December 1, 2038
The knowledge that Stewart Combs wasn't working alone had wrecked Hank. There was a protocol for handling a lone gunman with an extremist agenda, but now reality had changed and there was a ghost controlling the machine. Stewart Combs was merely a symptom of a larger threat lurking in the shadows. Protocol couldn't help with that.
He spent his nights dwelling on all the possibilities, from who could possibly have that much power in Detroit to what their ultimate goal was, because Combs' desire couldn't have been the end of it. He dwelled on who they could trust, because he was sure this was someone with useful allies. The dwelling encouraged the drinking, and before Hank knew it, he was spending most of his free time blacking out. It was better than the alternative, which was to face the very real and very frightening reality that they were all in over they heads.
Life had a funny knack for drowning him that way. Just as he'd start to see the sunlight through the surface, a tide would pull him back under to the bottom of the ocean.
It was too much, and all he wanted was for things to return to some form of normalcy. He wanted distance from Jericho and everything related to them, and he just wanted to do his job - the old one with normal homicides, from before androids and CyberLife and hackers.
Unfortunately, Fowler had other plans.
"Why the hell are we the ones doing this?"
Andy was leaning against the driver's side door of an unmarked van when she let out a frustrated sigh. For an hour now, she'd been listening to her partner grumble and complain. Watching him pace in front of her, she teased, "Don't want to see your old friend?"
Hank swerved on his heels and pointed at her. With a cranky warning flashing over his features, he told her, "Don't you ever say that to me again."
She snorted at that, before shrugging and dismissing his sour mood. "I'm not happy about it either, but it's just a drive. It's not a big deal."
It was very much a big deal to Hank, who glowered at her and began to rant again. "Has everyone forgotten what department we're in? It's not our responsibility to drive around a pompous, puffed up jackass!" He scoffed and turned away, muttering, "I swear Jeffrey's trying to kill me."
"Or me," She retorted under her breath. Catching the attitude, he turned to deliver a pointed stare, but she gave an innocent shrug.
"My apologies for the wait, officers."
Sauntering down the ramp connected to his home was Elijah Kamski. He was well-dressed and arrogantly postured, pulling at the cuffs of his blazer. He delivered a tight smile as he walked closer to the detectives, "A man has to look his best his first time back into the spotlight."
Andy stepped away from the van and reached for the back door. Her movement pulled his attention to her and once she turned, he tilted his chin upward and said, "You must be the lieutenant's partner."
"Andy Hope." She kept her answer short and her expression blank, a professional courtesy to mask her distaste for the man.
There was a small pause as he looked at her, seeking something he didn't share aloud. Whatever ran through his mind, he kept it to himself as he moved toward the van. The detectives shared long, exhausted glances, but his voice called out, "Oh, and-" They turned to see him peeking around the van door, his gaze aimed at Hank. "Pompous and puffed up are the same thing."
He offered no time for a rebuttal, climbing into the van. Andy quietly shut the door, directing her awkward stare at anywhere but her lieutenant. She cleared her throat before finally turning toward him. "He's right-"
"Shut up," Hank exclaimed, rushing to get into the vehicle.
That morning, Connor and most of Jericho's leaders met in a makeshift office at the warehouse to discuss an upcoming meeting with CyberLife and Urban Farms. It would be a contentious meeting; whether they won equal rights after their latest march or they had to keep fighting for it, everyone needed to know what those scenarios looked like. CyberLife would be deciding on one, whereas Jericho would be framing the other.
"We'll need android management over production lines," Josh stated. He sat backwards in a chair he pulled from a desk, resting his elbows over the top of his seat.
Leaning against the aforementioned desk, Simon asked, "Can we even trust them to be part of it at all?"
There was a bout of silence between everyone. CyberLife had ulterior motives, and they weren't sure that would change just because the president decided to declare them members of society. Uprooting the entire corporation wasn't their ideal choice, but it was a possibility they had to consider.
Connor knew of ways to handle CyberLife, and he believed it was the main reason he was there. Pacing in the empty space of the room, he explained, "We'll need total access to investigate every one of their systems and files, otherwise we can't trust them."
It was a tall order, and Simon voiced the concern. "After what they did to you, they're not going to want to let us see all their secrets."
During the conversation, Markus had been standing at the side of the room. His arms were crossed and he listened quietly as he looked over the documents and news clippings pinned to a corkboard on the wall. These papers were evidence of CyberLife wrongdoings and celebrations of Jericho support. They were reminders.
Twisting to look over his shoulder at them, he said, "If we achieve equal rights, they'll have to."
The office door opened, and North barged into the meeting. "Turn on the news," She demanded, marching across the room to the flat screen on the wall. She placed her hand against it and the skin on her palm went white as she powered up the electronic and navigated through the channels.
"What's going on?" Josh asked.
The answer he received was a shot of the local news. A reporter for Channel 16 stood between her cameraman and the front of the CyberLife Tower, in mid-sentence. The scene cut from her to earlier footage of the tower entrance, where two familiar detectives were escorting Elijah Kamski inside.
"-Life has yet to comment on why they're meeting with Kamski today, but rumors suggest it has something to do with an upcoming conference between CyberLife and the United Nations. Kamski retired from his position as CEO about ten years ago and has lived in seclusion ever since, but he continues to be the foremost expert on artificial intelligence, and was even questioned during the revolution by law enforcement."
The group stared at the screen in unguarded surprise. Most of them had never met the man responsible for their creation, had never considered what kind of person he was, or if he would ever make a relevant appearance. Seeing him now was a shock to the system, and they weren't sure what to think.
Josh had stood from his chair, his nerves demanding that he do something. Anything. "Why is CyberLife bringing in Elijah Kamski?"
"I don't know...," Markus murmured. Looking to Connor, he asked, "Have you heard anything about this?"
Connor shook his head. "No. They're up to something."
When Elijah Kamski arrived at CyberLife Tower, Danielle Carnegie was waiting to greet him in the lobby. She had little to say before she accompanied him to the elevators, leaving Hank and Andy to wait for his return on the first floor. This worked in their favor, as Richards had asked Hank to speak with CyberLife Security about protecting Jericho during their future meeting.
This led them to the surveillance control room. It was an impressive sight; a dozen screens were affixed to the wall above a wide desk that was home to a complicated control panel. Hank was inside in the middle of a heated debate with the Head of Security, while a fresh-faced guard manned the desk and tried to appear oblivious to the growing tensions.
Andy had followed Hank here, but her ringing phone removed her from the room. She stood in the hallway, and watched the scene as she answered her call. "Hey."
Connor didn't waste time with a greeting. "We saw the news. You're at CyberLife?"
"Yeah, SID's busy with some big robbery sting so Fowler put us on Kamski Watch this morning," She explained, pursing her lips when she focused on the grumpy detective in the control room. "Hank is ecstatic."
"Did Kamski say anything?"
"Aside from being an ass? No," She muttered before glancing around. The hallway on the first floor was not a busy place, but she saw enough traffic making their way through the lobby to get a feel for the environment. People were anxious, and they were whispering among each other. Keeping her voice low, Andy added, "But it seems like everyone who isn't in the meeting is in the dark with the rest of us."
It confirmed Connor's suspicions. "Then this isn't about the UN conference."
She nodded to herself and replied, "That's the impression I'm getting. I'll let you know how it goes."
"Be careful."
This pulled her into a lopsided grin. "Careful's overrated," She joked. She heard a small huff in response before ending the call, and she approached the control room, leaning against the door frame.
Chuck Massey was a tall man whose protective gear only emphasized his sternness. He was staring Hank down as he said, "We have a strict patrol all over this building and the area outside it, and I resent any notion that we're not prepared to prevent tragedy from striking."
It would seem they hadn't noticed she left in the first place, so she tuned them out and let her eyes wander up to the screens on the wall. Each one showed the live feed of a security camera somewhere in the building, and occasionally flipped to a different one via input from the guard working the control panel. From here, one could see just about every floor of the tower.
It was interesting enough, but then one screen changed and caught her full attention. The conference room on the other end held a large group of people, with Kamski and Carnegie being two of them. What stood out to her was not the people, but the room itself - Andy had seen it before.
"I just think it'd be easier on everyone to have police doing police work," Hank had sneered as Andy was lost in her thoughts.
The only sign that Massey was angered by the comment was a clenched jaw, but it was enough to scare most of his employees. "You're welcome to start doing your job anytime, Lieutenant," He hissed through gritted teeth, "Now if you'll excuse me."
He nodded at both detectives and left, brushing past Andy on his way out. Hank threw up a hand to gesture in the direction the man left, saying, "I hate private security. Assholes thinks they're law enforcement just because they've got a license to carry." Turning to wave at the equipment behind him, he continued, "All this flashy junk isn't gonna save anyone from a sniper, but what do I know? I've just been doing this thirty years."
"Yeah, you're real old," Andy muttered, barely listening. He glared as she moved into the room, but her eyes were glued to the screens. Directing her next attention to the last guard left in the room, she asked, "How secure are these cameras?"
It took the young man a moment to recognize she was talking to him, but once he did, he scoffed. "What do you think?" When the detectives pointed flat stares his way, his expression fell to one of mild fear. Shifting in his seat, he walked back his attitude, "Uh, they're... pretty secure. Ma'am. We built the NSA's systems off its predecessor."
