"So, what's your name?" she seated herself on the border of the probably-never-clean dresser which rested next to the wall opposite that of the bed.

His attention was focused on possible future events when she asked this, "It's Richard. And frankly, sweetie, I don't care what yours is."

"Ella," she answered despite his evidently uncaring attitude.

"Are we here to talk?" he flapped his arms at her and chuckled. "I wasn't really in the mood for talking about my feelings, and I didn't think you were either."

"Richard, huh?" she leered at him through her messy bangs. "Richard Perkins, am I right?"

This he couldn't help but regard, "How would you know that?'

"I know… things," her twisted grin shone back at him. She was trying to frighten him into cooperation. He didn't have to die if he really didn't want to. "It's my job to know things."

"What the fuck do you want?" he just wanted to have sex with her, but he was sceptical about that still being an option.

"Not much," she held her devious smirk on him. "But I will offer you an ultimatum if that helps."

"An ultimatum?" the words burst through his voice in laughter. "Is that a threat? Who the fuck are you? And who the fuck do you think I am."

She raised her head and pushed her lengthy hair away from her eyes, "I made it clear I already know you are. And frankly, sweetie, you'll never get the chance to know who I am. Now," she shoved herself away from the unhygienic piece of furniture. "I was going to give you an ultimatum, not threaten you. How you take my words is exclusively up to you."

"You're fucking kidding, right?" he wasn't afraid of her, yet there was something unnerving about her confident tone.

"Not this time," she'd heard the, 'are you fucking kidding me' line before. "The choice is yours: you do what I say, or you don't."

"Okay," he shrugged at her. "Then I don't do what you say."

She lifted her index finger and wagged it at him, "I wasn't finished. You do what I ask and you leave this room in one piece. You don't do what I ask and you leave this room in a body bag… And depending on my mood, in maybe more than one piece."

"What a fucking joke," he almost couldn't believe how ridiculous this situation was. He was being threatened by some woman, a young girl who looked as harmless as a butterfly. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"There's always the possibility," she figured that admitting to some type of mental issue might help brew up the fear in him. "You're working on a case right now, I'm right? And that case pertains to locating a missing android know as Markus, correct?"

"Now why in the hell would you know that?" it wasn't as if Perkins' investigation had been made public, but that didn't mean plenty of idiots didn't know what was going on.

"Not the point," she raised her finger at him again. "The point is I'm asking you to call off your search for Markus. That's it, that's all I ask."

"And if I don't, you kill me?" he didn't buy it for a second. "That's real fucking rich coming from a small girl like yourself. Are you even armed?" and he doubted she was considering her outfit of a tight, short black dress.

"No, I'm not," she confessed.

"Great," he roared in amusement; this girl was insane. "You threaten me without a weapon," he reached his hand into his coat and pulled out his own firearm. "Meanwhile, I am armed. How far did you think this conversation was going to get?"

"Oh, I don't need a weapon to kill you," she picked at her fingernails like she didn't have a care in the world. "And I'm not afraid of you."

Richard lifted his gun and pointed it at her bright face, "Is that so? I could shoot you right now and I'd be right in calling it self-defence."

"But you wouldn't do it," she took a break from playing with her fingertips to regard him. "There would be too many questions, especially from your wife. What were you doing with a young twenty-something girl in a cheap motel, huh? A young, unarmed girl?"

"Your threats mean nothing to me," but he was beginning to suspect she was quite serious in her nature. "Leave now and never talk to me again."

"Now, now," she narrowed her eyes at him, but still let that cold smile creep through. "Don't be so hasty," she said as she inched towards the armed man. "No one has to get hurt today. Well, no one in this room at least."

"I told you to fucking leave," he stepped up to meet her and pushed the gun closer to her face. He was trying to scare her, but he realized that that might not be possible.

"No," she snatched the gun from his hand which he was not expecting. The movement was sudden and over before he had a chance to react. Instead, he was left with bruised and broken fingers. "Jesus fucking Christ!" he gaped at his empty hand.

She backed away from him with a gentle saunter, "Now will you listen to me?" she twisted around and threw the gun down on the scuzzy dresser.

"You're fucking insane!" he barked.

"We've been over that," she rolled her eyes at him. "So the question still remains of whether or not you'll do what I say."

"That isn't going to happen," no matter how intimidating he found her, he had little faith she could actually kill him.

"Alright," she rubbed her hands together and nodded her head in disappointment. "The next part is still up to; how you die that is."

He had lost patience for her maddening ramblings, so he thought now was the time to make a directly offensive move. He seized her wrist with all of his might, although he wasn't sure about what would transpire afterwards. He figured maybe it would bring the fear of god into her, and she'd realize despite the broken fingers he wasn't easily trifled with. But obviously, this did not go according to plan.

