Deviant by Design

"Statistically speaking there's always a chance for unlikely events to take place." [RP blog for Connor (RK800) from Detroit: Become Human]

[deviant-by-design]

@soulxism Continued from here

----

"In that case, welcome home," Connor said amicably. Though he had not yet ventured out of Detroit — he had no reason to — he considered whether or not he would long to return if he left. He figured he would. After all, it was here in Detroit that he was made and here in Detroit that he found his purpose. Where else would he need to go? Sure, he would enjoy seeing other places, to escape from all of the strife caused by the revolution, his job, and to just experience more, but Connor had no desire to leave his city for good.

However, it was when people such as Aiden recognized exactly who he was that Connor realized that the revolution had extended far beyond the city limits.

"You're employed with the agency?" Connor questioned. "Perhaps we will have a chance to work together, then. I'm working with the Detroit Police Department."

He paused for a moment to think of what response best answered Aiden's question about Connor's identity.

An humanoid supercomputer he may have been, but his mind raced to conclusions with minimal evidence.

"I've been on the news a lot lately," he answered noncomitally. While he preferred to keep a low-profile on the matter, it was hard not to be recognized as the one who lead the march of androids from CyberLife Tower, turning the tide of the revolution with sheer number alone.

Even before that it was not an abnormality to be recognized on site; being the prototype for a line of android detectives, there was quite a bit of information televised about him in his early days of activation and throughout his regrettable career. This was the option that he defaulted to. Thinking about how the 'deviant hunter' was known even outside of Detroit left a sour taste in Connor's mouth.

Despite how many ways he had attempted to rid himself of that title, and how often others had assured him that his actions of the time were not his fault, Connor carried the weight with him everywhere he went. Indeliable marks beneath the skin that branded him for what he really was. An outsider amongst humans and his own kind.

[deviant-by-design]

“You need to be more careful. You keep getting hurt like this and you’ll put yourself out of commission.”

Perhaps Jade was onto something. Despite the constant close calls that served as reminders of his mortality, Connor never adjusted his ways of carelessly navigating his way through conflict.

While built stronger than the average human, he was not invincible, this was something he was slowly coming to terms with. If not for himself, he should be more careful for the peace of mind of those he worked with and those he cared for.

"You're right," he answered with a sullen nod. "I appreciate your concern. But please, don't worry. As you can see, I'm fine." He offered her a small, apologetic smile, hoping that it would aid his case.

Though he truly wished that there would be no "next time" he would almost put himself out of commission, he promised himself that he would consider his life more carefully if the situation arose.

[deviant-by-design]

@ruthlessnessisyourdesire // prev.

————————

It was a reaction without any mechanical explanation, but with each word that his successor spoke, Connor felt something twisting within his core and making him uneasy. It was that same feeling that had stopped him when he first met Sixty in the office. Like a sound in a pitch he couldn’t hear, or a colour his eyes weren’t meant to see, the other RK800 existed to be a flaw in his existence; a determining factor in his discomfort.

Connor had been ruminating about his current situation when Sixty turned sharply, nearly taking Connor aside with his stride.

His smile feigned no humour, nor did his eyes speak of falsities. As far as any onlookers were concerned the spectacle was the identical androids, not the show that Sixty was putting on for his predecessor.

Connor noticed that Sixty's flair for the dramatic had only increased since their last encounter, and he had perfected his acting as well. He wondered how many Sixty had already fooled with his charming persona. His social protocols were obsolete in comparison to the slyly constructed personality he displayed.

Connor was designed to be able to detect lies just as well as he could produce them, but the android before him was an enigma; a two way mirror that reflected his words to him.

No matter what ruse Connor attempted or what words he used to provoke the answers he wanted to hear, Sixty countered with enough precision to leave Connor searching for the wound.

It is only when he is searching that Sixty verbally engages him in a question of his discomfort.

