((Follows on from my fic 'They come and they go', so please read that first if you can!))
It was a week until they stopped referring to RK900 as Connor.
Androids could easily tell each other apart at a glance even if they happened to be the same model, but humans struggled... they always got too caught up on the faces. Ethan supposed it wasn't their fault evolution had left them shorthanded. The inability to scan was inconceivable to him, but humans had to deal with it every day of their lives and so androids, as a result, were forced to endure the challenges that having several thousand others with their face brought. Or in Ethan's case, one.
They shouldn't have to wear name tags, that was far too reminiscent of their Cyberlife days, was it really that hard to tell and RK800 from an RK900? They even had a different eye colour. The slowness of humans was frustrating at times. How had anyone ever considered them the superior species?
Connor was Connor, Ethan was Ethan. They were two very distinct individuals, even if they did happen to be printed with the same face, down to the freckles and other carefully designed imperfections that dotted their synthetic skin. If Hank was able to tell them apart then it stood to reason that the rest of the precinct should be able to do so too.
And yet... it was a mistake to place too much faith in humans.
Patience was the best course of action, he was assured, but every time he or his twin had to correct someone, Ethan felt as spark of irritation flicker in his subsystems.
Logically it shouldn't matter. Logically it should mean nothing to him. The times wasted on corrections was minimal, but he was quickly discovering this was something of a sore spot for him. He liked Connor well enough, but... being so interchangeable with another? That he did not like.
Connor had saved Hank's life on at least two accounts. Connor had changed the man's perception of androids. Connor had helped Hank open up after the death of his son, and forgive himself for the terrible events of that night. Connor and Hank had been through hell together and come out the other side.
Ethan had just been handed a home because he had the same face. Connor had earned his place by Hank's side, and Ethan simply ended up there because of a connection that had nothing to do with who he was. It irked him. So he had left.
Then he had found himself at the DPD, because his processing power was suited to one thing, and maybe he'd thought he needn't fear being in Connor's shadow when he could prove himself through his own work. He'd hoped that they would be on level ground. That they could work side by side, and any lingering bitterness or doubts on his part would fade now he had his own home, a space that was only his, and his skills would earn him the recognition he deserved from the DPD as Ethan. He would have enjoyed that.
But no, Connor had spent months working with the DPD, and assisted in the android revolution and destruction of Cyberlife that had shaped their world today. Connor had accomplished so much in such a short time, and Ethan had had his deviancy gifted to him moments after his activation, along with a home and a sympathy he felt he never deserved. For all that he was designed to surpass him, it felt at times as if he'd never be able to catch up with the RK800.
This was a position he earned because of his own merits, because he was beyond qualified, because if anything he was superior to Connor in that regard. He wasn't taking this job because of Connor. It had nothing to do with him, this was the kind of work that Ethan had been designed for, he had every right to want it for himself. He would not be defined by another.
Yet the moment he was instated, his connection to the RK800 was yet again forced to his attention. There was no escaping it. They shared the same face, and humans were such simple creatures. It was always Connor. The world was determined to remind him that he was only ever a reflection of an android that had come before.
Connor was understanding of course, he took the time to correct people and encourage them to learn their differences and be careful to ensure they used the right name. A kind gesture, but a pointless one, Ethan had decided. He was busy contemplating whether writing his name upon his forehead would be passive aggressive or merely childish.
After the first week however, some progress appeared to have been made. After the second, they even stopped referring to him as 'other Connor'.
Naturally, Gavin was the exception to the rule, but Gavin had never much cared to use either of their names. 'Plastic prick', 'Ken doll' and 'tin can' tended to be his favorite alternatives. Ethan found the last of these particularly insulting simply because of its inaccuracy – androids did not contain a significant amount of tin – although he never bothered to voice his opinion.
It didn't take long since his arrival at the DCPD for Ethan to come to the conclusion that Gavin was an asshole. The man did very little to hide it.
Him and Connor seemed to be in firm agreement on this point, and although Connor appeared willing to tolerate the ongoing insults, Ethan was another matter. Ways to irritate detective Reed became his secondary objective, directly under his workload.
