Chapter 1:

In the predawn darkness of Detroit, Lieutenant Hank Anderson's phone buzzed insistently, jolting him from a restless sleep. This time, to his surprise, it was not Connor calling but the chief himself. A new case—another deviant incident—demanded his immediate attention. Groaning, he reached for his phone, his first instinct to call his partner.

"Connor," Hank's voice was gruff with sleep, "We've got a situation. Meet me at the precinct."

There was a brief pause before Connor responded, his tone unusually hesitant. "Lieutenant, it's... not a good time."

Hank frowned, confusion knitting his brow. Connor was always punctual, always ready. "What do you mean, 'not a good time'? This is important."

Another pause, then a sigh. "Understood. I'll be there shortly."

The crime scene was a grim tableau of violence. An android lay motionless, its synthetic blood—thirium—splattered across the alleyway. Witnesses had reported an altercation between two people, culminating in a gunshot and the assailant's swift escape. The possibility of a hate crime loomed large.

Connor arrived, his LED flickering as he scanned the scene. Hank noted the android's slightly unsteady stance, a subtle sign that something was amiss. For the first time, unprovoked, Connor seemed unsure.

"Witnesses say they heard a gunshot," Hank began, "but there's no bullet casing, no entry wound. What do you make of it?"

Connor crouched beside the body, his brow furrowing as he observed the curious shade of the thirium. Instead of a bright blue, it was glowing a color closer to lavender. The victim's eyes were gone, gaping holes with blue blood dripping down from them into its lap. It's left arm's top plating was warped, a handprint dented into it.

"The thirium composition isn't standard," he murmured, more to himself than to Hank. A brief flicker of static consumed the tail end of Connor's sentence. "Could be the android imploded," Connor continued, "Analyzing the thirium might provide us answers."

Hank crossed his arms, his gaze sharp. "Well? Do your thing. Analyze it."

Connor paused, a rare occurrence that didn't escape Hank's notice. "My systems for that function are currently offline," he admitted, his voice tinged with irritation.

Hank's eyes widened with concern. "Offline?"

Connor's LED flashed yellow. "It's what I meant by 'not a good time."

A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the distant hum of the city. Hank stepped closer to his partner, still squatting on the ground over the body. "Why didn't you say something?"

"You said this was important," Connor interjected, his tone firm despite his condition. "I didn't want to delay us."

Hank shook his head, exasperated. "Damn it, Connor."

Hank took it upon himself to collect samples of the thirium, carefully storing them for later examination at the lab. It had been months since he'd done this kind of hands-on evidence gathering, and as he slipped the evidence bags in his pocket, concern took hold.

As they prepared to leave, Hank glanced at his partner, noting the android's pallor and the faint tremor in his movements. "Let's get back to the precinct."

The streets of Detroit blurred past, streaks of gray and faint orange pulsed through the police car's windows, and condensation dripped down capturing the light. The atmosphere was heavy. Hank's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes flicking between the road and his partner seated beside him. Connor seemed more subdued than usual, his LED cycling yellow, his expression pensive. His usual synthetic breathing was sluggish and unnerving, his movements cold and robotic. The android covertly swiped at his face and returned his arm to his lap, the finger he had used smeared with fading thirium— leftover from the crime scene, Hank told himself.

Hank's grip on the wheel as well as his expression tightened before breaking the silence: "Can I ask a personal question?"

Connor turned his head slightly, his expression neutral. Go Ahead, Lieutenant."

"Are you okay?" Hank asked, his voice controlled but curious. "Because I have a feeling there's more going on here than what you've told me."

Connor hesitated, glancing out the window. "I'm fine," he said, his tone carefully measured. "It's nothing."

Hank wasn't buying it. He shot Connor a sideways glance once he'd stopped at a red light, the color illuminating both of their tired faces. A moment later, Connor sighed, his LED blinking red for a brief moment before settling back to yellow. "I'm low on power," he admitted. "That's why I'm not performing at my usual level."

Hank frowned, processing the information. "Low on power?" He huffed. "Don't androids keep themselves charged? I mean, you're usually at, what, half capacity at the very least?"

Connor shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable. "Yes. Normally, I ensure I remain adequately powered. This situation is… anomalous."

