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I'm way too drunk for this

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“Hello my name is Connor, I’m the android sent by cyberwife.”

Hank was not drunk enough for this shit.

“Oh snap, someone pranked you,” said the bartender and owner of this place, Jimmy, with unmistakable glee.

“Fill up my glass rather than having an opinion,” Hank said, stoically ignoring the fucking android that had shown up at the bar which actually stated on its door that androids were forbidden inside.

Maybe, if Hank was lucky, the thing just exploded or something since it clearly had broken a rule. Weren't they supposed to be obedient?

Still, it stood there, right next to Hank’s barstool, staring at him. Maybe the plastic prick would leave if Hank ignored it long enough.

Vanish like the many visions Hank had of Cole when he drank too much or not enough. He still hadn't quite figured out the right level between intoxication and sobriety to keep the memories, the visions, the pain of loss at bay.

The android too did, in fact, not vanish. Neither did it shut up.

“You must be Hank, my husband. It's nice to meet you.”

This had to be a fucking joke.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” Hank stared at Jimmy who shook his head vigorously. His panic stemmed from the fact that he knew Hank’s right hook and not from being the culprit. Not him. Not anyone here by the looks of it. Hank was drunk but he had been a great policeman before... before things got different. He could still uncover a liar, though.

Maybe someone from the police station? Maybe that asshole Gavin?

“My protocol states that I should accompany you home and make you dinner. Or help you to bed if you rather sleep it off.” Really, the damn android did not shut up for one fucking second. Hank turned towards it and glared at it.

“You know what, I don’t care what your protocol states. I didn’t order you, I don’t want you and now go and suck some dick.”

The android seemed to flinch which was ridiculous. A dozen of cables and crap held together by pieces of plastic, made to look human, made to act human and they had even thought of adding reflexes like that. The people at cyberwife were insane.

“If you want me to suck your dick, I suggest for us to go home for some privacy. We could also use the local toilet facilities, in case you’re feeling frisky. Even though I think that’s the alcohol speaking since…” The rest of whatever this wretched machine was going to say was (luckily) drowned out by the laughter that had erupted from the onlookers. Great.

Hank grit his teeth, hauled the android by its lapels and dragged it out of Jimmy's Bar but not without sending everyone in close proximity a death glare.


“Is this your car over there? You should not be driving in this state.” This fucking machine did not even pause once they were outside in the cold rain, the droplets running down its artificial skin.

Disgusting. A pile of plastic and wires pretending to be something it was not.

“Listen, you’re not getting into my car let alone my house.” Or his pants for that matter. “You go back to where you came from. You are not wanted here.” Hank gave it a push. He gave mean pushes, he knew from experience, but the fucking android didn’t even stumble much.

“But you’re my legal husband now.”

“I’m surely not.”

The android touched its LED, that sat at its right temple, turning ‘round and ‘round, glowing yellow. Hank didn’t know much about the different colors and what they meant and he didn’t care at all, but something was working inside that stupid machine since suddenly it projected something. Hank squinted at it. It was an ID and it read Connor Anderson, model RK-800, property and legal husband of Hank Anderson.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Hank said after a beat of very awkward silence, “since I’m not into guys and especially not into androids.”

The idea that something like sex androids existed that people rented out in Clubs like the Eden Club disgusted Hank. People were lonely, yes. Hank understood that concept far too well. But instead of reaching out to other people, they've tried to fill the emptiness of their lives with machines. Who would have known that the good old smartphone had been only the beginning of the end of humanity and face-to-face communication? Why talk to each other if you could fuck an android instead? Now that was a commercial slogan!

The machine almost looked sad. Almost. Maybe Hank was, actually, too drunk for this shit because androids had no feelings. If they seemed to show emotion it was part of their program. Simple as that.

“It was specified that you prefer the male anatomy.”

“And who the fuck specified that?”

“Well, you of course? You ordered me.” Another touch to this stupid LED, another projected document. This time filled in with his data and signed by… himself.

“God, I need to stop drinking,” Hank murmured. Or report a forging of his signature.

“Don’t worry, that’s what you’ve got me for. I’ll be the perfect life companion for you and will make your life better in every aspect. That’s what cyberwife stands for after all.”

“You ain’t my wife!” Hank protested faintly. “And you look goofy and sound like an idiot, too. Who the heck designed you? Must be an idiot themselves.”

Hank fancied he could actually see the mouth of the android twitch for a second there. Almost like suppressing a smile. Weird. Probably a trick of the light or the booze was kicking in.

“You designed me. Customers of cyberwife can choose out of countless options from eye color to hair color, height, accent, facial shape... The possibilities are endless. - Your vision must be very blurry right now anyway, I'm sure you'll be very happy with your design choices tomorrow morning. I was very expensive after all. Right now I think you must be too drunk to appreciate my features.”

Really, the fucking audacity of that fucking android. And had it just made a pun?

“If you touch your lips to mine and blow gently into my mouth, I could perform a sobriety test on you,” the thing suggested. Hank felt a bit like throwing up and it had nothing to do with all the drinks he'd had. He stared at the stupid machine that stood in the pouring rain, not blinking at all while raindrops ran down its face. Of course not. It didn't feel anything.

“Not blowing you anywhere and not having you perform anything on me, thanks.”

Hank struggled only slightly when the plastic prick started leading him towards his car. Howsoever that idiot had found out it belonged to Hank in the first place.

“Don’t worry, I won’t judge you in case you wouldn’t be able to be up for anything you’d suggested earlier I could do to you.”

Hank wondered if hitting your android wife on the first evening you've met was frowned upon.

That plastic prick is not my wife!

“… Lieutenant?”




           a crash


                                              the crunching noise of shoes on splintered glass


                       “… Lieutenant?”


            a cool pitter-patter on his cheek, almost like rain.


“… Wake up, Lieutenant!”


A mighty slap to his face and Hank was awake.

And fucking hell, there was his cyberwife…! 

"It's me, Connor!"

Hank blinked slowly, trying to focus on the android's face. And everything came back to him.

Not my wife. Was a dream. He is my partner. Working partner. Connor, the android sent by cyberlife.


Well, this was honestly the better and less distressing option. If not the less annoying. 

Still, Hank was too drunk for this shit. Any shit, really.




Except maybe for a good case. A murder at the Eden Club of all places... Which was why about fifteen minutes later Hank sat in fresh clothes in the passenger seat of his car while Connor drove, which reminded Hank in a very distressing way of his weird dream. Or rather a continuation of it.

“Do you happen to have a sobriety test build in?” Hank asked, staring out of the car window. His head hurt like a bitch but he felt slightly better after his very cold (and very unwanted) shower. Stupid android.

“No, why?” Connor gave him a curious glance for a second before looking back at the road. "Would you like to perform one?"

’Curious’, honestly, Hank! Don’t give him emotions he does not possess.

“No, I won't touch my lips to yours and blow."

Had he really just said that out loud?

"What was that Lieutenant?"

"Nothing. Eyes on the road,” he said gruffly.

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

And Hank could have sworn that Connor's mouth had twitched as if tempted to grin. 

Fucking android.