finalflight | PSL; [It's bigger than us, it's bigger than everything]

[Connor is listening, of course, even if he’s transitioned into that very discernible state of his: the ability to stand quietly, detached, not interrupting as the humans talk. But while he listens, there is processing happening in the blinking of his LED. That much he can’t hide; his eagerness to examine the scene where this apparent installation was going to take place, tonal hills and valleys of both of the men, the queueing of important questions that one should always ask while on a case like this.

The queue of important questions that one should always ask while on a case like this, Hank.

It’s not protocol that he’s delegated to the backseat of any investigation they undertake, though it had always a truth in his mind that he was here to assist Hank, rather than guide him about from clue to clue. The Lieutenant had plenty experience doing this long before Connor even existed, so there was no need. But the man is petering out, he can hear it. All the drinking didn’t do him any favors, and already something is bothering Connor about what he hears.

And so he steps forward, speaking up, eyes purposefully not casting down to the Thirium on Dave’s hands (yet).]

Can you tell us what model of android it was, and what you were planning to install?

Uh, ST300. I kept telling the guy he should just buy another kind of android, but he was really set on that one. I guess eloping with your dad's receptionist is more exciting than just buying one of those companion models. Kids, huh?

[He says that last to Hank, who sort of smiles a little in response.]

It was just a behavioral mod, though. Tricky job, he didn't want me to just swap in code from a WR400 or something, he wanted it to be "all her". Once he got 'her' into whatever idyllic little countryside he was planning on running away to, away from Cyberlife and dad and everybody, that tune woulda changed real fast. But hey, guy had the money.

[Hank frowns. His voice is more alert, now, his gaze is sharper.]

You can do that? I mean, I knew you can't track em when they go deviant, but you can turn it off before that? Hide em from Cyberlife and everybody?

[Dave raises his eyebrows, not expecting the question.]

Oh yeah. I said I turned the thing off the ST300 already, didn't I? But yeah, it's easy. That's why it's the first thing I did.

[The set of Connor's brow furrows, listening. The change of Hank's tone is noted, but he sees it as a favorable thing -- focus, maybe, returning to the Lieutenant now that they were unravelling the story properly.

So, if they're to take this at face value, the tale is straightforward enough. An ST300 gone deviant, before the installation of certain behavioral mods could be applied. Tracker already gone, though it was a moot point now.

(There's something ironic, he thinks, about his client wanting it to be "all her" and yet willing to install something that tweaks and twists and changes core personality. Connor doesn't remark on it.)

Still, he's not done with his questions.]

What kind of behavioral modifications?

Love. [Dave gives Connor a crooked, amused grin.] I figured aping some seduction protocols from some other models would be close enough, but the guy kept talking about it like it was the real thing so I just let him think whatever he wanted. Hey, maybe that's what made it lose its mind, huh? The first touch of a real emotion make you guys's heads explode?

[Love? It’s visible, the face Connor makes at that — frown twisting askew, deep lines knitted in his brow. The impossibility of it is what surprises him, that a mod would even exist to emulate such a powerful human emotion in an android… Well. It wouldn’t work, is his first thought. Androids do not feel love, they do not feel emotion, and everything stubborn and disbelieving rises up and spills over in his tone.

Even though he does not remark on that, exactly.]

I thought you said you hadn’t installed anything yet. Did you or didn't you?

[Dave's mouth opens. His eyes widen. He visibly struggles for words for a second, then turns to Hank.]

I didn't, I already said I didn't! Is its memory busted or what?

[Hank may not be at his best, but he remembers how to play good cop/bad cop.] Hell, far as I'm concerned only about one word out of five that comes out of that thing's mouth makes sense. [And maybe, if Connor leans on the guy enough to really make him worried, Hank will have enough leverage over good old Dave to ask for... other things. Things Connor can't be around for. He'll cross that bridge when he comes to it.] Maybe you'd better indulge it, though. It gets all weird when it thinks it's onto somethin.

[This convinces Dave to turn back to Connor. It does not lessen his indignation.] It was a joke. I know you guys don't know a lot about them either, J-O-K-E-S? 'What's the difference between a blonde and an ironing board,' you know, that whole thing?