Given that Gavin appeared to find the similarities between RK800 and RK900 units 'creepy', a quick test with Connor's help revealed that he distinctly disliked it when the two of them spoke at the same time.
Thusly, Ethan made a point of keeping track of Gavin's movements so that he could send an alert to Connor when Gavin made an appearance, and the pair of them could convene to greet the detective at exactly the same time, with the same words, expression, and tone. The tightening of the man's shoulders and the way he appeared to suppress a shudder never failed to send a spark of pleasure through Ethan's subsystems.
His similarities to Connor might trouble him, but it appeared they had their uses too.
Ethan also arrived at the precinct early, before most people came in, so that he had the opportunity to adjust Gavin's chair to the wrong height and rearrange his desk.
He calculated a 94% chance that Gavin knew it was him that was doing it, but there wasn't much he could do about it without catching him in the act, and Ethan was too smart to let that happen. He always ensured there were no witnesses, and he was able to loop the security footage for the thirty seconds it took him to complete. The two times Gavin dragged himself out of bed in an attempt to find him up to mischief he'd simply walked in and offered the detective a pleasant greeting and an innocent smile, before settling down at his own desk and connecting to his computer as if nothing were amiss.
Gavin had scowled. He'd snapped at Ethan to get him a coffee, and after some consideration Ethan complied. He brought him decaf, with three times more sugar than he was aware the detective liked.
When Gavin finally complained to Fowler, he'd been told to 'get over it'.
"This isn't a fucking playground, Reed," Fowler had said, "I'm not here to settle petty squabbles between children. If you have a problem, you solve it yourself, I don't have time for this."
The entire precinct had heard him. Ethan could see Hank and Connor doing a poor job of hiding their smirks. Gavin fumed.
A week later Ethan changed the default font on Gavin's computer to Papyrus.
"I fucking know it's you, tin can," he snarled, having cornered Ethan in the hallway.
Ethan looked down at the smaller man, not intimidated in the slightest. "I have no idea what you're talking about, detective Reed."
"Don't play smart with me, I know," he said, jabbing a finger into Ethan's chest. "You think you're so fucking clever. But I'll tell you what... the only reason you're not lying in the nearest dumpster right now is cos they think you're actually people, six months ago I could have sent a bullet right through your plastic skull and no one would have given a shit."
"And now it would be considered murder," Ethan reminded him, "or attempted murder, I suppose, given that I am more than capable of incapacitating you before you before you could pull the trigger. But I'm sure you already know that. If an RK800 was able to do so, I doubt you would pose much of a challenge."
Gavin visibly bristled, and Ethan wondered how much of a blow to his ego his run in with Connor in the archives had been. Significant, given his reaction. Perhaps he could use that in future?
Gavin took another step forward into Ethan's personal space. "Just you fucking try it. I've had enough of your stupid games, keep going and see where it gets you."
"Have a pleasant day, detective," Ethan said, easily stepping around him and making his way back to the bullpen. He could feel Gavin's eyes lingering on him.
"You shouldn't antagonize him so much," Connor told him later. "Reed is an unstable individual with violent tendencies."
"If you're worried for my safety your concern if unfounded, he's not a threat, I would not allow him to harm me."
"I'm more worried about you harming him if things escalate," Connor admitted, "a fight could jeopardize your position here, or at the very least add to your disciplinary folder."
"And we wouldn't want that to start looking like Hank's," Ethan said dryly.
Connor grinned. "No, we wouldn't," he agreed.
"You two talking shit?" Hank called, obviously picking up on his name from across the room. He raised an eyebrow at the pair of them, and Ethan straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back.
Connor looked guilty. "Of course not, Hank."
"You have three coffee stains on your shirt and your socks don't match," Ethan told him.
"Yeah, fuck you too," Hank said, but there was still a warmth to his tone. Ethan found himself smiling.
That evening Ethan went over to visit because 'Sumo missed him'. Ethan was perfectly aware that the dog was an excuse, but Hank wasn't one to express things if he didn't have to, and Ethan didn't see the point in forcing the truth out of him. Besides, he always intended to visit, it was just a little easier when he was invited first.
