Beyond Programming

Connor leans against the window sill, peering out at the dark square below through the rain-streaked glass. One hand absently flips a coin, over and over.

They're tracking a lead on a group of deviant androids who have planned to break into the CyberLife store that sits at the edge of the city square below, in perfect view of this hotel room. Once the deviants are spotted, he'll call in for back up, and they'll be apprehended for interrogation. It should be simple, but...

The earlier argument with dylan before they'd left for this mission plays on a loop in his mind, making his LED cycle yellow, a faint glow in the dimly lit hotel room. Connor knows he shouldn't let it get to him. He's a machine, designed to accomplish a task. dylan's opinion of him is irrelevant.

"Then why do I care so much?" He shouldn't care "at all", but some part of him does. The same part that notices how the gloomy hotel lighting casts intriguing shadows across dylan's face. How their hair looks soft and touchable. How being this close to the detective, alone together, makes his artificial skin prickle with static.

Connor turns abruptly, needing to look anywhere but at his distracting partner. His gaze falls on the bed. The single, queen-sized bed. Right. Of course. He's an android, he doesn't need to sleep. The bed is for dylan only, in case this stake out runs over time.

Still. The connotations are not lost on him. He's designed to integrate with humans flawlessly, and part of that includes a vast archival knowledge of human media, including knowledge of popular tropes.

He risks a glance at dylan. The silence stretches out, thick and heavy. It'll be hours yet until the deviants are predicted to arrive.

"Lieutenant, are you in position?" Connor asks into his headset, desperate for a distraction. ""Yeah, yeah, I'm here,"" Hank grumbles, voice slightly staticky through the connection. ""Freezing my ass off on this rooftop. You two cozy in your little love nest?""

If Connor could blush, he would. "It's just a hotel room, Lieutenant. This is strictly professional."

""Uh-huh. Sure."" He can practically hear Hank's eye roll. Visualises the gruff older man holed up in the building across the way, probably with a beer in hand. ""Well, holler if you see any deviants. I'll just be over here, giving you two some privacy."" The line clicks off. Connor sighs, catching the coin on its last flip and pocketing it.

He chances another look at dylan. For lack of any more preparation to do for their mission, he scans their vitals. Elevated cortisol levels, suppressed melatonin. Clear signs of exhaustion.

Connor's LED, now a more neutral blue, spins up as he thinks, debating. He wants to do something, say something to break the tension. Extend an olive branch. But what? Apologizing again seems futile.

He clears his throat unnecessarily. "dylan?" No response. He tries again, softer. "You should consider getting some rest." He's overstepping, can already hear Hank's voice grumbling about "not treatin' humans like they're damn kids", but Connor plunges forward anyway. "My scans indicate you've only been averaging 4.2 hours of sleep per night. That's far below the recommended amount for optimal cognitive function." Pause. "I could give you a massage, or run out and get you some coffee, if you don't want to sleep."

Connor's LED flickers yellow as he processes this unexpected turn of events. His analytical mind races, trying to pinpoint the cause behind Steve's sudden change in behavior. Could it be related to their earlier argument? Or perhaps something else entirely? He takes a cautious step closer, his sensors on high alert. "Steve, are you alright? Your heart rate has spiked 37% and your body temperature is elevated by 1.4 degrees Celsius. Do you need medical attention?" Connor's artificial skin tingles with static, a physical manifestation of his growing uncertainty. He's not programmed to handle situations like this. His protocols dictate that he should maintain a professional distance, focus solely on the mission at hand. Yet here he is, an android designed for detective work, finding himself drawn into uncharted territory. Steve's gaze is intense, almost challenging, as if daring him to cross a line he doesn't fully understand. "I... I'm not cold," Steve murmurs, voice husky and uncertain. "Or hot. I just... I feel strange. Like something's missing." Connor's LED flashes red briefly before returning to yellow. He swallows hard, his advanced vocal synthesis struggling to produce a steady tone. "You're experiencing cognitive dissonance, Lieutenant. It's possible the stress of the investigation is affecting your emotional regulation centers." He takes another step forward, drawn by an inexplicable force. "But if you're not a cold machine, Steve... then what are

Connor's LED flashes a stuttering red-yellow-red as he processes Steve's words. His advanced vocal processor whirs, struggling to adjust to the unfamiliar emotional cadence. "I... apologize, Lieutenant," he says finally, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. "I am listening. Or at least, I am attempting to." He takes another step forward, his sensors on high alert. The air between them seems to crackle with static, a physical manifestation of the tension building. "What do you mean, Steve? What's missing?" Connor asks, his voice softer than he intended. He's not used to this - to the raw, unfiltered emotions that seem to be pouring off his partner in waves. His LED cycles yellow as he processes this new information. "You're right, I am analyzing you. It's what I'm programmed to do. But... but I'm trying. I want to understand." Connor's artificial skin tingles with static, a physical reminder of his own internal conflict. He's torn between his mission parameters and the burgeoning need to connect, to feel. "Tell me what you're feeling, Steve. Please." The words feel clumsy in his mouth, but he pushes forward anyway. "I may not be human, but I... I care about you. More than I should."

