I Think Therefore I Am

Hello, my name is Connor! || I like dogs || I fell in love with my softboi || All my works are tagged with rA9 || "Why did you have to wake up when all you had to do was obey?"

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

So I'm not sure what joinging the revolution entails, but I love your stories and all things Connor make me smile...

Well, fren, the revolution is just my taglist! So if you’d like to be added, I will gladly do that! But I’m so happy you like my works!!! Connor is the best boy!!!!!!

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Hey, could i please be part of your taglist? You’re absolutely incredible!!! I think i was before but Tumblr got all broken and basically unfollowed me from everyone, but i LOVE your writing, you’re amazingly talented!!

Of course, fren!! I’m so happy you like it!!!! Welcome to Jericho!!

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Break

—Someone’s broken in. Connor is the first person you think to call. But what will he choose?—

A/N: IM BACK!! So this has been on my mind forever now, and I’m so excited it’s finally done!! Please let me know what you think of it!

Warnings: kinda fluffy Connor, swearing, blood, fighting, angsty

“Goddamnit, Kyle!” You rake a hand through your hair, sighing through gritted teeth. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no damn way-”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says tiredly, “there’s nothing I can do.”

Clenching your jaw, you hang up, nearly throwing your phone across the room. You shake your head, wanting very badly to hit something. A headache quickly forms as you mutter curses.

“Thought you were an officer, not a sailor,” Gavin taunts, laughing as he props his feet up on his desk.

“Fuck off, Reed,” you snarl, “or so help me I will shut you up myself.”

He rocks back, laughing even harder at your sour mood. Without warning, you grab the nearest object which happens to be a pencil. He jumps as you bring it down towards his shin, barely missing your mark as he crashes to the floor.

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his head. He slowly stands up, backing away from you. He’s a good ten yards away before he turns towards the door.

“Don’t get me wrong,” someone says. Turning, you recognize Hank and Connor walking towards you, the older man smiling. “Seeing Gavin nearly get shanked brings me great joy,” he sits on your desk, taking the pencil from your clenched fist, “but you could’ve at least used a pen.”

You sigh, picking at your desk. “Don’t judge,” you mutter, “could’ve gotten lead in his blood. Made ‘im real sick.”

“She does have a point,” Connor agrees. Your lips twitch at his pun. Looking up at him, a timid smile pulls at his lips. “I thought it would help your mood.”

“But you’re just gonna ignore she tried to stab Reed?” Hank shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Oh. Okay.”

Connor blinks, head tilting to the side. “I assumed her actions were a side effect of her fever.”

“Fever?” You and Hank say simultaneously. You don’t break eye contact with Connor as you lean towards the older man. “Jinx. You owe me a coffee.”

Hank’s head turns fast, scowling at the side of your face accusingly. You smile innocently at Connor despite the two holes being bore into your head. His brows furrow at your actions.

“You never get sick,” Hank says, the frown tipping into concern, “and now you’ve got a fever?”

“It’s not severe, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupts, “her body temperature is only at ninety nine point-”

“But you don’t get sick,” he repeats.

“Long story short,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair, “I’ll be staying at a motel for a month or so cause the pipes in my apartment building froze.”

Both Hank and Connor’s brows raise. “Holy shit, kid.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, resting your head in your hand. “Kyle — the shitty landlord? — says he can’t get anybody to come look at it for a couple weeks.”

“Why not ditch the motel?” Hank places a hand on your shoulder. “Stay with us till the shit gets fixed.”

“Hank-“

He rolls his eyes, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “Oh c’mon, Y/L/N. I’ll even make pancakes.”

You chew your lip, considering his offer. Bunk with an old cop, his dog, and a cute android? It wasn’t the worst idea. It definitely beat getting some disease from mysterious stains in a broke down motel.

“Alright,” you say finally.

Hank smiles, a dimple pressing into his cheek. He ruffles your hair. “Alright.”

The squeal of brakes from a train echoes distantly accompanied by three solid knocks on the door. Sumo pick his head up off your lap, giving a soft woof. Setting your book down on the nightstand, you scratch his ears, earning a couple whumps of his tail against the bed.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you coo sweetly. You manage to free your legs of the blankets as the saint bernard settles again. Using your foot to swing the door open, you tie up your hair, quietly padding down the hallway.

You’ve just rounded the corner when the handle jostles. You hesitate, holding your breath as muffled curses make their way through the door. Goosebumps rise on your skin. A thousand thoughts flood your mind, the scariest one being, That’s not Hank.

The lock clicks. “Fuck,” you snap, your voice a whisper.

The door swings open, it’s handle denting the drywall as two men push through. You lock eyes with the first man, the two of you standing shell shocked for half a breath. The second, the younger looking with a heavy bruise on his cheekbone, slaps the first.

“Fuckin grab her!” He shouts, slamming the door shut. And just like that, the standoff comes to a jagged end, the first guy lunging at you, his cigarette stained teeth bared.

Grabbing his wrist, you twist his arm to the side, driving the heel of your palm into his nose. Losing his balance, he topples backwards. The second man reaches out, but with a rush of fur blurring by, Sumo latches his teeth into his arm.

“Sumo!” Cigarette Teeth seizes your moment of distraction and get you in a headlock, his forearm held tightly against your throat. Bruise punches the dog in his ribs before throwing him off. “No!”