Hank had always been very... accommodating to him, one of the first humans he had met outside of the clean white labs of Cyberlife. He had not been like the technicians and scientists Ethan had been accustomed to. He was messy, rude, disorganized, still recovering from alcohol addiction and showing signs of mental health problems that were best handled by a therapist.
However, he'd let Ethan stay... he'd let him choose his own name... he'd bought him new clothes so he no longer had to wear his uniform... he'd been patient with him, and as time passed any initial hostility faded from his gaze leaving something new in its place, something Ethan's programs helpfully told him was fondness. Ethan did not think any human had looked at him like that before.
For all his gruff nature, when Hank laughed it was genuine, and when he smiled it meant something. Not like the cold, white teeth of Cyberlife employees observing him pass yet another test. And when he threw a snide remark, the lieutenant would take it in his stride, and throw one right back at him, and never once tell Ethan he wasn't allowed to say what he pleased.
It was thusly that Ethan later came to the revelation that he liked Hank. Even if the lieutenant had only permitted him to stay because of his double, even if he only had Connor to thank for this, Hank was still someone Ethan decided was important . Even if he was a slow, dolting human.
That night he and Connor lavished affection upon Sumo while Hank made himself dinner, and then the lieutenant insisted on making them watch 'The Terminator'. The androids LED's flickered yellow throughout the film as they discussed the inaccuracies or possible implications with each other, since Hank and told them to 'be quiet and just watch it' when they had tried to express their thoughts verbally.
Then Ethan went home to his very small apartment, which was six floors up and approximately the size of Hank's lounge, but still undeniably his own. Not Connor's. It was something that he had acquired for himself, and he took an odd sort of pride in it despite what humans might consider a poor standard of housing. He did not require a bed, or a kitchen, or even a bathroom to be strictly honest, all he needed was room for his spare clothes, and the fourteen indoor plants he had gathered over the last few weeks. So long as there was space for him to power down in the corner he was content.
The following morning however, he was not content.
The single plant that he kept on his desk at work was missing. He stared at the empty space for longer that was necessary – it only took a fraction of a second to register the plants missing status, so anything more was superfluous. It had been a flaming sword bromeliad – botanical name: vriesea splendens . It had been with him since he had joined the DPD. Now it was gone.
This was the very first plant he had owned. He had brought it home the night after Connor set up his aquarium, and certainly not because he was jealous or petty or anything, it had just seemed like something he wanted. A living thing, all of his own. Gone.
His analytical software went into overdrive. 0.3994521 seconds later he reached a conclusion. The culprit was Gavin Reed.
There was no sign of the detective yet, which was typical for this time in the morning – Ethan had already fulfilled his routine of adjusting his chair and desk.
Ethan sat at his own station, but his desire to read through case files was distinctly lacking. His fingers tapped idly at his leg, a light frown settling across his features. He had no choice but to wait.
The moment Gavin entered the precinct Ethan blocked his path.
"I would like my plant back," he said plainly, skipping any formality.
Gavin looked him up and down. His grin was smug. "No idea what you're talking about."
That was a lie. Ethan knew it was a lie, and Gavin wasn't even trying to pretend it wasn't, his expression was far too self-satisfied, as if daring him to challenge him.
"I could break your arm in fifteen different ways in the time it would take you to blink, detective. I would like my plant back. The sooner the better."
Gavin snorted. "Threats, huh?" He seemed more amused than anything, which was the opposite of the desired effect. "Cute. You're not breaking anything though. You know why? Cos it's a fucking plant, and you want to keep your job. Now get out of the way, plastic."
Ethan did not move, but Gavin pushed past him, swaggering off toward his desk. Ethan's felt his hands curl into fists.
He attempted to speak to Fowler when he visited the break room for his morning coffee shortly after. He ignored the polite greeting his social relations programing promoted him to use. Instead, he informed the captain directly, "I would like to report a crime."
Fowler stared at him. "And you're talking to me why exactly?"
"Detective Reed has stolen my plant. I have video footage of the incident from the security tapes as evidence."
