Chapter Seven

Connor tried to focus on the paperwork collected on his terminal, but he found himself looking toward Captain Fowler's office every so often. Wren sat in front of Fowler's desk as he went over her resume and discussed the terms of her employment. Connor knew he could increase the sensitivity of his audio input to listen in on the conversation, but decided against it. It was nearly lunchtime by the time Fowler released Wren from his office, and she approached Hank's desk, pulling up a spare chair.

Hank looked at her and folded his arms across his chest. "So? What'd he say?"

The apples of Wren's cheeks popped as she tried to contain a smile. "He commended my education and past work as a P.I."

"Your fake education and career," Hank reminded her. "Don't get cocky."

Wren rolled her eyes. "Because I have a degree –yes, Hank, it's fake, let's move on –and worked as a P.I., I don't have to start from scratch. I have to take the written test tomorrow, then the physical test and then I will have to do a mock interrogation. He'll assign me to work at least two cases with Officers Chen and Miller before placing me with Detective Reed for a few cases. Then he'll have me work with both of you for a few cases and then I can be promoted to detective."

"Great," muttered Hank. "Are you ready for this written exam?"

"I'll study," said Wren, using her foot to twist her seat back and forth.

Hank stood and grabbed his coat. "Let's get lunch and talk about this more."

Wren stood and shrugged on her coat. Connor followed, even though he had no need for a lunchbreak. They walked along the sidewalk outside of the police station, careful not to slip on the slush. Hank led the way to a taco restaurant, where they ducked inside. Connor watched his human companions bounce to increase their body heat, their noses and cheeks red despite the brief time out in the cold.

Hank and Wren approached the counter to order while Connor found them a table in the corner of the building. He sat and waited for them to join him, their drinks in hand. Wren placed her drink onto the tall table and pulled herself onto the stool, wriggling back into place. Hank did not need quite so much effort to sit on the tall stool.

"In other words, you're gonna cheat," said Hank, continuing a conversation with Wren that Connor missed.

"No, I'll be recording it to memory, just not my human one," Wren corrected.

Connor's eyebrows furrowed and then released. He tilted his head. "What's going on?"

"Wren says that she's going to record the answers to the exam to her processor," Hank grumbled, slurping from his pineapple soda.

Connor faced Wren, who returned his stare. "I can't learn everything in a night. Besides, experience is a better teacher than some standardized test."

Connor looked back to Hank. "I was programmed with the information, Hank. I don't see much of a difference."

Hank scowled. "You're takin' her side?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side," Connor clarified, "I'm merely pointing out that there is a similarity in her downloading the proper information needed to pass the exam and my programming with the information. I didn't even take a test. Logically, if we want her to join the force as soon as possible, her method is the best way to do that."

Hank rolled his eyes. "I don't believe this."

A waiter brought Hank and Wren's orders, placing the food baskets before them before taking their order number and walking away. Wren and Hank ate while Connor looked around the taco shop. The floors were dark wood. The short tables were repurposed spools painted black. The tall tables were dark metal, as were the stools. Vibrant paintings of sugar skulls and tacos decorated the dark walls. Colored Christmas lights zigzagged across the ceiling, dotting the walls and floor with colorful light reflections.

"We could start trying to figure out who I was, too," muttered Wren, sipping from her water.

Connor looked at her. "Once I finish my paperwork, I can begin looking through the database, if you'd like."

Wren looked a bit pale, but she nodded. "Yeah."

Hank and Wren cleared their trash when they finished eating. Together, the trio walked back to the station. Connor sat at his desk. Wren withdrew The Odyssey from her bag and began reading. She pulled her knees up to her chest and focused. Connor looked away from her, reminding himself that he needed to focus. He opened up the terminal on his desk and worked on the paperwork. He managed to concentrate for the next few hours (being an android had its perks). By the time he finished his paperwork, Hank was ready to go home.

Connor exchanged a glance with Wren before looking at Hank, who pulled on his coat. "Hank, I'd like to stay to begin looking into Wren's past. I can take a taxi home."

"I want to stay, too," said Wren, straightening.

