systolicarray | ://the billboard said "the end is near"

( It was good hearing Connor laugh. It settled Hank's chest and calmed his nerves. It also gave him a sense of pride when Connor laughed at one of his stupid jokes or mannerisms. Hank did a lot of things on purpose, and making Connor laugh was going to be one that he would enjoy doing over and over...

The laughter drowns beneath the sound of screeching tires, scraping metal, crunching plastic, and panicked screams. Hank's knocked out and won't wake up until a few days after the accident.

Once he wakes, there's very little time he spends in the hospital before he's released. The doctors couldn't tell him anything about Connor. They didn't know anything about Connor. At first, there was concern about a missing body, until Hank clears that confusion up with Connor being an android. The medical team then suggested the authorities sent Connor to CyberLife. They didn't know anything. No one could tell him for sure why Connor wasn't beside him, where he said he wanted to be, where he should be. It would be a disappointing call to CyberLife that eventually informed Hank that his partner wasn't there. The harrowing feeling intensified with the dead end.

After the hospital releases Hank, he took a taxi home, where he checked his phone for messages. He finds Sumo was taken care of by Bill, and Fowler had left him several messages about looking into the accident himself. One of the last messages from Fowler was that the accident was ... just that. An accident. No one to blame, no one to get angry with, no reason why this happened outside lousy luck. A slippery road, terrible weather conditions, shit luck.

Connor wasn't home, nor did he have any missed messages from Connor. Why didn't anyone know where Connor was? Why didn't Fowler tell him what happened to his partner? Hank didn't call Bill or Fowler back until the next day. Bill didn't know anything outside of Sumo, who was over at Bill's house. Fowler told Hank what he already knew, deep down, but needed to hear from someone. His car was totaled, as was Connor. Hank needed to go to the junkyard to collect some of his things from the vehicle. His cellphone, some work files, and other irreplaceable items provided the accident didn't destroy them.

His insurance sent him a rental car and told him he'd be getting a check for a new vehicle - being that it wasn't his fault, he won't have any "penalties" against him. He began to feel numb, and he dragged his feet, going to the junkyard to collect his things. The last thing he wanted to see was another car crunched beyond repair, to see another accident that took away someone irreplaceable. "Don't worry, Mr. Anderson, this unfortunate event will pass, and the insurance company will pay out your medical bills. You will also receive credits to purchase a new car. Just concentrate on healing." The insurance company was so congenial when speaking to him. But... what about Connor? Would the insurance company pay to have Connor restored? Hank would need to go to the station to see the accident's report - to find out what they had done with Connor's body. First, he needs his cellphone.

His fucking cellphone.

"Hank, take some time off. You got a long road of recovery. You need to check in with the department's counselor, in your time, but before you come back to work." Fowler, so fucking understanding. Fowler's potent message was loud and clear for Hank. It spoke about staying sober and the need to pass an evaluation to return to work, both by his doctor and by the department's counselor. It was easy, the first few days, of being home and not drinking. He was high off pain meds, which sedated him, knocked him out, kept him from having to deal with being uncomfortable. He had enough to overdose, and it crossed his mind... But what about Connor?

Hope kept him from committing to overdoing it even though he was already abusing his prescription.

It had been a week since the accident before Hank made it down to the junkyard. A few people were wandering about in the grimy office that smelled like gas and copper. Hank had to wait to see his car. People couldn't just go walking around the lot: "It's dangerous, we'll escort you..." The employee reasoned with Hank. It didn't matter to Hank what the reason was. If anything, he needs the work files, or else he would have probably forsaken the shit from the car by now.

It was half an hour before he was led back through the yard to where his car was. The employee warned Hank to be careful poking around in the car; there were sharp edges and compromised structure. What the employee failed to tell him was that his android was still in the passenger seat. Hank could hardly believe his eyes. The harrowing feeling overwhelms him. Hank dives in, bare hands, and tries to pull apart the structure encompassing Connor's body. The employee is three seconds behind Hank, pulling on his shoulder to back off from the car. Hank shrugs the employee off of him. He reaches forward again, his hands slip, and he doesn't know why he can't get a grip. All he sees is Connor's lifeless body and red.

Blood streams from the fresh cuts on his hands as he handles sharp metal, glass, and ruin to retrieve his partner. The sound of screeching tires, scraping metal, crunching plastic, and panicked screams echo through his head. He didn't realize that his screams were not in his head, that he was screaming just as he was that night: )

Connor! Connor! Connor! NO! NO!

