Though this be madness, yet there is a method in't.
-- Shakespeare, Hamlet
〇〇〇
When you got home that night, your eyes felt impossibly dry. They were burning, and it was hard to focus.
You stumbled into your apartment but didn't even bother to turn on the lights. You lived in a downtown area, fifteen minutes away from the precinct, and the city lights lit up your apartment enough for you to find your way through it.
As you made your way to your room, you put your purse in the hallway and took off your boots.
You heard a jingle and saw your eight-year-old brown tabby standing by the door frame to your bedroom. She meowed and adjusted her posture, stretching her front legs as she stood up straight, expecting a pat.
"Oh, Princess," you mumbled, picking her up. You gave her some good forehead kisses and then put her down on your bed.
Even though your evening routine wasn't anything special, you still wanted to keep up with it.
But . . . brushing your teeth and washing your face felt impossible just then.
So you wobbled over to the bathroom, feeling like absolute death on two legs, and then you used some soothing eye drops. After a few moments, they started to feel normal again.
You stared at yourself in the mirror, gripping the granite countertop. The light from the city poured into your room, but it stopped at your bathroom. It made your reflection look more like a shadow, but you could just make out the dark circles under your eyes.
You heard honking on the street below.
Your mind drifted and you closed your eyes, trying not to get in a mood.
Bedtime was always rough for you. Even though you'd been working on three-ish hours of sleep that day, you knew that as soon as your body hit the mattress, you wouldn't be able to fall asleep.
You'd tried tea, meditation, and hot showers for it. Melatonin, prescribed sleeping meds -- you name it.
You wiped at your face and brushed through your hair quickly.
Walking back into your room, you undressed and put on a robe. You grabbed your phone from your jeans, put it on the bedside table, and then you slipped into bed, allowing Princess to curl up on your stomach. She purred happily, content that you were finally home. She rested her head on her paws with a meow, closing her hazel eyes.
You thought, Maybe I'll get somewhere with sleep tonight, but your phone rang.
You started in surprise, scaring Princess a little bit. You fumbled for the phone, trying not to disturb your cat, and when you looked at the caller ID, your eyes widened.
It was Connor. Of course.
Hank had said something about your calls earlier that afternoon.
You blinked slowly, feeling drowsy, but you answered the call anyway.
"Hello?" You asked.
"Hello, (Y/l/n)?" It sounded like Connor moved and then shut a door. "You sound quiet, are you okay?"
You swallowed thickly. "I-- I'm fine, Connor. Don't worry about me. I'm just tired." You reached down with your free hand to pet Princess, gently tracing her brow and then scratching under her collar.
"Oh, do you want me to call back another time?"
"No," you said. You shook your head even though he couldn't see you. "I think we need to talk, anyway."
Connor was quiet for a few seconds, so you turned on your speakerphone and put your phone by your ear, on your pillow. You continued to pet Princess, thinking.
"We don't have to talk," you said. "I just . . . I don't know."
And the truth was that you didn't know.
You wracked your brain for something to say, but you instead started to overanalyze everything that had ever happened between the two of you. Your relationship with Connor up until that point was strictly platonic and work-related, and you really only liked him because he was a good person with good, strong morals.
And yet a day ago, you'd believed you had a crush on him because, well, he was attractive. But what was a crush to a twenty-eight-year-old woman? Women your age didn't have "crushes."
Can you make up your mind already? You thought to yourself.
So why did you feel "left behind?" Why did his flirting update bother you so much? Why had he been acting so weird?
You sighed heavily, and Connor chuckled. It startled you, and you remembered you'd put the phone right by your ear.
"What's so funny?" You asked.
"I can picture your face, detective," Connor said. "The night we lost Coltin Appel. You probably have that look in your eyes. What're you thinking about?"
"Wasn't this conversation supposed to be about you?" You pressed, feeling the need to turn the conversation around. You liked to talk about yourself sometimes, but your racing thoughts and inner conflicts when it came to Connor weren't meant to be shared with Connor.
"Well . . ." Connor trailed off. "I wanted to explain something. But I don't want this to ruin our relationship. I think we have a strong friendship."
The thought of Connor saying something that could ruin your friendship made you smile. The chances of that happening were slim to none. "Continue?"
