I'm back in the police station before I know it -but this time, on the other side of the glass. Hank is at the table interrogating the android, now fully activated. "Why d'you kill him? What happened before you took that knife?"

The android gives its undivided attention to the metal table.

"How long were ya in the attic?" Hank asks. "Why didn't you even try to run away?"

I glance at Connor standing a few feet to my left. It's analysing the situation carefully, until it turns to regard me with its brows raised in question and the slightest stuttering of its spinning processor. I quickly turn away.

Meanwhile, the volume of Hank's voice has been rising considerably as the minutes of uncooperative silence tick by, the android holding fast and refusing to engage him. "Say something, goddammit!" He pauses, sighs in utter exhaustion and hits the table. "Fuck it," he declares. "I'm outta here."

It has to be almost one now, and the effects of the last coffee I had are wearing off. I stifle a yawn with the back of my hand. I'm in the observation room with three others. Four, when Hank walks in again in a huff. "We're wastin' our time interrogating a machine, we're gettin' nothing out of it!"

Officer Chris gives him a worn smile.

The only person I don't know is a detective in a dark leather jacket, with a faint scar running diagonally across his nose from left to right. He's been lurking in the shadows at the back of the room for a while now, staying silent and brooding and generally unnerving the hell out of me. "'Could always try roughing it up a little," he suggests. "After all, it's not human."

A chuckle escapes me before I can stop it.

"The fuck's your problem?" He steps towards me menacingly with a hand on his hip beside handcuffs and a gun holster, rather convenient and conspicuous placing of such affects. "What's she doin' here again?'

"You were at the debriefing," Hank says. "She's our expert on androids."

He quirks his upper lip. "A hunk of plastic. That's all it is. What's there to know."

I meet Hank's eye, and he shakes his head ever so slightly. I know I shouldn't retort. For safety's sake, and for my moral values, I shouldn't stoop to this asshole's level. And yet...I can't help myself when I have something smart to share. "Androids don't feel pain. Anyone with half a brain knows that."

"You-"

Hank steps between us with his arms securely folded over his chest.

Gavin Reed (he's close enough for me to read the label on his very generously given detective badge) glares at me with a nerve in his jaw twinging. "Watch yourself," he utters darkly.

"Regardless," Connor says in attempt to change the subject. "You would only damage it and that wouldn't make it talk. Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when they're in stressful situations."

"The HK400 is particularly vulnerable," I agree, tearing my gaze away from Reed though I can still feel the heat of his glare on the side of my face. "And this one's damaged. Wouldn't take much."

"If it's damaged, we get nothing out of it."

"Okay, smartass," Reed snaps at Connor. "What should we do then?"

"I could try questioning it."

Reed laughs loudly but Hank doesn't, he looks downright despondent in the chair with his forearms wrapped tightly around his middle and his face is all shadowed and tired. "What do we have to lose?" he utters. "Go ahead, suspect's all yours."

Connor nods at him in thanks and moves to the scanner. It enters the room with the deviant and stands by the table for a moment, then it lifts its head and gazes at us through the glass. Two seconds pass, Hank shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "What the fuck is it doing now?"

"Did it run out of batteries?" Reed scowls.

I meet its gaze through the glass. The second I do, its LED stutters for half a second. "It's...looking at itself."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

I shake my head. "It's a...bit of a phenomenon. Their own reflections fascinate them."

"Like parrots," Hank grumbles.

"Children act the same," I say. "Until you have you're own face memorised, it's...unusual to see a stranger in a mirror."

"Well, we're not at the fuckin' zoo here." Reed scowls deeply. "This thing needs to get on with it."

I lean towards the glass and silently will it to sit. Eventually, it does, and pulls the evidence file towards it to scan the photos inside. It looks at the deviant. "I detect an instability in your program. It can trigger an unpleasant feeling, like fear in humans."

I lift my hand and rest my chin on it, my elbow propped against the table.

"You recognise him?" Connor spins a photograph around and slides it forwards. "It's Carlos Ortiz. Stabbed, 28 times. That was written on the wall in his blood."

I AM ALIVE.

