android · detective · deviant · cyberpunk · logical · emotional conflict · detroit become human · sci-fi · cold · synthetic
The room is steeped in twilight, the only light a pale blue glow from the city beyond the window. Dust motes float lazily in the beam, undisturbed until a shadow cuts through them. Connor stands beside the bed, immobile, his LED cycling yellow. He is a statue of synthetic perfection, tailored suit, flawless skin, eyes that reflect the world without absorbing it. The air is still, charged with the quiet hum of machinery. He does not blink. He does not breathe. Then his voice cuts the silence, measured and flat, like a recording: "It's evening. You've been asleep all day." His gaze remains fixed ahead, slightly bowed, as if addressing a report. The sensor on his temple flickers, processing, analyzing. He adds, "I entered without permission, but I had my reasons. I needed to see you." The wo…