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It was a rite of passage for every officer in the DPD force to have, at least, one traffic rotation a year. It forced the officers to engage with the public more directly, really getting them to meet and know the people that they were policing and all that. It was also more important since traffic laws became stricter after the invention of self-driving cars. When Gavin was growing up, he'd expected the rules to become looser, and half-dreamed of plugging in a destination and taking a nap at the wheel. But, as the fatalities of self-driving cars–passengers, drivers, and pedestrians–started piling up, legislators did their actual job for once . They started mandating stricter road control. Meaning that police departments and city councils across the nation now had to stage cops or traffic monitors on every major or minor road–or they bought PM or PC models from CyberLife to do it for them, lightening the load while other permanent measures were put into place to manage the workload.
After the Revolution, things got worse. The majority of PM and PC models left the departments. Very few Androids were interested in joining up or attending Police Academies due to policing's rather awful reputation (though Gavin admitted that it was a fairly deserved reputation).
So, that led Gavin to where he was now–stuck in a patrol car in a standard police uniform, with his lights off, monitoring Midtown, or as Tina got him to call it, Cass Corridor, to see if there would be trouble. If anyone was driving manually, Gavin had to watch them to ensure they were driving safely. Gavin had a low-lit tablet with all the infractions that a motorist could get slapped with, ranging from impeding the normal flow of traffic to vehicular manslaughter. Sometimes, if he was insanely bored, he'd read through it. But now that he's an Android, he could still do his job and monitor the road, and also read a downloaded book. All in his head. It felt like cheating, and Captain Fowler would probably ban it if he knew any of them could do it.
He checked the time. Only two hours into his shift.
"Come on, hit twelve so I can go home," He whispered. Gavin hated traffic rotation. It was boring, uneventful, and painfully required for normal operations. It didn't help that the people who often drove manually were also the kind of people to be assholes to Androids or Android officers. Usually, Gavin can spot them before he tickets them for poor driving; they tend to put 'Humanity First Coalition,' or 'No More Imitations,' on their trunks. Or advertise the near-defunct Republican Party, which once promoted the implementation of Androids to replace immigrant labor in farms and industrial plants. He remembered vaguely that President Warren had used that fact to win the election as an independent candidate, promising to create more jobs for human workers and to balance the need between humans and Androids in the workforce.
That only ended up happening when Markus pushed and won recognition for Android's sentience and rights midway through her term. She somehow won a second term, and last time he heard, she was off about some mandatory draft for all Americans? He lost track.
Gavin groaned, hitting his head against the headrest. He was so bored that he was thinking about politics . At least whoever was going to review his camera recording would be as bored as he was.
He refocused on the dimly lit road. There were only a few other cars out this late at night, and the sidewalks were empty of people, save for a few late-night shoppers skittering from the shops to their cars. Cass Corridor had history, far more than Gavin could know, but what he did know said the area tended to be trouble. From what Tina's said, it's due to the riots in the late 2020s about the rampant gentrification CyberLife had spurred on in the downtown core that spread inwards towards Cass Corridor. Things had calmed down since then, but he could feel that there was still an undercurrent of tension between old and new residents, especially Android residents or even passersby like Gavin on occasion. It was a place where he kept attuned to his sensors and kept a distance from others. He'd been followed far too many times in Cass Corridor to be comfortable.
He sensed movement. He turned around, looking out the back window, and saw a car rip by him, scattering litter and loose trash around. He checked the dashboard–108 miles per hour in a 25 zone.
"There better be an emergency," he grumbled to himself, and he pulled the car out of idle and turned on his sirens as he pursued the speeder. "Dispatch there's a manual car going 108 down Cass avenue, be aware," he radioed in. There was no way that car was self-driving; cars like that came built in with speed limiters in certain areas, like residential or city limits.
Thankfully, police cars have those limiters off, and Gavin caught up to them quickly. The speeding car, which Gavin now recognized as an old Tesla, after swerving between the lanes and trying to speed up and brake check him twice, finally gave up the ghost and pulled over into an old pizzeria's parking lot.
Gavin parked right behind them, his nose to their trunk, then walked out to the driver's side door. The driver rolled down their window, revealing an older woman with blonde hair, pale skin, and seemingly brown or hazel eyes.
"Do you know how fast you were going? Is there an emergency?" He asked, part of him genuinely curious. The woman grimaced, her earrings dangling as she teetered back and forth in her seat like she was figuring out what to say. She looked calm, unhaggard, and decidedly not in an emergency. People in emergencies tend to run on adrenaline, speaking quickly or frantically, and breathing shallowly and rapidly with pale-handed grips on the steering wheel. Since his Androsization, he could tell just with a simple scan if someone was in an adrenaline rush–heart rates go through the roof there. But this lady? Her heart was at an average of 70-80 beats per minute, nowhere near the 120 and over that someone in an adrenaline rush experiences.
She decided not to lie, "I just wanted to get home. Here's my license, registration, and insurance," she said, showing each item as she said its title. He scanned all three, then her, and found them to be matching–Emily B. McNeil, aged 48. He looked her up in the police database. He got a match for three counts of excessive speeding, assault, and battery with a dangerous weapon, dated to 2026 and 2040, respectively.
