Hank's home wasn't a total disaster, nothing like what most people expected from the disgruntled Lieutenant.

It was a rare sight in Detroit to see actual clutter in one's home. Most people bought androids to keep their abode clean, even those who were barely making ends meet. As my mother had once told me, the house is the heart to your soul. If someone steps into your home, they will learn things about you. Of course, that wasn't to say clutter didn't exist in homes maintained by androids - it simply wasn't common. You were either open to welcoming people into your privacy or, as my mom did, you made people see what you wanted them to see. Twisted their perceptions with monetary objects, tastes in furniture, what you did for entertainment, and the like.

My superior was the former. He didn't care what people thought when they saw the empty donut boxes, the half-finished Chinese takeout, or the pile of things occupying the living room seats instead of visitors. Books were neatly shelved above the TV, about the only thing that was neat, and black-and-white photos of famous jazz singers lined the walls. Even with the lights on, the house had a gloomy atmosphere to it, as if someone had cupped the light between their hands until it had dimmed.

A faint odor lingered: a cross between Sumo, beer, old takeout, and sweat.

Sumo shuffled towards us when we arrived, and I knelt down to wrap my arms around his scruffy neck. "Hey boy, how've you been? Did you miss me?" I cooed. Hank rolled his eyes.

"Sit down somewhere," he ordered, and I ushered Sumo towards the couch. Clearing the stacks of stuff off onto the floor carelessly, I patted the seat beside me where Sumo promptly leaped up, tucking his paws beneath him. He rested his chin atop my thigh, his big saucer eyes shining up at me. I pet his giant head, glancing over at the baseball game on the screen.

Connor had stayed behind at the station, ordered to do so by Hank. What was he doing exactly? Had he gone into rest mode, or was he pouring over documents to try and find a lead in his mission?

Hank returned with a plate of Chinese take-out and I ate it, all the while aware it was likely days old. Nothing a good old zap of the microwave couldn't fix, I supposed. Plopping down next to Sumo, he cracked open a cold one and held it out.

"All yours," I declined, not wanting to test fate with the bottle. There was no reason to drown with him. I wouldn't resurface, and I could also be here for him if he started to sink. Getting back home was also another matter. He'd argue he'd driven while intoxicated and never had a problem, but that wasn't sliding with me.

"Suit yourself." He took a swig and got up to pull the round coffee table toward us, setting the beer down with a clink.

I ate half of what he'd dished out, and similarly Hank scarfed down his own helping, though he seemed to be lacking any enthusiasm about it. Setting down his empty plate, he crossed his arms and sank into the couch.

"It's been a few years since we've been partners, huh?" he mused, catching me off guard. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and watched the TV's glare play over his face. He'd always looked tired, but right now, he seemed as if all he wanted was the lull of eternal sleep.

Fear gripped me at the sight, and I reached out to grab at his sleeve. He looked over at me and his walls crumbled. "I told him about Cole."

"Hank…"

"He said he saw the photo of him, and I told him his name was Cole." He breathed through his nostrils. "Connor's a walking computer as far as I know. Probably already knew everything but he still chose to ask me. What a prick," he said, weakly.

With my free hand, I rubbed circles into Hank's palm, and leaned over slightly to set down my unfinished plate. I'd half expected him to refuse the gesture, but he did nothing. Not acceptance, but not refusal either.

"When was this?" I asked.

"After the Eden Club crime scene." He drew in a shaky breath. "I did something to him. Tried to rattle him. But it rattled me instead."

I wanted to ask him what he'd done, but Hank would only tell you what he wanted to tell you when he wanted to tell you. Pushing for details would only fortify a new wall. Taller, thicker, and tougher than the last.

"Is that why you shoved him off the chair yesterday?"

His gaze flicked to mine, and he shifted around in his seat so he was facing me head on. "I'm gonna ask you some questions and I need you to answer them. I don't care if you don't want to-"

"That's hardly fair. I don't pester you-"

He held up a hand. "Life ain't fair, kid. There's a lot of shit we have to put up with, and I'm gonna be on your list, but I don't give a fuck." Rummaging in his jacket pocket, he withdrew a package. "Open it," he said, and I complied. The wrapping was smooth and the contents heavy, square, and weighty.

"My birthday isn't for a few weeks." I didn't think he would have bothered to get me a present anyway.

"You should tell Connor that, then."

"He bought me a gift?" I couldn't believe it.

Hank smirked. "Wouldn't you like that. Just open the damned thing already."

