Just for plot's sake, lets all collectively imagine Connor looking younger than he already does. Okay? :D
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Connor is able to implement his and Lieutenant's identification into the world like a stamp. Dental records, insurance history, old licence plates, anything deserving a digital record and footprint Connor ensures with the guidance of the Lieutenant. Some areas needed an obligatory human touch he wasn't able to replicate, there the old man stepped in.
Within a matter of hours, Lieutenant Anderson [aged 53, widowed and mourning a dead son] was transferred over to the LAPD from Detroit. Towing his nephew Connor Anderson [age 17, A+ honour roll student] along with him.
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Getting into S.H.I.E.L.D was out of the question.
Befriending a God who handed over the Tesseract was just as bad.
Tony Stark, however, was offering another Internship deal at Avengers Tower in their research faculty. It was designed primarily for High School seniors to offer scholarship recommendations once their term of internship was complete.
It was an optimal strategy to gain entrance to a place where the Tesseract may potentially get transferred to. Stark was a key part of S.H.I.E.L.D, a man who the organization go to regularly for consultation and obviously trusted.
Connor seemed to be the only one noticing a fundamental hitch.
"Lieutenant, my synthetic appearance was designed to replicate a twenty year old. Without direct contact from CyberLife I cannot alter my programming."
"You're telling me," the man drones mockingly from his hotel bed, "with all your systematic intellect who-da, you can't do this one simple thing."
"There's nothing simple about it," he argues. The connotation between his state of the art coding and the term 'simple' was shocking. He wonders what else the Lieutenant thinks is easy about him and technology in general.
This could lead to potential disastrous consequences if he were to allow the Lieutenant go on a walk-about near Stark's tower.
"Re-programming myself would be like having you fix a toaster blind folded."
Lieutenant's nose scrunches, "Did you just insult me?"
"I was stating a realistic scenario equivalent to what you are proposing me to do."
"And in this scenario you're the toaster," the Lieutenant remarks, very emphatic with the pleasure.
"I'm the toaster," Connor says agreeably, not rising to the bait. "And you're about to kill me."
"Je-sus, Connor. Don't be so dramatic," he lifts a demanding finger when he opens his mouth, "and don't go preaching about being incapable of it. You're the most dramatic and gloomy straight laced asshole I've ever had the displeasure of meeting." The man is silent for a meandering moment. Eyeing him up and down. Shrugging he says, "Hell. Doesn't matter anyway you're passable as a High School Senior. Put a beanie on to hide that LED of yours and you'll fit the fuck in."
"I'll look like a deviant," Connor objects to resembling one of those disappointments.
Lieutenant stares at him.
"I'm pretty fuckin' certain you of all androids are incapable of 'humanising'." Face stone he orders, "Ditch the democratic outfit CyberLife bubble wrapped you in and study whatever the hell teenagers wear these days."
"If that's what you want me to do," Connor accepts, closing his eyes to link himself with the internet.
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They needed an apartment.
"It's amazing," the real estate lady -
[IDENTIFICAITON: SUSAN MARIE KEETS]
[Born: 04/12/1982 / Real Estate Agent]
[Criminal Record: none]
- shakes her head. Stapling the rental contract and signing it. She slides the sheets across her glass desk to the Lieutenant, bemused. "I only posted the leasing on the website last night. This is the quickest sale I've ever gotten. It shouldn't be possible….not that I'm complaining!" She rushes to cover, holding up a hand and smiling half-heartedly at Connor and the Lieutenant. "It's unusual is all, you understand."
Hank simply grunts as he signs. No need for fake identifications.
"Keys?" Lieutenant requests. Susan appears conflicted.
"It is orthodox for me to give you a tour of the apartment before leasing."
"But not protocol," Connor says.
"No," Susan concedes, slightly forced. "Though – "
"Listen, lady," the Lieutenant raises a dismissive hand. "I get you want to be professional about this but just cut the bullcrap and hand over my keys."
There was a tightening around the lips. "You behave like this in front of your son?" Susan narrows her eyes, reaching into her desk draw and shoving the keys into Lieutenant's open palm. At the 'son' remark, his expression darkens.
