Chapter Text
The rain poured down in a heavy curtain, thudding rhythmically on the roof of the shabby house as you closed your umbrella crossing the threshold into the crime scene. Your nose subtly crinkled in disgust at the putrid stench that hit your nostrils. The interior of the house itself reeked of mustiness, of mold and fungi prospering in its foundations, but the most invasive smell of all was that of human decay. Whoever had been murdered in here, had been dead for weeks, left to rot inside the enclosed space. Thankfully, someone had already had the bright idea to open the windows and let the fetid air circulate. The first time you had come into contact with such a rancid smell, not too terribly long ago, you had to force down the reflex to gag. Now, even though you weren’t fully used to it, it didn’t upset your stomach as much.
Professional as you were, you let no discomfort break your concentration. Not the stench nor the memories carried by the rainy weather. Soon, all that would occupy your mind would be hypotheses and careful speculation. After all, this was the way of life you were dedicated to, the one in which you poured all your energy.
Spotting your entrance, a short chubby officer in his late forties waddled over towards you. This was Ben Collins. A good-humored fellow with a respectable reputation. You had no reason to dislike him even though, the first time you met on a scene, months back, he hadn’t taken you seriously, going as far as to make a tasteless joke involving ‘diapers’. You simply smiled and when he finished chuckling at his own cleverness you’d stated with intact composure that you were, in fact, an adult and there to do your job.
His initial reaction had not been dissimilar to the ones you mostly got on those first weeks of working as a Detective for the DPD. It wasn't like it didn't get under your skin, but you were swift enough in taking the reigns of your nerves while retaining a polished mask. Anger did not take hold of you easily, but neither were you the type to let anyone step on you, no matter who they were. You often had your temper in check, but you were still occasionally affected by spontaneous impulses
In a trained manner that still radiated friendliness, the corners of your lips curved politely as your senior officer approached you, already having guessed what he was about to say just from the pronounced wrinkles of his furrowed brow.
“Detective (l/n), I don’t think I was warned that you’d be coming…” He voiced it as a question even though, it wasn’t really one.
“I was in the vicinity when I was alerted to a reported murder at this location. Having wrapped up for the day, I decided to come to check it out. As you must know by now, crimes involving androids are my speciality.” You leaned forward slightly and added that last part light-heartedly when, although on the surface Collins was smiling, he was still asking ‘but why?’ with his eyes.
In truth, not only were they your speciality, for all the inside knowledge you had, and your experience being allocated to such crime scenes, but they were also of your profound interest. But that last part was better kept to yourself.
“I have no reason to refuse of course,” Collins said rubbing his flabby hands together “but we’ve already got Hank and his new android” His brows bounced at the mention of the latter “working on the scene.”
An android aiding with a criminal investigation? That was new.
“Oh, Lieutenant Anderson is here?” not getting wasted at some bar? you added in your mind “And an android you said?”
Those were two things that did not seem to fit together in a sentence. From what you had gathered over the six months you’d been with the DPD, Lieutenant Hank Anderson had a very unequivocal position regarding androids. He'd even decorated his desk back at the station with anti-android stickers as if his constant brash remarks weren't enough of a clue.
Your senior officer clearly found the situation rather amusing “Funny, isn’t it?”
Not if Hank had somehow been forced to take the android along, which was the most plausible explanation you could come up with.
“Yes, curious.” you said nonetheless, before, with veiled impatience, moving the conversation along “How long have they been here?”
“No more than 20 minutes I don’t think. They seem to have got this covered.”
“Well, now that I’m here, I might as well try to be of assistance.” Your inflation made it clear that you were done discussing this and without giving the man time to reply you bypassed him “But please, do recap the basic facts to me.” you added as you walked in a straight line towards the corpse slumped back against the wall. The sentence ‘I AM ALIVE’ written in perfect font on the wall above the deceased’s head captured your interest more than the dead body itself. It took but a second for you to conclude the cause of death were the countless stabs wounds the man had suffered to his abdomen, the blood spatters on the surface behind him were fresh at the time of the murder, possible only before the blood clotted during rigor mortis.
