A/N: Best of luck to my fellow students who are about to go back to school or are already back in action! May the odds be ever in our favor...


Error 202

Chapter Seven: Of Coffee and Murder

Written by: Okami of Shinobi Saru Corp


Connor opened his eyes, immediately falling into his usual habit of scanning his surroundings and taking in every detail of the world around him. His current location, the Zen Gardens: a Japanese-style haven with visually stunning architecture and flora. To his left, a well-kept rock garden sat surrounded by lush, green grass; to his front, a white walkway stretched out and split, weaving its fingers around the numerous trees situated in the garden; and to his right, white rocks jutted up from the ground.

There was no smell or particular feeling to the garden, yet it was the most alive place Connor had ever seen. Everything was bright, always, with clear skies and warm-toned sunlight.

Taking the pathway forward, Connor crossed over a creek that encircled the garden's central isle. Heels clicking against the paved ground, he passed under a tall, white structure with roses growing along its side until he saw the person he had been attempting to find.

Amanda: a highly sophisticated lady who served as Connor's contact with CyberLife. Currently, she was tending to a bed of roses growing along a lattice fence, back turned to the android approaching her.

"Hello Amanda," Connor greeted, prompting the lady to gracefully turn around.

"Connor." The lady held a rose in her hand, looking at Connor with a sophisticated yet pleasant expression. "It's good to see you again."

Returning to her roses, Amanda continued, "Congratulations Connor. Finding that deviant was far from easy, and the way you interrogated it was," she paused, giving Connor a searching glare, "very unique."

Connor discretely adjusted his shoulders. He knew where this conversation was headed.

"While effective, your efficiency seems to be lacking. Do you know why this is the case?"

Quickly, Connor explained, careful to keep his words vague and to the point, "Indeed. I recognized a problem in my systems and went to CyberLife to get it analyzed. The director at the MTD created a program to help solve the problem."

"I see…" Amanda let her words hang in the air, creating a sense of suspense that gnawed at Connor's central processor. "And did it work?"

Connor took a moment before responding. His objective in this matter was split. On one hand, he needed to complete his mission at all costs, and being honest with Amanda could open up opportunities to diagnose the problem. But, on the other hand, telling Amanda could get him released from the case, and the case was his top priority.

Taking into account all the information, Connor calculated his reply. "It's too early to tell. However, I'm staying in contact with someone at the MTD to prevent the onset of future problems."

While Amanda didn't reply, her silence spoke volumes; even Connor in all his social ineptitude could tell she was far from pleased.

"We've asked the DPD to transfer the deviant to us for further study. It may teach us something about what happened." Amanda set the rose in her hand down on a nearby, white pedestal. "What did you think of the deviant, Connor?"

Connor averted his eyes in thought. The deviant had emulated being scared, both of him and the humans. It had offered sacrifices in the name of freedom, yet remained in its owner's home, and was obsessed with the idea of 'Ra9'. An odd thing, this deviancy, reducing high-functioning androids to the whims of fake emotions.

"It showed signs of PTSD after being abused by its owner, as if its original programming had been completely replaced by new instructions."

"This… Lieutenant Anderson." Amanda spoke the name with a slightly demeaning enunciation. "He has been officially assigned to the deviancy case. What do you make of him?"

"Troubled." That was a moderate way of putting it, but the term nicely summed up the lieutenant's behavior without indicating how Connor had provoked such a negative response from the man. And shedding light on his failures was the last thing Connor wanted. "He is challenged socially and can be difficult to work with, but I think he used to be a good cop. He's an intriguing character."

Amanda turned around to face the android. "Unfortunately, we have no choice but to work with him. What do you think is the best approach?"

"I will try to establish a friendly relationship." Internally Connor noted the key word in that sentence: try. "If I can get him to trust me, it will be helpful for the investigation."

Seemingly ignoring Connor's response, Amanda pressed, "More and more androids show signs of deviancy. There are millions in circulation. If they become unstable, the consequences will be disastrous." Walking forward, Amanda approached Connor, her voice taking on a softer, prouder tone as her eyes stared intensely at the RK800. "You are the most advanced prototype CyberLife has ever created. If anyone can figure out what's happening, it's you."