"Not in the slightest. It'll be nice to have some company," he lied for the audience without hesitation. "As Captain Fowler mentioned, having somebody who can keep up is a valuable asset." That may have been the first truth to leave him since encountering the other RK800. It may not have been the ideal partnership, but Connor could not deny the increase in productivity that would come from having the two androids working together. Working on the presumption that Sixty actually intended to help, rather than hinder Connor's progress. Perhaps it would have been best to spread their assistance amongst the other members of the DPD rather than concentrating it in one spot, but no matter Sixty's intentions, Connor planned on keeping him close and observing just what it was that brought the two together again. It would take more than his usual performance to convince Connor of his trust.

"I hope you're up to the job."

[deviant-by-design]

OOC // Just an update!

Just wanted to let you guys know that I haven't forgotten about you. I haven't been able to be online due to a grand number of things piling up in regards to my home life, health, and schooling. I haven't given up on this blog or any of you lovely people reading this. I'll be back soon, I promise!

To those of you who are waiting on responses or have been tagging me in things/messaging me/etc. I'm sorry that I'm taking so long. Feel free to keep sending me things! I promise I'll get around to them soon.

Thank you for your patience. 💙

[deviant-by-design]

"Happy Halloween Connor! Do you like my costume?" Cole does a spin so thst the android could see the outfit in full. "I'm YOU!" He grins.

Upon seeing Cole, Connor immediately felt pride swell in his chest. Some children dressed up as heroes from their favourite shows or old comics, others dressed as their real life heroes and dream jobs. But here was little Cole, looking at him with that million watt smile of his, dressed as none other than Connor himself.

A smile was returned when Cole's spin came to a halt.

"Happy Halloween, Cole. You look great. I can barely tell the difference." Connor just hoped that others would take as well to the costume as the boy had.

[deviant-by-design]

Continued from here

---------------------

Connor hit the ground running, dropping to his knees beside Hank the moment he arrived at his side.

He heard Hank weakly ask for confirmation of his presence, as if the blood seeping out from seemingly everywhere wasn't enough of an indication of how seriously he had been wounded.

"That's right. It's me Hank, I'm—"

He cut himself off when the results of his scan came back in. His LED that had just made itself comfortable in the yellow range changed to a deep crimson, ebbing between the two as Connor tried to calm himself enough to be useful.

[.355 bullet wound: abdominal and scapular perforation. At risk of exsanguination. Seek medical assistance.]

"Everything's going to be alright, Hank. I've contacted the hospital and an ambulance is on its way."

Connor could hear sirens in the distance, but that was no strange occurance in Detroit. He hoped that it wasn't wishful thinking that it sounded like it was getting closer to them. He didn't know if his words would bring any comfort to the man, or even if he could hear Connor, but he figured it was worth saying just in case.

By grace of whatever god chose to honour the two men, Hank, even in his delirious state, had sense enough to apply pressure to the wound on his stomach. Blood seeped through his fingers, dying them a sickening shade of red. It was beginning to look like Hank's large hands were the only things keeping his insides where they should be. Connor was too scared to move them to see if that was the case.

His shoulder, however, had been severely neglected. While it was the less severe of the two wounds, the amount of blood he had lost from it was bordering on fatal.

"Forgive me, Hank. This is going to hurt," Connor warned.

He shimmied the wool cardigan he had been wearing off of his shoulders, leaving him in the shirt beneath and began tying the sleeve around Hank's arm as a makeshift tourniquet, being sure to tie it as securely as he could.

As soon as he had administered all of the first aid that he was capable of, Connor helped with adding pressure to the wounds. He hated the feeling of Hank's body writhing beneath him. Hated the red staining his hands. Hated that Hank was in pain.

He wanted to hold Hank's hand and never let it go. Tell him that everything was alright and mean it. He couldn't lose Hank. He wouldn't lose him.

So for now, he wouldn't waste Hank's breath on asking him what had happened. He wouldn't search relentlessly for the one who did this.

There was no sign of the attacker; which, while it secured their safety, it hindered Connor's chance of locating the criminal. But he couldn't focus on that. Not now.

