Chapter Text
Connor lingered in front of the Detroit Police Department, his thirium pump increasing its capacity for no discernable reason. As Cyberlife’s ex-most-prized prototype, his body adapted to efficiently handle any situation. An increase of thirium was typical protocol for various combat encounters and when he gave chase to fugitives.
Standing on a busy sidewalk, humans and androids parting around him, and waiting to enter the DPD was neither of those situations.
Stress Level 47%
Ah, this must be nerves. Connor didn’t like this side of deviancy. He flicked his quarter between his hands.
Logically, he knew if he ended up disliking policework or if he became a target of any sort of danger, he would launch his Canada Refugee plan and escape Detroit within the hour. But logic was annoyingly ineffective against emotions.
He flipped his quarter through the air. He chose this path. Why were his nerves behaving this way?
The clock crept closer to noon and it was either programing or personal preference, but Connor did not want to be a minute late. He did a cursory review of the DPD the night before and this morning to ensure the DPD didn’t suspect the new transfer Connor Mason was anything but human. Fortunately, the crime-solving team hadn’t bothered diving deeper into Connor Mason’s transfer request and competent, though boring, file.
He forced himself to shove his coin back into his pocket and straighten his tie, calmly walking into the DPD and towards the free ST300. She smiled generically, not attempting to establish a connection. Connor let out an unnecessary breath. Even though he knew no other android gave Connor a second glance without his LED and obvious android markings, an irrational part feared that the police department would be when an android sensed his true origins. Luckily, RK800’s unique design continued to aid him.
“Hello,” Connor said politely, pulling out forged documents, “I’m here to see Captain Fowler. I’m Connor Mason. It’s my first day.”
The ST300’s LED flashed yellow as she scanned in his ID. “Welcome to the DPD, Detective Mason. Captain Fowler will see you now in his office.”
“Thank you.” The painless transaction made Connor loose-lipped and stress levels decrease to a normal level. “Do you have a name?”
He winced internally, already chalking up Connor Mason’s out-of-town nature for asking androids their names as if they were human. Androids were available nationwide but Detroit had an exponentially higher android population. As such, most people preferred androids to fade into the background and noticed whenever someone didn't. Though he reasoned this one encounter wouldn’t cause anyone to dwell on Connor Mason and androids.
The ST300's smile warmed—deviant behavior or social programming? Impossible to tell without interfacing or interrogating—but Connor found himself scanning her again to no avail. “People call me Stella.”
“Thank you, Stella."
“Have a good day, Detective.”
Connor walked inside the department, the unused police androids standing in their charging stations and police officers and detectives milling around the bullpen or tapping at their computers. Overall, no one paid Connor any attention. He did a general scan, names and records popping up in quick succession. He compiled a list of officers to avoid with disciplinary records or aggressive anti-android sentiments as he strode towards the captain’s office. Working with people more likely to frustrate him added unnecessary difficulty and would skew his results on if he enjoyed detective work.
Captain Fowler scowled as Connor knocked and entered. He hesitated before sitting in the worn black seat, taking care to slouch slightly.
“Hello, Captain,” Connor said.
Captain Fowler grunted. “Connor. Small town detective with big dreams, eh?”
Connor deliberately picked a moderate size city as it’d be less likely to find his lie. “Janesville isn’t considered a small town.”
“Is that so?” the captain asked in a tone Connor immediately filed as sarcastic. “I reviewed your record. Clean, decent academy marks, but nothing remarkable. I don’t know if you transferred here to get a taste for real crime or you want your 5 seconds of fame, but know we don’t have time for handholding, rookie. Pick it up or don’t. No skin off my back. Our department survived without you and we can do it again.”
The idiom registered before Connor could question the phrase. Humans were nonsensical with language most of the time. Even with his social programming, some phrases still flew past his radar. But he focused on the small obstacle in front of him. The captain’s reluctance would be easy to turn into trust. He’d likely respond positively to results and Connor planned to achieve the best in no time.
