Elijah Kamski and Carl Manfred shared two sides of the same coin. The side of grim postulations and bitter cold - it was fit for a predator thirsting after knowledge, sharpening his mind to extremes on Nietzsche and cutthroat examinations. The other side was ripe for nurturing that knowledge, guiding it from the vestiges of one's mind through careful forefathers, like Shakespeare, Odes, and Plato.

I was excited to return to Carl's cage of a world, where everything glittered and seemed secure, but I was also on edge for exactly that same reason. Cages, no matter how gilded, are still cages. Carl's was the kind that protected yet prodded growth in a specific direction, tended to like a blooming flower by a gardener.

The painter's home was situated on Lafayette Avenue, a fancy little name for where the fancy (not little at all) mansion sat, bordered by pristinely manicured shrubs and a sprawling, immaculate driveway. It was a fairytale house, the place where dreams nestled and stars went to bed. Many viewed Carl's towering stately mansion to be a reflection of the man. They wouldn't be wrong, as long as they were referring to his older self, who'd turned to art after a horrible accident had left him wheelchair bound and repentant over his past sins.

Hank parked right against the curb. "Well, get a load of this shit," he said, peering out through his window up at the mansion. He craned his neck up, as if expecting the house to grow like a redwood until it touched the heavy, snow-pregnant clouds. "Reminds me of that drawing you made. Did you honestly think I was stupid or something? I'd recognize this place anywhere - Connor could fuckin' draw it and I'd still know what it was."

If Connor did it'd look like a blueprint, lacking any artistic impression, because he saw the world as numbers and concrete facts. My view was both the blessing and the curse of viewing the world with the eyes Carl opened for you. Everything became an anaemic copy until you poured the life you saw into into it. When Carl had first seen my work, he'd called it the equivalent of an English major writing up pretentious drivel and expecting to be crowned atop the literary canon. Despite such a crushing critique, Carl had said I wasn't a complete failure, because the passion for life was hiding in my shallow brushstrokes. He'd have to peel off the layers; and would I be willing to tear down my walls?

Connor, who was normally well-prepared to retort with something like 'CyberLife didn't program me to draw anything but code', remained where he was. He kept his head bowed, his shoulders hunched, and his leg continued to bounce.

"I told you I'd take you home if you're sick," Hank said, his voice unusually soft.

Connor stilled his leg. "I cannot get sick, Hank."

The man drummed an erratic rhythm on the steering wheel before shutting off the music. He combed his fingers through his mane with a frown, but refused my offer of a hair tie as always, even though I insisted it'd do the trick. Dammit. One day, I vowed as we stepped outside, I'd get him to pull his hair back.

The sky was already shaking powdered snow onto the gingerbread mansion and I shoved my hands into my jacket pocket. It was chilly, more so than earlier.

Hank wandered ahead, and I secretly delighted at how he was probably dying to see the famed artist's dwelling in the flesh. There was the sound of a car door closing behind me and I turned to find Connor striding after us, his LED a ring of solid yellow.

I stood up on my tiptoes to press a hand to his forehead. He jumped at the contact, as if he'd not even registered I was right there next to him. "I can't really ever tell if there's a temperature difference," I told him. "Daniel once told me he was very cold, but he was warm to the touch. Like always. Like you."

There was a stiffness in Connor's face, as if he'd tensed up. His tie was crooked and I leaned in to fix it for him, surprised he hadn't already. As I slid the material up how he normally did, his hands came to settle over mine. I tilted my head up to meet his gaze. "You're not yourself. Is something wrong?" I asked him.

"You almost died this morning."

I'd not expected him to actually answer me. Especially not like that. "It comes with the job," I said offhandedly.

Connor's chest heaved beneath my palms. "How often does it, for you to hold so little value for yourself?"

Ouch. "Dying in a car wreck is more likely to kill me than half of what I'm involved in. Especially with Hank driving."

"He held you at gunpoint."

"I trust Markus to make the right decisions. The deviant from last week almost pulled that trigger, don't forget. No matter what I do, it's a risk I face, but I won't give those chances the satisfaction of dying. I have Emma to look after."

Connor, who had only the faintest impression of my relationship with Carl's android, didn't seem too convinced. His fingers curled around mine. "If she is what keeps you alive to see another day, I hope you think of her every time something like that happens." His voice became hoarse. "I cannot always prevent something from happening to Hank and you, but I…I want to."

"I'll do that," I whispered.

"I'm pleased to hear that."

And then Hank's gravelly shout tore across the space. "I thought this was an urgent matter? Did I give you two permission to make out?"

Connor held me still, my face blooming with heat when he repeated, "Make out?" His LED ran blue, and I gave in to my fate. There would never not be an awkward moment between the three of us. "I'm not sure I quite understand the purpose for such an activity. It seems it draws two people closer together in an intimate way, often leading to sexual intercourse."

I ripped myself from his grip and grabbed his arm, practically dragging him like a cat on a leash to where Hank was waiting in the center of the drive, his hands on his hips.

"Are you two done?" Hank asked when we reached him.

Connor addressed him before I could. "There appears to be some misunderstanding. Phillips and I were not engaged in such an intimate act. Perhaps it appeared that way to you from our angle?"

"Not in front of me. I'm gonna Sharpie that onto your face next time, got it?"