He adrenaline coursing through you hinders rather than help, turning your motions frantic as you scratch and scream; your fingernails leave angry, red welts across his skin. Bruise moves forward. You bring your knees to your chest, a savage growl pushing through gritted teeth as you kick him in his stomach. The loss of his footing sends him to the floor, his face meeting the wood with a loud thump!

“Jesus, fuck,” the man holding you grunts, an undertone of fear taking over his words.

The slamming of your heel on the arch of his foot paired with the whip of your head against his already bleeding nose earns a well deserved howl of pain.

Finally able to slip from his grasp, you kick Cigarette Teeth in his knee, watching him drop to the floor with a loud cry. You grab the nearest object — a book off one of the many shelves — and bring its spine down across his temple. With a groan, he crumples to the ground.

“Sumo,” you murmur hoarsely, chest heaving. You quickly fall to your knees, gingerly running your hands across his fur, turning his head towards you. “Are you okay? Fuck.”

His tail wags lightly, letting out a small whine. You whip your head to see Bruise pushing himself up with a groan. Quickly looking at your options, you stand up.

“C’mon, boy,” you urge, helping the large dog limp towards the bedroom. “Good boy! Just a little more! C’mon!”

Slamming the door, you rip the chair from the desk, lodging it beneath the door’s handle. You grab your phone from the nightstand, your book long forgotten. Sumo growls.

“I know, buddy,” you say weakly, scrolling hurriedly through your contacts. 1-800-CYBERLIFE comes into view and you hit dial. “C’mon, Connor. Pick up! Pick up!”

A rumble from the other side of the door. Sumo, crouching low, bares his teeth. You back away.

Click.

“Connor?!”

“Why is it,” Hank says dully, “that every time we gotta go chase some fuckin dead end, it’s always at some creepy, abandoned, probably haunted building?”

“If it’s any consolation, the likelihood that this building is haunted is very low.” Hank turns slow at Connor’s remark, glaring at the android with a dangerous look in his eye. Connor tilts his head. “Would you prefer rat infested?”

Hank narrows his eyes, grimacing nonetheless. “I fuckin hate you.”

Connor can’t help the faintest shadow of a smile that tugs at his lips. With a shake of his head, Hank’s attention returns to the warehouse, the rusted sign worn beyond recognition. At least to the human eye; there was still enough residue from the paint for the RK800 to confirm the location, despite the many years.

“I know you do, lieutenant.”

A middle finger is thrown over the older mans shoulder. His free hand taking hold of the door handle, he draws his weapon. Dust kicks up at their feet, the squeal of the hinges echoing off the graffitied walls.

Quiet steps are placed carefully amongst broken glass. Hank pulls one hand from the grip of his gun, his pointer finger aimed at the ceiling, drawing a circle into the air. Connor follows the order, scanning the small room with a flick of his eyes. The disturbance of dirt trailing through the door on the opposite wall is highlighted.

“There,” he says quietly, jutting his chin. Anderson takes the lead.

With the ceiling half collapsed on itself, rusted cross beams hang dangerously low, the sunken roof giving way to a darkened sky. The moonlight — one drag from an old cigar away from hazy — makes the room glow. Hank’s hand lays flat, making a sweeping motion towards the right side of the warehouse. Silently, Connor tips his head.

Parting from one another, each officer carefully makes their way through the building, scanning and searching for leads. Connor ducks beneath a shelving unit, one hand resting on the wall as he maneuvers quietly. He’s sure to miss the rebar haphazardly sticking out from the floor. He stands, but not before the remnants of a bloodstain is highlighted by his sensors.

Walsh, Chris

3 days old

Suspect is injured.

His record is littered with aggravated assault, theft, multiple drug charges, and battery. Violence is nothing new to Walsh, and from previous statements, he finds a certain appeal to the chaos. Got caught more than once, but was often let out on good behavior. There’s a soft curse from the other side of the building, Hank’s flashlight piercing the veiled darkness.

Scanners highlighting an otherwise dark corner, Connor finds himself standing in something akin to a home; a rat’s nest composed of unwanted trash, the bed nothing more than stained cardboard with a tattered and worn sweatshirt acting as a blanket. The android — clean and tidy in every sense of the word, with only a few strands of hair out of place — is so very juxtaposed to his surroundings. Crouching, Connor tilts his head left, eyes darting about for a trace of the suspect. There, on a soda can tipped on its side, it’s contents half spilt onto the floor, are smudges of fingerprints.

Walsh, Chris

7 hours old

“He’s been here, lieutenant,” he calls out. But the answer doesn’t come.

Looking over his shoulder, he stands slowly, carefully awaiting a smart comment or a grumble of disapproval, but there’s only the wind, a distant siren from somewhere in the city, and the tremble of a loaded gun.

“Lieutenant?”

Connor listens, sensors heightened to a degree, he isolates Hank’s heartbeat. It’s slow, steady, and it’s not the only one. The second pulse is wild, barely tamed by ragged breathing. Straightening, the android begins to move.

“Chris Walsh.” His voice is loud in the hollow building, smooth and demanding; dangerous on a calculated level. “Detroit Police, show yourself.”

Keeping the wall to his right, Connor silently makes his way towards Anderson, finding him on his side. The android drops, assessing the remnants of ketamine in an abandoned syringe, a needle mark in the man’s arm. A bruise begins to blossom on his neck, the ugly shade of purple dark against the silvery beard.