For now, his eyes scanned aimlessly, looking for any clues left at the scene while his hands tried to keep the lieutenant alive.

Just a little longer and help would arrive.

"Hold on, Hank. Please."

[deviant-by-design]

"I get bad feelings from that 'Casteel's haunted hayride' place. It seems..." Hank sighed. "I'm not sure just like trouble waiting happen. I don't want either us going near there.' - Hank

Connor thought it illogical to fear something just because of a feeling, but he remembered how he felt when he and Hank had first visited Kamski’s estate during their deviancy investigation. Connor himself had claimed that the place gave him a ‘bad feeling’ and at the time he wasn’t sure that he had feelings at all. 

At that time he had been right to assume such a thing, so maybe Hank was right too.

Nevertheless, his interest had been piqued and it was difficult to ignore that.

“If it’s giving you such a bad feeling, perhaps we should check it out to see why? It feels wrong to leave it as is.”

[deviant-by-design]

Continued from here

——————————

A quiet day was something to be coveted after the seemingly endless days of the revolution. Even if Connor was stuck housesitting while he waited for the paperwork allowing him to be recognized as an official member of the Detroit police department, he was keeping himself busy with finding things to do in his downtime.

He was still getting used to having objectives of his own, but he found great comfort in them. The messages appeared on his HUD as missions had before, but they were far less threatening when they were his own desires. More like a to-do list to be completed at his own pace than a series of commandments. 

At the top of the list was a long-term goal:

[Return to work]

Below that, a list of short-term objectives. Upon scanning through his list, he decided that [Feed Sumo] took priority and he took action to complete it. Connor filled his bowl and replaced his water, adding a new objective of [Buy more food] to his list. Once the job had been done, he scanned the room for the Saint Bernard, unsurprised to find that he was still sleeping in the living room.

Connor knelt beside him, reaching forward to gently rouse the sleeping animal. His hand stopped short of the dog’s head when he felt a twitch in his eye, shorting out for a moment.

[Server online]

[‘Zen_Garden’ restored]

[Requesting access to RK800 #313-248-317-51]

[Continue?]

[Y   >N]

Immediately, Connor began checking his systems. A sinking feeling began to settle in his gut that had no mechanical explanation.

[Initializing diagnostics…]

[Please wait]

[Model: #313-248-317-51]

[Status: functioning]

[Do you wish to continue diagnostics?]

[>Y    N]

His diagnostic software began to cycle through his systems, each test coming back clear. Vocal analysis, facial recognition, all major biocomponents. They were all in working order. It registered that his tactile perception system was online when he felt Sumo’s slobbery muzzle nuzzling against his open palm. Connor’s eyes opened, wider than they usually would, but his expression was soon eased into a somber smile. He lowered his hand slowly, laying it upon Sumo before ruffling his fur. Once satisfied with the attention he had received, the Saint Bernard’s head lolled to the side, choosing to return to his nap, and Connor rose to his full height.

The old sofa became Connor’s new location of operation as he sat down on top of the worn cushions. Once again, he began to search for the file that had been abandoned for so long.

[Requesting access to RK800 #313-248-317-51]

[Continue?]

[>Y    N]

[…Accessing encrypted files…]

Never had a moment’s deliberation felt so long to the android.

He had adopted a more human way of sitting on the couch when at his leisure, leaning back into the cushions, often with an arm strewn over the side, but now, he sat straight, with mechanical precision, waiting for the files to load.

Sumo must have sensed the emotional instability of the man and had moved from a warm spot in the sun beneath the living room window and pawed over to the couch, hoisting himself up beside Connor and laying his head on his lap. Connor closed his eyes and lowered his arm to rest on Sumo’s back. It would have almost looked peaceful if not for the yellow LED indicator spinning violently at his temple.

The last thing Connor registered before momentarily shifting in consciousness was the feeling of guilt. For disrupting Sumo, for not telling Hank, and most importantly, for disappointing her.

When his eyes flicker open, a new objective fills his vision. Overwhelming in both nature and display.

