Deviant Behavior (Connor x Reader)

POST-Traumatic

A portrait dripped with black ink, the perceived identity bleeding from its eyes and pooling on its cheek.  An early work of Carl's; a profile that'd spoken to you in tongues, riddled with a tale of overcoming the evil that gripped its subject.

"They seem so...real." Chris mumbled, poking a bird cage, "Especially this one.  Small bird, big personality."

You remembered Hank's comparison of birds to deviants.  How he'd described them just the same.  Wondered if the android birds could catch the deviancy virus, and start singing the gospel of rA9.

You turned your head, jumping at your reflection in another mirror.

Chris's observation matched your own; you were just poking at an invisible cage of a different small bird.

Yourself; caught up in the confines of a refurbished ego – trapping the "thing within itself," that made you real.  Your identity.

The Titan who'd been shunned like Prometheus himself as you stole fire, gifting it to an enslaved race at the sacrifice of your own freedom.

The AP700 emerged from the living room, shelves lined with pottery and origami sculptures behind him.

"Carl will see you now."

The timeline had been altered.

You'd stepped into the abyssal Tartarus, and thought you'd found your way out.  But you'd been bound by chains you'd rattled against Mount Olympus, summoning a higher judgment to cast its thunderbolts and sentence you to eternal torment and seclusion.

You hoped to find an end to the labyrinth.  You prayed to whoever was listening as you ignored Chris's gawking at a stuffed giraffe towering over the entrance of Carl's studio.

And inside awaited perhaps the only being other than Elijah who knew just as much about facing inner monsters as you.

...

He was suspended high above the floor in front of a wall-sized canvas, the simulated light of his landscape-projector windows beaming through the glass.  It was quite different than Elijah's view.

Then again, Carl had never been one to fare well in bleak weather.

"Well, look who the cat dragged in."  He didn't look at you as his wheelchair glistened in the mechanical clamp that had it raised, "When Saul told me you were the Officer they sent, I could hardly believe it."

You scoffed, imagining a bird caught by a feline hunter.

He kept painting, his artisan hands practicing their craft, "I'm surprised you remembered how to get here!"

"When your department is the one making the road closures...it makes it easier to get around them. GPS does wonders."

"Bah..." He clicked a lever, and the industrial arm buzzed as it rotated him to the floor, "Your generation depends too much on technology.  Do you even know where that stupid voice in your phone takes you as you follow it along like lah-dee-dah?"

You chuckled, shaking your head, "And your generation is too stubborn to stop rubbing sticks together to embrace change."

"That's how we balance each other out, isn't it?"  He turned, arms pumping the wheels, "My generation brings wisdom and experience, and your generation sorts through it and applies it?"

"Uh-huh..." You brought yourself to his level, hesitating before giving him a hug.

He gave you a strong pat on the back, "It's good to see you, kiddo."