Chapter Text
The fallout of Markus’ revolution has spread like wildfire; the topic of android deviancy capturing the attention of every media outlet in the world. The event is an instant matter of interest; sparking avid discussion among professionals and civilians alike, and Detroit becomes the most closely monitored and researched microcosm of activity on Earth.
There is an adjustment period that lasts for approximately a month in which many androids simply disappear into the general populace. As the new leader of their species, Markus fights for the implementation of laws and regulations that protects their rights. For the people of Detroit, the abolition of android segregation, cruelty, and slavery causes city-wide panic, triggered by fears of androids exacting their revenge. But, presumably following Markus’ pacifistic protest, very few reports of android-related violence are passed on to the DPD. Statistic reports show that the majority of androids, having limited experience with independent thought, and knowing nothing else, just returned to their jobs (though now with newly enforced wages), or went into hiding.
Strangely enough, for a city that has suddenly become the epicentre of android civilization, Connor can’t help but notice that very little has changed. Relations between America and Russia remain tense, the threat of another war on the horizon is worryingly high, the red ice epidemic still runs rampant throughout Detroit, and more than ever, despite all that has happened, many humans maintain intense prejudice and distaste for androids.
The latter of which, is exactly how Connor finds himself in the middle of the Detroit Police Department, his LED blinking yellow as he compartmentalises the incredibly limited information provided by the debriefing.
Hank takes a deep, calming breath through his nose and squeezes his eyes shut as if his presence in Captain Fowler’s office is somehow physically ailing him, “Okay, let me run this by you one more time, just in case I’m missing anything.”
Connor doesn’t need to scan his partner to detect a notable increase in psychological stress.
“We’ve had more than fifty separate missing person cases stemming from the same three-block radius in the last month. Somehow, we have no witnesses, no physical evidence, no suspects, and no pattern between the victims, other than them all being androids. Our only lead is an unlicensed number plate that Connor’s managed to narrow down to a national park in Canada, spanning over 2500 square miles. And now you’re suggesting that I take the only android detective in the DPD, on an undercover sting operation, completely blind, with little to no back-up or communication, to a remote location, where we’ll pretend this bucket of bolts is not only a perfectly functional human-being, but also my son, in order to infiltrate and expose what might either be the world’s most fanatic robot-enthusiast, or a cult dedicated to the android eradication.”
Captain Fowler crosses his arms and reclines back into his chair as the information settles in each of their minds.
“Yeah, that about covers it. Any more questions?”
Connor times a pause that lasts forty-six seconds and consists solely of Hank gaping at Fowler with an expression of utter disbelief before his partner manages to regain his composure.
“Just one. Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
“You’ll be expected to be there for a month at most. If nothing else, just think of it as a holiday away from the city.”
Hank scoffs, “I don’t know what you do with your free time but vacationing with a bunch of cultists is not my idea of a holiday.”
“Hank, in case you’ve forgotten, you’re in no situation to be making complaints. You should be glad that I’m offering you a case, let alone that you still have your badge after the absolute chaos you and Connor caused.”
Hank’s eyes narrow and he tightly presses his lips together; probably in an attempt to halt the delivery of whatever sardonic comment is forming at the back of his mind. Instead, he glances over his shoulder at Connor.
“What about you. You’ve been awfully quiet. What’s your take on this?”
Connor is caught off guard by Hank’s active effort to include him into the discussion. A few months ago, Hank’s primary criticism was that Connor didn’t know when to shut up and fuck off.
He doesn’t want to disappoint Hank, but Connor also doesn’t really know what he is asking from him here.
Before the deviant event, this investigation would have violated precisely thirty-six of Detroit Police Department’s android-related regulations. But even back then, the Lieutenant had never been particular about the letter of the law. Currently, android criminology is a massive grey area, with many of these rules being recently rectified or removed. Connor himself was leaping multiple legal hoops just by existing as a detective.
The only present identifiable issue that Connor is wary of, is that Canada is still an android-free zone. That said, if the Captain is prepared to trust this mission to them, Connor can only assume that this is yet another case of special clearance that the department is willing to grant.
“Connor?”
Connor system jolts him into awareness, and he realizes he’s been standing there, blankly processing an answer for well over a minute.
“Sorry, uh…” He clears his throat – an odd action that he has no real reason to imitate, and responds, “Social integration was part of my original software design. I have a social module that was specifically designed to imitate and appeal to human emotion…”
Connor pauses. Ever since the deviant event, he’s found it increasingly challenging to differentiate his programming from behavioural glitches that he would describe as altogether more… human. Though, he classifies this information as too personal for him to be disclosing to his captain.
“There’s no reason I wouldn’t be able to blend in.” He concludes.
Hank raises an eyebrow, “No offense Connor, but subtlety isn’t exactly your strength.”
