He snorts at the memory. They looked ridiculous and cleaning all the guacamole and tomato sauce (he assumes, though he had to admit he didn't check) off and detaching the various "add-ons" wasn't fun, but it's such a stupid thing to have happened that he can't help finding it a little funny. Just a little.

Androids fought to be equal, and now that Connor knows what that means, he wants it, more than anything. Even if he never gets to do anything more fitting his skills than direct traffic and fix Roombas, what he has, he earned. He would like to be trusted with more. But if he isn't, he'll accept that gladly.

Not that Dualis is the best place to discover equality. Connor tries to act normal whenever he can, not to attract attention, and he's already trying to figure out how to download his own memories so it doesn't attract any attention.

"Right." For now, though, he concentrates on Hank. "The Red Ice I found. That's related to this case?"

It was a week or two ago. He'd been doing a routine check on an impounded car and had been pretty damn surprised to detect the drug in trace quantities in the trunk. He's never seen another android, never seen thirium. But right there in front of him was a drug made of the stuff. He reported it, but Connor's a traffic cop, and despite offering to explain what the drug actually was he was dismissed. After that, he assumed vice would contact him if they needed him. They didn't.

Until this, that is.