SYNTHETIC [Connor/RK800]

Russian Roulette

Connor rode silently to Lieutenant Anderson's house, forming a mental plan. This plan was intended to help him focus on completing his mission as efficiently as possible. He couldn't afford any distractions or interruptions. 

He knew that if he failed, he would be recalled and replaced with a new Connor model that would do the job for him. Something inside him almost... feared the idea. He didn't want to be recalled. 

The automated taxi slowly drove down the dim streets of Lieutenant Anderson's neighborhood. It parked alongside the curb. A robotic voice spoke over a loudspeaker in the car. "You have reached your destination. Thank you for travelling with Detroit Taxis. We look forward to seeing you again soon."

As the door slid open, Connor prepared himself and stepped out onto the damp front lawn. He walked onto the front porch, knocking on the door calmly. On first inspection, the house seemed well-cared for. The lawn was well manicured, the house neither dirty nor run-down. The porch light illuminated the front yard along with the streetlights. Moths bounced against the glass protector around the porch light's light bulb. 

Connor knocked on the front door gracefully. "Lieutenant Anderson?" When no reply came from inside the house, he rang the doorbell. "Anybody home?" 

Again, no reply. He decided to look in the windows. The kitchen window had no blinds, so he decided to start there. Immediately, he noticed Lieutenant Anderson laid out on the floor. Impossible to determine if he was dead or alive from this far away, and with the dining room table concealing most of him.

With no time to waste, Connor elbowed the window harshly. The glass shattered and fell to the floor. He ran at the window, drawing his knees up to his chest as if he was about to cannonball into a pool. He fell to the floor inside, pushing himself up immediately when confronted by a Saint Bernard. Sumo, he remembered.

"Argh! Easy! S-Sumo..." He cried, not knowing if the dog would attack him or not. The dog approached his hand, huffing. "I'm your friend, see? I know your name. I'm here to save your owner... Listen, girl." Why was he talking to this dog? Probably because he did not like the idea of being eaten. 

He got up slowly, walking over to Lieutenant Anderson's unconscious form and examining it. He wasn't dead, but he was deeply unconscious. Connor suspected an ethylic coma. Lightly tapping his cheek, Connor waited for Lieutenant Anderson to respond. Lieutenant Anderson lightly grumbled. 

"Wake up, Lieutenant!" He smacked him. "It's me, Connor!"

When Lieutenant Anderson failed to respond fully, he grabbed his arm and pulled him to a sitting position. "I'm going to sober you up for your own safety. I warn you, this may be unpleasant." Connor stated.

"Hey! Leave me alone, you fuckin' android! Get the fuck outta my house!" Lieutenant Anderson yelled angrily.

Instead of following his orders, Connor pulled him to his feet. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I need you. Thank you in advance for your cooperation."

"Hey! Get the fuck outta here!" Connor half-dragged him to the bathroom, assuming that cold water would be the quickest way to sober him up. "Sumo! Attack! Good dog... Attack! Fuck, I think I'm gonna be sick..."

Connor rested Lieutenant Anderson's inebriated form against the wall, requiring his hands to open the bathroom door. Once he had it opened, he dragged Lieutenant Anderson inside and set him in the shower. 

"Ah! Leave me alone, you asshole! I'm not goin' anywhere! What the hell are you doin'...? I don't wanna bath, thank you..."

"Sorry, Lieutenant. It's for your own good." Connor said, turning on the shower.

Lieutenant Anderson screeched with displeasure as ice cold water rained down on him. He waved his arms clumsily. "TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!" He screamed.

Connor did as he demanded, knowing he was at least partially sober now. He seemed coherent enough to at least ask questions. "What the fuck are you doin' here?" Lieutenant Anderson asked with furrowed brows. 

"A homicide was reported 43 minutes ago. I couldn't find you at Jimmy's bar, so I came to see if you were at home."

"Jesus, I must be the only cop in the world that gets assaulted in his own house by his own fuckin' android. Can't you just leave me alone?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot. I've been programmed to investigate this case and I can't do it without you."

"I don't give a shit about your goddamn case!"

"Lieutenant, you're not yourself. You should-"

"Beat it! You hear me?! Get the hell outta here!" He yelled, standing up. 

He wobbled, still drunk. Connor gently grabbed him, setting him in a sitting position on the edge of the bathtub. Lieutenant Anderson stared at his lap.

"I understand. It probably wasn't interesting anyway. A man found dead in a sex club downtown. Guess they'll have to solve the case without us..." Connor said flippantly. 

Lieutenant Anderson looked up, "You know, probably wouldn't do me any harm to get some air. There's some clothes in the bedroom there."

"I'll go get them." 

Connor chose a brightly colored, hideously patterned shirt that was on par with Lieutenant Anderson's usual fashion choices. He carried it back to the bathroom, along with pants and a jacket. Unfortunately, he came back just in time to witness Lieutenant Anderson vomiting into the toilet. 

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" He asked, setting the clothes on the sink.

Lieutenant Anderson wiped his mouth, "Yeah, yeah... Wonderful. Just, uh, give me five minutes, okay?" He said. 

"Sure." Connor replied flatly, leaving the bathroom.

At that moment, Lieutenant Anderson vomited again. Rather violently. Connor decided to inspect his place. Next to the TV was a shelf stacked with vinyl sleeves. An ancient technology that Connor was not accustomed to seeing. Jazz records. 

He next walked into the kitchen. The dining room table was covered in takeout cartons and pizza boxes, as well as more alcohol. Face down, a silver picture frame. Connor slowly picked it up, inspecting it. 

In the photo was a young boy, smiling. Running facial recognition, public records revealed the identity of this boy. Cole Anderson, deceased. He died when he was only 6 years old, a month after his birthday. 

Connor next approached the spot on the kitchen floor where Lieutenant Anderson had been laying. Next to an empty bottle of whiskey lay a revolver. It glinted menacingly in the fluorescent kitchen lighting. 

Connor decided to question Lieutenant Anderson about it. "What were you doing with the gun?" 

"Russian roulette! Wanted to see how long I could last... Must've collapsed before I found out." He replied from the bathroom.

"You were lucky. The next shot would have killed you." Connor stated.

Setting the gun down, Connor rose to his feet. He turned around just in time to see Lieutenant Anderson approaching. Connor gave him something like a smile. Sumo brushed by him. 

"Be a good dog, sumo. I won't be long." Lieutenant Anderson said. Connor followed behind him as he left, wondering about the intricacies of human emotions.