November 6th, 2038
AM 12:41:07
Water pooled in your freshly-cleaned hands, stinging the blisters on your fingers as it slipped through them. You splashed your face, trying to wake yourself up. The steaming liquid left your skin dried and splotchy as it thawed, and you'd wished you had lotion to nourish it. You looked in the mirror, pressing your hands along the granite countertop, arms locking to support your weight.
Bloodshot eyes peered back at you. Black circles hung from them like curtains, encoring sleepless nights and diminishing hope. Your lips were chapped, and you picked at the flaking skin with your teeth. Your uniform was still wet and glistening, the weight of your drenched Kevlar vest aching on your shoulders. Being rained on in the midst of a cold November night left you wanting, and it really didn't do anything for your hair. But hey, at least they had the heat cranked up inside the precinct.
You smoothed the flyaways out with your slick palms. Impressing anyone had never been the first thing on your agenda, and you tried to reason with yourself that things weren't different, even with Connor around. You didn't know why you wanted to look your best. You didn't even know what an android would consider attractive, or if they were attracted to anyone at all. You didn't know why you were worrying about this with a case that needed closed so it would stop taking up your off-duty hours.
You pulled your jacket off a hook, and slipped your arms through it.
You had an interrogation to oversee.
...
Data flickered on the observation panel in the form of transparent holograms reminiscent of what you, Chris, and the rest of the team had gathered at the murder scene. A cushion sagged under you, soggy and deflated.
"Here..." Chris slid a cup of coffee across the desk, dodging buttons and key-card readers, "You look like you need this more than I do."
"Thanks..."
You weren't going to argue. You burnt your mouth, and one of those annoying little bubbles started swelling on your tongue. This night sucked.
"Say something, goddamnit!" Hank slammed his fists on the table inside the interrogation room.
The deviant remained stone-cold, never looking away from the cuffs that bound his wrists in place.
"This is a waste of time..." Gavin huffed, leaning against the wall.
You blew across the top of the coffee cup, trying to cool it off. Stupid sips of "this is too hot," wasn't going to work tonight. It was gonna go down in gulps, whether it liked it or not.
"Fuck it," Hank rose from his seat, "I'm outta here..."
Chris buzzed him through, but you fixated on the chained murderer. The slight flex in his arms, the blood and scars that told a horror story - etched into his fabricated flesh.
But your focus shifted, blurring the heart-breaking scene and training on a different reflection staring back at you than it had in the bathroom.
Connor studied the deviant through slit eyes, his head tilting to the side.
"We're wastin' our time interrogating a machine, we're getting' nothing out of it!" Hank plopped in a chair next to Chris, his back hitting the lumbar support bar with the angriest of frowns.
"Could always try roughing it up a little." Gavin gave him his usual douchebag smirk, "After all, it's not human..."
Your lip twitched, as if the comment hurt you personally. Maybe Chris was right, you were taking your stance on android personification too close to heart.
"Androids don't feel pain." Connor corrected, "You would only damage it, and that wouldn't make it talk. Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when they're in stressful situations."
Hank pushed an enraged sigh from his nose. You looked at Chris, who returned an innocent, tired shrug.
"Okay, smartass..." Gavin unfolded his arms, taking a few steps forward, "What should we do then?"
The hostility in his voice had you and Chris turning around in your seats.
Connor seemed as if he was nervous, not looking Gavin in the eye.
"...I could try questioning it..."
Gavin laughed. It wasn't a friendly laugh, either. It was the same kind that said, "unbelievable," and underlined the very definition of "condescending." You were familiar with it. Your ex-husband laughed like that a lot, and hearing it's echo made your skin crawl.
"What do we have to lose?" Hank waved his hand, "Go ahead, suspect's all yours..."
Connor hesitated before turning his head towards the door, the rest of his body in tow. The biometric scanner responded at his touch, his skin peeling away and exposing a plastic frame.
And then he reappeared inside the investigation chamber.
His back turned to the mirror as he hovered over the table, carefully flicking through an evidence folder at the end. You and the others watched in anticipation, waiting for him to finish. He closed the jacket, and pulled out a chair.
His quirky, comforting demeanor faded. His brows took on a slight arch, eyes drawn and piercing like daggers.
"My name is Connor." He unbuttoned the hook at the end of his blazer, it's flaps falling to his sides as he took a seat, "What about you, what's your name?"
Even through the microphone filter, his voice was compassionate and reassuring.
"You're damaged." He paused, eyeing the deviant critically, "Did your owner do that? Did he beat you?"
He sounded as if he was genuinely concerned; like if Ortiz had still been alive, he'd hunt him down himself. His hands rested carefully in front of him, and he leaned forward.
"I detect an instability in your program..." His blue LED rotated, his chin swaying with his words, "It can trigger an unpleasant feeling, like fear, in humans."
Fear...You'd had some experience with that recently, too. You could only imagine the deviant felt like you had, eyeing down the barrel of Daniel's gun.