"Uh-huh," Hank said, suspicion and concern lacing his tone. "What percent were you at when you called me?"

Connor's LED flashed red again, and his gaze flicked downward. "...Fifteen."

"And now?"

"Ten."

Hank slammed on the brakes, pulling the car to the side of the road. The tires screeched as the vehicle came to a sudden halt. "Connor, can't that damage you or something?"

Connor didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "I can manage."

"Manage?" Hank barked. "You're sitting there running on fumes, and you expect me to believe you 'forgot' to charge yourself? That's bullshit, Connor, and you know it."

"I..."

"Don't 'I' me," Hank cut in, his voice rising. "You've never been irresponsible like this before. Never. And now you're pulling this crap? What's really going on? Because it sure as hell isn't that you forgot."

Connor's silence was deafening. Hank leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "I'm not just your partner, Connor. I'm your friend. When you don't take care of yourself, it's my business. So, out with it. Now."

Connor finally turned to face him, his LED flickering red once more. "I think I'm… afraid. To fall asleep."

"I didn't know androids could sleep."

Connor hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. "We can enter a similar state during charging—sleep mode. Most androids don't have to rely on it as heavily, but…" Connor paused, fear flickering across his face before reassuming his usual display. "I'm a prototype. Corners were cut during my creation. For me, charging requires entering that state."

Hank leaned back in his seat, exhaling sharply. "So, what, you're afraid of dreams? Of nightmares?"

"Yes. I'm concerned they might interfere with my functionality."

Hank stared at his partner, the frustration in his eyes softening into something more akin to understanding. "Kid, you're not gonna figure this out by running yourself into the ground. You think ignoring the problem is gonna help? You're just bottling it up until it explodes."

Connor looked away. "I didn't want to burden you."

"Burden me?" Hank snorted, shaking his head. "You stubborn, overthinking bucket of bolts. You think I'm here just for the easy stuff? You're my friend. You're not a burden."

The android turned back to him. Hank sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, it's the job and everything else catching up with you. Trust me, I know what that's like. For a long time, I found it hard to sleep too. Nights felt heavier than the days, y'know? But you don't have to go through this alone. If you ever need help, or company, or... I don't know, someone to sit with you while you charge, just let me know, alright?"

Connor tilted his head slightly, as though trying to process the unexpected offer. "That's... kind of you, Lieutenant."

"Damn right it is," Hank muttered, shifting in his seat. "And if things are getting to be too much, you take some time off. Vacation, sick day, whatever. Humans get breaks for problems. Androids should too. And if anyone at the precinct has a problem with that, I'll knock some sense into them."

Connor's LED flickered blue, the tension in his shoulders easing. "I'll consider it."

"Good." Hank tapped the steering wheel for emphasis. "Here's what's gonna happen—we're swinging by the station to drop this evidence off, and then both of us are calling it a night. We're not gonna get anywhere like this. You're too tired, and I'm too damn worried. After that, I'm taking you home. Can I trust you'll charge yourself?"

Connor hesitated. Before he could offer a noncommittal reply, Hank cut him off.

"On second thought, forget it. We'll swing by your place, grab what you need, then head back to my house. You're coming with me, and I'm making sure you get some rest. You're already so tired it's hurting you, and if keeping yourself alive isn't enough motivation, then I'll be the damn motivator."

Connor opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his lips. Instead, he let out a small, exasperated sigh. "You're very stubborn, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, and you're one to talk," Hank shot back, though his tone was warm.

For the rest of the ride, the silence was less oppressive. Connor's LED cycled between blue and yellow as he stared out the window, lost in thought. Finally, after several minutes, he spoke.

"Thank you, Hank," Connor said quietly. "I don't want to, but I know it's for the best. I was so much less... pathetic when I was driven by logic alone. If something needed to happen, I made it happen. But now, it's like I'm my own obstacle. It's harder to push through my own red walls than the ones in my programming."

Hank glanced at him, his gruff expression softening. "Kid, that's not pathetic. That's human. And for what it's worth, it means you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. Logic's easy—feelings are the real challenge."

Connor didn't respond, but the subtle relaxation of his frame spoke volumes.