Disclaimer: This Chapter contain lyrics to a song. "Raoul and the Kings of Spain"(1995), Raoul and the Kings of Spain(1995), Tears for Fears. Written by Roland Orzabal and Alan Griffiths


"A few moments ago it seemed like you were enjoying yourself," Connor still held Henri deeply in his arms, brushing the side of her face with the back of his fingertips. "Did I misinterpret your emotions?"

Henri sheepishly rolled her head to the side, "I didn't mean for you to see that. Or, I mean, I didn't mean to think that."

"Am I causing you embarrassment?" his stare was so plain, yet so relaxing. "We don't ever have to do this again if you insist. However, I would miss experiencing this level of closeness with you. I enjoyed every moment of it. I regret nothing."

Henri mildly pushed him off of her and to the side. She sat up on the bed and still gaped at him with shame in her eyes, "I've put both of us in a difficult situation. You keep seeing this imaginary person that I am; you see this person you want to see. Connor, I'm not her. I am a monster like I'm supposed to be."

"I think you're wrong," Connor's picturesque silhouette shuffled around the bed and he placed his cool hands on the back of her neck. "I know you're a good person," he bent forward and whispered into her ear.

"I murdered that android," Henri slouched forward, moving away from his caring caresses. "It was… instinctual. I felt like I had to. Pretty sure I scared the shit out of Detective Reed. I felt no remorse for what I'd done. And now..." she clutched the bed's duvet up to her chest while turning further away from Connor. "And now I feel justified because I was able to progress the case through her. I feel disgusting over that; that there's this part of me that believes what I did was right. It was never right, but I couldn't stop myself."

Connor wanted to impart all of his positive feelings on to her, but he knew it wasn't the solution to her greater problem, "You made the wrong decision and you regret it. Knowing you did the wrong thing means a lot."

"How can you be so forgiving for how cruel I am?" she brought in her harsh tone to deflect his reasoning. "You like me too much, I think that's a problem."

"I know what it's like to struggle with yourself," after all, Connor wasn't always a deviant. "I have gone through that battle myself. I don't choose to ignore the mistakes you've made, but I also choose to see the person you're fighting to be. And I want to see you become that person; I know you can."

"I felt remorse a long time ago," she turned to Connor, showing the radiant, starry light that reflected off her glossy eyes. "The fourth person I ever killed was a man by the name of Alexander Jones. I'm sure you know who that was."

Connor focused on her shadowy eyes, "Alexander Jones was the CEO of Cybertech Industries, a subsidiary of Cyberlife. His death was determined to be accidental."

"Well, it wasn't," a vacant expression occupied Henri's face in her recollection of the incident. "It was supposed to look like an accident, so that's what I did. For the longest time, I had no idea why I was told to kill him or why it needed to look like an accident. But as it turns out, his successor is a close friend of my superior. It had nothing to do with government security, as I was told. No, it just turns out the woman I work for is a self-motivated, power-hungry bitch who happens to have unofficial government funding. She can get whatever she wants because if the world was to really find out what was going on behind the scenes in the United States Government… Everything would fall apart." Henri narrowed her eyes at Connor, "How do you escape a person like that?"

"I don't know," Connor answered in all honesty.

"Exactly," she bowed her head back down and gave it a solid nod. "She's dedicated the last five years of her life to trapping me. And I've… I've dedicated the last five years of mine being her loyal soldier. I don't think I could ever go back on my promises, Connor."

The fringe of daybreak began casting lingering shadows of their stripped bodies across the hotel walls. Connor observed the rhythmically silent breathing of Henri's stillness. Her face was motionless, expressionless, unreadable.

Finally, her eyes darted to him, "You should probably go… And I should at least get a few hours of sleep."

"Okay," he turned away from her and rustled his clothing back on.

"I'll see you at the station in a few hours," her head perked up as he walked past the foot of the bed.

"I apologize for keeping you up all night," he spoke this in a playful tone as if to mock his own words.

Henri brushed at her hair in an attempt to hide all evidence of the smile on her face, "Just get out of here."

But Connor heard the muted laughter in her voice, so at least he had that.


What was on the USB that Kamski gave Connor? Connor hadn't bothered to examine its contents until he arrived at the DPD on the morning of December 23rd, 2039. There were few officers at the station and Hank had yet to arrive on that clear but frozen winter morning. What was on the USB?

