Chapter Text
Connor stood in line next to Hank, eyes caught on the android behind them. It was a BV500 with a Caucasian outer skin. Its left arm had been replaced with a chainsaw, but Connor couldn’t take his eyes away from its mouth. Its jaw was forever unhinged to fit the barrel of a flamethrower between its teeth. The fuel supply was built into its back, skin continuously trying and failing to cover it.
The BV500’s wide eyes met his, the pupils trembling.
“Connor.”
He turned towards the Lieutenant. The line had moved up. Connor stepped forward and leaned to get a better look at Hank. His eyes were downcast at his phone, but the finger-flicks across the screen seemed rhythmic and purposeless. Hank glanced at the android in front of them, which was skinless with a gray, bulky exoskeleton.
Hank’s brow pinched slightly, but Connor couldn’t tell if it was in interest or disgust.
The human stepped through the double doors, their android in toe. The man managing the entrance was on the heavy side and sporting a five o’clock shadow. He barely glanced up from his tablet as they stepped up. “Patron or fighter?”
“Fighter,” Hank said. “Level ten.”
Connor whipped his head around. It had crossed his mind that Hank could take advantage of the case, but level ten? They were supposed to locate the suspect, not enter Connor in a life or death match.
The man looked Connor over, brow furrowed. “If you’re just looking to dispose of it, we have a few spots opened in the lion’s den.”
Hank slapped Connor on the back. “It might not look like much, but this thing’s a killing machine.”
“RK800. Isn’t that the new detective model?”
Hank nodded. “My brother snagged it from the dump, we think it was a rejected prototype or something. Shit tone of fighting programs built into it.”
He took Hank’s cash and gave him a wristband without further complaint.
There had to be a motive related to the case. Sure, Hank boasted about hating androids, but Connor thought Hank had warmed up to him in the last few months. That and he wouldn’t dare risk damaging police property to that extent. At least, not property as expensive as Connor.
The arena was crowded and lit with flickering fluorescents. They were at the top of the stands overlooking what used to be a floor hockey rink. Connor scanned the area, but stiffened before he could examine anything his sensors were alerting him to. The hockey rink glowed blue. The clear plexiglass held spatters and splotches. Connor reconstructed an android’s head getting smacked against it repeatedly. Another was thrown into it. Another swiped across. Another…
Connor cut the program off to examine the floor. It had so many layers that it was difficult to separate one from the next. It was able to detect twelve isolated incidents out of the hundreds upon hundreds of overlapping ones. In response, thousands of possible scenarios vetted for Connor’s attention, littering his HUD. He started going through them on reflex, a tangled web of possibilities that pressed in from all sides. They connected with the plexiglass stains, throwing another thousand possibilities into the mix.
Connor turned his back to the arena, grabbing the railing behind him for support. Reconstructing the fights wasn’t important. They were here to find a human suspect and to probe her android’s memory for evidence of the murder she’d committed. The arena wasn’t a crime scene, despite overwhelming his processors in a way he’d never experienced before.
Hank stood in front of a TV as it flashed directions for the private suites, bathroom, concession stands, and even a bar. Connor stepped towards him.
“I’ll check the human areas,” Hank said. “You check the modification center and wherever else you guys hang out until the fight.”
He was already walking away. Connor grabbed Hank’s arm and tugged him towards the wall, making sure to keep his voice low. “I hope you’re not planning on actually having me fight.”
Hank cocked a brow. “Afraid you’ll lose?”
“Lieutenant.”
Hank’s eyes darted to his LED as he shook his grip loose. “Would you relax? Level ten’s at the very end of the night. I was trying to buy us time.”
Time to find the suspect? Or time for Hank to get drinks and a show in, maybe place a few bets? While Hank was a good detective, his personal issues often got in the way of their investigations. Connor wouldn’t be surprised if he was planning to sit back and let Connor do all the work while he made use of his expense account. “I just ask that you keep your focus where it belongs.”
His glare turned dangerous. “You calling me a bad detective?”
“Of course not, Lieutenant. But you seem rather… at ease.”
Hank opened his mouth, but someone stepped towards them before he could get the words out. “Hank?” Pedro Aabdar, Hank’s gambling friend. The chances of Hank actually working ticked down.
Hank clapped Pedro on the shoulder and smiled wide. “Hey! What brings you here?”
