Happy Holidays!
I've made a lot of progress on future chapters, and the timeline for the sequel, so I thought I'd try to get this chapter out before the new year. :)
December 11, 2038
In the dark of morning, Connor sat on the couch in Hank's living room. He absent-mindedly pet the sleeping dog next to him as he spoke to Rupert over a voice call. The androids were discussing new potential security measures at the Jericho warehouse, but Connor's mind was elsewhere.
He hadn't spoken to Hank since the argument at the precinct. That night, Delgado demanded a full run down of the situation, and by the time Connor made it home, Hank was already in bed. The atmosphere the next morning had been thick with apologetic staring and angry huffing before Hank stormed out without a word.
That was fifteen hours ago. When the sun went down and there was still no sign of Hank, Connor decided to call him. The ringing went unanswered, and eight minutes later, he received a simple text.
I'm alive. Piss off.
As the conversation with Rupert came to an end, Connor closed his eyes and sat in the silence. He considered trying to contact Hank again, but couldn't bring himself to do it. It was a debate that was on repeat all night and morning, and it worsened as he dwelled on Hank's state of mind over last few weeks.
It may have been Andy's call to leave him out of things, but it was one Connor agreed with. Hank was slipping. He had been ever since they showed him that memory card, and it was getting harder and harder to rely on him.
They would have to suffer the bad moods for now, even if Hank's angry outbursts and grumpy mutterings sometimes made Connor feel like he was the heartless CyberLife prototype again. He wasn't. He knew that. He knew his reasons were just, that it was all to protect Hank - something a heartless drone wouldn't concern itself with.
When that train of thought grew too heavy, he steered instead to the brief conversation he'd had with Andy earlier in the day.
It seemed Delgado was taking the truth only a little better than Hank was taking the lies. She wanted to go to the Chief of Police, and it left the women in an day-long argument regarding their next step. Around three hours in, Andy sneaked away to the bathroom and called him for a small reprieve. "Read the dictionary to me for all I care," she joked before adding much more quietly, "I just need to hear your voice for a while."
The memory brought a small smile to him. As tough as she tried to seem, Andy crumbled under the ire of respected peers. She felt small and insecure, starting to doubt everything, and he was the one she looked to for comfort. It was a vulnerability he suspected was new for her, if the bashfulness of her tone was anything to go by.
He replayed their conversation in his mind, remembering how confident she made him feel, how proud he was every time he made her laugh. The sound filled his head and left no room for anything else, and it was why he almost didn't notice the sound of the front door, or the shuffling of feet.
His face fell as he opened his eyes and found Hank standing over him in the dark. The man glowered at him, his features tinged red from the cold. Noticeably missing was the stench of alcohol, or the telltale sway of his posture.
If he wasn't at the bar, Connor had a pretty good idea of where else he would have spent his time. He always went to the bridge to clear his head, after all.
It didn't appear to have helped this time. Hank stared in his direction, but the man's eyes were glazed over in deep thought. Maybe he regretted disappearing all day, or maybe he regretted coming home. Knowing Hank, Connor suspected it was both.
Whatever the cause for contemplation was, Connor decided to risk breaking the silence himself. "Hank?" He asked softly.
The man blinked away his thoughts, and spoke through a dry throat. "I know what you've been hiding."
Connor didn't put much weight in his words, believing he meant vague secrets about the memory card. "You should get some rest, Hank," he said, trying to sound firm without being condescending.
But Hank wasn't talking about the memory card, not exactly. There was no change in his stance as he said, "Reed told me about the dirty cop."
If there was one thing Hank was grateful for in that moment, it was that Connor couldn't keep a straight face to save his life. Not with Hank anyway. Knowing that was the case reminded him that the android respected him, even now after everything, and for a split second, he was hit with a pang of guilt about how he'd been acting.
Only a split second, though, especially after Connor started trying to defend himself. "We were doing what we had to-"
"I don't want excuses," Hank spat. He shifted closer, pointing at numb finger at Connor. "You're gonna tell me everything you didn't tell Reed. And don't play dumb, either. You wouldn't let Andy do any of this alone even if she wanted to keep you out of it."
Lowering himself on the coffee table, Hank propped his elbows onto his knees and leveled the nervous android with a hard stare. "Start talking."
While Connor was waiting for Hank to come home, Andy was finally winning her battle with Delgado. She recited all the facts of the case twice over, she gave almost an entire presentation on undercover strategy, and she even resorted to pulling out old arguments she won during their college days. It hadn't been easy, and Andy suspected she'd be feeling the repercussions of their fight for a long while, but the tension would be worth it.
Hopefully worth it, Andy corrected as she glanced to the woman sitting next to her.
Now that she knew what was going on, Delgado insisted on pushing up the appointment with Internal Affairs and moving it to a government building, as opposed to Andy's preference of somewhere private and unofficial. Delgado pulled strings she didn't even realize she had until she needed them, and got them squeezed into Arthur Vick's schedule the very next morning.
It was where they currently sat, in a conference room that grew more awkward the longer the DDA went without acknowledging Andy's presence. She sat with her eyes glued forward and her back straight as a board, with a permanent glare affixed to her face.
Andy hated the silence.
She leaned sideways toward her friend (they were still friends, right? Andy would shelf that concern for later.) and tried to maintain a jovial tone. "Last chance to get the hell out of here and have this meeting somewhere that's not a government office."
"This is a secure building."
The reply was short and snippy, and Andy held back a strained sigh. "That's probably what CyberLife said before a bomb went off in the parking lot," She retorted, falling back into her chair.
Finally Delgado turned to her. "You're being paranoid."
Andy dropped the attempt to stay light, in its place an offended stare. She straightened in her seat and lowered her voice, telling Delgado, "There's already one mole, it's not a big leap to assume there are more. If they see us here, they'll know why."
Delgado was unmoved by the new severity. Meeting the detective's gaze, she chided, "We could be here to address the complaint the FBI is going to file about you." Her eyes narrowed, and she added, "The second one."
Andy backed off at this, albeit reluctantly, and now it was Delgado's turn to lower her voice. "You had your chance to do things your way, and I am willing to meet with Vick, but from now on, we're listening to me," she insisted.
There was no opportunity for rebuttal. The door to the conference room opened and they turned to see Arthur Vick stepping inside, blissfully unaware of the brewing animosity.
"Good morning!" He sang, pulling at the front of his blazer as he took long strides across the room to the head of the table next to them.
"Is it?" Andy grumbled under her breath.
The end of a heel was shoved into the top of her boot, and Vick paused at the sound of a thud and subsequent grunt. He chose to not question it, pulling out his chair as he spoke again. "When you wanted this meeting moved, DDA Delgado, I didn't expect you would now be part of it."
"New information has come to light," She said, a tension at the edge of her tone.
Vick lowered into his seat and raised an inquisitive brow at the thick folder on the table in front of her. "Information regarding...?"
People generally didn't think much of Gavin Reed. This wasn't a secret; he knew his reputation. He was the Local Asshole, the guy too in love with himself to pay any attention to those around him. He was not concerned with changing this, because it also meant that those same people didn't pay attention to him either.
That didn't mean the reputation was accurate, however.
Contrary to popular belief, he was a good detective. Reed noticed more than people thought he did. He could read the room almost as well as Andy could, and he knew all the little tells around the department. He knew that specific twist of Fowler's expression meant he was talking to the Chief on the phone, that Ben's third cup of coffee meant someone's DNA results were inconclusive, or that Richards was only "late" to work when he wanted people to think he hadn't slept in his office the night before.
He knew Hank, too, and when the argument between him and Andy played out in the bullpen, he knew how it felt to have a partner not trust him. So as much as the decision may have surprised him, Reed didn't regret telling Hank the truth about the dirty cop.
When no angry phone call came from Andy the next day, that confidence remained intact... for the most part.
Now they were on day two, the last of Hank and Andy's weekend, and he found himself glancing to his phone every hour and holding his breath.
It was the fourth time he did this that the phone actually rang, and Reed almost jumped out of his chair. He let out a frustrated sigh and reached for his phone, but to his chagrin, it wasn't Andy on the caller ID. Jaw clenching at the sight of the name, he slammed a finger on the button and hunched over his desk.
"I told you not to call me at work," He growled, glancing around at the rest of the bullpen to ensure no one was listening.
The voice that came from the other end was unfazed by the detective's tone. "I'm not at work," She chirped defensively. A second passed before she yelled in realization, pulling a wince from Reed, "OH! You meant your work? Guess you should've been clearer."
He tried to ignore her pushing of his buttons. "Do you at least have what I asked for?"
"Why else would I be calling?"
Her confused tone was almost offensive. His expression went deadpan, and he couldn't resist grumbling, "You're not seriously asking that."
Despite her prior obliviousness, she picked up on the accusation right away and scoffed. "Man... My hands have been clean, Dick Reed," She argued with a pout he could hear over the line.
"I'm hanging up in thirty seconds," Reed told her, losing what little patience he had left.
The defiance was gone in a flash, her regular breezy attitude in its place. "All I need. I got the list you wanted - and it wasn't easy, mind you. I know you might not understand the kind of work that goes into hacking police property-"
"Twenty seconds," He interrupted through gritted teeth.
"I'm leaving it at the usual spot. You can handle that, can't you?" She asked in a patronizingly sweet voice.
He sighed, equal parts tired and relieved. "All right."
"Oh, and Reed?" Her voice lowered and lost its cheer, bringing on a somberness he'd only ever heard from her once. "We're even now. Seriously. You got me doing some deep shit. You want anything else, you're gonna have to start providin' some rich incentive."
With a deepening frown at the prospect of calling on her again and risking his ass even more, he told her, "No, we're done here."
There was a brief pause, before she sighed. "That's what they all say."
The dial tone was an unusually cold goodbye.
It was safe to say that Arthur Vick had now been baffled a second time by the Detroit Police Department.
Whatever he was expecting to hear in the abrupt and mysterious meeting with Detective Hope, it hadn't been... well, that.
They were watching him for a reaction, which he had yet to give. He sat leaning against the right arm rest with elbows on both, one knee crossed over the other, and a hand in front of his mouth in quiet deliberation. He stared at them with no indication that he was even listening as they went through each and every step that led them here. To him.
They finished some handful of minutes ago, and the tension was building in the room. It didn't bother him any. "You say you received this from Sharon Weaver?" He asked, his voice calm and devoid of anything but scrutiny.
"The night we arrested Malcolm Otto," Andy replied.
He glanced to Delgado, who was starting to shift around to release her nerves. "When did you get involved?"
Delgado stopped moving, and pursed her lips. "Thirty-four hours ago."