The packing opened easily, expertly taped, and I pulled out the ebony faux-leather bound moleskine. "Just so you know, he bought that with CyberLife's funds, and had it delivered to my doorstep. Can't imagine what they're thinking he needs that for."

Then Hank fished another moleskine from his pocket. Navy blue, and big as the palm of his hand. "I wondered how he got it into his head to write away my depression," he said. "I doubt he'd go looking for that information unless he'd already heard the idea from somewhere."

"How do you know that's what he meant?"

Hank reached over and switched our moleskines to cut away the clear plastic covering the black one. The navy blue moleskine didn't have any plastic film, and when I flipped it open to the first page, I found a passage in CyberLife Sans.

Officer,

I decided to try out your theory and purchased what is called an 'Exchange Diary.' Unfortunately, there was no such item available to buy, but I discovered it can be any journal that is passed between parties. I must admit, this is a mission I'm finding great difficulty in completing. I'm simply not programmed to think of anything but my main mission. Please forgive me if I can't fulfill this one. Perhaps hearing your experiences may prove fruitful. I have gifted a journal for the Lieutenant as well. I think it may do him some good, if it has proven useful for you.

-Connor

"With a little less talking and a little more observation, you may just get that promotion," Hank said. His expression was tender and I closed the cover delicately.

"Is this what you brought me here for?" It hurt to see him looking at me like that, when I knew he was just warming up to something.

"Of course not." He took another mouthful of his beer and offered it once more to me. When I waved it away, he said, "Who are you?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Do you really think I'm that stupid? I wasn't made Lieutenant for nothin'. So, you look me in the eyes right now and you tell me, did you ever lie to me in the past?"

I turned to face him in my seat, folding my legs under me. Sumo grumbled and repositioned his head on my knee. "Everyone does, including you."

He shook his head. "I don't mean it like that. I mean, are you withholding information about yourself?"

"Just spit it out, Hank. Ask the fucking questions already."

"Why did you join law enforcement?"

I stroked Sumo's ears. "I liked the idea of fighting crime, and it pays the bills." As soon as I spoke, I realized my mistake. The confirmation was reflected in Hank's lips, pulling down to the side.

"Lucky me; I got to you before they did," Hank said dryly. "Your family is swimming in money; you've never had to worry about a job until she kicked you out. We're gonna try this again, and I expect you to give me the right answer, because you sure as hell can't lie your way out of a damn teapot, got it?"

"I don't have to answer you, and there's no-one after me."

"No, you don't. But I sure as hell can read you, and Connor did a fine damn job with the facts. And, for your information, you can keep saying that all you like, but I think you're walking into a shithole."

My gaze cut to his, sharp as glass. "You had him snoop around about my past?"

"Don't act so surprised, guy probably knows everything about all of us at the station. Now, you sure you don't want a beer? No? Fine. Why did you join the DPD?"

"I gave you my answer."

Hank flashed me a smug grin and slipped a piece of paper from his pocket. He tossed it at me and I caught it in one hand. I unfolded it to a photo of a drawing hanging on a wall, a first place ribbon decorating its upper right corner. It was a monochrome scrawl of a bleeding metal heart. A line of blue was the only color, forming a gushing pool beneath the organ.

When I didn't respond, Hank pulled out a blue journal festooned in rhinestone armor. It glittered beneath the TV screen, dazzling and damning. I bit the inside of my cheek.

"You stole that from my apartment. You kicked Connor and me off our chairs just to do that?"

"I always knew you were a good artist." He opened the journal to several marked pages and nodded at the drawings, as if impressed. "I wonder why you never went to that fancy ass art school. Got a full-ride to it, after all. No one would question Carl Manfred's decision."

"I answered your question," I repeated stubbornly.

Hank slammed the journal closed and threw it onto the coffee top. It went skidding into the mountain of paperwork, narrowly missing the bottle.

"I told you before, I don't play games, kid."

"That's gold, coming from you," I retorted, carefully folding the paper back and placing it between us.

He shrugged. "Not like I got anything to lose. You, on the other hand, have several. You'll lose it all if you take a wrong step. At the rate you're going, that's more likely than you think."

I strangled the glass of water between my hands.

Hank gulped down more of the beer. "I'm not blind, Phillips. Your sister means the world to you and you can say you hate your mom all you like, but you'd take a bullet for her. A shame she can't seem to fuckin' see how much you care."

Shifting my gaze to Sumo, I said, "We're not here to talk about her."

