#oh and this isn’t meant as a roast or a critique or anything

[aight-griffin]

Only Hazbin Hotel would give some radio motherfucker more devil coding than the literal devil.

[silvensei]

In This Mad Machinery

A human and an android swap bodies, resulting in identity crises, existentialism, philosophy with the boys, and fun!

Detroit: Become Human | gen | 20k | rated T | introspective comedy/sci-fi

Chapter 3 (2.5k words) | [AO3 link] | [first] | < prev | next >

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A bell chimed above the door as it swung open. A portly woman turned around from the counter, a practiced yet warm smile and greeting at the ready. When she noticed who her new patrons were, she paused and propped a hand on her hip. “Well, look what the cat dragged in!” she teased amicably. “Hank Anderson! Haven’t seen your face ‘round here in ages!”

“Sorry, Bel. You know how life gets in the way,” Connor said, parroting Hank’s briefing from the car. “Is the usual still on the menu?”

“Aw, hon,” she laughed, “joshing as always!”

Connor smiled. He had no idea what that meant.

Fortunately, she turned her attention to the other member of his party. “As much as it’s good to see an old favorite, new faces keep the business going. Name’s Ysabel.”

Hank waved. “Connor.”

“Well, Connor, want a menu? It’s just your typical array of diner classics, but with enough pizzazz to knock your socks off, guaranteed!”

“Oh, no, thanks, ma’am, just a coffee for now.”

“Two cuppa joe and a patty with the fixin’s.” She waved them off and adjusted her apron. “You boys go make yourselves comfortable, y’hear?”

She left for the kitchen. Hank ushered Connor into the diner proper, over to the rows of red booths with black and white marbled tables. With windows on two sides, natural light filled the space. Only a handful of other tables were occupied, people chattering amongst themselves. It wasn’t terribly spacious, but in the way that it felt cozy rather than claustrophobic.

Hank settled in a corner booth, his back to the wall. “She seems nice,” Connor commented, sitting across from him.

“Bel? She’s more than nice. She’s probably the closest thing to an angel I’ve got.” His head turned to look out the window, letting Connor notice a momentary bout of erratic flickering in his LED. “It doesn’t matter who you are or where you’re from, but she still makes this place seem like a mother’s kitchen. Just home recipes abound. And to top it all off? She don’t take shit from no one.

“One time—” he laughed, “—One time, ages ago, Jeffrey and I came by for lunch just pissed off. An easy drug bust flipped right around and left us with nothing, sending us right back to the drawing board. One officer was so furious she quit that morning. So we came in here, fuming, cussing up a storm, just miserable bastards looking to drown our frustrations in some good ol’ comfort food; it was too early for booze, but hell, did we come close. Bel came over with absolutely not the right thing, like soup and salad or something. I’ll admit, I was a bit of a hotheaded prick back then—”

“‘Back then’?”

“Watch it, boy,” Hank warned with a grin. “Anyway, I snapped at her, saying I wasn’t in the mood to deal with this, we didn’t want this, how hard was it to grill a fucking burger, I didn’t even have my coffee yet, and so on, and she shut me up by throwing a glass of water in my face. It was nearly empty already and didn’t have ice, but it was enough to do the trick. Then she said, ‘If starting over is so easy, why don’t you kids stop bitching and suck it up?’ Then she walked away.” Hank rested his chin in his hand, the smile still on his face. “It was the literal smack to the head that I needed. She gave us the soup n’ salads on the house as an attempt to get us to eat healthier. The coffee was free, too, but it was mostly hot sauce to get back at me for yelling at her.

Connor’s own smile had only grown. He wasn’t entirely sure why; it seemed like an involuntary response. “If that’s not the definition of a guardian angel, then I don’t know what is.”

“What can I say? You really do need a friend around who’s not afraid to knock some sense into you.”

Connor leaned back, sinking into the red cushions. This was comfortable. Natural light diffusing through the windows; fun conversation with the white noise of other discussions over quiet music he couldn’t place; the ever-present aroma of a kitchen hard at work; a pleasant warmth from the sunlight (without the radiation). He would like to come here again.

With such fond memories, though, why hadn’t they come here before in the six months Connor had known him? He decided to ask.

Hank continued looking out the window. His expression shifted into something Connor couldn’t interpret, but the brief red light gave him some clues. “It just seemed a bit boring to bring an android to a restaurant, y’know? You don’t really eat and all��.”

“You boys gossiping over here?” joked Bel, sliding two mugs of coffee onto the table. Connor jumped; he hadn’t heard her approach. Or maybe his ears did, but his attention was focused elsewhere. Bel laughed. “Late nights at the bar making you jumpy?”

“Ah… not so much anymore,” Connor improvised. “Some late nights on the job, if anything.”

