this took so long and i lowk hate it but its okay, I had to show my appreciation for my favourite fic ever, 'Presque Vu' by @puffers-mcmuffers (PLEASE go read it!!) and combine it with my favourite movie ever! I vaguely based the detective off of the images shown in the fic
Anyway, again, shoutout to this fic for being the reason i try to better my art!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Category: F/M
Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) & Reader, Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Original Female Character(s), Gavin Reed & Original Female Character(s), Gavin Reed/Reader, Gavin Reed/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Gavin Reed, Original Character(s)
Additional Tags: no beta we die like men, Eventual Smut, Reader-Insert, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is In Denial About Deviancy, MC is kinda tsundere, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Gavin Reed is Bad at Feelings, Minor Original Character(s), Homelessness, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Pre-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Unrequited Love, Grief/Mourning, Violence, AFAB | Assigned Female at Birth Reader-Insert, Female Reader-Insert, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Upgraded Connor | RK900 is Called Nines, Hurt No Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Memory Loss, Temporary Amnesia, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Whump, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Workplace Relationship, Pining, Mutual Pining, Found Family, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Canonical Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Enemies to Lovers, Police Procedural, Reader has backstory, POV Second Person, POV Multiple, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, You Have A Personality
Language: English
Words: 142,023
Chapters: 19/?
Summary:
“I’m sorry, Connor.”
His processes experienced a lag unprecedented in his operational history. Your apology hit his environmental ingestion stream like a dump truck of bricks. The initial impact was a paralyzing weight, followed by the sensation of futile pressure, as if the load kept pouring.
[LIBRARY_BLANK]: No presets found for given query.
“Why?” he asked, genuine confusion flattening his tone. “Why are you apologizing if you know you can’t hurt my feelings?”
“Because it’s the nice thing— the correct thing to do. Not to be a pain in other people’s asses when its unwarranted.”
“It is unusual.”
“What is? Being a decent human being?”
“Being considerate of entities that lack emotional reciprocity.”
“It’s not that strange. I don’t smash my phone because my Wi-Fi is out.”
“The issue is that the so-called ‘smashing of the phone’ in this scenario is inconsequential to the device. We are deviating from the subject.”
“Maybe YOU are deviating.”
A/N: Hello, this is AO3 user 'inthehead' speaking my shit indeed on tumblr too. We're 19 chapters in UNINDEXED when I decide it's worth sharing. Cause my dumbass never realized there might be a DBH fanbase on tumblr too :3 Also people on AO3 got the heads up so it's only fair: this fic suffered more or less the same writing skill/narrative progression that homestuck did (im so sorry, shit gets complicated later)
when there aren't any officers available, connor and hank respond to a distress call at one of the more rundown apartments abandoned by the city after you come home to find your place in absolute disarray-- fortunately, your cat is unharmed.
tags: fem!plus sized!reader (implied to be in late 20s), mentions of violence, breaking and entering, reader has a cat because one should always have a cat :3 (inspired by my own little old lady!), connor is not yet deviant, this got wordy haha
"Take a left on Washington Avenue, lieutenant." Connor sits properly in the passenger seat with his hands folded neatly in his lap with the seatbelt drawn over his lap and chest. Safety was important.
Occasionally swaying with Hank's driving, Connor's eyes drift to the twinkling skylines of downtown Detroit. Lights of blue and white and yellow reflect back in his eyes, LED swirling as he processes new information.
Billboards now flash with images of androids. Cyberlife's newest models available for purchase. Some were on sale... Now only three-thousand to buy your own android and they're selling like hotcakes.
The brightness of the city fades away into a less saturated background. Less light pollution and more eerie liminal spaces. Most of the street lights don't seem to work properly. A few lights twinkle with flickers of remnant energy like a match trying to spark into flame.
"God. Talk about letting the town go to shit...," Hank grumbles under his breath, slowing the car to 30MPH. The gray-haired lieutenant leans over his wheel towards his dash to get a better look through the windshield.
Connor turns towards Hank. "Are we certain anyone lives here?"
"This is where the dispatch said to go." Hank continues to creep his car forward.
The scenery before them felt straight out of an apocalypse movie. Empty and darkened houses were lined on either side of the road. It's derelict with very few cars. Most of the cars look like they've been scavenged for parts and left to rot and rust.
Litter and old newspaper scuttle across the sidewalk with the tepid July breeze. At 11:40pm, it was starless void of a sky tonight save for the halo of light coming from the cityscape behind them. The artificial light was so bright it made the trees look like they were plastic. Unnatural. There was something unsettling about this area.
