Deviance

Chapter 1 - Sex Clubs and Stupid Ideas

The WR400 would only remain reactivated for a few sparse moments longer, 34.7 seconds to be exact, and questioning it had gotten them nowhere fast. This just wouldn't do. Connor's very existence hinged on piecing together this confounding puzzle of the sudden influx of deviancy and, as much as he didn't care about that considering he was an android and thus had no existence, per say, to concern himself with, failure was not an option. Connor came to Eden Club in search of answers and he was not about to leave this crummy joint without them.

If Connor wasted any more time pointlessly questioning the failing Traci bot, it would inevitably lead to a mission failure, making the course of action an unacceptable choice that was vetoed immediately in favor of analyzing the situation for alternative options. A millisecond analysis of the situation that would have been imperceivable to the human eye presented a second route to take: Probing the android's memories. Hank had suggested it before he'd reactivated the thing and doing so would allow Connor to see what this Traci had seen before it met its untimely demise. It seemed to be the only logical solution when another choice failed to present itself in the whirlwind of data and analysis flooding the detective bot's systems at the moment, all his processing power devoted to concocting solutions and running through possibilities to assess their likelihood of success.

Connor didn't hesitate. The electronic detective darted out a lightning quick hand to grasp the pleasure bot's own hand, feeling his synthetic skin melt away to reveal his true make of sleek, white plastic underneath. The moment contact was initiated, the Traci drew in a sharp gasp, jolting upright and efficiently taking a few seconds off Connor's internal countdown to drop it to 12.2 seconds as the jostle wasted a few drops of what little thirium the android had remaining in her failing body. The fake girl's gaudily painted eyes blew wide and terrified for a moment, her horrified gaze locking with the Cyberlife creation's own brown orbs from under her thick, plastic lashes for a fraction of a second before the synthetic humanoid was lost to the bot's memories.

Sweat. Panting. Grunting.

Stop.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

Android's didn't feel pain.

Pain. The man's muscled arm rearing back. Again. Again.

Stop.

Pain. Again. A back hand. Pain. Hair pulling. Thrusting. Groaning. Pain.

No. Stop. Stop.

Thrusting. Slamming. Smacking. Fist in hair. Fist in stomach. Again. Pain. Grunting. Panting. Sweating. Pain. Punching. Pulling. Fucking. Pain. Punching. Hitting. Kicking. Slamming. Fucking. Thrusting. Laughing. Fucking. Pain.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

"Connor!" A gruff, loud voice finally broke through the Cyberlife Android's preoccupied audio processor, slicing through the panting, and the gruning, and the laughing like beam of light ripping through a dark cave.

12.2 seconds were up. The Traci had deactivated. Connor was- Connor was abruptly lurching a side step backwards towards the toilet conveniently positioned right beside the deceased pleasure bot until his hands found themselves clasped on the edges of the silver bowl of the thing and his head bowed close to the rip. The android's legs seemed to become inexplicably weak, leaving the fake man to collapse to his knees as he lurched over the toilet and felt the components in his midsection move and react in ways they were most certainly not meant to.

Androids didn't puke. There was no reason for such a thing unless the specimen in question was a practice bot for medical students still in training but considering human doctors were becoming increasinlgly rare as timed passed on, even this was becoming an oddity. Android's didn't puke. They didn't possess the programming, let alone the components to do such a thing to Connor's knowledge as there was no need for such a disgusting feature. Android's didn't puke!