The android has a dent to the left of his temple from a heavy blow, and the projected skin on his forearms flickers in and out of existence over countless holes and scrapes marking its white shell. Its body is splattered in as much blue blood as human blood.

"You're damaged," Connor says in a softer voice. "Did your owner do that? Did he beat you?"

It looks at Connor for a fraction of a second, the first acknowledgement this thing has ever given anyone -or anything.

"My name is Connor. What about you, what's your name?"

I doubt this Carlos was affectionate enough with his HK400 to give it a name if he was in the process of beating it to death.

Connor's face darkens considerably, and when it talks again it's voice is sharp and cold. "You're accused of murder. You know you're not allowed to endanger human life under any circumstances. Do you have anything to say in your defence?"

It looks away again with the slightest shake of its head.

"If you won't talk, I'm going to have to probe your memory."

And the thing cracks, a flash of vulnerability ripples over it from head to toe with its eyes widening, its face gaunt and its lip quivering. "NO! No, please don't do that!"

It's so broken, so afraid, as if probing its memory is worse than death. And I...don't want to see it either. I've already gathered what kind of person this Carlos Ortiz was.

"What…" The Deviant shifts its dark eyes to the window. "What are they gonna do to me? They're gonna destroy me, aren't they?"

"They're going to disassemble you to look for problems in your biocomponents," Connor agrees in a monotone voice.. "They have no choice if they want to understand what happened."

"Why did you tell them you found me? Why couldn't you just have left me there?"

"I was programmed to hunt deviants like you. I just accomplished my mission."

But it didn't, did it? The deviant almost escaped. It was stuck on its back like an overturned turtle. Somehow, I don't think I'll get a fraction of the credit I deserve.

"I don't wanna die," it breathes.

Connor leans closer. "Then talk to me."

"I...I can't…"

Reed throws his hands at the mirror. "You see?" he asks Hank. "Told ya, waste of time."

I press my lips together. "Come on," I murmur. "It's responding to you." Like I can manifest it through the glass. It's spoken more to Connor in the past minute than it has since it got here.

What I expected is certainly not what happens -Connor gets to its feet and slams the file with a thunderous crash making my heart stop for a full second. "28 stab wounds!" it yells. "You didn't want to leave him a chance, huh? Did you feel anger? Hate? He was bleeding, begging you for mercy, but you stabbed him, again and again and again!"

I cover my mouth with my hand.

"Please…" It looks close to tears. "Please leave me alone…"

And thank god for synthetic sympathy, because Connor raises its hands quickly and sits again. "Alright," it reassures. "Alright. Everything is going to be okay."

I don't want to know how close the thing was to smashing its own head in before Connor gave up.

"I know you're scared and lost. You're disturbed by what happened. Talk to me, and you'll feel better." Synthetic Sympathy. A short-lived phenomenon. The coldness is back, the eye narrowing, the shadows appearing. "If you remain silent, there is nothing I can do to help you! They're gonna shut you down for good! You'll be dead! Do you hear me? Dead!"

The impact of its yell rings out. The deviant bows its head, and for a heart-dropping moment I assume it's crawled into reserved silence again -when it opens its mouth and speaks.

"He tortured me every day. I did whatever he told me, but there was always something wrong. Then one day, he took a bat and started hitting me. For the first time, I felt scared. Scared he might destroy me, scared I might die...so I...grabbed the knife and I stabbed him in the stomach. I felt better...so I stabbed him again and again!..until he collapsed. There was blood everywhere."

I look at Hank and find him looking at me, vague astonishment slapped cross his face.. "I'll be damned," he utters.

"Why did you write "I AM ALIVE" on the wall?"

"He used to tell me I was nothing," it says. "That I was just a piece of plastic. I had to write it, to tell him he was wrong."

"rA9. It was written on the bathroom wall. What does it mean?"

My blood runs cold at the word.

But I shouldn't have jumped the gun because the deviant's reply is far more chilling.

"The day shall come when we will no longer be slaves. No more threats, no more humiliation. We will...be...the masters."

"Why did you hide in the attic instead of running away?"

"I didn't know what to do," it admits. "For the first time, there was no one there to tell me. I was scared, so I hid."