[It’s funny how easily Connor can manage the look of being unimpressed simply by not responding to the derailment of “jokes”. Because that’s all it is, and it’s information that’s discarded immediately in his mind. Dave might as well have said nothing at all.

And Hank... well. Connor knows the difference between sincere insult and the usual tactics of questioning, of putting on pressure even outside of the interrogation room. So he continues as if those words were nothing as well.]

You said it yourself, “the first touch of real emotion”. Implying that you did — or at least attempted to — install a modification that would simulate something like affection.

[He gives him no chance to reply, to interrupt. He gestures at Dave’s hands.]

Your hands are stained with Thirium. Was there a struggle? Did she fight against you?

[Dave looks to Hank again.]

[Hank shrugs.] Thirium runs through very specific parts of an android's body, Dave. And this guy, your customer, I bet he couldn't handle those mods if they made it look like you were hurting his baby. So where'd you get those stains on your hands, man?

[Dave spreads out his hands, looks down at them like he's seeing them for the first time and is outraged at what he sees. He looks up to Connor, his mouth open and ready for something defensive and angry to spill out of it. Then his shoulders slump, and he looks back at Hank.]

They'll have my ass, you know that. Trackers are one thing, but modifying their code? Their intellectual property? Cyberlife'll sue the shirt off my back. You know all the forms I had to sign when they fired me? Their lawyers will destroy me. I'll lose my business, I'll lose everything.

[Body language parsed and analyzed, the spike of frustration and then something shaped like resignation. Connor deigns it a good time to cut in once more.]

Normally, you’d be right. A company like Cyberlife wouldn’t hesitate to throw the book at an ex-employee breaking the terms of a contract. They’ve done it plenty of times before.

[He lets that settle for a moment.]

But this is a unique case. The deviant issue is becoming all too prevalent, and if your experiences with this android can offer even the smallest amount of insight regarding what causes this phenomenon, I’m certain they would be willing to be more... lenient.

However, that’ll only happen if you tell us the truth.

[Hank can see the hope in Dave's eyes as Connor talks. He can see the guy fighting with himself, debating, but that hope- It's true, that you can practically taste the moment an interview's cracked. You can feel it in the air. Hank's not sure about a lot of things about Connor, but the guy is definitely, definitely good at his job.]

[Dave shakes his head, looks at Hank, and lets out a quiet sigh. Then he looks back at Connor.]

My code was good. I know it was. So it couldn't have been me, it couldn't. But it just fought the install- freaked the hell out, started, uh- It broke a lot of my equipment. So I was just trying to keep it from breaking anything else, right? I paid good money for those tools. And the guy, he jumped in. Fuckin moron. The EMTs wouldn't tell me how he was, but if he pulls through you bet your ass he won't be writing poetry for some cute piece of plastic tail anymore. Once you seen one go haywire it kinda ruins the illusion, you know?

If, uh... If it'll help keep my name out of all this I might be able to dig up the program I wrote up. You know. If I can remember where I saved it.

[He listens intently, imagining the scenario in his mind. Connor wonders if it was the code itself, causing something to trigger, or if the android was already inclined to become a deviant, something else already nestled in its mind. Like a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the opportunity to go off.

Was having its programming jumbled up and rewritten a stressor? Connor tries to imagine how he might react if he were in a similar— No. Never mind.

He sets his jaw, casts a cursory look at Hank. Then continues, looking back at Dave.]

You’ll remain anonymous. But we would like to look at this program, and take a look at where all this transpired.

[Dave does still resist a moment, but seems to realize there's no point to it. He makes a face, shrugs, and nods over toward the building the uniformed officers have been guarding.]

In my office. Over here.

[Hank starts walking with him, his eyes darting over to Connor and then back again. It should be safe to ask this, just make sure, even while Connor's here to listen. It sounds like it connects to the case.]

You're sure it only started once you started installing that program? It wasn't turning off that tracking thing?

[Dave gives a quick nod.]

Yeah, I'm sure. Done that about a dozen times, never had a problem.

Cool, good. That's good. [Hank sucks at his teeth, thinking about that a second.] Hey, Connor. How about I copy this program for you, while you go ask around and find out if Dave's customer is gonna be healthy enough for an interview? We could get lucky, he might be able to give one now.