"You know I downloaded a flirting update from Social," Connor started slowly, letting you follow along with him. "Well, I downloaded that update because you got me thinking about a lot of things."
"Oh?"
"When you mentioned I should have my own place," Connor said. "It made me think about my life and what I wanted to do. I want . . . to live as human a life as possible, and that means catching up with other androids, whether it's through Social updates or observation alone. I . . . downloaded the flirting update because it'd been on my 'bucket list' for a while."
"I'm sorry I prompted a midlife crisis." You laughed, your eyes still closed.
"Less midlife, more crisis," Connor said, and your laugh only got louder. You figured it was mostly from exhaustion, but it also felt good to talk to Connor like this again.
"Okay, well, go on," you said after you'd calmed down.
Connor paused, and you opened your eyes, making sure the call was still going. It was -- he just apparently needed some time to think, which was ironic because androids' minds worked faster than any human's.
"I downloaded the flirting update on an impulse, to convince myself I was doing something to better my experiences as an android," Connor said. He hummed, and it turned into a soft, unsure groan. "But the flirting update wasn't like other Social updates. It seemed to affect the way I-- It seemed to affect my old files. My old memories."
Your knitted your brows. "So . . . it tried to apply itself to your past relationships? That's odd. Was that why you were organizing files in your system this afternoon? I mean, folders?"
"It didn't make me see people differently, per se, but it . . . felt like it'd exposed me, weirdly," Connor said, sighing. "It suggested flirty social interactions with people I thought I'd been-- Well, you know."
Your felt like your stomach had dropped through your bed.
His Social update had suggested he flirt with me!
Just to make sure, you asked, "So it suggested you flirt with . . . me. Is that why you were acting so weird?"
"Yes, precisely," Connor said. "That's why I was trying to organize the folders in my system. You in particular have a folder. It's so I can access our past interactions. Your folder is also one of the first ones in my system because we work with each other."
"Oh . . ." You trailed off. "So . . . the update altered that folder? Because it was one of your first ones?"
Connor paused. You thought he was going to confirm your question but instead, he asked, "Are you mad at me?"
"What? No," you said instantly. "Connor, why would I be mad at you? It's not like you did it on purpose. Besides, you didn't even say or do anything to me that would come off as flirting. Or inappropriate. So, really, you're fine."
"Because it-- Because the Social update--"
"Connor, really," you said. You turned over in bed and moved Princess so she was resting by your chest. You adjusted the phone so the speakerphone was off, and then you tucked it between your ear and the pillow. "I wouldn't have even known if you hadn't told me. Really, it's fine."
"That's a relief," Connor said. "I feel much better now. It felt like someone, as humans say, was walking over my grave all day."
"I'm sure that's not how the expression is used," you said, smiling.
Even though you felt like you were keeping your cool, you weren't. You felt butterflies in your stomach again (goddamnit). And then you could feel your fingers shaking. Your chest ached, but not in a bad way.
Connor had a folder with your name on it. In his systems. And his Social update had suggested he flirt with you. The mere thought of Connor flirting with you made you feel like you were floating.
But, of course, the good came with the bad.
Before you could even try to wrangle your obsessive, stupid thoughts, you were going over every reason as to why it wouldn't work out. That Connor was too good for you, that you would continue to age and die, while he would go on living forever.
It felt like getting splashed with cold water or being thrown off your rhythm. You rubbed at your face again, and then rubbed at your eyes, brow furrowing.
Why should you even give yourself the chance to entertain a relationship with Connor? You knew it made you happier, to daydream about the things you couldn't have, but daydreams always ended with reality.
Wouldn't it be so much better if you didn't have to experience that rude awakening? Ever again?
But reality is so boring.
Connor said something, but you didn't catch it.
"What? Sorry, I fell asleep for a second."
"I just wanted to make sure you wanted to stay friends," Connor said. "Because that's something . . . I would want."
The uncertainty in his tone made your chest ache. "Of course, Connor. The best of friends. Forever."
He knew you were exaggerating, so he chuckled. "Okay, well, I can tell you're tired. Go to bed, and I'll see you tomorrow. On time, preferably."
"Yeah, yeah. Night, Connor," you said, adjusting the phone.
"Good night, detective," he said, sounding the calmest you'd ever heard him. You ended the call and set an alarm for seven. You put your phone on the other side of your queen-size bed, snuggling into Princess and petting her a few more times.
