He's not Connor. That thought strikes me again, and uncomfortably so, because I'm unnerved by how differently I see the two in my mind, despite their uncanny similarity. One's designed for full-on human integration, with a demonstrative social relations program built in-hell, Connor's already human, really. The other, not so much. He hasn't spoken a single word to me since our meeting just a few moments ago, and I recall with a smile how earnestly Connor had introduced himself to Hank, to me-hell, to the whole precinct-the first day he showed up.

Passing by the bullpen, I'm stunned by the sheer number of people flooding into the station. The murmur of voices bubbles down the corridor into the main room. Only half-past nine and already I can barely see the end of a line curving around the waiting area, androids and humans alike. Families and couples and tired individuals, slouching where they sat, waiting for their cases to be filed. But a familiar face appears in the crowd. Gavin's already grumbling to himself as he moves skittishly through the gathering, one hand holding a cup of coffee.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't give me that look," he mutters angrily when he notices me staring. "Car broke down. I'm late, so what? Fuckin' sue me."

"Uh. Nice to see you too, Gavin."

He straightens suddenly, noticing the figure standing behind me like an ominous shadow. "Well. They got you one too, huh?"

I sigh. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whatever." He stomps away, giving a rather suspicious sidelong glance to the android standing behind me.

I turn to RK900. "Sorry about Gavin. He's… not so used to androids yet." I trail off, looking away towards where said person is now getting into an argument with Hank about being late. "By the way, I'm Ophelia." I stick my hand out and RK900 reaches forward to shake my hand. "It's nice to meet you. Sorry about the, uh, what I said back in the Captain's office. It's just been a rough couple of days."

He nods politely, completely expressionless. "It's no issue, Detective Day."

Christ. Even his voice is slightly deeper. Cyberlife must've really held true to their promise that Connor was a prototype- the android standing behind me seems to be more physically formidable in every way.

Shaking my head, I quickly grab the file on my desk. "C'mon, let's go to the morgue. We can brief once we get a closer look at our victim."

Another silent nod. We head out of the bullpen, and it seems like RK900 must've already had a map of the precinct uploaded, because he's several steps ahead of me already, into the hallway.

"Hey, uh… I don't mean to sound too forward, but you aren't exactly… designed as a civilian model, right?"

"You are correct, Detective. The RK900 line had dual intentions to be used in the civilian and armed forces spheres. I am military grade." He seems to notice that I'm nearly jogging to keep up with his pace, and he slows down slightly. "Is there anything else you would like to ask me?"

"Do you have a name? Something I can call you?"

"I am designated model RK900 serial number #313-248-317-93."

I laugh softly. "No, I meant like...a name. Letters and stuff."

That seems to make him pause; his LED flashes very briefly to yellow. "No. I was not given a name when the deviant leader Markus found me in storage. If it would please you, you may name me, Detective Day."

I balk at his offer. "What- no, of course not. That's…important. You're supposed to choose it for yourself, right?"

RK900 seems to look at me strangely, but then he glances away, apparently indifferent. "Of course, Detective."

We take the steps down to the basement floor, walking down the hallway past the evidence room. I squeeze the file in my hands and then push open the door to the morgue, the android trailing behind me.

The space is well-lit, bright fluorescent lights shining down on the four steel tables in the center of the lab. Two are occupied-one a human body, the 'Y' cut on her chest cavity neatly sewn up. The other holds the body of android female, her legs detached from her torso.

Dr. Lansky looks up from his desk as I walk towards him. "Morning, Detective, how can I help you?"

"Hey, Charles. We're here for the body of the man brought in last night, uh…" I flip open the file, searching for the name. "Oh. The John Doe?"

"Ah, yes. Right this way." He walks over to the wall and unlocks a cabinet, sliding out the table. The body of a man is noticeable by the outline of his features on the white cloth. I scan the rest of the limited info about the Doe as Lansky leans forward and pulls the sheet back.

"We still have some of his things here, haven't moved it to the evidence room yet." He motions over to another table off to the side-a stack of neatly-folded clothes and a pair of shoes. I flip through the second page as the doctor prepares the body for examination. RK900 moves to stand beside me, his gaze fixed on the file as well.