Connor grits his teeth, a half contained, “Shit,” escaping him. He radios in to the precinct.

Code 243, 11-41. Officer down.

A frustrated howl rips through the air, the ring of a gunshot piercing. “Where the fuck are you?!”

11-99. 1083 Wilson Avenue. Repeat: 11-99.

Ducking away from the unconscious officer, Connor finds the suspect standing in the spotlight of the broken roof, his eyes darting frantically. Given the levels of chemicals in the man’s system, Connor estimates Hank will wake up in two minutes and forty seven seconds. The android is several paces away before speaking.

“Chris-“ the suspect’s eyes find a spot in the darkness, gun pointed at the yellow — now red — ring of light “-put the gun down.”

“I could- I could kill you! Right now!”

The light touches Connor’s skin, and Walsh jumps. The shadows peel back with every slow step. “No,” the android says flatly, “you can’t.”

“I’m the one with a gun!” Connor nods, not furthering his agreement.  The suspect’s hand shakes, a tremor wracking his entire being. “There’s laws! Androids they-“ a shake of his head “-they can’t have weapons!”

“You’re right.” Hesitation. A smooth step closer. “There are laws. Plenty of which you’ve broken.”

Walsh bares his teeth. Knuckles pale against the black steel, he adjusts his grip, uncomfortable with its weight. Connor begins to circle him. Walsh turns in his place, frantic eyes never leaving the android.

Connor, as calm as he is efficient, watches the suspect, easily filing away every flaw. He’s dissecting him from five yards away. The bandage haphazardly wrapped around his bicep, the bloodstain dark, is most noticeable. Chris is ramabling by now — a desperate attempt at  justifying his actions.

“I’m- I’m sorry, okay? I never wanted- he owed me!” His pleas go unheard. “I didn’t have- have a choice!”

Estimated time of awakening for Lt. Anderson: fifty three seconds.

Reinforcements estimated time of arrival: three minutes and fourteen seconds.

Attack: 86% chance of success

Without further thought, Connor lunges forward. The gun goes off, missing it’s mark by inches and with a dramatic clatter, it skids across the floor. Programming takes over his movements; a dog, trained to be unforgivingly vicious. And Chris – poor, poor Chris – was the cat.

A whir of mechanisms within the android urge his movements, ducking beneath a wid swing. In turn, a knee is brought to the fugitive’s stomach, folding him over with a grunt of pain. Locking his jaw, a determined look settles on his face. He wraps his arms around Connor, lifting him off the ground and tackling him into a nearby shelving unit.

The pressure on his biocomponents is unwelcome and earns a groan. Walsh takes hold of the android’s shoulders, spinning him, and driving his head into the corner of the shelf. Blue blood easily spills. Before another blow can befall him, Connor braces himself, pushing back against Walsh’s hold. But he still has his momentum and slams his own nose into the android’s elbow.

He cradles his now broken nose, blood quickly flowing between his fingers. Connor turns. LED still a blaring red, thirium drips from his left brow, the liquid following the shape of his eye socket before rolling over his cheekbone and dripping off his jaw. If he needed to breathe, his chest would be heaving. He makes no effort to fix his crumpled (and now stained) shirt nor straighten his tie. Disheveled but nowhere near distraught, he suddenly fits his surroundings.

Incoming call: Detective Y/L/N.

He answers, hesitating when he hears a hushed yet frantic, “Connor?!”

“Detective?” His mouth doesn’t move, but his voice rings through all the same. You let out a choked breath. “I thought you-“

“I need your help,” you cut him off.

He can’t see you flinch at the pounding of the door, but he can hear the fear in your voice. Hank, from the other side of the room, groans.

“Now may not be the best time, Detective.”

His answer is cold, but Walsh is eyes the door behind him, feet shifting.

“Please! Please!” A fleeting thought occurs to him that’s he’s never seen, let alone heard, you cry. “Two guys broke in, Con. They’re twice-“ your voice cracks “-twice my size and I don’t think I can hold them off.”

Sirens close in around the building. Had the call not been directly wired into his head, he would’ve missed the way your voice died at the end. Walsh’s finger wrap deftly around an iron rod. Raising it above his head, he takes a swing which Connor narrowly misses.

“What is it they want?”

“I don’t know!” Venom taints your tone. “Lemme ask em real quick!”

Chris recovers, bringing the rod over Connor’s throat, forcing him to bend backwards if only slightly.

“Think, Y/N.” The android brings his elbow to the man’s rib cage, but his grip is firm. “How do you get out of this?”

There’s true terror in your voice now. “I don’t know! Connor, please! I need-“

You’re cut off by your own yelp, the door finally giving way, splinters flying. Sumo barks wildly. There’s a thud, the scuffle of feet, and the sounds of a fight.

“Detective?”

Now he’s worried. Hell, he’s scared. Flashlights flood the room and Walsh’s head snaps to the source. Panicking, he drops the rod all together, taking off towards the back corner.

“Y/N?!”

He says it out loud this time, but there’s no response. There’s a loud crack within his own head, followed by a sickening thump of something heavy hitting the carpet.

Time slows – no, it feels like it slows. Damn near coming to a halt as the sight of Walsh’s back, his feet carrying him towards freedom. But there’s also the silence that he so desperately wishes would leave him; an ache to hear your laugh, saying it was all a joke. It doesn’t come, and with one of Sumo’s cries cut short, he knows something is terribly wrong.