"I'm sure they appreciate your discretion," Hank spat.
Andy ignored the sarcasm, continuing her line of questioning. "If someone accessed them, would you know about it?"
Nodding, the guard explained, "If it's not authorized access, it locks their system and sends an alert here so we can dismiss it or pass it on to you guys. And everything gets recorded in the activity log."
"We need those logs, at least for the past year."
"I can't-" He started to shake his head, but sighed and told them, "You'd have to clear that with legal."
Thinking about dealing with CyberLife's lawyers in any capacity gave Hank an immediate headache. "And lawyers always feel so helpful," He grumbled.
The guard gave an apologetic shrug, but a sound from his earpiece stopped him. "10-4," He confirmed into his own mic before looking up at the two. "Mister Kamski's out of his meeting. He's on his way to the lobby."
It couldn't have come fast enough, and Hank nudged Andy toward the door. They left the control room and the door slid shut behind them. Standing out in the hall, Hank turned and asked her, "What was all that about?"
"I recognized that conference room-" She cut herself off. Stepping closer to him, she pointed to the control room door over her shoulder and said, "Whoever Combs is working for has access to those cameras."
The leading faces of Jericho were now all gathered in the office: Markus, Connor, North, Josh, Simon, and Rupert. They watched the vague news coverage as they waited to hear something useful, be it from Channel 16 or Andy.
Finally, a buzz erupted among reporters as a group of people exited the CyberLife Tower, and the scene switched to a camera zooming in on the entrance. At the forefront was Danielle Carnegie, who led them to a portable podium. She stepped up and gave a curt nod to the audience, waiting for the people present to settle into silence.
"We're going to keep this short, as we'll have a full press release on Saturday, so please hold any questions until then," She instructed everyone. "With that said, I'd like to introduce our new Chief Executive Officer, Elijah Kamski."
The office at the Jericho warehouse was deadly silent. Of all the possibilities they'd gone over, that wasn't one of them. Kamski was a powerful man, a smart man, but CyberLife had been clinging to the way things were before the revolution. This wasn't a small tech company that circulated through CEO's every year - there had only been one since Kamski stepped down. Replacing him was a drastic move, and it was the first time Jericho truly felt outgunned.
As per Danielle Carnegie's orders, none of the reporters spoke, but the change in atmosphere was loud all on its own. It was obvious even through the screen.
Carnegie turned on her heels and waved a hand toward Elijah Kamski, who was standing to the side of the scene until his cue. He stepped forward, casually taking her spot at the podium as if he had never stopped being the center of attention.
"Good afternoon- and thank you, Miss Carnegie," He nodded to the woman, before continuing, "This has been an interesting time for all of us, but that is especially so for CyberLife. Our role is changing in the world, and it's important now more than ever to embrace the possibilities of technology, and to adapt. For those reasons, I was asked by the board to return to my proverbial child here and offer guidance."
The smile on his face was a hard one for most people to describe, including Connor. It was as insincere as it was harmless - disarming but also suspicious. It was the enigma that was Elijah Kamski.
"I may not be able to discuss many of the details, but I can assure you that I will have everything under control, whether President Warren decides our androids are products, or declares them to be life."
With a small bow of his head, he then shifted his stare along each of the cameras.
"Thank you."
As soon as Kamski took a step from the podium, the audience broke their silence. Questions were shouted in repetition, each reporter trying to yell over everyone else. Cameras flashed, creating a constant white light over where CyberLife employees once stood.
Kamski walked straight from his spotlight to Hank and Andy, who stood a few yards away. They saw him approaching, and they struggled to contain their surprise over the announcement by the time he reached them. He said nothing, merely nodding at them; a silent, arrogant order to follow.
They looked to one another but shrugged and fell into place on either side of him. They escorted him down the sidewalk that wrapped around the building, and Andy glanced out to the press that tried to follow them. Some faces she recognized - Channel 24's field team was also on sight for Jericho's march, and Channel 16's regular field reporter was leading the pack with a new camera man to replace the one Combs had shot.
A security guard brought the van around from the garage in the back. He crossed the parking lot and met them on the curb, handing the keys over to Hank.
That was the last clear thing Andy remembered seeing.
The cameras still tried to follow Kamski as he walked away from the temporary stage. Channel 16 beat most of the other stations, the cameraman at the front of the wave. He focused in on Kamski's back, and he framed the parking lot. The reporter was explaining the last few moments, but no one at Jericho was listening. Rupert lowered the audio and turned to face his companions, but caught a bright flash in his peripheral vision.
The explosion was deafening, even at low volumes. White light flooded the screen, followed by orange and red. The camera shook, its operator trying to keep focus even as he fell backward onto the pavement. Once the initial hit was over, it was clear what the target had been. Where the unmarked van was once parked, there was now minuscule rubble under a tower of flames and smoke.
"Shit!" North cursed somewhere in the office.
A crash in their own space surprised them further, and they turned to see the tail end of the door slamming against the wall, and Connor running out of the room.
The next half hour was a vague blur for Andy.
After all the necessary emergency services were on scene, EMTs tried checking over everyone who'd been outside the tower. This was not an easy task, as CyberLife security was frazzled and at least half of the news stations had managed to slip off the property before police arrived to lock down the bridge leading into the city. They discovered no one had serious injuries, and other officers were able to get Kamski safely home.
Hank and Andy would return to the precinct to check in with Captain Fowler. Hank was talking to him now, but Andy sat at her desk. Her elbows pressed down on her knees as she held her head in her hands. Her head pulsed with a ringing that EMTs told her could last for a few days. Her chest hurt, the wind having been knocked out of her after landing on the pavement. She was dizzy, though that was starting to fade.
Stronger than any of it was a growing impatience to work. This had to be Stewart Combs and his allies, and that meant that one of them had physically been there at the tower. She was so close to them, and she didn't even notice. That thought fried her nerves more than the explosion ever could.
Something cold bumped into her shoulder, and she lifted her head. Reed towered beside her, holding a bottle of water. He wouldn't say anything, but the gesture - coming from him - was enough. She took the bottle from him with a small nod, and as quietly as he approached her, he returned to his desk. She sat up, opening the bottle and taking a large sip of cold water.
"Andy!"
Connor's voice gave Andy a sudden wave of relief. She stood to meet him, and immediately his hands were on her arms. His head lowered so he could look her in the eyes, and he asked, "Are you okay?"
"The EMTs cleared us."
"That's not what I asked," He said, looking over her. He could feel scrapes at her elbows and her breathing was rough, but she appeared otherwise physically unharmed. It was everything he couldn't see that concerned him.
"I'm-" She couldn't begin to explain what was going on in her head, so she nodded. "Yeah."
"Where's Hank?"
"He's with Fowler," She answered, tilting her head to the side.
The men in question stood behind the frosted glass of Fowler's office. Hank's silhouette shifted on his feet, with his hands at his hips. Seeing them both okay finally let Connor start to relax, though he doubted that would last long. He started to speak again, when a buzz of whispers emerged from the entrance of the precinct.
Two black-suited men had entered the bullpen, making fast strides toward the captain's office. Connor didn't have to know them personally to recognize their demeanors as that of federal agents. One stood shorter than the other, and a little older. The gel in his dusty blond hair shone under the precinct lighting, and he walked with a confidence that toed the line into arrogance.
Andy's eyes moved from him to the other man, whose rectangular face was framed by black stubble and a clean hairline. This agent wasn't a stranger, and if Warren Walsh was here, it meant nothing good for the department. "Shit," She cursed, watching them cross the bullpen and knock on Fowler's door.
They entered the office, which signaled time for Hank to leave it. He returned to their desks, clapping on Connor's shoulder in greeting. With a heavy sigh, he summarized his meeting with the captain. "Bomb squad finished clearing the tower. They found pieces of a modified landmine in the rubble."
It wasn't anything Andy didn't expect to hear. "We knew this was Combs, the question is how."
Hank shrugged and gestured over his shoulder to the captain's office. "Well, it's a question they're gonna have to answer. Fowler's sending us home."
That was the surprise. "What?"
He knew the decision wouldn't sit well with Andy, but truth be told, Hank welcomed it. It was his ticket out of dealing with the world-changing threat that was Stewart Combs and Company. He just had to get his partner on board. "You heard me. We're getting psych evaluations in the morning and we're going back to our regular jobs on Homicide."
Unfortunately, getting Andy on board was going to be the hardest part. Her eyes widened at the news, and she sputtered out, "Wh- Hank, we know more about this guy than anyone."
"Yeah, including that he's got a third one of those things out there, and he's got friends," Hank hissed under his breath, leaning in to keep the information away from the rest of the department. Glaring at her, he argued, "Maybe you didn't notice, but we almost died today, Andy. This is a federal case. Let them run the show."
"We should still do something," She waved a hand in the direction of the FBI, complaining, "For god's sake, they sent two agents - they're underestimating him."
She was right, but it didn't change how Hank felt. "Well that's their problem now," He shrugged. It was an attitude the small voice in the back of his head was berating, but he'd gotten pretty good at ignoring that voice over the years.
Andy knew it was a bullshit response, and she knew he wasn't that oblivious. "Come on!"
"Andy-"
"We can't quit just because it's not our jurisdiction anymore!"
"Damn it, we can, and we will!" Hank shouted.