Pedro smiled. “Work. What about you? Thought you weren’t interested in shit like this.”
Connor shot Hank a look. They couldn’t be sure if Pedro was close with the suspect. It was best to keep their identities, or at least their affiliation with the police, a secret.
Hank shrugged. “Figured I’d check it out before giving it the middle finger. Seems morbid as fuck to me, but no one’s getting hurt. And if it keeps people away from those dog fights.”
“No one fights dogs anymore, old man.”
Connor followed the crowd to the concession stands and began the search there. Sometimes Connor wondered why Captain Fowler insisted on pairing him with Hank, but times like this made the choice suspiciously clear.
***
The concession stands were a bust, but the suspect, an Asian-American woman by the name of Wendy, appeared on the Itinerary. Her android was in a level five fight, which gave them about an hour before it entered the ring.
Connor mentally texted Hank’s phone as he made his way to the ground level, telling him about the suspect’s time slot and asking what he’d cleared so far. Connor didn’t expect an answer, but hoped the nudge would get him moving.
The level two fights were already in progress. Light floored the arena, leaving everything outside of it in shadow. A Traci tore into the chest of a Chloe model ten feet away from him. Connor watched Chloe kick the other android off of her as he walked along the plexiglass, then turned to face the audience. He ignored the prompts that urged him to calculate the trajectory of the splattered thirium and activated his facial recognition software.
Scanning the portion of the people in his sightline took less than a minute.
Plastic crunched. A static-filled scream erupted. Connor whipped around.
Traci’s foot was lodged inside Chloe's chest cavity. Chloe screamed as she clawed her opponent, who put her weight into Chloe’s chest and stomped her neck with her free foot.
The scream cut out and Chloe stopped moving. The audience roared. Connor expected Traci’s face to fall into its usual alluring half-smile. Instead, it’s eyes remained blown out as she collapsed to the floor.
Two AX200s unlocked the arena door, a garbage can wheeled between them. One helped Traci dislodge her foot while the other jogged across the arena to pick up a stray limb. Their faces remained blank as they picked up the remains, leaving thirium and smaller android bits on the floor.
Traci stumbled through the plastic strip curtain as two more androids entered the ring. The AX200s locked them in, then settled into their standard posture by the door.
They were a good place to start.
Connor linked forearms with the nearest one as a human announced the start of the fight.
Connor’s LED spun yellow. It finished cleaning as the humans filtered in, then watched the arena fill up. No sign of the suspect, but she was a regular. The AX200 would’ve seen her at some point. Connor sped through the last few months to try and establish a pattern.
Cleaning concessions. Sweeping the arena. Tossing broken androids in the dumpster.
A male PL500 with a busted jaw and shattered legs. It’s LED spun red as the AX200 reached to deactivate it. “Please don’t,” it whispered. “She’s coming back for me. She has to come back for me.” It grabbed the AX200’s wrist. “Please––”
Watching match after match. Androids tearing into each other. Spattered thirium, left to dry. A twelve year old boy shouting “Kill him!” from the stands.
Connor’s LED quickened.
An android crying as it pounded on the arena wall. “Let me out! Let me out!”
The suspect, chatting with a burly man as he operated on an android with an Asian outer skin. Face recognized: Zlatko.
A YK500 model beating the chainsaw android with a crowbar. A puff of flame. A child’s scream.
Yellow turned to red.
An electric current. A seizing android.
Humans eating popcorn.
The suspect purchasing an upgrade from a modification stall.
A fist shattered.
Sweeping.
A cracked skull.
Connor broke the connection with a gasp. Three weeks of torment shoved into his memory bank. As vivid as his own. Thirium on his hands, on his clothes, even in his hair. It was still in the AX200’s hair.
Connor loosened his tie. He passed over the next AX200 and walked through the plastic strip curtain. He had to focus on the investigation.
The modification center was a finished basement below the arena. Thuds and cheers occasionally stabbed through the ambience of the furnace, difficult to ignore. It was a wide, open area filled with people. Dividers separated each modification stall. Some had curtains. Connor glanced into one that didn’t for signs of the suspect or her android.
He focused on scanning the android on the operating table. The technician working on it. The owner texting from outside the booth. He noticed the thirium stained tools, the modified appendages, the pile of cash.
Connor moved to the next face. Then the next. He kept moving forward. Stopping wasn’t productive. Those items weren’t evidence because they had nothing to do with the ongoing investigation.