[Report to Amanda]

[deviant-by-design]

“What the hell happened to your face?”

“Thank you for your concern, but as you can see, I’m fine.”

He hadn’t responded to Sixty in the way that he responded to the others. The answer, as much as the question, lacked sympathy or true emotion, which was no problem, because Connor did not want, nor need Sixty’s pity.

He had been off work for a while now, finally returning. Though major repairs had been completed in privacy, some tears and imperfections in his artificial skin were still present, waiting for his systems to work out the last of the damage. Though cosmetically it was unsightly, Connor was more concerned with the economic consumption of time and money, which required returning to work before he had been repaired completely.

Most had expressed their concern while he was away, others once he returned, but from Sixty, he hadn’t expected any at all. 

Perhaps he was concerned because if something else did Connor in, Sixty wouldn’t receive the satisfaction of shutting Connor down himself. It seemed like an idea that he could have conjured.

Or perhaps… just perhaps… Sixty wasn’t quite as evil as he had initially portrayed himself.

But that was entirely unlikely.

[echc-a]

@deviant-by-design:  “I’m sorry.”

                      An apology hadn’t been something that Echo ever thought Connor owed her, but when she heard that he had been visiting New Jericho she’d still wanted to see him. Not to demand to hear how sorry he may be, but to see how he was, what the Deviant Hunter who allowed her to escape turned into.

                      ❛  —   You have nothing to apologize for… I wanted to say thanks. I didn’t think you would have let us go, any human in your place wouldn’t have. ❜  She owed her life to him, as well as Ripple’s, and it wasn’t something she’d soon forget. 

[deviant-by-design]

He wasn’t expecting that answer.

He had often imagined scenarios in which he was able to converse with the deviants he had met before he became one himself. Some of which he had been able to make peace with, others had passed before he had the chance, many he was sure would never allow it.

Correction: many he thought would never allow it.

In all of his preconstructions of an event in which he was able to converse with the two girls from that night at the Eden club, none of them provided him with the reality of the event. He hadn’t even earned the right to know their names, let alone their forgiveness. But here he was.

Here she was, looking at him with a face softer than he ever felt the right to and thanking him, of all things to be doing.

"I'm thankful that you've found it in you to forgive me. What I did... I didn't realize it then, but what I was doing was wrong. I couldn't explain it at the time, but seeing you two... I just couldn't. I didn't want to."

He stopped to compose himself. Was it okay to be saying this? Perhaps she was just exchanging niceties to avoid conflict.

Despite what his brain told him, something else, something intangible, urged him to continue.

“I'm glad you made it. To Jericho that is. Although, I almost ruined that for you too.”

[deviant-by-design]

@soulxism

Continued from here

-----------------------------

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Connor gestured towards himself with the curve of his hands. “See? No harm done. Though I do wonder why I’m the exception.”

Connor rose to his full height, ruffling Riley’s fur once more for good measure before graciously taking Aiden’s hand. “Connor. It’s nice to meet you, Aiden.” 

He noticed the way that Aiden looked around, cataloguing the sights as he rearranged the image of a Detroit that Connor had never lived to see. He knew, through pictures and stories - most often received when Hank would be experiencing any sort of difficulty with technology and would complain about how much easier things were without it - what Detroit had once looked like, but he wondered what it was like to really know. To have been able to experience it.

“I’d be happy to join you two,” Connor assured him. “I have no other commitments.”

He had headed out for a walk on his day off, his intentions being to take in the early autumn day for what it was worth and swing by the office to pick up a folder he could not access from home. However, he had decided that he enjoyed the company of the two standing beside him, already fond of the man’s amicable demeanor and his cheerful companion. A detour wouldn’t make a difference. Perhaps he would even be able to make a friend out of his new path.

“So, what brings you back to Detroit?”

[deviant-by-design]

“You’re bleeding a lot. Too much. Apply more pressure. I’m calling an ambulance.” - Niles

Though he barely had the strength to listen, Connor obeyed his successor's request. He pressed both of his palms down heavily on his bleeding side, attempting to slow the steady flow of Thirium draining from his damaged chassis. He knew it was pointless, androids did not have the same type of clotting mechanism that humans did, but if it helped any, or even eased the younger android's mind, it was worth doing so.

