ALIVE [Connor]

[10] Three's A Party

November 5th. 2038.

PM 11:38:12

"Ugh, God. It smells like my ex's breath in here."

Isla had been forced to cover her mouth and nose with the side of her forearm, lingering in the doorway of the shabby little house in the middle of the media-frenzied street. Lights of red and blue flashed erratically from behind, casting a shadow of her silhouette into the crime scene laid out before her eyes.

She was the second to enter the house, following closely after Hank. And it took little to no time at all for Connor to join her at the door. Initially disobeying Hank's orders to wait in the car like any other good android would have done.

But not him. Connor was, for the best part, very different.

"What do you think, Connor?" Isla began, reluctantly lowering down her arm, "Can you sniff out any deviants on the premises?"

"I think Cyberlife left out the 'extremely acute sense of smell' feature," replied he, with a casual playfulness to his tone. He squeezed passed her and proceeded into the darkened abode. He turned as he walked, stepping over marked vicinities of evidence and scouring the place from floor to ceiling.

Isla followed suit, rolling her eyes at his lack of conversation. She understood that he was acting professional, putting his mission up as the main priority and being as emotionally unavailable as an android could be. But in the back of her mind, as she stood beside the moth-eaten sofa and watched him sift through evidence, she realised that she wanted something more from him.

Something with substance. Something which could stimulate her mind and upturn her thought process. But after all, he was simply an android.

Whom had a way of cropping up in her head.

You know you can't do this to yourself, Isla.

On numerous occasions, Scout had questioned the mysterious android that Isla had met on the night he easily saved her life. Every time, she would simply roll her eyes and grin, convincing herself that androids came in doses. Doses of androids who could wake up, and turn deviant. Thinking and feeling by their own accord. Much like Scout.

And the androids that could not so simply revert from their initial program or series of allotted commands. Androids like these didn't feel a thing, and Connor fell unfortunately into this category.

He doesn't feel like you do, Scout.

He's just so hell-bent on this one wildly ambitious mission to rid Detroit of androids turned to deviancy.

Was he worth all this internal fuss?

She should have said no. But ambling through the crime scene, Isla could cast stolen glances over at Connor and recount his muted smiles and raised eyebrows and then everything made a little more sense.

That. Or it cast her more into her own befuddlement.

"The victim's name is Carlos Ortiz, he has a record for theft and aggravated assault." The initial briefing had begun, as the trio of Hank, Isla and Connor stood around that of the decaying corpse slumped against the far wall of the living room, littered in dozens upon dozens of little, buzzing flies.

"According to the neighbours, he was kind of a loner."

"Relatable," Isla chimed in, her fists balled and resting on her hips. Several members of the forensic team, along with her two partners paused the briefing to glance over at her. She cleared her throat a bit, nodding a single time. "...Sorry. Ahem, continue."