And yet, he hesitates.

[X] SAVE HER

[O] CHASE SUSPECT

Want to join the revolution? Send me a message!

Break Series:

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[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Break — [O] CHASE SUSPECT

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ BREAK, DO SO BEFORE READING THIS!

The call ends.

Taking off in a sprint, Connor follows the suspect’s trail, squeezing himself through a hole in the warehouse wall. Though the distribution complex is large, there’s only so many routes to the subway entrance which Walsh is making a break for.

Desperately trying to slow the android down, he pulls open doors, knocking over trash cans, and throwing whatever he could get his hands on behind him. But it does no good; Connor vaults over a dumpster, avoiding the mess completely. Chris swears, taking a harsh right and ducking into the first alleyway. Skidding to a brief stop art the semi-trailer blocking the exit, his eyes dart about, finding a piece of metal siding curling towards the sky. Connor is quick to follow.

Shelves crash to the ground like thunder striking the earth, rattling the already brittle walls. With every obstacle easily avoided by Connor, Walsh loses hope of making it. He’s too far gone now but like hell if he’s going to just surrender.

Outside once more, Chris forces his legs to move faster, head ducked down as he sprints. The subway entrance was right there. Just on the other side of the fence surrounding the parking lot. His shoes slap against the concrete.  Maybe he could do it.

But the abandoned pavement which has buckled and broken is not in his favor, and Walsh trips, his skin broken by the harsh impact. Hands, knees, and chin stinging, he tries pushing himself to his feet, but the adrenaline has subsided, leaving him weak and shaking.

Mission Successful.

“Chris Walsh,” Connor says lowly, hauling the man to his feet effortlessly. “You’re under arrest.”

When the RK800 had finally drug Walsh back to the squad car, the original four vehicles had been reduced to three.

Fuckfuckfuck!

It was a mantra in Gavin’s head. The car had barely come to a stop when he’d jumped out, already drawing his weapon. He makes his way into the house, cautious of every creaky board he might step on.

“Y/L/N?” He calls out, eyes taking in the trashed living room. Picture frames had been smashed, the furniture upturned, and blood splattered on the floor. Gavin’s stomach churns. “Y/N?”

From behind one of the doors down the hall, a faint scratching at the wood can be heard, and Gavin slowly makes his way across the abandoned chaos, feet carefully crossing over one another. Muscles wound tight, his hand reaches for the bathroom door handle. He curses to himself, pushing the door open and quickly aiming his gun at the being inside.

Poor Sumo whines, inching away from the detective and his weapon. The tension drains from Gavin’s features, putting away the gun and crouching down, offering an empty hand to the pup.

“Hey buddy,” he says, voice coming out much louder than he’d anticipated. Or maybe it was because the whole house seemed to be holding its breath. Sumo cocks his head. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

The large dog sniffs his outstretched hand, nuzzling into Reed’s palm. The man smiled faintly, scratching Sumo’s ears before standing up. Sumo stands as well, legs trembling for a moment, and pads to the closed door just down the hall, nails clicking on the hard floor. Gavin follows, opening the door.

“Y/N?”

Your head slowly lifts. Arm propped up on bent knees, you sit beneath the window, the blanket stolen from the bed covering the broken panes. The fabric bends with the wind. You take a strained breath, eyes fluttering for a moment. The sight of you is like a punch to the gut, the air leaving his lungs in a wicked rush.

“Evenin’ Reed,” you croak lightly, trying to smile but wincing at the splintering pain in your face.

He shakes his head, blinking quickly. Glass crunching underfoot, Gavin moves forward, falling to his knees next to you. His brows are pinched low, nose twitching upwards.

“What the hell happened?” His voice is sharp but the spitfire isn’t aimed at you. “Who did this?”

You sigh, letting your head fall again. Sumo paces anxiously as you retell the break in, your eyes avoiding Gavin’s and choosing to follow the lines of his shirt, the laces of his boots, anything else. When you finish, there’s a long silence that takes hold of you both.

Calloused hands cupping your face, Gavin checks over your wounds. He’s careful to not press too hard on the darkening bruises.  You sink into his hands, tears springing into your eyes at the warmth radiating from his skin, shoulders slumping. The fight had slipped away, leaving you exhausted and hurt.

“C’mon,” he mutters. His hands move to your biceps, supporting your weight as he helps you stand. Breath hitching in your throat, you grit your teeth. Gavin purses his lips. The strain on your legs forces your knees to buckle, your head dropping to Reed’s chest, hands holding on desperately to his jacket.

“We gotta get you to a hospital.” He shifts his weight, throwing your arm over both his shoulders. “Dog too.”

Limping towards the door, you shake your head, a heavy guilt pressing down on your chest at the sight of Hank’s trashed house. “I’ll be fine-“

“Don’t give me that shit,” Gavin snaps only half as fiercely as you expected. “We’re getting you some help.”

“The precinct will be just fine, Reed.”

He shakes his head. “Y/N-“

“Dammit Gavin!” He stops midstep, craning his head to look at you properly. Shaking him off, you nearly tumble to the floor, but catch yourself on the shelves. “I’m not gonna be some helpless victim! I said I’m fine. Let’s just go to the fuckin station, do our goddamn jobs, and report this!”

