Comfort Zone (Connor x Reader)

Fifty-Nine

[Gavin, I'm inside. Seems I look similar to another android. Which should concern me, I think, but I'll worry about it another time.]

As soon as the RK800 stepped onto the casino floor, he messaged his fellow detective while he looked around. He was particularly interested in another android, dressed similarly, headed for a specific area. They vanished down a hallway of sorts, soon returning with a metal box in hand. It was smaller than one for shoes, he noted, but there were windows in three of the sides. Then he understood, and headed for the same place, knowing he would have to retrieve "his" tip box as Bryan.

Not that it mattered, but Connor needed to fit himself into this complex puzzle. Metal box now in hand, he realized that it was a little frightening; even now, many humans didn't seen to know the difference between androids. Things seemed like they were going almost too smoothly for him, but he didn't want to risk making a grave error. So your Roomba headed towards the center of the casino floor, where the other gambling options were located- including the blackjack tables he needed.

[Careful, man. I barely walked around but the mob is fucking swarming this place.] Reed's text didn't faze him outwardly, but Connor did feel his fuel pump regulator stutter a bit. Then, almost like an afterthought, another message came: [You got this.]

Within three minutes the RK800 found himself behind an empty blackjack table, standing stock still like the other android dealers around him. In reality, he scanned and stored profiles of every single being that walked past... with the exception of his temporary partner, who sat at one end of his table. Neither spoke, which was the point, Gavin just gambled by himself for a few minutes. He reacted appropriately by the game, but overall seemed disinterested in much else. [Should I ask on whose dime you are gambling?] Connor asked, giving the vague hint of a grin.

Checking the text a little bit later, his phone was set on the table after he rolled his eyes, grinning. "It's called a fucking expense report," he mumbled, barely heard to anyone not listening intently. One hand rubbed the back of his neck as he sighed. ".... good. You're doin' good. Too good, stop beating the shit outta me, fuck." There was a chuckle before his eyes shot a look towards the empty part of his table. Or rather, it was no longer empty; two gentlemen sat at the other end, paying neither detective any mind.

Yellow flashed at his temple but only momentarily. Otherwise, your Roomba was just a dealer, now including the pair. Reed's body had visibly tensed, so the RK800 did a profile search on the men. Though when he managed to get a solid look at them, he didn't need to look them up: one of them had broken into his apartment earlier that day.

As expected, Ressa spoke in a hushed tone, all Italian, to his companion or family member or whoever was with him. Keeping his rage to a minimum was admittedly difficult, but the android had gotten so far already, and couldn't afford to ruin everything.

Most of what they were saying made little sense, but he had Reed right there listening with him, as well as Hank and Cloud connected to his audio. The conversation spoke a lot about shipments and supplies, the sort of business talk that didn't seem suspicious. But Connor knew that every word was being studied for any sort of indication of you or your location.

The shorter detective started to relax again, but too soon: the other male was mumbling something about finally obtaining the household cat, which had run away weeks prior. "She's a cunning little feline, but I thank you for finally capturing her."

Ressa let out a short, coughing sort of laugh, focused on the hand "Bryan" had dealt before responding, avoiding English like they'd been doing: "She injured me, you know. Not badly, though it's hardly the point. At least now she won't get into any trouble."