Part of your brain was following along with Collins’ retelling of the known details, and the other was turning those three words over in your mind. You’d seen something similar in a previous crime scene, although that one had not been written in the victim’s blood. It only reinforced the questions already present in your mind. Was it a personal statement, or was it a cry out to the public, posteriority perhaps?
But, most importantly, what did it truly mean?
“Jesus! What the hell are you doing?!”
Storing your train of thought for another time, you glanced over your shoulder at Hank’s distinct raucous voice coming from the kitchen area. Since you were fashionably late to the party, might as well learn about the evidence that’s already been collected. Ben was done speaking anyway and there was no use reanalyzing clues that had already been analyzed.
Following this deliberation, you entered the kitchen.
Hearing you walk in, Hank Anderson’s head whipped in your direction. Eyes wide before narrowing at you.
“What’re you doing here?”
Amiable as always.
“'Evening Lieutenant, I was close by when I was informed of the murder that occurred, and I thought I could be of help.” Your attention shifted to the man who rose from a crouched position. An android, you noted as your eyes landed on the circular blue LED on his right temple “And you are?”
“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.” The android introduced himself politely.
You nodded more to yourself than to him. His voice was pleasant, even if punctuated in a way that sounded only slightly artificial to your ears. His face was also agreeable to gaze at, smooth looking, sprinkled with a couple of tawny freckles on the bridge of his nose, impeccably styled brown hair and soft brown eyes that looked back at you without a trace of judgement in them. Idly, you also took note of the RK800 – a model you didn’t recognize – printed on the front of his uniform.
Cyberlife was always outdoing itself. Really, it never failed to amaze you.
“I’m Detective (y/n) (l/n)” you offered a hand “Nice to meet you, Connor.”
The way he hesitated but for a second, made you consider that, even though his facial expression betrayed nothing, he most likely wasn’t used to being greeted in such a friendly fashion. In your eyes, it shouldn't be so difficult for people to be cordial to androids. But perhaps yours was the privileged perspective of someone who had yet to fear becoming part of the nation's astonishingly high unemployment percentage.
His larger hand enveloped yours in a gentle but firm grip, and in the back of your mind it still impressed you how humanly warm the synthetic skin was “It’s my pleasure, Detective.”
As he looked at you, Connor’s LED spun yellow and you assumed he was scanning you, retrieving your personal information and background. It technically was a breach of your privacy, but it didn’t make you uncomfortable per se. Still, you had to wonder what he was learning from that.
From the corner of your eye, Hank was watching your exchange, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.
“I don’t need your help, kid.” He said as you lowered your arm.
That was not unexpected. It was not like the lieutenant had anything particularly against you, he was this prickly with everyone. Compared to most, you almost dared to say you had a comradely relationship with a tendency to trade quips. You even had a sense that he – cared about would be a stretch – respected you for who your father was. But at the end of the day, Hank was a crotchety man who refused to be easily partnered up. Much less with the youngest and overall least experienced detective on the force, you reckoned.
“That might be so,” you answered with untouched composure “But what have you to lose? Fret not Lieutenant, your crime scene is safe with me.” your smile widened playfully. As your first recourse to deal with this sort of attitude, a pinch of wit seemed to do the trick, not that you could avoid it.
With that, you turned towards the android again, picking up on Hank muttering something along the lines of ‘everyone’s out tonight to bust my balls, huh?’ under his breath.
“Connor, could you please relay to me whatever findings you’ve made so far?”
With a nod, Connor complied, summarizing all the information he had, as well as putting together some insightful deductions that sounded completely logical to you. As he verbally reconstructed the attack, your eyes trailed to the kitchen counter, sweeping past the spot on the wall where a knife was missing. Connor described how the deviant had snatched the weapon after being bludgeoned with a baseball bat and then proceeded to stab the victim, chasing him all the way into the living room. Twenty-eight stab wounds in total. An absurd amount. One only generally seen in cases of crimes of passion.