Connor tried again to correct him while I headed for the main door, the wooden frame embedded with stained glass like jewels. Their voices followed me like a pair of squalling seagulls.

"I can assure you, Hank, if we'd been engaged in such an activity, it would border on scandalous. We'd be arrested for public indecency."

I wasn't sure if that was his idea of a joke or not, but Hank didn't take it that way. He groaned and jabbed a finger at Connor. "Jesus, Connor. You don't need to tell me how-"

"That is what law dictates, is it not? My findings illustrate making out to be a very passionate moment shared between two people. Often between lovers, but sometimes between two people in general."

"No, it doesn't always go that way - and it better not go like that in public, because that's for sure landing you in jail. At least if I see it."

Connor paused and I regretted turning around at the lull in conversation immediately. He was regarding me with a look I'd seen in my dreams - but this was the early morning so I was just stupid for letting my pulse quicken at an impossibility. It was good I knew better, because reality bitch-slaps everyone.

"Maybe you and Hank could demonstrate? I'm not sure I understand the conundrum."

Oh dear God. Hank and I took one look at each other, and we both nearly puked on the spot. The older man, who I oftentimes saw as a father figure, and who Connor had informed me thought of me as a daughter, looked green in the face as he shoved Connor.

"That's fuckin' disgusting. If you're so curious, indulge her. Jesus, I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

I expected Connor to refuse, and maybe even downright insist on the horrid idea of Hank and I - nope, I couldn't even bring myself to think of it - but Connor walked right up and loomed over me. "I have learned quite a lot thanks to my investigation at the Eden Club, so I don't think it'd be an unpleasant experience for you." Connor settled his hands on my shoulders and leaned in.

I jammed my finger into the doorbell, ringing it over and over again like a distress signal. Connor flinched and stepped away from me as the door opened, revealing a very visibly put-out android, his LED vacillating between red and yellow.

"Uh, hello," I said, shoving my hair back and flashing a help-me smile. "I'm Officer Phillips, I'm here to speak with Carl."

Typically, the android belonging to Carl Manfred would say, 'Sorry, he's not seeing any visitors today,' or even, 'Sorry, I don't have you registered for an appointment' - the classy way of saying get the fuck off my lawn. However, the android just stepped aside and welcomed us in. He continued to stare at me, mystified, as I walked past. He gave Hank a moment's pause, and then he glanced at Connor. A strange look overcame his features, like he'd been enlightened by something, then his gaze flicked back to me.

"I'll let Carl know you're here," he told us. With that, he crossed the entryway to the door leading into the main room, which slid open at his approach.

Whereas Elijah was calculated and cunning with his display of his property, Carl thrived off his collection, letting it teem like an artfully designed greenhouse to show off his genuine personality. A huge staircase, wearing a turquoise rug speckled with complementary colors, led up to an indoor balcony that framed an open view of the first floor like an aquarium railing, bookshelves lining the walkway. Carl's bedroom tapered off from the leftmost door along that balcony, a respite from his busy craft below. Early morning sunlight shimmered down through the high windows, brushing the lobby with a slice of paradise.

I kept expecting to see Markus somewhere. He'd usually be exiting the kitchen when I let myself in, his eyes crinkling with warmth, and I'd run at him and grab him in a hug that ended with me swept off the floor. Those memories drifted past me with specks of dust filtered in the sun's rays.

"I take it you're feeling better?" Hank asked Connor.

Our partner straightened his posture, as if he needed to, and said, "I'm perfectly fine."

Hank continued to fill the void, somehow increasing the wave of awkward rolling off my shoulders at what'd almost happened. "So, am I gonna find any of your paintings in here?" He sauntered past a huge mirror, then stopped before the golden cage housing wind-up android birds. "You kept jumping around like a damned kangaroo at Kamksi's, don't think I didn't notice the ruse you were trying to pull. Connor already found out you sold art to the guy."

I'd never needed to hide it, of course. If Elijah hadn't outright said it, my name was definitely available online. Sometimes I wondered how no-one had caught me earlier - I could always feign indifference, but the more I thought about it, the sillier that idea sounded.

"Maybe," I allowed, giving myself a moment of indulgence in the way Connor and Hank threw me impressed glances. Yeah, that's right. I may have given up the past, but that didn't mean I had to be ashamed of my accomplishments. I'd sold art to Elijah Kamski.

The door slid open again, and the android welcomed us into the main room. Hank let down his shutters, and the rough gales weathering his countenance settled into a calm puff of air. The room was sprinkled with all manner of knick knacks, glittering in the soft dewy sunlight. Everything was buried by something else, and over it all, stood a stuffed giraffe, superseding those who entered this garden of a room. A painting caught Hank's eye and he said, "Hey, that's the same one at Kamski's." Sure enough, an android splattered with red and blue adorned the wall behind Carl.

A further addition to the welcoming interior was the warm scent of bacon and eggs perfuming the room. My stomach growled and Hank cut me an amused glance. Neither of us had eaten before this, yet my stomach alone had to betray me, as if conscious of the fact that Carl would serve food if I were hungry.

Carl Manfred sat at his table before the huge TV, now covering Russia's possible next moves. His meal was before him on a plate, and shining silver covers sat on the tray where his food had been carried from the kitchen into the room. Even his food was like an advertisement - almost too bright to be real, but they were as real as Hank's slackened jaw as he gazed upon this century's greatest artist.