"Damn right. You just sit tight, I'll know what I need to soon enough. You get a scholarship by this century's greatest artist, and you turn it down. Instead, you high-tail it to the police academy, score poor as shit, but manage to pass. Why's that? Your dad's a renowned employee at CyberLife-"

"Don't you fucking dare! I earned my spot."

He snorted.

"I earned my place," I snarled, leaning forward. The move caused Sumo to jump off the couch.

"No offense, but you hardly seem the type to enter into law enforcement. I'd have pegged you for anything but that."

I downed the glass and slammed it onto the coffee table. "Get to your point, Hank."

"I did. What, you had some argument with your mom about art or something? Doesn't make any goddamn sense. She was proud of your accomplishments. Then you turn around and throw it all away."

My voice quaked with dangerous rage. "I don't owe you an explanation. That was my choice."

He regarded me with apparent frustration before he took another drink. "Fine, go on sulking like that. Secrets always find a way to get out, you're no exception. Sooner or later, you're gonna have to face that."

"So I switched my career path. So I didn't pursue art. What do you care?" I asked.

"I care that you threw away something you were passionate about. You must've spent hours drawing and painting, and then you just toss it. You hide it all. What, you ashamed? Jesus, if I had your talent, I wouldn't be living here. I'd be with Cole right now, taking him to see games. None of this would be happening."

A bitter, scornful laugh tore from my throat. "Life doesn't go the way we want."

"No, it doesn't." he changed tact completely. "Did you know Gavin before you joined?"

I automatically went on the defensive. "So what if I did?"

He growled, "It matters because he's a pain in the ass. You two date or something?"

I scrunched my nose up at the idea. "Hell no. We just got off on the wrong foot. After you gave me that lovely title, thank you very much."

"Listen, the more you clam up about shit, the harder it is to pry it open. And when it opens, you can't close the lid on it anymore. It's always gonna bug you, and you'll wish you'd opened it yourself before someone else did it for you."

"Hank, I get it, okay? There's no point in reliving the past." Tears welled in my eyes and I cursed, scrubbing at them with the backs of my hands.

He grabbed one of my wrists and said, "You were there for me when I told you about Cole, and you were there when I tried to blast my brains out. Just fuckin' let someone in for a change."

I cracked a smile. "You suck at this."

Hank set down his beer and grabbed my shoulders. "Exactly why I don't do this shit often. So you listen to me good, you hear? If you open up to Connor, great, I don't give a fuck. But you're killing yourself every day. I can see that, and I don't even have special scanning software crap. Don't let it eat you alive."

"You can't let it either," I whispered.

Hank drew in a shaky breath and steeled himself. "I hope..." he trailed off, his gaze searching mine. "I hope I'm wrong, but I'm never wrong. Don't let Connor become your next weakness."

I jerked in his hold. "What are you talking about? If anyone needs to hear that it's you, you treat him almost like he's your-"

"Connor's an android," he cut me off sharply. What I was going to say was still heard.

"Liar," I murmured.

"As are you."

"Hank," I protested. "I know you've walked in on a few awkward things, but that was horrible timing, honestly."

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "He's no Sam, so I haven't shot him. But I think you owe yourself a little honesty. He was really impressed with your drawings of him."

Blood rushed to my ears and I shoved him away. "I draw everyone - and you're not supposed to be in my personal stuff."

"So he's the only one who gets to, huh? Just, be careful, okay? Wouldn't surprise me if CyberLife could see everything he was doing."

Hank succumbed to the alcohol and fell asleep on the couch, his neck tipped back and his snores ruffling the gray hairs of his mustache. Sumo lay on the floor at his feet while I stared at the TV, petrified at the sight of the heterochromatin-android.

One of his eyes was the color of a humid spring day, flecks of pine beneath the sun swimming in its depths. The other was a deep, calming cerulean, unfamiliar and striking. His skin was pulled back to disguise his identity, the harsh white plastic beneath nearly blinding. When he spoke, I was pulled back to a room of colors, bright open windows, and books.

"Markus….." I whispered. If he was here, where was Carl?

"We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes and our rights. Together, we can live in peace and build a better future, for humans and androids. This message is the hope of the people. You gave us life. And now the time has come for you to give us freedom." His voice was silvery and it tugged on my heart.

As I watched, enraptured by the messenger giving his speech, I wiped away the tears from my cheeks, and was thankful Hank wasn't awake.

His phone screamed to life and I jumped, clutching at my chest.