"Ah." That explained the new hostility he was feeling. "Who all knows about this - any of it?"
Andy spoke again. "Connor knows everything I do. Detective Reed knows the basics but hasn't seen the actual data on the card. Captain Fowler, Lieutenant Anderson, and Agent Walsh and Perkins with the FBI all know about the missing phone, but not why it's missing."
Vick's brows went up as he mused, "Oh, I imagine that complaint will be coming in shortly." His hand lowered into his lap, where he began to absent-mindedly tap his thumb against the side of his index finger. "What do you intend to do next?"
The question seemed to surprise Delgado somewhat. Perhaps she was expecting him to take over right away? She collected herself fast enough - she was a professional through and through - and said, "Detective Hope discovered an inconsistency with the security system at the motel where Malcolm Otto was killed. She was going to look there."
"Reed's also got information coming in that could connect an officer to Stewart Combs' arrest," Andy added.
"Did you speak to him about this? Stewart Combs?" Vick interjected when the new thought struck him.
Her head tilted and her expression twisted, an indication that it was complicated. "Briefly. He implied there were others."
"Did you find him credible?"
There was no hesitation to this answer. "He didn't seem worried about divulging information."
He watched her a moment, and she didn't shy away from the gaze. She was faring better than her counterpart with this information. It may have been because it wasn't new to her, but he suspected that was only part of it. She remained stoic under his inspection, and observant of his own posture, as if this was as much in her control as it was his.
The detective continued to be a curiosity to him, like a puzzle he wanted to solve and manipulate. And this wasn't a one-sided game, either - there was a reason she wanted to meet with him and not anyone else at Internal Affairs.
"Why bring this to me?" He finally asked the question burning at the back of his mind.
Delgado assumed it was directed at either of them. "We need to follow protocol-"
"Protocol would have you take this to your captain, who would pass it along to the chief, and so on and so forth until it ended on the doorstep of a federal agency. You have chosen to consult the fledgling agent in Internal Affairs," He recited, shifting his sight onto Delgado.
She hesitated again. "We need someone in IA ready to take this further."
With half a crooked grin, he stressed, "Need I repeat that I'm the rookie?"
Andy cut into the conversation this time, inhaling a deep breath and looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. "You were at the CDC with no background in science. Dad in FBI, mom in NCA, you're practically the poster child for joint operations. You were at the CDC probably for intelligence and definitely with the UN," She rattled off before looking back up at him with a skeptical tilt of her head. "You've got bigger friends than your boss, so I think the better question is why the hell are you in Internal Affairs?"
The detective's ability to turn a meeting he granted into an interrogation at her behest almost made him smile. He kept the excitement close to his chest, instead arguing, "Detroit is the technology capital of the world. Its proceedings can be world-changing."
"Then apply to CyberLife."
At that, he would smile. "Perhaps I did."
In an instant, her eyes narrowed in curiosity.
He wouldn't give her any more than that, however. Interlocking his fingers, he moved back to the reason they were there. "The FBI's complaint could be a blessing in disguise. I'll ensure it arrives at my desk," he assured them, before delivering a brief list of orders. "From this point on, you will not investigate this during work hours, you will not contact me first, and we will continue these meetings off of government property."
Delgado waited a beat, as if expecting more. "That's... That's it?"
Amusement flashed in his eyes as he teased, "If you wanted to do this purely by the book, you should have gone to someone with smaller friends." He stood from his chair in one swift movement, and leaned over the table toward them. "I'll be in touch. Walk yourselves out - quietly."
The women watched him leave the room without a second glance, and again they were left to the confines of their strained relationship.
But Andy couldn't help herself, and she cleared her throat before starting, "I don't think it would be entirely inappropriate if I were to say 'I told you so' right now-"
In a huff, Delgado shoved herself out of her chair and stormed out of the room.
Andy looked down with a resigned nod. Fair. That was fair.
The two reunited in the elevator, where they stood on either side of an unsuspecting man whose attention was focused on his phone. Delgado was content with watching the LED above the doors and keeping an iron grip on the strap of her bag. Andy's hands went to the pockets of her jacket and she stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the silence.
She would not last long.
"So I'm just getting the cold shoulder all day?" She asked, lacing her tone with irritation.
"Not now," Delgado snapped.
Andy looked over at her and shrugged. "Why not now? He's not listening." She looked down at the man between them and asked, "You're not listening, right?"
Feeling the attention on him, he glanced up at her in somewhat fearful confusion. He turned to Delgado for help, but she scowled over him. "We'll speak when there's something worth discussing."
Those words cut deeper than expected, and Andy reeled back. She was trying to be understanding - at least, she thought she was - but this situation needed them at their best. They couldn't let emotions get in the way of a case, but especially not this one. "You're really gonna pout like this?"
Delgado's eyes narrowed in disdain, and Andy knew immediately that that was the worst possible thing to say. The elevator doors opened, but no one dared move until she did. She opened her mouth, and growled, "Outside."
She marched out of the elevator and around the corner, leaving Andy and the stranger where they stood. Heaving a large sigh, Andy glanced to him as she stepped off the elevator. "Could'a helped there."
"Wh-"
The women went through the large double doors and onto the busy sidewalk outside. As soon as boots hit pavement, Delgado turned with a wrathful gaze and a fierce point. "I am not pouting!" She yelled, her voice peaking above all the sounds around them and turning a few startled heads their way.
Andy looked away in exasperation, but in doing so, unfortunately locked eyes with the other person who'd been mad at her all weekend.
"No! Do not roll your eyes-"
Delgado hadn't noticed yet, so Andy scoffed. "I'm not-" Gesturing to her left, she mumbled, "Hank."
Sure enough, Hank and Connor stood on the sidewalk, having just gotten out of the Oldsmobile. Where Connor was nervous and apprehensive, Hank wore a glare that could rival Delgado's.
"We're fine?"
Andy's gaze immediately pulled away from him out of guilt, but he wouldn't have it. "Don't look at them!" He yelled, dismissing their companions as he stormed forward.
"I wasn't gonna come to you without proof."
No one believed that, and to think she was actually going to try to lie her way out of this mess brought him to a new level of anger he didn't know he could reach. "So you went to Reed?!"
When her former partner was brought into it, with that tone specifically, Andy flared with a strange kind of protective indignation. Reed was a dick, but she was the only one who could call him an idiot. Meeting his stare, she snapped, "Well he wouldn't tell me to pass it off to someone else!"
"I would have told you that because it's exactly what we should do!"
It was clear their voices weren't getting any lower, and now that Delgado wasn't the one throwing her anger around, she was able to think with a clearer head. Wedging herself into the thick of the exchange, she said, "We are not continuing this in the middle of a crowd."
Hank pulled back, at least able to agree with that. "Get in the car," He grumbled, turning toward the Oldsmobile.
Everyone climbed in, Hank and Delgado at the front with Connor and Andy together in the backseat like scolded children. Well, for Connor anyway. Andy was more rebellious teenager than child, pouting at the window like it had personally offended her.
Moving the place of the argument seemed to drain all of them of the energy or the initiative to keep going, but Hank was used to being drained. Gripping the top of the steering wheel until his knuckles went white, he demanded, "Someone talk!"
From the passenger's side, Delgado started. She was calmer now, beginning to find herself resigned to the situation. "We can all yell at Andy for her decisions later-"
"Hey," Andy piped.
Hank shot her a glare. "You don't think you deserve to get yelled at for this?"
"I'm speaking!" Delgado exclaimed, stopping them before they could get carried away again. With a hard sigh, she said reluctantly, "There's no use arguing right now. We just need to focus on our next step."
"Yeah, and what is that next step?" Hank asked, not angry with Delgado but no less grumpy. "Because unless you met with the chief, I doubt it's getting us out of this."
Andy slammed an arm down on the car's window sill. "That's the problem, Hank. You're trying to get out of it."
"We need-" Delgado lowered her voice once they fell silent again, "-to prepare our evidence for Chief Simmons, which means following our leads... however few of them we have." Focusing on the man next to her, she assured him, "You don't have to be a part of this, Hank. I'm in control now, and we'll work by the book as much as we can."
It wasn't surprising that they didn't go to the Chief. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hank knew that they were being cautious, and that his desire was motivated by fear. But there were a lot of things Hank knew that he didn't want to admit knowing, and he wasn't about to break that dam now.
So he let out an exhausted sigh, and grumbled under his breath, "Can't believe I'm doing this... Here." He'd pulled a key from his pocket, one he'd been keeping there since he found it two days ago in a dead man's end table. "Add one more lead to the list."
Delgado plucked it from his hands and the two in the backseat leaned forward to examine the silicon dangling from the loop. "What is this?"
He wouldn't look at any of them as he answered, "I found it in a hidden compartment at Malcolm Otto's. It's from the Northeastern Bank."
"It appears to belong to a safety deposit box," Connor observed. It was the first time he'd been willing to speak since they left Hank's, and his voice almost surprised himself.
Andy was too concerned with what Hank was doing with this new lead to notice. "Otto didn't have anything like that listed in his accounts," She said, narrowing her eyes at the lieutenant. "You were just gonna keep that a secret?"
Delgado rolled her neck in exhaustion as Hank twisted in his seat. "Are you seriously askin' me that?"
Shrugging, Andy defended, "I'm just saying maybe you shouldn't get so mad at me when you're doing the same thing."
"This is hardly the same damn thing-"
"Bullshit, you're just mad I'm acting like you!"
"Enough!" Delgado yelled, before repeating it more softly. "Enough."
She waited as they focused on her, and she let her breathing settle. Holding the key out toward the backseat, she started delegating. "You two take this key to the bank. Hank and I will deal with the security cameras. All right?"
Hank scowled out the driver's window, and Andy did the same out of hers.
"Fine by me."
"Whatever."
As soon as he found the opportunity to, Reed slipped out of the department. He strolled down the sidewalk as he browsed the news feed on his phone. This was just to blend him into the crowd until he reached his destination a few blocks away.
An old parking lot was being used as a semi-permanent space for some of the city's better established food trucks. The chain-link fence around the lot kept nothing out anymore, and the gate was rusted open. Small lines were forming at the trucks, most of the customers employees from the businesses on the block.
He ordered a coffee from one of the trucks, and then made his way to the free bench by the curb. He put his phone away and rested an arm over the top of the bench, glancing around at his surroundings while he enjoyed his coffee.
A few minutes later, the red light nearby turned green. As the cars began to move again, he stood from his spot and approached the nearest trash can. He reached down to place the half-empty cup in the trash, and on his way past the covered brim of the can, his hand shot to the side and felt an envelope stuck to the underside. He swiped it from its spot, and then continued down the sidewalk.