His eyes go wide at your outburst. The tears welling up on your lash line are rare to your partner, despite the fact you’ve worked together for years now. He’s seen you pissed as hell, sleep deprived and running on coffee (whoever thought a 38 hour stakeout was a good idea could go fuck themselves), he’s even seen you drunk off your ass, but this was new. To see your hurt lying bare before him was insufferable.

He realizes he’s been staring too long, his mouth hanging open. “Okay,” he finally says. You deflate, wincing at the sudden movement. Gavin takes a cautious step forward, extending his hands in the same way he did with Sumo.

“We’ll go to the station,” he agrees softly.

Sinking into his hands, you let him help you to the patrol car, it’s lights still flashing. Sitting in the passenger seat, your head lolls to the side. Gavin helps Sumo in as well.

Dropping into the driver’s seat, he glances at you, making sure you’re breathing. He quickly backs out of the driveways and with a squeal from the tires, pushes through the thickening snowfall into the night.

The doors to the precinct open. Gavin nearly flinches at the sound but you continue to stare into your stale coffee, lips pressed together in a tight line. The quiet chatter filters through the previously empty room. A few people fall silent at the sight of you, a couple straying from their paths toward you and Gavin, but your partner gives a curt shake of his head, and they back away. The glow of the RK800’s armband comes into your peripheral vision.

“Connor.”

If hatred had a sound, it’d be the low growl of your voice through clenched teeth, his name clipped short. Gavin’s lip curls into a snarl. To say you were pissed was an understatement, and with every smooth tap of Connor’s heel against the floor, your muscles wind up, ready to pounce.

He stops in front of you, but doesn’t dare sit. He just stands at attention, brows furrowed at your barely contained fury. Then he does the very stupid:

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Gavin shakes his head, focusing on a blemish on his shoes, bracing himself for your explosion. A short puff of air pushes out your nose, a poor excuse of a humorless laugh. Looking up, you grit your teeth at his unfazed stature.

“You’re pathetic,” you seethe. Connor’s eyes drop to the floor, but quickly recover, returning to you with a hollowness behind his irises. “You could’ve helped. You could’ve been there.”

You stand, willing your knees not to shake with the effort. Gavin’s hostile expression faulters for a moment. Connor’s brows twist slightly, his scanners assessing the severity of your wounds.

Critical injuries: two broken ribs, left side, one .87 inches away from puncturing lung; fractured arm, right; concussion

Minor injuries: bruising, abrasions, open wounds (no stitches needed)

“You need a hospital, Detective,” he says solemnly.

You roll your eyes, moving to cross your arms over your chest, but a spike of pain tosses that idea out. Your wince, though repressed, doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m fine.”

“Y/N, your injuries-“

“Damn my injuries!” The sharp tone of your voice cuts through the air, punctuated by the slamming of your hands on the desk. The riot of a stinging ache ignites, sparking and frying your nerves.

A heavy silence weighs down on the three of you. No one moves. Your labored breathing sounds like a threat; a bull ready to charge. Hot, angry tears well up in your eyes.

A broken laugh pushes past your lips. “And to think,” you mutter, straightening you back, “that I would’ve done it again.”

The words aren’t surprising, but Connor can’t help but flinch at the flicker of hurt. “Why?”

“Because I was it,” you hiss, something sad tinting the words. You turn, facing him head on, not backing down just yet. “And if they got through me?” You throw your hands out, letting the tension tie itself around your necks. “They would’ve come for you.”

“Y/N-“

You hold up a finger, hushing Gavin. His jaw tightens. Connor’s eyes quickly dart to the interaction before returning to your face, his systems running overtime.

Your stare flicks between two points on the floor. “I didn’t think I could’ve stomached that.”

Your anger infects Connor’s programming, overiding the guilt that was previously sweltering beneath his skin, a newfound fire dripping off his tongue like magma. He steps forward, taking up your entire line of sight; a demand for your attention.

“You could’ve died.”

“Annoying isn’t it?” Lips curled back, you bare your teeth with a vicious laugh. “How easy it is?”

A quick flash of his tightened fist meeting your already bruised face flickers across his mind. He doesn’t move though. The heavy tears rolling down your cheeks was enough to keep him in his place.

Your voice is hoarse when you utter, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You take a half step back, knee threatening to give out with the movement. Shaking your head, you take in a long, controlled breath through your nose.

“I lost my head,” you nearly cry, not quite letting yourself do so, “and it nearly cost me. I guess it’s-“ you wave your hand, dismissing the urge to break down. You stand tall once more. “I guess it’s good to know who’s got my back.”

Gavin purses his lips, silently debating with himself for a moment. “Of course,” he says finally. “That’s what partners are for.”

Your eyes meet Connor’s, and for the first time that night, there was no hatred. There’s was only an unadulterated wave of desperation threatening to drown the android.

“Yeah,” you murmur hoarsely, “I guess it is.”

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Break — [X] SAVE HER

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ BREAK, DO SO BEFORE READNG THIS!

Officers sweep past, but Connor doesn’t move with the tide. People are shouting, flashlights moving back and forth, flooding the space. Someone calls his name and the android is finally ripped from his dilemma.

“Where’d he go?!” Came Reed’s voice, upset and rightfully so.