The escalation created an awkward silence, made worse by curious glances scattered throughout the bullpen. It didn't last long, but the seconds it took for the normal motions of the precinct to return was painstaking.
Hank took in a deep breath, stepping forward and keeping his voice low. "This is too big for us. It is a federal case. I'm done chasing supervillains," He slashed his hand through the air for emphasis before pointing at Andy, "And I'll tell you something else, I'm going home right now to open a beer and think long and hard about who to send that memory card to. So go back to your apartment, give Natalie a call, and get some rest."
Andy was battling a disorganized mess of nerves; the childish anxiety that always came with being reprimanded versus a stubborn conviction to fight the world. Connor could see the wheels turning in her head, trying to figure out how to manipulate the situation in her favor while mitigating the backlash.
It was not unlike his own dilemma. The two people closest to him were put in serious danger that morning, and he wanted to dedicate every ounce of energy into hunting Combs down, preferably alone and without anyone there to stop him once he caught the man. What he wanted more, though, was their safety, and that meant knowing when to step away from a case.
"I'll get her home," He interjected. It immediately incurred Andy's wrath, and he ignored the stare he could feel beating against the side of his head. Hank gave a small nod of thanks, but Connor leaned forward with added unease. "But are you certain you should be drinking ri-"
Hank's hand went up to stop him. With a hard stare, he ordered, "Do not... start with me today, Connor. Don't."
Connor could think of a dozen different reasons to not drop the subject, but because of the day's tensions, he backed down. It would have to be a conversation for another time, after everyone processed what happened. He waited until the lieutenant left the precinct before turning to face an angered Andy.
"I'll get her home?" She repeated quietly, as if the words themselves were poison.
He began to shrug. "I was trying to kill the argument-"
"By starting one between us?" She exclaimed with a huff of bemused laughter.
Shaking his head, he declared, "Hank's right. This is dangerous, and if he doesn't think he's up to chasing Combs, you shouldn't be doing it."
He wasn't wrong about one part, at least; a disillusioned detective was a bad match for a case. If Hank needed to walk away, so be it - but Andy wasn't going to follow. Her phone vibrated on the desk, and she picked it up as she insisted, "I can't just sit by."
Connor softened, telling her, "You shouldn't be doing anything when your adrenaline is pumping. You need to relax until you can think calmly."
Her eyes darted up at him and she shot, "Telling me to be calm is a surefire way of making me not calm." She didn't let him continue, holding up her phone to say, "The president's speaking." He bit down the rest of the argument as she reached to turn on her computer.
She navigated to a stream of the news, and sure enough, President Warren was standing at a podium in the White House.
"At twelve this morning, a car bomb went off at the CyberLife Tower. It is not the first sign of terrorism we've faced since the revolution, and we believe these attacks to be connected and anti-android in nature. This sort of violence is uncalled for, and will not be tolerated. We will be lending our resources to the Detroit Police Department in a widescale effort to bring in whoever is behind this.
"The rights of androids have been hanging in the balance, and I feel we will only see further aggression until decisions have been made. For that reason, everyone has been hard at work trying to learn and understand what makes androids deviant, and if that is grounds for a new, intelligent life.
"At the end of this year, on December 31st, I will be declaring an official stance in regard to Jericho and its goals. No matter what happens, it will be a new world for everyone. May we enter it with peace in our hearts. Thank you, and God Bless the United States of America."
With that, the president lifted her papers from the podium and removed herself from view. The scene changed to previously captured footage of the explosion at the tower, while a news anchor faintly summarized events in the background.
It was all white noise to Connor. December 31st. One month until whatever happened would be made official. Everything Jericho was fighting to achieve felt suddenly very real, and the consequences were just around the corner. Had they done everything they could to convince people they were alive and deserving of equality? And were they ready in case they hadn't?
"Wait..." Andy broke him out of his thoughts as she started to manipulate the stream. She rewound through several minutes, and finally paused on a clip focused on the aftermath of the explosion.
The Detroit Fire Department was containing the fire, EMTs were tending to the witnesses, and news stations were packing up their vans. She zoomed in and positioned the screen over Channel 16's vehicle. A man stood behind it with his back was toward the camera his face partially hidden under the brim of his cap. The angle of the camera filming managed to just catch enough of his face that it provided a blurry side profile.
Andy remembered seeing him. He was the new camera man. He'd kept his head ducked while filming, but at the time, she assumed it was to keep an eye on his viewfinder. Now she believed there was a different reason, and coupled with fact Channel 16 was one of the first press vans to leave before police arrived, she had her suspicions as to why. Gesturing to the monitor, she stood straight and told Connor, "There. Blue hat. Can you ID him?"
"Give me a minute," He replied, leaning down to examine the monitor.
"Detective Hope?"
Andy looked over at the two federal agents standing a few yards away. She turned and slid to the side to obscure their view of the desk and said, "That's me."
The shorter man pulled at the front edge of his suit jacket. "I'm Agent Ivers. We're going to need you to tell us your version of this morning's events," He ordered, gesturing toward her.
Andy shifted on her feet and crossed her arms, brazenly sizing him up. Recognizing her opportunity to keep working, she asked, "Am I going to be involved in the case?"
His body language never changed, but a pause in his response gave away his irritation. "We'll handle this without interference from local law enforcement," Was his snide, rehearsed response.
"Then you can read my report just like everyone else," She said, grinning.
He stared at her, a faint sneer starting to shine through his expression. "I've heard a lot about you, Detective Hope." He left it there, the open-ended remark hinting at the negative rumors and complaints.
She picked up on it, but wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Only good things, I'm sure," She joked.
From behind her, Connor interrupted the growing tension. He looked to Andy with urgency, confirming her theory. "It's him."
She didn't have a chance to process this before the FBI agents perked up at his words. "What's going on?" Walsh asked, his brows furrowing in skeptical curiosity.
Andy remained where she was. This gave her leverage, and she wasn't freely handing it over. "Am I working on Combs?"
Ivers had to contain his frustration. "Are you threatening to impede a federal investigation if I say no?"
"I'm not doing anything other than my job," She shrugged.
Walsh took in a deep breath and piped up, "You're on the case, Andy." When Ivers started to protest, he complained, "We can go back and forth all day or we can take the help."
Reluctantly, the two agents faced her and waited for her information. She scrutinized them a second longer before stepping aside to show them the computer. They approached as she revealed, "Stewart Combs was in the press crowd."
This news floored them, but Andy had been struck more than the others. He had been right there, in arms reach of her. If she'd just payed a little more attention, all of this could have been avoided. It also brought another event to mind - the shooting outside the Detroit precinct. Shaking her head, she declared, "I don't think he was targeting Joss Douglas last week."
"He wanted the camera man," Walsh muttered.
"Which would mean he's been at Stratford Tower," Ivers cursed under his breath, reaching for the phone in his pocket. He nodded to Andy as he dialed, saying, "We need your bomb disposal unit."
"Yeah," She agreed, moving for the landline sitting on her desk as the agents left the bullpen.
Connor watched her spring into action with a quiet, disapproving stare. "Captain Fowler took you off this case."
Flashing him a chipper grin, she excused, "He took the DPD off this case, and the FBI just put me back on it." She waved a hand toward him. "Hank's still going home. He got what he wanted, I get what I want."
"He didn't want you on it, either," He clarified, pursing his lips.
All she could do was shrug and offer, "Well, nobody's perfect." She lowered into her chair, and as she listened to the other end of the call ring, she looked up at Connor and whined, "And by the way, you used to like my moxie back when it was helping you."
He narrowed his eyes at her. Leaning closer, he argued in a whisper, "This is the second time you've been near an explosion, Andy. I still like your moxie, but not when it's jeopardizing your life for a case." He was caught off guard by the grin cracking through her expression, and the chuckle she tried to withhold. "You're laughing at me."
"I didn't think you'd say moxie," She confessed. Hearing someone pick up her call, she shifted to work mode. "This is Hope. We need bomb squad at Stratford Tower."
It was an hour wait at the precinct before Andy's phone rang. She and Connor shared a nervous glance, and she picked up the phone. "It's Hope."
She could hear various noises beneath Walsh's voice as he responded. "Combs took off the second they got back to the tower. Channel 16 gave us the employee record they had for him. I'm sending you the file now."
Pulling away from her phone, she opened the most recent message sitting at the top of the screen. A file loaded and displayed a copy of the employee record, which she moved to the edge of her desk to share with Connor. It was clear at first sight that the information presented was false, but Andy focused initially on the name.
"Eliot Hughes," She read before humming in thought. "I know that name." Looking to Connor, she asked, "Why do I know that name?"
"We know the address, too," He answered, pointing to the line in question. "It's his step-sister's."
The file on the memory card returned to Andy now; Stewart Combs' second step-father had children of his own, and one of them was married to a man named Hughes. Turning on her speaker phone, she told Walsh, "He applied with his brother-in-law's information. That's his residence."
He sighed and said, "All right, Bomb Disposal is clearing the tower and Ivers wants us here until they're done. Can you go to the address and see if they're willing to talk?"
With a new excitement, Andy jumped to her feet. "Got it."
"Be caref-"
She hung up her phone, sliding it into her pocket as she went for the jacket over her chair. By the time Connor stood up, she was passing him on her way out. "Shouldn't you talk to Hank before you do this?" He called out to her.