Connor straightened his back, more from the added pressure of his performance than the praise he had just received. "You can count on me, Amanda."

Amidst walking away, Amanda paused midstride, turning to Connor one last time with a dramatic intensity.

"Hurry, Connor. There's little time."

With the errors plaguing his systems, Connor could only note how such words couldn't be more accurate.


Connor entered the Detroit Police Department, coffee in one hand and the other fingering his coin as he placed the trinket into his coat pocket. Brown eyes observed the lobby, taking in the details of the room before landing on an unoccupied receptionist.

"Can I help you?" the female android asked upon Connor's approach.

"I'm here to see Lieutenant Anderson."

"Do you have authorization?"

"Yes," Connor promptly replied, his now yellow LED flickering rapidly as he connected with the android before him.

[…linking…transferring information…transfer complete]

"Lieutenant Anderson hasn't arrived yet, but you can wait at his desk," the receptionist instructed, motioning towards the entrance to the other room with her head.

Without wasting a moment, Connor passed through the guarded, swing doors to the interior of the DPD. The department was a clash of old-fashioned and modern with the layout of a typical police station mixed with some of the latest technology. Androids lined the front wall of the room whilst multiple, human officers walked about. In the middle of the room, a large office sat above the ground, only reached via the small staircase leading up to its entrance. Each desk was equipped with a touch sensitive terminal and holographic, glass panel, most of which displayed information about various suspects and locations.

Walking down the hall, Connor assessed the multitude of desks about the spacious room, each one assigned to a specific officer. He scanned the premises, looking for any sign of the lieutenant. Hank, however, was nowhere to be seen, prompting Connor to search for the detective's desk.

Reading name plate after name plate, Connor finally landed on his target: a desk cluttered with food, papers, and other miscellaneous items. After determining the layout of the desk, his attention was immediately drawn to the phone laying face up on its surface. It was an odd sight at first — had Hank left his phone by mistake? — but Connor quickly determined the device was most likely restricted for work purposes.

Picking up the phone, Connor scrolled through the scant amount of contacts until he reached Hank's personal number. Calling the lieutenant, Connor waited as the repetitive ringing was eventually interrupted by Hank's voicemail.

Hi, this is Hank. Not here at the moment. You can leave a message if that's what turns you on but don't expect me to call back. Beep… whatever.

"Hi Lieutenant," Connor began. "This is Connor, the android sent by CyberLife."

[…processing… known command source …]

Systems fully compromised.

Error 202 detected.


Being trapped inside his own synthetic skin for the third time was more alarming and jarring than its first occurrence. As if there was any doubt before, losing control of his own functions and witnessing his own appalling behavior from the inside brought upon a negative response. And Connor, in all his emotionless glory, found he wasn't fond of losing control.

"It's almost noon and you're still not at the office. Such behavior is unacceptable. I even stood in line to get coffee for you, coffee that is now cold. I am very put out. Very."

Now recovered from the initial shock of feeling the movement of his body outside of his permission, Connor took an analytical approach to the situation, taking note of the actions Error 202 forced him to partake in. He noted the nonchalant, almost theatrical, tone to his — now the error's — voice, especially upon the utterance of the last word. It was similar to the theatrical flair back at the interrogation, but less childish.

The error's words were the exact opposite of what Connor had intended to do; he wanted to be on amiable terms with the lieutenant so as to avoid extra conflict interfering with the case. To his recollection, during the interrogation the virus had done much the same, prompting him to say bizarre, jarring things that were contrary to his intentions. It could be nothing, but when it came to the virus, Connor was determined to account for everything. If there was even the slightest chance that something could be important, then it was worth consideration.

Drawing him out of his thoughts, the virus turned Connor around, causing him to start walking towards the interrogation room.

Internally, Connor did his best to take in as much info as he could within the split second his eyes glanced over Hank's desk. It wasn't much, but Connor was able to store away a couple of tidbits of information: dog hair of some type on the chair, anti-android slurs on a cork board, and headphones lying on the desk.