Hank blindly reached out for his phone and sat up with a gurgled groan. He picked up, cutting off the phone's cries, and his jaw went slack at the sight of the android on the TV. Just as suddenly as he'd been there, the screen cut to white noise with the sounds of frantic yelling in the background.

"What the fuck?" Hank said. "What? Yeah I saw the damned thing. I'll be there."

He cut the call and I bent down to tighten the laces on my boots so he wouldn't see my face. "Get the car ready," I said.

"Don't need to tell me that," he said, getting to his feet.

We were in the elevator of the Stratford Tower, Connor to my left and Hank to his left. The floors whizzed by one by one, and I found myself entranced by the coin trick Connor was performing to amuse himself. The glint of silver spun on the tips of his fingers, dipped between the hollows of his knuckles, spilled between his hands.

Hank caught my wide-eyed gaze and I drew back, straightening as he glared at Connor.

"How are you doing that?" I asked him, unable to keep my curiosity in check any longer.

He flicked the coin onto his left hand and said, "It's quite simple, really. I can show you, if you'd like."

"Hell yes," I said.

"You're starting to piss me off with that coin, Connor." Hank snatched the coin from midair and pocketed it.

I glared at him as Connor apologized to him, and then to me.

At the 79th floor, the elevator drew to a stop and the doors opened with a beep. A long corridor stretched down to the broadcasting room, a bumblebee mix of black and yellow.

Chris, dressed head to toe in DPD's patrol uniform, greeted Hank first, then me with pointed alarm. Clad in the same black uniform, I returned his greeting. Not only should I have been on scene the second Chris had been, but Hank was the only one who'd gotten a call. I winced as I realized - right, I was so preoccupied with case files I hadn't bothered to turn the volume up on my new phone. Absolutely not an excuse, of course. I could only hope Fowler would have mercy.

"Did I miss the party?" Hank asked.

Chris said, "Yeah, even the FBI wants a piece of the action." He looked over his shoulder at me, flipping through his notes. "Phillips, Fowler blew up your phone this evening. He isn't happy."

"Great, I'll have to find something to get out of this."

My friend gave me a sympathetic look.

"Ah Christ, now we got the Feds on our back…..I knew this was gonna be a shitty day," Hank bemoaned.

"Please tell me Perkins isn't here," I said aloud.

"You know him?" Chris asked, turning around with surprise.

I shrugged. "Enough."

"That's all anyone really needs, no less, no more." Chris replied. Returning to Hank, he said, "It was a group of four androids. They knew the building and they were very well organized. I'm still trying to figure out how they got this far without being noticed."

Hank paused, swinging a heavy look my way. "Don't imagine a stray cat told them, huh?" I reverted my gaze and found Connor looking at me. No doubt both of us were remembering his little lie to Hank about letting the deviants go, but then Connor's gentle fingers brushed against my hand, as if to comfort me.

"Come again?" Chris asked, but Hank simply looked around the hall, filled with security, CSI, FBI, and patrol. A party indeed.

"You check the roof?" Hank inquired.

"Not yet, there's so much to look at." He went on to explain how there'd been no casualties, something no one could imagine possible. Not unless, I thought, they had help.

Connor trailed behind me, checking for clues only he could detect. When we reached the broadcasting room, I raised my brows at Hank, trying to communicate the asshole we were about to meet.

Chris took a breath as if to brace himself. "Oh, Lieutenant. This is Special Agent Perkins from the FBI." Perkins turned around, sweeping an unimpressed glance over Hank. His nose seemed to grow more hook-like with each movement. Immediately, Hank picked up on the little assessment he was now under. "Lieutenant Anderson is in charge of investigating for Detroit Police."

Perkins was a clothes hanger of a man, all gaunt and austere in posture, his attire hanging off his frame in such a way that made it hard to discern if his clothes actually fit or if he'd gone horribly amiss with his choices. The gray only drained the pallor from his face, deeping the shallows of his cheeks and shadowing the scruff at his pointed chin. Beady little eyes flicked from Hank, to Connor, then to me, glinting like the buttons on his trenchcoat. I had to wonder if the whole appearance was intentional.

I stood by Connor as Perkin's gaze swept over me, his tie like a boa about his reed-thin neck. As if to draw attention away from that fact, he'd flipped his coat collar up so it grazed his jawline. His eyes narrowed, and his thin lips twisted into a tart smile. "My, what a surprise. Aren't you the girl who threw herself at the deviant on the roof in August? If you'd gone down to the paramedics like a good little girl, you might've not had to go through all of that." His teeth flashed.