"Hank's getting drunk right now," She exclaimed, sliding to an abrupt stop. She turned around, and he was met with a frustrated glare.
It stopped him from arguing. As much as he hated her chasing someone like Combs, as much as he wanted to take her by the shoulders and convince her to spare them the concern for her wellbeing, he knew she was doing this no matter what. It reminded him of a thought he once had, when Andy discovered the first landmine. He'd been so busy keeping her out of his trouble with CyberLife that she went out and tripped into even more danger all on her own.
Trying to protect Andy Hope was like trying to put out a forest fire with a watering can. If she was going to jump headfirst intro trouble, he would just have to be right there beside her.
Finally, he gave in and followed her out of the precinct.
Savannah Hughes was the name of Stewart Combs' former step-sister. She was a nurse who worked night shifts, and she lived in a two-story townhouse with her husband, three young children, and a pet hamster. She had her life together, and when a detective showed up knocking on her front door, she knew immediately that they were here for Stewart Combs.
Andy and Connor sat on a couch in her living room. In front of them on the floor were her two eldest playing video games, while she was in the kitchen with a toddler sitting against her hip. She poured water into a glass that she carried into the room, and placed on the coffee table in front of her guests.
Andy reached for the glass and murmured a quiet, "Thank you."
Savannah nodded, sitting down in an opposing recliner. She positioned her child in her lap as she went on to admit, "Look, I want to help whatever's going on, but I don't know what I can say."
"When was the last time you spoke to Stewart, Mrs. Hughes?" Connor asked.
The memory was still fresh in her mind, so she didn't have to stop and think on the answer. Shrugging, she said, "It wasn't long after he lost his job."
"When they brought in androids?"
Savannah scoffed. "I'm sure that's what he thinks," She sneered, "He always wants to blame androids for everything. He'd point at everyone else for his problems instead of just looking at the facts."
Andy and Connor shared a small glance. "Which are...?" She trailed off.
"My husband worked at that factory. Still does," The mother of three began, "He said Stewart started a lot of fights, that firing him was the best decision those people could have ever made. He came around a couple weeks later, asking for money. He scared my kids. Scared me." She paused, hiding a lip quiver beneath a kiss to her toddler's forehead. "I told him to stay away from us."
"Did he listen?"
With a half exhausted huff of laughter, Savannah turned back and told her, "The only good thing about Stewart is that he knows where he isn't wanted."
Maybe it shouldn't have, but the bluntness surprised Andy. She ignored it, moving on. "How was the family's relationship?"
The woman softened for the first time since they mentioned Combs. With a tinge of guilt and sorrow, she said, "We loved his mother. I don't blame my dad for marrying her. She was sweet. Stewart, though..." Her eyes glazed over as she tried to find the right words. There were years of stress and pain and torment behind her voice as she said, "I always knew that was going to haunt us."
Finding out that her husband's identity had been stolen sparked a reasonable fear in Savannah. She cautiously accepted Andy's offer to allow a patrol car linger near their home for the night, and then she called Eliot home. They stayed with her until he arrived, and the conversation in that time provided a clearer image of Stewart Combs: he was dogmatic, manipulative, and violent. He had no good relationships outside of his mother, and he lived a complex and structured life that no one else understood, but was easily rattled. He wasn't boisterous, but it was the silence that scared people.
It was a description that had Andy reeling, and she voiced as much as she and Connor crossed the front yard. "God, that was a lot. I don't think I've ever known a guy so hated by his own family before, and that's saying something - I've met Reed's old man."
"I don't think Combs will be coming here," Connor pondered aloud. He stepped around her bike, reaching for his helmet. "We should let Ivers and Walsh know this was a dead end."
Andy nodded, but a vibration in her pocket alerted her to a new call, and she pulled out her phone. Feet hitting the pavemenet by her bike, she greeted, "Yeah?"
The muffled voice that came through was vaguely familiar. "Detective Hope? This is Gabriel Mateev. You might not remember, but you stopped by about two weeks ago."
She recognized the name as the bondsman from Oak Park who helped identify Stewart's father. Because of him, she knew Prosper Hobbs was a familial alias for a conman named Sebastian Hewitt. Nodding, she declared, "Right, the recovery agent."
"Yeah," He grunted, and she could she hear papers rustling in the background. He found what he was looking for and went on to say, "It turns out I was right about Sebastian Hewitt not staying out of trouble. He posted bond with another company a few days ago and he just missed court. They reached out to us to handle it, so I got to looking at the paperwork and the co-signer signed his name as Stewart Hobbs."
It was like a slap in the face. She tensed and looked to Connor, who was curiously waiting to hear the news. "You're shitting me," She breathed out.
Gabriel almost chuckled as he replied, "No, Ma'am. Maybe it's a coincidence, but I've never been big on those." He was walking out of a building as he added, "I tracked Sebastian down and I'm on my way to pick him up now. I thought I'd give you a heads up in case you want to be at the station when I bring him in."
That was an even bigger slap, Andy decided, and her eyes widened. "No, you shouldn't be going out there," She protested, "If they're in touch, Combs might be with him right now. This needs to be done by police."
He lowered himself into a car and closed the door before he responded. "Listen, I'm already dancing in a gray area here just to tell you this much. You can't raid someone's house because your guy might be there."
Normally, she would have agreed, but acts of terrorism called for a different rulebook - this was a federal investigation, after all. "Combs almost assinated a public figure this morning and he's got another explosive in his back pocket. He's looking for a place to hide out. This information needs to go to the FBI."
Gabriel was quiet a moment, and then sighed. "How about this: I'll swing by the house and if I see anything suspicious, I'll back off," He assured her, starting his car. "I'll see you at the station, Detective."
"No- Gabriel-!" The call clicked off, and she bit down the curse that wanted to erupt from her throat.
Connor lowered his head, looking to her in concern. "What's happening?"
She took a moment to process and control her panic. "That bondsman we talked to is headed straight for Stewart Combs," She muttered, calculating their next step. Taking in a deep breath, she pointed out to herself, "Bondsmen have to check in at the nearest district." She waved a hand toward Connor and asked him, "Can you get that address for me?"
He nodded, and the yellow cycle on his LED showed her he was making the call. While he worked on that, she dialed a different number, and Walsh answered after three rings. "Hey, how'd it go?"
She went straight to the point. "There's a bondsman on the way to a house right now where I think Combs is staying."
"What?"
She sighed, closing her eyes in irritation. They didn't have time for a recap. "Combs' father is out on bond and Combs co-signed it. They're either hiding out together or he knows where Combs is; either way, the bondsman's walking into fire. You need to meet me there."
Even in his silence, she could hear him struggling. With a strained sigh, he copmlained, "Ivers isn't leaving a possible bomb site for a hunch."
That didn't matter in the least to Andy. "Well I'm going there so if you feel like being involved, you know where I'll be," She snapped, looking up at Connor across from her. He nodded in confirmation, so she said, "Connor sent you the address."
"No, Andy, don't hang up-"
The home Gabriel reported to local PD was seemingly abandoned, with boards over windows and a pile of trash in the alley to the side of the house. An empty car was parked at the curb out front, but there was no other sign of life from the point of view of bystanders. By the time Andy pulled up to the lot, an unmarked vehicle was doing the same.
Warren Walsh jumped out of his car and slammed the door shut behind him as Andy and Connor climbed off her bike. He was storming down the sidewalk toward them, shouting, "When I tell you not to hang up on me, that's kind of what I'm-"
Connor interrupted. "The door's been kicked in." The two turned to him and then the front porch of the house. The door had been left ajar, but a strip of the wooden frame was removed and laying on the floor.
Andy went to the car that was there before all of them, leaning down to peer in through the driver's side window. A computer was resting in the passenger's seat, and in the back she could see a bag of tools, a rifle, and a bullet-proof vest. "This is Gabriel's car. He's still here," She called to the others.
The discovery wiped the casual irritation off Walsh's face. "There are vests in the trunk," He said, running to the back of his own car.
He opened the trunk as they joined him, and he pulled out two bullet-proof vests. Two was all they had - one for him and Ivers. Andy slipped one on over her torso, glancing from the house back to Connor. "Wait here," She told him.
That wasn't going to happen, especially when the person going with her was Warren Walsh. He didn't know the man, but he could tell Andy did, and she didn't like him. That was all he needed to know. Connor waited for Walsh to finish attaching his vest and moved around the side of the vehicle. Once he was out of sight, Connor glared at her. "I'm not letting you go in there without me."
"Yes you are," She started, slapping the last strip of velcro to her vest. Turning to face him fully, she added, "That's an order, not a debate."
She'd only ever pulled that out on him once before, when they were in the abandoned subway. It worked out then, but he wasn't interested in testing their luck again. "I'm not with the police department, anymore," He retorted.
At that, she flashed him a grin. "Then I'll arrest you," She joked, pushing the trunk closed and winking at him. Before he could argue, she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him on the cheek. It was a brief exchange, and she was walking away a second later.
She and Walsh approached the door, each of them remaining on either side of it. The gap between the door and the frame was not enough to get a good glimpse inside, but they could hear faint foosteps and heavy breathing. Andy knocked her knuckles against the frame, calling out, "Sebastian Hewitt? This is Andy Hope with the DPD."
The noise grew louder into panicked rustling, but they received no answer.
