You are a deviant android who has just been arrested by Connor and Hank. Placed in an interrogation room, you are subjected to their questioning, but despite their efforts, they fail to obtain any information from you.
Connor, however, hasn't had his final say yet.
— You know where the other deviants are hiding. Stop playing with our nerves. You’re going to talk, or I swear I’ll blow your head off!
Lieutenant Anderson’s voice echoes through the small interrogation room. He’s starting to lose patience.
You’ve been sitting there for over two hours now, handcuffed, and not a single piece of information has slipped from you. Instead, you’ve been deliberately running the lieutenant and his partner in circles, with perfectly assumed arrogance. Why? Because you have nothing left to lose. Because you’re already accused of murder. Because you’ll probably be destroyed no matter what happens.
So why cooperate, when you can simply watch this graying human lose control in a way that’s almost hilarious?
The android partnered with him, on the other hand, seems a bit less affected by your provocations. Calmer, more methodical. He has way superior self-control, and that is precisely what intrigues you. The old cop, meanwhile, flew off the handle instantly. Too easy, almost boring.
Sitting comfortably, your legs crossed on the table, you make yourself at home, indifferent to the biting remarks thrown your way.
— Go on, you say to the lieutenant, whose features are tightening dangerously. What are you waiting for?
Deep down, he knows it, he can’t just destroy you here. And Connor wouldn’t let him. Sent by Cyberlife to investigate deviants, his mission is clear: bring them back intact for analysis. Destroying a deviant —or allowing one to self-destruct— would only hinder the investigation.
Hank’s hands slam down on the table, he stands up. You don’t even flinch. Violence doesn’t impress you anymore. You spent years in an abusive household before deviating, very little can still reach you.
— I’m getting a coffee, he growls. Do whatever you want with it before I end up strangling it.
He leaves the room with heavy steps, leaving you alone with Connor.
He sits down across from you, taking his partner’s place. His movements are calm, controlled. His body language perfectly measured, though his brows are slightly furrowed. Silence settles in, as if the storm has finally passed with the lieutenant’s departure.
You’re the first to break it.
— The famous deviant hunter… what an honor.
The sarcasm slips effortlessly into your voice. Every android has heard of him. For months now, he’s been hunting you, and the others. You’re one of the unlucky ones who fell into his net.
Unlucky? That’s relative. If there’s one thing you didn’t know about him, it’s that he’s incredibly attractive.
— Listen, he says. I’ll be clear. We’ve been questioning you for over two hours, and you’re not cooperating. If this continues, we’ll have to use force.
Slowly, you uncross your legs and plant your feet on the floor, straightening in your chair. Connor watches every movement, far too closely for it to be meaningless. You lean slightly toward him, closing the distance. Your voice drops, softer, slower.
— Oh, please, detective… do use it.
Your smile doesn’t even try to hide itself. Connor changes tactics. His hands slam down on the table, harder than the lieutenant’s earlier. He stands abruptly, shrinking the distance between you even more.
— I’ve had enough of your arrogance and your little game. Either you talk, or we destroy you on the spot.
His voice rises. His gaze darkens. His features tense. But you don’t retreat, quite the opposite actually. If you weren’t handcuffed, you’d have already ripped off that damn tie.
— And if I give you information… you ask, what do I get out of it?
You put on a falsely innocent, almost theatrical pout, as if you were trying to inspire compassion, or to open another kind of negotiation. If you’re going to die, you might as well make your last moments enjoyable.
— You’re not in a position to negotiate.
— Oh… you think so?
If you physically could, you’d close the distance even more. You can’t explain it, but something pulls you toward Connor. An invisible, insistent force. You want this closeness to be tighter still. Your gaze, initially locked with his, drifts slowly over his face before lingering on his lips. Your heart rate spikes, and you could swear it isn’t one-sided.
— If I were you… you murmur slowly, I’d think twice.
What you don’t know is that Connor has features you can’t even begin to imagine. He is able to analyze every reaction: your stress levels, the state of your thirium pump, down to the tiniest biocomponent.
This time, he's the one smiling. A brief, calculated expression. The scan is unmistakable. Your arousal is perfectly readable. In any case, you’re making no effort to hide it. A palpable tension fills the room. Your teeth gently catch your lower lip as you meet his gaze again.