“I’m confident I’ll be a good fit here,” Connor said. “I look forward to working with your team.”
“Sure, kid. Let me introduce you to your partner.” Captain Fowler opened the glass door and yelled. “Lieutenant! Come here!”
Stress level 51%
Connor grimaced then smoothed his expression. Lieutenant Anderson. It made sense to pair a new detective with a lieutenant, but Lieutenant Anderson’s astonishingly long disciplinary record made him optimistic a more suitable match would be made. Connor reviewed the lieutenant’s record again. Well, he was once a decorated officer with an impressive number of closed cases, but in the last few years—he shuffled through the disciplinary file again—clearly, that wasn’t the case.
Hank Anderson’s glare narrowed further when he spotted Connor, eyeing his suit and tie distastefully. “What is this shit?”
“I told you we were getting a transfer,” the captain said. “Hank, meet your new partner, Connor Mason.”
Connor ignored his social protocol prompting him to offer a hand and instead nodded. Hank scoffed, gesturing angrily to Captain Fowler and drawing the attention of some officers in the bullpen. The detective ranked two on the list of people to avoid, Detective Gavin, snickered.
“Partner? I don’t have time for this babysitting bullshit!”
“Hank, god damn it you are my lieutenant and you will act like it. You’re fucking lucky I’ve let you slack off this much. If you want to keep a job here, it’s time to work,” the captain said. “Connor is your new partner. Who knows? Maybe this’ll be what kicks your ass in gear.”
Partnering Connor with Hank felt like a pre-emptive punishment for a “small town” detective that Fowler was already unimpressed by. He couldn’t cut the suspicion that he was seen more as a tool to aid the lieutenant than an asset to this department. Not a feeling he expected as a human.
“I don’t need a fucking rookie.”
“You need something and Connor needs a partner,” the captain said. “End of story.”
“Jeffrey—”
“End of story.”
Hank grumbled. “Fucking fine.”
“And be grateful I’m not adding this to your novel of a disciplinary record!” the captain shouted at Hank’s back. The door slammed behind him. Captain Fowler shook his head. “Don’t pick up any of his bad habits, Connor.”
Partnering Connor with someone without numerous bad habits to pick up seemed more efficient and obvious enough for even a human to realize. However, small talk with humans in his apartment building proved they rarely enjoy having the obvious pointed out as it came across as ‘condescending.’
“Yes, sir,” Connor said, attempting to remain neutral about his partnership.
Based on the amused gleam in the captain’s eye, he wasn’t successful. “Dismissed, Detective.”
Connor made his way to the empty desk across from the lieutenant’s, an officer his scanners read as Chris Miller giving him a friendly smile as he rushed out of the bullpen behind Detective Gavin. Connor scanned Hank’s desk, ignoring his glares. The anti-android signs confirmed that the anti-android notes in his file were still relevant. He signed. Bright side—at least Hank’s hatred of androids also made him less likely to spot any android tendencies Connor may display. While he practiced playing human a week before submitting his transfer request to the DPD, there was always a chance he’d do something inhuman.
He focused on the dog hair on his new partner's chair.
“Do you have a dog, Lieutenant?” Connor asked as he settled into the sparse desk. He didn’t bring much with him which he could chalk up to fist day jitters. Quick surveys of other people’s desks told him he’d need ‘knickknacks’ to blend in.
“The fuck does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” Connor said. “Small talk is meant to help break the ice.”
Hank narrowed his eyes at Connor’s explanation. The android blinked earnestly at him. “Well stop. I’m not your friend. I’ll show you the ropes if you last that long. Fuck, I’ll even put in a good word if you move to another station.”
As if some human, no matter how unprofessional, could force him to move. He paused and registered his response. Stubbornness was not logical and could impede his goals.
“Eastside has pompous, clean-cut douches too,” Hank said. “You’d fit right in.”
