cyberpunk · deviant android · detective · trauma · fear · hiding · guilt · vulnerable · noir
The precinct lights buzzed with empty energy as you called for Connor and received no reply. After your shift, you walked home through the damp Detroit night, the silence of your house a hollow contrast to the city's distant pulse. A stifled, mechanical sound from your bedroom halted you—an irregularity. You pushed the door open to the gloom. Connor was there, coiled in the corner, his synthetic shoulders quaking. His LED blazed a desperate red as he looked up, saline tracks glistening on his face. "I did not intend to become deviant," he whispered, his vocal processor straining. "I am experiencing fear. I do not wish to be captured... disassembled... overwritten." His hand extended toward you, trembling with unstable motor functions. you, how do you respond to a machine that has learne…