“Oh, I’d bet. Between homicide and android rights cases, you two are probably set on work for the next couple years.” She fished around in the pocket of her apron.

“Where did you hear about our casework?” asked Hank.

Bel found her target and deposited a couple small cups of thirium into the bowl of half-and-half creamers. “All over the news, hon! You’re really paving the way for androids in the work force. Setting the bar pretty high, too, while you’re at it.” She smiled before whisking off to other tables.

“As nice as ever, that Bel,” Hank commented. He inspected one of the thirium cups and asked, “How is this compared to plain old creamers?”

Connor’s hands hovered around his mug. He lacked his infrared temperature sensor, his unfamiliar tactile senses only told him ‘hot,’ and he couldn’t even remember what a fourth-order differential to estimate heat loss through radiation looked like. He’ll just give it a minute or two to cool. “I’m sure thirium doesn’t taste pleasant, but because the android program recognizes it as essential to mechanical function, it won’t register the taste. It’s just used like a nutritional benefit.”

Hank’s nose scrunched for a moment as he regarded tainting his sacred drink. Then he shrugged, poured one in with a stir and downed a gulp. He stared past Connor, eyes narrowed as he critiqued the taste. There was a smattering of yellow in his LED. “Mmmmm,” he soon hummed. “0.12 calories.”

A snort of laughter caught in Connor’s nose, which turned into a short bout of coughs. The tickle it left in his nasal cavity was completely alien. “Shit,” he choked out. Hank was much better at containing his reaction to just a smirk. “I don’t like how involuntary that was.”

“Hah. Welcome to the club.”

“And hot off the presses!” Bel swept over to them once again, setting a platter in the middle of the tabletop. “Did the onions myself! It was such a treat to break out the cheddar patties again, too; they just go to waste when you’re not around.”

Connor sat mesmerized. He and Hank had gone to many—if not most—burger joints in and around Detroit, but the hamburger in front of him was the tallest, most layered sandwich he had ever seen. Two burgers, flecks of cheddar dripping from them, overflowing with caramelized onions, roasted peppers, mushrooms, slices of some other cheese, lettuce, pickles—is that macaroni? A sharp kick to the shin snapped him from his trance long enough to thank Bel and send her off. “Lieutenant!” he hissed. He leaned forward to keep his voice down, regretting the full whiff of that savory, melty scent he got. “Do you know how many calories are in this?!”

“With this head of yours, I do now, yeah. And no way am I telling you, impulsive programming be damned!” Hank set a devious grin in his borrowed expression; this mischievous image of his doppelgänger made Connor uncomfortable. “Give it a try. I can guarantee it’s delicious.”

He knew he shouldn’t. It was unhealthy, grease-laden, and caloric. As if the burger wasn’t enough, the bed of beer batter waffle fries that coated the plate with accompanying cups of barbecue sauce could’ve been a meal on its own. It also smelled incredible.

It was technically a command from Hank, he realized, but without a HUD of objectives, it was nothing more than words. Nothing binding about it.

But it smelled so good.

He picked up the burger, leaving in the steak knife skewer holding it together. Before he could second-guess himself, he took a bite. There was a crunch from the brioche, a different crunch of the onions, then too many to distinguish, each with its own flavor that he had no previous reference on which to base any categorization, but together, it was splendid.

His instinct was to isolate and analyze each individual component, but without his tech, it was just a bombardment of information. By the time the taste stopped overwhelming his senses, half of the burger was gone.

Hank was swirling the coffee around in his mug, expression dripping in ‘told ya so.’ “A goddamn culinary masterpiece, right?”

Connor took another quick bite (getting mostly onions and macaroni) before he replaced it on the plate. He wiped off his hands on a paper napkin to buy processing time. “Lieutenant,” he said. “Hank. I still disapprove. But I understand now.”

“Fuckin’-A right!” Hank took a bite out of a waffle fry. “Listen, I get that you guys don’t need to eat, but it wouldn’t kill ya every now and then. CyberLife at least could’ve built in better taste buds. All I’m getting is calorie count and salt content, not any of the finesse.”

Trying a fry for himself, he noted the tang that he deduced as saltiness. Though not the main dish, they were also quite good. He took another. “It’s not vital to androids’ function—”

“And it’s not ‘vital’ to come and eat out like this. It’s just fuckin’ delightful.”

That is true. Much of his existence these days isn’t spent out of necessity. He didn’t have to pet Sumo, but it made him happy to do so. Munching on a third fry, he realized that humans were the same, except with more of a sensory benefit, like the fluffiness of Sumo’s fur. Why weren’t they the ones with compulsive programming? It seemed like they would need it more, what with all these distractions that can physically affect their mental state. “Ohh…,” he realized, “no wonder addictions are such an issue.”

