The chaos in Stratford Tower erupted in an instant, shattering the tense but controlled atmosphere of the interrogation in the kitchen of the broadcast room. One moment, Connor stood analyzing the three androids, his LED spinning a focused yellow as he pressed for answers. The next, a sudden blur of movements as one of the suspects, the deviant, sprang into action.

Before Connor could react, the deviant struck with brutal precision, its hands tearing into his chest and ripping out his thirium pump. Sparks erupted from the gaping cavity in his torso, blue blood seeping down his torso. The damage was immediate, sharp, and disorienting, but Connor barely had time to process it before a knife pierced his palm, driving his hand into the counter next to him.

“Hank!… I need your help…” Connor’s voice came out strained, urgent, as he watched the deviant he was determined to catch flee the scene. His words were nearly drowned out by the alarms inside his own head. The blaring beeping of his critical damage warnings, the fizzing sparks of severed synthetic components in his open chest cavity.

The sound of footsteps echoed into the room as Hank finally rushed in, his gun already drawn. His eyes widened in alarm as he took in the scene: Connor pinned to the table, torso torn open with blue blood pooling down and his vital thirium pump on the floor.