With all the unprofessional and generally apathetic behavior Connor had displayed in the few hours Hank had known him, the android had to admit he had his misgivings about being partnered with the man who seemed too tired to do anything but drink coffee and smoke. However, the moment the detective walked down the carpeted hall and wrapped a hand around the gold toned metal doorknob separating them from the crime scene, it was as if someone had flipped a switch in Connor’s mind.

“Stay behind me.” Detective Anderson commanded softly, dropping his voice to a cautious whisper yet still speaking in such a tone that no room was left for argument, even if Hank had possessed the capacity to do so. As it was, the android was a machine, programmed to obey orders without question and the detective’s command flashed across the prototype’s vision in bold, red letters until Hank obediently took his place behind his assigned partner. Even still, the mechanical man’s logic went against the order, the android wanting to inform the detective that it would, in all fact, be much safer to let Hank go first - The android was, by anyone's measure, stronger and better equipped to handle violent attack - but his programming barred even the slightest protest from passing the machine’s lips. Still though, that didn’t stop Hank from privately thinking Connor probably looked like a marshmallow trying to defend a boulder.

Connor reached a hand back and knocked aside the low hanging hem of his jacket to reveal the steel sheen of a handgun, the detective wrapping slim fingers over the grip and threading one through the trigger guard to pull the thing from where it had been safely holstered under his coat, the clever, baggy material effectively concealing the weapon from even Hank’s keen eyes. The detective drew the thing forward, keeping the barrel pointed steadily ahead of the pair as he finally twisted the metal knob and slowly pushed the wooden door forward, eliciting a low groan from the old hinges that echoed eerily through the empty hallway.

A great burst of motion exploded forth from the newly opened door, a flurry of noisy movement indistinguishable in the moment as something flew forth from the doorway and swallowed Detective Anderson whole. Connor shrieked, the sound of a gun going off exploding deafeningly through the small room as the detective lurched back at the sudden onslaught and stumbled directly into where Hank still stood at his back.

Hank grabbed the man as he fell into the android, wrapping a large hand firmly around either of the human’s upper arms to restabilize him the moment he was in reach. However, a moment later, the android’s impeccable processors caught up with the machine’s knee jerk reaction and he was actually able to analyze the scene for what it was… And what it was happened to be a huge flock of pigeons flying forth from the room to crowd the hallway beyond in a great, cooing mass. The birds fluttered in and out of the newly opened door, landing on the evergreen carpet to hop pointlessly about with no real destination, cocking their tiny heads to the side and pecking uselessly at the ground in search of food.

“Jesus Christ kissing Elton John on M fucking TV! Are you serious?” Connor all but growled angrily, waving his hands frantically at his soft hair that a pigeon had mistaken for food and was now trying to tug at, one curling lock stuck determinedly between the bird’s sharp beak as it perched atop the detective’s head and fluttered angrily at the man’s futile attempts to wave it off. “Why the hell are there this many goddamn birds in one place?” Anderson groaned unhappily, pulling his gun back up to its previous position and continuing on into the room with an exasperated huff after Hank helpfully removed the pigeon from his companion’s hair and the bird fluttered to the floor to yank at a stray thread rather than the sensitive strands of Connor’s curling locks.

“Oh god, there’s more of them.” Detective Anderson moaned unhappily as they finally stepped into the room and well, wasn’t that just the understatement of the year? There wasn’t a surface of the apartment not overcrowded with pigeons, the gray birds fluttering to flee the newcomers with each falling footstep they took, though a few brave feathered souls hopped valiantly forward to give Connor’s shoes an experimental peck every few moments only to receive a frantic shake of said shoe and a displeased groan at every attempt.

“Do you not like pigeons, Detective Anderson?” Hank inquired wonderingly as he watched Connor shoo away what had to be the twelfth bird from his curling locks of hair, the pigeons seeming to have an affinity for the detective no matter what his opinion on them may be.

“No, nothing against the birds.” Connor huffed distractedly as a pigeon landed on his shoulder only to be brushed stubbornly off a moment later. “I don’t like anything in large numbers.” The man explained awkwardly, giving an uncomfortable laugh and an awkward scratch to the back of his head as he finally began to lower his gun as no immediate danger presented itself on the scene. “Weird, I know.” The detective laughed off embarrassedly, shrugging his shoulders stiffly as he began to roam his coffee orbs slowly over the scene.

“Are you saying you are intimidated by the pigeons, Detective Anderson?” Hank questioned with notably less chill frosting his words than his voice usually held as the corner of his lips ticked up against his will and they wavered into a sorta grimace that not even the most merciful of grandmothers could pityingly call a smile.