Hank frowned at them. Scowling, he shrugged out of his coat and plopped back in his seat. "Guess I should be here for this, too."

Connor looked to Wren, whose cheeks lost their color. She walked her chair closer to Connor's desk and sat down. Connor observed her but resisted the urge to scan her. She folded her hands in her lap and sat up straight. She met Connor's gaze.

"How do you think we should start this?" Her voice sounded a bit hoarse.

Connor looked at the blank screen on his terminal. "We can start by searching for car wrecks that occurred in the year 2029, involving a single female driver who was reported dead."

"That's probably hundreds or even thousands. Why not narrow it down to the Great Lakes region? Or even the midwestern region?" Hank butted in, leaning forward.

Connor frowned. "We don't know that Wren is from this area of the country."

"Yeah, and she doesn't have much of an accent, so we can't pinpoint it, either," grumped Hank, shooting Wren a sidelong glance.

"Make sure the wreck involves another car," said Wren, "I was hit and went over the cliff."

"Did they suspect foul play?" Hank queried.

"I have no idea."

Connor typed into the terminal's database, searching the cases. As expected, hundreds of results appeared. Connor scanned through them in a matter of seconds, but none of the reports involved a woman matching Wren's description, or even bearing the name Wren in her first name. Connor looked up and shook his head. "No one matches your description or has your first name."

"Do you think Prometheus might've… done something with the records?" Hank muttered, looking at Wren.

Her brow pinched and the corners of her mouth dropped. Then, she shook her head. "CY001 wasn't supposed to exist, but whoever I was before did. They would want my friends and family –whoever –to believe that I was gone."

"Well, autonomous vehicles were being used by then," said Hank, rubbing his mouth. "You sure you were actually driving?"

"Yes," said Wren, "I was definitely driving."

"Do you remember the model of car you were driving?" Connor asked.

Wren frowned. "No, but… I do remember that it was some sort of small SUV."

Connor narrowed down the search, then expanded it to involve autonomous cars. Still nothing. Connor's shoulders slumped. He failed to miss the crestfallen look on Wren's face, too. She sighed and rested her elbows on the edge of Connor's desk.

"If I can't remember anymore details, this is going to be impossible." She rested her chin against her knuckles, her shoulders sagging.

Connor knitted his brow. "Not necessarily, Wren. We could just be missing a variable that will help narrow this down. We just haven't found it yet."

"Yeah," said Hank, standing. "We'll think of something. Come on, let's get home. You have a test to study for."

Connor closed and locked his terminal as Hank and Wren pulled on their coats. They left the station. Wren bowed her head, watching her feet as she walked. Connor glanced at her. Restlessness scratched beneath his synthetic skin. He wanted to discover who Wren had been, but the task daunted him due to the lack of details to narrow down the search. His processor whirred, attempting to come up with something that would help. His shoulders sagged when he came up empty.

Wren said nothing throughout dinner. Her silence continued while Hank readied for bed and she worked on downloading information to her processor. Connor sat in his armchair, frowning as he watched her. He perceived the tightness of her forehead and the contours around her mouth as she frowned. He noticed the bow of her spine and the distance in her eyes. He leaned forward.

"Wren?" he prompted, his brow furrowing in compassion. She looked at him rather unfocusedly for a moment before her eyes cleared.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry we couldn't find you today," Connor murmured.

Wren offered him a twitch of her lips. "It's not your fault. Part of me wonders if maybe I shouldn't try to find who I was." She averted his gaze.

"Why not?"

"I might not like what I find."

Connor lowered his gaze before lifting it to look at Wren. She stared at her hands. "I think you would find it regrettable if you didn't try."

Wren met his gaze. Connor drew back, not expecting her to look at him so sharply. You're probably right. I still want to find out who I was, but… It's a weird feeling, I guess."

Connor's lips twisted with a sympathetic smile. "I can only imagine."

Wren closed the laptop. "I think I have all the information I need." She placed the laptop on the coffee table. She glanced toward the lamp. "I should get some sleep."

Connor perceived her hint and leaned back. "Of course."

Wren offered him a tiny smile. "Thank you, Connor."

Connor tilted his head. "For what?"

"For being so nice to me. You… You don't have to."