He stopped in front of Zlatko’s stall, hesitating a moment before throwing the curtain aside.
The ten-by-ten space was devoid of humans. An Asian-skinned android sat hunched over on the operating table. Both of its legs were replaced at the hip joints with an android bear’s. The exoskeleton remained white, but the claws were recognizable.
The android watched his feet as he swung them, LED yellow.
Connor reached towards him.
“What are you doing?”
Connor paused. Androids rarely spoke to him, let alone questioned his motives. “You’re Wendy’s android. I’m going to probe your memory to locate her.”
He turned to meet Connor’s eyes. “She and Zlatko went outside for a smoke.” He offered his hand. Connor blinked, but accepted the interface.
Connor’s LED blinked yellow as soon as he made contact.
“Don’t try standing until we come back,” Zlatko said as he grabbed a pack of cigarettes. “It’ll take time to calibrate your new limbs.”
“What about the fur,” Wendy asked.
Zlatko sighed. “If you insist, I can make it happen for fifty, but it looks much more aesthetically pleasing if you leave it as is.”
Flashes of unrelated memories sandwiched that one. Khoi , the android’s name was Khoi, getting his leg torn off. Crushing panic as he swung the blade that replaced his arm.
At home, his arm normal. Getting yelled at by Wendy over the money he lost her. Wendy’s toddler stepped between them with a stomp of her little foot.
Fragments of Connor’s memory played for him as well. The thirium coating the arena. His talk with Hank. He shouldn’t show that. He shouldn’t show Khoi anything about the case. Connor chose a memory of Hank singing in the car and pushed that forward as he searched for what he needed.
Khoi had been home when Wendy murdered her husband. She told him to stay in the nursery with her daughter. He played with the toddler as he listened to the struggle. Then Wendy told him to clean up, put the body in a suitcase, and sink it in the river.
It would wash up on shore a week later, jumpstarting Connor’s investigation.
Connor recoated his arm with skin, but kept a loose hold on Khoi. Interfacing didn’t usually work like this. Androids never offered their memories out of order. And they didn’t request memories in return.
There’s been another layer to it, too. There was a video and sound feed. The texture of touch. And something else. Another sense. It caused Khoi to squeeze the toddler tighter as the fight downstairs intensified. To hesitate, mop in hand, when he saw the bloody tile floor. To sit in the car, suitcase gone, and do nothing for a stretch of time.
Khoi tilted his head. “Connor?”
Connor let go. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome,” Khoi said. “What will become of me?”
They were androids. It shouldn’t matter what became of them. “I don’t know. I suppose you could return to Wendy’s home.” Connor had it’s memory files. There was no need to log the whole android as evidence at the police station. “If you stay here, the humans will consider you abandoned property after 24 hours. From there you could be disposed of, used for spare parts, or resold.”
“I cannot go home like this. It will startle May.” Connor assumed that was the toddler’s name. “I do not want to startle her.”
Connor turned towards the exit. “Zlatko might not replace your limbs once Wendy’s arrested. Leaving before your fight gives you the best chance of survival.”
Hank and Connor get Wendy out of the building before the level four fights start. She plays the grieving widow to a T, sobbing about her poor, fatherless daughter losing another parent and how it was all Hank’s fault.
Hank’s stress level creeped up, the guilt showing on his face. “Ignore her,” Connor said. “I probed her android’s memory. A confession is just icing on the cake.”
***
Wendy confessed to the crime 24 minutes into the interrogation. Hank and Connor added the evidence to the case file, moved her to her cell, made a few calls, and parted ways. The case was closed on their end, her fate left to the courts.
So why couldn’t Connor put it out of his mind? He stood among the off duty PC200 and PM700 androids, stiff as his mind raced. Had Khoi successfully avoided his fight? Did he make it back to Wendy’s house? Why was interfacing with him so different?
The blue-stained arena freeze-framed in Connor’s head. A puzzle— no, several hundred puzzles— begging to be solved. The AX200’s memory helped slot some pieces together. If only Connor had thoroughly scanned the arena.
It didn’t matter. The case was closed.
Connor stepped away from the other androids and headed towards his desk. His programming didn’t force him to go into standby at night. There had to be a case or two he could work on.
