Tick Tock Part Three - Dock

VB and Fifty-Seven

"AC700, two-nine-eight, four-four-three, six-nine-seven, five-seven...That's one hell of a mouthful. Your registered name was Andy back before the revolution." Reed regarded the fitness partner model as he took his seat and reviewed the file. He'd seen those a lot. They were the big thing just two years ago. Anyone going on a fitness binge who had money to burn would buy one of those models. This one was a standard AC700 with no customisation. He had dark skin, soft chocolate eyes just a few shades darker than Connor's, and hair that was shaved right against his head. He wasn't wearing his old uniform anymore, opting instead for plain jeans and a black T-shirt, something that didn't draw attention. "I'm not rattling off your serial number every time I need to speak to you, so let's go with Andy." The android continued to sit silently. That did something...He was glaring at him with a look of utter contempt.

"Andy is no longer my designation." Reed knew that from the record Nines had given him. Although the name Andy was still listed in his registry, it had been crossed out. Reed wasn't sure if it was still there because he couldn't delete it or because he wanted to make a point. He'd cast aside his human shackles and embraced his android nature. Due to the wireless way they could communicate, androids didn't really need names. They could transfer information via touch. They wouldn't always speak to each other.

"So, what would you prefer? AC? 700? Fifty-Seven?" Reed prompted, trying to get some sort of dialogue going. At least if he could appease the android in this instance, he might keep talking, even if it was just to brag about his own superiority. Bragging was good. Suspects always let things slip while bragging. The android sighed dismissively, looking at him like he was something insignificant to be stepped on. It was a look he was used to getting by now. From androids and humans alike.

"You may call me Fifty-Seven, since your limited human brain is incapable of retaining an eleven digit number." Reed wasn't about to argue the point, condescending as it was. He probably wouldn't remember all eleven digits without the page in front of him, not unless he properly memorised it anyway. He contemplated where to go next, now that he had a name. Being in the AHL, much like the AAL, wasn't illegal. It was, however, illegal to hold humans captive and slowly starve or torture them to death. Reed slipped a photo across the table.

"Recognise him?" he asked stiffly, examining Fifty-Seven for a reaction. His LED blinked yellow for a moment. That was enough. Reed didn't let it show on his face, but he knew that Fifty-Seven was involved somehow. At the very least, he'd seen their victim before. He took the photo and regarded it with a cool expression, almost feigning indifference, which was somehow more telling. He looked at him with utter contempt. It would make sense for him to look at this guy the same way. "You know who he is?" Reed prodded, though the LED remained a cool blue this time.

"Is there a reason I should?" Fifty-Seven retorted coolly as he continued to examine the picture, which looked like it had come from some sort of year book. It was a young man. Likely a university student. He was wearing one of those forced smiles you got when someone had tried to take your picture for the fifth or sixth time and you were getting impatient. "It appears to be an average human," he added before placing the picture on the table.

"His name was Billy. Billy Palmer...His body was found hidden in the basement of your buddy's apartment." Reed dropped three more pictures on the table, noting that Fifty-Seven was less willing to look at these newer pictures. They'd been taken after the body had been bent and twisted into a suitcase. He was naked, and there were clear signs of sexual assault. Nines had tested the thirium based ejaculate but, unlike human semen, it didn't carry a DNA imprint. It was from a less advanced system than his own. Much like the PC200 model that had attacked Reed over New Year, the standard synthetic ejaculate had been freshly added to the component by hand. There was bruising on the body's greying skin. Both wrists, both ankles, both thighs and hips, with a thick burn around the throat. "Call me crazy, but I don't think he crawled into your friend's basement by himself," Reed added as he held up one of the photos in his eyeline, forcing him to look at it.