You were glad you'd talked to Connor to sort through some things, but you also felt lighter. Or emptier. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths. A few minutes later, you were surprised but didn't fight it when you drifted off.
〇〇〇
You jolted awake when your alarm went off at seven, and you fumbled for it.
Realizing it'd fallen off the bed at some point, you rolled over to grab it off the floor. As you pushed yourself back up, the large window across your room revealed an overcast city and rainy weather.
Your morning went by fast as you got ready.
You fed Princess, took your antidepressant, and got dressed in some simple skinny jeans and a black sweater. You grabbed Gavin's sweatpants and slides, Connor's two jackets, and then you promptly left with an umbrella, feeling efficient and ready for the day.
You picked up a bagel and a coffee and, before you knew it, you were walking into the precinct. You shook out your umbrella as thunder rolled over the city, and you glanced up at the dark sky.
"You're early."
You turned around to see Connor in the lobby holding a bag from Starbucks. He seemed to be looking at your own bag from Starbucks.
"You got me breakfast?" You smiled, wrapping your umbrella up.
"It was a peace offering," Connor said, slightly rolling his eyes. "But I see you've already bought yourself . . . a bagel? And an iced mocha?"
"Ugh, you know me so well," you said as you both walked to the back. "Besides, you didn't have to get me a peace offering. I already said we were cool. Cool as cucumbers."
"You seem to be in a good mood," Gavin said, catching your attention. You put your stuff down on your desk, and he walked up to you and Connor. "Did you get her breakfast? That's cute."
You just smiled and shook your head. "Do you want the extra breakfast, Gavin? I can't eat both. Unless you wanna give your extras to someone else, Connor?"
"Maybe I will, detective," Connor said coolly, and Gavin balked.
"Hey, please? I didn't grab breakfast," he said. He pretended to plead and pressed his hands together in mock prayer.
You rolled your eyes but slid your bag over to Gavin, and he fist-bumped the air.
"Score! I owe you." He almost walked away, but you told him to grab his sweatpants and slides. He went back over to his desk with all of his things and his breakfast, and then you sat down.
You slid to the left so you could look at Connor's expression, but he was just smiling and shaking his head.
You reached out tentatively to grab the same breakfast Connor had gotten you, grinning like an idiot. "Thank you for the food! I also brought your jackets back. They're in this bag." You moved the reusable grocery bag in his direction, and he took it, putting it under his desk.
"Thank you," he said, getting some papers organized. "Glad we're back to normal, detective."
A dull throb in your chest surprised you, but you ignored it. "Yeah. Back to normal." You smiled warmly and then stood up, about to organize your desk a bit more, when Fowler called for you and Connor.
"Someone's in trouble," Gavin said, mouth full of bagel and cream cheese.
"Please shut your mouth when you chew," you said, walking over to Fowler's office with Connor. You looked to Connor, pursing your lips. "What do you think this is about? Noah?"
"I guess we'll find out," Connor shrugged, and he opened Fowler's door for you. You walked in and the both of you sat in front of Fowler's desk as he finished calling someone.
"Good morning, detectives," Fowler said, adjusting his belt before sitting down. "I would say great work yesterday, but I'm not even sure what fuckin' happened. You," he said, pointing at you, "you're cleared for work, right? Paramedics said you didn't have a concussion?"
"Just a little bruised," you said, gesturing to your swollen lip. "But I'm fine. Why?"
"Because I want you two to work on Noah's case," Fowler said, handing you a thick red folder.
"This can't just be Noah's case," you said, weighing the folder.
"Yes, you'd be right about that," Fowler said. He sat back in his chair, and you realized he looked a little worried. He frowned. "Another case similar to Jessica Copeland's occurred last night at three in the morning. Nines handled it, he even left you some notes. Unfortunately, the case didn't end like Copeland's."
"Oh?" You saw that Fowler was looking at Connor, so you looked at him as well.
"I transferred the files to Connor, he should be looking through them right about now," Fowler said. "Maxim White, the android boyfriend, broke into his girlfriend's apartment and murdered her at approximately 3:17 AM."
"Human girlfriend? Again?" You asked, mind racing. "Well . . . Where do you want us to start?"
"He's here," Connor said, LED flickering yellow. "Fowler has White in a holding cell."
