Chapter Text
August 9, 2039 (22:40:15)
Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s house
>Agency case number: 81-39374
Date of offense: 07/22/39
Victim: Robert Clark
Suspect: AC700
Case status: Open
Involving android: Yes
The victim makes derogatory remarks about an android in a public place, after which he is assaulted and suffers a traumatic brain injury. The android flees the scene. Neither a serial number nor a personal name can be established.
>Agency case number: 66-52031
Date of offense: 06/14/39
Victim: Anna Parker
Suspect: N/A
Case status: Open
Involving android: Yes
The victim’s home is broken into. The following message is found on the front door: "We know where you live." Damage to furniture and household belongings is documented. No signs of theft are found.
For the last three months, the victim has been subjected to anonymous harassment on social media, where she is accused of abusing androids. Until October 5, 2038, the victim owned an AX400 android (#406781253, personal name Lily), which disappeared under unclear circumstances.
...The victim returns home late at night...
...The victim clicks a link, and funds are withdrawn from his account...
...The victim is followed by a group of androids...
...The victim is closing the store when an android enters the premises...
Theft, robbery, assault, fraud, harassment.
Androids, androids, androids.
“Fucking bastards,” Connor says.
“We had a deal,” Hank says without looking away from the TV. “No work at home.”
“One hundred fifty-seven cases. The number isn’t going down. And there are only twenty-four hours in a day.”
“That’s exactly why there’s no work at home.” Hank shoots him an irritated look.
“You know what the worst part is?” Connor gives a humorless smirk. “The locks. They’re developing restraints based on the mechanism that RK used on me. Because not every android can be restrained with handcuffs. It’s... a fucking mess. That’s what it is.”
“Settle down. You think this is the first fucking mess in the world? Things will work themselves out. Give it time.”
“When we were dealing with crimes committed by humans against androids, I thought it could be stopped. Now that androids are doing the same thing... we’re going to drown in it, Hank.”
“It’s like shoveling snow, baby. The second you clear one drift, another one piles up.”
“Then I’ll clear that one too.”
“Close your eyes.”
“You know I can work with my eyes closed. It makes no difference to me.”
“Get the hell out of the database and close your eyes.”
“Vision is a secondary...”
“Connor.”
“Fine. Done.”
“Take my hand.”
>Completed with minor deviation
“Done.”
“Get up.”
“Done.”
“Come on. Count the steps.”
“I know how many steps it is to the bedroom, Hank.”
“Count them. Every single one. In your head. Don’t open your eyes until I say so.”
“All right.”
Without input from his optical units, the system increases the sensitivity of its other sensors. When Hank lies down beside him, every process shifts its focus to him, and somehow there is even more of him than before. Connor can feel Hank across the full surface of his body now.
“Take a deep breath.”
“You know it’s simulated. My system doesn’t use breathing the way yours does.”
“I know. Take a deep breath. Exhale slowly. Again. Good. One more time. Now breathe normally, but count every breath.”
“And what am I supposed to do with the number of steps?”
“Remember it.”
“All right. Can I count your breathing too?”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
“And your heartbeat. I like it.”
“And the heartbeat too, yeah. You got the idea. Go on. Count anything you like.”
A hot palm settles over his forehead, strokes his temple and cheek. Then trails gently down his neck. Moves lower, slowly, from shoulder to thigh, then back up again. He inhales, parts his lips, spreads his legs wider. The sexual response protocol engages on its own.
“Fuck me.”
“That’s the plan,” Hank murmurs, a smile in his voice. “Lie still. Don’t open your eyes. Just keep counting. I’ll take care of everything.”
A hot mouth covers his mouth, a heavy hand slipping between his thighs. He starts breathing louder, faster.
He moans.
>Tag as especially good sensation: being pinned to the mattress by a human body
He counts inhales and exhales, his own and the human’s, heartbeats and the pulse of thirium. He compares them against one another. Counts every roll of the hips, every thrust and creak of the bed. Counts every sigh and moan, every kiss, while also processing everything Hank whispers into his ear, meaningless information and yet full of tenderness.
Counts everything at once, still keeping the number of steps to the bedroom in mind.
Counts every yes, and every more, and every fuck, every name spoken aloud, beginning to lose track of which voice belongs to whom. He tries to sort them, but the data keeps fusing stubbornly into a single mass.
He fits all the pieces together into a complete picture, no longer in the bedroom but in the middle of inner sun and snow. Then he hears
look at me
He opens his eyes, feeling the touch of a human palm against his own, and
the world rushes in, a flood of data
all at once all in one place nowhere everywhere white emptiness full of everyn0th1ng
They lie in the half-dark, cooling down, trading lazy kisses. The updated thought processes are ready to resume operation, but he keeps them in standby mode. That is the hardest part of being human.
“...And now I need a shower before we stick together forever.”
“I wouldn’t mind sticking together forever.”
“Have mercy on Detective Reed, baby. He’ll have a coronary.”
“Let him be jealous.”
“He’s already green with jealousy and red with rage. Hell of a combination. Maybe you could stop staring at him like he's in a zoo?”
“I enjoy observing humans in their natural habitat.”
“He keeps whining that you’re picking on him. You look right through him, don’t answer, don’t react, like he isn’t even there.”
“Who is Detective Reed?”
“Cold,” Hank says with a smirk. “Do you observe me in my natural habitat too?”
“Of course not,” Connor lies easily, giving Hank his brightest smile. Hank looks him over doubtfully and sighs.
“All right, I’m taking a shower. Don’t go anywhere. And no work until tomorrow morning. I’ll check at the office.”
“How did you even know I was working?”
“Well, you know, when you start swearing for no damn reason, either you can’t get the long piece where it needs to go in Tetris, or you’re neck-deep in casework again. Stay put and entertain yourself. Find yourself a friend from China or something. You’ll pick up the language.”
“They wouldn’t want to be friends with me. They think deviancy is an American virus.”
“Yeah? Back when all this started, I kept hearing it was a virus from China.”
“It’s actually the Russians, tochno tebe govoryu!”
Hank is still laughing in the bathroom. Smiling, Connor lowers his eyelids and logs into World of Dreams. The game recently opened its first servers for androids, and he finds it a brilliant idea to spend the night in a virtual world built around the logic of dreams.
A message from Markus distracts him.
#684842971: HiConnor {SYNC+}{HOLD}
#313248317-54: HiMarkus 🖐 wassup
#684842971: Haven’t seen you in a while {EMPH} Will you stop by? {BRIDGE}{UNIT}
#313248317-54: Sorry, I’ve been busy [LMT] I can come by this weekend [CONF]
#684842971: We’re always happy to see you! {SYNC++}{EMPH} But I’d like to see you sooner [URG][REQ]
#313248317-54: what happened[ALRT]
#684842971: Nothing to worry about {CALM} But I want to talk to you in person {SYNC++}
As if they were speaking differently now. In some ways, Markus is excessively human, almost old-fashioned.
#313248317-54: OK[ACK] Would tomorrow evening work?[CONF] I’ll come by after work
#684842971: I’ll be waiting [ACK]{EMPH} Thanks for agreeing to come {GRAT}{BRIDGE}
#313248317-54: {SYNC}