Connor felt his expression soften. "I know I don't. If we're going to work together, we should at least be civil with one another, not that you haven't been."

A ripple of what looked a bit like disappointment crossed Wren's features. The expression passed as quickly as it came, leaving Connor doubtful that he identified the correct emotion. Wren turned off the lamp. Connor watched her outline settle into the couch and pull the blanket up to her chin. She fell asleep after a few moments. Connor listened to her breathing for several minutes before opening up The Odyssey and reading it.

…

Connor worked on the new files at his terminal while Wren took her written police exam on a separate floor of the police station. He checked the time every now and then, eager to witness her physical exam. As a trained operative, he knew Wren would excel in the physical exam, but he wanted to see her in action. Part of him wanted to know what she was capable of, should she prove problematic in the future. The other part of him was genuinely curious.

However, just before Wren's physical exam was to take place in the sublevel of the station, Hank and Connor received a call to investigate a disturbance at the residence of Zlatko Andronikov. Connor knew the name instantly, remembering the report of Zlatko's murder. He'd been beaten to death by multiple androids. According to neighbors, those androids had been "monsters." Connor and Hank had not investigated the case much further, as more urgent deviancy cases presented themselves.

"The place is abandoned now," said Hank as they drove to Zlatko's house, "no one wants to buy it. I don't blame 'em. A man beaten to death in his own front lawn… And that house looked like a nightmare in the crime scene photos."

"Do you think it's possible that some of Zlatko's androids could have returned to the house?" Connor queried. He had no idea what "monstrous androids" looked like, but he was not too eager to find out.

"Who fuckin' knows," replied Hank, turning down Zlatko's street. "For all we know, there's nothing there except a stray cat."

"The neighbor reported screaming," Connor rebutted.

"Yeah, have you ever heard a cat scream? Bobcat screams sound like a woman being murdered."

"Bobcats are not usually found in the midwestern United States," said Connor, tilting his head.

"You get what I'm saying, Connor. It could be anything." Hank parked the car outside Zlatko's house. Hank and Connor peered at the house through the windshield for a few seconds.

Connor never experienced a nightmare, and most likely never would, but he found himself agreeing with Hank's description of the house. The rundown mansion looked sorely out of place on the street, with its lawn overgrown, window shutters hanging off their hinges and patchy roof. Connor found himself agreeing with Hank's opinion about no one wanting to buy the house. They got out of the car and approached the house.

Connor knocked on the door. "Detroit Police, open up!"

"The guy's dead," said Hank. "We can just go in."

"There could be squatters," Connor pointed out.

Hank shrugged. "Then just be ready for 'em." He opened the door.

Connor followed Hank inside. Winding pillars adorned the foyer. Beyond the entrance was a grand staircase, carpeted in maroon. Cobwebs clung to the lanterns that had been extinguished for a long time. They checked the living room and kitchen together, which were both coated in dust and cobwebs, but there were no people, android or human. They returned to the foyer. Connor scanned the room. He noticed footprints in the dust, the same size with the same tread. One set led upstairs while the other led downstairs.

"There are footsteps leading downstairs and upstairs," Connor pointed out.

"Two people are here?" Hank queried, his hand flying to his hip, where his gun sat in its holster.

"No," said Connor, frowning. "They look to be the same set of prints."

"So, our guy is either upstairs or downstairs? Great. Alright, let's split up. You go downstairs and I'll go up. Get your gun out in case there's trouble." Hank instructed.

Connor nodded and withdrew his weapon. He held it out in front of him and treaded toward the staircase leading downstairs. The walls were cracked brick and the stairs were made of concrete. It juxtaposed the antiquity of the rest of the house. Connor stepped carefully, as some of the steps were chipped away. He rounded the corner. To his right was a row of what looked like stalls for a stable. Connor walked past them, following the footsteps. He rounded another corner and stopped in his tracks, his lips parting.

An apparatus stood in the center of the room. Wires littered the floor. Monitors connected the wires to the apparatus. Connor scanned the device, deducing its function. His thirium seemed to freeze when he realized that the machine was used to reset androids. Connor's mouth felt oddly dry, despite the antiseptic synthetic saliva that flushed his mouth routinely. He backed away from the machine, his thirium pump regulator hammering in his body. He turned the corner, following the footsteps toward one of the stalls. He opened the door, gun raised.

