"I have no doubt that they already have," Connor says, unwittingly voicing the other android's thoughts. "Unlike you, however, I have no problem with the idea of being officially decommissioned, provided that the responsible executor is licensed and legitimate."

He'll die. Except--he was never alive. He'll be re recalled, that's what's going to happen, and Connor any irrational emotions Connor might be tempted to feel about this are swept up in the miserable numbness he's already sunk into.

Connor considers the wound, before tearing a lump of knit cloth and wadding it up. Then, without warning or time to brace either of them, he crams it directly into the wound, plugging it unceremoniously. The rest of the sock is pocketed.

Connor stands, surveying him with a faint line between his eyebrows. Could he drag him back? Say, perhaps, by an ankle? ... No, his hips still work, even if his knees don't. By his more wounded arm? ... No, there'd be the danger of accidentally damaging it and wrenching it off...