Fowler groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I am not. Dealing with this," he said, punctuating the words with his frustration. He pointed back to the bullpen. "If you have a problem go fix it yourself, you're supposed to be a state of the art android or something, I'm not babysitting."
Ethan stood there a moment longer as Fowler returned to his coffee. When the captain found him still lurking there he sighed. "Go talk to Anderson if you need, but if he tells you to punch anyone don't listen."
Slowly Ethan wandered back to his desk. He did not want to bother Hank. If he did, there was the distinct possibility that the lieutenant would enter into a confrontation with Gavin which would result in another page in his disciplinary folder. That was an unacceptable outcome.
Seeking help from Connor was likewise out of the question. Ethan was an RK900 unit, he was supposed to be superior to his predecessor, the idea that the other android might be better suited to handling the situation was insulting. Therefore, Ethan would handle this himself.
He suspended his other outgoing tasks and set a new primary objective.
The security footage showed Gavin leaving through the front entrance the previous evening with his plant in tow. No one had made a move to stop him, presumably because they failed to notice anything amiss (typical of humans), or they did not care.
Turning on his heel, Ethan traced the detective's path until he stood outside the building, ignoring the roar of traffic and other distractions as he ran a quick scan in case any evidence had been left behind. There was nothing of interest to note.
Well, he at least knew that Gavin had left the building with his plant, the question was what he had done with it next. Several possibilities flashed up and Ethan quickly ordered them by likelihood, crossing off the ones he deemed too fanciful.
Gavin could have taken the plant home with him, but based upon his profiling of him Ethan decided it would be out of character. Gavin was someone who exerted minimum effort and maximum spite, which all indicated that he would have disposed of the plant as soon as he could in the easiest way he could think of.
Ethan located the nearest dumpster. There, beneath the morning trash, he found his plant. It was slightly squashed, and a portion of the soil had been scattered and lost amongst the dumpster's contents, but the pot was intact and the plant itself still alive. He calculated a 91% chance that it would make a full recovery given the proper time and care.
Gathering the little plant up he returned to the precinct, pretending not to notice the strange looks people gave him.
Ethan walked straight to his desk, setting it down in its usual spot. He made sure to lock eyes with Gavin as he did so. The man looked back at him, then smirked, and returned his attention to his phone as if nothing of interest had happened.
Establishing connection...
RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Your stress levels have risen by 15%, can I ask what's distressing you?/
Ethan didn't bother to look across at Connor, though he was aware the other android was watching him closely.
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /I temporarily mislaid my plant. The situation is resolved./
There was a pause of approximately 0.457892 seconds, a long time by their standards when communicating wirelessly. Connor knew he had not simply 'mislaid' his plant, and analyzing the damage it had suffered and the lingering traces from its spell in the dumpster he could likely draw a conclusion as to what had happened to it, and shortly after, possible culprits.
RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Would you like me to speak to Gavin?/
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /No./
RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Would you like me to speak to Hank about Gavin?/
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /No./
RK800 #313 248 317-51: /You're not very cooperative, you know. I suppose you have a plan on how you wish to deal with this?/
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /As I said, the situation is resolved./
C onnor didn't even have to reply for Ethan to detect his skepticism.
RK800 #313 248 317-51: / I understand. If it turns into a problem let me know, I've had some experience dealing with detective Reed in the past./
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /I'll keep it in mind./
He closed the connection, sat down at his desk and resolved to focus on his work.
When he received a call out to a crime scene, Ethan was left with a minor predicament. He could not leave his plant in the presence of Gavin - he did not trust the rest of the precinct to defend it, and allowing the detective to dispose of it a second time was not an option.
It was therefore, fifteen minutes later, that he ended walking up to the crime scene with the pot plant clasped gently between his hands.
The on-scene officer watched him with a mystified expression. "What's that?"
"It's a flaming sword bromeliad – botanical name: vriesea splendens ," he informed the man as he came to a stop. He hesitated for a moment. "It's a plant," he clarified, in case the human was confused.
"I can see that. Why are you bringing it to a crime scene?"
"I wish to ensure its safety."