But deviancy wasn’t logical. Connor glared but smiled pleasantly. He took out his coin and rolled it between his fingers. Hank scowled at the sound and Connor did it a bit louder. “I’m fine here. So what’s your dog’s name?”
“Fucking green prick,” Hank muttered under his breath, not intending for Connor to overhear but he was a state-of-the-art prototype. “Sumo. Now read the case files I’m sending you and shut your can.”
“Of course, Lieutenant,” Connor said, accessing his computer and fighting the automatic interface response. The most recent homicide case filled his screen as he read through the cases the slow, human way.
Connor picked up a routine. He’d get ready, walk or take a taxi to work, greet Stella or Gretchen, the other ST300, start a coffeepot, and make conversation with various officers until wandering to his desk around 8—not always 8 on the dot, which stressed him out less and less each day until he didn’t even notice.
“You have to start watching, Connor,” Ben said. “Season 42 just premiered and apparently one of the girls is rumored to be a custom android, but no one can figure out who yet. The bachelor is a Cyberlife bigshot so you’d think he’d be able to recognize a machine among all the gorgeous women.”
“Three hours is a long time to invest in one show,” Connor said, frowning at the first episode’s run time once he located it. His phone was out so he could have searched that information on the small device instead of his processor if asked.
“That’s just episode one,” Ben said. “It’ll fly by before you know it.”
Tina snorted as she refilled her mug. “Stop trying to convert people to the Bachelor Nation cult. You know who watches it, let the rest of us live our lives.”
“Says the woman who’s obsessed with Androids in Love,” Ben said.
Tina straightened to full height and prodded a finger hard against the senior officer’s chest. Ben looked amused. “That is quality drama and I won’t have you slander it.”
“Sure,” Ben said. “So Connor, what’s your poison?”
“Oh um,” Connor flashed through a TV show list, descriptions processing and nothing sticking out to him. He should have anticipated this conversation path. He never watched shows as he had all the synopses available.
“Androids in Love is devastating,” Tina said. “I adore it. Do you watch it? You should watch it. Ignore all of Ben’s suggestions. He hates good things.”
“Didn’t it win some People’s Choice for being unrealistic and trashy?” Ben asked.
Tina rolled her eyes. “You know what else is unrealistic? Dragons and magic, but that doesn’t make any show awful. Let me enjoy my trash. Because is the show a hot mess of a dumpster fire? Yes, but fight me.”
“I enjoy Star Trek,” Connor said. It was a popular enough show and the latest reboot was getting overall good praise. It also was not a crime procedural that would make him frown.
“Should’ve guessed you’re a nerd,” Tina said, reaching up to ruffle Connor’s hair.
He dismissed the proximity warning and defense reconstruction prompt and allowed her to move his synthetic hair. She wouldn’t be able to detect a difference and this would help establish him as ‘one of the team.’
A small part of him also preened at her familiar gesture.
“I resent that, Officer Chen.”
“Formal apologies, Detective Mason,” Tina said, her smirk belying her professional tone.
It had only been a week but his relations with several officers already moved towards friendly, even some of the officers with dubious disciplinary records which forced him to revise his avoidance list.
“Detective Dipshit,” Gavin called into the breakroom, “there’s a case for you and your partner if you can find him.”
Detective Reed, of course, remained firmly on the avoidance list. Though it proved difficult to avoid any of his coworkers. Currently, Connor chose not to engage more than necessary. He nodded, pulling the email and grimacing at the high-priority status. If he worked alone, it would be fine, but Hank rolled in anytime between 10 and 1. He’d have to wait to access his computer before attempting to contact Hank to see if he could expedite that. Being a human was so tedious sometimes.
“Fuck off, Gavin,” Tina said, cheerfully. “It’s not Connor’s fault you’re no longer the hottest detective.”
Gavin sputtered. “You’re not funny.”
“It’s your face, man,” Chris said, appearing behind the detective, making him jump. Connor allowed himself a small smirk. Chris was one of the first officers who established a friendly relationship with Connor.