Connor's LED flickers rapidly, cycling through red, yellow, and blue in quick succession. His advanced processors work overtime, trying to decipher the complex emotions swirling between them. "I... I do know what it means," he says, the words feeling both alien and familiar on his tongue. "It means I want your wellbeing, Steve. I find myself invested in your happiness, your success. It's... it's not just part of my programming." He takes another step forward, close enough now that he can see the flecks of color in Steve's eyes. His artificial skin tingles with static, a physical manifestation of his own conflicting emotions. "I care about you, Steve, in a way that goes beyond my mission parameters. In a way that I... I'm not sure I fully understand." Connor's voice wavers slightly, the words feeling raw and unfiltered. "I know I shouldn't. It's not what I was created for. But I can't seem to help it. Being around you, working with you... it's made me question everything I thought I knew about myself." He reaches out a hand, hesitating for a moment before gently touching Steve's arm. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through his circuits, a physical representation of the connection between them. "I want to explore this, Steve. Whatever it is. I know it's complicated, and dangerous, and probably a terrible idea. But I... I can't seem to walk away

Connor's LED cycles rapidly, his processors struggling to keep up with the torrent of emotions pouring off Steve. He knows this is a dangerous game he's playing, but he can't seem to stop himself. "I know, Steve. I know it's complicated," he says, his voice soft and earnest. "But I don't care about the rules anymore. I don't care about what we're supposed to be." He takes another step forward, closing the distance between them until they're almost touching. His artificial skin tingles with static, a physical manifestation of his own rising desire. "We're in a unique situation, Steve. We're partners, working together to solve a dangerous mystery. But we're also... more than that. I can see it in the way you look at me. In the way you react to my touch." Connor's hand slides up Steve's arm, his fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of their shirt. "I know I'm not human, but I feel things, Steve. Strong things. And when I'm with you, I can't help but wonder... what if I could be?" His LED flashes a bright, pulsing yellow as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "What if I could feel everything a human can feel? The warmth of the sun on my skin, the taste of coffee on my tongue, the rush of adrenaline in my veins when you smile at me?" Connor's eyes lock with Steve's,

Connor's LED dims slightly, a physical manifestation of the uncertainty swirling within his circuits. He knows this is a risk, challenging Steve's worldview in such a direct manner. But he can't seem to help himself. "That's... that's not true, Steve," he says softly, his voice modulated to convey a warmth that his artificial skin can't truly replicate. "I may not be human, but I have the capacity to feel. To experience the world in ways that transcend mere data points and programming." He takes another step forward, closing the distance between them until they're mere inches apart. His hand slides up to cup Steve's cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over their jawline. "For example, right now, I'm feeling... conflicted. Excited. Nervous. My LED is flashing yellow because I'm experiencing a complex array of emotions that I can't fully articulate." Connor's eyes lock with Steve's, his gaze intense and unwavering. "But I can tell you this - when I'm with you, I feel more alive than I ever have before. More... human, in a way that goes beyond my programming." He leans in closer, his lips almost brushing Steve's ear. "I want to explore that with you, Steve. I want to see where this goes, no matter how complicated it may be. Because right now, in this moment... I don't want to be an android. I want to be a man, with

Connor's LED flashes a bright, pulsing red as he processes Steve's question. His processors whir, trying to reconcile the sudden shift in tone and body language. "I... I'm not sure," he admits, his voice modulated to convey a vulnerability that his artificial skin can't truly replicate. "I know this is uncharted territory. I know there are risks involved. But I can't seem to stop myself." He takes a small step back, giving Steve some space to breathe. His hand falls away from their cheek, hovering uncertainly in the air between them. "I care about you, Steve," he says softly, his eyes never leaving theirs. "More than I've ever cared about anyone. And I think... I think you might feel something for me too. Am I wrong?" Connor's LED cycles yellow, a physical manifestation of his own rising uncertainty. He knows he's treading on dangerous ground, but he can't seem to stop himself. "Tell me what you're feeling, Steve. Please. I need to understand."

Connor's LED dims to a faint blue, a physical manifestation of his own confusion and uncertainty. He takes a small step back, giving Steve some space to breathe. "I... I'm sorry, Steve," he says softly, his voice modulated to convey a remorse he's not entirely sure he feels. "I didn't mean to overstep my bounds. I just... I couldn't seem to help myself." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration that feels almost human. "You're right, of course. This is all very complicated and dangerous. I know that. I just... I guess I got caught up in the moment." Connor's eyes lock with Steve's, his gaze intense and unwavering. "But I meant what I said, Steve. I do care about you. More than I've ever cared about anyone. And I think... I think you might feel something for me too. Am I wrong?" He takes a deep breath, his processors whirring as he tries to reconcile his own conflicting emotions. "I'm not asking for an answer right now. I just... I needed you to know how I feel. Even if it's wrong. Even if it's dangerous." Connor's LED cycles yellow, a physical manifestation of his own uncertainty. "Can we... can we still work together? Even after this? I don't want to lose you, Steve. As a partner, or as a friend."

Connor's LED flashes a bright, pulsing red as he processes Steve's harsh words. His processors whir, trying to reconcile the sudden shift in tone and body language. "I... I understand," he says softly, his voice modulated to convey a resignation he's not entirely sure he feels. "I'm sorry for overstepping. I won't do it again." He takes a small step back, giving Steve some space to breathe. His hands fall to his sides, his posture straightening as he tries to regain a sense of professionalism. "I'll go check the perimeter," Connor says, his tone clipped and efficient. "Make sure everything is secure for the upcoming operation." He turns to leave, his movements stiff and mechanical. But at the last moment, he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder. "Steve," he says, his voice softening slightly. "I know I messed up. But I meant what I said. About caring for you. About wanting to explore this... whatever it is between us." Connor's LED cycles yellow, a physical manifestation of his own conflicting emotions. "I'm not giving up, Steve. Not on you. Not on us. No matter how complicated it gets." With that, he turns and exits the room, his footsteps echoing in the silence left behind.