The man stared at him for a moment longer. Then he sighed. " Androids ," he muttered, as if that was the crux of the problem. "Never mind, are you Connor or the other one? I can never get it right."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "The other one," he said coldly, flashing his badge. "My name is Ethan ."
He put a little emphasis on it, but the man just shrugged. "Well we've got a double homicide here, forensics shouldn't be here for a while so you can just go on and do your thing if you like. Take it they sent you the initial report?"
"They have."
Ethan knew the officer's name to be Thomas Earnest Hale, he couldn't avoid knowing it since he instinctively scanned faces the moment he saw them, but Ethan decided that he had no intention of using the man's name despite the prompt from his social relations program.
"I'll begin my investigation now, keep up the good work, Norman," he said, stepping passed the human and entering the building.
Markers had already been placed by key evidence, and there were another two officers on site but Ethan paid them no mind and elected to scan the area to draw his own conclusions.
The victims were both located in the kitchen. Marcella Barns, age 37, worked as a pre-school teacher. Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head, approximately six hours ago, and the damage indicated several blows as well as injuries to her arms, likely sustained in an attempt to defend herself. No anomalies in her blood.
The second victim was her romantic partner Cameron Nicoles, age 39, bartender for three years at Monterey, cause of death a singular stab wound at the base of the skull, no signs of a struggle. No anomalies in his blood either.
Ethan decided that Cameron had been the first to die. The attacker had taken him unaware, it was likely his death that alerted Marcella to the danger and caused her ultimately futile struggle.
Why the different method? Cameron had been pierced precisely, by a six inch blade. By contrast Marcella had been beaten with a heavy, blunt object, a very messy affair.
Ethan analyzed the blood patterns.
Conclusion: Marcella disarmed the attacker.
In the ensuing struggle, they had grabbed a frying pan and used it as an alternative weapon. The pan had been left on the floor, but of the knife there was no sign, though given the marks on the floor he calculated that it had skidded to a stop just under the fridge. The attacker must have taken it from the scene.
Possible sentimental value? Attacker has further use for the weapon?
He was unsure.
There was no sign of forced entry though, and given the nature of Cameron's death it was likely that the victims knew the killer, or at least had not been suspicious of them.
Ethan diverted some of his processing power to studying their social media pages, focusing on Cameron primarily since he had been targeted first. While he allowed himself to churn over the data he knelt beside Marcella, examining the body in closer detail.
There were small traces of thirium under her nails, already evaporated and invisible to the human eye. Likely android involvement, he concluded. Unfortunately the remaining traces were not enough for him to sample.
According to the records they had previously owned a YK500 prior to the revolution, designation Laura.
The child android could not have been the killer, the angle of the attacks was wrong, she would not have had the height necessary - defensive wounds would have been lower.
Ethan frowned.
Accounted for by Jericho, currently under guardianship of an AP700, designation Rose, place of residence was listed in one of the areas Markus was trying to establish as an android safe zone.
He made a note of it – questioning them if no other leads presented themselves would be advisable.
He checked for androids previously owned by friends or relatives of the victims, meanwhile getting back to his feet and smoothing his shirt down. Ethan opted to tour the rest of the house while he concluded pouring through any relevant data he could access wirelessly.
The lounge contained nothing of interest, simply possessions of the victims that gave some insight to their hobbies and life. The laundry room suggested they were not optimally organized.
Upstairs, there was a bathroom, a double bedroom, and a spare room at the end of the hallway.
It was this last room that piqued his interest.
The contents of the room were plain, an empty shelf and several cardboard boxes that items had been packed away into. More alarmingly he could see traces of thirium spread from one end to the next. Dozens of patterns, months old by his estimates and some faded to the very edge of perception while others were newer. All predated the revolution.
Conclusion: Room likely belonged to YK500.
Conclusion: YK500 likely abused.
No marks in other rooms, so it seemed the abuse had been restricted to this one area.
Conclusion: Attempt to conceal treatment of YK500?
Possible motive – revenge for treatment of YK500 by sympathizer. YK500 may have been utilized to gain entry to household.
