This will be the first no dialogue chapter, the timeline a bit off considering it doesn't follow much of the established. I hope that fact doesn't make it awkward to keep up with. Maybe the dialogue only chapters can be semi separate from the timeline. Centered around ideas talked about in other chapters. Like this one elaborates more on what Connor sees in a sleep-like state. Beyond the hypothetical deaths of Kara and Alice.

Do you mind if I get something off my chest here? I want to say that I regret chapter 3's A/N where I was just insanely negative. That document for it has since been deleted, so I can't change it. I always bash myself in A/Ns, but I want to stop myself before that becomes a habit here. It would become a habit because lately, every time I read a Detroit fanfic I compare mine to it. Harshly. I have this mindset where everyone else's story is infinitely superior to mine, both in plot events and AU scale.

"Why can't I be like that" I ask. Instead of asking "what if people in this fandom actually like slice of life". And I'm so sorry if it's annoying or sours the story for you.

At the end of the day, I do want to write for this game. But if all I have to offer is slice of life, will that be enough for you as a reader? Or am I just wasting my time?

Odds And Ends Of Humanity

Chapter 4

Sleep is unavoidable.

Humans have been trying to fight this necessary state since the beginning of time.

The human brain can be given stimulation after stimulation to be trained not to fall asleep.

But there's going to be one wrong move, one flicker of the eyes and suddenly the stubborn human will drift into this peaceful void.

But it's really not dramatic at all... It's just a part of life; sleep interferes with scheduled events, but it heals and even lets the brain examine all the new information it received.

What need would androids have for sleep? They process information constantly, can't be afflicted by illness and certainly wouldn't have use for dreams.

Nevertheless, CyberLife made it happen. Kind of.

Even the models intended for longer hours of work can't go on forever. That would put too much wear on larger parts such as limbs. The best comparison would be a human getting inflamed joints from ignoring their limitations. When an android isn't needed at the moment, or either they or their owner claim the task to be over their sleep would be stasis.

Stasis was one thing that prevented deviant androids from living like a human. They could call it sleep, but although their eyes were closed their mind was still very active. Various stimulation could still be experienced, "wake them" even. Connor, for instance, hadn't many chances to go into stasis after activation. He remembered two occasions. Fast forward to after deviating, and he wanted to experience it more often.

To be fair: Hank admitted to being unsettled by the idea of Connor waiting for him to finish sleeping every night. He said unsettled, but his eyes were soft as if to mean something else. Connor didn't say it out loud, but he thought Hank felt bad about him having nothing to do all those hours.

So one night, Connor found a quiet corner in the living room and shut his eyes. Images turned memories raced through darkness, places and people. He couldn't choose which were zoomed and focused on. Sometimes they passed by so fast that he struggled to identify them. He wondered if he hadn't experienced this before because he had not been alive long enough to collect them. Which brought on questions: how long does it take for memories to form? Does it align with deviating in any way? In any case, the first real attempt at "sleep" was peaceful. Outside noise of rain on the roof at eight in the morning forced his eyes open. He found that Sumo decided to join him at some point, curled up at his feet. There was a chance this was the reason for not seeing anything stressful in his memory collection, but how could he think deeply with a fluffy dog resting its head on his feet? Come on, now.

Since stasis was calm enough the first time, Connor decided it make it routine. If he didn't have a work assignment, and the results would be the same, why not?

Connor didn't gain a routine for winding down to enter stasis. The only thing resembling routine was the fact he kept doing it in the living room. This night was no exception. He said goodnight to Sumo over there on the couch, shut his eyes and that was that. But something was... Different.

Instead of memories being flung all over the place, he saw red. Crimson blocks took the form of everything organic from humans to plants. Although nothing else was altered. The humans reacted the same, talking and movements as if nothing were wrong. Connor was at the center of it all, looking over himself he realized he was aware of himself in this scene... But it wasn't real life...? That thought alone could cause a spontaneous explosion. He wasn't made up of blocks, although he noticed his skin deactivated and he wore his old CyberLife suit. Was he only recognizable because he was an android? He couldn't be sure; he seemed to be the only android in this void. He had no idea where he was supposed to be, but life carried on around him as normally as it could. Somehow, this gave him a pang of anxiety. He wanted to ask what was happening, but no one reacted when he spoke or tapped where their shoulder should be.