Connor was reluctantly waiting on the sidewalk. He watched them with a close eye, ready to bolt into action or call for backup at a moment's notice. This ended up paying off - from where he stood, he spotted two feet emerge from a bathroom window in the alley. Stewart Combs pushed himself out of the house, and Connor was off before his feet even hit the gravel. Hearing the movement, Combs turned and saw the android running in full force toward him.
Combs ran for it in the opposite direction, and Connor yelled out as he raced by the porch, "It's Combs!"
Andy began to reply, when a shotgun blast to the front door had her and Walsh throwing themselves down to their knees.
Someone was yelling inside, no doubt Sebastian Hewitt himself. They vaulted over the railing at the edge of the porch to use the house foundation as cover, and Walsh went for his phone. "We need backup and an ambulance. Combs has been sighted and we've got a shooter, possibly a man down," He rattled off as they retrieved their firearms and prepared for a shoot out.
"Sebastian?" Andy shouted, peeking over the floor of the porch. "Gabriel?"
Inside the home, Gabriel Mateev was on his back in the dining room. He held a shaky hand over a bleeding wound in his side, the offending knife a few feet away. He grimaced, lifting his head to check his injury and see that he was alone in the room. "I'm here!" He yelled out, almost getting cut off by his own coughing.
Sebastian burst in from the kitchen, aiming a shotgun down at the bondsman. His long gray hair waved in his face as he screamed, "Shut up!"
Stewart Combs had led Connor down the alley along the side of the house. He knocked down every trash can and pile of garbage he could get his hands on to slow Connor down, but the android's reflexes were quicker. He dodged around or jumped over every obstacle given to him, and within a minute, he was gaining speed on Combs.
The gravel path led out to a sidewalk on the other side, where four adults and at least a dozen children were out in the front yard of the nearest home. The apparent event was a large birthday party for a nine year old named Evelyn. The picnic table was decorated with a black cloth, white and red banners, and a professionally made cake in the shape of a pirate ship. Small outdoor activities littered the yard, most notably a parrot piñata and a small kiddy pool with remote-controlled ships floating on the water.
Emerging from the alley, Combs couldn't wait to get to the sidewalk, so he cut through this yard. The screaming started immediately, and adults were racing to gather the children behind them. He used the bench to propel himself up onto the picnic table, where the cake was trampled under his heavy-duty boots. The moment he touched down on the other side, Connor was slamming into his back.
This sent them both into the child-sized depths of the kiddy pool.
They were laying on their sides in a messy but dangerous tussle. Combs knew enough about martial arts to be a threat, but lacked the experience to finish the fight, so he grabbed an RC ship and tried to smash it over Connor's head. The android raised a hand in time to stop it, and the impact shattered the ship into pieces. Combs pushed himself out of the pool and jumped to his feet, running for the sidewalk. Connor was quick to follow, and had to deflect a colorful piñata being thrown back at him.
Leaving the yard, the chase lasted three more blocks and went into the nearby, fairly populated park. It was mostly a highway for people walking through the city, with paved paths stretching out in each cardinal direction. At the end of the north path was a railing overlooking the street below, with stairs at either side for easy access to the adjacant train station. It was exactly where Combs was headed.
Connor jumped over benches and ran through the maintained grass to try to cut him off, but Combs hoisted himself over the railing and took the long drop rather than the stairs. Reaching the end of the park, Connor looked over the railing and saw the back of Combs' head boarding the train just before the doors closed, and the train left the station.
"Damn it!"
A ringing phone in an otherwise quiet house made Sebastian and Gabriel both jump. Sebastian frantically scanned over Gabriel's body to pinpoint the source of the noise. Noticing a light from the man's left pocket, he knelt down and snatched the phone from its home. Det. Hope shone on the caller ID, and after several hesitant seconds, he answered it. "Hello?"
Hearing him on the other end, Walsh and Andy looked to each other in mild surprise. Neither of them expected that to work. Remembering that they were on a bit of a tight timeline, Andy quickly spoke, "Sebastian Hewitt? This is Andy Hope with the DPD-"
"I know who you are!"
She waited a second to see if he was hanging up on her. When the call remained, she said, "We just want to talk."
"What do you want?" He was close to dry heaving; they could hear his panic bleeding through the phone. This could have meant good things for them, as a desire for the situation to be over could mean he would be more willing to negotiate. It also could have been very bad - with how much trouble was stacking up against him now, he was no longer thinking clearly.
"Is Gabriel hurt?" Andy asked, choosing not to mention Combs just yet.
"Wh- I-" There was a pause as he looked over the man. "He's bleeding. He came in and- and he stabbed him."
Andy nodded, and asked, "Okay, can you help him?"
"I- I don't..."
Recognizing she was losing him, she interrupted, "Sebastian, I just want to talk to you, but if Gabriel dies, we can't do that."
The long stretch of silence that followed made them start to think he abandoned the phone, but finally he returned. "I've got a towel," He murmured.
Andy clenched a fist and gave a small pump of victory. "Okay, I'm going to walk you through this," She started, waving a hand toward Walsh. He understood what she wanted, and he stood to sneak his way up the porch stairs. She stayed where she was, and would proceed to walk Sebastian through the steps of first aid. She spoke slowly, as to give Walsh enough time to get inside.
He crossed the porch and inched the door open, allowing sight of a foyer that led into a hallway. He took painstaking steps to move into the house, and returned the door to the position it had been left in.
The sound of mumbling underneath Andy's voice echoed throughout the house, but he didn't have to follow it for long. To the right in the hall was a wide archway leading into the dining room, and Walsh leaned around the wall to see Sebastian kneeling over Gabriel. On one side of him was his shotgun, and on the other was the phone, in order to free up his hands so he could apply pressure to a bloody wound. Gabriel could see him, but tried not to give away his position.
Walsh took a step into the room, and a floorboard under his boot gave out to a loud creak.
It was like setting off a rocket. Sebastian spun around and saw the federal agent standing there, gun in hand. He reached for his shotgun and stumbled to his feet, firing off a shot behind him as he bolted to the kitchen. Walsh ducked back to cover himself, and once Sebastian was focused on running, Walsh took off after him.
In the front yard, Andy dropped her phone to the ground after hearing the gunshot. She jumped the stairs two at a time and ran inside, catching the tail end of the chase as it took its way outside. Gabriel Mateev was left where he was, attempting to take his first aid into his own hands.
Two fugitives were on the loose, but Gabriel was more important in that moment. Andy rushed to kneel down at his side, mumbling a small greeting to let him know she was there. He relaxed his head against the floor, groggily moving his hands out of her way. "Guess you were right," He choked out with half a pained grin.
Andy was holding a towel tight against his side as she shrugged, "You get used to it."
When Walsh started after Sebastian Hewitt, he expected a quick and sudden end.
Unfortunately, Sebastian was faster than he looked. His feet stumbled and kicked out pebbles as he ran, but he always managed to stay upright. Walsh thought he was in shape - thought he could outrun most assailants - but Sebastian was proving to be a challenge.
At the end of the alley, four shaken adults were tidying up the interrupted mess of a child's birthday party. They were shoving pirate-themed cups and plates into trashbags that, also unfortunately, held the remains of a painfully priced cake. Someone had tossed the broken piñata to the edge of the yard near the trash cans, and was gathering up pieces of the RC ships when Sebastian came barrelling through the yard.
He stepped onto the piñata on his way across, and his foot sank straight down into the papier-mâché. It caught around his ankle, and finally he lost his footing. He toppled over into the grass and his shotgun slid across the yard, the sight of which evoked more screaming.
By this point, Walsh arrived. He ran to the man who was trying to climb to his feet, and yanked at his arms to put him in handcuffs. The federal agent quickly retrieved his badge from his pocket and flashed it to the civilians while he pulled Sebastian to his feet. He gathered his fugitive and the stray shotgun, before turning and pushing Sebastian back down the alley.
Shortly after Walsh returned, a squad car arrived alongside an ambulance to take Gabriel to the hospital. Officers searched the house while Walsh waited for his partner. Andy texted Connor to make sure he was okay, and joined the officers once she got a vague but positive response. In the back of the squad car outside sat Sebastian. He leaned forward with his head in his hands, and ignored every attempt anyone made to speak to him.
Andy had yet to try, though, but that changed after she found a way to motivate him. She opened the car's back door, and knelt down into a crouch on the pavement beside him. Elbows on her knees, she glanced over the scrape on his forehead and asked, "How's your head?"
"Go away," Was all he said, his groaning muffled through his palms.
"Not until we talk about Stewart," She rejected.
He tried to wait her out, expecting her to give up like the other officers did. Instead, she remained. Feeling her presence looming there, he raised his head just enough to peak out from beneath his fingers at her. "Leave my son alone."
She didn't have to respond, lifting up a toolbox he recognized as the one Combs had been keeping in the house. She dropped it on the car floor where he could get a good look of the contents as she opened the lid: a pistol, a baggy of red ice, handcuffs, duct tape, and a photo of Sebastian Hewitt. She sifted through each item, displaying them out across the edge of the seat.
Sebastian watched with a confused frown, pulling away from his hands. "What is this?"
With a shrug, she lowered her arm back to her knee and offered, "Looks like a murder kit to me."
His eyes widened. Looking up at her fully now, he stuttered, "He..."