Suddenly, Connor stopped and abruptly turned ninety degrees to the right, the sight of Detective Reed and an unknown policewoman entering into his sights. As he made his way into the break room, Connor's concern about the impending situation rose exponentially.

"Fuck, look at that…" Connor saw Gavin cock his head upon noticing his existence. "Our friend the plastic detective is back in town! Congratulations on last night," Gavin straightened his back and clapped obnoxiously, "very impressive!"

Stopping only to hear the detective speak, Connor ignored Gavin, turning around and starting off in the opposite direction.

"Hey, where do you think you're goin?" Quickly, Gavin walked towards the android and forcefully turned Connor around with his hand. After slowly giving the android a once over with his eyes, he commented in what Connor thought was a poor attempt at sounding intimidating, "Never seen an android like you before… What model are you?"

With more sass than what was natural for his usual demeanor, Connor replied, "What a forward thing to ask! Well, what model are you?"

A confused expression distorting his features, Gavin scoffed, "You're about as dumb as you look… Hey," the detective authoritatively took a step closer to Connor, "why don't you bring me a coffee, dipshit!"

To Connor's surprise, the virus didn't spout off a snarky reply. Instead, it obeyed, quickly making his way to the coffee machine. Once situated before the machine, it awkwardly poured the drink into a cup with one hand, the other still holding the beverage it had previously bought for the lieutenant.

Coffee rapidly filled the cup to the brim, yet Connor — or rather, the virus — kept pouring, letting the liquid breach the top of the cup and flow onto the counter top. Once he had successfully made a pool of coffee surrounding the cup, he put down the coffee pot and grabbed the cup, coffee sloshing out from the top. But he didn't merely grab it. No, the virus proceeded to hurl the cup — hurl it in the direction of one, now excessively angry Detective Reed.

Stunned, Connor paused, the overwhelming sense of panic that welled up within him momentarily overriding the commands of the virus. Meanwhile, Gavin frantically wiped away the scalding hot coffee from his burned face and stained clothes.

"You motherfucker!" The detective angrily stormed over to Connor and punched him in the face. And then in his core. And then once again in his face.

"Shit!" Even though he was bent over from being assaulted, Connor could see Gavin delicately fingering his face out of the corner of his eye. The burns were quickly becoming visible on the detective's right cheek and neck and, by the way Gavin was scrunching up his face, the man was probably in extreme amounts of pain.

Pulling away, the livid detective called out as he hurried towards the bathroom, "This isn't this end of this!"

If he had been in control, Connor would have promptly straightened his tie, but as it were, he simply walked off in the direction of the holding cells. He made his way down the short walkway, making a sharp left into a corridor lined by sitting benches and glass walls separating the free citizens of Detroit from those detained for their misconduct. Without even stopping to analyze his surroundings, Connor continued towards the cell holding the suspect from the previous night. Approaching it, Connor stood in front of the glass wall, initially going unnoticed by the deviant who was blankly staring down at the ground.

After a brief moment, the deviant noticed Connor's looming presence, immediately scampering away from the window on recognizing the visitor.

"Stay away from me!"

Connor noted the high levels of stress and fear in the deviant as it backed up to the farthest corner of its cell. For the sake of gaining more information, he wanted to put the deviant at ease, but the virus controlling him maintained an intense glare, not once taking his eyes off the deviant.

"Please…"

Connor wasn't one for empathy, but at the same time, he couldn't describe the deviant's fate as ideal either. The humans were probably going to kill it the moment it was transferred back to CyberLife. He had seen it before, androids deactivated for the sake of research. In this case, however, such methods seemed unnecessary. Wouldn't keeping the deviant alive prove more useful in the end?

"They're going to kill me, aren't they?"

In the reflection of the glass, Connor saw a smile slither its way onto his face, forming slowly, menacingly, before heard himself reply, his voice sounding far too calm and relaxed given the words he spoke, "No, no. They won't kill you."

