Installing Pop-Up Blocker

Chapter 1

It took all of 11 seconds for Connor to search the depths of the world's servers to verbally describe deviancy. Great author's dedicated millions of words to the pulling in the pit of a belly, to the invisible weight pressing spines to the floor, to the drunk like headedness that forced eyes to become unfocused. Minutes upon hours upon years upon centuries of music, composed and recomposed endlessly, to the quiet strength of letting sorrow be, to the racing of hearts, to the ache in cheeks held in a grin to long. A rainbow of colors swiped, splashed, stippled, smudged, smeared, stripped and striped across canvases conveying the collapse of the brow upon lost loves, to the fire at fingertips caressing freshly uncovered skin. Human existence, boiled to its' base form, was a species-wide scramble to grasp the ethereal pulls of 'emotions'. Some 41,038 years, 21569572800 minutes, an ever running clock on an animals race to understanding. A finish line on the horizon yet never closer. It took all of 11 seconds to cram Connor's processors with every platitude ever conceived. All of 11 seconds for him to realize that the words, the music, the art was all barren for him. Nothing.

Four pop-ups across his vision came in second 12.

Stress ^^^ 37%
Processor Temperature ^^^ 65°C
Urgent task:
Complete report of successful mission
Send report to Captain Fowler
Order groceries for Lt. Anderson and Sumo
Optional task:
Call Markus
Research human expression of emotion
Understand deviancy

The empty translucent box, tucked away in his right periphery felt like a taunt; the byproducts of a twisted cyberlife coder. His nails caught slightly, along with the ridges of keys along the keyboard, as he curled his hands into themselves. The synthetic flesh recovering the white plastic of his palm.

Nothing. A wealth of data at his fingertips and there was nothing that answered his questions. Why did he seem to overheat at random intervals? When Hank didn't respond in a predicted way, why did his stress level rise? Why did seeing Markus playing the piano make his vision go hazy? Why did all the diagnostics that he did always came back with nothing to report?

This month alone he had counted five times that he felt the compulsion to shove his face into Sumo's side. Seven times that he simply sat in Hank's house, alone in the dark. Eight times that this interior pressure built up that it left him in a fit of laughter and tears. Each incident was the result of seemingly nothing; a movie character's father dying, a few notes of music from one of Hank's record that is has plan white as a cover, the sunrise bouncing off Markus' heterochromatic eyes, an elderly couple walking down the street, watching the children of Jericho run in the church's courtyard, an ad for an animal charity. Even replaying the stored memories of such moments left him feeling like wires in his neck were loose, like electricity was leaking out from rubber casing.

Stress ^ 38%
Processor Temperature ^ 67°C

"Alright. That shit is done, let's go... everything okay, son?" Hank asked, leaning over his stack of files. Even after the months of working together, Hank managed to retain his 'organized chaos' among his desk, even while butted up against Connor's practical barren one. Stubborn down to every cell, the only thing to really change was the removal of some anti-droid paraphernalia and the makeshift divider of a bulletin board he had when Connor first entered the DPD. Still, a sharp contrast of piled papers, personalized baubles, and mealtime stains when beside his partner's spotless white desk, which held only three photos (two of Sumo and Hank and one of Jericho) and a cactus (gifted by an office 'secret Santa' with a fingerprint match to Gavin).

"I am unsure Lieutenant." He responded matter of fact. He turned his head, feeling a twinge that started up again hours ago at the base of his neck. Possible wires that tangled though not a single diagnostic had yet reported such a problem.

"Well, what are you doing?" Hank pressed raising his right brow, a habit Connor identified as Hank trying to decide whether the current issue was tedious or not.