"How long have you known your son?" She asked.
He struggled with his last bit of reluctance, but the toolbox said it all. Letting out an exhausted sigh, he propped his forehead against the back of the driver's seat. "The day he co-signed for me," He grumbled, finally caving, "I don't know how, but he was there waitin' for me at the station. Said he wanted to get to know me. I figured I wasn't around when he was a kid, I may as well start now."
"I'm sure it had nothing to do with the bond money."
He sneered at her and spat, "Screw you. I get enough judgment from the local cops."
This didn't upset her any. Shrugging, she warned, "That's not gonna get better if you don't help me find him."
"I don't know anything," He complained. When she shot him a skeptical look, he exclaimed, "I don't! He put me up in this house, told me he was gonna get my record taken care of, and then we'd leave the city come New Year's."
Andy's brows knotted. With everything Combs was doing around Detroit, leaving in a month seemed to put him on quite the schedule. "Why leave then?"
Sebastian waved a hand and muttered, "He's got some big plan. I didn't ask." This wasn't a satisfactory answer, so Andy scoffed and stood to walk away. "Hey, I'm tellin' the truth!"
This made her snap. Twirling on her heel, she slapped a hand at the edge of the car frame and bent down to stare at eye-level with the man. "Oh, don't worry about that, Mister Hewitt, I believe you don't know a damn thing about your son," She jabbed.
It did the trick, and he reeled back like he'd been slapped in the face. It didn't get them anywhere; Combs was still on the loose. She didn't even particularly care for his sake. It was just a day's length of frustration, and Sebastian was the most well-deserving target she could find.
With an annoyed sigh, she began to walk away again, but he called out once more. "W-Wait!" She stopped. Controlling herself better this time, she looked over her shoulder to see him leaning halfway out of the car. "He always says he goes to his mother's grave when he wants to clear his head. I-I don't know where that is, but...," His eyes drifted to the sidewalk, realizing it was not as helpful as he'd hoped it would be. "I like Gabe, okay?" He whispered, a guilt-ridden gaze returning to Andy, "This... this isn't what I wanted."
Andy tried to feel something for him in that moment, but found herself hard-pressed. Finally, she shut the door and walked away.
Walsh was on a call with his office, and was hanging up as she approached him. He looked to her, and she nodded at the squad car, asking, "So FBI's doing the official interview?"
He expected this question to lead into a fight, and he was at the end of his rope. Sighing, he remarked, "Yes, Andy, the FBI is handling the interview for the FBI's case." She started to defend herself, but he stepped closer to complain, "No, I've done more than anyone would expect me to for you - I've gotten you in on the search, I left my partner to come here-"
Scoffing, Andy interjected, "And I was right, Combs was here."
"-Do you have any idea how much shit I'm going to take back at the bureau for helping you out?" He went on, ignoring her comment. Throwing a hand into the air, he exclaimed, "And you can't even be polite with me!"
She stared at his pout a moment longer before asking, "Are you done?"
"Maybe?" His voice was still raised, and he gulped in a breath of air. Calming down, he nodded and said, "Yeah, I think I'm done."
"Get Hewitt out of the city," She ordered, bringing the subject back to the current situation, "Interrogate him and hold him somewhere else."
The lack of a fight around who would handle Sebastian surprised him enough, but that was taking it even a step further. He scrutinized her a moment, looking for a sign of a lie, or maybe a head injury. Finding nothing, he asked, "Then where do we hold him?"
Over his shoulder, Andy spotted a patrol car pull up to the curb nearby. The passenger door opened, and Connor stepped out onto the sidewalk. She watched him as she said, "There's an officer in Toledo who needs to know about Gabriel. Tell him what happened, and ask him to hold Hewitt for you."
Walsh noticed her gaze elsewhere and looked to see the android he faintly knew to be one of the FBI's least favorite androids. "What's going on?" He asked, unable to take her agreeable attitude for much longer.
But Andy meant what she said - she didn't want Sebastian, and she didn't want Detroit to have him. Shaking her head, she moved past him, saying, "I'm not going to tell you that. Just keep him away from Detroit."
She travelled the sidewalk to meet Connor at her bike, and as they got closer, they noted each other's sign of wear. Thirium splattered across his cheek and water dripped from his clothes and hair, while Andy had blood stained on her shirt and a tinge of red where she'd earlier nudged hair out of her face.
"What the hell happened?" Andy asked, rushing toward him.
Incredulously, his eyes widened at her. "Me?" He stressed, fingers going to the smear on her forehead.
Realizing what he was looking at, she reached up to pull her hair back and assured him, "It's not mine." Dropping her hand, she waved it over his form and repeated, "What the hell happened?"
"I fell into a pool."
"What?"
"Combs made it onto the train," He deflected the question, stepping closer to confess what he felt was a grave mistake on his part, "I called the precinct and got to the next station while they were searching the train, but he was already gone." He looked above her head to the scene playing out behind her. He found Walsh by the unmarked vehicle, and Sebastian in the squad car, but couldn't locate Gabriel Mateev. "Is the bondsman all right?"
Andy didn't know that yet, so she could only shrug. "He's on his way to the hospital," She answered. Putting a hand on his arm, she urged him over to the bike. "Sit down."
He didn't think it necessary, but he complied nonetheless and sat against the seat. She pulled off her jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders, then went in to grab his chin. She was unabashed in her worry, and he smiled a little as he wrapped a hand around her wrist. "I'm all right," He told her.
She wasn't entirely convinced, but she let go and lowered her hand until it slipped into his, where she gave a light squeeze. It was quick - she immediately pulled away to sit beside him - but it was an affectionate mix of messages just for him: I'm Sorry, and Glad You're Okay.
Connor focused on the man wallowing in his misery in the back of the squad car, and asked, "What's going to happen with Sebastian Hewitt?"
She looked that way, shoving her hands into her pockets. "FBI's taking him into custody."
He wondered if he'd gotten there late and missed her inevitable tirade directed at the FBI, but she seemed calm as she spoke about it. "You don't have a problem with that?" He quizzed.
"No," She shook her head. Removing her hand from her pocket, she brought out her phone and started to search her contacts. Finding the number, she pressed the screen and lifted it to her ear. "We have somewhere else to be."
He studied her for any tells about what was happening, but she gave him none. When the other end was answered, she greeted, "Hey, Mrs. Hughes, it's Detective Hope. I know this is abrupt, but I was hoping you knew where Stewart's mother was buried."
Stewart's mother had chosen to be cremated. It was cheaper and easier for her family. According to Savannah, making the grieving process smoother and ensuring as much insurance went to the family as possible was all she wanted at the end of her life.
She'd still been buried, though. Stewart buried her.
The last time Andy was at Woodward Church, she didn't pay much attention to the romantic architecture or the tall dome ceiling. She didn't examine the traditional hanging lanterns, or notice the vintage piano at the back of the stage. She didn't realize there was a small cemetery behind the building. These were all overshadowed by the deviant androids hiding within the old brick walls, and whatever they managed bring with them when they fleed from their burning former refuge. It was probably the first time Woodward Church had been a sanctuary for people in years, evidenced by the dust, debris, and disrepair it had been left in by its once intended community.
She walked down the aisle toward the stage, watching clouds roll by between the stained glass windows and the moon. The thud of her boots echoed and reverberated even with a portion of the exterior walls missing, and danced with the ringing in her ears. Coming to a slow stop at the front pews, she turned to her left, where a man sat staring up at the mural over the centerpiece piano.
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can-"
Stewart Combs snorted, a longer chuckle bursting from his throat. "Anything I say will pale in comparison to the news footage a jury is going to have to watch." With hands clasped in his lap, he glanced to Andy from the side of his eye and said, "I want to talk to you."
It surprised her how soft-spoken he was. If they weren't in an empty church, she would have had to strain to hear him. Slipping her hands into her pockets, she joined him in admiring the paint on the walls. "It's a beautiful church," She praised.
He was unmoving in his seat, and let the conversation soak between all of his responses. "My mother dedicated the last half of her life to it. She ran the youth group, and played the piano for every service," He recalled, eyes wandering down to the musical instrument coated in dust.
"She was well-loved," She mused.
With a small grin that Andy worried she would see in her nightmares, he added, "Unlike me, you mean." Looking at her fully for the first time, he raised his voice a little to say, "I'm impressed you walked in here. SWAT doesn't exactly have a reputation for being patient."
No, they didn't. They were camping out under a tent on the street, with thermal cameras and snipers trained on the church. Someone else outside was Connor, who had let her enter the church on the condition that he could pull the plug if he saw anything he didn't like. Coming in here wouldn't have been allowed at all, if not for their discovery of a dangerous package upon arrival.
Shrugging, she declared, "You left your things on the doorstep. You knew we were coming. You could have rigged this place if you wanted to."
"Maybe I still did," He joked.
She did not find it funny. "I'm betting you don't have more explosives."
"Gambling's a bad habit, Detective."
Pursing her lips, she quirked her brows and took slow steps across the floor toward the edge of the stage. "I'll keep that in mind."
He started speaking again while her back was turned to him, and his voice hinted at a righteous anger. "You should have let me kill Sebastian," He said. "Deadbeat fathers are a blight on this world."
She looked at him over her shoulder and pulled out a hand to gesture to him. Lowering herself to sit on the stage, she asked, "So is that your thing, then? You're judge, jury, executioner?"
