Deviant Behavior (Connor x Reader)

Beyond Good and Evil

"Uhm...Thanks.  How'd you...Oh.  Right.  CyberLife."  You looked away shyly, "Who 'gifted,' Markus to Carl?"

"Elijah Kamski, the scientist who invented androids and founded CyberLife."

You flinched.

"Is something wrong?"

"No." You shut down the topic, "Anything else?"

He shook his head in a quick, precise motion as he snapped back to the book.

"As a prototype, I possess unique capabilities." He thumbed through the pages, "Perhaps this prototype does, as well..."

He glided his finger down the paper, pausing and tapping a certain paragraph in particular.

"'He shall be the greatest who can be the most solitary, the most concealed, the most divergent, the master of his virtues, and of super-abundance of will: precisely this shall be called greatness. And to ask once more the question: Is greatness even possible — nowadays?'"

You smirked, "Are you comparing that to Markus, or yourself?"

He returned a blank stare, "Markus, of course."

The unintentional – or entirely intentional – flirting went far over his head, and yet, you couldn't help but feel as if you were witnessing a revelation.  An android, one not programmed to create music; literature, or art, was drawing abstract parallels, maybe for the first time.

"What do you think?" He asked.

"I...I think we're on to something.  And I think you're doing great."

His eyes lifted from a wide smile.  It stayed there, innocent and pure, as he set the book down and peered into another note.

"'Alice and Kara?'" The Detective in him forced its way to the surface, definitely at your expense, "How did you come to learn of their living conditions?"

You gulped, "Uh...Todd's statement?"

"I've read his statement several times during my investigation.  The deviant's given name, nor appearance, nor possible motive was provided." He frowned, "Do you not feel like you can be honest with me?"

The space between your brows pulled together, lowering your face.  You took a seat in one of the tall chairs around your writing desk, staring out the window.

Where were they now, you wondered?  Hunkered down; wet and scared like loose animals, fearful of the "deviant hunter" android of the DCPD?

"I ran across the bridge after they climbed up the highway's barrier wall.  I met them in an alleyway..."

"Did they resist arrest?"

"No...We just...talked."

His lips pursed, "You let them get away?"

"Off the record?"

You could tell the concept made him uncomfortable.  A few seconds went by before he answered, and you couldn't help but feel judged.

"Yes."

"Then...Yeah, I let them get away." A deep-chested sigh left you, your stomach's bruise arguing with your muscles, "I've been in their situation, before...I...I felt bad for them."

You couldn't look him in the eye. You feared he'd react the way he did when the deviant wouldn't crack – like he would start pulling you "into the abyss," with shark teeth and grinding jaws.

"Sympathy and sentiments."

Shuffling paper rekindled your courage.  His hand stopped mid-way on a page, sliding to the side so he could read to you again.