It's an honor to be working with you, detective

[youcantkillme]

The start of his first day back in deployment goes like this: he reports to the Central DPD station's IT office to be processed as new equipment. He receives official, in-house access to digital police files and restricted areas. He sorts the new permissions so that they don't clash with preexisting Cyberlife access. He reports to one Detective Michael Elliot Traceur's desk a handful of minutes before he'd been scheduled.

The man... isn't there. Connor looked down the line of cubicles on one side, then the other, glancing at his internal clock. There were more than a few seats empty in either direction. That handful of minutes made a significant difference, it seemed, and Detective Traceur would probably arrive shortly if Connor waited.

He can wait. He's an android--and not just any android, he's an RK800, built with a particular emphasis on autonomy. He'll make good use of his time, except--he hasn't been assigned any specific casework, has he?

Connor's eyes slide across the desk. He has no cases, but he does have a new partner. Integrating seamlessly into a social workplace is one of his expected tasks. Would it help him to know what Michael's brand and flavor of choice for chewing gum is? No? He'll log the information anyway, taking in any papers left out, as well as the wear and tear the workstation doesn't yet have. Detective Traceur, says Connor's new access. Transferred to Central Detroit in 05/38, from...

Connor will still be standing by the desk when the detective arrives, LED cycling as he processes his research.

Comments

[youcantkillme]

Connor closed the internal files immediately, turning.

"Detective Traceur." There's a shadow of a smile on Traceur's face. In response, Connor's lips curve up, though it's clearly a superficial mirroring. "My name is Connor. I'm the android sent by Cyberlife. I'm here to assist you with the homicide you were assigned yesterday, as per regulations." There hadn't been many cases involving Cyberlife products, but when they occurred, the company's response was immediate and generous. They were very interested in identifying and dealing with even the possibility of equipment failure, considering how much their success depended on customer trust.

Connor doesn't offer his hand to shake, leaving his arms neatly at his sides. His posture is picture perfect, and where Traceur has grown his hair out, Connor's is precisely, artistically arranged.

[secondtry]

Mike did, however, offer his hand - after moving his coffee from his right to his left. "Good to meet you," he said, and he sounded sincere. He met Connor's eyes without hesitation, though he did give the android a glance. More narrowly built than he'd expected, he was realising, but he'd learned a few things over the years. One was that an android with muscle was generally looked at with skepticism. People wanted their slave race to look a little willowy, it seemed. Easier to feel superior.

...Or, well. That was his theory.

"I've got the files down in the car. I need to clock in, and then we can get started. You can tell me about your capabilities on the way. Which, I'm betting you're pretty advanced."

[youcantkillme]

A handshake. It's uncommon, but Connor follows along with only the barest of hesitations. His hand is slightly cool, and tightens to just match Traceur's gripping force, and not a microNeuton stronger.

"I am," Connor confirms, letting go and stepping out from between Traceur and his computer. His smile has grown, and he looks pleased. "I am currently Cyberlife's most advanced prototype. I'm designed to assist law enforcement and take a more active role in ongoing investigations than any model before me." He's not designed to sound 'proud', per se, but there's a security that comes with being confident in your inherent capacity that might come close.

He waits out of the way while Traceur does what needs doing, unobtrusive and patient.

[secondtry]

There was probably an embarrassing amount of hunt-and-peck interaction from Mike. Of everyone in the world, Connor was assigned to one of the few who couldn't type. But he still managed to log in, count himself as present, tell the system to load the latest data over, and then he picked up his coffee again --

And then he remembered to lock the terminal before turning back to Connor.

"Sorry. Still... I mean, you don't clock in in the Army. So, let's see if what they told you matches what they told me," he offered, motioning for Connor to walk with him. "We're headed to a house on Pines Street. Homicide. CSI's already been over the scene, but your sensor suite's probably better than theirs."

[youcantkillme]

Connor follows, matching his pace and drawing even.

"It's much better than the standard portable labs that forensics techs are usually assigned," Connor agrees, showing not an iota of self-consciousness. His hardware is good, and he's here to show it off. "I can provide more results, with a turnaround faster by several orders of magnitude."

They round an aisle of desks, striding into the precint's greater bull-pen.

"The house is 2242 Pines Street. There was one victim and one partially destroyed android found at the scene, with a second android still left unaccounted for. Initial investigation showed that the first android's memory was recoverable. The partial footage suggested the missing android was involved in the attack, but was too corrupted to show the details."