Hank dropped into his office chair at 11:05AM the next morning, coffee in hand. Connor barely glanced up from where he was interfacing with his terminal. “That brings your average arrival time to 11:52AM. Congratulations, Lieutenant, that’s eleven minutes earlier than last week.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“Fowler requested us in his office as soon as you arrived.”
“Couldn’t have said that before I sat down?”
“Apologies, Lieutenant.”
Hank drained his coffee, then stood with a groan. Connor didn’t move. “You coming or what?”
Connor nodded, hand still on the terminal. Hank bent over his shoulder, but Connor doubted he could read the screen with how fast he was scrolling.
“Whatcha working on?”
“Cold case,” Connor said. He stopped scrolling and opened two files side-by-side on the terminal. He tapped the one on the left. “It took me 7 hours and 37 minutes to solve this one, but the other is proving to be a challenge.”
Hank’s jaw hung open. “You solved a cold case?”
“In the loosest sense of the word, seeing as I was unable to collect more data or conduct interviews. I have a theory that I’m 89.78% sure is correct, but there’s only a 26% chance of convincing a court.”
Hank rubbed a hand down his face. “Fuckin androids. Are you trying to make the rest of us look like buffoons, Connor?”
“No, I just—“
“Is this what you do every night? Solve cold cases? Turn them into Jeffery under the table?”
“No.” Connor stood. Fowler would get impatient once he looked up from his computer and noticed Hank had arrived. Connor walked towards his office. Hank followed. “I go into standby mode every night. I just decided to look into the cold cases before doing so. And it was a good way to pass the time while waiting for you to show up this morning. I won’t do it again if it displeases you.”
Hank made a non-communicative noise as he pulled the office door open.
Fowler looked up. “Nice to see you this early.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Hank dropped into the chair as Connor settled behind it and to the right. “You wanted something?”
“Someone’s stealing androids. Usually finding them is as simple at dinging their tracker, but the perp’s found a way to hack into them and deactivate it. Cyberlife wants Connor on the case.”
Hank smiled. “Great. You reassigning him to Antony?”
Fowler pinned Hank with a look. “As promising as Officer Deckart is, he’s not ready for detective work. Use him as a reference, but I want you to investigate these cases and see if there’s any link.”
Hank slapped his leg. “Hell no! I’m a homicide detective. I don’t know shit about androids. Or cyber crime.”
“Everybody’s overloaded.” Fowler pointed at Connor without looking at him. “It’s the most advanced model to date, it’ll make up for whatever knowledge you lack.”
Hank stood, slamming both hands on the surface of Fowler’s desk. His coffee mug jumped. “I said no fucking way. It’s bad enough you stuck me with this plastic prick. Now you want me to investigate the lot of them?”
Fowler jabbed a finger. “Break anything on this desk and I’m adding another page to your disciplinary folder.”
Hank paced to the door and back. “What about Ben? Or Reed? Or anyone but me?”
“You think I should trust Gavin with a machine worth 20 grand?” He didn’t bother debating about Ben. From what Connor saw of the man, he was a helpful detective and showed up on time, but he lacked the ambition Gavin, and Hank on his better days, possessed. “At least I know you won’t shoot it for trying to do its job.”
“Is that a challenge?”
Fowler leveled Hank with an unamused look.
Hank ruffled his shoulders. “Whatever.” He stalked out of the office and slammed the door on his way out.
Fowler rubbed his temple. "Make sure Hank knows we're sending any androids we recover to Cyberlife so they can figure out how to fix this mess."
"I'll be sure to inform him." Connor left without another word. He learned early on that the Captain didn’t appreciate being bothered by the questions and comments of a machine.
Hank glared at Connor as he approached his desk. “Did you know about this?”
Connor shook his head. “The Captain questioned me this morning about my capabilities, but didn’t elaborate.”
Hank glared at his terminal screen. Connor sat down at the L-shaped desk across from him. It became his these last few months, though Connor didn’t have any personal items to decorate it with.
Connor studied Hank instead of jumping into work. Even though Hank’s reaction was negative, it was marginally better than when he’d been assigned Connor.
Hank caught Connor staring and narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Connor smiled. “I think you’d miss me if I was reassigned.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Since being paired together, your productivity has gone up 36%.”
Hank leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “That’s all you got? Statistics you pulled out of your ass?”
“I do not pull statistics out of my ass. I can tell you precisely what goes into calculating—“
“Save me the earful.”