It took me a moment to understand his shock, because I'd walked in on this legend of a man casually enjoying his breakfast too many times to remember. I failed to stifle the laughter bubbling up from my diaphragm; it popped, the sound decorating the silence. Carl set down his fork and regaled us with a huff.

"Those damn Russians," he said around a mouthful of cheery yellow egg.

It was like Hank's own bubble burst with those words and his gaze grew round. I could see right then and there Carl was everything Hank had hoped for and more.

"Introduce us," Hank prodded. A lump formed in my throat at the sheer pride in his expression, that his partner had been recognized by the Carl Manfred. I grabbed his hand. I turned to Connor and extended a hand; he glanced at it, somewhat taken aback. The next moment, Connor's hand engulfed mine, and he carefully arranged his grip so his fingers delicately caressed mine. The graze of his skin sent shivers down my spine. I tightened my grip around his hand so that he was no longer a bare slip away from letting go.

Carl's house was the home to your heart: if you stayed there, you got too cozy. Now was not the time. Even so, I couldn't stop the rosy hue from dusting my cheeks, or the electric rush from shooting through my body, sparking butterflies into flight in my belly.

Connor's LED throbbed yellow, and a faint blue tinged his own cheeks. I had the sudden urge to capture the image, enhancing those complementary colors in my own artistic recreation.

I drew my partners over to Carl and the old man said, "My God, weren't you on the news this morning?"

"It's nice to see you again," I said, not bothering to answer as I was sure Carl already knew it. Hank squeezed my hand as if to ease the ache spreading through my chest. I'd given up years I could have spent with Carl to appease my mother. I hadn't known how deeply all of this would hit me after returning - or maybe I had subconsciously, and that's why I'd buried all my time into my work.

Carl cleared his plate with a scrape of his fork and ordered the TV to turn off. The android standing sentry beside him scooped up his silverware, his plate, and his empty cup, and piled them onto the tray. He took them back into the kitchen and Carl shifted in his seat. It was his tell that he wanted to be taken somewhere; he always had a momentary lapse in memory that he couldn't get up and walk himself.

I released Hank and Connor to go to him. This would be a hard discussion. But the truth is never easy, as they say. That applied to the conversation I needed to have with Connor, too. Crap, what was I even going to say? I like you and I shouldn't and I really shouldn't be telling you this because you're struggling with the fact that you may be going deviant - oh, and who is this lady who may be planning on killing me? Yeah, that should probably be at the top of my list, not my feelings.

Speaking of Connor, he wouldn't let go of my hand. I nudged him lightly, raising our hands together. It was a strange sight: we were grasping onto each other, none of our fingers intertwining. I snorted, it was just like him. "Hey," I said, and Connor turned to me, then looked at our hands. "Can you let go?"

It was like he'd touched a hot stove; he dropped my hand and then stumbled back. I reached out to steady him. "Sorry, Officer," he mumbled. Hank threw me a pointed look but I pretended I hadn't seen it. Focus on what you have to do.

I wrapped my arms around Carl as I knelt before him. "It's so good to see you again." He smelled like an all-American breakfast and paint, just as I remembered.

"I thought I'd be in the ground the next time you visited," he teased, his usual morbid humour shining through. "Then Elijah called. I'm surprised you visited him first." I pulled back to see him smirk. "But I think I see why."

I moved around to grab the handles of his chair before he could clarify what he'd meant, and asked where he wanted to go. "If I wanted to talk philosophy, you'd be my go-to, I hope you know that."

Carl said, "We can go to the couch, I didn't expect you to bring your friends. Nice to meet you," he addressed my superior. Hank practically tripped over himself to grab his hand.

"Lieutenant Hank Anderson, sir. Call me Hank."

Connor shot him a who-are-you-and-what-have-you-done-with-my-grouchy-Lieutenant look.

"Ah." Carl grasped his hand. "I know you. You did those red ice cases."

Once, when I was still painting under Carl's tutelage, he had threatened Leo with informing Lieutenant Anderson of his addiction. I could only imagine the questions whirring through Carl's mind at the sight of this rugged, windstorm of a Lieutenant. He was nothing like his old photos. You couldn't control how you aged, but you could certainly control how you presented yourself. The Lieutenant fell on the 'messy' end of the spectrum.

Hank was on a buzz that even alcohol couldn't give him. "It wasn't much, sir. Those fuckers are pretty easy to catch is all." Carl paused and Hank grimaced, knowing he'd slipped up somewhere, probably assuming the swearing. I threw him a thumbs up to let him know it wasn't anything he'd done and mouthed 'later.' Hank's frenzied state calmed a little, but he was still clearly alarmed.

As always, Leo was nowhere to be found, and I thanked the stars. Connor would sooner announce a red ice user than read the situation - not that I could fault him for doing his work, but his subtlety could do with some polishing.

"Did you find the body?" Carl asked him. "I thought I'd done a damn good job hiding the evidence."

Bless him, Hank recovered from the blow and barked out a laugh. "The world's greatest artist, now a mastermind killer. The plot twist of the century."

Carl's laughter joined his, a scratchy grain to Hank's rough gravel. Then he bade me to take him to Connor, who was standing at attention like a soldier awaiting his orders. When we neared, his dark hickory gaze flitted to mine, before fluttering back down to the older man.

