Horrified shock froze them for long seconds before they managed to process what had just happened.
"What the hell-"
Hank's phone rang insistently, cutting off his breathless curse, Captain Fowler's number appearing on the screen. Turning his hearing up, Connor listened tensely.
"Oh good, you're alive. Now where the everloving fuck are ya?!"
Shaking off the last shock, Hank replied, "Connor and I went to check something before the talks started. We're downtown."
Low cursing could be heard at the other end.
"Downtown?! Get your ass over to the tower! This is already the second blown up building today! We're lucky the talks were postponed. If I think about the clusterfuck that would have been-"
Rudely Hank interrupted, "Now wait a moment, did you just say second? What the hell was the first?"
An annoyed sigh, then, "An empty building right next to Hart Plaza. That actually caused them to postpone the talks, thank fuck! Now stop asking questions and get your ass out there!"
The Captain hung up, leaving Hank staring in shock down at his phone.
For a second he seemed to contemplate just chucking the thing out of the window before he pushed it roughly back into his pocket and hit the steering wheel with a loud curse.
"Fuck! And he didn't even tell me about this shit! Oh no, I don't need to be told these things! Fucking Fowler- … First losing the deviant case to the FBI, then those talks and now this! How does he expect me to do my fuckin' job without any fuckin' information?!"
Running out of steam, he deflated with a defeated sigh and was just about to start the car back up, when Connor - gripped by a sudden feeling of time running out - opened his door to get out of the car.
"Connor?! Where the hell are you going?!"
Leaning back down through the still open door, the android replied tensely, "I have a bad feeling about all of this. Something is wrong. You go on ahead. I'll follow, after I've looked at Kimble's apartment."
Hank looked at his partner's determined face and sighed before nodding in agreement.
"Alright kid. I don't like this, but it's your choice. But you'll take this," he pulled his phone back out and chucked it at Connor, "and you'll call Miller's phone when you're done. Clear?"
Catching the device, the android nodded shortly before pushing the door closed and running up the steps in front of the building.
With a last worried glance at Connor's back, Hank started the car and sped off towards the burning tower.
Entering the apartment for the second time in as many days, Connor became aware of something he had overlooked up till now.
The door lock, as well as the laptop if he thought about it carefully, did not bow before his identification as consultant for the DPD, but rather after checking his personal ID number. Kimble had wanted him to investigate.
Determined he looked around the empty living room, Kimble's words a continuous mantra in his head.
'My tools are the key.' - But what tools?
As far as he had been able to tell, there was nothing in this entire flat that would fit this description.
Agitation built up in his circuits and he began pacing around the room.
There had been shelves full of tools at Kimble's office, had he meant one of those? Or even the laptop itself?
With a rough shake of his head he stopped ever more outlandish ideas from crowding his mind.
Gaze roving over the clean, empty surfaces defining the room, he compared it to the chaotic clutter in Kimble's office. This definitely did not look like the flat of the same person, but rather like a motel room. As if all of Kimble's personality had been erased leaving only this clinical space behind. No photos, no personal effects apart from his books. Not even any certificates of his doctorate degree. This flat was literally empty of any signs of life.
Just as he decided to check the entire apartment for anything he may have missed last time, he remembered the slim red book in his pocket.
What had the poem said? Something about worn out tools, wasn't it?
Hastily he pulled it out and leafed through the pages until - there!
Out loud he read:
"If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools"
Nothing happened.
Hesitantly he looked between the book and the rest of the flat, before he remembered the obvious signs of paranoia underlining every one of Kimble actions. Engaging his imitation procedures and feeding them his memory of Kimble's voice, he repeated the quote in a soft male tone:
"If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools"
He waited with baited breath and tuned up auditory sensors.
For long seconds nothing happened, then a soft 'click' from behind him filled his chest with victory.
Connor turned sharply on his heels, spotting the difference right away.
The tall bookcase standing next to the empty desk had sunk slightly backwards into the wall, slim rails becoming visible in the floor below.
With nervous anticipation running through his circuits, he pushed against one of the shelves.
Smoothly the bookcase sank further into the wall and off to the side, leaving an empty doorway behind, that led into a pitch black room.
Stepping into the darkness and dialing up his visual sensors as far as they would go, Connor looked over to the side for any kind of light switch.
Upon finding and activating it, sudden bright light flooded the room, leaving the android frozen at the sight before him.
The room was big, its walls and ceiling covered by thick black sound muffling foam squares. A long and cluttered workbench stood at one side and high shelves, filled with expensive engineering equipment and boxes full of spare parts and cables occupied the other.
But what had caught his attention, was the long operating table connected to some kind of folded industrial arm, which stood along the far wall.
Or rather - what lay upon it.
There, arms and legs tied down with heavy leather cuffs, lay the slim and unconscious figure of a man.
Carefully Connor stepped up to the table, his mind racing and senses kicked into overdrive.
This had to be Kimble!
With a confused frown he noted the left arm - not flesh and skin but rather a prosthesis covering the slender hand and bony wrist up to the elbow - that looked custom built and as if it could have belonged to an android. The artificial palm was marred by a large hole that was torn clean through, blue blood slowly dripping down to a big puddle on the floor.