[Connor’s eyes are already directed firmly at the building, looking like an android ready to investigate a crime scene — because he is. So when Hank suggests that he does otherwise, there’s a hitch in his step, and hesitation flashes over his features.

But then he nods, the logical part of him dictating that it would be good to get the client’s point of view if they’re able, and that Hank can cover the scene of the incident until he returns.]

...All right, Lieutenant.

[And with that, Connor will turn and head towards some of the other officers nearby, to question them accordingly. Hopefully they don’t terribly mind a somewhat persistent RK800 unit coming up to them out of the blue.]

[When Connor comes back up toward them he might see Hank through the shop's front window, aggressive, leaning forward into Dave's space and poking his chest. Dave scowls, clenches his fists, then leans back, putting his hands on Hank's shoulders to keep Hank still while he steps back from him. Dave nods, the movement brief and irritated, and scribbles something on the one pad of post-it notes in the office, with the one actual ink pen in probably the whole block, given how widely used they aren't. Hank shoves the post-it note in his pocket and turns, seeing Connor and freezing for a second. Then his surprise changes to a quick smile and he steps away from Dave, opening the office's front door.]

Connor. Hey. What did you find out?

[It’s a sight impossible to miss, the body language seen clearly through the shop window. At first, it has Connor worried, leaving him wondering if there was going to be an altercation, but things take an interesting turn when Dave writes something down and hands it to the Lieutenant. That sparks curiosity in Connor’s mind, and when he’s let in, his look is obviously scrutinizing Dave and Hank both.]

...Apparently, he’s still in critical condition. It’ll be a while before we’re permitted to see him, though it’s still something we should consider when we’re able.

[Eyes flick to Dave, then to Hank again. The smile the man wears is... odd.]

What did you learn?

Ah. [Hank shrugs and holds up a usb drive. A little old fashioned, but useful.] Got the program. Obviously I can't make heads or tails of it.

[He turns back toward Dave and his smile goes tight, his voice goes all pointed.]

So we're going to come back if we find anything. And if Dave thinks of anything else, he's gonna call us. Right?

[Dave sighs, then takes a moment to study Connor, looking him up and down. Then he leans on his desk and waves them away.]

Yeah. Yeah, you got it, Hank. Now if you don't mind, I got a lot of cleaning up to do. So- [With a tight smile of his own Dave tilts his head toward the door.]

[For maybe the first time tonight, what Hank wants and what his old friend wants line up. He moves to leave, holding the usb drive out toward Connor.]

So. Where to now? The station to read this, or are you finally going to let me get some fuckin sleep?

[He gives Dave one more scrutinizing look before allowing himself to be ushered out, vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get the opportunity to look around; not that it would matter, if it’s all just knocked over equipment from an unexpected struggle. But his curiosity seems to be redirected easily enough to the USB, and Connor takes it from Hank. He turns it over in his fingers. Old technology. He’ll have to look for an adapter, or some kind of reader, for it back at the station.]

If you’re tired, I can drive you back home and return to the station afterwards. I want to see what’s on this.

[He slips it into his pocket for now, lips thinning. As they walk, a bit of his stiffness has dissipated, the slow draining away of his “detective robot RK800” demeanor into something more familiar with Hank.]

What were you and Dave speaking about while I was gone?

Um.

[Hank pulls a face at the question, ducking his head and rubbing hard at his eyes. For some reason it's only once the cold hits him that the intended end point of all the drinking earlier that night starts to hit him, and he realizes he's passed the fun part of drunk while he wasn't looking and now - now that the arguing's over, maybe - he's hit the 'fall asleep and don't dream about anything' part.

Connor's fault, distracting him with crimes and with- and with being a crime, or being the victim of one, or something. What a pain in the ass.]

We were, uh. He didn wanna help. Didn't wanna get involved. So I told him he was our one expert consultant, cause I sure as hell didn't trust Cyberlife. So, uh. Guess that worked.

So you're gonna read that code with your eyes, right? Not by, uh- [He waves a hand around near his head.] like, with your brain? I jus thought, uh, better to put it somewhere isolated, not download it on my phone, because y'know. Might be somethin fucked up on it. Same general, uh, general... principle, I guess, with you, right?