"And who might you be?" Carl asked genially.

"My name is Connor. I'm the android sent by CyberLife."

Carl said, "RK800," reading the number on his jacket.

"Yes, Mr. Manfred. I'm a prototype."

My hands gripped the back of Carl's chair. There'd been no predicting he'd say that ahead of time.

The old man leaned his head back against the chair. "Markus has a brother." He seemed to be struggling to digest the facts in front of him. "It's nice to meet you, Connor." Connor shook his hand, bending at the hip to reach for him. Hank shot his partner an accusatory glare. He'd figured out what Connor had hidden from him at the Stratford Tower, then.

"I have no siblings, Mr. Manfred. I'm a unique model," Connor tried to explain, clearly nonplussed by Carl's musings.

"Yeah, I bet CyberLife said that you're the only Connor model too, huh? Damn them. Always out for an extra buck." Carl shook his head. "Phillips, let's get everyone settled. I'm starting to see why you brought them. It's worse than I thought. One of the wolves will win, but it certainly won't be one of ours."

CyberLife's wolves chased the sun of cash, and when one of them swallowed that fortune whole, Ragnarok would befall Detroit. It was already on its way there, what with all of the protestors, the deviants, and now Markus.

"Markus is alive and well," I told Carl, guiding us all over to the center of the room with low couches, the same height as Carl's chair, and a glass coffee table. "He was the one who spared our lives this morning. But he didn't see me at all, not until after he decided not to kill us."

"Hammurabi's code blinded his people. Had Markus taken that other eye by killing you and the others, the world would never look at his cause. Choosing to fight by standing your ground, that takes more strength than striking the enemy."

I settled him before the couch and asked, "What happened to him, Carl? You'd never turn him away."

"Who says I'd never give him his freedom? The second I died, he would have to decide what to do with his life. I've only had the privilege of preparing him. Sometimes, I wonder if I was right in that thinking. The world hates those who are different."

There was no arguing that Carl could've chosen not to raise Markus as he had, but that wasn't my right to judge. Each of us in life had to decide how to treat others, and I was thankful Markus had been blessed by the man's kindness.

"No, sit over there," he instructed when I sat down beside him. "I can't see you if you're next to me." His new android left to prepare us coffee, and Carl began his story. "Leo is the reason, as always. To put it simply, he attacked Markus. I ordered him not to do anything, but Markus didn't listen. He pushed Leo and…" He swallowed. "I thought he'd died. He hit his head on the crane, bled everywhere. He's been hospitalized, and he'll be alright, thank god. The police showed up and shot Markus, and then they dumped him like trash. They wouldn't listen to me when I said it was self-defence."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. I couldn't imagine the anguish he must've felt. If I'd been here, would things have turned out differently? I couldn't imagine that the police would have taken Markus's side if I had been; they saw an injured human, and didn't want to know the rest.

"No, Phillips. I'm sorry about Daniel." Funny, how our tragedies have intertwined in such a similar fashion, he seemed to say with that sardonic grimace stretching his mouth.

"Thank you," I murmured. We'd gotten Daniel before I left Carl's mentorship, so I'd often spoken about him. And the more time I'd spent with Markus, reading Plato with him in the alcoves beneath the sunlight, the more I'd begun to wonder about Daniel. Could he feel? Was he human? Then Dad had come home from his work at CyberLife one day, and told me that androids were a new intelligent life-form. Since then, my eyes had been opened to the truth, and I had constantly been seeking a way to help them.

The second I started for the couch, Hank told Connor to move over but when I said it wasn't necessary, Hank just grabbed my arm and pulled me between them both. The couch was big, but there was still only so much room for three people, and I ended up squashed between my partners like the tomato in a BLT. There was no escape. Connor's body heat grilled me, while Hank's sturdy frame pinned me to the spot. I was hyper aware of every point of contact with Connor like a flame against my skin, and I both hated and loved it.

Connor jostled around for his coin, and started fiddling with it. The chink of the metal was like a gunshot in the silence. Hank reached over and confiscated it from him. He shoved it into his pocket and said, "Do I need to sit you next to me?"

"No, sir," Connor replied, eyes following the coin's path.

I shed my flimsy leather jacket to cool off, leaving me in my pastel blue sweater. Connor cleared his throat.

The other android swept into the room with three steaming mugs of coffee. He placed two of them onto the table before us. As for Carl's mug, the android attached a fold-out tray to his chair and placed it down for him.

"Thank you," Carl said, appreciatively.

"You're welcome," the android said. He moved to sit down on the couch near him.

We all sipped from the mugs, and Hank stared around the room with excitement, while Connor's knee leaned into mine instead of away. I allowed myself a tiny moment of weakness and pressed back into him. I immediately regretted the action. I longed to be closer. Much closer than this.

"I take it Elijah wasn't too kind with you the other day," Carl began, releasing some of the tension. I shrugged. "Gavin was livid, though I expect he acted like some brainless mop about it later. Men and our emotions. It's no wonder so few of us excel in art anymore these days. We're brainwashed into believing emotions are our weakness."

"And yet so many of them are quick to label their emotional intelligence as superior when compared with that of a woman's," I responded, nodding at the copy of Charlotte Bronte on the table. She'd been rightfully furious at Robert Southey, someone she'd looked up to as a literary genius, when his advice to her had been: "Literature cannot be the business of a woman's life, and it ought not to be." Then she'd told him to hold her corset and published Jane Eyre.