"Nephew," Connor corrects with a civil smile. Clearing the mistake to avoid confusion. "Uncle Anderson's son passed away some years ago."
Silently, the Lieutenant stands and leaves the room. Body tense and eyes pinched. This was an expected outcome whenever mentioning his son's death. It appeared to be a trigger of some sort. Connor plans to apologise later on, knowing it will promote a decrease in stress levels.
Human psychology was tedious to quantify but necessary to complete his mission.
Connor engages eye contact with the stunned lady. Notifying that her own stress levels have increased rapidly.
"Thank you for meeting us on such short notice."
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean– "
"Have a nice day, Miss Keets." Taking the contract on the desk, Connor rushes after the Lieutenant's retreating back, manoeuvring through busy cubicles and coffee runs.
Catching up, the first thing the Lieutenant says to him is, "Shut up. Jesus. Learn some Goddamn sympathy, will you?"
Verifying that was a question, Connor engages a quandary. He was ordered to shut up, only to be asked a question.
[CONFLICTING ORDERS]
[SETTING PRIORITY]
"I am a machine, Lieutenant," Connor echoes past conversations, coming to a halt outside an elevator. "Emulating emotions is irrational and not apart of my software." The Lieutenant punches the down button, scowling at nothing.
"Yeah. So you've told me. So I've told you."
(Connor remembers that night in the snow. Lieutenant holding him off the edge of a rooftop and letting go. "You're just a machine, Connor.")
Connor processes that. All this time he's assumed the Lieutenant had continually forgotten this important factor in their partnership. High contents of alcohol intake can damage the memory, without a blood sample that hypothesis was the leading conclusion.
Right now that hypothesis was proven wrong.
[PROCESSING DATA…]
Cocking his head he enquires, "Have you been using sarcasm this entire time when commenting about my lack of humanity, Lieutenant?"
The old man merely sighs. "Fuckin' android."
[CONCLUSION: YES]
Connor's relieved to have cleared that up.
The elevator dings open and they enter, Connor presses the Ground floor button.
Giving a remorseful smile, he says, "About earlier – "
"No need to apologise, Connor." Lieutenant snorts, crossing his arms. "Apologies have to mean something and you sure as hell don't. You can't. So quit while you're ahead."
Smile falling, he remains silent. Uncertain how to respond to that.
"My intention wasn't designed to hurt you, Lieutenant. I was merely trying to avoid further misassumptions which could promote potential stress."
"Christ, you're one sorry bastard."
"Yes. I am."
"Ah, geez. No, Connor."
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The two-bedroom luxury apartment is in walking distance to Midtown High where Connor was now enrolled in for the rest of the year. It was also close to the local police station the Lieutenant is now apart of.
"Why luxury?" Lieutenant hisses when he keys open the glass frosted door. Number 9 etched elegantly on it.
Connor examines the man's strange expression closely.
"Don't feel ashamed about the apartment's pricing, Lieutenant. The people who bought it for us are corrupt."
A cross between serious and exasperated look is thrown. "Connor, were you blackmailing people while I slept last night?"
"Would it concern you if I was?" Genuinely interested.
The Lieutenant pinches the bridge of his nose and advances further into the apartment's large open space. "Shut up. Just fuckin' shut up, Connor." Opposite them an entire wall was panelled in one way, bulletproof glass. The man stares out at New York City, large brick and monotonous buildings warming under evening sun.
Connor silently observes the Lieutenant walk around the empty apartment. Touching the marble bench top in the open kitchen, brushing against their glass dining table and glaring at 'modern' artworks hanging on white walls. Their bedrooms are spacious and contain queen sized beds. Furniture came with the apartment.
The Lieutenant hates everything.
"This place can suck my balls."
Connor shrugs. If the Lieutenant had it his way they would be staying in a dangerous neighbourhood. Probability of getting shot at was large.
Whatever the Lieutenant did and didn't like wasn't allowed to affect his mission.
"What's for dinner, Lieutenant?" his health however was.
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*Before anyone you say anything, Hank is on desk duty (Connor you little overprotective shit) and doesn't know about it yet.