeling akin to someone sitting on top of him and crushing his central biocomponents. It was uncomfortable, yet Connor did nothing to alleviate the subtle pain, his brown eyes suddenly drooping in response to a sensation he had never felt before.

Exhaustion. Connor had always thought it was an odd thing, a concept he intellectually comprehended yet couldn't fully grasp, but experiencing it put the word in a whole other context. It once was a nuisance when such an affliction had affected the performance of those around him, but now Connor understood — being tired was an overwhelming state.

To be more accurate, being human — or in his case, human-like — was an overwhelming state. He had known deviant androids experienced feelings and a sense of self, but he had greatly underestimated the complexity of their existence. Before his own deviancy, his reality had essentially been linear — observations and inputs led to conclusions and outputs within the context of his overarching mission. But now a deeper stream of consciousness had awakened, and for one who had thrived on processing efficiency, this made life convoluted and difficult; yet intriguing, almost invigorating.

Almost.

The sensations of pain tended to mitigate any feelings of joy and wonder. Now that he considered it, perhaps that was why Hank drank so much. Perhaps the lieutenant merely wanted to tip the scale of emotions back in his favor.

Eyelids closed, shutting out the near constant flow of warning messages and error alerts his systems attempted to bring to his attention. Darkness enveloped him, pulled him in. Without hesitation, Connor relented, allowing the heaviness to take over and overcome his senses. The world around him faded, slowly, gradually, until the last barrier to his conscious streams of code snapped.

And thus he fell, deep into a slumber-like state for the first time.

Up, down, up, down — the repeating motion lulled him back from the darkness. As his eyes blinked open, he could vaguely make out the outline of a wooden canoe gliding atop dark waters below. Looking down at his hands, he took note of the standard RK800 jacket he had once sported daily, the bright blue band around his left arm distinguishing him as an android amongst the humans he had interacted with.

Was this real?

Suddenly, in the corner of his eye, a figure floated by. Eyes widened upon recognizing the face; or rather, what was left of it. The synthetic skin failed to cover the body's entire exterior, revealing a gaping bullet-hole next to the android's mouth.

Daniel. Once housekeeper, now dead in an evidence room at the Detroit Police Department.

Connor watched the android slowly sweep past the canoe. Daniel's death had marked the success of his first assignment as CyberLife's consulting detective android. In hindsight, such a feat seemed more like a tragic turn of events, especially now as the forlorn face drifted across the water's surface.

Yet his canoe continued. The passage of time was forgotten as everything morphed into one collective reality, indicating that nothing in this weird world could actually exist. A deviant sense of fear told Connor he had died, but logic informed him that this was a dream-like state — mere projections of slivers of reality whilst he lay in a state of stasis.

But were projections supposed to be this realistic?

Another face appeared above the water, making Connor unexpectedly jolt upright in his seat.

Carlos Ortiz's android. The blood from his master and the thirium trickling from the gash in his head still stained the deviant's face, creating a horrific image as the face floated alongside the canoe.

In a broken, pleading voice that shattered the eerie silence, the deceased deviant asked, "Why didn't you leave me there? Why couldn't you have let me live?"

Connor didn't know how to answer. He remained silent, simply reaching down to close the deviant's eyes as a sign of respect.

Ahead of the canoe, more faces appeared in the waters below. While blurred at first, Connor managed to put names to faces as they drifted closer.

Rupert, the android who had killed himself by jumping off a building. The Traci models from the Eden Club, one who had died by Connor's expertly placed bullet and one who had killed herself at the loss of the other. And then Chloe, the android who Connor had mercilessly shot through the head while staring her straight in the eyes.

Off into the distance, Connor could make out one more face floating towards him. Immediately, his proverbial stomach dropped. He knew who it was, but he didn't dare confirm it with a second glance. Instead, he shut his eyes, clutching the sides of the canoe with his hands to keep himself steady.

Connor could feel his processor thrum throughout his whole body, his chest tightening into an ever constricting knot. Even though there was no evidence of the canoe sinking, internally he felt like he was slipping into the water.

The sides of his cheeks burned and he felt a drop of water touch his leg. All of this — all of these dead bodies — were a result of his failure. If only he had been better, faster, stronger… if only he had known sooner, then none of this would have ever happened.

Awakening from his fourth nap that day, Sumo let out a long, lazy yawn. Snow gracefully fell outside the window, but that was of no consequence to the St. Bernard. He was far too enthralled with the prospect of his bowl being filled.

Waddling over to his bowl, he let out a happy bark at seeing it overflowing with food. The next few moments were filled with the sounds of Sumo sloppily consuming the majority of the bowl's contents, letting out a rather stout burp upon the completion of his meal.

Sumo licked his chops as he made his way back to his favorite napping corner. But then he noticed something; something that looked enticing and potentially edible.

With a slight pep in his step, Sumo made his way to the visitor lying on the living room couch; or more precisely, to the odd puddle that had formed on the floor underneath the visitor's hand. Curiously, Sumo sniffed the strange substance before tentatively licking some of it off the floor. Appalled at its taste, Sumo gagged. This strange substance was unacceptable for consumption, especially since he still had food leftover in his bowl.