"Detroit Po…" Connor trailed off, realizing that the bodies inside of the stall were not alive. They were mutilated androids, some standing, some lying on the ground. Connor's metal heart slammed against the walls of his body. Nausea bubbled within him, though he lacked the functionality to vomit, resulting in a burning sensation in his throat. The androids in here were dead, but their bodies were so mutilated and tortured, Connor wanted to run away. But he was frozen. The android nearest to him was a female model. She was naked, burn marks littering her body. Claw marks marred her breasts. She was on her knees, but Connor couldn't tear his eyes away from her face. It was so clawed and burned that there were no identifiable features left.

"Connor! Get up here!" Hank's distant yell jolted Connor out of his daze. He scrambled back and bumped into something. The object collapsed onto him. Connor, unexpectant of the sudden weight, fell with it. Connor rolled over, met with the dead eyes of another female android. His thirium pump regulator felt as if it were going to explode in his chest. At first, there seemed nothing unusual about this android, except for the fact that she had been damaged from multiple beatings. Then, as Connor pushed her body off him, he widened his eyes at the sight of the android's body, which was backwards. Connor crawled back. He trembled as he picked up his gun and left the lower level of Zlatko's house. He hurried upstairs, his metal heart still thrashing.

"Connor! Where the hell are you?" Hank called.

"Coming, Lieutenant," Connor replied, his voice wavering slightly. He entered the room from which he heard Hank's voice. Hank stood by a bed, his arms crossed. A human child sat on the bed, looking abashed.

"Kid says he came in to explore because someone dared him to," said Hank without looking at Connor, "and says he went into one of the stalls and bumped into an android down there. Says he thought it was chasing him, so he hid here. Must've screamed and scared the neighbor. Did you see any evidence of an android squatting downstairs?" Hank turned to look at Connor at last. The lieutenant's amusement faltered when he saw Connor's expression. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm okay," Connor breathed, forcing the tension in his shoulders to loosen. He looked at the boy sitting on the bed. He looked back at Hank, who still waited for an answer. "There are androids downstairs, but they're all dead."

Hank drew back, his eyes widening a fraction. "Shit." He looked down at the boy. "What's your name, kid?"

"R-Ryatt," said the boy. He lifted his hazel gaze to Hank's. "I know I shouldn't have come in here, I'm really sorry, mister. Please don't take me to jail."

Connor softened. Despite his still racing pulse, he managed a small smile. He crouched in front of the boy. "Are you okay, Ryatt?"

"Yeah… I just wanna go home."

"We can take you home," Connor murmured, straightening. He looked at Hank, who nodded.

"Do you live far?" Hank said, leading the boy out of the room. Connor followed.

"No, just a couple of streets over."

"You can tell me where to go?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alright," said Hank. They exited the Zlatko house. Connor immediately felt a weight lift off his chest. He filled his artificial lungs with a crisp breath before getting into Hank's car. They took Ryatt home to a very thankful mother. Hank drove out of the neighborhood and got on route to the police station. Connor looked at the time, a sinking feeling invading his chest. They had missed Wren's physical test. Hank turned the volume down on the radio. "You gonna tell me what you saw back there? You looked… You looked pretty shaken up."

Connor swallowed. "Those androids… They were all mutilated. One of them… You couldn't even see their face. I… I accidentally knocked one over. It startled me."

"You must've been pretty shocked to knock something over," muttered Hank. "I don't think I've ever seen you knock anything over."

"I'm okay now," Connor assured his friend. "I just… I didn't expect that."

"No kidding," Hank sighed. They finished the drive in silence. Hank parked his car and shut off the engine. Connor entered the station. He started toward his desk, but the unusual number of officers collected in the rec room caught his attention. He slipped inside, where Gavin Reed, Chris Miller and Tina Chen chatted over a late lunch. Hank joined them, having packed a lunch today.

"You missed the physical test for the rookies," said Chris, moving aside his Tupperware box to make room for Hank's.

