Deviant Behavior (Connor x Reader)

Walking the Beat

The crosswalk signal blinked, and the two of you kept walking.  You passed a chain-link fence with small lines of snow balanced between the links, fabric banners that'd been beaten and forgotten by time swaying between gusts of flurries.

"Wyatt Construction," was faded between splotches of what you guessed were oil stains.  Orange and white stripped barricades lined the bottom, their LED flashers busted and filling with snow, themselves.

An abandoned parking garage filled a spot between corporate towers, the base lined with old scaffolding and construction brandings that didn't exist anymore.  Didn't need them.

Most people barely owned their own car; and if they did, there were special housing units for them that didn't involve driving up cement ramps.  As for the construction company?  Probably replaced by androids; maybe even the same androids that marked the top of the parking garage.  The blues, whites, and purples that aired a Black Friday deal, promising CyberLife's flagship model for the "new low price of $6,999."

They were just machines, but they supported humans...and in doing so, learned how to become human.

"Before I met you, this stuff never bothered me..."

Your head whipped back around to Chris, finding the billboard's reflection toggling in his brown eyes.

"What happened with that guy and the shopping bags wouldn't have bothered me.  I always thought people getting loud at androids was kinda like when you couldn't get your laptop to work and you yelled at it, or something."

He didn't look away from the digital images that painted his face different hues and colors, his features falling into sadness, "But laptops and appliances don't have feelings...and with all this deviancy shit going on..."

He took on a mix of expressions as he looked down at you.  Concerned, determined, prepared – more hostile than normal, although you've seen that pop up once or twice.  If anyone used humor as a coping mechanism, it was Chris Miller; and when that humor faded, it was time to start running.

"How long is it gonna be till they get tired of it and snap?"

The quiet moment was ruined as a stampede of chatter, footprints, and bicycle bells flooded the streets.  The lunch-breakers were in full force as they left the glass doors of Detroit's main broadcasting station, the corporate tower with elevators that topped at 30 mph.  Another accomplishment brought to you by android innovation.

"One day at a time, Chris."  You clamped your hand on his shoulder, giving him a wink and a smile, "We'll deal with a civil war when one starts, alright? Can't do much about anything now."

He huffed, turning his head, "Yeah, you're right..." 

A plastic bottle bounced across the ground, landing in a mound of snow.  A man in a suit looked at you, at the bottle, and kept walking.

"You serious right now?" You hooked your thumbs on your belt, barking at him.

His shoulders tensed, and he turned around.

"We're standing right here," Chris shook his head, "No littering."

"Why don't you pick it up then?"

"'Cause we didn't drop it," You shifted your weight on one leg, jabbing a finger, "Now pick it up-"

"HELP!"

A woman tripped, falling down the concrete and landing on a passing businessman.  He caught her, pushing up his glasses as she cried in his arms; frantically sputtered words and warnings, grabbing his shoulders and screaming.

Your coffee cup collided with Chris's in the trashcan's opening as the two of you progressed towards the scene without verbal confirmation; always working in unrehearsed synchronization.

"Ma'am?" You asked, climbing a stair, "Has there been an incident you'd like to report?"

Her neck snapped, eyes locking on you.  She was glazed in sweat, make-up running down her cheek, a heel broken under her foot, snow covering her blazer-

"Gunshots-" She pointed a shaky finger towards the entrance of the building, "W-w-w-we h-eard gunshots-"

"Which floor?" Chris's hand instinctively gripped his pistol, holding up the other to pause her rambling, "How many?"

"We were on the 78th," She gulped, "We heard two, someone screamed, I think they're hurt-"

"Ma'am, I need you to get down to Central Station and provide a statement," Chris started walking, looking over his shoulder, "Can you do that for me?"

"Y-yes-"

"Okay, good."

You clicked your radio, holding your lips to your shoulder as you and Chris ran up the steps, "Patrol Unit 13, 5649 and 3143 responding at Stratford Tower, Stratford Tower, assist officers – shots fired."

"10-4, what's your status?"

"Code 3, need an ambulance, possible civilian casualties."

White pulses came from behind the glass doors, a screeching fire alarm blaring as they swung open for the rolling wave of bodies cramming through the small spaces.

"Channel 2 all SWAT officers, Stratford Tower, Code 3; Stratford Tower, Code 3.  5649 do we have a description of the suspect?"

"No description, unknown firearm, reported shots from 46th floor."

"10-4 SWAT's on the way, standby."

Police sirens echoed through the corridors – carried along the streets, bouncing off the buildings and skybridges that housed DPD's fastest drones.

Shoulders and knees pounded against you as you and Chris tried to pierce the current.  You latched on the back of his vest, praying not to get separated.

"DPD, EVERYONE REMAIN CALM!" He shouted, "DPD-"

Someone fell in front of him, and it took all the two of you had to pull them to their feet before they were trampled to death.  Their forehead was busted and split, the man left in a daze as he stumbled down the steps; clinging to a steel railing.

You held up your badge, trying to scream over the chaos, "DPD, STEP ASIDE-"

A head crashed into your cheek, knocking you off balance.  Chris caught you by your vest, grabbed the doorframe, and almost busted the vein in his neck pulling you to his side.  The two of you squeezed through the entryway, standing on wobbling legs as you faced the escalators.

You looked over your shoulder as a helicopter zipped overhead, sending ripples of dust through the crowd and icy debris into your nose.

You'd been in this situation before.

It'd been at night.  You and your partner at the time had just been lucky enough to be the closest unit in the area when the hostage situation was relayed over dispatch.  Like then, the building was in the middle of being evacuated.  Fire alarms were blaring louder than the distant police sirens.  The helicopter had been the first sign of backup.  The crowd was untamed and perhaps more dangerous to the city's stability than the actual crisis.

This was your second time being a first responder...and while this scenario had drawn too many parallels in its start, you were going to make sure it ended differently.

You would not lose another partner.