Deviant Behavior (Connor x Reader)

Separmus Meliora...

"We hope for better things..."

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They say the equation for humor is tragedy plus time...and while the tragedy of life's greatest ploy was forced upon you as time ran out...

You managed to smile.

It was rather humorous, after all. The things they said.

They told you to not be the hero, because you'd live longer. Demanded that you fall in line and let nature run its course, because war was inevitable. Hide the truth for the sake of convenience.

They said rA9 would save them.

"They," had all been right.

And although you should've finished college, or maybe joined the military...even if you'd never have a chance to second-guess yourself again...

You were glad you'd moved to Detroit, following a man you thought you loved while he pursued his career. You were thankful you'd taken this job, even though you only did it because you felt like you were out of options.

While you'd complained, you were content in the office, combing through files on your terminal - albeit bored. But you'd learned quickly that boring was safe...and that by staying bored, by staying safe, you couldn't have fixed anything.

Without all these pieces falling into place, you would've never been able to right the wrongs of a past life. To blur the lines of the greyscaled glasses the world had placed over its eyes. To tip the balance and teach it equilibrium, bestowing the power among the people to maintain it.

You only wished you could see the sunrise one last time. Watch Carl paint another masterpiece. Make a phone call to Chris. Have a second shooting session with Gavin. Endure a final lecture from Hank. Clock in for a final shift at Central Station, and smell the burnt coffee from the lounge...

You wished you could spend one more night with Connor, the miracle of a person that still tried to hold you together while you helplessly unraveled.

He was a pale, precious little thing - with deep-brown eyes that would remain the softest you'd ever seen. An LED that blinked red, running in circles on his temple. Hair that was sculpted perfectly, all except the small tuff of loose strands hanging above his forehead that'd driven you crazy in the most tantalizing ways.

He'd become more than a kneeling figure marked by a glowing triangle with the words "Made in Detroit" sprawled underneath tailored seams of an expensive suit. A badge that read "RK800" with a serial number lining the bottom; laid across a gap formed by a pressed, white button-up shirt. A bright armband around one arm and a sparking, twitching wound that bled blue on the other.

The android who had saved your very human existence was now a hybrid of the two.

You'd been so proud to witness that metamorphosis. Proud of him. Proud of yourself, because you'd called it years ago. Warned everyone of what would happen when humans truly created something in their own image.

You said there would be chaos. You said there would be an upheaval of security, and the diminishing returns of enslavement. You said that androids would "rise against," and when they did – mankind wouldn't be ready to be told it'd been wrong.

You, were right...

"They," just never listened.

Connor ripped his tie from his neck, pulling at the knot. His hand wrapped around you – his fingers careful, tender. Practiced.