37 Detroit 11.6.2038

Abandoned Apartment, Acre Ave

Clara

Detroit Today gets a tip about a deviant sighting Saturday morning as I'm putting in the final touches on an article. The intern drops the note on my desk as he walks past.

"Sounds like a job for the robot lover," he says, and I hear a snicker from somewhere across the room. He's just pissed he has to work on a Saturday.

"At least robots can take orders and keep their mouths shut," I say brightly, grabbing my coat and notepad. "I guess that would make you a deviant if you were an android," I shoot at the intern as I rush past.

These days I'm beginning to appreciate the company of androids over humans. Between my coworkers talking behind my back about my relationship with an android, my parents nagging me about working too much, Tony hovering over me like a mother duck, and my brother ignoring me more than usual, I miss the simplicity of working with Connor.

The tip leads me to an abandoned apartment building. The faded brown brick is covered in graffiti, and the roof and fire escape seem to be popular nesting places for pigeons. I'm just about to see about getting into the building when a car pulls up to the curb. I recognize it at once as Lieutenant Anderson's. Literally no one drives beaters like that around anymore, and I have to give him some respect for not following everyone else. Heavy metal blasts from inside, cutting off abruptly when the engine is turned off. Connor gets out of the passenger seat, and I can't help but smile brightly at the sight of him. He returns the smile, looking a little bemused.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I must have gotten the same tip as you," I say, nervously shoving my hands in my pockets as the lieutenant approaches. Cops have a tenuous relationship with the press, and I'm not sure he'll want me here.

"Gonna introduce me to your friend, Connor?" the lieutenant asks, giving me a quizzical look.

"This is Clara Weber. She works for Detroit Today. Clara, this is Lieutenant Hank Anderson. He's been assigned all cases regarding deviants, and I'm working with him." I guess it's official now, but I smile at Hank.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I say, holding out my right hand. He takes it.

"I've read some of your articles," he says, and I can't tell if that's a good thing or not. "How exactly did you two meet?" He looks between the two of us.

"Clara was working undercover at a house where I was called in to investigate a murder," Connor explains.

"David Downs," I add, and Hank nods.

"Clara and I worked together," Connor tells Hank, a hint of pride in his voice. "We figured out who the murderer really was."

I still can't for the life of me tell how Hank feels about me. He's watching us with vague interest on his face like he can't quite figure out the dynamic between Connor and me.

"What are you hoping to accomplish here today?" he asks me.

It's a fair question. "I'm just trying to understand deviants, same as Connor," I say. "It's my job to write stories, but this has become so much more than that."

"You're really stirring the waters," Hank comments. "You really think you're going to change people's minds with your stories?"

"Maybe." I shrug. "I'm not really interested in changing their minds. I just want to tell the truth, and I want androids to be heard." I glance at Connor.

His brown eyes catch the sunlight looking achingly human. Most would argue androids don't have souls, but I could swear I see something reflecting back at me.

"Maybe the world needs someone like you telling the truths they don't wanna hear." Hank's response surprises me. I guess I didn't expect him to support what I'm writing, but it's a nice reminder that I'm not the only one who sees the injustices of our world. I suppose that's his job, but I also know a lot of cops turn a blind eye when it comes to violence against androids.

"Were you just planning on going in there and trying to interview the deviant?" Hank asks me.

"Yes?" It comes out more like a question, but that is exactly what I had planned on doing. It does sound kind of silly like I think I'm some kind of deviant whisperer.

Hank nods, a knowing look on his face. "Not every story is worth a risk. Deviants can be unpredictable."

"I know. But they also respond to compassion."

"Tell you what. We go in. We check the place out. Maybe the tip was phony, maybe the deviant's moved on. If he cooperates, I'll let you talk to him for a minute."

I bite my lip. If I had just come ten minutes before, I would have had full access to the building, but now I can either argue with Hank or respect his authority. Considering he may now be my link to Connor and deviants, I decide it's a good idea to stay on his good side.

"All right," I concede. Both Connor and Hank look a little surprised as if they were expecting me to argue.

"Okay. Great." Hank glances between Connor and me before saying, "Let's go, Connor."