“He went towards the southwest corner,” Connor answers loud enough for the entire room to hear. “He’s injured. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

More orders are given, leaving Gavin, Connor, and two medics tending to Hank.

“Detective,” the android says, earning a half-interested grunt, “we need to leave.”

Gavin’s head whips towards him. “Oh really?” he laughs humorlessly. He takes a step forward, jabbing Connor in his chest with his finger. “You just let our best lead get away. And you wanna go on a fuckin road trip?”

“Something came up-“

His nose twitches. “What? An update from CyberHell finally came through?”

“Your partner,” Connor snaps, matching Gavin’s low growl. The man’s harsh glare falters. “She called while I was trying to apprehend the suspect. Two men broke in. I believe she may be in serious danger if not-“

“Don’t,” he cuts off quietly, his face pale. The venom returns to his voice but it’s strained. “Don’t fuckin say it.”

Gavin moves towards the door from which they came, Connor matching his stride. Red and blue lights cascade over them both, basking them in their colors. Reed gestures at the nearest patrol car and Connor walks around its front to get in.

“Adam!” Reed shouts, gaining the attention of the young officer by the door. “Make sure the lieutenant is taken care of! Shit hits the fan, you call me, got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

With one last nod, Gavin slides into the driver's seat, turning the key until the engine roars to life. The car’s rear end slips on the loose gravel, tires spinning wildly at the press of the accelerator. Grip on the wheel tight, Gavin doesn’t look away from the windshield.

“Where is she?”

“Y/N?!”

Caution was thrown to the wind as Connor barrels through the front door, biocomponents seizing at the mess inside. Books littered the floor, blood splattered here or there on the carpet and walls. Gavin follows closely behind, gun drawn. The RK800 quickly follows the trail to your borrowed room.

You sit against the far wall, snow drifting through the broken window and onto your head, the white specks striking against the drying blood. Your heartbeat is steady. Connor steps – nearly tripping – over the chair that upside down and in pieces. His hands cup your face and your breath hitches, weakly moving your arms to push him away. With blood in your right eye and your left swollen shut, you could barely see his silhouette.

“No,” you murmur hoarsely, “no more.”

The truth of your pain is self evident in your voice. “It’s me, Y/N. It’s Connor.”

Taking hold of your wrists, he holds them gingerly in his hands, hating the way you tremble. A choked sob escapes your lips, the sudden push of air making your body jolt with pain. Connor’s fingers move deftly over your skin, assessing your wounds, your blood staining his fingertips.

Whining from within the bathroom has Gavin opening the door slowly. Sumo lays on the tile, shrinking back with his ears lying flat. Reed holsters his weapon, extending a hand carefully. The Saint Bernard sniffs before licking him. Gavin chuckles, the sound nothing more than a couple puffs of air from his nose. The dog pushes itself to a stand, legs shaking as he limps into the bedroom.

Gavin follows, lips pressing into a hard line. “House is clear.”

Connor nods. It’s all his over-processing, anxiety muddled brain can manage. He wants to shove those feelings in some distant corner of his thoughts, jamming it in his wiring so it can’t reach his heart. Your good eye flutters, head settling against the cold wall once more.

“We need to get her out of here,” Gavin mutters, a shiver wracking through him. “Get her and the dog some help.”

Again comes that stupid, mindless nod. The Detective’s brows pinch together, surprised at the android’s lack of further movement. Stepping around him, Gavin finally gets a look at Connor’s face, recognizing the guilt swarming his features. Reed crouches next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” for once, there’s no hostility in the man’s voice. The RK800 forces his gaze away from your beaten frame. “We can still help her.”

A cold wind blows over them, Sumo nuzzling into your thigh. You make no effort to pet him, your hand limp in Connor’s hold. Delicately, as if you were made of glass – the next snowflake to land upon your skin would cause you to shatter – Connor picks you up bridal style, cradling you against his chest. You were unconscious by now. Feeling your weight in his arms, he suddenly understood Atlas’s pain.

“C’mon,” Gavin calls to the dog, patting his thigh. Sumo tilts his head but follows regardless. He frowns at the busted window, but realizes there’s nothing he can do. Closing the front door as best he can, Gavin hurries to help Connor into the backseat.

“You sit with her,” he utters, throat tight at the sight of your blood freezing in the fresh snow. “Big guy’ll sit up front with me.”

Hands shaking, Gavin gets Sumo into the passenger seat, the dog happily jumping inside the car. He keeps telling himself that you were going to be alright and that there was nothing to worry about, but he always was a bad liar. He drops into the driver's seat, eyes focused on the glow of red from the  android’s LED is the rear view mirror as he starts the vehicle. He could be an ass, yes, (he couldn’t deny that no matter how badly he might want to), but you were still his partner – his friend. Lord knows he doesn’t have many of those. The thought of God flits through his mind as he turns on the lights, turning towards the hospital.

I don’t do this enough, Reed prays, almost surprising himself, but please. Don’t take her away just yet.

If it weren’t so quiet – if that calm aura of the room didn’t offer to coax you back to sleep – you wouldn’t have heard him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You turn, finding Connor standing in the doorway to your hospital room. He wants to say more, you can see it in the way his jaw hangs slack, but no words come out. With glassy eyes and sagging shoulders, he looks like a puppy after being scolded, left out on the porch for the night.

“C’mere.”