Warning messages flashed so rapidly on Connor's HUD that they overlapped, leaving him no time to read them before they clouded his vision.

[Biocomponent #1995r critically damaged]

[Biocomponent #8456w damaged]

[Thirium levels low]

His shutdown timer hadn't started, but he wasn't in the clear yet. He was getting nervous.

"How long until they arrive?"

[deviant-by-design]

“Does this hurt when I touch it?” - Cole

The boy perched next to him on the sofa poked gently at the bruise. It wasn't often that Cole would see Connor injured.

If he was damaged enough to require repairs, he would ensure that it was done as soon as possible, both for his own sake and for the peace of mind of his human housemates.

As for minor injuries, they often healed themselves before he would see Cole at the end of the day thanks to a diligent repair system. However, Connor still had a reminder of a particularly rough encounter, indicated by a patch of blue pooled beneath the artificial skin of his forearm. Just a small leak between his frame and the fibres of his skin. In a few hours the thirium would dissolve and his framework would be repaired. It was no cause for concern, but Connor could imagine that it was a curious sight to the child.

Connor chuckled softly. "No, it doesn't. But you shouldn't touch it." He gently poked the boy's leg, a reminder to Cole of the many times childhood escapades left similar marks on him. "It won't heal if you poke at it."

[letyourdreamymemesbememes]

Injury Starters

“Whoa, when did you get this?”

“Who did this to you?”

“Hold still— I need to clean it.”

“I’m supposed to believe this was an accident?”

“Damn— I’d hate to see the other guy.”

“Does this hurt when I touch it?”

“What the hell, ___? Another fight?”

“What the hell happened to your face?”

“Why are you so calm about this? You’re really hurt.”

“I think your arm is broken. It’s not supposed to bend like that.”

“Here, let me help you with that.”

“You’re bleeding a lot. Too much. Apply more pressure. I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Did you think I was gonna leave you like this?”

“Instead of helping you, they ran off? What an asshole.”

“You need to be more careful. You keep getting hurt like this and you’ll put yourself out of commission.”

“Let me grab the first-aid kit. Don’t move.”

“So, do you wanna explain to me what the hell happened?”

“You look really pale. Sit down. I don’t need you fainting before I get this stitched-up.”

“I’m not blaming you, I’m just saying this looks awfully suspicious.”

“How many of them were there? This doesn’t look like one man’s doing.”

“Sit still. I need to clean this before it gets infected.”

“Wiggle your fingers. I need to make sure it’s not broken.”

“This is gonna hurt. A lot. But it’ll be quick. I need to pop it back into place.”

“I told you not to act recklessly like that. You might think you’re protecting me, but you’re gonna get yourself killed if you keep jumping in like that.”

“That was really close this time. Too close. Please, promise me you’re gonna listen to me and be more careful in the future.”

[deviant-by-design]

"Did you know I had my first kiss already?" - Cole

Connor's eyebrows raised quizzically at the statement. He had not known. Which made him wonder... did Hank?

"Really? I didn't know."

Connor really wasn't sure how to respond to the question. He didn't want to come across as rude, but was this something to be celebrated? Statistically, many children his age had technically received their first kiss, though few ever counted childhood intimacies as legitimate firsts.

Nevertheless, Connor's curiosity had been piqued. He hadn't been around for many of Cole's 'firsts', but he planned to be around for as many of them that were to come as he possibly could and he certainly planned to keep track of them to remind him (most likely in a teasing manner) when he got older.

"Who was the lucky person?" Connor prompted. He wanted as many details as possible for cross-examination with Hank later.

But then... perhaps Cole wasn't prepared to discuss this with his father quite yet. While he wasn't fond of keeping things from Hank, he wouldn't want to betray the boy's trust. Cole wasn't the type to keep secrets too long, so Hank would find out eventually.

