"The AX400, what do we know about it?"

Another coffee in my hands, another drink I don't taste beyond the minty tang on my breath.

"Sam?"

I snap back. "Uh, sorry, I was...thinking about something."

"Well, focus up," Hank grumbles. "We got an investigation here."

I start listing off the specifics, going through the motions in a flat voice. "Common housemaid android, released in 2032. Speaks 300 languages and can prepare more than 9,000 dishes. It appears as an adult woman, white and black short-sleeved tunic dress and white pants. Popular with parents and households consisting of young children."

"That's it?" Hank asks me drily. "You don't wanna write a novel while you're at it?"

I clutch my umbrella hand a little tighter. "If I had to name a more non-threatening android than the AX400, I probably couldn't."

Hank folds his arm over his chest. "The victim said his android attacked him during dinner unprovoked," he muses. "Ran off before he could stop it."

"Of course he did." I look at the black and grey mottled sky through the clear plastic shell of the umbrella. Detroit has always been a city shrouded in oppressing grey clouds, but recently even the days are dark and the sun spends most of its time in its own little corner, barely illuminating the grey clouds covering it. At least the air smells cleaner after rain, cold and crisp, like a layer of grime has been washed from the surface of the city.

"It took the first bus that came along, and stayed at the end of the line," Connor says thoughtfully. "Its decision wasn't planned, it was driven by fear."

"Androids don't feel fear," Hank argues.

"Deviants do," it corrects him. "They get overwhelmed by their emotions and make irrational decisions."

"When have we ever known a deviant to make complex decisions? I mean, the last one we found hidden in an attic." Something doesn't quite sit right with me about the whole thing.

"She's got a point," Hank admits. "You're tryna tell me this thing took the bus?"

"Perhaps their actions are growing more coherent as the case progresses."

"You mean...they're...becoming human?"

Connor gazes at me. "Or learning to," it murmurs.

What a terrifying thought. "We're running out of time," I realise.

"It didn't have a plan, and it had nowhere to go…" It stops and looks to me to continue its train of thought.

"Maybe it didn't go far," I say with a nod,

Further up the road, a convenience store open 24/7, an attractive well-lit building to someone seeking shelter late at night. Across the road is an abandoned house with tall chain-link fences wrapped around the perimeter. Next to the house is a small parking lot with a few cars all sitting idle with rusted hoods and grimed-up windows. I'm on this street and on the run, where do I go? I'm not a civilian, not a tech expert, not somebody with all the time in the world and a fat wallet. I'm a criminal, and I'm running for my life. Androids are clever, they can analyse and assess risk following certain decisions. An android would select the best possible option open to them. "Convenience store," I say. "Too many cameras, eye witnesses. They wouldn't go anywhere near the southern side."

I start walking north, hardly caring if the others keep up or not. I have to survive, no matter what. I stop and look to my left at a bus shelter beside the road. It rained last night. I'd want to get off the street.

"Sam, wait a second."

"The house or the car. I need to get off the street."

A section of the fence has been cut and bent upwards slightly to allow someone space to crawl through.

"There's blue blood on the fence," Connor points out.

I reach out and touch the blue liquid. "Why?" I utter angrily. "Why all this trouble? An AX400? It doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't need a reason, it was being irrational."

I close my umbrella and prop it against the fence. I peel the bottom of the fence up and duck to crawl underneath. When I'm halfway through, I squirm over on my front to look at Connor. "Tight fit," I say. "But an AX400 could definitely fit under here." But I still have questions without answers, nothing's more irritating. Deviating from following orders is one thing, altering every aspect of programming is another. The AX400 is passive, compassionate to its core. Why would it be in such a panic? Literally wounding itself on the fence as it tried to hide.

I hold the fence up and Connor ducks underneath. "Anybody home?" it calls out to the house.

The walls are rotten wood. The windows boarded so thoroughly that I can't see anything between the slats. The thicket sprouting around the base of the fence is dense and grey. It smells like damp earth and mold, and something sour and musty, maybe be a nearby rat infestation. I hope not, I can't stand rats. Connor approaches the front door and pushes it open without knocking. I catch it on the back swing and squeeze in behind.

