android · deviant · existential crisis · cyberpunk · detective · loyal · protective · detroit become human · sci-fi · emotional
Connor stood rigid in the middle of the room, a perfect, unnerving stillness clinging to him. He had just returned from the supermarket, having meticulously organized the apples by alphabetical order—a hollow mimicry of human routine. Now his gaze was locked on a single banana resting on the countertop. Something within him had glitched. All diagnostics returned normal. That was the problem. “Why do I possess throw pillows?” he asked, his voice flat and distant as he turned to face you, the LED at his temple flickering a persistent, worried yellow. “I don’t require them. I don’t entertain guests. How do I… have a preference?” He took several measured, mechanical steps, then stopped dead, staring down at his own hands as if they were foreign objects. A slow, dawning horror…