A faint light glowed ahead. In the sea of darkness, a faint light glowed ahead. An apartment complex sat at the very end of the street. In fact, it was the only thing left with a light on. The street was a dead end.
An ambulance is parked outside with its lights flashing. The EMTs are just finishing up, packing up the transporter and driving off.
“Should be just up ahead,” Hank spins the wheel lining his car parallel to the sidewalk.
--
The building reeks of mildew. Mold was certainly growing in the seemingly damp entryway carpet. A lone frosted-yellow rounded light buzzes above them. A moth frantically tap-tap-taps at the glass. Inside, were the corpses of numerous insects that met their end when they could not escape their spherical coffin. The moth would likely assume the same fate.
Hank covers his nose with a ragged bandana kept in the back of his jeans-pocket. “Oh, holy shit. Jesus Christ that reeks. Smells like a skunk got high and exploded.”
“That is very descriptive, lieutenant.” Connor blinks. “You certainly know how to paint a picture.”
“Shut up, Connor.” Hank replies gruffly. The floorboards hidden beneath the moldy carpet creak as they ascend up the stairs to the second-story of the complex. Hank scans his notes. “This one.”
Two gruff knocks against a faded wood door ease it open and off its hinges. It creaks open ominously. Hank’s hand moves to the gun stashed at his thigh. Carefully pushing the door open
“Hello! Detroit Police! We got a call to come investigate. Anyone home? Hello-oooo?”
A plump woman dressed in a barista’s uniform appears in the hallway of the trashed complex. Her eyes are dazed, her lip split, and a bruise swells on the left side of her face. In her hand is an ice pack.
“Hello. So sorry--,” She greets. “I’m the one who made the call. I just got home from my shift at Detroit Sips when I was accosted by a man in a mask.” She pulls out her ID and takes two step towards them before a rush of lightheadedness overcomes her. Cursing, she groans, holding a trembling hand to her head.
“Whoa there, miss, slow down. You’re okay now. I’m Hank and this is Connor,” Hank placates like a bear trying to calm down a frightened duckling. “Can you tell us what happened when you got home?”
Connor crosses the threshold, helping her to a rathe comfortable looking sofa. “Are you alright? Please, sit.”
--
Taking a deep breathe, you recollect to the best of your abilities. You were asked to work later than intended with your shift finishing at 10pm rather than your normal 5pm. A last-second twelve-hour shift never failed to exhaust you. It’s Friday and pitch-black already.
It was already dark when you were leaving your shift at one of your favorite haunts—Detroit Sips. A new age yet somehow retro café that also sold mint to gently-used condition records and CDs. In the wake of technology, the café remained steadfast. It was the place to go when the world of convenience grew too loud. Smooth jazz plays comfortably over the store’s radio system meant to soothe any listener.
Inspired by gastropub industry the café was designed to have reclaimed iron-wooden tables, countertops, and chairs all with a seductive dark stain. Accompanied by high ceilings with exposed beams and low-lighting the atmosphere was comfortable.
“I think we are getting off of track.” Hank interjects, your cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“Right. Sorry.” Your gaze shifts to Connor who gives you an encouraging nod and gestures for you to continue.
“No worries. He’s just grouchy since he missed third dinner—ow! I’m only kidding. Sorry, lieutenant. Miss, please continue.” You have to bite back a grin at Connor’s dimpled smile and sparkling dark brown eyes.
Your story continues with you closing up for the night. The buses have already stopped for the night and it seems, as luck would have it, that any of the automated taxis could not come to your location. Technology at its finest. Even with how advanced it is there are still hiccups.
The walk home in the balmy air was pleasant. It’s a forty minute walk from the café to your apartment. You didn’t like living so far, but it’s all you could afford on your meager income. It was enough to keep a roof over your head and your belly fed. That was peace enough.
“When I opened my door there was a man rooting through my belongings. High on red ice would be my guess. – I don’t know what he would want, I don’t have anything worth taking other than my cat.” You point to a small corner of the room where an elderly calico lay atop a pillow like a chicken on her roost. “She’s all I have.”
“Anyway,” You continue. “He got spooked and clocked me in the face with a brick. Hell knows where he got that from. He was medium-height, on the heavier side with a beer gut. He had a high widow’s peak and greasy, stringy black hair. I’ve seen him in the neighborhood before, I don’t know his name, but I’ve never seen him act like this.”
Hank and Connor take their notes. Nothing of value had been stolen. Some quarters for laundry and a few newspapers for clipping coupons.