Only one path was open in front of him, straight through a cluster of those red block figures. It looked like the most claustrophobic journey ever, but Connor didn't have a choice. Maybe if he reached the end of the path, he would find Hank's living room again. So he walked briskly, not wanting to get stuck in the middle of them.

It's too bad...

Was that a voice? It was faint, mostly electronic voice with no particular pitch for gender. Connor didn't stop to identify it.

You want to try...

He had to stop when two of the red blocked figures moved closer. And with the beginning of the path he started on suddenly wiped from existence, he had no choice but to crouch and awkwardly crawl beneath these- Whatever they were, keep going forward because when he so much as paused for a second the removal of the path quickened.

Because when all's said and done...

When Connor was back on his feet, the path either took pity on him and placed him at the end or its constantly changing form just made all new rules. All of the red cubes fell apart, flying around him and admittedly catching him off guard. They didn't harm him, no, they just gathered in front of him and made a large wall that touched the "sky". He glanced over his shoulder, there was genuinely nothing there. He looked forward, suddenly behind the wall there was a cluttered arrangement of Detroit. Actual places he'd seen. And there were humans and androids he knew, or had at least seen briefly before – since the wall was see-through, he tried to gesture to them and talk but... Nothing.

No one was acknowledging them, although some actually made eye contact. He tried to keep his voice steady, but he heard desperation shake it. Particularly when Hank or Markus, two people who he knew he was on good terms with, only look back at him blankly. They either didn't or chose not to hear.

Faulty.

The wall was see-through, but felt too solid to scale.

Directionless.

There was nowhere else to go. If he stepped too far to the side, it was like hitting a different wall. An android had no reason to feel stressed about closed spaces, so why was his chest aching and hands jittery as they reached out for anything to keep him balanced?

Unneeded.

He wasn't freaking out because... That wasn't- Again, what sense would that...

Obsolete.

Connor's eyes snapped open at the sounds of obnoxious crunching and crackling from a live video on the news channel Hank was watching. Something about that... Experience... Made him want to join Hank. Just because he could. Stepping forward, however, made liquid trickle down his nose and cheek He froze, swiped a sample of that to scan and... No, that couldn't be possible.

What was more embarrassing? Shedding tears, or shedding tears to weak symbolism?

Connor wanted to avoid having to talk to Hank about it, but surprise: the man wasn't a detective for nothing. Besides, he spent half the night coughing hard enough to break his ribs so even if his eyes were a little more bloodshot than normal he could still see android tears clear as day. Of course, Hank wasn't good with personal talk so he was waiting for Connor-

No one accomplished shit that day.

The following night, Connor was uneasy about shutting his eyes again. If stasis tried to make him feel bad about not flipping a switch and instantly understanding humanity, who's to say it couldn't go farther? What if Amanda was found in the depths of his memories? She already expressed distaste for his decisions many times, and he didn't need more. Even fake disapproving comments. He would feel especially foolish crying over that; she wouldn't be concerned. The prototype's not living up to expectations again; send in the next. It's not complicated.

Hank had been trying to spend less time cooped up in his room that day, so he and Connor crossed paths on multiple occasions. Hank mostly planted himself in front of the TV and let the streaming service keep him from losing his sanity. But he wasn't too disconnected from reality, actually when he and Connor made eye contact Connor knew exactly what was happening.

Perhaps opening up to Hank about that imagery was the better choice. Connor avoided it as long as he could, but was only wearing himself down. He tried to justify it with feeble logic like androids and humans didn't experience the same thing when in this period of rest. But he knew the real reason he wouldn't speak up – he had been through some violent encounters, but Amanda's disappointment left the most damage. Even if it was a short amount of time, he wanted her approval. If he was the obedient killer, if he just didn't try to explain his newfound emotions... He would have been lost forever, yes, he knew that.