Connor, however, must’ve somehow been more forgiving than any sympathetic elderly woman for the detective merely threw the machine a jovial middle finger as his own pink lips peaked up to return the look in full, a sharp blue arrow dancing across Hank’s vision as the man finally got to work. Detective Anderson moved slowly to the far side of the room, gaze critical and gouging into every minuscule item as he went as if every piece of bird shit littering the ground was vital evidence that needed to be cataloged at the very forefront of the human’s brain.

Connor came to a slow halt just before where a huge cluster of pigeons swamped some bulky piece of furniture, the detective cocking his head slightly to the side so that his curling hair fell softly that way before waving an arm in front of the unknown structure to shoo away the fowl that currently shielded it from view. The birds cooed fearfully at the disturbance and fluttered hastily out of the way, a noisy woosh of many creatures moving fluidly with each other in the same moment until the item they’d been hiding was revealed for all the world to see.

Except, it wasn’t an item. A man lay propped against the wall, his weighty body bloated with latent death and his face gray and ashen with the onslaught of decay. The victim's stomach was a mess, gray t-shirt slashed open and the fraying cloth stained crimson at every jagged edge to reveal huge, gaping gouges torn through leathery skin and rotting gore beginning to spill forth from the festering wounds. A quick scan of the murdered man’s face, frozen in a look of everlasting horror, revealed him to be a Travis Ortiz, convicted of domestic abuse and reoccurring drug use.

Connor seemed impressively unfazed, the man’s heart rate failing to even betray the slightest stutter as he crouched down level with the victim and let his coffee eyes roam over the injuries littering the deceased individual’s bloating stomach. “Stabbed twenty eight times, quite roughly I might add.” The detective began slowly, turning his head to the side to gaze critically at the fatal wounds without so much as recoiling from the disgusting scent of decay Hank’s olfactory sensors warned the android of.

“Which means our murderer was acting out of emotion.” Connor asserted thoughtfully, carefully reaching out a tentative hand to prod gently at the victim’s wrist until it rolled over with a soft squelch. “This wasn’t planned.” The detective mused as Hank took a few steps forward to examine the scene as well.

“Detective, I would recommend not touching that.” The android tried to suggest but Connor was apparently too deep into whatever thought process had laid claim to the man’s head space to even so much as acknowledge the robot’s words.

“Bruising over the wrist, about the size of someone’s fingers I would say.” Connor mumbled to himself before slowly pushing back to his feet, standing still for only a moment to rove his eyes over the room before something must’ve caught their gaze and the man was on the move again. “Traces of black foam on the palm of his hand too.” The detective noted softly, giving the victim a final glance over his shoulder before moving on to the rest of the small room.

“Signs of a struggle?” Hank tried to add helpfully, diligently trailing Connor as the man strode quickly towards whatever had caught his eye. The android had been programmed solely for the elimination of deviants, leaving the actual investigation mostly up to Detective Anderson - which was one of the main reasons the machine had been partnered with the detective to begin with - so there was really only so much Hank could offer.

Connor spared a glance back at the android as Hank spoke but the moment the man’s eyes fell upon the machine, his face broke from its rare expression of subdued thoughtfulness to a stunned look of silent shock before it abruptly broke into an amused grin disturbed only by a humorous snort. “Oh my fuck, you look like a statue in the goddamn park!” The detective snickered, stepping forwards a pace to extend an arm out to the robot who merely watched confusedly for a moment until Connor actually proceeded on with his action, waving a hand over the android’s shoulders until an explosion of noisy flapping burst forth right beside the android’s mechanical ears.

“Thank you, Detective.” Hank offered stiffly, shoulders arching and hands instinctively finding themselves held behind his back as Connor stood on tiptoes to wave a hand atop the machine’s head until another short burst of fluttering could be heard and the detective finally retreated to return his focus to whatever held it in the first place.

“No problem, Hanky Panky.” Connor dismissed with a pleased grin and a pair of finger guns that were not only ridiculous but also woefully inappropriate considering a dead man lay not but a few feet from the pair. “And, yeah, signs of a struggle - but more importantly, signs that someone may have been trying to stop him from doing something.” Connor explained carefully, bending down once more and gently shooing away a few more pigeons that had been perched upon something metal glimmering gently in the dim light of the dingy apartment. “Not always, of course, but bruising on a victim’s arms and wrists can sometimes imply the attack was in self-defense.” The detective went on quietly, brushing a few spare feathers away from what turned out to be a metal baseball bat, dented in the middle and chipped up in more than one place so that what was once sleek silver was now smudged and roughed up beyond repair.

“Black foam grip.” Hank commented slowly, eyeing the base of the bat analytically as his LED flickered yellow for a cycle, the android processing the new piece of information and slowly beginning to draw to the conclusion Connor was leading him to: The murder might’ve been in self defense.