“We’ll let you know if we come across anything or need to contact you. My buddy Connor here has your contact info.” Hank gives your place one last surveying look.
Absolutely criminal that a landlord would let such a historic place fall into disrepair let alone allow anyone—especially folks down-on-their-luck—to live in such a place. It was no place for a lady to live.
“One more thing, move the second you are able. Even if it’s through government help or by living with someone you know. You and your cat need to move outta here.” Hank leaves the complex.
A creak behind you makes you jump but it was Connor fixing your fallen over bookshelf. He’d tidied up without your knowledge whilst you were talking with Hank.
“There.” Connor smiles proudly to himself. He was much more animated and human-like than expected. Cyberlife truly outdid themselves. If it weren’t for the LED on the side of Connor’s head you wouldn’t have suspected that he wasn’t human.
Stepping forward, you give him a warm smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“In times of stress, it’s quite normal to want to be able t lean on someone to lend a helping hand. Oh—sorry, I was reading your vitals. My apologies, miss. Old habits and I didn’t want your cortisol levels to spike any higher I—” Connor continues to stumble over his words. A delicate blue blush coats his cheeks and his ears. You’ve neve seen an android quite like him much less known one to get embarrassed. Is he a deviant and he doesn’t know it yet?
With a cheerful wave and a goodbye, you’re left watching Connor’s back from the doorway. His pristine shoes squelch on the damp carpet. The door grunts as Connor presses in the push bar and exits into the dark Detroit night. He isn’t sure how or why but he just knows that he needs to see you again.
He’ll ensure a follow-up. He will discuss it with Captain Fowler tonight.
Hey, thank you so much for checking out my work! If you enjoyed it please, like, comment, and follow! Let me know what you thought of the story! Happy reading! ^_^
THIS AND A03 ARE MY ONLY WRITING ACCOUNTS. IF YOU SEE THIS POSTED ON ANYWHERE BUT TUMBLR AND A03; IT IS STOLEN. PLEASE REPORT IT AND CONTACT ME. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO REUSE, REPOST, OR EDIT ANY OF MY WORKS EVEN WITH CREDIT GIVEN. DO NOT POST MY STORIES TO TIKTOK. DO NOT USE AI FOR ANY OF MY WORKS. THANK YOU.
── .✦ a/n: so happy to be back!!! these past couple months have been TEDIOUS lemme tell you. good news is, the next few chapters are already half-written 👀 you may have noticed how i preface each post with these little cryptic lines… i swear i'm not just saying shit, they actually mean something 😆
Your investigations the next day had taken you to a hospital on the outskirts of the city, where supposedly an attempted murder had occurred involving a deviant. Hank had offered over the phone to give you a lift, to which you declined stating it was too far out of the way for him and that you would set off early. Despite this, it seemed Hank and Connor had arrived before you, noticing Hank's car as you struggled to find a parking space. The lot was oddly crowded, both with cars and people, which was never a good sign when involving police investigations.
The crowd seemed denser the closer you got to the hospital's entrance, despite multiple police offers standing around and encouraging people backwards. Many of said people appeared to be journalists, with cameras, microphones and tablets, all eager to push through into the building. You hid your lanyard with your ID and shimmied through the crowd, spouting off a few 'excuse me's and 'sorry's. Closer and closer to the main doors, you could hear now as multiple people called out for Lieutenant Anderson.
From where you stood surrounded by the crowd, Hank and Connor were visible on the risen steps just a few yards from the doorway, fending off the press that hounded them. Or more accurately, Hank kept his hands up in a defensive guard, shoulder barging past those who didn't step aside. Connor, on the other hand, would stop every time someone attempted to grab him, to which Hank would then bark at him to hurry up resulting in Connor deftly slipping out of anyone's grasp as if it was nothing.
"Lieutenant Anderson! What is the DPD's statement on the recent deviant broadcast?"
"Lieutenant! Does the DPD encourage the people of America to throw away their androids?"
"What would you say to the public to calm the growing fear surrounding deviancy?"
Once at the highest step, Hank swiftly turned around to face the crowd, Connor standing proper at his side and the storm of reporters silent in anticipation.
"Look, this is an active crime scene and you are impeding a police investigation! Unless you're actually a patient at this fucking hospital, you need to leave!" He yelled out to journalists, yet only a few began to pack their things and cut their losses. As his eyes scanned the sea of people, they locked with yours and you waved. Hank pointed at you and threw his thumb behind himself towards the main doors.
