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Software Instability

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"We have a 5401, 1200 and 1212, I repeat, we have a 5401, 1200 and 1212. The suspect's name is Weyland Drake; a forty-three-year-old male, with long black hair and beard, amber eyes, muscular build and a distinctive scorpion sleeve on the left arm. Drake is driving a stolen blue 2016 Dodge Dart, driving up Interstate 94. He's attempting to flee the city of Detroit alongside his charges. Drake has been surmised to have a part in a homicide, a kidnapping, multiple sexual assaults, assault on an officer and multiple armed robberies. Security footage of a convenience store confirms the carjacking offence, as well as confirms that Weyland Drake is armed with a rifle and handgun, however, he may have more firearms with him. Shots were fired during the carjacking and convenience store robbery, but nobody was hurt, however, they were held at gunpoint. We must send multiple patrols and stop the suspect with whatever deems necessary, over."
"This is Patrol-054, persuing the suspect."
"This is Patrol-039, persuing the suspect."
"This is Patrol-043, persuing the motherfucker."
It's late in the night, a blue 2016 Dodge Dart charges through Interstate 94, driving at high speed on the wrong side of the road, causing all facing vehicles to hasten into the other lane, ultimately avoiding a serious vehicular collision. Following close behind, sirens blaring, are three Detroit Police Department patrol vehicles, themselves during on the wrong side of the road, desperately in pursuit of the suspect. As dangerous as it is, allowing a suspect of such volatile nature and such a criminal history, regardless of some of them being simple speculation, is just as if it not more dangerous. Despite any potential catechism and some guaranteed anxiety, the patrolling Officers continue to storm after Weyland Drake, with the patrol vehicle closest to Weyland taking charge, with one of the Officers loading his handgun within the vehicle.
"We need to get him off the highway, away from the civies," one of the Officers states before leaning out the window, weapon in hand. "Firing now."
The Officer fires multiple rounds at Weyland, managing to shoot through the rear window but barely missing the suspect. However, the sudden shock of the near-miss provokes Weyland to steer off the highway, down an opposing Interstate and into the mostly abandoned Grixdale neighbourhood.

"Fine work, Erikson! You've always been a better shot than me," Officer Wilson chuckles, watching as the other patrolling vehicles quickly catch up with them. That's when Officer Wilson selects the vehicle's radio feature on its digital hub, allowing him to speak to the supporting patrols. "Guys, as much as we- hope this fucker is just going to pull over, the chance of him doing that is, well, one of us could give us the specifics, but let's not focus on that-"
"Is this going anywhere, Michael? Some sort of fucking pep talk or are you just speaking for the sake of fucking speaking?" Another Officer growls from over the radio.
"My point is, this asshole isn't going to stop because he's more desperate to leave the city than we are to arrest him. He's a danger to us and those who live in Grixdale, we need to stop this dickhead now and I know a way we can do that, but you guys aren't going to like it."
"What did you have in mind?" Officer Erikson questions, raising an eyebrow.
"Checkpoint-59," Officer Wilson says, smirking but not daring to make eye contact with Officer Erikson, however, before he can finish his next sentence, the voices of his fellow Officers interrupt him, calmly expressing their feelings regarding the suggestion. "If we don't decide now, it'll be a fair distance before we reach another Checkpoint to decide upon, it has the necessary offensive systems and-"
"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!" Officer Erikson questions, raising his voice so loud it causes Officer Wilson to swerve.
"You've seen what those things have done to vehicles, Wilson, and the vehicle being driven right now is stolen!" Another Officer asserts.
"We were told those things are for last-ditch efforts, weren't we?! Nothing more, nothing less?!" Yet another Officer issues.
"I don't think Fowler would appreciate the damaging of civilian property."
"Oh come on, Lieutenant," Wilson sighs deeply. "We're running out of time here, besides, when have you ever given a shit about what Captain Fowler thinks?"
"Good point, as the highest-ranked Officer here, I vote to go for it and I know my partner agrees with me. Activate the Checkpoint."