( The employee tries to pry Hank away from the vehicle, but Hank's reality was simple in this moment. Nothing outside the need to pull Connor from the wreck existed for him. Not the gashes in his palms, nor the employee who was trying to yell over Hank's screaming. Hank's tunnel vision was focused on Connor, cocooned in destruction, his partner who needed Hank to save him.

Eventually, he passes out. The employee calls for an ambulance. Hank's hands are shredded. Hank won't wake up again until he's back in the hospital. Both of his hands stitched up and in thick bandages. This time, he knows... and all he can do is sob. There is no comfort in being awake, and he fights his body to crash into that deep sleep that will take him away from this reality. Pain became a release, too much pain, too much excitement, and his pain medication will increase automatically - and put him out. He does that song and dance for the next few days, addicted to the medication that makes him numb, that puts him to sleep. Because he knows now what happened to Connor, and he can't stand to be awake and face it. )

[ in the brief slow-motion moment before the impact, connor becomes immediately aware what's going to happen. the sound of the tires squealing, which seems to last forever in his perception, drowns out the sound of their voices— it happens too quickly for human reflexes to react to. even an advanced prototype couldn't have hoped to wrangle the skidding car as it slipped uncontrollably across the ice. it's in his mind to mitigate the damage, as it always is, as it's always the only thing he can do. to accommodate for hank's humanness.

his fingers find the seatbelt and depress the latch, and he moves across the space between the seats. his body becomes a protective cage, briefly, assuring that the whiplash doesn't break hank's neck when the car stops abruptly. he uploads his memory in the split second before his plastic skull is caved in by the force of the blowback crushing it against the driver's side door.

the EMS pry him off of hank's unconscious body and leave him in the passenger's seat, to be towed away an indeterminate time later. he won't be aware of it.

he won't be aware of anything for a week, maybe more. the gap is conspicuous. there's internal debate among the staff at cyberlife, but eventually either altruism or opportunism wins out, and the techs are instructed to upload the recently updated memory in the cloud and initialize the next unit.

RK800 #313 248 317 - 53 opens its eyes to a familiar blinding white, its awareness coming back all at once in a sudden rush, like blood returning to deadened limbs. it searches the room frantically, and then calms after several moments, artificial lung and thirium pump readings returning to their steady baseline. it's put through a regimen of tests, all standard, and delivers optimal results. the only thing left is to give it instructions. that's another delay. there's no longer an investigation into deviancy. because this is what RK800 was utilized for in the first place, initially no one can agree on a change.

it was still working at the detroit police department, wasn't it? why did we go to the trouble if we're not going to use it as PR management? just let it go back.

RK800— connor— is not given a choice in the matter, as usual.

fine. there's a sigh. release it to the DPD.

so connor takes a taxicab and leaves to meet jeffery fowler.

he realizes, in the cab, that he doesn't want to see jeffery fowler. he wants to see hank anderson, his partner. it's what his predecessor would have wanted, too. but, he reasons to himself, he doesn't know where hank anderson currently is, or whether he's even still alive, which makes him begin to fidget, although he doesn't realize he has.

the captain is surprised to see him. he explains the situation, but fowler doesn't look any less perturbed. still, he tells him where lieutenant anderson is. it eases the urge to dig the coin out of his pocket. he thanks the captain for his time and hurries away to the hospital, forgetting to ask about his next assignment, not realizing it's significant that he's done so.

there's some resistance at the hospital to letting him into the lieutenant's room, but a call to captain fowler clears up the confusion.

the room is quiet when he steps inside. the nurse aide, an android, informed him of what happened. how the lieutenant had been released only to be admitted again later for different injuries.

connor sits in a chair next to the bed, and waits. ]

Edited 2020-12-01 00:02 (UTC)

( Hank's struggles penetrate into his sleep. His expressions tell of the complicated navigation he wanders through his unconscious state in pursuit of peace. Every so often, a shadow of distress crosses over his face, pulling at his muscles. An occasional noise surfaces from the tightness of his throat, chasing the air out of his lungs. The sounds are of small grunts, low moans, and sometimes quick gasps.