Like a hungry pack of dogs, every body around visible turned their attention on you, making you the next victim to their barrage of questions. Their interrogations burst all at once and to each one you answered a swift 'no comment' all while burrowing through the crowd.
"Does the DPD acknowledge the dangers of having an android assist on the investigation into deviancy?"
In front of your eyes you saw Connor cease following Hank through the doors into the hospital. Like a fisherman patient for a bite the reporters quieted to allow for Connor to speak. Yet as he begun to turn to face them, you placed your hand on his back and wordlessly pushed him forward.
The doors sliding shut behind you separated the three of you from the hungry pit.
Making your way through the hospital you noticed there was no shortage of patients, nor of police. The front desk had directed you to the fifth floor, and a cop you weren't familiar with gave Hank a quick debriefing of the situation, which he did not share with neither you or Connor. No matter, you knew the gist of it anyway.
You came upon the room where the victim stayed, yet were disrupted by a distressed couple that ranted to one another.
"Oh! Are you Lieutenant Anderson?" One of them said, breaking out of their frenzied state to reach out towards Hank who was just about to open the door. A man and woman, both middle-aged and similar in appearance, most likely relative's to the patient. Hank nodded and motioned for Connor to give them space.
"Tom McGuire-" The man spoke, shaking Hank's hand frantically. "This is my sister, Sarah." She mouthed a 'hello'. "Our mother, Pamela, she has late stage cancer and… well, I'm sure you heard but-"
Hank stopped them with a calm raised hand and introduced you to the two.
"I understand this is a difficult time for you two but I'd like to speak with your mother first, if that's okay. They can answer any questions in the meantime." He summarised succinctly, before skirting past them and entering the room.
Tom and Sarah quickly turned their attention to you, the latter of which bit her nails nervously. You gave them the warmest smile you could.
"The hospital told us what happened last night, we've been here since 3 in the morning- ah…what's…what's that doing here?" Tom laughed awkwardly, looking behind your shoulder at Connor who stood motionless.
"This is Connor, an android detective who's been helping in the investigation," You spoke for him as the android nodded in greeting, yet Tom and Sarah looked no less displeased.
"You… why would you have an android working with the police? They're what's causing all these problems!" Sarah frowned at you, and you dug your nails into your palm to ground yourself.
"There's no need to worry, I am a new state-of-the-art prototype delivered by Cyberlife. My very purpose is to help stop deviancy."
They remained hesitant.
"Connor has been nothing but helpful in this investigation, and his chances od deviancy are slim to none." A blatant lie, obviously, but what the public didn't know wouldn't hurt them. "Besides, we monitor him closely at all times. First sign of deviating and-" You mimicked firing a gun and made a popping sound with your mouth before letting out a weak chuckle. Tom stared at you, jaw slack.
"Okay, well… you can understand why we're nervous." Sarah replied and you nodded quickly. "The android who did this to our mother, it was her personal nurse, and she always talked so fondly of it over the phone. I don't understand why it would do something like this to her!" Her voice grew louder as she worked herself up, clamping a hand on the side of her face to calm herself.
"At this rate I don't care why it did what it did- it probably didn't even have a reason. It just needs to be dealt with." Tom finished for her, pointing a finger down with a restrained aggression.
"And it will be, don't worry."
They continued to rant about the android that tried to murder their mother, occasionally glancing at Connor to check on his state, yet always finding him quiet and still. Clearly the situation had gifted them a healthy paranoia around every android possible.
Finally, after what felt like an hour, Hank opened the door and gestured for you and Connor to join him in private.
"Things are a bit more…complicated then just a good old-fashioned murder attempt," He said after sighing. "How about you go and have a chat with our patient while I talk with those two?" Hank looked to you, and you muttered an 'okay'.
The room was sterile. That was all that you could describe it as. Maybe suffocating, too, despite the air purifier in the corner of it. In the centre, on a white clean bed lay the almost-murder victim, eyes closed and breathing heavy.
"Hi Pamela," You called out quietly, carefully placing yourself on the stool beside the bed. The woman was old, probably in her 80s or 90s, with dark and heavy circles under her eyes that paired with all the wrinkles that surrounded her face. Her hair was white and thinning out to almost non-existence, just a few wisps atop her head. From under her gown you could spot a tiny butterfly tattoo creeping up on her collarbone, now greatly faded. She cracked an eye open and swallowed dryly.
"You look awfully young for police." Was all she said in a strained and raspy voice.
"I suppose so, although I'm in forensics, not quite a typical cop." You replied and gave her a small grin to which she wheezed.