Connor flicked the mini object from hand to hand, tossing it around like a coin. He could easily access it's files at any second, but something inside himself caused apprehension to do so. He had a bad feeling about it. Kamski said that the information on it could redeem Henri, yet Kamski did not specify what that meant. As always, Kamski was cryptic and elusive; Connor expected nothing else from the man.

"Here goes nothing," Connor eventually muttered this to himself.

Connor's fingers coiled over the compact USB as his projected flesh melted away. What was on the USB? A dossier of a man named Jared Douglas Davis who was a former Captain in the U.S Special Forces. His time with Special Forces was brief and he commanded a small team of four soldiers during his service. What caught Connor's attention was the name of one of the soldiers: Henrietta Anne Fischer. This Henrietta and the Henri he loved were one in the same. According to Mr. Davis's files, he retired five years ago and currently resides in Lexington, Michigan.

Other than the dossier of Captain Davis, the USB contained a picture and a name of a woman of Indian descent. Her name was Khatri; there was no additional text elaborating who she was.

It was at this moment that Connor saw both Henri and Hank arrive at the station. They both made their way to Connor's desk.

Hank planted his hands on the desk's surface and leisurely crossed one foot over the other, "Henri was saying we need to make this trip to London before it's too late."

Connor shook his head in agreement at the pair.

"I'm not looking forward to dealing with the local authorities," Hank hefted himself away from the desk. "Canada doesn't even have laws about androids, so I have no fucking clue how they're gonna take this."

Henri crossed her arms forward and loosened her usually tight posture, "We just have to download as much info from those dead androids as we can. After that, the Canadians can do whatever they want with the bodies."

Connor's forehead creased as he peered up at Henri, "Do you think it'll be enough data for Kamski to give us an idea of where this virus originated from."

"Hopefully," Henri's brows scrunched together. "Some of them may have never had the virus, to begin with. Remember, the ones in that warehouse are androids who resisted it. Even so, with that many androids, we might still be able to find some sort of lead even if Kamski and Jensen can't give us one."

Hank exhaled and glanced around the moderately crowded station, "Guess I'll see who wants to spend their Christmas Eve in Canada."

Connor watched Henri's head bolt to Detective Reed who was unprofessionally picking at his nails with his feet kicked up on his own desk.

She noticed Connor watching her movements, "Maybe I'll see if Gavin wants to join us."

"Fuck," Hank lifted his elbow and scratched behind his ear. "An other prick to deal with."

Henri stared at Hank with doe-eyes, "C'mon, Hank. Don't be that way."

Hank gave another prolonged sigh and walked away from them. That look Henri gave him, it reminded him of someone?

Connor offered Henri a polite but sweet smile, "Good luck with that."

"Right," she puffed back and crept over to Gavin's desk. "Detective Reed?"

Gavin's initial response was that of fear. Henri could see a startled expression breeze over his face, but he quickly changed his demeanour.

"What?" he spoke apprehensively.

Henri pursed her lips and avoided eye contact with the man, "We may have located the warehouse we were searching for a week ago. Or at least, we've narrowed it down significantly."

"Your ghost house?" Gavin slapped his heels on the floor. "Where the fuck did you get that hot tip from? I'm not interested in joining your little fucking club of secrets."

"I shouldn't have mentioned it," Henri balled up her fists and pressed them onto her hips. "Either way, I wanted to apologize to you."

"Fuck," Gavin gaped at her and let out an odd cluck. "You're fucking crazy."

"You have no idea," she agreed with his assessment. "Doesn't mean I can't be sorry. You are a dick and you deserve it, but I'm still sorry. For how I treated you and for what happened. I know you're not used to people apologizing to you."

"Then why are you sorry?" Gavin's usual arrogant tone faded.

"Making amends," her voice lowered as she scrutinized one of her palms. "I likely don't have much time left here in Detroit, so I would rather leave with no loose ends."

Gavin was mostly confused by her strange apology, "Kay..."

"Are you coming or not?" she finally added. "Sounds like Hank wants to leave tomorrow."

"Yeah, fine," his reply was delayed. "I'll be there."


It was a dismal morning on a dismal Christmas Eve. Hank was used to driving through snow, but he hated how much longer it took to get anywhere, especially across the US-Canada border. It certainly didn't help that his two passengers, Connor and Henrietta, were uncomfortably silent. For all Hank knew, they were busy chatting away to each other in their own minds. But Hank would be incorrect in that assumption.