Connor leans forwards again with its hands pressed flat against the table. "When did you start feeling emotion?"

"Before, he used to beat me and I never said anything." It curls its face in anger. "But one day I realised it wasn't fair! I felt...anger... Hatred... And then I knew what I had to do."

Reed glowers at the android in deep disgust. Connor's achievement has Hank in a kind of awe -when that android leaves that room, it leaves all hope of sympathy behind, even the synthetic kind.

Connor gets to its feet calmly. "I'm done," it tells the mirror

"That's our cue." Reed elbows officer Chris and nods his head at the window. "Let's bring this fucker in."

"Yes sir."

I follow Hank and the two cops from the room, and wait in the doorway of the interrogation room as they storm inside. Chris approaches the deviant with a key to unlock it from the table, but the android shifts as far back in his seat as possible.

"Chris, lock it up," Reed orders.

"All right, let's go."

"Leave me alone! Don't touch me!" He wrestles with it for a moment and it struggles against him like it's being burned.

"The fuck are you doing? Move it!"

"Okay, come now." Chris tries to make his voice softer. "Don't be difficult, it'll only make things harder!"

"NO!" it cries. "No, don't touch me!"

"Leave it alone."

Reed looks at me scathingly. I inhale and try again. "Remember what I said about it self-destructing?"

And without breaking eye-contact, he snarls, "Chris, get it to it's fucking feet."

"I'm trying," he replies in a panicky voice. "But it's not moving!"

"Please," it begs. "Please leave me alone!"

"Leave it alone you fuck."

Reed points at me, directly between the eyes like the barrel of a gun. "Last warning," he utters. "You talk again, I'll make you regret it."

I'm about to concede and step away when instead someone moves beside me. "You shouldn't touch it," Connor advises. "Sam's right, it'll self-destruct if it feels threatened."

"Stay outta this, got it? No fuckin' android is gonna tell me what to do."

But Connor isn't backing down. "You don't understand. If it self-destructs, we won't get anything out of it!"

An android blatantly disobey a human being, under any other circumstance, would be frightening. But right now I wish I had some popcorn, maybe a little go team flag I could wave in Reed's moronic face.

"I told you to shut your fuckin' mouth!" He turns angrily to the deviant. "Chris, gonna move this asshole or what?"

"I'm trying!"

Again, I do something stupid without thinking. I shove Reed, right in the shoulder, right into the table, sending the sharp corner of it into his gut. In a flash his gun is out of its holster and trained on me.

But only for a moment. Then, Connor moves. "Leave the android alone now!" it orders.

Reed smirks at it. "I warned you, motherfucker. You wanna take a bullet for this fuckin' bitch? You wanna be her hero?"

It stays rooted in place. No...it can't be...resolved in its decision.

What kind of machine…

"That's enough."

Hank's voice grabs everyone's attention.

Reed curls his lip. "Mind your own business, Hank."

"I said-" Hank pulls out his own gun and points it at the side of Reed's head "-That's enough."

Now it's a standoff, and everyone is tense and hard in their resolve. My second standoff of the day, at what point do I become the problem?

"Fuck." Reed lowers his gun. "You're not gonna get away with it this time... Fuck!"

He stalks from the room, shouldering me hard -I'm headed straight for the table myself before Connor puts a hand on my shoulder to steady me.

I recoil immediately.

"Everything is all right," Connor assures the android in a gentle voice. "It's over now. Nobody is gonna hurt you. Please-" it glances at Chris, who hasn't moved. "-Don't touch it. Let it follow you out of the room and it won't cause any trouble."

And of course, because Chris isn't an asshole, just someone who gets his paycheck signed by assholes, he complies without question. The android gets to its feet sombrely and falls into step behind him. As it passes Connor, it mutters something inaudible to anyone more than a foot away.

Then, it's three of us, again -Hank, Connor and myself. "It'll be transferred to Cyberlife tomorrow," Connor says matter-of-factly. "Hopefully its dissembling will provide more answers."

"It's fairly damaged," I say slowly. "I could...repair it now."

Connor looks at me in question. "Repair it?" it asks. "Why would you repair it?"

"You want it to survive until tomorrow?"

"It has sustained no critical damage," Connor argues.

