(Nov. 5th, 3:00 PM. Year: 2038)

Your badge reads "Detective N. Valentine". You sit at your desk eating a simple lunch: a turkey sandwich and a red apple. On your desk is a photo of your two pet cats, a bowl of assorted name-brand chocolates, and a cork board where you pin up bits of evidence. The heart-shaped pins and flower stickers you use are...unconventional...for an officer in the homicide division, and their appearance clashes with the pictures of victims and blood-stained objects collected at crime scenes. Of course, you're pretty unconventional for an officer.

You sip your coffee - extra cream, three scoops of sugar - and read through the latest case files. You're listening to a band called "Demon Hunter", a Heavy Metal group. Your partner, Lt. Hank Anderson, introduced you to that kind of music years ago. You really like it.

You scan the countless cases related to the drug Red Ice that scroll across your terminal screen. In between them, you spot a couple of case files that intrigue you. They're about "deviants", androids that have gone against their programming. Many of them detail attacks against owners. Each android fled the scene.

You wonder where the androids are now.

How many of these were provoked attacks?

You know that, logically, you shouldn't look at the androids as living beings. They're supposed to be machines; fancy, human-shaped robots designed to replace smartphones. But even so, you were never one for being "logical"...at least, not when it came to empathy. You even thanked the dishwasher at home after a job well-done, and it didn't have a human face. When you looked at androids, you saw people. It was a secondary action to convince yourself they weren't alive. Needless to say, you didn't own an android yourself.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and it pulls you from your thoughts. You remove an earbud (a classic one, still connected with a wire) and look up to find Detroit Police Department Captain Fowler standing over you.

"Detective Valentine," he says. "How're you doing? Where's Lt. Anderson?"

You shrug. "Don't know. I can call him and ask, if it's important."

Capt. Fowler shakes his head. "I see. No, no...don't call him." He thinks for a moment. "I just wanted to tell you that you're being assigned another partner, an android. CyberLife sent it over to help with investigations. It's a state-of-the-art prototype. It's been on other cases before. You remember the hostage situation in August, on the 15th?"

You nod. You remember. How could you not? It was all over the news. Several officers, one who you knew personally, died at the scene. A deviant did it, and Cyberlife sent an android to stop him. "Are they sending the same one?" you ask the captain.

"The same. You think you and Hank will be able to manage?"

You nod again and smile. "Absolutely. I look forward to working with him and the android."

Another officer, detective Gavin Reed (or, as you called him, Detective Dickhead), overhears your conversation and decides to chime in. "Hey, Valentine. What's goin' on over here? Capt. Fowler on your case about something?"

You roll your eyes. Gavin was always harassing you over dumb shit and trying to get your badge taken away. He was an asshole with a superiority complex and a terrible case of narcissism. You knew he was just self-conscious about being short and having a small dick (he must have been compensating for something with how cool and edgy he tried to seem all the time). He went after you because you were an easy target: shorter than him, at only 5 feet and 5 inches, and not only gay, but transgender to boot. He looked at you as something he could step all over to make himself feel better.

"The captain was just telling me that I'm getting a new partner, that's all."

Gavin smirks. "Oh, what? Not working with Lt. Daddy anymore?"

You look at Fowler as if to say "can you believe this guy?". Capt. Fowler just sighs. "Detective Valentine will still be working with Lt. Anderson," he tells Gavin. "They're being assigned an android to assist with investigations."

Gavin's smirk turns into a frown. "Another plastic prick? Don't we have enough of those already?"

Capt. Fowler crosses his arms. "I know, I know. I don't like it much, either, but we need any help we can get." He turns back to you. "Just fill in Hank when he gets here, alright?"

You assure the captain that you will, and he leaves. Gavin shoots you a nasty look and fucks off to wherever he goes in his free-time. You turn back to your work. An hour later, you feel a hand on your shoulder again. You turn around, expecting the captain. Instead, you're met by the android.

He's tall, about 6 ft. He has neat, dark-brown hair and brown eyes. The model number on his custom suit jacket reads "RX800". Under it is a serial number: "313 248 317 - 51".

"Hello, Detective Valentine," he says. "My name is Connor. I'm the android sent by CyberLife."

You smile, remove your headphones, stand, and hold out your hand. "Hi, Connor. I look forward to working with you. How about you just call me Nathan? Nate works too, if it's easier for you."

Connor pauses for only a moment before smiling and taking your hand. "Thank you. I look forward to working with you as well. I'm sure we'll make a great team." You see his eyes look past you, at your desk. The LED on the side of his head turns yellow. He's thinking.

