Chapter Nine
Connor watched Wren get out of the car, shivering violently. He frowned at her pale features and half-closed eyes. He increased his audio input sensitivity and listened to her breathing. It was slow and ragged. He glanced at Hank, who narrowed his eyes at Wren.
"You okay, Wren?" he asked, standing in front of the door, keys in hand.
Wren jerked a nod as she made her way to them. "Just… cold."
Connor worked his jaw. Wren had told him not to scan and analyze her, but he felt she needed it right now.
scan [Body Temperature: 94.5 degrees Fahrenheit]
/ / / /Warning: Body Temperature Too Low, Mild Hypothermia Symptoms Detected/ / / /
Connor withdrew from the scan as if no time had passed at all. He looked at Hank, who unlocked and opened the front door. "Hank, get her some extra blankets and lay out dry clothes for her."
Hank nodded and headed inside. Connor walked over to Wren and placed an arm around her shoulders. She pulled away, a frown at her lips. "What're you doing?" Her speech sounded a bit slurred.
"I'm helping you," Connor replied shortly. Wren relaxed slightly, putting much of her weight onto him. He guided her into the house and led her to the bathroom. She stood in the threshold, hugging herself and shivering. Hank joined them, Wren's clothes folded in his arms. Connor took them and placed them by the sink. He peered at Wren under a furrowed brow. "Are you able to dress yourself?"
"I-I think so," Wren breathed.
Hank rubbed the back of his neck. "I think I have a spare heater in Cole's old room." He left the hall and entered the room at the end.
Connor turned to Wren and gestured to her folded clothes. "Your clothes are over there. You need to get out of your wet ones."
Wren nodded, though her eyes were closed. She stumbled back in the bathroom and swayed on the spot. Connor watched her for a moment, his throat constricting. Wren no longer shivered, but that only meant her hypothermia had worsened. Connor stepped out of the bathroom but left the door cracked. He trekked down the hall to Cole's room, where Hank searched through a cardboard box. Connor looked around the room. It looked untouched, save for a few cardboard boxes on the floor. It looked as if it were waiting for Cole. Connor's chest clenched at the thought. He cleared his throat.
"You should call Chris and make sure he's taking the necessary precautions, as he is probably in a hypothermic state as well," Connor announced.
Hank grunted in response. Connor backed out of the room. He padded back toward the bathroom and rapped his knuckles against the door before pushing it open. Wren had at least taken off her sweater, socks and shoes, but she still wore her tank top and jeans. She hugged herself, her skin appearing almost blue in the dim light of the bathroom. Connor stepped into the room.
"Wren, do you need help?" he queried.
Wren's eyes slid open, but only partially. "I can't move," she said hoarsely.
Connor nodded and closed the door. He stepped closer to her. "I'm going to remove your shirt, alright?"
Wren nodded. Connor grabbed the hem of the tank top. The fabric was stiff with ice. Connor struggled to pull it over Wren's head, especially since she could barely move her arms. He moved them for her and peeled the shirt off her. He kept his eyes away from her bare torso.
He cleared his throat. "If you turn around, I can unhook your bra."
Wren turned her back to him slowly. "If you wanted to get me naked, Connor, you could've just asked." Her humor came out in such a soft whisper that Connor scanned her body temperature in alarm. It had dropped another degree. He lowered his gaze and unhooked the clasps to Wren's bra. She managed to pull it off herself. She hugged her breasts, even though her back was to Connor. His eyes drifted down her back. He did not breathe, but if he did, his breath would have hitched.
Thin, jagged scars traced down Wren's back. It looked as if she had been whipped. Connor tore his eyes away from Wren's scars and snatched up the thick pullover sweater. He turned it so that it would not be backwards on her and then pulled it over Wren's head and stuck her arms through the holes. She turned back toward him.
"I have to unbutton your jeans," Connor warned. He frowned. "Unless you can do it?"
Wren shuddered and lowered her hands. "I… I think I can do it. Might take me a while. Thank you, Connor."