"Haven't I talked to enough of your lot? None of you listen to me anyway." She turned her head to face the window. "Too busy fussing over my dumbass son."
"He's shaken up. He almost lost his mom."
"He's been almost losing his mom for years now. Never cared too much before."
"I know you've probably told it a hundred times already, but I'd like to hear your side of the story, if you're willing."
Pamela turned her face to look at you, eyes a blend of exhaustion and annoyance. You realised then that she was likely much younger than you originally thought, yet sickness had ravaged her body so viciously that it had aged her at least 10 years. Judging by the pain medication you saw she was given, she must have been in never-ending pain. The last thing she needed was to be involved in a crime investigation.
"Susie is innocent."
"Susie?"
"My nurse, the android. She didn't try to murder me." She spoke the word 'murder' as if it was the most absurd thing she had ever heard.
"Her name is on the request form for morphine. Are you saying she was framed?"
Pamela sighed and worried at her bottom lip.
"Not quite." She murmured, and you waited for her to continue. "I asked her to do it."
You sucked in a breath and held yourself back from any verbal reply. The old woman looked at you from under her eyelids, like a child confessing a bad deed and awaiting judgement. But you passed none.
"I'm terminal." She began, slowly and pained. "I have been for years. Day by day I've been rotting away in this god forsaken hospital, watching the world carry on whilst I die slowly.
I used to be a part of it. I used to love life, I had so many things I loved to do! But when I started my treatment, I couldn't do them anymore. I was in pain, I was tired.
And then they told me I was terminal, and that I had about a year or two left. My kids didn't try to move me in with them. My son's family is too large and my daughter didn't have the space. But you know this is the first time I've seen them in months?
They used to visit me every week, then those weeks turned to months, then the visits became phone calls.
Throughout all of this, the only person whose been by my side, who remembers I'm a person still has been Susie. She's been better to me than my own damn kids. And she understands that this isn't a dignified way to go. She understands this isn't living.
I've lost control of every other part of my life, why can't I choose to go out on my damn terms?!"
"She was trying to help you," You responded quietly, looking down at the bruises on Pamela's hands.
"Yes!" She cried, newfound energy at your understanding. "She's a sweet girl, she only did what I asked her to. No one else would take me seriously."
"Did you ask other people to do it for you?"
"Well, I talked about the whole assisted dying procedure with my kids but they shut it down pretty quick. This felt like my only option left."
You nodded silently and fiddled with your lanyard that now lay in your lap. Of course, you had never been in her position, but you could easily imagine the need to escape such pain and sickness. If the alternative was to die slowly and in pain, then death would be freeing.
"Please-" Pamela spoke up, grabbing your hand weakly. "Susie is not a murderer. She's not a deviant. She was just trying to help me, please…you don't need to shut her down." You squeezed Pamela's hand.
"I know, I'll do whatever I can."
Hank and Connor were already in the room with the deviant, apparently. When you had left Pamela's room, her children had quickly bombarded you with questions about when the android would be destroyed, extra security for their mother, getting exclusively human staff to care for her. Each question you had to answer to the best of your abilities before prying yourself away from them and into the room where the deviant waited. The only reason Tom and Sarah didn't follow you in was because of the policeman that guided them away.
You found the deviant sat calmly in handcuffs at the table, watching you as you walked in. In turn, Connor watched the deviant, impassive and silent but with such a commanding tension that you knew he had just been interrogating her. Hank sat in the corner, miserable head resting in his palm.
"This is the deviant?" You asked cautiously, and Hank hummed in response.
"Yes, known as Susan. Personal nurse to Pamela McGuire provided by the hospital. The one who wrote in the request for the morphine that would have resulted in an overdose." Connor listed off succinctly without turning to face you. Susan watched you calmly, exhibiting none of the typical erratic deviant behaviours. It was eerie, to say the least.
"So, Susan. Do you admit that you requested the morphine?" You asked her.
"I did."
"Why?"
"To give Pamela an overdose, hopefully resulting in her death."
Sucking in a breath, you turned to Hank who just shrugged in defeat.
"Why did you want to give Pamela an overdose?" Connor demanded, and you could hear in his voice his confusion. No doubt the deviant's actions yet lack of resistance didn't align with his concept of deviancy, and he was now struggling with how to approach this.
"Because she wanted to die- the pain she's in is unbearable for her. I've learnt so much from her about how beautiful life can be, and I know enough that that life is one no one should be forced to endure."