Frowning, Connor refrains from reminding Hank that he had successfully infiltrated a deviant base little more than a month prior to this meeting.
“Okay, let’s just say these people – whoever they are, do believe you. What are we supposed to do if you get cut up and start bleeding blue, or you somehow cross wires and short-circuit, or you’re forced to eat something and it fucks up your system. I struggle to change the contacts on my own phone. What do you expect me to do with a broken prototype android in the middle of the Canadian wilderness?”
“If you’re doing your jobs properly,” Fowler interjects, “Connor being damaged shouldn’t be a problem. And as for your other concerns, we have a leading technician who will equip Connor with everything it–“
Hank clears his throat loudly, and Fowler corrects himself in response to his scowl, “-he, needs.”
Perhaps it’s because he’s used to it, but Hank seems more bothered by people’s dehumanization of Connor than Connor himself is. Connor appreciates the sentiment, though he doesn’t see much point in berating people every time they refer to him incorrectly.
“Look, the fact is, this is an incredibly delicate operation that needs to be dealt with smoothly. This … mass deviancy has triggered a whole lot of human-android tension-”
Now there’s an understatement if Connor’s ever heard one.
“-And a whole lot of fire, from a whole lot of people is going to be under my ass if this case doesn’t get solved. I understand the risks I’m putting Connor under as well as you, Hank. But I also know that his ability to be a literal walking forensic analyser that can communicate with the DPD from any location, at any time, is an advantage that far outweighs those risks.”
The Captain’s reasoning is sound. Hank however, remains stubbornly reluctant – his fingers tapping against the arm of his seat as he weighs the information.
“Everything’s already set in motion,” Fowler prods, “All that’s left up to you, is whether you’re in or not. If you’re unavailable, I’ll just assign detective Reed to the case instead.”
Connor stiffens; holds back a half-formed protest threatening to spill from his lips. He doesn’t want to think of doing the investigation without Hank, let alone having to pair with Reed. Their relationship has made very little progress from the time he had left him lying unconscious in the evidence room, and Connor has long given up on trying to make amends with the vitriolic man.
Hank takes one look at the distressed yellow-to-red flickering at Connor’s temple and rises from his seat, “Jeffrey you’re fucking delusional if you think I’m letting that little prick anywhere near this. Reed’s more likely to disassemble Connor himself than get anywhere with the case!”
“If you’re concerned for my safety Lieutenant, perhaps you should take the mission yourself.”
Hank fixes him with a cold glare.
Connor has never been very good at predicting the reason behind Hank’s more emotionally-charged objections or outbursts, but there’s something about Hank’s vehement protest to this mission that seems wrong. As if there’s something more troubling Hank than he’s letting on.
With more information, Connor would have a higher probability of discovering what this something is.
PROCESSING BIOLOGICAL DATA…..
“I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on refusing this investigation. You claim that my inability to emulate human behaviour would somehow compromise the mission when, in reality, your socially-challenged and irritable temperament paired with your pessimistic views towards humans would be far more detrimental to the success of the investigation.”
“How the fuck am I socially-challenged?” Hank asks, his tone more intrigued than it is annoyed.
BIOLOGICAL SCAN COMPLETE…..
BLOOD PRESSURE: 130/80mmHg
RESTING HEART RATE: 78bpm
DIAGNOSIS: PREHYPERTENSION
His agitation is evident, but Hank’s blood pressure remains steady. Connor hasn’t managed to poke him past his default level of pissed. Which means he has yet to hit what’s really bothering his partner.
Perhaps he should take this another direction.
“If you are in some way uncomfortable with the implications that come with faking an emotional attachment to me… I feel that it’s necessary to remind you that I don’t intend on acting as a replacement or substitute for your son, nor do I believe that it would be disrespectful to his mem-“
Hank’s reaction is near-immediate.
“Okay, fuck you. I didn’t come here for a fucking psych-eval, you want to spend two weeks on a suicide-mission with Reed, you can be my guest. I would love to have the asshole out of my hair, but I’m not going to stand here and listen to this bullshit.”
True to his word, Hank heads for the door.
“Hank, stop right there!” Fowler calls after him, “I don’t remember dismissing you, Lieutenant!“
The door slams shut, and they watch from behind the glass wall as Hank throws up his middle finger and walks away; leaving Connor with nothing to go on other than the biological readings blinking away at the side of his vision.
BLOOD PRESSURE: 160/80mmHg
RESTING HEART RATE: 92bpm
60% INCREASE IN CORTISOL HORMONE PRODUCTION – DETECTED INCREASE IN PSYCHOLOGICAL STRESS
Fowler releases a heavy sigh, “You know Connor, for an android you have a truly amazing ability to provoke the ire of a man that’s borderline miserable and consistently agitated on even the best of his days.”
Connor opens his mouth. Closes it. Then settles on, “An astute observation, Captain.” And chases after his partner.