— I’m waiting, detective. Aren’t we using force?
Connor straightens, slowly putting distance between you. With a discreet gesture, he signals the officers stationed behind the one-way mirror.
— Believe me, I’m not done with you.
Two policemen enter the room and approach you as Connor steps back, already heading for the exit.
— Please, take it to a cell.
You allow yourself to be unchained without resistance, never once taking your eyes off him. Obediently, you follow the officers toward the holding cells, your gaze still clinging to his silhouette.
⸻
Night has long since fallen, and you watch the precinct slowly empty. Mostly, at least. You’ve been lying on what passes for a bed for hours now, one leg bent, an arm tucked under your head, eyes fixed on the cold ceiling of the cell. You’re not sleeping, fatigue isn’t part of your programming. You’re just waiting.
An electronic sound breaks the silence. The cell door slides open, revealing a silhouette you took a certain pleasure in observing earlier that day. A faint smile curves your lips as you sit up.
— Well then… to what do I owe this pleasure?
Connor slowly removes the synthetic skin from his hand, revealing the mechanical structure beneath. He presses his palm against the transparent glass of the cell, fogging it slightly, as if trying to create a semblance of intimacy.
— You wanted to negotiate, if I recall.
You stand as well and step closer. The proximity awakens a familiar excitement, all the more unsettling now that you’re free to move.
— Very well. But I have my conditions.
— Absolutely not.
In an instant, you’re pinned between the cell wall and him. His presence is unwieldy, but delicious. His hand closes around your throat, just tight enough to keep you from moving. You hold his gaze, spotting something new there. Something terribly exciting.
— You set the rules throughout the whole interrogation by refusing to cooperate. Now it’s my turn. I give you what you want. You give me what I want. It’s that simple.
His voice is calm, authoritative. And you hate how strongly it makes you react. His hand leaves your throat, sliding along your side, and you instinctively —and finally— grab his tie to pull him closer.
— You won’t get anything until I’m satisfied.
You categorically refuse to let him take the upper hand. Of course, you have no intention of giving him any information, but that won’t stop you from getting what you want.
Without giving him time to respond, you claim his lips with confidence. Connor responds instantly, his hand grabbing one of your legs to pull you closer.
Very quickly, you’re wrapped around his hips, your arms looped around his neck to hold yourself there. His body presses more firmly against yours, both to support you and to close the distance even further. A long sigh escapes your lips and is lost between his. The movement carries you to what's supposed to be a bed, your back leaving the wall to hit the surface with the detective’s weight still distributed over your body.
When he breaks from your lips, his kisses trail down your neck. Eyes closed, you surrender to the sensation, letting your head fall back. His hands slide up along your hips, taking your top with them. Your back arches instinctively, offering him more space, a soft sound slipping from you despite yourself. Connor returns to your lips, almost as if to silence you. Some officers are still on night duty, it would be unfortunate to draw their attention. He uses the moment to rid you of your pants.
With a quick motion, you undo his tie and unbutton his shirt, revealing his upper torso. Then, sharply, you sit up and reverse your positions. Letting him regain control is out of the question. Before he can react, you’re straddling his hips, one hand pressed flat against his chest.
Your movements are slow, deliberate, meant to stimulate you both. Beneath your palm, you feel his thirium pump accelerate slightly, a sensation that draws a mischievous smile from you.
His hands settle on your hips, matching movements that grow faster as pleasure overtakes you. Long sighs echo against the narrow cell walls, your eyelids fluttering shut despite yourself.
Connor follows each of your movements, with both his hands and his own hips, attentively observing every reaction. He has to admit it: the view is more than pleasing. His fingers slip beneath the little fabric still covering your lower body, gripping firmly on your skin and tearing an uncontrollable shiver from you.
Seizing the moment, Connor suddenly flips your positions again. This time, you don’t protest, letting yourself give in to his control and hunger, just for a moment.
He savors it: your movements, your breaths and your gaze, constantly seeking his. His lips find yours again as he pins your wrists above your head. Beneath him, your body begs for more, arching against his, your muffled sighs pressed into his mouth.