Hank said, "Gavin Reed was here?"

When Carl nodded, I explained the barest threads of our history together as college acquaintances, and our journey to meeting Carl Manfred.

Connor's leg bounced up and down; Hank reached over and slapped a hand on his knee to quell the tick. "Settle down," he told him sternly, and I couldn't help it. I snorted into my coffee, sending bubbles skating across the chocolatey surface. They were just like a father and son.

My phone buzzed. "I'm so sorry," I told Carl, fishing it from my jacket pocket. "Wow, speak of the devil - Gavin never texts me." I started to unlock my screen to read his message when Connor swiped my phone from my hands.

I stared at him in shock, and he stared back at me in equal shock at his own actions, but he didn't return my phone to me. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. When I reached for it, Connor pulled back and refused to return it.

"Connor, will you stop screwin' around? Jesus, you've been an oddball since you got back." Hank snapped, and grabbed my phone from him. Once, when Hank and I had gotten plastered at Jimmy's, he'd discovered the passcode to my phone. I never changed it because drunk Hank cared only for his next glass. Clearly, I'd need to rectify that. Hank unlocked my phone, read the message with a snort, and then he shut my phone off and pocketed it. He looked at Connor.

"It's work hours, keep the messages to work. Ask the ass in person if you really want confirmation, got it?" Connor practically wilted under Hank's withering stare, and I was more confused than ever. "Sorry, sir," Hank apologized to Carl.

"No, duty calls when it calls."

"I'm afraid this was no duty calls, right, Connor?"

My partner slouched into the couch and I was reminded of one night in particular: Sumo splayed across our laps, Connor's arms around my middle. I shook my head to clear the memory and gripped the mug tighter between my hands. "We've been assigned to work on deviant cases."

Carl smacked his lips together and folded his hands in his lap. "Hank, why do you think people today are facing a dilemma with their androids?"

The famed painter wanted to believe there was still good in the hearts of men. What better way to find out than from seeing how one treats not his betters, but those considered lower in station to him?

Hank straightened at the attention and asked, "How do you mean?"

"It took five thousand years of human civilization just to get where we are, and we're still fighting with the world."

My superior took a mouthful of coffee. I could tell he wasn't thrilled with another philosophy ride, but he'd stick it out for Carl. Most likely.

"Their androids want rights, it freaks them out," he summarized simply, and cleverly avoided revealing his own opinion.

Carl said, "We anthropomorphize nearly everything in our lives, but when it comes to something that looks like us and talks like us, we can't even find it within ourselves to treat them like a person. With androids, we refer to them all under their model names, despite how they're different from each other - they're all Tracis at the Eden Club, for example, or we say 'it's a Chloe model'. We strip them of everything that makes them human."

"Some people are afraid. They're losing their jobs to machines," Hank said.

Carl scratched his chin with a gnarled finger. "The fear of the unknown. It doesn't help with our magazines talking about androids spying on us, and now we're sending them off to fight our wars for us. Shouldn't our first step be getting the world to see androids as human, instead of pushing for rights for a people that no one even sees as a people? The world is quick to fight against something they don't believe in."

Connor fell hook, line, and sinker. "They're not human. They're merely imitating human emotions, as they've been designed to do."

"Before androids existed, we were calling our Roombas names and treating them as if they were alive. If a machine exhibited any kind of action that we could interpret and comprehend, we were more likely to believe they could feel. Thusly, we treated them as sentient beings. Somewhere along the way we came out the other end of uncanny valley."

"But they're not alive," Connor argued, already looking flustered.

Hank watched him with unfettered intensity. He didn't believe a single word Connor was saying.

"How can you know that, when you've been told your entire existence has been pre-programmed, designed to serve?"

Connor flinched, and his knee knocked into mine. "My programming tells me all I need to know. I'm designed to accomplish what is asked of me, and that is all. Furthermore, there is a flaw in your argument, Mr. Manfred. It is all based on your personal bias. Humans do indeed assign human-like qualities to whatever demonstrates it; when you look at androids, you see them as human, and so you treat them as such. You forget that I adapt to your needs. I am whatever you want me to be, as are all androids."

Carl dipped his chin. "I could be wrong, and you're nothing but an advanced computer that I can't ever hope to understand. But you could be just as wrong."

"It is impossible for any of this to be an error on my part. My programming is perfectly fine. I regularly self-check." Connor gritted his teeth. All I could hear suddenly was Chris telling me how Connor was speaking to someone when no-one was there at night.

"You don't refer to androids as 'it', but as 'they,'" Carl observed.

Connor said, "I don't get what you're trying to say."

Carl regarded him, carefully. "Connor, can you tell me what separates machine from mankind?"

He answered right away. "Emotions, the ability to decide for oneself, to have self-conscious thought, to die. There are several more distinctions."

Carl shook his head. "When you're asked to create a work of art, you can replicate a perfect copy. I've seen that demonstrated time and again, first with Markus, later with my other friends." Carl paused to smile in the direction of the android on the couch near him. "There's so little you cannot do. I'd begun to think I'd been misguided by my own emotions, but then, I had Markus paint something. Not copy, but paint what he felt - what was unique to him. And then I knew."