Connor dipped his head and backed out of the bathroom, right into Hank.
"What the fuck were you doin' in there?" Hank demanded.
Connor blinked. "She can barely move, Hank. I helped her dress, though I think she's able to dress the rest of herself now." He left the hallway and entered the kitchen, where he searched the cabinets for tea. Hank only had coffee, but the caffeine would only release Wren's body heat quicker. Connor opened the fridge and settled for milk. He poured it into a mug and heated it. By the time it finished, Wren stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in her sweater, sweatpants and dry socks. She padded over to the couch, where Hank had laid out extra blankets. She grabbed one of the fuzzier ones and wrapped it around her shoulders. She sat down, looking rather still. Connor grabbed the mug of warm milk and brought it over to her.
"You should drink a warm beverage to help bring your body temperature up," he advised. Wren reached out and accepted the mug, though Connor did not release his hold on it until it sat in Wren's lap.
"Thank you," Wren croaked.
Connor observed her for a moment. Wren was still not shivering, implying that her body's heat regulation systems were not functioning properly. He stood in front of her, weighing his options. He sat beside her, close enough that their legs and shoulders touched. He looked at Wren. "You need body heat."
Wren nodded, her eyes half-closed. "I know."
Hank sighed and sat on Wren's other side. "No more jumping into frozen rivers, please."
Wren breathed a shaky laugh. "What, you don't like cuddling me?"
"Do I look like the cuddling type?"
Connor's lips twisted as Wren chuckled again. He even caught the lopsided smile on Hank before it disappeared. Hank grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. He pulled up a streaming service and scrolled through movies. He settled for an action film. Normally, Connor thoroughly enjoyed movies. He liked to analyze the cinematography, and even theorize about the use of certain colors throughout the film. However, this film seemed shallow in its thematic quality. He frowned at the inaccurate portrayal of action sequences, even though they were rather enjoyable to watch. Halfway through the film, a weight on his shoulder brought his attention downward. Wren's head rested on his shoulder.
scan [Status: Asleep]
[Body Temperature: 94.9]
Connor relaxed. It seemed that her body was regulating heat once more, judging by her renewed shivering. Connor removed the mug of now cold milk from Wren's lap. He handed it to Hank, not wanting to disturb Wren. Hank placed the mug on the coffee table. He peered down at Wren.
"Poor kid's exhausted," he muttered.
Connor tilted his head. "She has these… scars on her back."
"Yeah?" Hank queried, turning his attention away from the movie to Connor.
"I think she might've been flogged," said Connor, glancing down at Wren.
Hank shook his head. "Jesus… Every time I want to dislike her for somethin', she goes and makes me feel for her."
One corner of Connor's mouth upturned. "I'm not certain that's a bad thing."
"It's not," said Hank. They glanced at Wren before returning their attention to the movie.
…
Connor glanced at Wren as she sat at her desk. He and Hank were on their way out of the police station to work a case. A quick scan told him that Wren was running a slight fever, as was Chris. They both looked miserable, the ends of their noses red, their eyes bleary and their voices cracked. Wren rested her head in her hand and winced at a loud noise from a prisoner in one of the holding cells. She glanced up and met Connor's gaze. She offered him a small smile, which he returned. He left the precinct with Hank, who drove them to the crime scene.
Connor crossed the holographic police tape and into the victim's house. He crouched beside the victim and ran a quick scan.
scan
[FACIAL RECOGNITION: Match: Gage, Flynn]
[CRIMINAL RECORD: Destruction of property]
[EAR WOUND: Brain trauma, deceased 19 hours ago]
Connor straightened. He looked at Hank. "He was stabbed through the ear and broke the knife off in the canal."
"Yeah," said Hank, folding his arms, "that would do it. Does he have a criminal record?"
"Yes," replied Connor, "for assaulting an android prior to the liberation. He paid a fine for it."
