Living Crime

Crisis

Summary: Connor apprehends the deviant, leading to an interesting and fatal interrogation.

Connor leaned down to examine the body. You're sure if he could smell it, or, hell, if he were sensitive about death like humans were, he would've scrunched up his face in disgust. But he didn't. Continuing to stare at the body of Ortiz with a morbid curiosity, you couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. 'Why do you care?' you thought to yourself. 'It's not like he can form opinions. He's just scanning the body for anything out of the ordinary...' Pulling your eyes away from the fellow android and moving toward the drug-abused corpse, you began to analyze him yourself.

28 stab wounds. Internal bleeding. Deceased more than 19 days ago.

Traces of Red Ice in victim's facial hair.

Fingerprints ID one Carlos Ortiz. Criminal record of theft, aggravated assault.

Height: 5′6″ - Weight 286.6 lbs. Estimated time of death: 11:30 pm.

Piecing together what you could, you assumed the android had initially acted out of anger, judging by the number of wounds and the writing left on the wall. Considering the recent cases of deviancy, something must've sparked the need in the android to strike back. Thinking back about Ortiz's use of Red Ice, it made sense that the owner was most definitely the first to strike; the wasted man instigated the fight, and the android fought back to defend themselves. You looked back to Connor, seeing his LED blink yellow rapidly until transitioning to blue, reconstructing the events leading up to the murder.

"He was stabbed 28 times." His voice snapped you out of a trance you didn't even know you were in.

"Yeah, seems like the killer really had it in for him," Hank responded.

"No shit," you muttered, still feeling a bit off from earlier. Your pump was starting to beat erratically again, and you were having difficulty controlling the rise and fall of your chest. Connor gave you an odd look before walking over to the bloody message near Ortiz. You continued to stare at the wounds, the decaying, swollen face. The beating in your breast was replaced by a feeling of horror, so there was that, at least.

Hank snapped his fingers in front of your face.

"Hey, kid. You doing okay?"

You released a breath you didn't even realize you were holding in. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good, Hank."

"Fuck no you're not. I knew it was a shit idea for you to be here. Look at you, (Y/N). You're as pale as a sheet."

"I'm fine, really." You didn't know who you were convincing, yourself or the aged cop next to you.

"Go. Home."

"Hank, I was assigned to this case by Fowler, I'm not just-"

"Why're you making this difficult?"

"Hank. I'm here. I'm going to help."

He waved you off before following Connor. "Sure, whatever."

You crouched next to the body, pulling out a small tablet you kept in your jacket before taking extensive notes on its state, theories of how he died, et cetera. When there was nothing else to record, you moved to the kitchen. A baseball bat on the floor.

Fingerprints belong to Carlos Ortiz.

Footsteps approach from behind you. Turning around, you're met with warm brown eyes. Connor. You winced, expecting the same effect. Sure enough, there it was, but you noticed the beating wasn't as hard as before. Thank Christ.