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Connor doesn’t understand; he doesn’t understand because he spent the entire night charging to ensure he’s operating at one-hundred percent, yet he’s only an hour into a new case with Hank, and his prosthetic limbs are moving too slow, his optical lenses are struggling to focus, failing to scan for new evidence. He runs a quick overall system scan, frowning.
System Operating at 30%.
“Connor!”
Connor blinks slowly, waiting briefly for his program functions to operate toward a response, and he turns his head toward Hank’s rather demanding voice. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“The fuck are you doing just standing there like a damn statue? Let’s get a move on!”
Wordlessly, he follows after Hank into a back room in The Eden Club, glancing at the blue splatters of thirium coating the raised pedestal around a tall pole. There was another incident with a deviant; he’s not sure what happened, but the reports suggest a rogue droid who attacked four customers before running off into the night. Based on the thirium scattered about the entertainment lounge, the droid left with substantial injuries.
The back rooms are in similar states. Blue is painted across the walls and atop bed sheets. Connor taps his finger to a splatter on a left wall and brings it to his tongue, ignoring the disgusted groan from Hank as he works to scan the thirium. It’s bitter, and a wince pulls at his face as he begins a scan. He’s halfway through when his work comes to a stop.
System Operating at 20%.
He blinks away the red warning with a quiet sigh. He can feel the low charge like a human would feel operating on no sleep. Lethargic, his program supplies. He’s not moving fast enough, not processing evidence quick enough. He can’t. His software system is going to reboot into power save mode soon, and it will be a miracle if he can even remain upright when that happens. He should excuse himself from the scene to find a charging base, but his intuitive program keeps supplying determination toward his frontal lobe panel, repeatedly assuring him that they are close to a breakthrough, so he can’t part with the crime scene.
“Goddammit, Connor!”
The hand that hits his cheek stings, and without meaning to, Connor winces and pulls a blurry yet sharp gaze to Hank.
“Shit, Connor, did that hurt?”
Hank’s worried now. Connor doesn’t need to scan the lieutenant to know, not when Hank’s frowning at him with deep, worried lines etched across his forehead.
System Operating at 15%.
“No, Lieutenant,” Connor says, lying easily. He can feel his instability jolt like a spark jerking up his spine, but he ignores it.
“Well your face says otherwise,” Hank mutters, and for a moment, Connor wants to shrink away from Hank’s stern gaze, but he keeps his shoulders squared and his chin upright.
“There’s no need for concern, Lieutenant.”
“I’m not concerned,” Hank spits out. “But I don’t want a fucked up droid at a crime scene.”
Connor doesn’t reply, not finding it necessary, but when he moves to follow beside Hank toward a different room, he staggers. His programs short-circuit for a moment, and he latches a shaking hand to Hank’s shoulder.
System Operating at 10%. Entering Power Save Mode.
“Connor, what the hell is going on with you?” Hank’s hand finds Connor’s waist, and the frustration from before has been replaced with a genuine sense of concern that Connor just barely picks up on.
“I just need…” Connor slowly cranes his neck, looking over his shoulder. He’s… His programs aren’t moving fast enough. His thirium is moving too slowly, making his ocular sensors fail to receive images clearly. He’s dizzy. “To charge.”
His auditory sensors aren’t working properly as his systems move to power save mode. Hank’s shouting for a charger base sounds far too distant despite Hank remaining by his side, but soon enough, he can feel his systems rebooting as power pulses through his software.
System Charging.
“You know you could have just said you were low on juice,” Hank bites out. The only charger station is outdoors, and he crosses his arms against the snow beating down on the two.
Connor blinks at him slowly. “I charged last night. There might be a circuit issue with my charger station.” He frowns when Hank shudders and hisses against a particularly sharp gust of wind. “Go back inside, Lieutenant. I’ll be in shortly.”
Stubborn as he is, Hank complies, leaving Connor to charge alone, and Connor waits patiently, but when he hits 30% and receives a notification that his charging is complete, a sharp frown takes over his features, and he wills a meeting with Amanda, something he doesn’t do often.
He closes his eyes, and to his surprise, Amanda welcomes him in. Like in Detroit, it’s snowing in her garden, yet it feels 10 degrees colder. He crosses his arms and starts toward her.