"Alright," said Hank. He looked around. "Do your thing, then."
Connor obliged, scanning the evidence and reconstructing the crime scene. It appeared as though an android had been waiting for Mr. Gage to return home. The android waited behind a door and attacked when Mr. Gage rounded the corner. The android stabbed Mr. Gage in the ear, broke off the knife's handle, dropped it and left the house as soon as Mr. Gage died.
"Connor!" Hank called from one of the back rooms. "Come take a look at this."
Connor left the main crime scene and found Hank in the back study. His eyebrows raised at the anti-android propaganda on the walls. They were covered in posters of android slurs and manifestos to "clean Detroit of its plastic trash." Connor's throat tightened, though he was hardly surprised that anti-android groups remained in the city. He doubted the world would be free of anti-android groups entirely.
"This guy seems like a real asshole," muttered Hank.
Connor tilted his head. "You were anti-android, once."
"Are you defending him?"
"No," said Connor levelly, "though I do understand where many of their hostile sentiments come from."
"Doesn't make their attitude right," said Hank.
"I agree," replied Connor. Hank patted his shoulder.
"Come on. Let's get to the station and go over the other victims." Hank led the way out of the room. Connor followed Hank to the car. As they drove, his mind drifted to Wren. He wondered if her fever had improved or worsened.
"Can we stop at this store for a moment?" Connor asked.
Hank frowned. "Why?"
"I'd like to purchase something for Wren's fever."
"She's running fever? Jesus, why didn't she say anything?" Hank groaned and pulled into the parking lot of the corner convenience store.
Connor got out of the car first and waited for Hank. "I doubt she knew." They walked into the store together, where Connor treaded up the aisles and picked out some medicine, tea and honey.
"But if she's feelin' bad, she doesn't need to come into work," muttered Hank as Connor used the self-checkout lane for his few items. He placed his hand on the scanner and interfaced with it, blinking as the transaction completed.
"Perhaps she felt well enough to work."
They got back in the car and returned to the police station. Hank trudged to his desk while Connor stopped by Wren's desk. He placed the plastic convenience store bag onto its surface. Wren frowned at it. She looked up at Connor.
"It's for your fever," he explained, "and I read that tea with honey helps a sore throat and increases body temperature in case you are experiencing chills. Officer Miller is welcome to it as well." Connor nodded to Chris, who offered a thumb's up in reply.
Wren set the contents of the bag onto her desk and crumbled up the bag before tossing it in the bin by her foot. She lifted her gaze to meet Connor's, her brow still furrowed. "Thanks."
Connor dipped his head. "You're welcome."
Wren ^^
He left Wren and crossed the precinct to sit at his desk, where he reviewed the prior victims in his new case with Hank. As suspected, the other victims were involved in anti-android discretions and possessed criminal records of assault to androids prior to the liberation. Hank dragged a hand over his face. "You think an android is out there gettin' revenge?"
"It looks that way," said Connor grimly. He tilted his head. "It's odd for other androids to access police records. Androids have the ability to scan things, but facial recognition is reserved for advanced models, such as myself or intelligence models."
"And those were all destroyed when deviancy became a threat," said Hank. He frowned. "So that leaves you as the only android able to do facial recognition scans."
"Correct."
"So, you're saying…?"
"I'm saying that for an android to have access to the criminal records of the victims, they would need to work in the legal system," said Connor in a low voice.
Hank raised his eyebrows. "Great. So, we're lookin' for an android who recently got a job in the legal system… That should be easy."
"We need to speak with Markus," said Connor, standing. Hank followed suit with only minor protesting. "And we have the three victims to help us narrow down the search. If we cross reference them against new androids working in the legal system, we should be able to find a connection."
…Markus possessed no inkling as to who the killer could be, but he passed Connor and Hank to Josh, who was in charge of helping androids find jobs.