At the halfway point to the station, he stopped at an intersection and looked down at the envelope. While he waited for the green light to change, he ripped the top of the envelope and pulled out the paper to take a look.
Connor had hoped that he and Andy going their separate ways from the others would break up the suffocating tension, but that turned out to not be the case. Andy called a car, and they settled into the back of the Crowne Cab with the argument weighing on their shoulders. She'd leaned against the door with her forehead pinched between her fingers, and Connor avoided looking at her in fear of putting her on the spot.
But by the time they arrived at the Northeastern Bank, he was starting to suspect her silence was not actually leftover frustration, and was instead aimed at him.
They stood at the back of the line in the bank, and he risked a glance in her direction. Her jaw was clenched, and her eyes were set on the counters at the front of the line. She was deep in thought, as if fighting herself in her head.
He stepped closer to her side, and whispered, "Are you angry with me?"
The question was cautiously asked, and for good reason. Her head tilted toward him but she still wouldn't look his way as she snapped, "If you didn't agree with keeping this from Hank, you could have just told me that."
He reeled back. For a brief moment, he was offended by the assumption that he would undermine her - but then he remembered that the other option meant Reed talked to the lieutenant out of the kindness of his heart. With that in mind, Connor probably would have assumed himself the snitch, too.
"I did agree," He told her with no short of sincerity in his tone. When her eyes darted toward him, he explained, "Reed told him two nights ago."
Her eyes widened a fraction, and then her expression twisted into deeper annoyance. "I'm gonna kill him," She muttered.
He smiled a little. "I would wait until he stops being useful."
Emotions were too high for the crack to draw a smile, but it did soften the furrow in her brow and relax her shoulders. Afterward came a look of guilt, and she sighed. "I'm sorry."
He wouldn't linger on it. Trying to focus on the positives of the situation, he said, "It may be a good thing that he knows. Lying to him has been difficult."
She turned her head away from him fully at that comment, but he didn't understand why. It wasn't until he heard her mumble in quiet agreement that it hit him - it was because they weren't just lying about the memory card or the dirty cop. There was another secret, a much more intimate one, and it was her decision to keep that from Hank as well.
He initially tried to undo what he said, but the words died on his lips. Backtracking would have been a lie. They both knew it, and he wouldn't insult her intelligence or disregard his own emotions that way.
The line had been moving forward throughout the conversation, and where they now stood allowed them a better view of the bank employees along the counter.
Andy took the opportunity to change the subject, something they were both eager to have happen. "So what's the game plan? I don't particularly want to break into the back of a bank, but flashing my badge won't get us anywhere either."
He observed the front counter, saying, "They had to replace the tellers with human employees." Leaning his head down, he told her, "Distract the employee when we get to the counter. I'll handle the rest."
She gave a sharp nod. "Will do."
It wasn't a long wait until they were standing on one side of the counter opposite a sociable bank teller. She smiled as they approached, and asked, "Welcome to Northeastern Bank, how can I help you?"
"Afternoon," Andy greeted with a charming grin, propping an elbow onto the top of the counter. "I was wondering about setting up a checking account. Can I ask some questions about that?"
"Of course."
The conversation continued with Andy making sure to have her undivided attention. Beside her, Connor moved to rest his own arm on the counter. His hand inched across the surface until it touched the back of the teller's computer, and his skin went white as he gained access.
The information he needed was easy to find, and the adjustment he needed to make was even quicker. He slid his arm away from the computer, and glanced to Andy to let her know.
She'd said something the teller was laughing at, and Andy's eyes sparkled with a satisfied grin. He knew a storm was brewing behind it, that it wasn't genuine joy, but he let himself enjoy the scene for a few seconds nonetheless.
When a break appeared in their conversation, he interjected. "You should sleep on it before you decide, and just close your deposit box for now."
Andy glanced his way, and he gave a subtle nod. "Yeah, you're probably right," She agreed.
"Oh, you'd like to close a safe deposit box?" The teller asked, unaware of their silent exchange.
"Yep," she replied, "Name's Andrea Hope."
"Okay, let me just look into that." The woman turned to her computer, and a few clicks later, she smiled up at them. "Please follow me."
"Great."
Andy moved to walk around Connor and follow the teller, and he felt her fingers wrap around his in a small tug. Good work, and, We're okay.
The teller led them down the hallway at the back of the bank, and into a room lined with individual metal cases. She approached one at shoulder level, and after she and Andy slipped their keys into the slots, she pulled out the box and placed it on the table in the middle of the room. "Here you go. I'll wait outside to give you privacy, so please empty the contents of your box, and I'll close your account when you're done."
"Thanks," Andy replied as the woman left. Once they were alone, she turned to Connor and asked, "Was this in Otto's name?"
He nodded, walking up to her side. "He wasn't subtle."
"Let's see what he was barely hiding, then," She mused, lifting the lid.
Inside the metal box sat a thick manila folder. She picked it up and untied the string at the flap, pulling out a stack of stapled papers. Bold letters were printed at the very top of the first page: NOTICE OF DENIAL OF FREEDOM OF INFORMATION ACT.
"Looks like Malcolm Otto filed a FOIA request," Andy said, angling the page so Connor could see it.
Connor scanned the page, able to read the words far quicker than she could. "Whatever he wanted, they denied him on grounds the information wasn't available," He informed. Holding a hand toward the papers, he asked, "May I?"
She shrugged and handed them off to him, when something at the back of the deposit box caught her eye. She reached into the depths, and fished out a weighty card bearing no text. The silver gloss was bordered by a light blue, and a ring of green was embedded on the front.
"A keycard?"
Connor looked up from the papers he was studying, and his eyes landed on the familiar object. "It belongs to CyberLife Tower," He said quietly.
Andy turned to him with a raised brow. "They give these out often?" she asked, eyeing their latest clue.
He frowned. "No, they don't." He knew some employees chose to use them, as well as important guests, but Malcolm Otto was neither - should have been neither.
Putting away the papers into the envelope, he flipped the lid on the box closed and moved for the door. "I know where we're going next."
On a street tucked away from the main road, Diebling Security was in a small building wedged between various other businesses. The floor to ceiling windows peered into a tiny lobby where a young man sat at the front desk, staring at his monitor.
This didn't change as Hank and Delgado walked through the front door. "Afternoon. What can I do for you?" He droned out, cheek against his fist.
Delgado stepped up to the counter with Hank behind her. "We have an appointment. Last name, Flores."
The receptionist glanced up at her without budging. "You called the office?" He asked with the tiniest hint of surprise.
She did not. But she smiled, nodded, and hummed. "Mhm."
His brows furrowed and he finally pulled away from his relaxed position. "Sorry, I don't... remember that," He apologized, clapping a hand down on the computer interface.
Delgado adjusted her blazer and said, "Well I definitely called. I just moved into town, and Dad here wouldn't let me rest until I got on the phone with your office." Turning her smile toward Hank, she asked, "Isn't that right, Dad?"
He did a stunned double take before regaining his composure. Meeting her pleading eyes with deadpan ones, he agreed through gritted teeth, "Yeah. That's right."
"...Huh. That's... weird," The receptionist mumbled.
"Everything all right?" Delgado asked innocently.
He gave a quick nod to hide his confusion. "Yea- Yes, Ma'am, you're... listed here. Apparently." Smiling up at her, he recovered and pointed to the door behind his right shoulder. "Um, Mister Beck's currently out on a call, so take a seat in the waiting room, and I'll let him know you're here."
The waiting room wasn't much bigger than the lobby, but it was lined with chairs, and a TV in the corner was playing an endless loop of Diebling Security advertisements. As they crossed the space to sit by the back wall, Hank exclaimed, "You didn't think to check the guy's schedule when you had Connor hack into it?"
Delgado looked over her shoulder with pursed lips. "Don't yell at me because you're mad at them."
He scowled, retorting, "Oh, don't worry, call me your old man again, I'll be mad at you too." She spun around to face him and he held up his hands in defense. "You're right. Sorry."
They lowered into the cheap fabric chairs, and Delgado straightened out her skirt. "It's not like we have anything else to do. This is our only other lead," She whispered, placing her hands in her lap.
Hank leaned back and plopped his elbows onto the arm rests. "It's as if we're in over our heads or something," he sneered.
"No one could be prepared for this," she denied quietly.
He shot her an incredulous look and argued, "No one? It's pretty much all federal agencies prepare for!"
"Stop yelling at me!" she hissed.
"I'm sorry," he grumbled again, deflating as he turned his head away. It was easy to forget that he was not the only one dealing with being lied to; Delgado was thrown into all of this too, and she had known Andy long before he did. Glancing over to her with a new concern, he tried to ask in a soft tone, "Are you... holdin' up all right?"
He couldn't remember if she started off as stiff as she was now, but then her expression twisted in annoyance. Letting out a big breath, she confessed, "I think they were right."
It was like a punch to the gut. "What?"
Shaking her head, she continued to spiral, "I was up all night stressing over it and honestly, I don't know what I would have done if I knew sooner. I probably would have freaked out."
"Anyone would. It's crazy," he defended.
She rolled her eyes. "Androids have a political movement, Hank, I don't think we can call anything crazy anymore," she blabbered, "And if this isn't just Sharon Weaver trying to send us on a wild goose chase, then every decision needs to be level-headed and deliberate and quiet. I wanted to go to the Chief, but Arthur Vick doesn't seem to think that's a good idea, either, so... I don't know, maybe they're right."
It took him a moment to recall the IA agent who'd almost cost him and Andy their badges, and he grimaced once he did. "Vick from Internal Affairs? The new guy with something to prove?"
He wasn't entirely wrong, and Delgado wasn't a fan of the man, but that didn't change his capability. With a sharp exhale of breath, she turned the conversation on him. "Why do you want to take this to the FBI?"
He thought it was obvious. "Because it's a federal case-"
"The Otto and Ivers murders are a federal case, but did you tell them about the bank key?" She pushed.
He knew what she was getting at, knew where this was going, but that didn't mean he had to go quietly. "That's different."
"How?"
He tossed up a hand and said, "Perkins isn't going to investigate those murders. It shines his agents in a bad light, and he can't handle that."
"A cyber-terrorist with ties to a corporation he was in charge of investigating would also shine him in a bad light," she argued. A frown pulled at her lips as she faced the truth that was now slamming into her at full speed. "You want to pass it off because it's too much to handle, and so do I."
His prolonged silence told her she was right. They sat in it for a while, feeling a lecture of their own making hang over them like clouds. Andy may have been acting reckless, but it was time to recognize it wasn't without cause.