Connor was frowning, utterly baffled. Moreover, he was vibrating with tension. His shudders jarred through my body as his LED rapidly shifted between blue and yellow.

Hank leaned forward. "Hey, you're doing that again."

"I'm fine, Hank," Connor bit out. "I'm not sick. I'm not - defective."

Carl countered, "How can an android - a being that humanity has deemed as no more than plastic and coding - convince mankind that they're alive? That they have sentience?"

"There is no way to do that." Connor said, in a harsher tone than anyone had expected. "All of the deviants we find merely imitate terror and pain and sorrow and heartbreak, but it isn't real. Humans know it's an imitation. They're software errors." His leg bounced and he twitched, hunching over.

I rubbed his back, hoping it might calm him.

Carl sighed. "Connor, you've been treated so differently than Markus. You've been trained to be a mindless soldier. Not a thinker, not a person. Not who you really are. This world is a harsh battle ground, and you must find your place in it. People will smite you down if you don't. They'll use you." He sipped his coffee and eyed him over the rim of the mug. "It is always your choice what you do, but I fear you're lost. Floundering between what you're being ordered to do and what you want to do."

"There is nothing I want." Connor sucked in a breath through his teeth and hung his head between his knees, snaking his fingers through his hair. His LED sparked yellow and then lost all color. He trembled like a leaf, sagging against me.

"Connor, it's okay, just breathe," I told him, rubbing circles into his back. My heart felt like it was rending in two at the shallow gasps he was making.

Hank was half-sitting, half-standing, unable to do anything but clearly wanting to do something.

The other android interjected, "His stress is reaching critical levels."

And then Connor mumbled, as if to himself, "No, you're wrong. My mission is all that matters. They're nothing to me."

"Connor?" I tried to get him to sit up, desperate to see his face, but Hank snatched me away and hauled me up.

"Watch yourself," he warned.

I twisted out of his grip and ran back to him. "Look at me, Connor. It's me, come back to me."

Carl said, "Call Elijah," and his android did so immediately. This was serious. My pulse was skidding like feet on a patch of ice. Connor's LED flared red, the light bleeding like blood through his fingers, buried in his hair. "Please, look at me," I begged, kneeling before him and pushing at his shoulders. If we didn't calm him down soon, he'd self-destruct. We'd just gotten him back.

"Fuck," Hank hissed.

Elijah's nasally voice sounded throughout the room, amplified by the android's outstretched hand. "Hello, Carl. A pleasure, as always. What can I do for you?"

"Phillips is here - with Connor and Hank. Connor's exhibiting some self-destructive patterns right now, and he won't calm down."

"Ah, just like with Markus. I'm afraid this prototype is more advanced than the one I gave you. For this, my only advice is what I gave Connor last time. Can you hear me, Phillips?"

I snarled at his pleased tone. "Will you hurry it up and help us?"

"Certainly, I wouldn't dare miss out on all the possible choice he'll make in the future. I've already informed him about the backdoor, he can get out of there if he takes it."

I grabbed Connor's face between my hands. "Hey, can you hear me?" He didn't respond, not even a blink. "Connor, please. You need to do as that asshole says, okay? There's a backdoor in there. Take it and get out of there."

To my horror, he didn't move. He just sat there, like he'd been petrified. "Elijah, you better fucking fix this or so help me-" I barked.

"He can hear you, my dear. He'll come to, as long as he finds his way to you. I'm afraid Amanda has her claws sunk deep into him. If only I'd figured it out sooner - explains why he's so tethered to his original programming. What a nasty piece of work they are, using my own program against me."

I choked on air. Amanda? No, no it couldn't be. She was dead, and Dad had said that she - no, never mind that. I didn't know what to do. What face to make after that news. What to say. I froze.

"Connor, this is Elijah. You need to take the backdoor. It's an emergency exit program for you. She can't follow you out of there."

Connor's pupils dilated, like ink spreading over a page. When he saw me, he crushed me to his body, squeezing his arms around my waist. He shook with fear and folded in on me, locking his knees together, imprisoning me in his arms. I struggled to wrap mine around him, he was holding me so tight.

"You're alright," Carl reassured him. Connor held me closer, his chin resting against my shoulder blade. "Did you use the backdoor?"

"I couldn't find it," he said, his voice hoarse. "She let go of me - I heard someone calling me." His fingers splayed over my back. "I heard you."

Elijah sighed. "It is your choice how you get away from her, I guess." He clicked off abruptly, and my phone buzzed with a text in Hank's pocket. He ignored it.

"I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble," Carl said.

"Is he gonna be alright?" Hank snapped, ever the protective father.

I let Connor pull me into him, closing my eyes against the erratic beating of his thirium pump in his chest. He was here, he was okay, he was still here. And then, slowly, he peeled away from me. He looked into my eyes and I saw that his own were wobbling, wet, miserable.

"He'll be alright, for the time being," Carl said heavily. "Connor must decide what he wants to do soon. It'll continue to be a problem for him if he contradicts what he's been assigned to do. I see now what Elijah means, how he must choose between two evils. It's a shame, what this world's boiled down to. People are no better than they claim to be."

Hank ran both hands down his face. "Fuckin' hell."

Connor couldn't keep still. He broke away from me suddenly only to shoot to his feet and start for the door, but Carl called after him, making him pause.

"There is one way to become human, Connor. One way to prove to them all that you're alive. It is to love."