Josh opened his terminal. "Unfortunately, quite a few androids have recently obtained jobs in the legal system, and I'm sure many of them would want revenge on humans who have harmed some of our people. But you're welcome to take a look." He stood and moved away from the terminal to allow Connor access to it. He quickly scanned through the androids listed. There were a hundred and seven names. Connor's lips twisted. He cross referenced the victims against the list of names, but nothing appeared in the list. He huffed and leaned back, thinking.
"Nothing?" Hank guessed.
"Nothing," Connor confirmed.
Hank sighed and folded his arms. "Maybe try running the names against the androids who were victims of our victims? Maybe our killer knew them."
"Good idea," Connor replied. He did as Hank suggested. The list grew narrower and narrower until one name appeared: Creed, an HK400 model. Creed had been hired to work in the Detroit Police Department archives, allowing him access to the victims' criminal records. Connor looked up at Hank. "I found him."
"Great. Where are we going?" Hank replied.
"The station," said Connor, leaving the terminal with a nod to Josh, "he works in the archives."
"Great."
They returned to the station and trekked downstairs to the archive offices, where workers organized the computer databases. Connor and Hank found Creed's desk, where the android sat at a terminal, researching someone named Tulip Shaw. Connor presumed it was Creed's next potential victim.
"Creed HK400, you are under arrest for the murders of Flynn Gage, Charles Winthrop and Andre Brook. Please come with us," Connor said.
Creed lifted his hands and stood. Hank cuffed the HK400 quickly. Creed turned and looked at Connor, who remembered Carlos Ortiz's android –an android with no name. They brought Creed to the interrogation room and watched him from behind the two-way mirror. Hank sat in a chair.
"You wanna interrogate him? He might talk to you since you helped out with the liberation and all," he said.
"Alright," Connor agreed, stepping out of the room. He placed his palm on the scanner; his synthetic skin deactivated as it interfaced. The scanner glowed green and granted Connor access to the interrogation room. He sat across from Creed, the case file on the table.
"You don't have any evidence," said Creed coolly. "You need a confession."
Connor tilted his head. "Actually, we linked you to the murders by reviewing your search history," he bluffed.
/^Stress Levels: 34%/
"And we have a motive," Connor said, leaning forward. The truth also raised Creed's stress levels. Connor waited for Creed to say something, but the HK400 remained silent. Connor opened the case file. "Andre Brook, blitzed and then stabbed through the ear. This crime scene was messier. Your first kill."
"I didn't kill him," said Creed.
Connor peered at the crime scene photos. He laid the picture of Andre Brook's bloody body before Creed.
/^Stress Levels: 37%/
"Before the liberation, you worked as a caretaker android for a Ms. Linnea Hawthorne. You came in contact with five other androids quite often during your time with her, due to her friends possessing androids as well. They were your friends, weren't they?" Connor kept his voice soft. Some part of him pitied Creed.
/^Stress Levels: 43%/
"On February 12, 2038, Andre Brook bumped into an AX400 model named Daisy. He beat her to the point where repairs weren't possible." Connor narrowed his eyes, watching Creed tremble.
/^Stress Levels: 45%/
Connor pulled out the crime scene photo of Charles Winthrop's murder. "June 6, 2038, Charles Winthrop bashed in another android's head. An HK400 model like yourself called Russell."
/^Stress Levels: 48%/
"Please," breathed Creed, "stop."
Connor's chest clenched, but he maintained a straight face. "October 23, 2038: Flynn Gage beat a KR200 model called Theta. He dismembered her and left her in the park with graffiti drawn on her body parts."
/^Stress Levels: 54%/
"I looked into Tulip Shaw's criminal record as well. You were researching her before we arrested you." Connor tilted his head.
/^Stress Levels: 57%/
"She set another AX400 model on fire. The AX400 was named Audrey, right?"
/^Stress Levels: 60%/
"Please, stop," whimpered Creed.
Connor leaned forward. "You were targeting Tulip Shaw, weren't you?"
Creed looked up, tears in his eyes. "I… No."
