Chapter One: Initiate

Ms. Gabor takes the 4PM bus every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday from Windsor to Midtown Detroit. After three weeks of observation, he concluded that this route would be an ongoing occurrence.

Today, her attire consists of torn denim that reveals the skin of her left knee and a limp salmon pink sweater that sweeps to her mid thigh. She is clutching the strap of her saddle bag wrapped across her chest with one hand so tightly that the blood in her knuckles rise to the surface. She cradles two textbooks in her other arm. Spotting her in a crowd is easy.

As the bus whirs to a stop, Ms. Gabor rises from her seat and moves toward the scattered throng of passengers standing at the exit. The door slides open with a hiss and she's the last to step out onto the bustling tenor of the strip.

Ms. Gabor's eyes shift downward to her feet. She isn't paying attention, she doesn't know she's being surveilled and he ensures she crosses only three paces before shoving into her shoulder.

When Ms. Gabor grunts in surprise, he knows the impact is quite significant.

The books slip out of the crook of her elbow and splash into a shallow puddle on the uneven concrete.

Panic floods her face as she crouches to retrieve the fallen articles. It isn't until she gathers them in her arms does her attention shoot upward. Focus sharpens her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Ms. Gabor says. She is genuinely contrite despite the incident occurring due to no fault of her own.

"No." He shakes his head slightly, adjusting his worn jacket. "I ran into you."

The smile she offers him is weak, half-hearted. Traces of distraught still pinch her face.

His mind processes the feedback and initiates an algorithm that would absolve her discontent.

"I find it admirable that you still choose an outdated apparatus as your means of collecting information."

She tilts her head slightly. A few strands of her black hair float across her forehead from the movement. She reminds him of an animal. "Outdated apparatus?" she echoes.

"Your books," he gestures at her arm. The sleeve of her sweater is dark with wet.

"Who in the...I have never heard anyone call it that." The corners of her mouth quirk downwards, incredulous, and instantly flatten into a straight line. "I don't actually planto read them. They're just gifts from my Uncle. He said they could be worth a lot of money one day. But, honestly - who would want soggy books?"

His program pauses and reconsiders.

If it had been an accident, then maybe he would have truly felt obliged to reconcile for his misbehavior. As was an android's duty to assuage human disappointment. But, jostling Ms. Gabor was purely deliberate.

**_Express_Remorse_**

"I'm really sorry. I should have been more careful," he says.

Ms. Gabor shakes her head.

"No, no, it's fine. Mistakes happen. There's nothing you can do about it now. It's not like these things are worth a fortune anyway."

His eyes travel to her arm. "Did you just see your Uncle?"

"No…" There is a pause as she fumbles for a response. "I… I picked them up from... the mailing center."

The nearest mailing center is three blocks away - within walking distance - but her face is largely devoid of any pretense and her body language gives no indication of nervousness. Though the probability of her lying is still fairly low, he can't confirm the integrity of her answer.

Sensing that she wouldn't speak further on the matter, he redirects the conversation. "Is there somewhere you have to be?"

"I…" Ms. Gabor hesitates as she looks up. Her eyes flicker to the digital watch strapped on her wrist. "I was heading home."

She shuffles her feet as though preparing to leave. Her lips twitch with the oncomings of a sentence, but he interjects.

"Then, is it possible for me to escort you back to your residence?"

When Ms. Gabor narrows her eyes,a pulse reverberates through the wires in his processor.

**Evade_Suspicion**

"It's the least I can do. I'd like to make up for my carelessness," he explains and glances at the sky where sunlight gradually drains away. "And, given that nightfall is fast approaching, it would certainly make me feel better."

The silence that ensues chiefly on her end doesn't aggravate him. Patience is a virtue that, for him at least, is in great supply. So, he stays silent and waits until she makes up her mind.

"Sure," she shrugs, "why not?"

His hand extends outward as his program activates the lips to stretch into a small smile.

**_Amicable_**

"My name is Connor."

Ms. Gabor studies the hand then lifts her head. She does not say anything immediately but her fingers that were tightly wound around her bag strap delicately slide into Connor's palm. The temperature of her touch warms his artificial skin.

"Hi Connor." she says, "I'm Isla."