My Name is Connor

3

TW: SUICIDAL IDEOLOGY

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DOWNTOWN DETROIT- HAROLD'S 24/7 QUICK MART

29, JANUARY 2040 - 00:16:32 PM

-WINTER-

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POV: HANK

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"CONNOR!".

The android goes limp in my arms, his eyes flutter closed and his artificial breath faltering before finally becoming non-existent. I watch as his LED, which was continuously flashing an angry red, goes blank on the side of his head. No... no this isn't happening, not again... I can't lose another one. "Please, no," I beg softly, my grip tightening on the lifeless bot's hand, still pressed against my face, "Connor... come on kid, don't do this to me".

But Connor is still, his face still with an expression of quiet bliss. His hand is clutching his gut, his hands, shirt, and face, covered with blue blood. From here I can tell the bullet basically obliterated his thirum pump, a vital part of Connor's anatomy, and nearly bi-component everything around it. Even with help on the way, there was little to no chance for his survival. My chest is heavy with guilt and anger, I'm angry at myself for once again not being able to protect the ones I care for the main reason I became a cop in the first place.

"I already call a medic, Hank," Chris says suddenly, rushing up to me from somewhere in the crowd, "Just hold on. They should be here any- oh shit,".

I don't respond, can't really. I'm caught somewhere between blinding rage and overwhelming sadness, silent tears streaming down my face without my knowledge or consent. I hold him tighter, wishing with everything I have that this is a dream, that this isn't happening, that I didn't lose another son. "Why didn't you listen?!" I curse silently through my teeth, trying desperately to hold back a sob, "You're so stupid, Connor,". I hold him, rocking his body slowly in my arms as the tears begin to fall."Why didn't you listen?" I say again, the snow beneath me continues to grow blue. Connor's blood has begun to pool under me soaking through my pants and staining my hands.

It makes me feel ill, but I continue to hold the cold, lifeless android in my arms.

I close my eyes as flashes of the accident force there way into my head, the colors of the blood sprayed around me flickering between red and blue, between Connor and Cole.

Cole is dead.

Connor is dead.

Everything is numb.

Hands.

Feet.

Face.

Tongue.

"Hank?" Chris says, his voice thin and full of a mix of emotions.

I feel his hand on my shoulder and flinch.

"Hey... take it easy, okay. It's going to be okay".

It's going to be okay

It's going to be okay

It's going to be okay

It's going to be okay

It's going to be okay

It's going to be okay

It's going to be okay