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Connor woke up with a start, the light sprawled across his spot on the couch. Well, not "woke up", more like reactivated his program after a set time of standby. Technically waking up applies when you regain consciousness from being asleep. Does Connor on standby count as being unconscious? Is it called a consciousness if he's an android?
Connor furrowed his eyebrows. "That's still waking up." He thought outloud, patting down the polo shirt he slept in. It wasn't as wrinkled due to his position on the couch, but it still was untidy.
Then again, outloud is being an understatement given the house is blasting music from Hank's bedroom.
It wasn't even his regular music. This one had an... odd tinge to it.
Detecting the music's time signature, Connor absently tapped his finger on 4/4 rythm, going along with the muffled lyrics.
All Star, 1999, He found. Smash Mouth. Composed for the children's movie "Shrek".
"So much to do, so much to see-- Sumo! Sing the next line!" He heard Hank yell, gaining a howl from the St. Bernard. "--where you don't go! Never shine when you don't glow!"
The electric guitar riffed in the background of the chorus, reminiscent of Hank's energetic music. "ALL STAR! H-h-YEAH! THIS IS MY GENERATION'S MUSIC!"
Often, Hank can be a huge mystery.
Connor blinked, processing the situation. It was unusual, to say the least, to wake up with Hank playing-- and singing along-- to an offly dated song which got popular in the early 2000's.
In a way, Connor found it... out of character.
Or, perhaps, he didn't know the Lieutenant as well as he'd hoped.
"--MO-OLD! YEAH!" Hank yelled, followed by a thump that resounded through the entire household. "Fuck me, I love this dumb song."
The RK800 shot up from his seat, distressed. The noise brought up certain vivid images he didn't want to think about ever since he moved in with him.
"Hank?" He screamed, voice laced with worry. He might be drunk, Connor reasoned with himself. Maybe he's celebrating the song for nostalgia this early in the morning. Maybe the song is his alarm? No, I've lived here for approximately a week and he never once set an alarm.
Whatever the case, he found it more concerning that the man hadn't answered his call
So he did what any reasonable android would do.
He rushed towards the man's door, hoarding a first aid kit he found in the bathroom.
"If you don't respond or open the door in 15 seconds, I'm going to have to let myself in." He stated, hand on the knob.
No response.
Connor pushed forward, only for the bottom to get stuck on something. "Oww-- ohmygod it's the 15 minutes m-- ow, my fucking head hurts."
He looked through the crack and leaned his chin forward, making sure everyone in the room hears him. "Lieutenant, you are playing All Star at 6 o'clock in the morning and you are sprawled on the bedroom floor. Is everything alright?"
Connor knew for a fact that he was not, but he wanted to hear the situation from Hank himself. Besides, it wasn't like he could force the door all the way through without harming the old detective.
Hank squinted his eyes and raised his torso a little-- just enough for him to turn around to face Connor. "Six... in the morning?" His mouth was agape, staring blankly into the android's optical receptors.
"Yes." He responded, slowly pushing the door forward enough for him to slip inside. Hank lazily grabbed his cellphone and paused the music, the surround sound speakers emitting a loud beep.
"Fucking androids." Hank stated, pulling himself off of the ground. Surprisingly, the room was in great shape. Bedsheets were made and clothes were arranged. The only thing amiss was a laptop perched dangerously close to the edge of the bed.
Connor's insides wanted to envelop itself into an aluminum-titanium alloy ball. If all their emotions are simulated, even as deviants, then he might as well be simulating anxiety.
"Jesus, what was I doing for 3 hours." He asked, saying it more as a statement than a question, pulling himself up. He smiled at himself, though, looking at Sumo sleeping silently below him. He glanced at the laptop, his cellphone, and at the very confused android in front of him.
"Hank. What's going on?" Connor asked, voice calm but firm. He had absolutely no context for the things happening in his surroundings as of now.
Hank chuckled, then stopped himself. "Uh, it was... some old stuff I remembered. It's fine." He dusted his shirt-- wait a minute. Upon closer inspection, Connor found, the black spots in Hank's shirt formed words and sentences.
Interesting. Connor thought.
Hank furrowed his eyebrows, spotting where the android's eyes were pointed at. "The fuck are you doing?" He asked defensively.
Connor looked up. "I'm sorry. Your shirt had quite the design choice. I was trying to see what it was saying..."
What he found online only made his head spin in more circles.
"...and found that it's an entire movie script.
You have an awfully eccentric wardrobe, Lieutenant." He smiled, light on the side of his head flashing orange for a split second. "It's individualistic."
What? He asked himself.
Hank looked down on his chest and found that, indeed, he had been wearing the gag gift a good friend of his sent 25 years ago as pajamas. He was caught in the act.
The act of reigniting one of the best interests of his late twenties to early thirties.
Hank stifled a laugh. "Fuck-- yeah, okay, you got me."
Connor looked around, unsure of what he 'got'. "Okay Lieutenant, let me start off by saying I am very confused."
Hank squinted. "What? Didn't Cyberlife implant some info in your brain-thing about internet culture?"
The RK800 raised an eyebrow, straightening the first button on his polo. "Yes, they have, but not very extensive."
All he had was information about this 'meme' concept. To him, it was all strange. Some memes were simple, others were dark, while others were simply the letter "E" underneath a digitally altered picture of an online entertainer over a fictional character.
The old detective chuckled, crude 12 year old-esque humor seeping through his rough exterior. "There's one thing here that's 'very extensive.'" He waved his cellphone around to emphasize his point. "Ha-ha."
"Your disciplinary reports?"
"Fuck off."
He stared at him, unfazed. "In any case," Connor continued, "I'd like to know how that's relevant to you personally."
Hank nodded to himself, searching through his Youtube playlist entitled "My Fucking Favorites."
"Connor?" He smiled, preparing the robot for the shitshow to ensue.
"Hank?" He stated, extending the A in his name cautiously, unsure what to make of the situation.
Hank's fingers hit the playbutton as the video blared up on the television screen. He motioned for Connor to sit down as he prepared.
Sumo woke up from anticipation of the events to come. The dog snuggled itself near Hank, then to Connor to get pats.
Connor scrunched the sides of the dog's face, mouthing "I don't know what's going on."
Sumo, satisfied, walked out of the room, leaving Hank and Connor alone with surround sound speakers and a small flatscreen TV.
"You like jazz?"