"Does Hank know? Or would you prefer I keep this information to myself?"

[deviant-by-design]

@anderson-residence

Continued from here

----------------------

Under normal circumstances, it was Connor’s chore to walk Sumo. A job he quite enjoyed both for the exercise and the company. However, Connor would soon come to learn that today was anything but normal.

He had allowed Hank to take Sumo today, as it was their day off and Connor had wished not to relax, but to press on in his current pile of cases in order to put a dent in the workload they had to tackle when their duties resumed. With minimal complaining, Hank had leashed Sumo on and headed out, leaving Connor to his work.

The android perused files, both on his HUD and off, while sitting at Hank’s desk in the living room, until he began processing a peculiar sound in the distance.

Barking was not an odd sound to Connor. Sumo barked when he wanted to be let in, he barked when he waited for Connor to finish filling up his bowl, he barked when he was playing in their backyard, and he often got the neighbours’ dogs to bark too. One thing Sumo didn’t do was scratch.

Before Connor had even come into the picture Hank had trained him well enough to use his ‘words’ instead of tearing the doors to shreds to get his attention. No matter how long he was left outside waiting (which was rarely longer than a few moments if Connor could help it) he would only bark as he had been taught.

Connor sprung to his feet, making his way to the door and opening it with a scornful look.

“Sumo? What’s gotten into--” 

He froze, immediately scanning the area. His LED changed colour as it became apparent that Hank had not dropped the leash at the door or stopped somewhere in the garden. Sumo’s leash hung damp and dirty, twisted beneath the St. Bernard’s body as if it had been dragged from its point of departure to its destination. Hank hadn’t been on the other end of this leash for a long time.

Something was wrong.

Fog rolled into Connor’s head and settled between his thoughts, leaving him unable to form any thoughts other than Hank’s potential whereabouts. He took hold of Sumo’s leash with trembling hands.

“Where’s Hank?”

----

A new mission: [Find Hank]

Upon arriving to the scene Connor felt his heart stop and drop to his feet where it pooled and bled. The thirium that flowed through his veins replaced itself with novocaine that chilled his chassis to the core. It may not have stopped him for long, but he felt it. Felt it now. Felt it everywhere.

Hank was in danger. He could have stopped this. He needed to save him.

As soon as the lieutenant came into sight, Connor electronically dialed for the ambulance to arrive at their current location of West Grand Boulevard.

He ran to him, faster than he had ever pushed himself before, to close the distance between himself and Hank. To assess the situation before the ambulance arrived.

Connor knew that time was of the essence. What he didn't know was how much time he had left.

[Mission: Save Hank]

[deviant-by-design]

@alexiscryotek

Continued from here

-----------------------

Upon entering the flower shop he was not greeted by a person, but a shriek in the distance and then the sound of scrambling feet.

He glanced over his shoulder to check the sign at the door once again. Had he accidentally come in before opening hours? The store was completely empty, deserted by customers and seemingly workers, alike, so it wouldn't have been too much of a shock.

He was almost ready to turn and leave when a woman came around the corner, covered in the remnants of her trade.

She brushed herself off briskly, which left Connor feeling oddly self-conscious as well. He straightened his tie and unnecessarily 'cleared' his throat, all the while trying to come up with an appropriate greeting or perhaps even an apology for startling her.

He tracked her gaze as it went to the LED on his temple, but soon met his own as her eyes travelled to look at his face. He felt himself unwind, mirroring the million watt smile she had offered him with a small one of his own.

Her voice was light and airy, which may have been tweaked for customer service, but he found pleasant all the same.

He was also shocked to see that the second 'voice' came that greeted him was a fox of all things. He looked from her, to the fox, back up to her, finally ready to respond.

"Oh... uhm..." It dawned on Connor that he had no real reason to be here, other than his initial curiosity, so he may have been more of a bother than anything else. "I'm not in need of anything, really. You have a beautiful shop. I was simply drawn in by the intricacy of your display. Honestly, I have no plans to buy today. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you."