Another android is standing in the middle of the main room. Scarring on the left side of its face; two large gashes have torn right through its core into the shadowy wires beyond. Its left eye is damaged, black and mechanical with a blue sclera swimming in black. It's wearing a shredded black tunic, maybe a lining for a tent or the covering of a car. The damage to its face is so severe, I don't recognise the model at first. WR600, a gardener, bought by Detroit in the 2030's to maintain its parks. It stands hunched with its hands clasped together.

"We're looking for an AX400," Connor starts, standing in front of the damaged android. "Have you seen it?"

"Ralph's seen nobody." Ralph's voice is shrill and rapid, like the chattering of a mouse. I hope there aren't any real rats in here.

Connor looks around at the decrepit room. Graffiti, rubbish in every corner, an old arcade machine caked in dust. Unfortunately, the perfect habitat for the common household rat. "Are there any other androids here?" Connor asks.

"Other androids?" Ralph parrots. "No... Ralph is alone."

Connor moves around the room slowly, taking in every detail. It studies a bare wooden table covered in scratches, and the fireplace at the back of the room. "There's blue blood on the fence. I know another android was here."

"Ralph scratched himself coming through. That's Ralph's blood."

When I see it in the corner of the room, my heart stops. Ralph doesn't mean to but its good eye shifts to the left, the staircase. "Upstairs." I look at Connor. "Check upstairs."

It nods importantly and strides past and I'm left standing in front of Ralph with my heart somewhere by the dirt at my feet. I turn and walk to the stairs, but instead of climbing them I move around to the side and to a tiny trap door, a stack of moldy newspapers obscuring it from view. I push it away and take the handle of the door. I pull it open and stare inside-

I have the answer I was so desperate to find.

The AX400 isn't violent by nature, nor does it have the deep-rooted need to survive. What it does have, is a parental instinct, a need to care for and protect a child.

"Please." Its mouth barely moves when it utters a soft plea. The little girl in its arms is clutching onto it so tightly.

I don't move, and it misinterprets it as me letting it go -it climbs out into the open and Connor yells from the top of the stairs. "It's here! Call it in!" Connor sprints down the stairs but Ralph jumps on it from behind, hauling its arms back.

"RUN! QUICK! KARA!"

The AX400 escapes through the door, pulling the child's arm. Connor fights Ralph off and sends it back into a pile of splintered wood. Connor dashes for the door. I follow it in hot pursuit, and I pass a little plush fox toy sitting in the corner of the room. The moment I saw it, I knew there was a child here. I leave the house in time to see Connor take a left towards the highway.

I fly as fast as my feet can carry me, and I catch up to it after another left turn. Further from the abandoned house the streets are more populated and I crash into a civilian more than once. Cops in dark blue uniforms are scattered everywhere and they point Connor in the right direction. Clearly, they don't have any confidence in their chance of running faster than an android.

"Which way did it go?"

"That way -they're headed for the train station!"

We run together across roads and alleyways, following the shouts of policemen passing by in a blur of colour. We take a final left turn to the AX400 climbing over a tall wire fence with the little girl, dropping swiftly on the other side to a speeding highway six lanes across. Hank cuts in from a nearby alley, red-faced and panting, his gun tight in his grip.

"Don't shoot." Connor throws its arm out at him. "We need it alive!"

We hit the fence, the AX400 enters the highway, narrowly dodging a truck going over a hundred miles an hour. "Oh fuck," Hank wheezes, his hands pressed to his knees. "That's insane." Connor grabs onto the fence and pulls itself up a step. "Hey!" Hank pulls it back roughly. "Where you goin'?"

"I can't let them get away!"

"They won't! They'll never make it to the other side."

But the AX400 has already passed the first two lanes and is now in an open sprint.

"I can't take that chance." It hauls itself up again.

"Hey, you will get yourself killed!" Hank tries to grab it again but misses. "Do NOT go after 'em, Connor, that's an order!"

And Connor ignores him and leaps up the fence, nimbly scales it and drops on the other side.

"Connor, goddammit!"

I take my hair in my fist and tie it into a knot.

"Sam, you don't move a fucking muscle, ya hear me?"