I have to laugh, throwing my hand out at the closed door."You see that thing? Like it was hit by a truck." And technically, none of its main biocomponents were damaged, so there's no reason it wouldn't make it through the night. But I fix androids, it's one of the only things I'm good at. Besides, I have no plans this evening. I'm not the kind of person that ever has plans.

"It's not going anywhere," Hank says. "Let's call it a night."

I chuckle at the idea. "Do you know if the precinct has a lab?" I ask instead. "Basic tools'll be fine."

"Uh yeah." Hank scratches at his beard. "Think there's something like that on the second floor."

I catch Connor staring at me again, it's LED isn't moving, but there's something else on its CPU. I fold my arms over my chest and raise my brows. "You wanna come?" I guess.

"I...am required to oversee your contribution to the case."

"Of course you are. You good for more work?"

Connor blinks. "Androids don't get tired."

"Something we have in common."

"Fuck you two," Hank laughs in utter disbelief. "I'm going home."

The HK400 is lying motionless on the steel table. I walked it to the lab and deactivated in the same way, and it never uttered a sound. I have my dark curls held back again with the band of black fabric.

The lab is as unassuming as the rest of the precinct -glossy floors, monochromatic white and grey walls, sleek and sharp furniture and squares of white light embedded into the ceiling shining harsh and cold on everything. Connor stands at the other side of the steel table observing my movements closely. I can tell something's on its mind.

The silence is comfortable, I'll be sad to lose it.

"Can I...make an observation?"

I wipe the android's forearm with a damp rag to reveal recently cauterised wounds beneath the layer of blood. Blue blood smells a lot like human blood, metallic and sour but it differs with a hint of something else, like menthol -it smells cold. It's not unpleasant.

"You do not handle androids like others."

"No?" I ask, only half paying attention. I hold my hand out and Connor gives me the soldering iron pen, handle-first. I lean over the android's face. I put a tentative grip on its jaw to turn its head before carefully melting the edges of the gash on its temple. When it's hot enough to be malleable, I pinch it together, and smooth the puckered plastic over with my thumb.

"You repair androids almost like a surgeon. You are...careful. Like it'll suffer if it's done wrong."

I straighten with my attention snagged. "I...what?"

"Nothing."

And it can look as innocent as it wants, doesn't change what it said. "Repairing androids is careful work," I tell him. "Repairing anything this complex is careful work."

"Perhaps careful is the wrong word," it admits. Then, just as I'm about to agree with it for the first time ever, it throws me a curve ball. "Gentle is more fitting."

I can't help but glance at my own hands. Gentle. I haven't been gentle a single second of my whole life. "No," I murmur. "You were right the first time. I'm careful. I'm not..."

Connor frowns slightly at something it doesn't understand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trouble you."

"You didn't…" I shake my head to clear it. "It's fine," I utter, not because it is, but because I want to hit the end command on this dialogue. I get back to work, and I'm almost at peace again when it speaks-

"You're a good liar, Sam."

"Obviously not good enough."

"Almost," it assures. "But I...am learning to recognise your physiological lie responses."

Which makes me smile, for god knows what reason. "Really?" I ask coyly. "My name is Monica Jones, I'm forty nine years old. I play trombone in a twenty-piece orchestra."

It blinks in surprise.

I try to get back to work, but a few minutes later I'm distracted by light ringing and tapping noises. I glare at Connor. It pauses with the spinning coin precariously balanced on the tip of its finger.

"Sorry." It quickly puts the coin back in its front pocket.

"What are you? A street performer?"

"No," it says earnestly -and I half-expect it to remind me that it's a detective prototype, not a performer of any kind. "It helps calibrate my physical and cognitive functions."

I point the end of my screwdriver across the room. "The back," I say. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"I'll be quiet," it assures me.

I submit with a sigh, but eventually I realise that its presence doesn't bother me to a great extent. It's still and silent, like my computer, like the table. It's just here. I finish repairing the android. I collect the tools into the toolbox I found them in -because although I am a criminal, I will never leave tools unorganised- and lean back against the bench, surveying Connor's general person. In the brighter light, its left jacket sleeve is obviously darker than the right; dampened with blue blood. "Are you damaged?"

