A/N: Thank you all so much for the support the first chapter received! Enjoy!

Downtown is in a state of calm when Hank pulls the car into Hart Plaza, but just barely. The billboard that once washed the street blue with advertisements for CyberLife now flashes a dark, repeating crimson, detailing the President's decree of a citywide evacuation. Connor opens the door and steps out, blinking in the gentle snowfall. He lets his gaze sweep the plaza.

Analyzing…

3,728 androids

12 humans

Temperature: 29 degrees

Hank's staring at him over the hood of the car, shoulders bunched around his ears, jaw just slightly slack. Connor adjusts the sleeves of his jacket and tips his head. "Hank?"

But Hank's gaze isn't actually fixed on him. He follows the Lieutenant's eyes over his shoulder to the thousands of androids milling around Hart Plaza, accompanied by the dull buzz of conversation and the shouting of a few police officers. It doesn't astound him, but then again, he can count them. It's not a daunting number.

"3,728," he says, turning back to face Hank and doing a swift calculation. "3,500 were in the basement of CyberLife. 228 survived the Jericho explosion, including Markus." He pauses, as Hank's stare shifts to meet his and he blinks a few times. "If that puts things into perspective." He begins to move away from the car. I should find Markus. He might want assistance.

Sending…

I'm here. Do you need me?

Reply: I might. Let's talk.

"Jesus," Hank says, moving to follow. "I'd've called in all the backup I had, too. Crowd this big, there're never enough eyes."

Connor shakes his head. "Normally, yes. But we're… very well connected."

Hank snorts. "Ah, yeah, right. Your little… glowy things. They talk to each other?" He reaches a finger to point at Connor's temple, where the circle of his LED pulses.

"It's not them, exactly," Connor says, reaching the edge of the crowd and beginning to weave through the throng. "It's a component installed into the language and communication wires of our processor. It enables speech across distances through a chip 3.1 millimeters wide." He holds up two of his fingers, almost pressed together.

Hank chuckles, soon matching his stride. "All I know is you just lit up yellow. And you only do that when something's whirring up there." He brushes snowflakes from Connor's shoulder, swiftly, once. Connor blinks.

He noticed? That's… interesting.

"You're yellow again, son."

Connor jerks his attention from the inside of his head back to the present, and takes a long, unnecessary breath. I'll worry about it later.

Hank smirks, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Y'know where we're going?"

"…Yes." Connor pulls a little ahead and begins to walk with more purpose, gently guiding androids out of his way. Hank is a little louder about it.

"Yeah, s'cuse me, yep, right, move, thanks, 'preciate it. Great."

Connor eventually feels Hank's presence at his shoulder again, just a little behind. "Shit," he mutters, rolling his shoulders. "Crowds. Ever mentioned I fucking hate crowds?"

"No," Connor says, eyeing Hank's tense posture. "But now you have."

Sending…

Clear a path.

Androids begin to move out of their way without being asked, giving the two of them at least a foot of space. Sometimes more. Hank's shoulders slowly lower to loose, and he stares at Connor from the corner of his eye. "Wonders of technology."

And he's smiling. Connor nods, feeling a smile of his own pull at his lips, as something sparks in his processor. It smooths the mess a little, like he's accomplished something, like everything will be just fine. It doesn't last, but he holds on to the notion that it existed.

"…Thanks," Hank mutters, turning his head away and staring out at the thousand faces. Connor's processor stutters this time, and he pauses for a moment before recovering.

"Of course."

He's never been thanked before.

It evokes something else, something different, and he falls silent while he walks, letting Hank lead. I don't understand. It's so… fleeting. There isn't time to understand. He finds himself rolling his quarter back and forth, heads to tails back to heads. It gives him something to focus on. He arrives at Hank's side with it still balanced on one of his knuckles.

"Jeffrey," Hank says, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing the Captain with a look Connor hasn't seen before. "What the fuck is going on?"

Captain Fowler appears to be in some sort of discussion with Markus, who stands directly to Fowler's left, hands clasped behind his back. Markus' eyes flick to Connor when he appears, and then to Hank, but he says nothing. Connor flips his quarter to his other hand and waits.

"Hank, honestly, I could ask you the same thing. I needed all hands on deck; this evacuation is stretching us thin, what with people trying to leave amid a few thousand androids with nowhere to stay." Fowler's lips work into a frown. "Where were you?"

"Looking for him." Hank jerks his head at Connor, who nods. "Like you said, all hands on deck. He pretty much works for you now."

Connor blinks. His quarter stops. "I do?" After everything I've done…

"He does?" Fowler's voice joins his, lower, clipped. "I never agreed to this."