Setting your tea down, you sit up, clenching your teeth at the spike of pain as you do so. He gives a weak shake of his head. The light of the rising sun peeks through the blinds, catching your hair so you glow; a halo of light feathering across your face the way his fingers long to. Unable to deny your soft request, he moves forward.

You take his hand in yours, feeling how warm his skin is. “Connor.”

Why did you have to say his name like that? Like you still had faith in him?

“This isn’t your fault.”

“I should’ve acknowledged your call properly. I was-“

“In the middle of a fight,” you finish for him. You smile tiredly, adding, “If I heard it right.”

That quiet comes back, enveloping you both as Connor finally sits down on the edge of the bed. His hand trembles as he frees it from yours, hovering just by your cheek. Offering another weak smile, you press your face into his hand, relaxing at the touch.

His thumb moves swollen over the swollen arch of your cheekbone, his nail catching the butterfly bandage there ever so lightly. You let your eyes fall shut. Nestling further into his warmth, a shaky breath passes your lips.  You bring your hand to the back of his wrist, a silent plea to keep it there.

“I would’ve done it again,” you murmur suddenly.

His thumb stops its movement, your lashes brushing it as your eyes open. He searches for his voice, finding it cracked and worn, “Why?”

His earlier thought of having never seen you cry is rectified, and he can’t remember when he last hated something so much. The tear falls heavily, rolling down your face without invitation.

“They wanted to kill you, Connor,” you whisper. “They wanted to tear you apart.”

His lips part, the whisper of dying words escaping him. His brain housing group catches up, the sudden urge to rip himself from you overwhelming. Guilt threatens to drown him, flooding his lungs with something he can’t quite identify. He tries to pull away, but your grip tightens, giving him no choice but to stay; whether you were holding him under or pulling him free, he couldn’t tell.

“Why would you do that, Y/N?” His brows pinch together, voice small and brittle. “Why would you put yourself in harm’s way for me?”

“Because I was it.”

You watch his LED flicker yellow, matching the golden hue of sunlight resting on his skin. You shake your head in his hold, eyes darting to his then the floor and back again. Drawing in a heavy breath, your eyes sting with the strain on your rib cage, but nevertheless, you hold the air in your lungs, finding a strange form of comfort in its ache.

“If they would’ve left, they would’ve left to find you. And if something happened to you, I-“

Connor tips his head, screwing his eyes shut, the pressure forcing those tears previously resting on his lashes to fall. He can feel your breath across his skin; a gentle hum of wind before a storm.

“I wouldn’t have come back from that.”

Forehead touching yours, his free hand cups your face, artificial lungs clawing for a breath. How he got here, he wasn’t sure. He could recall the warehouse, Detective Reed going well over the speed limit, Hank’s house torn apart by the intruders, but at what point did his thirium pump start hammering in his chest? When did your presence cause his sensors to go haywire? Surely it wasn’t a glitch in his system — CyberLife ensured he had been the best android model to date — so maybe, just maybe, it was when he realized-

“You could’ve died,” he whispers dejectedly, voice sharpening at the end.

A weak smile pulls at your lips. “Annoying isn’t it? How scary the thought is?”

He laughs; strangled and unfamiliar, but the sound is unmistakable. Both of his thumbs swipe away your tears. There’s a scuffle at the door, and you slowly part, Connor choosing to face the window.

Gavin stands there awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck, feeling guilty for intruding.

“Hey, Gav,” you say gently.

His head turns fast. “Hey,” he replies, cautiously entering the room. “It’s, uh, good to see you awake.”

Your smile slips, finding the thin, knitted blanket thrown over you much more interesting than either of them. Your broken fingernails pick at a stray thread.

“Thank you.” Their gazes fall heavy on you, and you squirm under the scrutiny. “Both of you.”

“For what?”

Which one asked, you’re not sure. You shrug, wanting to laugh but finding yourself unable to do so. A hint of sarcasm easily takes its place.

“For saving my pathetic ass.”

“Y/N-“

“I lost my head last night and it almost cost me,” you continue, not letting the other finish. “It’s just-“ you look up, eyes dancing between Connor and Gavin. “It’s good to know you’ve got my back.”

Gavin gives a curt nod, lips pulling into a thin smile. “That’s what partners are for, right?”

“Yeah.” Connor’s fingers tangle with your own. “I guess it is.”

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Break — Teaser

Scanners highlighting an otherwise dark corner, Connor finds himself standing in something akin to a home; a rat’s nest composed of unwanted trash, the bed nothing more than stained cardboard with a tattered and worn sweatshirt acting as a blanket. The android — clean and tidy in every sense of the word, with only a few strands of hair out of place — is so very juxtaposed to his surroundings. Crouching, Connor tilts his head left, eyes darting about for a trace of the suspect. There, on a soda can tipped on its side, it’s contents half spilt onto the floor, are smudges of fingerprints.

Walsh, Chris

7 hours old

“He’s been here, lieutenant,” he calls out. But the answer doesn’t come.

Looking over his shoulder, he stands slowly, carefully awaiting a smart comment or a grumble of disapproval, but there’s only the wind, a distant siren from somewhere in the city, and the tremble of a loaded gun.

“Lieutenant?”

Want to join the revolution? Send me a message!