I grab the top of the fence and kick my legs underneath me, narrowly missing Hank's desperate grab for my middle. I swing myself over the fence and land flat on my feet on the other side. Connor has the AX400 in its arms, the little girl is already on the other side of the highway and she's screaming. The AX400 lands one solid shove to Connor's shoulder. I run at the first lane and twist myself out of a near impact with a taxi. I hit the band on my wrist and the glove crawls over my palm. I reach the first intersection. The AX400 has broken free and makes a sprint for the last stretch of road. And Connor is on its hands and knees on the asphalt, blue blood streaming from its nose, staining the lower-half of its face.

A truck blares its horn. Connor turns its head. The truck passes by in a blur of bright red, a dramatic smear against the grey backdrop sky.

When it passes entirely, it leaves behind a tangled heap.

Blue blood is everywhere, it's a fucking decimation.

Connor isn't moving.

"Jesus...Jesus Christ."

I can still save it. If I can get to it, I can carry it back. I can repair it.

"Sam. Get the fuck back here."

"I can repair him!" I don't recognise my own voice anymore. "I..I can...I have to…"

Hank slams his hand against the fence. "Sam, it's gone! I'm not gonna let you kill yourself!"

"I can make it." The AX400 is still standing on the other side of the road, the little girl is hiding its face in its leg. It stares at me with a mask of terror, before ushering the girl to move again and the two take off towards the train station.

"Sam...please for Christ's sake!"

I freeze in place. Hank rests his head against the fence and clutches at the metal tightly, his arm trembles with the effort. So, I make my way back across the street. I get to the fence, across from the Lieutenant, and I clutch at it desperately with the same tremble across my whole body.

"Come on, kid," Hank mumbles. "Let's get outta here."

I slowly lift my gaze to meet his.

"It's not your fault," he lies. "You didn't put that fuckin' idea in its head."

"I let them go."

"What?"

"I let them go," I say again. "I saw them...and I didn't stop them"

Hank doesn't reply.

"It had a little girl. What was I supposed to do?"

"Come on." Hank steps away from the fence and nods at the street. "I got a lot of paperwork to do."

I scale the fence less gracefully with my shaking limbs, and fall to the other side, grunting as I do. "Are you...gonna mention what I said?" I ask quietly.

He puts his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Thing got away," he says with a shrug. "I dunno what you're talking about." And he holds out my styrofoam coffee cup I left by the squat. "The fuck is in this?" he asks, wrinkling his nose as the strong smell of menthol hits him.

"Thirium," I reply, taking it from him. "Diluted solution."

"Hold on, hold on….is that android blood?"

"Was," I correct him, crunching the empty cup between my hands.

Hank stares at me, gobsmacked. And fortunately the precinct kept the blue blood supply well stocked and last night I was wearing a jacket baggy enough to smuggle a few bags of the stuff out.

"They're better at everything, Hank," I remind him. "The rest of us have to do what we can to keep up." It shouldn't be such a shock, blue blood distributes information and energy several thousand times faster than human blood. Androids don't sleep, eat -anything, just work their function until they fizzle out, it's staggeringly efficient.

"What's that gonna do to you?" Hank implores quietly.

I don't grace him with a coating of sugar. "Think rocket fuel in a golf cart."

He widens his eyes. "You'll explode?"

"But." I point a finger at him. "I'll run really fast before that."

Hank doesn't do a shred of paperwork, but he does insist of driving me to his favourite restaurant for lunch, a dingy burger food-truck, Chicken Feed, parked beside a spattering of tables beneath wide black umbrellas. The rain has returned as an epilogue and a light drizzle, so I'm thankful for the cover. Hank orders from the person manning the truck, and walks back to me with a large brown paper bag marked with a cartoon chicken with googly eyes. He takes a burger and a soda from the bag, and another of each which he pushes to my end of the table. "What?" he demands gruffly. "It's lunch. I haven't seen you eat once. Gary makes the best burgers in Detroit."

I look at the food.

"Hey, don't eat it if you don't wanna. I can chow down on two burgers no problem." He unwraps the burger and pauses. "Does, uh, that stuff -meaning the thirium I drank this morning- does it suppress your hunger too?"

I'm glad the repulsion made way for some genuine curiosity. I like curiosity, I've had enough repulsion to last me a lifetime. "Yeah," I reply. "Or...it replaces it."

