Connor really wished this body was equipped with an internal clock.
By his guess it had been at least a couple of days since he had been locked in the cell and left to rot. Neither Eric nor Nate had really interacted with him since then. That's not to say he didn't know they were still there. He could hear them, bickering and arguing in the other room, but he couldn't quite make out the words being said.
On the plus side, they had untied him, or rather, Nate had. Just a couple of hours ago, he had wordlessly entered and cut him free before slamming the door shut again behind him.
Maybe he felt bad for him. Or maybe they were worried he would damage himself before they could wipe his memory. His artificial joints certainly radiated an uncomfortably human pain from being immobile for so long.
Regardless, being free to move didn't really do him any good. He was still thoroughly and frustratingly trapped.
The dim light from the hallway didn't do much to illuminate the small cell, but what he could see did not leave him with much in the way of confidence. The iron door was locked tight. They were underground, so there were no other points of entrance. And, most disturbingly of all, there was a plethora of dismembered android parts piled in every corner.
How many others had met a gruesome end in this hellhole?
Connor shivered, but it wasn't from the chill of the cell. A tear rolled down his cheek leaving a cold trail. He wanted Hank.
But Hank wasn't here.
Hank couldn't help him.
He was alone.
He had spent so much time trying to convince the Lieutenant that he was still an adult, that he wasn't helpless. Now, here he was, sitting in the dark, crying and scared, wanting his dad.
Swallowing down his fears, Connor shakily got to his feet. He was still a detective, damn it. He was the most advanced prototype to ever come out of CyberLife. If he wanted Hank, he had to get to him himself.
He had to escape.
Connor closed his eyes. Readying himself, he took a calming breath. Then another. Yes, he could do this. They couldn't hold him. Brimming with determination, he opened his eyes again, took every ounce he had in his tiny body, and threw it against the iron door.
And promptly bounced off like he was made of rubber instead of plastic.
"Shit," Connor fussed as he sat up from where he landed, rubbing where his arm had made contact with the sturdy door.
His eyes welled again. Curse his stupid child brain. Why couldn't he form a reasonable thought? A plan? Something?
Was he too far gone?
Or was he just too scared to think properly?
Was his mind too childish to even figure out what was wrong with him?
Connor curled in on himself, holding his now injured arm as he let his tears fall. If Hank were here, he would hold him, tell him everything would be ok and that there was nothing wrong with being a child. He would make everything better. He was the only thing that could make this better.
Connor cried. It came out as thick wet sobbs that hurt his chest and made his head stuffy. His captor's arguing in the other room faded into unintelligible white noise. He didn't want to die. He wanted to go home, to see Hank and play with Sumo. He wanted to live. He wanted to-
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the feeling of something nudging his hand.
He looked up sharply, surprise drying his tears if only for the moment. Blinking a couple of times, he tried his best to make sense of what he was seeing.
A cat blinked back at him.
Or winked, he supposed. It only had one eye, so he wasn't entirely certain how that would be defined. Regardless, it stared at him with interest before bumping its nose against his hand a second time.
Connor tentatively reached out to pet it, ignoring the already fading bruise in his arm as he did so.
The eye wasn't the only thing missing. It only had three legs, the forth ending short in a stub and its tail was shorter than it was supposed to be. Additionally, there was no fur. His hand stroked against smooth plastic plating, dented and damaged in several places.
He had known, in theory, that prototypes for android cats had been made, but Connor never thought he would ever see one.
"How did you get here?" He asked, half expecting the kitty to respond. Instead it just rubbed its plastic face against his leg, unsatisfied with the petting Connor was doing with just his hands. "Are you a prisoner here too?"
It licked at Connor's hand, the tongue rough like wet sandpaper. He smiled for the first time since he had been taken. "It's ok," he told the cat. "I don't have anyone to look after me here, but I'll look after you, alright?"
As if in protest to that, the cat suddenly stepped back, broken body going rigid and what remained of its tail arching menacingly. It hissed, followed by a static growl.
Alarmed, Connor pulled away, not wanting to further upset the kitty, before realizing that it wasn't reacting to him at all.
"That mangy thing is still functioning?" Eric asked from the other side of the bars. The question was said in a tone indicating more distaste than surprise.
Connor glared at him over his shoulder, before standing to place himself between him and the angry kitten. "They aren't mangy. You are," he spat.
"Oh wow," he retorted, barely changing his tone. "Your insults are getting so much better."
He frowned. His insults may be lacking, but his grasp of sarcasm had improved significantly in his time living with Hank.
That being said, he was about ninety percent sure that one was sincere. "Thank you, I've been working on them."
Eric's face twisted into a confused scowl for a moment before his focus returned to the reason he was there. "Right, whatever." He shook his head and brought his expression back to back to a disinterested scowl. "Just letting you know your time's almost up. We're getting the machine fixed, then it's sayonara to those memory files."
The cat slunk forward, continuing its menacing, glitching growl, peppered with hisses. Connor Glared back at him, crossing his arms for good measure. "So? That's no different than before. Why bother telling me?"
He shrugged, apparently losing interest in the conversation. "Just didn't want you getting too comfortable."
"I don't think you need to worry about that." Connor did everything in his power to keep his voice from trembling. In all seriousness, he likely didn't look dissimilar to the kitten at his feet. A small, helpless creature. Hissing and spitting uselessly.
He wanted Hank.
"Yeah, well. Glad we're on the same page then," Eric said, unfazed by either Connor or the cat. He waved his hand at the both of them dismissively before turning to leave.
The cat's hiss faded as soon as he was out of sight, returning to an affectionate ball of love. It nuzzled at Connor's hand nipping at his fingers when he didn't respond right away. He smiled, sitting down to give it his full attention.
"I promised to look after you, but you were trying to protect me," he said as he stroked the hairless head. "You're a really good guard dog."
The cat just purred, then climbed up and onto Connor's lap to settle down for a much deserved nap.
Connor just kept stroking the smooth white plastic, drawing the only comfort he could from his dismal situation. "Very, very good guard dog."