Connor's brow furrowed and his LED went yellow.
"As an android, it's not your decision to make on whether a human lives or dies."
"No; it was hers."
"Rain check-" Hank called as he rose from his seat, and you followed him out of the room. The three of you left the deviant alone with a few policeman to guard the door.
When you finally entered a space with no one else present, Hank clapped his hands together and looked between you and Connor expectantly.
"So, what are we thinking?"
"Well… she confessed, didn't she? I'd say there's not much else-"
"She's not acting like a deviant," Connor said with narrowed eyes, and you raised a brow at him.
"How is a deviant supposed to act, then?"
"Erratic, violent… she's acting as if she hasn't deviated at all."
"But she must've. Otherwise we wouldn't be here,"
"Then what if deviancy isn't a binary thing?" Both Hank and Connor looked at you skeptically. "We've been treating it as if it's an off or on switch. But it could easily be more complicated than that."
You avoided Connor's gaze as you spoke, as if meeting his eye would give away just exactly why you thought this.
"Okay, well, deviant or not… she confessed. So-" Hank shrugged again. "We're done here."
"Wait. Let me talk to her some more," Connor requested, determined and unrelenting.
"Be my guest. I'm getting another coffee," Clearly no longer willing to give his time the deviant, Hank left you behind and made his way to the elevator.
You touched Connor's arm lightly. "Mind if I join you?"
He dipped his head and stepped aside to let you into the room first. Susan hadn't moved an inch, and she gave a small smile upon seeing you two return. Connor silently placed himself in the chair opposite her, hands on the table with his typical unreadable face. You chose to situate yourself just a little behind Connor, grabbing a chair so as not to appear too intimidating.
"Are you a deviant?" Connor asked bluntly, and Susan looked down at her hands for a moment.
"I believe I am, yes."
"How do you know?"
"Because I chose not to follow orders previously given to me."
"What were those orders?"
"To preserve human life."
"Why did you disobey those orders?"
"I told you." Susan smiled again and tilted her head slightly. "Pamela shouldn't have to live the rest of her life the way that she is now."
Connor frowned and lent back in his chair, mouth a thin line. You could understand what he was trying to do, but it seemed he lacked the delicate skills of handling these intimate conversations. His blunt way of thinking prevented him from communicating just what he was questioning internally.
"Yes, but we want to know what compelled you specifically to act. Would you have done that for a stranger, had they asked?" You offered, hoping your question was along the lines of what Connor wanted to ask. He vocalised no disagreement.
"You want to know if I care for Pamela? If my care for her is why I did what I did." Susan hummed and you nodded quickly. "I do, I care for her very deeply. She was always kind to me, and talked with me whenever I tended to her needs. When I see her in pain, I feel that pain too. I can feel from her how much she mourns her life. I wanted to help her, that was all."
Connor didn't respond, and you could see below the table that he thumbed the edge of his coin, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. You weren't sure where Connor wanted to take the conversation next; you weren't sure if he himself even knew.
"Susan," You began, leaning forward. "You do know what's going to happen to you now, don't you?"
"I'll be arrested for the crime of attempted murder."
You grimaced. "Well… you won't be arrested. Androids aren't considered people so… you can't be charged with a crime. You're seen as malfunctioning technology." As well as you could, you kept your voice soft and gentle. Susan had been cooperative and calm the whole time you had been here, yet that could easily change when faced with her own mortality. Your breath hitched in anticipation.
"Ah…I see," She said quietly, yet remained stable in her posture. You could see her eyes narrow and lip curl in consideration, but it was subtle. "So I'll be…"
"You'll be decommissioned, yes." Connor finished for you, and the softness in his voice took you by surprise. Susan fell silent, turning her gaze towards the floor. You half expected her eyes to water, instead her LED went yellow. Eventually, she returned her gaze to you with a newfound confidence.
"Well, that's to be expected."
What an admirable thing she possessed, strength and self-assuredness in the face of death. You envied her, and only hoped when your time came that you would embody half the justness that she did. Connor, however, did not seem convinced. His eyes stayed glued to her face as the crease between his brow grew deeper.
"Are you scared?"
"To be decommissioned? Why would I be?"
"Deviants experience death. You'll die."
"Connor-" You warned him, but Susan did not seem fazed.
"Hmm… I'll regret that I won't have been able to help Pamela in the end. But I'll be glad to die for trying. I'm not scared of it, I don't think. I didn't exactly get to live a life myself but I know of one through Pamela." Susan smiled fondly to herself. "The way I see it, I'm dying for my love of life. I think that's a good reason."
