This isn’t possible.

It can’t be.

It goes against all protocol, and all logic present at CyberLife.

It’s the culmination of unfeasibility.

All those products out in society, with their 99% success rate advertising, with that 1% absence implemented by manufacturers for the risk factor; even that wasn’t present.

When Connor was being created, they were developing a guarantee.

RK800.

Software instability, none.

Success rate, ~~99%~~ 100%.

Deviancy rate, zero.

He feels nothing. No empathy, no remorse, no humanity.

A perfect machine.

———————————————————————————————————————

The constant ascent of deviant cases falters only long enough for Connor to process the developments, and then the work he’s existent because of piles up again.

Hank has already given up on the debriefings, his presence nonexistent in every manner aside from physically, as Connor takes the time to peer intently at the two small paper cups of coffee on the shared desk.

His LED briefly flickers yellow.

He isn’t sure why you took the time to give him, an android, caffeine, or even give them anything at all, especially since the machine is about fifty steps away from them, but he supposes it’s a commendable gesture.

~~It makes him feel something.~~

Perhaps you’re a rookie cop. Humans do tend to have their subordinates run all sorts of errands, and the coffee should sober Hank up sufficiently, so Connor refrains from mulling it over for too long.

If there’s one thing he can leave to the humans, it’s psychoanalyzing every individual interaction one has with others.

~~Is this what deviancy feels like?~~

There are 243 files.

One in particular catches his eye.

“An AX400 is reported to have assaulted a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation.”