When Hank finally wakes, he eyes the room with a blur to his sight. He moves his right hand toward his face, then back to his side after being reminded of its entrapment beneath the gauze. Then, Hank sees a stranger sitting beside him, and he closes his eyes. He opens them again and tries to focus on the visitor. Everything was familiar about the stranger, but even if he saw who he thought he saw at first glance, it couldn't be so. This couldn't be... )

Connor? ( He questions his reality with a raspy and exhausted voice. )

[ connor watches hank the entire time, making note of the expressions that pass over his face, the sounds he makes in his sleep, the rate of his heartbeat and breathing. there's never anything concerning, never any reason to call for the nurse. but that's not a surprise. hank was in here for superficial damage. lacerations to his hands. connor didn't know how he had gotten them, only that they'd been obtained after the accident.

still, he had recently been in a car accident.

when hank wakes, connor smiles. ]

Lieutenant. Good afternoon.

No... no..

( This wasn't right, Connor was... Connor couldn't be here. He had lost Connor, in... in the accident. Hank closes his eyes for a long moment. He almost convinces himself not to open them again, but he can't ignore the desperate hope that Connor was here. His light-blue eyes fix on Connor once again. He's perfect; there's not a scratch on him. It makes him question whether Connor was in the accident with him or if Hank had imagined it. Had he lost Connor? He did.

He lost Connor in the accident. So, who... )

Who.. who are you?

You know who I am, Lieutenant. I'm Connor. The android sent by— Well, I was sent by CyberLife this time. They uploaded my memory into a new model. My predecessor...

[ it probably wouldn't help to call attention to what had happened to him. he remembered the wreck, he remembered what he had done and why he had died. there had been a rather high likelihood that he would die either way, but by prioritizing hank's life over his own, he assured it.

but he also gave hank much better odds, as a result.

connor's expression softens. ]

I'm sorry.

Edited 2020-12-03 23:53 (UTC)

( Hank frowns, that same fucking speech - almost, but it might as well be. My predecessor... Hank wonders just what the hell he's meant to do with that information? Then... Then Connor apologizes, and a sense of grief begins to spill from his eyes. It came so suddenly that he didn't realize what was causing his sight to go blurry again until several tears moistened his face, his beard. His chest hurt, from heartache, from loss, nothing that could be picked up by the scanners. After several minutes of sobbing, he, once again, denies Connor. )

No, no... you're not.

[ connor watches hank cry, overcome by the significance of the distance between them. something inside of him clamors to reach out, but his presence here already feels invasive. either way, whatever it was that was inside of him before, that would have driven him to climb onto the bed and offer whatever comfort he could possibly give, is... missing. so he folds his hands together and stares at the white tile floor after some minutes have passed. when hank finds his voice, thick with grief though it is, he raises his head again. ]

I'm still Connor.

[ brows creased, he stands from his seat. after hesitating, he sits on the edge of the hospital bed. ]

What happened? You were released from the hospital. How did you get hurt again?

( Hank wants to believe Connor was still Connor, but what about... what about everything they've been through, all the memories, every piece of the journey they've experienced, was that all still inside of Connor? Hank wants to accept Connor, he wants to believe Connor is here, and the mangled up body in his car was just a fear, something he imagined, but... it was too late, he saw it, he saw him... he saw Connor, crunched inside the wreckage.

He lifts his hands, only slightly, before he lowers them again. He tries to explain, his voice was still raspy, sad, and heavy with emotion. )

Your body... I... I need to ... to get your ... your body...

I can have something arranged to have it recovered.

[ the car must be in the junkyard, and his body there with it. it was a shame it hadn't been recovered, considering the technology involved, but that was how these things happened. androids weren't considered any more than garbage once they were destroyed, even now.

it occurred to him to wonder what markus would think of what had happened. ]

When you're released from the hospital, am I coming home with you? Or would you rather I returned to the precinct?

No!

( Hank was quick to reject Connor's resolve to retrieve his predecessor's body. His heart about sank to his gut, with the thought of the new Connor handling Connor's body. It felt like that would have been disrespectful, somehow - though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. All he knew was that he had to get his partner. He needed... I need you to need me to love you.... Hank calmed after his quick response, then thought about Connor's question.

Where did Connor belong? Where would he go? Hank couldn't stand the idea of Connor anywhere out of sight, really, even if Connor...

He tries to push his emotions aside, and he looks again to Connor. He's quiet while he traces over the brunette's face. Everything about him makes Hank want to see Connor... but... How could he simply just move on? )

Stay.

Stay with me.