"He's alive?" You asked, eyes widening. "So he didn't blow up like Noah."
"No, but we're not trying to have a repeat of that," Fowler said, spreading his hands. "So don't get his stress levels too high. The last thing I need is for a walking bomb to go off in this precinct."
". . . Yessir," you said, standing. Connor stood with you, and you looked at each other, uncertain.
"And I want you two to work on any cases like this in the future," Fowler said. "You guys are efficient, and that's how this case needs to be handled. If someone is orchestrating these incidents . . . we're gonna have a real big problem. Dismissed."
You and Connor left Fowler's office. You could see that Connor's LED was flickering yellow, still trying to process White's file.
"We could question him," you said. "It's a little early, but you could."
"No, that's just the issue," Connor said, his LED finally settling on blue. You guys stopped in front of his desk. "Fowler noted in White's file that he doesn't remember anything. At all."
Your brow furrowed. "What? How is that even possible? I thought androids had back-up memories or something like that."
"We do," Connor said. He tapped his desk as he looked around the work area, thinking. "So this is . . . unusual, to say the least. But I'd be willing to question him. Let me look through the files once more before coming up with a few questions." He then gestured to your breakfast, which still sat in the Starbucks bag.
"You can eat while I question him," Connor said, nudging you gently.
"Wouldn't that be a little unprofessional?" But even as you were asking that, you were picking up your bag. You pulled your coffee out of the cardboard holder and sipped on it, smirking.
"I don't even think you want me to answer that," Connor said with a small smile, walking off.
You followed after him, and Connor requested that one of the other officers bring Maxim White to a room for questioning. You both stood on the other side of the glass, hidden, waiting for White.
You sipped at your coffee and took a few bites of your bagel, thinking.
"I wonder if Fowler will open another investigation to look at White's biocomponents and system," you said. You took a few more bites of your bagel before you put it on the table. You also put the folder down.
"He might, but I may be able to trigger some of White's memories," Connor said. "Android memories don't just disappear. They're always hidden somewhere."
"Oh?"
"They can't really be deleted," Connor said, shrugging. "The android would have to go through a whole process. Be hooked up to something. So I'm sure this android is just experiencing some sort of virus."
An officer brought White into the room and handcuffed him. The suspect sat down, and you looked over his clothes. He was wearing simple jeans and a sweatshirt, but they were covered in human blood, in his girlfriend's blood.
You shuddered and looked away for a second.
"Horrible," you muttered, walking up to the glass. "You ready, Connor?"
"Yes," he said from behind you. "Do you want me to ask him any specific questions?"
You hummed, mulling over possible questions. "I . . . No. You'll probably ask what I would." You glanced over your shoulder to see Connor nod. He grabbed the folder and then left the room. Seconds later, he pushed into the other room, adjusting his blue tie and rolling up his white sleeves.
"Hello, Maxim White," Connor said, sitting across from him. "My name is Connor, I'm a detective here at the DPD. I just wanted to ask a few questions about what transpired this morning."
"I -- I don't remember anything," White said, his hazel eyes darting around the room. "I told that to an officer this morning. He looked kind of like you."
"Yes, that was Detective Nines Drake," Connor said. You watched as Connor opened the folder, tilting it away from White. Connor sifted through the pictures, and your mouth dropped upon seeing them. The victim's body had been disfigured.
Connor must've gone through the pictures electronically because it looked like he was searching for a specific one. He took out a picture of White's girlfriend, lying in the bathtub, dead.
Connor pushed the picture toward White, and the android's eyes widened marginally. His hands gripped onto the table.
"I told you, I don't remember killing her," White said. "It-- I felt like I'd just teleported into her apartment. By then, the room was full of cops."
"Do you know who she is?" Connor asked.
"No."
"Do you remember anything? Up until you, technically speaking, blacked out?"
White seemed to think about this, running his hands through his black hair. It was dried with blood, and he looked down at his palms, at the red flakes.
"No. I don't remember anything."
"But you had a motive," Connor said. You narrowed your eyes, getting closer to the glass. "This woman was your girlfriend. Her name was Molly Woods."
White's brow furrowed. "No. That's not possible. I don't have a girlfriend. And I-- I wouldn't kill my girlfriend. I wouldn't kill her!"