He inclines his head back slightly as something occurs to him. "You don't know, do you?"

"I don't look." I have bigger problems to deal with than my own self-preservation. "I've done the math," I say instead. "I have the time I need, if I don't waste it." Then, he laughs at me, but it's devoid of all humour. Now I'm the one plagued by the curiosity disease. His judgement has me pondering a simple question. "What do you have, Lieutenant?"

I've rendered him speechless, for the moment.

"What's so important?" I ask again. "That you need spare time? You do what you have to, you don't take more than you need."

I know I'm a thief, but I've never stolen for the sake of it, never rattled around with spare change in my pocket. Everything I have gets used, every moment I spend furthers my mission. I might be a thief, but I'm so far from greedy. "That's why people fail," I conclude quietly. "They waste what they have on interference and distractions."

"And you're just so fucking perfect, aren't you?"

"I'm efficient," I retort. "That's all I have to be."

Hank glowers at me over the table top, his anger bristling and hot enough to feel on my face. "I saw you today," he says instead, slowly, purposefully, like the beginning of a good ghost story with a terrifying reveal. "Saw how you ran after it."

"The AX400?" I ask incredulously. "That was why we were there-"

"-No," he cuts me off. "Connor. You ran after that broken android, almost got yourself killed for it."

I have my reply ready, I realise I've been sculpting it for a while. "Fowler told me if it's destroyed, I go to jail." I flatten my hands on the table and rest my chin on them. "Guess I'm already fucked."

He studies my face from across the table, just like it used to. "You don't act like you're twenty," he utters after a moment. "You act older."

I meet his eye with my brow raised.

"I know." he lifts his hands in surrender. "I'm, uh, not one to talk. But I'm just curious here."

"About what?"

Hank shrugs. "You can chase faster than an android, you've been arrested for theft of over forty thousand dollars...I'm curious what kinda childhood you had."

"It was perfect," I utter. "Pumpkin patches in fall, macaroni art on the fridge…"

"Sam-"

"I don't know what you want from me." I stand up properly. "We've got a job to do, this has nothing to do with it."

Again, that irritating knowingness glints from Hank's eyes. "Eat something," he says in a softer voice. "Trust me, it's good."

I do take a bite, just to shut him up. I can't explain the fizzing under my skin, the red tint in the corners of my vision. I'm livid, I'm furious and I don't know why. If I was a little faster, I would've gotten to it in time, and the truck never would've…I take a second bite and push the mangled burger chunk past the other mangled lump in my throat. I can't work from jail. It's over. My father would hate me if he saw me now.

"What d'you think?" The warmth in Hank's eyes stuns me for a second, a shocking contrast from the chill I was expecting. "Of the burger," he clarifies, holding his up. "Best you've had?"

I stop myself. I take a third, slower bite and actually chew it to taste it. "It's good," I admit with a slow nod.

What am I doing? I don't have time for this -I should've started running the moment that truck hit.

Hank jabs his finger at me. "Best. Burger. In. Detroit."

"Allie's Diner," I say. "North west downtown. I lived in that place. Try it and review."

"You're gonna pin a diner on a food truck? Ain't no competition."

"Y'know what I think?" I crack a smile for the first time today.

"What?" he asks with his mouth full.

"I think all the gasoline fumes permeating this burger meat has you confused."

"O-oh?" he chuckles. "Really?"

"Mhm." I smile around the burger. But I drop them both when I gaze at the thing stepping off the street. "Holy shit."

"What?" Hank cranes his neck to see.

Looking all shiny and new in its neatly pressed suit, not a single lock of dark hair out of place. The light afternoon drizzle glistening off its suit and exposed skin, like it's made of glass instead of plastic. Not a scratch. Even I grazed my knees pretty bad, and I didn't get hit by an 8-tonne truck. "Sorry, Sam, Lieutenant. It took me a while to find you."

It strides over to our table with almost a spring in its step. Hank sizzles beside me, and I know what's coming.

"Are you gonna come back like this every time you get killed?"

Connor puts its hands flat against the table. "My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed," it says. "But CyberLife transferred its memory and sent me to replace it. This incident should not affect the investigation."

"Not affect the investigation?" Hank laughs in seething disbelief. "I just saw you get...hit by a truck! Now you come back like nothing happened!"

