The receptionist welcomes Connor back to the police station happily, light spinning yellow as she sends him the camera footage that kept track of the RK900 last night. He sighs as it shows no sign of movement or awareness and stores the video for later review.
“He hasn’t moved,” Connor tells Hank as they pass through security and walk toward their desks. Fowler addresses them with a nod as he makes his way out, and they both return the gesture.
“You said he wouldn’t even respond yesterday, were you expecting a night time romp through the city?” Connor shakes his head with a small smile, glancing at the android in Hank’s chair with subdued interest.
“I’ll probably try again today. It can’t hurt.”
“Whatever you do, can we get him out of my chair first? There has to be somewhere else for him to sleep.” Connor nods, reaching for the RK900 as a familiar voice calls out behind him.
“Well, if it isn’t the Lieutenant and his faithful guard dog. Didn’t think you’d show your face here again after leading a revolution against the goddamn city.” Gavin is managing to smirk and frown as he stares at Connor, snapping his fingers as they make eye contact. “Bring me a coffee, asshole.”
“I haven’t missed this,” Connor sighs barely under his breath, prompting a dirty look from the detective. Gavin takes a step closer, gritting his teeth and reaching a hand up to poke at the RK800’s chest.
“I haven’t forgotten about last time, plastic prick. You better recharge with one eye open.”
“Watch it, Reed,” Hank says, taking an aborted step to separate them.
“Just because he’s “alive” now doesn’t mean he’s not a prick, Hank.”
“He’s a better person than you are, dumbass. You’re the one who can’t get over your own ego enough to see they aren’t your damn servants. Don’t you have cases to work on?”
“Yeah, less cases than you because I’m actually at work on time. How’s Jimmy doing, by the way?”
“He’s doing just fine, not that you actually care. I’d return the favor and tell him how you’re doing but he wouldn’t give a shit either,” Hank says with a stern stare. Connor sighs and surveys the area, then freezes suddenly, eyes on the empty chair where the RK900 was sitting only moments ago.
“Hank,” he says, drawing the lieutenant away from his glaring contest with Gavin.
“Shit, where’d he go?”
“Where did who go,” Gavin says warily, hand shifting to rest on his gun.
“Gavin Reed,” a voice says from behind them, prompting all three to jump and turn around. Gavin’s gun is out and pointed into the face of the RK900 before anyone can speak, and the detective curses, eyes going wide as he takes in its appearance.
“Is this another one of your damn clones?”
“You’re awake,” Connor exhales, stepping forward with an arm out to lower Gavin’s, who only shakes him off and keeps the weapon pointed towards the new android. They all stare at the RK900, each with increasing worry as it doesn’t respond. Connor’s eyes catch on the cup in his hands, realizing it’s from the break room and obviously fresh as steam curls into the air above it.
“Son of a bitch, there’s another one. What the fuck is it doing,” Gavin says, grip going white on the gun as the android continues to stare at him without acknowledging Connor.
“RK900, my name is Connor. I’m part of a group called Jericho that recovered you from Cyberlife’s Production Center late yesterday. We are currently in the Detroit Police Department Central Station. Are you feeling okay?”
“It doesn’t feel shit,” Gavin mumbles, resisting the urge to step back as the RK900 takes a step closer. It holds out the cup, and Gavin’s eyes dart to it for only a second before flipping between Connor and his doppelganger.
“You requested coffee,” it says, and Hank sighs, leaning back against his desk while rubbing a hand over his forehead.
“Take the damn coffee, Reed.” Connor frowns, watching multiple outcomes as Gavin uses his left hand to slowly reach for the cup. The detective snatches the drink and sets it down behind him before returning his grip to the gun. A blank stare remains in place as the RK900 tracks the cup and Connor tilts his head, reaching out his hand once more to push down on Gavin’s arm.
“Stand down, detective. He seems okay for now.” Gavin reacts violently, switching his focus to the more familiar android as he tries to pull out of Connor’s grip.
“Make him take his damn hands off me,” he growls at Hank, stumbling back as he’s suddenly wrenched out of the unwanted touch. Gavin rights himself in time to see Connor lifted into the air by his throat, the solid grip of the RK900 latched around the vulnerable area. Connor’s hands grab onto the taller android’s wrist, turning white as he digs his nails into the meat of the arm.
“Connor,” Hank shouts, stepping forward with his gun pointed at the stranger’s head as he waits for permission. Gavin steps forward instinctively, reaching for the RK900’s shoulder and struggling fruitlessly as it remains immovable. The RK900 resists Connor’s touch, skin remaining in place as the older model tries to break through his defenses to force a connection.
“Put him down, now!”
Connor is dropped back to the ground in a heap, hands going for his own throat in time to feel the synthetic skin reform itself. He takes a moment to recover before standing, moving his frame between Hank and the RK900. The unfamiliar android is watching Hank now, having listened to his demand to release Connor.
“RK900, can you understand me?” The android says nothing, eyes drifting to the hand still on his shoulder in time for Gavin to snatch it away.
“What the fuck just happened,” he snaps, angry eyes restless as he looks between the other three. Officer Chen steps up behind him, holding a gun at her side as the scattered officers in the room stare in concern.
“I think we’d all like to know,” she clarifies, nodding towards the silent group and waiting for Connor and Hank to look at them.
“Everything’s fine,” Connor says, voice carrying through the room as a testament to his recovery. “It was my mistake.” Most people go back to their work, though a few curious looks linger as the newcomer walks toward the hastily re-painted wall that used to be holding stations for the androids. The RK900 pauses where the ninth slot was, turning easily and going into a default stance before closing its eyes.
“Keep that plastic bastard far away from me,” Gavin hisses, shoving his gun back into his belt with the implied threat of not liking the consequences should they fail. He storms off toward the break room with Chen at his side and Hank rolls his eyes.
“What are you thinking?” Hank leans closer as he mutters this, glancing at Connor’s throat to personally check his well-being.
“He only responded to direct orders,” Connor says, glancing at the abandoned coffee. “RK900 reacted only when told to, either directly or indirectly, and didn’t communicate with me in any way. I assume he is operating in a default mode that only allows him to perform basic functions. Perhaps they never gave him the software necessary to interact beyond problem solving. It’s possible he wasn’t made to blend in with other people or androids.”
“Are you saying he’s just a machine?” Hank seems even more surprised when Connor almost nods.
“It may just take him longer to adjust,” Connor corrects hopefully. Hank watches him as he turns to take the coffee, leaning to dump it into the trash can under his desk. “I’ll let Markus know and find out what he thinks.”
“I assume we’re on babysitting duty in the meantime,” Hank says, sitting down and pulling his chair forward to watch the new android.
“Well, he was born yesterday,” Connor says, smiling as he takes a seat at his own desk and drafts a message for Jericho.