The vic: middle-aged asian male, late 40s. Five-nine, brown eyes, black hair. Dressed for work-though it was past 2 in the morning when he was brought in today.

"There's really no R&I?" I ask off to the side, vaguely distracted as I skim down the checklist.

RK900 responds. "No. The victim has not yet been identified."

"Huh. Have we scheduled an autopsy yet?"

Lansky rolls over a metal tray-table. "Yes. I'll be starting at noon. Though, Connor already came in this morning to do a small background. I don't know if he's sent the info to you."

"Cause of death is blunt trauma asphyxiation. I have already located Connor's records on the database." RK900 says, and turns to look at me as he continues. "The distance from the park to the station, coupled with signs of muscle degradation and rigor mortis, would appear to place his time of death at 9:40 PM the previous night, with a margin of error of 15 minutes."

"And his attire…" I pace around the table. "Suit and tie, slacks, oxfords. We don't have an ID card for a workplace. Do we have a wallet, or business card?"

"No." I glance up to see that his stare is affixed on the victim's neck and upper chest; his LED is blue, spinning faster than usual.

"Uh… Thanks, Charles, we'll handle it from here."

The doctor nods. "Of course. Call me when you're done."

"Sure thing."

I direct my next question towards my new partner. "Do you think he was taken on his way to work, or coming back?"

He pauses briefly, LED a blue circle on his temple. "Non-fatal impact wounds and bruising on his legs and upper chest are less than 12 hours old, which means they occurred late last night." Reaching forward, he lifts the sheet, exposing the victim's knees and calves. "Slight increased blood flow to his lower limbs also proves that he had been sitting for the better part of a day prior to the incident. Lack of abrasion wounds on his wrists and ankles means that he had not been tied down to a chair, either. I would say that he had finished a day of work before he was taken."

I silently applaud him, though I don't know why I would have expected anything below the bar. "Okay, so we can check workday records for the corporations in the area. What do you think we're looking at now? Regular homicide?"

He paces around to the victim's upper body and pauses, running another scan. A look of self-satisfaction appears on his face. "Fingerprints on the neck, torso, and arms belong to one Anthony Crassera, enforcer, whose last known location was New York City."

"I thought we couldn't lift prints from skin?"

He levels me with a look and I cross my arms defensively. "Detective. I am superior to my previous model in every way, shape, or form. The human body post-mortem does not perspire, as I'm sure you're well aware of. Given this, and the latent humidity in the air, I can scan for residual fingerprints on skin. I ran a cross-sectional check on the police database and ID'd Crassera." There's something like amusement in his silvery eyes. "Now, what would you say happened, Detective?"

He wants to see me trip up-he looks almost smug, and for the first time in a long time, I internally curse Cyberlife for creating these horribly perfect beings. At least Connor wasn't so blatant about it. My own inferiority complex can fuck off.

"I would say that Crassera never operates alone, not without his men. I'd say that I find it strange that his are the only prints on the vic." I cross my arms defensively.

"Are you insinuating android involvement?"

"Trauma wounds on the torso don't have fingerprints but they would match blunt trauma from hands and fists. And… Crassera's also a contract. This must've been a hit by someone higher up." Realization dawns on me, and I grimace. "I think we've got ourselves a mob case."

His face is composed, blank. "Good. Then we're in agreement."

"Great." I wince, hoping my disappointment didn't come through. Looking away from the intensity of his gaze, I quickly shuffle the papers in my hands and take a step back from the table. "Well, I guess I'll, uh... I'll call the doc back in, see if he can put our vic to bed. Can you send out an APB for Crassera? We've got probable cause, but...if it's the mob, we can't scare him yet."

"Of course." His LED flickers as he presumably delivers out the request. Then, to my utter surprise, RK900 looks at me- and smiles, for the first time I've seen, and it's a small, closed-mouth thing, nearly a smirk, but his eyes appear so goddamn pleased and bright that I nearly drop the file in shock. "I'm satisfied to be working with someone of your capabilities, Detective Day."

With that, he turns and leaves the morgue, leaving me standing there in dazed incredulity.

heh heh heh... please review/faves! night night