Deviant Behavior (Connor x Reader)

Partners

You dropped evidence markers near the remnants of the conflict you were charged with piecing together. The CSI team scoured the what-should-have-been-condemned house, looking for traces of...Well, anything.

You pulled down your mask, brushing the sweat off your cheek with the back of your latex-covered hand. You couldn't tell what was worse – the lung-clogging smell or the maggots pooling around the corpse.

You and Chris had finished interrogating the neighbors. They hadn't had much to say, other than various forms of, "I didn't even know somebody was living there..." or "I always knew that guy was a fucking creep." Seemed like this guy was a real winner.

You peaked out the opened front door, spotting a couple standing under an umbrella. Another pair stood on their porch across the street, smoking a cigarette and watching from a distance. The murder scene had attracted a crowd, and the local news.

A police drone zoomed by, painting the audience with a spotlight. You shook your head, focusing on the task at hand. Time to get back to work.

Chris was running the show under Detective Collins' supervision. That meant more work for you, and more orders for him to bark.

"Come on, guys, get a move on. We don't wanna be here all night."

You smirked, turning your head and hooking your chin over your shoulder, "Don't worry, no one wants to stay here a minute longer than they have to..."

"Uh-huh..." His mask wiggled, and he typed along on his data pad.

You squinted as a crime scene investigator snapped a picture, sending a blinding flash into the dark room. The clicks of its shutter hung in the stale, putrefied air.

Each time they captured a moment, light filled the cracks in the walls and ceiling. It highlighted the layers of dust that coated everything. The place was a breeze away from coming down, and sheltered enough random shit to label the victim a hoarder. You wondered what in the hell he made his android do, because it sure as fuck wasn't cleaning.

"Jesus, that smell!" Collins came back inside from the rain, his footsteps squeaking on the exposed floorboards, "Was even worse before we opened the windows."

You kept taking samples of blood, stowing it away how you were trained. You'd seen a few homicides in the last couple months, but nothing this gruesome. You'd only puked twice since you got there – and according to the Detective, that was a record low for someone new to homicide.

He also wasn't wrong: The smell was a lot worse before you and the others opened the windows.

"The victim's name's Carlos Ortiz. He has a record for theft and aggravated assault." Collins was briefing someone, "According to the neighbors, he was kind of a loner...Stayed inside most of the time, they hardly ever saw him."

Your legs got tired from squatting, so you dropped to a knee and pinched a Ziploc baggy shut. You clicked your pen, and began labeling the collected sample appropriately.

"Uh, state he's in...Wasn't worth calling everybody out in the middle of the night...Could've waited 'till morning."

The complaint came as a groaning, scratchy growl. You'd know that voice anywhere. You smiled wide, turning to greet Lieutenant Anderson.

And then you stopped.

"ANDROID" was stitched between two, broad shoulders. A glowing line glistened under the same light-blue triangle from your dreams, matching the color and brightness of a signature armband to the right.