Deviant Behavior (Connor x Reader)

POST-Traumatic

November 8th, 2038
PM 05:45:22

The doorbell chimed like church bells in blissful ascension.  Carl's statues of guardian angels came and went between squalls of snow.

"Damn, it's cold..." Chris hugged himself.

You looked back towards the door, brown and decorative – a warm entrance light welcoming you to its steps.  Windows cut in the wood showed a well-lit foyer, its gleaming walls shimmering with artistic trim.

You knocked with your knuckles, pausing before pressing an intercom's button.

"It's me, Carl."

You leaned away from the speaker, a shivering laugh coming from your left.

"First name basis and everything, huh?  Almost thought you were making it all up."

"Unlike you, I don't lie."

Which was a lie.

You hadn't told him about the harrowing text you'd received, or how close he was to the truth when he'd joked about your relation to deviants and rA9.

"I don't-"

An android greeted the two of you.  A male AP700, the most expensive of its kind; sharing the same model number as the others in CyberLife's flagship line.

"Good evening.  What can I do for you?"

You heard Chloe.  Saw her smile.  Felt the same alertness run up your spine.  You realized why this all felt familiar.

The door.  The android.  The foyer-

"H-hi," Chris cleared his throat, giving you a weird look, "This is Officer..." He introduced you, "...and I'm Officer Miller, Detroit Police Department.  We're here to see, uh...Mr.-"

Kamski.

Disappearing and reappearing behind you, whispering in your ear.  Climbing out of his blood pool with a challenging presence.  Wrapping you in his arms; his touch, lingering.

"Please," The android stepped aside, "Come in."

This was too similar.  Two parallel ports that sent signals from past to present, flashing images and feelings and overwhelming amounts of data that had your mechanisms stuck on inaction.

"Hey," Chris snapped his fingers in front of your eyes, waiting for you in the doorway, "I've got your back.  Come on, let's do this."

You blinked rapidly, finding a tired smile pointed at you.

Some things were better left forgotten; but that notion was lost upon a memory that never knew when to keep to itself – volatile, unstable, and accessing life lessons learned through traumatic experiences at random.

"Y-yeah...okay.  Let's do this."

Again.

...

"I'll let Carl know you're here."  The AP700 clasped his hands and nodded, "But please, make yourself comfortable."

He disappeared behind sliding doors that led to the living room, shoes tapping against the checkered flooring.

You and Chris took your hats off, idling nervously.  You put your hands in your pockets, rocking on your heels with anticipation.

Change hadn't touched this place.

It had the same scent you were fond of – paint and turpentine; sage and lavender.  A blend of manmade and organic materials, mixed just as delicately as the oils on the canvas lining the wall.