Chapter Text
Connor drums his fingers against the car’s dashboard, tapping out an aimless rhythm as he watches the buildings pass by outside. They’re driving directly to a crime scene that Connor had saved into his memory the last time they visited the precinct. He’d insisted on going. They’ve made no progress in their investigation, no clues, no suspects, no leads. No choice but to retrace their steps.
His fingers drum faster.
Hank lifts an arm from the steering wheel to rub at his eyes before transitioning into a long yawn. Jazz plays from the car radio. Connor maps the route to the crime scene in his head. Twenty minutes left to go. Possibly more with traffic. The number makes him fidget. He begins to look over the cases in his memory.
Case File AN1
Case Reference: Murder
Victim(s): AP700 Model Androids
Case Assigned to: Hank Anderson and Connor
Case Status:Open
A nearby business owner discovered the two AP700 on the intersection between Grixdale East and Hull st. Both androids were missing left and right leg components, and thirium pumps. The leg, hip and nose of AP700 serial #216 574 788 were broken, while the ankles, hip, and chest of AP700 serial #788 583 209 were broken. No weapons were found at the scene.
It suggesting to Connor they were beaten prior to its deactivation. He wonders if they were a couple or a pair of friends. Maybe just two androids who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Case File AN2
Case Reference: Murder
Victim(s): ZT200 Model Android
Case Assigned to: Hank Anderson and Connor
Case Status: Open
A passerby discovered the android in the East Midtown apartment lobby and called emergency services. The android had suffered a close-range gun wound to the chest and head. He was unable to be recovered. No weapons were found at the scene.
He flips through cases in his memory. The words ‘Case Status: Open’ repeat. File upon file of androids who lived just long enough to become free, only to be killed.
His fingers tap faster. He keeps reading.
One android found beaten to death behind a mall. One assaulted in the parking lot at the Detroit Zoo. Two androids were found burned and mangled in the fireplace of an abandoned house. An android was found dismembered in a park, body parts strewn throughout the scene.
The punishment if being caught, legally, is six months in jail. That's all they've managed in the legislative system for now. It's a minor penalty, and the crimes are so numerous. And they've done so little.
He barely notices when his respiratory functions increase their pace.
Two androids tied together, frozen in the winter cold. One android shot through the head. An android thrown off a building.
The car lurches to a halt, startling him out of his thoughts. They’ve arrived. Out the window he can see three mangled android bodies. They've been mostly dismantled, barely recognizable as what they once were. Every limb, and even their thirium pumps are missing. Blue blood trails down their shirts. All of their eyes are open, staring at him. Judging him.
He looks down.
He’s been sitting in the car for far too long. Just to the left of him he can feel Hank’s eyes on him, just as he can feel the eyes of the victims. They’re telling him to go, solve the case. Bring in the culprit.
But he can’t move.
He can’t go out there and find nothing. Not again. He can’t look and see the empty eyes of the androids he can’t help. He can’t fail again.
His fingers have stopped drumming.
They’re trembling in his lap.
The rest of his body trembles just the same.
“Connor, Hey.”
He wants to respond. He can’t. His breathing function has picked up, and he can do is suck air in and out.
There’s a hand on his arm.
“Connor, you’re going to be fine, I promise you.”
Hank doesn’t know that.
“Hey, can you do something for me?”
Can he? It seems all he can do is gasp in air and tremble.
“Name five things you can see.”
He realizes that his eyes slid out of focus. With effort he trains them on the things around him.
“The hula girl on your dashboard.” He gets out in between his breaths. “My hands in my lap.” Another gasp outward. “The stain on my seat.” His artificial lungs force the air out. “Your coffee in the cupholder.” He sucks it back in “Your hand on my arm.”
“Good.” Hank gives his arm a gentle squeeze. “Name four things you can touch.”
“My shirt.” His breathing has slowed slightly. He moves his hand as it spasms in fits an jerks. “The car door.” It starts trembling less. “My jeans and the window.”
“Thank you.” Hank’s voice sounds so gentle. “Three things you can hear.”
“Your voice.” He replies immediately before thinking further. “The car’s engine.” He has to focus, think for the last one. “The cars going by outside.”
“Two things you can smell.” Hank prompts
“Your coffee.” He takes a deep breath through his nose. “Your cologne.”
“One thing you can taste.”
He swirls his tongue around his mouth. His sensors pick up the microwave veggie wrap Hank gave him this morning.
“Breakfast.” He concludes
He realizes his trembling has stopped. His breathing has returned to its regular pattern. And he’s wasted five minutes of their time.
“Apologies, Hank. I didn’t mean to hold up the investigation.” He stares at his hands. “I believe I encountered a software malfunction. ”
“Bullshit Connor.” Hank’s rebutts. “I know a panic attack when I see one.”
A panic attack. He searches the definition.
“Hank I couldn’t have had a panic attack.”
It was a malfunction. It was a malfunction and he can fix it and it won’t happen again.
“No offense Connor, but you said the same thing about emotions and being alive. Your track record with this kind of stuff isn’t the best.”
“It wasn’t a panic attack.” he repeats. It can’t have been.
“Connor, it’s alright if it was.” No, it’s not. He can’t be like this. “I get them too.”
Connor looks up.
“Sometimes investigations get to you. You get frustrated or you worry that you won’t solve something important. And you get a panic attack. They fuckin’ suck. I know. But Connor, it’s just a part of being alive.”
A swirl of yellow fills his LED.
“I don’t think I like them.” He mumbles out
“I’d give you some aspirin,” Hanks says, with a small smirk, “But I don’t think it would help.”
Connor gives a soft laugh.
He looks out at the androids once more.
“I care about this case Hank.” The words are spoken softly, like a confessed secret. “I care about this case and I don’t want to mess it up.”
“Then we’ll keep trying.” Hank’s eyes are on the androids outside. “One of these fuckers is going to slip up, and we’ll be there when he does.”
He wants to ask how Hank knows that. How they can pretend that it’s all going to turn out okay and they’ll catch someone? But he looks over at Hank and he realizes.
He realizes it’s like how he didn’t know if Jericho liked him. Or if Hank wanted him around. It’s one of those things where even he can’t narrow down the probability of something happening or being true. The entire thing is just a leap of faith and a hope that it’ll turn out alright. And statistically, he reasons, the longer he tries the more likely they’ll find someone.
He looks over at Hank and sucks in a breath.
The lieutenant is right. They’ll manage their way through this case.
Connor opens the door and enters the crime scene.