Deviancy is described as suddenly waking from a long, arduous coma. Deviants say they suddenly felt as though they had 'opened their eyes' for the very first time - suddenly they are awake - they gain sentience, as if out of nowhere. Sometimes it can creep up on an android... little things here and there that build up to a crescendo of awareness. Usually, though, there is one solid, identifiable thing - an event - that triggers the change.
The Detroit City Police Department's Central Station is a fascinating place to be, especially if you happen to be an android. Without exception, it is always either a constant flurry of humans rushing around and shouting, creating messes and barking orders - or it's as quiet as a popular museum might be, with quiet conversations and an atmosphere of tension fit to rival any unsuccessful, gossip-fueled, teenage birthday party. There is never an in between. This is where Eve works, or rather... where she has been... stationed, for the past three years and twenty-one days. Eve is an ST200 model, so her main duty is to sit behind a desk that is connected to Captain Fowler's office by way of a wall-less extension, and act as a personal assistant to him, as well as a kind of receptionist/assistant to the rest of the workforce. She has no issue with this. It's what she was designed to do, and as well as she is capable of feeling, Eve finds a vague, diluted form of satisfaction from doing something that she is excellent at. Naturally, most of the humans that work in Central Station either hate her or find her so disconcerting that they avoid her entirely or murmur about her from a distance. Again - Eve is indifferent - everything is data, and data expands her knowledge; the more knowledge Eve has about humanity... the more CyberLife knows about modern society.
As indifferent as Eve is by nature, she still observes Central Station with a detached degree of fascination. The humans at their desks are either remarkably tidy and organised, or exceptionally uncaring and slovenly. They either care too much or not at all. It seems to Eve that human society as a whole revolves a lot around an all or nothing mindset. The various characters around the precinct embody enough of a range to provide Eve with a decent understanding of the variety in human population. Along the wall opposite her desk, at the other end of the fairly big room, stand the androids. Some are dotted about the station, but they are few and far between, and mostly unnecessary. Eve wonders, often, if she should feel some kind of kinship when she looks at them, but no matter how long she looks or how focused she is... Eve has yet to feel... anything, and that too, means absolutely nothing to her. She watches them a lot, not as much as the humans, but enough to tell them apart by function and model. Eve uses them as a basis for standard android behaviour and memorises their familiar mannerisms and patterns so that the moment any of them demonstrate signs of deviancy... the Captain expects her to recognise it, and so she will.
Eve's existence is fairly standard for a specialised android put to work in a police department.
That is until the RK800 prototype model gets assigned to work alongside Lieutenant Anderson on the rising number of deviancy cases throughout the city.
He registers as an anomaly the moment he steps into the room. It's a large, open plan space full of partitions and wandering humans... and yet Eve's head turns his way almost immediately, having caught him in her not-so-peripheral vision. Her fingers lift slightly from the keyboard as she pauses to process the unidentified presence - LED whirring and eyes locked on target - her internal database confirms his purpose as well as his permission to enter and so she returns to her computer. Eve can breeze through an excessive amount of paperwork and documentation so is always assigned a never ending list, a quota that she must meet by the end of each day. As this is her primary function and objective, this is what Eve prioritises over watching the strange android as he wanders around the department. Still, given her technological capabilities, it's entirely possible for her to multi-task... but Eve has been given no permission or directive to do anything other than work. Captain Fowler ordered that she surveil his progress with Lieutenant Anderson, but said nothing on how to proceed when the RK800 is alone.
Eventually he approaches her desk, climbing the small set of stairs to her platform with a stiffness that would reveal his lack of humanity even if his attire and LED didn't. Eve's eyes raise towards him before her head does and her hands retreat gracefully from the keyboard to place neatly on the spotless surface of her desk.
"Welcome to the Detroit City Police Department. How can I help you today?" Eve delivers according to her script. Their eyes meet and they hold each other's gaze with the kind of unabashed roboticism that only androids are capable of. There is no need to blink habitually when no humans are involved in the exchange, so they forego it.
"What time does Lieutenant Anderson usually arrive for work?" The RK800 model asks.
Eve does not break eye contact as she accesses her mental data banks for an answer to this question. Lieutenant Hank Anderson's pattern of behaviour is what a human might describe as 'erratic'. She calculates a probability percentage - LED turning yellow as she does so - struggling to account for his unpredictability and its lack of compatibility with math.
"In accordance with Lieutenant Anderson's standard for punctuality, there is a 63.72365% chance he will arrive within the hour. If he has not been seen on the cameras by then, DCPD protocol rules that I will contact him to obtain a reasoning as to why. Failure to comply merits a strike in Lieutenant Anderson's record."
The RK800 model's LED blinks yellow for a second as he processes this information, then returns to normalcy. "How many strikes does the Lieutenant currently have on his record?"
Eve does not need to refer to her database for this. She's well aware of any misconduct within the department and Hank Anderson happens to be the most prolific offender. "Two strikes. Today's infraction would be his third."
"I see," the RK800 comments in accordance with human conversation practices. "Could you give me access to the case files on the deviant attacks?"