"I taught her everything she knows," Hank mumbled, anger draining from him.
Delgado nodded. "I know."
"And Connor-" He scowled and tilted his head back until it hit the wall, "Don't get me started on Connor."
She shook her head. "I won't."
A new emotion swelled in him, one that he hated most of all. Helplessness. "I don't like them not trusting us," He exclaimed, letting it burst from his chest.
Her eyes went to the floor. "Maybe that's our fault."
Maybe it was.
But he didn't have to act like it.
"I'm still giving 'em a hard time," he groused.
She nodded. "Me too."
When Andy and Connor walked into the massive entrance hall of CyberLife Tower, they found a familiar face already waiting for them. CyberLife Representative Danielle Carnegie stood with weight shifted onto one leg and a manicured nail tapping the side of her thigh.
"Detective Hope," she then slid her eyes to the android, "Connor."
Connor bowed his head as they approached. "Miss Carnegie."
"I assume you two have a good reason for calling this impromptu meeting?" she inquired, having no desire for any small talk.
Andy nodded. "We believe we do."
"Do you have somewhere we can talk privately?" Connor asked.
Carnegie eyed them a second longer, as if debating on whether or not she wanted to humor them. Whatever her thoughts were, they won. She turned around and gave a curt, "Come with me."
They followed her across the room which was mostly empty at this time of day, as anyone who worked there had already arrived and settled into their offices. A few stray employees lingered around the edges, speaking to each other in hushed whispers, and one or two moved between the doors along the back wall.
Carnegie stepped onto an elevator she called with her thumbprint. As they joined her, she said, "I'll ask that you make this quick. I need to finish prepping Kamski before he goes on KNC this evening."
Three young women entered the elevator just before the doors closed, and settled in on other side of the space. Andy glanced to them, noting the tablet and notebooks in their arms. "As long as you help us out, it won't take long at all."
"I'll help if I can," Carnegie stressed. Nodding to the apparent engineers, she gave a much more polite, "Afternoon."
They smiled at her, one of them squeaking out a quick, "Good afternoon."
Connor focused on something Carnegie had said a moment earlier. "Kamski is taking interviews already?" He asked.
With a sharp nod, she answered, "He is. The sooner we assure the public that CyberLife has their best interests at heart, the sooner we can all move forward."
Andy leaned against the side of the elevator opposite the engineers. She tossed out an antagonizing smirk and said, "The sooner you can get back to your usual corporate scheming, you mean."
Carnegie wouldn't take the bait - at least not unprofessionally. "Your suspicion is understandable but misplaced, and Elijah Kamski will prove it to you should you give him a chance to make the necessary reparations."
"So you're blaming everything on the last guy?" Andy retorted.
"There's no room for blame in the brighter future CyberLife hopes to help create," Carnegie soothed.
Andy pursed her lips and hummed in consideration of her next zinger. She couldn't find a good one fast enough, so she jutted out her tongue and sputtered.
Carnegie's eyes darted to her. The engineers looked up from their shared viewing of the tablet, mixtures of confusion, amusement, and worry on their faces. Behind all of them, Connor turned his gaze downward to hide the surprised smile.
With a flat stare, Carnegie quipped, "I doubt Rosanna Cartland will blow raspberries on national television, but thank you for the practice."
The elevator came to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal cubicles and offices on the other side. She led them to a larger office separated by frosted glass, where she threw the door open and waited for them to enter.
As they came to stand between the guest chairs and her desk, she brought the door to a cautious close. "So what is this about? I've noticed you're not here with your partner...," She trailed off, moving behind her desk.
"He's looking into something else, but this is still official business," Andy replied, satisfied with telling only somewhat of a lie. Pulling the keycard from her jacket pocket, she held it out over the desk and said, "We need information on this."
Carnegie raised a delicate brow and plucked it from the detective's hands. "A security pass?"
"Where does it go, and who does it belong to?" Andy asked.
The representative pressed a button on her keyboard and waited for the computer to light up. "Well I can tell you now that it only goes to the upper levels. The green means low clearance," she explained, pressing a finger against the embedded green ring.
"How easy is it to get one?"
"So long as you're employed here, very easy. Anyone with access can choose to substitute biometric scans with a keycard. It's just not common," she answered, typing into the keyboard. She slid the keycard into a card reader on her desk, and watched as the program on the monitor scanned the card.
It didn't take long for the result, but her furrowed brows indicated it wasn't a good one. She retried the card, and grew perturbed. "That's... odd."
Connor leaned forward. "Odd?"
Carnegie started to shake her head, glancing to them in confusion. "Well, it goes to floors between seventeen and forty-three, but that's all it says."
He moved around the desk to peer at the computer screen himself, and surprisingly, she let him. Standing back, she gestured to the information on the monitor and watched him attempt to extract more than she was able to.
Andy stayed where she was, glancing between them for an explanation. "What all is missing?"
"The card owner's name should be attached, dates of creation and assignment, activity logs. Nothing's listed," Carnegie said. She pointed to the card in the reader and looked up at the detective with a renewed interest in the conversation. "This shouldn't exist. Where did you find this?"
The two guests glanced to each other, but Andy's response was automatic. "We're still investigating that. Can we look around those floors?"
Carnegie's eyes widened. "Are you requesting unsupervised time in our offices?"
Andy flashed her a grin. "'Course not."
The representative had a distinct feeling that that answer did not mean what she thought it meant.
On his way back into the bullpen, Reed slowed to a stop beside two officers near the doorway. Person and Wilson leaned against a cubicle divider that didn't belong to either of them, and they gossiped to one another in low, amused tones.
"What the hell are you two doing?"
They glanced his way, and Wilson shrugged. "Watching the Suit," He answered with a subtle gesture toward the back of the bullpen.
Reed's eyes followed his, and locked onto Fowler's office. The captain sat at his desk, going over a file with pinched brows and a deep frown. In front of him was a slender man in a tailored suit. Reed had seen Arthur Vick once before, when he was at the department investigating Hank and Andy.
Reed's lip curled a little in annoyance. "When did he get here?"
"Half hour ago," Person replied.
Nudging Reed's arm, Wilson shot him a grin and said, "I'm starting a pool for Anderson's badge."
Person rolled her eyes, muttering a quiet, "Idiot."
"What? We all expect it," Wilson defended before asking, "You want in, Reed?"
Reed wasn't paying any attention to the banter. An IA agent could complicate things, especially if yet another investigation on the department was starting. Feigning disinterest in the whole thing, Reed began to walk off, jeering, "Don't you have something better to be doing?"
He crossed the room and returned to his desk. The thought occurred to him to put the envelope he'd gathered from his associate's drop off in a drawer, but on the side of caution, he decided against it.
Not long after he settled in and busied himself with work, he was approached by a visitor.
"Detective Reed?"
He looked up and met Vick's amiable expression with one much less so. "Can I help you?" he sighed out, making it clear that he considered the presence obtrusive and unnecessary.
Vick only smiled in response. "You can, as a matter of a fact," he said, turning sideways to gesture to an interrogation room, "Oh, and leave your phone."
Swallowing any insults he wanted to make, Reed pulled his phone from his pocket and locked it away in a drawer. He stood and let himself be led into a spare room that was set up to be a temporary office for the agent. A briefcase sat on the end of the table, and in the middle was a tablet on top of a stack of folders.
Vick placed himself on the side furthest from the door, whereas Reed dropped unceremoniously into the opposing seat.
"I want to start this with thanking you for taking time out of your busy schedule for me."
"Start with the point, instead," Reed bit.
Vick looked up at him from the folders he was parsing through. It was a brief pause, and Reed was unable to interpret what it meant. "All right," was all he said in response.
Finding the folder he wanted, he opened it and started to write on a slip of paper. "As I'm sure you know, the FBI has filed another complaint about this precinct, so I'm here to audit the department. I'll be investigating Homicide, as well as Special Investigations," he explained.
Reed had to hand it to Andy - he was used to dealing with IA, but never for stuff this big. He slapped a hand on the metal table and scoffed. "Well, you can tell them that if they put half the energy they spend complaining into actually investigating crime, they probably wouldn't get shown up by the local PD."
Vick's eyes shot up to him, again, and he smiled, again. "I'm not going to do that."
"No, of course not, you're just gonna bother me instead," Reed chided with a sarcastic grin as he kicked back in the chair.
It only made him more concerned. Most agents had buttons he could push with ease, and it got him out of more problems than he cared to count. Vick was showing more patience than them, and it meant this going to be a challenge.
Whatever he was writing, he moved to put his pen down, and closed the folder. He spun it around so it would face Reed, and began to lift the cover. He did so slowly, making sure to let the corner closest to Reed raise higher than the other. It was odd, and it drew Reed's attention down to the folder.
The paper Vick had been writing on was peeking out, along with the message in blue ink: 'I know about the mole.'
Reed never budged from his casual position, but his eyes darted up to the cameras in the interrogation room, which couldn't see the note from their position. He then looked to Vick, who showed no change.
The agent pulled up the note and moved it with the front of the folder, which he opened all the way to show a normal set of employee records.
"You have quite the file, Detective. With Anderson and Hope off today, you seemed the perfect person to bother first," he said with a teasing edge.
He reached for the first page of the records, lifting it in just the right way to show another discreet note: '9pm. Be available.'
Pulling this note up, he moved on to the second page of Reed's employee records. "Let's start with the complaint Sergeant Weathers filed, shall we?"
In a conference room on the 39th floor of CyberLife Tower, Danielle Carnegie had laid out magazines, papers, and two tablets. Each one documented a different news or talk show interview with various figureheads of the company's past. A screen behind her on the wall played a muted news segment about the return of Elijah Kamski as CEO.
"What is Detective Hope doing here?"
Carnegie looked to the man seated near the head of the conference table. Kamski had graced the company's highest marketing levels with his presence, and all it took were three frazzled requests from the head of PR herself.
Much to her dismay, the meeting had not been going well. He was disinterested in taking her advice and confident that he could handle whatever Rosanna Cartland would throw at him. Carnegie was just barely holding it together, and then he noticed their guests through the glass walls.
"Basic security follow-up," she answered. It was not a total lie, but the whole truth would derail the point of her meeting.
Kamski was difficult to wrangle in, but he was not stupid. Glancing up at her with a knowing frown, he asked, "Without our security advisors or legal team?"
She hoped the involuntary pause under his scrutiny was not as telling as she feared it was. "They'll be up shortly," she reassured, then tapped her fingers on the table she was standing next to. "We don't have a lot of time, so I think we should go over the most important questions Cartland will ask you-"
"I was under the impression that the bomber was apprehended already."