His eyes narrowed slightly in frustration, but he hid it behind a wry smile. He leaned forward, as if letting her in on a secret, and said, "If I wanted a two-dimensional analysis of my motives, I would have turned myself in to the FBI."
"Then what?" She asked.
This pause was longer than the others. He pressed his back against the pew behind him, and returned to staring at the mural. Rather than answer her, he had a question of his own. "Are you musically inclined?"
She wanted to keep on track, but she knew this kind of conversation was an opportunity she would never get again. Taking in a deep breath, she rested her elbows on her knees and looked down to the floor. "Not particularly."
"My mother would bring us here on Saturdays so she could practice for the next morning. I would sit right here and read to the music," He described, pulling his hands apart to point at the pew underneath him. Waving his hands around him accordingly, he went on, "Then androids started taking jobs. Homelessness escalated. The community, the congregation, collapsed. This place was abandoned. Without it, my mother had nothing left."
He squared her with a hard stare, blame mixing in with the anger. "And then a couple of broken machines come stumbling in here one day, hiding from the law. Sacred ground desecrated by abominations of man."
Once eye contact had been made, she would not be the one to break it. "I didn't take you for the religious type," She insinuated.
"I have a moral compass, so I must be religious?" He bit, raising a brow. He'd taken slight offense, and realizing it, he straightened his back and regained his composure. "Holiness is a virtue earned by sentiment. This is sacred ground because my mother made it so, not because of an old book."
"So where does murder fit into your moral compass?" She pushed.
Another snort. As if she'd asked a stupid question, he retorted, "A drunken thief and a shady landlord? The world will truly weep for their absence."
His dismissal was cold and arrogant, and it brought an annoyed frown to her face. "Why do you get to decide who matters?"
Noticing her displeasure, he contended, "Ask their victims, then, which fate is preferable. At least my way stops them from hurting any more people."
"You hurt people," She snapped, jutting her chin out toward him in accusation, "Who decides what happens with you?"
It was obvious to him, and he lifted both hands to gesture dramatically toward her and offer half a shrug. Relaxing in his seat, he told her, "You could shoot me right now if you wanted to. You'd get away with it. I put cops in danger, after all. If anything, the sniper outside would be mad he didn't get to take the shot."
Crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the broken railing, she said, "I'd rather see you in a bright orange jumpsuit."
He smiled again, this one appearing secretive and manipulative. "Would you do the same for the man who killed your father?" He asked. He let the words sink in before adding, "Or will killing him be okay because it's your tragedy you're avenging?"
She didn't let him see her reaction, but the one she felt was strong. A visceral anger rushed over her from which she had to talk herself down. She couldn't let him get in her head. This was not the place, Combs was not the person, she would lash out against about her father - that was being saved for a day that would maybe never come. "I know about your friend," She revealed suddenly, hoping to distract him.
He wouldn't let her get into his head either, unfortunately. Laughing under his breath, he shook his head, saying, "You're deflecting."
"I need-"
"Which one?" He interrupted, allowing her to change the subject.
She believed this was a genuine hint rather than a false lead, which meant she was right: there were multiple allies. "Who's the one with the cameras?"
That seemed to surprise him a little. He took some time to think on his answer, and murmured as he did, "I should tell you that. I have no good will for them, and they would do the same to me." He started to wring his hands, taking a significant amount of time to contemplate all the possibilities.
With leverage and a decision, he looked back up at Andy. "I'll tell you who they are after President Warren calls for every android to be recycled and every employee at CyberLife to be put in prison," He ended his declaration with a smile, and mused, "I like orange jumpsuits too, Detective."
Something Sebastian said earlier clicked in Andy's mind, that Combs planned to leave on New Year's. It was an odd choice, given his world-changing goal was focused on the city, but it was starting to make sense. It was already safe to assume all these acts of protests were pressuring the president into fast action, his terrorism a method of showing her how much destruction would come if she continued to entertain equal rights - except now he finally had a date.
December 31st. And he had more friends out there to continue his work. Why give them up before then?
With that dead end, Andy knew their conversation was over. Getting up from the stage, she began again. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."
He stood to his feet as she recited his rights, keeping his hands in front of him and his movement slow. His smile remained, as in his eyes, he was still winning. "I'm sure they'll be very unbiased," He commented, turning around to put his hands behind his back.
Minutes later, she was escorting him out of the church. They descended the stairs and SWAT rushed in to meet them at the pavement. They took custody of Combs and moved him to a secured vehicle, leaving her standing in the street as a bomb disposal unit rushed inside the church to do one final check of the premises.
Andy didn't quite know what to do now. Her role at the church was done, but her nerves were still on fire, and her mind was still racing. There were half a dozen places for her to be: she needed to call Natalie as Hank earlier suggested, she needed to talk to Hank, she needed to visit Gabriel Mateev, go to her appointment with Doctor Nazarian, update her report at work, take a shower, make dinner. She was spiralling, and she was afraid she wouldn't be able to slow down.
Amid the chaos on the street, and in her mind, Connor emerged from the SWAT tent. He knew the look on her face well enough by now, and he approached her in fast strides. She didn't seem to notice him until he was standing right in front of her, when he slipped his arms under hers and leaned in to hug her. If she were in any other frame of mind, she would have considered how public the display was. Today, however, the chaotic swirl of her emotions seemed to come to a stop, even if only a brief one, when he held her. Clenching her fists around the fabric at his shoulders, she buried her face into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes.
Andy arrived to her appointment with Doctor Nazarian just as the office closed. It would seem acts of terrorism called for certain exceptions, however, because rather than kick her out, the doctor opened her door and let her inside. They were the only two remaining the building, Nazarian in her usual chair across from the couch to which Andy was growing all too familiar.
They stared at one another for a few minutes. Nazarian assumed Andy would want to lead this appointment, so she waited. When the detective crossed her arms over her chest, Nazarian decided that wouldn't be happening. "Busy day," She mused.
Andy quirked a brow. "Just a smidge."
Smiling, Nazarian asked, "Which part would you like to talk about first?"
There were too many parts to think about. Andy let her eyes wander around the room as she tried to pin down whatever hit her the most, but all roads led back to one. "The only good thing about Stewart is that he knows where he isn't wanted," She murmured, repeating the words she heard earlier that day. Looking to Nazarian, she clarified, "His step-sister said that."
"That stands out to you."
Andy shrugged. It did, but she didn't realize how much. "Shouldn't it? I mean, that's layers of shit talking. There is literally so little about you that's good that you recognizing how much people hate you is the only thing anyone can say in your defense. You know what kind of person is worse than that? Dictators, that's who, and we write history books about why they suck. Congratulations, you're better than a dictator," She ranted.
Nazarian waited a second to make sure she was done. "You feel strongly about this."
"It may have sat with me for a while," Andy shrugged. A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she leaned forward, asking, "Hey- how are you supposed to feel after you almost get blown up?"
This baffled the psychologist, who couldn't resist a huff of laughter. "You're not supposed to feel any particular way. It's a traumatizing event. People respond in differ-"
"Yeah, people are unique, I get it," Andy interrupted, waving her hand in dismissal. Repositioning herself on the couch, she rested her elbows on her knees and gestured to herself. "I feel like I've consumed an entire store's supply of caffeine."
"That would be the adrenal-"
"I swear to god it's not," Andy snapped, holding out her hands in tension. It was as close to an outburst as she would have that day, and she held in a breath to calm down. "I know what adrenaline is. I know that's what my body was doing nine hours ago, but now my brain- it-" She couldn't figure out how to describe it without sounding ridiculous, so finally she decided to just settle for ridiculous. "I feel like the guy who thinks he can shoot a hurricane."
Nazarian furrowed her brows. "What?"
Andy threw out her hand as she described, "Every hurricane, there's a guy standing out in his front yard because he refused to evacuate. He knows what the hurricane is, he knows it'll probably kill him, but he's pissed and he's got a gun in his hand and he thinks, 'If I stand here and pretend to be a giant then maybe, just maybe, I can become one.'" She pointed at herself, finishing, "That's me. I'm that guy."
The room was silent as she waited for an explanation, and Nazarian speculated on all her theories. Crossing a leg over her knee, she finally asked, "Are you having trouble with your partner?"
Andy sputtered. She jutted her thumb out behind her, as if she could point at the trail of nonsense she'd left behind her, and asked, "How the hell did you get that from the bullshit I just said?"
With a dainty shrug, Nazarian explained, "If your partner wants to handle the situation differently than you do, perhaps more cautiously, that could make you feel reckless." She gestured forward, adding, "Like a man shooting a hurricane."
Andy found her tone almost amused, and faintly smug. "Shut up," Was all she could manage in rebuttal.
"Eloquent."
Releasing a heavy sigh, Andy fell against the couch. "He thought the FBI should take over and we should go back to normal," She complained.
"It sounds like he's trying to protect you both," Nazarian offered.
She wasn't wrong, but Andy didn't hate it any less. "You know what protects everyone? Catching the bad guy," She argued, throwing up a finger to add, "Which I did, by the way."
"I'm sure the FBI could have performed just as well as you did," The therapist mused.
Andy smirked at the door that had opened for her petty jab. "My personal experience with the FBI would suggest otherwise."
"Tell me what happened this morning."
