December 15th, 2038
Lieutenant Anderson's Home
It had been a month since the revolution, and RK800 model Connor was still trying to find out who he exactly was. He closed his eyes, and ran through some basic information on his processor.
Model: RK800, "Connor"
Serial Number: #313 248 317-51
Date of Release: August, 2038
Created by Cyberlife in Detroit, Michigan
Currently Stationed in Detroit Police Department, partner to Lieutenant Hank Anderson
The processor kept listing information on Connor's model and his current status, but he could not take his eyes off the line "partner to Lieutenant Hank Anderson". Connor did not know why, but that single line of information made him feel… something. These feelings had been coming to him more frequently after he became a deviant. Sure, he did feel some basic emotions before, but that seemed like only simulations of what he was supposed to feel in order to achieve his mission. Like when he sympathized with Daniel on his first mission. It was an emulated response in order to control the situation, which was his mission. But now, it was different. These feelings weren't some program given to him by CyberLife anymore. They were completely his emotions, and he found them rather interesting.
He was still going through the list of information, his eyes flickering back to "partner to Lieutenant Hank Anderson" every once in a while, when the Lieutenant himself walked out into the living room. He was wearing a baggy grey t-shirt and black shorts, and his hair was a complete mess. Connor straightened his back a little when he noticed the Lieutenant. His internal clock told him it was 9:30 A.M, almost time to head to the police department.
"Good morning, Lieutenant. Today is December 15th, 2038. nine-thirty in the morning. You have some time to clean up, dress and look presentable before heading to work. I have already made some sandwiches to eat on your way there for breakfast." Connor chirped, standing up to grab the brown bags containing the Lieutenant's breakfast. Hank let out a long sigh, watching the android move, and grunted a little before retreating into the bathroom. Rather pleased with himself, Connor gave a little smile and sat himself down on the couch again. Sumo barked and lumbered up to him, resting his head on Connor's lap. He returned Sumo's expectant look with a few pats on his head.
A few moments later, Hank made his way out to the living room again, dressed for work this time, and his hair was put up into a messy ponytail. Hank had been doing that recently. That and not drinking until he passed out. The sight of him caused one of those feelings again, more intense this time than when Connor had read the line "partner to Lieutenant Hank Anderson" over and over again. Connor sat there, with Sumo's head resting on his lap, his LED blinking yellow, processing all that was happening.
"Hey, whatcha doing? Something wrong with me?" Hank's grumpy voice broke Connor out of his trance-like state. He shook his head a little, as if to clear his processors. The light on his temple flickered yellow one last time before settling on light blue. Connor shook his head no, and raised himself up from the couch.
"We should get going, Lieutenant, before we're late." Connor coughs a little, as if to clear his throat. Hank tilted his head to the side a little, suspicious. He wasn't an android, but he was one damn good detective, and even the smallest things didn't miss his eye. Connor didn't need to clear his throat. Or cough. He didn't have the same respiratory systems that a human would have. He ran on thirium and artificial pumps and wires not vocal chords and a pair of lungs. His throat shouldn't be clogging up with anything, yet here he was, coughing like he needed to clear his throat.
"You… You okay, Connor?" Hank worried if it was some kind of malfunction, an error in Connor's system. Connor was, in fact, getting error messages, but for a completely different reason. The sight of the Lieutenant's hair tied up, a few loose strands poking out was exhilarating, too much to handle. Connor's LED was spinning yellow, his eyes searching, analyzing. His thirium pump was contracting, then expanding rapidly, a sense of alarm rising from his chest. Connor had no idea why, and this did not sit well with him. He always had to know why something was.
"I'm fine, Lieutenant. There was just an unexpected error. It is all fixed now, you don't have to worry." Connor said, a little hastily, as he saw Hank's eyes cloud with worry at the word "error". Really, it hadn't been anything. Probably. Connor had been getting more of these little errors and pop-ups telling him something was wrong ever since he became a deviant. He was slowly getting used to it, and his system was starting to adapt, too. Soon these small warnings would stop.
Hank gave a half-assed shrug, and walked towards the front door, making sure to give Sumo a pat on the head before heading outside. Connor promptly followed, locking the door behind him. As usual, Hank got into the driver's side, hands comfortably grabbing the steering wheel, and Connor folded himself onto the passenger's seat, hands neatly placed on his thighs. Hank started the car, and pulled out of the driveway.
They were halfway to the police department when Connor realised he forgot Hank's breakfast on the counter. At this thought, his LED flashed yellow. He never forgot things, especially something as important as Hank's breakfast. He was at a complete loss on what he would do next. Does he tell Hank? Would that get him angry? Was Connor a failure? Frightening questions popped up into Connor's processors, even though he tried to shut them down. Deciding it was best he told Hank, no matter the consequences, he cleared his throat. But before he could speak, Hank was already talking.
"Hey, uh, you do that often?" When Connor looked at him, head tilted, confused, Hank elaborated. "Coughing. Clearing your throat. I thought androids didn't need to do that." Oh. Connor thought.
"It is true that we don't need to clear our throat in the practical sense, but it is something we are capable of doing. To mimic human behaviour. It usually happens when I am nervous, guilty, or in an awkward situation." Connor rattled off the facts, as per usual, but not realising he had said too much before it was too late.
"Ah, so which one of the three were you? Just now." Of course Hank caught on. Connor sighed. He had dug his own grave.
"Nervous. And slightly guilty. I forgot to bring your sandwiches with me when we got in the car, and consequently you are not able to have breakfast." Connor's voice was soft, unaggressive, apologetic. The appropriate tone when apologizing, according to Connor's protocols.
"It's fine, Con. I should've grabbed it myself. I'm used to not having breakfast, anyways." Hank shrugged, genuinely undisturbed that he was not having breakfast today. Connor's LED flashed yellow, processing. He wasn't processing Hank's answer to his apology, but more the way that he had called him.
'Con'. It was Hank's nickname for Connor that he had started to call him more frequently as of late. A simple shortening of his name, yet it sounded so different. The sound of it rolling off Hank's tongue was not unpleasant, and often left Connor with a smidgen of feeling. Feeling… of something. A quiet hum against his thirium pump.
