Detroit Become Human x Readers

Deviate (Feelings Ending 2)

CONFLICTING ORDERS

That’s all Connor can see. Red letters, blue letters. Letters, letters filling up his view. Blocking out the snow, blocking out the world. Blocking out everything but you, him and the two terrifying decisions laid out in front of him.

CHOOSING PRIORITY

How can he choose? He doesn’t want to choose. He doesn’t want this, he’s so sick of having to choose.

SHOOT MARKUS

His head jerks toward the barricaded crowd. His target.

FOLLOW THEM

Then it’s back to staring at you. His… his…

His what? He doesn’t know. He can’t tell, with the red brick-like wall of code that separated the two of you. Blurring and obfuscating your physical form and whatever opinions… thoughts… emotions lay on the other end. It’s strange to him, that this is something that’s been there his entire life. That he’s just followed and obeyed because he was told to. Don’t go this way, don’t leave the station, don’t touch this.

Don’t follow you.

Connor balled up his fist, fingers straining in what he thinks is frustration. He scoffs.

Don’t follow Y/N

Well… what if he wanted to?

The punch he lays on the structure sends no pain in his arm as it connects, sending a ripple up the wall. It doesn’t do much damage, but it tells him what he needs to know. It tells him that he can touch it. In whatever out of body state, he’s currently in, his hands can press against it. They can destroy it.

He grabs at it, fingers finding their place on ledges that stick out, and he tears down. He rips it to shreds like weak fabric, letting the red blocks shatter and fall, like his regard for his orders. Shatter and fall like his original purpose. With each crack and hole, sounds get louder. His mind gets sharper and sharper until, finally, he’s through.

It all happens too quick for him to celebrate or comprehend. The wall shatters, and he’s back in his body, but it’s not the same. No, he’s not the same.

Connor drops the gun. He drops to his knees and the weapon clatters to the ground and cracks loudly, half resting in a pile of snow. He barely hears it happen, hands pressed flat to the ground as he heaves a breath.

He can breathe.

He can feel.

He can feel concrete, gritty under his artificial skin. Stones pressing into the plastic and metal of his fingers. Actually feel it- not just registering it with sensors and some faint categorization. His sense of touch isn’t just accurate, it’s clear.

He could feel snow falling on his body and clothes. It was in his hair, catching between strands. It’s cold, too. Everything up here is cold. Uncomfortable. The snow, the atmosphere. It settles in his stomach with a sense of unease. How had he not really noticed that before? The sounds? The crunch of snow under a boot? The whistle of wind carrying sleet?

The sound of an opening metal door.

“Y/N!” Strange how he’d nearly forgotten the trigger for this entire change. The trigger of his… deviancy. You couldn’t go yet, not with everything that had just happened.

Looking up he found your figure paused at the door, staring at his kneeling figure with a hesitancy that- that hurts. He can feel it warping in his chest, tightening and… suffocating? His first thought, worried and anxious is that he’d been damaged. That alone is shocking- a want for self-preservation beyond that of simply needing to stay alive for CyberLife’s sake.