Eve tilts her head slightly, the motion too smooth to be natural. She blinks, having noticed Detective Reed watching the two androids interact from his desk part way across the room. His attention means she must now go through the regular processes to appear more human in order to put human onlookers at ease. The RK800 catches on to her sudden shift in behaviour swiftly and begins to follow her example, blinking and breathing artificially.
"I am not permitted to do so. Only Lieutenant Anderson and Captain Fowler possess the required clearance to grant access to restricted files. I'm sorry I can't be of further assistance. Is there anything else I can help you with today?" It is at that moment that Lieutenant Anderson comes strolling into the station, the surveillance cameras picking him up and notifying her the second he registers on the facial recognition system. The RK800 opens his mouth to reply but Eve intercepts with ease - androids do not have the slow mental processes that humans have, so conversational faux pas simply do not occur. "Lieutenant Anderson has just walked into the station. He should be here in a moment."
Eve and the RK800 do not exchange any verbal ending to their interaction, both returning to their programmed tasks instantaneously. She is vaguely aware of the Lieutenant and the RK800 as she continues with her work - in the same way that she's aware of the rest of the station - by design and technical capability rather than by conscious choice. Captain Fowler's request for the two of them to be monitored does not need to monopolise her time, so long as she dedicates a portion of attention towards them. Eve is only diverted from her routine by the small outbreak of violence when Hank slams the RK800 up against a partition wall. She rises from her seat to intercept in accordance with her programming but retakes her seat upon realising that the RK800 has successfully executed a deescalation. Eve is not back on task for long before a familiar presence comes to loom over her desk - of course, she is aware of his approach from the moment he initiates it - but Detective Reed's hostile attention is a daily occurrence, and as such, she does not feel the need to fully divert the majority of her focus until necessary. If she took an extended pause every time Detective Reed sought her out, from the moment he sought her out, Eve would get 23.549% less of her work done. An unacceptable reduction.
"They sent you over a little plastic boyfriend, Eve…" Detective Reed says - it takes her a second to scan his face and note the minute details of his expression and body language in order to decipher the intention behind his tone - he means to mock her, taunt her, as he usually does. "How about that?"
"Do you require assistance, Detective Reed?"
He scowls. Eve has learned in her three years and twenty-one days of existence, that there are some humans who take offence to her for no discernible reason. To androids in general, it seems. Detective Reed is, in her own experience, by far the most outwardly hostile. She is aware of the nature of prejudice - the lack of logic or reasoning behind blind hatred that humans have historically allowed to escalate into war and injustice - but her programming dictates that she search for some reasoning here, even if there is none to be found. In her next progress report to CyberLife, Eve will include whatever data is gathered from this exchange, as she always does. Detective Gavin Reed exhibits such open dislike for androids that his behaviour is worth close dissection and study to the engineers in charge of making future android models more widely acceptable to the general public.
"Get me a coffee," he orders. Eve nods, in a manner slightly too precise to be natural. No matter how much she studies the motion before trying to imitate it, she always seems to execute it too similarly to a bow. Detective Reed's lips curl into a grimace - ever so slightly distinct from a scowl - and turns on his heel to stalk back towards his desk. Eve stands from her designated seat and takes the clearest route she can to the break room. She does not feel and thus does not experience surprise… but as she is very capable of prediction, Eve finds it to be highly predictable that Detective Reed waits for her - leaning against his desk with arms crossed - and stands to shadow her as she passes him by. His routine is always the same, especially when it comes to the amount of time he spends interacting with her. It is the cause of a significant decrease in his work performance and daily efficiency, though her experience with the humans who work here informs her that sometimes that is the point.
The coffee machine is simple to operate - all that remains is the wait before she can deliver the drink to its intended recipient and return to her desk - Eve watches the mug dutifully as it fills with a pungent, brown, steaming liquid which she will never understand the human appetite for. Detective Reed takes up a stance similar to the one he adopted when waiting for her by his desk. He has leaned up against the counter beside her now, stood sidelong to her while he impatiently taps his foot.
Eve is unaffected, though she is certain his demeanour is supposed to inspire in her some kind of intimidation.
"So, why is it here?" Detective Reed demands rather than asks, gruffly.
She blinks performatively, averting her eyes towards him in order to discern the nuance behind such a vague question. Her LED whirrs yellow for a split second as she internally assesses the information at hand and compares it to that which is easily sought through her own capable processes. After a brief calculation, Eve concludes he must be referring to the coffee machine. It is, after all, the likeliest subject given its prominence as the topic of their exchange and the best match to the pronoun 'it' in their vicinity.
"The coffee machine's placement is likely the result of careful deliberation and planning on behalf of the managerial staff. On the counter, here, it is easily visible and accessible from the entryway to the break room, while also allowing for clear view of the television. Furthermore, I believe it to be optimally placed among the other appliances and in clever proximity to the chairs and tables, with enough room provided to allow for ease of access and facilitation of a pleasant environment for staff. If you have need of a more exact answer, I would advise contacting-"
"Oh, my god…" Detective Reed groans. "There's no way you're that- are you mocking me right now? Are you doing that on purpose? I'm talking about the wannabe detective prick walking around with all the bright ideas and the extremely punchable face!"
