Chapter 2: JUNE 21st, 2039 - PM 07:24:41

Connor stepped out of the taxi, straightening his collar as the automated 'thank you' sounded behind him. Not long after the events at the CyberLife assembly plant, the awakened android had abandoned all ties to the company—including his signature uniform. Hank had since donated a few articles of clothing, but the difference in size ensured that each piece hung awkwardly from Connor's slight build. He'd accepted them gratefully, although he rarely wore them today. Between Jericho's stash of supplies, government grants, and charity organizations that sprang up like mushrooms overnight, Connor had managed to put together a wardrobe that fit him a bit more snuggly. Over time, he had collected a few items that could be classified as 'comfortable,' but many of his choices tended towards business professional. Old habits died hard.

Not everything had gone smoothly for the RK800 model after his deviancy. Markus' successful peaceful protest had won a sizable majority of the human public to a supportive opinion of android rights. The government, however, was not the public. Neither was the business sector. Immediately, issues of legislation, compensation, and damages erupted in the media. Debates raged universally across various news outlets: should androids be considered U.S. citizens? Do they have the right to vote and/or own property? Should they be able to elect representatives as a separate governing body or can they integrate into the pre-existing political make-up of the government? Should CyberLife compensate their former clientele for loss of property…or did that constitute an infraction of androids' legal status as living beings? Should the corporation shut down—or be turned over to the androids as a reproduction facility? Do they get healthcare? Do they get wages?

Are they alive?

A whirlwind of press interviews had followed, ultimately leading to national hearings. Connor's part in the android revolution had remained an indefinite subject of debate. Some felt that he had acted the part of the liberator—in fact, many androids saw him as something of a hero. Others—especially those in power—felt that a defective machine had malfunctioned and released millions of dollars worth of property without authorization. Different viewpoints called for different outcomes. A dismissal of all charges. An official investigation. For the android to be held accountable to a jury of his peers. Deactivation. And that was just the humans. Not all androids trusted Connor's motivations for joining the revolution. Some saw him as a potential threat further down the line. Many were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

None of that mattered right now, though. The clamoring demands of D.C. could wait. The sun was setting. The day was clear. And for the first time in several long months, he was visiting Hank Anderson.

To Connor's surprise, the garage was open. Several boxes had been pushed haphazardly into the driveway, along with an assortment of household objects that had invariably found their ultimate resting places there. Scanning the scene, Connor spotted his old friend waist deep in totes and cardboard, sifting through stacks of papers that looked starkly more organized than the rest of the chaos around him. He stepped over a rusty set of sheers and maneuvered through the broken down relics of things Hank would get around to fixing/sorting/cleaning one day. Scanning again, Connor noticed a few other odds and ends of interest.

SYNC DONE —
PROCESSING DATA —
COMPLETE.

***BASS GUITAR, TWO STRINGS MISSING***

***BASKETBALL HOOP***

***ANDERSON FAMILY PHOTO***

"Hello, Hank."

Hank nearly jumped out of his skin, knocking the loose lid of the tote in front of him free as he turned.

"Jesus, Connor," Hank griped, his hands briefly bracing themselves on his knees as he gathered himself. "What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that?"

A hint of a smile toyed at the corners of Connor's mouth. Deviancy had earned him his own personal sense of humor. And he'd missed this. "Sorry," he offered, knowing full well that Hank didn't care in the slightest that he'd been startled. "I should have knocked."

Hank straightened and sighed, the adrenaline obviously easing from his system. "Just call the next time you're planning on dropping by unannounced. Save me the heart attack."

Something felt—off. Without another word, Hank turned back to the stacks of folders he'd been pouring over and resumed his work. Connor stood in place, taken a little aback. It had been months since he'd last seen or heard from Lieutenant Anderson, due to the sensitive nature of the hearings he'd had to undergo. Perhaps presumptuously, Connor had been certain that Anderson would be happy to see him. He tried again.

"Spring cleaning?" Connor asked, stepping inside the garage. "It's a little late in the year for that, don't you think?"

Hank said nothing. Page after idle page flipped by as the police lieutenant read through them. For a moment, he paused, and Connor was sure he'd found something he was looking for. But after a brief perusal, he must have decided against it. The pages began flipping once more. Connor's brow bent in confusion.

"I could help you if you'd like," Connor offered, taking another step towards his friend. Something snapped under his foot. Glancing down, he saw the remains of an old-fashioned picture frame. One panel of the frame had cracked under his weight, but luckily enough, the glass pane seemed to have been lost some time ago and there was no picture inside. The sound caught Hank's attention long enough for him to glance over his shoulder.

"Don't break anything," he warned before turning away and picking up another folder. The remark wasn't exactly permission to help, Connor realized. More like an offhand dismissal of the android's presence. Something was definitely off.

