Deviant Behavior (Connor x Reader)

November 10th, 2038
PM 01:31:04

"Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw,
In all that the law leaveth open, the word of the head wolf is law."

---

The command truck's cabin had little to offer in ways of comfort.

Its engines ravaged the inside, and small distortions of human life interrupted the trance.

Chris sniffed behind his helmet and cracked his neck. Grenier rolled his plated shoulders. Sage typed away on her wrist computer, leg swung up on an empty seat with her back propped up on Akane's side. She chewed gum and popped it, earning her an irritated look from her psychopath-for-a-pillow.

"You."

Your head snapped, finding the silent assassin watching you with a cat-like stare.

"Me?"

"Yes." She tilted her head, "I have a question."

Akane switched legs, balancing one on her knee and landing her boot on the floor.

"What are you hiding that Commander Martello had you travel with us rather than the other DPD fodder?"

Your neck snaked back, squinting at her in disgust.

"That's an interesting question coming from someone who's background is classified." You fired, "And we are not, 'fodder.'"

Tension built between the two of you before you finally broke and turned away.

"Ignore her." Sage yawned, looking at her nails, "She's rough around the edges, but she means well."

Akane jostled her shoulder, and a grunt came from the woman leaning on it.

You had your shield balanced between your knees, pinned between your boots; massaging your hands along the curved edges of the cutouts. You only stopped to unhook the helmet from your waist, watching it hesitantly in all its obsidian glory.

Anything would be better than feeding into Akane's instigating bullshit, the mechanical innerworkings of the loud truck, or the blaring sirens attached to it.

You wished Connor was there to settle you down; to put his hands on the side of your face and still your internal turmoil like he always did. You hoped he was safe. Hoped you were safe, wondering what waited for you when Perkins finished uprooting your life.

Nope.

"Can't think about it."

You pushed the helmet down to your shoulders, and the cabin wiped away. It still smelled like the manufacturing plant – of silicon, and carbon fiber. Your shuddering breath bounced back at you in the darkness.

And then the cabin came back as fragments of a digital imagination.

Your vision was framed in a blue, opaque outline of the visor. Numbers and letters scrolled at each corner as if you'd plugged yourself into a surveillance camera, spying on dimensions and data.

NEW USER FOUND

The alert flickered and chirped in the upper-left hand corner, followed by your identification, various GPS locations, your vitals-

[Protocol 1: Link to Specialist]

Yellow text floated on your HUD with a black backdrop as the automated program continued.