She squeezed at the forearm which he used to grab her, "I was going to say that we can make this quick and painless, but I guess you have other plans."

He wasn't sure what to do as the pressure she brought onto his arm became agonizing.

"Let… go," he wheezed this out.

And she did what he said, but it didn't stop him from continuing to attack her. This time he lunged his upper body weight to try to throw her off balance. If he could achieve this, it might be enough time to grab his gun from the other side of the room. But obviously, this did not go according to plan.

She twirled her body to the side and snatched onto his broken hand. He was about to start his cry of pain, but she let a heavy fist fall on the back of his neck. His body thudded to the ground in speechlessness.

She crouched over his body which had fallen face down, "I've crushed your spinal cord… You know, it's probably one of the worst ways to die. You can have awareness for up to three minutes as your lungs and heart start to fail. It's like drowning."

He didn't blink; he didn't move, but he was still alive nonetheless.

"I almost drowned once..." and possibly she had died before. "I was a child and we went to the beach..." these words reminded her of something else. A silhouette of a face. A dream. Was it a dream?

It didn't matter now, "What a terrible fate you've met." Her mission was a success.

"That seems like a bad idea," Hank said this to Connor after the boy had explained what happened on his trip to Washington.

"If Jim Everett knows where I can find Khatri, I have to talk to him," nothing was going to stop Connor from talking to him.

A barista placed a drink down at the end of the coffee shop bar, "Hank?"

Hank gave the woman a nod of acknowledgment while clasping the hot drink in his hand. He peered around the mostly empty shop and sat himself in a booth next to a window. Connor followed as always.

"Perkins is after Markus, Connor," Hank sighed from exhaustion. "I thought you wanted to find Markus before he did?"

"There's only so much we can do to locate Markus," Connor was aware that Hank was doing mostly all the work in this situation. "Markus is keeping himself hidden; he won't be easily found. We also have more information than Perkins."

Connor saw how tired and warn out Hank looked, "Are you alright, Hank?"

"I've been wandering the streets by myself in the cold these past few days and I'm fucking sick of it," he ranted in response.

"I'm sorry, Hank," Connor felt guilty for abandoning Hank. What Connor was doing was important, but he was also placing the onus of finding Markus solely on Hank. "The gala isn't until 8pm tonight, so I will assist you in our search for Markus until then."

"Yeah, yeah," but Hank didn't find Connor's words particularly reassuring. "You know what I'd like? To be back on duty. To feel like I'm actually fucking investigating something. For all we know, whatever this thing was, maybe it gave up. There hasn't been any recent reports of androids killing or stealing shit."

"This virus, Hank," Connor felt he needed to remind Hank of why they were doing any of this. "This virus has been killing people… And if it wasn't for it… Henri would still be alive."

"I know," Hank stared down at his black drink. The fact that it killed her is exactly why he wanted to forget about it. When it first happened, he felt like going after it and Markus was the right thing to do, but now… But now he seemed drained of the will to live. "I haven't forgotten that."

"And neither have I," and despite the impressions Connor had been leaving on Hank, this much was true. Connor had not forgotten the importance of finding Markus, but he also could not forget the feeling… The feeling it was all connected: Khatri and this virus. But he still didn't understand why he felt that way or where it came from. "But I suspect that talking to this Khatri woman will lead us to some answers."

"All I can say is that I hope you're right," and this much was true.

Hank felt a buzz in his pocket, so he plucked his phone out, "Yeah?"

Go figure, it was Captain Fowler on the other end, "Hank, you and the Detective are back on duty."

"Oh yeah?" Hank glanced up at Connor and couldn't help but let out a tiny smile. "What happened?"

"Homicide, Hank," Fowler replied. "I want you and Connor to get to the scene before the FBI start fucking the place up. Whether or not it was a federal agent, this is my fucking city."

"FBI?" Hank raised a brow.

"It's Perkins, Hank," the Captain explained. "He's been murdered."

The snow had ceased that day, but only to let in more freezing rain. If it wasn't so goddamn cold out, Hank might not have minded the timid drizzle. The droplets of water felt like tiny pins on his skin; it was unwelcome to say the least. When Hank saw Connor in it, he didn't seem bothered by it, but of course, the boy wasn't. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Connor wasn't a human; sometimes it was easy to forget that all androids weren't humans.

When Hank and Connor pulled up to the seedy motel that was nestled in a corner of North Corktown, they could see Chris standing at the edge of the doorway to one of the rooms.

"Well..." Hank pivoted his eyes over to Connor before leaving the car. "Can't say I'm gonna miss the prick."

"Hank, a federal agent has been murdered," Connor didn't like Perkins either; however, this case was to be taken seriously. "We shouldn't be making jokes about it."