"You have two cats," he says, looking back at you. "What are their names?"

You smile. "They're called Chunky and Grizzly. 'Course, I didn't give them those names; those were names given to them by the rescue shelter. They were really nervous when I first got 'em. They wouldn't come out from under the bed. It took them a while, but eventually they realized I wasn't going to kill them and they started getting a lot more confident. Chunky is still a little nervous, but he's also really small. I think he was the runt of his litter. He's getting braver every day, though." You catch yourself. "Sorry. I talk a lot."

Connor smiles warmly. "That's alright." He glances at the photo again. "I like cats."

You point to Hank's empty seat at the desk in front of you. "Why don't you take a seat, Connor? Hank should be here anytime now."

Connor nods. "Thank you." He sits down at Lt. Anderson's desk, but his eyes are still focused on you. "What music are you listening to?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Do you listen to music?"

Connor smiles. "Well, I don't really listen to music, as such, but I'd like to."

You chuckle. "Well, right now I'm listening to Demon Hunter. They're one of my favourite bands."

Connor's LED flashes yellow again. "Which song is your favourite?"

"Probably 'Last One Alive', but 'Someone to Hate' is a good one, too."

You try to think of a question to ask Connor about himself. "What's with your serial number? Why the '51' at the end?"

Connor seems confused, or perhaps...perturbed? "It is...the number I am in the RX800 line."

"So you're the 51st Connor, then?"

Connor's LED glows yellow. "Yes."

You and Connor spend the rest of the afternoon talking about you. Whenever you try to ask him about himself, he just avoids the question or deflects. He agrees with everything you say, even when you know it can't possibly be the case, and he claims to like everything you like. You don't want to seem rude, but you can't help but ask him if he's just programmed to get along with you.

"I was designed to integrate into any team," Connor tells you. "I think forming a...friendly relationship will help us with our investigations."

"You know you don't have to agree with everything I say, though, right?"

Connor looks confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you shouldn't just agree with everything I say to seem friendly. You can have your own opinions, you know."

His LED flashes yellow for a long time before he speaks. "I am an android. I do not have my own opinions."

You smile sadly. "I guess so."

Connor looks around at Hank's desk before looking back at you. "How long have you and Lt. Anderson been partners?"

"We started working together six years ago," you reply. "When I was promoted to detective, Captain Fowler thought we'd be good together. Kind of a good-cop-bad-cop, master-and-apprentice type deal."

"Which are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you the good cop, or the bad cop?"

You smile. "When it comes to interrogations, he's the bad cop. If you ask me, though, I think Hank is the good cop. Hell, I'd say he's the best cop."

"So you like working with him?"

You think for a moment. "Usually. Lately, he...uh...well, let's just say he's troubled."

"Troubled?"

You bite your lip. You want to tell him about Hank's son, but you decide against it. "How about you just talk to Hank about himself, huh? I really shouldn't talk about someone who's not here. It's kinda rude, y'know?"

Connor nods. "Got it."

You get back to work and see Connor stand up. He walks around the station for a bit, examining several other desks and introducing himself to other police officers.

Thank God Detective Dickhead isn't here right now…

You watch Connor make his way to Capt. Fowler's office. The captain doesn't even look up at him to talk. Connor leaves and comes back to you. "Is Lt. Anderson usually absent this long?"

You check your phone. It's 7:57 PM and dark outside. You look up at Connor. He's staring at you.

"You know, he usually doesn't take this long...this is weird, even for him."

Another officer, Chris Millier, comes to you with a nervous look. He's an officer fresh from the academy and became a father not too long ago. He has a deep respect for Lt. Anderson, one that you both share.

"Detective Valentine," he says. "Where's Lt. Anderson?"

You tell him you don't know. He shuffles awkwardly when he spots Connor. "Well, you better find him," he says. "There's been a reported homicide." He glances at Connor. "Oh, Lt. Anderson is not gonna like this…"

(9:12 PM)

You drive Connor to Hank's house and try to find him, but he isn't home. You try to call him, but he isn't answering. You decide to check around town at every bar you can think of.

"Does Lt. Anderson drink often?" Connor asks on your way to the first bar.

You shake your head. "Remember when I told you he was troubled?"

Connor nods. "Yes, I remember." He waits for you to elaborate, but you don't. He pulls out a quarter and starts messing with it. You notice him doing fancy tricks, like catching it perfectly between two fingers.

"Having fun?" you ask him, half-joking.