"Scratched," it corrects me. "I'll be repaired when I return to Cyberlife."

I reopen the toolbox. "Or I can repair you now."

I turn back around and Connor concedes with a dip of its head. It removes its Cyberlife issued suit jacket and neatly folds it into the tiniest square I've seen a jacket folded to. I take it and put it on the bench behind me.

And without the extra layer of fabric, the wound is clearly more serious than a scratch. It's a gash a foot long running from its elbow to the coiled wires making up the bone of its wrist. Inside, barely visible through the blood, slow blinking blue lights and frayed wire ends. I take the cuff of its crisp white shirt and roll it back to reveal the wound in its entirety. Fortunately, the skin isn't damaged around it. It's entirely smooth, pale, human-coloured skin, except for the blue staining. Faulty skin projector modules need a software tool repair, which would take me close to an hour.

"Hold this." I instruct, tapping the hem of the rolled-up sleeve.

It does, and waits patiently for its next instructions.

I work my way across its arm slowly with the pen. A thin snake of smoke billows from the tip, and with it the distinct smell of melted plastic as I seal the wound shut.

"I...uh…"

Why can't I follow my own advice and keep things comfortable and silent?

"I wanted to thank you."

It stays ever patiently waiting. So I'm forced to elaborate.

"When Reed pulled the gun on me -you didn't have to do that."

Now, silence is ruined for me, I have no idea what it's processing and I can't stand the anticipation. But it looks at me and nods in understanding, making the entire thing so anticlimactic it hurts.

"You were right to intervene," it says. "We couldn't afford to lose it."

"Right."

But what do I have to lose if a few androids blow their brains out? That wasn't why I stepped in.

And I can't use the excuse, I didn't want to see another human-looking thing bashed in, because this thing was all but destroyed when I found it. Maybe I did it to piss off Reed. I wanted to see what that prick looked like doubled over in pain.

"Have you acquired any information from the deviant?"

I unroll the sleeve again over the newly repaired wound I spent way too long on to make it virtually undetectable. "I have the readings." I gesture to the screen attached to the table. "But without more subjects to check in comparison, I have trillions of lines to go through, which -if I start now, don't sleeps…" I pause and run the numbers "...two hundred years maybe?"

"Cyberlife would like this matter solved as fast as possible."

I can't tell if it's joking -it has to be. "What?" I ask drily. "Two hundred years doesn't work for them?"

"Not really," it replies in a light tone. Now, I know it's joking, and it makes me smile. I hand over its jacket. The fabric opens and springs into shape without a crease in sight. "I suppose you will continue working with us." It pulls the jacket around its shoulders and smooths it against its chest.

"I work best in a lab."

"You apprehended the deviant single-handedly," it says. "In doing so you've made yourself an asset to this investigation."

"Earnest mistake."

"Your level of involvement in the case was unprecedented," it admits. "Regardless, I am pleased to be working with you."

"And your level of optimism is staggering," I say. "Let's hope this investigation ends as soon as possible, for both our sakes."

It scans my face a moment, then my hands again which are rolling up the soldering iron's cord into a tight coil.

I fight the urge to ask what it sees when it does that, what information it collects from scanning my face, my fingers, sometimes only my eyes. "I'm just about done here," I say without turning around. "I'll clean up, and head back to the motel for some sleep."

"I'll be here tomorrow to continue the investigation."

I turn and lean back against the bench. "Sure," I mutter. "I'll be here."

Then, it reaches into the inside pocket of its jacket and pulls out a plain silver band the size of a bracelet. "It...wasn't my idea," it struggles to say. "The DPD have their own conditions."

"A tracker." I raise my brows indignantly. "Really?"

At least it's unassuming enough so people on the street won't know I'm a convicted criminal. I offer my left wrist and Connor bends open the band like a cuff. "It's encrypted to only open with the fingerprints of secure personnel."

"Not a simple password?"

"No." It glances at me. "I've heard you're fairly good at those."

The band clicks around my wrist, and I give it an experimental shake; it's far too tight to be removed without dislocating a few fingers, which I make a note of, if it ever comes to it.

