Title: Life Imitating Art

Author: Lucky Gun

Description: Hank is the RK800 assigned to assist LT Connor Anderson on the deviancy case. Confronted with the young, intelligent, but suicidal detective, the android begins questioning his programming as he determines what makes life worth living. Father/Son dynamic, Connor Hank focused, Pacifist only. Reverse AU. Connor whump

A/N: Couldn't resist and had to try it out. Will follow the storyline pretty closely, including the dialogue. Just doing it for fun – don't hate me.

Note: Significant concepts for android physiology adopted from WaywardWanderer with the author's written permission. Check out their works here and on AO3!

"Lieutenant Anderson, my name is Hank. I'm the android sent by Cyberlife. I looked for you at the station but nobody knew where you were. They said you were probably at one of the police-run ranges nearby. I was lucky to find you at my fourth stop."

The voice cut evenly across the firing lanes, and the repeated sound of gunfire ceased. At almost eleven thirty at night, the range was empty except for his target and the android operator. He'd located his current mission priority in the furthest booth from the control room, and he smoothly approached at the telltale sound of a magazine ejecting from a handgun.

"What do you want?"

Even though the android had full access to the Lieutenant's files, he was still relieved to cross the last barrier and scan the man that was associated with said files.

MATCH

LT. ANDERSON, CONNOR

BORN: 09/02/2007 / POLICE LIEUTENANT

CRIMINAL RECORD: RESIDENTIAL NOISE ORDINANCE VIOLATIONS

The human that was steadily reloading rounds into the three empty magazines in front of him was ignoring him otherwise, and Hank paused, unsure. Data had suggested that the man would be interested in his presence, curious at the very least, but he shunted away the inconsistency and answered the question.

"You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a Cyberlife android." The Lieutenant didn't answer as he finished one magazine and reached for the second, loading target rounds from a box on the side of the brace bench. "In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators."

The human slipped, a shell falling from his fingers to the rubber mat on the floor, and Hank immediately stooped to pick it up. He offered it to the Lieutenant wordlessly, automatically scanning the hand that snatched it from him without looking.

All proximal digits show signs of recent, repeated trauma. Bandages are generic and purchased from a local store, self-applied. Fraying around the second finger indicates Anderson has been firing his weapon for an extended period of time.

"I don't need any 'assistance', especially not from a plastic asshole like you," the man snapped, the meaning twofold, and Hank refused to take offense. "So just be a good little robot and get the fuck out of here." Firmly pressing the last shell into the magazine, he reached for the last one, fingers shaking slightly.

Suggestions popped up into Hank's HUD, and he felt a micro frown twitch between his eyes.

Reason – Threaten – Understanding – Persist

He saw no reason to threaten him. The man was apparently dedicated to his marksmanship, and anti-android sentiment wasn't a crime. Reasoning and persistence didn't appear entirely safe options, given the location of their conversation. Changing tactics, he tried to adopt a soothing tone.

"I understand that some people are not comfortable in the presence of androids, but I am – "

It was the wrong choice, apparently, if the stiffening of the man's spine was any indication.

"I am perfectly comfortable," he spat softly, still refusing to turn around, the black winter beanie he wore hiding most of his features. "Now back off."

Reason – Threaten – Persist

His HUD pushed him, and he shifted in place, studying him as the human started to palm more shells to prep his third magazine.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I must insist." The man's hands squeezed tightly around his gear, and Hank explained, "My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you."

Scoffing, the Lieutenant rhetorically muttered, "You know where you can stick your instructions?"

Hank was familiar with the parlance through his Social Relations program, but hoped to at least get something more than vague disinterest or hostile defiance from the man he had been assigned to work alongside. "No, where?"

That did it.

The man turned bodily, and Hank finally had the chance to see his full image instead of a half-profile. He was as young as his files had stated, freckles and dark shadows under his eyes standing out against his pale skin. His eyes were a deep brown, and they flashed in the light. He was clad in rather basic, unassuming clothing – brown work boots, blue jeans, and a black thermal with a layered collar that wrapped around to the hood. There was a black leather coat hanging from the side of the booth, worn and creased, and it looked like it was barely fit for Detroit's harsh winters. Curiously, Hank noted that both his hands showed the same digital injuries, bandaged the same way, on all five fingers. His irritation showed on his face as he looked over the android.