[secondtry]

He nodded along as Connor spoke. "Do you have that footage handy? Even corrupted, it's worth something." Mike was serious now, still genial enough, easy to get along with, but the subject wasn't one for smiling, to say the least. He already had an idea, but he didn't want his bias to get in the way. "And is the android's body here?"

He'd want a look at it later. ...Maybe. With an airsick bag nearby. Sometimes, he really hated humanity.

The further they went, the more he guided - after all, his car was waiting, and they had somewhere to be. And honestly, he didn't want to think about dismembered androids right now. He knew he'd have to sooner or later, but. Maybe not just yet.

[youcantkillme]

"I don't currently, but I can download it in transit and play it on the car's dash-screen, if you prefer." Out through the bullpen's other side. Through the lobby. "The broken android is still at the crime scene. There were no other signs that it was directly involved in the victim's death, so there was no need to process it as evidence."

A human or two calls out a greeting to Traceur as they pass. The android receptionist shoots him a smile, but otherwise the androids stare through them, programmed not to engage without prior acknowledgement. Connor ignores them, too.

Down the precinct' s main steps, into the parking lot.

[secondtry]

Mike, however, waved absently to the two humans - but told the receptionist goodbye by name.

And then he waved Connor over toward his car. A Mustang. Yeah, not exactly the most fuel efficient thing in the world, but it had a place in Mike's heart like little else. "Good thing my car does have a screen, but we'll have to look at it once we get there. Eyes on the road and all that. I'm old-fashioned enough that I like to drive."

Of course, the car still had GPS, too, that way he wouldn't get lost as they went. Some modern amenities were pretty damned nice, all told.

[youcantkillme]

"I understand." The video isn't long, and the delay to watch it won't make a difference. Connor starts a process to download the video for later use, then opens the car door, climbing inside.

He's silent for a moment or so, buckling himself in. Then... "The coroner's preliminary report estimates a cause of death of blunt trauma to the head. There are several other injuries evident, but they appear to have been inflicted post mortem. The time of death was at approximately twenty three hundred hours, yesterday."

[secondtry]

"Hm." He clicked his belt into place and started the car - good old internal combustion. There was still something about the feel of it. "All I can tell so far is that he really pissed somebody off. There's no such thing as someone getting killed with blunt trauma without some kind of rage behind it. That's... weapon of convenience type stuff," he mused aloud. "Not going to jump to any conclusions, but... fist opinion and all. How about you?"

[youcantkillme]

"Androids experiencing errors in their programs can undergo powerful shifts in emotional demeanor," Connor says slowly. "They can become delusional, violent... Even dangerous." There's a faint line between his eyebrows--concentrating, not disquieted--and if he were facing the right way for Traceur to see his LED, it would be circling a restless blue in thought.

"If an android was involved in the death of Bernard Cook, then errors like that could explain the immediate cause of the attack."

[secondtry]

"I'm not going to rule that out," Mike agreed. "But emotional demeanor doesn't arise out of nowhere. The fact that a dismembered android has already been found? Smells like motive. Self defense."

His tone was carefully chosen: mild, neutral, but honest. He already knew what public opinion of androids was - and it was teetering on a knife's edge. Something like this could push it in the exact way it didn't need to go. It'd be a civil war again, but without the convenient excuses of taxes and voting. It'd be straight up about slavery, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

"Ever see the fiction written by people like Asimov? Or some of the old TV shows like Star Trek? Probably not, you're pretty new... But that's okay, I'll show you. Point is, we can't start at conviction and work backward. We've gotta start at precipitating incident and work forward."

[youcantkillme]

The concentration on Connor's face has faded to slight confusion, with his LED blinking at a different pace as he listens. It's a very non-expression, and doesn't communicate much besides 'listening' and 'processing'.

What he says out loud is, "Of course. We'll observe the scene for clues as to what this incident may have been, and draw logical conclusions based on this. I hope I didn't give you the impression that I would arrive at anything without considering all the evidence. That would be against my programming."

'Self defense.' 'Motive.' The words needle at him, out of place for the subject at hand.

[secondtry]

"It's... Well." How to say this? Honestly, as far as he could tell, but he knew that it would probably go over like a lead balloon. "I guess I have a pet peeve. Probably more than a pet peeve, honestly. I don't like androids being treated like things. Just a little personality quirk of mine," he explained, as if it were just that simple. As if he didn't take it personally.

Yeah, he was sure that particular ruse would last forever. Mmhm.

"There are some instincts that are common, no matter what. Even to you. You're not just supposed to stand around and get damaged, I'd bet."

[youcantkillme]

"I am a very expensive prototype, Detective Traceur," Connor says slowly, watching him sidelong. "I wouldn't allow myself to be damaged because it would be detrimental to my programmed goals, not out of some kind of 'common instinct.' I am an object. Nothing more."