"Okay, okay," Officer Wilson says, calmly taking in a breath. "This is Officer Wilson to Checkpoint-59 in Grixdale, I need the activation of the spike strips immediately and I mean fucking immediately. We're pursuing a suspect of volatile history so it's important to-"
"Please confirm the request for the activation of Checkpoint-59's spike strips," a female Android's voice speaks from the radio. "Due to the risks generally associated with the spike strips, we must be certain that this request is what you-"
"Oh for fuck sake, tin can, we're on a tight schedule here, let's just get to it, yeah?!" Officer Erikson growls with impatience.
"Shut the fuck and give the lady a break, Erikson! I'm sorry, ma'am, yes, yes, I confirm the request, please hurry."
"Request confirmed. Spike strips activated. Thank you for most of your cooperation and have a wonderful night."
The spike strips activate just in the nick of time, clipping the back wheels and tearing them to shreds, causing Weyland to swerve uncontrollably until he slams into a parked truck. The impact crushes the passenger side, lucky for Weyland because if it was the driving side he would have an almost definite chance of being seriously injured, if not killed. The vehicle is left smoking, the car lights blinking if not battered to pieces and Weyland himself seems to be in hysteria, sitting in the vehicle trying to process everything that just happened, which gives the patrolling Officers enough time to prepare themselves for the arrest. One by one, yet in swift fashion, the patrolling vehicles park, positioning themselves strategically sidewards, allowing themselves a protective barrier in case they need it, which they most probably will. The moment the Officers leave the safety of their vehicles, all of them armed and dangerous, they rush straight behind their vehicles, quite possibly the safest place they could be in. Officer Wilson takes charge, quietly consulting with the patrolling teams as Weyland Drake exits the vehicle, a pump-action sawn-off shotgun in one hand and an MP9 in the other.
"You- stupid son of a- bitch," Weyland hiccups, tripping over and accidentally firing the shotgun. "Whoops! My bad- but seriously, that was a fucking- hell of a- car."
"Holy fuck, listen to this asshole, he can barely speak," Erikson scoffs, slowly peaking over the vehicle, only to be barely missed by a barrage of gunfire. "FUCK! FUCK! Okay! Okay, so, he can barely speak, but his aim is still pretty fucking good."
"I SAW YOU! Dirty fucking- dick sucking- motherfucking- pig! I'm going to kill all of you!" Weyland screams, firing a few extra shots at Officer Wilson and Erikson's vehicle, shattering the driver side window and showering glass all through the interior of the car.
"Add another charge to the resume," one of the Officers comments. "We need to take this bastard down."
"Yeah, we're working on it," Officer Wilson sighs before clearing his voice. "Give up, Drake! You have nowhere to go, you're in no state to run away from this, you're outnumbered and outgunned. Don't make this any harder than it's already going to be, make this easy on us and make this easy on you. We don't want to hurt you, Weyland, we just want to make sure everyone makes it through this-"
"Blah, blah, blah! That's- all I'm hearing from you- dirty pig! These firearms here, they aren't- the only guns I have, I- have plenty more in the car. This- this is where my life ends, this- is where I make- my grand finale. IF I HAVE TO DIE HERE, I WILL TAKE ALL OF YOU WITH ME!" Weyland screams, locking the MP9 onto his belt before placing both hands over the sawn-off shotgun, only to then wildly fire the weapon at the patrolling Officers. "DIE! DIE! DIE!"