"Yes, I'm Officer Phillips, Perkins, sir. It's a pleasure to know you remember me after all this time," I said sweetly. Starting a fight, no matter how much I wanted to bite back at him, could spell disaster for my record.

He knew that, too. Perkins smiled sardonically. "Pray tell you don't get wrapped up in another deviant's business, Officer Phillips." His voice was acerbic.

Of course he'd read my files. I broadened my smile until it hurt.

Perkins moved on to Connor.

"What's that?"

Connor's reply was clipped, "My name is Connor. I'm the android sent my CyberLife."

Perkins softly snorted, glancing at Hank. "Androids investigating androids, huh? You sure you want an android hanging around? After everything that happened." I started. How in the hell did Perkins know about Hank's son? It's not like the news had covered it. Hank had done all he could to make sure it hadn't gotten out, exactly why Connor had no idea why Hank hated androids. Perkins raised his brows meaningfully, but bless Hank, the guy wasn't buying any of this crap. "Not to mention," Perkins continued, "your officer needs a stricter leash. Wouldn't want her bounding after deviants to sniff their tails."

I imagined planting a solid kick to Perkins's middle, bending him in half like the coat hanger he was.

Hank nodded, wearing that look of masked glee whenever he was picturing punting someone across the room. He'd told me about how he often thought of doing it to Gavin, another hobby we shared. Then his features hardened, and Perkins lifted his chin.

"Whatever; the FBI will take over the investigation, you'll soon be off the case."

"Pleasure meeting you, have a nice day," Hank said, mere milliseconds after Perkins had uttered the last of his sentence. It only served to tick him off more.

"And you watch your step," Perkins said.

Hank turned around, his mouth an O, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Perkins curtly said, "Don't fuck up my crime scene," and walked out as if on stilted legs.

"What a fuckin' prick." Hank turned to me and I wagged my eyebrows at him. "That guy was in charge of your sister's hostage crisis? Jesus, no wonder it escalated so badly."

Chris smiled with amusement as he told Hank, "I'll be nearby. If you need anything, just ask." He shot me a friendly grin as he walked off.

"He's not a very amicable person." Connor said, frowning in the direction Perkins had retreated.

I laughed, "If you remove the pole sticking out of his asscheeks, he may lighten up."

"He has a pole in his….." Connor whipped around, as if he were running a diagnostics on the man.

Hank said to me, "Go check the roof. This might take a while."

"Right away," I started towards the entrance leading to the roof when a voice caught me dead in my tracks. Hank and Connor looked up at the android on screen, his real skin on display and those two, different colored eyes determinedly staring into the hearts of Detroit as he relayed his message.

It was like my airways had constricted, and I started picking at my fingers again. I'd told myself I'd kick the habit, but old ones were hard to beat, especially when the trigger was stressful situations. Oh look, that was my entire career. How fun.

When the recording concluded, Hank asked Connor to report his findings. Connor simply announced he'd recognized the model and its number, then lapsed into silence. Hank tilted his head back to peer at him down his nose, suspicion lacing his noncommittal noise. Then he passed by me, angling his head in the area he'd asked me to check. I fought against the tightness in my throat, and when Connor clocked around and found me standing behind him, wild-eyed and chest heaving, his brows drew together.

"Officer?" He stopped a few spaces apart from me, dark eyes pooling with concern. "Are you alright?"

There was no way I was going to ask him why he hadn't bothered to clarify that he was from the same line as Markus. Maybe, as Hank suggested, Connor knew everything about me down to the finest details. Maybe he didn't.

"I should get going," I said, slipping away from his scrutiny. Hank stood near the thirium-stained walls, replicating Connor's coin trick as if his work here was done.

Up the stairs, I paused in front of the door leading onto the roof. The notion of where it led called forth memories of Daniel, things I didn't want to see. Bracing myself, I pushed through into the jaws of early winter. Flakes spiralled down on crisp winds, settling atop my shoulders like powdered sugar.

Several rooftop heaters dotted the surface, separating the squad of FBI and CSI personnel. They were stationed at various intervals, some talking together and reporting their findings. None of which seemed promising, for the progress they'd made so far seemed to only amount to a flimsy handful of evidence and nothing more. A duffel bag lay on the snow-dusted ground ahead and I knelt down to inspect it. It was more than half my size and filled with all manners of tools and supplies. What alarmed me though was the parachute.