He stops tossing the coin. "I am not programmed to have fun." He goes back to doing coin tricks, and you decide to stop talking. You pull up to the first bar.

You don't find Hank at the first bar, or the second, or the third, or even the fourth. After two hours, you're starting to get a little irritated.

"C'mon, Hank, pick up your phone…"

Connor looks over at you. "You know it is against the law to use a cellular device while operating a motor vehicle, detective."

"Yeah," you say. "I know. But I'm at a red light and I need to find Hank. Besides, I'm gay. I can't follow traffic laws." Your call is forwarded to voicemail again, and you slam the phone into a cupholder in frustration. The light turns green, and you start driving again. "If we don't find Hank at the next place, I'm gonna go without him."

"We cannot investigate without Lt. Anderson," Connor says. "I was sent to assist both of you." He pauses. "You said you've worked with Lt. Anderson for six years now. Shouldn't you know where he frequents?"

You sigh and stop at another red light. "You would think so. I don't spend as much time with him as I used to these days. About three years ago, he...well, he started going 'off the rails' as it were. I don't drink, so I never go with him to bars or anything. I just know that he drinks more than he used to and that if he's not at home, he's probably getting hammered somewhere else."

You pull up outside a seedy-looking joint called Jimmy's Bar. You go to open the door when you notice a "no androids" sign.

Connor exits the car and joins you. "Is something wrong, Detective?"

You point out the sign. "'You comfortable coming in?"

Connor gives you the same look as earlier, the one he wore when you asked him if he was having fun. "I am not programmed to be uncomfortable. I will be fine."

You sigh. "Alright. Well, if anyone gives you trouble, just...tell me, alright? I'll flash my badge and get them to leave you alone."

Connor's face is totally emotionless. "Thank you, Detective."

You enter the bar. It's smaller than you thought it would be. You spot Hank immediately and beeline for him.

"Hank! I've been calling you for more than two hours. Are you okay?"

Hank looks up at you and grumbles something about his phone being on silent. He takes a long sip of his drink. Another patron at the bar curses and says something about Connor's presence. Hank looks up, sees him, and sneers.

"Oh, fuck, what is this?"

"My name is Connor," he tells Hank. "I'm the android sent by CyberLife."

Hank looks at you. He's pissed off. "Why is that thing here?"

Connor speaks before you can. "You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a CyberLife android. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators."

Hank looks even more irritated. "I wasn't talking to you!"

You turn to Connor and lower your voice. "I'm sorry about this, I really am. He's not the biggest android fan." You turn back to Hank and put on an understanding smile. "Hank, I know you're not having the best time right now, but you have to come with us. It'll make things easier for everyone."

Connor leans over your shoulder to talk to Hank. "I understand that some people are not comfortable in the presence of androids, but I am-"

Hank growls and slams down his drink. "I am perfectly comfortable. Now back off, before I crush you like an empty beer can!"

Connor tries one more time. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I must insist. My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you."

"You know where you can stick your instructions?"

"No... Where?"

You feel bad about having to stifle a laugh. "Your ass, Connor. He's telling you to stick your instructions in your ass. It's a common human insult."

Connor pauses. "...Oh…"

You lower your voice again. "Yeah, sorry. Listen, why don't we just...get 'im a drink to go? That might get 'im to come with us."

Connor pulls out some cash and slides it on the bar. "You know what?" he says to Hank. "I'll buy you one for the road. What do you say? Bartender, the same again, please!"

You smile at Hank. "How 'bout it, partner?"

Hank smiles back. "See that Jim? Wonders of technology." He downs the rest of his drink and holds out the empty glass. "Make it a double." He turns to you. "Did he say homicide?"

You, Hank, and Connor all go to your car. Hank wants to drive, but you force him into the passenger seat. He's been drinking way too much for you to allow him behind your wheel.

"We'll come back for your car later, okay?"

Reluctantly, Hank agrees. You apologize to Connor for having to put him in the backseat, but he says he's fine with it.

"I am not programmed to-"

"You're not programmed to have opinions," you finish for him. "Yeah, I know. I'm still sorry, though."

Connor gets into the backseat, and you get in to drive. Before you do, you decide to turn on the radio to something you think Hank will enjoy.

"At least you have good taste in music," Hank says.

You put the car in reverse and look at Connor. "What do you think, Connor? Do androids like 'Heavy Metal'?"

You could have sworn you heard an audible 'whoosh' as the joke went over Connor's head. "Androids are not programmed to have a musical preference, Detective."

You turn back to the wheel. Yeah, you think. I should have known.