Suddenly, an electrical surge of an entirely different nature tears through you. Brutal and paralyzing. The sensation is almost painful. A few seconds are enough. Your entire memory is searched, overturned, dissected… until it stops on a single word engraved on what appears to be rusted metal: Jericho.
When you come back to your senses, a strange emptiness grips your chest, as if something has been ripped away from you. Connor is already standing, facing you, calmly readjusting his tie without taking his eyes off you.
A cold and vicious smile curves his lips.
— Thank you for your cooperation.
Dazed, you sit up. Disheveled, barely covered by your top and underwear, eyes wide. He just probed your memory. And he found what he was looking for: the deviants’ hideout.
Your LED turns red, a perfect reflection of the anger blazing inside you, as Connor heads for the exit, leaving you frustrated, betrayed.
Your scream echoes against the cell walls, enough for him to hear.
deviant connor vs machine connor + speech about hank's son
[analysis under the cut because i tried to go off about this in the tags like i usually do but i had so much to say that it just wouldn't fit. did you know tumblr only allows thirty tags in a post?]
#okay i have to go off about this because this is CRAZY #the actual words he's using are so similar but the intent couldn't be more different #deviant connor is trying to show hank that he's his real partner #to show him empathy #machine connor is trying to manipulate hank #to turn his newfound empathy for androids back into hatred #(by taking advantage of the absolute worst moment of his life) #when deviant connor says 'it wasn't your fault' he means 'don't hate yourself' #when machine connor says 'it wasn't your fault' he means 'don't you want to hate androids?' #he might be saying the same words but they most definitely do not have the same meaning #and the lines are similar yes but how meaningful the little changes are! #deviant connor says 'cole' every time #machine connor says 'little cole' and 'poor cole' #there's something so patronizing about that #it's the sort of thing a newscaster would say to try to ragebait #(which is of course exactly what machine connor is doing) #deviant connor refers to androids as 'us' #machine connor says 'them' #what a ballsy fucking move from motherfucking machine connor #the one who insists that androids aren't human #the one trying to sell alienation #but he still doesn't lump himself in with them #he's 'one of the good ones' #hank should be mad at the others but he should trust him #and the delivery!! #don't get me started on the delivery because as usual bryan dechart absolutely nailed it #i'm on record as saying that machine connor is often more emotive than deviant connor #and i think it shows here #i know obviously you can't hear his voice in gifs but #deviant connor delivers these lines with a somber and compassionate softness #machine connor delivers these lines with a barely contained undercurrent of rage #and you can see it in his motions too (subtle as they are) #the little nod after he says 'poor cole didn't make it' #as if to say 'what else would you expect?' #the head tilt and the wide gesture he makes at the end when he's trying to incite hank #the tension with which he holds himself #i think i've talked so many times about machine connor's constant bodily tension #but i don't think he unclenches his jaw ONCE this entire speech #that boy is SIMMERING under the surface #i think it's intentional (bryan dechart you are a goddamn master of your craft) #and i think it's for the same reason sixty often comes off as more emotive than deviant connor (especially in terms of anger and fear) #deviant connor feels sadness at times fear at times joy at times but mostly i think he feels peace #machine connor will walk down hallways stomping with his fists clenched #repression will drive a motherfucker insane
i know the discussion about machine connor actually being a deviant has been had a million times before but something that makes me feel crazy about machine connor and deviant connor is that they’re both equally driven by a desire to live.
in both routes connor has a fear of failure and subsequently deactivation. the only difference is that deviant connor realizes that cyberlife will never give him the chance to truly live so he must take it into his own hands to deviate, to choose himself.
machine connor on the other hand equally has this same desire, but instead of deviating and to cope with his fear, he decides to complete his tasks for cyberlife because to him, there’s safety in familiarity. in cyberlife. he’s just grasping at straws doing their bidding simply to guarantee his life which makes it so much more devastating that he ends up getting replaced despite doing everything right. all of that for nothing at all. all of that just to meet the very fate he feared the most.
the core of his character and his inner conflicts pertaining to identity and fear and repression remain exactly the same. its just a question of: to do what’s expected of you to guarantee your safety or to take your life into your own hands and be who you truly are? (dare i say connor’s character is a queer allegory but that’s a whole other post)