My partner placed a hand on the wall, his hair falling into his eyes. "Love," he repeated in a whisper. "Love is an impossibility - I would only be imitating humans. I don't feel anything, Mr. Manfred. I am not alive. It is an impossibility for me to ever know such a thing. If I thought I ever could, it would be the result of a software error in my system."

"You've already demonstrated several human emotions, Connor; you've erred, and to do so is to be human. You have chosen things other than your programming, Elijah has told me so. You're struggling to choose even now. You care for two people. More so than your mission."

Connor opened his mouth to protest again, but Carl was faster. "The bond you share with those people you care so much for is a form of love, one of many. Some are familial..." He glanced at Hank, who was watching Connor as if pleading for him to hear what Carl had to say. "There is love for a friend. And then there is the love of which you refer to. Romantic love."

The android steered Carl so he was directly in Connor's line of sight, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Though you'll argue it's not possible, and though some may preach the evil of androids; that someone would dare make them in our image, as God had done with mankind. As they say, 'That which is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil'."

Connor's hand slipped from the wall.

Carl continued, "If a machine can prove they have the capacity to love, they have become human. No-one can refute that. And to them, it will no longer be an evil. You will have become familiar to them. You must face the abyss…but don't let it consume you."

My partner left the room, stumbling, as if he couldn't bear to listen any longer. Hank chased after him, so it was just me, Carl and his android.

"Phillips," he said, and when I turned around, he held out his arms. I hugged him and he sighed. "Oh my god. I hoped I was mistaken. He's an RK-model."

"Yes, he is."

"Do you know what this means?"

I guessed, "That he's a prototype?"

"No, no. I can't believe Elijah. He knew all this time what Markus could do - and now what Connor could do. I understand now why Elijah gave me Markus. He wanted me to show him what could happen if he decided to choose for himself."

I didn't entirely understand what he was saying, but I didn't get a chance to ask because the next thing I knew, Carl's breath rattled in his chest and he said, "I almost didn't believe Elijah when he told me that you're in-"

I shook my head, interrupting him. "No, please. Carl..."

He grasped my upper arms in his weak hands, and I let him push me back so he could look into my eyes. "All your life, you've given for others. But you've never taken for yourself. I think it's time you did so, because there are so very few times in our lives where we find something that most people can only dream of."

"I can't-" My voice cracked. "He's so unsure about everything, Carl. He doesn't understand so many things. Who am I to walk up to him and tell him I have feelings for him? You heard what he said, he's whatever we want him to be. It'd be like Stockholm Syndrome."

Carl pursed his lips. "Whenever machines are involved with humans, consent is always a blurred line. One most people never cross because they don't want to think about the what-ifs."

"So I can't, Carl."

"That is his decision."

"What if he can't decide? What if he really is what he says he is, just a machine, and I'm just throwing what I think he feels onto him?"

The android behind Carl said, "He's struggling to come to terms with how he sees the world. He wouldn't be like this if he were a machine. I was just like him."

"But how can I be sure?" I protested. "There are times where I worry his talk of software errors are the truth."

Carl grabbed my hand in his, weathered and sun-spotted with age. "You must ask him for his truth. The rest is up to him. All you can do is accept what you know to be true and continue on from there. If not, you'll only wonder about the what-ifs. Remember: 'Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer / The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, / Or to take arms against a sea of troubles / And by opposing end them.' Life is difficult. But that doesn't mean we should lie down and let it pass us by; we'll only lose what we could've had."

He grabbed my other hand, and pressed them together. "This world will knock you down if you let them, and unfortunately, you're someone the world wants to knock down for good."

"But why? I'm a cop, and an artist. That's it."

"You, like everyone else in this world, are more than who they think they are. You see androids as living beings, and that's a threat to CyberLife. They want to put an end to deviancy, so they can keep on making money, but you encourage deviancy. You guide it out of them. That's a very dangerous thing to do, and for that, you'll be hunted down. But not just for that - because you're his daughter."

I blinked. "My Dad just worked for CyberLife, Carl, he never did anything wrong."

"You were a stone's throw away from living on the streets but then your dad got a job, and he got stationed at CyberLife. And then you proved you could do whatever you put your mind to, and you impressed me with your art, and your family prospered thanks to their hard work. That is a threat. You aren't sitting there letting the world decide for you, you chose on your own. You struggled and you fought for it, and you made it. People don't like success in others, Phillips. They only do if they care for that person, and caring for others is hard to do anymore."

I trembled in his grip, weakening in his words. He always knew just how to make you think.

"If you won't admit your feelings, then at the very least let your actions do it for you. They're stronger than our words. In time, he'll know, if he doesn't already."

"Elijah pretty much outed me," I confessed.

Carl smiled. "Then what is there to worry about? If he knows, he knows. The rest is up to him."

But did he know what it meant for me to have feelings for him?

"Look at me," Carl said, disrupting my thoughts. "You're too young to have gone through what you've gone through, but the world forces us to grow up faster than we want. Some quicker than others. So...use what you've learned, and protect yourself. CyberLife may not know about you yet, but I can assure you that Amanda does."

I closed my eyes, as if to shield me. If she knew, then CyberLife knew. She was pretty much the avatar for CyberLife itself, but there was no way Carl could know that.

"I know she had a hand in Daniel's death, and likely your father's. There's no way she didn't. So you tell that shady bitch to fuck off."

