Me, lying in bed trying to sleep:

Inception AU where *Connor* is the Pasiv device.

I must sleep on this.

No I can’t sleep, it makes too much sense! The dream technology in Inception makes no sense because the dreamers don’t have a way to share a consciousness. The Pasiv seems to administer an IV that allows them somehow to do it, but it makes no sense on any level.
But what if

an *android* houses the dreamers’ consciousnesses?

A world where androids aren’t mainstream products. They’re being developed underground by militaries to use for training soldiers in combat situations. Someone discovers that while connected in stasis the androids share their

stasis states with each other. At first it’s a problem - as they communicate freely, they begin to develop independent ideas. Markus is the android to first fully gain free thought, and soon more follow. A handful of them disappear, leading to a massive cover-up.

Fast forward a few years: a new prototype has been developed, one that, when connected to a human body, can extract information from human consciousness. One that could help them track down the deviated androids.

Hank is still a cop, but instead of being assigned to solve deviant cases, he’s working on a string of strange murders, all involving people who seem completely unconnected who’ve been shot clear in the head with no signs of struggle, no witnesses, no evidence. Clean executions.

He’s got no leads, he’s finding it hard to care past his depression and alcoholism, and Fowler is on his ass. Until one night there’s a man on his door-step - a man with frantic, stuttered speech and a face that has been burned. Except as the man steps into the light Hank sees

he’s not burned. His face is cracked open, and under his skin is something that makes Hank’s head reel.
There’s a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, and the flash of a muzzle as a shot rings out, and the stranger crumples to the ground. Before Hank has time to react,

something hits him in the back of his head, and the world goes dark.

When he wakes up, he’s laying on his kitchen floor, his head aching, nausea welling. Over him is a man with soft, boyish features, and a concerned look.
“Lieutenant? It’s me, Connor! Are you alright? You must’ve fallen and hit your head!”
Hank blinks blearily. There’s a

bottle of Black Lamb next to him, almost empty, and his revolver.
“I- I don’t remember,” he slurs. He looks at the man kneeling by his side.
“Who are you?”
The man smiles.

Hank lets the man help him to his sweet. He stands, swaying, touching the back if his head. Did he pass out and knock himself out?
He glances into the living room where Sumo sleep peacefully.
He tries to remember, but he can’t for the life of him...
“Lieutenant?” The man says,

concern still evident in his voice.
Hank squints at him.
“Who the fuck are you and how the fuck did you get into my home?” He growls.
The man blanches, lifting his hands up.
“I’m detective Connor,” he says, his voice so soothing it makes Hank’s teeth ache.

“You don’t remember me?”
“Remember... what?” Hank snaps. “You better show me some ID, right now,” he says, swooping down quickly to grab his revolver. A little too quickly - he feels a new well of nausea.
The man who claims his name is Connor reaches slowly into his suit pocket,

drawing out a badge. Hank peers at it; it seems genuine enough.
“Alright, what the fuck is going on in here?” He says, gripping the handle of his revolver in his fist.
“Perhaps it would be best if I called an ambulance-“ Connor starts, but Hank’s patience has run out. He takes

two strides forward and grabs Connor by his lapels, slamming him into the wall.
Sumo doesn’t stir.
“I’m one wrong word away from cuffing you up and charging you with breaking and entering,” he growls, lifting Connor up on his tiptoes until they’re face to face.
“So you better

come up with an explanation for what you’re doing in my house real quick.”
“I was assigned to be your partner!” Connor gasps. “Just yesterday! Call Captain Fowler!”
Fowler.
Hank lets Connor go and turns around, looking for his phone. Where the fuck did he put it?
“Sir,” Connor

says tentatively, holding out a phone. Hank’s phone.
Connor clears his throat. “It was by the door.”
Hank grunts, ignoring the heat spreading on his face. How wasted was he?
He selects Jeffrey’s contact info and presses call. It rings briefly, and then-
“Hank! Where the fuck are

you, you’re supposed to be busting your ass with the new kid!”
Hank’s silent for a moment. He glances at Connor whose face is unreadable.
“New kid?” Hank says slowly, keeping an eye on Connor. The kid doesn’t even flinch.
“Yeah, Connor! Christ, Hank, I know you don’t like having

to work with a partner but you could a pretend to give enough of a shit at least remember his name!”
The line goes dead. Hank suspects he has another reaming coming when he gets in.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
“Look, kid, I’m sorry,” he says finally. He feels awkward, and disturbed.

“I really don’t remember a damn thing- I... I think I remember coming home-“
Connor interrupts him. “If you’re not feeling well, perhaps it would be better to inform the Captain of what happened,” he says, sincerely. His brown eyes are wide with worry.
“Fuck no,” Hank scoffs.

“I’ve had worse, I can handle it!”
It’s not really true though. He’s gotten black out drunk but he’s never fallen down this way, nor forgot entire days and events. Something feels wrong. Has he finally drank his brain to mush?
All he knows is he’s on thin ice with Jeffrey as is.

Last thing he needs is for it to come out he wasted a whole day so drunk off his ass he lost a whole day and forgot he was assigned a fucking partner.
“If you would get changed, I would like to head to the precinct,” Connor says, sounding properly efficient. “You will need to

fill me in on what you know about the killings.”
Fuck. The murders. What if he’s forgotten something about the case?
“Yeah,” he mumbles, heading into the bathroom. He washes his face, brushes his teeth and wipes a dampened towel over his body. He doesn’t feel sweaty, grimy,

the way he normally does after drinking.
After his dressed he walks out and almost into Connor.
“Ready?” Connor asks.
“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses. Gotta feed the dog and let him ou-“ Hank pauses, staring at Sumo, still sleeping.
“That’s weird. I thought he’d be starving and

crying to get out.”
Christ, did the dog do its business inside while Hank was out of it?
“Oh,” Hank hears Connor utter softly.
Sumo opens his eyes, yawns and stretches, and lumbers over to sniff at his empty food bowl.
“Weird,” Hank mutters.

(I’ll have to refresh my memory on the rules of dreamsharing, but if I’m doing things correctly, this is Connor’s dream that he can alter and control. Hank is the tourist, he can create people and conjure information from his head. There will be others who are real and not.)

(Also if you haven’t seen Inception, you should! Not just to get this thread, but because it’s an awesome Nolan movie!)