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Hank wipes at his nose for the fifth time in thirty-seven seconds and gives up when they walk past the drugstore with a ragged sigh.
"Fuck this. I've gotta get me some antihistamines."
"That's okay. I'll just wait here," Connor offers pleasantly.
"Sure. I'll be back in a minute. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Hank says gruffly, waving a wrinkled hand.
"Of course not, Lieutenant," Connor lies.
Hank rolls his eyes as he shuts the glass door behind him.
Connor leans against a streetlight, withdrawing his coin from his pocket, and settles in to wait.
On the sixty-ninth pass of the coin (nice) his audio receptors pick up a disturbance in the nearby alleyway. Connor pockets the coin and straightens to attention.
He would like to fight someone, he thinks.
Connor steps away from the streetlight and stands in the entrance to the alleyway. His sensors do not pick up any sign of life, human nor android.
Something does lurk, though, and something small and metallic scuttles out from behind a dumpster. RK800 locks onto it with an intense stare.
"You've got to be shitting me," Connor says.
It's a Boston Dynamics dog, rusted and old.
What the fuck.
The robot sights Connor and stops in its tracks. It wavers slightly; not as steady as an android ever could be. One second turns into two, and it almost seems like the faceless thing is hesitating.
"I don't believe you," Connor says.
The dog walks forward. Connor walks back.
"Don't," Connor warns.
The dog doesn't listen. It brushes against Connor's pant leg, making robotic vocalisations in a poor imitation of a real dog.
"You are not capable of deviancy. I will not anthromorphise a military drone. Cease and desist this fool's charade," Connor orders.
The dog retreats awkwardly. It looks up at the android towering over it; a miracle of mechanical engineering so much more advanced than this ugly little killing machine ever could be.
Connor is the better killing machine anyway.
"Why are you here," Connor wonders. His LED cycles yellow. "You are a fair way from home, small thing."
The dog beeps and moves as if to attack him.
"Yeah, no," Connor says, and he kicks the dog into the side of the dumpster, denting both the trash receptacle and the insult against nature itself.
"The fuck was that?" Hank's voice calls, and Connor turns to give the lieutenant a tight smile as he joins Connor in the alleyway.
"Just a little bit of private property damage," Connor answers smoothly. He tilts his head; considers. "Well. Public property damage too, I suppose."
"The fuck did the dumpster ever do to you?" Hank shakes his head.
"Do you want me to apologise to it?"
"Fuck off," Hanks huffs.
Hank walks past Connor, squinting at the sizable crater in the side of the dumpster.
"Is this a - ?"
"Boston Dynamics dog."
"The fuck is it doing in Detroit?"
"I do not know. My scans did not provide any further information of ownership."
"And you kicked the fucking thing?"
"It tried to attack me."
"It's a dog, Connor."
"That's just what its creators want you to think, Hank."
"Smartass."
Hank pries the dog out of the crater with some effort.
"Fuck, this thing's heavier than it looks," he grunts, cursing again when the dog starts struggling.
Opposite to me, Connor thinks, and he steps hastily forward.
"Careful, Lieutenant. Those things are quite - "
"FUCK!"
" - dangerous," Connor finishes lamely, as Hank catches his finger in the joint of one of the dog's legs. "I said to be careful, Hank."
"CONNOR - "
Connor calmly takes hold of the leg in both hands and snaps it clean in half, tearing the joint apart and freeing Hank's finger.
"There," Connor says, taking the shrieking dog back as Hank shakes his hand out in agony. "You were lucky you didn't lose that finger, Lieutenant."
"Shut the fuck up and just destroy the fucking thing, Connor."
"Gladly, Lieutenant," Connor says, and he dropkicks the dog into the brick wall all the way down at the other end of the alley.