Connor quickly took the photo away and put it back. He took out another, one that captured some of Molly's photos of them together. They were all lined up on some bookshelf, and White stared at it, wide-eyed.
"I . . . No. I don't . . ." He pressed his palms to his forehead, and you swore softly. You and Connor needed him to remember what he'd done, but getting him to remember might push his stress levels past the breaking point.
And you had no idea what his stress levels were like at that moment.
All you could do was trust Connor to not push White too far.
"Maxim, we're just trying to figure this out," Connor said gently. "For Molly's sake and yours. If you don't remember her, it means someone had control of your system at one point. And it could mean that they are still in control."
"What . . ?" White trailed off, looking down at his body. His eyes darted back and forth. "But that's not possible. Androids don't-- No . . . This can't be."
Connor put down another photo of Molly, but it was one of her in a group of people. It looked like a professional photo taken at some event or party, and Molly and White were standing next to each other, holding hands.
White inhaled sharply and grabbed the photo before Connor could stop him.
"That -- That man," White said. His voice dropped a few octaves, and it sounded like it was glitching out. He repeatedly pointed at a man standing next to Molly. "Him! He did this!"
You furrowed your brow, not following.
"What man?" Connor asked, tapping the table with a few fingers. "Which man, White?"
White slowly put the photo down, but he was trembling. He pointed to the man again, and Connor quickly picked up the photo to scan it.
"So you're telling me this man killed Molly? Not you?"
White stared off into space. "No. This man slept with Molly. He's the reason she's dead. He's the reason she deserved to die. It was the only way."
You shuddered, pressing a hand against the glass. "Holy shit."
White's eyes were completely black, just like Noah's. You wanted to yell at Connor to leave, to get out of there, but there was no lullaby. No music box sounding off.
You looked behind you, suddenly freaked out. But only your breakfast sat on the table.
"So you remember?" Connor asked, sitting back.
White blinked, looking Connor up and down. "You come off so human. What a choice."
"It's a bad thing?"
"It's unfortunate." White smiled wolfishly. "You look so . . . humanized. I bet you have someone special in mind. Someone human. Someone you'd be willing to die for, over and over again. Because we can't die. Because they can. Because they're so pitifully fragile. And manipulative. And traitorous."
You couldn't believe what you were hearing. This wasn't White speaking. This was someone else entirely. In White's head.
"Who hurt you?" Connor asked, narrowing his eyes. "A human girl?"
"Molly did."
"I'm not talking to Maxim White, though, am I?" Connor asked, and silence filled the room. You clenched your fists, looking back and forth between the two men as if they were playing tennis.
White sat back in his chair and rolled his eyes. "You've let your guard down. You've lost your drive. Your passion. One day you'll see why humans are nothing but pests on this planet." White looked toward the mirror, and you flinched, stepping back. "Wouldn't you like to be free? Not have to worry about the subjective race that is humanity, wrapped up in their egos and individualistic, selfish needs? Wouldn't it be so much better if they didn't confuse us? Didn't bastardize our already flawless programming?"
"I think I'm done questioning you," Connor said, standing up.
"Oh, don't worry," White said, looking up at Connor. "I was done too. But I'm sure we'll meet again, Connor."
You watched in horror as the android put his hands on his own neck and pulled so hard that it tore away. His head fell back on the ground with a thunk, and you gasped, covering your mouth.
You waited to hear the lullaby, but there was nothing. Just silence.
〇〇〇
The precinct was abuzz with drama and rumors about the android who'd decapitated himself during an interrogation -- Connor's interrogation.
Fowler, quickly realizing that this was no small affair, granted you and Connor a room to set up information for Noah and White's cases. You were in the middle of organizing photos when Connor started playing with his coin.
Concerned, you said, "Don't let him get to you, Connor."
The android put his coin down and looked up at you with unblinking eyes, but he quickly turned away. "Don't worry, detective. I haven't let him."
Your hands froze over the pile of photos.
Wouldn't it be so much better if they didn't confuse us? Didn't bastardize our already flawless programming?
You swallowed thickly, sitting across from Connor. "If you ever wanna give the Social updates a break . . . Just let me know, okay? I've always been supportive of them, but . . . I don't want them to overwhelm you."
Connor pinched his nose and stood up. "Maybe I will." His LED flickered yellow as he walked away, and you looked after him.
You were surprised because it hurt to watch him go.