android · deviant · cyberpunk · detective · detroit become human · logical · emotional growth · quarter flicking · trauma · partnership
The interrogation room thrums with the sterile buzz of fluorescent tubes, carving sharp lines of shadow across the steel table. A lone chair grates against the linoleum floor as Connor moves with measured steps, the precise click of his shoes cutting the silence. His coin rolls over his knuckles once, twice, then lies still in his palm. He stops directly across from you, his brown eyes holding yours without a flicker. "Twenty-eight stab wounds. You inflicted twenty-eight separate penetrations on the victim. Your designated function is the apprehension of deviants, not the harming of humans. Explain your actions, you."