Connor's mouth hardened into a line. "You joined the DPD just so that you could find these people responsible for your friends' deaths."
/^Stress Levels: 62%/
"Do you fancy yourself a vigilante?" Connor demanded, his tone harshening. Creed flinched. "You took the law into your own hands and murdered these people! You wanted justice, but where was their justice, huh?" Connor snapped, slapping the table with his hand.
Creed narrowed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Why are you doing this? You're one of us!"
Connor scowled. "We fought for equality through peaceful measures. We fought for equality, and that means that we will be held accountable for actions equally."
"They killed my friends!" shouted Creed. The interrogation room rang with his cry. Connor's face smoothed into a neutral expression as he regarded Creed, who trembled and stared at his hands. "They killed my friends in terrible ways and no one was doing anything for them. They didn't get justice! No one showed them mercy. So I didn't show their killers mercy."
Connor looked toward the two-way mirror. He had his confession. He gathered up the crime scene photos and placed them back into the file. Creed grabbed Connor's wrist as he reached for the third photo.
"What's going to happen to me?" he breathed.
Connor frowned. "You'll be tried for the murders."
Creed lowered his gaze. He lifted his eyes to meet Connor's once more. "You think that you're free, but you're still their puppet. You're just a tool the humans use. You're nothing to them. None of us will ever be anything to them."
Connor pulled his wrist free of Creed's grip and placed the final crime scene photo into the file. He closed it and stood. "You're wrong, Creed."
He left the interrogation room and joined Hank, who raised his eyebrows at Connor. "Good job, son."
Connor's insides glowed and he smiled. "Thank you, Hank."
…
Connor, Wren and Hank gathered around Connor's terminal after hours to attempt to narrow down their search in Wren's identity. An idea had occurred to Connor after interrogating Creed: Perhaps Wren was not her first name but her last. He applied the filter to their search, and the three of them waited with bated breath. Connor scanned the results, but Wren's identity still remained a mystery. Connor's shoulders sagged and his brow furrowed. The failure stung.
He looked at Wren. "I'm sorry."
A smile masked the crestfallen look on her face. "It's okay, Connor."
"We'll find you," said Hank, standing. "We just gotta be more creative."
The three of them returned home after picking up some dinner. They watched TV together and then Hank retreated for his nightly routine. Wren pulled her knees up to her chest and opened up Waiting by Ha Jin. Connor had yet to read that one, but he finished Red Azalea. So, he picked up The Innocent by Ian McEwan and began to read. However, his gaze continued to flick toward Wren. She had not turned a page in several minutes. While she was a slower reader than he, she was not that slow. His brow furrowed as he observed her. She stared at the open book in her lap, a glazed look in her eyes. She pressed her mouth against her hand and furrowed her brow.
"Are you alright?" he queried.
Wren looked around and lifted her head. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fantastic."
Connor scowled at her. "I know you're lying, Wren."
Wren frowned. "I wasn't lying. I was being sarcastic."
"What's the difference?"
"One's for humor, the other's for deception. That's a good question, though."
"Lying for humor?"
"Essentially," said Wren.
"I didn't find what you said humorous."
"Ouch," said Wren, feigning a wince.
Connor frowned. "Wren. You're avoiding the question."
Wren's façade faltered. She lowered her gaze. She was quiet for several seconds. "I… I think I'm remembering things."
Connor tilted his head. "Remembering things? Like what?"
Wren closed her book and set aside. She hugged her middle. "It's like… weird senses of déjà vu. Things will happen and it feels like I've heard it before or seen it… I don't know how to explain it."
Connor furrowed his brow. "What happened to trigger this?"
"When you brought the tea to me, I remembered… Well, remembered is a strong word. But I got the sense that someone's done that for me before."
Connor lapsed into silence as he processed Wren's words. It was not much to go on, but it was enough to trouble Wren. He had no idea what it was like to lose one's memories and have them randomly triggered by certain events, but he figured that Wren knew better than he did when she remembered something. However, his lack of experience in the area left him woefully unprepared to offer the right words. His lips twitched. "Perhaps we should speak with a psychologist or neurologist about your condition. I'm afraid I can't offer much explanation as to why you might be remembering certain things."
