Deviant Behavior (Connor x Reader)

Fatal Attraction

Things were spelled out for you in a different way, then.

There was an electric pop, a plume of smoke, and Connor was on the ground.  His arms were bent behind his back and a pair of handcuffs strapped his wrists in place.

A curse slipped between his lips as a drip of Thirium ran from his hair, dipping and rolling between the profound edges of his cheeks and jaw.  He rocked on his chest, snarling and growling like a feral animal...

He bore his teeth, the leashed animal inside clawing at a cage.

You saw him falling in an inescapable realm of impulse and reaction. The curve of his brow into a deep crevice, and the bulging of his jacket from a frame under tension...all signs of deviancy uncontained.

When the cuffs broke, and the chain links scattered...it wasn't him you were worried about saving, anymore.

It was them.

Your knee dug into the assailant, your hands pushing on his shoulders as he fell backwards.

You pulled Connor to his feet.  Got in front of him.  Felt his chest press against your arm that tried to keep him held back.  Had your baton at the ready because somehow, in the kitchen, you'd lost your gun to a deviant a-fucking-gain.

You'd have to put Connor down if it meant keeping him from killing two unarmed retrieval peons.

"I don't know who you are or what you think you're doing, but this android is the property of the Detroit Police Department and the registered partner of Lieutenant Anderson."

He wasn't property, and he was so many more things than just an acting partner.  But they couldn't know that.  You had to speak their language of slavery and ignorance. 

"Ma'am, I know you're in shock and this must be very stressful, but we're under orders to collect every android on site."

"Orders from who?"

The two technicians looked at each other, and then back at you.

"CyberLife."

You didn't have time to react.  You were preoccupied with the bashing of shields, the firing of what sounded like a cannon, the burning smell of discharge and smoke – the gas that suffocated you just like it had on the roof.

Tear gas.

"HEY!" Gavin ran to you, covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, "What's going on-"

His eyes watered and he choked.  You mimicked this response – for the second time today.

"Stop messing around," He grabbed your shoulder, "We gotta get out of here – shit's getting crazy and we weren't ready for this kind of response –"

"Excuse me," One of the CyberLife technicians leaned around Gavin, "Are you this officer's superior?"

Gavin turned around, giving them a dirty look, "Kinda.  Little busy at the moment-"

"We were assaulted for trying to confiscate this android, as we were instructed to do."

Gavin's brow pinched, and his scrutinizing stare met yours.  Your eyes still watered, but it wasn't because of fear or sadness.

You held that gaze, that plea.

"That so?" Gavin cocked his head, "Well, you can't have him."

"Oh, Jesus...Sir-"

"It's Detective."

"Okay...Detective...?"

"Reed."

The other technician sighed, "Detective Reed, we have orders to-"

"You can take your orders and send them off to Lieutenant Anderson-"

A horn blared in the distance, and a "whoop-whoop" from a cruiser you could only hope was yours.

"Right over there."

Hank's old, busted up car came rolling through – lead by a police cruiser that was marked with your patrol number.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY YOU FUCKING LUNATICS!" Hank had an elbow hooked to the outside of his door, laying on his horn until he cleared a path.

"As you can see," Gavin coughed, "He's in a great mood."

He got out, Chris leaving the cruiser and exchanging quick words before slamming the door shut.  He and Hank didn't take any time bringing themselves into the circle.

"Connor, let's go-" Hank growled.

"Sir, we-"

"I saw what you did to the androids up there."  He cut them off, sniffing as he coughed in a fist, "You can take that shiny white compactor of yours and go fuck yourself."

Connor stumbled as Hank grabbed his arm, "Miller, get her up to speed."

"Got it-" His hand secured itself on your lower back, guiding you around the SWAT truck.

A wall had been formed.  One of shields and geared soldiers, fighting to keep the protesters, gathered civilians, and media at a safe distance.

You hovered at the edge.  Heard Captain Allen issue permission to let your small caravan through the checkpoint up ahead.  Looked over as the trunk popped, and Chris disappeared behind it as he held the lid open.

You walked to his side, a shotgun landing in your hands and a pack of rubber slugs slid in front of you.

"Lock and load."  He shoved a pair in the barrel, cocking it forward, "It's a long way to Central Station from here."

You bit your lip, tasted Thirium and sweat – following his instructions until the weapon had the weight of fully-packed chambers.

He shut the trunk.  Got in the driver's seat, and you sat next to him.  Saw the side mirror shudder and the death-stare from the android in Hank's car peering straight into your soul...

Then heard the radio.

"There is widespread shock following the android attack on Detroit's Stratford Tower. The machines recorded a video message and broadcast what can only be described as demands on the city's public screens. It's still unclear whether these attacks can be explained by malfunctions, or if some organization is behind them. So far CyberLife has refused to comment, but we can expect more information in the following hours-"

Shock.

That's what they were calling this.

You pumped the shotgun in your hands, facing the mob that clogged the streets.

Detroit was now the ground zero for civil unrest.

Elijah warned you of this public reaction.  An outcry for reason and the pursuit of knowledge by those who made a career of twisting the truth into something more manageable.

There wasn't a definitive bottom to the pit the world was spiraling into.  It was primitive.  Had survived the tests of time.  Was something on your mind as of late, and something completely unavoidable as you watched on from outside the car's window.

Something so absolute, so unpredictable – and yet, he'd predicted it.

"The true enemy of humanity is disorder."

The word of a prophet who spread his words no more.

You had to quell that warning your instincts told you to heed.  But you were infected with an ailment that had no cure...an idea that continued to spread like a virus, and it wasn't the desire to be free.

It was the fatal attraction to danger.

—-

Happy holidays everyone! 💜