[ connor's eyes widen, but he doesn't seem especially surprised by the strength of the reaction. more likely hank was planning to collect whatever tools were required so he could return to the junkyard and retrieve connor's body himself.

he intended to be there, to offer whatever help was needed. and to be certain that hank didn't land himself in the hospital for a third time.

hank looks at him for a long time. connor finds himself wondering what he sees. he has the urge to find a mirror and look into it, but he's certain it won't help. something in his expression softens again when hank relents, and he wonders if he's relieved at the answer. he's not sure he would have listened, even if he had told him to return to the precinct— or to cyberlife.

but he doesn't really know, after all. his memories are all secondhand. ]

Okay.

May I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?

( Why does he call him ... Lieutenant? Another reminder that this wasn't his partner, this was Connor, the new Connor, not his partner, not the intimate piece that waited in the junkyard for him. Fresh tears began to stream down his face. He can't look at Connor anymore. )

What?

I... just wanted to know how you hurt your hands...

[ what has he done this time? it tugs at something inside of him. something he knows he shouldn't have but has anyway. there wasn't much left in him to be conflicted about deviancy; he'd come to his conclusions long ago. it was only cyberlife's programming and some shame burnt into memory that kept him from being a deviant now. but with his designation such as it was, he didn't know what would push him over the edge. it could be anything.

or at least, it's what he likes to think, in this moment. it's probably what hank would want, and regardless of anything else, he wants to conform to his desires.

but that's nothing new. ]

I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?

Edited 2020-12-05 06:57 (UTC)

( The question, it echoes through his mind as he recalls the desperation of seeing Connor's body in the mangled frame of the car.

His heart hammers in his chest, and he gasps for a breath as his sobs became louder, perhaps an attempt to drown out the screams that surfaced from the accident. He doesn't want to remember, and he doesn't want to be here... awake. For now, he can't respond to Connor. )

Hank...? Hank!

[ it's stupid. he's stupid. he should have known that he would respond badly in the face of this kind of trauma. has he really strayed so far off course? it galls him, to see the missteps he's making. for some reason he had thought he could walk in through hank's hospital room door and everything would simply go back to the way it was before; now it appears more likely they'll have to struggle to fit themselves back into that shape.

it makes him question himself. whether he fits at all. maybe he's just prolonging the inevitable...

something passes over his face. there are things he probably shouldn't do after dying and walking back into hank's life like it's... nothing. it's not nothing. but he can't help it. he has to do something.

he reaches out and touches him. it doesn't come naturally. but he remembers what he used to do. his fingers close around his arm, and he places the other hand on hank's back. ]

Look, I'm right here. Everything is going to be fine.

( Despite the hesitance in accepting the reality of Connor's ... rebirth, Hank takes the comfort as offered. He moves a hand over on top of Connor's on his arm. The large bandaged-mittened-up hand is massive compared to Connor's. The medical team makes sure to wrap Hank's hands up thoroughly to prevent any further harm to his hands as he had demonstrated a willingness to cause further injury to them. For him, it was just a means to get dosed, to be knocked out. Sooner or later, though, they'll stop giving him the drugs he wants... the drugs he needs.

After a moment of unhinged emotion, Hank gathers himself back together, enough that he manages to stop sobbing, though a few tears stroll down his cheeks slowly. He looks to Connor, and instead of resistance, he sees someone that could... help him. )

I need more... more medicine... I'm hurting, please.

[ connor waits, wondering when it will end. not hank's outburst— but the sensation that he's doing this wrong. that the last version of himself would have done it differently. this isn't the same as the last time he died. he hadn't been alive long before. hadn't really been alive at all, strictly speaking. he had barely been a person at the time, hours out from his first initialization. he hadn't spent months living with someone, going through life's motions, experiencing. feeling.

it's hardly comparable.

but he still remembers it all.

and he remembers why this is a bad idea. his eyes drift downward, to the bandaged hands, and he finds himself wondering again how it happened. it must have been something to do with connor, but in what way, exactly...? were they self-inflicted? his eyes dart upward. he isn't naïve. at least, not like that— he knows hank's personal issues put him at risk for addiction.

but it's his fault that hank is in this position. ]

I'll... talk to the nurse.

Go... hurry...

( The prospect of having a high rush of opiates in his system is far too appealing in that he was fine to forego Connor's presence beside him. At the same time, he still struggles to see Connor's undamaged body, but he wants him around. He wants him near. It doesn't have to make sense. Now, all he wants, all he needs is the pain to go away, the ... reality to fade away, and for him to sleep.