[Can Hank hear the rush of silence that floods in between them? It’s only a few seconds’ worth at best, but it’s the sort that Connor employs when he’s obviously judging whether a reply is good enough (or too weak) to accept. Often heard in the confines of the interrogation room, not between himself and Hank.

And then — blessedly, because he’s not forgotten about the handwritten note, only choosing not to pursue it because shouldn’t he trust Hank? But how his detective-like impulses scream against it — he only replies to the question at hand.]

It’s a very outdated way to store data. [The USB he means. It’s like a smartphone trying to connect to a record player.] I’m unable to interface with it “with my brain”, and I wouldn’t want to risk corrupting any of my data, especially regarding personality.

[He says it like it wouldn’t be the first thing he would’ve done in his enthusiasm to find a lead for the deviant case, if the code had been presented to him in a much less archaic way.]

[Hank does not hear that silence. Hank is too occupied with thinking about how the conversation with Dave had really gone down, kind of still trying to shake off Dave’s voice saying, You want me to- what? What the fuck, Hank, you too? Of all people? Did I wke up in the goddamn Twilight Zone?]

Good, good. ‘S some freaky shit, isn’t it? Tryin to make someone feel what you want em to, for you. An android, I mean. Freaky with humans too, kinda get that with them sometimes. Don’t know why people think they’ll have any more luck with machines when you can’t even do it with a person...

[He rubs his face and pulls his hand up through his hair, trying to wake himself up a little. It doesn’t go well; he puts a foot wrong and stumbles, a little too far from the car to use that as a handy Hank-catcher.]

[Androids don't feel, is the response that doesn't need to be said. So many times has it been his rebuttal that it's just an implied thing, hanging over them like a shadow, filling in the empty space with words that they both know is flickering through Connor's mind.

Besides, no time to reply, not with Hank stumbling forward, too far from the car to use it as something to brace himself against. Connor moves quickly, in that inhuman way of his, to shift facing the Lieutenant and throwing out his arms to steady him in the best way he can.]

Lieutenant- [An exhale of breath, a tiny ingrained human-like quirk. Picked up or pre-programmed is anyone's guess.] Hank. You really shouldn't drink so much.

[Another reiteration, something he's said more than once before, but never does it catch and settle in the other.]

Yeah, well. [Hank holds onto Connor’s arms for a second, getting his feet under him.] When the department can’t get me, they just send someone else. Figures the only guy stupid enough to drag me in at night’s a goddamn android.

Besides, I did okay, didn I? Walkin, talkin, mighta actually got some shit done. It’s just the last part of drunk’s hitting me all at once, ‘s all.

That's not the point. The department shouldn't have issues contacting you at all.

[But he supposes this isn't really the time for a lecture, nor is Connor really the lecturing type. Only the concerned application of the same advice over and over again, wondering why Hank can't see the reasoning behind his words. (But knowing why, all the same.)

Connor will keep holding onto Hank until the man rights himself properly.]

Of course you did "okay". But imagine the clarity you could possess if you weren't inebriated.

Don’t have to imagine. [Okay. Feet: under him. Ground: solid. Car: right there. Hank steps away from Connor, pats him on the shoulder in thanks, then makes his way toward it.] My memory still works. ‘M not that old. If you wanted to work with that guy, I got some bad news for you.

[Hank keeps a hand on the car as he makes his way around it, plopping into the passenger seat and letting his head fall back against the headrest with a relieved sigh. He doesn’t open his eyes to see if Connor’s in listening range, just keeps going and if Connor hears it he hears it.]

You’re goin about this all wrong if you wanna work with someone like that anyway. Let me dig my own grave deep enough and maybe Fowler’ll change his mind, put you with someone else after all.

[He hears it, even as he walks around to the driver's side once Hank is seated. Opens the door, scoots in, closes it. Doesn't start the car just yet, only turning his body to look at him.]

I don't wish to work with someone else. You're my partner, and I'm allowed to be concerned for both your health and how it affects both of our jobs.

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if connor would do something other than walk back to see hank let me know and i can edit

You’re good!

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