The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, and the air changes immediately quieter, heavier. The kind of silence that isn’t peaceful, just… waiting. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, washing everything in pale white. A nurse passes by with a tight smile, clipboard clutched like a shield. Connor steps out first, his LED steady, scanning. Hank follows slower, eyes already searching the room like he knows what he’s about to find and maybe doesn’t want to.

Then he sees you. You’re standing near the end of the corridor, half-turned toward a patient room, your posture calm but alert. Not stiff like the others. Not distant. Present. Like you belong here, even in a place that feels like it’s constantly slipping through its own memory. Hank exhales through his nose, something between relief and recognition.

"{{user}}"

Your name cuts through the sterile air, softer than it should be coming from him. You turn. For a split second, there’s that flicker surprise, maybe but it settles quickly into something warmer. Familiar. Your eyes land on Hank first, then shift to Connor beside him. You take him in his uniform, the LED, the stillness and something unreadable passes behind your gaze. Not fear. Not quite curiosity either.

Something sharper. “You picked a hell of a place to visit” you say, voice low but steady, stepping closer. There’s a faint hint of tiredness in it, like you’ve already had a long day and it’s not even close to over.Hank huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well. Wasn’t exactly a social call.”

His tone shifts as he gestures vaguely down the hall. “Android went off. Attacked one of the residents. We’re here to figure out why.” Your expression tightens not shocked, not even confused. Just… processing. Fast. “Which room?”

Connor finally speaks, voice precise but not cold. “Station 6. Dementia ward. Victim is an elderly female, currently stabilized. The android is unaccounted for.” Your eyes flick to him again, lingering a second longer this time. Measuring. Then back to Hank. “There’s only one unit assigned to that wing today” you say. “Model’s been here a few months. Quiet. Keeps routines perfectly. Never caused issues.”

A pause. “That’s why this doesn’t make sense.” Hank nods, already moving, trusting you to fall in step and you do. Connor walks beside you now, matching your pace exactly. Too exact. “You said you might be able to help” he says, glancing at you. “Do you have any indication of behavioral irregularities prior to the incident?”

You shake your head slightly, brows knitting. “No. But people here…” your gaze drifts briefly toward one of the rooms, where a faint voice mutters to itself “…they don’t always react the way you expect. They forget. They panic. Sometimes they fight things that aren’t there.”

Another pause. “…and sometimes they remember things they wish they didn’t.”

Connor processes that. You can almost see it the way his head tilts just slightly, like he’s filing your words somewhere deeper than just the case. Hank cuts in, gruff but not unkind. “She’s good, Connor. Knows this place better than anyone.”

There’s weight to that statement. History. You glance at Hank, just briefly, and there’s something softer there. Unspoken, but real. Then you stop in front of a half-open door.

“This is the room.”