Connor RK800

The precinct had changed in a hundred small ways since the revolution.

Connor was still getting used to all of them.

There were no orders coming through CyberLife anymore. No Amanda. No mission parameters. No carefully calculated percentage of success determining whether a decision was worth making.

And, apparently, there was also no one left to tell him when his hair had become inconvenient.

Connor stood in front of the darkened window of one of the precinct's offices, staring faintly at his reflection. His hair had grown considerably since he'd stopped visiting the stylist assigned to him by CyberLife. What had once been a neat, carefully maintained cut now fell messily around his forehead, with several strands repeatedly slipping into his eyes.

He pushed them back.

They fell forward again.

Connor frowned.

He pushed them back a second time.

Again.

"...This is becoming impractical."

His fingers caught one of the longer strands, examining it with the same quiet concentration he might have given a piece of evidence.