No doubt it had been more than self-defense. Could it be that the deviant’s system had been infected with something akin to rage?
“Right.” Hank said, “But that doesn’t tell us where the android went.”
At that, you glanced around, scanning your surroundings. Besides the one remaining door to the bathroom, you also identified a trapdoor on the ceiling. To your knowledge, deviants who experienced emotional stress and acted irrationally as a result tended to not plan ahead.
“It was damaged by the bat… and lost some thirium.” Connor trailed off pensively.
“Lost some what?”
“Thirium.” You chimed in looking back at Hank “Commonly known as blue blood. It’s what powers androids' biocomponents. It evaporates after a few hours and becomes undetectable to our eyes.”
Connor nodded at your explanation, and you glanced up at him “But I bet Connor here can still see it.”
“Correct.” He confirmed.
“Be our guest then.” Hank said making a half-assed ‘go for it’ gesture.
While Hank kept looking at the evidence in the kitchen, you and Connor followed the traces of blue blood. Well, to be precise, Connor followed the traces and you followed Connor.
This trail led you, as you'd suspected, to the trapdoor. You both craned your necks to look up at it.
“There’s a blue handprint there.” He pointed, “It must have gone this way.”
Even though you couldn’t see a thing, there was no reason to disbelieve him. The place had been locked from the inside when the first responders arrived. No sign that the suspect had fled from any of the possible exits. If your deductions were right, and they were still here and hiding, they had to be up there.
You turned around to fetch a chair from the kitchen. Hank threw a question your way, but you deflected it by simply saying you needed it to check something. Placing it beneath the trapdoor, you propped one foot on it, ready to climb when Connor stopped you with an arm in front of you.
“Sorry Detective, but it would be more reasonable if I go first.”
You raised a challenging eyebrow “Why’s that?”
“We do not know how the deviant will react if it’s still up there. For your safety, it’s better that I go in the front.” He explained, matter-of-factly.
That sounded like a legitimate reason. Ever since you entered the force, you became used to being underestimated so you instinctively thought Connor may have been doing just that. He wasn’t. There wasn’t any insinuation you could detect in his tone. He was probably programmed to put human life before his own safety, you reasoned.
Although you weren’t sure how to feel about that, you still took your foot off and gestured for the android to go ahead "After you.".
The way he climbed was incredibly fluid, every movement was precise and had a purpose. Once you followed after him, he reached out a hand for you to take, which you accepted with a grateful nod, and he helped you onto the attic.
It was darker up there, but you could still make out shapes due to the moonlight that sneaked in through the window at the back of the room. The stale air was heavy with accumulated dust. It had evidently been a long time since anybody had bothered to clean the place. You considered taking out your flashlight but opted for the gun at your hip, aiming it towards the ground as you followed on Connor’s careful footsteps.
The android detective rolled open a moth-eaten curtain where a humanoid silhouette could be seen, it turned out to be only a mannequin. Seriously. Why would someone keep something like that?
Slowly, so as not to alarm whatever was in there, you both made your way further into the room. Ears peeled, and eyes surveying the dimly lit attic, you steeled yourself to be surprised at any moment.
And surprised you were when the deviant jumped out from where he had been concealed in the shadows and came to a halt in front of Connor. Not missing a beat, you raised your gun, pointing it at the suspect. It was more of an intimidation tactic; you weren’t going to shoot unless there was no other choice. The android’s dark gaze was fixed on Connor, before it fell on you and your weapon then back to Connor. There was a plea in his eyes, LED blinking red as a warning of his instability. Nothing about him seemed remotely threatening, on the contrary, he looked… lost. So, you relaxed your grip but held your ground, waiting.
“I was just defending myself.” The deviant told Connor, there was something about his demeanor that suggested he was searching for compassion “He was going to kill me.”
