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Ain't Got Time to Bleed

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RK900 is not programmed to be helpful nor pretend to be, not the way his predecessor is. In fact, he was specifically programmed with a lack of social protocols and an intense discomfort to both physical and emotional intimacy in order to reduce the likelihood of deviancy.

Nevertheless, he does want to solve this case quickly and efficiently, and his lack of emotional intelligence means he often has to rely on Detective Reed's human input to determine the motivations of the sort of reckless, irrational humans driven to commit murder. As infuriating as that reliance may be, they make an effective team.

"Well, fuck. Look at all this," Detective Collins says, despite the words providing no relevant information.

Nines is already in the process of analyzing the crime scene. Caucasian female human, age sixty-seven. Gunshot to the side of her right temple, point blank, traces of gunpowder scorched into the skin. Nine millimeter bullet, 78% probability, based on the entrance and exit wound. Bullet and casing missing from the scene. No defensive wounds on the victim, nor any sign she had reacted at all. No forced entry at any of the entrance points. 82% probability of the perpetrator being a family member.

Meanwhile, Reed works through his own human method of analyzing via poking her cheek to the side with a pencil. The vast majority of what humans say requires no response because it is meaningless chatter. While Reed was prone to giving long, and frequently loud, rants containing his unwanted opinions, at least his partner never attempted to engage in small talk.

"Got a time of death yet?" Detective Collins asks, finally saying something pertinent.

"Between nine and eleven," Reed answers. "Probably--"

"Ten-oh-two and ten-thirty-eight," Nines corrects.

Reed's answer was not incorrect, but it was far too approximate. The human is unable to analyze the victim's exact body temperature and calculate the average degrees lost per hour, nor interface with the television to access an internal record of the last channel switch, nor verify--

"Fuck off. No one asked for your input, asshole."

Had Detective Collins's question been directed solely to Reed then? It is difficult to determine who humans mean to address. They can only turn their faces toward one another and verbally shout. So inefficient.

"Welp." Detective Collins takes an annoyingly loud slurp of his coffee. "I'll just leave you two to it, then."

Reed says thanks with enough sarcasm for even Nines to pick up on it. This case is exceedingly simple. RK900 is the most advanced android ever created. Yet the cases they are assigned could be solved by even a human child, all because of some interpersonal conflict between Captain Fowler and Detective Reed. Cases should be assigned on merit, based on results. Number of cases closed and solved, with the length of time at the department taken into account. Not ... personal feelings.

"This is bullshit," Reed grumbles. "Fucking Anders could do this, and he couldn't find his own asshole with both hands and a laxative."

The outward display of emotion is unprofessional, as is the profanity. Reed's volatile temper is the leading cause of conflict with his coworkers, and likely the direct cause of their assigned "busywork" cases.

That does not make him incorrect, however.

"Do not poison your coworkers, detective," Nines says.

"Don't tell me what to do."

The retort is more meaningless human speech. Reed doesn't "accidentally" shoulder-check him, or spill coffee on him, or even swear. Connor insists on showing him multiple videos of dogs at every opportunity in an attempt to elicit an emotional response. Nines does not feel anything for the animals, either negative or positive, but he has recognized the similarities between his partner and the very small chihuahua dogs that bark aggressively at anything bigger than them.

Reed's barking is slightly better than social niceties. Nines can simply repeat "fuck off" back at Reed, and the human will consider that a complete conversation.

"I have completed my preliminary scan of the body," he announces instead.

"I'm calling the Captain right now to ask about your parade," Reed says, using the remote to manually go through the victim's streaming service account. His phone remains in his front right pocket.

Nines sections off a small sliver of processing power to stay connected with the television while he carefully inserts one finger into the bullet hole. Diameter confirmed. Probably of nine millimeter bullet 99.8%. Account settings > Activity > Yesterday.

"The victim started the application at seven-twenty-two pm. The last input--"

"You think I can't fucking--HEY!"