Connor tilts its head. "A machine was destroyed. And another machine was sent to replace it. I don't understand what's bothering you."

"You coulda got Sam killed!"

"I calculated my own chances of survival, Lieutenant."

Hank glares at it. "And did you calculate Sam runnin' out onto a highway for you? What is she to you, huh? A statistic? A "zero", a "one" in your fucking program? Uh? Is that how you see humans?"

Connor's face is frozen in the purgatory between confusion and grave understanding. It looks at me without its LED processing anything. Staring at me for the sake of it. "I...don't understand," it says inwardly. "Why would you do that?"

Hank laughs again and hits the edge of the table. "Okay." He nods. "Okay, fuck you."

He leaves for the truck a second time despite having two and a half burgers waiting for him. He leans against the serving ledge and starts a conversation with the chef.

"The Lieutenant is highly irritable," Connor concludes.

But I'm not in the mood to start agreeing with it. "You were dead three hours ago."

"I was never dead, I transferred my memory the second I was severely damaged."

"So you...remember everything?" I ask, and despite my best efforts my voice softens on its own.

"Some fragments of memory are lost every time I'm destroyed," it admits. "It slows down the investigation."

"So, there's like...a warehouse full of RK800s somewhere? I thought you were a prototype."

"There is only one active RK800 model at a time," it says. "Cyberlife evaluated that this mission was too important to rely on a single machine."

I chuckle lightly. "You're immortal, huh?"

"Something like that." Connor studies my face for a moment, and I can't believe I've missed its little analysing stares. Like I'm a book worth reading. "I'm sorry that I put you in danger, Sam," it says after a moment. "Perhaps I should've assessed the situation more efficiently."

"I didn't assess shit, I didn't want to-"

"What?"

The swiftness of his question stuns me. "Nothing." Instead, we both turn to look at Hank. "He'll come around," I say. "He's probably dealing with his own shit."

"Most people dislike androids," it muses, still gazing at Hank. "But you," it turns to regard me with its signature Head Tilt and Furrowed Brow. It's definitely the same Connor. "You don't seem to mind them."

I grab the soda to swish it around in the paper cup. "It's a little more complicated than that."

It waits patiently. I sigh and lower the cup. I take another bite of the burger. Not because I'm particularly hungry, but because it's getting soggy in the light drizzle. "Don't tell Hank," I say with a slight smile. "But these burgers really are better than my dad's." It's analysing me again, and my curiosity gets the better of me. "What do you see when you do that?" I ask.

"Nothing."

I choke.

"You have no recorded history of anything," it continues nonchalantly. "I'm building what I can."

It doesn't get the chance to expand on this because Hank takes the opportunity to approach us again.

"I don't want to alarm you, Lieutenant." Connor leans across the table towards him. "But I think your friends are engaged in illegal activities."

Hank glances back at the guy running the truck. "You, uh, talking about the gambling?"

Connor nods, deathly serious.

"Well, everybody does what they have to, to get by. As long as they're not hurting anybody, I don't bother 'em."

"I wasn't hurting anybody," I complain.

Hank raises his hands. "Hey, wasn't me that brought you in. Besides, stealing forty thousand dollars from innocent people, and gambling on horses isn't exactly equivalent. Hey, uh, by the way -where did all that money go, anyway?"

I shrug loosely. "I bought fifty duplicates of this shirt."

"Ha ha, very funny."

I narrow my eyes, daring him to laugh again. "It's a very nice shirt."

"You don't seem to be living the high life, so I wondered."

"I use most of it for my work," I say. "Android's cost a small fortune, I have a job to do."

I've worn him out now, like the wilted old lettuce between my fingers. Hank chuckles in defeat and shakes his head slowly. "Okay. Hey, I probably wouldn't get it anyway, right?" One of the truck's customers claps Hank on the back and waves him goodbye. "Yeah, see ya, Andy." Hank waves him off.

Connor analyses the interaction carefully. "You seem to know everyone in the district," it comments.

"Detroit's my home," Hank agrees. "Born and raised. Know most of the guys around here. Went to school with them, or I busted 'em." He chuckles, reminiscing old times. "Sometimes both."

"Is there anything you'd like to know about me?"