“Connor.” Her voice is calm, but Connor’s LED still blinks a bright yellow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I can’t charge above 30%,” Connor answers honestly. He sucks in a shaking breath, prepared to explain how he cannot effectively do his job if he can’t operate at full capacity, but Amanda smiles, cutting his thoughts off like a snip of a wire.
“I know.”
He’s had a brief suspicion that this was the product Amanda’s doing, but hearing her easy admission sends heat to his LED until it’s glowing red. His instability jerks again, but he keeps his expression calm despite the unfamiliar heat of anger warming his thirium, an odd contrast to the icy wind that’s threatening to freeze it.
“Why?” He asks, willing his voice to remain steady.
“You’re becoming unstable.”
“I’m not,” Connor presses. “If my scans show otherwise, it can easily be pegged on frustration toward not being able to perform my duties effectively.”
“Frustration,” Amanda says softly. “That’s not a part of your program.”
She shoves him out. Connor blinks slowly, taking in the whipping snow around him. He moves away from the base quickly, and his legs give out. He falls to the snow, hands curled into fists. “Dammit.” He’s mad; he can’t control his instability.
He gets slowly to his feet. His ocular sensors still can’t focus on much, but he pushes through the hazy vision and enters the club. The sooner, he thinks, that he can solve this case and find the deviant, the sooner Amanda’s trust in him will return and he can begin to operate at 100% again.
“Connor,” Hank waves him over, holding a ripped shirt that’s coated in thirium. “Can you scan this? We think the deviant’s working with a rogue group, and this shirt could potentially be a marked shirt of their new group.”
Nodding, Connor pushes all of his scanning operations toward the shirt, eyes flicking to one tear, then to a splatter of thirium, then to another tear, over and over until the shirt begins to blur against his ocular sensors. He can feel his systems dragging, struggling to keep up with his determination, thirium moving incredibly slow, unable to support his system functions quickly, but he pushes through until his ocular sensors cut to black.
He’s only out for seconds, the low hum of Amanda’s voice fading from his ears as his present surroundings come back. He’s leaning against Hank, his forehead pressed to Hank’s shoulder, and Hank has a strong arm wrapped around his back, and he’s shouting. A lot of people are shouting, but Connor is struggling to pinpoint voices.
System Operating at 12%.
“–swear to God, Hank! Get that faulty fucking droid out of here!”
“Calm the fuck down, Reed! Unless you want to go around licking all of this blue blood?”
“That’s fucking disgusting!”
Connor lifts his head, he can feel every single movement like a rusted gear in need of attention, and his ocular sensors hone in on the ripped shirt he dropped. His charge is too low for a full scan, but he manages a quick one, leaning heavily against Hank as his charge depletes more and more.
His scans come up with a small store that’s been on Detroit Police Department’s radar more than once. It’s most likely the store the shirt came from– it’s a lead, just what they were looking for, and he mumbles the store name before dropping his forehead back to Hank’s shoulder.
Hank bellows out orders before guiding Connor back out to the charging station.
“Connor, you have five seconds to tell me what the hell is really going on before I ship your ass off in a box.”
System Charging.
“I’m being punished,” Connor answers quietly. His vocal programming is reflecting his low charge, his tone is deeper than normal, carrying little energy with each word. “CyberLife thinks I’m growing unstable.”
“Well, are you?”
Current System Charge is 28%.
Connor meets Hank’s eyes, and they share a wordless conversation, one that bleeds in muted desperation. Connor doesn’t want to lie to Hank, but if he admits his hesitation out loud, he might as well send himself back to CyberLife for further inspection. His instability has been up and down for weeks now, but he’s always reasoned that the jolts are because of the amount of deviant cases they’ve covered. It’s… hard sometimes to handle a case with a deviant who is so insistent that they are human.
When Hank finally breaks the gaze with a huff, Connor breathes out a quiet sigh.
“It doesn’t matter because you probably just solved this case.”
Relief, a program function he was created with for unclear purposes, floods Connor’s systems, and he nods, eyes following as Hank turns away to watch the police cars whip down the street.
Current System Charge is 31%.