It was an abrupt request, as per usual with her doctor. She really had to get used to Nazarian getting her comfortable before striking where it hurt. Her pleasant expression had fallen into something more somber, and she directed her eyes down to her hands in her lap. "A van blew up. We drove Kamski to the tower, had everything cleared before we even left the station, but apparently Combs got to it while it was parked in the garage," She explained, looking back up, "We were escorting Kamski to the van when the bomb went off."
"What was that like?" They maintained eye contact, but Nazarian noticed the detective's thoughts were starting to pull her away from the conversation. "Andy?"
"I don't remember," Andy finally confessed.
"What?"
She blinked, turning her head away in shame and frustration. "One minute I was walking to the van, the next I was on my ass. I don't remember the explosion."
It surprised Nazarian, but in her experience, it wasn't cause for much concern. "That's not uncommon. What do you remember?"
Andy started to describe the flashes she had of that morning. "Hank pushed us to the ground. I had the wind knocked out of me. Couldn't hear anything. Bits of the van were falling from the sky. There was a-" She stopped, realizing the weight of her next sentence. There was a hubcap behind me. If she'd been one foot to the right, she would have been hit by it. On its own, that was nothing, but with the force of an explosion behind it, it would have been the end of her life.
She was a foot from death today.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she wrapped up her story. "Fire Department got there in five minutes. Bomb squad, five after that."
Nazarian knew a piece was being left out, but wouldn't push for it when everything else was enough. "It sounds scary."
Andy cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure. "Well we caught him, so...," She trailed off, unable to finish her claim. So what? Problem solved? It was over?
Her dilemma was an obvious one, and Nazarian offered a small smile. "But it didn't help, did it?"
No. It didn't. Andy frowned, complaining, "It's not like I pissed off the wrong guy at a bar, or crashed my bike into a tree. You can't fight back when it's a bomb. A gun, a knife-" With a loud huff, she said, "Shit, tie me up and put red ice in my veins, but a bomb? There's no chance against that. There's no human input that makes that easier to deal with."
"That's why we grieve," Nazarian replied. "Grieving for what goes wrong makes it easier to deal with. It's a part of moving on."
After Connor parted ways with Andy, he updated Jericho, who was glad everyone was unharmed and Combs was arrested, and he went home to check on Hank, who was sleeping in bed with beer cans scattered over the end table. Then he left to go to the hospital, with a small stop on the way. He approached the front desk and was told that Gabriel Mateev had been moved to the Intensive Care Unit, which had its own waiting room.
Andy was already inside, sleeping. Sunken into a couch against the far wall, she bent her knees and firmly planted her feet to the ground to hold her in place. Her arms were crossed underneath the blanket that was her jacket. It was the most peaceful he'd seen her all day, and he knew that would change the second she woke, so he took care to be quiet.
He crossed the room and gently lowered into place beside her, but the shift in the cushion was enough to disturb her. She inhaled a deep breath as she jolted awake, and Connor held out a hand over her to stop her from moving too much.
Seeing him, she pushed herself up in a better position. She rubbed at her eye, groggily asking, "Hey. What are you doing here?"
"I had a suspicion this is where you'd be," He confessed with a small smile. With his other hand, he showed her a burger in a Chicken Feed wrapper. She laughed a little as he handed it to her, and he rested against the rear of the couch. "How is Gabriel?"
She bundled her jacket into her lap and was picking at the ends of the burger wrapper as she said, "He got out of surgery an hour ago." She propped an elbow up on the arm rest beside her. "His brother's flying in from Toledo after his shift. I thought someone should be here to meet him."
It didn't surprise him, but he didn't like she was pushing herself. She needed to be home right now, resting. "You're not responsible for what happened," He reminded her.
He was right, but it didn't make her feel any better. "Someone should be here," She repeated quietly.
He wouldn't press the argument. It was better she sit in a waiting room than keep working at the precinct. "Have you heard from anyone?"
She nodded, and the corner of her lips almost turned up in a lopsided grin. "Walsh called earlier. FBI's pretty pissed."
"I would imagine so."
Waving off the comment, she remarked, "They'll get Combs in the morning. I just wanted him first."
She definitely got that much. She'd already recounted her conversation with him so he could record the information, and while Combs never gave any solid answers, there was plenty to consider. "Do you believe what he said?"
"I figure he thinks we're so far behind him, it doesn't cost him anything to tell us the truth," She answered, pulling a piece of chicken off her burger for a small bite, "What sucks is, he's not totally wrong."
Connor didn't have the personal experience of watching Combs during the conversation, but he trusted Andy's instinct. Everything they discovered so far was a testament to how little they knew, so it wasn't a wild assumption. He had another suspicion sitting in the back of his mind, though: Sebastian Hewitt. All this time, Combs had never met the man, and yet today Hewitt was the single thread that allowed them to catch him. "I don't think him uniting with his father now is a coincidence."
Andy didn't seem surprised by the assertion. Instead, she lowered her voice and started, "Hewitt said Combs was already waiting at the station for him when he was arrested. Oak Park PD uses the same system as Detroit, and no one knows about an arrest until the offender's been processed." Looking up from her lap, she asked, "What does that sound like to you?"
Connor was staring at her hard now. What it sounded like was an accusation, and a dangerous one. "Have you told anyone this?"
"Just you."
He took a moment to sit forward with his elbows on his knees. He leaned in until he was inches away from her, as if the walls could talk, and he whispered, "You need more to go on before you start pointing fingers at a cop."
She almost laughed. "I'm more worried about what happens if I'm right," She mumbled. It was a thought that was going to eat away at her until she was certain either way, and the worst part was that she didn't feel she could go to Hank. It wasn't a matter of trust - she trusted him to the ends of the universe - but a disillusioned detective was a bad match for a case of espionage. Trying to push it to the back of her mind for now, she asked Connor, "Have you talked to Markus?"
He would let her change the subject for now, deciding this kind of conversation would have to wait until they were somewhere more private, and preferably not on the same day of other traumatic events. "I was with Jericho this morning," He nodded, "They send their regards, by the way." She smiled, and he intertwined his fingers, continuing, "Everyone feels like CyberLife is one move away from attacking us, and I'm not confident enough to say they're not."
"And now the president's on a deadline," She murmured, her smile falling. "Do you think that's what our mystery man wanted?"
It was what Combs wanted, of that much they were sure. His other allies, however many there were, whoever they were, Connor couldn't say. "If not, they lost control of Stewart Combs even before he was arrested."
That wasn't a comforting thought, but the words 'he was arrested' sounded good - at least until Andy remembered what that meant for her tomorrow. That was a whole new fear. "Hank's gonna be furious," She whispered.
She was right; he was. Reaching out to lay a hand on her knee, Connor assured her, "I'll have your back." There was no sugarcoating the inevitable argument, but that didn't mean Connor would leave it all on her. He understood wanting to protect her, as he wanted to protect both of them, but she was a grown woman and a good detective. She found Combs twice in one day. Their concern, as great as it was, didn't surpass her abilities or desires. He learned that lesson, so Hank would have to as well.
Squeezing his grip on her, he asked, "How are you holding up?"
"Aside from bruised ribs and a ringing that makes me want to drive my head into a wall?" She retorted. In a surprising bout of honesty, she popped another torn piece of chicken into her mouth and answered, "Barely."
Exhaustion started to show through her veneer, and on top of that, she looked uncomfortable, so when the idea struck him, he jumped to his feet. "Scoot over." He ushered her to move down, to which she did without much question despite the confusion on her face. They switched places on the couch, putting Connor between her and the armrest. He turned so his shoulder pressed into the back of the couch and his leg hooked under his knee, and then placed his hands on her shoulder. "Okay."
He guided her to lower herself until she was laying on the couch and propped against him, a position significantly more comfortable than one he'd found her in. She said nothing at first, and he didn't know whether it was surprise, amusement, or nerves. After a moment, she re-opened her jacket and pulled it up over her again. As time went on, he felt her relax. That was what he would focus on.
"Connor." He glanced down at her, not that she could see it with her head on his chest. "Talk to me."
He realized how quiet the waiting room was - and how loud her ears had to be ringing in comparison. He moved an am up and around her shoulders, securing her in place. "What do you want to talk about?"
He could feel her shake her head. "Anything. Pancake recipes. Bird watching. I don't care," She insisted.
Well, he didn't have bird watching, but there was something persisting in the back of his mind. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he mumbled, "I'm worried I ruined a nine year old's birthday party."
There was only a short pause. "What?"
"When Combs fled, he cut through a yard with a party. He ran through the cake and I tackled him into a child's pool," He explained.
She craned her neck to look up at him with wide eyes. Seeing he was serious, her jaw dropped and she let out a breathy, "Holy shit."
A tinge of guilt flashed over his features. "I should apologize, right?" He asked.
His expression endeared her further, and she smiled through her bewilderment, both at him and the thought of the fight making its way through a child's birthday party. "I think you should just give them space," She advised.
Nodding, he replied, "Maybe you're right."
She returned into place on the couch, her smile lingering underneath the jacket she pulled up higher. A chuckle almost left her, shaking her shoulders slightly as she continued eating. Despite it being a somewhat cold dinner, the company of its gifter was making it better than anything else it could have been.
"It was pirate themed."
With that, she had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter that erupted from her throat.
