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

[bleps]

((ooc; cont. from here))

[Anything happening within the walls of Hank's house is now being shattered by the blaring of the doorbell. Once, twice, a third time for a bit longer. Less an actual doorbell and more of a buzzer, a harsh thing that is sure to grab the attention of anyone possessing a heartbeat within. The very obvious sign of someone (a certain RK800 unit) at the door, hoping to find the Lieutenant at his home if he cannot be located at his usual haunts. The sort that serves alcohol, mainly.]

Lieutenant?

[The voice should ring familiar, if not slightly muffled by the obstruction before him. Connor stands waiting, straight-backed, staring at the closed door like the obstacle it is to his entry. The usual curl of hair that falls across his forehead sways in the breeze as he waits, only half-patiently.]

Lieutenant! [The downwards cant of his head, just slightly, eyes averted to the side; the look of someone listening for noise within.] Are you home?

Comments

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank opens his mouth to reply, closes it, then looks back down to watch himself peel off the top of the second cup of creamer. The fact that he is one of the people they're talking about is more obvious than ever just now and he sighs, mostly just grateful Connor's allowing their talk to stay general, for the moment.]

That doesn't prove me wrong. The world is the way it is, there's more than enough underlying issues to go around for everybody.

[bleps]

[Maybe so. Maybe one needs to only look at the news to see the various modes of violence, discontent, and spark for change in their current society -- and that's not even taking the issue of deviants (and Markus' continuous protests backing a supposed android revolution) into account.

And again, Connor is truly at a disadvantage when it comes to this particular conversation. He can't change the fact that Hank can speak from experience, where he cannot.]

No. But...

[But. But what? His LED circles, flickers.]

That's pessimistic. [If Hank called him optimistic, it's only fair that he volleys something similar back.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank breathes out a laugh, then leans back against the counter to try his coffee. It's drinkable; for office coffee that's probably as good as it's going to get.]

Tell me something I don't know.

[Normally he might leave it at that. But today... Well, whatever. Right now maybe he's just feeling generous.]

It's just...

[He crosses his arms over his chest.]

There's a reason old guys like me got a reputation for thinking that way. The more you see... Eh, it just gets harder not to think that way. Maybe you guys are different; no negative bias in your longterm pattern analysis, or whatever. But that's how humans are.

[bleps]

[He wonders if that's true, immediately doubting it. As he's said so many times before, he was designed to be a learning machine; picking up biases was all a part of learning, to know what will be dangerous though apparently that only works half the time and what isn't. What's worth taking the risk for, what he should back away from.

And yet Hank means it in a much deeper, much more ingrained way. Something that time itself has not allotted him yet, if he possesses the ability to become... jaded.]

And yet you still work with the police, a job that perpetuates this mindset perhaps more than most. If that's how you feel, then why?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank takes a second to open up the food and start in on it before he answers. He's not ignoring Connor. He's thinking.]

A couple different reasons, I guess. I spent this long as a cop - at this point, who else is gonna take me. But also I guess, uh...

[He thinks about Connor. About what Hank's trying to do for him. Just one thing. That would be alright, wouldn't it? Just... doing one good thing. Hank's voice goes a little quiet.]

If I can tip the scales the other way, just a little bit, just once... I don't know, I'm already stuck here, so I guess that'd be worth sticking around for.

Besides, can you imagine me - I don't know, painting people's kittens, or whatever? There's only so much I know how to do.

[bleps]

[This is more than he usually gets from Hank. But it's been an off day for the both of them, and Connor turns over his reply in his head, again and again.]

Still wanting to do good even in a world that appears to fight against it? [Interesting. His fingers flex a little, still clasped behind his back.]

You're a good man, Lieutenant. I just sometimes believe it's a shame that you aren't always able to see it. [A beat.] You're right, though; you'd likely make for a terrible artist.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank looks down at his coffee at that, the most awkward and indefensible of compliments, obviously uncomfortable, obviously not knowing how to react to it. Thank god Connor throws in a little dig at him at the end there; maybe he really is learning. His uncomfortable look twitches into a little smirk.]

Come on, I wouldn't go that far. Back in the day, my dickbutt graffiti was fucking legendary.

[bleps]

[He just smiles at him. He is learning, in his own way.

Still, a brow raises.]

Your... "dickbutt graffiti". [this must be a millennial thing]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank laughs, the danger of the compliment safely past, and moves to sit down at a table.]

Yeah, lemme show you, uh...

[He starts flipping through pictures on his phone. This one has pride of place, so it doesn't take him long to find it.]

Yeah, here. The first and last office party Detective Gavin Reed ever passed out at. There it is, on his forehead right there. How's that for fine art?

[bleps]

[Connor follows accordingly, and scoots out a chair across from Hank to take a seat. Learning forward to take a look at the picture shown, there is absolutely zero way that he can't at least find it even the smallest amount amusing.