Hank's model was indeed specialized, and his physical features denoted that. Made to look older, his hair was grey and pulled back in a ponytail, the small tuft bobbing as he cocked his head. His mustache and beard were neatly trimmed, and his LED spun a calm blue in the side of his head, the color matching his eyes. He was tall, standing two inches above the detective he'd tracked down, and he was built a little more solidly than some of the other models. As a result, he couldn't move as quickly, but he was hardier in a fight. The usual Cyberlife blazer many similar models wore had been tailored into a type of trench coat for his form, the usual markings present and accounted for, and it was properly buttoned and belted.

Connor huffed and turned back around, dismissing the odd android, and returned to his gun as he muttered, "Never mind."

Hank weighed his options again, new suggestions popping up in his HUD, and he studied the young man before him. He was pressing the shells down into the spring-loaded magazine, wincing, a soft curse crossing his lips. Hank's olfactory processors detected the sharp scent of iron as it abruptly overpowered the gunpowder and oil that had previously dominated the area, and his optical units detected a minor darkening in the bandage around Connor's right thumb.

Take the magazine – Load the magazine – Wait outside

Taking a calculated risk, Hank said, "You know what? I'll finish loading that for you so you can finish this round. What do you say?" Connor looked at him, lips thin, but he didn't stop the android from taking the magazine from his grip. Watching as the shells were expertly and quickly loaded, he huffed and backed up a step, shaking his head.

"Wonders of technology. Might as well make it a triple," he said, voice marginally warmer, and he pulled two empty magazines from his belt next to his service holster.

Hank didn't slow his pace and just loaded all three magazines, specs of the weapon crossing his sight.

HECKLER & KOCH VP9SK

9MM 6.61' 23.07OZ

NIGHT SIGHTS, FACTORY DIRECT

LASER SIGHT, LED LIGHT INSTALLED POST-FACTORY

5 TOTAL MAGAZINES, 15 ROUNDS EACH

Task complete, Hank stepped back out of the booth behind the firing line, unsurprised when the Lieutenant didn't comment. Disengaging his audio processors, the android considered saying something about the man's lack of hearing protection, but he didn't need his software prompts to recognize his interference wouldn't be welcomed. So he stood silently and waited, scanning passively.

Connor went through the five magazines in methodical, unhurried fashion, the target at the far end of the range shimmering with the shots. In only a few minutes, though, the slide locked back, the chamber empty and barrel smoking slightly, and four empty magazines were lined up on the bench like fallen soldiers. He didn't move for a minute, staring at his target, and he finally ejected the last magazine, confirming it was empty. Sliding it back into place, he holstered the gun, replaced the two magazines at his belt, and swept the rest of his equipment into the small range bag sitting on the floor.

Shrugging on his jacket, Connor finally turned back to the android, sighing softly in resignation when he realized he was still there, and finally asked, "Did you say homicide?"

Hank nodded, and the human headed towards the exit without preamble. Hank turned to follow, but hesitated, something itching his program. He glanced down the range at the target of Anderson's ballistic barrage. It was an outline of a human in mid-sprint towards the shooting booth, gun out, vital areas twisted and difficult to see. The stats were blinking above the digital screen, not yet reset by the control booth.

ANDERSON, C – RANGE: 25M – TOTAL SHOTS: 480

TOTAL ACCURACY: 100%

LETHAL ACCURACY: 93.75%

Filing that information away, Hank followed his new partner out of the range.

The Lieutenant's pickup truck was a midsize model, just weighty enough to power through the snow that often clogged the streets, and tall enough to roll through any flooding that could close the smaller roads. It was clean, bare, nothing inside but two Molly packs on the jump seats and the requisite shotgun and rifle in their supports along the back window of the cab. The heavy smell of smoke permeated the fabric, though, and Hank discretely turned off his ventilation biocomponents.

Connor didn't speak during the drive to the scene, but the android wasn't sure he'd hear him if he did, advanced auditory processors aside. Between the blare of the siren, the wind rolling through the cab from the open driver's window, and the roar of heavy metal blasting through the speakers, it was a wonder the human could even process the directions from the GPS in the dash. But he saw the human's eyes flicker to the display now and again as he chain-smoked cigarettes all the way from the range to their destination, ignoring the rain as it splattered against his arm and face. Hank noted that he automatically kept the plasma lighter and cherry ends of his cigarettes away from the flammable bandages on his fingers.

They pulled up past the emergency vehicles already in place, Connor ditching his last smoke out the window before rolling it up, and he turned off the engine as he flicked off the lights and sirens. He reached over and opened the glove compartment, grabbing three filled magazines, and traded them off for his empties, reloading his gun and zipping up his coat.