While Connor was worried about all of that, he lost track of Hank. He was suddenly alone in the living room, the main light off leaving just the area around the couch and coffee table illuminated by a flickering lamp. He found a comfortable corner and just stood there, waiting for the night to end. At least until Hank returned with his arms full of a blanket, pillow and an extra T-shirt and lounging pants folded carelessly.

Connor opened his mouth, but incoming words crashed and burned as Hank moved past him and to the couch. He dropped the pillow and blanket there, and made a circle back to him. He didn't make a request, he didn't give a demand disguised in polite suggestion. But he did give him the clothes.

So of course Connor just stared at him. Hank looked like he would have killed for a drink in that moment, but ultimately took the patient route.

Hank described a reoccurring dream. He wanted to call it a nightmare because of him usually waking up distressed, but the contents didn't actually scare him. Long story short, there was an endless series of hospital hallways he had to traverse alone. Each door he opened led to another segment of hallway. He would call out for people he'd never met before, and of course no one answered. But why was he there? Why keep going? Eventually, he asked himself those questions before forcing himself to not drink that night. Maybe he could manipulate this, find someone. The messenger for Cole's death? That seemed logical. Except he never found them. The only reason he slept some nights was to chase ghosts, even though he knew full this was just filler activity while his brain tried to keep itself together. Whether or not this dream contributed to his grief and bitterness refusing to leave, he didn't know. There was a good chance he would never find out.

Hank went on to admit he never wondered if androids knew sleep the way he did, but was willing to help him be comfortable enough to confront personal conflicts. He didn't say it was out of care, and he didn't have to comment on suspicious leakage. But it wasn't as though his actions left much room for Connor to doubt those two played large roles in this gesture.

At long last, Connor turned the lamp off and lied down. The way Sumo decided to curl up under his dangling arm made him wonder just how obvious his reactions to that imagery had been. He needed to concentrate on positive sensation before shutting his eyes... The couch didn't have glass shards between the cushions like he would have thought. It wasn't large enough to provide room for his legs, so he curled up on his side. That at least gave better reach to Sumo's fur, to which his fingers practically responded of their own will brushing through. The worn cotton in the nightwear still provided warmth, teaming up with the blanket he just wanted to stay like this as long as he could... His entire existence up until that point had been parkour, combat and generally dire situations. If he could just enjoy it for an hour or so, that would be nice.

Confronting the source didn't hit his mind. Exhaustion crept in, although it took much less time for his eyes to shut. The sound of rain on the roof gradually faded, and Sumo's cool nose touching his hand was no longer enough to warrant his attention.

A slideshow of locations he had no emotional connection to rushed past. Some tried to move to the front, as if to place himself there. Locations swapped in and out, completely indecisive. But finally they settled on something that was actually unfamiliar. Complete darkness, except in this void he was drowning.

Drowning was considered the most terrible deaths for a lot of humans. Sometimes it was portrayed as a peaceful way to die in movies or television, but that only spread misinformation. Androids were able to take being submerged, as long as the temperature wasn't in dramatically low numbers. But they had just much reason to be terrified in this state of helplessness.

Fear did set in for Connor, but only because he had no context. He tried to look down, but there was no visible landing spot. Should he swim up? He didn't even know what he was submerged in, as a liquid was the most sensible answer but there was no sensation. His choice didn't matter; both directions led to nowhere.

When he was most confused and afraid, an arm moved within reach. The hand had its fingers stretching out, beckoning him to take it. He was still aware enough to make a move to save himself. When the hand moved close enough, he clasped it desperately.

Connor managed to reach the surface of what he realized was a pond in the artificial light. He still clung to that hand, trying to stay above while pointing his violent ejection of water elsewhere. At least he realized his skin was activated this time; his hair blocking his vision of his rescuer proved that. He had to brush it away, so he could get a good look at their face. Amanda's face.