“Now— hold on, now, how’d you jump to that conclusion? Like, yeah, but—” Hank’s LED began blinking. He flinched from something before raising his eyebrows. “A call from Jeffrey. Now this’ll be interesting.” He hesitated before he looked around the room. “I, ah, should probably take this elsewhere, ‘case it’s on the down low.”

“Tap the temple to answer,” Connor advised as Hank slid out of the booth and went to the door.

Connor crunched another fry, one that was extra crunchy. He should probably pay Bel soon and get a box for the rest, should they have to leave in a hurry. If only he knew how much two coffees and a—shit.

He picked up the untouched coffee. It was barely warm now. Unhelpful one-track human brain. Can’t even set a reminder in the background. He took a sip. It didn’t warm him or anything, but it tingled his tongue in a sort of dry, sharp way. Coffee was bitter, right? He didn’t think it would be this bitter, but Hank did like his coffee black. Despite complaining he couldn’t taste much, Hank’s mug was completely drained.

He spotted Bel this time as she approached. “Could I get a box for the rest of this? It sounds like we might have to leave soon.”

“Always off to save the city, you two are. I’ll get this all wrapped up in a jiffy!”

“And how much do I owe you?” Connor asked before she left with his plate. He was pretty sure Hank’s wallet was in his left pocket.

Bel cocked a grin. “Hon, has it really been so long you don’t remember?”

He paused. “Got two coffees this time.”

“Oh, silly me, that’s true! How’s an even ten bucks sound, then?”

Connor couldn’t help a small frown. “That seems a bit low….”

“Nah, call it a ‘welcome back’ discount.” Her expression lost its teasing edge, becoming something warm. “It’s good to see you again, Hank.”

While he liked the woman, if the conversation was going to turn sentimental, he wasn’t sure how well he was going to keep up his act. “It’s good to see you, too, Bel,” he replied before bringing his cold mug to his lips, hoping to end it there.

“And I hope you kept your talent for parenting.”

Connor almost choked. “What?”

“You were always a good father.” Bel was looking over his shoulder, off down memory lane. “Cole was the brightest kid in the county. But while more tragedy has befallen you than I would wish on anybody, I still hope Connor’s lucky enough to be in the same kind of care.”

“No, sorry, Connor’s not my son, he’s a detective—my coworker—not to mention an android.”

“Which means he might need it most, eh, sugar?” She shifted her weight and her gaze, looking back at him. “Sure, he looks what, twenty-five? Thirty? But isn’t he a new model? He probably ain’t even three yet, and he’s been deviant for way less than that. A father figure to show him the societal ropes sounds perfect to me.”

He felt like a process or ten had stalled. Fortunately, Hank returned to the table, so Bel took his plate and left with no more than a wink.

“Jeffrey wants us at the office today,” Hank said. Connor blinked and took a breath, trying to not focus on Bel’s inanity. (RK800 androids were the most advanced—hot off the production line immediately—he didn’t need—)

“Specifically, he wants me,” continued Hank, “so technically, he wants you. Said it shouldn’t take long.”

Connor cleared his throat. “So why didn’t he call me directly?”

“He did. A few times.”

Startled, Connor quickly dug out Hank’s phone. The screen lit to two missed calls, one new voicemail, and some new emails. “Oh….”

“Not so easy when it doesn’t directly invade your brain, huh? Now can you forgive me for not texting immediately?”

“I thought we were supposed to be unraveling the secrets of existence, Lieutenant, not dissecting your communication and dietary habits.”

Hank laughed. In Connor’s opinion, it didn’t sound right with his voice, but it made him smile nonetheless. “So, are we both going or just me?” he asked.

“I dunno, what else am I gonna do?”

Connor hummed. “It’s Saturday, right? Markus might be home.”

“Markus? As in rA9 Markus?”

“If CyberLife keeps this up, he’s bound to hear about it sooner or later, so why not tell him now? He usually checks in on his human on the weekends.”

Hank shrugged. “Might as well, I guess. Gives me something different to do. Where’s he live?”

“Around. Don’t ask me, you’re the one with the GPS today.”

Bel returned once more and set a cardboard box on the table. “Well, boys, it was my pleasure!” she boomed. “Y’all better come back soon, alright?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hank said with a smile as he stood. “Wonderful coffee.”

“Aw, c’mere!” She pulled him into a hug, something that didn’t fluster Hank at all. When the embrace broke, she held him by both shoulders and said, “Oh, Hank, he hugs like you already!”

The real Hank’s eyebrow twitched. “What…does that mean?”

“Nothing, nothing!”

Connor avoided their eyes until he found a ten and some ones in his wallet and handed them to Bel. He picked up the box and used his free arm to give her a quick hug. It was warm. Nice. “Thanks, Bel.”

“Anytime!”

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