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Hank’s probably too old to be flattening himself against walls and peering ominously around corners like a detective in one of his old video games. Sometimes, the silly stuff’s necessary; deviants seem to be getting smarter by the day, and if the suspect sees him, it’ll definitely run—and Hank’s really too old to chase perps. Or at least, too out of shape. Especially against androids. Even the cheapest models could’ve outrun him even when he was back in his prime.
The sprawling Urban Farms warehouse is largely empty, save for their suspect, who’s watering flowers like it’s just any other day. A few android employees are sprinkled around, dressed in the matching lifeless uniforms, but the suspect’s in faded jeans and a thick jacket, more like its human coworkers. There are two of those out back around the side of the building, and Hank hasn’t bothered to ask them about the suspect, because there are so many people out there that seem to actually like eerily human-shaped machines.
And other shapes. Hank likes his toaster. He’s undecided about the pigeon perched delicately on his shoulder, softly cooing in his ear.
The suspect suddenly tenses, and Hank pulls back, hissing through clenched teeth, “Stop that!”
Connor falls obediently silent, like he should be in the first place—there’s no good reason for an android to coo. Hank doesn’t get why programmers put that shit in. He can’t imagine anyone actually likes the sounds pigeons make.
But he also can’t imagine anyone wants an android partner, and he’s stuck with one, because Jeffrey’s not only no longer his friend but also an asshole. Connor sits primly next to Hank’s head, talons carefully clenched around his old jacket, waiting on Hank’s lead. Hank’s the one with the gun. Hank has the authority. Connor’s just some weird, maybe kind of cute pigeon with a goofy face that’s helpful with paperwork and okay, looks sort of adorable with a pen in his beak, but is still an android.
He did help track down where the deviant worked. Maybe Hank appreciates that. Maybe Connor’s not so bad. Hank still doesn’t want to have to consult him on the case and just whispers, “We’re going in.” Connor nods, the bright blue circle on his temple flickering as if in anticipation.
Hank peeks back, sees the suspect’s still meandering about the plants, and then turns the corner and casually strolls in.
The suspect glances over, spots the cop pigeon on Hank’s shoulder, and then immediately bolts. Hank swears, cursing both himself for forgetting the optics and CyberLife for thinking pigeons were somehow more incognito even with those big obvious rings on their foreheads. Hank has no choice but to lurch forward and run, immediately out of breath. The android heads for the stairs, going up to the open doors on the other side, and he’ll definitely make it—
Except Connor, smartly outfitted with wings for just such an occasion, soars into the back of his head. The suspect squawks, pitching forward—Connor grabs the perp’s hair in his talons and pushes the suspect down.
By the time Hank’s caught up, Connor’s wings are neatly folded back again. It wasn’t that long a run, but Hank’s still winded. As Connor frequently reminds him, he really needs to eat better. And workout more. And maybe stop drinking. But Hank’s not about to take advice from a mechanical pigeon, even an oddly endearing one.
Hank doesn’t bother to read the android its rights. Androids don’t have any. He just mutters, “Gotcha, punk,” like a badass cop in the old shows his dad used to watch. The android sullenly stays still while Hank bends down to cuff it, probably because Connor’s still attached to its head. Connor’s looking at Hank expectantly, even after Hank’s hauled the suspect back to its feet.
He doesn’t want to say anything. But he’s acutely aware of just how out of breath he’d be if Connor hadn’t been there to cut the chase short. He begrudgingly admits, “Alright, tin bird, that wasn’t so bad.”
Connor answers, “Thank you, Lieutenant,” in a soft, unsettlingly human voice. Hank can only shake his head.
He drags the perp back to the station, his partner flying majestically behind him.