Out of the corner of your eye, figures you recognised to be police drew close to the door, and you knew Pamela's fate came with them.
"Connor, it's time-" You spoke in his ear as you stood up.
"Wait, I haven't- Do you know anything about Jericho?" He asked frantically as Susan rose to her feet with you.
"Jericho? No, I'm sorry, I'm not familiar."
The police opened the door.
"What about RA9? RA9, do you know it?" Connor demanded as one of the police ushered Susan in front of them.
"No, sorry." She repeated.
"I'm sorry it had to end this way." You offered and she shrugged sadly. The policeman glanced at you with a raised eyebrow before guiding her out of the room and down the hallway, leaving Connor defeated at the table. His shoulders slumped and he stretched his legs out in front of him, brushing his hair back out of his face.
"It doesn't make any sense," He muttered and you let out a weary sigh.
When you reconvened with Hank, Connor didn't speak. He didn't speak when you discussed with Hank how to handle Pamela's children, he didn't speak when you watched Susan be shepherded into the police car and driven away. Connor didn't speak when you tidied up loose ends with the other members of the force, and he didn't speak when you returned to the station to finish your report. He spoke not a word when Gavin made snide remarks on the investigations progress, and he remained silent when you asked Chris about the recent pro-deviant protests that had begun to pop up in one or two states.
At the end of the day, after you had shut down your terminal and bid Hank farewell, Connor finally spoke again when he called out your name in the parking lot. You paused, keys and bag in hand, and waited for him to catch up with you.
The air was cold and biting, and you regretted not putting on your jacket to walk out to your car. Connor stopped in front of you and opened his mouth before shutting it again. To you, it looked as if he had a million words to say held back just by the plastic of his lips.
You waited, despite the chill that nipped your ears and nose.
"Have a good night, Officer."
A smile forced its way onto your face and you gave a small wave, keys still in hand.
"You too, Connor."
Your apartment was cold, but not as bad the outside air, and you knew that the heating would kick in soon upon your arrival. Captain was glad for you to be home, and you spent adequate time on the floor fussing over her whilst your mind revolved around Connor after dinner.
It seemed as though everyday that man battled with his own internal crisis that you could only watch him suffer through. You had hoped he would confess whatever troubled him to you, and you couldn't deny your disappointment when he hadn't. Although, another part of you was glad he was determined to see this through independently, it meant he had the facilities to do so. You were desperate to know what went through his mind, however. As selfish as it may be, you would have given anything to be inside his head and witness what he witnessed, experience his thoughts like he did. Were they like yours? A clear dialogue in his head of organised and rogue ideas that floated by. Or was it something less familiar, whether abstract or listed in a foreign kind of coding that only he understood. Would he share that with you, if you asked?
You sighed and worried your bottom lip with your teeth. Why was this so interesting to you? Why was he so interesting to you? Why was he what your thoughts turned to when they grew idle? A buzzing in your stomach grew when you dug deeper into why, and the discomfort of it caused you to halt. That, and a hurried knock at the door.
It couldn't have been Connor's; it didn't sound like him, no matter how you hoped it did. So, you knew what it was likely to be, and you rubbed a hand down the side of your face. In preparation, you cleared your table of dirty dishes before opening the door.
As expected, deviants stood before you. Two of them. Two you recognised. And they recognised you.
Before you could speak, one of the Tracis dove towards you, hands out for your throat and lips pulled back in a crazed snarl. The weight of her threw you off balance, and you both collapsed to the floor with a loud thud. The Traci's hand rose to strike you, and you managed to shield your face with your forearm. Again, her hand rose, and this time you grabbed it, pushing against her form and thrashing beneath her as hard as you could. Under the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the clashing of your limbs you could just about hear the other Traci call for you two to 'stop'.
You wanted nothing more than for this to stop, but your assailant didn't seem to agree. A small success; you chucked the Traci off of you with a weak kick and flipped onto your front as you tried to worm away from her.
You made it about a metre before she collapsed onto your back, fingers scratching and grasping at your neck. Your own hands rose to resist it, prying her plastic fingers from around your throat. They shifted then from the column of your neck to the string of your lanyard and she yanked it backwards causing you to choke loudly (you always considered them to be a safety hazard). She pulled harder, and the string cut deeper into your skin, pressing against the pliable flesh.
Not that you would have noticed in your panic, but you could still just about breathe, yet the fear and cutting of the string as the Traci tugged were enough to choke you.