Too bad he wasn't around to view that. It would've been an interesting exercise in people-watching, he tells himself. Office parties always bring both the positive and negative dynamics of co-workers to the forefront, shown in stark lighting.

(Also. Gavin Reed deserves a dickbutt on his forehead.)]

It has... impressive line work. How did Detective Reed like it?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank grins and shoves the last of the food into his mouth.]

Took him about five minutes to figure out it was there, but they were the best five minutes of my life. It's too bad I uh, forgot to put the sharpie back in my pocket or he might of never known it was me. It's not exactly graffiti, I know, but that was back in high school and I figured I wasn't gonna get a better chance to take the old skills back out for a spin.

He'd probably blow a gasket if he knew I showed you. He kinda loses it whenever anyone brings it up.

[bleps]

[A moment passes where Connor is so obviously deciding whether or not he should keep this information in his back pocket to bring it up at just the right time.

His grin widens, just a tad.]

Detective Reed's sense of humor only extends far enough to laugh at others -- not so much himself. This isn't terribly surprising.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Handing Connor that particular weapon may have been ninety percent of the reason Hank brought that particular sensitivity up.]

Yeah, guy's got an ego the size of Texas. Chris and some of the other uniforms he works with say he's not always that bad but I don't know, some guys just aren't worth getting optimistic about, you know?

[bleps]

[Remember your remark about bias, Hank? Well, here's a bias: Connor has a hard time visualizing Reed as "not always that bad".]

An overinflated ego and a penchant for deriding others is often a sign of overcompensation. Maybe this is the case for Detective Reed.

[Look at these two, throwing shade behind your back, Gavin.]

At any rate, were you a troublemaker back in high school? [After all... graffiti, and everything.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank laughs again. That was a dick joke. That was actually a dick joke.]

Remind me to get you talking shit more often. But uh, I don't know. My parents didn't ground me too much, so there's that. And you can only get caught for so much shit before the academy won't take you. But we had a good time. What, I don't come off like a perfect student? Not like you woulda been. I bet you woulda been a straight A kid, on the president's list, that whole thing.

[bleps]

[What? A dick joke? No, no, of course not.]

It's hard to judge what kind of student you would've been, given how far departed you are from those years of your life.

[That was not actually meant to be a dig at Hank's age; just another example of Connor's straightforward remarks couched in obliviousness. Sorry, Hank.]

Just as it would be difficult to say what kind of student I would have been. I have zero point of reference to form an accurate hypothetical.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Take it from me, you would of been. Straight A's, strict parents.

[Hank deflates just a little. 'Strict' doesn't begin to cover it. Hank finishes off the rest of his coffee, deciding that's enough highschool AU-ing Connor for now. He sighs.]

Well, that'll hold me over for all of half an hour. Ready to get back to it?

[bleps]

[He will just have to defer to Hank's judgment regarding that. He wouldn't know; unless having Cyberlife as your creator counts as possessing "strict parents".]

Ready when you are, Lieutenant.

[Ready to work, ready to shake off the beginning of this day as if it were nothing. He already feels better, more relaxed, than just a half hour before.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Connor's not the only one. Hank feels better, too; hungry, still, and tired, but better. He moves toward his desk, leaning against Connor's instead of sitting down.]

So, what's our next step? We could look over everything we've got again, see if there's another angle. Or I think you said something about a simulation, some kind of fake AI you can test that program out on.

[bleps]

A simple program, yes. Probably easily run through the system available to us here at the station.

[He looks up at him, considering.]

I had considered running it on myself, but... I'm not certain how viable of an option that is.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeeeeeah, no. Not even if the damn thing works exactly like it's supposed to. No. Would that even work on you anyway, since it was made for a different model?

[bleps]

[Wow don't shoot it down so quickly, Hank. It was a solid plan-- for a while there.]

I don't know. I wouldn't know, unless I ran it.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Yeah, well. I hope you don't want to know too bad, cause we're not going to find out. What did you say about running it through the system? Wouldn't we have to uh... disconnect whatever we used from the rest of the department first? The IT guys are always telling me about opening the wrong email on department computers, let alone something like this.

[bleps]

There are a few options. I'm an RK800 unit, Hank; I can interface with the station's system myself, and isolate my own console from affecting the rest.

[IT will probably still lose their minds. And an android casually hacking into the DPD even for the sake of a case probably wouldn't... go over well, with all that's happening.]

The second option is to literally isolate it from the station. Connect it to another closed, limited network. Your home set-up, maybe.

[Also casually walking out with a DPD computer is FINE PROBABLY, who knows. Connor has a strange tendency to do whatever the hell he wants, veiled in politeness the whole time.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank thinks about it. Here at the station would probably be the best way, but if something does happen with Connor that they don't expect, at least at his house no one else would be around to see and start yelling about glitches and wanting Connor going back to Cyberlife for repairs. It's a little paranoid, maybe, but it feels safer.]

Well, we'd better grab whatever else we might need cause I vote we go back to my place. I don't have much of a home set up, though, nothing more than what you get packaged with the TV and data.