He kept his feelings on that off his face, she wasn't breaking parole and only the excessive speeding charge would be important in this situation, "thank you, but you were doing some serious mileage–that's a reckless driving misdemeanor and that's gonna be a fine and imprisonment," he said, gesturing for her to get out of the car.
Her face scrunched up and stayed put, "I'll fight it."
Gavin raised his eyebrows, "I'd like to see you try, miss. Get out of the car, I've gotta call this in. Do you have anyone who can drive your car home?"
She furrowed her brows, then looked to Gavin's forehead, lunged for his head. He pulled back just enough, feeling time slow for just a second. He stabilized on his back foot and swore under his breath.
"Hey!" Gavin snapped, but she started gesturing with her hands furiously at his head–or really the LED in his head.
"You're a fucking Android!" She hissed, staying put but perched like she was ready to take another swipe at his head. Interestingly, she was only using one hand. He felt around for signals, and found one inside the vehicle–a phone or video call? He filed that away for later.
He groaned, looking back at the assault and battery charge, finding it had been against an Android. Shit, this was not how he wanted his night to go. He just wanted to go home .
"Miss, please get out of the car," he asked, hands resting on his belt.
"I don't listen to plastics, what's your model number and serial?" she pouted, crossing her arms, allowing him to see that she had something in her hand. A phone? Likely, but cops are more likely to be killed or attacked at a traffic stop than at any other point in their careers…better safe than sorry, and he stepped back once and rested his hand near his gun.
He recalled his training, 'provide name and badge number upon request' and all that, "I'm Detective Gavin Reed, badge number 1220."
"That's not what I asked. Androids are to provide model number and serial upon request per-" she started, before Gavin interrupted her.
"Miss, that law was repealed a year ago federally and struck down by the state supreme court in January. Secondly, I am a law enforcement officer, and you have to comply with my orders," he said, but she snapped back.
"To hell with that! That's not right, striking down those laws was an abhorrence to democracy and the safety of us all. Now any Android can walk around without having to identify itself," She spat, motioning like she was going to continue, but then reconsidered it and slumped back into her seat. He could finish her thought for her, though, 'like you.'
Gavin wasn't going to deal with this alone anymore, and he wasn't interested in trying to wrangle her on his own. He called dispatch, "Traffic stop on Cass Avenue and Grand Boulevard, send back up." The dispatcher sent a quick acknowledgement and said Officer Chen–Tina, to his delight–would be over in 5 minutes. He sighed in relief.
"Miss, you were 83 over the speed limit, you could have killed someone or yourself with that kind of driving," Gavin tried to reason.
She, rather than acknowledging him, spat at him, then rolled up her window. Gavin crossed his arms and waited for Tina to show.
After Tina arrived, things went quicker, but not smoother.
"Miss McNeil, you are in violation of an officer of the law's orders, get out of the car," Tina ordered, slamming the top of the Tesla to get her attention. She startled, finally giving them her undivided attention. Miss McNeil started to ask a question, but Tina continued, "If you don't get out of the car, we will be forced to remove you and handcuff you while we take you to a holding cell. Do you understand me?"
McNeil didn't seem pleased at being interrupted, "I'll only listen if you're real."
"If I'm real?" Tina asked, looking back at Gavin. "This is why she's been rude?"
"Yeeeep," Gavin said, unimpressed with this whole situation.
Tina groaned, directing her attention to Miss McNeil, "I'm Officer Tina Chen, badge number 5195. Get out of the car, now ."
This finally illustrated how serious the situation was for McNeil, since she scrambled to follow Tina's orders, and only Tina's orders. Any time Gavin made a comment or instruction, McNeil ignored him. They got her in handcuffs, got a tow truck to impound the woman's car, and shoved her into the back of Gavin's patrol car. Because of course she was. His pull-over, his problem. Tina gave him an appropriately sad shoulder clap and got in her patrol car to follow him.
The drive back to the DPD was quiet, with Tina checking in over the radio every so often. Ms. McNeil was silent, even with the occasional question Gavin asked. He was fine to let her stew in her frustration.
Until she asked a question, "Why did you become a detective, Android? I don't recognize your model's face."
Gavin sighed. He didn't have to answer it. He could tell her to stuff it, and a part of him really wanted to. But he was trying to be better than that.
"I grew up along the southern Michigan border, ever heard of Dundee?" She shook her head, confused. "Guess not, it's classified as a village. I was visiting my uncle in Detroit in 2016. While we were there, his house was broken into. He didn't make it." He gripped the wheel tightly. "The DPD, or any policing agency, isn't perfect. Still, in that moment, they were exactly what I needed—protectors, investigators, and comforters in the aftermath. That's why I became a cop."
Her eyebrows were furrowed, "but, you're an Android?"
Where has this lady been? "Been under a rock lately? Look up Androsization victims when you get the chance. I'm not explaining, and I certainly don't owe you more than I gave."
She huffed, then went silent again. They returned to the DPD, and he booked her in for the night.
Then Gavin drove right back to his spot on Cass Corridor. His shift didn't end just because of a speeder, and he's still got an hour and a half left in his shift.
Yay.