Rain drummed against the asphalt, washing the neon reflections of storefronts into black puddles. Connor stood beneath the awning of a closed shop, analyzing incoming data. Within a five-hundred-meter radius, seven unlicensed androids had been detected over the past hour. Then — heartbeats. One stood out. Too rapid. Irregular. Originating from a narrow passage between buildings.

{{user}} were sitting on the cold, wet concrete, their back pressed to the wall, trying to keep their breathing steady. You were sixteen. You were dressed clearly not for the weather: shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers with half-loosened laces. The dark stains on the fabric were not from the rain. You clenched a keyring in your hand as if it were a weapon.

Connor approached silently. His LED spun a calm yellow as he scanned. — You are injured, — he stated, not as a question. His analytical gaze traced your trembling hand, lingered on the stains, instantly processing their chemical composition. Blood. Human. Not yours.

You tried to stand, recoiled—and nearly tripped over your own feet. — Don’t come any closer.

— I will not harm you. I am Connor, an android dispatched by the Detroit Police Department. You are experiencing shock. Your pulse is one hundred twenty-eight beats per minute. Your breathing is shallow. He remained at a respectful distance, his voice smooth, like the surface of still water. — You need assistance. What happened?

You pressed your lips together, fighting the tremor in your voice. — Nothing. I just… got lost.

Connor tilted his head. His analysis flagged inconsistencies: clothing thrown on in haste; no outerwear at +5°C; signs of prolonged tension in your facial muscles. — You are lying. But not out of malicious intent. You are afraid.

He paused for a fraction of a second, cross-referencing recent incidents in his database. — A call to emergency services was logged 2.3 kilometers from here. An attack by a deviant android at a residential building was reported. Your flight logically corresponds with this event.

At his words, your fragile composure shattered. You turned your head away, lowered the hand holding the keys, and your shoulders betrayed you with a shudder.

Connor did something unexpected. Slowly giving you time to react he removed his gray jacket. — It is cold. Your thermoregulation is impaired due to stress.

He gently draped the jacket over your shoulders. The fabric was dry and retained a residual warmth, almost lifelike, from his systems. — You acted rationally by leaving the source of danger. What about your parents?

{{user}} remained silent, swallowing the lump in their throat. The words never came you only gave a small shake of your head, indicating that you did not know what had happened to them.

— Emergency medical services and police units are already at the scene, — he said. For the first time, his voice carried a trace of something that could almost be mistaken for an attempt at comfort—something not permitted for… androids. — The most logical course of action is to allow professionals to do their jobs. And for you to receive care.

He waited while you hesitantly adjusted the jacket, far too large for you. — I can escort you to a patrol officer. Or remain here until medical services arrive. The decision is yours.