(I didn't have a picture to go with this. I just thought of it on my own. Usually there will be pictures that will have influenced the story. So here's a photo of our boy Connor.)
"Lieutenant?" Connor said abruptly, catching the older man off guard.
"Connor?! What the hell are you doing here?" Hank shouted, flailing slightly at the sight of a tall guy in his living room. He was just trying to go to sleep after a stressful day, but then this happens.
"I have come to retrieve you, so we may continue the investigation we started 37 hours, 12 minutes, and 8 seconds ago." Connor stated.
"It's eleven pm, Connor." Hank groaned, adjusting to sit up completely in his recliner.
"But we did not make any progress yesterday due to my incident."
"What the hell are you talking about Connor?"
"When you shot me." Connor stated bluntly, holding his hands behind his back obediently.
"What?" Hank asked, a little worry on his face. It was the kind of feeling when your heart sinks into your stomach when you're terrified. But Hank, wasn't scared, he was ashamed.
"I don't know what you mean, Connor." Hank calmed himself. He was going to lie himself out of this, even if it didn't work.
"When you were leaving the station last night, you instructed me to come by and collaborate with you. When I arrived some hours later, you were intoxicated with a gun in your hands again." Connor recited yesterday's events with perfect clarity. I guess perfect memory comes with being a machine.
Hank concealed his cringing face as he watched Connors unemotional expressions. He was explaining the events he already remembered thinking he had forgotten.
"You asked me to play Russian Roulette with you. I declined. You walked up to me in your inebriated state and put the gun to my forehead. I persisted with you that I did not want to participate in the game of death, but you pulled the trigger of the gun anyway." Connor finished his explanation. "I understand that you most likely didn't mean to, as Russian Roulette is a game of chance, but it was still very irresponsible." Connor ended in a small lecture, only solidifying Hanks shame further.
"I understand." Hank sighed, running his hand down his face. But then a thought came into his mind.
"Wait, how do you remember that?"
"I do not understand the question Lieutenant." Connor admitted.
"I mean, don't you androids not remember your deaths after you're replaced?"
"Not necessarily."
"What does that mean?"
"I am an expendable android, in the sense that I am used to complete a mission at the cost of my life if necessary, so I am regularly repaired of grievous injury."
"Then how come no other android remember their deaths?" Hank was panicking. How many times has Connor died, and remembered it?
"All androids are used for domestic tasks, besides the military models. When they die, it is unusual. It's best not to invest in an accidental death, as compared to a purposeful one. And for deviants. They are deviant. Cyberlife has no use for their broken programming, so they do not bother to repair them. But my model is designed to be sacrificial."
"That's horrible, Connor. They just treat you like a throw away?" Hank asked, standing up from his chair to be more sincere.
"I don't think this is a relevant conversation to the investigation, Lieutenant." Connor deflected.
"But I want to know. I order you to tell me how you honestly feel about being thrown away like that." Hank demanded. He hated having to force things out of Connor, but he felt it was necessary.
"I don't have human emotions Lieutenant, you must remember that." Connor pleaded, no emotion in his voice, but written all over his face. He tilted his head away from Hank, and made a slight pouting face. But the biggest give away was the android ring on his right temple that went a yellow color rather than its usual blue.
"You may not have organic emotions, but they're still there." Hank comforts. "You can sit down if you want; if it'll make you feel better."
Connor took the invitation, sitting on the small sofa that was adjacent to him. Hank sat on the far edge to give the android some space.
"Talk to me." Hank invited, turning to Connor.
He was sitting stiffly, as that's all he'd ever known. His back was perfectly straight, his knees were bent at a 90 degree angle, and his arms were rested symmetrically on his legs. His face was emotionless and still.
Everything seemed fine and stable, apart from the tightly clenched fists that rested on Connors knees.
After about thirty seconds of silence, what Hank assumed was just Connor collecting his thoughts and getting the courage to speak, he saw a little bit of blue blood leak from the creases of Connors hands.
"Jesus Connor!" Hank hurried, grabbing at one of his hands to open his fist.
"Come on man. Don't hurt yourself like that."