"It's safe to say that Weyland is either fucking too drunk to think straight or he's fucking insane!" Officer Erikson states, cocking the shotgun he holds close to his chest.
"It's more likely that it's both?!" another Officer comments.
"Yeah, most probably!"
As the other Officers speak, or better yet, yell amongst themselves, Officer Wilson focuses the best he can on the gunfire, realising something that a fellow Officer has also regarded; the position of which the gunfire is coming from, although slowly, is relocating. The fact sends Wilson into fight or flight mode, immediately advising the teams he's working with, except for a singular member, who is already a few steps ahead of everybody else. "Guys! Weyland is flanking us, we need to move or else we'll be the victims he wants us to be!" That's when Officer Wilson makes eye contact with the Officer that more than understands the situation he's dissected the situation as he dissects most other situations. The Officer is clean-cut and attractive, possessing brown eyes and dark brown hair, an LED is on his right temple, blinking yellow as he processes the information around him; it's a rarity to see an Android still with an LED these days. He's also wearing a traditional police uniform in contrast to the semi-formal uniform he used to wear. On his uniform is a blue armband on his right arm, on the front a blue triangle on the left side of his chest and his police identification number, name, as well as his rank on the right side of his chest. On the back of his uniform are a much larger blue triangle and all three features that reside on the right side of his chest. Gone are the former features of Android identification; the model number and the word ANDROID in capitals, replaced by much more traditional uses of identification, human identification. As he stares at his Android companion, the Android that saved his life over a year ago, an idea comes to mind, recollected by the many times he suggested the use of his capabilities, so why not now?
"Connor?! You've always suggested that we use your advanced sensory systems?! Now seems like the perfect time to do so, it'll make our repositioning much easier," Officer Wilson proposes, raising a brow, watching as Connor smirks at him in response. "Is that a yes, Connor?"
"Yes, but I will need a moment to focus on all sensors rather than just my hearing, it'll take six seconds," Connor advises as he places an open palm onto the ground, closing his eyes as he begins to activate the systems.
"Hurry the fuck up, Connor, we're in a hurry here?!" Erikson snarls, suddenly nudged by the barrel of Hank's trusted revolver, finding himself instantly nervous in the face of the much more experienced, grizzled and vicious Lieutenant.
"Give the man some space, yeah?" Hank growls, raising an eyebrow, a look of immovable determination, or more probable, simple agitation, on his face and in his the abyss of his eyes. The truth is, Hank's defence is one of the few things that Connor has heard from Hank all night, including the time they spent on patrol before the pursuit of Weyland Drake. Hank being quiet and or keeping to himself isn't exactly abnormal, but it's an almost the same distance away from being normal, so much so, Hank got Connor to drive the patrol car rather than it being the other way around. Either way, Hank is for some reason in his head, the reasons behind why are something Connor notes down within his head, in case he somehow forgets to find those answers. Managing to cast the thought aside and stop his LED from blinking yellow with concern, Connor focuses on the task at hand; activating the desired systems.

Data encoding: no errors detected: no additional systems identified.
Software selected: advanced sensory systems.
Systems amalgamating: amalgamation complete: no errors detected.
Advanced sensory systems: active.

Now that Connor's systems are activated, he can see, hear and feel everything around him in a much greater form, allowing him to feel the vibrations in his proximity. Every step, every shuffle, every time Weyland is knocked back from the blast of a shotgun, Connor can feel without restraint, forming him into the armament they need him to be. Sensing that Weyland has stopped in tracks, probably to reload the sawn-off shotgun, Connor marks to his fellow Officers, indicating it's safe for them to begin repositioning themselves around the vehicles, leaving himself to move last to keep his hand on the ground for as long as possible. Seeing the Hank is patiently waiting for Connor, he makes haste, taking his hand off the ground and repositioning himself much faster and stealthier than the other Officers without showing off. A handgun in hand, Connor makes himself comfortable in the corner of the front of the car furthest away from Weyland's position and after placing his hand back onto the ground, he realises that they all only just made it to safety. Weyland rushes around the corner and into the vicinity of their former position, firing a few shots before realising that there's nobody there.
"What the fuck?! Where- did you all- go, huh?!" Weyland screams, firing three shots at random, the third of those shots barely missing one of the Officers. After firing a final shot in frustration, Weyland tosses the shotgun aside and switches to the MP7, cocking it as he begins tiptoeing towards their position, checking every nook and cranny in the process. "You said- I'm outgunned?! Well, I'm- yet to see- said guns. You'll make things a hell- of a lot easier if you- just- kill me. That's the- traditional police way, right? Killing- is much easier than- anything. Take it- from me, but you all- probably- already know that, right? I'm a murderer, a- rapist, a thief, everything- evil in this world, you're- looking at it. But that's the thing, none of you- are looking at me. SO LOOK AT ME!"
Without warning, Weyland fires the MP7 like a madman, tearing pieces of the patrol vehicles apart, with more than a few bullets barely missing Connor, Hank, Wilson and their allies. However, a stray bullet clips Officer Wilson's shoulder, causing him to shriek in pain, during which Connor feels Weyland stop in his tracks, freezing with anticipation and excitement, Connor deciphers.
"FUCK!" Wilson screeches, holding the side of his shoulder. "Our position has been compromised, we need to move."
"We can take him out, one shot, one kill, that's all it'll take," Erikson suggests, cocking his shotgun, only to be interrupted by Hank.
"You make killing Weyland sound like a piece of cake, you fucking cunt! It is never that easy, trust me, it isn't! You kill him, it'll cost all of us greatly and it'll give me a hell of a lot of fucking paperwork to settle with! We do it the right way, Erikson."
"Fuck you, Anderson! You've never had the stomach to make the hard decisions and you're hesitation will get all of us killed right now!"
Knowing that Weyland is moments away from charging their position and not wanting any further injury, any of his allies to kill Weyland rather than arrest him, Connor takes the initiative, preparing himself to take Weyland down. Regardless of any consequence, regardless of any risk.