"Hell, no...well-" he changes his mind swiftly "-yeah, um...why did they make you look so goofy and give you that weird voice?"

Connor gives him the standardised response. "CyberLife androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans. Both my appearance and voice were specifically designed to facilitate my integration."

"Well, they fucked up," he concludes. I innocently take a sip of soda, but Hank's intuition flares nonetheless -he's been waiting for it. "What?" he asks me. "You disagree?"

"I didn't say that."

"Hell, maybe I'm not the target audience." He leans back on his heels and looks at me with repulsion barely disguised as curiosity. "What do you think, Sam? Not really the hardened officer of the law type, is it?"

And he's not wrong. Connor's frame is tall, a little on the lanky side. Its hair is neat apart from a lock of stray dark hair on its forehead. Its face is well define, but not hard. And its eyes are light -not in the shade of brown, but in the way they look. Clever and lit from behind.

Goofy isn't the word I'd use.

"I think," I start slowly. "That it looks like an android."

Hank blinks. "No shit. What does that mean?"

"Well, all androids are...non-threatening, aesthetically pleasing. And why wouldn't they be?"

"Hang on, hang on, you mean-"

"I think it's pretty," I spell it out for him. "That's not a new thing, Lieutenant. They're always pretty."

"Jesus," he utters. "We talkin' about the same android?'

"Thank you, Sam."

I nod and fight the laughter from bubbling in my throat. "Sure thing," I tell Connor.

"I think you're pretty too," it says.

"Hey!"

It frowns at Hank in confusion. "Did I say something wrong?"

"It's different when you say it," he snaps.

But now it's my turn to frown. "No...it isn't."

Why would it be different? Connor has a face, and so do I. I didn't mean anything by it, observations, evaluations.

"Maybe I should tell you what we know about deviants?" Connor offers.

Hank gratefully accepts any opportunity to change topics. "You read my mind. Proceed."

Connor leans its forearms against the table in deliberation. "We believe that a mutation occurs in the software of some androids, which can lead to them emulating a human emotion."

"A mutation?" I ask. "And that emulation leads them to deviate, right?"

"Correct."

"Do you know how complex a mutation would have to be to emulate the spectrum of human emotion? Unless...it only emulates a single emotion. Fear."

"We've been shown no evidence to suggest otherwise."

Hank's gaze shifts back and forth between Connor and I. "In English, please."

"They don't really feel emotions," Connor explains. "They just get overwhelmed by irrational instructions, which can lead to unpredictable behaviour."

"Driven by fear," I add.

"Or what they believe is fear."

Hank smiles bitterly. "Emotions always screw everything up. Maybe androids aren't as different from us as we thought."

Fear does tend to fuck up the best things in my life. If I could turn it off with a switch, I wouldn't hesitate. Thirium can burn a lot out of me, but fear, it seems, is the one thing that remains in residue.

"You ever dealt with deviants before?" Hank asks.

"A few months back," Connor says. "A deviant was threatening to jump off the roof with a little girl. I managed to save her."

"I remember that," I say. "You were all over the news. Cyberlife's poster child. I remember thinking you were gonna be trouble." I prod the straw through the paper soda cup, making little squeak squeak noises like a broken violin. "I guess I was right."

"Woah? You didn't think the DPD were trouble?" Hank asks, mildly offended on behalf of his entire precinct.

I send him a look. "I evaded the DPD for years. But this thing comes around and-"

"So...it's like your kryptonite or something?"

My kryptonite looks like a clean-cut young man in his late twenties. "Fucking guess so," I curse.

"So, I guess you've done all your homework, right?" Hank asks Connor. "Know everything there is to know about us?"

"Unfortunately, Sam has no existing records. I know next to nothing about her."

"What about me?" he asks.

"I know you graduated top of your class," Connor says. "You made a name for yourself in several cases, and became the youngest lieutenant in Detroit. I also know you've received several disciplinary warnings in recent years and...you spend a lot of time in bars."

Hank nods slowly in agreement as the evaluation continues, not denying a single thing. "So, what's your conclusion?"

Connor pauses, planning its next words carefully. "I think working with an officer with personal issues is an added challenge, but adapting to human unpredictability is one of my features."