"Yeah? How'd my ex-niece do?" Hank queried, sipping from his drink. Connor neared the table, but didn't butt in. Tina noticed him and slid to the side. Connor stepped closer, offering her a polite twitch of his lips.

"She was the best one out there," said Chris, his eyes bright. "She was the fastest and most efficient on the obstacle course. It was crazy. And in the sparring match, she took out her opponent in less than thirty seconds. I asked her where she learned that, and she said she took all sorts of martial arts growing up. I believe it, man. It was unfair to the other guys taking their physical." Chris shook his head, grinning.

"Yeah, that was all cool, but have you ever seen someone shoot like that? Her accuracy rate could rival an android's," said Tina, mono-lid her eyes flicking to Connor. Her lips quirked. "I love me a woman with a gun." She grinned over the brim of her coffee cup.

"Aren't there fraternization rules? If not, there should be. Someone's gotta protect the noobie from Tina's thirsty ass," jested Chris. He laughed when Tina smacked him on the arm.

"So, she's good at an obstacle course and play-fighting," muttered Reed. He seemed unimpressed. "We haven't seen her in the field yet. I bet she freaks out."

Connor wanted to say he doubted that, but refrained. He glanced at Hank, who reflected Connor's disappointment in his expression. Well, at least they knew that Wren exceeded expectations in the physical test, which meant Connor's assumptions were correct: She was highly capable, thanks to her training.

…

That evening, Connor drove Wren to Jericho in order to return Josh's books. She was quiet on the drive and on the elevator ride. Connor tilted his head when Wren stood with her back to the elevator doors, preferring to watch their ascent through the glass window. Connor kept his back to the window and focused straight ahead. He had decided that he was not too fond of heights, though he had never fallen from a great height before to validate that displeasure. It was an irrational fear, one that sprouted from his deviancy, no doubt.

They stepped off the elevator together and walked to Josh's office, where Wren knocked on the door, cradling the books in her other arm.

"Come in," called Josh. Connor followed Wren inside the office. Josh's face brightened. "Wren, Connor. It's good to see you both."

"I told you that I'd return them," said Wren, placing the books on Josh's desk. Her cheeks popped with a suppressed smile.

Josh returned her smile. "Thank you. I set aside these for you, to give you something different from classical literature. They're a bit more modern, though they're not present."

Wren glanced at the three books: Red Azalea, Waiting and The Innocent. All three were from different authors. She wrapped her arms around the books, hugging them close to her chest. "I'll take good care of them. Thank you, Josh."

"No problem," said Josh, his lips quirking. He turned his attention to Connor. "How have you been?"

"Well, thank you," said Connor, dipping his head. "And you?"

"Pretty good," said Josh. "Busy, but good. I should get back to work, though. Thanks for bringing my books back, Wren. Maybe we can talk about what you've read, without sounding too much like a former professor."

Wren let out a soft laugh. "Sure. I can't promise you that I'll have many good ideas about them, but sure."

"Okay. See you around." Josh waved and smiled. Connor returned the gesture and followed Wren out of the office. He closed the door behind them. They headed back toward the elevator. Connor pressed the button to summon it. When the doors opened, Connor raised his eyebrows at the appearance of North. She froze upon seeing Connor and Wren. If she still possessed an LED, Connor would've suspected that it would be cycling yellow.

"Connor," North offered Connor a small smile. She looked at Wren, her features stiff. "Wren." She stepped off the elevator and pushed past them. Connor watched her go before entering the elevator.

A tense silence filled the air between them. Connor held his hands behind his back. "Don't take North's treatment personally. She treated me the same way when I first worked at Jericho. Her coldness arises from mistrust, especially of humans. I believe she is very protective of her friends."

"I don't take it personally," muttered Wren. "She's honest with me about her feelings. I can respect that."

Connor turned his head away from Wren, his brow furrowing. His mouth downturned. He sensed that Wren's comment was also directed at him somehow. Did she think his kindness toward her was insincere? Is that why she seemed disappointed the night before when he discussed the importance of being civil? He found he had no response for her because he lacked understanding.

˅Wren

...…

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