»≫ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀᴛɪʙʟᴇ ≪« ;Connor x Reader;

Ｍｉｓｓｉｏｎ #8

The next few days passed like a blur, with the only significant change being the fact that I was less than enthusiastic about deviant hunting now.

Since the whole accident back at the highway, with the result ending with the failure of apprehending our target, I had merely locked myself in my room. Letting myself grow lazy without the burden of responsibilities, life became quite relaxing. Every morning I'd wake up, not bother to change out of my pajamas from the previous night, and stuff my face with junk food as I spent the whole day staring at the television.

Definitely not the most healthy lifestyle, but as long as I didn't have to worry about the impending doom of humanity due to rogue deviants, that was enough.

So I was extremely pissed that morning when my peace was interrupted.

Tuesday, 7:00am
Y/n's House

As I lay on my bed, silence enveloped the room. It wasn't a bad silence at all. In fact it was welcomed. The firm mattress beneath me cushioned my back while my eyes fixated themselves on nothing in particular. Beside the bed, my lamp's dim light flickered. With a smile creeping onto my usually face, which was usually etched with a look of worry, my eyelids slowly drooped over my pupils. The clock read 7:00am, which was usually the time I had to start up the car and head over to work, but now I just lay in my bed, content with the fact that I had no work of the sort.

"Peace and quiet."

The words left my mouth, laced with nothing but relaxation. My bare feet lifted into the air, and my arms extended outwards, participating in its daily morning stretch. My bottom yanked itself off the mattress before it sunk further into laziness, and I proceeded down the stairs leading onwards the kitchen.

"Television on" I murmured, still groggily moving down the building's staircase. Immediately, the television hummed to life thanks to the wonders of modern day technology. The default channel buzzed onto the national news, and proceeded to share increasing amounts of stories about rogue deviants. These barbaric stories varied from just questionable behavior from some household androids, to androids who murdered their own owners and bolted before the cops could reach them. Unfortunately, these events had become part of daily life, and while it was easy for most people to claim they were sorry for the victims of these cases, they probably didn't care all that much.

"And who could blame them?" I said aloud, munching on a dorito I found laying on the counter. It crunched under my teeth, still maintaining its taste after a couple bites.

"Well it's not stale, so that's pretty good." I grumbled as soon as it's crumby remains had made their way down my throat. Heaving a sigh, I yanked a bag of chips from the snack cabinet, and then plopped onto the couch. The news had continued to blabber on about stray deviants, but there wasn't anything that concerned me up until they mentioned something about a prototype.

"Due to the increasing amounts of dangerous Android activity, CyberLife developers are working to create a series of android prototypes to act as machines created solely to hunt down these rogue androids." A woman that looked to be in her forties informed. Her words were brief, and choked, expressing the amount of emotion she felt towards the whole situation.

Which was none.

"These android prototypes include either one that can act as a detective, or something else. CyberLife hasn't revealed the details on the second prototype, but just knowing that these two androids could possibly make our world safer is already a good step towards the future."

My eyes widened at the news. For a moment, flicks of static blurred my vision, and a dreadful feeling clawed at my throat. It was as if a pair of hands tried yanking me into a murky cell of unease.

Why was I so nervous though..?

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"What does this all mean?"

"Guh..." I gulped the moment that it had stopped. Just a moment ago, my mind had grown hazy with worry, and my breathing had ground to a halt. My throbbing head cleared itself almost instantly.

Almost unnaturally.

"What the fuck was that..?" I murmured, rubbing my hand through my hair.

Knock knock knock

"Eep!" I yelped, startled by the sudden knock. I was still dressed in my pajamas, and my hair was an absolute nightmare. Surely nobody would want to see me in such an atrocious state.

"J-Just a minute!" I cried out, and sprinted up the stairs into my room. As quickly as I allowed myself to move, I yanked a long sleeved shirt over my bland t-shirt, and somehow managed to pull some jeans OVER my pajama pants. Not even bothering to zip up the jeans all the way, I picked up my brush from the dresser top and bolted down the stairs.

THUD!

A large impact collided with my head as my foot misplaced itself on the wooden staircase. My legs gave out from under me, and I tumbled clumsily down the stairs. Blood immediately rushed up to my head as I let a loud shriek of agony leave my lips.

"BLOODY HELL!"

Moments later, the door burst open, followed by the rushed footsteps of somebody. A familiar voice met my ears.

"Ms. Anderson, are you alright? I heard a scream."

Connor said, his voice somehow a mixture between calm and horrified.

"Yeah yeah just hurry the fuck up and help me!" I groaned, my volume was as high as my vocal cords could allow them to be. Connor swiftly nodded, and crouched down to my assistance. His arms wrapped around my torso while he picked me up with utmost tenderness. His hand drifted up to graze my head, which hurt like hell, but was luckily unscathed. Connor set me onto my feet.

"There."

He said as soon as my condition stabilized.

"I look like a mess, don't I?" I grumbled, which earned a goofy smile out of Connor.

Wait. Smile?

"Hey, you just smiled." I blurted out. My eyes were widened with surprise, and Connor briskly nodded. Any trace of the smile disappeared, and he did seem a bit confused.

But even so, a grin crept up onto my face.

Perhaps androids and humans weren't too different after all.

~💠~

"Status report."

"The subject is currently stable, they're not showing signs of any aggression and remain obedient despite our repeated violent behaviors. I think it's safe to say that progress is going along quite smoothly."

"Should we give it a name sir? I'd feel bad if we just called it a... well, it."

"A name? What kind of retarded idea is that? It's a machine with artificial emotions, it doesn't need a name."

"But... If you're so dead-set on calling it something, just come up with a couple of numbers. I think it'd be great if you called it 69 or 11037 or whatever."

"Besides."

"It's only a machine."