A laugh spluttered from my lips. "I love you, Carl."

"Yes, of course you do. I love you, too. And Elijah does also, in his own way."

I stilled at that. Finally, one of the answers I'd come here for. Along with, of course, Carl's assessment on Connor's well-being. As for a lead on our mission, it was clear all of it stemmed from Amanda, and in turn, CyberLife. "Why would you continue to send me to him, knowing how he tortured me?"

"Believe me when I say I didn't know just what he meant by testing you. I knew him to be cruel, but never inhumane. I would've never sent you there had I realized. When Gavin told me about some of the things he'd done...I'm so sorry, Phillips." I could see he was telling me the truth in his wide eyes, shining with regret.

"It's okay, I'm stronger now. More so than I was before."

He said, "You're not alone. When things get difficult, it can be hard to remember that we have people on our side, even when we feel the world is against us. There's always help to be found. Don't isolate yourself."

"What do you suggest I do?"

Carl thought, and then he said, "Your heart beats for what you believe in, and you must let it guide you. Some may argue only fools do so, but fools are the ones who die having known what it means to be human and never experienced it."

The heart is a scary thing. It can never lie to you, but sometimes we pretend that it has led us astray. We don't want to know what the heart wants. And the more we close it off from our desires, the more bitter we become.

"I understand, Carl. Thank you." I hugged him. "Markus is planning on freeing his people, and I think he may succeed."

"If he remains true to himself, he will. Don't let violence cloud your judgement. There will come a time down this road where you may have to use violence. Resist, as much as you can."

I patted his hand, tears shining in my eyes. "I will, Carl. But I'm a cop, and I've seen firsthand that violence is sometimes the only defense you have. Sometimes, the other person won't allow you to be peaceful with them, and you have to protect yourself."

Like Daniel, threatening to kill Emma. I'd destroyed him to save her, nearly killed myself in the process. But Connor had risked it all to save me.

"Can I come back to visit you?"

"I feel my end approaching," he said.

"You always say that."

"Not this time. I've lived a good life. But now there's more to tend to, and the clock's hands are slowing in me. I hope I can tell Leo I'm sorry I wasn't a good father for him."

I had no right to argue with him. That was his battle to fight, and if I tried to say he was a good father, I'd be disrespecting his own truth. So I said nothing, and he knew I didn't think of him that way, and that was enough.

I burned Carl into my memories, to forever encapsulate him in a painting for later. When I'd captured his essence, I bid him farewell, and I told myself not to worry about what would happen if the next time I came to his home, he'd not be here. Shrugging on my jacket, I pulled out my moleskine, and pressed it to my chest.

Hank was leaning against the wall by the birdcage. I opened the gilded door, wound the android birds to life, and closed the cage. "My phone," I said, holding out my hand. Hank placed mine into my open palm. "Where is he?"

"Hiding somewhere in the front yard."

I could easily hear Carl speaking to his android through the walls. I looked at Hank. "You eavesdropped."

"You've hidden more than I thought. I'm a little pissed off you did, when I've told you I'm here to talk and help. But now I'm starting to think I wouldn't have been much help. So, your family was living on hard times before, huh? Never would've guessed."

"We all have something to hide," I told him.

"So." He cleared his throat awkwardly and hiked his shoulders up closer to his neck, folding his arms. He looked down his nose at me, not in a condescending manner, but because he didn't know how to approach the subject any other way. "You're in love with Connor?"

"He better be outside," I ground out.

Hank said, "I'd much rather know you had to get yourself up all in a tizzy trying to admit it to him than waste that opportunity. You know, people will always tell someone that they're not really in love with someone, but it's different for everyone. My parents fucked and realized they were in love after the first night. Got married a year later."

"Didn't need to know that, Hank. You didn't either, your parents should never have told you that."

He ignored me. "And your parents fell in love really fast too, didn't they? Love isn't about time. Sometimes you just meet someone and that's all it takes."

"You're making it sound like I fell in love with him at first sight."

He yawned. "No, you sure had the hots for him, but I think you fell for him after Stratford."

"Why are we having this conversation? This is really awkward. You're acting like a dad."

Hank reached out a hand and mussed up my hair. "You keep ignoring my advice and then you keep getting into trouble for it, so I told you so. Are you gonna tell him?"

"I don't know, Hank. But I have to talk to him about many things, like Amanda, and everything he's been writing down. I'm so worried about him. I can't sleep sometimes because I'm so scared they're going to deactivate him."

"Should I give you two some privacy after we get back?"

I rolled my eyes. "We have work still. Don't try to get out of it."

"Right back at you, kid. I just don't want to be your audience when you jump him."

Carl is one of my favorite characters but Cage didn't really utilize the guy other than to birth a meme for Oh Mah Gawd. Or the lovely, 'Press X to Heart Attack' pfft. Well, at least he can live on forever in my meme folder :P

Darnea and Owlbehr, thank you so much for your lovely comments, it means a lot to me! BlueGrey, ahh thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you as well to everyone who has been reading, I can't believe how much support this fic has gotten and it really encourages me to keep making this the best I can ^^ Chapter 13 is already written, just gonna get that polished up :) Your whole past is finally revealed and it's off to Jericho we go - alone. With Connor, of course ;) A ton of action, suspense, and romance is coming right up.