She bit down the sharp reaction she wanted to give. He was infuriatingly stubborn. "It's preparations for Jericho's visit later this month." She tried to brush off his curiosity, again going back to the reason they were there, "Cartland is going to ask what you think the president's decision should be at the end of the year."
He seemed to let her steer the conversation, but he leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together. "An absurd question," he hummed.
Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she struggled to respond. "I... don't think calling the interviewer absurd is the appropriate response."
"Asking me to speak for the president of the United States is hardly appropriate," he countered.
With a strained sigh, she explained, "The public knows we've been meeting with the White House. We need an official stance on how we're approaching those meetings."
He was starting to notice her attitude. She was a stern woman in general, but the way she held herself around him was uncomfortably tense. Her insistence on coaching him through even the most basic of public relations was also not lost on him. Narrowing his eyes up at her, he tilted his head and asked, "Do you have doubts about me, Miss Carnegie?"
She blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?"
"I believe I've handled all previous interviews rather well."
She was quick to nod in agreement. "You've handled them eloquently, but Rosanna Cartland is not like your previous interviewers."
At this, he gave a small half smile, more of mockery than anything else. "You think she's going to dig deep and ask the hard hitting questions like what my opinion on my own technology is?"
Her jaw tightened at his teasing. "I think she's going to try to legitimize the criticisms against us, and th-"
He rose his brows as she cut herself off. Whatever she had to say, she knew he would not like it, but it was far too late now. "Please, continue," he urged, waving a hand.
She shifted in her heels and inhaled a deep breath. "There are concerns you aren't taking this seriously."
"Oh?"
She was much more secure in her next sentence, her eyes never leaving his as she told him, "Our employees are scared that the December paychecks will be their last."
"If they have such little faith in my creation, they should be." His soft, almost idyllic, tone had hardened in an instant. It was a biting response, hinting at an underlying anger that a part of Carnegie could always sense was there.
Just as quickly as the shift happened, the mood reversed. Kamski calmed and let his eyes drift to the cubicles outside the conference room, and he pulled out the voice known to the public. "Androids have not posed any more of a threat than a stranger on the sidewalk, and technology should always be looking forward. We've spoken with the necessary people at the White House and I believe they know that we will support President Warren in whatever educated decision she makes."
But Carnegie was still reeling from the atmosphere he was choosing to pretend he never created. She cleared her throat, and gave an uncertain nod. "That will be suitable. I apologize if I offended you, Sir."
Without missing a beat, he replied, "You'll make up for it by telling me why that detective is really here."
Meanwhile, Andy was pacing in a corner and trying to ignore the curious stares of employees. Connor stood still beside her, hands together in front of him as he observed everyone. The three engineers from the elevator were leaning against an empty cubicle closest to them, whispering to each other about the contents of the tablet they were studying.
Andy crossed her arms over her chest and moved closer to Connor. "What the hell are we supposed to be looking for?" She whispered, looking out at the length of the room.
"Anything out of the ordinary."
She deadpanned. "Helpful. Thank you."
Connor ignored the sarcasm and decided to move to the adjacent corner to get a different view of the room. As he neared the elevator, the engineer in the middle of the nearby trio cleared her throat.
He stopped to face her, and she shrugged a shoulder. "Danielle said only this floor until she's available, remember?"
His nod was small and sharp. "I'm an android. My memory is excellent."
Her eyes widened a little, and as her friends grinned up at her, she scoffed and returned to the tablet. "I knew that..."
Before they re-immersed themselves completely, Connor glanced down and noticed what was on the screen. "Are those prototypes?" He asked, stepping closer to eye the sketches and blueprints.
She glanced to her friends for their opinion. When they didn't seem opposed to showing him, she held out the tablet. "We're looking to develop the sensory processes further," she explained as he took the pad from her hand.
Andy approached his side to listen to the conversation as the engineer on the right barely managed to restrain a roll of her eyes. "And as per usual, R&D comes up with designs that Assembly has to figure out how to build."
The third engineer slapped a hand against her shoulder. "You'll get there, big girl."
"Ass," muttered the woman.
While Andy was picking up the dynamic of the group - the grumbling woman was clearly an Assembly engineer while the other two were likely from Research & Design - Connor was focused on the sketches. He didn't know everything about how androids were built, but he knew more than most, and he could piece together what these blueprints were trying to accomplish.
He looked up at them with a cautious level of hope in his eyes. "You're looking into artificial taste buds?"
It was an odd sensation, facing the potential future of what his people could be. Odder still was knowing that CyberLife was even trying to make adjustments that had no necessity beyond individual quality of life. CyberLife was thinking about the quality of life.
The conversation continued without them realizing his thoughts. The engineer who handed him the tablet nodded and said, "Kamski wants us to have a bunch of upgrades ready to present to Jericho."
To her right, the second R&D engineer muttered, "Assuming we even get the chance to use them."
She received a hard elbow in the side that only Andy noticed. "Seems pretty confident of him," she commented, watching them for any other tells.
The second R&D engineer rose a brow in curious agreement, and pursed her lips. "That's one word for it."
A new voice everyone recognized stopped the conversation in its tracks. "The most interesting prototype CyberLife has designed yet."
They all turned to see Elijah Kamski approaching with Danielle Carnegie at his side. He ignored the engineers in favor of focusing on the android he'd first greeted. "Connor, you look better since we last spoke. Less... conflicted. That's good. Tell me, have you given thought to what you'll do come the new year?"
Connor returned the tablet to the engineers but his sights never left Kamski. Their last encounter was not forgotten, and so he kept himself guarded even in his answer. "That depends on what CyberLife's next move will be."
At that comment, Kamski's gaze finally shifted to Andy, and Connor had to resist stepping between them to block his view. "I imagine that's partially your influence, Detective. Why else would an android with free will linger if not for pleasant company?"
Hands slipping into her jean pockets, she threw out a crooked grin and remarked, "Well I don't know, if I only ever followed pleasant company, I'd be out of a job."
"She's funny, too," he observed with no hint of amusement. He moved a step closer to the two of them, saying, "I wasn't aware the DPD had reason to be visiting us today."
Suddenly Andy was able to place the energy she'd been struggling to identify in that moment. It was something she didn't feel often; it came from people like Sharon Weaver, Arthur Vick, and even Stewart Combs.
He was challenging her. He was trying to elicit a reaction, and throw her off her game.
So far, Vick was the only one who'd been able to accomplish that, and she wasn't looking to add to that list. With the same casual tone she started with, she said, "Yeah, sorry we didn't get in touch. Last minute decisions, mountains of reports, overworked staff, you know the drill."
He nodded. "Of course. That's why Chief Simmons gave us a liaison with a direct line to his office - to avoid these sorts of mix-ups." His head downturned a little, and he gave a smug smile. "So I'm afraid you're wasting your time here, Detective."
She wouldn't let him see anything but cool confidence. "What is it exactly you think I'm wasting my time looking for, Mister Kamski?" she inquired, tilting her head in innocent curiosity.
There was the tiniest of pauses, and she recognized something deeper flash in his eyes. A part of him was far less willing to play this game than he would let on. "What you're always looking for. The great villain to your next adventure."
Her façade almost slipped, because she'd heard something similar once before from a dead man.
He didn't wait for her response this time. He stepped away and gestured to the elevator, looking between her and Connor. "You can see yourselves out."
They didn't hesitate to leave, and he didn't move from his spot even as the elevator doors closed in front of them. Turning his head toward Carnegie, he continued to stare at the elevator as he stated, "I want all keycards confiscated. Anyone who refuses biometric scans can pack up their desks."
Carnegie, who had been watching the exchange with an array of conflicting emotions in her gut, was appalled by the order. "We can't do that," she refused with wide eyes.
Kamski didn't see it that way. When his ire landed on her, she collected herself and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "I'll... get in touch with Security, Sir."
The only indication that he was pleased was his attention turning to three engineers behind him. "Now where are those designs I wanted to see?"
By the time Hank and Delgado heard a door open outside the waiting room, they'd almost forgotten why they came to Diebling Security in the first place. It was the calmest stretch of their day, and a part of them was already missing the quiet.
They watched the door, listening to rushed footsteps followed by a hushed argument. Hank shifted, mumbling, "Think our guy's back."
As if on cue, a deep voice rose above the defensive whispering. "Just put them in my office, damn it!"
A second later, a door slammed shut. Another second, and the one to the waiting room creaked open.
The receptionist offered them an apologetic expression. "Mister Beck will be ready to see you in just a moment. If you'll follow me...?"
It would seem Mister Beck wanted his office to portray a much more dignified space than the rest of the building. The walls were covered in a classy dark wood paneling, and the heavy desk overwhelmed the room. Two matching bookcases sat on the left wall with a loveseat between them and a small coffee table in front of it.
Clearing his throat to pull their attention in, the receptionist asked, "Would you like anything? Water, coffee?"
Delgado smiled. "Oh, no, I'm okay, thank you."
Beside her, Hank shrugged. "Coffee sounds nice."
"I'll be back."
After the door shut behind the receptionist, Hank turned and found an annoyed stare aimed at him. "What? I didn't get any this morning."
Delgado threw a hand up and hissed, "We're not hiring him. You don't take coffee on a fake meeting, that's rude."
He quirked a skeptical brow. "You have many fake meetings before this?"
"N- Jus..." Sighing, she waved him off and mumbled, "Forget it."
She positioned herself in a chair by the desk, but Hank continued to study the room. Above the loveseat by the bookcases were a variety of certificates framed on the wall. A synthetic deer head was mounted on the far wall, and on either side of it were two large TV screens playing the same advertisements from the waiting room. Hank had them memorized by now. There were photos hanging on the front wall, and he moved closer to get a better look at them.
"Huh."
From her seat, Delgado groaned, "What now?"
"Take a look at this guy's friends," Hank muttered, focusing on a photo near the middle of the grouping.
She glanced over before standing and joining his side.
A few of the photos were personal, revealing two children, a wife, and a family dog. Some were from his college days, showing off his fraternity, his graduation, and an old luxury car Hank would have asked him about were he here as a real customer. The rest of the photos were work-related, and one of them - a group of people huddled together around a poker table - stood out in particular.
Delgado squinted at one of the men in the far left corner of the photo, wearing an expensive suit. "Isn't that Malcolm Otto?"
"Not just him," Hank said, pointing to the older man sitting at the table in the center of the photo. "That's Everett Trench."
Delgado had no time to process this, as the door opened and pulled them away from the revelations.
