Chapter 2:

At the precinct, Hank made his way to the package room, fluorescent lights casting their harsh glow on rows of unclaimed boxes. He spotted the small package labeled "RK800: Maintenance and Troubleshooting" and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It felt oddly light for something that might hold answers, but Hank wasn't about to dismiss it. He didn't know much about androids, and this seemed like the best way to learn about Connor without forcing the conversation. Connor already looked one push away from snapping—android emotions and exhaustion didn't seem to mix very well.

Tucking the box under his arm, Hank made his way back to his desk. But the scene that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. Connor stood near Nines and Gavin, his posture stiffer than usual. Gavin, ever the provocateur, wore his signature smirk, while Nines maintained his unreadable expression. To those who didn't know him, Connor would seem the same as ever, but as his friend, Hank could see that he was anything but calm and collected.

"So, why aren't you at the crime scene?" Gavin sneered, leaning against his desk with exaggerated casualness. "Thought you androids didn't need downtime."

"We're calling it a night," Connor replied curtly, his LED flickering yellow.

Nines, ever sharp-tongued, added with a sly edge, "Guess that's what happens when you're obsolete."

It was meant as a joke, but Connor's patience snapped like a brittle twig. Before anyone could react, he slapped Nines on the face—not hard enough to significantly damage him, but with enough force to make his point. "Not right now. I'm in a bad mood," Connor growled, storming off toward the break room without a backward glance.

Gavin straightened, his smirk vanishing. "The hell does he think he's doing, treating my property like that?" he barked, moving as if to follow Connor.

Nines stepped in front of him, his voice calm but firm. "Don't. Something's wrong with him, and it's probably personal. We shouldn't have pushed." He glanced toward the door Connor had exited through, guilt flickering in his otherwise impassive face. "Connor always gets his work done on time. If he's off tonight, it must be serious."

Gavin huffed, crossing his arms. "Whatever. But you better sort your brother out."

"I will," Nines replied simply before following Connor. He shot a quick signal to Gavin to stay put—a subtle shake of his head that Gavin, surprisingly, obeyed.

As Nines disappeared through the door, Gavin caught sight of Hank speaking with Fowler in hushed tones across the bullpen. Both men looked tired, their expressions somber. The conversation ended with a quiet nod of understanding before Hank turned and headed back to his desk, the package still tucked under his arm.

"If you're looking for your tin can," Gavin called out, jerking his thumb toward the breakroom, "it went that way with my tin can."

Hank raised an eyebrow but didn't respond, his focus shifting to the door Gavin had indicated. Muttering something about "android drama," he headed off in the same direction, his footsteps heavy with concern.

Hank paused just outside the break room door, hesitating for a moment as muffled voices filtered through the gap. He recognized Connor's voice, low and strained, speaking to Nines about someone named Amanda. The name tugged at Hank's memory. Where had he heard it before? Connor had mentioned Amanda in passing once, something about CyberLife and meeting with her. But the specifics escaped him.

Pushing the door open, Hank stepped inside. Connor sat slumped on the couch, his LED still yellow. Nines stood nearby, a cloth in hand, wiping a streak of thirium from his face—the aftermath of Connor's slap. Nines wore a faint look of concern.

"Connor," Hank began, keeping his voice calm but firm. "Are you ready to go?"

Connor looked up, his expression softening slightly. He nodded, slowly rising to his feet. "Thank you," he murmured to Nines, his tone quiet but sincere. He wobbled a bit as he stood, and Hank instinctively stepped closer, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder.

Acknowledging Nines with a brief nod, Hank guided Connor toward the door. Behind them, Nines sighed, moving to sit at his desk beside Gavin, who leaned back in his chair with a raised eyebrow.

"So, what's the deal with Robocop 1.0?" Gavin asked, his tone dripping with faux disinterest.

Nines smirked. "Oh, look at you—caring. How touching."

"Bite me," Gavin shot back, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, what's up with him?"

"None of your business," Nines replied smoothly, though his teasing edge faded. Gavin's gaze fell on the door, catching a glimpse of Connor's face before it disappeared. His eyes narrowed as he spotted the faint trace of thirium.

"Did you slap him back?"

"No," Nines said sharply, his tone signaling the end of the conversation.

Hank and Connor swung by Connor's apartment to pick up his charging cable. Hank frowned as he examined the strange adapter at its end. "What the hell is this thing?"

Connor sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It's because I'm a prototype. I even have ports for cords that don't exist yet. Completely useless."

Hank snorted, shaking his head. "Figures. Tech companies always gotta overdo it."

The drive back to Hank's house was quiet at first, until Connor broke the silence, overtaken by a sudden burst of irritant energy. "You know," he said, his voice tinged with frustration, "I'm surprisingly inefficient, even for a prototype—It's stupid."

Hank shot him a glance, surprised. Most people insisted Connor's model was sleek, efficient, and perfect. Hearing him complain about himself was... unexpected. "Huh. Guess being stuck inside all that tech gives you a different perspective," Hank commented.

Connor nodded, his LED flickering, his gaze narrowing. "Yeah. People say I'm the 'pinnacle of modern technology,' but I'm not. That's why there's an RK900 series, and why there are only a handful of me. I was created to hunt deviants—that's the story you were given. But the truth is, I was in development before that was even a problem. CyberLife wanted a 'RoboCop' for civil or military use. They also wanted to test a bunch of new tech for other androids, simple devices, even cell phones. Instead of developing all that separately, they crammed it into me to save money. It made me less efficient—sometimes I freeze, and I need way more downtime than other models. All because of unnecessary bells and whistles I can't get rid of. Annoying. Useless."

"Bells and whistles?" Hank echoed, intrigued.

Connor sighed. "They designed me based on what they thought cops were like, but obviously they didn't do proper research. Watched old TV shows, probably. That's why I analyze evidence by sticking it in my mouth. Oh, and I come with a pair of sunglasses. For what purpose, I have no idea."

Hank chuckled, shaking his head. "That's ridiculous."

"Tell me about it," Connor muttered.

Hank's amusement faded as he noticed Connor's LED flickering irregularly. "Hey, what's your percentage at?"

Connor frowned, trying to think. His LED blinked off entirely, and a faint sheen of thirium appeared dripping from his nose. He coughed softly, embarrassed. "Low."

"Dammit! I knew we shouldn't have stopped at the station," Hank muttered, gripping the wheel tighter.

Connor's voice was faint. "Did you at least tell the captain?"

"He knows what he needs to know. Don't worry. You've got the day off through tomorrow, and don't even think about arguing."