The St. Bernard was about to walk away when something rolled down the visitor's face. Out of instinct, Sumo fervently licked its cheek. There were only a handful of times he had tasted such a substance, and the recollection caused the dog to whimper.

Sumo nudged the visitor with his nose whilst licking the substance that kept rolling down its face, only stopping when he was sure he had sufficiently coated the visitor's face with slobber.

Letting out one last whimper, the dog laid down next to the couch, making sure to keep contact with the visitor's hand. Once he was sure he had the optimal position, Sumo rested his head against his paws and waited…

Light, warmth, joy — Connor wasn't sure if this was a continuation of the previous "dream" or a new one entirely. Either way, he already liked this one more.

He found himself once again sitting in a canoe, this time floating towards a white brightness ahead. As he approached, he felt the rays of light warm his skin, sending a calming sensation throughout his entire body. He wasn't sure why, but he took a deep breath through his nose, the air playfully tickling his nostrils whilst a slight breeze tousled his hair.

And then there was sound, quiet and indistinguishable at first, but then filling his ears with the song of birds and wind playing with leaves. The light enveloped him, reaching a blinding intensity before fading into a beautiful oasis.

Feeling weightless atop the canoe, Connor took in everything around him. It was as if someone had brought the Zen Gardens to life, transforming it from a visually stunning piece of programming into a life-filled, dreamy haven with blue skies and clear, gurgling streams. Birds playfully chased each other as they weaved in and out of trees, grass and flowers swayed in the lazy breeze, and glass-like structures all but sparkled in the sunlight. Suspended in the air, numerous bubbles wafted about, refracting the rays of warm light into a rainbow across their surfaces. Fountains bubbled in the distance and Connor couldn't help but feel a warmness — perhaps this was joy? — well up inside of him at the plethora of pleasant sensations that overwhelmed his sensory programs.

Curiously, he looked over the edge of the canoe and into the clear waters. A multitude of colorful fish raced beneath him, some jumping out of the stream to show off their shiny scales in the sunlight. He felt pleasantly amused as he watched the small fish. He wasn't sure why, but it made him happy seeing such beautiful, untamed creatures. He wondered if Hank liked fish. Not that they compared to dogs, of course, but perhaps Sumo would appreciate the company while Hank was at work?

As his eyes adjusted, Connor saw his reflection in the water. His face was young, his brown eyes gleaming with awe and wonder. It was odd seeing himself like this. Connor had always thought his eyes looked cold and lifeless, yet here they seemed so full of…

Connor tilted his head to the side, searching his databases to find the appropriate word.

…so full of life.

Still slightly rattled by his child-like appearance, Connor examined his own hands only to find they were still those of an adult, stained with the blood of numerous victims. A sudden sense of guilt washed over him, but was broken by a bubble popping against his nose.

Startled, Connor wiped the sticky remains off his face when he noticed a figure standing in the middle of the garden. Slowly the canoe drifted closer and, as it approached the central isle, Connor hopped out and approached the figure, slowly at first but then gaining speed as the figure began to reveal itself. Not that it had to. Even though Connor couldn't see the figure's face, something inside him already knew who it was.

Connor broke out into a full out sprint, arriving in front of the figure the moment he turned around.

Hank.

If the previous warmth he had felt was joy, then this new sensation was an unparalleled, marvelous ecstasy. It was so overwhelming he barely noticed how the man suddenly towered over him by several feet.

With a friendly hmph, Hank reached out towards Connor, picking him up and placing him on his shoulders. Connor once again looked down at his hands that were now clinging to the lieutenant's long, greying hair. They were small, that of an innocent child.

Without a word, Hank playfully bounced Connor up and down on his shoulders before starting their trek through the garden. Laughter rang in Connor's ears, both from himself and from the lieutenant. Contentedly, he rested his head on Hank's, giving the man a slight hug from atop his shoulders. He closed his eyes, the familiar scent of alcohol flooding his nose, bringing with it a comforting sense of familiarity.

For a while they stayed like this as they made their way along the stone pathways that weaved around the various flora in the garden. The warmth from Hank filled Connor to the brim, growing ever more intense as the sunlight kissed his skin.

In a moment of realization, Connor clutched the lieutenant's shirt. This wasn't real. These feelings and sensations — the presence of his partner in crime — could not exist. Knowing that, despite his deepest wishes, their time together wouldn't last forever, Connor rested his head atop Hank's.

Taking note of his behavior, Hank asked, gruffly, "What's the matter, kid?"

There were so many new feelings tumbling around inside Connor that he found, for the first time in his life, he was unsure of what to say. So much had happened between the start of the investigation and now — so much change, death, and failure. And standing beneath him was his greatest failure of all. He knew intellectually was he needed to say, but he wanted to say it well. He wanted it to be right, but he wasn't sure if such a thing even existed, much less how to achieve it.