Being almost beaten to death with a bat. Having cigarettes snuffed out on your arm. Same thing. Not really. Close enough.
You'd want to kill Ortiz, too.
Connor reached for the folder, sliding it between them. He opened it with precision, flipping it towards the suspect; every act taken with practiced restraint. He folded his hands, leaving the photos exposed in their macabre glory.
"You recognize him? It's Carlos Ortiz. Stabbed, twenty-eight times." He was firm in his tone, and he revealed a new picture, "That, was written on the wall in his blood..."
And still, the deviant remained silent.
Gavin grunted behind you, sucking his teeth, "This is still a waste of time..."
"He just got started."
"It." His eyes flickered, giving you a deadly glance, "And it isn't gonna pull this off."
"That's what Captain Allen said about the hostage situation, too."
"You want written up for insubordination?"
"You want reported for sexual harassment again?"
"Alright, you two..." Hank ran a hand down his face, "Knock it off..."
You pushed steam through your nose, angrily drinking your coffee.
Who gave a fuck if it was too hot anymore. You needed caffeine or nicotine if you were going to make it through the night without punching Gavin, and only one of them was allowed inside the station.
"You're accused, of murder. You know you're not allowed to endanger human life under any circumstances." Connor dipped his chin, trying to meet the deviant's line of sight aimed at the tabletop, "Do you have anything to say in your defense?"
The deviant didn't respond. Connor took back his maintained posture.
"If you won't talk, I'm going to have to probe your memory."
"NO!" The deviant's face shot up, and everyone in the observation room jumped at the unexpected shout, "No, please...don't do that..."
There was a whimper to his plea.
You hunched over in your chair, resting your elbows on the desk and your chin on intertwined knuckles. You gulped the rock of guilt stuck in your throat, but it became lodged as the deviant turned towards the mirror.
"You've refused to talk since they arrested you. If you don't cooperate, they'll do things the hard way. Is that what you want?"
There was pure panic in his eyes after Connor's warning.
"What..." The deviant returned to wherever his mind was, staring at the floor, "What are they gonna do to me...?" His attention jumped up to Connor, "They're gonna destroy me, aren't they?"
Yes. Probably. Goddamn it.
You felt so fucking bad for him. Why couldn't you just let him get away...
"Fuckin' right we are...deviant bastard." Gavin swore under his breath.
The coffee shook in your paper cup, threatening to spill over as you squeezed it in a knee-jerk reaction.
"They're going to disassemble you to look for problems in your biocomponents. They have no choice, if they want to understand what happened..." Connor leaned forward, his pressuring glare coming through slits, "They'll make you suffer. And they won't stop, until they hear what they want. It doesn't have to be that way. It all depends on you."
That was what humanity was to them. "They." A word that carried a weight of an entire people...and the lot of you reduced "them," to this. Pitting them against each other; one bleeding shell of a man, and a shark in the same tank whose hunger was growing on the other side of the glass.
"Why did you tell them you found me? Why couldn't you just have left me there?" The deviant's voice was hardly over a whisper.
Connor's LED was yellow for a split-second before it corrected itself. You were learning pretty quick that it meant something deeper was running through his mind.
"I was programmed to hunt deviants like you." His voice held that kind of heavy, deep tone that you got when you were upset, and tried not to be, "I just accomplished my mission."
He was almost offended, put on the defensive. Why did that question strike a chord?
"See?" Gavin sneered your last name, "He knows his place. Why don't you?"
"I said: Shut. Up." Hank barked at his side.
The deviant was almost in tears, "I don't wanna die."
You could serve him Gavin's head to make him feel better. That would get a confession.
"Then talk to me." Connor pleaded.
"I-I...I can't..." He was breathless as if keeping his sins trapped inside was exhausting.
"I understand how you felt. You were overcome by anger, and frustration. No one can blame you for what happened."
Connor was almost too convincing. You wondered what part of it was for the sake of getting the suspect to talk, and how much of it he actually meant.
"Listen...I'm not judging you. I'm on your side. All I want, is the truth..."
"Are you hearing this, Hank?" Gavin snapped, "Fucker just said-"
"He's gonna say whatever he needs to in order to get a confession." Hank cut him off with a raised hand, "Maybe you should take notes."
"Fuck you."
"Yeah...Fuck you too, Detective."
The tension was thick. Not just in the interrogation room, but on your side, too. You looked to Chris for reprise, but he seemed just as worried.
"What the fuck is it doin' now?" Hank leaned back.
You lifted your eyes, a chill running down your spine. One colder than any rain, or snow, or November could bring.
Connor was staring at you, straight into the deepest part of your being. The right side of his face was hidden by a shadow put in place from the overhead lighting. A switch had gone off.
Something dark stirred within him.
You had something else to be worried about, now: How many pieces of the killer you'd have to pick up, after the interrogation...
Or of Connor if he failed.