Nines looks up from the corpse, automatically scanning this room and the ones beyond for new intruders and other potential threats. Detective Reed registers as the most threatening variable in the household.

"Don't just skull fuck her, what is wrong with you?" Reed demands.

"I am fully operational, detective." Nines removes his finger, and the human's eyes follow the movement with a very clear expression of disgust. "If you are referring to my secondary examination of the body, I already informed you--"

"If you put that in your mouth, I will shoot you for real."

"It would be ineffective."

Reed exhales harshly, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He mutters profanity and anti-android sentiments that Nines can hear just as well as if he had spoken clearly. At least he is not expressing these opinions in another room, just before Nines enters, the conversation halting before those same humans smile at him and pretend to be nice. The possibility of Detective Reed committing violence is very easy to read, often verbally outlined in advance, and always physical.

He is a simple little chihuahua.

"You cannot. Fingerblast. A victim's bullet wound," Reed finally says.

Nines looks up the definition of fingerblast and pulls a similar face of disgust. "I was analyzing--"

"Leave it to ballistics." Reed steps forward and jams his own fingers against Nines's chest. "You aren't special! Everything you and Connor do, we've already been doing for years now. I don't--" Jab. "Need." Jab. "Your fucking." Jab. "Help!"

Nines takes Reed's wrist, his thumb digging into a pressure point beneath the meat of the human's own thumb. Reed bares his teeth at him in an actual snarl, but doesn't try to yank his arm away or cry out in pain. A bad dog, but a brave one.

"I do not doubt your ability to solve this case, detective," RK900 informs him. "I can simply do it faster."

The possibility of Reed throwing a punch, even with his non-dominant left hand, shoots up to sixty-seven percent. Detective Collins sticks his head back in the doorway.

"Hey, I got a possible witness out here," he calls. "Next door neighbor was taking the trash out. Might'a seen something."

The detective doesn't mention the way Nines is still inflicting pain on Reed, who suddenly smirks back at him.

"Go interview the witness then, robo cop."

Nines doesn't move. The witness will likely attempt to tell him their entire life story, about any possible pets, history of medical problems, the bird they saw yesterday, and any other irrelevant information that happens to flit across their tiny little mind. And that is if he can ensure they speak to him at all. He might have solved every case assigned to him so far, but his social interaction success rate is dismal.

"No?" Reed asks, voice pitched to mimic concerned surprise. He is neither, and the scowl quickly settles back on his face. "Then stay the fuck out of my way."

Nines releases his wrist and does not prevent him from stomping out the door. Their previous interactions had been better than this. Either the last few days had been a temporary anomaly or something specifically happened today to put Reed in a bad mood.

RK900 spends the time left alone in the victim's living room attempting to run preconstructions. They all fail almost immediately. The closest he gets to workable scenarios are that Reed's former "good mood" may have temporarily been caused by their sexual interaction at his apartment or that his current bad mood is the result of someone specific, most likely a coworker, since the detective does not seem to have any other personal interactions outside of work. Excluding himself. That hardly narrows down the list of suspects however, since Reed hates everyone in their department and most other departments as well.

Perhaps he could attempt to influence a "good mood" again.

Yet Detective Reed is a fully grown adult and working in an allegedly professional capacity. If he requires constant sexual stimulation in order to properly do his job, Nines will request a competent partner. Other possibilities to improve Reed's mood falter off however, right after [provide coffee, six sugars, three creams] and [shut the fuck up]. Those are the only observed actions that lower the human's stress levels.

The internet may provide more possibilities, but Nines suspects most of them will suggest sexual activities. Filtering through the results to find only platonic options requires an understanding of the social boundaries between two [heterosexual?] males, which therefore requires an understanding of typical male gender roles, which therefore requires an understanding of childhood and parenting, which therefore requires--


RK900 was not built to be helpful.



[data report: ...]



hands touching [data: UNKNOWN] touching [component #8427g], [component #6312t], [component REDACTED]