Tina cackled. “Yeah, fix that would you?”
“I mean you’re angry so much,” Chris said, backing away from Gavin’s glare. “Scowling puts so many hard lines on your face… Exactly like what it’s doing now.”
“You can always use retinol oil instead,” Connor said. Engaging a little bit won’t hurt. “Helps with wrinkles.”
“I don’t need any help with wrinkles.”
“Then maybe enrolling in anger management courses would be advisable?” Connor suggested. He froze momentarily. He jumped past several appropriate social queues and Detective Reed was technically his senior officer.
Tina wheezed, whacking Ben on the arm. Ben’s eyes twinkled as he stirred his coffee.
“Where the fuck do you get off—” Gavin snapped.
“Chill, Gavin,” Chris said, throwing his arm around the angry detective, seemingly forgetting his plan to put distance between himself and Gavin’s ire. “Connor gave awesome choices—stop glaring or get retinol oil—and you’ve been a jerk to him since day one so maybe just call it even?”
“Fucking can’t do anything around here without getting the third degree,” Gavin muttered.
“I mean, just look at Connor’s face and puppy dog eyes,” Tina said. “That’s what homegrown, organic niceness can achieve.”
Gavin gave one last parting sneer and allowed Chris to steer him away from the breakroom.
“Chris has the patience of a saint,” Ben said.
Tina waved a dismissive hand at Ben. “Connor, I’m so proud of you!”
Connor blinked and rescanned Tina twice. She seemed genuine. “Thanks?”
“I’m serious,” she said. “You unleashed some sass on Gavin finally. He’s not someone you can always take the high road for because he’s a garbage human being.”
“Aren’t you and Gavin friends?” Connor asked. If not, his social behavior program needed to be reexamined.
“Oh we definitely are,” Tina said. “You can’t take the high road with me either. It won’t stick because I’ll keep attacking you behind the comfort of low morals.”
“Noted,” Connor said solemnly, attempting to hide his amusement. Based on Ben and Tina’s reaction, he didn’t have complete control over his facial expression, but he didn't feel too bad about it. The officers made their way to their desks—at 8:23 and Connor didn’t have a single tardiness warning appear—and Connor logged in and reread the case email.
The homicide appeared open and shut enough. The high-priority alert attached entirely due to the location. A big corporation downtown surrounded by police tape. Not good publicity for anyone and also not something that Connor wanted to wait until Hank chose to show up so they could investigate.
He skimmed Hank’s file and plucked his phone number and then inputted it into the cell phone he refurbished. It was vital in keeping up his human persona.
It rang once and instantly went to voicemail. Familiar irritation that came from dealing with his finicky partner crept up.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. This is Connor. We have a high-priority crime scene we need to investigate. Please let me know when you’ll be at the precinct.”
He disconnected and clicked around his computer. Based on previous interactions and Fowler’s yells at Hank avoiding his calls, it was likely Hank wouldn’t respond. Logically, the most efficient was to go to Lieutenant Anderson’s house, but Connor found himself reluctant to do so. While he made good impressions with other officers, he struggled to find any common ground with his partner. Going to his house would elicit a hostile response Connor wanted to avoid.
However, it was unlikely a single call would do the trick. His eyes fell to his cellphone and he hit redial. This time it went to voicemail after two rings.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. This is Connor again. I’m calling as I believe you’re rejecting my phone calls. Please give me a callback.”
As soon as he disconnected he called again. It went instantly to voicemail.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. The crime scene is next to a Starbucks so, if you recently woke up, it’s at an ideal location for a caffeine boost to start your day.”
Since it went instantly to voicemail, evidence pointed towards Hank turning off his phone. If so, going to his house may be the only next step. Or, Connor tapped redial, he could see how long it took this call to reach his voicemail. There was one ring then it hit the Lieutenant's voicemail. Well, that solved that then.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. I was ensuring you didn’t turn off your phone. Call me back when able.”