"You wait here; I won't be long," he ordered, already reaching for the door handle. Hank froze, mission parameters popping up in his vision, and then he relaxed slightly. The data he was steadily collecting on the human was beginning to serve him well. "Whatever you say, Lieutenant."

Pausing, Connor glanced back at him over his shoulder, suspicion visible on his face, and he finally growled, "Fucking A, whatever I say."

But the moment the human exited the vehicle, Hank followed, noting that the error in his mission priorities eased the second he did. He wasn't surprised to be stopped at the police tape barring entrance to the scene, and he glanced at the back of the young detective who was already conversing with another officer. The word 'android' had apparently caught his hearing, though, proving that the time at the range and choice of music hadn't utterly destroyed his auditory capabilities.

Turning, exasperation clear on his face, Connor ignored the water streaming over his face and called, "He's with me."

Hank raised an eyebrow as he crossed the digital line; it was an interesting pronoun choice for someone who obviously cared so little about androids. But Connor was clearly agitated as he came closer and snapped, "What part of 'stay in the car' didn't you understand?"

Putting his hands in his coat pockets, Hank explained easily, "Your order contradicted my instructions, Lieutenant."

There was something dark in the way Connor eyed him, something deeper than their twenty minute knowledge of each other, and Hank stood silent in the rain. He was aware that he was being evaluated, and if the detective was an android, he was certain there'd be a cybernetic scan ongoing, complete with yellow LED.

As it was, whatever Connor was struggling with resolved itself within seconds, and he finally stated firmly, "You don't talk, you don't touch anything, and you stay out of my way. Got it?"

Hank didn't have a chance to respond before a heavyset detective was stepping off the porch and greeting the detective, a tablet in his hand.

MATCH

COLLINS, BENJAMIN

BORN: 09/12/1989 / POLICE DETECTIVE

CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE

"Evening, Con. We were starting to think you weren't going to show," he said breezily, like it was customary, and Hank added that item to his growing dossier on his partner.

"I'm not the on-call investigator, Collins, so that was the plan until this asshole found me," Anderson said gruffly, crossing his arms, and the other officer glanced at Hank with something between wonder and incredulity.

"So…you got yourself an android, huh?" he asked as he turned away, but Connor's reaction was much sharper than Hank was expecting. "Shut the fuck up, Collins. Just tell me what happened."

Raising his hands in a gesture of peace, Ben spoke as he led them into the home, explaining that the tenant had been behind on the rent and the landlord had found his murdered corpse. Connor didn't appear disgusted by the smell or state of the home, and Hank made a note in the Lieutenant's file as he engaged his ventilation biocomponents again to analyze the olfactory evidence.

Desensitized to crime scenes, likely through repeated exposure. Potential compartmentalization issues detected.

"State he's in, this wasn't worth calling everyone out in the middle of the night," Collins said, but Connor pointed to the literal writing on the wall, face stern. "Android killing its owner? Seems like a legit reason."

Hank stood silently by the body, eyes tracking everything, scanning what he could from his position. His orders said investigate, but his partner had ordered him to stay out of the way. The conflict was making a wire in his head burn.

"Look…if you've gotta be here, then you can, I don't know. Do your thing. Look like you're about to have a fucking aneurysm."

Blinking, the android looked at his partner, who was kneeling next to a table coated with red ice. "But you find anything even halfway suspicious, you get me, got it?"

Nodding slightly, relieved to find the error messages fading, Hank answered, "Got it."

The next few minutes were spent silently walking the home, collecting evidence, and reconstructing the crime. He heard one of the CSI units say something about testing the blood on the wall, and he stepped towards the detective who was studying the kitchen scene carefully.

"Lieutenant? If you want, I can analyze samples in real time, using only minute traces, and without contaminating the remaining evidence," he offered, surprised that Connor didn't jump at his voice; the man had been deep in thought.

"Yeah, would help is verify a few things," Anderson approved as he turned to watch him. Hank walked to the wall, running a finger over a small portion of a letter, and brought his fingertip to his tongue. He was entirely expecting some outburst of disgust – after all, from a human perspective, he was tasting blood – but was silently impressed when his partner just gave him an expectant look.

"It is written in the victim's blood. Time of death is approximately twenty three thirty hours, on the seventeenth." With a verified sample of the DNA in his databanks, Hank walked the house again, checking the evidence he had already scanned, and returned to the detective who was looking out the back door silently.

"Do you have a theory, Lieutenant?" Hank asked, all Social Relations programs advising him to allow the humans to give their own interpretations first. Egos were fragile things in organics.