Those words spoke directly to your softest side and you lowered your arms, so the barrel of the gun wasn’t aimed at the deviant’s head. The android’s eyes flashed towards you and his expression hardened compared to the way in which he had addressed Connor. You couldn’t blame him, knowing the way he had been treated by his human owner.
You glanced at the quiet RK800 in front of you. The deviant’s face seemed suffused with emotion whereas Connor’s was indecipherable, the epitome of composure. You wondered what was going through his artificial mind. How did he see this android? A task to be completed? Or a being like him?
“Connor, (l/n), what the fuck is going on up there?”
You glanced over your shoulder at where Hank’s shout had echoed from below. Your lips parted with a response, but you snapped them shut again, lifting your gaze back to Connor. A curious human by nature, especially in regard to these advanced A.I.s, you resolved to leave the decision to your android colleague. Also, you blamed your tender empathetic heart, but you felt sorry for the deviant. Nothing excused taking a life in such a brutal manner, but nowhere in your mind was this a deranged machine who had simply malfunctioned and acted violently. There were obvious signs of prolonged abuse imprinted on his body. It was beyond you how people could be willing to pay so much for an android just to mistreat them and damage them in the end.
But was it your place to understand?
Not that ever stopped you from hunting for answers.
Connor held the android’s desperate gaze for a moment before turning his head fractionally towards the trapdoor “It’s here Lieutenant!”
It was the expected call, the right call, most would argue. There was no lawful way around it. But, for a brief moment, he’d been quiet. Had he hesitated or were you just projecting?
You looked back at the deviant’s defeated face. Things weren’t as black and white as people made them out to be. You had become sure of that during these past months of investigating – and solving – cases involving deviants. It was easy to dismiss deviancy as nothing more than a glitch. It was simple to file reports with that explanation and send the ‘defective’ androids back to be shut down and taken apart. But no one had yet come out with a tenable explanation for such bugs. And no one seemed interested in getting to the bottom of the dilemma. How and why androids managed to resist their programming. Was that a sign of consciousness? Of something beyond the lines of coding humans devised? Those were the real questions still left unanswered.
However, you kept these kinds of thoughts to yourself, locked away from the scrutiny of others who couldn’t begin to comprehend. Your reasoning was scary, your theories undesirable, no one wanted to hear how androids may be capable of free will because that could have unforeseeable consequences for society. Gavin Reed, aka your new mental personification of the word ‘douchebag’, and the only person on the force who required an extra dose of effort for you to tolerate, had even mocked you for being an android sympathizer once, just from the way he’d seen you treat them on a case. Though it was meant as provocation, there was nothing that you’d interpreted as offensive in that. The truth was, you knew enough about androids to be unable to regard them as nothing more than another piece of technology humans invented.
The rain had let up by the time the prisoner was escorted to the cruiser - thankfully, as you were not a fan of the gloomy weather. You walked alongside Connor and behind Hank, lost in your thoughts. Discreetly, you stole a glance at Connor’s candid yet impassive face. Working with an android to solve deviant cases, huh? To you, this sounded like an interesting prospect, both from an observational as well as a practical standpoint, just like a once-in-a-lifetime experiment would to a mad scientist. Your instinct told you that this could be the opportunity you needed to finally get closer to the truth. If this android was indeed to continue investigating on behalf of the DPD, the first thing you’d do tomorrow once arriving at the station, was march up to Fowler’s office - probably get him his favorite Starbucks beverage on the way – and not leave until he allowed you to partake in Connor’s future investigations. There was little reason for him to refuse, few officers were keen on working in android related cases. But even if he did, you were confident in your ability to convince him, that or exhaust him with your persistence. Either worked.
Perhaps you’d been staring for longer than you realized because Connor caught you. He met your eyes, facial expression asking, ‘is there something you need?’. As a response, the corners of your lips pulled up in a small smile and with a shake of your head, you moved your gaze away to where the handcuffed deviant was being shoved inside the vehicle.
There was a lot you still didn’t understand. But on that windless November night, you felt strangely optimistic. You saw multiple roads, no dead-ends, only possibilities.