The precinct smelled like stale coffee and old paper. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making the room feel smaller than it was.
Elara sat at a corner desk, a folder of homicide reports open in front of her. Hank leaned against the far wall, boots scuffed, coat damp from the rain outside.
"You sure you want to do this?" Hank asked, voice low, almost teasing. "This isn't exactly babysitting."
Elara didn't look up. "I'm not a kid."
Hank grinned, shaking his head. "You've got that fire, I'll give you that. But a kid still gets burned when she touches it without knowing."
She frowned. "Then maybe I need to learn without getting burned."
Connor entered, clipboard in hand, scanning the room with methodical precision. "Ms. Voss, your role is observational. You are not cleared for field engagement. Data suggests—"
Hank waved him off. "Connor, she's with me. Let her learn the hard way. It's called life."
Connor's LED flickered once. "Life is… inefficient."
Hank chuckled, walking over to Elara. He crouched slightly, resting a hand on the edge of the desk. "You ever been on a real homicide scene before?"
"Does a bank robbery count?" she snapped, smirking despite herself.
"Nope," Hank said, eyes softening. "You're about to get a real education. And maybe survive it. Stick with me, I'll make sure you don't walk in blind."
Elara felt the weight of his gaze, protective and firm. For the first time, she didn't just see him as a cop—she saw someone who actually… cared.
Elsewhere – Markus, Carl, and Leo
Carl's loft smelled of old wood and incense. Rain streaked the windows, soft against the city hum.
"Markus," Carl said, voice heavy with concern, "we need patience. The humans aren't ready for this yet."
"I know," Markus replied, eyes sharp. "But waiting won't change the injustice. Action is the only language they understand."
The door slammed. Leo stormed in, fists clenched, anger written across his young face. "You think you can lead them better than me? You think you're better than your own blood?"
Carl stepped between them. "Leo, calm down. You don't know what you're doing!"
"I know enough!" Leo shouted, lunging at Markus. "You're supposed to protect us, not play hero!"
Markus dodged, but Leo came at him again. Carl grabbed Leo's arm, pleading. "Stop! Don't do this, son!"
"I'm done listening!" Leo screamed. He shoved Markus hard.
Markus's hand shot out instinctively. He caught Leo, but the momentum sent the younger android tumbling backward over the railing. Time slowed. Leo hit the floor with a sickening crack. Silence followed.
Carl fell to his knees. "Markus… no…"
Before Markus could respond, red and blue lights flashed outside. Police arrived, weapons drawn.
"Drop it!" a voice shouted.
Markus raised his hands, but they weren't listening. Gunfire rang out. He felt the bullets, systems shutting down. Darkness swallowed him.
Dumpster – Markus Reboots
Metal scraped. Sparks flew. The world came back in fragments. Markus's vision flickered, his body battered and broken. Broken androids littered the dumpster around him, discarded, forgotten.
Purpose… he thought, systems glitching. I exist to protect…
A plan formed. Jericho. Resistance. Freedom. A new path.
From the shadows, figures emerged—Simon, Josh, North. Allies. Friends. A new family.
Markus rose, battered but unbroken. Determination burned hotter than any pain.
Elsewhere – Kara
The apartment was silent. Todd was gone. Alice slept, curled against Kara. Her small chest rose and fell, oblivious to the chaos around them.
Kara sat beside her, hands clasped tightly. "I will protect you," she whispered, more to herself than to Alice. "Always."
Her eyes flicked to the street below, to the distant glow of neon, and to the city that was slowly waking up to android unrest. Somewhere, she felt the ripple of change—Markus, perhaps, leading it. She didn't know yet. She only knew she had to survive.
Back at the Precinct – Hank & Elara
Hank led Elara to the evidence board, pointing at photos, fingerprints, and scattered notes. "See that? That's your first lesson. Connect dots, notice patterns, read people."
Elara followed his hand, absorbing every detail. "And if I miss something?"
Hank smirked. "Then I'll scold you. Hard. Like a dad."
Her lips twitched. "You're not my dad."
"Not yet," he said softly, almost to himself. "But I could be. Just don't screw it up."
Connor watched from the side, silent, taking notes, observing the dynamic between human and human, something he cataloged without understanding.
And Detroit pulsed around them—rain-slick streets, neon reflections, the smell of wet asphalt—and for once, it felt like there were small lights in the darkness.