I stand on the sidewalk, watching them enter the building. The door is unlocked, and I realize with a start that it's not abandoned after all. Weak light strains from behind curtains in an upstairs window. There are no other signs of life, and it's as if the landlord has simply given up on the building.

Waiting is not my strong suit. I think about following after them despite my word, but I don't want to get in the way. I don't know Hank, and I don't know how he'd respond to me tagging along after he explicitly asked me to stay outside. I circle the building thinking to find the window to the apartment. The tip said top floor.

I skirt along the side of the alley, stepping over garbage and trying not to recoil when a rat scurries away with a half-eaten sandwich in its mouth. I'm still working my way to the back of the building when I hear a shout somewhere above. I look up and see someone leap from the rooftop of the apartment to the building beside it. A second later another figure follows. Connor. My heart leaps into my throat. Clearly the deviant isn't cooperating, but why does Connor have to chase him over rooftops? I'm running now, following the alley behind the buildings. I nearly trip over a fallen garbage can, my eyes aimed upwards where I can briefly see Connor take another daring leap. He's going to get himself killed.

My sneakers strike the concrete in quick succession, my legs pumping as quickly as they can go. I consider running to be more torture than a fun activity, but my fear for Connor pushes me faster.

An overhead train track cuts between the buildings, and I skid to a stop before running out into traffic below. I curse aloud as the cars go past until, finally, I can cross. I see Hank's car go flying past, following the chase down the road, and I cross over. Up above are some of the urban farms that have been established on rooftops to try to make Detroit greener. Hank's car skids to a halt two blocks ahead, and I see him race into the building. I hurry to catch up. I can't see Connor anymore, and I'm terrified for him. The deviant might be desperate enough to hurt him and, like me, Connor is prone to putting his job before his own safety. One misstep, and he could fall.

I reach the building and am about to race up the steps when someone hits the ground hard around the corner. I change my path, charging around the side of the building expecting to find Connor splayed out on the concrete. Instead I run straight into someone. I stumble back, catching myself before I fall. It's a man with a baseball cap pulled low over his face. I see the fear in his eyes, and somehow I know this is the deviant. We stare at each other for a long moment. There's desperation in his eyes. He wants to live. I find myself stepping aside, unblocking his path to freedom. It's the least I can do. He blinks, and then he's gone, running off across the street and into the shadows of the buildings beyond. I watch him go before running into the building and up to the top floor. I push through the doors to the roof to find Hank. My eyes must hold a question because he turns, nodding his head toward the edge of the roof. Connor stands there looking completely lost, his eyes on the street below, looking for the deviant. He turns as I walk out onto the roof. I can feel Hank watching us, but I don't care who sees as I run at Connor, throwing my arms around his torso and pressing my face into his shoulder. I don't say anything, just hold onto him. It takes him a moment to put his arms around me, but he gives me a little squeeze.

When I pull back, he's looking at me, brown eyes making a part of my heart melt. Instead of giving into that, I shout at him.

"Don't ever do that again!" He flinches at my words as if I struck him.

"I'm okay," he says tentatively.

"You were jumping off rooftops!"

A little smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. "As I recall, you've spent a little time jumping off roofs, too."

"Well, if you had fallen, I wouldn't have been able to catch you!" Ugh, how dare he use me as an example? It's nothing like that time. At least that's what I tell myself.

His smile slides as he realizes how angry I am. "I'm sorry I worried you," he says, sounding genuine. "That wasn't my intention."

"You aren't invincible, Connor," I tell him because I think he needs a reminder. "What would have happened if you had fallen?"

"I-" He hesitates here, and I realize he doesn't know what would happen.

"You don't know, do you?" I shake my head. "Maybe you don't think it matters, but it does."

He opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly I can't handle the emotions I'm feeling. I shake my head and turn away from him.

"Clara!" he calls after me, but I pass Hank and run back down the stairs. I was so scared for him, but he's so focused on his mission that he doesn't think of his own safety. He doesn't consider what it does to me to watch him put himself in danger. He's replaceable to CyberLife, but he's not replaceable to me.