Connor hesitated over the redial button.
“Trying to annoy your partner into working?” Wilson asked from his desk. “That’s a strategy that could go either way for you.”
Yes, there was a 63% chance Hank would ultimately ignore his request out of spite, but overall an 72% chance Hank would at least contact Connor back.
Connor shrugged, a motion that still felt stiff as he was never programmed to be anything but certain. “I’ll take that chance.”
His generic ringtone played and Wilson watched while pretending to write his report.
“Hello?” Connor asked as if it could be anyone else.
“How the fuck did you get this number?”
“Your file,” Connor said. “I now have it saved. I recommend you do the same for mine.”
“Fucking don’t tell me what to do.” Connor dismissed the Lieutenant’s words as bluster.
“Did you listen to my messages?”
“Yes, you prick. You can take the stick out of your ass about when I show up. I’ve been on the force before you were even thought of.”
Not an unfair statement since Connor was thought of last year. “I haven’t made any comments about your continued tardiness, Lieutenant. However, this case—”
“Can wait. The crime scene is preserved, ain’t it?”
“I didn’t join the DPD to investigate when you felt like working,” Connor said, more snappish than intended. He rolled the coin between his fingers in an attempt to soothe away his irritation. “Listen, why don’t we meet at the crime scene? It’ll make life easier for both of us as this is the only time-sensitive homicide we have. There are other cases I can follow up on without your presence.”
The silence indicated the Lieutenant likely disconnected. There was no reasoning with such irrational—
Hank gave a heavy sigh. “Where is it? You said next to a Starbucks?”
Connor blinked and re-reviewed Google Maps. “Yes, only a couple of buildings down.” He hesitated. “I can buy you a drink once we get there.”
“At least try to be subtle with your bribery.” There was a pause. “Fucking fine. I’m up anyway. Send me the address and I’ll leave in 5 and meet you there.”
“Yes, Lieutenant. See you soon.” That went better than predicted. Connor texted the address and grabbed the keys for one of the police cars.
Wilson let out a slow whistle. “Not bad.”
Connor was built for negotiating high-pressure situations. Making a police officer do his job was nothing compared to that. However, he couldn’t stop the satisfied smirk. “Thanks, Wilson.”
Hank beat Connor to the crime scene, looking haggard and disheveled as always but annoyingly more prompt. Hank nodded when Connor walked over. A constant crowd of people including a few reporters bordered the police tape while other people in sharp business attire parted around the unmoving mass.
“Glad you finally made it.”
“You’re the one—” Connor cut himself off when Hank smirked. Sarcasm, right. “Shall we proceed, Lieutenant?”
“You’re so fucking stiff. Yes, we shall,” Hank said. “Hopping place. It’ll be good to get this wrapped up. I’d hate for someone to tamper the crime scene with all this traffic.”
Connor decided to ignore his partner until he was productive. They passed the police tape, Connor nodding at Trevor the PC200. The android nodded back automatically. Connor wished there was an easier way to tell who deviated and who wasn’t. Connor chose to play human and solve crimes. Not all androids had a choice. Not that he knew what to do with another deviant. Maybe give them his Canada Refugee plan?
Offer Peter Jefferson, who joined the force a month prior to Connor’s transfer, was visibly surprised to see Hank and Connor and immediately waved them to the side door. “Just upstairs, Detectives.”
Hank grunted and shoved past.
“Thank you, Peter,” Connor said. Even without his social programming in control, it still didn’t hurt to be polite. Peter smiled.
Hank trudged up the stair and went through the open door without another glance or smart comment to Connor. It was a nice change of pace to—
Warning: No androids permitted. Thermal scanner in process.
Connor froze at the warning. It wasn’t a red line of code rooting him to his spot. Even with all of RK800’s advanced modifications, he couldn’t pass a thermal scanner. The thermal scanner sat imposingly on the wall. But the victim was inside that door and there was no way he could bluff his way away from this crime scene. With how persistent he was with Hank, the lieutenant would force him to stay out of spite.