"Just sayin'," Hank's voice squeaked in defense. "Anyway, let's go check it out."

Hank and Connor commenced to leave the car together to meet up with the awaiting Chris.

"Morning, Hank," Officer Chris nodded at them. "Connor."

Hank peered over Chris's shoulder and into the cramped room, "Whadda we got so far?"

"No signs of forced entry, so whoever did this had access to the room or came in with him," Chris stepped into the room with Hank closely following behind.

Hank puffed out a breath as he gazed around the filthy place, "Now, who do you think he was inviting to a place like this?'

From the doorway, Connor spoke up, "Somebody he shouldn't have been seen with. It is unlikely he was inviting his wife to stay the night here with him."

Chris shook his head in agreement, "Apparently, he told his wife he was working late, so he never went home."

"So what?" Hank tilted his head at the dead body. "Found some girl, or guy, last night… Brought them here and then they killed him?"

Connor studied the facade of the motel in search of security cameras, "Is there any CCTV in this area?"

Chris pointed a finger at the check-in building in front of the motel, "There was in there, but whoever this other person was they didn't go in with him. They probably just waited outside while he rented the room."

Crouching over Perkins' body, Hank stared up at Chris, "Cause of death?"

"Crushed spinal cord," Chris responded. "Painful way to go."

"No shit," Hank looked into Perkins' empty eyes. "Also, you'd have to be pretty fucking strong to do something like that."

"His right hand is broken and we found some severe bruises on his left forearm," Chris watched Connor inch towards the body with a flashing yellow LED. "No fingerprints on the body."

Connor raised a brow at this remark, "So it was an android?"

"Most likely," Chris shrugged. "The room is littered in fingerprints, but we can probably discount any of them."

Hank frowned at them, "You're jumping the gun here. This person could have been wearing gloves; it's fucking cold out."

"You just said yourself this person would have to be very strong to do this type of damage," Connor added his consideration. "An android is the most likely suspect, but that doesn't narrow it down much."

Hank straightened his stiff back out, "Any idea where he was before this?"

Chris pursed his lips, "Not as of yet."

Hank crouched down again and riffled through Perkins' pockets, "Did you check his recent credit card purchases?"

"Give me the card and I'll see what I can find," Chris outstretched an arm to Hank.

After Hank handed over the card, he inspected the quizzical expression on Connor's face, "Got any ideas?"

"I have questions," Connor glanced at Hank with a creased forehead. "Like why would someone want Agent Perkins dead?"

"Probably not a coincidence that it happened right after he started his search for Markus," the corners of Hank's mouth curled up a bit. "I mean, you think this was an android, right?"

"I do," Connor prepared an analysis to offer Hank. "It would require a force of at least 3,500 newtons to inflict the damage we are seeing on Perkins' spine. This is far above the average punching force of a human, unless they were a professional fighter."

"Maybe they were," Hank was obnoxiously playing devil's advocate. "It's a possibility."

"But what would be the motive under those circumstances?" Connor questioned Hank in return. "If this was an android controlled by the virus, killing him would make sense. They didn't want him to find Markus."

"I hate to say it, but Perkins is easily replaceable," Hank let out a grimace. "And why not come after us? We were the one's originally investigating it. The thing must fucking know us on first name basis by now."

"We're missing something," and Connor was right.

When Chris came back into the room, he flagged down the two, "Hey, I got something. Turns out Perkins visited a club on Woodward Ave last night. Looks like he came right here after."

Hank grinned at Connor, "Well, there we go. C'mon, let's go check the place out."

Connor pressed his hands against the smooth, clean bar-top. The place was practically spotless; they had done well in cleaning it from the night before.

He gazed over at Hank who had been asking the bar's manager a few questions, "Nothing on the CCTV, Hank."

The manager pricked himself up and stared over Hank's shoulders towards the android, "Yeah, yeah, someten happen wit it last night. All the stuff got screwy, couldn' use em for shit. Just fuckin' got toes cameras replaced, too. Fuckin' garbage."

Hank shook his head in frustration staring down at his data pad, "Can you call in whoever was working last night? See if we can get some witnesses here."

"Of course, of course," the manager appeared to have a nervous tick, either that or he was on drugs.

"Yeah, you do that," Hank narrowed his eyes at the anxious man.

Connor looked around at the empty place, "This venue can safely fit up the five-hundred people, but it's likely there was more last night."

"Well," Hank scratched at the bridge of his nose. "Somebody saw something. Let's just hope they remember."

"He seems nervous," Connor pointed at the manager who was now making a set of phone calls to his employees.

"I know his type," Hank chuckled. "Bet this guy is up to illegal shit all the time. Whether or not we're here for him, cops make him nervous."

