Danger Close

Defanged

This chapter continues in CONNOR'S perspective.

Gold plated numbers stood proud on the white door they were mounted on, the reflection of Connor's face warped on their delicate curves.

Number 3.

So he made three knocks.

Somewhat expected, there was no response.

Connor waited shortly before trying again, though he reached for the handle immediately afterwards and pushed against the door.

You clearly weren't home, so knocking was just a waste of time.

His foot was the next thing to hit the door, precision hit above the doorhandle with his heel. The frame surprisingly gave out and the wooden barrier was tossed aside at the forced entry.

It was probably heard throughout the floor, but that wasn't of his current concern.

Hank had warned him about this, to breach a thin line of trust that they had formed on an unstable foundation of coincidental violence. To break into your home and force a response.

It was sure to 'cause conflict', as he had put it.

But Connor didn't want to listen to those warnings. There was something between you that was unique enough to tug at his interest, and it drove his rising software instability. Be it the events from the Eden Club, the Stratford Tower case, or the constant interruptions in his daily work due to the unsolvable case of 'Apex Predators'.

You were different. Somehow. And he wanted to know why.

Closing the door behind him, the panel clicked shut and his attention turned towards the apartment. It was the same as the last visit, interior in pristine condition while the kitchen remained visibly unused.

It was almost as if no-one lived here.

Time was still against them, but Connor took the forced opportunity to explore your apartment. Open planned with lavish furniture, expensive equipment and 'modern' decor. Upon pacing around the layout, he noticed a thin layer of dust covered most surfaces. The floors looked spotless with no sign of foot traffic, though one particular corner of the kitchen held a glass with a small amount of water.

Connor approached the item and picked it up, rotating it in his hand to note the small smudge at the lip of the glass - before setting it back down and walking to the fridge. He swung the white door open and looked inside, furrowing his brows at the lack of food stored. Disappointed at the limited clues, he closed the door and turned to the hallway.

Did you even eat? Or were you ever even home?

The apartment was starting to make things look bleak, as lack of 'living-signs' pushed the conclusion of you not being around for quite a while. He approached the hallway and temporarily ignored the room which held the strange pods he'd seen before, looking to see the bedroom first.

It was at the end of the hallway, though upon opening the door which was ajar - it led to less clues and more questions. The bed was made and looked hardly disturbed, and bags remained unpacked. Wardrobes appeared empty, and the luxurious en-suite held little to no items with only a single towel on the edge of the bathtub.

Your apartment almost looked abandoned.