"No. Why don't you tell me what you've got?"

Hank blinked, stunned, processes coming to a sudden halt. He had no HUD suggestions for a moment, everything coded into him telling him to let the detective lead the investigation, and then the human turned to him. That dark look was back, that cold calculation in his eyes, and Hank realized that he was being evaluated yet again. So he nodded and led the man into the living room, gesturing with his hands as he explained his reconstruction.

"The android deviated after suffering an emotional shock. In this case, it was attacked by its owner, Carlos Ortiz. The victim struck it repeatedly in the kitchen with the bat, and the android obtained a knife from the wall and proceeded to defend itself. Critically injured, the victim fled into the living room, but was pursued by the android. For whatever reason, the android continued attacking him after the initial threat was resolved, and stabbed the victim…twenty eight times." Pointing towards the back yard, Hank concluded, "There is no evidence the android left via the rear exit. I would like to scan for thirium traces to see if I can identify its route of travel following the incident."

Connor watched him silently, eyes tracking the areas of the home as they were pointed out, and Hank quietly waited for his determination. Kneeling beside the victim, he finally nodded.

"Your theory's not totally ridiculous," Anderson finally said, neither praise nor scorn in his voice, and he stood as he turned towards the android. "But I thought thirium evaporated after a few hours. You can still see it?"

If he was impressed by the man's knowledge of blue blood, his software wouldn't register it. Instead, he nodded, "Correct."

Waving a hand to encompass the house, Connor gave him silent permission to proceed and stepped back, following the android at a slight distance. The thirium lighting up like it was bioluminescent, it didn't take Hank long to track it to the attic. Staring up at the entry, he felt an unusual sort of frustration in his sensors.

"The trail leads to the attic – there's a handprint on the access panel. But the opening is too small for me to ascend," he explained, glancing at the detective beside him. Connor nodded slightly, quiet for a second before he turned and grabbed the one chair not marked as evidence from the kitchen.

"Hey, hey, hey! What are you going to do with that chair?" Collins suddenly asked, his attention drawn from the lascivious article on android sex that populated the magazine on the kitchen counter. Rolling his eyes, Anderson answered simply, "We're going to check something. As you were."

One of the uniformed officers nudged the older detective in the shoulder, and muttered, "Uh-huh. Gonna check something. Fucking hook."

It wasn't a quiet comment, and Hank felt an unnecessary urge to scan the man who had said it and check his record. Instead, he watched as Connor stiffened slightly, his heartrate spiking for a moment, and he knew that if his ears hadn't been covered by his cap, the tips would be pink. Moving ahead professionally, the human set the chair directly below the entry and unzipped his coat, easing his access to his pistol.

"Make sure no one leaves until I clear the attic," he ordered, and Hank nodded as the man stood on the chair, one hand on the android's firm shoulder for balance as it wobbled slightly. Moving smoothly, Hank raised a palm and offered the leverage for his footing. Connor looked down at him as his fingers finished sliding aside the panel and hooked over the lip. There was that look again, and Hank wondered if he had miscalculated.

But the detective was determined, and he took the assistance. His weight barely registered in Hank's sensors, and he added that to his files, updating his system as the man disappeared into the gloom above.

LT. ANDERSON, CONNOR

BORN: 09/02/2007 / POLICE LIEUTENANT

HGT: 5'11" / WGT: 170LB

HAIR: BRO / EYES: BRO

DOM HAND: RIGHT

HOBBIES: SHOOTING (?), MUSIC (?)

CRIMINAL RECORD: RESIDENTIAL NOISE ORDINANCE VIOLATIONS

He stood like a sentry beside the chair for nearly two minutes, auditory processors tracking both the sounds of the personnel on the main floor and the nearly silent steps of the detective above. Then he shifted when he heard rapid movement, scanners flaring as he detected a second set of footsteps upstairs. Hank frowned, mission orders flashing over his HUD, and he resolved to notify the two closest officers of the updated situation.

"Detective Collins, I believe Lieutenant Anderson may have located the deviant," he called, something electrical tickling his processors when that same uniformed officer snorted. "Doubt that. Has he called it in?"

Refusing to move from his position beside the chair, aware that his assistance may be needed, Hank honestly advised, "No, but I was able to identify a thirium trail leading to the attic, and just noted a set of footsteps that does not match Lieutenant Anderson's. He may need assistance."

Before anyone could answer, there was a very audible thump from upstairs, and Connor's voice echoed through the dilapidated house, "It's here, Hank! Fuck!"