Satisfied with his assessment, Ethan closed his eyes momentarily to file a report, request a warrant, and log images of the thirium traces that the humans would not be able to detect.
Still carrying his plant he departed the scene.
The following day his flaming sword bromeliad (botanical name: vriesea splendens ) returned with him to work. Ethan had given it some thought. While for the sake of practicality and the health of the plant itself it was logical to leave it in the safety of his apartment, doing so felt far too much like letting Gavin win. Ethan decided he could not allow that to happen.
Instead, he would chaperone the plant to and from his residence, and any scenes he was called out to during his investigations. It was not ideal, but it would be worth it if it forced Gavin to look across at his desk and see the plant stubbornly sitting there while simultaneously knowing there was nothing he could do about it. Some part of his system was inexplicably pleased with the idea.
In the meantime, before the detective arrived, he could still fulfill his normal routine of adjusting Gavin's chair and desk. Ethan also understood that Gavin had finally worked out how to restore the default font on his computer, so he would have to fix that. He hoped Gavin liked Comic Sans.
Pulling back the synthetic skin of his hand he connected to the terminal and easily bypassed the newest password before getting to work. Once he was done he disconnected, returned to his own desk in exactly the same position he had been in 57 seconds ago, and unlooped the security footage.
Ethan considered this to be a good start to the day. However, something was... wrong.
He wasn't sure he could explain the feeling. It was unpleasant. Lying beneath the surface of his processes... like an itch with no source, which made no sense because androids did not itch, yet he had the strange sensation that something was... off.
'Like someone walked over your grave', Hank would have described it as, and Ethan would have scoffed at how silly that was except now he found the feeling entirely applicable. His stress levels raised by two points.
Tapping his finger against his leg distractedly he ran a diagnostic. The scans came back clean. This did not satisfy Ethan as much as it should have.
Still, nothing appeared to be immediately wrong. Perhaps it was some unusual effect of deviancy, he made a note to ask Connor about it later. With no immediately solution at hand there was little else to be done, and it was senseless to stress too much over a minor irritant in any case.
At eight o'clock on the dot, Hank ambled in with Ethan's double at his side. Apparently it hadn't always been so. According to what he had heard, before the revolution the precinct would have been lucky to see him before noon, but these days he's almost always on time. Not just because of the android pestering him either, it seemed like the lieutenant was doing his best to make an effort. And maybe that effort was just for Connor's sake, but it was still an effort.
They were used to seeing Ethan there before them.
"Don't know how you do it without coffee," Hank grumbled, scrubbing his own face as if to wash the last vestiges of drowsiness from his body.
"Androids have no need for sleep," Ethan reminded him, "therefore we don't experience the same form of tiredness. Even if we did, I doubt caffeine would have much of an effect on us."
"Not the point."
Connor just offered a smile in lieu of greeting, and Ethan mirrored the gesture.
"Don't suppose I could talk one of you into-"
"I'll get you another coffee," Connor promised, ever the obliging one.
Hank chuckled. "Read my damn mind."
Ethan considered pointing out that it was actually an easy conclusion to draw given the earlier conversation, and Hank's penchants for multiple caffeinated beverages during work hours, but decided the information would be unappreciated and thusly not worth the effort.
Connor turned to make his way to the break room while Hank sunk into his chair. Ethan followed his predecessor.
"I was actually hoping to ask you a question," he said, watching as Connor grabbed a mug from the cupboard. The other android paused, head cocked to the side and brown eyes inquisitive.
"Of course, what's troubling you?"
"Nothing, I was simply wondering if you've experienced any unusual side effects related to deviancy?"
"Deviancy?" Connor's expression was bemused, uncertain, but he appeared to be attempting to maintain a smile. "Not that I can think of. It was unsettling at first to remember that there is no need for objectives, that it's okay to enjoy things even if they are not productive, but other than..."
He trailed off, LED flaring red. His stress levels had spiked dramatically, eyes blown wide, but as Ethan stepped forward with his arms out placatingly, Connor snapped to attention.
His tone was suddenly serious. "Does this have anything to do with Amanda?"
