Shades of Colours

Chapter 10

Saturday November 6th 2038 - 3:20 pm

"Uh, Connor?" The android jumped at the sound of Uncle Hank's voice, his yellow LED going back to blue. "You ran out of batteries or what?" he called. I stood next to him with my arms crossed, looking around at the sketchy abandoned apartment floor. "I'm sorry, I was making a report to Cyberlife," he replied. "Uh huh..." It was silent after that, and I looked at both of them awkwardly; "Well do you plan on staying in the elevator?" Uncle Hank asked in annoyance. "No!" I couldn't help but giggle; "I'm coming." I followed Uncle Hank down the hall, and he eyed me; "What are you giggling at?" he muttered. I held my hands up in surrender, zipping my lip; "So what do we know about this guy?" he called to Connor as he joined us. "Not much, just that a neighbour reported that he heard strange noises coming from this floor."

I looked around, curling into myself at the eerie feel of this place; "Nobody's supposed to be living here, but the neighbour said he saw a man hiding an LED under his cap." I just rolled my eyes, stopping with Uncle Hank next to the suspected apartment. "For christ's sake, if we have to investigate every time someone hears a strange noise, we're going to need more cops," Uncle Hank grumbled. I looked back at Connor, who was standing behind me; "Were you really making a report back there in the elevator? Just by closing your eyes?" I asked curiously. "Correct," he confirmed simply. I scoffed; "Shit...wish I can do that," I mumbled. I looked down at my hand; "I'm already getting there anyway," I added to myself. Connor walked forward, knocking calmly on the door, but there was no answer. He knocked harder and louder; "Anybody home?" he called.

I snorted a little in amusement - like the suspect would actually answer. "Open up! Detroit Police!" he called again. At that, the sound of something being knocked over made us all jump; "Stay behind me, you two," Uncle Hank said, taking out his gun. "Got it," we answered in union, and I involuntarily blushed in embarrassment. Uncle Hank kicked open the door, pushing forward inside while I hid behind Connor; Uncle Hank kicked open another door, instantly being swarmed by pigeons. "What the fuck is this?!" he yelled, swatting them away while I quietly snickered at him. I walked into the apartment behind him but instantly gagged; "I don't know what's worse, the smell from this place or from Ortiz's place," I muttered. I wandered around, flinching whenever the pigeons would fly out of my way; "Looks like we came for nothing, our man's gone," Uncle Hank said.

"At least have some faith, Uncle," I said, peeking around at the broken closet doors. I looked at the wall, seeing very labyrinth-like symbols painted on the wall - I wonder what these are..? Connor appeared next to me, looking over the symbols and a poster on the wall, then curiously ripping it off, revealing a hole. "What are you doing?" I asked, arching a brow. He reached into the hole and shockingly pulled out a small leather book; "Finding evidence," he replied with a shrug. He opened it, but frowned; "Found something?" Uncle Hank called. "I don't know," Connor replied, unsure. "It looks like a notebook, but it's indecipherable," he replied. I smirked; "I thought androids were supposed to know everything," I teased lightly, earning an eye roll. I went back to the closet, opening it a little to look inside, but frowned when I saw nothing.

I moved away from the wall, heading over to the makeshift kitchen; I kicked open the pigeon shit-stained fridge door, seeing not a trace of food inside. "No food in here, could very well be an android," I said out loud. Uncle Hank didn't reply, instead just complained about the pigeons, which made me roll my eyes; I looked over at the bathroom as Connor walked in, but I made the very wise decision to not follow. I looked over at the pile of clothes on a table next to the bathroom, and I inspected what looked to be a military jacket. "R.T., initials maybe?" I mumbled. I moved over to a small wooden stand as I continued to search, and I found a small plastic card. I took it, reading over the information: Rupert Travis, the name of our suspect. I flipped the card over, inspecting it closely; "This doesn't look like a real license," I concluded, putting it down.