According to Chris, four deviants had hatched this operation. Thirium now painted the broadcasting room. It was likely one had been unable to make the jump. Had they been left behind?

Further ahead, tagged by a bright yellow evidence marker, several different pairs of footsteps left their stamp. I counted three separate pairs. Soon, the falling snow would eat them up.

A low railing eclipsed the space from the plummeting drop into a blur of white below. No wonder they couldn't tell where the deviants had parachuted to. Any traces of them had been erased. Settling back onto the balls of my feet, I made my way to the duffel bag. Then I went to open the rooftop door. I figured Hank would like to know there wasn't much to see up here. It refused to budge. It was a wireless lock, the sort requiring permission to access - meaning the deviants had to have hacked into it to temporarily block their pursuers. And buy them a moment to weigh their options if one had indeed been badly wounded.

If one had been left behind, they were somewhere on this rooftop. There was no chance they'd made it through the door without having been seen, and cameras were recording every inch of the tower. However, I don't think anyone had noticed the door had been hacked. It would've been blocked from all contact if they suspected it had.

A single member of the FBI standing near the door asked, "Did you need to get in?"

A thought trickled into my mind like a clear stream, shocking me with the clarity of it.

Flashing my badge, I told him, "I'm with Lieutenant Anderson from the Detroit Police Department. We will be taking over this area for investigation." My voice was stronger than I expected.

"Where's your Lieutenant?" he asked.

"You can find him in the broadcasting room. He sent me up here to scope out the rooftop before he joined. Perkins is currently speaking to several officers."

The guy looked from me to my badge to the area. I wasn't supposed to have the authority in these situations, but everyone knew of Hank. He didn't waste time with formalities anymore, and as such, anyone working in tandem with him were elevated to his position if the need arose - and in this case, I believed it counted.

"What's your name?" he asked, as if checking to make sure I was really with them.

"Officer Phillips. My orders are to assist the DPD in this crime scene. I will be taking over from here."

I could almost feel the gears churning in his head, processing the facts. Here was the 'Android Sympathizer' working on a case involving deviants. I had no idea if they suspected one had been left behind, but I had to bank on them having not reached that conclusion. I couldn't falter here.

The man took my badge between his gloved fingers and handed it back to me with a slight nod. "I'll round them up," he said, tersely.

I wanted to thank him, but sometimes kindness bred suspicion. People today found gratitude to be disingenuous, and in my position, I couldn't afford that. Pulling out the navy blue moleskine, I flipped to a blank page, as if busy with notes I'd taken. I made sure to stand off to the side, angled just right in case anyone decided to see what lay in my pages. They'd see nothing but what their own minds could think of.

When at last the door clicked shut, I trained my gaze to the snow-laden floor. Thirium evaporated in a few hours, and became invisible to the naked eye, as Connor had said. And a fresh batch shone darkly against the rooftop heaters. I don't know how it'd gone unnoticed, but then again, deviancy was a recent thing. Not many were unlucky enough to know about thirium and its properties. Grabbing the parachute, I spun around.

"Thank you, Connor," I muttered, following the trail. Unfortunately, time seemed to have caught up, and the blood that was visible had quickly begun to fade. Only Connor would be able to track its pattern long after, and I couldn't afford that.

I approached the long, blue, metal heater. Darker blue stained its surface and I slid to the side of the door, out of the way of its path if it swung open. Pressing close against the cold metal, I shivered. They were in here, likely armed. It was an understatement to say I needed to proceed with caution.

"Hello," I began, clearing my throat. Nervousness brewed in my stomach. "I'm alone, I've flushed everyone out of the area. If you run a scan, you'll see I'm telling the truth. You're probably wondering what's going on right now."

What if no one was inside the container and I was just speaking to the winter winds? Maybe Gavin would magically teleport here to gloat at how I'd lost my marbles.

"I'm Officer Phillips - with the DPD, but I'm not here to hurt you. Or arrest you, pretty much anything I should be doing. I'm going to leave your parachute outside here, okay? I know this all seems surreal, but I can promise you I mean no harm. I'm grateful you didn't hurt anyone, and I saw your message."

I swallowed, fingers twitching.

"Tell Markus I saw his message and that Carl would've been proud of him. That I'm proud of him."

Silence greeted me. Inching off the metal wall, I trudged back the way I'd come.