"Is…everything alright, Lieutenant?"

Silence.

"Is there something I should know about?"

Silence. Connor took another step closer.

"I thought we could catch up over a drink tonight. I wanted to see how you were doing. My treat. What do you say?" —Not that Connor could drink, but he hoped the thought would count.

It was like Connor wasn't even in the room. Hank ignored every inquiry without so much as shifting his feet. This self-imposed display of isolation gave Connor cause for concern. Lieutenant Anderson had, on several occasions, admitted to suicidal tendencies and—thanks to his program's extensive knowledge of human behavior—the android detective knew full well that distancing from friends and family was a sure sign of depression. The question was—what had happened?

Crisscrossing through the mess, Connor finally reached the folder fiasco and stopped short on Hank's left. Scanning the array of papers, he quickly ascertained that they were printed copies of case files. The questionable legality of keeping copies of sensitive police documents flashed through Connor's mind, but he let it go. Obviously, these files were so important to Hank that he had seen fit to keep a hard copy…despite the ease of digital bookkeeping and file transfers. Or, perhaps it was just Hank's penchant for the old fashioned that drove him to keep paper copies. Something about the smell of paper or other such sentimentality.

"Are these your big cases?" Connor asked, lifting a random folder from the pile and examining it. "There are quite a few of them."

Almost before he'd finished his sentence, Connor was relieved of the folder. Hank snatched it from his hands unceremoniously and turned on his counterpart. "Why don't you mind your own business for once, alright?" Hank snapped, his voice lower than usual, his jaw set tight. The unwarranted animosity sent another red flag through Connor's programming. "I don't need your help with this one."

This one.… The words indicated a specificity that held personal undertones. Connor didn't budge. "You're working a case," he surmised, eyes narrowed as he studied Hank's face for further clues. His LED cycled to yellow. "Something important."

"Hey! Cut that out!" Hank shoved Connor in the chest and the android staggered back against a stack of boxes. "Don't you analyze me," he warned. Connor's LED went red before slowly circling through yellow, then blue. He hadn't brought himself to remove it yet. Maybe it was a matter of identity. Maybe it just didn't matter to him. He hadn't stopped to consider the reasons why.

As the initial surprise faded, Connor righted himself, smoothing his disordered sleeves as he attempted to process the situation. The lieutenant hadn't pushed him hard enough to do any damage. The altercation itself, Connor realized, had been a warning. Hank was dealing with personal issues yet again. But this time, he wanted to be sure Connor stayed out of the them.

Hank must have realized he'd gone a bit too far because he managed to meet Connor's eye for the first time since the android had arrived. For a long moment, he said nothing, as if struggling to let his friend in and block him out simultaneously. Then, some of the hardened veneer cracked. Tension eased from his shoulders and his gaze met the ground momentarily before finding Connor's brown one once more. He shifted gears.

"Tonight's not a good night," Hank explained, some of the familiarity returning to his voice. He patted Connor's shoulder in what the android knew to be a show of apology. "Wish I could catch up with you, but I can't right now. Sorry, Connor."

The forthright dismissal was, admittedly, better than silence, Connor reasoned internally. But despite Hank's refusal, his friend resolved to get to the bottom of whatever was going on—with or without permission. For the present, however, it was obvious that their reunion would have to wait. Connor nodded, setting aside the air of professionalism his deviancy had fought for so long to overcome.

"I understand," he conceded. "I'm sorry I bothered you. It's been a while and…well, I wanted to see a familiar face. I was inconsiderate."

Hank smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't worry about it. I probably wouldn't have checked my phone anyway."

"I know for a fact you wouldn't have," Connor countered warmly. He paused. This wasn't at all how he'd envisioned seeing Hank again. The whole encounter had been so…awkward. Stilted. He didn't want to leave things as they stood, but Hank had made it very clear that he had no desire to spend time talking with his android friend.

(I guess I'll have to wait,) he told himself, disappointed.

"Let me know when you have a free moment," Connor suggested before beginning the zigzagging journey out of the garage once more. The first glinting of stars overhead signaled night was coming on. He'd have to find a place to stay. Powering down wasn't a necessity for him like sleep was for humans, but he didn't have any particular desire to wander aimlessly around the streets of Detroit until morning either.

"Hey Connor."

Connor turned.

"It's good to see you."

Connor smiled, nodding his appreciation.

"Take care of yourself, Hank."

As Hank turned back to his papers, Connor headed to the sidewalk and began making his slow way out of the neighborhood, head spinning with questions. With a simple sequence of blinks, he called another taxi and stopped at the street corner, waiting.
One directive surfaced over and over again on loop.

- INVESTIGATE HANK ANDERSON -