Chapter 3: Hank stirred awake on the couch, blinking at the afternoon light streaming through the blinds. His neck ached from sleeping in a bad position, but his first concern wasn't himself. He glanced over at Connor, still slumped on the couch beside him. Even with his eyes closed, there was something restless in his posture—tension in his hands, the faint twitch of his brow. The kid didn't seem to catch a break even in his dreams.
"Figures," Hank muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Remembering what he'd read in the manual the night before, he leaned forward and tried something. "C-51—battery status."
Connor's mouth moved slightly, but it wasn't his voice that responded. A calm, detached female voice emitted from him instead. "Connor-51, charging… Thirty percent."
Hank flinched, startled by the unexpected voice. "The hell?" He grabbed the thick manual and started flipping through the pages, hunting through technical jargon he couldn't make heads or tails of.
The voice continued, interrupting his thoughts. "Warning: Battery compromised. Please contact CyberLife for further assistance."
Hank groaned, quickly skimming the battery section of the manual. His eyes landed on a critical warning: If Connor_51's battery drops below 10%, biocomponents may be permanently damaged and require replacement. If the battery is compromised, the battery is subject to leakage and may require replacement. Below that was another prompt: For more information, prompt 'Battery Compromised.'
Hank sighed and gave it a shot. "Battery Compromised."
"Battery leakage detected. Current leakage rate: Five percent per hour. Full charge anticipated in seven hours."
"Damn it," Hank hissed, scanning further. He found another line about battery performance: An uncompromised battery drains at 0.8 percent per hour on average. Hank rubbed his temples. "Kid must not have slept in a goddamn week…"
Hank reached for his phone to check if anyone had tried to reach him. The screen lit up, revealing a chaotic mix of notifications: several missed calls and texts from Gavin, a series of incomprehensible messages from Nines—surprisingly—and two terse messages from the captain.
"Fuck!" Hank growled, standing abruptly and pacing as he tried to decide what to tackle first. He moved to Connor's side and gently adjusted the charging cable, making sure it was securely connected. Then, he opened his phone, hissing at the brightness.
Reading the messages, Hank put together the events since leaving the precinct. The texts from Nines began fairly lucid but descended into something cryptic and nonsensical. However, it began to make sense after reading Gavin's messages.
After Connor and Hank had left, Gavin and Nines were sent to the scene of the crime. During their investigation, Nines had been visibly distressed, hyper-aware of Connor's absence, paranoia that evolved over time. It turns out that by testing the purple thirium, Nines had been exposed to the substance and figured out the hard way that androids could be affected by drugs. The symptoms of Nines' condition were eerily similar to the effects of ingesting high levels of cocaine. However, instead of dilated pupils, Nines' eyes had turned an unnerving red— "like the Terminator" in Gavin's words— and he'd lashed out at the police station. Hank sighed. It was probably a good thing Connor hadn't been involved in testing the substance.
The situation had taken a strange turn. Nines' behavior had led to a potential lead in the case, and the department now had to deal with the fallout. Androids could now be implicated as victims in more ways than one. This had not been anticipated, but now it seemed like the investigation was going to get even more complicated, a collaboration between the Deviant unit and the Drug unit. At the behest of the chief, Gavin and Nines would be working with Hank and Connor. Wonderful.
Before leaving to address the chaos of the previous night, Hank wrote a note for Connor and left it on the coffee table where he knew the android would eventually see it. He also sent a text message he knew Connor wouldn't receive until he was back online.
Before leaving, Hank poured himself some coffee and flipped through Connor's manual one more time, specifically the section on his eyes. If Nines's eyes had turned red, it was likely a feature tested in Connor's model. It took some time, but eventually Hank found an explanation: It was supposed to be a signal for deviancy, a way to check if the android was going rogue. But the whole thing struck the detective as pointless—deviants could likely turn that feature on and off. Additionally, the fact that it was there in the first place made Hank believe more of what Connor had said about CyberLife—the people who designed these androids clearly watched too much TV.
After checking in on Sumo and setting down his food bowl, Hank gave him a reassuring pat on the head before heading out the door. "Good boy, you watch the kid." He didn't like leaving Connor alone, especially in his current state, but he couldn't afford to waste any more time.