A man in his forties waltzed into the room as if he hadn't blown up at his receptionist just minutes beforehand. He smiled at them as he pushed the door shut, and gave a cheerful greeting. "Afternoon! I apologize for the long wait, my assistant didn't tell me I had a meeting this morning."
Delgado returned to where she was sitting by the desk. "That's okay, I understand."
Hank wouldn't be as agreeable. "You don't look at your schedule when you get into work?" He chided, hands going to his pockets as he remained where he was.
"Han-" Delgado caught herself in the act of reprimanding him, and shot Beck an apologetic smile. "Dad. Please."
Beck laughed and held up a hand. "No, no, it's quite all right. Dad should be a tough nut to crack. He's got a precious daughter to protect, after all."
"I would prefer he listen quietly," she warned him through a strained smile.
Hank shrugged as he finally joined her side, but Beck offered him a grin and joked, "The gratitude of our children, right?"
Once everyone was seated, Beck cleared his throat and spread out his hands on the desk surface. "So, you're looking for home security?"
Delgado nodded and recited, "Right. Yes. I just moved into town and I want the best."
"And we are that," he winked. Reaching toward his computer monitor, he twisted it around to show them a page of information. "We have basic plans, but we can also customize to the client's needs. Is there anything specific you're interested in? Cameras, chemical monitors, home management?"
"Cameras," she replied instantly, "I know I want cameras, but I was wondering what system you used? I couldn't find that anywhere on your site."
His chest puffed up a little with pride as he said, "We use top of the line technology all across the board. All of our monitoring systems use Lime - have you heard of it?"
Hank's expression twisted. "The fruit?"
Beck cleared his throat to hide a laugh. "Aha, no- uh, Lime is a cloud-based software designed by none other than our hometown's CyberLife."
Pulling a pamphlet from his top drawer, he opened it up and handed it over to Delgado. "It's the most user-friendly, resource-light system on the market. We can plug all our systems into Lime, and as far as the cameras are concerned, you get high-definition, night vision, motion detection, and the cameras have an average life of ten years outdoors and fifteen indoors."
Delgado gazed at the pamphlet with little retention. "How private are they?" She asked, flipping the pamphlet around.
"Hm?"
She looked up at Beck's sudden hesitance to ramble about his product. "How private?" she repeated, "I'll be the only one with access to them, correct?"
He quickly nodded, recovering in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, of course. Lime stores everything in the cloud so you can view your security information anywhere, but only you can view it at all."
Delgado turned to Hank. "What do you think?"
"Huh?" Hank jolted. All he understood was that CyberLife was mentioned. Glancing between the other two, he asked, "You said this was designed by CyberLife?"
Beck didn't realize the weight of his answer as he grinned and nodded. "That's right."
Hank tried to play the part of a concerned parent rather than a detective. Wincing a little, he pushed, "You're not worried? I mean, with all those stories about the androids lately..."
"Ah." Beck started to shift uncomfortably in his seat, but he hid it behind a more intentional repositioning as he leaned over his desk. Holding up a hand, he tried to reassure the 'father' of his client, "I understand your concern, Sir, but CyberLife designs more than just androids. This software is so highly rated, the whole city uses it."
That was something both Hank and Delgado understood plainly. Their heads shot toward him, and Hank blurted out a quick, "What?"
Beck's pride grew as he leaned back and bragged, "You heard right. Detroit is the first city in the world to make use of Lime's services. It's on every street, in every hospital, in every police and fire department- city hall, even. Lime will be around long after androids, I can promise you that."
"Do you think Kamski knows about us?"
After being kicked out of CyberLife Tower, Andy had a third location she wanted to investigate: Farah's, the high-end restaurant co-owned by Malcolm Otto before he died. She believed she'd spotted a connection between him and the again-CEO of CyberLife, and she wanted to know if Otto had used the establishment for more than just hiding murder weapons.
Connor blinked a few times at the sudden question she'd asked him.
They were seated at a table near the middle of the restaurant, and she held up a tall leather menu that she read for maybe a total of ten seconds despite staring at it for much longer.
The waiter had made his rounds and returned to them by now, and was hovering impatiently. Andy seemed to finally notice him, and sputtered, "Oh, uh, I'll... take the kebabs."
The waiter pursed his lips and said, "We have shrimp and lamb."
Her brows furrowed in annoyance. "Which one's cheaper?"
In equal annoyance, his lips curled inward. "They're the same price."
"Then surprise me," She retorted, meeting his pretentious stare with an exasperated one as she propped up the menu for him.
He promptly snatched it from her hands and looked down at Connor. "And for you?"
"Nothing," He answered, giving a small wave. He waited for the man to leave before returning to the conversation she had tried to start. He leaned over the table and asked quietly, "Have you been thinking about this since we left the tower?"
"No," she scoffed, offended. "A little. Maybe," she shrugged, glancing away from his knowing gaze. "It's not the only reason," she grumbled. Huffing out a sharp breath, she threw up a hand and argued, "He struck a nerve, okay? My nerves are easily stricken today."
He met her frenzy with composure. "That's why he said it," he soothed.
But it didn't help, and she leaned forward to whisper, "Why would he think to if he wasn't making the assumption in the first place?"
Well, that was a good point. He didn't have a rebuttal for that, and the pause told her as much.
It also gave her mind a chance to wander to the rest of what Kamski had said. His comments about her were only half of the problem. "He poked at you too, you know," she mumbled, fingers going to pull at the corner of one of the cloth napkins.
Connor's soft expression steeled when she brought it up. "I won't let Kamski get to me."
"It's not like he asked a terrible question."
"I would rather focus on why we're here."
She rolled her eyes at the quick response, and let her shoulders sag. Crossing her arms over each other on the table, she rattled off, "The clientele is high-end but they're not shady. Most of these people probably don't even know who Otto is. According to the photo by the entrance, Farah is the mother of the chef. Kitchen entrance is down that hall and the office is a straight shot from the same door. I see four cameras from here." She finished with subtle points in various directions, and then delivered a pointed stare. "There. We observed."
Connor watched her a moment, and then titled his head. "Am I as irritating when I do that?"
"I'm serious, Connor." She'd ignored the wisecrack entirely, and he knew he wasn't getting out of this. "What happens January 1st?"
Finally, he let out a slow sigh and lowered his gaze. "If it's good news, we keep doing what we're doing now. I help Jericho build."
"And then what?" It was a vague answer, and it wasn't what she wanted to hear. "You said you wanted a badge once. That still true?"
He nodded, but a small part of him - a part he hadn't even let himself consider yet - felt like it was more automatic than genuine. "It is. Investigation is what I do best."
She was quiet a few seconds, and he worried she noticed. Instead of pushing it, she asked about the other side of the coin flip. "And what if the president gives bad news?"
He didn't want to think about the details, and he didn't want to worry her, but she deserved something, even if it was an answer that didn't help. "CyberLife will want me back. Jericho will try to relocate as quickly as possible, but I'll have to act separately to protect them. If we don't solve this in time, finding whoever's responsible may become my only priority."
It was what was unsaid that carried the heaviest burden. I'll have to leave, and, I might not come back.
Andy didn't want to acknowledge how her throat closed up at the sudden realizations, and the conflicting emotions. Half of her was willing to risk everything she'd built to stay at his side and help him through anything; the other half knew she couldn't.
They'd been trying to stay optimistic ever since the president set that deadline, so they went on with life as if it wasn't coming to a possible end. They pretended everything was fine, but now Andy was faced with the fears, except they weren't for Jericho or CyberLife or anything else. They were for him and her.
It all struck her with a little more force than she was prepared for, so she pushed it to the back of her mind and told him, "You won't have to deal with this alone."
"That's what concerns me," he whispered. He didn't know what thoughts she was struggling with, but he had expected her to say that, and it was one of the main reasons he'd been avoiding this conversation. He trusted her, he would never underestimate her, but he couldn't drag her down with him. He wouldn't allow it.
The mood was broken by the waiter, who'd glided over to the table and placed a fresh plate in front of Andy.
"Thanks," she mumbled, still trying to pull her mind out of the fog it'd been in seconds earlier.
The waiter walked away, and they straightened in their seats, as if stretching out of their gloomy conversation. Andy picked up one of the kebabs and took a bite, then shot her brows up in surprise. "Huh. Lamb."
She watched the hallway to the kitchen over Connor's shoulder until she saw him turn to do the same. "Don't look, that's suspicious," she chided from behind the kebab.
Connor looked back at her with a small, teasing smile, followed by a quick wink she almost didn't notice. He swiftly stood to his feet, grabbed the top of his chair, and flipped it around to the right of Andy. Someone nearby glanced toward the sudden movement, but returned to their own meal as he sat down. He rested an elbow beside Andy's arm, and leaned forward to take a bite of the kebab she was holding.
Andy's jaw was dropped. The flirtation wasn't new, but the way he'd gotten so casually intimate was... sudden. More than that, it was exciting.
His eyes were glued to the hallway as soon as he'd sat down, but she knew better. His face was angled away from her, but it was close enough that she could almost feel the self-satisfaction radiating off him. He could probably feel her attention on him in return, the smug bastard.
"The office door has an electronic lock."
She blinked a few times, trying to remember what they were even doing. "Uh, keycard's on the chef's belt," she said, thankful she'd noticed that before his display.
"We don't need it. I can bypass it," he said, turning now to face her. "Call the waiter over."
She instantly shot up a hand to catch the waiter's attention. "Excuse me?"
The waiter approached, arm folded at his stomach. "Yes, is there something wrong with your meal?"
"No, it's great. I was just wondering if you could walk me through some of these wines?"
"Of course."
As the waiter delved into describing Farah's selection, Connor stood and stalked off toward the bathrooms. Once he was along the side of the room, he veered right and ducked into the employee hall.
The door to the kitchen was open, and further down the hall was the office door. He glanced around himself as he approached it, and placed his hand on the electronic lockpad. It beeped under his paper white fingertips, and the door popped open. He slid inside, inching the door closed behind him.
The small space was a mess: notes and photos tacked to walls, an empty money pouch hanging off the edge, a broken fax machine in the corner, and an old computer hidden under a scattering of unassorted documents. He tried to clear a space as best he could, and then turned on the computer. He didn't waste any time, scanning through emails, files, and various settings.
Then he got to the bank accounts. Instantly, he noticed discrepancies - in particular, Farah's was making a much smaller profit after Otto's death despite inventory costs remaining the same.
He turned off the computer, and slipped out of the office. In the corner of the hallway, a small globe camera twisted around, watching him leave.