If there was an alarm system in Connor's programming, then its sirens would be screeching. That threatening twinge to his words had originated from the virus. But why? What was it planning? What was the purpose of intimidating the deviant? The virus certainly didn't want information, but if not that then what?

[… linking transferring information …]

Perplexed, Connor observed his systems connect with that of the deviant. He couldn't tell what information was being transferred, nor could he decipher why the virus needed to send the deviant information in the first place.

[… information transferred ... co9nt e^sta&^bl9is8ed in45itia$ti*ng e2xt#5erna6l over^7id8e ]

External override? External override of what? The command didn't make sense. And what was this establishment of contact? System links between androids were no different than that between cellular devices; with the right string of code messages could be sent without any previous contact. Creating a path of contact that already existed was like paving a road twice — it was useless and nonsensical. Unless…

Unless it was an overpass.

[… ex5tra^&ctin5g …]

The virus kept its focus on the deviant, allowing Connor to witness the horror play out before him. The deviant leaned up against the wall, paralyzed willfully in place. Its LED burned red, its eyes blinking rapidly in typical, android fashion when linking with others. But this was odd. This was abnormal, and that word became all the more fitting when thirium spurted from the gash in the deviant's face.

While Connor was unable to scan the deviant, he could tell the loss of thirium wasn't due to its initial injury. The fluid ran down the deviant's face and onto its clothing. In much the same fashion, thirium began trickling down its nose, mouth, and from any open cavity in the android's body. Connor couldn't take an accurate reading, but his intellect told him that the deviant's thirium levels were getting dangerously low. Not that he could do anything about it. He, like the deviant, was stuck, forced to obey the will of the virus running around inside of him.

Regaining one moment of control, the deviant all but gasped, its eyes full of blue tears, "I'm going to die…"

And, in that moment, the android fell over on its side, creating the beginnings of a pool of thirium on the ground. Its LED slowly faded to grey, though the glint of a thin line of red still glowed in its center.

Connor felt himself reach out towards the deviant, though his arms remained glued to his side. There was so much to process, so much going on that he wasn't sure where to start. Not only was he was a prisoner of his own body, subject to the whims of Error 202, but also the virus infecting his systems could now interfere with androids from the other side of a wall. If, that is, that had really been the work of the virus. But if not that, then what? While killing wasn't a foreign concept to Connor — he was capable and more than willing to kill all who stood in the way of his mission — he wasn't one for terminating others senselessly, without purpose, and much less without moving a finger. Though, this really couldn't be considered "killing," could it? After all, you can't kill something that isn't alive.

So why did he feel like he had just witnessed a murder?

[… ex^tr7ac9*tio4n com3$pl5e7te …]

Release. Connor could feel the constraints to his programming melt away, allowing his commands to surface back into control. Immediately, he stepped towards the glass wall and pressed his hand against it. Around him he heard the confused comments of nearby police, but he ignored them. He was too fixated on the deviant lying motionless on the blue-stained ground.

[collecting data… processing… processing complete]

Ortiz's Android. Model: HK400. Condition: Deactivated.

Connor pushed past the various people that had been drawn to the scene. Bewildered didn't begin to describe his reaction to the mess of information pilling up in his central core. The deviant, the potentially lethal virus, the cold coffee in his hand that, by this time, was guaranteed to make the lieutenant more angry than appeased — Connor could feel his processor whir and warm at the large influx of information. Needless to say, he would need a good moment to sort through the new data.

In the meantime, Connor pulled out Lentz's phone. He didn't know the number to the intern's secondary device — the device the young man was currently using — so he turned to the next best thing. Accessing the intern's email, Connor typed out a message and sent it to himself; that is, to Lentz's recorded address.

To: Norman.
Subject: Important Question

Dear Lentz,

Is it possible for a virus to remotely deactivate androids? It is imperative I know the answer, so please reply as soon as you are able.

Thank you,
Connor

After pressing send, it only took handful of moments before three, loud barks sounded from the phone. The text tone — Connor presumed Lentz had changed it to match the lie he had told Dr. Carr.

From: Unknown
Time: 11:50 AM

What the fuck did you do?