There was abrupt sound of a gunshot, then another one, and Hank zeroed in on the noise. He tracked the location to directly above the far end of the house, right by the front door, and he headed there immediately, bypassing evidence and officers as they drew their weapons and aimed at nothing. As he approached the door, long legs eating up the distance quickly, the android heard the sounds of struggling and creaking wood, and he eyed the two CSI techs by the window.

"Get back!" he shouted, startling the humans into obeying, and he looked up in time to see the ceiling collapse.

Two bodies fell heavily with the wood and drywall, and Hank was the only one who didn't need to shield himself from the dust in order to clearly see the situation. Connor had landed flat on his back on top of the debris, a battered android straddling his body and making him absorb the impact. The LED on the side of its head spun in crimson waves, and both its hands were wrapped around Anderson's throat. Hank started forward, alarm filtering through him at the split lip his partner was sporting and the harsh gasps coming from his mouth, but he froze.

Connor's gun was in his hand, the metal wedged between the two of them, the barrel pressed firmly over the android's thirium pump. But the other was, oddly enough, clutching a thirium-coated biocomponent. He held it tightly, keeping it visible to the deviant, and Hank blinked a few times as he scanned the part.

#2886 Thirium Pump Regulator

Condition: Functional

"You said you were…defending yourself, asshole," Connor wheezed through the grip on his airway, and he shook the biocomponent in his grip. "Makes two of us. I'd guess…you've got about thirty seconds…before you shut down without…this."

With the debris settling, the two were surrounded by officers who were leveling their weapons at the android, shouted orders overwhelming the noise of the storm outside. Hank filtered them out, focusing on his partner, eyes narrowing as he considered the new information.

"How human…are you? Feel like…you want more…out of life? Or are you ready to go out…right here?" Anderson breathed, his words barely reaching the unstable android. He shifted, fingering the trigger of his pistol, and he gave the android a grim smile, teeth red with blood. "Your…choice."

The deviant hesitated, looking down at its ripped shirt where Connor had torn its regulator out. Then it looked back up, eyes meeting Hank's, fear and terror clear on its face. It shuddered, nodding slightly, and released the human's throat. Inhaling sharply, gasping as his lungs made their anger known, Connor blinked and shifted slightly.

"Smart move," he coughed, shoving the regulator back in place and twisting the lock.

The scuffle to get the android off the detective was quick and loud, and Hank watched them only long enough to ensure it wasn't going to self-destruct before he hurried over to his partner. Connor was laying where he'd fallen, taking in shallow, gulping breaths, his gun laying on his chest with his hand wrapped firmly around it. The bandages that wrapped his fingers from his second knuckle to the tips were dirty and stained. His eyes were closed, his face paler than before, and the android knelt by him as he ran a check on his vitals.

"Don't fucking scan me; creepy as hell."

Hank didn't jump, but it was a near thing. Instead, he completed the review and frowned.

"You need medical attention, Lieutenant. You've suffered a minor concussion, two cracked ribs, and multiple contusions," Hank stated, and Connor cracked an eye open as he glared at him.

"What the fuck did I just say?"

Realizing that an answer to that particular rhetorical question would not likely get him further into the detective's good graces, Hank instead extended a hand to help the man up. Unsurprisingly, it was ignored, and Connor groaned as he rolled over, forcing himself to his hands and knees. He shoved himself to his feet, wavering slightly, and jerked away from Hank when he put a steadying hand to his elbow. Holstering his gun took two tries, and he walked slowly out the front door. The car with the android suspect was just pulling away, and he watched it go as he wiped the thirium from his hands onto his jeans. Spitting out a mouthful of blood and saliva, Connor looked up as Collins came up to him.

"Android didn't have any bullet wounds, Anderson."

The question was there, and, brushing off his clothes, Connor didn't meet the other detective's face as he answered easily, "I missed – sue me." Casting him a sideways look, Hank found his memory running back to the statistics from the gun range.

TOTAL ACCURACY: 100%

LETHAL ACCURACY: 93.75%

Sighing, Collins responded, "For the best, probably. Less paperwork at least. We're taking it straight into questioning. You good to drive?"

Not giving a verbal answer, Connor just gave a half wave and headed towards his truck. Momentarily confused, Hank finally followed. The contradictory information he had collected on the detective made him unsure if he would be allowed to ride with the man back to the precinct. However, when he entered the vehicle, closing the passenger door gently, there wasn't any command to leave.

In fact, there wasn't any noise at all.

