Ex Machina (A Detroit: Become Human fanfiction)

VIII

Walking out of the elevator, its walls covered in graffiti and scratched out inscriptions, I feel a sudden emptiness behind my back and turn around.

"Connor."

The android opens its eyes; its LED blinks from yellow back to blue.

"You ran out of juice or what?"

"I'm sorry. I was making a report to CyberLife"

"Alright, you're not planning on waiting for me in the elevator, aren't you?"

"No! I'm coming."

Shrugging, I walk down the corridor reading the faded numbers of the apartments. In a moment I hear steps behind me.

"What do we know about this guy?" I ask.

"Not much. Just that a neighbor reported that he hard strange noises coming from this floor. Nobody's supposed to be living here, but the neighbor said he saw a man hiding a LED under his cap."

The old eight-story building looks downright dangerous to inhabit. The lower floors seem to be at least a little bit more maintained, but here the paint is peeling off the walls in huge chunks and light wind whistles through the broken glasses and boarded windows. Despite that the corridor smells of bird droppings.

"God, if we have to investigate every time someone heard a suspicious noise, we're never gonna see the end of it," I murmur under my breath while Connor squats to examine something by the wall. In a moment, it joins me in front of the apartment supposedly illegally inhabited by the suspect.

I lean against the wall next to the doorframe and leave Connor to act independently, curious to see how it would approach the situation. The android knocks on the door and after receiving no reaction, repeats its action in a more insistent way.

"Anybody home? Open up! Detroit police!"

I hear muffled grinding, as if someone in the apartment is dragging a heavy piece of furniture on the floor. The sound makes me pull my gun and give an order. "Stay behind me."

"Got it." Connor steps back.

Throwing myself at the door, I smash my heel about a span below the lock. My roughly 130 pounds are not much of a menace, but the door is eaten by time and sinks in with loud crackle of broken wood and rusty hinges. I enter the doorway and, without losing time, start walking around the rooms with Connor right behind me.

The place is in a pitiful condition – its empty, save for an old mattress frame in one corner, several chairs and pieces of broken furniture scattered around. The wall paint is peeled to the cement below at places, and the surviving spots are covered with repeating motives resembling mazes. The bird smell becomes stronger.

Connor is still right behind me as I smash open the next door – and I immediately duck, cursing, to avoid the small flock of pigeons flying from the inside of the room.

"Shit!"

The stench sucker punches me in the nose – the room is full of birds. Some fly out the broken windows, but most simply trot around, unbothered, or observe us, one eye at a time.

"Seems like we wasted our time; whoever was here, obviously took off," I snort under my breath, barely restraining myself from cursing out loud while I try not to inhale through my nose.

Connor enters the room after me, unruffled as usual, and begins to look around, methodical as usual. Leaving it to do its thing, I head to check the bathroom. One of the walls is almost completely covered with identical writings above a stripe of faience tiles that might have been white long ago.