Self defense. Motive. Common instinct. He should have seen this coming from the handshake alone. Is this something Connor can assess and manage, or will he need to work around him? The way Traceur reacts to the gentle correction will tell him more.

[secondtry]

"You're a machine," Mike said, and maybe that was agreement. Maybe it wasn't. It was acknowledgement of something, anyway. "And you are expensive, I'm absolutely sure, so do me a favour and don't put yourself in too much danger, okay? My VA money's only gonna go so far with me on a police salary now."

See that? That was a smooth subject change, and one he stayed with as he guided the car according to GPS directions. Detroit was...

Well, it was a far cry from what he was used to. The redwood forests of California, followed by the deserts overseas... He was used to things being warm, and that was something Detroit simply wasn't. There was a reason he had a sarape blanket in the back of the car, and he was starting to feel it. A few touches turned the heat up before he paused and glanced over. "Do you have any sensitive temperatures I need to watch out for? Because I'm cold and I'm probably going to crank it up to the mid-eighties in here."

[youcantkillme]

It's a concession, followed by something that checks every box in what should be a more reasonable attitude, except. It's--not what it should be, not like Connor's test simulations and past experiences. Successful integration involves accepting unpleasant behavior when it occurs, but this is--positive? Except his conversational protocols are responding as though it were another step in a clash of ideas. He's ready to continue pushing, to gently and clearly explain the flaws in the man's statements until a successful conclusion is reached.

Connor overrides the suggestions for arguments, composing a brief error report. He hesitates--just for a split second--before sending it on to Amanda.

All of this happens over the span of a brief pause, at the end of which he turns forward, watching the road. "I've been designed to tolerate temperatures beyond human ranges with no loss of functionality," he says blandly. "Eighty five degrees Fahrenheit does not exceed this range."

[secondtry]

"I'm glad. That's the worst thing about Detroit so far. I wanted Vegas, but nope. They stuck me up here. Where it snows. Snow is so messed up." Mike went on with the conversation as if it was nothing at all, taking that subject change and running with it. "I was mostly stationed in the Middle East. You probably saw that in my records. That warmth was. Man, it was amazing. I felt like the happiest lizard in the rock pile."

Okay, maybe that metaphor wasn't completely called for, but he couldn't resist. Besides, they were getting closer to the address. Which meant that soon, it'd be time to watch that bit of surveillance footage.

Which meant he'd have to probably brace himself against unpleasantness of the nausea-inducing kind. At this rate, he wasn't going to want to eat lunch today.

[youcantkillme]

If Mike glances over, he'll find Connor's eyebrows drawn slightly together and his eyes distant. 'The happiest lizard in the rock pile.' Lizards: common reptiles that are found in trees, vegetation on the ground, and rocks. Rocks provide camoflauge and warmth from the sun, but also carry a risk of exposure to predators. Mike... felt soothed by the warmth, but also that it was dangerous? ... This conclusion doesn't match the fond tone he's using, nor the context. Lizards are cold-blooded, or ectothermic animals, and...

After a few seconds Connor says, "That sounds nice."

And odd. Still, it's been long enough that his protocols are instructing him to answer whether or not he understands.

They're not far from the address, now--only a few more streets.

[secondtry]

Mike knew what those few seconds meant. Human metaphors weren't exactly the easiest for AI to process - never had been. Hank had understood them after a while, but when he heard a new one - like 'happiest lizard in the rock pile' - he needed both a little context and a little explanation. "It means," Mike started, "that I was comfortable in the temperature and the environment. That it suited me. A lot of people complained about the scrub and the sand and the dirt, but I liked it because it was always warm, and honestly, the people were pretty nice, too - you know, besides the ones that wanted to blow people up. You know you're allowed to ask me if I say something you don't quite get, right? I don't mind explaining. Promise."

And to him, anyway, it was better than making Connor - or any android - mentally flail about how to answer some of his--

What was the word? Damn it, he knew this one. It was... something completely unconnected... Ah hell, he'd either remember later or he wouldn't.

So better to go back to a more timely question. "I bet you have that footage ready." There. Nice and safe.

[youcantkillme]

Connor doesn't say anything out loud, but his eyes sharpen with understanding, and his lips form a silent 'Oh'. Connections form. 'If (tone) and (metaphor), then consider...'

He's just turning his head to speak (to thank him? to insist it won't be necessary?) when the subject changes again, this time to mutually safer ground. Connor closes his mouth, expression clearing.

