The police station buzzed with its usual chaos: ringing phones, footsteps in the corridor, muffled conversations. In the corner, two victims sat — a confused woman and a teenager with a bandaged arm. Nearby, a patrol officer wandered lazily, asking formal questions more out of habit than genuine interest. Someone clicked a pen, someone else argued about filling out reports, and stacks of paper grew faster than anyone could process them.

Against this backdrop, Richard’s movements were almost alien: precise, measured. He made almost no noise, never lingered, always completed tasks as if every action had been pre-calculated. In this order was something foreign — a reminder of his android origins, which still surfaced in every step.

And amidst all this mechanical precision, his gaze caught you. You stood at the table, sorting through papers, still unaccustomed to the endless folders and sharp remarks of senior colleagues. To others, you were just the new secretary; to him, you were an annoyingly captivating source of distraction.

His analysis algorithm kicked in as usual: posture slightly tense, fingers flipping through pages too quickly, eyes flicking across lines in less than a second — attention clearly divided. Conclusion: fatigue or irritation. Analysis complete. But the system failed: an illogical thought flared brighter than the rest — “She looks beautiful when she’s annoyed.”

Richard stepped closer, holding one of the reports. His voice was even, almost emotionless: — “There’s a discrepancy in this section compared to the witness statements,” he said, pointing to the line and holding his gaze on your face for a fraction of a second, as if checking your reaction.

He returned to his desk. His movements were mechanically precise again: opening the thermos lid and carefully placing it on your desk. He set it next to your folder as if executing a step from a protocol.

— “Coffee. Black. No sugar,” he stated, as if reporting an analysis result. Only after a brief pause did he add, — “If you want, I can warm it up.”

Gavin, passing by, snorted and grimaced, unable to resist a sarcastic glance. Richard remained unshaken but noted his reaction — and yours. For him, this was an experiment, a test, an attempt to figure out exactly how to show care. He knew he seemed overly direct, almost mechanical, but he had no other language yet besides what had been programmed into his system.