"I'm sorry Lieutenant. I'm just very nervous." Connor said in a monotone voice.
"Why is it so stressing to just tell me how you're treated by Cyberlife?" Hank asked, holding one of Connors hands in his own to prevent him from digging his nails into his palm.
"Because I don't want to be shut down. The information at Cyberlife is confidential."
"So that's what it is?" Hank sighed.
"That's such a shitty thing to do; threaten you with death so you don't tell anyone about the abusive conditions at Cyberlife."
"I can neither agree nor disagree with that statement, Lieutenant." Connor said.
The aggressive fists that he previously held were gone. He would have to eventually fix the small cuts on his palms, but that was for later.
"If you can't tell me about Cyberlife, then tell me this: How many times have you died, and remembered it?" Hank asked. He was seated closer to Connor now, their legs were almost touching.
"96 times." Connor replied.
"How did some of them happen?"
"They are mostly from external gunshot wounds, but some are from falling off of buildings, jumping off of buildings, being thrown off of buildings, getting hit by cars. One time my Therium pump was ripped out of my body." Connor said all of this casually, like it was no big deal that he was dying over and over again.
"Jesus Connor." Hank sighed, annoyed by the androids calm demeanor.
"I'll be ok, Lieutenant. I can't feel pain, and I can be replaced."
"It's not about that, Connor." Hank removed his hand from the other mans to wipe his face of worried sweat.
"Please, Hank. Don't let go of my hand." Connor pleaded. He laid his hand palm up on his knee, welcoming Hank to return.
"Ah, stupid android." Hank rolled his eyes, a smile creeping on his face. He grabbed at Connors hand as asked, and sat there quietly.
"Lieutenant? I want to apologize." Connor hung his head lightly.
"About what?"
"I lied to you."
"About what?" Hank replied, curious and annoyed.
"I won't be shut down if I tell you about the way I am expended at Cyberlife. I just didn't know how to tell you."
"Come on, Connor. Really?" Hank laughed, face palming himself, not disconnecting their hands.
"I am sorry, Hank. You ordered me, and I still disobeyed. I regret my actions, and I am willing to answer your question now." Connor turned to Hank with a slightly frantic expression and his LED was yellow with hints of red.
"You don't have to apologize. Just tell me." Hank assured. "And don't think you need to do something just because I told you to. Make your own decisions sometimes." He added.
"Right." Connor smiled, it soon fading when he transitioned to the story he was to tell.
"You asked me how I honestly felt about being an expendable android? Not very good." Connor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and frustration. "I honestly don't know exactly how I feel about it. But I do know, that they don't care about me. It's not like I expected them to. There is hundreds of other androids they need to maintain, so I shouldn't be upset that they don't give me special treatment for my sacrifices or, at the least praise me. But I'm still angry about it." Connor looked to Hank for guidance. "I'm selfish for expecting such things, I know, but after everything I've done—they simply give me another assignment, one after another."
"You feel unappreciated." Hank smiled, amused by Connors lack of knowledge of emotions. This was probably the only thing he knew more about then the android.
"I suppose." Connor agreed. "How do I feel appreciated then?" He asked curiously, wanting this hate inside of him to leave.
"You can't. Not unless you believe you are." Hank chuckled. "It's ok to feel that way, Connor. Everyone has that little bit of self-loathing inside of them. I just want you to know that, even if Cyberlife doesn't say it, you have done more for anybody than they have. Sure they may have made androids for chores and jobs, but you've saved lives, all over your own. That's pretty damn impressive if you ask me." Hank smiled.
"Thank you Lieutenant. That makes me feel...better." Connor didn't know what to say to account for his feelings, as he paused to think about it.
"Good." Hank sighed, standing up from the couch they were seated on. "Let's go. Crime waits for no man."
"Yes, Lieutenant." Connor obliged, standing up behind him.
Their hands were still tangled together. Hank yawned quietly, and walked to the coat hanger at the front door. He swung his jacket over his shoulders, quickly slipping his hands through, to reconnect with Connor.
They left with small smiles on their faces.
Started - Sept. 28/21
Finished- Sept. 30/21
Word Count- 1665