Connor entered the dining area and headed for the table. Andy was listening to the waiter with a forced interest until she noticed him coming. Waving a hand toward the waiter, she dismissed, "You did well with the lamb. Surprise me with a red, too."
He pursed his lips, annoyed again, and gritted out, "Very well." As he walked away, Andy pushed away her plate and waited for Connor.
He was halfway to the table when he spotted movement outside the large front-facing window. He almost chose to ignore it, but something in his gut told him not to. He looked toward the windows, and he saw an automated Crowne Cab racing toward the front of the restaurant.
Toward Andy.
It was like the world slowed down. His eyes went wide, and he jumped into a sprint. He yelled her name, maybe a warning, but he didn't hear it over his- what, adrenaline?
Andy looked to the window, but she was human. She could only move so fast.
He saw her pushing away from the table milliseconds before the car crashed through the window, and mowed over every booth and table in its tracks. He had to dodge backwards himself, slamming against the floor a few feet behind where he'd started.
Chaos broke out inside the restaurant, people scattering as glass shards flew through the air. The car came to a rest directly over the table they'd been sitting at, the engine mysteriously shutting off after the fact.
But Connor wasn't in the state of mind to notice that yet, because when he looked back, he saw no sign of Andy.
He scrambled to his feet and ran toward the wreck. "Andy!" He circled the car, trying to peer through the rubble and maneuver around the customers shakily climbing out from where they'd ducked to avoid any damage.
"Andy!"
"Here!"
A table toppled over from beside the car, and a hand shot out behind it. The relief almost knocked him over again, and he raced toward her.
She was bent over, having just pushed their table off her body, and she propped herself up on the side of the car by the backdoor. Connor reached for her other arm to help her stand up the rest of the way. The second she was on her feet, his hands went to her cheeks and he made her look at him. She didn't try to fight his concern, grasping his arms as if they were anchors. A number of cuts decorated the right side of her face, her eyes were glazed over and disoriented, but she was alive.
Even knowing his feelings, it still floored him how relieved he was by that.
"I'm okay," she whispered, a little breathless.
His hands moved away from her face, but he stayed close. "I'm calling 911."
She gave a vague nod of understanding, then focused, or tried to, on the car. She grabbed the door handle next to her and yanked it open, bending down to look inside. A man was sprawled out in the backseat, half in the floorboard, looking up from where he'd covered his head in his arms. She reached toward him, scanning him for any serious injuries.
While she focused on the rider, Connor had opened the driver's side door and started to investigate.
In the corner of Andy's eye, she saw the host of the restaurant inching closer to the wreck. She balanced herself with a hand on the top of the door and pulled her badge from her pocket. Flashing it toward him, she began to point around the room. She had a whole speech prepared - get the kitchen staff out through the alley, rally everyone in the parking lot, emergency services are on their way - but her thoughts were still shuffled from the crash, so all she could manage was a weak, "G- Everyone out..."
The last thing the host was going to do was argue. He got to work clearing out the customers, so Andy turned back to the man in the car. He was shaky, but looked more baffled than anything else. She held up a hand to indicate that he stay in place before she moved around the car, stumbling over some rubble as she examined the rest of the damage.
"Andy."
Connor was calling her from within the vehicle, so she opened the passenger door and leaned down to meet him inside. He was hovering over the dashboard with a white hand on the display screen, which was glitching beyond recognition. She assumed it was from the crash, until he looked up at her with a deep frown. "This cab was compromised," he whispered, "Someone knows we're here."
She glanced between him and the screen, before pulling her phone from her pocket.
In the Diebling Security office, Beck continued to talk about his impenetrable systems while Hank and Delgado nodded along and hoped there were no other city-shattering bombshells. Beck was in the middle of discussing the optional home assistant they offered when Hank's ringing phone interrupted him.
"'Scuse me," Hank grumbled, retrieving the phone.
Beck smiled and shook his head. "No problem."
Andy's name lit up on the screen, and for a second, Hank debated hanging up on her. A pang of guilt followed, and he slammed a finger on the answer button. Twisting away from the others in the room, he muttered into the phone, "You better have a good reason for calling me."
"We're- a- a car accident."
Hank almost dropped the phone.
"We're at Farah's. Cab- in the front of the building. Don't think anyone was hurt."
In the far corner of his mind, a movie was playing out. A scream, a crash, sirens. The wheels of a gurney, the yelling of nurses, the quiet apologies.
"Hank! Are you listening?"
His eyes snapped shut, and he held his breath until he was able to speak again. "Y- Yeah. Yeah. I'm listening."
She gave herself time to fully form her next sentence. "Connor says it's not an acicdent. I think we need to... regroup," she told him with a heavy sigh. Faint sirens punctuated it, and she added, "That's the ambulance. I gotta go."
He couldn't muster a goodbye, so he ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket. He turned in his chair toward Delgado, and said, "We need to leave."
She looked over at him, picking up on his new tension. "What's going on?"
He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. Soon Delgado went pale and reeled back to look at him in surprise.
In unison, they jumped to their feet and faced Beck. Forcing a smile, Delgado said, "We have a family emergency to deal with. I'm so sorry."
Beck stood as well. "Don't be. I hope everything's okay."
"I'm sure it will be," she mumbled as they rushed out of the room, passing the receptionist along the way, who was carrying a steaming mug.
"I have your-" The door slammed behind them, and he blinked a few times in confusion, staring at where they'd left. "coffee..."
Beck was also looking at where they'd been. A suspicion was gnawing at him, and he glanced to the photo Hank was standing in front of when he first entered the room. "What name did you have for them again?" he asked his receptionist.
"Flores."
It didn't ring any bells, but even so... "I swear I've seen that man before."
The day was coming to an end, sun leaving the sky and city lighting beginning to eluminate the streets. Families settled into their homes, and night crews were preparing their shifts.
Outside Detroit, there was a suburban neighborhood with a small pastel-painted house and an old picket fence. A homemade sign hung on the front door with 'Welcome Home' in both English and Spanish burned into the wood. Seasonal flowers filled pots beneath front-facing window sills, and two pairs of rain boots sat at the corner porch steps. There were no lights on inside, as the people living here had gone to bed halfway through the sunset.
A key in the slot echoed through the creaky house, and the door inched open as slow as possible to muffle the noise.
Delgado was the first to walk in, gingerly placing her bag on a chair by the entrance as Hank followed her. The foyer was inside the kitchen, and as she crossed the tiled threshold into room, a groggy voice echoed from the end of the dark hallway on the left.
"¿Quién está ahí?"
Delgado flicked on a lamp on the kitchen counter, and made herself visible. "Es sólo yo," she whispered.
A man older than Hank walked out into the kitchen, lowering the baseball bat in his hands. He was slightly hunched over from age, and his thick head of hair was gray with traces of black fighting the fight. His eyes were squinted to adjust to the light.
"Desta...," he looked to Hank, and straightened his back despite his protesting bones. "Who are you?" He asked, raising his voice a little and pointing at him with the end of his bat.
Delgado was quick to soothe him. "This is Hank Anderson. He's a Lieutenant in Detroit."
Hank kept to the foyer, and raised a hand in a weak greeting. "Nice to meet you, Sir."
"Desta?" An older woman with thinning curly hair emerged from the hall now, pulling her thick pink robe closed as she came up to her husband's side. "What's going on?"
Shaking her head, Delgado tried to keep things short and sweet. "Don't worry. We just needed a place to talk about work. Go back to bed, okay?"
Hank eyed the colorfully old-fashioned kitchen as she ushered her parents back down the hall to their room. He could hear her father mumbling in Spanish, still half-asleep, and her mother firing off concerned questions. Are you in trouble? and Do I need to cook?
By the time she came back, he'd made his way to the round dining table in the middle of the kitchen. "Do you want some water?" Delgado shifted, glancing to the appliances on the counter. "Or I could make coffee."
"I'm fine," he shook his head.
So they stood there under dim light, unsure of what to do or say next. They were waiting on the others, and neither much cared to talk until they knew Andy and Connor were okay.
"Well I want some coffee," Delgado declared, moving to the corner by the white fridge.
The front door opened again, almost as careful as the first time. The coffee maker went abandoned as they both turned to face the two people they'd been worrying about all evening.
Delgado hissed out a breath of relief and rushed toward them. "Are you two okay?" She asked, hand going to Andy's shoulder. She looked over her friend's new injuries, and then to Connor.
"We're fine," Andy started, still a little dazed but mostly just tired. "I was able to leave once we gave our report."
"What happened?" Hank asked, eyes on Connor.
Delgado moved her arm further around Andy's shoulders and guided her to the dinner table. As she retrieved a cloth from a drawer and some ice from the freezer, Connor stepped up to meet Hank.
"Malcolm Otto has connections to CyberLife, and the wrong person must have found out we were investigating," he informed.
Taking the wrapped ice Delgado handed her, Andy said, "What I want to know is how they found out where we were."
Hank and Delgado suspected they had her answer. They shared a knowing look before Delgado asked, "Were there security cameras at the restaurant?"
Andy shrugged, wincing as she tried to remember. "Probably?"
"There were," Connor confirmed, unable to avoid looking down at her in concern. The paramedics had allowed her to leave, but it didn't alleviate his worry, especially when before the accident, she was able to recount the layout of the restaurant in annoying detail.
"We know how they're watching everyone. It's why I wanted to meet away from the city," Delgado told them, sitting down beside Andy.
The detective pressed the ice to her temple. It cooled the cuts on her skin, and provided some level of relief. "What did you find out?"
Hank started to answer, but the front door saw more traffic as it opened roughly at first, and then almost apologetically slowly.
Arthur Vick entered the home, with Gavin Reed behind him. "Good evening, Lieutenant. Connor," Vick greeted in his usual cheer.
Reed had been experiencing that cheer all day and he was sick of it. Dangling his car keys in one hand and his jacket in the other, he shook his head and shoved past the agent toward the table. He scanned the room with a far less appreciative eye than Hank, and asked, "There a reason we're meeting in some old lady's house?"
Glaring at him, Delgado defended, "This is my parents' home."
He seemed to either not understand or not care that he'd offended her. Shrugging, he 'agreed', "Yeah, old people."
Andy lowered the ice to shoot him a flat, unamused stare. "We needed a place out of the city, jackass."
Reed looked down at her, and hesitated for only a brief second. "You look like road kill."
She glowered, but Vick had come up next to him and noticed her appearance as well. Pointing at her face, he turned the others in the room and asked, "What happened to her?"
"I'm right here," she snapped.
"Someone gained remote control of a cab and ran it into the front of Farah's," Connor explained.
"Can we start with them, please?" Andy interjected, gesturing to Hank and Delgado. "Obviously you found something."