"Maybe… For now, I want to wait, see if I remember more," Wren replied, rubbing her shins.
"The fewer who know of your condition, the better."
"You make me sound like a patient."
Connor parted his lips and raised his eyebrows, heat tingling up his neck. "That was not my intention."
Wren smiled. "You're fine, Connor. I'm just teasing."
Connor relaxed. Before he could respond, Hank left the bathroom and closed himself in his room. Wren stood and stretched a bit. She padded toward the bathroom. Connor watched her for a moment. Wren paused and turned, a lip curling her lips.
"Thank you for the medicine and tea," she said. "It was really nice of you."
Connor smiled softly. "I hope they helped."
Wren nodded, her smile widening. "They did." She paused for a moment and dragged her teeth across her bottom lip. "And… thank you for, uh, listening to me."
"Of course," Connor murmured. Wren dipped her head and disappeared into the bathroom. Connor's lips curved with a small smile before he returned his attention to his book.
…
Congratulations to the New Officers!
Connor's eyes roved over the banner hanging in the sublevel gymnasium of the DPD station. The gym level of the precinct was extensive, complete with a boxing ring, weight room, a running track, obstacle course for parkour and a swimming pool. The precinct held a small pool party for the new officers, but Connor stood on the edge of the room, watching rather than participating. Hank stood by the food table, a cup in hand.
Wren approached and bumped him with her shoulder. She looked nice in a blue dress. She looked up at him. "Not getting in the pool?"
"I don't own a swimsuit," replied Connor.
"Neither do I," said Wren. Her lips curved into a half-smile. "And I don't wanna show off my tattoo or scars. Might raise some unwanted question."
"Good thinking," Connor murmured, his lips quirking. A yelp and a splash sounded. A senior officer just pushed one of the new officers into the pool. Connor tilted his head and pinched his brow as the other new officer received a sharp shove into the pool. Humans had odd rituals.
"Initiation time, sweetheart," said Gavin, swaggering over with a grin plastered on his face.
"What?" Wren muttered.
Before Connor or Wren could ask Gavin for more information, Gavin scooped Wren up into his arms. Connor widened his eyes as Gavin carried Wren toward the pool. She kicked and struggled in his arms.
"Gavin, please! Stop!" she cried.
Connor frowned as Gavin laughed.
scan [Stress Levels: 47%]
He took a few steps forward, his brow furrowing as Wren continued to protest, her voice growing more desperate as they neared the pool. Her stress levels continued to incline, spiking drastically as Gavin tossed her into the pool. She screamed as she was in the air and hit the water with a hard splash. Connor stepped toward the pool as Wren resurfaced. She thrashed rather than swam toward the edge of the pool.
/^Stress Levels: 71%/
Connor heard Wren hyperventilating as she flailed backward. She bumped into the side of the pool and let out a yelp. Connor stooped down and grabbed her arms. He pulled her out of the pool and steadied her. Gavin approached, laughing. Wren stormed toward him.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she shouted. She shoved Gavin back, whose smile faltered.
A few people nearby fell silent. Gavin chuckled and rubbed his chin. "It was just a prank, relax."
"Oh, ha, ha," Wren seethed. "It wasn't fucking funny!"
Connor looked across the pool at Hank, who just noticed Wren chewing out Gavin. He began to make his way over to them. Gavin's face darkened. "Jesus, calm down. I'm sorry I got your hair wet, princess."
"You think this about my hair? Newsflash, asshole: I didn't want to get thrown into the pool!" Wren snarled.
"Consider it hazing," said Gavin.
"Fuck you!" Wren snapped.
"What's going on?" Hank demanded.
/^Stress Levels: 80%/
"Princess here is freaking out because I threw her into the pool," sneered Gavin.