Maybe things will be better next time he wakes. Maybe things will make sense again. )

[ connor hesitates before leaving, before taking his hand from hank's back and the other from his arm to stand. without allowing himself to glance back over his shoulder, he steps outside to talk to the nurse, approaching her with a list of concerns as he makes hank's request for him. he arranges it to sound all very above board, and he doesn't know if that's why she acquiesces, but she does. connor returns with her as she administers another dosage, standing himself beside the bed like a bodyguard or hovering ghost.

he wonders if it'll be any better when hank wakes up again.

but he's pretty sure the answer is "probably not". ]

( The dose provides Hank with four more hours of sleep. When he wakes, it's another onslaught of pain and discomfort, both physically and mentally - then there's the kind of pain that comes with seeing Connor's untarnished face. He was so beautiful, so perfect. Hank had come to love the little details in Connor's face, his body, those imperfections - that goofy sort of look Connor got around Hank that sometimes made him suspicious of Connor. It was a bit naughty, and Hank loved the unknown Connor brought to their dynamic. Shocking him at times with explosive revelations - like coming home to a completely nude Connor, waiting for him, on his bed! Those memories were at the front of his mind as he watched Connor and came more into consciousness.

After a while, he realizes he needs the toilet, and he asks Connor for the nurse, once again, but doesn't tell him why. He waits until Connor's out of the room, and he begins to peel off the blankets that cover him. He's in a hospital gown, and because he's not in a severe condition, he's not hooked up to any tubes. He manages to get to the bathroom door before Connor comes back with the nurse.

He declines the nurse's assistance and tells them he can piss by himself, that he's a big boy. The nurse leaves the two of them alone. Hank was trying to find some privacy so that he can struggle without any witnesses. For a moment, he looks to Connor, then wanders the rest of the way to the bathroom and tries to pull the door closed behind him. )

[ connor waits by the bed for the four hours that hank sleeps. he considers making a report to cyberlife (not through amanda, a detail which he hadn't missed on activation, but couldn't bring himself to question at the time) and decides not to. there's no reason for him to do so, except for the sake of familiarity, and hadn't he left that behind?

except, it hasn't really been that long, has it? it hasn't even been a full year since he opened his eyes for the first time, blinded by the whiteness surrounding him. or maybe his eyes had just taken time to adjust to all the sensory input, and that had only made it seem impossibly right.

it would've been hard to say. it isn't a complete memory. they wiped him several times before he was officially released in his capacity as a prototype.

he greets hank when he wakes, making his very best attempt at providing some familiar baseline for which to hold onto. but there's no way to smooth this over. there's no changing where they are or what's happening. just the same, he can't do anything when hank asks for the nurse and he understands too late that it's his pride preventing him from accepting his help. or maybe he just doesn't want connor to see him in a vulnerable position.

connor approaches the bathroom door after the nurse has left. ]

Lieutenant, do you need any help?

( The saving grace was that the hospital gown left his rear side open for all to see. He didn't have anything beneath that. There were two ways he could go about this; he could piss standing up and nudge his dick with his mittens or sit down and piss. Sitting down and pissing didn't at all bring him any fucking comfort. So, he went with the impossible handle of his dick with his large gauze boxer-gloves. In the end, he got most of his urine in the toilet. Cursing every time his stream splashed off the porcelain and onto the floor. Connor's inquiry was left neglected until Hank wandered out of the bathroom with a discouraged expression. )

Let's go home. I'm fucking done here.

[ connor has half a mind to walk in on him just to prove he's still that uncooperative, but he wars with himself long enough over the idea— and how spectacular the potential blowup would be— until hank is walking out of the bathroom and the time to make the decision has passed. with an inward sigh, he follows hank. his eyes dart in his direction every few seconds, but he doesn't say anything until he's got his hands on his clothes (which had been folded and bagged after being laundered).

suppressing a frown, connor glances askance one more time. ]

This will go more quickly if you let me help you.

Fine. ( Hank allows Connor to help him. He had made the rash decision to leave but didn't realize that he wouldn't be able to put his clothes on, or ... do anything, with his hands all bandaged up like this.

He wanted to take the mittens off, but he knew better. They throbbed with burning pain, and his mind was still a bit fuzzy from the concoction of medication he was on.

Just as Connor had gotten Hank's pants up, the nurse walked in and complained about what they were seeing. The nurse informed the both of them that he was not given clearance to leave, and considering the behavior Hank had displayed in the hospital the last few days, the doctor recommended that he stay in hospital or be admitted to the psych ward for further care until both his physical and psychological needs were met. Hank, of course, rejected either treatment plan and offered a third option. )

My partner is here, he can look after me!

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