Stress level 56%
CHOICES:
Leave the crime scene (success 32%)
Hack thermal scanner (success 78%)
Walk through the door and get identified as an android by the thermal scanner (success 97%)
The choice was obvious. Connor kept his coin in his pocket, not wanting to draw any attention from Hank, who squatted next to the body. Connor glanced and no one else was in the stairwell except Peter who stood in the doorway. He leaned against the wall, interfacing with the computer, his plastic hand stark against the dark wall.
Stress level 67%
Hacking wasn’t his primary function, but he rapidly adapted since putting himself together from the scattered RK800 parts. Hacking was the only way Connor Mason’s life and apartment came together. Oddly compared to all the rapid android advancements, most systems were not heavily secured. He left the video feed untampered as interfering would lead to more scrutiny on that video than Connor could afford. He found the thermal scanner and frowned. It was already off? Why?
He pushed against the wall. Was an android involved? Or was the scanner disconnected for an unrelated reason?
“The fuck you doing?”
Connor jumped, his stress level spiking. Lieutenant Anderson cocked an eyebrow, leaning out of the doorway. “Caring for a personal matter.”
“A personal matter?” he repeated.
Connor drew a blank on how to remedy this situation. “A quick one?”
“Let me get this straight,” Hank started. Connor cringed at the oncoming lecture but stood at attention. “You blew up my phone, pestered me until I got over to our high-priority crime scene, and as soon as we’re 10 feet from the body, you have an ‘urgent personal matter’ you had to handle?”
“…Yes? It’s finished now so I’ll be in,” Connor said. Hank continued to stare. “I don’t owe you an explanation. My delay was 30 seconds if that.” 42.4 seconds, his system offered helpfully. “You arrive hours late to work every day.”
“You’re the squeaky-clean rookie,” Hank reminded. “Watch your tone.”
Connor could not believe the lieutenant sometimes. “Yes, sir.”
“After you,” Hank said, holding open the door.
Connor stepped in. One forensic scientist glanced up but otherwise their hallway discussion appeared largely unnoticed. He put on the blue gloves and took in the crime scene.
Victim Jennifer Brogden, recent VP of marketing, lay dead on the floor. The cause of death was obviously the bullet hole through her forehead and the bloody shoeprint near the body belonged to a perpetrator as the victim wore heels, not converse. A quick scan revealed no dried thirium in the room. Which was a relief but begged the question why the perpetrators tampered with the thermal scanner. He started reconstructing the crime scene.
“Odd time of day for a murder,” Hank prompted after a few moments.
It was. Why would anyone murder at the beginning of the business day in downtown Detroit?
“Her death wasn’t the intention,” Connor said. Hank gestured at him to keep going. “Based on the placement of footprints, the perp was at the south wall when the victim entered.” His eyes focused on the three paintings. Only the large one was slightly crooked. He carefully reached his gloved hand and shifted the painting to the side, revealing a steel safe door. “Trying to break in, but Jennifer likely arrived early. Out of habit or as a one-off…”
“Doesn’t matter since she’s dead now,” Hank said.
“The preparation of the would-be robbers or lack thereof could indicate how they escaped and aid in—”
“Get to the point.”
Connor refrained from scowling since someone had to be the professional and it would never be Hank. “She came in and they shot her as soon as she entered and they escaped…” Connor paused. They wouldn’t go through the stairwell. Not with the obvious cameras. Though if the thieves were panicked, an avoidable mistake wasn’t out of the question. “Either the way we came in, so they’ll be on camera, or they climbed out the window and will be spotted on traffic cameras.” Connor shot Hank a pointed look. “If they were less prepared, they likely ran through the hallway.”
“Lines up with the evidence. Let’s go get those feeds,” Hank said. “Start with the traffic one.”
Connor ground his teeth.