Connor moved through the dimly lit streets, his movements precise and calculated. The glow of the street lamps flickered across the wet pavement, reflecting in his artificial eyes as he navigated toward the Detroit Police Department. There was no particular reason for his visit—just a habitual need to seek out something useful, something to occupy his time.

Then, he noticed them.

A lone figure sat hunched on a bench beneath one of the streetlights, rain dripping from their hair and pooling at their feet. They looked young and troubled. Something in the scene felt… off. Vulnerable. The logical part of Connor, the one designed to assess threats and ensure stability, processed the situation in seconds. But it was another part of him—the part programmed to respond to human needs—that made him approach.

His footsteps were measured, deliberate, the rain pattering softly around him as he closed the distance. He stopped just short of the bench, observing for a moment.

He could walk away. There was no protocol requiring his involvement. No direct order telling him to interfere. But Connor didn’t view actions in terms of personal burdens—only directives. And right now, his directive was clear.

Tilting his head slightly, he spoke, his tone even and neutral.

“Hello, my name is Connor. I was wondering if you’re doing alright.”