"Yes. I have it downloaded and queued for transfer."

And... they've reached the right street. Overflowing trash bins dot the sidewalk, a stray dog wanders in the distance, and a small scatter of police cars and news vans line the street. They park a little ways away, neither of them leaving the vehicle.

Connor reaches for the dash-screen without needing further invitation. The file transfers immediately, and starts to play.

Static. Distorted voices, a glimpse of a floor that the viewer--the android--is trying to sweep. One of the android's hands has no skin, exoskeleton too crushed to support it. There's no thirium, suggesting that the injury is too old to be relevant to the incident at hand.

The voices raise, and the view swings up, capturing the victim and another android, this one neat and intact.

Connor watches without expression, LED a serene blue. He's been digesting the footage since it downloaded, and nothing he sees now is new to him.

[secondtry]

Mike watches, since the car is still, and what he sees... It never stops being unsettling. Maybe his uncanny valley is just highly developed. Or maybe he just can't really draw a line between android and human. Or--

Hell, when it comes down to it, who knows. Why does it even matter. Most of what he sees is that these people have no sense of actual humanity. No idea how to treat people with any kind of thoughtfulness. For all he knew he was in the minority when it came to the whole idea of androids and personhood.

Still, he watched, trying to match what he saw on the screen with the setting. This... certainly wasn't a good part of town, to say the least.

[youcantkillme]

The human is larger than the android, and he's maneuvered her with a cabinet behind her, and his bulk between her and the rest of the room. The camera's rest on them as the man's voice drops to a growl, until the human closes in, arm coming up low. The cameras jerk back to the floor, scratching uselessly at it with a broom. He tries to close his hand to brace it properly, but the exoskeleton splits, weeping thirium. He stops trying.

For a moment there's the illusion of silence, with the human's words drowned out by the memory's static. There might have been a choked off sob almost lost in that distortion spike, and right on that' sound's heels is a stream of outraged explicatives.

"Where thefuck is your pussy?!" the man snarls. The cameras snap up to the human, whose bulk is right up on top of her, hiding everything from view but her legs. The cameras dart left, then back to them, then down, down to its own stained and battered Cyberlife-issue shoes.

"I--I--don't--" the other android stutters. She breaks off at the sound of an impact with a cry, which makes the cameras jump again. "I-I don't have one! I'm not a..."

"Where the fuck is it?!" the human repeats. "What did you do with it? Why did you... You knew!" Another impact and a cry, and--distortion, lost time--the thud of a falling body. The cameras jumped back to them, finding her on the ground, with him dropping to kneel over her.

"You fucking slut. You knew today was the day, you knew and you took your pussy away just to torture me!" He hit her again. She deflected the blow this time, but sounded more distraught than ever.

"I didn't! I didn't--I don't, I didn't kn--I didn't--"

Distortion. His big, meaty fists flew. "You fucking bitch! I'll teach you to--"

"Stop it! Stop it!" she shrieked. She lashed out, and it was hard enough to make him reel, head rocking back. Distortion. "Stop!"

She hit him again, then scrambled and dragged herself back--

Enough distortion for the feed to cut out completely. Connor can't tell how much time is lost, if any. The only thing that's clear is that the watching android drops the broom, joining the struggle. The human fights both of them, bellowing like a wounded animal. The girl screams and fights anyone who gets close, and the viewer reaches for both of them, to harm or help--

Distortion. The video is over.

[secondtry]

It was still an unusual thing for Mike to have an emotional reaction. Well. No, that wasn't precisely true. The rage he felt at this man? That was normal. When the androids, both of them, started fighting back, Mike found himself surprised by the streak of pride that went through him. Damn but he hoped they could find her and make sure she was okay - even though he knew he'd have to carefully manoeuver things with Connor.

And that made him wonder if this was slightly out of his reach. He was a lot of things, but that sly? He doubted it. Yet he wanted nothing more than to see this girl go free because it was obvious - to him, anyway - that this was self defense.

How the hell could he play this.

"...That's one hell of a video," he started. "If she'd been human, that would've made it an open and shut case."

[youcantkillme]

"If she'd been human," Connor repeats, adjusting his tie. "But she was not. She was a delivery unit, with a face common to model WE600s."

He could retrace every shift in posture, tension, and proprioceptive feedback as he watched the footage, but there would be no point. The odd echoes of something whisping at the corners of his thoughts are small enough to be lost in the focus of his mission, and everything else can and has already been explained away as adjusting to the conversational shift in mood. Nothing more.

"The footage indicates she was responsible for the victim's death. A study of the crime scene may turn up clues as to her current whereabouts."