And then the door creaked open behind me. A ghost stared back at me, causing tears to bloom in my eyes. He was clad in the traditional blue and yellow work uniform of the Stratford towerer and his LED pulsed red. Between his loose fingers was a glock. He let it dangle at his side, his clear blue eyes searching mine. Flaxen hair swept over his head. He was a PL600 model. Daniel's model.

The deviant's voice was delicate as a morning-dove, just like Daniel's. "How do you know Markus?" He was bleeding heavily, dripping onto the fresh snow. He'd need to cover that.

"He was a good friend of mine. We read books together - or rather, I read to him, hoping he'd take the initiative, want to have a discussion." I had to fight the urge to run over to the deviant and hold him in my arms. All I could see was Daniel's smiles, his pale gaze. "What's your name?" I asked, unable to process anything but the image before me.

He was understandably reticent and I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers. "Sorry, you remind me of a friend of mine. You should go, before my partners show up."

The deviant continued to stare at me with a sad expression, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "I know you. He mentioned you, once."

"Markus spoke about me?"

He nodded, stooping down to fetch the parachute, gritting his teeth as he did so, his gaze never leaving mine. "I'll let him know you're well, he'd be glad to hear it." The way he spoke of Markus made me feel warm. His eyes softened at the corners and he seemed to recall memories, briefly staring at nothing.

"You have feelings for him," I said.

The man wore a sheepish grin, lowering his head. "Markus inspires a great deal of emotion in many. But, it wouldn't be wrong to say I cared about him."

"Thank you," I breathed.

"My name is Simon," he ventured, growing more confident as he realized I truly had meant what I'd told him earlier. That I was a friend. "It's nice to see there are humans who aren't our enemy."

"There are many who consider you to be friends, Simon. I only wish more would do so. Markus's speech will have reached several lives. I hope you can rejoin him soon."

Simon lifted his head and a smile touched his thirium-stained mouth. "I hope so too-"

There was the soft sound of a footfall. Simon strapped the parachute to himself and staggered away, while I drew my gun and pressed against the heaters. Raising my weapon, I drew to a halt at the corner of one, seeing the shadow of a burly figure stretch over the ground.

"Hank?" I called out, recognizing it immediately.

The man's shadow detached from the heater and he appeared around the corner. I dropped my weapon, clipping it back to my holster.

"How much did you see?"

He considered me, his pale gaze like ice in the harsh light reflecting from the snow. "Not sure he'll make the jump, but I guess it's better than offing himself like he planned if he got caught."

"You're not angry?"

"That you took over Perkin's investigation? Hell no." He clapped a hand onto my shoulder and a rare smile tugged at his mouth. "Looked like Daniel."

"I don't understand, why aren't you upset with me?" I protested, voice wavering.

"Maybe I've been too harsh on you," he murmured, the gravelly tones of his voice like a low gale through the woods. "Come on, Connor's interrogating some of the androids on staff. It'll look weird if we're the only two gone."

Before he turned around, I snatched at the hem of his jacket. He stopped and looked down at me. "Thank you," I whispered.

He nodded. "So you knew Markus, huh? Why doesn't that surprise me? We'll talk it about it later, come on."

Hank's broad back turned to face me and he ambled towards the door.. The bite of November was shut out and a delicious heat replaced it. Passing the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of Connor before a line of three androids. All of them stared blankly ahead at him.

Then we crossed through the broadcasting room and down the main hall. Hank and I convened with Chris, who was flipping through his notes with a haggard expression. "I just don't understand how no one saw them," he told us. "I see you've been to the roof," he said, nodding at the snow melting on our clothes.

"A waste of time, Perkins just fooled around up there," Hank announced, but the Special Agents coat-man was long gone.

"You don't think one of those kitchen androids helped?" I offered.

"That's what Connor's checking on," replied Chris. "If it's not one of them, I've no idea how this worked out. Maybe miracles really do exist."

Hank chuckled. "Yeah wouldn't that be something?"

Someone walked past me. It was one of the kitchen androids and his pace was brisk. I nudged Hank. "Hey, did Connor let one of them go?"

"I don't know anymore what that boy does."

Chris paused in his notes and glanced up at Hank at the same time I blinked at him with surprise. Before he could argue, I gave him a small smile. "I'll go ahead and see what that android's up to."

He was swifter than I'd expected, forcing me to lengthen my strides to catch up. Odd, he seemed to be rather harried. Had Connor located a deviant among them? The android was heading straight, and I thought, maybe he was looking for Perkins, or someone in charge to inform them. But Perkins wasn't here and Hank was in charge in his stead.