Looking over at the driver, Hank frowned as he studied the detective. He was sitting stiffly in his seat, appearing taller than he physically was, and he was staring at his hands in on the wheel. The worn bandages seemed to fascinate him, and he rubbed his fingertips over his wrapped thumbnails, over and over, using more pressure each time.

Abruptly, he punched the edge of the steering wheel hard with his left fist as he shouted, "God-fucking-dammit!"

Jumping in place, Hank watched him with wide eyes, immediately downloading procedures on how to handle law enforcement units after officer-involved shootings and hands-on situations. He was mildly annoyed that it wasn't already in his database; it was inefficient to need to obtain such information during an investigation. Cycling through the data, he was more prepared when Connor hit the wheel again and again, always using his left hand, various curse words interspersed.

Continued vital signs running in his vision, Hank watched as the stress levels began to decline in his system and his heartrate lowered. Then the man slumped back into the seat, hands coming up and pulling his hat off his head. He appeared smaller in this position, younger, and he rubbed at his eyes firmly as he shuddered out a breath. Hank checked his priorities, realizing that his partnership with the man included assuring his wellbeing, and he reached for the Molly bag behind his seat. Fishing out a bottle of water he'd detected before, he wordlessly twisted off the top and held it out.

Connor was still for another minute and a half, then he turned slightly. Hank saw a single lock of unruly hair falling over his left eye, and determined that genetics had more a part to play with that than any headwear. The rest of the detective's hair was flat, nearly slicked to his head with the rain that had soaked through his cap, and he eyed the android listlessly.

"Bet you think I'm a fucking hook, too."

Extending the offered water another inch, Hank answered honestly, "I think you're coming down off of an excessive amount of adrenaline, and I know that you're injured and slightly concussed. Also, though I may be the most advanced prototype created by Cyberlife, I don't know what that means."

Taking the water with a shaking hand, Connor drained half of it in a single pull, grabbing an unlabeled bottle of pills from the inside of the center console without looking. Dumping a mixture of them into his hand, Hank had just enough time to scan them before they disappeared into the detective's mouth.

CODEINE PHOSPHATE 30MG, ACETAMINOPHINE 300MG, 2 TABLETS

WARNING: PRODUCT CONTAINS OPIOID, REPORT TO SUPERIORS.

CAFFEINE 200MG, CALCIUM 75MG, 2 TABLETS

WARNING: PRODUCT NOT RECOMMENDED FOR USE IN LAW ENFORCEMENT AGENTS, REPORT TO SUPERIORS.

CITICOLINE 250MG, BACOPOA MONNIERI LEAD EXTRACT 225MG, LION'S MANE MUSHROOM 500MG, L-THEANINE 100MG, GINKGO BILOBA LEAF EXTRACT 60MG, RHODIOLA ROSEA ROOT EXTRACT 50MG, 2 TABLETS

WARNING: SUPPLEMENT NOT APPROVED FOR USE IN LAW ENFORCEMENT AGENTS, REPORT TO SUPERIORS.

Hank pushed back the alerts as Connor choked the pills down through his swollen throat and explained, "Hook's slang for a wrecker – a tow truck. I wreck shit."

Glancing at the mess that was collecting on the floorboard at the detective's feet, Hank stated factually, "You did break the ceiling."

Draining the rest of the water, Connor tossed it to his passenger and started the truck as he muttered, "Not on purpose." But his vitals were steadying, and the blast of music seemed to calm him further. Hank ran some calculations between the man's BMI, fat versus muscle ratio, and current metabolic rate, and dismissed the warnings in the corner of his vision entirely. He had been given a significant amount of leeway in his discretion on interactions with humans due to the nature of the investigation, and he determined that, while the detective was reckless with his medication, it wasn't dangerous.

Still, he updated his files with the new information accordingly.

LT. ANDERSON, CONNOR

BORN: 09/02/2007 / POLICE LIEUTENANT

HGT: 5'11" / WGT: 170LB

HAIR: BRO / EYES: BRO

DOM HAND: RIGHT

HOBBIES: SHOOTING (?), MUSIC (?), ANDROID ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY (?)

CRIMINAL RECORD: RESIDENTIAL NOISE ORDINANCE VIOLATIONS

CAUTION: OPIOID USE DETECTED, NO PRESCRIPTION ON FILE. MENTAL SUPPLEMENT USE DETECTED.

WARNING: MENTAL STABILITY MAY BE IN QUESTION, INVESTIGATE AS AVAILABLE.

End Chapter 1