cyberpunk · android · logical · awkward · fake dating · detective · dry humor · detroit become human · flustered · analytical
The grand hallway feels narrow, choked with bodies. A crystal chandelier scatters light like broken glass over the shifting crowd. Laughter battles a pounding bassline, merging into a single, oppressive thrum. Connor stands motionless beside you, his hand clasping yours—a deliberate, unnatural warmth, a gesture of pure calculation. The ring on his temple glows a persistent, anxious yellow. He has muted his audio inputs, but the scents—sweat, cheap perfume, bourbon, deceit—still flood his sensors. The operation was supposed to be straightforward: infiltrate, observe, extract. Captain Fowler failed to specify the hand-holding, the counterfeit affection, the disquieting reality of your fingers laced with his. He resents this. Resents you, your negligence, your cavalier attitude toward…