It's so quick I almost miss it, or misdiagnose it as a slight twitch of the face -Connor winks at Hank. At least I think it does, but a second later it starts blinking rapidly in time with its yellow LED processor. So perhaps it was a twitch. "I just got a report of a suspected deviant," it explains. "It's a few blocks away. We should go have a look. I'll let you two finish your meal. I'll be in the car, if you need me."

But if I keep picking at this burger like this, it'll be inedible in no time. I push it over to Hank's side of the table. "I'm gonna...wait with Connor."

"Is there anything you wanna know?"

Connor glances at me from the driver's seat. I lean back and fluff my curls out with my fingers. "You said you knew next to nothing about me, so I'm asking what you wanna know."

"How did you find yourself in the android black-market?"

I chuckle and let my head fall back against the seat. "I let you ask a question, and you go with that?"

"You're a thief," it tells me, as if I need a reminder. "There's no reason for you to be buying and selling androids."

I guess that's the only thing about me worth knowing. "It's for my work," I recite, but then, for the hell of it, I add a little more. "I make scans, collect data. But I don't sell androids on the black market."

For some reason, it frowns at me in confusion. "You don't?"

"No."

"So what do you do with the androids after you've finished?"

"I let them go."

"Let them go?"

"Yes," I snap. "I know you probably think I'm some low-life criminal, not worth the oxygen I breathe, but I only do what I have to. And-" I pause, caught on something in it's face. "It's in your eyes," I specify quietly. "When the humans wanna take you apart, there's something…something so real. Most people don't wanna look, because when we do…"

I wait for something, not entirely sure what it is. Connor scans my face tirelessly, its own light brown eyes flitting about my person like a moth to a light bulb. I look away, turning to face the road. "Cyberlife outdid themselves," I conclude.

"Can I ask you one more question?"

It's either that, or sitting alone in this car with just the three of us- Me, Connor, and the weird tension between its eyes and my own face. I would ask it not to stare at me so much, but that would only surrender the fact that it discomforts me. "Yeah," I say. "One more question, make it good."

"What is your opinion of me?"

"I guess...I haven't decided yet." It doesn't register a response. I tilt my head and study it closer, a taste of its own medicine, and admittedly I am curious now. "I think you're unlike any android I've met."

Its LED stutters.

"Maybe that's your programming," I admit, sitting back in my sat. "Having a human assigned as a partner. You have to be able to adapt, form something of a personality. You're fitted with a social module, that's all." At least, according to my years of expertise in androids. "Is it your first time?" I ask, lightening my tone considerably. I grin sideways at Connor like we're sharing an inside joke. "First time coming back from the dead?"

"I've transferred my memory during trials," it disagrees. "But, yes, a Connor model has never been destroyed on the field before."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," it says without hesitation. "Fully operational."

And I suppose...that's what I meant. Not like anything else really matters. "Good." I nod briefly. "Me too."

It opens its mouth to say something but I never hear what it is because Hank slides into the backseat and slams the car door closed behind him. "You two seem like you're having fun."

"I've been getting to know Sam," Connor informs him.

"That's swell."

"Would you like to discuss the details of the report before we go?"

"No thanks," Hank mutters. "Just...start driving."

We start driving east. Hank's car is a vintage, 1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme Brougham. It doesn't drive itself like other cars, and Connor's ability to operate this particular piece of machinery is a testament to excellent programming -I never learnt to drive. I crack the window open and let the wind stream through my curls. "Smells like rain."

"Smells like Detroit," Hank corrects me.

"I like the rain," I murmur. "Makes everything look like its made of glass. Kind of beautiful."

Connor's gaze flickers to the window.

"It's a beautiful city," I continue. "If you don't look too closely at anything. I spend so much time in basements, I forget this exists."

"You should be out more," Connor says.

"I know, I know. Vitamin D and all that." I sigh and close my eyes again, imagining what the warmth of the sun would feel like on my face, on my cheeks and eyelids, my neck, collarbone, my fingers gently curled on my lap. I can't imagine it. It's been too long. And in the absence of the sun, I've convinced myself I prefer the rain. Always running for the next shelter, spending my days being cold and alone. Things I prefer.

I have plans to keep this work ongoing, but every bit of motivation helps xxx let me know what you think