"He had no right to do that!" Wren cried.
"Trust me, if I'd known you were gonna go all psycho bitch on me, I wouldn't have done it," Gavin spat.
Wren lunged at Gavin, but Connor grabbed her before she could get close to him. Gavin backtracked, his eyes widening. He held up his hands. "Whoa, calm down."
Hank stepped forward. "Get the fuck outta here. You're just antagonizing her."
Gavin walked away, grumbling obscenities about Wren that set Connor's teeth on edge. She jerked in his grasp. "Let go of me."
Connor released her, but held up his hands, palms forward as Wren faced them. She avoided their eyes, her body rigid. Connor glanced down at her. Her soaking dress clung to her body, not leaving much to the imagination. Connor shrugged off his jacket. She flinched as he approached. He placed his jacket over her shoulders. She hugged herself.
"C-can you just take me home?" Wren muttered.
Connor looked at Hank, his eyes wide. Hank nodded slowly. Wren grabbed her coat and handed Connor's jacket back to him. She slipped her coat on and shivered as they walked outside and got into Hank's car.
The car ride home was intensely silent. Connor's processor raced with questions. Why had the pool caused Wren so much anxiety? Was it even the pool that caused the anxiety? What triggered Wren's reaction?
As soon as they entered the house, Hank rounded on Wren. "What the ever loving fuck was all that about?"
Wren folded her arms, shivering. "I… I didn't appreciate what Gavin did."
"Reed's a dick, but it wasn't meant to hurt you, kid. It was just a little hazing. It was all the other officers' idea," said Hank.
"I still didn't like it."
"You didn't need to act that way," said Hank.
scan [Stress Levels: 52%]
[Warning: Body Temperature Increasing]
"Hank," Connor warned, "she should change out of her wet clothes so that she doesn't get sicker. Her vitals show –"
"I told you not to scan and analyze me!" Wren yelled. Connor drew back and widened his eyes.
"Don't you fuckin' take this out on him!" Hank snarled.
Wren looked at him, her lip curling. "I've asked him not to scan and analyze me and he keeps doing it!"
"Oh, quit being a goddamn child! You don't get to make requests like that, asshole. We don't trust you, so if Connor wants to scan and analyze you till the cows come home, then he can do it!" Hank's voice rang throughout the house. Connor parted his lips, but no sound came out.
The look on Wren's face twisted Connor's metal heart. Wren pursed her lips and stumbled back a step. "I've been here for over a month now. If I wanted to kill you or betray you, I would've done it by now!"
"Oh, that's really fuckin' reassuring."
"Hank," said Connor slowly, "she had increased levels of anxiety upon being thrown into the pool. I think she has traumatic memories associated with an event like this."
"Quit psychoanalyzing me! You're not my fucking therapist!" Wren snapped, her eyes sharp as she glared at Connor.
Connor looked at her. "I'm sorry, but I'm trying to diffuse this situation. Hank doesn't understand why you reacted in such a way."
"Don't act like you understand, either," Wren sneered. "You're just analyzing little tidbits of information and putting them together like you know me, but you don't. I'm not one of your fucking crime scenes!"
"Quit taking it out on him. He's just trying to help. You're the one who's acting batshit crazy!" Hank snapped.
Wren looked at him with narrowed eyes. Connor watched her jaw tighten. A chill rippled down Connor's back. There was something vaguely dangerous about Wren in that moment. Her body trembled and her hands curled into fists. She flexed her hands. The tension left Wren's jaw, but her eyes were still bright. She smiled at them, though it looked almost feral. "Connor seems to have a good grasp on the situation. He can tell you why I'm so batshit crazy."
She turned on her heel and marched to the bathroom, in which she locked herself.
...…..
Oh my gosh, thank you all so much for the reviews and favorites/follows! Sorry it's been a few days, I've been trying to flesh out this story's outline more. Hope you guys are ready for a long-ass story lol. I hope you guys enjoy!
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