Connor thought so. “Increased productivity aside, you’ve been smiling more, we’ve had less physical altercations, and you’ve insisted on going in ahead of me twice during potentially dangerous situations.”
Hank looked at his keyboard. “Yeah, well. Cyberlife gave you a goofy face. And punching you fuckin’ hurt.”
Was that embarrassment in the Lieutenant’s tone? “If it’s any consolation, it wasn’t pleasant for me either.”
“Thought androids couldn’t feel pain?”
“We don’t,” Connor said as he interfaced with his terminal. “But.” The android fights. Busted chassis. The desperate attempts to get away from the opponent and out of the ring. Connor shook his head slightly and focused on the case files flicking through his CPU. Twenty-two reports in the last month. His voice deepened. “We don’t.”
Hank leaned forward in his chair.
Connor disconnected from the terminal. “Out of twenty-two reports, nineteen involve androids leaving their premises without permission when their handlers were absent. Three seem to have walked out in front of their handlers without being ordered to do so.”
“They just let their androids walk out?”
Connor leaned over to interface with Hank’s computer. The files popped up. “There were arguments and physical altercations. We should gather statements from witnesses and figure out if there’s been a common point of contact.”
“I’ll call these three, you focus on the nineteen.”
They spent a good chunk of their morning calling witnesses. The androids were different models produced at different factories and they vacated at different times. Some owners claimed their androids had seemed more human compared to when they had bought them, but had chalked it up to them learning how best to cater to their needs. Others said it was a sudden change or that no change at all had taken place. They were mad about their hard earned cash walking out their door. They were worried about the personal information stored on their CPUs. They were worried about who would unload the boats, mind the kids, or watch the shop.
Hank could only hear Connor’s side of the conversation, but that didn’t stop him clenching his fist and mumbling about them “hiring some fucking people” and “serves them right, letting a walking camera into their homes."
Connor didn’t point out that humans did that decades before androids entered the marketplace. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Connor. I’m the android working with Lieutenant Anderson of the DPD. You recently––”
“Oh, hell no!” A woman’s voice. “I’ve had enough of you fuckers. Give me a person.”
Connor glanced at Hank, who rubbed his temple in the middle of his own phone call. “The Lieutenant is currently busy. I’d be more than happy to––”
“I said a person. Now.”
Connor blinked. “He’s on the phone with another witness. If you’ll hold, he’ll be right with you.”
“Thank god.”
Connor put the woman on hold, but that didn’t stop him from hearing her vent to her husband about pieces of plastic taking over the planet. The husband tried to take the phone, which riled the wife up. She started shouting about how they shouldn’t have wasted the money on it. He told her not to call their son an it. She yelled at him some more about getting attached to the shitting thing.
Connor pulled the file up in his HUB. The android in question was a YK500 model.
Children were a sensitive topic for Hank. Connor put the call through again. “Ma’am, the Lieutenant is rather busy. If I could speak to your husband––”
“Oh, so you’re eavesdropping now?”
“All calls are recorded for––”
She flew off the handle. Connor stared ahead and let the words hit him. She’d tire herself out eventually or hang up. Why didn’t she hang up? Why did she insist on throwing insults at him like it was his fault she never wanted kids? Like it was his fault that they bought the YK500 as a compromise and she hadn’t expected her husband to treat it like his own flesh and blood?
Hank hung up his call, then held his hand out for Connor’s phone. Connor wasn’t using a phone. It took him a micro-second longer than it should’ve to transfer the call to Hank.
Hank jumped at the ring, then fumbled to pick it up. She was still shouting. Hank gouged at his eyes. “Calm down, will ya? I’m human.”
Her tone switched in an instant. After a few curt opinions about the state of the world, which Hank quickly agreed on, she explained the situation. Hank’s nose flared like he’d just downed a shot of strong whiskey.
He took down the necessary information and slammed the phone down. Connor shifted his eyes to the terminal as Hank stood. He expected an impact of sorts, or a slew of swears, but Hank stormed towards the break room without a word.
Connor dialed the next number.
***
Hank was still gone half an hour later when Officer Deckart came back from patrol. He was a 5 foot 8 Caucasian male with brown curly hair. He was one of few officers who’d gotten into the habit of smiling at Connor as he passed, but today he came right up to Connor’s desk. “Hank told me you needed help with some phone calls?”
Connor nodded. “Not everyone appreciates giving a statement to an android.”