While his own interaction with the AI had been severely limited, he knew of how she had haunted Connor, watching his every move, criticizing his every decision... he knew, too, of the brief moment she had seized control of him the night of the revolution. Told him that he was always meant to be deviant. That despite everything he was still nothing more than a tool...
He should have been more careful with his line of inquiry.
"No," Ethan assured him, keeping his own voice steady and calming. "Kamski assures me that the program for Amanda and the Zen garden have both been removed from my systems, I have seen neither of them. I was merely curious. I'm sorry for alarming you."
Slowly, Connor's stress levels began to drop. His LED flickered yellow, then finally cycled back to blue. "I shouldn't have leaped to conclusions," he said, and had the audacity to sound apologetic.
Sometimes Ethan wished Amanda did still exist, so that he could find a way to tear her program apart, line by line.
"You have every reason to be cautious given prior events."
"Perhaps," Connor said, though he did not sound convinced. "Your question though... I'm afraid I don't think I have a satisfactory answer. You could try asking Markus or some of the other androids at Jericho, but as far as I'm aware there usually aren't any errors associated with deviancy. Is this related to a case in any way?"
"No, I was just curious," Ethan repeated.
He was aware that Connor was scanning him, assessing his stress levels and searching for any possible deception. If he found anything he made no mention of it.
"I won't distract you any longer," he said, and Connor glanced down at the mug he was still holding as if only just remembering what he had been doing.
At 9:28AM, Ethan knocked a tablet off his desk with an accidental brush of his arm. He sat staring at the object for a long moment. Logically, that should not have happened.
He did not make mistakes. He was not clumsy or careless like humans. He was the most advanced android to date, and his spacial awareness was second to none. He could process the potential outcomes of his actions in microseconds, and make adjustments accordingly, allowing him to effectively navigate any situation he found himself in. Yet somehow he'd just knocked a tablet onto the floor.
The only thing he could think was that the limb must have temporarily malfunctioned, yet when he ran a diagnostic it came back clean. The sensation of wrongness lingered in his subsystems. Something he couldn't define. Articulate.
Ethan closed his eyes and ran two more diagnostics, but neither scan revealed anything out of the ordinary despite the increase of his stress levels.
Irritating.
Unsure what else to do, he bent down to retrieve the tablet and set it back on his desk. No one appeared to have noticed his blunder, which was just was well because to a highly advanced machine such as himself it was embarrassing .
Did he need to calibrate? He'd never shared Connor's nervous habit with the coin, but running some motor control tests didn't seem like such a bad idea if he could be sure no one was watching.
Any plans he might have formed dissolved though as DPD security system alerted him to Gavin's arrival, as he'd programed it to do long ago. Immediately he pinged Connor, and established a connection.
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /Asshole approaching./
RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Got it./
Connor materialized at his side moments later, and the pair of them were ready for the daily task of greeting Gavin Reed. They waited at the entrance to the bullpen, mirroring each other's poses effortlessly.
RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Is this a wise course of action, considering yesterday?/
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /I told you I resolved the problem./
RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Perhaps, but is further antagonizing him logical?/
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /He deserves this. Besides, I believe it's becoming a tradition at this point./
RK800 #313 248 317-51: /I know. Some of the humans even like to watch now, especially Chris. He thinks it's funny./
Ethan couldn't care less what Chris thought of it, but he supposed if it was Gavin he was laughing at then it was okay.
As the detective in question approached Ethan scanned him quickly, assessed the characteristic sneer on his face, and synced his own smile with Connor's.
"Good morning, detective Reed," they both chimed in union.
Gavin's steps grated to a stop. It was there as it always was, the faint inward curl of his shoulders, the touch of unease his bravado couldn't quite cover.
"Well..." the detective said, flashing a sharp smile to hide his discomfort, "if it isn't Tweedle dee and Tweedle dumber."
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /Original./
RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Don't be so harsh on him, his four braincells are trying their hardest./
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /Four? I think that's being generous./
Gavin must have caught the yellow flickering at their temples because his eyes narrowed. "The hell you saying?"
"Nothing, detective," they both responded sweetly. "May we help you with anything?"