Only after an agonizingly long three-and-a-half hours, when they arrived at the block where the suspected warehouse dwelled, did somebody speak.

"This is it," Henri's inflection wobbled. She was anxious; probably more than she'd ever been. Well maybe, minus her recent rendezvous with Connor; although, that was more excitement than anything.

Hank stopped the car and craned his head to look at the back seat where Henri was, "You sure?"

Henri gripped the car door as she pushed on its handle, "There are only two warehouses on this block, Hank. It's either or."

"You know what?" Hank bobbed his head while he asked his rhetorical question. "I fucking hate the cold. You think after living in Detroit your whole life you'd be used to it. But nope, the cold is always shitty."

Henri directed her attention at Gavin who had pulled up behind Hank, "Search this one," Henri gestured at the large building adjacent to the vehicles. "We'll check out the far one."

Hank slammed his car door behind him and wedged a knitted cap over his ears, "Just great," his words were intended for the inanimate flakes of falling ice.

Henri studied Connor who looked as comfortable as ever in his singular outfit.

"Let's go," she said to the men and gestured with her snowy head.

Connor sauntered up beside Henri as the three made their way down the block, "Are you prepared for this?"

"As I'll ever be," Henri tucked her hands into her peacoat's pockets; although, her synthetic limbs never got chilled. "It's going to be exhausting; going through them one by one."

"Can I somehow assist?" Connor spoke to her in a compassionate tone. Ever since he spent that night with her, her attitude towards him had become frigid. He couldn't forget her feelings of remorse.

"Can you bring back the dead?" she answered facetiously.

"I'm afraid not," he tipped his head to the side.

Henri clasped her fingers around the handle of the elderly, steel door that adorned the front of the derelict building. She gave the knob a firm tug, only to be greeted by the failing hinges that dropped the heavy door onto the powdered sidewalk.

"That was dramatic," Hank joked through clenched teeth.

Henri could already detect the thick, chemical stench of thirium, "I think this is it." she peered knowingly at Connor.

Hank witnessed the couple exchange modest smiles, "Are we going in?"

"Call over the Detective," Connor requested as he slid in front of Henri and into the foreboding structure. "We've found it."

Henri quickly followed after Connor. She counted 567 deceased androids… 567. It was much less than Henri had hoped for.

"Relatively speaking," Henri crushed a lifeless arm underneath her foot; it was impossible not to step on someone. "This is a very small number of androids. We can't even count how many have been infected, but of all the ones that have been, only 567 were able to successfully resist. Or at least, attempted to resist."

"So you were hoping to find more dead androids?" Connor lent her his quizzical expression.

"That's not what I meant," she scanned over the broken, bloodied bodies. "The androids who are infected can still be saved. It's too late for these ones."

"They are counting on us," said Connor in a positive manner. "We are counting on you."

"I'll get started," Henri gave him a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. If one thing would keep her going, it was his faith in her. His blind faith.

Three hours later and Henri managed to obtain data from sixty of the fallen machines.

"Christ," she planted her palm over her brow.

Connor and Gavin, with the help of two additional officers, had spent those last three hours unstacking and sorting dead bodies. Meanwhile, Hank dealt with Canadian bureaucracy and the RCMP.

Gavin tried desperately to wipe the blue blood from his filthy hands, "Fuck, is this stuff gonna poison me?"

Connor, who was also coated in thirium, grinned at the Detective, "Only if you consume it."

"Funny," Gavin scowled in return. "Fucking clown over here, everybody."

"I'm glad you agree that that was a humorous joke," Connor had taken note that humans often used humour as a coping mechanism in stressful situations. By no means was the situation itself amusing, but Connor desired to lighten the heavy mood that weighed on the group's consciousnesses.

Henri did not hear Connor's jest and Henri was in no mood to jest. She slouched with her knees on the ground and bloody palm still clenching her brow. Connor heeded the young woman's exasperated stance against the ground.

Connor knelt down next to her, "You look like you require some rest, Henri."

"I require a fucking drink," she snapped at him in response. "Shit, I'm sorry..." she instantly changed her inflection. "This hasn't been easy… Watching… Feeling people die."

"How about I take you out for a drink?" Connor peered at Gavin who continued to catalogue the bodies. "These androids aren't going anywhere and I'm sure the others would understand."