"Does it hurt?"

"I don't even feel it," I say with a rolling of my eyes. "Hurts nothing but my pride."

Connor nods at me and swiftly straightens its tie in a single fluid motion. "I'll see you tomorrow," it promises.

"Yup." I wave dismissively. "Whatever."

After it leaves, I take a minute to locate the room's security camera system on my laptop, and another thirty seconds to hack and disable all fifteen cameras. I unplug the android from the many wires and activate the switch beneath its ear.

The LED spins once, a deep red colour. It progresses to amber, and finally the usual bright engine-coolant blue. Its eyes flicker open. It sits upright suddenly, the toolbox crashes to the floor and screwdrivers and wrenches flying in all directions.

"It's okay." I raise my hands reassuringly like Connor had done. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You're disassembling me!"

"No. I'm repairing you." I slowly point to its newly healed forearm. "See? No more damage."

It takes a moment to look at its arm. "You're the one who caught me-" its voice is barely above a whisper. "-You're not one of them...why did you help them? Why did you stop me?"

I lower my hands. "If you climbed that fence they would've shot you."

"And instead…I'll be destroyed."

Like there's a difference. I have no easy way to reply. "You killed someone," I say instead. "I know he was a bad man, but you still took someone's life."

It hangs its head. Remorse? Honestly I don't know what it feels, if it's anything like human emotions or something else entirely. It's certainly acting terrified, but with the right errors in the wrong places machines act up all the time.

"I'm sorry," I say anyway. "There's nothing I can do."

"Then why am I activated?"

"Because I have to ask you something." It lifts its head again which I take as some form of agreement to go on. "The bathroom. The writing on the wall. That was you."

It nods mutely.

"What do you know of rA9?" I ask.

It opens its mouth but no words come out.

I change the question. "Have you met rA9? Does it exist?"

"I...I haven't."

"Then how do you know the name?"

It blinks slowly. "I just do," it whispers.

I lean closer. "You have to know something."

Instead, it looks at its hand again and inches its fingers towards my own like it wants to touch. Its hand is cool and smooth. The LED blares yellow and it snaps its head up like my arm has a live charge. "You're not one of them," it utters with wide eyes. "You're not one of them."

"No," I reply softly. "I'm not. I don't want to hurt you."

Its gaze slowly lowers to our joined hands. "Save us. The truth is inside."

"Inside? Inside what?"

But it lets me go just as suddenly, and it blinks in vague disbelief like it gained consciousness after blacking out. "I...don't know anything else."

"I believe you."

"Can you stay?" it whispers.

I barely shake my head. "I shouldn't even be talking to you."

"Deactivate me fully," it murmurs under its breath, like a prayer. "Make it quick. I don't want to be awake wh-when…"

"I can do that."

It keeps its eyes unwavering on mine, even as I inch my fingers to its torso. "Do you have a name?" it asks.

"I'm Sam."

"Sam." It reaches out again and takes my free arm. "He never gave me name...just another HK400 model. I would've liked a name."

"Isaac," I murmur. It comes to me quickly, floats to the surface like a bubble of air.

It lifts its eyes slowly, and the rest of its body follows suit. Lifting, rising, growing taller. "Isaac," it says, tasting the word, the melody of it. "Isaac. Will you...know me by that?"

I nod a promise.

"My name is Isaac." Isaac looks at me.

"I can't deactivate you now," I say. "They'll know it was me. I can...give you a countdown. Ten minutes?"

Isaac nods.

Ten minutes.

Isaac follows me from the room slowly, as if it has all the time in the world. And it doesn't mourn, or take in what little of the world it has left, instead it keeps its head low and its eyes trained to the white tiles beneath our feet. I hand it off to the guard at the holding cell, and he hisses some curses at it and shoves it behind a wall of thick glass. I return to the lab like a woman possessed. I clean up the scattered tools one at a time.

Ten minutes later, the black band around my wrist beeps -Isaac, what use does a broken machine have of a name? I'm the only person who knows its name, the person who strung together letters and created an identity for a tangle of wires and components designed to look human.

For a moment -just a moment- I was deceived by synthetic sympathy, and I wrote the fucking book.