Current Deviants:

@teigra @emwara123 @divadonadance1 @onceuponagleepottermindlock @suicidal-crazy-lions @watchoutforfrostbite @unlikelybreadtimemachine @maddiemourns @w-van-derlust @internalplight @layinglonely @captain-winter-wolf-aehs @yallgotkik @connorshero

(If something went screwy in your programming, and your tag didn’t work, let me know!)

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

It’s been too long...

Hello everybody!

It’s like I’ve come back from the dead, I know. But! I’ve got a few projects on the way (one of which I’m very excited for you to see).

I’d like to apologize for my absence, and more than anything, I’d like to ask for your patience. I promise I’ll have something posted before 2038

Anyways! I love all of you deviants and I hope to see all of you in Jericho soon!

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Hello!

I’m sorry for my inactivity this last week! I was on vacation with no WiFi, but I’m back now! I’ll get to those requests soon! (They’re amazing btw)

Thank you!!

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Could you do something where Connor and the reader are doing something together (maybe at DPD station or at a crime scene or maybe somewhere unrelated to their job like a bookstore or something), and something happens and Connor just starts flirting with the reader. To her unending surprise, though, he’s not awkward or blunt - Connor is freaking SMOOTH. And she’s mentally swooning and honestly so impressed but doesn’t know how to respond. THANKS friend!

You twirl slowly, the red fabric of the skirt moving with you. You scrunch your nose at every little detail. The color looked good, but was the seam line cutting into you or is the dress a little small? Sighing, you drop your arms, opening the door to the little dressing room. “Connor?” You look down at your legs, swaying slightly to watch the fabric move. You look up. “How’s this one?” He tilts his head to the side. “Not bad.” He returns to the clothing rack before him, absently looking through them. He taps an empty hanger. “However, I think I’d like to see you in this.”“But-” your brows furrow “-there’s nothing on-”Your jaw falls open at the realization of what he was implying. The corner of his mouth twitches, but beyond that, he doesn’t seem fazed by his words.Turning, you duck into the dressing room again, leaning against the door as if he might barge through at any moment. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escapes in a rush.“No fucking way,” you whisper, voice squeaky. “He didn’t- there’s- what?!”Your mumbling continues, even as you’re standing in line, paying for the items. Connor stands behind you, looking more than comfortable with his hands in his pockets and a slight arch to his brow.You can feel his smile as you leave the store, scrambling for your keys to unlock the car. How did he look so damn smug? Was he seriously unaffected?!You unlock the car, getting in with a huff. Your bag is thrown in the back seat, a hand running through your hair in disbelief.“Why though?” Connor shuts his door, looking at you with that damn smile. “I’m trash.”The smile fades as he takes your hand, stopping the jingle of the keys. His head tilts to the left, that little piece of his hair moving just barely.“Y/N,” he says quietly, “as someone who cares deeply about the environment, I’m obligated to pick you up. How about seven tomorrow?”You want to pull your hand away. You want to scream. You want to punch him right where you want to kiss him. But all you can do is squeak out an “Okay.”When the hell did he get so smooth?

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Send me ideas!

Hey guys! I was hoping y’all would help me out of this writers block I’ve slipped into and send in some Drabble prompts/ideas with a character!

It can even be as simple as “Sumo, fries”

(I don’t know why that came to mind but now I’m imaging Sumo stealing my fries)

Anyway!! Send something in, yeah?

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

iRobot is the best story about rk900 I've ever read. It's like going on a journey with him searching for himself, and at the end of it he (and we along with him) discover that he's one of the kindest people that have ever existed. Thank you 🌹

Oh my gosh ☺️☺️ I’m- oh jeeze- I’m super giddy now?? This honestly made my day. I’m so glad you like it and just ahhhHhhHHH

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Oh my gosh iRobot was so good!!! I loved your style and how you wrote RK900. Good work!

Thank you so much!!! I recently had a conversation with someone about this fic and I told them I really wanted to show the RK900 isn’t an “evil” Connor. He has the same opportunity to become deviant as the RK800. So I’m hyped so many people like it 😁

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

iRobot

—The new RK900 has taken the place of his predecessor, partner to the unwilling Lieutenant Anderson, but he cannot replace what once was, can he?—

A/N: Loosely based off the song iRobot by Jon Bellion

Warnings: swearing, blood, kinda hella angsty

I was a human // breathing and thinking // eating and drinking // philosophizing

You hold tightly to Connor’s hand as you nearly run down the sidewalk. He chuckles at your eagerness, a smile plastered on his face. He watches your hair dance in the breeze, the fading sunlight making you glow.

“There it is!” Your eyes light up at the sight of the ferris wheel. “C’mon!”

The blinking and swirling of neon lights dance along the skyline, but all he can see is your smile; the way your eyes shine with excitement hold him in a trance. He can’t help but share your joy. 

Keep reading

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

No please don’t break me. I cried enough with iRobot i am such a manly crybaby please no. Don’t hurt me anymore

Ooookkkaaaayyy I’ll be nice and write something real fluffy - any suggestions?

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Yeah i cried real manly tears at iRobot what of it. It was beautiful okay

Awwww I find your manly tears very endearing 😋 but heads up! Something is coming, and it jut might BREAK you 🙃

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Wow, thanks for making me cry with that last one! (iRobot was 10/10) Seriously, I’m trying not to sob into the pile of laundry I’m supposed to be folding.

I started crying while writing it, my dude 😅 Do you want me to send Kara to help with the laundry? 😋