Again, there were attitudes that humans possessed which Connor still felt alien to. The man literally had nothing to worry about because the case did not directly pertain to him.

"Uh, yeah," the manager murmured the words as he hung up his phone. "So a couple of ta waitresses last night and my bartender are headin' on over. I couldn' getta hold of any others… You know I, uh… I tried, I-"

"That'll be fine," Hank put an end to the man's ramblings.

"You wanna drink or someten?" the bar manager attempted to calm his own nerves with a shaky grin.

Hank responded with a frown, "It's ten o'clock in the morning; I don't think so. Jesus."

It was only twenty minutes until the arrival of the bartender and waitresses, but Connor used the additional time to scan the entire establishment. As he noticed before, it was practically spotless. This man, who Connor had scanned to get the name of Alfredo Esposito (who also had no apparent accent besides an odd slurring of certain words), clearly cared a lot for this business. Not only was he the manager, he was the sole owner of the bar and had been for the past eight years.

"Here we go," Hank gestured with his head at Connor.

Connor turned to see a small group of people entering through the front door. Obviously, they were Alfredo's staff from the previous night.

"I'll talk to the bartender if you wanna ask those girls a few questions," Hank didn't have a way with ladies like Connor did, and Hank was certain Connor was unaware of this. He was a handsome kid with a nice, safe face, and girls could appreciate that.

"Joey En… gewen…?" Hank struggled with his last name.

"It's Nguyen..." although Joey was used to the mispronunciation of his last name. "Just uh, think of the n being silent. Guen."

"Ah, okay..." Hank was still confused.

"Just call me Joey, that'll be fine," he smiled.

"Okay, Joey," Hank looked down at the data pad he was holding and brought up a picture of Perkins. "Do you recognize this guy?" he showed Joey the profile.

"Oh, yeah, of course," Joey always remembered a good tipper. "Comes in here about once a week. Nice guy. Or should I say he never caused any trouble."

"Once a week?" Hank always suspected Perkins was a piece of shit, he just wasn't sure how big of a turd the guy was until now.

"He'll come in, have a few drinks, leave with some girl," Joey rubbed his palms together. "That's usually how it goes. We get a few of his types in this place."

He couldn't believe it; what a piece of garbage Perkins must have been, "Was he here last night?"

"For sure," Joey vigorously nodded in reply. "He sat at the bar as he usually does."

Hank gazed over at Connor who was possibly uncomfortable? Poor boy just didn't know how to deal with the opposite sex. He made things work with Henri though, but only God knows how. She was an odd one herself though...

"Was he with anyone?" Hank queried.

Joey scratched at the scruff of his almost-beard in thought, "For sure. She wasn't his usual fare, that's for sure."

"Meaning?"

"First of all, she wasn't nearly drunk enough," but when Joey said this his smile turned down. "He prefers the drunk ones… I know that sounds pretty fucking sleazy now that I'm saying it."

"Yeah, it does," Hank looked over to find Connor standing next to him as he had abandoned the young girls.

Connor creased his forehead in his typical fashion, "They did not see Agent Perkins last night."

"That's okay," Hank pointed at Joey. "He was just giving me the details on Perkins visit here. So this girl he was with, what did she look like?"

"She was pretty, you know?" Joey continued his explanation of the previous night. "But like, not too pretty. I mean, she wasn't a model or anything, but I wouldn't throw her out of bed for eating a bag of chips."

"To the point," Hank exhaled.

"Yeah," Joey kept on. "She had long, black hair, a bit wavy, I guess. With uh, with bangs." he used his hand to imitate how long they were. "Freaky eyes. Like one was blue and an other was green… What do they call that they call it-"

Connor interrupted him, "Heterochromia iridium."

"Sure," Joey waved at him. "She was wearing a small, black dress. And uh, she was a bit pale."

Hank pursed his lips at Connor and shrugged, "And she left with him? Did you get a name?"

"Yes, she left with him," Joey nodded again. "But no name. Guy paid for her drinks, she only had the one though."

"Notice anything else unusual about her?" a brief description wasn't much to go on.

"No, I don't think so," Joey tried to remember whatever else he could. "I've never seen her here before. Honestly, I think she was sick."

"Sick?" Hank wondered. "Like how?"

"Like I mentioned, she was a bit pale." he gave the impression of being sad when he spoke this. "I've seen that look before. It was like she was hiding it… Hiding the fact..."

"Hiding what?"

"Hiding the fact that she was dying," Joey lowered his eyes.

"So we're looking for a dying girl who's an android?" Hank squinted at Connor.

"We're still missing something, Hank." Connor took note of the irked look Hank carried.

And just as before, he was right.