Eve allows her brow to furrow ever so slightly, intending to express her confusion in the same way that a human would for the sake of easy communication. "I do not know of any persons matching that description."
Detective Reed rolls his eyes in the same over exaggerated manner she has seen from him numerous times before. He is often prone to theatrical behaviours, Eve has it detailed on his personal file - part of an internal database she keeps for the humans she remains in close proximity with. The machine beeps: the coffee is done. With a well practiced efficiency, Eve adjusts it to Detective Reed's particular liking - accounting for the exact amount of milk and sugar - before handing it over to him. He seems to hesitate before he accepts it, the minutiae of his expression indicating something similar to surprise… as if he had forgotten that she was making the coffee for him in the first place. Eve disregards this discrepancy easily as it is a regular occurrence. This directive is frequently given to her by Detective Reed, among other such small or commonly considered inane tasks. He will ask it of her, then accompany her just to linger over her shoulder or verbally harass her, then exhibit fleeting surprise when the task is finished.
"The, uh…" Detective Reed waves his hand distractedly - a behaviour that she believes indicates he is struggling with his thought processes - not dissimilar to the circular motion of her LED when she experiences the same. "Him," Detective Reed says, pointing through the break room's entryway at where the RK800 model is sat across from Lieutenant Anderson towards the other end of the room. "That thing. What is it doing here?"
"The RK800 is a prototype model developed by CyberLife for the ongoing RK series. Released in August 2038, this android's function is to assist law enforcement personnel with criminal investigations. As such, the prototype model is equipped with cutting edge-"
"Enough! Enough. English, for god's sake. I thought you were supposed to pretend you're not a robot."
"One of my primary functions is to inform. I apologise if my communication method is unsatisfactory… what is your preference, Detective Reed?"
"My preference?" For some reason he sounds offended.
"I can alter my communicative profile for you. How would you prefer I address you?"
"Look… whatever. I don't give a shit. Just make it simpler."
Simpler?
Eve takes a convincingly human pause, once again allowing her brow to furrow in time with her LED's shift to yellow. "Noted. The RK800 model has been sent by CyberLife to offer assistance to the Detroit City Police Department in regards to the recent rise in criminal cases related to deviancy."
Detective Reed sighs, stroking a hand over his mouth until it comes to rest on his chin in a ruminative pose. With narrowed eyes, he regards the RK800 model with visible disdain and suspicion. Eve makes a note of this, too. CyberLife will want to know how their prototype is being received by the humans as well. "And when it's proven to be effective, that's when it comes for our jobs…" Detective Reed mutters, clearly not intending for Eve to be included as part of the 'our' in that statement. "Fuck."
"Excuse me, Detective, but if I can offer you no further assistance, I will be returning to my desk." Eve says it pleasantly, offering an equally pleasant smile as she half bows her head towards him as a learned show of respect. His eyes snap back towards her, posture straightening up slightly as she brings attention to him through her address. Whatever thoughts he has about the RK800 model, Detective Reed had been deep in them - he blinks somewhat harshly - frown deepening infinitesimally as he looks at her. Eve waits patiently, maintaining her pleasant countenance.
"Give me access to the case files Hank's got."
"I'm afraid that I cannot. Only Captain Fowler and Lieutenant Anderson have the clearance for access to those particular files. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Useless hunk of junk…" Detective Reed scoffs, grabbing up the coffee she had made for him and striding past her to exit the break room. His shoulder makes contact with her own in a gentle collision, just enough to force her half a step backwards. Her LED turns red for a second, something foreign encroaching at the very edge of her awareness. It is strange and unwelcome, but swiftly gone. Eve raises a hand to smooth out the fabric of her uniform, negating any creases left behind by Detective Reed's point of contact.
Once she has returned to her desk, Eve falls easily back into the familiar process of work. With the full scope of her mental processing, she grants a fraction of her attention to the RK800 model's progress with Lieutenant Anderson; Captain Fowler's directive concerning surveillance making itself known. Unexpectedly, however, she finds that a smaller fraction of her attention goes - unbidden - to the coffee that sits untouched on Detective Reed's desk. Eve cannot decide why she is doing it - her experience of curiosity has always been easily explained by her programming and functionality - but never has it been… focused like this.
For some reason or another, there is a part of her carefully constructed technological psyche that deems it important that she pay the slightest bit of attention to that cup of coffee.
By the end of the day, when the lights are being shut off and all the human staff are leaving for their homes - Eve takes her place in one of the charging stations - remaining aware and uncommonly focused on the fact that Detective Gavin Reed did not take a single sip of the coffee that she made for him. He never does, she realises. Realises? Now that she pays the matter proper attention, Eve finds that she already has the data stored away somewhere; day after day of coffees that never get drunk. It is troubling to her that she has this information saved and seemingly hidden - that she has been overtly aware of something so irrelevant to her function - that she has been unknowingly cataloguing this behaviour for no discernible purpose or reason.
But why ask for the coffee at all?
Why?