Chapter Text
Connor knew that Hank hated androids from the moment they met at Jimmy’s bar. A lot of people did, and Hank showed even more anger towards Connor because he was forced to work with him.
But Connor was programmed with an ability to read and analyse facial micro-expressions, a useful function during questioning or negotiations. Hank felt more than anger, he felt disgust. Connor needed more information to determine the cause.
He had seen an ad for Cyberlife’s latest addon: a home-psychologist mode for your android. He downloaded it hoping it would aid him in his investigation, and in getting Hank to co-operate. Hank certainly fit the bill for a socially isolated individual, but a dependence on technology was not the culprit.
He glanced at the Lieutenant, who saw him looking and glared from the corners of his eyes. He needed to determine the best approach to dealing with Hank, and figure out if there was anything he could do to improve Hank’s attitude as a whole. Otherwise it could interfere with the investigation. It was the logical thing to do.
When Hank went to talk to Fowler, Connor saw his phone on his desk and took the opportunity. His social media accounts were linked to one other computer, and a search showed that it was definitely Hank’s home device.
It did not take long to get remote access to his home network. This feature was created to be used for tracking suspect’s internet use and could have handled a far more tech-savvy man’s setup.
His preliminary search of both the phone and the computer turned up exactly what he had suspected. Hank had few real friends, having pushed away anyone that cared enough about him a long time ago.
The psychology add-on was helpful, supplying him with information about grief, depression, and the effects of social isolation on the human psyche. Yet he still could not fully understand allowing one’s life to get so out of hand.
The add-on indicated that most humans who have not experienced “grief” did not fully understand it either, and this added to a sense of isolation. It offered a few short transcripts of therapy sessions with the bereaved as a practical reference.
Connor quickly scanned them, and a few matched the loss of a child. They were much like the others, except for a line that stood out: “I was her father. I was supposed to keep her safe. It was the only thing that mattered and I failed.”
He failed his mission. That was a concept Connor understood. If Connor failed his mission, what would be the point of his existence? There were supporting missions, certainly, and other ways he could be useful to Cyberlife, but anyone could do those. His main mission was all that really mattered. His LED flickered red at the thought of failing.
Analysis complete. So complete, in fact, that he could no longer think of a reason for Hank to not be the way he was. In fact, it was more surprising that he was even still alive, and coming to work, even if he was late. He considered whether Hank was a bigger threat to his mission than he thought, given the realization of how meaningless it likely was to him. But Hank had not interfered with it so far, and in fact offered good insight on occasion. Even going through the motions, he was a good detective. He had even been more accommodating than his demeanor suggested, allowing Connor to follow him onto the crime scene at Ortiz’s residence and participating in Connor’s final reconstruction. He just had to keep an eye on him in case that changed.
Hank stormed out of Fowler’s office. Connor had received news from Cyberlife that morning that he was to stay at the police station and continue investigating deviancy cases. Since, despite everything, they had worked well together to bring in the android and extract a confession without damaging it, it seemed likely that they would be working together on the deviancy crisis together for the foreseeable future. Not to mention that he had been directed to meet Hank this morning.
By Hank’s surprise when he had seen him waiting for him, and his anger now, Connor concluded that he had just been informed of the arrangement.
The add-on’s suggestion of how to defuse tension in a hostile relationship was to give the other person space to calm down, and then finding compromises for the things you disagreed about. But Connor didn’t really have that luxury. Time was of the essence.
Hank saw the android looking at him again. He couldn’t believe they’d stuck it with him of all people. Sure, plenty of the other detectives hated androids too, like Reed, but they knew… his story. His past. What the hell did Fowler think he was pulling?
Maybe in some sick way, he thought it would help him “process” things. But fuck that. Hank didn’t want to feel better and he definitely didn’t want this plastic prick to help him with anything, let alone with that.
And to add insult to injury, they’d made it pretty. God, that pissed him off. When it showed up last night and he’d finally turned to see what Cyberlife thought a detective should look like, he was surprised at how young and harmless the android looked. Soft brown eyes and hair, slight build. A young and friendly voice. Everything about him was soft, clashing with his formal attire and speech.
It. Not him, he had to remember that. That’s probably why they did it, he thought. Soft and young and earnest, meant to inspire trust and fondness. It made him sick, when he looked at it and couldn’t help but enjoy its pretty face.
It’s pretty, emotionless face. He remembered the android that had attempted to save Cole –
Not now. Not when there were no drinks at hand. He was grateful to his hangover for making his brain too foggy and his head too sore for the thoughts to chase him back down.
“…Is there a desk I could use?”
Hank had known Connor was speaking but had been too preoccupied to care. But the question indicated that the android would stop standing beside him trying to be nice, so he gestured to the only empty desk. The one across from him. Nobody really wanted to sit with Hank these days, and Hank didn’t mind that. Until now, since it meant the android’s face would be right in his line of sight. Probably giving him that blank probing look some more. God only knew what kind of bullshit the machine was processing looking at him.