Data encoding: no errors detected.
Additional system identified: advanced sensory systems: active.
Software selected: advanced combat initiative and advanced reflex system.
Systems amalgamating: amalgamation complete: no errors detected.
Advanced combat initiative and advanced reflex system: active.
Software selected: all: overdrive requested.
Systems amalgamating: amalgamation complete: errors detected: 76% chance of abrupt system shutdown.
Overdrive active: all systems.

Taking Weyland by surprise, Connor tears away from the safety of the car, charging towards Weyland, handgun tightly in his grasp.
"CONNOR!" Hank screams, himself rending away from cover before firing his revolver at Weyland, causing the crazed suspect to take cover behind the vehicle furthest away from Hank and Connor's allies. Exerting his systems to their full extent, Connor spurs at high speed, vaulting onto the bonnet of the central vehicle before dashing over the roof and springing onto the roof of the end vehicle, where he finds himself right above Weyland's position. A predator ready to spring onto the prey. Noticing the shadow lingering above him, Weyland moves swiftly but it's far, far from being enough. With Hank reloading his revolver, Connor takes the initiative, propelling the MP7 from Weyland's grasp before kicking him in the chest, sending him into the ground at a vicious force. As Connor props onto the ground, however, Weyland unholsters a handgun hidden beneath the shoulder of his jacket before opening fire, the bullet clipping Connor's shoulder. The impact of the bullet causes Connor to cry in distress as he's kicked backwards, spilling thirium all over the windscreen of the vehicle in the process. Connor's systems go mad with- with- within the moment it's difficult for Connor to translate what he's exhibiting or processing as both of which are overshadowed by his systems screeching at him.

Data encoding: errors detected: Biocomponent #2208n damaged: 89% chance of abrupt system shutdown.

Teeth gritting together with what Connor perceives to be profound levels of anxiety, he wastes no time, using his systems to visualise and predict the projection of Weyland's following shots and prepare his body for swift, calculated execution. Moving at a somehow more accelerated speed, Connor easily maneuvers past Weyland's endeavours to riddle him with more bullets, only to grip onto the crazed psychopath's wrist, bending it and throwing him to the ground. Weyland persists on clinging onto the handgun but with a sudden and somewhat malicious twist of his wrist, resulting in a broken wrist, Weyland finally releases his grip. Now the final touch.
"Weyland Drake, you're under arrest for armed carjacking, assault on an officer and attempted murder by six confirmed accounts. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against in a court of law-"