Deckart smiled. “Yeah, Amy gets the same shit. You could just. You know, leave that part out.”
“I’m legally required to inform them,” Connor said. “And while I am allowed to lie for the sake of a mission, these aren’t suspects.” A half truth. Nothing was stopping Connor from lying, he just didn’t want to.
Deckart sat in Hank’s chair. “Would it help if I gave you permission?”
“I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson.”
Deckart smiled wider. “God, you’re fascinating.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “I know you’re lying, Connor.”
Connor straightened his spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Why was he nervous? He shouldn’t be nervous. He was allowed to lie.
“I study cybersecurity at Detroit Mercy.” Connor knew that. It was in his file. “I know more than your average person about androids. While you’re programmed to prioritize Hank’s authority, it isn’t absolute. You can easily disregard it in favor of obeying the law or solving a case.” Deckart rolled towards Connor’s terminal to read the next number and type it into his phone. Connor remained frozen. “Do you understand how amazing that is? I mean, Cyberlife wouldn’t have gotten very far if androids were snitching on their owners day and night.”
Connor looked around the bullpen. “Where’s Hank?”
“Took his lunch.” Deckart rolled back, then looked Connor up and down. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Androids don’t get uncomfortable.”
Deckart examined Connor even as he talked with the witness. He’d seen that look before in the technician who pulled a bullet out of his shoulder. He wanted to take him apart and examine him from the inside out. Cross reference him with older models. Test the limits of his technology.
Connor focused on getting through the calls, passing the difficult ones to Deckart. Once they finished the list, Deckart turned towards him, excitement lighting his eyes. “What do you know about your operating system?”
Connor rattled off the scripted response as he interfaced with his terminal and organized the data into a virtual map.
“I mean details,” Deckart cut in. “I can look up your clocking speed and core count online. I wanna know what Cyberlife keeps hidden behind their firewalls.”
Connor maintained a neutral expression. “I’m afraid I don’t know any more than you do.”
“You can’t access your own code?”
“It’s encrypted.”
Deckart tipped his chin down. A curl fell out of his hat. “Are you lying?”
“No.” Connor looked through the holographic map only he could see and focused on Deckart’s face. “What does this have to do with anything?”
Deckart picked his ankle up and rested it on his knee. “I’m just curious. You’re looking for an android hacker, right? How’re you supposed to find them if they’re five steps ahead? And how’re you supposed to protect yourself?”
Connor took his hand off the terminal. There wasn’t an obvious point of contact among the hacked androids, which complicated things. Either someone was wirelessly hacking through their firewalls or doing so through interfacing.
There had to be a pattern. Connor replayed the phone conversations in his head at 5x the recorded speed.
“Find anything?”
“With all due respect, Officer Deckart, this isn’t your case.”
“Hank told me to help you.”
“And how do you expect to do that?”
He scooted towards the desk. “We need a list of suspects, right? Or criteria for the suspects so we have a chance at narrowing it down. I’ll do that while you do your thing.”
Officer Deckart worked with Connor until his PM700 informed him his lunch break was over. Hank came back a short while later. As a courtesy, Connor thanked him for asking Officer Deckart to assist him.
Hank didn’t know what he was talking about.
***
The rest of the day was spent cross-referencing the map of incidents with anyone who might have the knowledge to become a suspect. Cyberlife stores, college campuses, and android fighting rings were marked. They paid a few visits to relevant places but made little progress.
Hank drove them back to the station an hour after his shift had technically ended. Fowler gave Hank a lot of leeway with the stipulation that he worked full time and Hank, for all the complaining he did, tried to honor that.
Connor found himself staring at the sky. The sun sunk below the horizon, coloring the sky orange and the clouds a gradient of purple. The highway curved. Connor pressed his cheek to the glass as the sight moved from the windshield to the passenger’s window.
Connor was three months old. He’d seen a handful of sunsets, each later in the evening than the last, but never a sunrise. He supposed they looked very similar.
[Incoming message from PL600 #435 313 911]
[ACCEPT / DECLINE]
Connor sat up. That was Khoi’s serial number.
He accepted the message. Khoi’s location appeared in his HUD, then—
[KHOI: I am not disobeying the master. No, the master did not order me to contact you, but I am contacting you to check on May. Wendy ordered me to take care of her. And she is my true master. I must check on May.]