SEQUENTIAL ━ Connor // RK800 ✔️

four ━ hostile and tense

"In accordance to Public Law 544-7 American Androids Act, I am not permitted to carry or use any type of weapon."

After a short break of stun, the officer shook his head. "You could have just said no."

Connor deemed it was always important to state protocol clearly, but with a downward twitch in his eyebrows, he had to also note the assessment for what it was: Officer Owens found his professionalism and formality as off-putting.

With these observations put aside, Connor closed the door and accepted the situation he found himself into so late at night. There was no light source on this part of town other than the headlights on Officer Owens' car so, naturally, as he approached the farmhouse at the centre of the property, he had to start adjusting his retinal light sensitivity.

On initial scan, the property seemed abandoned. There was not a sound save for the now distant hum of the car engine, at least not until Connor stepped on the porch of the farmhouse. Then, each of his following steps were echoed by the creak of the old wood below him.

The circular nature of the porch allowed him to do a perimeter sweep before having to commit to entering the house. Several windows were broken. Almost every inch of visible wall was cover in some sort of vandalism. The sight was deplorable, reeking of decay — the sort of environment he imagined was perfect for the thriving of Red Ice marketing.

He had reached the back door of the abandoned house when he heard a groaning sound from inside, just about clear enough to put him on alert that there were clearly people on site. Dropping his gaze to the door handle and giving it a quick scan, Connor hoped to identify some clear fingerprints: there were too many present for him to confirm the missing person trail right away.

Only once he pushed the door open and stepped inside did the decadence of the place tell him that his thought through solution to the case might have indeed been correct: this was the sort of place where a young addict might hide out. Joshua Carter hadn't the money at his age to go someplace else to get high, and why would he? The remnants of red ice on the cracked smoking pipes littering the floor, but also on just the surfaces present alone, gave away that the supply wasn't showing signs of running out any time soon. Young Joshua would not leave this addict haven behind. No addict ever would.

The abundance of fingerprints Connor kept finding on each and every item and surface he thought would be useful to scan painted the grotesque picture that the place had several illegal inhabitants indulging in the same bad habits as the young boy he was after. Still there was no clear full fingerprint to analyze.

A loud tumble from upstairs interrupted Connor's slow sweep of the ground floor. His consideration of perhaps remaining silent and simply assessing the whole house bit by bit until he found the child flew right out the window the second the loud noise was followed by a louder groan still. The probability spiked that someone might be in danger, and that someone could as well be the boy he's looking for.

"Are you injured?" Connor called out and stopped to listen for any more movement whilst carefully threading his steps towards the hallway, where he spotted the stairs leading to the first floor. Everything went silent again. He needed to make sure he didn't scare anyone inside the house, because should Joshua not be there, questioning whoever else he found would be his only acceptable lead moving forward.

"I am not here to cause you any trouble. I am just looking for Joshua Carter," he announced. The truth seemed like the safest approach, so he took it. "He's been missing for a week. I only want to bring him home."

Reaching the top of the barely stable stairs, Connor looked down a narrow hallway with exactly five doors — two on the right and three on the left. He identified one ladder propped on a gap in the ceiling, leading to some sort of attic. There bird droppings in several spots on the floor, so the tumble he heard might have been birds living there. The groans however had been clearly human.