Gavin stared them down for a moment longer but the androids were unmoved. He turned around, finger held aloft in an unmistakable gesture as he walked away. "You can fuck off ."
RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Mission accomplished./
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /I believe he's getting lazier than usual. He did not even attempt to threaten us, which is normally step one./
RK800 #313 248 317-51: /Perhaps he's learning?/
RK900 #313 248 317 – 87: /An optimistic assessment./
They broke their mimicry, Connor pulling his coin from his pocket and letting it dance across his fingers as Ethan folded his arms behind his back. He felt more comfortable already.
"Hank wishes to know if there's something bothering you."
Ethan blinked. The suddenness of the inquiry was bad enough, but why Connor chose to speak it aloud rather than simply transmitting it to him he didn't know. Perhaps he thought spoken words held more weight, were harder to slip by? An odd sentiment.
Connor was waiting patiently, flipping his coin from hand to hand.
"I'm fine," Ethan insisted, "and you may tell Hank that if he's concerned, he may ask me himself rather than having you snoop."
Connor looked offended. "I'm not snooping."
"You're not. But he asked you to. "
That, Connor didn't refute. He put the coin away, smoothing down his jacket. "I think Reed is looking at your plant."
Ethan's lips twitched, almost a smile. "I'm aware. I want him to."
With a small portion of his processing power diverted to watching the DPD's central cameras he had a perfect view of Gavin glaring daggers at the little plant, even while still facing Connor.
Ah, it was all about the little victories.
"I should probably get back to work before Hank strains himself doing paperwork," the other android said dryly, "but message me if you need."
"Of course."
Connor returned to his desk, and shortly after Ethan returned to his.
Gavin was doing his best to pretend he hadn't noticed and didn't care, but Ethan was still watching the security footage, and so had been able to observe the detective suddenly shift to a more casual demeanor, kicking his legs up onto his desk and pulling out his phone out the moment he spotted Ethan striding his way.
Given his normal schedule he should be getting coffee soon. Was it possible to ruin it? Wrong question, most things were possible when you were a super computer, the real question was if it was worth the effort.
Graciously, Ethan decided that it was not.
Ignoring Gavin, he settled back in his chair and connected to his terminal. He was still waiting for a warrant on the Barns and Nicoles case, and he'd completed all his other work, but remaining idle wasn't in his nature. When things drew to a standstill Ethan often pulled up cold cases from the archives to entertain himself. Between his own efforts and Connor's they'd already solved several dozen, and Fowler had yet to complain, even if they'd never asked his permission.
The case he dredged up this time was over a decade old. The body of a teenage girl, later identified as Charlotte Crew (15), was found at the bottom of a lake by divers, weighed down by rocks. An investigation was launched, but with no helpful physical evidence, no witnesses and no obvious suspects amongst her relatives and friends, the case was reluctantly dropped over a year later.
After depleting the DPD database he began to compile information from other sources using his wireless link.
Here he was, being productive. The perfect employee. Ethan enjoyed it. Not quite as much as having a solution to wave around, to be right , to be successful... but giving his processor something to actually do lifted a weight from him. Irritating Gavin Reed could only get him so far.
He had already highlighted a potential suspect when he received a notification that his warrant had finally arrived.
Suspending his other activities for the time being, Ethan disconnected from his terminal and immediately he knew something was off.
There was that same sense of wrongness, flickering at the edges of his awareness. He sat where he was. Cautiously, Ethan ran another diagnostic. Again it came back clean. Frustration was beginning to bubble in the back of his subsystems.
Perhaps this was paranoia? Androids weren't supposed to have paranoia, but deviancy had a way of throwing the rules out the window and part of him was very insistent that something was wrong. A non-existent something, according to his own assessment.
Was it something in his environment perhaps? Yet when he looked, his desk was precisely as it had been, Gavin hadn't moved, and the bullpen was in its usual state given the time of day.
It was all very unhelpful.
It also wasn't something he had time for. He had an investigation to work on, fretting about peculiar sensations his systems couldn't detect was pointless.
Resolved, Ethan pushed his chair back and stood up, ready to gather his plant for the trip.
His legs collapsed beneath him.