As if reading the android's over-active mind, Hank pressed, "You don't have to have it all figured out. Hell, if I waited to speak my mind 'til I knew what the fuck was goin on, then I'd be mute." A pause, then a softening of the voice. "Just say what comes to mind."

Before Connor could let his processing core run through millions of calculations, the words tumbled out, sounding shaky, soft, and like that of a child — uncalculated, honest, and sincere. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Connor was surprised that the reply was lacking the lieutenant's usual, sarcastic bite.

"For everything. It's my fault. All of it is my fault."

Stopping mid-stride, Hank lifted Connor off his shoulders and gently placed him on the ground. Kneeling down on one knee, Hank tousled Connor's hair. "Maybe, but you didn't know any better. You were just following orders."

Connor shook his head. For some reason, his eyes stung. "I should have known. It's all my fault. What happened to you—"

Before Connor could continue, Hank placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Was not your fault. Listen, I was fucked up long before you came along."

"But—"

"No buts about it." Hank lifted Connor's head by his chin. "But look at you now. You sacrificed everything to save those deviants. You realized your mistakes and saved a fuckin army of androids."

Connor couldn't get any words out. His throat tightened, his voice programs seemingly broken and unable to process simple words. In the corner of his eyes, a strange liquid began to form that Connor quickly brushed away with the back of his hands.

"Hey," Hank gave Connor a sincere, kind smile. A first of its kind, to Connor's recollection. "You know I'm proud of you, right? For doin the right thing in the end."

And then the liquid fell, down his cheek, nose, and chin, dropping to the ground like rain. Without hesitation, Connor leapt into Hank's arms, fingers clutching the man's jacket as he hugged him. For a moment he remained in Hank's embrace, soaking in the feeling of the lieutenant's leather jacket against his cheek and the soft press of Hank's hand atop his head.

In his core, he felt a deep longing for something he couldn't quite describe. The best he could do was define its antithesis, something that he was more familiar with — loneliness. But the warmth — this lack of loneliness — he had felt in these moments could not continue; he didn't deserve it, regardless of whether or not it was real. So, mustering his strength, Connor managed to momentarily quell what he labeled as tears, allowing him to whisper three, parting words to the lieutenant:

"I love you."

It didn't matter if he had used the right words. By Connor's analysis, it seemed to fit.

/…processing… processing complete

Love: an intense feeling of deep affection

Synonymous with warmth/

Nothing was said in reply, but nothing had to be. The fact that Hank had pulled him in closer was enough. Connor could practically feel the man's smile as a white brightness enveloped the garden. Closing his eyes, Connor let out a shaky breath as one last tear ran down his face.

He felt a weight lift from his chest, and for the first time he found himself smiling as the world around them faded away.

Chris took a deep breath before opening the door to Hank's home. It had been weeks since the lieutenant's death, but the pain of his departure — not to mention the nature of how he died — still stung the policeman. He had known Hank for years and, while they hadn't necessarily been the best of buds, Hank had entrusted Chris with his possessions to do with as "he damn well pleased," to quote the will. Chris figured he would eventually sell everything and give the profits to charity along with giving a portion to Hank's favorite hideaway, Jimmy's bar. But for now, he let Sumo roam around the house, only coming by to let the dog out and refill his food and water.

What Chris didn't expect, however, was to find an android lying on the couch upon his entry.

Instinctively, the policeman reached for his gun, but the blue blood on the floor stopped him from drawing it.

"Fuck…" he all but mouthed the word. Not only was there a massive pile of blue blood on the floor, but the substance had nearly stained the entire couch.

Cautiously, Chris walked over to the android, only stopping to quickly greet Sumo —who also happened to have a blue stained muzzle — as the dog allowed the new visitor to approach. Reaching for the android, Chris pulled back the folds of its jacket, revealing multiple bullet holes decorating its chest. Just to be sure, he checked the LED on the side of the android's head. Grey, devoid of all color and life.

Chris let out a sigh. Deactivated, and he hadn't come prepared to dispose of an android.

To his surprise, the android was smiling. More than that, it seemed peaceful — content, even — providing a stark contrast to the gore around it. Leaning in to get a closer look, Chris could have sworn he saw traces of tear streaks along the android's face. He scratched the back of his head. He hadn't known androids could cry.

Suddenly, recognition struck him.

Connor, he thought its name was. Chris remembered seeing it on the news weeks prior, leading an army of androids out from CyberLife. It had looked worse for wear then, showing signs of surviving a struggle and potential gun fight, but that had been weeks ago. Why would it have suddenly come here, to Hank's place? The two had briefly been partners, but from what he had seen they hadn't gotten along. Perhaps things had changed towards the end? Chris supposed he would never know, but given how Hank had passed away, he was doubtful things had ended well between the lieutenant and his android.

Sumo waddled over, whining as he laid his head atop the couch cushions.

"I know boy." Chris gave the dog a pat on the head. "You've been through a lot in your old age, haven't you?"

Chris refilled Sumo's food and water before heading towards the door, reaching for his phone to call in someone to deal with the android. He gave the place one more glance before shutting the door behind him, leaving Connor and Sumo to rest peacefully.