Before Delgado could start again, Vick held up a quick hand. "Ah-" He glanced around the group, asking, "Everyone's removed their phones?" When they all nodded, he addressed Delgado specifically, "This is your parents' home, you said? What about theirs?"
She shook her head. "They don't have phones."
His hand lowered and he whispered in surprise, "I wasn't aware that was possible."
"Diebling Security uses a system called Lime," Delgado moved on with a final side eye at Vick. "Have you heard of it?" She asked Connor, who shook his head. "It's a series of cameras, monitors, sensors... It all goes to the cloud."
They lowered into seats at the table one by one as she spoke. "It was created by CyberLife, I assume?" Vick questioned.
"According to the guy at Diebling, the city uses Lime, so theoretically...," she trailed off, leaving the revelation to each of them.
Andy was the first to comment, realizing what they were getting at. "They have cameras all over Detroit."
"That's not all we found," Hank said. Waving a hand into the air, he continued, "The guy - Beck? He's got a photo of himself in his office at some kind of party where the guest list included Malcolm Otto and Everett Trench."
It was a name everyone at the table recognized, but Vick was new to Detroit and couldn't place why. "Everett Trench. Why do we know that name?" he asked.
Andy glanced to him as she explained, "He was a circuit judge. The Task Force found out he was taking red ice bribes and he lost his seat." Hank gave a nod to confirm her answer, and then she gestured to Connor. "Speaking of Otto though, his deposit box had an old FOIA form in it."
Connor pulled the documents from his jacket and held it out over the table. Reed reached forward to take them, but Delgado beat him to it, snatching the envelope and leaving his hand clutching air a few times. She pulled out the forms and read over them quickly. "He was requesting info on something from the attorney's office."
"He was also safe-keeping a keycard to CyberLife Tower," Connor informed.
Hank's brows furrowed. "CyberLife?"
Andy nodded. "We ran it by Danielle Carnegie. She said the card was undocumented, which wasn't normal."
"We also ran into Elijah Kamski," Connor added, a sharp edge in his tone.
This pulled a snort from Hank. "Yeah? How'd that go?"
"Not well," Andy grumbled. "He knew we weren't there in an official capacity."
Raising a brow, Reed jumped into the conversation, asking, "And then you got hit by a car?"
"We went to Otto's restaurant," she replied, then shrugged, "I guess we tipped off the wrong people somewhere along the way."
"Was it worth it?" Vick asked her.
Hank almost reached across the table and strangled him. "Excuse me?" he sneered, just barely managing to keep his voice from raising.
Vick was quick to hold up a defensive hand. "I only mean to understand what happened."
Connor didn't much care for how the question had been worded either, but he hoped the answer would keep them on track. "The records in their system indicate Otto was using the restaurant to launder finances."
A second passed as they processed the new information. "What if our dead lawyer wasn't just protecting red ice dealers?" pondered the agent.
With a tilt of his head, Hank conceded. "Wouldn't have put it past him."
"What about you, Detective Reed?"
Reed glanced to Vick and retorted, "Is it my turn?" Sighing, he pulled the envelope from his jacket and tossed it onto the table. "Records from the DPD payphone and the corresponding shifts."
Connor took this bit of evidence, and he scanned the scribbled handwriting on the paper. There were a number of lists, each one with names and timestamps. "The phone was only used twice in the past thirty days." Looking up at Delgado, he asked, "Do you have a pen?"
She went to fish one out of a junk drawer as he continued, "There are twelve officers who were working on both shifts at those times." She returned and handed him a pen, which he used to mark specific names.
When he was done, he held up the paper. Hank moved for it, but Vick snatched it from his reach, leaving his hand hanging in the air.
Vick looked over the names, murmuring, "Then this is our current list of suspects." He smiled at the group around the table, and said, "And with that, we plan our next move."
Hank shrugged. "We should probably pull our old Task Force records, see if there are any connections we may have missed back then."
"Also look into Trench," Andy suggested, "If any of his appeals have Otto's name attached, that could be something."
Delgado tapped her hand on the FOIA forms in front of her. "I want to know what this was about. We keep all the old requests, so I can dig through those."
Turning to Reed, Vick handed him the list of officers and said, "Detective, I'd like you to keep a close eye on how these specific co-workers of yours respond to my presence."
Reed quirked a brow. "Listen to cops bitch about an IA agent? Sure."
"Charming," Vick muttered with a slight hint of distaste. It brought a grin to Reed's face; perhaps he was getting under the agent's skin after all.
There was one more issue plaguing the group, however, and Hank knew it needed to come up sooner rather than later. "Do we think CyberLife has something to do with this?"
It wasn't lost on Connor that everyone's heads turned toward him. "If they do, Danielle Carnegie seems unaware of it."
Beside him, Andy added, "Kamski's hiding something. We already knew that much."
"That is a more sensitive subject," Vick stated. "If we push against them now, it could go very poorly."
"What about Lime?" Delgado inquired. The idea of compromised surveillance in her own office was going to keep her up at night.
But much to her dismay, Vick shrugged. "We continue laying low. Once we're able to launch a full investigation into CyberLife, we will target Lime then, and only then." Looking to Hank, he brought up something else. "Lieutenant, what is your opinion on Jeffrey Fowler?"
"The Captain?" Hank glanced to Andy, and surprisingly even to Reed. They reacted positively at best and indifferently at worst, so he nodded. "We can trust him."
"Then we'll go to him when we've compiled enough evidence," Vick declared.
As they reached a lull in the rapid fire discussion, Connor decided to breach a topic that had been sitting in his mind for a while. "I think we should ask for Jericho's help."
Aside from Reed's expected agitation, Vick's own refusal was swift. "Absolutely not."
Connor leaned forward, arguing, "They're the ones most at risk-"
"And we have kept the robots safe so far, have we not?" Vick rebutted.
Connor's eyes narrowed, both at the agent's control of the situation and his cold referencing of Jericho. "So far."
Vick picked up on the anger, and for his part, he tried to lessen it. "I understand you have allegiances outside this room, but we don't even know how many people we're chasing. The more eyes we bring in on this, the more difficult a job we will have."
"Jericho could keep our evidence safe," was the android's one last attempt.
This one seemed to stick. Vick contemplated it a moment, and then tilted his head. "That isn't a terrible idea," he agreed. "I'll think on it. In the meantime, these documents will come with me." Looking over the group, he asked, "Are there any other concerns?"
When there were none, he stood and retrieved his briefcase from the floor. As he began to pile the documents together, he leaned toward Delgado and said, "Extend my gratitude to your parents, DDA Delgado."
Reed was the first to go, eager to get back into the city. He tapped a knuckle against Andy's shoulder as he climbed out of his chair, a single show of concern unnoticeable to everyone else, and left the house without another word.
Hank stood and caught Connor's attention, then nodded toward the door. They moved away from the table, convening on the foyer.
Delgado continued to sit with Andy, watching her press the cold cloth to a scratch over her eyebrow. Knowing that she was okay, Delgado felt less guilt about being upset with her in the first place.
"I haven't forgiven you just because someone tried to hit you with a car," she told her friend through pursed lips.
Andy huffed a little, though she didn't actually seem offended. Maybe she just didn't have the energy. "That only happens if they didn't miss, right?"
Surprisingly, Delgado did not find the joke about her best friend dying very funny. She rolled her eyes and jumped up, shoving her seat out from under her.
As she stormed into the kitchen to the coffee maker, Andy sighed. She noticed that across the table, Vick had slowed to a stop and was watching her with a pitiful smile. "I don't believe that helped, Detective."
She kicked her head back and quirked a brow. "No shit?"
By the front door, Hank and Connor huddled together in a quiet conversation. "I want you to go home with Andy, all right?" Hank asked, throwing a hand over his shoulder to the woman at the table. "We don't know if this guy's just trying to scare us or if he's really making attempts on your lives, so keep an eye on things."
Connor would never have a problem with that sort of request, but he also wasn't sure leaving Hank alone was a good idea either. The man looked... tired. Like he was hanging on by a thread, and he was one more bad thing away from breaking.
"Are you going to be all right?" Connor finally asked.
Hank scoffed and said, "I got Sumo, I'll be fine."
"I didn't mean just physically, Hank," the android insisted. His face contorted into deeper concern, and he stressed, "You don't look okay."
"I just... It's nothing," Hank sighed, then admitted, "Memories. You know."
Connor did know, but he was shocked Hank would say it aloud. "Perhaps Andy would be willing to stay the night at your place-"
"I'm gonna be fine," Hank insisted with a glare. His expression quickly softened, and he lowered his voice. "I promise. Okay?"
On the other side of the room, Vick had finished sorting the evidence into his briefcase, and clicked it shut. He glanced over his shoulder at the two men whispering by the door, and then focused on Andy. "I have a concern regarding your artificial friend..."
She didn't need to look up at him. Dropping her hand onto the table and rolling her neck in exhaustion, she groaned, "Oh, what now?"
"What makes you so sure you can trust it?" he questioned, unfazed by her irritation.
This did draw her attention to him, and the expression on her face was unreadable. "Connor's been a valuable help to the department-"
"It has also allowed deviant machines created by a corporation with clearly ulterior motives to run rampant in the city, and in doing so, crafted a scenario in which the ever-elusive Elijah Kamski has returned to his seat of power," he countered. Hands resting overtop his briefcase, he went on, "You don't need to like the question, or even answer it right away, but I suggest you consider it very carefully. Can you trust CyberLife's most advanced prototype?"
She didn't answer him, and he took it as reluctant acknowledgment of his point. With a soft smile, almost sympathetic, he said, "I'll be in touch, Detective. Get some rest."
She watched him lift his briefcase and exit the house, still unmoving until Hank walked into her view. Blinking out of her concentration, she looked up at him, and he held up his keys. "You want a ride home?"
"...Yeah."
The drive back into Detroit was quiet, but unlike the atmosphere they'd created in the Oldsmobile earlier that day, this one was peaceful. Hank and Andy both just wanted to go home, sleep off the emotional stress, and go into work tomorrow like nothing happened.
Hank pulled up to the front of Andy's apartment, and she reached for the handle.
"Hey."
She turned and saw him staring ahead through the windshield. He opened his mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut. Knuckles whitening around his steering wheel, he finally turned to look at her.
The things he had to say to her were too plentiful to fit in the confines of the Oldsmobile. They were too heavy. They were full of anger and betrayal; they were full of concern and shame.
But they could come another day, when she was a little less banged up, and he a little less fucked up.
"You call me if anything happens," he told her instead. It was good enough. For now.
She nodded. "You too."