Hank's smile would almost be cruel, in the right light. "He's the best damn detective you're ever gonna get, Jeffrey. You gonna turn him down cause of who he is?"

Hank's itching for a fight, Connor can tell. It's been a while since they've disagreed on something. Fowler just looses a defeated sigh. "We're not discussing this now. Later. Much later. Now I need you to focus, and find a place for these androids that is not on this street." He smacks the palms of his hands together for emphasis."They've been here too long and done enough already. They have to move, and I'm fresh out of ideas that Markus will accept."

Connor puts his quarter away. Situation analysis, he can handle. There's always an answer.

"Right, whatcha got?" Hank rocks forward on the balls of his feet, eyebrows raising. The snow seems to fall a little harder. He's looking at Fowler, but it's Markus who speaks up.

"He suggested those able return to their former owner's homes." He seems to almost spit the sentence at Fowler's feet.

Fowler sighs, again. "I didn't think it was such a terrible idea. Evacuation's going on, no one will be home."

Markus shakes his head. "They won't want to return to a place they were enslaved." He presses a finger against his temple, in the place his LED used to be. "It's not… it doesn't work like that."

Connor looks at Markus, almost bent in on himself. He appears exhausted, for one who feels nothing of the sort. Doing what he's done would tire anyone.

"There's the option of relocation, but…" Fowler pauses, as if he knows Markus will interrupt.

"We're not leaving the city. Not until I know it's really over," Markus says, without looking up.

Fowler, face passive, sweeps a hand in the leader's direction. "And there's nowhere big enough to house them all comfortably."

Hank turns, just slightly, one hand on his chin. "Bright ideas, Connor?"

Connor tips his head, counting, thinking. "One, yes."

Analyzing…

Calculating route…

Calculating space…

1188 Farmer St.

One Campus Martius Garage

0.4 miles away

Sending…

3,727 yellow LEDs blink back at him. He turns to Hank. "There's a parking garage, less than a mile away. It won't be comfortable, but given the President's decree it should be empty, and out of the snow." He lets his gaze slide to Markus, who's staring at him in turn. "We don't have very many options right now."

Hank smirks, and looks at Fowler. The Captain rolls his eyes. "You know what? Sounds good. As long as you move, I'm not opposed."

3,500 agreements filter through Connor's head in a crescendo of voices, some soft, some louder, until they seem to echo. It fills him with something; something, again, that is too brief to name.

The survivors of Jericho wait on Markus, heads turned to their leader still standing, eyes now closed. Eventually, he holds up a hand, and meets Fowler's stare with a dulled intensity. "We won't be bothered."

It's not a request. Fowler locks his jaw and nods, slowly, once. "I'll do my best."

Some of the tension holding Markus together seems to fade. Connor watches him, wondering what he's thinking. How he does it. How he's still standing, after everything. But there'll be time for that later. He has a long list of things for later.

Now, Hank's hands are on his shoulders, giving him a shove. "Good job, son. Now the real work starts." Hank waves a hand at the androids behind them. "How many police officers does it take to move 4,000 androids?" He barks out a single laugh.

"Three thousand, seven hund—"

"Okay, I know. I was rounding up." Hank pats him on the shoulder, still smirking. "Just walk. They're clearly waiting on ya."

They're waiting on me. He seems to have become the appointed leader of this group of androids, and he turns to face them. Leading, for once, instead of following. Something else flickers in a corner of his mind, brief and bright and powerful. He turns to Markus, who nods. It's stiff, but he nods.

Hank glances at the steadily assembling group of androids and shakes his head. "Nah, they don't want me. This is all you." He smiles, briefly. "Just a couple city blocks. Yeah. Nothing to lose our shit over." He returns to Fowler's side, and Connor loses sight of him as he's given a new place to stand.

Connor straightens, setting his jaw, and faces the walk ahead. Markus is a quiet presence and he gives no orders.

This is all you.

"It's not far," Connor begins, turning down the sidewalk, Markus on his left. Cars embroiled in evacuation skirt the road directly to his right. Honking fills the air as they begin to walk.

0:34:53 to arrival

The police accompanying Fowler fan out around the procession. It's slow going.

0:21:19 to arrival

Car windows are rolled down. Some wave. Some curse.

0:15:41 to arrival

Heads to tails and back to heads. Liberty. 1964.

0:13:58 to arrival

Markus plucks the quarter from his fingers. He pockets it.

0:06:04 to arrival

The traffic has started to thin out closer to the center of the city. Quiet hangs.

0:01:26 to arrival

When he turns the corner, he sees yellow blinking behind him. At least they're talking.

0:00:32 to arrival

The first gunshot splits the silence.

-:-:- to arrival

The screaming starts.