The android approached the FBI member by the elevator and that's when I put two and two together. I reached for my gun, right as Connor's voice echoed down the corridor with desperation.

"It's a deviant! Stop it!"

The deviant whirled around, ripping the rifle from the FBI and shoving him to the ground with the butt of the weapon. He saw mine trained on him and my finger twitched on the trigger as he aimed at my skull.

A series of shots fired and blue blood splattered my face. I flinched. The deviant collapsed where he stood, the gun clattering to the floor and skidding to a halt at my feet.

I turned around, reeling from what had nearly been the end of my life. When faced with the prospect of death, everyone tells you you'll see your life flash before your eyes. I certainly hadn't, but three things had come to mind. Emma, a cage trapping her from flight. Hank, bottles of poison swimming in his home, his trusty pistol in hand. And Connor, wrestling with his mission.

Connor stood tall, his gaze pinned to his target. His shirt had been torn open, revealing a triangle of his bare skin coated in shining thirium. The blood snaked up his chest, staining his shirt, and that's when I saw the gaping hole in his torso. The deviant had wrenched one of his biocomponents out, and Connor had put it back. None of us had heard a damned thing while he'd been fighting for his life.

He held out the gun he'd used for the owner to take it back, and I saw regret in his features. Hank, who'd dropped to the floor, pistol in hand, pulled Chris to his feet. "Nice shot, Connor," he praised him.

"I wanted it alive," Connor said.

Hank's voice was strangled with emotion as he said, "You saved human lives….You saved…. my life." I saw the change in Hank's entire perception on androids in that moment and I wanted to run over to him and pat him on the back.

Connor seemed to sense a change too, for he spared a glance at his superior, then marched for the deviant, arms swinging purposefully. He was so focused on the dead deviant that when he bumped into me, he started, seeing me as if for the first time.

He noted the gun gripped between my hands and gently removed it from me. His lashes brushed against his cheekbones as he rolled the sleek weapon in his hands. "Had I not intervened, you would've had a 2% chance of survival, Phillips."

My mouth parted. He hadn't used my title, it was the first time he'd said my name alone. It was the dumbest thing to be surprised about, considering everything he'd just said. But working in this line did things to you. You got used to near-misses. Even if that one was too close to demise for comfort.

I reached for my gun to return it to its holster and my fingers slicked through bright blue thirium. "Your hand!" I exclaimed, grabbing his wrist and turning it over to see a horrid, gaping hole. Thirium continued to pool out, and I trembled "I'm sorry."

Connor tilted his head. "Why are you apologizing?"

"You're hurt. You saved my life, you saved everyone's lives, and no one knew you were fighting your own battle in there. I'm so sorry."

I grasped his hand with both of mine and bowed my head.

"My mission is to detain deviants."

The FBI personnel who'd been violently pushed down earlier, struggled to his feet and I let go of Connor, knowing full-well how bad this looked.

"I'll have to go in for repairs," Connor continued as Hank sauntered over to us. "Although these aren't major wounds, they will slow me down. I shouldn't be gone too long."

Hank said, "You mean to CyberLife? They're not gonna replace you, are they?"

"They can't!" I said.

Hank nodded in agreement and Connor looked at me with confusion. "Even if they did, you shouldn't concern yourself with that. I am but one of many who can replace me. They will upload my memory to the new RK800 model. Some memories may not be passed on, but that's because they're of no hope to my mission."

I shook my head. "No, you can't." Removing the moleskine from my pocket, I said, "You're the only one who can use this. I refuse."

Connor stared down at the moleskine, his gaze devoid of anything. "It is highly unlikely they would need to replace me. I've not disappointed her yet."

"Her?"

"I won't be long. Please, do what you must with the deviant."

No, this couldn't be happening. "Connor!" I cried out as he opened the elevator. Hank didn't try to stop me as I blocked the entrance and slipped the moleskine into Connor's interior jacket pocket. "You better bring this back, and it better be filled with notes, you hear me? I don't care what you write. Just put something in there, okay?"

Connor dipped his head so that he was looking at me down the line of his nose. His gaze was dark and somber. "If I did, CyberLife would be concerned I was….defective."

"Then don't write anything. Just bring it back, okay?" I begged him.

"Understood, Officer." He disappeared through the elevator's doors and I leaned into Hank when he drew close.

"It'll be alright," he said.

"What if it isn't?"

Hank looked down at me. "I don't know."