 Following Weyland's prosecution, Hank gradually walks towards Connor, who sits on the bonnet of their patrol vehicle, the vehicle that took the least amount of damage during the ordeal. To Hank's discomfort, Connor holds a kindled lighter to the damaging wound he suffered, stopping the bleeding in its tracks; the most he can do until he and Hank get home, to where all of Connor's repair equipment and spare parts are.
"Connor? You okay, son?" Hank asks, finding a quick nod from Connor in reply. That's when he sits down next to Connor, placing his arm over his shoulder, a smirk creasing onto his lips. "You did good today, Connor, better than good, great. Weyland Drake, your eleventh arrest in over a year, son, I know it doesn't seem like a small number, but it's far from an underachievement. I'm sorry if I seemed-"
"Clouded by your thoughts, Hank?" Connor asks, peering up at his father figure, a genuine look of concern on his face, something that takes Hank by surprise, why, Connor isn't sure. "I'm sorry, but it was difficult to not notice."
"Yeah, I- ah- well, you could say I've been thinking about some things, some seriously important shit, but," Hank pauses before rising from the bonnet, pointing towards the driver's side of the vehicle. "We'll talk more in detail another time, a night less intense for instance. Besides, we have one last thing to do before we can finish up for the night. Lucky us, at least it'll be a peaceful drive."
"Where are we driving?" Connor says, staring at the now sealed wound and smirking at his temporary first aid. "When I say 'we', I presume it's me who's going to be driving? By the smirk on your face, I sense I'm correct?"
"Nothing phases past you, does it, Connor?" Hank chuckles as he watches Connor slide back into the car, brushing shards of glass from the seat. "Jesus Christ! I'm glad I didn't bring my car on this bullshit patrol, fucking hell."
"So, where am I going?" Connor asks, a sigh almost present in his tone.
"Head towards West Village, the digital hub is confirming the address, we should have long it long before we're in West Village," Hank reveals, adjusting the seat and making himself as comfortable as he can. "Fuck, I might fall asleep I'm that comfortable."
"Reasoning behind why we're driving to West Village of all places?" Connor pries further, the sigh unquestionably present in his voice. "From the lack of reports, it's safe to assume it's one of the less problematic neighbourhoods."
"Ah, yes, but there's one thing that is present in every neighbourhood and there's no task simpler and trust me we could use something simple."
"I'm not sure I'm catching on, Hank, there's certainly an abundance of simple tasks for us to complete, so, well, it doesn't sum it all up."
"A noise complaint, Connor, we're dealing with a noise complaint, now come on, the sooner we do this, the sooner we can get home to Sumo."


"So, this is the one?" Connor asks, pulling up in front of what appears to be a recently renovated homestead, quite beautiful for a home founded in West Village; one of the more family-friendly neighbourhoods in Detroit. The moment he lays eyes on the home, Connor regards the multitude within the homestead, his audio processors easily detecting the music, the laughter, the cheering. It seems that whatever is going on within the house, people are genuinely having a wonderful time and a part of Connor is, jealous and insecure? Jealousy and insecurity? That's new. "Well, it seems to be the place we're looking for."
"Yeah, this is the one, the renter of the house, a Miss Curry, recently moved in with her daughter and a roommate, at least that's what the report says. It seems that in celebration, Miss Curry threw a welcoming party with some close friends, according to the report, some of them you may know Connor. Anyway, the party began in the late afternoon, so it seems to be treated by an Android host, I can't think of any other reason how a party could last this long. I mean, I could but, well, if those other reasons are the case, we'd be doing more than just warning the hosts, we'd be arresting them. But one arrest is enough for one night, right?"
"Right," Connor agrees.
"Well, go for it, son, show them who's boss," Hank says, leaning back into his seat, crossing his arms. "Look, I know you arrested Weyland, but just do this for me, please."
"Hank, you don't need to talk me completing the task, I've got this," Connor says, scoffing with a smirk on his face as he exits the vehicle before finding himself to the threshold of the home at moderate speed. Careful not to look too confident, in fear of making anyone potentially watching him uncomfortable. With a perfectly accustomed knock on the door, Connor unabatingly idles for somebody to answer the door but when somebody belatedly answers the door, Connor is caught off guard by what, or better yet who welcomes him. She has beautiful blue eyes and blonde hair at nominal length, in distinction to the much shorter hair Connor had seen previously, bearing blue skinny jeans, black and red checkered shirt, as well as a black long winter jacket. Her eyes are enlarged with a similar level of hysteria to Connor, and for Connor, personally, it's a mixture of emotion, uncertainty, and something much, more. "Kara?!"
"Connor?!" Kara calls back, a smile quickly perching onto her lips, something Connor notices more this time around.