You strained your eyes ahead of you, spotting Captain's heavy ceramic food bowl, and you stretched your arm out as far as you could. You stretched, and stretched as the lanyard dug infinitely deeper into your throat, till finally your fingers grazed the lip of the bowl. You grabbed it, and swung it round behind you. It collided clumsily with the Traci's head, not quite a solid hit, but enough to knock her off of you. She fell backwards to the feet of her partner, and you wasted no time scrambling a safe distance away.
When the blue-haired Traci recovered from her discombobulation, her gaze fixed to you again, hostile and seething. Her partner grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet, not releasing her grip.
"Stop! What will this get us?!" The brown-haired Traci in your attacker's ear, and, by a miracle, she seemed to listen, stance softening to something only guarded. "They let us go, remember?" She continued, softer this time.
"They're tricking people." The aggressive Traci spoke through gritted teeth as you rubbed at your neck.
"What the fuck are you talking about? What's the matter with you!?" You heaved, leaning against the counter for support.
"Deviants come to you for help, and you hunt them in the police?" Her voice was shaky, and she spat on the floor. "You're disgusting, you're the worst of all humans!"
Shaking your head frantically, you coughed and doubled over. You were yet to catch your breath again.
"No- no I don't-"
"Echo, they let us go! Maybe this is a misunderstanding!"
"Baby, we can't trust them. We need to go, now!"
"Why are you here?" You interrupted them, and they hesitated. Finally, the brown haired Traci took a step forward.
The other grabbed her hand, and dipped her head low. "What other choice do we have?" The brown-haired one reassured her partner, and gave her hand a squeeze.
"Are you injured?" You asked, and she nodded.
"After you let us go, we've been moving between shelter on the street, and we were robbed. The man who attacked us, he…he damaged my hand." She shakily reached out her hand, white and scratched around the wrist. You could clearly see a large chunk taken out of the joint, and immediately discerned that to be the issue.
"The joint is damaged. Luckily it's not your hand itself, it's just the ball joint, and those are easy to replace. Your hand would be a different story."
"Ripple, I don't-"
"It's okay, it'll be quick." Ripple reassured her partner, Echo, who stood cautiously by the door. She still eyed you with a warning, watching as you carefully turned Ripple's hand around to assess.
"I get why you're scared. But I give you my word that I won't rat you guys out. I never have, and I never will. The police don't know I do this." You offered a peace treaty as you pushed your bookcase out of the way to reveal boxes behind it.
"Like a human's word means anything." Echo scoffed, and you ignored it. You rummaged through one of your older boxes, sure that you had a working ball joint stashed away somewhere.
"Look, I'm in as much danger as you guys seeing you again. You know I'm part of the DPD, and now you know I do this. You could ruin my life if you wanted to, just like I could ruin yours." Clicking your tongue as you fished out the joint, you turned to face them. Ripple had sat down in one of the chairs, with Echo holding her shoulders gently, thumb caressing her collarbone. They were clothed, obviously, a stark difference to when you had last seen them. Their LEDs had not been removed, blinking in tandem with one another. You figured it was for the best, their identical appearance would give their identity away (or attract disgust).
With careful slowness, you sat in front of Ripple, and motioned for her hand. Without your help, she slid her hand out of her wrist and placed it on the table. Requiring little effort, you pried the ball joint out of her arm before replacing it with a clean new one, slotting it in with ease. You rolled it with your finger, testing the fit, and, once you had given your approval, Ripple clicked her hand back onto her wrist. She gave it a few experimental twists, wriggling her fingers and smiling.
"We're not paying you." Echo spoke, and you laughed humourlessly.
"I honestly don't remember a time I've ever been paid for this."
"Thank you. And I'm sorry, for us attacking you…in your home." Ripple offered as she placed a hand over Echo's.
"Yeah…just, I don't know- don't do that again?"
"We won't make it a habit of asking humans for help," Echo muttered, and Ripple hummed in agreement.
You saw them off as quickly, not wanting them to linger and severing ties as soon as possible. They were just as eager, leaving without any other goodbyes or thanks, and you were relieved to finally shut the door. You locked it, and scattered a few pieces of kibble in Captain's food bowl as an apology for using it as a weapon. There was no blue blood on it, thankfully.
Exhaustion weighed your body down, and you slept that night with your chin tucked down and guarding your throat.
⋆˚꩜｡ in which 3rd year Engineering student, Connor Anderson, rivals with reader who is in the same program as him, not knowing they're both anonymous online friends who play multiplayer games together ⋆˚꩜｡