Checking the face, Connor's frown deepened.
Kimble was of slim built, with long unkempt brown hair, his fragile bone structure making him appear younger than his age and his pale skin lined by deep shadows that spoke of long nights with no sleep. The left side of his nearly gaunt face, clearly visible in the bright artificial light, was covered in old scars running around another custom built but badly damaged prosthesis, that replaced his left eye and the bones surrounding it.
The white plates under his eyebrow were bent and torn, blue blood leaking liberally from a deep hole that normally would have contained the eye. Deeply embedded in sparking circuitry, he could make out the deformed shape of a bullet.
Not a damaged android, but a wounded human - his mind supplied distantly as he stared down in shock at the vaguely familiar face.
Searching for a pulse, Connor hastily loosened the tight cuffs.
"Dr. Kimble? Wake up!"
A painful groan rang hoarsely through the room.
"Dr. Kimble, it's me, Connor! Wake up, please!"
Seeing no further movement, strangely worried urgency crawled through his system and he carefully shook one bony shoulder.
Another pained groan as the damaged implant began to spark more energetically. Then Kimble opened his right eye, only to close it right after, whimpering quietly.
"C-c-con," he whispered softly, his strange stutter even worse now.
Sighing in quiet relief, the android moved so his figure blocked the bright light from blinding the human.
"I'll call an ambulance, you-"
"N-n-no!"
The hoarse exclamation left Kimble shaky and coughing fitfully. With his artificial arm trembling, he pointed weakly at a set of drawers beneath the workbench.
"T-t-top. R-r-replace." Then he waved at the industrial arm behind his head.
Instinctively following Kimble's order, Connor opened the top drawer only to find a smooth box containing what appeared to be a replacement for the damaged implant in the man's head.
Hesitantly stepping up to the industrial arm, he placed the part on a small white pedestal at the base.
Kimble in the meantime had reached with his intact arm up behind his head, to weakly pull at a small touchscreen that was connected to the machine by a swing joint, and proceeded to type away with shaking fingers. Finished, his arm fell back to the table, tremors of exhaustion and pain shaking his entire body.
"C-c-cuffs." Was his last whispered command as the machine came to life with a deep hum.
Connor hastily closed the cuffs once more around Kimble's bony wrists and ankles, before standing back.
With smooth movements, the robotic arm began the process of removing and replacing the damaged implant.
It's first step was to remove a small memory chip from a socket hidden at the outer edge of the old implant and placing it into the new one.
Then it loosened the screws keeping the damaged component in place. Pulling the loose part out, sparks arched in-between, pulling a hoarse scream from Kimble, whose body had tensed in sudden pain.
The missing implant had left a deep gaping hole in Kimble's head, that looked more like an oversized empty socket than an open wound and Connor understood for the first time, what humans meant by 'uncanny valley effect'. The visual dissonance between human body and electrical components sent an uncomfortable sensation through his system, as he watched the process in horrified fascination.
The machine proceeded to drop the unneeded part, grabbing the replacement and shoving it smoothly into the empty socket, where it connected with a 'click'.
Kimble screamed as his weak limbs pulled at the cuffs tying him down to the table, tears running down the right side of his face.
Tightening the screws, the industrial arm released a last high 'beep' before moving lower and unlocking one cuff and then folding back entirely to go back into standby.
Silence enveloped the room, broken only by Kimble's harsh breathing and quiet sobs of pain.
Carefully, Connor reached over to unlock the remaining cuffs, his gaze roaming over the human to check his health.
Closed eye steadily leaking tears, still shaking and frowning in obvious discomfort, Kimble whispered quietly, "Thank you, Connor."
His stutter finally gone, his voice resonated with Connor's memory fragments in deep familiarity.
Dr. Elliot Kimble stood with his back leaning heavily against the counter of his kitchen to keep upright on unsteady legs, a glass of water clutched in one slightly trembling hand. The white implant stood out sharply under the bright sunlight falling through the windows.
After emptying the glass in big greedy gulps and refilling it, he turned a sharply assessing gaze towards Connor, leaning against the other side of the kitchen island, before he averted his eyes slightly to the left.
"The explosion, the talks-... has she, was anyone," he asked, disjointed by stress until he trailed off, swallowing with uncertainty.
Trying to calm the upset human, Connor answered calmly, "The talks were postponed. I don't know if anyone else has been hurt, I'm sorry."
The man nodded, something aching to relief flitting across his face.
"Then the distraction worked. Good." Noticing Connor's curious gaze and half opened mouth, Kimble commented softly, "You have questions. But then, you always have questions. Ever so curious, Connor."
His mouth ticked up in a nervous little smile.
"I don't know how much you remember, or how much you've managed to find out. So I'll start at the beginning, stop at the end and you'll listen. Agreed?"
His grey eyes were still focused on a point somewhere along Connor's shoulder, carefully avoiding any prolonged eye contact, his hand white knuckled around the half empty glass.
The strange familiarity of Kimble's turns off phrase let something relax in the back of his mind and after a second of contemplation, Connor nodded.
"Agreed."
And in a soft, even voice Kimble began to talk.