Indeed, it was Amanda- An illusion of Amanda at least, giving him a stoic look as she leaned over her boat. She seemed alive, taking breaths and blinking as a human must. But she said nothing. Connor had so many questions he wanted to ask, statements he wanted to hear out loud. When he locked eyes with hers, his throat constricted and refused to let them out.

She didn't make an effort to help him out of the water. Connor had to release her hand, which he was grateful of. She didn't react one way or the other when he pulled himself into the boat, thoroughly drenched still in his nightwear that required his grasp at all times while weighed down with water.

They contrasted each other so much. Connor's whole body tensed. Amanda never lost perfect posture. Connor was worried his face was contorted in fear, hopefully anything that wasn't sadness. Amanda's expression was neutral, if anything. Amanda outstretched the same hand again, dripping with water. Connor shut his eyes, expecting her to manipulate his own inner scene to make a functional gun appear.

There was no way to tell how much time passed, if it even did here. Connor felt pathetic for cringing, waiting for the burn of a bullet between his eyes. It would have been impossible to defend himself from someone who wasn't real to begin with, logic tried to cut in.

When a bullet never fired from the gun he tried so hard to believe existed, Connor cracked an eye open. He could see that Amanda moved closer, her hand now cupping his cheek. She asked him if there was something bothering him in that... That damn motherly tone of voice. It brought him right back.

He didn't want to be there again.

She told him he could be honest. That she could sense something was bothering him, but would clear up any misunderstanding to the best of her ability. Connor's throat might as well have been crushed, vocalizations impossible until her fingertips made their brush through his hair and was withdrawn to fold with her other hand. When met with silence, Amanda made sure to insist he was better than this.

So Connor said the first thing to come to mind... A quiet, blunt reply that she was wrong. He looked up hastily for a reaction as his gaze begun to drift before, but she just tilted her head subtly. At least listening with full attention.

He told her that whole act was wrong. Come out and say what you want, because it must be difficult to pretend to care. His voice was too exasperated to properly convey the bitterness rising, but she'd always been smart. He didn't doubt that the real Amanda was always one step ahead of his own revelations about himself.

Amanda's composure never faltered when, after giving him a moment to add details if he wanted, she crossed a leg over the other and altered her posture subtly. This allowed her cast a shadow over him, a helpful reminder from her to him of what her entire presence had been.

But she told him she did care. It didn't appear on her face, her eyes and most certainly not her body language. Could he prove her wrong? Amanda knew he couldn't, so while he was shocked into silence she took the opportunity to swiftly explain she had moments she was proud of him. Or maybe proud of the result all of the effort and resources made. RK800 was a risk, multiple failures could have been piling up in the disposal, barely capable of basic interaction. But there was a success in front of her, at least until he chose to live in a fantasy.

Going forward with technology, mistakes were always going to be lying in wait for a sneak attack.

If she had to pick a word, Amanda favored obsolete. Not that she couldn't think of more to describe him.

Faulty.

Directionless.

Unneeded.

She just couldn't decide what order best to arrange them, suddenly looking up at him when his chest felt hollow and heavy at once to ask for his opinion as casually as being curious of the time of day.

It shouldn't have bothered him. It wasn't the real Amanda – if he didn't keep hammering that point in, his emotions were going to get the best of him. He wanted to learn about emotions, but letting these tears irritatingly gathering fall full force in front of something at least resembling her would be more crushing than those words.

So he didn't give her the satisfaction of seeing tears... He just unceremoniously leaped into the water, which of course reverted back to the depth of a damn ocean. Looking up, he could see her leaning over and saying something, but he was at peace under here without sound. He just kept sinking, and he'd accepted this as the better alternative even if he was alone.

And that was just how Connor stayed until the melody that was clatters and Hank swearing from the direction of the kitchen forced his eyes open. Reminding him that out here, he wasn't alone.

TBC