Connor plucked her off of the ground, "I'm sure there's a bar open on Christmas Eve."

"Only the grimiest," she winked.


Did you know your father was an island?

Did you know your mother was the sea?

"Grimy," Henri dragged a stray finger across a sticky table top.

"It was the closest bar that was still open," Connor responded apologetically. "We can go somewhere else if you'd prefer."

"No," she smirked at him and plopped herself on the highchair. "Besides, I like this song."

"Right," Connor nudged a chair nearer to Henri and positioned himself close to her. "However, it is impossible for the sea to be the mother of a human child."

Henri twisted her face at him and laughed, "It's not meant to be taken literally, Connor. I think that's something you still need to learn about poetry."

"Relating to that statement," Connor glanced down at a rectangular, brown package in his hands. "I surmised you would enjoy this," and he held it out to her.

She curiously gripped the package from his hand, "I saw you with this earlier; I was wondering what it was."

"I thought it would be appropriate to acquire a gift for you for Christmas," Connor eagerly waited for her to reveal its contents. "It seems to be a traditional human act."

"I uh-" she frowned at the present, "-I didn't get you anything..."

"I wasn't expecting anything," Connor stated. "This gift was 'spur of the moment', as Hank says. I found it yesterday. Although, I had been contemplating it for some time now. When I asked Hank what would make a thoughtful present, he suggested a book. However, I believe he only suggested it because he is a fan of physical books himself. I am uncertain if you would enjoy one yourself, but-"

Henri covered his mouth with her palm, "I don't own any books, but I like the thought."

"Please," Connor pointed to the wrapped book. "Open it."

And so she did. The book was titled Poems by John Sheridan.

"I already like it," she softly breathed into his ear and kissed him on the cheek.

"If androids were capable of blushing," Connor turned to her, "That would have done it."

"I need a drink?" she kneaded a knuckle into the edge of her eye to bat a tear away. "Can you get the bartender?"

"Of course," Connor smiled at her as he rose up.

When Connor returned with a whiskey in hand he stared at Henri's restful expression, "You seem to be in a good mood."

"I'm okay, I think," she nodded as she took the glass from his grip.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Connor creased his forehead in curious countenance.

Henri puffed some air into her glass as she lifted it to her mouth, "Do you always start with that?"

"You're right," he furrowed his brow. "Even Hank said I should stop asking to ask questions and just ask the question that I intend to ask."

"Connor," she softly giggled at his absurdity. "Ask your question."

"Why haven't you told him?" Connor cut to the chase and tossed out his blunt query.

"Oh," Henri's mouth gaped open with her drink still held up to her face. "I see. I kinda forgot you saw that, to be honest."

"I haven't forgotten it," Connor replied. "As you know-"

"You don't forget anything," she finished his sentence. "I know, I know."

"I think he would be happy to know the truth," Connor raised his brows once more. "I believe he would want to know."

"I've always intended to tell him the truth, Connor." Henri swiftly tilted her head back and poured the rest of the whiskey into her gullet. "I've just… I never found the moment to do it. And maybe, it's better this way. Maybe he's better off not knowing everything about me."

"I'm not sure if that's for you to decide," Connor showed her a muted frown. "It is up to him to decide what to do with the information you present him with."

"There's not a choice for him to make here, Connor," she slightly raised her tone with him. "It's the truth. But it's about what the truth will do to him. He's been through so much, and now, I should add to that? I don't want to drag anyone else down with me."

"I think, out of the two of us, I know him better than you," Connor slunk her empty glass across the sticky tabletop and dropped into his opposite hand. "And I believe he would want to know."

"You honestly think he wants to know about my dead mother?" Henri's eyes went wide. "About how she killed herself? You think he wants to know that?"

"He needs closure in that part of his life," Connor delicately placed his unoccupied hand on her cheek. "Knowing the truth will change his life for the better. In a way, I think he needs you."

Henri vacantly gazed at the filthy table, "He must be a real sad man if he needs a sad woman like me in his life."

"Does that make me sad, too?" he tried to re-establish eye contact with her. "Because I need you in my life, too."

"Maybe you're both sad, then," a smirk crossed her face. "But it's better to be sad with somebody than it is to be sad all alone."

"Are you going to tell him then?" Connor hoped she'd finally come to her senses.

"I guess there would never have been a right time," she heaved herself from the disagreeable chair. "So why not now?"